A Good Investment

While our Pastor, Kathleen, was attending the Georgia Annual Conference to help celebrate her mother’s retirement from ministry with the United Methodist Church, I had the great honor, once again, to preach. 

 

My dad is a financial planner, so I was taught from a young age the importance of “investing wisely.” When I was 13 I got my first job as a babysitter, watching twin 3 years and their 2 year old brother. At the end of the evening, when their dad drove me home, he paid me $15. My first pay check.

The next morning in the car, on our way to church, my parents asked what I was planning to do with my new found wealth. Now, I don’t remember my exact answer, or their exact response – probably something along the lines of “CANDY!….um, NO!” – but what I do remember is that from that day forward, I’ve always thought about money. How to earn it, how to spend it, how to invest it.

By the time I was 16, I had a hopping babysitting business. I also had a goal. A really big goal. Africa. My church was going on a 3 week mission trip to Uganda, and I so desperately wanted to go. I begged and begged my parents to let me go. My mother was, obviously, dead set against it. My dad came up what he thought was a fool proof plan. “If you can raise the money, you can go.” My mother seemed relieved. How on earth would a 16 year old girl raise $3,000 in one year?!

Never, ever underestimate the determination of a teenage girl trying to prove her parents wrong.

I babysat every holiday, weekend and early school night my parents would allow. I saved my lunch money for months, eating nothing but Doritos and ham sandwiches for half a school year. I participated in fundraiser after fundraiser. I was determined.

And on July 28, 1998, I boarded a plane headed for Entebbe, Uganda. My poor mother. I’m not sure she has yet forgiven my father.

The lessons my father taught me so many years ago have stuck with me. Invest what you have, and invest it well. You can’t go wrong.

Now, this isn’t a sermon about money. I’ll save that for our finanical team during the next Stewardship Campaign.

What I want to talk about is investing yourself – your time, your talents, your gifts and your service – as the Methodist creed says – and investing it well.

In the story from John that Roland read for us this morning, Jesus has found himself with quite the crowd of groupies – as one is want to do when you’re performing miracles, healing the sick and just generally loving people well. Jesus asked his disciples where they can buy bread to feed the people. I can imagine that this was a “wink, wink” moment for Jesus, because he knew what was coming next. Philip balks, “But that would take a fortune that we don’t have!” Then Andrew found a young boy with 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish – probably his family’s take-out order for dinner that night. The boy wanted to help, but Andrew looked at the meager proportions and said, “What good is that?”

“What good is that?” Has anyone ever said that to you? Have you ever said that to yourself? My guess would be that at some point in your life, every one in this room could say yes. At some point, we’ve all felt that we’ve nothing of value to give, that we just weren’t good enough.

When I finally made it to Uganda, when we arrived after more than 30 hours of traveling at the orphanage we would live and serve at for the next weeks weeks, I had a moment of panic. What was I doing here? What on earth did I have to give to these children? Our team had spent months preparing – learning about local cultural traditions, memorizing a few key phrases in Swahili, praying for our journey and time there, and learning how to make balloon animals – because what child doesn’t love balloon animals? But that first morning, standing in front of over 200 children at their morning assembly, I thought, “I don’t have what it takes. What can I do that can make a difference?”

Every day at Mary’s Place we start our morning with a Community meeting. Its a time for us to start our day together – to talk about what’s going on in our world, and in our own lives. One popular topic is dismantling the lies we’ve been told or have told ourselves. “I’m not good enough. I’m not worth it. No one needs what I have to give – so why bother? I’m just not worthy.” What’s really interesting to me is those words cross all economic, racial, gender and age levels.

Last year Mary’s Place took a small group to Kings High School to speak at an all-girls chapel. The ladies from Mary’s Place shared their deepest fears – of not being good enough, of having nothing of worth to give. And the students echoed back those same fears. And I think what everyone walked away with that day, students and grown-ups alike, was the realization that these phrases can haunt anyone.

