Loving our LGBTQ+ Neighbors is Following Jesus

Today is Pride Sunday.

I am overjoyed to be here, in this church, amongst you fine people, sharing the good news of Jesus with you.

Even ten short years ago, I would not have thought this was possible.

Now, some of you may be thinking, “that’s your overjoyed look?”

Despite my outward appearance, which my internship supervisor Sara called “earnest”, I am truly both grateful and joyful to be here.

If you’ve ever seen the movie “The Birdcage”, think of the scene where Robin Williams tells one of the performers he’s directing, “You do an eclectic celebration of the dance! You do Fosse, Fosse, Fosse! You do Martha Graham, Martha Graham, Martha Graham! Or Twyla, Twyla, Twyla! Or Michael Kidd, Michael Kidd, Michael Kidd! Or Madonna, Madonna, Madonna! ...but you keep it all inside.”

I’m a keep it all inside kind of guy.

I came out in 1982.

I was 21 years old.

It was the beginning of the AIDS crisis.

I was at a small liberal arts college in rural upstate New York.

Gay bashing was a real and present danger so the vetting process to connect with other queer students was protracted.

First, you had to call a hotline.

If you passed that test, you met in person with a trained peer counselor.

And only then would you be approved to go to the few lesbian and gay activities on campus.

I say lesbian and gay because we hadn’t yet added the BTQIA2S+ to our collective.

Even the marginalized sometimes have something to learn about inclusion.

My point is, at that time, coming out was a big deal.

It had consequences and it could be dangerous.

And all those hoops we had to jump through just to meet other people like us were just too daunting for many.

So, our group was very small.

Fortunately, I’m not a “dip your toe in the water” kind of guy.

Once I decide to do something, I’m all in—with both feet.

But it was a different world then.

None of us would have believed that marriage equality was a possibility in our lifetime.

None of us—even those of us who were members of the community—understood all the nuances of gender and sexuality.

Our reality centered around two things.

One was coming out to the few people in our lives who were trusted enough, or who were important enough, to warrant taking that risk.

The other was protecting our secret from those who could harm us—physically, emotionally, or professionally.

My, how things have changed!

In New Jersey, there are laws in place to protect our employment and our housing.

There is federal hate crime legislation—thanks to Matthew Shepard, who was brutally murdered in 1998.

Marriage equality is the law of the land—thanks to the Obergfell decision in 2015.

LGBTQ+ parents can adopt.

And HIV infection is no longer a death sentence.

Yet, many things have not changed.

In many states, a person can still be fired or evicted because of their sexuality or gender identity.

Every year, hundreds of transgender people, mostly women, are murdered for who they are.

Legal cases are wending their way through the courts to challenge marriage equality—and many states have laws queued up to make gay marriage illegal if the Supreme Court reverses its decision.

The rights of transgender youth to access gender-affirming care is being challenged across the country by the federal government.

And cuts to social safety nets—as well as detention—are preventing HIV-positive people from getting the medication they need to stay alive.

I am generally a very positive person.

I used to say I was hopelessly optimistic.

Now, I realize that what I used to call optimism is intimately entwined with my faith.

It has its roots in my trust in God.

This weekend, I watched a 5-part series called “Tip Toe”.

It is a UK production, set in Manchester.

The series starts out with the lynching of a gay man.

Normally, that would have been enough for me to stop watching.

I’m a happy ending kind of guy.

But I was watching with a friend and a bit intrigued, so I hung with it.

The rest of the series was about the events leading up to the lynching.

Throughout the series, you can see the white male anger simmering that would lead up to the violent end.

That anger stems from the cultural conditioning that tells white men that we are supposed to live privileged lives¬.

We are supposed to have the best jobs.

We are supposed to be in positions of power.

Our lives are supposed to be golden.

And, when they are not, we look for someone to blame.

And that blame usually falls to one marginalized group or another—the scapegoats.

In this particular series, it was the LGBTQ+ community.

It could just have easily been Jews or Muslims or people of color or immigrants.

The point is that, despite all our progress, the fight for civil rights is not over.

It will never be over until the Kin-dom comes.

