community – Page 9 – Southwest Conference Blog

What Does It Mean to be Transgender in the UCC?

I never imagined I’d be here today. I mean that in the sense that I’m alive, and also a member of a local church. I certainly didn’t set out on my faith journey expecting to end up here, and I’m sure I won’t be able to predict where that journey takes me in the future, either.

My upbringing wasn’t particularly unique; there were thousands of Southern Baptist pastors’ kids running around America playing sports and teaching youth groups at the time, and I’m sure that’s still the case today. The brand of masculinity thrown at me by my parents was also pretty generic: “be tough and lead.” I got the tough part down by playing multiple sports and settling down on football by the time I got to high school. The leadership part wasn’t as obvious – I sincerely doubt I would’ve been allowed to preach Sunday sermons at our church as a child. And yet there I was, teaching youth classes and subbing in for the occasional adult group. When Dad moved to a different slide of his hour-long – if we were lucky – sermon I was the one to click to it in PowerPoint. When my older brother led us in worship, I made sure his guitar didn’t sound too pitchy and that his vocals were turned up.

I’d say I had a solid relationship with God: I had an active prayer life, did multiple run-throughs of the Bible a year, and regularly read through a bookshelf filled with works of apologists like Lee Strobel, Ken Ham, and Rick Warren. And yet I had the nagging feeling I was missing something.

And because I didn’t have the language, much less the understanding to express what was missing, I blamed my discomfort on sinfulness. I labeled myself as prideful and mysteriously afflicted by the struggle of theologically wrestling with God. Why not? This was the attitude taken by all the preachers I knew. It was easy to excuse a lack of certainty – or too much of it – on some kind of internal struggle with pride and trying to figure out God’s will.

As a college student, my eyes were opened to the myriad experiences of humanity all around me. Arizona State University’s Tempe campus is – outside of COVID-19 season – a vibrantly diverse world unto itself.

It wasn’t long before I found that a good portion of my friends were members of the LGBT community, some more open than others. Some more religious than others too, and that really bothered me. Why did my Calvinist, Evangelical faith demand I view everyone as totally and indelibly depraved and unable to do any good outside the direct divine intervention of God Almighty? Why was it that the doctrine of predestination meant God wasn’t going to let some people go to heaven?

Layers and layers peeled back slowly and painfully. It took 3 years of deep questioning, pretending to be someone I wasn’t, and listening to the experiences of people around me. As a college ministry leader and youth teacher, half of my life was devoted to being on the church campus and “doing life” with other members. We were all trying our best to “work through our own salvation,” and the theological methodology was irrevocably tainted with shame and suffering.

Knowing what the consequences would be – largely because I’d gotten to know leadership’s orientation toward the LGBT community firsthand – I left my home church. It hurt worse than anything I’d ever experienced, and I felt like I’d wasted those 3 years. I didn’t want to lose the friends I’d made, or the community I’d helped build, or that indescribable feeling I used to get, arriving late to service and hearing 200 voices lifted up in corporate worship.

But the fact is that I didn’t waste that time. And while I lost friends, community, and a particular liturgy, I found something that made it all worth it: myself.

When I walked through the doors at Desert Palm UCC in Tempe, Arizona, my first impression was absolute shock. My former church had made a point of approaching newcomers, but the sheer amount of open love that I felt from everyone was mind-blowing.

It also helped doing research prior to even driving into the parking lot. When one looks up open and affirming churches or, as I did, look through a network like Gay Church, there are a lot of options that pop up around Tempe. Most are denominationally affiliated, with a few outliers that either unequivocally support the LGBT community in their faith statement or keep it intentionally vague.

A few things struck me immediately after looking into the UCC:

A clearly labeled, congregational polity
Engaged in Social Justice initiatives since its foundation
A comprehensive, Open and Affirming message without loopholes

And yet, even knowing this didn’t prepare me for the warm welcome I received.

In the weeks that turned into months of attending Desert Palm, I found people who respect my pronouns without question. People who were genuinely curious about my faith journey without asking me to conform my theology to some incredibly narrow faith statement.

So, what does it mean to be transgender in the UCC?

It starts with a warm welcome.

Since coming to Desert Palm, I’ve had the privilege to work on our new college and young adult ministry aimed at bringing the UCC’s message of radical love and commitment to social justice to Arizona State University by engaging with students in a way that doesn’t demand conversion or attendance at weekly propaganda meetings disguised as bible studies. We’re here to engage a diverse community with extravagant welcome that enables today’s youth to explore their faith journeys without fear.

Being transgender in the UCC is a blessing of welcome and safety, and an opportunity to further a Just World for All.

