Author: Sharei Green

Queer Pentecost on Late Night TV

We were a number of months into the pandemic when a clip of a late-night show caught my eye. “You have to see this!” my feeds echoed. Scraping the bottom of the well of all my reserves that were being used up keeping our queer little family safe and alive in a time of global pandemic and racial justice reawakening while also starting a new job I wearily clicked through looking for a moment of distraction or levity. And then I watched as Alanis Morrisette relived every meeting I had been trying to have over Zoom for the last months on national late night television—holding her small child she performed her song “Ablaze” being interrupted to have to explain what she was doing, having her equipment tugged at, and still delivering a powerful performance. The delivery of the song was enough to win me over and give me a moment of feeling seen but the song itself is what has kept it on my playlist for these many months that have followed. You see, the song is an oath to her children. It sings to them lifting up that which makes them uniquely glorious and says “I see you; I love you” and it is a naming of the commitment as their parent to keep the fire in their eye ablaze.  

This song speaks to me, particularly as a queer mom of a young child. It’s a reminder that even in these times and with so much out of my control it is my duty to this precious human being to kindle the light in her eyes. To help her understand her inherent worth and dignity and to kindle a flame within her that sees and fights for the recognition of that same worth and dignity in others.

But this is not just a song about parenting. Moving through this month of pride and having just celebrated Pentecost what better time to be reminded that we are called into community through God’s love with the express responsibility to keep the fire in each other’s eyes ablaze. Ablaze with the promise that we are all made in the image of God, imago Dei, and beloved of God. Ablaze with the promise that the unique gifts and stories of our lives are welcome and necessary here in this time and place. Ablaze with a fire to continue to be a part of the difficult and essential work of dismantling White supremacy culture within our church and our world. Ablaze with the fire and promise of righteous anger on which pride began. Ablaze with the audacious hope that all might flourish.

Dr. Melissa James (she/her) is a Minister of Word and Service (Deacon) in the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America (ELCA).   She currently serves the Unitarian Universalist Association as a congregational consultant for the Pacific Western Region and teaches at the University of San Diego in Sociology and Gender Studies. She lives in La Mesa, CA with her wife and 4-year-old daughter.

________ Pride

It’s hard to qualify Pride this year. The symbolic void where an impulsive “happy” should go weighs heavily on me today.

I would love to go with our usual greeting. “Happy Pride!” I want to scream Happy Pride from the rooftops and platforms -virtual or otherwise- and assure every single person in our community that this is the month when we can let our colors fly and we can show up as we are, even for a day, a moment, under the sun.

However, the realities we live in political, ecclesial, and socioeconomic, bluntly point back to that void where the “happy” should be.

Pride.

We all encounter Pride in different ways, in different spaces, and in different times as we grow, live, love, age, come out, come together, grow apart, move on, and stay. We find Pride in the quiet affirmations of chosen family keeping us safe, and by ourselves in our closets, in the whispers of promises that things will get better.

We find Pride in pool parties and harnesses, haircuts, nail polish, brunch, church, dungeons, and homes. We find Pride in the multitude of our talents and gifts. In our galaxy of genders. In the multiplicity of our love, care, and attractions.

I find Pride in the embrace of our community and identities, hopes, goals, and dreams. However, I can’t say that this is exactly happy.

Many of us still struggle with representation, care, and community. Many of us struggle living a public life, free from fear of harassment and harm. Hell, many of us struggle just staying alive.

Pride.

Beloved child of God, I invite you to meditate on what Pride means for you today. How would you qualify Pride?

Throughout the history of our faith, we can see this impulse to collectively qualify figures and events to speak to a hegemonic majority in the best of cases, or at our worst, to actively oppress, marginalize, and exterminate the cultural, ethnic, and religious other.

Yet here we are. Queer, trans, bi, sapphic, Aro/Ace Christians. Poly, kinky, vanilla, Lutherans.

We understand how our faith confession can be both liberating and condemning. We live, and live into this ambiguity, this queerness if you may, every day.

I would struggle to call it one thing, let alone good, facing all the evidence of what has been done in the name of Christ and the church.

Yet here we are.

Confessing and believing that the composer of creation wrote us, specifically us, as part of the symphony of the cosmos. 

I believe that this is the case for our community too. We are not here as an accident or by chance, but by choice. We are all, in our difference and diversity, part of this community to make it whole, beautiful and powerful. Like Esther, we were called for such a time as this.

ELM community, this is a hard, complicated, messy time, and even though we can’t all claim “happy”, I hope and pray that we can definitely claim our Pride.

