the inescapable sacrament of our lives

for a cherished brother- Martin Buber says it much more skilfully and articulately than I- the bolding is mine:

There is something that can be found in one place. It is a great treasure, which may be called the fulfillment of existence. The place where this treasure can be found is the place where one stands.
Most of us achieve only at rare moments a clear realization of the fact that we have never tasted the fulfillment of existence, that our lives do not participate in true, fulfilled existence, that, as it were, it passes true existence by. We nevertheless feel the deficiency at every moment, and in some measure strive to find- somewhere- what we are seeking. Somewhere, in some province of the world or of the mind, except where we stand, where we have been sent- but it is there and nowhere else that the treasure can be found. The environment which I feel to be the natural one, the situation which has been assigned to me as my fate, the things that happen to me day after day, the things that claim me day after day- these contain my essential task and such fulfillment of existence as is open to me. It is said of a certain Talmudic master that the paths of Heaven were as bright to him as the street of a man's native town. It is a greater thing if the streets of a man's native town are as bright to him as the paths of Heaven. For it is here, where we stand, that we should try to make shine the light of the hidden divine life.

Martin Buber, The Way of Man

with much love and a deep bow

AWE-and then-SOME

What sad and awesome days we get to live through.

First there were the stories- one after another- as the media finally caught on to what our tribe has known for far too long- our young are dying, too often and unnecessarily because of being bullied, taunted and shamed for who they are and who they love.

This is not news, but thankfully the media has made it news lately, and as I read and wept over the details of these young men, I couldn't help but be proufoundly aware of what a powerful, transformative opportunity the Holy Spirit was offering we people of faith to witness, teach and embody the real truth of the life, death and unfailing love of our resurrected Lord.

Yes, I blogged the previous posts, and I emailed: my network of LGBT clergy,a bunch of gay sangha buddies,and some of the most awesome LGBT people of faith I know: urging them to post to IT GETS BETTER, to blog, to be visibly present at the memorials and protests at people of faith.

But there's a whole wondrous lot of folks who have wondrously done so very much more:

First of all Dan Savage and his husband, who couldn't possibly know what an incredible force for love healing and good they were unleashing on the world with their creation of that first post to IT GETS BETTER.

And in their wake the thousands- literally thousands of LGBT folk- MY TRIBE! who posted to the site. I've spent hours listening to you, hearing your stories and blessing you for your generosity.

And as I did I found myself sitting in a strangely familiar place- the realization that once again it was my tribe- the very victims of this violence, both verbal and physical, who were teaching the world; giving them a living example of what it truly means to be human- to be created in the image & likeness of the living God.

Once again it was LGBT owning that 'crucified place' and reaching out to others, the only embodiment love and hope and concrete, experiential advice many of them would know.

It was about then I bombarded many of those I love personally with my e-mail calls to witness and action, and I promptly was struck by two realizations:

As generous and loving, as brave and caring as my spiritual kin in the Church are, they and I both knew our love, encouragement and support couldn't quite be as generous and open-ended as we would all want it to be. By telling LGBT youth at risk they could be assured of unconditional love, support and acceptance at every Anglican/ Episcopal Church, in many cases would have only increased their suffering, their experiences of rejection, bigotry and emotional violence.

In the days which followed a few of our clergy preached, and preached powerfully and none more so than Michael Hopkins, and Ed Bacon of All Saints Passadina.

Two remarkable bishops: Mark Beckwith and George Councell issued a joint letter following the death of Tyler Clementi .

There was a letter from Bishop Mark Sisk to the people of New York

And it was about then that the second realization struck: recognizing how much homophobia is learnt or supported by 'official religion' made these messages necessary, but where was our Church where they were most needed: out there on U Tube
personally embodying to the Love beyond our wildest imagining which created us, redeemed us, sustains us, and daily calls us forth to live life more abundantly?

And it's about then we got the eminently lovable Harry and Wayne and remarkable Father Brian Coleman
And in the days since I continued to storm heaven for our Church to step up to the plate, to not this time blow the opportunity for transformative witness, healing and embodiment.

