Not Especially

There's a thing I do whenever I'm the one leading the prayers of the people that I don't think I've ever really talked about before, but it came up at lunch after church this past Sunday and I found myself expressing myself in this way:

I said, "I take deep theological exception to the word esprcially."

Until that moment, I hadn't fully realized how strongly I felt about it. Now that I've realized, of course I have to spill it out into a blog.

Those of you who don't have a "prayers of the people" moment in your church service, this may not mean anything to you. But to those of you who do, please consider my argument.

Among the petitions, there is always the one that is a variation of, "We pray for all those who suffer in body, mind, or spirit" and then we list the people in the congregation who are sick or otherwise hurting.

Of course, the word that links the petition and the list of names is especially.

We pray for the sick, especially Joe, Maria, Juan, LaShell, Hannah, and Otto.

The thing I will do when I lead the prayers of the people is change especially to among us.

Because I have some issue with the notion of praying for all the suffering in the world but then asking God to give special attention to those we know. It's like helping only those we love while letting people we don't care for suffer. It's not part of Jesus' teaching to love your enemies, do good to those who hate you. If you help only those you like, how are you different from anyone else? We're called to a different standard.

At the same time, it is absolutely meet, right, and salutary that we should pray for those we know, those who "belong to us" in that broad congregational way that we belong to each other. There is absolutely nothing wrong with praying for those in our midst, who we can call by name, and bring their concerns before God.

And so, I will pray, "We pray for all who suffer in body, mind, or spirit, among us we pray for Joe, Maria, Juan, LaShell, Hannah, and Otto." Because these people are among us and we belong to one another, of course it is right to pray for them in their time of need. It is also language that is expansive enough to include, as we will at my church, friends of ours who are not members or may not even live locally, but are dear to us, who "belong" to us, who are therefore "among us," even at a distance.

It's a subtle shift from asking God to give them priority among the suffering of the world. but, yes, I can be that picky about the language of the gathered people of God. I think it matters. I can see how you may think I'm being overly semantic about this and honestly, this is not a hill I'm willing to die on. I'm not going to make demands about this.

But I do ask that our prayer writers consider this. I do think precision in language matters, particularly when it's the language allegedly of the an entire congregation. Do we pray especially for these people just because we know them? Or do we pray for those among us because we are given to each other to care for, including the spiritual care of praying? I believe how we consider these questions can shape how we think about ourselves and our mission to the world.

Epiphany 2016

"Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." [Matthew 2:2]

Matthew tells us about a star that appeared in the sky at the birth of Jesus. It caught the attention of magi from far off lands and they had to come see what it was about.

Setting aside how the religious and imperial powers were after Jesus right from the start (and that's nothing to sneeze at), here's what I think Matthew was a little big after in this story.

So, your Caesar had a star appear at his memorial games? Cute. Our Messiah had a star at his birth.

Your Caesar became a god after his death? Quaint. Our Messiah we declare divine from his conception.

You may think that comet at the games was a sign of Caesar's ascendancy to godhood, but we declare to you a God who descends in humility to live among us.

Much is made of Matthew paralleling Jesus with stories of the Hebrew patriarchs, but here I think he's also comparing this infant to a Roman warrior-statesman and not in a favorable fashion. The pagan magi may represent the eventual spreading of the gospel to gentile peoples, but the star is all about elevating a Jewish infant over a Roman hero.

This is the kind of God we're dealing with. The One that surprises from the lowly, the One that usurps the powers of this world with humility.

This is the star that shines brightest in the night sky. To mix gospel metaphors, this is the light that shines in darkness, and the darkness has never overcome it.

Blessed Epiphany to you. May you find the Epiphany light shining on you.

Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you. [Isaiah 60:1]

Queer Christmas Day Twelve

I said when I started blogging this season that I didn't have a plan. Coming to the last day, I find that is more true than ever.

Even as I typed that, I began to wonder if we like plans too much. We either try to control every step of our way or we turn loose completely of all control and trust "God's plan."

I suppose that's why, as I mentioned earlier in the season, that I like Mark's gospel the best. You get a sense that Jesus is up to something, knows what he's about to a certain extent, but also that things get caught up in all this trouble with the Roman and religious authorities and the next thing you know, he's sweating blood in a garden, asking for this "cup" to be taken from him. (Really, compare Mark's Jesus and John's Jesus on this. John's Jesus is so much more certain, and almost mocks the notion of avoiding his crucifixion. "This is why I came!" But I digress.)

