the sunday after...

i have to admit, it was hard to put on a happy face and get back up in front of the church to lead worship this morning.  it was first sunday, which means communion, which i normally love.... but as the senior minister was reading the liturgy and reminding the congregation that "we do not understand this table to be St. Mark UMC's table nor the United Methodist Church's table, but God's table, welcome and open to all who would seek to encounter Christ"....i felt a knot in the pit of my stomach and tears well up in my eyes... this was going to be difficult to get through today, i thought to myself.  i sure didn't feel welcome in the church that i was born, bapitsed, confirmed and ordained into after seeing what happened at general conference.  nontheless, i knew that if i could just get through the service i'd be able to expres my grief later when no one else was around. 

my job as the deacon on first sundays is to set the communion table and then step over to the side of the chancel area with some oil for anointing and to offer intercessory prayer to anyone who wants it.  it has become a beautiful part of our communion tradition that i look forward to all month.  its one of my favorite things that i get to do at St. Mark. people come up and share their burdens with me and I get to anoint them with oil and offer blessings and prayers for them.  it is always an honor to serve in this way, but today i didn't feel like i had many blessings to give... 

general conference really has me devastated and i've been on the verge of tears off and on since wednesday.  here i was, standing as a minister in the UMC which had just smacked me and all of the people in my local congregation across the face with yet another rejection (despite sound, well organized, well articulated arguments and intentional relationship building with delgates prior to conference).  what did i as a minister in this denomination really have to offer them today?  we began the Lord's Supper and a few people came over to ask for prayers for illnesses and troubled relationships.  i did my best to focus on the anointing and offer a heart-felt prayer.  then one of my parishoners who had participated in the "called to witness" training, came over to me. at first i thought he wanted an anointing and prayer, but he stopped me and said that he came over to offer prayer for me...he said he was so proud of me for going to general conference and being a voice and presence for him and his partner of 34 years.  he said he could see on my face how wounded i was but he wanted me to know how much it meant to him and so many others that we all went to general conference and fought the good fight for them.  as i looked into his eyes i couldnt hold back the tears any longer.  in the midst of my pain and anger, he planted a flicker of hope that soon began to turn the tears of anger and hurt into tears of confidence and peace and i just let them roll down and cleanse my soul.  i continue to grieve for our beloved church, but not from a place of helplessness.  there is a certain confidence and peace that comes from knowing the truth about something.  the truth that i re-caught a glimpse of in that moment was that we are right about this, and that no vote at general conference can take away the ministry that is done at this church for and by LGBT people and their friends and allies.  this is just as much our church as it is anyone elses...and we are not going away...

i know this is the case in hundreds of churches all across the country and i'm so proud to be fighting this fight with all of you.  thanks for including me, guiding me, supporting me, and befriending me.  i hope i have offered the same to you thus far.  you are my heros...  thank God for you.

Comments

[Steven Hawthorne]

Josh ... you did a great job of expressing my sentiments as well. Trying to serve Holy Communion after the events of General Conference was indeed difficult.

I can imagine how powerful, too, it was for you to receive a "thank you" from a parishioner. I am not in a congregation that is as open as yours, so I didn't have such a privilege. But I do remember hearing a "thank you for your witness" from someone unknown to me during the silent witness Wednesday afternoon. It was the first time that I felt a real sense of purpose in all that we were doing.

Let's keep Tampa 2012 in our prayers. Florida is a tough place to witness, as its bishop made clear Thursday afternoon.

[Julie A. Arms]

Josh, your annointing and prayers helped me yesterday. Both were more powerful because we had been there and knew first hand what it was like in Fort Worth. Thank you.