Well, as cold and damp as it is here in Montreal today, with driven rain and wild winds driving leaves off the trees and into the rain-soaked ground, we were given SUCH a gift- to our Church, to my tribe, to the world, with this: our Bishop Gene Robinson's personal witness... making his POWERFUL witness to God's unfailing, unconditional love and the vocation of LGBT people- right where it needs to be heard right now- on U Tube.

Words.... there's just aren't words for my deep personal gratitude to this cherished brother in Christ; for my appreciation and joy to be able to witness 'the Gene effect-'his powerful, positive presence and the Christ-centered directness of his ministry and for the difference he makes in LGBT lives- never more so than in the hall of more than three thousand LGBT leaders, the first time I heard the bishop speak.


Here's a thought: try imagining what our Church would be like if the blessed faithful of New Hampshire hadn't listened to the prompting of the Holy Spirit, if they hadn't acted on the answer to their prayers. Moribund, stale, status-fffing-quo ? Worse than you want to imagine!
Thank-you New Hampshire. God bless you New Hampshire- yeah, I know S/He already is, look at the extraordinary gift of a Bishop you got!

Another cherished friend who cannot go unmentioned is notre Grandmere Mimi, bien-aimee. Every step of this current growing awareness by the media of the tragic effects of the bullying of LGBT youth, Mimi has blogged- speaking out against homophobic bullying and lamenting these unnecessary deaths. Mimi has been a longtime courageous ally of full inclusion of the LGBT faithful; a refugee from Roman Catholicism, the lady is a living blessing to our Church, and we are the better for her voice and its witness. Today, Mimi's post directs us to another Church leader John Vest and his pastoral letter against homophobic bullying


And, as another 'much beloved' Elizabeth reminds us, U Tube videos such as Gene & Brian's can be powerful tools of ministry and teaching. Savy Elizabeth tells us, the more often the videos are accessed, the higher they rise in the IT GETS BETTER inventory. So please share them, please pass them on, please share them with the youth in your parishes, in your schools.

Yes,as wonderful as Harry & Wayne are, as powerfully prophetic as Brian and Gene witness to the unconditional, unfailing love of our God, I'm still storming heaven for more; more LGBT Anglicans/Episcopalians who will self-identify as such on camera, and witness to their lives, and their growth and healing in that Love beyond our wildest imagining.

Where are they?

Please don't get me wrong.

I am grateful- deeply grateful and very moved- for the intial act of courage and grace by Dan Savage and his spouse and for the incredible individuals who have stepped up to the plate and given their personal witness- speaking out against the bullying, violence and ugliness too many of our tribe experiences, and none more so than LGBT youth.

Of course, I'm speaking of the It Gets Better initiative.

Early this morning, I read that the original site has literally been overwhelmed with submissions and that Dan and his volunteers are scrambling to organize a site which will be able to accomidate this outpouring. But among all those thoughtful, caring, articulate individuals trying to reassure LGBT teens, I didn't see one priest, one bishop, one self-identifying Episcopalian or Anglican reaching out to those kids.

This evening, an online friend actually sent me a link to an Advocate story featuring some of what it considered the 'best' offerings- and yes, they were both powerful and impressive. But when I'd clicked my way through them all, I found myself needing to go to my bench with a very real sadness I was feeling.

And the longer I mindfully, prayerfully sat with the ache, I was surprised to find it went a lot deeper than either the details of the recent bully & the suicides they caused;or the touching testimonials of the 'It Gets Better' initiative. The underlying ache; the large, deep-muscle bruise is a long-standing one... the hurt of a gay person of faith waiting for the Churches to speak out, to stand up, to place themselves on the front lines with my tribe at this time of ugliness and suffering. Just as we waited in the first dark decades of AIDS on this continent. A time when we were essentially to consider ourselves lucky if certain Churches even agreed to bury our AIDS dead.

And once again, they, the Churches are making themselves noticable by their absence & silence; their seeming indifference; their preoccupation elsewhere in a month which has seen at least gay five suicides directly linked to homophobic bullying.

