Queer Holiness and Turning Points

If you don't know, I have ADHD. Because of this, my brain tends to go in a million different directions on the smallest of nudges. So, I'll hear something which takes me to A which reminds me of B which takes me to C, then D, etc. Often, I'll end up in a completely different area then I started and trying to trace my thought process for other people ends up being confusing and convoluted. It makes sense to me because my brain sees connections, but often I can't exactly explain the connection and it doesn't make sense to other people without a fair amount of explanation.

I start with that because I had an experience like that at Vespers at my church last night (December 4th) and then again this morning based on a post and question from Brian Murphy on Queer Theology's Sanctuary Collective. As is my brain's wont, it wandered through a bunch of thoughts. Brian asked people to respond and I realized that I had more to say than could really be said in a reply online, hence I am here. So, let's get started.

Last night at Vespers, we read the story of the Annunciation. After we read the story, Pastor Kari read to us from Into the Mess by Debie Thomas and then asked us to reflect on what we heard. What struck me was something Thomas wrote about how the angel greeted Mary and how the greeting "Highly favored one" was a new identity that Mary was given before she did anything or agreed to be the Theotokos ("God-bearer" or "Mother of God"). So, naturally, the first place my mind went was to queer or trans people who change their names to better reflect their full identity.  Also, in the Bible, there are many, many times where people were given new names to reflect changing circumstances or something different. A few examples: Abram and Sarai to Abraham and Sarah, Jacob to Israel, Simon to Peter, and Saul to Paul. Growing up, I was always told that "highly favored one" was merely a descriptor of Mary, not an identity. The difference is that an identity tells us something central or foundational about you, it describes who you are at your core. A descriptor, on the other hand, is more relational because it describes how someone else sees you or thinks about you. So, it is not about who you are, but rather about how someone else sees you. Looked at in this light, "highly favored one" takes on a different and deeper meaning. It is describing Mary as being "highly favored" at her core and as a basic part of who she is rather than merely seen as favored by God. I will also admit that my view of this is colored by the fact that I grew up Catholic and I still have a deep devotion to Mary. I see her as someone who we should be striving to emulate. She served and loved God and also strove to instill a sense of justice in Jesus (see the Magnificat and then listen to the Queer Theology podcast episode about the Magnificat).

This also led me down a path that ultimately made me reflect on people who come out of conservative Christian traditions and end up deconstructing and reconstructing their faith or just leaving their faith altogether. More often than not, we are given an image of God as vindictive and obsessed with justice and these qualities tend to overshadow the Love and Mercy of God. We are given this image of God as the stern Father or Judge who holds all of our sins and faults against us. Sure, they might say that God Loves us or something, but the overwhelming message is one of terror and punishment. After all, there's a reason why Hell and being damned are so popular and widely discussed in those circles. One major turning point in my life was when I experienced God's Love and realized that it is unconditional and irrevocable. It is something I can build my life and beliefs on. If God's Love is unconditional and not dependent on what we do (in a similar way that Mary's identity as "highly favored" was not dependent on what she did), then we can rest assured in Their Love and know that we are always Loved no matter what other humans may say.

And this, coupled with what someone else said about Mary's faith and bravery (see what I mean about my mind going down different paths quickly?) brought to mind that question of whether or not Mary went through any sort of process before she accepted what the angel said to her. Did she just hear it and trust (which is what I was taught growing up) or did she have to take some time to actually consider and ponder what she had been told? In Luke 2:19, we are told that, after the shepherds visited Jesus in the manager because the angels appeared to them, "Mary committed these things to memory and considered them carefully." (Common English Bible) or "But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart." (NIV) I wonder if she "pondered" or "considered...carefully" what the angel said to her when he announced that Mary would bear a son.

This moment changed Mary's life in ways that I don't think any of us could possibly imagine. And that leads me to what Brian asked us to consider this morning (December 5th). His post talked about how the Magi "were so moved by their encounter with Jesus, so transformed by what they experienced that they could not help but to return another way. They were forever changed." He then asked us, "What are some moments that have been transformation for you in your gender, sexuality, relationship, and faith journeys? Take a moment to remember them and to name them as holy, because I really do believe they are." And it's that question which connected to what we were talking about at Vespers. Like Mary's life and the lives of the Magi were changed by their encounters with the Divine, I think about the things that changed my life in profound and meaningful ways. And to be honest, if I listed them all, I would be writing for some time. So, I want to really just look at a few of them. I am not going to talk about the experience I had when I was a senior in college because I've talked about it several times, so I want to look at three other things that changed my life.