But there is hope. Because quite frankly, the idea that what you have to give isn’t enough, is a lie.

When Andrew asked Jesus, “But what good is that?” Jesus said, “Tell everyone to sit down.” And they all ate until they were full. Jesus didn’t chastize them or give a 5 point argument about why they were wrong. He simply took what the young boy had to offer, and made it enough.

People of Trinity – there is your hope. No matter what you bring to the table, if you bring it with the expectation of being used for good, it will be enough!

We have volunteers that contact us at Mary’s Place all the time, with a desire to help. But so often we hear the phrase, “but I don’t really have anything to give.” And our response is always, “if you can sit and have a cup of coffee and converstation with someone, you have given the greatest gift of all – the gift of your time and presence.”

Sometimes we look at problems in our world like homelessness, poverty, hunger, climate change, sex trafficking, and we think, “the problem is just too big, and I am just too small. What I will do will never make enough difference to affect real change.” We are like Philip in the story from John, “but it would take a small fortune to feed all these people.” Often, the greatest issues in our world don’t need money to fix them. They need people. Homelessness won’t go away just by builidng enough homes. I saw a statstic from Amnesty International the other day that read, “There are five times as many vacant homes in America than there are homeless people.” So while affordable housing is one piece piece of the solution, it is obviously not the only piece. Homelessness doesn’t end just when you give someone a key. Homelessness is often about dealing with the root issues that lead a person there to begin with, the broken relationships, the grief, the trauma, the shame. And you can’t do that alone. Its about relationship and about community. I know for many of the women and families that have come through Mary’s Place, getting their housing was about the hard work they put in. Keeping their home was about the hard work of the community supporting one another.

Romans 12 reminds us that we each have our own gifts and we ought to use them well! “For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually, we are members of one another. We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us: prophecy, in proportion to faith; ministry, in ministering; the teacher, in teaching; the exhorter, in exhortation; the giver, in generosity; the leader, in diligence; the compassionate, in cheerfulness.”

Making a difference in your community, in your church, in your job or in your family, isn’t about having the most money, the greatest singing voice, the best schedule or all the right answers. It is about showing up, and giving of what you have. Do what you do, and do it well. Can you sing? Then join the choir! Can you cook? Then make a meal for Julia’s Place! Can you listen? Then visit with others and help remind them that they are loved! Can you understand the latest tax code? Then by God, help someone else! What can you do? Because whatever it is that you can do, I guarentee you that someone can use that gift.

We need to stop spending time comparing ourselves to others. Because no one is asking you to be the best someone else. When we do that, we are only setting ourselves up for failure. We weren’t made to be someone else, and we aren’t being asked to give more than we have. Romans 12 doesn’t tell us, “If you want to be a preacher, then be sure to be the best singer you can!” or “In order to be a leader, you have to be a teacher first.” And in the story from John today, Jesus didn’t tell his disciples to become a good chef so as to feed the crowd. Throughout Scripture, we are are told, God will use what you have, and make it enough. To use a sort of morbid example, look at the story of David and Goliath. David used what he had, and did what he could, and saved a nation. Now, I’m not advocating going out and slaying a giant, just because you can. But what I am saying is, don’t doubt your worth. Don’t doubt your ability. Have faith in yourself, and in your Creator, who can most certainly use any gift you bring.

There is a lady at Mary’s Place that I’ll call “Red” that was praying after one of our daily groups. Her prayer has stuck with me for years, and I believe is a good word for all of us today. Her prayer goes a little something like this:

“Lord, I invest all of me, knowing that IS a good investment.”

Whatever your gifts, whatever your talents, use them well. Invest your time in things that matter to your family and your community – coaching Little League, volunteering at the Soup Kitchen, working in the garden. Invest your words wisely – seasoned with grace and love and compassion. Invest your resources with the expectation that it IS enough. YOU are enough. And when you find yourself about to complain, “But helping would cost a fortune!” Remember the words of Jesus, “Sit down.” Then watch what happens with what you can give.

