Imagery of church-related people and places.

I’ll Cover You from RENT the Musical.

Devotional by Vicar Lewis Eggleston

On their way to replace a stolen coat, “I’ll Cover You” is a song about a romantic love where one person (Tom Collins) acknowledges how very little physical items and finances he has to bring into this relationship and all he can offer in return are embraces, kisses, and undying love for Angel.

RENT has and will forever have a special place in my heart. I was the luckiest boy in the world to play Angel in a production after the Air Force stationed us in Oklahoma. I had just been rejected for a pastoral internship and I thought ministry in Oklahoma would not be possible because of who I was.

Playing this role anywhere takes guts; playing Angel in rural Oklahoma, felt a little “To Wong Fu.” Portraying radical, unconditional love as someone from the margins shakes up the patriarchal system. Sometimes the season tickets holders would complain about the “edginess” of RENT (20 years after its debut on Broadway), some would walk out after the first Act, and some thought Angel in boy clothes was an altogether different character than Angel in girl clothes. Yet, hearts and minds were changed. The number of young LGBTQIA+ people that came up in tears after each performance was staggering. I’ll never forget their stories.

Among those who supported the show, was my mother (Pictured Lower Left Corner with Proud Mom Look). The LGBTQIA+ community often create their own families, not by choice, but by necessity. In celebration of Pride in June and Mother’s Day this weekend, I’m grateful my mother said “I’ll Cover You.” She sheltered me, hugged me, kissed me, loved me, and like Collins I can never repay her for all she’s done for me, except to show her my love and gratitude. I’m thankful for all the Mama Bears out there who choose to love their LGBTQIA+ children. I pray for those in our communities that had to cut these ties so they could survive, that they are embraced by motherly figures who love them unconditionally, and I pray for all the motherly figures out there that shape our world in the way God desires. Amen. 


Bio: Vicar Lewis Eggleston (he/him/his) is an Air Force spouse currently living in San Antonio, TX with his husband Mitchell and dog-child Carla. He attended seminary at Pacific School of Religion and Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary in Berkeley, CA, and he is currently interning with Spirit of Joy Lutheran Church in Seguin, TX. He’s been an advocate for children’s access to the arts through both museum and symphony educational programming and has worked with homeless individuals and families for the past ten years. In his free time, he loves to attend musicals whilst fighting every urge to sing-along.

Let Us Dance.

By Rev. Dr. Megan Rohrer

Thumpa, thumpa was the sound of sugar and salt shakers flying through the windows of the Compton’s Cafeteria in San Francisco during the 1966 rebellion against biased policing. 

Thumpa, thumpa was the vibrating beat behind Harvey Milk’s protest against Coors Beer in 1969. 

Thumpa, thumpa echoed from the sound of high heels and bricks during the 1969 raid at the Stonewall Inn in New York City. 

Thumpa, thumpa was the music last heard in 1973 before thirty-one men and women died in the fire at the Upstairs Lounge in New Orleans French Quarter 

Thumpa, thumpa was heard in the Pulse Nightclub in 2016 before 49 people were gunned down in Orlando, Florida. 

Thumpa, thumpa was heard at Ghost Ship in Oakland before the 2016 blaze killed 36.  

Standing on the corner of 18th and Castro in San Francisco, with the blaring thumpa, thumpa bleeding into the street that had witnessed the first mention of HIV/AIDs, I shouted “out of the bars and into the streets.”  These iconic words of Harvey Milk were a nod to the queeros who had come before me and a literal call to action for the LGBTQ community. After the Pulse shooting, I declared that we not only had to come out of the bars, but out of the congregations, synagogues and mosques to proclaim the love of God to all and to counter the angery lies of those who assumed God could not love the full fabulousness of the LGBTQ community. 

Today I want to remind you that just as we have transitioned from Lent to Easter, during the season of Pride we must live boldly and forgive more boldly still.  Our extravagantly fabulous life must not only mourn the aches that we carry, but embrace the sound and the rhythm of the thumpa, thumpa. 

Let us dance for those who sought the joy and freedom of LGBTQ bars and were met with violence. 

Let us dance long enough to decide to keep living. Let us dance for a beautiful generation that was lost to the AIDs epidemic. 

Let us dance for those who brought us camp and drag, when all we could muster were tears. 

Let us dance because it is our best revenge in a time when our rights are debated. 

Let us dance for the liberation we are still marching towards. Let us dance in celebration of the gift that is our sacred sexuality. Let us dance because we are fearfully and wonderfully made.   