The first thing that really changed me was may acceptance and acknowledgement that I was queer in 2002. I had known for years that I liked guys, but I had always resisted it or told myself that it was a phase that I would get over. When I accepted that I was queer, it started a shift within me of how I perceived myself and the world. I no longer looked at queerness as something outside of me or something that I had to struggle to suppress, but as something that was a part of who I was. There was a process there. First, I went through a phase where I said it was only one facet of who I was and not that important. Ultimately, I moved to seeing it as something that was fundamental to me, and it grew in importance. As I moved through the stages to this destination, I was also changing my political and religious beliefs. And I don't think that would have happened without my accepting my queerness.

The second thing was leaving the Catholic Church. As I accepted my queerness more and more, I realized that, for me, being Catholic was fundamentally incompatible with being queer. I know there are people who can be both, but I couldn't do it myself. So, I left the Catholic Church in 2010 and didn't go to church for about 5 years (summer of 2015). That summer, I realized that I was missing the sense of community that I got from church, so I decided to look for a liturgical church that was also accepting of queer people. On November 8, 2015, I entered the doors of Christ the Servant Lutheran Church in Gaithersburg, MD after having visited (and rejecting) a few other churches. And that is where I made my religious home. I've become very involved in the church and, through the support of people there and the support of other friends, realized that I am non-binary which led to my changing my pronouns to match my newly realized sense of self. Please note that I did not take on a new identity at this time, rather I realized a part of me I hadn't been able to name before. I did ultimately take on a new name, but that was in 2019 after I realized that my birth name wasn't fitting who I now knew I was. If I hadn't left the Catholic Church, none of this would have happened.

The third thing was learning about Queer Theology from my friend Hugo. He made a post on Instagram about seeing an object and naming what it made you think of and that led me to Brian and Fr. Shay. These two men have had a massive impact on my life and my faith, so much so that I call them my spiritual daddies. They formed a community that has provided me, and others, with the support we need to fully acknowledge who we are and to explore our relationship to the Divine. Before I heard about QT, I would say that most of my beliefs were pretty mainline Christianity. I hadn't really thought about things as much as I could have, and I didn't really challenge some of the beliefs I grew up with. Brian and Fr. Shay helped provide a framework that allowed me to feel grounded while also allowing me to question and explore. They also give you space and a community where questioning is not only allowed but also welcomed. Sanctuary Collective is a space where I have gone with questions or dilemmas. And it is thanks to Sanctuary Collective that I realized that I am biromantic and that realization gave me the support I needed to ultimately realize that I am greysexual and biaesthetic.

Brian's note about how these experiences are holy brought me to some things my friend Billie Hoard has said. If you don't know who Billie is, let me gush about her for a bit. She is a trans woman, a teacher, a father, and she writes about theology, C.S. Lewis, and queerness on social media (look for @billieiswriting on Instagram and Threads and she is also on Bluesky, but I don't remember the link). Every day (or almost every day), she posts about how queerness and transness are holy and how they enrich our lives. I couldn't help but hear her as I was reading Brian's words. Queerness and transness are a part of the fabric of the universe that God created. Our lives and experiences show how expansive the world is and how free everyone can be if we try and loosen the shackles that the world has placed on us. Queerness and transness defy the binaries that the world wants to impose on us and allows us to see possibility and hope.

If you've made it this far, thank you. I hope it was moderately well organized and easily understandable. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask. I'll try my best to answer.

Love you all.

Sermon- 11/17/2024

[This is the exact text of the sermon. So there are a few things that make more sense when heard live or when you go to my church, but I am leaving it this way rather than editing it more. - MV]

Before I start saying what I want to say, I wanted to give a thank you and acknowledgement to my friend, mentor, and one of my spiritual daddies, Brian G. Murphy who, along with Fr. Shannon T L Kearns, is the co-host and co-creator of the Queer Theology podcast. About a week and a half ago, he recorded some thoughts about how we can survive and thrive in this time. Much of the framing and structure underlying my thoughts today comes from what he said. I will make sure a link to that episode goes out in the Communique tomorrow.