Jesus didn’t ask for something the young boy couldn’t give. He asked only for what he was able to give – five loaves, two fish. Red didn’t pray to invest more than she could offer – all she had was herself. Give of yourself, and rest in the truth that you are a good investment.

 

Amen.

 

Sermon

this morning I had the incredible privilege to preach at my home church here in Seattle.  I preached on two verses – Micah 6:8 and Luke 18:1-8.  Thought I’d share my sermon here too. 

 

When you are given the random opportunity to speak, it kind of means that you get to talk about whatever you want to talk about. So today, we’re going to talk about about the awesomeness of Florida State football! Oh I kid. No, today I want to share with you two of my favorite verses in the Bible. They were read earlier, and you may not have picked up on how they relate. So stayed tuned – its how I plan to keep you awake.

In Micah 6:8 we have the answer to the question, “But really, what does God want from me?” Does God want a brand new baby cow? Or, how about 10,000 rivers of olive oil? No? Okay, how about my first born child. Surely, that’s what God wants from me. I mean, let’s face it, first born children truly are the best! No. All God wants from us is to do what is right, to love mercy, and to walk humbly. Sounds easy, right? Should be. But let’s think a little about what those three things really mean.

To do what is right: Other translations read, “to do justice.” But what is the work of justice? Doing what is right, doing Justice, means not just preaching, not just clicking like on a Facebook post, or handing out literature on a subject. It means going day after day after day after day. Yes, after day, and doing the tough stuff, even when – no, especially when, others are ignoring you or thwarting your efforts. Its not giving up, not standing down, in the face of fear or power, when you know something is right.

Its like we see with the widow in Luke 18.

“One day Jesus told his disciples a story to show that they should always pray and never give up. ² “There was a judge in a certain city,” he said, “who neither feared God nor cared about people. ³ A widow of that city came to him repeatedly, saying, ‘Give me justice in this dispute with my enemy.’ ⁴ The judge ignored her for a while, but finally he said to himself, ‘I don’t fear God or care about people, ⁵ but this woman is driving me crazy. I’m going to see that she gets justice, because she is wearing me out with her constant requests!’”

⁶ Then the Lord said, “Learn a lesson from this unjust judge. ⁷ Even he rendered a just decision in the end. So don’t you think God will surely give justice to his chosen people who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? ⁸ I tell you, he will grant justice to them quickly! But when the Son of Man returns, how many will he find on the earth who have faith?”

Did you hear that? “THIS WOMAN IS DRIVING ME CRAZY!!” And so the unjust judge granted her justice.

This is what my favorite theologian and teacher David Wildman calls “The Ministry of Erosion.” You just keep pushing on, working each day for justice, for what is right. You don’t give up. Even when the struggle for justice seems long, and daunting, and nearly impossible. You don’t give up. You keep showing up, each and every day. So that when the powers that be turn us away, or shut us down yet again, we just keep going. We want to get to the point that someone yells out, “TRINITY UMC IS DRIVING ME CRAZY!! So I will give them justice.” Amen??

And what does our day to day justice look like? It looks like feeding the hungry through our soup kitchen and the sandwich makers. It looks like opening doors, playing games and staying overnight at Julia’s Place so families don’t have to sleep outside. Did you know that over 20 families have been able to stay together as they were work more sustainable housing, because of your efforts at Julia’s Place? Amazing! When coal trains are coming, and Monsanto is conniving – Justice at Trinity looks like Rain Gardens, increased recycling efforts and community forums. When our LGBTQ sisters and brothers have been shunned, Justice at Trinity looks like a spot in the Pride march so our church can be a visible sign of acceptance, and making this a safe and open place of worship.

Trinity – you are doing the work of Justice. One small step at a time.

