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.