August 2020
"Holding Up Those Who Fall"
Based on Psalm 145:8-9, 14-21 (reading at the end of the sermon)
August 2, 2020
“The LORD upholds all those who fall and lifts up those who are bowed down.” - Psalm 145:14
This verse from today’s Psalm reading reminds me of a time when I had a bad fall. Back when I was working for Catholic Charities at a Minneapolis drop-in center, which offered safe haven for the homeless and hot meals to the hungry.
After working a couple years managing an AIDS outreach program, I applied for a new position—to be the director over their four drop-in centers. It was a significant promotion for me, which included supervising five program managers.
On the first day in my new role, I had to move into a different office. We decided that I would switch rooms with a co-worker named “Liz,” who coordinated an emergency assistance program.
So, Liz and I were carrying boxes from one office to the other. As we were getting close to finishing, I walked into my office and was stepping over a box on the floor, when I tripped and fell. On the way down, there was a loud pop in my knee. I knew right away something was wrong.
Liz ran to get the nurse from the onsite homeless clinic, who carefully examined my knee. And even though I had a lot of pain, she thought it was just sprained. She put a bag of ice on it, gave me some ibuprofen, and told me to “just keep moving it.”
But after about an hour, the knee swelled up, so I went to the emergency room. Where the doctor told me I had dislocated the kneecap. An X-ray showed a piece of bone floating in the fluid around the knee. Eventually I had arthroscopic surgery on my left knee, with a full-leg cast. I was unable to work for a few weeks.
That accident is the most memorable first day of any job I’ve ever had. Ironically, as I was stepping up into a higher-level position, I literally fell down.
One of my outreach workers loved to kid me that I was like the woman in the old TV commercial, who shouts, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!”
“The LORD upholds all those who fall and lifts up those who are bowed down.”
Accidents by definition are unpredictable. A lot of accidents happen at work and at home. I was lucky in that I recovered from my fall. Sometimes accidents end in permanent disability and even death. Causing pain, major life changes and grief for patients and their loved ones.
Like accidents, many losses in life are unpredictable. Who could have known or predicted one year ago that all of our lives would be drastically changed by one little coronavirus. Yet, here in the U.S. we’ve had 4.5 million COVID cases and over 150,000 deaths.
The emotional toll linked to those deaths is staggering. Most of us resist facing loss. Denying to ourselves and others that life is loss and loss is life. There’s an old Jewish bit of wisdom that says if you dance at a lot of weddings, you’ll cry at a lot of funerals.
Which means that if you are present when new things begin—whether it be a job, or a baby’s birth, or a relationship, or the purchase of a home—you will also likely see many endings.
Like job layoffs, or the diagnosis of a serious illness, or divorces, or the death of loved ones. Many of us have faced losses like that. And made it through—often because we’ve had the support of family members, friends, communities like St. Mark’s, and our faith in God.
“The LORD upholds all those who fall and lifts up those who are bowed down.”
Today, it feels like we are facing a type of loss never experienced before. A shared grief, affecting each one of us, whether we admit it or not.
Psychologists call it “collective trauma.” Collective trauma refers to the psychological upheaval shared by all those who together experience a crisis. That type of trauma can affect groups of any size, including communities and even nations.
There are different types of collective traumas. Some are immediate and short-term events. Like a school shooting or a devastating hurricane. Others are less dramatic, but more prolonged, like economic recessions or military conflicts that cause long-term societal or even global changes.
Sometimes these events are witnessed first-hand. Others can be experienced through mass media. The terrorist attacks of 9/11 are an example of something many people saw live on TV.
The COVID-19 pandemic is a universal event with both individual and communal psychological effects. Currently, our attention is focused on the disease itself. But we are already experiencing the long-term mental health consequences of this pandemic.
Those of us who lost friends and loved ones during the early years of the AIDS epidemic know what it’s like. That it’s normal to experience anxiety and depression, hopelessness and panic attacks, grief and despair. Because it’s collective, it might feel like all of us are falling into a deep dark chasm.
“The LORD upholds all those who fall and lifts up those who are bowed down.”
We as humans and as Christians, are always looking for meaning in the face of loss. For although collective trauma can foster chronic worry and fear of the future, it may also spur us to try to make sense of what has happened.
It can lead us to reflect what it means to be a faith community in today’s world. A community that supports one another. A community that holds up each other when we fall. A community that gives each of us hope, strength and resiliency together with God. A community that moves us to compassion and action.