Subversive, chaotic, powerful, and confessional.

Embodied as it is. As you are.

We make Pride what it needs to be, and what we pray it will become. So today as June starts my prayer is that you can claim the Pride you need. That you can find your co-conspirators and your strength in our communities. That you rage and meditate and share the Pride that is, knowing that the Pride we all make will be even better.

So beloved, I wish you a Pride. Make of it what you must. We trust that the God who was with our queer elders though history will keep showing us the way towards happiness, but more importantly, towards justice.

Last time I went back to my small midwestern hometown one of my friends from High School asked, “do you still listen to weird music?” I assured him I did. Even though I don’t really think of it as strange, I knew what he was getting at. I grew up listening to an eclectic array of music since both my parents had cassette and record collections. My first Cassette was Beach Boys “Endless Summer” and my first CD was actually the Coolio album “It Takes a Thief” …which my parents promptly confiscated because of the inappropriate language. I went through a phase of listening to Contemporary Christian Music like you do. And then just whatever was on the radio. Often my friends and I would go to the Books/Music/Video store in my hometown and browse, which is where I found their “world-music” section! In a small city that’s a big deal.

I gravitated to music without words or with lyrics in non-English languages. Something about New Age music like “Deep Forest”, Renaissance music like “Brumel”, and World Music like “Le Mystere des Voix Bulgares” resonated with my whole being. My friends thought my music was odd, but I didn’t care. One day a friend came over and shouted, “You HAVE to listen to this song.” She played me a song called “Alane” by Wes Madiko, an artist from Cameroon. I had never heard anything like it before. It starts out with soft rhythmic chanting that turns into a lively dance track with a soaring chorus that elevated my spirit every time. I had no idea what the song was about, but I immediately downloaded it on Napster. The next day I went to the world-music section at the store and miraculously found the full album called “Walenga.” Why was it here in my town? Was this meant to be? A sign from God? Yes, obviously. Each track was a whole glorious journey in itself, or so I imagined. (btw, I saw the music video for “Alane” years later on YouTube and it’s pretty fantastic.) I played it on repeat for weeks.

Apparently “Alane” had been somewhat of a hit in Europe, which is why it was available in the middle of Kansas. And why, if you were sitting on Main street in 1999, you might’ve heard it blasting from a pickup truck going by. Don’t get me wrong, I also loved Savage Garden and Shania Twain like everyone else, but I had this special connection to songs that most of the people in my life didn’t know. A special playlist of rhythms and sounds that seemed to speak just to me. 

The internet eventually gave me the power to look up the translation to “Alane.” The chorus means “Come on and dance in a love song, All together, forever.” When so many songs were about straight people’s “hearts going on,” this had been a love song for me and my queer self. Wes’ “Alane” was my glimpse that the world out there was so much bigger and more fabulous than I could ever imagine. 

Caleb Crainer (he/him) serves as Pastor at St. Andrew’s Lutheran Church in Los Angeles, California, as the Dean of the LA Metro Conference in the Southwest California Synod, and as the First-Call Accompaniment Coaching Convener in Proclaim. His favorite parts of ministry are having his congregation sing in different languages and the grace they show each other when things are mispronounced.

I am so angry. Angry about the state of the world. Angry about the state of the church. Angry that racism and homophobia and sexism and ableism and all the other ‘isms’ that divide us are having a field day in the ELCA. As a bishop, I’m angry that I have not found the way to talk about this publicly. I’m angry that I have to think about this all the time – who will I offend? Who will I abandon as I take a stand? Where am I complicit? I have power, more than I think, less than I think, and there are no clear guidelines on how to use it. 

 

I am so sad. Sad that people I love have hurt each other. Sad that some people in power have the privilege of looking the other way. Sad that committed leaders have shown their weaknesses in painful, public ways. Sad that people of color in the ELCA are crying out… again. Sad that LGBTQ people in the ELCA are crying out… still. Where will we find solace? 

 

I am so confused. As a queer bishop (it’s a small group, if you were not sure) serving a synod with diverse communities, I do not know where my guiding principles should take me. Gospel first, YES, but what does that mean exactly? Jesus Christ is the Savior of the World? The first shall be last and the last shall be first? Seek ye first the kin-dom of God? Beware the tax collector? Jesus looked at the crowd and had compassion on them? Therefore there is no male or female, Jew or Greek, slave or free? Which gospel text is supposed to guide me in these murky waters? Because Jesus says a lot about love and forgiveness and says a lot about hypocrisy and self-righteousness and apparently there is supposed to be a clear message I can follow, but I cannot find it. 