Also, as we discovered last week, there is a lot of fear about the future right now. So I want to thank Pastor Kari and Linda for giving us the opportunity to name our fears. I found it to be powerful and when I named my fears and heard others naming theirs, it made the fears seem a little smaller. They are still there, don’t get me wrong, but naming them seemed to help a little. And when I talked about the opportunity on social media, someone said it was “Pastoring done right!”

Let's get started now.

“Let us keep firm in the hope we profess, because the One who made the promise is faithful. Let us always think of how we can stimulate each other to love and good works. Don’t stay away from meetings of the community, as some do, but encourage one another; and do this all the more as you see the Day drawing near.” - Hebrews 10:23-24

Hello everyone. Welcome and well come to Christ the Servant today, the twenty-sixth Sunday after Pentecost, or (using the liturgical calendar I grew up with) the thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time. Next week, we will be celebrating the Reign of Christ Sunday, which is the last Sunday of the liturgical year. After that, we will be celebrating Advent, that time when we prepare for the coming of the Christ child. It is meant to be a time of anticipation and of hope for the future.

I say all that because what I want to talk about this week is hope and taking some time shortly before Advent, a season about hope, to talk about it seems eminently appropriate. Hope, which can seem so small and fragile, actually is probably one of the toughest things around. And I’m not talking about pie-in-the-sky hope or wishful thinking. I am talking about something grounded, something that is almost tangible. Much of my basic theological understanding comes from the teachings of the Catholic Church. So, my thoughts about hope are tied to teachings from the Catholic Catechism, which says, "There are three theological virtues: faith, hope, and charity.” These “are the foundation of Christian moral activity; they animate it and give it its special character. They inform and give life to all the moral virtues. They are infused by God into the souls of the faithful to make them capable of acting as his children…They are the pledge of the presence and action of the Holy Spirit in the faculties of the human being." (CCC 1813)

After Christ died, the disciples hid away, huddled together, because they were afraid. In a post on Instagram posted shortly after the election, Reverend Jes Kast talked about how the time when the disciples were hidden away was a liminal time, a time after fear manifested itself but before hope sprung forth. We can find this liminalness repeating itself throughout history.

Think of Africans who were captured and brought across the Atlantic Ocean and sold as slaves in the Americas.

Think of the women who were working to bring equality to our nation for more than 100 years.

Think of the queer people of the 1950s and 60s who had to use silent signals to let people know who they were because if their identity became public, they might be fired and blacklisted.

And there are more examples I could give. But in each of these examples, the group being marginalized resisted and gave each other hope. The enslaved Africans sang spirituals about freedom and liberation and God’s Love. Women marched in the face of threats and violence. Queer people, led by drag queens and trans women, rioted at the Stonewall Inn in New York City and marched in Pride protests.

Hope isn’t only found in these bigger actions. Hope can also be found in small acts of kindness and love. Since the election, I have seen trans people on social media sharing tips with each other about how to survive and thrive. People who are looking to change their names are given help so fast, it almost makes your head spin. People who are dismayed at the results are sharing their pain and fears and supporting each other.

As Harvey Milk, a queer activist and member of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors who was assassinated in 1978, said, “You have to give them hope. Hope for a better world, hope for a better tomorrow, hope for a better place to come to if the pressures at home are too great. Hope that all will be all right. Without hope, not only are the gays, but the blacks, the seniors, the handicapped, the ‘us-es.’ The ‘us-es’ will give up.” Forming communities allows us to share hope with each other and also allows us to work together for our collective liberation. As Audre Lorde; a writer, professor, philosopher, intersectional feminist, poet and civil rights activist; said, “Without community, there is no liberation.” And listen to these pearls of wisdom from Bayard Rustin, a gay man who was a civil rights activist and an advisor to Martin Luther King, Jr. who led King towards wholly embracing non-violence: “The proof that one truly believes is in action.” and “You have to join every other movement for the freedom of people.”