So we do these things. But why? Because the Lord asks us to LOVE MERCY.

Throughout the Old Testament and particularly the Psalms, when you find mention of mercy it is times that God has shown up, has listened, or has not forgotten those in need. Is that our act of mercy? Loving by listening? Are we loving by showing up?

I’m currently reading this great book that I would highly recommend, called Torn by Justin Lee. The book is Justin’s story of coming out as gay in an very conservative and evangelical community. He chronicles his struggles with his identity and the church’s reaction to his coming out. There was a chapter where he shared about how, each time he would come out to someone, they would immediately start trying to “convert” or “change” him – recommending him to ex-gay therapies and Bible studies. But what Justin needed, was someone to listen to him. He talked about a lunch with a well-meaning campus minister who spent the whole lunch using Bible verses to try to convince Justin “to change his ways.” But that minister left the table knowing nothing about Justin except for the fact that he was gay. People weren’t taking the time to listen to his pain in his own realization that he was gay, and his struggle in reconciling the fact that was gay and a Christian. Justin compares this time in his life with the story of Job – whose world has crashed in on him. While Job loses his family, his land and his health, his friends sit around and say, “Well, what did you do to piss of God?”

“The more Job insists that he is trusting God, the more they argue that that can’t be the case, because God wouldn’t let a righteous man suffer the way he’s suffering. Clearly, they say, God must be punishing him for something, and its only his own arrogance that’s keeping him from acknowledging it. He insists that they’re wrong, and they just use that as more evidence against him. But the story serves as important reminder to all of us that sometimes, when people are hurting, they don’t need our advice and theological theorizing as much as they need our understanding and comfort.”

Sometimes, God needs us just to be that friend that sits in the ashes and just doesn’t say a thing. Sometimes, that’s the act of mercy.

That leaves us with the third edict from Micah. To walk humbly with our God. What does it mean to be humble? It means: To not think too highly of one’s self.

Because you know what? We make mistakes. We don’t always get it right. We aren’t perfect. But that’s not what God is asking for of us. God only asks that this journey be made with a little humility. I think we can do that best when we realize that we don’t have to do it alone. Because nothing keeps us humble like the opinions of others, right?

Trinity – keep doing the work of Justice. Keep loving with mercy. But don’t do these things alone!

Join a committee. (how very Methodist of me, right? Kathleen paid me to say that) Attend a rally. Make a meal. Dig in the rain garden. Participate at Julia’s Place. SHOW UP. Because when we do these things, these little, day to day things, and when we do them TOGETHER we become stronger. At the risk of sounding cheesy and contrite, we make our world just a little bit better, each and every day.

Amen.

Benediction:

 

“The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians: who acknowledge Jesus with their lips, walk out the door, and deny Him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable.” – Brennan Manning

So walk out of these doors and DO Justice, LOVE Mercy, and most of all – walk HUMBLY with your God. Amen.

Remembering a Veteran

In 2003 I wrote a piece about my grandmother’s brother and gave it to her for Christmas.  The next Christmas she gave me his purple heart.  When she passed away a few years ago, I inherited the rest of his medals and his dog tags.  On this Veterans day, I wanted to share a little bit about the young man I never met who still touches my heart.

There is a picture that I keep beside my bed. In a clear plastic frame is the Army photo of my great-uncle Henry. The picture is faded from black and white and has browned. Every night before I go to bed I see a young man, sitting so straight and regal in uniform, staring back at me with clean, dark eyes. In that frame, a man I never knew, a man who was gone long before I even existed, sits on my bedside table.

I don’t claim to know much about him, though I want to. I want to know the stories about Henry Jones that can make my grandmother laugh with the voices of days gone by and cry over memories of a brother who is no longer here.

I know Brother, as my grandmother fondly refers to him, had red hair. That is probably the first thing I ever learned about my great-uncle. My grandmother wanted so much for that trait to carry on to one of her children, or grandchildren, and she now holds hope that one of her great grandchildren will one day have red hair just like Brother’s.

