2015 Pride Sermon, New York
Listen: http://stmarksbowery.org/welcome/sermons/pride-2015/
Good Morning and Happy Pride! As I’m guessing you already know, Friday morning the Supreme Court legalized same sex marriage in all the fifty states. On Friday I was also writing this sermon, and I started to think about all of you who have been married at St. Mark’s since 2011. We have been so lucky to celebrate your weddings here at St. Marks.
Scanning through my rainbow filled Facebook feed Friday I saw many of your wedding pictures, your thoughts, and reflections. I was especially touched by my colleague Rev. Ashley Harness’ reflections. She affirmed that throughout time, regardless of their legality, our love, commitments, and families have ALWAYS been real and sacred.
My hope is that this protection under the law will expand to provide protections to other aspects of our lives. Protections urgently needed by those fearing detention, deportation, assault and discrimination.
Today crowds of people will line the street to celebrate the lives of transgender, lesbian, bisexual, gay, queer, same gender loving, non-gender conforming people. And like the crowds gathering along 5th Ave. today, our Gospel text begin with a crowd at the sea.
The Gospel of Mark tells us that Jesus is crossing over the sea by boat. A dense crowd has gathered at the shore awaiting his arrival. Jesus, no doubt tired after a long morning, leaves the boat to join the crowd. Jesus begins to walk following a man who’s daughter is sick, and the dense crowd follows after. Each person has shown up for their own reasons. Perhaps they heard stories about Jesus and came to see a spectacle. Maybe their friend dragged them there. Maybe they want some entertainment. Or maybe they want to be healed.
One woman in the crowd has come with only one intention. She believes that touching Jesus will heal her. 12 years have passed since her period started and refused to end. Her blood, in ancient Israel, would make her ritually unclean and literally untouchable. Her bleeding has made her a social outcast. Spending all the money at her disposal to find a cure - the condition worsens. She is desperate. Desperate enough to take a chance.
The untouchable woman takes a look at the crowd. It has been 12 years since anyone, but doctors, have touched her and now in desperation she breaks taboo. Seeing the back of Jesus’ head in the distance she pushes her body into the crowd. Touching, pushing, leaning into others for support she moves father and deeper in. As she gets closer she thinks, “If I can just touch his clothes I will be healed!” She doesn’t need Jesus’ time. She doesn’t speak to him, or make a request. She never begs or try’s to prove her worth. She reaches an arm through two others in the crowd, her finger grazing his coat.
Two sensations hit her at once the texture of the fabric and the dissolution of pain. Immediately her bleeding stops. She stand still as the crowd moves forward and around her.
In the next second the crowd comes to a halt. Jesus turns around looking a little frantic. “Who touched me?” he asks the crowd. A couple men respond in confusion. “What do you mean? Do you see this crowd?”
Overhearing this, the woman’s hands began to shake. She walks forward and the crowd opens making a way for her. Upon seeing Jesus she is no longer able to stand. She feels the years of her suffering lift as word after word falls from her mouth. She tells him and the crowd her whole truth. They listen. When she is finished, Jesus calls her family. “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be well.” (pause)
I’d like to imagine that when Jesus leaves, the crowd attends to this woman. Someone puts their arm around her until she’s finished trembling. Another person invites her over for dinner and arranges for her to take a ritual bath. I like to think that witnessing this healing has turned this crowd into a community. In this crowd-turned-community we meet a woman has the courage to seek out her own healing. She feels safe enough to transgress taboo, act, and heal herself. In this crowd-turned-community the woman can tell her whole truth even though she is afraid and trembling.
Have you ever been in a group of people or space like that?
During the summer of 2011, I lived on the Nun Farm. This is not a place were nuns are grown, but rather a farm run by Episcopal nuns called The Community of the Holy Spirit. Many of you have visited the farm and volunteered on their work days. That summer, a group of us joined the nuns to work and pray. We were a small group that summer, but many of us were bi, lesbian, or queer. And two of the women on the farm had been married in Vermont the month before. That June, New York passed The Marriage Equality Act. While most of us good liberals knew that there were more life threating causes our communities should be organizing around, We were moved by how the world was changing and how our lives were touched in unexpected ways by this news.
Our Pride service on the farm closed with us moving from our chairs to stand in a circle. Holding onto each other’s hands. Sister Helena Marie led us in song:
How could anyone ever tell you that you’re anything less than beautiful? How could anyone ever tell you that you’re less than whole? How could anyone ever fail to notice your loving is a miracle? How deeply you’re connected to my soul.
We sing these words looking into each other’s eyes, we weep, and smile and hug. We know we are beautiful, we know we are whole, and we know that it’s a miracle that some of us are here at all. (Pause)
I love this song. I love that it is sweet and tender while simultaneously defiant. I love this song’s disbelief: “How could ANYONE EVER tell you that your anything less than beautiful.” And I love how it ends in a declaration of community: “How deeply you’re connected to my soul.” In that circle we were the woman from the gospel text, we had enough faith to heal ourselves, to see the pain of our past and still tell the whole truth about our present. We were also the crowd: witnessing to each others’ truth and acknowledging each other made whole. (pause)
When I returned from the farm I began to come to St. Mark’s. I found a bigger circle of people - both healed and healing. Where space was made for all kinds of bodies and all kinds of loves. Where each week we returned, to be reminded of the dignity of others, while affirming our own. As St. Mark’s goes through a time of leadership transition I want to affirm the beauty I see in this community.
We have created a space for people to be loved. We have created a space for people to find connection. We have created a space were people can seek out their own healing. (Pause)
There are complex things going on in our nation today. I have heard fears that in taking time to celebrate we will forget to do justice. After worshiping with St. Mark’s for the last 5 year, I am not worried that you we will stop working for justice. We are not a community that forgets people in prison. We do not forget people living under fear of deportation. We do not forget black and brown bodies slain by police and racist domestic terrorism. We will not forget the nine transwomen murder in the last 6 months of 2015. St. Mark’s is a community of people who do forget. We do not fail to act. In God there is a big enough space to hold all our conflicting emotions. As we mourn evil and combat injustice, let us also celebrate the good, the beautiful, and the sacred, finding joy in each other and the community of healing we’ve created here. (Pause)
When we stand in a circle to share the Eucharist I like to keep my eyes open. I take the time to look around the circle. I feel joy at seeing our loves expressed in this sacred place. It’s the small things that nurture my heart and help me get through the harder moments. You coming to church with your partner, her arm around you during the prayers. Eating wedding cake your mother made and drove here from Michigan. The depth I hear in your singing voice. The stories you tell me of how you survived your conservative past. It is standing in our circle before communion that I know we have fostered a healing space. When I look into your faces I encounter God. Let us not forget that living joyfully admits a violent world is – a radical act. Let us continue to create in each other - joy - as we gather in this space.