Breaking Away

by Victoria S Ubben

Ecclesiastes 3:1 reminds us that, “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.” Is there a season for a pandemic? Is there a time for Covid-19? Is there a time when this social-distancing and mask-wearing will end?

As I spend time during this Covid-19 pandemic reflecting on more than 32 years of ordained ministry with the United Church of Christ, there is always some sorrow as one ministry concludes, and another begins.

*image credit: Doug Ross, multimedia journalist*

I resigned from a pastoral team at a church that I had been serving for seven-and-a-half years in 2013 because (1) that “season” had ended and (2) God was calling me and some other ministers to try a new sort of ministry in our city. The purpose of this new calling was to launch a parachurch ministry to reach and serve the rapidly growing number of people who were choosing not to engage in traditional churches. Our downtown-based ministry was called “BreakAway” because it did not sound like a name of a church. We rented space upstairs, above a popular restaurant, right across the street from our county courthouse, in a place that did not look like a church. “BreakAway Ministry” began gradually in 2013, was full-time by 2015, and then (as quickly as we had begun) we were called on to something new. By 2016 this season for this unique downtown ministry had come to an end; God’s still-speaking voice had called me onward to a new form of ministry in rural Indiana.

Moving out of our rental space, shutting down a Facebook page, obtaining a new email address, dis-assembling our webpage, printing hard copies of a three-year inspirational blog, thanking our donors, and saying “good-bye” to those who had shared a BreakAway journey with us… carried significant sorrow. What was once effective and worthwhile, no longer could be “packaged” in the same way. BreakAway lived for three years and sustained countless people on a spiritual journey who may never find their way back to the organized church again. Our memories of a three-year ministry (2013 to 2016) are always tinged with joy and gladness as we reflect on them now.

The Covid-19 pandemic has changed us. Some of what once was, shall never return. Parts of what used to work in our lives and in ministry may not work now…or in the future. Could it be that God reminds us through this pandemic that pieces of what was meaningful, effective, and useful in the not-so-distant past…are already gone? With God’s grace, we shall move through this pandemic and onto new ways of doing things. This season of a pandemic teaches us that sometimes we must break away from the way things used to be… and make some bold, new discoveries in this moment in time. In just 6 months of this pandemic, many of our churches (and various ministries) already have changed and adapted. Will we ever be the same again? Probably not.

Look to Jesus as our example; his ministry adapted to the situation in which he found himself. He certainly broke away from the religious establishment of his day and he met people where they were, and in the ways that he could. Jesus met with lepers, tax collectors, and prostitutes (to name a few). He met them on a mountain, by the river, on a lake, and in an upper room.

There is a season. There is a time. There are people waiting…here and now…to hear God’s word of grace and peace.

Prayer for this season: Oh God, you are the One who enables us to break away from whatever holds us back. Enable us to adapt in the ways that we must during this pandemic so that what we do glorifies you and uplifts other people along the way. Amen.

Genuine Encounters

by James Briney

While campaigning for public office in 1968 I parked in front of a notorious club that catered to patrons who used more than alcohol. As an ambulance attendant I had been to that establishment two summers before, when dozens of adult males were lined up outside. Inside was a dead woman with six bullets in her back. The victim, the ambulance driver, and I were the only individuals who were not persons of color. When the police arrived the shotgun bolted to a frame in their cruiser went missing.

The campaign that brought me back to that location resulted in a happy reunion. It began when a prostitute told me I had parked behind a car that had a dead man in the trunk. She advised me to drive away. In less than a block a voice called my name. “Briney, that you.” I had not heard that voice since tenth grade after friends and I were attacked following a Friday night football game. Boys wielding boards with nails in them put two of us in the hospital. I was treated and released.

Monday morning I satisfied the mandatory requirement to dress for gym class. Standing in shorts in front of my locker with my arm in a sling, is when I had heard that voice for the first time. It belonged to a student relying on social promotion as a graduation strategy. He had a fierce reputation and the stature to match it. The locker room cleared out and I figured he had come to finish me off. Instead he wanted to know what I had told the police.

I had told the police I did not know who had done us harm. My inquisitor took me at my word. Using language of the era he asked why I had not accused someone of his race. Then he looked me in the eye, nodded, and walked away. He returned to my locker Wednesday morning. Word had gotten around that Tuesday night a gang of boys had been punished. He said “You won’t have no more trouble. Some of the little brothers have to learn to make distinctions.”

Until I returned to the vicinity where once I had been to retrieve a body, I had not seen my locker room visitor. Not until he got in the car with his companions who were carrying appliances. He proceeded to give me directions. “Go straight. Turn here. Stop there. Let us out.” Then he said: “We’re even.” I had just driven the getaway car in the aftermath of a robbery. I appreciated this encounter as I have others. Each acquainted me with improbable allies.