Most of the memories our family has of Brother come from the pictures that sat on the table in my grandmother’s den. In one picture, Brother is crouched down, one hand on a football, poised as if ready for a touchdown instead of a snapshot. He was a mighty fine football player, in high school, in Jr. College and at the University of Alabama. That is, before he went off to war. That is the second picture our family recalls of Brother. The same picture that sits on the table by my bed. A young man, proudly showing off his newly acquired Army uniform. His eyes thoughtful and innocent; not knowing, though surely not completely unaware, of what his future in the armed forces meant.

These are the pictures we bring to mind when we hear stories of Brother. What we fail to see is the Brother as Mammo remembers him. We only know of him through a couple of black and white photos in pretty frames and familiar stories. But she brings to mind the red-headed boy who teased her when they were younger; as the protective younger brother when she started dating; as the strong fellow who could hold her on his shoulders so she couple jump off into the lake; as the one she played on the farm with; the cousin in the family with the big heart and free spirit. She remembers more about him than just football and the War. She remembers how he fell in love with a girl and married her, keeping it a secret from his own mother so he could continue playing football. She remembers working together in their father’s store. She remembers summers playing outside and evenings spent gathered as a family.

She has other pictures; pictures of a boy in his Sunday best, hair slicked down, sitting between his sister and neighbor, holding a dark lab puppy. There is the picture of Brother with his wife, both smiling, standing side by side, love and secrets hidden in their eyes. There are other pictures that tell of their childhood together. Faded pictures that attempt to capture the memories that will never leave her. Only she can remember his smile now, only she can remember his voice and the strong arms that hugged his older sister.

There is one final picture. A young man is kneeling down behind a white cross, one of many, this one bearing Brother’s name, Henry E. Jones Jr., and his military ID number. This young man has place tulips on this simple grave, his eyes sorrowfully downcast. You can read the pain and loss on his face, the same pain and loss I see so often on my grandmother’s face when she remembers her brother. The expression on his face is nothing resembling the photo of his friend, my grandmother’s brother, my great-uncle – whose face was pure, young, playful, thoughtful, and loved.

There is a man whose picture sits beside my bed. Every night I see those eyes, that face, and know that there is so much more to him than the uniform and formal picture try to capture. Thank you Mammo for sharing Brother with us. Thank you for helping us to know the special man in the picture.

The End of an Era

So tonight I learned that the restaurant that I worked at while in seminary, Tony Roma’s, closed down.  While I’m not surprised, I still find myself a little shocked.  After all, amidst all of its dysfunction (and oh there was plenty!), it was a place that holds a lot of memories for me.  I’d love to share a few:

*First, and most importantly, it is where I met my husband.  But funny story that many of you may not know.  When I first met Kris, I didn’t like him all that much!  He got on my last nerve, and seemed to enjoy doing so!  But he eventually wore me down (or as Kris likes to say, I started to realize that being an asshole was a part of his manly charm! ha!), and a friendship slowly developed into dating and well…..

*I remember the day I interviewed.  My friend Matt’s roommate Rudy had mentioned that they were hiring where he worked.  For some odd reason when I moved to KY I was determined to work in a restaurant – I thought it would be fun! ha!  So, I go in to interview with Dena, and she asked how I heard about the job.  I said that Rudy had recommended it to me, since Matt had told me Rudy would get a $50 bonus for bringing in new people.  At that moment, Rudy happened to walk by, hearing his name.  He looked at me, totally confused…we had never even met and there I was, using his name in vain!  Rudy, and his wife Carrie, went on to become good friends of mine – both in the restaurant and at seminary.  I am so grateful for their listening ears all those years!