Past social crises have led others to that place. After World War II and the Nazi Holocaust, Jewish people rose up and said, “Never again.” As previous victims of such racial hatred, many Jews have chosen to be at the forefront of the struggle against all forms of prejudice and discrimination.
Years ago, queer people bravely faced an existential crisis when HIV+ activists rose up and shouted, “Silence equals death.”
A similar movement has come out of a collective response to the death of George Floyd and others like him. Where people of color have risen up to say, “Black Lives Matter.”
John Lewis was an African American civil rights leader who served in the House of Representatives for 33 years until his death two weeks ago.
Before he died, Lewis asked The New York Times to publish a message from himself on the day of his funeral. A letter calling the young people of our world to rise up to the current historical challenges. Here is part of what he wrote, which was read by actor Morgan Freeman at his funeral on Thursday.
“Though I may not be here with you, I urge you to answer the highest calling of your heart and stand up for what you truly believe. In my life I have done all I can to demonstrate that the way of peace, the way of love and nonviolence is the more excellent way. Now it is your turn to let freedom ring. When historians pick up their pens to write the story of the 21st century, let them say that it was your generation who laid down the heavy burdens of hate at last and that peace finally triumphed over violence, aggression and war.”
Today, I believe God is calling each of us to hear those words and rise up together to bring healing and love to our world. A world that’s hungry for a word of hope.
As we seek to transcend our collective trauma. And with our hands and hearts, to make these words of the Psalmist a reality: “The LORD upholds all those who fall and lifts up those who are bowed down.” Amen.
+ + +
SCRIPTURE READING: Psalm 145:8-9 & 14-21
8The Lord is gracious and full of compassion,
slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.
9Lord, you are good to all,
and your compassion is over all your works.
14The Lord upholds all those who fall
and lifts up those who are bowed down.
15The eyes of all wait upon you, O Lord,
and you give them their food in due season.
16You open wide your hand
and satisfy the desire of every living thing.
17You are righteous in all your ways
and loving in all your works.
18You are near to all who call upon you,
to all who call upon you faithfully.
19You fulfill the desire of those who fear you;
you hear their cry and save them.
20You watch over all those who love you,
but all the wicked you shall destroy.
21My mouth shall speak the praise of the Lord;
let all flesh bless God’s holy name forever and ever.
This verse from today’s Psalm reading reminds me of a time when I had a bad fall. Back when I was working for Catholic Charities at a Minneapolis drop-in center, which offered safe haven for the homeless and hot meals to the hungry.
After working a couple years managing an AIDS outreach program, I applied for a new position—to be the director over their four drop-in centers. It was a significant promotion for me, which included supervising five program managers.
On the first day in my new role, I had to move into a different office. We decided that I would switch rooms with a co-worker named “Liz,” who coordinated an emergency assistance program.
So, Liz and I were carrying boxes from one office to the other. As we were getting close to finishing, I walked into my office and was stepping over a box on the floor, when I tripped and fell. On the way down, there was a loud pop in my knee. I knew right away something was wrong.
Liz ran to get the nurse from the onsite homeless clinic, who carefully examined my knee. And even though I had a lot of pain, she thought it was just sprained. She put a bag of ice on it, gave me some ibuprofen, and told me to “just keep moving it.”
But after about an hour, the knee swelled up, so I went to the emergency room. Where the doctor told me I had dislocated the kneecap. An X-ray showed a piece of bone floating in the fluid around the knee. Eventually I had arthroscopic surgery on my left knee, with a full-leg cast. I was unable to work for a few weeks.
That accident is the most memorable first day of any job I’ve ever had. Ironically, as I was stepping up into a higher-level position, I literally fell down.
One of my outreach workers loved to kid me that I was like the woman in the old TV commercial, who shouts, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!”
“The LORD upholds all those who fall and lifts up those who are bowed down.”
Accidents by definition are unpredictable. A lot of accidents happen at work and at home. I was lucky in that I recovered from my fall. Sometimes accidents end in permanent disability and even death. Causing pain, major life changes and grief for patients and their loved ones.
Like accidents, many losses in life are unpredictable. Who could have known or predicted one year ago that all of our lives would be drastically changed by one little coronavirus. Yet, here in the U.S. we’ve had 4.5 million COVID cases and over 150,000 deaths.