I've jumped straight to lent, haven't I . . . .

Christmas. Day twelve. I have no twelve drummers drumming or even a single little drummer boy to offer today.

If you look over my blog, over the years that I've typed in here, you'll see, I think, that I basically have two main points that I make over and over.

One: You and every human you meet is the Image of God. You are a miracle, a sign of God's infinite variety of expression. No one is quite like you and it is the thing in you that is different that makes you holy. No matter what anyone says, if they're not telling you that you bear holiness in your being, they are lying to you.

Two: The Reign of God is at hand. It is right here. From Jesus' preaching, we don't need to think that in the Reign of God that there are no hungry people, no grieving people, no poor people, but that in the Reign of God, they will be fed, they will be comforted, they are inheritors of something greater than riches. What's more, there are peacemakers, there are merciful ones, there are even a few that are pure of heart. There are times when all of these are one person, maybe not all at once, but there are moments. This is when the Reign of God breaks in. It is as near as feeding a hungry person.

These are the miracles that the world needs right now. More than virgin births and midnight angel choirs and a star brighter than all the others in the night sky, we need these miracles of kindness, compassion, sharing.

This is as much of a plan as I have to offer: Be a part of Christ being born anew, everyday, into a world that needs Christ as much as ever.

Queer Christmas Day Eleven

Today, as far as the secular world is concerned, the holidays are over. I'm going back to my job at the university, many of you never even had a holiday break. I imagine downtown Houston will be devoid of Christmas decorations.

And maybe many people are glad it's all over. For many LGBT people, the holidays are particularly stressful. They don't bring cheer but tension-filled get-togethers of obligation. (Okay, not just LGBT people, but that's been my focus here this season.)

Possibly all LGBT people have had to endure a subtly (or not so much) demeaning interaction with family, old friends, workmates . . . maybe not this season (I've been lucky!) but in Christmases past and the potential exists in the future.

But it's no longer in the immediate future.

Today, shifting back into "ordinary time" (as the Roman Catholics would have it), we may be experiencing the regular stuff of life, but I would invite you to keep with you the knowledge that it's still Christmas. Even if no one else around you acknowledges this with you, perhaps a secret day of Christmas will help you recover from the stress of the days just past.

I would invite you to remember the Incarnation of Christ---and how this sanctifies and makes your own flesh holy.

I would invite you to do something, even the tiniest thing, for yourself as an eleventh day of Christmas gift. Something that will bring you some bit of delight. A piece of candy that you don't have often. A drink from the coffee shop that is more than you usually allow yourself. Put on your most comfortable shoes. You know what will help you celebrate Christmas. Let this little pleasure remind you of blessing of your physical self.

I would invite you find a moment to look yourself in the mirror at some point, remember that the Christmas story tells us that God took on flesh like yours, looked no more or less extraordinary than you do right now. Be in awe of this. Tell your reflection "Merry Christmas."

Silly things, perhaps, but something to make you smile, to help you redeem Christmas in these last days.

Do it today. Repeat tomorrow. Christmas is almost over. Don't let it pass without some bit of wonder and joy.

Queer Christmas Day Ten

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness on them light has shined. [Isaiah 9:2]


In Isaiah's poetic, prophetic vision, he sees Israel in Babylon as a people who are in perpetual night. Without moon or stars to guide, they have lived in deep darkness.

And Isaiah is bringing them hope. A light is shining on them. There is promise for a new day.

For Isaiah, it is the promise of a new child born, a child who will grow into a mantle of authority, not a warrior king but a Prince of Peace. 

Centuries later, Christians began to understand Jesus is the one Isaiah was talking about. Whatever Isaiah was speaking of in his time (and he most certainly was speaking of something in his time---prophetic speech is almost always addressing a crisis immediately at hand), the new sect known as Christianity heard Isaiah's words and agreed, "That's our Jesus."

It is a hope and promise that has been grasped at in many times, places, circumstances. There are so many situations in the world right now, today, wherein we could reasonably read Isaiah's words and reply, "How long, oh God? How long?"

