Fifth Sunday After Pentecost: Vigil for Orlando

This is the rough text of a sermon preached at Atlanta Bar Church's Vigil for Orlando in Atlanta, Georgia on the 19th of July, 2016, The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost.  The reading for the day was Galatians 3:23-29..   Please note that these are not exact transcriptions and that there may be some spelling and grammatical errors.

A week ago, 49 of our sisters and brothers were murdered during an attack in Orlando.   And as if it were possible for it to be worse, they were murdered because they were living their lives as who God created them to be, as members of the LGBTQ community.  And as I think back on the murders and about the events of the past week, I find myself struggling.  I feel this intense and sustained sadness, but out of that sadness, I find myself desperately needing hope.  And I don’t think I’m alone.

I think a lot of us are torn between feelings of sadness, feelings of anger; or just mourning the tragic loss of life.  And I think that in the midst of this, we are longing for hope.

Part of the reason that I find myself sad is because I read this letter from Paul to the Galatians and I am reminded that all of the distinctions that we draw amongst ourselves in this world, whether based on race, or gender identity, or sexuality, or nationality; all of the judgments that we inflict on others are the work of humanity.

I’m sad because in seeing these distinctions that we have created, I see our own complicity in the murders.  I see how the church, how the government, how so many institutions, have been silent in the face of hatred, how we have tolerated bigotry, how in the face of hatred we have not spoken out, but have stepped aside and not defended our sisters and brothers.

I’m sad because my church made overtures towards full inclusion in 2009, but left a backdoor open for intolerance to fester in the church under the respectable title of ‘bound conscience’, as if the gospel would ever condone hatred against another person because of who God made them to be.

I’m sad because 49 of my LGBTQ brothers and sisters are dead tonight because of the fear and the hatred that we as a society, and as a church, let grow unchecked in our midst, and in doing so, we perpetuated the hate that led to murder.

And while that sadness can easily begin to turn into anger, we can’t let anger win.  If we let anger win, we only continue to give rise to a similar hate to the one that left our friends dead, similar to the hate that drove the killer. 

But I do understand some of us may be angry because we are afraid that we could be next, or that our friends or our family members could be next.  But that fear keeps us divided because that fear drowns out our capacity to love.

So while I think it is possible for a righteous anger to drive us towards acts of justice, I don’t want us to give into anger based on our fear.  What I want, is to believe in love.

I want to believe in the divine love of the Creator whose love drives out fear.

I want to believe in the divine love that drives out divisions and brings unity.

I want to believe in the divine love that gives us new life.

And so I read Paul’s letter and I also find hope because I am reminded that in God’s eyes we are all beautifully and fiercefully created in the image of God.  Whether male or female, cis or trans, straight or queer, regardless of race or nationality, we all bare the same image of God and we are all loved by our Creator.

I’m reminded that the current state of the world, which seems to be brimming with fear and anger; that this state is not the end.

This is not the end.

This is not the end because we see change in our world, we see reconciliation.  We see support from groups we never expected.  We see changes in attitudes and we see individuals and institutions looking at how they have treated and spoken about the queer community and recognizing the hurt they caused and apologizing and inviting people back in; saying we cannot truly be the church and speak hatred and bigotry from the pulpit. 

We are seeing people abandoning their fear, abandoning their hate and choosing to be on the side of love and inclusion.

We are seeing evidence of the inbreaking of the kingdom of God.  We are seeing the steps that lead towards the world that Paul talks about where we are all one.

I think that maybe it’s in this place that our hope and that righteous anger that is coming from our sadness can come together because the hope that we find in the God who loved us enough to die for us is the same hope that drives us to work for justice, to work for inclusion.  It’s the same hope that drives us to speak love into the world. 

It’s the same hope that drives us to not let fear and anger win, but to work to remind the world that love wins.

That unity wins…

That hope wins…

That God’s love wins.

And I know that the work of love is a challenging and trying road to walk because we are called names, we are harassed, some of us have been killed fighting for the basic recognition that all people are created in God’s image and are beautiful and loved.  But we are sustained in this by the God who calls us do justice and to show mercy, the God whose entire being is love; the God who is always present with us.  We are sustained by the body and blood of Christ, because it is here at the table that we are reminded that all are invited and all are fed and all, and I do mean all, male or female, straight or queer, Jew or Greek, all are loved.

It’s here that we can gather and be filled by the love of God so that we might continue to have hope and we might continue to bring love into this world.   And it’s because of the hope and because of that love, that we can stand together and say, ‘Thanks be to God.’  Amen.