Why the Church?: Proclaiming the Gospel in Stories (Acts 8 BLOGFORCE)

The Church

To Spread the Good News

A future hope realized now

All made one in Christ

Sitting down to write this I was tempted to stop with the haiku. I felt it was obvious that the church’s purpose is to spread the Good News of Christ. As the Psalmist writes “Sing the Lord and bless his name; proclaim the good news of his salvation from day to day” (96:2). It appeared to be a simple answer to simple question. 

A simple answer, yes, but with complex application. For the Gospel, the Good News, isn’t something that fits neatly into a tweet, a picture or even a story. It is the totality of human history, the ageless chronicles of a people reaching for God and a God who dared to reach back. The Gospel is the serenity of the Solemn High Mass and the exhilaration of campers singing one more round of “Rise & Shine” to greet the morning. It is the bustle of an inner-city soup kitchen, and the shouts at the protest. It is our laughter at ourselves and bitter tears as we share a pain that is beyond speaking. It is songs of joy and loving silence. It is a story of mistakes and forgiveness, revelation and mystery. It reaches across all times and all places, and speaks to all people in all languages.

All of those experiences are the briefest summary of my own experiences with the Gospel as expressed in the Church. Just one person’s limited understanding, out of how many millions throughout the centuries!

Yet perhaps things aren’t as complicated as they appear. As a librarian and bard, I see the church’s purpose to proclaim the Gospel, the Eternal Story, as being linked with the preservation and dissemination of all stories.  

This understanding of diversity led me to the collect for Proper 16 which speaks to the intersection of unity and power. There are two main ways of looking at unity. The first is an eradication of individuality. We are united because we all look, act, and think alike. It is this understanding that repeatedly leads us to destroy knowledge, to slaughter peoples and obliterate cultures. 

The second is the total opposite, a belief that unity is the coming together and sharing of our fullest selves. It is in the second definition that we understand that unity is impossible if any one person, story or culture is lost for they were already a part of us. In this view of unity, we as a whole suffer the pain of any part, even if the part denounces our very existence.

Far too often we as the church take the first approach to unity. We limit ourselves the language of the culture we know, speaking a jargon of salvation and evil. In so doing we miss the fact that our words now have a double meaning, to such an extent that even the name of Jesus can bring forth trauma in the very people we seek the help. We often ignore this, shouting our story, again and again. Determined that if we speak the same thing a little louder, our secular power will be secure.

Yet if we consider the church as the curator of stories which carry the Gospel; we are drawn toward the second approach, a unity that embraces the fullness of creation. It is from this place that we understand that we are absolutely called to tell our story. Yet if that is the end, the Gospel dies with us. 

The thing about stories is that the good ones bring forth more stories. When we speak of the places the Gospel touches our lives, those around us will inevitably find themselves drawn to the Holy moments in their own story. If we are living into our purpose, they should feel safe enough to bring this part of the Gospel to the table. It is only then, as we listen, that the Gospel truly begins to be heard. For none of us is capable of grasping or sharing the Good News on our own. The Gospel we’ve been given is that which brings about the fulfillment of all things and by its nature summons all things to fullness. To miss anything, to ignore any story is to deny the Gospel we've been given.

Our purpose as Christians, as the Church and as the body of Christ is to proclaim the Gospel. We begin by speaking, just as the Word was once spoken to us. Then we need to listen, and let the chorus of voices of all those around us speak their stories. We must listen to the loving wisdom of the founders of our traditions, as we also listen to those in our own day who associate the traditional Christian terminology with fear and pain. We are to listen without judgment, just as we would seek to be heard.  We listen because in Christ we have all been made one.

Their stories, from all times and places, are our story. Are we ready to hear it? To speak it?

Episcopal Haiku: Fun with the Acts8 BLOGFORCE

I decided to have some fun with word games and participate in the Acts 8 BLOGFORCE Haiku challenge for the Episcopal Church. Here are some of the ones I came up with.

Proper 14

Living by your will

Spirit that leads us to right

Grant to us O Lord

Transfiguration

Transfiguration

God’s glory revealed in man

Start the journey home

Baptism

Love flows in water

The tombs cold chill held me fast

Risen to new life

Eucharist

Earthly bread and wine

Sacramental mystery

Divine communion

Reconciliation

Weight holding me back

Grace spoken in forgiveness

Freed to live new life

Worship

Candles and incense

Silence lingers after chant

Share a holy space

Episcopal Service Corps/Lawrence House Service Corps

A year of service

Living in community

Growth in daily prayer

Finding Home

Seeking a welcome

Loneliness my oldest friend

St. Andrew’s now home

Queer Blood: A Bittersweet Victory

A long-time blood donor in college, today was the first time in two years that I was able to give blood again. The long delay was due to the “men who have sex with men” policy and my own insecurity with my gender. Early in my transition, while my focus was exclusively a binary push to be seen as the man I am, I changed my Red Cross gender marker to male.  Living into my truth as a man I tried to convince myself that I could accept not being a blood donor. I struggled with this for two years as I desperately tried to ignore the ache in my heart as I passed by each new blood drive notice.