Let us dance in celebration of a God who always joins us in the dancing.   

Just as God came to Moses in the burning bush, to Jacob in a wrestling match, Ezekiel in dreams and Hildebrand in visions, may God find you in the thumpa, thumpa.  Amen.


Bio: The Rev. Dr. Megan Rohrer is the pastor of Grace Evangelical Lutheran Church and Executive Director of Welcome – a communal response to poverty in San Francisco, CA. Pastor Megan is an author, artist, activist and educator who speaks and preaches nationally on issues of homelessness, sexuality and gender. Pastor Rohrer was a 2014 honorable mention as an Unsung Hero of Compassion with His Holiness the Dalai Lama, was named honorary royalty and presented a Medal of Tolerance in Indonesia, received an Honorary Doctorate from Palo Alto University, Distinguished Alum award from the Pacific School of Religion in Berkeley, is an award wining historian, musician, filmmaker and was a finalist for a Lambda Literary Award in transgender nonfiction.

Step Out of Your Tomb.

By Rev. Kevin Strickland 

Scripture: John 20:19-31

It’s at the tomb that we discover things about ourselves.  It’s at the tomb that we come to make sense of the questions that have bogged us down these weeks of Lent, in our wilderness wandering.  At the tomb they all come together in one great, blinding awareness. Locked in the tombs of life, hidden in closets afraid to be our truest selves, or shackled behind doors of fear may feel easier than living in this post-tomb, post-Easter world.

When we lock doors, it is not just to keep things from coming in, it is also keeping things from going out.  When we lock the doors of our hearts or of our faith or of our churches from being the nail scarred hands and feet open and unlocked to a world around us, we keep things from coming in and going out.

We belong to the company of the faithful in all times and in all places with the fingers of Thomas, needing to touch our Lord.

We need, we yearn, we groan to embrace the fullness of Jesus’ crucified and risen body, because in our bodies we sense the turmoil of the lives around us:  young people who desperately seek discernment and question is church really meant for them, congregation members who wonder whether they will have a job tomorrow, colleagues who are burned out and wonder if their vocation is really cut out for them.  Not to mention our own question and needs and that of our family—did Jesus really die and rise? Such a reality seems fantastic, mythical to touch the bodies of today’s world, of our world, or my world.In baptism, we are submerged into God’s nail scarred, tomb laden love.

In baptism, God in Christ reminds us that Easter did not just happen; it is still happening. Christ rose, and so can we from the death of self-doubt, personal persecution, and faithless convictions.

Thank you, God, for Thomas.  We needed him in that room at the right moment.  It is a healthy, doubting, powerful faith that connects his body to Jesus’ body, and in doing so, our body with Jesus’ own body, scars, wounds and all.  With his rising, Jesus didn’t take on a brand-new body without any blemish; his resurrection body was the same one that was nailed to the tree. And that’s how it is with us and with the world around us—scars, wounds, and all.

May God grant us Thomas-like boldness with our faith to step out, unlock, and touch the wounds of those hands and feet that we meet all around us!

Christ is Risen!  Christ is Risen Indeed!  Alleluia! Amen.


Bio: Rev. Kevin Strickland (he/him/his) has served as the Assistant to the Presiding Bishop and Executive for Worship since 2014. Prior to this call, he served as a parish pastor in Nashville, TN. He and his husband, Robby live in Chicago with their mostly adorable French Bulldog, Halsted.

Will You Wash Their Feet?.

By Rev. Lyle Beckman

Scripture:  John 13: 3-5, 12-14 (NRSV) Jesus … took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself.  Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.  After he had washed their feet … he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me teacher and Lord – and you are right, for that is what I am.  So if I, your Lord and Teacher have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet”.

As a young pastor, I struggled with the Maundy Thursday practice of foot washing.  Too many pairs of pantyhose, giggling teenagers and congregants who said “No!” when invited.  My own insecurities as a young, gay (closeted) pastor shying away from such intimacy played a role in not fully experiencing the potential in this ritual.  Over the years however, I have appreciated it more.

Each Maundy Thursday 75 people living on the streets of San Francisco are willing to trust a group of pastors and seminarians to lovingly wash their feet, dress their wounds and let them be anointed and dressed in new socks.  Tears run down faces on both sides of the basin. Love and tenderness are shown. Healing and compassion are offered. Human contact connects us in community and to the divine presence in and around us.