Many incidents lead to greater violence. Plenty are exploited to advance an agenda. It’s a mystery to me why some people of faith promote agendas that are antithetical to their professed beliefs. Some declare they are helping God usher in the end- times. Societal armageddon’s are of our own making. The story that began this piece is indicative of numerous encounters throughout the course of my life and ministry. I have taken something precious from each one.

In winter months my Mother drove me to middle school in a big Mercury, the model with the slant window in the back. From a segregated neighborhood kids cut through our backyard on their way to school. A few regulars climbed on top of the car and others held on. Encounters of this kind make it less likely we will marginalize each other later in life. The holy books are a collection of selected stories that reveal and inspire God’s relationship with humanity. Read as a whole they are about loving our neighbor in practice, as a matter of justice, peace and inclusion.

Respect and Integrity are at the center of each genuine encounter. I witness such interactions at Ironwood Ridge High School. Their annual assemblies feature students honoring veterans. Students who have interviewed and befriended veterans tell their stories. Their program includes the tradition of recognizing an excellent educator and a student who writes about their own notion of integrity. Those who have served get to see that their service was worth it.

There is a lot going on in our nation and the world. It is up to us to hold ourselves accountable as we move forward in faith toward a more perfect union that realizes liberty and justice for all. What we think, how we act, and what we believe, makes a difference for better or for worse. Becoming intentional tends to help us accomplish what we set out to do. In a terminal ward in the old St. Vincent’s Hospital in Indianapolis I expressed my intention.

After a misdiagnosis I was disemboweled during a botched surgery. In recovery I did not make any deals with God. But I did whisper a prayer that if I survived I would do the will of God, whether I knew what it was, or not. I am wary of people who claim that God has ordained them to do their own will. History offers such examples. Fresh examples are in evidence today. An article of my faith is that when you know the right thing to do but are not certain of the outcome, do it anyway.

Ethical constructs cover a lot of ground. From the rationale for a just war, to best practices in business, cultural and scientific endeavors, and a bunch of other situations and predicaments. They present considerations that define the right thing to do. Integrity is doing it. Our friends are where we find them and not all encounters are harrowing. But they are formative because they give us occasion to discover and reveal the content of our character.

Relatively few of us put our lives on the line in service to our country. But at one time or another all of us get to make choices that may cost us status or a job. In the context of wisdom and mercy will we go-along to get-along. Will we agree to disagree. Will we be complacent or complicit. Will we make distinctions. Will we be the voice of courage and conviction. Will we rise to the occasion with a measure of restraint.

James Briney is a graduate of Pontiac Central High School in Michigan. He earned a bachelor of arts degree in Philosophy from Olivet College in Michigan. He graduated with a Master of Divinity degree from Winebrenner Theological Seminary in Findlay, Ohio. Briney worked as the assistant to Mayor Richard G. Lugar in Indianapolis when he was a student at Christian Theological Seminary and the Catholic Seminary Institute.

Rev. Briney is a member of the Church of the Good Shepherd in Sahuarita, Arizona. Prior to retiring, he served 4 United Church of Christ congregations: Plymouth United Church of Christ (Goshen, Indiana) Emma Lowery United Church of Christ (Luzerne, Michigan) The United Church of Christ (Medford, Wisconsin) Oro Valley United Church of Christ (Oro Valley, Arizona). He is a member of the Confraternity of Saint Gregory’s Abbey, an Anglican Benedictine Community in Three Rivers, Michigan.

Thank You

by Mike Lonergan, minister of Church of the Painted Hills UCC

Rev. Michael Lonergan at the SaveAsylum event.

Our event, SaveAsylum: Protesting the Dismantling of Asylum, had just finished. The event took place in Nogales on both sides of the monument to hate and fear on our southern border. As the master of ceremonies on the U.S. side I offered an opening prayer and read a statement reminding everyone that U. S. law gives people the right to apply for asylum. Then we heard the testimonies of six children of God whose quest for asylum was being held up because the republican administration refuses to obey the law and is now using COVID 19 as a cover for its bigotry.

We listened to a recording of a Guatemalan woman’s testimony. She fled her home after she and her family received death threats and the authorities would not help her. She still fears for her safety and would not appear publicly to tell her story.

After listening to that recording we heard directly from our neighbors from Nicaragua, Venezuela, Cuba and Mexico who shared their stories of fleeing violence and persecution at home and suffering abuse as they tried to reach the U. S. to apply for asylum. After each testimony was offered on the Mexican side, an assurance of support was offered by the people gathered on the U. S. side, who then heard the English translation of the testimony.