Though I have not been tracking the stories in any sort of systematic manner, I was only able to find one instance online of a denomination (the Society of Friends) speaking out and demonstrating. Yes, there are commemorative demonstrations and acts of solidarity in several U.S. cities tonight, but where is the voice or example of my own Church.

Once again life has offered our priests and bishops the opportunity to stand in the prophetic place, to embody the Love beyond our wildest imagining which created us, redeemed us, and thankfully continues to sustain us. And once again they the Churches appear to have missed their cue.

Perhaps saddest of all, is the fact their silence, their impotency, thir absence and withholding of their prophetic and healing gifts of ministry, no longer even surprises me.

Dr. Peter's Affirmation

You might have to be Canadian to appreciate and remember the prophetic impact of the life and work of Dr. Peter Jepson-Young, a very young, beautiful Canadian doctor who came out on national television as a gay man living with HIV/AIDS more than twenty years ago. For the time remaining, this beautiful spirit shared his life and the reality of living with AIDS with the people of Canada on CBC television, and the film made from his weekly broafcast went on to win an Academy Award.

In a very dark and frightening time, living on the front lines of AIDS service when most of our clients often daily lived the marginalization, poverty and rejection of a frightened world, Dr. Peter was a beacon of courage and very real grace for me.

Today marks the 20th Anniversary of the broadcasts, and in love, appreciation and gratitude for the life and example of Dr. Peter Jepson-Young I would offer Dr. Peter's Affirmation.

Affirmation

I accept and absorb all the strength of the earth
to keep my body hard and strong;

I accept and absorb all the energy of the sun
to keep my mind sharp and bright;

I accept and absorb all the life force of the ocean
to cleanse my body and bring me life;

I accept and absorb all the power of the wind
to cleanse my spirit and bring me life;

I accept and absorb all the mystery of the heavens,
for I am a part of the vast unknown.

I believe God to be all these elements,
and the force that unites them;

And from these elements I have come,
and to these elements I shall return;

But the energy that is me will not be lost.

Dr. Peter Jepson-Young
©1987, Dr. Peter AIDS Foundation

Rest eternal grant to him Oh Lord; let light perpetual shine upon him.

Extraordinary-Times Two!

Who would have thought- twice in one day- two very public admissions that mistakes- costly mistakes have been made!

First, of course. I’m referring to President Barak Obama’s prophetic admission in his address to the American people that the war in Iraq had been a mistake. God bless and protect that man please! As the American war machine gradually withdraws from its occupation of Iraq thousands upon thousands of American soldiers, mercenaries will be coming home to the morass of bankruptcies and dispossession the Republicans and their arch war criminals Bush and Chaney have left the nation in. If we think the Teabaggers are frightening, it’s really only going to get scary when unemployed/underemployed troops, many of them suffering from PTSD find themselves living with the daily realities of American excesses.
God forgive them, some of the returning soldiers may actually call for another war to deliver them from the realities many if not most of us have been struggling with in what the media is now calling the ‘Great Recession,’ though as I know only too well personally, there’s nothing great about any of the mess the f-fing Republican left the American people.

Seriously, I daily beg God’s protection and strength for President Obama; has the world ever seen a more ungrateful, self-obsessed bunch of spoiled brats than the Republicans and their ilk.

Iraq a mistake- the admission wonder number one.

The second one even more startling- the public admission by former president Fidel Castro that the arrest and persecution of Cuban gays during his administration was wrong, and he took personal responsibility for this!

http://www.advocate.com/News/Daily_News/2010/08/31/Castro_Takes_Blame_for_Gay_Persecution/

Of course, he’s only taking responsibility for the legal repression during the first years of his regime as some Log Cabin Queens might only too readily point out, but the man’s got to start somewhere.


The friend who sent me the link to the Castro story, like myself, describes himself as an alienated Anglican and he shares much of my love, passion and respect for the prophetic, transformational possibilities in the Anglican principle of the three legged stool. As we’ve agreed more times than I can remember- often with some frustration or regret- the Anglican model really does have limitless potential for healing & transforming this world- for bringing about the healing, justice and restored humanity implicit in the Good News of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. But the link in his e-mail was also prefaced by a question: 'Does our Anglican Communion need the example of Fidel Castro, for it to get its shit together and start repenting?'