Through Jesus’ example of washing feet, and in his life, death and resurrection, we are shown the depth of God’s love, and invited to share it wherever we can.  In our congregations for sure, but in the world as well, which is crying out for words and actions of hope, acceptance, forgiveness, welcome and love. Will you wash their feet?


Bio: Rev. Lyle Beckman (he/him/his) served as the Night Minister for the San Francisco Night Ministry until his retirement in September, 2018.  Night Ministry offers spiritual care, counseling and crisis intervention every night of the year from 10:00 pm to 4:00 am, hosts two outdoor worship services and several feeding and educational programs.  Beckman is currently serving as interim pastor of Christ Church, Lutheran, San Francisco.

Wilderness as a Process.

“It’s just so hard to be in this process,” I said, “because I have no idea where I’ll be six months from now! Normally I’d have an idea of what would be happening, but in the call process I could be anywhere in the country by then!”

She raised one eyebrow and gave me a pointed look, “nothing has actually changed. You haven’t actually lost control – only the illusion of having control to begin with. None of us really know what will happen to us in six months.”

My therapist knew how to offer me the gifts of wilderness. The wilderness strips away what was only an illusion and leaves us vulnerable to the truth: we never know what is coming next. A year-long call/coming out process filled with nine rejections was not the kind of wilderness I would have chosen. It was painful and raw and disheartening.

I don’t think God sent it into my life as some kind of twisted lesson.

But that doesn’t mean that God didn’t get to work stripping away my comforts, illusions, and self-identity until only the essentials were left: Child-of-God, beloved-queer, created-and-called.

This particular wilderness story has a happy ending: a congregation I adore and one that loves me back; a call that challenges me and makes me more myself; a community that is passionate and dedicated to the gospel. But, for every wilderness out of which I wander, another one presents itself almost as quickly. And, I am learning, ever so slowly, to hand myself over to that wilderness road, trusting that the gifts are still there.

“The Uses of Sorrow”

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.
by Mary Oliver, from Thirst, 2007. Beacon Press.


The Rev. Megan D. Elliott is the pastor of Spirit of Joy Lutheran Church in Seguin, Texas. Before coming to Spirit of Joy she was the pastor at Abiding Savior Lutheran Church in Alliance, Ohio. This summer she will celebrate 10 years in ordained ministry! When she’s not pastoring you might find her playing with her dogs, reading, running, crocheting, or enjoying anything to do with music. She has special talents for making babies fall asleep, folding fitted sheets, and buying entirely too many books.

Wandering in the Wilderness.

By Rev. Brad Froslee

Ash Wednesday marked the twenty-sixth anniversary of my “official” coming out.  It was on this night, following the Ash Wednesday worship service, that I began sharing with friends a truth about myself—my being gay.  The worship service with its message of facing the fullness of life, of death, and life beyond death became the nudge that pushed me towards authentic living—marked in the brokenness and the beauty of the cross.  In the face of this period, a time marked by the AIDS pandemic, the stories of families disowning children, of ex-gay therapies, I knew that being marked with the ashes of the cross was God’s call to living fully, authentically, and faithfully…here and now. 

It would be eleven years later, nearly two weeks after Easter, that I would be ordained as a Lutheran pastor with a call to serve a Presbyterian Church. 

The years between that Ash Wednesday service in college and the Easter-season ordination would, in many ways, feel like a time of wandering through the wilderness—of keeping faith in the midst of a broken Church; of trekking across the country for school, of journeying to the other side of the country for CPE and again for Internship; of longing to find someone to share my life with; of meeting with a candidacy committee that threw Vision & Expectations in my face—only to approve me, because I wasn’t in a relationship at that time; of the hard work and challenges of staying hopeful when there was interview after interview with congregations who thought I was great, but weren’t quite ready for a “gay pastor.” 

Yet, now as I look back at these eleven years of “wandering in the wilderness” I realize how this time has formed me as the pastor and person I am today.

 I met some of the most amazing people and communities of faith; there was laughter, love, and strength mixed with the tears and frustrations; there were opportunities for side-winding trips—like being a publicist for a drag queen, waiting tables, caring for people living with HIV/AIDS, working alongside recent immigrants, immersing myself in justice work—that were life-giving; there were signs of God’s presence and care along the way. 

As I reflect on the sojourners of the Exodus, I hold on to the struggles, the questions, and the pain of the wilderness; yet, I am aware of how it formed them, how it forms us,  into a people of new and renewed faith and promise who dream and journey toward a place of promise.