The emotional toll linked to those deaths is staggering. Most of us resist facing loss. Denying to ourselves and others that life is loss and loss is life. There’s an old Jewish bit of wisdom that says if you dance at a lot of weddings, you’ll cry at a lot of funerals.
Which means that if you are present when new things begin—whether it be a job, or a baby’s birth, or a relationship, or the purchase of a home—you will also likely see many endings.
Like job layoffs, or the diagnosis of a serious illness, or divorces, or the death of loved ones. Many of us have faced losses like that. And made it through—often because we’ve had the support of family members, friends, communities like St. Mark’s, and our faith in God.
“The LORD upholds all those who fall and lifts up those who are bowed down.”
Today, it feels like we are facing a type of loss never experienced before. A shared grief, affecting each one of us, whether we admit it or not.
Psychologists call it “collective trauma.” Collective trauma refers to the psychological upheaval shared by all those who together experience a crisis. That type of trauma can affect groups of any size, including communities and even nations.
There are different types of collective traumas. Some are immediate and short-term events. Like a school shooting or a devastating hurricane. Others are less dramatic, but more prolonged, like economic recessions or military conflicts that cause long-term societal or even global changes.
Sometimes these events are witnessed first-hand. Others can be experienced through mass media. The terrorist attacks of 9/11 are an example of something many people saw live on TV.
The COVID-19 pandemic is a universal event with both individual and communal psychological effects. Currently, our attention is focused on the disease itself. But we are already experiencing the long-term mental health consequences of this pandemic.
Those of us who lost friends and loved ones during the early years of the AIDS epidemic know what it’s like. That it’s normal to experience anxiety and depression, hopelessness and panic attacks, grief and despair. Because it’s collective, it might feel like all of us are falling into a deep dark chasm.
“The LORD upholds all those who fall and lifts up those who are bowed down.”
We as humans and as Christians, are always looking for meaning in the face of loss. For although collective trauma can foster chronic worry and fear of the future, it may also spur us to try to make sense of what has happened.
It can lead us to reflect what it means to be a faith community in today’s world. A community that supports one another. A community that holds up each other when we fall. A community that gives each of us hope, strength and resiliency together with God. A community that moves us to compassion and action.
Past social crises have led others to that place. After World War II and the Nazi Holocaust, Jewish people rose up and said, “Never again.” As previous victims of such racial hatred, many Jews have chosen to be at the forefront of the struggle against all forms of prejudice and discrimination.
Years ago, queer people bravely faced an existential crisis when HIV+ activists rose up and shouted, “Silence equals death.”
A similar movement has come out of a collective response to the death of George Floyd and others like him. Where people of color have risen up to say, “Black Lives Matter.”
John Lewis was an African American civil rights leader who served in the House of Representatives for 33 years until his death two weeks ago.
Before he died, Lewis asked The New York Times to publish a message from himself on the day of his funeral. A letter calling the young people of our world to rise up to the current historical challenges. Here is part of what he wrote, which was read by actor Morgan Freeman at his funeral on Thursday.
“Though I may not be here with you, I urge you to answer the highest calling of your heart and stand up for what you truly believe. In my life I have done all I can to demonstrate that the way of peace, the way of love and nonviolence is the more excellent way. Now it is your turn to let freedom ring. When historians pick up their pens to write the story of the 21st century, let them say that it was your generation who laid down the heavy burdens of hate at last and that peace finally triumphed over violence, aggression and war.”
Today, I believe God is calling each of us to hear those words and rise up together to bring healing and love to our world. A world that’s hungry for a word of hope.
As we seek to transcend our collective trauma. And with our hands and hearts, to make these words of the Psalmist a reality: “The LORD upholds all those who fall and lifts up those who are bowed down.” Amen.
+ + +
SCRIPTURE READING: Psalm 145:8-9 & 14-21
8The Lord is gracious and full of compassion,
slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.
9Lord, you are good to all,
and your compassion is over all your works.
14The Lord upholds all those who fall
and lifts up those who are bowed down.
15The eyes of all wait upon you, O Lord,
and you give them their food in due season.
16You open wide your hand
and satisfy the desire of every living thing.
17You are righteous in all your ways
and loving in all your works.
18You are near to all who call upon you,
to all who call upon you faithfully.
19You fulfill the desire of those who fear you;
you hear their cry and save them.
20You watch over all those who love you,
but all the wicked you shall destroy.
21My mouth shall speak the praise of the Lord;
let all flesh bless God’s holy name forever and ever.