Coming back to what the Catholic Church says, Hope is “the theological virtue by which we desire the kingdom of heaven and eternal life as our happiness, placing our trust in Christ’s promises and relying not on our own strength, but on the help of the grace of the Holy Spirit.” (CCC 1817) While I can appreciate this definition, I think it is too narrow. It is looking at the kingdom of heaven as something that is at some point in the future. But I believe that we are creating the Kindom here on this earth right now. All of our actions and words are working to create God’s Kindom in the here and now. And Hope is how we continue to work to establish this Kindom. Hope is what gives us the vision we need to imagine a new future and work for it. Hope is what picks us up and keeps us moving on, even when we might be weary and burdened. Hope is what gives us that spark to keep fighting for justice even in the face of odds that seem overwhelming.

In another sermon a few years ago, I talked about how God’s Love is a foundation for what I believe and something I can cling to at all times. Hope is also a part of that foundation. I believe that all humans have a better nature, a nature that is aligned with the Love of God. Even in the face of everything, I believe this. I believe that humans are, at their core, good and loving people who were created in the image and likeness of God. They don’t always act like it, but that core is there. Having this belief gives me hope that someday we might bend the moral arc of the universe toward justice.

This Wednesday is Trans Day of Remembrance, when we remember the members of the trans community who have been killed in the last year. Every year, the community gathers across the globe and names people who have been lost. And sometimes, we cannot name them, because there was one final act of violence in which the person was deadnamed or misgendered in death. But we carry on, knowing that those who came before us have helped pave the way to make things just a little bit better than they were, giving us that hope even when things are looking bleaker and bleaker.

There’s an influencer who goes by the name mattxiv who wrote this: “For the next four years, we will hold each other. We will love one another more than they could ever hate us. We will celebrate every win, no matter how small. We will throw parties when our trans friends announce their new names. Every Sunday is Pride Month. We will drive each other to abortion appointments. We will be each other’s shoulders to cry on. We will get dressed up just to order in, wear glitter and lashes just because, take road trips to places Fox News does not reach. We will find specks of joy in every little crevice life offers it. We, and only we, will carry each other through to the other side.”

Please don’t think I am saying this is going to be easy, because it ain’t gonna be. It’s gonna be hard work, it’s gonna be tiring, it’s gonna be exhausting. And we may or may not see the results we want to see. As the saying goes, “It’s a marathon, not a sprint.” We need to be in this for the long haul, no matter who is in power. And if we don’t have hope, I don’t know if we can continue on. So, I want to shamelessly steal from Pastor Kari and Linda and ask you to share with us all: What gives you Hope to continue on in the struggle for justice?

[Pause for a few minutes to allow people to share]

Thank you everyone for sharing the things that give you hope. As we come to the end of what I have to say, I want to quote a part of a reflection Brian G. Murphy wrote for Holy Saturday and resent to Sanctuary Collective for this time:

“I do not know what tomorrow holds but I do know this: I am so glad to be huddled in the upper room with you right now, scared and supporting each other. And I cannot wait to burst out tomorrow full of unstoppable hope that love wins and that even the world’s most powerful empire cannot defeat us.”

This also reminds me of another quote from Audre Lorde: "You need to reach down and touch the thing that’s boiling inside of you and make it somehow useful." We need to use whatever is inside of us, whatever provides us with that spark of inspiration and energy to work with others to provide hope for other people. As Harvey Milk said: “Hope will never be silent.” Neither can we be silent if we are looking to work for our collective liberation and looking to provide hope to inspire others to do the work as well.

Hope is eternal. Hope is a gift that has been given to us by God so that we can imagine a new world and work to make that new world real. Hope gives us strength and courage and conviction. Hope helps to energize us and keep us going. So please my siblings, find hope and hold onto it. Seize it in your hands and never let it go. It may be tempting to give up, but we need to continue on so that we can create a new and better world: the Kindom of God.

Let us pray:

Divine Parent, we thank you for the Gift of Hope. Please help each of us to find that Hope You have placed within us and use it to help bring Your Kindom into being. May we be a support for each other as we continue in the holy work of bringing Your Justice into the world. Help us to not only feel Hope, but to know it and make it a part of ourselves. These times are hard, but we have Hope that things can get better.

In Your Holy Name. Amen.

And let the church say, AMEN!