Emma Lazarus, the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Fannie Lou Hamer, and Maya Angelou all said some variation on “No one is free until we all are free”.

Amen, brothers and sisters, amen.

As I prepared for this sermon and thought about coming out and the challenges facing LGBTQ+ folks, I couldn’t help but think of the disciples in today’s gospel.

Jesus said, “follow me.”

Have you ever thought about what that really means?

It meant leaving family and friends.

It meant leaving their homes and their livelihoods.

It meant stepping out of their comfort zone and into the unknown.

It meant becoming who God intended them to be.

I think coming out is a bit like that.

We grow up in a cis-gender, heterocentric world.

Where gender reveal parties are still a thing—like something as complex as gender identity can be determined by the presence or absence of a shadow on a sonogram.

Where blue is often still for boys and pink is often still for girls.

Where dolls and tea sets are mostly still for girls and trucks and guns are mostly still for boys.

Where we jump to conclusions about gender identity, based solely on appearance.

Where men are routinely asked about wives or girlfriends and women are asked about husbands or boyfriends.

We are culturally conditioned to think in terms of a gender binary.

And to believe that straight is the default.

That is the comfort zone that is imposed upon us.

And because that “comfort zone” is the cultural norm, for those of that don’t conform, coming out is a continuous process.

It never ends.

Because every time we meet new people or enter a new environment, we have to do it all over again.

And, I have to be honest, sometimes it is just plain exhausting.

But the interesting thing about this comfort zone that society has constructed for us it that isn’t real—it is a fabrication.

Sexuality and gender identity are infinitely more complex than that.

So, those of us who don’t fit the tidy, binary, heterosexual mold are called out of that comfort zone.

We are called to be our authentic selves—to become who God intended us to be.

There are endless arguments about what makes people who they are—nature or nurture.

Personally, I believe it is a combination of the two.

Genetics certainly has a role.

But, unless a person has a supportive environment, the emotional strength, or the faith to sustain them, they may never become their authentic self.

I have no doubt that I am exactly who God intended me to be.

And it is my sincerest hope that my example—as an out and proud child of God—was good news to a few people who were struggling with discovering their own authenticity.

And to be clear, to borrow a phrase from Michelle Obama, I am still becoming.

I continue to grow and evolve—in my faith, in my knowledge, and in my ability to love and be loved.

We—all of us—are beloved children of God.

Our walk with God is a path of self-discovery.

Sometimes, we discover new talents.

Sometimes, we discover new layers of who we are.

Sometimes, we discover new capacities to love.

If we do it right, that journey of discovering one’s authentic self brings us ever closer to God.

And isn’t that all just AMAZING?

Today, we also celebrate 30 years of being a Reconciling in Christ congregation—of extending extravagant, unconditional welcome to all people.

Like Simon Peter and Andrew in today’s gospel, this congregation stepped away from the comfort of tradition—and even the safety of Synod leadership.

It stepped out in faith, not knowing what the impact would be and which beloved siblings would leave as a result.

It ignored the naysayers who said, “we don’t want to be known as the ‘gay’ church”.

Jesus said, “follow me” and Emanuel followed.

You heard the call to see the image of God in one another and you followed.

You heard the call to extend unconditional welcome to people who society told you were “less than” and you followed.

You heard God call you by name and you shouted to your neighbors, “God has called you too.”

In your bones, you felt our loving God claim you as God’s own and you proclaimed, “Siblings, you are also beloved children of God and God claims each and every one of you as God’s own.”

May we continue to live into the commitment that was made 30 years ago.

May we continue to grow in faith and in our capacity to love.

And may the world always know we are followers of Jesus by the way that we love one another.

Let us pray: Good and gracious God, Creator of us all,

thank You for the beauty of diversity and for forming us to be exactly who we were meant to be.

As we celebrate Pride and our Reconciling in Christ anniversary, let Your love, peace, and protection follow us wherever we go.

Remind us that we are fearfully and wonderfully made, and may our hearts remain open to joy, courage, and true connection.

All this, we ask in the blessed name of Jesus, the one who walked among us and who still meets us at the table.

Amen.