For their participation in countless generation of misogyny; the objectification, exploitation and abuse of our sisters- never more so than within its own walls.

For their complicity and cowardice in institutionalized, collective and personal anti-Semitism.

For their complicity, profiting and cowardice in the objectification, exploitation, suffering and the essential denial of the humanity people of colour- whether through the obscenities of slavery, colonialization, the Jim Crow laws, or a list of affronts to God and God’s creation too long for this space.

For their on-going objectification, vilification and their participation in the violence, discrimination, murder and objectification of my LGBT brothers and sisters- within and outside the Church.

In certain quarters- often with the best of intentions, I hear individuals within the leadership of our Church – many of who I respect and love personally- wrestling with the future of the Church- calling for a ‘servant Church’ model. Well amateur that I may be, I’m going further. In the name of the Love beyond our wildest imagining- that same Love which created us, Which incarnated and personally suffered the ignorance, hypocrisy, the pettiness and greed, the violence and injustice human beings only too often show themselves to be capable of- the Love which sustains us and continually offers us- individually and collectively- another chance; that same Love which overcame death on the cross and which unfailingly extends Her call to us to live ‘Life more abundantly'; in the name of that same Love, I’m calling for a repentant Church- a Church which not only owns it’s complicit past but which having de-constructed and learned the lessons of its past allows itself to be led by the Holy Spirit into being transformed into the Church God has called us to be since the creation of the world.

None of that ‘easy’ Book of Common Prayer acts of repentance, whose well crafted beauty works the tongue like the finest of wines; I’m suggesting the Church- OUR Church, might be long overdue for the type of transformative repentance which owns the particulars of its past, learns from them and outgrows them by leaving itself open to be re-made, transformed- transfigured. I’m suggesting that God’s Creation has been suffering and longing, bleeding, starving and dying; waiting for the ‘official Church ‘ to get over itself and get on with God’s business of healing the world.

Comment from another alienated Anglican- ‘as long as the Church continues to behave the way it does, it deserves to be deserted, denied and broken open.’ At the time she was actually referring to Rowan’s willingness to sacrifice our Episcopal brothers and sisters for the self-righteous, frightened rage & hate of the Anglican Taliban.

But the earlier question still stands: Does our Anglican Communion need the example of Fidel Castro for it to get its own shit together and start repenting?

To get them thinking...

Out front weeding the other day with Willie the blessing daschund supervising; one of my neighbours stopped to chat on his way home . The first time we’d ever really talked; he’s in his early thirties and until that day it’s been little more than a cordial but rushed 'Bonjour' or 'Salut'. This happens with a lot of the people on our charmed little street when we're working in the front garden.

As my grandfather would have said, my neighbour's a tall drink of water, with thick 60’s sideburns down either side & a pencil-thin line of dark hair bracketing each side of his chin. Definitely a slightly homely original. When not dressed retro, he’s usually in what I've probably assumed were ‘medical whites-’ perhaps on staff at one of the medical facilities or seniors’ residences within easy distance of our little street. Turns out however he’s a kitchen aid at one of those same facilities, and his irregular hours account for his mid-afternoon return home. Six-a.m. ‘till three p.m. means he’s usually leaving home just before five-thirty in the morning.

It’s when we were speaking of his working hours that the conversation got really interesting. Talking about how his schedule can complicate relationships- out of sync with family, friends or a partner. And here it’s important to remember we were speaking in French where words have a qualifying gender association. Specifically, I’d referred to ‘ton partenaire- elle ou lui devrais...’ ‘your partner, he or she must..’.

In his very next sentence- without making an issue of it- he made it clear the partner was she- 'ma blonde' the girlfriend- and the ease of the clarification as much as anything was a reflection of the very civil reality of living in a country where gender is not a qualifying consideratin for marriage; where the rights of my LGBT tribe has been fully protected under the Canadian Human Rights Charter for decades (Merci encore Pierre Trudeau), and where gay men and women serve with full human dignity in our armed forces. We went on to speak of other things...