The event ended with a call to action, followed by a powerful reading of a modern statement of blessings and woes. This reading listed the blessings the asylum seekers will receive and it offered warnings to those responsible for the horrendous treatment these asylum seekers receive.

After the event concluded I was talking to a colleague on the other side of the wall. When my conversation with the person on the other side of the wall finished, the woman standing next to them placed her hand on the mesh between the posts. The mesh, an additional layer of cruelty added to prevent divided families from sharing meals with each other or children of God from sharing communion. The woman placed her hand on the mesh, and with a look of gratitude I will never forget, looked in my eyes and said “thank you.” I put my hand on the mesh against her hand and looked back and said “you’re welcome.”

In that instance the mesh failed. The mesh that is intended to add to the dehumanization of people on the southern side of the border did not stop me from experiencing my common humanity with the child of God whose hand was on the mesh against mine.

That simple, humble act of gratitude will stay with me. It will be my motivation to submit a comment against yet another rule change proposed by the republican administration to prevent children of God from seeking asylum as U. S. and international law permits and to keep contacting our senators and representatives demanding that they make public statements opposing the republican administration’s suspension of the processing of asylum applications. My common humanity with the child of God whose hand was against mine on the mesh requires this of me, at a minimum.

images credits: Leslie Carlson and Mike Lonergan.

To the Rescue

by Victoria S. Ubben

In 2008, cancer crept into our family when no one was looking. Our family was thrown into a bit of a turmoil until we could find a way out of a very dark place. After some treatment and some healing, our youngest son (only age 10 at the time) wanted to raise money to help find a “cure” for lymphoma (and other blood cancers). The Scenic Shore 150 is one of Wisconsin’s most popular bike rides and is the largest locally organized and supported event for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. The sandy shoreline of Lake Michigan is the gorgeous setting for a weekend of riding in support of a cure for blood cancer.

I was serving on the pastoral team of a congregation in Valparaiso, IN, and we had enough interest in our congregation to build a bicycling team to help raise money to find a cure. Our team committed to ride bicycles in July, 2008, in the Scenic Shore 150, a two-day 150-mile cycling event.

Our church bicycling team was named the “Still Speaking Cycling Team,” as this was the moment in time when the national United Church of Christ had launched a re-branding and marketing campaign called, “God is Still Speaking.” Intensive training began for our team and we all set out to raise money for every mile that our team would ride in Wisconsin.

On Saturday: our team would pedal 75 miles north from Mequon to Manitowac and then spend the night in Manitowac. On Sunday: our team would pedal the final 75 miles toward Door Country, ending in Sturgeon Bay. My job in Wisconsin was to drive our van the 150 miles to pick up tired, overheated, or sick bicyclists who could no longer “Still Cycle” along the route. I became lost driving the van.

July 19-20, 2008, was probably the most humid and the steamiest Wisconsin summer of the century. When one of our bicyclists called me on my cell phone and asked me to come back and pick up one tired, tuckered out bicyclist on our team, I asked “Where are you?” I was given a location. This was in 2008, before G.P.S. was commonplace. I was given an address – an intersection of two streets in some small town on the shore of Lake Michigan. All I had was an intersection and a hand-drawn map of the bicycle route.

“Okay. Stay there. I shall turn this van around and come to the rescue!” I tried to re-trace the miles that I had driven. Going by memory, I tried to back-track to find our cyclist (sporting the distinctive black and red jersey with the “Still Speaking” comma logo on the front of it) at some random intersection of two streets in some town in Wisconsin.

But I became hopelessly lost somewhere out in the cornfields. It dawned on me that these lush, green cornfields seemed quite far away from the “scenic shore” of the blue water of Lake Michigan. I had directions and a map. Why was it that I could not find our tuckered-out team?

I did not save the day that day. Some other support vehicle, authorized by the Scenic Shore 150 event, picked up our disabled bicyclist and transported him to safety. It was not until that evening as we were recovering with other bicyclists that we came to understand what had happened. All of this occurred on DAY ONE of our journey and I was looking at the map for DAY TWO. There is no way that I could ever find our disabled bicyclist because I was using the wrong map.

During this Covid-19 pandemic, we may very well feel lost. Beyond FEELING lost, perhaps some of us really ARE lost. Where are we? Where are we going? Can we ever find our way through this darkness? Who will come to rescue us? Do we have a team support vehicle? What if our support vehicle cannot find us in this strange and foreign place?

The comfort of the Christian tradition is that God always knows where we are. God never needs a map to find us. God is always on the right page. There is one who is coming to save us, pick us up, and bring us home.