You see giving blood was one of the few ways that I could find value in myself during my darkest times. There was a time my internal world consisted of insults, cycles of worthlessness and despair. By giving blood I was able to share the one thing I couldn’t yet appreciate, life. Transitioning from female to male freed me to fully embrace my own life, even as I needed to cease sharing it with others. Giving up blood donation was a perpetually painful reminder that even as I had finally learned to live, my life was considered "inherently risky".

Part of my decision to donate blood today was inspired by the quote: “When I accept myself, I am freed from the burden of needing you to accept me”.  

It occurred to me that as I’ve now embraced my femininity with the same vigor as I channeled my masculinity in my first transition, I should be able to tolerate being listed as a female if that is what it takes to give blood. A few phone calls later, and my plan was put into action. To donate I had to repeated clarify what was listed on my birth certificate, regularly correct pronouns and explicitly describe my surgical history.

My appreciation of myself held and as I made it through the hurdles. Freeing me to celebrate my victory. Even as I clicked “I am female” on the troublesome question I knew in my heart that I am also a man. I a man who’s had sex with a man AND is eligible to give blood. Even as the system cannot see my queerness, cannot treasure the nuance, I can delight in it.

The bitterness of today was the reminder that in many places I am not permitted to exist. I was told to choose a bubble, to watch silently as the structures of policy erase the gift of gender. Yet today was also a victory because I reclaimed a sacred space; a space where life flows from one human to another. I entered the maw of a broken machine and walked away unscathed. I chose the fullness of life, and found a renewed appreciation for my journey.  Even with the bitterness, this is worth celebrating.

A Lenten Introduction

Since childhood I’ve found the traditional emotions hard to follow. Like Pavlov’s dogs I eventually learned that the expression with the corners of the mouth pulled upwards was a “smile” and connected to “happiness”. What I lacked was an ability to comprehend the sensations that others instinctively associated with those symbols.

In the Episcopal Church I’ve found a different language. One of the great gifts of that tongue is the liturgical calendar, a collection of ancient cycles which shape the Christian life day by day, week by week, season by season. Within these cycles are specific mindsets which have been shaped by a myriad of witnesses as they wrestled with the rhythms and dissonances of the human experience.

As a Christian I move with the seasons. I celebrate the resurrection of Easter, the expectation of Advent, and the revelations of Epiphany with the rest of my church family. At this time, even while fully embracing the other seasons, I also share a persistent abiding in Lent.  

My life is currently shaped by the gift of a Lenten wandering that has lasted for years. Daily I am challenged to lay aside the distractions in my life, to surrender the garbage so that I might appreciate the treasure I’ve neglected. In this wandering I have:

·         Left my home and moved across the country to a place where by not belonging I learned how to belong.

·         Forgone wealth and security to discover the treasure of hospitality and dependence on others.

·         Given up my clothes and found myself freed to live into an expression that delights in my difference, and frees me to rejoice in the differences of others.

·         Been forced to surrender my constant stream of employment as a workaholic. In accepting this (albeit reluctantly) I’ve found contentment which rejoices in daily gifts without worrying about uncontrollable forces.

By embracing this Lenten period in my life I’ve found a way to express the fluidity of my journey, opening myself to possibilities that I could not otherwise have imagined. In the desert I have been freed from a cultural narrative which links happiness with success to find joy in the journey.  By responding to a counter-cultural call to simplicity, I have discovered an inexhaustible complexity which gives meaning to even the smallest action and though.

While I anticipate this desert wandering is far from over, it is time for one major change. Up to this point my reflections have been entrusted to a select few who I trusted could be gentle with my ailing spirit; wounded as I was from discrimination, shame and internalized oppression. Yet in this past year I have grown into a new confidence. Centered in the love of Christ I can no longer refrain from sharing the song which inspires my bare feet to dance. Through stillness and movement I have come to respond in awe to the God who in the greatness of their wisdom has given us freedom to grow and change in love. Will you join me?