He’d already stepped away, and I was back on my knees just about to resume weeding when he hesitated and turned back. 'Est ce que je peut tu demander un question?’ Can I ask you something?

Mais oui..

'Did you really think I might be gay?' Not the slightest hint of anything but amused curiosity in his voice.

I couldn’t help it- I chuckled, and went on to explain that for me referring to the possibility of his partner being of either gender was a courtesy more than speculation about his gender. How, after living as an out gay may for more than a couple decades now, I’ve learned to never under-estimate the wondrous diversity of my LGBT tribe. And besides which, it got him thinking didn’t it?

It took him a moment, but he also laughed. 'You’re right... Growing up, one of my best friends was gay, and he works in construction now. A contractor with his own company. ‘Mais, j’ai jamais pensé que quel q’un pourrais me tromper pour un gaie..’ But I never thought...

Another chuckle, and he headed off for a quick nap and then to prepare supper for his ‘girlfriend’ who doesn’t get home until shortly before six.


And then last evening, a call from F and his partner who live in a state with none of the protection or rights offered to LGBT Canadians. F is in his early eighties. He, and M, his spouse of more than thirty years are both retired academics and apparently the other day heading out to do the groceries, F was stopped in the parking lot by one of his neighbours.

‘All this stuff, going on in California, about gay marriage... If it were possible, would the two of you, at your age even bother?’ Probably nothing more than idle curiosity on her part, F assured me, but I didn’t miss a beat- in reassuring her of course we would. 'The whole nine yards-' he told me, 'you know how M and I love to dress up.'

Apparently, just over a year ago, when invited to attended the black tie wedding of M’s niece ‘up north,’ the two of them had given a lot of thought to rental or purchase of new tuxedos. They’d ended up buying- ‘just in case it ever becomes possible’ F explained.

‘A civil marriage- sure- for the longer overdue legal rights and protections- to help create a new statistical reality...'

'Been married for twenty-eight years,’ F told his neighbour, ‘in the eyes of God at least- which is the only party who really matters.’

F & M were married by an Episcopal priest- a convert himself, he was also responsible for both mens’ encounter with the Episcopal Church- their baptism & confirmation. F & M are also godfathers to one of that priest’s grandsons. Now that's what I call the radical welcome of real mission!

‘You know what really gets me though-’ F told me with a hint of frustration, ‘when they insist on calling it same-sex marriage, as if our bits and pieces are the most important thing about us. ’

M was on their second phone and shared how he still loves confusing folks when he refers to F as his husband. ‘Of course, in the right company, I might also call him my wife...’ he chortled.

Things really got wild when I shared with both men the slight linguistic shift I resorted to several times recently. 'Gender-discordant couples-' and even that’s a little more reactive than I generally like to be. It doesn’t exactly disarm the prejudice and assumption of certain gender-discondantly-inclined individuals to try to impose their definitions what’s normal and acceptable in the eyes of God- but at least sometimes it gets folks thinking- or rethinking, and that’s got to be some sort of progress.

Prophetic Voices

Still early here, when I write this, but already the day has been nailed down in a larger awareness of our sacred vocation by three living prophets speaking truth to... our wounded, larger world.

First Mark+ Harris, a priest who- from all that I know of the dear man- is a living blessing of impecable integrity, prophetic courage and a wondrous gift to our Church. Mark is writing of 'Mission' specifically, but it sounded to me as one of the clearest expressions of our vocation to meet the Holy Spirit in the sacrament of our daily lives to live and labour- to dance towards becoming the healing, transformative- prophetic Church we are called to be. Mark writes:

Mission is on some important level a natural outgrowth of the Incarnation. If God is present in the world in Jesus, in whom the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and if Jesus was just as we are (yet without sin) then in some way, even in the sin and various small deaths in our lives we ought to be able to find God present, Jesus present, in all we meet. Finding God in new places and living with Jesus Christ present in the stranger is mission... being sent out to see where God is now.