Living in An Age of American Anxiety

by Ryan Gear

If you have a hunch you might be feeling more anxiety than usual, you’re probably right. With COVID-19, our political situation, the stubborn continuance of racial injustice, and the recent economic downturn added to the normal stress of life, Americans are suffering with astronomical anxiety levels.

According to the Census Bureau, as of mid-July, 35% of Americans are experiencing what could be classified as Generalized Anxiety Disorder. This is almost double the percentage in 2014 and is up by almost five percentage points since January. Arizona is on the higher end, nationally.

There is also a clear correlation of stress experienced according to age group, with almost half of 18-29 year olds experiencing diagnosable anxiety. Ethnic minorities and those with lower educational attainment clearly feel more stress than whites and those with higher levels of education.

It’s not just Americans who are feeling stressed out. British historian Richard Overy states that, like the 1920s, with political change, the increasing strength of nationalism, and fear of future wars, the 2020s in the UK will be an “age of anxiety.”

The same is true closer to home. While Trump may currently be headed for defeat in November, “Trumpism,” a form of nationalism motivated by the dwindling percentage of white Christians in America, will likely live on into the foreseeable future. It is conceivable that every four years for the next couple of decades, American voters may face the choice between leaning into the ideals enshrined in Declaration of Independence or falling toward fascism.

The economic downturn caused by COVID-19 is weighing on American families who have already suffered growing economic inequality since the 1980s. Pew Research found that income inequality in the U.S. is the highest of all G7 nations, and the wealth gap between America’s richest and poorest families more than doubled between 1989 and 2016. Middle class incomes in America have grown at a slower rate than upper-tier incomes since 1970.

In August, I’m giving a sermon series at the church I pastor called Distressed: Living in An Age of American Anxiety. My central point of the series is that, as people of faith, we have two things to offer to stressed out Americans, including ourselves:

Our faith offers us resources to cope with anxiety, and
Our faith addresses the root causes of American anxiety.

At the center of the Jesus Way is the belief that God cares for all of us and is especially predisposed toward people who are struggling. 1 Peter 5:6-7, encourages people who feel beaten down:

“Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.”

We have the comforting words of Jesus from Matthew chapter 6:

“‘Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?… For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them… But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.’”

We believe that God cares about stressed out Americans and that God provides. At the same time, we also know how God expresses care and exactly how God provides… God cares and provides through God’s people who partner with God and allow God to care and provide for society through them.

God cares for us, and God cares through us. As people of faith, we have the invitation to partner with God to address the root causes of our nation’s anxiety. In a previous time of heightened inequality and anxiety, Walter Rauschenbusch woke up the American church with the book that birthed the era of the Social Gospel, Christianity and the Social Crisis. The Social Gospel movement was fueled by the words of the Hebrew prophets like Micah:

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God (Micah 6:8).

The champions of the Social Gospel were optimistic in their belief that human hearts could be quickly bent toward justice and usher in the millennial reign of Christ in the 20th century. The quagmire of WWI, however, along with the Bolshevik revolution in Russia, and the doldrums of the Great Depression, exposed a degree of naiveté in the movement.

Reinhold Niebuhr, while agreeing that the premise of the Social Gospel was rooted in the biblical concept of justice, suggested that a new kind of “Christian Realism” was needed. Niebuhr wrote in the 1932 Moral Man & Immoral Society that people who desire social justice must force it to happen politically. He points out the reality, for example, that a few exorbitantly wealthy people will pay more taxes out of the goodness of their hearts, but most will not; tax laws must be changed. There are individuals who love justice, but society as a whole does not. Therefore, the political will must be influenced by those individuals who do, and laws must be passed that force the rest to comply within a more just system.

In an era when, like ours, racism and economic injustice played the central role in American politics, Niebuhr presented a strategy that we can also utilize today to address the root causes of American anxiety. In Moral Man & Immoral Society, Niebuhr holds up the example of Ghandi who, while known primarily for using the method of non-violence, also wisely employed another strategy to influence the political will of the British Empire to act more justly toward India.

Niebuhr writes that even though there is actually no ethical distinction, in a strategic decision “Mr. Ghandi never tires of making a distinction between individual Englishmen and the system of imperialism which they maintain” (p. 249). Ghandi acknowledged the perceived difference between the decent and law-abiding individual Englishman at home and the horrible injustices the English collectively perpetuated in India. By doing so, he slipped past the defense mechanisms of the individuals who maintained the system and ultimately changed the political will. Quoting Ghandi from C.F. Andrews’ Mahatma Ghandi’s Ideas, p. 238:

“An Englishman in office is different from an Englishman outside. Similarly an Englishman in India is different from an Englishman in England. Here in India, you belong to a system that is vile beyond description. It is possible, therefore, for me to condemn the system in the strongest terms, without considering you to be bad and without imputing bad motives to every Englishman.”

