Love Leads

Dark Testament Verse 8

Hope is a crushed stalk
Between clenched fingers
Hope is a bird’s wing
Broken by a stone.
Hope is a word in a tuneless ditty —
A word whispered with the wind,
A dream of forty acres and a mule,
A cabin of one’s own and a moment to rest,
A name and place for one’s children
And children’s children at last . . .
Hope is a song in a weary throat.
Give me a song of hope
And a world where I can sing it.
Give me a song of faith
And a people to believe in it.
Give me a song of kindliness
And a country where I can live it.
Give me a song of hope and love
And a brown girl’s heart to hear it.

Pauli Murray by Kelly Latimore

Opening words – a poem by Kathleen Bonnano:

You can try to strangle light:
use your hands and think
you’ve found the throat of it,
but you haven’t.
You could use a rope or a garrote
or a telephone cord,
but the light, amorphous, implacable,
will make a fool of you in the end.

You could make it your mission
to shut it out forever,
to crouch in the dark,
the blinds pulled tight—

still, in the morning,
a gleaming little ray will betray you, poking
its optimistic finger
through a corner of the blind,
and then more light,
clever, nervy, impossible,
spilling out from the crevices
warming the shade.

This is the stubborn sun,
choosing to rise,
like it did yesterday,
like it will tomorrow.
You have nothing to do with it.
The sun makes its own history;
light has its way.

A reading from Enfleshed:

What of a God who doesn’t believe in having it all figured out?
In this idea of a single, tidy story.
But instead a God who changes with the day
and never stops asking you to learn how to love every messy, complicated, seemingly contradictory side of Themselves?
What of a God who has been so many different things. And ways.
One that has always been transitioning.
Taking on new flesh.
Shedding what hurts.
Claiming what frees.
Finding a fresh way to show us the Divine that we’ve been.
And everything that’s kept us from living it out.
What of a God that is tired of being misgendered?
Isn’t interested in excuses any longer.
Gets a little rude about it.
Doesn’t mind asking you to try a bit harder.
To let go of everything you’re more loyal to than love.
What of a God who spends more time dancing with strangers at 2am,
cooking a hot meal for the turned-away youth,
or protesting to abolish prisons and police
then attending any worship on Sunday mornings?
What of a God whose inclusion is radical?
One who calls from the fringes
to the halls of power
and the places of comfort
saying, “come! There’s a place for you here.
If you just lay down your life,
your power,
your privilege.
You can be family.
You will become alive again.”
What of a God who is queer?
As in politically.
As in strange and proud of it.
As in about the things of love and bodies and liberation and solidarity.
What of a God who is found in the flesh of everyone you have denied a kind word,
a safe bathroom,
a marriage ceremony,
a friendly smile,
access to health care,
a home,
a faith community,
asylum,
or even just respect?
Listen for this God today,
you will find them in selfies and stories,
coming out again and again
in testimonies and silence,
in gracious invitation,
and fierce and radical calls to a different kind of living,
a different kind of family,
a different kind of love.
Bring your offerings.
Lend your hands.
Whisper your prayers
And wail your laments
before all that is Holy and Gay.
Holy and Lesbian.
Holy and Queer.
Holy and Bi.
Holy and Trans.
Holy and Asexual.
Holy and Intersex.
Holy and Still Finding Their Way.