<—-out with Carrie, Kyle, Ricco and Rudy

*Whenever a beloved server decided to move on, their last night was marked by getting “trashed” – literally.  BBQ sauce, whipped cream, food scraps, soda – nothing was off limits.  When my friend Renee left, she was doused in liquid smoke!  That is a smell that just doesn’t go away after 10 showers!  Another time, I can’t remember who was leaving, but I do remember two of the guys dressing up in full on chicken suits, running in after we had closed, “kidnapping” the guy and taking him outside and throwing him in the lake!  We had odd ways of showing our love.

<— the night I got “trashed”

*Roma’s produced many dear friendships.  Good girlfriends: Stacy – who could always make me laugh; Renee who pulled me out of my social shell and helped me just have fun; Tabby – who always listened and gave the best advice – especially on those loooong Monday mornings!  Good guy friends: Ricco – wo loved to cook for me (or anyone really) and always reminded me that faith was paramount to all; and Kyle – who always beat me at the crossword, and helped open my mind to think in different ways.

<—Stacy and Tabby

*And I can’t go any further without mentioning the one friend who meant so much to me during my four years at Roma’s.  He started off as shy host, and turned in to one of my best friends.  Nate was my roommate for over three years.  Two dogs, two houses, and countless late night conversations on everything from faith to love to traveling solidified our friendship.  We bonded over Friends – and watch the entire series in succession.  We took road trips, teased each other over bad dates, and comforted one another’s broken hearts.  He was the first person to know that Kris and I were dating (literally heard it with a glass pressed up against the wall!) and he stood at our wedding and read a poem.  If my time at Roma’s did nothing else for me – it brought my best friend.

<—- Nate and I at Kyle’s wedding

*On a lighter note – there were of course parties.  Oh what fun we had!  We loved to celebrate pretty much anything.  Birthdays, holidays, a Kentucky win (basketball of course – the football team never won while I lived there!) My favorite party has to be the surprise going away party.  Stacy and Tabby did such a good job acting as a cover.  They took me to Renee and Kristen’s house where I was surprised by about 50 of my closest Roma’s friends – all who had come to bid me adieu before I left for Hong Kong.  It was one of the sweetest, most generous things ever – and I loved every minute of that party!

<— about half the crew at my going away party!

*Its hard to talk about Roma’s without talking about Trumps.  I think it is pretty safe to say that at least 2 staff members from Roma’s were there every night.  I know I accounted for that at least two or three times a week.  It was the place to go after work, especially on the weekends, to have a drink, shoot a game of pool, and just relax and get to know your co-workers better.  The great bartenders there became friends as well – they knew us all by name and drink!  Every time we were there, at some point I’d look over, and there would be Nate, digging through my purse, hunting for quarters for the next game of pool.

*The radio that played in the restaurant was controlled by the managers.  Justin loved Christmas music.  Now, if you know me at all, you know my biggest pet peeve is Christmas music before Thanksgiving.  Grates my nerves.  Justin was the opposite!  He would play Christmas music the week of Halloween – I think just to piss people off! haha!

*On a practical level – working as a server and a bartender helped me through seminary.  Working full time and going to school full-time, then part time, I was able to leave with a Masters degree and no student loans or school debt!  I account that to the many, many, many hours spent in that building!

*Working there also taught me skills that I continue to carry with me in my work now: patience in stressful and busy situations; multi-tasking; being graceful even to those who don’t know how to return the favor; and every shifts ends best with a drink and a bowl of potato soup!

I am incredibly grateful for my four years at Roma’s.  The people and my experiences there shaped me into who I am today.  I accredit a lot to that place.  So raise a glass to a time gone by – to Tony Roma’s.

Post

I have a post about Grace, Hope and Love.  And I want to hit the “publish” button, but need to wait.  But I need something need to pop up on my home page.  So, here to you.  Building anticipation for Grace.  For Hope.  And for Love.

Remembering Sally

Today was a sad day.