"A Still, Small Voice"
Based on 1 Kings 19:9-18 (reading at the end of the sermon)
August 9, 2020
Today, I’m wondering if you can remember the first person you knew who was queer and proud. Not necessarily the first person who came out to you. Not necessarily the first person you thought was gay or lesbian or bisexual or trans. But the first person who clearly and confidently presented themself as queer and proud.
For me, the first “out” gay man I met was a therapist I started seeing at the beginning of my senior year in seminary. Throughout my time there, I secretly struggled with my sexual orientation. And even though I was in love with another man, nobody knew my truth.
I’d seen a couple other therapists before that. Two women who were supportive, but straight. Who mostly focused on trying to help me figure out whether I was gay or not.
But that fall, something happened deep inside me. An awakening. A longing. A yearning. To try to come out at least to myself. To meet other people like me.
So, I looked in the Yellow Pages (since back then there was no Internet) and found the name of the Minneapolis Gay and Lesbian Community Center. And gathered up my courage and called. One of their gay therapists answered the phone.
His name was Jack Devine. A name that today strikes me as ironic. For Jack helped me come to terms with the internal conflict between my sexual identity and my divine calling to follow God and get ordained. He also suggested that I join a coming out group at the center, where I met other LGBTQ people and made some new friends.
I saw Jack as a therapist on and off for a few years. He walked with me during a long journey, until I finally decided to no longer pursue ordination. And helped me see that hat being authentic and true to myself was a deeper calling for me at that time in my life than staying in the closet as a Lutheran pastor.
A decision that didn’t come easily. Just as coming out is still not an easy decision for many of us who realize at some point in our lives that we are queer.
Especially when it causes ambivalence and strife related to jobs, or relationships with people we love, or family expectations, or possible rejection by our faith community. Coming out can be a long struggle with many ups and downs. With many joys and disappointments along the way.
For many of us LGBTQ individuals, therapists serve not just as counselors, but also as spiritual guides. Helping us learn how to walk between two worlds—the outside straight world and the internal queer world. In a similar sense, many Native American traditions use the term “Two Spirit” to describe a person possessing both male and female spirits. Who walk and live with that struggle each day.
Today’s reading from First Kings presents the story of a somewhat similar struggle. The story of a Jewish prophet named Elijah, who faces an internal conflict.
Prior to this reading, Elijah has been on kind of a victory tour. For Elijah had challenge 450 priests of Baal to a contest. Today it could be a game show. Where each contestant tries to get their God to burn up a bull sacrifice without using a match.
The Baal team fails miserably. But when it’s Elijah’s turn, God rains down fire from heaven, which incinerates the side of beef and wood soaked in gallons of water. A divine victory.
You’d expect Elijah to be thrilled with his success. After all, he had won the approval of his people and God. But like many public battles and debates, there’s also a backlash.
For the people in power at that time weren’t happy with Elijah’s political stunt. Israel’s Queen Jezebel orders that he be killed.
So Elijah the prophet flees for his life. He discovers that even a major victory can be followed by disappointment and self-doubt. That even a divine calling doesn’t guarantee the answer to all your prayers.
So, Elijah goes to hid out in the wilderness. And his external actions reveal his psyche. Initially he lies down under a broom tree, a small tree common in the desert.
There, he’s overwhelmed with depression. Elijah becomes suicidal and wants to die. He prays, “It’s too much, Lord—take my life.” An option considered by some who can’t see a way out.
Then, as the story goes, God sends an angel with bread and water. Who gently nudges Elijah, and says, “Get up and eat—otherwise the journey will be too much for you”
How many of us could say those words today? For we are all faced with a never-ending pandemic, along with our own personal life journey with its own challenges—which sometimes feels like it’s just too much to bear.
Eventually, Elijah travels on for 40 days and 40 nights. A number that in scripture represents a holy journey. Noah sailed with the ark for 40 days and nights. The people of Israel wandered in the wilderness for 40 years. Jesus retreated into the desert for 40 days.
Finally, Elijah arrives at Mt. Horeb, which is where our lesson begins. In Hebrew, Horeb is another name for Mt. Sinai. The same place where Moses saw the burning bush. The same place where Moses received the 10 commandments. A holy mountain.
Where Elijah, like Moses, experiences a divine epiphany. God speaks to him, but not the way he expects. Not a dramatic appearance with earthquake, wind or fire. Instead, God speaks in the silence of his soul. Some translations say, “A still small voice.”