Once we have seen Jesus, God present with us, we are doomed to going out and seeing the face of Jesus in those we meet and come to know. And, in that context - the context of knowing and meeting and caring - the Good News is realized. The Good News is that God has already been there and love those people, and therefore we too can go there and love them, and somehow in the mutuality of that encounter, God's saving Grace is realized.

And while we're still within the sacred process of the Church God is calling us all to be, I'd draw your attention to another post by blessed Elizabeth+ Kaeton at http://telling-secrets.blogspot.com/2010/08/telling-secrets-about-church.html. The challenging days Elizabeth and her spouse, the blessed Ms. Conroy are living through together has large, prophetic resonances for the vocation and future of our Church. Elizabeth is yet another living blessing and radiant gift to our Church and a deeply cherished friend. I'd not only refer you to this morning's post http://telling-secrets.blogspot.com/2010/08/telling-secrets-about-church.html but would suggest you keep in touch with Elizabeth's blog in the weeks ahead.

The third prophetic voice is equally powerful and challenging. It's Chris Hedges- a man with whom I may often disagree over his read on details or degree, but whose intelligence, spiritual huger and humanity I greatly respect. I refer you to Chris' latest post 'The Tears of Gaza'

The Tears of Gaza Must Be Our Tears
http://www.truthdig.com/report/item/the_tears_of_gaza_must_be_our_tears_20100809/
Posted on Aug 9, 2010
By Chris Hedges

Chris Hedges made these remarks Thursday night in New York City at a fundraiser for sponsoring a U.S. boat to break the blockade of Gaza. More information can be found at www.ustogaza.org.


When I lived in Jerusalem I had a friend who confided in me that as a college student in the United States she attended events like these, wrote up reports and submitted them to the Israel consulate for money. It would be naive to assume this Israeli practice has ended. So, I want first tonight to address that person, or those persons, who may have come to this event for the purpose of reporting on it to the Israeli government.

I would like to remind them that it is they who hide in darkness. It is we who stand in the light. It is they who deceive. It is we who openly proclaim our compassion and demand justice for those who suffer in Gaza. We are not afraid to name our names. We are not afraid to name our beliefs. And we know something you perhaps sense with a kind of dread. As Martin Luther King said, the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice, and that arc is descending with a righteous fury that is thundering down upon the Israeli government.

You may have the bulldozers, planes and helicopters that smash houses to rubble, the commandos who descend from ropes on ships and kill unarmed civilians on the high seas as well as in Gaza, the vast power of the state behind you. We have only our hands and our hearts and our voices. But note this. Note this well. It is you who are afraid of us. We are not afraid of you. We will keep working and praying, keep protesting and denouncing, keep pushing up against your navy and your army, with nothing but our bodies, until we prove that the force of morality and justice is greater than hate and violence. And then, when there is freedom in Gaza, we will forgive ... you. We will ask you to break bread with us. We will bless your children even if you did not find it in your heart to bless the children of those you occupied. And maybe it is this forgiveness, maybe it is the final, insurmountable power of love, which unsettles you the most.

And so tonight, a night when some seek to name names and others seek to hide names, let me do some naming. Let me call things by their proper names. Let me cut through the jargon, the euphemisms we use to mask human suffering and war crimes. “Closures” mean heavily armed soldiers who ring Palestinian ghettos, deny those trapped inside food or basic amenities—including toys, razors, chocolate, fishing rods and musical instruments—and carry out a brutal policy of collective punishment, which is a crime under international law. “Disputed land” means land stolen from the Palestinians. “Clashes” mean, almost always, the killing or wounding of unarmed Palestinians, including children. “Jewish neighborhoods in the West Bank” mean fortress-like compounds that serve as military outposts in the campaign of ethnic cleansing of the Palestinians. “Targeted assassinations” mean extrajudicial murder. “Air strikes on militant bomb-making posts” mean the dropping of huge iron fragmentation bombs from fighter jets on densely crowded neighborhoods that always leaves scores of dead and wounded, whose only contact with a bomb was the one manufactured in the United States and given to the Israeli Air Force as part of our complicity in the occupation. “The peace process” means the cynical, one-way route to the crushing of the Palestinians as a people.