Just shy of three years ago, a woman walked through the doors of Mary’s Place looking for a coat.   She was quiet, overwhelmed, scared, but determined to get back on her feet.  After a nasty fall on an icy sidewalk, Sally found herself hospitalized, facing multiple procedures that drained her savings, her 401K, and eventually left her homeless.  Released from the hospital to the streets, she took an even harder fall, into a deep cycle of depression.   But within months of walking through our doors, Sally started to rebuild her strength, her self-esteem and her life.

She moved into a community house – 10 roommates, but a door of her own.  She started volunteering at Mary’s Place as a way to give back.   Sally started by working in Bon Mary’s, our incentive store.  Every Tuesday and Thursday she was there, setting up and running the store, helping women choose the perfect scarf or just the right perfume to spend their hard earned points on.  On non-shopping days, Sally could be found organizing the storage room, or creating incredibly beautiful gift baskets to be sold on the store.  I mean, seriously beautiful baskets.  People often commented that she should work for a boutique, the way she thoughtfully and artfully put items together was a true skill.

Slowly, Sally started teaching other women how to run and organize the store.  As she did so, she sifted into a role as Donations Queen.  She would stand at the door and greet every donor with the same genuine smile.   She kept the donations organized – a never ending task! – and made sure that everyone who came to us – a donor or a receiver, felt loved and appreciated.

A true early bird, Sally spent the early morning hours on Craigslist, trying to be the first to claim items she knew women would need as they moved into housing.  She would share the stories of the women of Mary’s Place, as well as her own, to these Craigslist sellers, and by the time the item was dropped off, they were our new best friends.  Many of our current donors and volunteers are here soley because of the relationship that Sally started with a simple email.

When Marty and I grieved at the number of women and children flooding our doors, homeless, we wanted to reach out to the faith community to start an emergency family shelter.  While we spun our big plans, Sally diligently worked the phones every day until we had 17 congregations who had stepped up to host a rotating family shelter.  One of those churches broke off from the rotating model to host a year round two-parent family shelter!   When she would call a church and get a “no” she would simply smile and say, “Well, they said no this time.  But I’ll eventually get them to say yes!  How could they not?”  Because of Sally’s compassion and passion, we have been able to house over 30 families in 9 months.

Always incredibly cheerful, Sally had a smile for everyone she met.  Her honesty was endearing and refreshing.  And her drive to change the perception of homeless women was unending.  Sally spoke every chance she could get about her own story – breaking down preconceived notions and myths about homelessness.  She welcomed in the lost, the lonely and the hurting, and connected them to resources, community and hope.

Two weeks ago, sitting in her chair, in her own apartment, Sally passed away after two months of battling various illnesses.  The shock that has followed her passing has brought many stories to surface.  Today, at her memorial, in a room packed with people who loved her dearly, women got up, one after another, to share the story of how Sally touched their lives.  Each person lit a candle in her honor, and together, we bid her body farewell.

But we know, we are confidant, that Sally has not left us.  Her legacy to Mary’s Place can be found in the mother’s relief when she finds a shelter bed tonight; and in the woman’s dignity when she shops for makeup on Bon Mary’s; and in all of those who look at homelessness with a little more compassion.

I thank you Sally, for the gifts you have given.  You will be greatly missed.

Full Circle

A couple of weeks ago I sat in a beautiful sanctuary, full of the kind of people most churches would never expect.  Listening to a woman many in certain segments of the faith community have shunned.  A woman that, as a teenager, I adored.  Jennifer Knapp was a Dove-award winning Christian artist, full of soul and spunk.  I had all of her cds and went to more than a couple of her concerts.  In fact, my very first “real” blog was titled after a lyric from one of her songs.  I was also a different person back then.  Conservative.  Quite conservative actually.  Evangelical.  I listened almost solely to Christian music, had Christian friends, went to Christian camps, read Christian books.  I was immersed.