I imagine that Elijah must have been disappointed. After all, that’s not how God was revealed to Moses. That’s not even how God had appeared to Elijah not so long before. Besides all that, God doesn’t even respond to his paralyzing emotions.
Instead, God sends Elijah on a new assignment. To anoint the king of Aram. A foreigner. It’s not what Elijah expected to hear from his still small voice.
Kind of like our Gospel lesson, where the disciples are in a boat and a storm threatens to drown them all. Then Jesus appears walking towards them on the water, and the disciples cry out in terror. To which Jesus simply says, “Don’t be afraid.”
Like the inner voice that speaks to many of us queer people. In the middle of the night. In our dreams. Quiet words no one else can hear. Secrets you’re afraid to speak out loud. Our own silent epiphany.
The voice of fear is almost always a louder voice. A voice that speaks words of shame and doubt: “What will people say?” “What will you do for a living?” “What if someone wants to hurt you?” “Who will take care of you when you’re sick and old?”
The divine inner voice is gentler. But persistent. Coming from a somewhere within. With simple answers that ring true: “This just feels right.” “This is who I am.”
Many of us have had that kind of self-realization. And we know where it leads. To rebirth. To metamorphosis. To new life.
To a place where God’s still, small voice speaks to us. A calm within a storm. A higher power that shows us the next step. A clear melody that sings in our hearts. A peace that passes all understanding.
Telling us that holy grace embraces us just as we are. As beloved children of a welcoming God.
A voice that gives us strength during these dark days. Even when we feel alone and worried and afraid. We can still listen to the divine echo in our soul.
And know that there are others like us who also listen to that voice—here at St. Mark’s and in our greater queer community, even when we can’t be together.
With a promise that their love and God’s love are always with us throughout our journey. Amen.
+ + +
FIRST LESSON: 1 Kings 19:9-15
At that place he came to a cave, and spent the night there. Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" He answered, "I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away." He said, "Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by." Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.
When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" He answered, "I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away." Then the Lord said to him, "Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus; when you arrive, you shall anoint Hazael as king over Aram.
GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 14:22-33
Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side [of the Sea of Galilee], while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”
Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”
For me, the first “out” gay man I met was a therapist I started seeing at the beginning of my senior year in seminary. Throughout my time there, I secretly struggled with my sexual orientation. And even though I was in love with another man, nobody knew my truth.
I’d seen a couple other therapists before that. Two women who were supportive, but straight. Who mostly focused on trying to help me figure out whether I was gay or not.
But that fall, something happened deep inside me. An awakening. A longing. A yearning. To try to come out at least to myself. To meet other people like me.
So, I looked in the Yellow Pages (since back then there was no Internet) and found the name of the Minneapolis Gay and Lesbian Community Center. And gathered up my courage and called. One of their gay therapists answered the phone.
His name was Jack Devine. A name that today strikes me as ironic. For Jack helped me come to terms with the internal conflict between my sexual identity and my divine calling to follow God and get ordained. He also suggested that I join a coming out group at the center, where I met other LGBTQ people and made some new friends.
I saw Jack as a therapist on and off for a few years. He walked with me during a long journey, until I finally decided to no longer pursue ordination. And helped me see that hat being authentic and true to myself was a deeper calling for me at that time in my life than staying in the closet as a Lutheran pastor.
A decision that didn’t come easily. Just as coming out is still not an easy decision for many of us who realize at some point in our lives that we are queer.
Especially when it causes ambivalence and strife related to jobs, or relationships with people we love, or family expectations, or possible rejection by our faith community. Coming out can be a long struggle with many ups and downs. With many joys and disappointments along the way.
For many of us LGBTQ individuals, therapists serve not just as counselors, but also as spiritual guides. Helping us learn how to walk between two worlds—the outside straight world and the internal queer world. In a similar sense, many Native American traditions use the term “Two Spirit” to describe a person possessing both male and female spirits. Who walk and live with that struggle each day.
Today’s reading from First Kings presents the story of a somewhat similar struggle. The story of a Jewish prophet named Elijah, who faces an internal conflict.
Prior to this reading, Elijah has been on kind of a victory tour. For Elijah had challenge 450 priests of Baal to a contest. Today it could be a game show. Where each contestant tries to get their God to burn up a bull sacrifice without using a match.
The Baal team fails miserably. But when it’s Elijah’s turn, God rains down fire from heaven, which incinerates the side of beef and wood soaked in gallons of water. A divine victory.