Bio: Brad Froslee (he/him/his) lives in Minneapolis with his husband, Bill.  Their family also includes a very active 8 year-old son, a Border Collie, and a tabby cat.  Brad serves as senior pastor at St. Michael’s Lutheran Church in Roseville.

Wisdom in the Wilderness.

By Rev. Amanda Gerken-Nelson


“And now, it is time to let grace abound! It’s time for gay people to build worshiping communities. It’s time for us to bring God’s good news, and not the church’s bad news, to the LGBTQ [sic] community. It’s time to care for the kicked-out, the runaway, the imprisoned, the friendless, the dying. It’s time to celebrate what has already been done. It is time to remember that we are the church. We celebrate God’s gracious gifts. We proclaim the love, the life, and the grace of God at work within us and our community. We demonstrate the gracious power and glory that is ours when we come out and take the step saying, ‘We are here. We are Gay and Lesbian and Bisexual and Transgendered [sic]. We are friends of Lesbians and Gays and Bisexuals and Transgendered [sic]. We are God’s. We are the kingdom.’ The most precious grace God gives us is the grace to be ourselves. And now, it is time to let grace abound.”- Joel Workin 

Often, when in the wilderness, I find myself hungry for wisdom and inspiration.

Because the wilderness can exist in my mind, my body, and my spirit, it can be quite overwhelming – this feeling of emptiness, being lost, disorientation.

In the context of wilderness, I find myself turning to the wisdom of prophets and ancestors as Mapmakers – using their maps to guide me today as I journey further into new territories.

Those whose wisdom and understanding hold a space that is beyond time or place. Whose words and actions are a gentle hand against my back encouraging me and propelling me forward.

Like Joel.

As one of the “Berkeley Four,” Joel paved a path for me to enter candidacy and serve the church as an out queer woman when he challenged church doctrine by coming out as gay at PLTS with Jeff, Greg, and Jim in 1987.

Joel never saw the day when the church opened its doors to publicly out LGBTQIA+ pastors and deacons. He died in 1995.

And yet, he did.

Joel had a vision of God’s kin-dom of inclusion and wholeness for gender and sexual minorities and it propelled him in his work and his words.

Joel didn’t have to live in it to know it was possible.

I can only imagine who the prophets and ancestors were whose hand was at Joel’s back.

I count them as my prophets and ancestors too, even if I can’t name them.

God of counsel and wisdom, you have gifted your creation with the words, actions, and hearts of great prophets and sages. Thank you for the comfort and challenge this wisdom encourages and for the reminder that we are always surrounded by those determined to share your love for all. Amen.




Bio: Amanda (she/her/hers) is the Executive Director of Extraordinary Lutheran Ministries. She thinks you should know a bit more about Joel:


Joel Raydon Workin (1961-1995) In 1987, Joel came out publicly as a gay  candidate for the ordained ministry. Following this courageous and faithful act, Joel’s certification was revoked by the ELCA and his name was never placed on the roster of approved candidates waiting for call. Joel’s ministry continued in Los Angeles, however, at the AIDS Healthcare Foundation and as Director of Chris Brownlie Hospice. He and his husband Paul were active in Lutherans Concerned/Los Angeles and Dignity/Los Angeles. The Joel R. Workin Memorial Scholarship Fund was established upon Joel’s death from AIDS on November 29, 1995. In keeping with Joel’s wishes, awards from the fund are used to provide scholarships to publicly-identified lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer seminary students who proclaim God’s love and seek justice for all. The fund is managed by Extraordinary Lutheran Ministries.

ELM statement on V&E to ELCA Church Council.

Dear Members of the ELCA Church Council,

Extraordinary Lutheran Ministries believes “Trustworthy Servants of the People of God” is fundamentally flawed in development, content, and implementation and should not be approved by the ELCA Church Council.

The premise of “Trustworthy Servants” and its predecessor, “Vision and Expectations,” is unethical. A simple revision of either document fails to eliminate their fundamental flaw: the fact that they were created to label and exclude marginalized leaders.

They should both be let go and set aside.

These documents claim to lift up the ethical standards of our church, yet were crafted to police human sexuality, especially with respect to candidates for rostered ministry. Both documents explicitly focus on a narrow construction of acceptable sexual expression and demean and dehumanize many who are and might be called to professional ministry within the church. Both “Trustworthy Servants” and “Vision & Expectations” confuse what qualifies as healthy intimacy and sexual expression and behaviors that should be labeled as misconduct.