We Christians, at our best, understand that the Prince of Peace that we celebrate in these Twelve Days, is not a monarch of imposed dominion. This is not the Pax Romana, held in place by military might and public crucifixions. This is the Prince of Peace that passes all understanding. It is the peace of one who can hang on a cross and pray for the one holding the hammer that nailed you there.

I'm going to confess that I'm about to say something that in certain contexts trivializes the deep suffering of people in bloody war zones, but it also addresses the anguish that LGBT people who live in otherwise normal, quiet situations---with the exception that if they were out to family or church or workplace, their life could be turned upside down.

It is not a place full of light. It is not a situation of peace.

And yet, just very recently, I counseled a young person who wanted desperately to stop hiding and come out to their parents, to live in that dark place for a while longer. They had expressed uncertainty about how their parents would receive the news, that the parents were not generally supportive of LGBT concerns. I counseled to remain closeted until they knew they could afford their own living arrangements, that they could support themselves, because parents do still put kids on the street for coming out and street life can be another kind of darkness to endure.

I hope I counseled well. I hope the time this young person still needs to remain closeted will not do permanent damage to heart, soul, or mind. I hope that when they do come out, the parents will prove the worry was for nothing. Understanding the freedom I felt when I came out---and all the ways that freedom has cost me---I also understand that freedom sometimes must be delayed. I hope this young person gets that and is able to take action that keeps her well.

LGBT Christians, I think, hear the words of Isaiah in some particular ways. We receive the promise and the hope that shows up unexpectedly---and is still in the future. Many of us have lived in great darkness. Many of us have known a great light.

Let us remember, Beloved Children, that we will walk out of darkness, we will experience the light. Whatever internal warring we might experience, let us remember it will not always be that way.

Let us remember we have the promised Prince of Peace.

Queer Christmas Day Nine

Oh come all ye faithful . . . 

Queer Christians have to vet this invitation. Queer Christians have to poke around websites, search for key words plus pastor's names. Queer Christians know that "all ye faithful" may not include them. It's useful and important to know what church leadership has said about LGBT issues before setting foot inside a church's door.

Spiritual abuse is real and queer Christians are intimately familiar with it.

So, if you are a gay, lesbian, bi, or trans Christian, this may or may not mean you are active in a religious community. I've been very lucky, I've always lived places, since coming out, where I could have Christian fellowship despite being gay. This is a luxury not afforded to all queer Christians (or to all Christians, really, but I'm speaking in the context of the the United States).

And yet, you can do web searches for queer Christians of every stripe and find organizations, however small, that seek to draw together and give solace to LGBT Christians of that stripe. Orthodox to Evangelical and every kind in between, there is a Christian group for your type of Christian.

At least on the internet.

Isn't it a wonder that there are any queer Christians at all? We may take comfort and strength when Paul says at the end of the eighth chapter of Romans, "I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." But can we take that to the local congregation and be fully welcomed in full knowledge of our queerness?

I am curious about what assurances get LGBT Christians through their doubts when we hear from the dominant voices of religion how wicked we are.

In my novella, Cary and John, the story of David and Jonathan plays a part in one man's coming to terms with the fact that he loves another man. For me, personally, it never worked fully but I've heard enough references from other gay Christian men that I know David and Jonathan give some queer Christians peace and it made sense in my novella to use it that way there.

For me, it was Acts, chapter 10, the follow-up to Peter's vision of "unclean food." It wasn't the vision that convinced me, but the way the Spirit prompted Peter to apply it. When Peter met a Gentile who exhibited great faith in Christ, Peter applied the words he heard in the vision: "‘What God has made clean, you must not call profane." It was not circumcision or any other purification act that made the Gentile clean, it was his faith.

I'm sure there are other stories that have given queer Christians assurance and peace. I've also seen queer Christians who have, to an extent, understood that their queerness is innate and unchangeable but still have periods of crushing doubt about their relationship with God.

In the end, the voice calling "come all ye faithful" is not the voice of any church authority, though when it is, it's nice to hear. Ultimately, we need to hear the Holy Spirit calling us, "joyful and triumphant." I can't predict when or how the Spirit will get through to you. I can pray this blog post might do it, or at least erode, just a little bit, the wall that keeps you from hearing.

Beloved child of God, queer or not, in a congregation or not, your faith has made you clean. Do not believe any other voice.