And let me be clear.  I’m not bemoaning my upbringing.  I’m not looking at my past in shame.  I am proud of the way I grew up, of the faith community and church family that surrounded me and helped mold me into the woman I am today.  But in the same hand, that doesn’t mean it was not without its faults.

My faith journey has been one of many twists and turns.  One that has led me to a place where I now call myself a Liberal (living in a liberal city, working a liberal job, with liberal friends, reading liberal books).  And again, I am proud of the journey.  I am grateful for the community that has surrounded and shaped me.  For those in college, seminary and in my Young Adult Missionary community who have challenged me and encouraged me to keep asking questions.  Because of them, I am who I am today.  Again, an experience not without it faults.

So there I sat, in the sanctuary of a United Methodist church, listening to Jennifer Knapp tell her story about coming out as a lesbian after years as Christian music artist.  She shared how difficult that was not only because of her profession, but also because of her own faith.   For those who follow(ed) the Christian music industry, you may remember that at what seemed like the height of her career, Jennifer basically disappeared.  Moved to Australia, stopped singing, and wasn’t heard from (professionally) for years.  Her return to the States, and the music industry, came with a confirmation that she was in fact a lesbian, but that didn’t change the fact that she was also still a Christian.  Churches, pastors and other big names in Christianity immediately dismissed her, shunned her, called her a sinner and told others that to listen to her was to follow in her sin.  But sitting there that night, listening to her story, her honesty, I was moved.

“My faith has taught me that I am a person of value.”  Jennifer shared.  And I thought to myself, Is that not what my faith, my church family, taught me as well? Is that not exactly what we hope every person who walks through any church doors feels – that they are a person of value.?  If so, then why are we preaching anything else?  Jennifer’s faith did a great job in teaching her that she is loved and valued by God.  So that even in her struggle with her sexual orientation, she shared, she knew that acceptance by God was a non-negotiable.

“The biggest question I have for myself is, ‘How do I become the kind of person who loves others well?’ My tradition of faith taught me how to love.  I just forgot to check their gender first.”  That got a few chuckles.  “What happens when we assume someone else’s experience is wrong because it is not like ours?”   Those words sent me back to my teen and very early adult years.  A time when I would have been a person of faith who assumed that because she was different, because my “tradition” told me she was wrong, she was.

It has taken a lot of personal work to get to a place where I no longer believe that.  I now find myself in a place that I can confidently say God loves all.  Period.  No “so long as” or “if they confess.”  Created fearfully and wonderfully made, we are created to love God, and love one another.  And if we can’t do that, and if we can’t do that well, then what is the point really? Love is not pointing out what we perceive to be another’s faults.  Love is accepting the person as they are, recognizing their value and worth, and helping them to realize that in themselves as well.

So sitting and listening to Jennifer Knapp’s story, her journey that mirrored my own, even in its biggest differences, encouraged me to continue to love others, no matter the cost.   If I am going to follow a God that welcomes all, then I too have to welcome all.  I too have to believe in the full inclusion of all members in the Body of Christ.  And more than just believe in it, I feel am being called to help work for that holy goal.

At the end of Jennifer’s talk that night, she issued a challenge to everyone, “Break the silence if you have the luxury.  Ask yourself, ‘What does my silence say?’  This can be your opportunity to break the silence. I spent two years missing music and being afraid that someone would ask me (about my sexual orientation).  But wanting to avoid that conversation is disingenuous.  My calling in my life is to tell my story and share my music.  Can you break the silence?”   She was speaking to those in the Christian faith who, by not saying anything at all on the issue of homosexuality in the Church, chose a side whether they realize it or not.

So here I am.  Coming out.  I am coming out as an ally to my LGBTQ sisters and brothers.  I say here and now that no longer will I remain silent when others hurl words of hate and bigotry.  I will stand up whenever and wherever possible to let all know that they are welcome in the Church and into the arms of God.  I will work to build bridges of reconciliation, healing and justice for all those on the fringes.  And I will start by not being silent.