Many gender and sexual minority leaders do not see themselves, their community, their families, or their values reflected in this document. ELM mourns and protests the dangerously narrow scope our Church seems to be using to define “trustworthy:” hyper-focusing on sexual expression while, for example, ignoring the needs of people with disabilities and failing to name white supremacy as sinful.

“Trustworthy Servants” and “Vision & Expectations” are morally compromised documents. They should have no moral or juridical authority over the body of Christ. Therefore, if approved, we refuse to be guided by this document or to advise seminarians, candidates or rostered leaders to shape their lives, conscience, or behavior according to their pages.

In Christ’s love,

Rev. Amanda Gerken-Nelson, Executive Director and The ELM Board of Directors

Meeting God on the Dance Floor.

By Proclaim Member Alex Aivers

When I feel like I’m in the wilderness of my soul, there is an emphasis on the experience being ‘wild.’ I can’t tell what is right or wrong, or which way is up or down.

One way I seek to help me tame this wildness is on the dance floor.

This is where the unseen wilderness of my soul can become physically manifested.

The particular place I do this is key: while surrounded by my LGBTQIA+ siblings in a bar devoted to us. And if these LGBTQIA+ siblings are Christian, even better! Here, the dance floor becomes a place of healing. It becomes a holy place.

With myself and other bodies moving in time with the music, it can look like a whirlwind from the outside. But this is often when I feel most close to God and can acutely sense that God is near me.

Out of this whirlwind of music and bodies, I can find clarity.Job faced a time of being in the wilderness during his life. He lost his family and property, and then his health. It even appeared that God was not innocent in these happenings.

Those of us in the LGBTQIA community can feel similarly. We suffer hardships on account of who we love and/or how we present ourselves to the world. And it can appear that God is not innocent in causing these sufferings.

We can feel as Job feels “For the arrows of the Almighty are in me; my spirit drinks their poison; the terrors of God are arrayed against me.” 

But then, out of this whirlwind, God speaks to us.

Even if God doesn’t tell us why these things are happening, God is still speaking to us.

Even during the times of wilderness in our lives, God still wants to draw near to us and touch our soul.


Bio: Alex Aivars is a candidate in Word and Sacrament, awaiting first-call. I worked in Web development for 7 years before getting the call to ministry at a Gay Christian Network (now Q Christian Fellowship) conference. In addition to dancing, I also love being in nature and reading.

Lost or Courageous.

By S. Leon LaCross

Macintosh HD:Users:LeonLaCross:Desktop:Queer Sheep.jpg
Source: https://nakedpastor.com/when-you-know-youre-not-fully-welcomed/

“Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?” Luke 15:4

It’s easy to write this sheep off as sinful and in need of saving.  However, I’m proposing that this sheep is brave. It takes a lot of courage to strike off on your own and do your own thing.  As the Joel R. Workin Scholar, I’ve been identified as having a prophetic voice; but I don’t always hear it.

I fall into the trap of doubting myself, self-sabotaging and otherwise getting down on myself.  I drift off from my community and feel like a pariah. But just when I think I’ve gone too far afield, when I’ve lost hope, when I start to get my wooly coat caught in the brambles, I’m found again.  

I’m reminded that I have a flock of rainbow sheep that want me around.  I bump into a queer colleague, sigh too deep for words, and appreciate each other’s struggle.  I’m not alone out there.  

To get intertextual, we are all in the wilderness, calling out…but we’re not making the roads straight.  We’re skipping down the yellow brick road, over the rainbow, and into a brave new day, collecting friends along the way.

Good Shepherd, you tend every flock and gather in your forgotten sheep.  Help us to be the shepherds searching for our siblings who have drifted away.  Help us to be brave sheep, daring to forge new paths. Be with us in the wilderness and help us to hold space for those who have not yet found their flock.  You rejoice with us as we are reunited with our kindred. Tend to us on our Lenten journey. Amen.


Bio: S. Leon LaCross (he/they) is a third year seminarian at Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary pursuing a masters in Divinity with hopes to be ordained. His specific academic interests revolve around sex, sexuality, and gender as they intersect with theology.  He is an adoring partner to his boyfriend, Noah (he/they), and a part time step-father for Noah’s cat Moxie (she/her) and dog Mr. Pickles (he/him). They enjoy cooking, gaming and gardening together as well as generally trying to become literally the gayest.