When I Came Out to D.

I was scared of her. She was a powerhouse. She was strong and she was opinionated and I knew, if she perceived this was wrong, wrong, wrong... well, I'd have a very uncomfortable situation on my hands.

So the day "The Letter" went out I went to D's house. It was near the end of a long day, in which I'd been visiting elders, pillars, staff members, etc. D. was sick... she'd been struggling with cancer since early 2007. Still, she was able to attend church, and she was formidable. I loved her and I was scared of her.

At about 4 in the afternoon I dropped by. We chit-chatted for a bit. Finally, I said, "D., has your mail arrived yet?" She said, "No, it should be here any minute. Why?" I could tell that her radar was up. The night before, when I'd met with the session, some of them had let me know that they were relieved the letter was not a letter of resignation (!). D. seemed to "go there" as well. I said, "D, I sent a letter to the congregation. This is what it says." And I told her.

Her response was immediate. "That's no one's business but your own. People act like this is a brand new thing, but it's been going on for thousands of years. Michelangelo! The Emperor Hadrian! I had two teachers in my elementary school who lived together in the same house. Maybe they were in a committed relationship! You're a good pastor. That's all that matters to me."

We buried D. yesterday. This memory is one of the treasures she left me.

A Funeral Meditation on John 11:27-37

Sunset and evening star,
  And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
  When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
    Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
    Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
    When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
    The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
    When I have crost the bar.

~Alfred Lord Tennyson

In looking for a passage of scripture to share with you today, I confess I had something fairly specific in mind. I wanted a passage that portrayed a strong woman openly and confidently expressing her opinion. I wanted this woman to be challenging someone who was a recognized authority figure. And, of course, I wanted a passage that at the same time managed to convey our Christian hope in the resurrection. In short, I wanted a passage that would honor D., whose life we gather to celebrate on this beautiful winter day, and only a strong, opinionated woman challenging an authority, while at the same time hoping against hope, seemed appropriate.

And so I found my way to this story of Martha and her sister Mary, mourning the loss of their beloved brother Lazarus. As you can hear, Martha is not too happy with Jesus, because he was late in arriving, too late, in her opinion, to save Lazarus. But what Martha doesn’t seem to understand is this: Jesus is mourning Lazarus every bit as much as his sisters. Jesus loves Lazarus every bit as much as they do. And Jesus, though he has a point to make, is filled with anguish at the suffering he sees before him.

And so are we. D. was battling this terrible disease the day I met her, and every day since. I never knew her, as many of you did, at the height of her strength and spirit. I didn’t know her, as you did, when she  took her many trips—to Europe, and South America, and the Canary Islands, and China, and countless other places. I didn’t know her, as you did, when she worked tirelessly to assemble our church Museum, named in her honor in 2007. I didn’t know her, as you did, when she was Sunday School Superintendent, or president of the Ladies Aid Association, or an active member of Session.

Still, I can claim with confidence that I did know the essential D., a woman who, the day we met, gave me her unvarnished opinion on matters concerning the church and the presbytery. I knew the essential D., who cared deeply, passionately, about this church into whose membership she was baptized on the same day as her lifelong friend, M. I knew the essential D., who, when the time came at last to face her own mortality, did so with the resolve of the poet, confident she would see her Pilot, her Maker, when at last she passed from our sight.

But D. did not go gentle into that good night. Along with Martha, she raged against the dying of the light, and she fought the good fight for four long years. Let me be clear: death is a thief. It steals from us, and D. clung to the life she loved. Why shouldn’t she? Why shouldn’t any of us? Our lives are precious gift from God. As the psalmist says, God forms our innermost parts. God knits us together in our mother’s womb. We are fearfully and wonderfully made, and in life and in death we belong to God. What a glorious calling: to live our lives in the presence and the service of our Lord and our fellow human beings. D. lived out that calling, with gusto, until her body simply wouldn’t allow her to do so any longer.

The suffering of those we love fills us with anguish. The death of those we love fills us with sorrow. And, like Martha, we challenge Jesus, we call upon God to help us to make sense of it all. And this is what Jesus says to us: He says, “I am the resurrection and the life.” And he calls upon us to believe that this life, though it is good and rich and beautiful, is not all there is. He calls upon us to trust that death does not have the last word. He calls upon us to affirm, with Martha, with D., that yes, Lord, we believe.

The story of Martha and her brother Lazarus does not end here. Jesus goes to Lazarus’ tomb and calls him out, raises him from the dead. But Martha makes her statement of faith, her affirmation in Jesus, in life beyond this life, in hope against hope, before that happens. Martha makes her statement of confidence in Jesus before she really has any evidence to back it up.

We and Martha and D. are all in the same boat together. We know that death calls upon each of us, that we are summoned to embark upon that ship, mostly, before we feel ready. We know that death will steal those we love from us, whether it is they or we who embark first. And still we are called upon to put our faith and hope in Jesus’ affirmation that death is not, will not be, the last word. We are called upon to be like Martha, to declare, yes, Lord, I believe in you. Yes Lord, I hope in you. Yes Lord, I trust in you.