As anxiety-producing inequalities are worsening, and political divisions are widening, Ghandi’s graceful strategy of inviting willing individuals to change the system may both counter the politics of division and be the most effective approach to addressing the root causes of our national anxiety. We have an opportunity to reduce our own anxiety and be the change we want to see.

Ryan Gear is the Lead Pastor of The Well in Chandler, AZ. During the COVID-19 shutdown, The Well meets online Sundays at 10am AZ/1pm EST.

Grandmothering God…Help us.

guest post from a pastoral letter by Rev. Seth Wispelwey, Interim Pastor at Rincon Congregational UCC in Tucson

“Nana, ayudame.”

Grandmother, help me.

These were the last words of Carlos “Adrian” Ingram Lopez, the Latino man who was killed by Tucson police while in their custody. Our police department, which recently tried to claim “we’re not Minneapolis,” hid his death for two months from Tucson officials (including our mayor) and the general public.  The horrific 12-minute video of his final moments Earth-side has now been released.

Beloved, the great global reckoning we are living through and acting in is now profoundly, specifically, alarmingly here. This is our city. These are our tax dollars. Carlos was our neighbor. Carlos’ family are our neighbors.

Beloved, I know so much is overwhelming and stressful and hard right now. This pandemic and its disconnections from full life and presence with one another. The stresses of managing home, work, parenting, and more amidst so much uncertainty. The fires blazing across our Catalina mountains. The would-be fascist regime operating out of the White House. The righteous uprising compelling so many of us to interrogate and deconstruct the poisonous DNA of white supremacy & patriarchy in ourselves and our communities.

And now this.

Walking is where we find hope and resist defeat. We make the road by walking. Together. Linked in Spirit and the beloved spirits you each possess that our still-speaking God imbues with strength to envision and embody a new Way.  Strength and vision we can only arrive at together.  Remember our scripture this past week?  In-between spitting a lot of righteous fire, Jesus encourages the disciples three times to “have no fear,” to “not be afraid,” and to “fear not.”

It’s ok if you’re afraid of the reckoning on our doorstep. That is a natural reaction. The body of togetherness that we call “church” is a hospital for fear. A medical ward for reaffirming hope. A rehab facility for building up the muscles to respond to others’ fear with the power and actions of love.

We are called for such a moment as this. We are called to be the church we emblazon on our banners.

Beloved, I am here for it. Like each of you, I cannot do it alone. Let us grieve, let us rage, let us pray, let us talk, let us walk.

And Carlos “Adrian” Ingram Lopez.  Say his name.  Share his story. Speak up. Act out. His family has asked that in any online sharing you also include #NanaAyudame.

Like George Floyd, Carlos couldn’t breathe. He let them know. He cried out for his parent figures while the police let him suffocate.  Just like Jesus on the cross.

This hurts, beloved. Let us hold it and walk it together. Let justice come. Resurrection is the insurrection they thought they crucified.

Resurrection is tearing down the idols.

Resurrection is liberating the captives.

Resurrection is abolishing ICE.

Resurrection is defunding and dismantling the police.

Resurrection is living the truth that Black Lives Matter, that women’s bodies and choices belong to them, that queer folx are fiercely beloved & affirmed by God, that border walls be demolished, that properties become “re-wilded,” and more.

Resurrection lives in you.

Bring forth reparations, for the kin-dom of God is at hand.

Grandmothering God…Help us.

Onward,
Rev. Seth

What Will the Church DO About the Lynchings?

“You can lynch a people by more than just hanging them on a tree. How long will this terror last?!” Dr. James Cone, 2013, Vanderbilt University

Dear white Christians,

Every Black life matters. That is not a cliché, hashtag, or a movement moniker. That is a Divinely pronounced, immutable, moral truth. Despite this Truth, three black people – Ahmad Aubrey in Georgia, Breonna Taylor in Kentucky, George Floyd in Minnesota – three children of God, three of our human siblings, three of our neighbors, three beloved family members – were lynched in America in as many months. Each of their lives mattered. And God is inviting us to remember the Divine Words in Genesis. “What have you done?! Listen! your brothers’ and sister’s blood cries out to me from the land.” (Gen. 4:10)

To say that the murders of Ahmad Aubrey, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd, happened because they were Black is to blame the victims. Mr. Aubrey, Ms. Taylor, and Mr. Floyd were lynched because their killers were racists. The initial non-response to Mr. Aubrey’s murder happened because the prosecutors’ decisions were rooted in racism. Bystanders realized the police were killing Mr. Floyd and begged the officers to stop using lethal force; officers refused because they were racists. When I ask prayerfully, “Would what happened to Ahmad Aubrey, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd have been different if these beloved children of God had been white?” the answer is, “Yes!” But their Blackness was not to blame. Their deaths are the fruit of white privilege left unchallenged, racism gone viral, and white supremacy running rampant and glorified on our airwaves and in our streets. Racist white people are to blame. Racist white people lynched them! “What have you done?! Listen! your brothers’ and sisters’ blood cries out to me from the land.”