These are some names. There are others. Dr. Izzeldin Abuelaish in the late afternoon of Jan. 16, 2009, had a pair of Israeli tank shells rip through a bedroom in his Gaza apartment, killing three of his daughters—Bessan, Mayar and Aya—along with a niece, Noor.

“I have the right to feel angry,” says Abuelaish. “But I ask, ‘Is this the right way?’ So many people were expecting me to hate. My answer to them is I shall not hate.”

“Whom to hate?” asks the 55-year-old gynecologist, who was born a Palestinian refugee and raised in poverty. “My Israeli friends? My Israeli colleagues? The Israeli babies I have delivered?”

The Palestinian poet Taha Muhammad Ali wrote this in his poem “Revenge”:

At times ... I wish

I could meet in a duel

the man who killed my father

and razed our home,

expelling me

into

a narrow country.

And if he killed me,

I’d rest at last,

and if I were ready—

I would take my revenge!

*

But if it came to light,

when my rival appeared,

that he had a mother

waiting for him,

or a father who’d put

his right hand over

the heart’s place in his chest

whenever his son was late

even by just a quarter-hour

for a meeting they’d set—

then I would not kill him,

even if I could.

*

Likewise ... I

would not murder him

if it were soon made clear

that he had a brother or sisters

who loved him and constantly longed to see him.

Or if he had a wife to greet him

and children who

couldn’t bear his absence

and whom his gifts would thrill.

Or if he had

friends or companions,

neighbors he knew

or allies from prison

or a hospital room,

or classmates from his school …

asking about him

and sending him regards.

*

But if he turned

out to be on his own—

cut off like a branch from a tree—

without a mother or father,

with neither a brother nor sister,

wifeless, without a child,

and without kin or neighbors or friends,

colleagues or companions,

then I’d add not a thing to his pain

within that aloneness—

not the torment of death,

and not the sorrow of passing away.

Instead I’d be content

to ignore him when I passed him by

on the street—as I

convinced myself

that paying him no attention

in itself was a kind of revenge.

And if these words are what it means to be a Muslim, and I believe it does, name me too a Muslim, a follower of the prophet, peace be upon him.

The boat to Gaza will be named “The Audacity of Hope.” But these are not Barack Obama’s words. These are the words of my friend the Rev. Jeremiah Wright. They are borrowed words. And Jerry Wright is not afraid to speak the truth, not afraid to tell us to stop confusing God with America. “We bombed Hiroshima, we bombed Nagasaki, and we nuked far more than the thousands [killed] in New York and the Pentagon, and we never batted an eye,” Rev. Wright said. “We have supported state terrorism against the Palestinians and black South Africans, and now we are indignant because the stuff we have done overseas is now brought right back into our own front yards. America’s chickens are coming home to roost.”

Or the words of Edward Said:

Nothing in my view is more reprehensible than those habits of mind in the intellectual that induce avoidance, that characteristic turning away from a difficult and principled position which you know to be the right one, but which you decide not to take. You do not want to appear too political; you are afraid of seeming controversial; you want to keep a reputation for being balanced, objective, moderate; your hope is to be asked back, to consult, to be on a board or prestigious committee, and so to remain within the responsible mainstream; someday you hope to get an honorary degree, a big prize, perhaps even an ambassadorship.

For an intellectual these habits of mind are corrupting par excellence. If anything can denature, neutralize, and finally kill a passionate intellectual life it is the internalization of such habits. Personally I have encountered them in one of the toughest of all contemporary issues, Palestine, where fear of speaking out about one of the greatest injustices in modern history has hobbled, blinkered, muzzled many who know the truth and are in a position to serve it. For despite the abuse and vilification that any outspoken supporter of Palestinian rights and self-determination earns for him or herself, the truth deserves to be spoken, represented by an unafraid and compassionate intellectual.