RIC Sermon 2024

Here is the sermon I gave today at CTS' RIC Sunday service. Well, more or less, I made a few edits here and there, but this is basically it.

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"The Spirit of Exalted YHWH is upon me for YHWH has anointed me: God has sent me to bring good news to those who are poor; to heal broken hearts; to proclaim release to those held captive and liberation to those in prison; to announce a year of favor from YHWH, and the day of God’s vindication; to comfort all who mourn, to provide for those who grieve in Zion–to give them a wreath of flowers instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of tears, a cloak of praise instead of despair. They will be known as trees of integrity, planted by YHWH to display God’s glory.” - Isaiah 61:1-3, Inclusive Bible

Welcome and well-come to the 2024 Reconciling in Christ service at Christ the Servant in Gaithersburg, MD.

I’m going to be frank. The world sucks right now. Just look around and you’ll know exactly what I am talking about. Since we last celebrated RIC Sunday, Israel and Hamas have gone to war, laws have been passed to control the bodies of pregnant and trans people, the world has experienced an increasing number of natural disasters made worse by climate change, and oh so much more. If you stopped there, it would be almost impossible to continue to exist in the world.

But we can’t stop there. When I was looking at the readings to prepare this sermon, I noticed a thread I don’t think I had noticed before. That thread is a glimpse of hope into the future. A way of looking at the world and imagining a new world, a better world than the one we live in. A world where two Mexican-American boys can meet in 1987 El Paso, Texas, fall in love, and discover the mysteries of the universe together in the palms of each other’s hands. A world where a fat girl in 1962 Baltimore can become a part of a big local show and work against racism and fatphobia. A world where a non-binary person in North Carolina can be kicked out of their parents’ house on a freezing cold night and eventually discover friendship, love, acceptance, and how to trust people once again thanks to the boy next door. A world where a Mormon missionary from Pocatello, Idaho can meet a party boy in Los Angeles and discover the importance of love and a chosen family. A world where a girl from San Francisco can discover she is a princess of a small European country and eventually become its queen. A world where a girl from Edgewater, Indiana works with her principal and a group of Broadway actors to bring about an inclusive prom for kids from all over the state after she is excluded from her school’s prom while helping her closeted girlfriend come out to her mom. A world where a surfer who has given up on his life and his art has his hope rekindled thanks to the love of another surfer who happens to be his best friend’s brother. And I can keep going. Each of these scenarios I mentioned is a one (or two) sentence summary of a movie or book that asks us to imagine a new world and gives us hope that such a world is in fact possible.

When talking with a member of CTS last summer, I was told that they did not have the faith in humans that I do. I think I should clarify something, I am something of a cynical person, I am a queer, non-binary person who survived a cult when I was growing up and then managed to avoid a second when I was in college. I am not starry eyed when it comes to how awful humans can be. But, I have also seen how truly wonderful humans can be and how we can dream and yearn for a better world. I have seen people inspire others with their visions of a better world and bring forth movements who work in unison to make the world better even if the odds against them seem to be insurmountable.

In today’s first reading, we see the expansiveness and capaciousness of God’s Love and Mercy. Isaiah tells us how God says that “my house will be called a house of prayer for all peoples!” Not just one particular group of people, but all people. Likewise, in Acts, Peter has a dream where God is telling him that nothing, *NOTHING*, God makes is unclean or profane. How everything God makes is worthy of love and respect. Both readings also ask us to look to a future where ideas like “unclean” or “profane” are no longer applied to God’s creation. They ask us to imagine a time when made up human ideas no longer divide us and we work to make us all truly one. Such a world is not easy to imagine and it is even harder to implement. But I believe that such a world is possible and is well worth imagining.

And then there is the gospel. In the gospel reading today, much of how the world thinks is turned on its head. We are told to treat all people, even those we consider our enemies, with love and compassion and respect. The gospel does not command us to submit meekly to abuse, as so many people want to interpret it. Rather it asks us to look at the world with a new set of eyes. A set of eyes that see all people as people, that sees them as worthy of simple human dignity and respect. Not because we always agree with them, but because they are human beings and all human beings are deserving of love and respect simply because they are human beings. I’m not saying this is easy to do cause it’s not. But it is a part of creating a new world for all people, regardless of any differences that we may have.