The assault against Black bodies on our streets is personal. It was personal for Ahmad Aubrey and his family. It was personal for Breonna Taylor and her family. It was personal for George Floyd and his family. What has happened to them and to their families is personal for everyone in America who is not white. I want to say something to the Church without becoming too personal for me or for you. But that is not possible.

Dismantling racism is personal work. Racism will only be dismantled when each of us personally dismantles our own racism. An honest moral inventory of myself specifically and of white people generally tells me that white people do not interact with Black people the same way they interact with white people. White people feel a different set of feelings when we interact with Black people than we feel when we interact with white people. White culture believes and perpetuates stereotypes and untruths about Black culture in order to sustain our white privilege. That is why just this week a Central Park dog-walker, Amy Cooper, who is white, called the police and reported her life was being threatened when a birdwatcher, Christian Cooper, who is Black, asked her to comply with posted rules and put her dog on a leash. Sometimes we don’t realize what we are doing and that is the crux of the problem. Sometimes we do.

My integrity compels me to admit that I am a racist. I was taught racial biases, not always tacitly. I have willingly learned and practiced these patterns of behavior because that is what white people expect of other white people, and because ‘our systems’ reward racism. My whiteness has become unmanageable in that I am addicted to my privilege. I do not want to be a racist. Yet, I commit racism every time I interact with or feel or believe differently about someone who is not white, or when I act to preserve my privilege. While I am working to be more aware of and to overcome my privilege and my racism, that does not mean I am not racist. That means when I succeed, I am a racist in recovery. Until white people confess and change what is happening inside of ourselves, Black people will continue to bear our sins in their bodies. “What have you done?! Listen! your brothers’ and sisters’ blood cries out to me from the land.”

Let us agree to make no more assumptions that because we are progressive Christians, we are not racists. Let us put as much work into dismantling our own individual racism as we have put into our collective statements of solidarity with communities of color, protests, expressions of outrage, and social media posts. Let us agree as clergy and lay leaders, members together of the Southwest Conference of the United Church of Christ, we will intentionally and overtly act to dismantle racism in all of our ministry settings and in the systems in which we live socially, economically, legally, and politically. Let us agree to educate ourselves about Black history, read books by Black authors, quote Black teachers and theologians, and elect Black leaders. Let us agree to call out racism from our pulpits and in our pulpits, from our seats and in our seats at board and committee meetings, our private conversations, our decision making, our interpretation of Scripture, our classes and workshops. Let us agree to give one another permission to hold each other accountable when we miss the opportunity to hold ourselves accountable for racist and privileged behavior.

The Lord said to Cain, “Why are you angry, and why has your countenance fallen? ⁷ If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is lurking at the door; its desire is for you, but you must master it.” (Genesis 4:6-7) What world becomes possible when we, white Christians, live into that kind of covenant with one another? I hope a world without lynchings, where no person dies because of the color of their skin, a world from which “the blood of our neighbors” no longer cries out against us, a just world for all.

Rev. Dr. William M. Lyons, Conference Minister
Southwest Conference of the United Church of Christ

How Long Oh Lord, How Long?

guest post by Rev. Dr. Edward Smith Davis, MBA, Conference Minister, Southern Conference UCC

And they cried with a loud voice, saying “How long Oh Lord, Holy and true dost Thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth. (Rev. 6:10 KJV)

After seeing the videos of incidences surrounding Ahmaud Arbery in Georgia, and George Floyd in Minnesota, and equally likewise the incident surrounding the death of Breonna Taylor, I had a visceral reaction that made my spirit cry out, “How long Oh Lord, how long? How long must innocent victims be put to death needlessly because of the color of their skin?

This brought back memories of growing up in Chicago, as a twelve-year old boy, of how many times the police forced me and others to lay on the ground in, sometimes zero-degree weather, searching our pockets for weapons or drugs. After searching our pockets and realizing there was no paraphernalia that could link us to any crime, we were still forced to lay on a frozen ground for often, twenty to thirty minutes of what felt like an eternity. It was during those times I realized how quickly things could go severely wrong.

I called to remembrance the times when I would sit down with my two young sons and talk with them, not so much about gang violence, but being more concerned with the violence that could be perpetrated upon them by the police out of racism and hatred. Let me say, I have no ill will toward the police. My wife served as police officer for thirty-one years and we both served as St. Jude Chaplains for the entire police department. We understand their call to faithful service.

