The church that birthed me into United Methodism is on
Hospice Care. A decision is being made
tomorrow at 3:00 about her fate. Will
the plug be pulled? That is the question
at hand as the congregation votes on a petition to disaffiliate from the United
Methodist Church. This is the church
that welcomed my family into its care, when most churches were not equipped to
handle us. I had been church hopping for
a couple of years, wearied by the inability of most churches to welcome my
special needs son. I knew I had found a
faith home when their children’s minister came to me and rather than asking me
to come intervene with him, asked me the best way to help him. I did not care at the time what denomination they
were, or whether they were traditional or progressive, or liturgical or
contemporary. I cared that they cared
for my son. It was an added bonus that
as I grew into that church, I found Wesleyan theology and it resonated in my
soul. It was a bonus that I got to sing
in the praise team and there was a Sunday School class that welcomed all of who
I am.
Then the cancer snuck in. The cancer came in the form of fear and
ignorance, disguised in the words of Bible Believing and inerrancy. It was interesting that a Core Wesleyan
belief is that of the quadrilateral. It
is how we work through questions about scripture and their meaning as it
relates to questions of life and faith. Scripture has authority as it is read through
the lens of tradition, reason, and experience.
Yet, persons were taking things that they did not have experience in and
using the Bible as a proof text to support their own misunderstandings and
biases. This cancer of ignorance,
misunderstanding and fear has multiplied into division and anger. There is a simple therapy for this
cancer. It is called Love. I got a mega dose of this treatment when I
sat outside of the Hospice, I worked in 1994 and recalled the words of I John
4:7-8. Beloved, let us Love One
Another, for love is of God and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. They that love not, know not God for God is
Love. My Uncle taught me this scripture
in the form of song when I was a youth.
The Holy Spirit brought it to me at a time when I questioned if God
could love me. The question facing me
was how can I reconcile my spirituality and my sexuality. I had prayed for several years for change to
occur in my sexuality and it never happened.
The holy Spirit reminded me of this scripture that day and reminded me
that God created me in God’s image. If
God is love, I am love. If God created
me in God’s image than God love me just as God created me. IT was that simple. That moment was the anecdote I so desperately
needed in one of the darkest moments of my life. It is such a moment as this that my mother
church desperately needs as she lays in wait.
When you find out a loved one has been placed on Hospice
Care you immediately begin the process of grieving and you cycle through all
the stages of grief, slipping in and out-back and forth. We become intimately familiar with denial, anger,
bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I
discovered this week that I am in the midst of deep grief over this. I stayed in denial for quite some time. I wanted so desperately to believe that those
leading this effort were being misunderstood and that the disease was not as
progressed as had been diagnosed. Then
as I began to discover the truth of the diagnosis, I was angry at those who had
started administering the chemicals that would eventually kill my beloved
church. The church where I first rediscovered
my call to ministry. The church where I
first shared my story. The church where
my son was both baptized and confirmed. The church that nurtured me through sickness,
surgeries, and death of loved ones. My
anger became more directed at people who were posting things on Facebook that I
knew I should ignore but that stirred me to action. My own grief and anger serving as a catalyst
for inflammatory language and divisive words.
The bargaining came long ago when I saw the first signs of disease. I stayed.
I stayed longer than I should have stayed hoping with everything in me
that it was not so.
Last week as I traveled to the beach and floated on
the water and read some of a book, I had downloaded a while back, I recognized
that I had “stopped breathing.” This is
how my friend Sally describes the moments in my life when I disconnect from
spirit. I never made a conscience decision
to disconnect but I believe it was my bodies way of dealing with the cycle of
depression I had entered withing the cycle of grief.
I had forgotten to take a book with me to the beach so
I was pursuing my Kindle downloads and came upon a book I had downloaded called
Let Your Heartbreak Be Your Guide by Adam Bucko. I do not recall what
led me to this book but As I began to turn the pages, I discovered that my soul
was longing for nourishment and connection to the Divine and this book would
lead me there.
I do not believe it was coincidence that I discovered
this right in the midst of being shot with major doses of the cancers of fear
and ignorance. During this time, I also received
phone calls from persons who God has put in my life for just such moments, to
remind me whose I am and what that God has called me to be in this world. This affirmation also came in the texts from
a young adult who I watched grow up, who reached out to me and let me know,
without knowing that she was doing this, that young people I care about very
much are watching my reactions and what they need is an advocate. They need a voice that is going to stand up
for them.
I traveled home from the beach with all this stirring
in my heart. As I drove to church last Sunday,
I tuned into Resurrection United Methodist in Kansas City and as Pastor Adam
Hamilton began inviting people to the communion table tears began to roll down
my cheek. I then tuned in to St. Lukes
United Methodist where I was reminded that whatever work I do, I do as work for
the Lord. I am not called to be a people
pleaser. I am called to let everyone
know that there is room at the table for ALL of God’s children. Again, tears fell.
In church, I tried to request prayer for my mother
church as they face this vote. But the
words would not come out, just tears. As
I served communion, I served through tears.
The tears especially came when I served members of the LGBTQ+ community
and as I served those clergy who have given me large doses of that anecdote of love,
I was telling you about.
So, what am I going to do tomorrow at 3:00. I am going to do what I do when anyone I love
and care about is placed on Hospice care.
I am going to go there. I am
going to pray. I am going to have a hand
ready for holding. I am going to sing
songs of encouragement and love. I am
going to pour the anecdote of love into anybody who recognizes their need for
it. I am going to be present. I am going to do as Jesus did when he learned
of Lazarus’ death. I am going to
weep. But I will not weep as someone
without hope. For I am a child of the
resurrected LORD.
Resurrection or resuscitation may not
happen tomorrow. IF the church votes to
disaffiliate, my mother church will be dead.
What I will not do is bless the church that remains. I have had this feeling for a while but did
not know how to articulate it. A wise
person articulated for me last week when they unpacked part of Galatians
6:7-10. “Those Who plant only for
their own benefit will harvest devastation.”
They went onto say this: Who is benefiting from these
disaffiliations? Sadly, I believe it is those who
want to retain power, property, finances
and control of how LGBTQ+ people are treated in their
midst. If they looked around they would
have seen more than enough churches who believe the
way they believe. They are not adding
anything new to the kingdom of God, they are simply
repeating the sins of the past. I cannot
bless them on their way, I do not hope they prosper, I do
not pray their congregations will grow. I
cannot. I don’t wish them harm but I cannot abide the
idea that more people, young and old, will
be brought up in an environment that does not fully
affirm everyone.
This same wise person also introduced me
to a Rabbinic prayer that goes like this:
Do not be afraid of work that does not end.
This week someone asked me about the Holy Spirit. What is the Holy Spirit? How do you get the Holy Spirit. I have not given a full
answer. Volumes have been written. What I can tell you is that the way all of
these things collided together in the last week is evidence of the Holy Spirit at work in my own life.
There is much work to do. I will continue to answer the call. But for tomorrow, I will be the grieving
child at the bedside of her mother church.