You’d expect Elijah to be thrilled with his success. After all, he had won the approval of his people and God. But like many public battles and debates, there’s also a backlash.
For the people in power at that time weren’t happy with Elijah’s political stunt. Israel’s Queen Jezebel orders that he be killed.
So Elijah the prophet flees for his life. He discovers that even a major victory can be followed by disappointment and self-doubt. That even a divine calling doesn’t guarantee the answer to all your prayers.
So, Elijah goes to hid out in the wilderness. And his external actions reveal his psyche. Initially he lies down under a broom tree, a small tree common in the desert.
There, he’s overwhelmed with depression. Elijah becomes suicidal and wants to die. He prays, “It’s too much, Lord—take my life.” An option considered by some who can’t see a way out.
Then, as the story goes, God sends an angel with bread and water. Who gently nudges Elijah, and says, “Get up and eat—otherwise the journey will be too much for you”
How many of us could say those words today? For we are all faced with a never-ending pandemic, along with our own personal life journey with its own challenges—which sometimes feels like it’s just too much to bear.
Eventually, Elijah travels on for 40 days and 40 nights. A number that in scripture represents a holy journey. Noah sailed with the ark for 40 days and nights. The people of Israel wandered in the wilderness for 40 years. Jesus retreated into the desert for 40 days.
Finally, Elijah arrives at Mt. Horeb, which is where our lesson begins. In Hebrew, Horeb is another name for Mt. Sinai. The same place where Moses saw the burning bush. The same place where Moses received the 10 commandments. A holy mountain.
Where Elijah, like Moses, experiences a divine epiphany. God speaks to him, but not the way he expects. Not a dramatic appearance with earthquake, wind or fire. Instead, God speaks in the silence of his soul. Some translations say, “A still small voice.”
I imagine that Elijah must have been disappointed. After all, that’s not how God was revealed to Moses. That’s not even how God had appeared to Elijah not so long before. Besides all that, God doesn’t even respond to his paralyzing emotions.
Instead, God sends Elijah on a new assignment. To anoint the king of Aram. A foreigner. It’s not what Elijah expected to hear from his still small voice.
Kind of like our Gospel lesson, where the disciples are in a boat and a storm threatens to drown them all. Then Jesus appears walking towards them on the water, and the disciples cry out in terror. To which Jesus simply says, “Don’t be afraid.”
Like the inner voice that speaks to many of us queer people. In the middle of the night. In our dreams. Quiet words no one else can hear. Secrets you’re afraid to speak out loud. Our own silent epiphany.
The voice of fear is almost always a louder voice. A voice that speaks words of shame and doubt: “What will people say?” “What will you do for a living?” “What if someone wants to hurt you?” “Who will take care of you when you’re sick and old?”
The divine inner voice is gentler. But persistent. Coming from a somewhere within. With simple answers that ring true: “This just feels right.” “This is who I am.”
Many of us have had that kind of self-realization. And we know where it leads. To rebirth. To metamorphosis. To new life.
To a place where God’s still, small voice speaks to us. A calm within a storm. A higher power that shows us the next step. A clear melody that sings in our hearts. A peace that passes all understanding.
Telling us that holy grace embraces us just as we are. As beloved children of a welcoming God.
A voice that gives us strength during these dark days. Even when we feel alone and worried and afraid. We can still listen to the divine echo in our soul.
And know that there are others like us who also listen to that voice—here at St. Mark’s and in our greater queer community, even when we can’t be together.
With a promise that their love and God’s love are always with us throughout our journey. Amen.
+ + +
FIRST LESSON: 1 Kings 19:9-15
At that place he came to a cave, and spent the night there. Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" He answered, "I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away." He said, "Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by." Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.
When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" He answered, "I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away." Then the Lord said to him, "Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus; when you arrive, you shall anoint Hazael as king over Aram.
GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 14:22-33
Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side [of the Sea of Galilee], while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”
Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”
August 16, 2020
This Sunday, August 16, St. Mark's will not be offering our regular service. Instead, we are encouraging our friends and members to attend one of two (or both) other options.
Option One: This weekend is the Eastern North Dakota Synod Assembly and they held a 9am service on Sunday, Aug. 16, at which Pastor Joe presided and our national Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton preached. Link to the service is in the button below.
Option Two: The FM Pride Interfaith Service was held this Sunday, August 16, at 12pm and broadcast online. Tammy is the chair of the planning committee for this. Link to the recorded service is in the button below.