O come all ye faithful means YOU.

Queer Christmas Day Eight The Holy Name of Jesus

 After eight days had passed, it was time to circumcise the child; and he was called Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb. [Luke 2:21]

According to Jewish custom, the eighth day after birth, a male child was to be circumcised and officially named. We commemorate this event (recorded in exactly one verse in the Bible) on January 1, the eighth day of Christmas. It was once more commonly known as the Feast of the Circumcision, but as society became more squeamish about thinking too much about the penis of the Incarnate God, the Feast of the Holy Name of Jesus has become more accepted. (I'm speculating, really, but how far off from the facts can I be?)

It's an uncomfortable day, really, and not only because it sort of forces us into thinking about the Holy Penis or the ridiculous numbers of relics purporting to be the Holy Prepuce (Foreskin). In the most positive take, it makes Jesus fully human, genitals and all. At it's least positive, it can be a focal point for patriarchy, emphasizing not only the humanity of Jesus, but his maleness.

It's impossible to know what the writer of Luke's gospel had in mind by including this incident in the story of Jesus. (As a seminary professor was fond of saying, "We can't ask him. He's dead.") Most scholars focus on the fulfillment of Jewish Law---Jesus came from a good Jewish family who kept all the customs of their faith and nation. This in turn is sometimes turned into an example of how Jesus "fulfilled the law" to make room for the new covenant (a stretch in my estimation).

(An aside---a bit of trivia I remember from seminary days, which I can't back up with the exact word, is that the Hebrew word we translate as "covenant" has at its root the verb "to cut." As circumcision of males was the main sign of belonging to the Hebrew covenant with God, another professor pithily observed that to be Jewish was to literally "cut a deal" with God.)

To focus on the name of Jesus more than on the penis of Jesus, here's some quick facts:

Jesus is, via a couple of language translations, the same as Joshua and was a rather common name for boys. So much for the uniqueness of the name. The spin I would put on this, however, is the way that God comes into the ordinary. In all the angel decrees about what to name this child (whichever Gospel you read, whichever person is ordered to name the child Jesus), we're not given some exotic or even eccentric name. It's the sort of name any good Jewish family might choose for their son. I find this in keeping with the general "lowliness" of Jesus and his family. They did not come from wealthy or otherwise privileged people.

In fact, in the following verses, when Jesus is presented as the firstborn male and so dedicated to God, Luke tells us that they offered a sacrifice of "a pair of turtle-doves or two young pigeons." If we look at the Leviticus source for this custom, we find in the 12th chapter, "When the days of her purification are completed, whether for a son or for a daughter, she shall bring to the priest at the entrance of the tent of meeting a lamb in its first year for a burnt offering, and a pigeon or a turtledove for a sin offering. He shall offer it before the Lord, and make atonement on her behalf; then she shall be clean from her flow of blood. This is the law for her who bears a child, male or female. If she cannot afford a sheep, she shall take two turtledoves or two pigeons . . . " Luke tells us they provided the offering of poor people, who could not afford the sheep. 

So Jesus comes from people of limited means, given a name that he could have found on any keychain rack in any gas station in Galilee.

And this is the name that the second chapter of Philippians says is the name above all names.

I believe we queer Christians have to pay special attention to these reversals in the Gospel stories. This was a family of nobodies. They were not rich in the Jewish community and certainly had no status in the Roman Empire, but they were chosen by God to usher in a new covenant, one that did not require actual cutting but which promised good things to those deemed unworthy by society.

Obviously, this is not only a message to the LGBT person cast out by family and society, but it is important that we find ourselves in it. Looking back on previous posts in this "queer Christmas" series, it's important to find the intersections of all these messages. If we look to the exaltation of Jesus in Philippians chapter 2, lets not miss the first part of that story, the humility of Jesus and the "emptying out" of all the power he could claim in order to serve humanity. In modern parlance, check your privilege, whatever it is, as you claim your place in God's Reign, but do claim your place.

Claim your full humanity, your full fleshiness, as Jesus is shown to have via stories of his circumcision and, eventually, crucifixion. Claim your full inclusion in the community of saints, however ordinary your name or class.

Ultimately, today isn't only about the penis of Jesus or his name. It's about the ordinariness of our lives and the way we are welcomed into the Reign of God.