 

Anger. Confusion. Grief. Words we have used constantly in the past two years and again now, as the Extraordinary Lutheran Ministries community tries to find its way forward after suspending a member from the historic roster on charges of racism. Anger. Confusion. Grief. As our siblings of color tell us over and over how difficult it is to find a place in this church. Anger. Confusion. Grief. As leaders of the ELCA do not have a clear path forward, especially when it comes to reconciliation and renewal. God help us. 

 

Anger. Confusion. Grief. We think of the disciples after Jesus was arrested, as He stands trial without them, as He is executed by the state without friends nearby. The disciples were so angry. So confused. So devastated. They had trusted Jesus, had committed their lives to Him and now He was destroyed. Their ministry was destroyed. Their identity was destroyed. 

 

Christians like to believe those feelings were dissipated the moment Jesus was resurrected. My mourning was turned to dancing, the psalmist writes, and Christians love to cling to that dance. We are Easter people, we proclaim. Christ is risen, He is risen indeed. Everything is coming up roses. Or lilies, if you go to church.

 

But consider the story, really. Mary does not recognize Jesus in the garden. Why? Her grief, her confusion, her anger had blocked her. Later Jesus appears to His disciples, several times, but in sporadic ways. They could not trust Him to show up at a certain time or place. His revelations were random, which, in my mind, would make it more stressful. Would He stay forever, or was He abandoning them slowly, like a lover who keeps texting even after breaking up with you. Christians like to believe those first weeks after Easter were exciting, but I believe they were excruciating. I think Jesus was preparing the disciples for the rest of life on earth. Confusing, infuriating, sorrowful. A constant search for Jesus.

 

A strange message for Easter, isn’t it? I focus on Mary – she did not recognize Jesus. Her grief may have obstructed her ability, but I suspect Jesus was not recognizable. I suspect Jesus is not recognizable now either. I am so angry that places and people and organizations which used to look like Jesus do not anymore. Or is it me? Is it them? Or is it Jesus, transforming into random, irritating, beautiful things? 

 

I wonder if this is the problem. We have stopped perceiving Jesus in each other. We have been devastated by the human condition, no doubt. We have hurt each other, absolutely. I ask forgiveness where I have hurt you, I ask for sacred power to forgive you when you have hurt me. I am not asking anyone to forgive too quickly. But I am challenging us all to find Jesus in each other. The resurrected Jesus: unrecognizable, strange, illusive. Holy. Maddening. Demanding. Loving. Present. Difficult. Friends, if it were easy, everyone would be doing it. My prayer this Easter is that we can truly acknowledge, truly experience Jesus in each other. He is disrupting us, and in that disruption, He will heal us.

Brenda Bos (she/her) is the first openly lesbian bishop elected in the ELCA. She serves the Southwest California Synod, whose territory sits on the homeland of eleven indigenous peoples and includes the Hollywood sign, “The Valley”, coastal cities, farmland and urban deserts. She and her wife Janis spend their free time hiking with their dogs and making their house more fun for their young granddaughter. 

But strangely, I felt held. Not by the God who expected a perfectly executed Lenten season, but by the God who met me in places I didn’t expect. This God held the frantic scribbles in my journals, my defeated body that couldn’t muster the energy to pull itself up off of my bedroom floor, and my midnight whisper to the sky one night – “I think I’m gay.” In the quiet of quarantine, I noticed God’s closeness – so close that I could feel her breath on my cheek. I wondered how long she’d had her hand in mine. Slowly, my body began to feel like church. It was all I had left for flesh and blood worship, and it turned out, it was all I needed.

Image Description: Photo of a femme person with long hair with a background of a starry night with the words, “In the quiet of quarantine, I noticed God’s closeness – so close that I could feel her breath on my cheek. I wondered how long she’d had her hand in mine. Slowly, my body began to feel like church. It was all I had left for flesh and blood worship, and it turned out, it was all I needed.” – Natalie Benson

Natalie Benson (she/her) is a third year Master’s of Divinity student at Yale Divinity School and an aspiring university chaplain. A proud Midwesterner- Natalie grew up in Bloomington, IL and later went to the University of Indianapolis, where she studied Psychology and Religion. In college, she discovered a deeper connection to her Lutheran faith through interfaith dialogue. If ministry doesn’t work out, Natalie would be happy living on the beach and enjoying her new-found love for surfing.