In this society I ask the question, how long oh Lord? How long must Black men and women be devalued to the point of death? How long, oh Lord! How long and when will the bodies of Eric Garner, Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, Freddy Gray, and others compel us to use our voices to cry out over the injustices and the disregard for human life. Black lives matter! How long, oh Lord? How long do we have to witness the videos of Black lives being taken away? How long oh Lord? How long must the shooting of innocent men and women continue to play out in our society. How long oh Lord? How long will we as a people declare, that in your Holy site, these behaviors are wrong?

Yes! We must protest! Yes! We must cry out! Yes! we must advocate! And, yes, we must all use our collective voices to proclaim this message loud and clear.

At General Synod, 2017 I was the keynote speaker at the Open and Affirming, (O&A), banquet I asked the questioned to the gathered, “why do we wait for our particular justice issue to come along before we get involved?” I shared then that any injustice must be addressed by those of us who are called to be advocates for justice. When I was on the Board of the United Church of Christ, I declared, “if we were going to be authentic to who we say we are, we are going to have to value all voices. And, if we are going to be people, of spiritual integrity and moral compass, it must compel us to value all lives.”

As Theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer states, “not to speak is to speak! And not to act, is to act!” For we cannot close our eyes and pretend not to see and shut our ears and pretend not to hear the cries from the lips and lives of the families who are left behind. Oh Lord, how long? In our frustration we do cry out to God asking how long. But, in this faith, we must remember the God who sees, hears, and knows is forever present with us to provide us hope and the determination to continue to pray, speak and act to these injustices.

We, as a faith community, must never lose hope that our world can be a safe and healthy place for everyone to live. And, we must do our part to ensure the manifestation of this occurring. In the midst of the crisis we must share this hope with those who have lost their hope. And, we must share it in tangible ways. I am reminded of the scripture found in Romans 8:22, (NIV), We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. When we see the pains of God’s people as our collective pain, we will be challenged and called to pray as well as act. How long oh Lord? Not Long!

A Cat’s Lessons on Loving Your Neighbor

by Abigail Conley

The cat is driving me crazy. She’s a little annoyed by us working from home more, having been accustomed to her days alone and uninterrupted sleep. Near the beginning of Arizona’s shutdown, I handed her through the car window to a veterinary tech; as a result of that visit, she’s been on steroids for about a month. She’s almost seventeen, so this is the best way to treat current health problems that we’re not worried about curing.

However, a cat on steroids is just as bad as a human on steroids. About a week in, her appetite doubled, maybe tripled. She is now known as the hobbit, hopeful for second anything. Any time we walk near her food bowl, she’s hopeful for more food. She has dry food all the time; she’d just rather have the (expensive) canned rabbit. She’s gotten second dinner a few times. It doesn’t seem to have sated her hunger.

Her thirst has increased with her hunger, and we are regularly scolding her for sticking her head in one of our drinks. It is not uncommon for every glass to end up in the dishwasher as a result. I should note that not only does she have a water bowl that is full, it is actually a water fountain so that the water doesn’t get stale and unappealing. It was a recent Christmas present and we can talk about me becoming that person another day.

Oh—I missed all the extra energy from steroids in my summary of complaints about the cat. Luckily, she cannot share her complaints about me.

But I am also remembering how I got the cat, more than seven years ago now. One of my college professors lost her husband in a plane crash; her childhood sweetheart had lost his wife to cancer. They got married. She was not a cat person, but he had three cats from his first marriage. They went to work on rehoming the cats after a few months of marriage. His daughter ended up with two of the cats. I got my cat, transported from Virginia to Kansas City by my professor and her new husband. They arrived just in time for Thanksgiving dinner with me.

The cat’s original owner has since died of cancer, too. It was a shockingly aggressive cancer caused by Agent Orange from his service in Vietnam. My partner and I went to his funeral in Nashville, somehow more connected by the cat he was so glad we loved. The primary way we could care for him during his illness was to send cat pictures.

Somehow, the cat remains a symbol of connection stretching across the years. I even talk to her previous owners more often because she is in my care. As we sit in this pandemic that both isolates and connects us at the same time, I think most of us will come away with neighbor stories. Some of them are good stories of comfort and friendship; others are stories of neighbors like mine who start drinking at 10 a.m.

But at the end of the day, the command to love your neighbor is about remembering the ways we are connected and honoring them. In my case, an uncharacteristically annoying cat still turns me to my neighbor. Maybe even more importantly, those connections remind me that I have neighbors who love me, too. And we’ll probably have some good stories to tell along the way.