About a month before D. died, P. and I shared communion with her in her home. D. always eagerly accepted when the church offered an opportunity for her to receive the Lord’s Supper. We prayed that day, in gratitude for this church, which brought us together. We prayed in gratitude for that sacrament which shows us how God gives his own life for us and to us. We prayed in hope for D., that her pain might be eased and she might grow stronger. After communion, we held hands for a final prayer of thanksgiving, and, though I encouraged her to stay seated, D. insisted on struggling to her feet, and she gripped our hands with her own, surprisingly strong ones. That, for me, was classic D.. Jesus was there, present with us, and D. stood, weak as she was, to affirm, Yes Lord, I believe. Yes Lord, I hope. Yes Lord, I trust.

And so we commend our beloved sister in Christ into the welcoming and embracing arms of her Pilot, her Maker, her Lord and Savior. We trust that D. will forgive and even appreciate our sadness as she embarks. We trust that this strong and opinionated woman is not gone, only gone from our sight. And we trust, with Martha, with D., that she will rest in peace and rise in glory. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Up at My Other Place

... A Week in the Life.

Remember This?

The awesome mom who supported her son, who wanted to be Daphne for Halloween?

She has been excommunicated from her church, and her son kicked out of the preschool.

Words fail me.

Read about the carnage here.

Thanks, MadPriest, for keeping us all in the loop.

Sermon's Up! Featuring Jay Bakker...

... and his really worthwhile new book, Fall to Grace: A Revolution of God, Self and Society.

Read all about it here!

Another wonderful post...

... about the aforementioned letter:

Katie Mulligan from "Inside Outed."

Keep speaking out, sister!

Coming Out. Again. And Again. And Again.

Petra and Beloved and I watched "Groundhog Day" tonight. You know the film. Bill Murray plays a not-so-nice weatherman from Pittsburgh who gets sent to cover Groundhog Day in Punxatawny, PA, with his producer (Andie MacDowell) and cameraman (Chris Elliott). At the end of a long and terrible day, during which just about everything that could possibly go wrong does, he wakes up to find out he is re-living the same day over. And then it happens again. And again.


The movie goes on to follow the many ways he tries to cope with and/ or game his situation. Everything from deciding he can do whatever he wants with no consequences, to trying to get the beautiful producer into bed, to trying to kill himself, and more. It is wonderful and painful and quite funny. And, in the end, he learns some things about himself.


Well, I sometimes feel that coming out is a little like Groundhog Day. It has been for me, anyway. I officially came out twenty-one months ago (you can read the story here, in the archive for that month. Start at the bottom of the page and scroll up). And... at that time, it was fully my intention that everybody in the world, personally and professionally, would know, from that point on, that I am a minister in a committed relationship with another woman. A lesbian. That was the plan.


Well, the way the wheels of bureaucracy worked in my denomination, it didn't end up being quite as public as all that. So, I found myself needing to come out to people over and over. First I told my congregation. Then my regional governing body. Then I told various colleagues, who asked me questions about  why certain things were going on in my congregation.


After a while, I got kind of tired of it. If I have to tell one more person, I thought, I will tear my hair out. And then I can be a bald lesbian minister. So I just floated along.


As a result, I don't really know who knows at this point. Occasionally I tell someone. For example. I met with a couple not long ago who would like to join the congregation. At the end of our meeting, I said, "Well, there's just one more thing. In the name of full disclosure." And, pulse racing, I told them. Whereupon they shrugged, and said, "Oh we know that." And I laughed a little too hysterically.


Next Saturday my regional body is voting on changes to the constitution of our church. One of that changes, something we vote on every two years (like clockwork), is removal of the anti-LGBTQ language from our Book of Order. We will be seeking to replace this:


“Those who are called to office in the church are to lead a life in obedience to Scripture and in conformity to the historic confessional standards of the church. Among these standards is the requirement to live either in fidelity within the covenant of marriage between a man and a woman (W-4.9001), or chastity in singleness. Persons refusing to repent of any self-acknowledged practice which the confessions call sin shall not be ordained and/or installed as deacons, elders or ministers of the Word and Sacrament.”


with this:

Standards for ordained service reflect the church’s desire to submit joyfully to the Lordship of Jesus Christ in all aspects of life (G-1.0000). The governing body responsible for ordination and/or installation (G.14.0240; G-14.0450) shall examine each candidate’s calling, gifts, preparation, and suitability for the responsibilities of office. The examination shall include, but not be limited to, a determination of the candidate’s ability and commitment to fulfill all requirements as expressed in the constitutional questions for ordination and installation (W-4.4003). Governing bodies shall be guided by Scripture and the confessions in applying standards to individual candidates.”

Never mind the alphabet soup (if it has a W it's from the Directory of Worship; if it has a G it's from the Form of Government). The point is, the amendment upon which we will vote-- and upon which the entire church has been voting-- is far superior theologically, a return to the historic practice of the church, and just plain good sense.

So naturally it is being fought tooth and nail. So much so, that a large group of (all-male) so-called "tall steeple" pastors have issued a letter complaining that the church is deathly ill. It appears to be an attempt to distract from what is happening: we are voting on something to end discrimination against a whole class of people and to restore the church's good name.

(Here's a very entertaining blogpost about the letter from my buddy John Shuck. Tell us how you really feel, John!)

So here's my issue. I'm thinking, I probably have to come out, again, next week. I probably need to stand in front of my presbytery and say, "Hi. I'm gay. My church knows all about it, and they have decided to keep me. So far, we are doing just fine. Let's just get on with the business of doing ministry. OK?"

OK campers, rise and shine, and don't forget your booties, 'cause it's cooooooold out there today!