And some of the last words of Rachel Corrie to her parents:

I’m witnessing this chronic, insidious genocide and I’m really scared, and questioning my fundamental belief in the goodness of human nature. This has to stop. I think it is a good idea for us all to drop everything and devote our lives to making this stop. I don’t think it’s an extremist thing to do anymore. I still really want to dance around to Pat Benatar and have boyfriends and make comics for my coworkers. But I also want this to stop. Disbelief and horror is what I feel. Disappointment. I am disappointed that this is the base reality of our world and that we, in fact, participate in it. This is not at all what I asked for when I came into this world. This is not at all what the people here asked for when they came into this world. This is not the world you and Dad wanted me to come into when you decided to have me. This is not what I meant when I looked at Capital Lake and said: “This is the wide world and I’m coming to it.” I did not mean that I was coming into a world where I could live a comfortable life and possibly, with no effort at all, exist in complete unawareness of my participation in genocide. More big explosions somewhere in the distance outside. When I come back from Palestine, I probably will have nightmares and constantly feel guilty for not being here, but I can channel that into more work. Coming here is one of the better things I’ve ever done. So when I sound crazy, or if the Israeli military should break with their racist tendency not to injure white people, please pin the reason squarely on the fact that I am in the midst of a genocide which I am also indirectly supporting, and for which my government is largely responsible.


And if this is what it means to be a Christian, and I believe it does, to speak in the voice of Jeremiah Wright, Edward Said or Rachel Corrie, to remember and take upon us the pain and injustice of others, then name me a Christian, a follower of Jesus Christ.

And what of the long line of Jewish prophets that run from Jeremiah, Isaiah and Amos to Hannah Arendt, who reminded the world when the state of Israel was founded that the injustice meted out to the Jews could not be rectified by an injustice meted out to the Palestinians, what of our own prophets, Noam Chomsky or Norman Finkelstein, outcasts like all prophets, what of Uri Avnery or the Israeli poet Aharon Shabtai, who writes in his poem “Rypin,” the Polish town his father escaped from during the Holocaust, these words:

These creatures in helmets and khakis,

I say to myself, aren’t Jews,

In the truest sense of the word. A Jew

Doesn’t dress himself up with weapons like jewelry,

Doesn’t believe in the barrel of a gun aimed at a target,

But in the thumb of the child who was shot at—

In the house through which he comes and goes,

Not in the charge that blows it apart.

The coarse soul and iron first

He scorns by nature.

He lifts his eyes not to the officer, or the soldier

With his finger on the trigger—but to justice,

And he cries out for compassion.

Therefore, he won’t steal land from its people

And will not starve them in camps.

The voice calling for expulsion

Is heard from the hoarse throat of the oppressor—

A sure sign that the Jew has entered a foreign country

And, like Umberto Saba, gone into hiding within his own city.

Because of voices like these, father

At age sixteen, with your family, you fled Rypin;

Now here Rypin is your son.

And if to be Jew means this, and I believe it does, name me a Jew. Name us all Muslims and Christians and Jews. Name us as human beings who believe that when one of us suffers all of us suffer, that we never have to ask for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for us all, that the tears of the mother in Gaza are our tears, that the wails of the bloodied children in Al Shifa Hospital are the wails of our own children.

Let me close tonight with one last name. Let me name those who send these tanks and fighter jets to bomb the concrete hovels in Gaza with families crouching, helpless, inside, let me name those who deny children the right to a childhood and the sick a right to care, those who torture, those who carry out assassinations in hotel rooms in Dubai and on the streets of Gaza City, those who deny the hungry food, the oppressed justice and foul the truth with official propaganda and state lies. Let me call them, not by their honorific titles and positions of power, but by the name they have earned for themselves by draining the blood of the innocent into the sands of Gaza. Let me name them for who they are: terrorists

.

Difficult and challenging times though they be, there has never been any possible doubt of the acting, caring, transformative presence of the Holy Spirit in our midst, and of Her unfaltering invitation to us- heart and arms open wide- for us to join Her in the sacred dance of healing this world- and this morning I give heartfelt thanks for each of these three voices and their prophetic courage.