This new world, this world where people can simply exist, a world where people can love who they love, and where all are truly free from oppression, hatred, and violence, seems to be a distant dream, a nirvana, something unattainable, or (forgive the pun) a world away. I’m not going to pretend that this new world is as easy as a finger snap or a wink or a blink. But we have briefly seen glimpses of this possible future over the last several years. The new world was never fully realized, but it started to peek through before hatred began to push back. And that gives me hope. That is a Hope that I cling to. It is one of two constants in my life that allows me to continue to exist in and move through the world (the other being God’s Love). If I did not have this Hope, I am not sure what I would do.

The prelude that Polly and Florence played today is the song “Hands” by Jewel. The first verse and chorus goes: “If I could tell the world just one thing it would be that we're all ok. And not to worry 'cause worry is wasteful and useless in times like these. I won't be made useless, won't be idle with despair, will gather myself around my faith for light does the darkness most fear. My hands are small, I know, but they're not yours, they are my own. But they're not yours, they are my own, and I am never broken.” Here too, we are urged to not give up and not give into despair or hopelessness. We are urged to see our hands, however small they may be, as our own hands and as tools we can use for liberatory purposes and to build a new world. 

I want to close by reading an excerpt from the book Aristotle and Dante Dive Into the Waters of the World that does a good job talking about this new world, albeit from a different perspective. In this scene, Aristotle and Dante are holding hands looking at a picture called The Raft of the Medusa and Aristotle is remembering the lessons he has learned and the people he has met who have influenced his life:

“I felt him take my hand in his, a hand that held all the secrets of the universe, a hand I would never let go until I memorized each and every line of his palm. I looked up at the painting, the survivors of a shipwreck, fighting the waves of a storm, struggling to get back to the shore, where life was waiting for them. I knew why I loved that painting. I was on that raft. Dante was on that raft. My mother and Dante’s mom and dad and Cassandra and Susie and Gina and Danny and Julio and Mr. Blocker. And Mrs. Livermore and Mrs. Alvidrez, they were on that raft too. And those who had died too soon—my dad and my aunt Ophelia and Cassandra’s brother, and Emma’s son and Rico, and Camila, all the lost people that the world had thrown away—they were there with us on that raft, and their dreams and desires too. And if the raft collapsed, we would dive into the waters of that stormy sea—and swim our way to shore. We had to make it to shore for Sophocles and all the newly arrived citizens of the world. We had learned that we were all connected, and we were stronger than any storm, and we would make it back to the shores of America—and when we arrived, we would throw out the old maps that took us to violent places filled with hate, and the new roads we mapped would take all of us to places and cities we’d never dreamed of. We were the cartographers of the new America. We would map out a new nation. Yes, we were stronger than the storm. We wanted so much to live. We would make it to the shore with or without this ragged, broken raft. We were in this world, and we were going to fight to stay in it. Because it was ours. And one day the word “exile” would be no more. I didn’t care what was going to happen to Dante and me in the future. What we had was that moment, and right then, I didn’t want or need anything else. I thought of everything we had been through and all the things we had taught each other—and how we could never unlearn those lessons because they were the lessons of the heart, the heart learning to understand that strange and familiar and intimate and inscrutable word “love.” Dante turned away from the painting and faced me. I turned to face him, too. I’d missed his smile. Such a simple thing, a smile. “Kiss me,” I said. “No,” he said, “you kiss me.” And so I kissed him. I didn’t ever want to stop kissing him. But we couldn’t kiss forever. “You know,” I whispered, “I was going to ask you to marry me. But they won’t let us do that. So I thought maybe it was best just to skip the wedding and get straight to the honeymoon.” “Have you decided where you’d take me?” “Yes,” I said. “I thought I’d take you to Paris. We’ll spend our time writing our names on the map of the city of love.””

Familia de mi corazon, may we always work for justice and to make a better world. May we never tire of bringing a new world into being and may we always know we can find rest in the Love and Mercy of God. May we find our inspiration to work for this new world, this better world, this loving world, so that we can continue on. And may we never lose faith that this new world is possible, even if the odds do not seem to be in our favor.

And let the church say,

 “AMEN!”