Our Own Kind of Music

Lewis Eggleston June 24, 2021 No Comments
by John Brett
 
 
The tears pooled in my eyes as I sat underneath the cross on Christmas morning. I was part of a small circle of worshipers in the chancel of the church of my baptism during my junior year of high school. Amidst the Incarnation’s intimacy that morning, a quiet, reflective calm after Christmas Eve’s pageantry, Isolation’s moisture fell down my face. Andrea, an older church member whom I had sung with since 6th grade in a small folk ensemble, where I had first read the term “6 foot gladiola,” reached out and held my hand. For a moment I was reassured.
 
The first time I ever came out to anyone as “questioning my sexuality” was one year prior. Sitting in that same chancel at 2 AM at a church lock-in, I confided in a Danish exchange student. Later, I knew I was lucky because he kept the secret. In 10th grade, at 15 years old in the early to mid-1990s, it was a risk to share such information. At approximately the same time another young man in my high school had come out of the closet to the wrong person, the news spread around the school, people bullied him, and soon he dropped out. I have no idea where life’s trajectory has since led him, though I hope he found a way to survive.
 
A few months later, again at 2 AM, in a different church’s chancel during a Lutheran Youth Organization regional board meeting, I came out to Anna, the president of the board. It was one of those late-night teenage conversations where you bare your soul to each other and all the anxieties of shared teenage years spill out. It offers a moment of relief, then closet doors shut again during the road trip home.
 
My coming out has always been connected to the church. The church was the space, especially with how scary and dangerous it was to reveal myself in the wider world, where it felt safe in relationship to speak my emerging truths, and it was simultaneously the least safe space to admit them. If being bullied in high school risks forgoing graduation, being bullied by a church, by its theology, risks the experience of heaven. Those the church condemn often lose the hand of God reaching out to comfort them, an incarnation indispensable.
 
Nobody can tell ya
There’s only one song worth singing
They may try and sell ya
‘Cause it hangs them up
To see someone like you
 
As it relates to theology, as it relates to concrete practice, as it relates to the appropriate color of the carpet, the church often errs. The church often opts for the dangers of a single story (credit to Chimamanda Adichie), a single way to do liturgy, a single way to be found acceptable in the eyes of God. As if we were not already found worthy first by God’s blessed action, humans seek false reassurances, decide who’s in and who’s out. Because the hands of our worshiping communities so often reject us, the whole of us, do not reach out in comfort, push us away or abuse us, queer people know that in this life there’s more than one song to sing, more than one way to worship, and more than one acceptable color for the carpet–though we may have informed opinions about the latter. Such knowledge, sometimes estrangement, sets us apart. It’s lonely there. Perhaps you’ve known a lonely relationship to the church, to God, for your own reasons.
 
You’re gonna be nowhere
The loneliest kind of lonely
Just to do your thing’s the hardest thing to do
 
 I heard the words falling out of my mouth earlier this year as I spoke to a ministerial elder colleague on the phone after my mother’s death, “I can no longer wait for, nor do I expect the church to unequivocally affirm me.” Self-affirmation, I’ve known though now better realize, remains something I must provide myself; God’s already provided theirs.
 
You gotta make your own kind of music
Sing your own kind of song
Make your own kind of music
Even if nobody else sings along
This past Sunday evening, after a decade of daydreams, now feeling appropriately resourced internally and externally, I coordinated the San Francisco Night Ministry’s first Drag Street Eucharist. Over 100 people eventually joined our revelry in the streets of the Castro, where a Jesus puppet sat above the communion table and glitter was strewn faithfully and fabulously across faces and sidewalks. A UCC colleague presided in drag over Holy Communion and my drag mom, a queer chaplain, gave the sermon. We closed the service with ‘The Runway of the Spirit” TM, our own version of the altar call, inviting all, in drag or out, to the runway’s acceptance, all Creation our ballroom.
 
 
As we close Pride Month, I invite all those who have felt alone, ostracized from the church, even while sitting in its pews, into insurrections of affection. May we make our own kind of music, secure in the love God first gave, despite anything the church might tell us. In God’s affirmation,  may we remind ourselves and others that there’s more than one song to sing, to discover plenitudes and diversities yet unimagined. Especially for those dropping out of school, dropping out of church, who have given up, may they know themselves affirmed, beautiful, called. May we reach out our hands in comfort. God’s Work, Our hands.
 
So if you cannot take my hand
And if you must be going, I will understand
You gotta make your own kind of music
Sing your own special song
Make your own kind of music
Even if nobody else sings along

 
 
Image Description: A Photo of John in fabulous drag on the streets of San Francisco for the Faithful & Fabulous Drag Street Eucharist service. Next to John’s image are the words:  As we close Pride Month, I invite all those who have felt alone, ostracized from the church, even while sitting in its pews, into insurrections of affection. May we make our own kind of music, secure in the love God first gave, despite anything the church might tell us.- John Brett
 
 
 
John (he/hym/hys) grew up on a wheat farm in North Central Washington State, far from his current home in metropolitan San Francisco. He’s a seminarian and works as LGBTQIA+ Program Director and as a chaplain with San Francisco Night Ministry <https://sfnightministry.org> alongside the city’s unhoused folk, and the street and LGBTQIA+ communities. He’s also a proud oblate with The Companions of Dorothy the Worker. <https://www.companionsofdorothy.org>  Prior to seminary, John completed his BA in Spanish and Performance Studies at Dartmouth College and served as the Executive Director of a regional legal aid program in Washington State. His favorite ministry experience to date involves offering spiritual care while in drag at a taco truck.

This Is Me

Sharei Green June 10, 2021 No Comments

by Rev. Analyse Triolo

I love a good musical. Growing up, I was the quintessential theatre nerd: I ate, slept, and breathed theatre for many, many years. I first became aware of racism and the complexities of my multiethnic identity while watching West Side Story — not understanding, as a 7-year-old, why half of my identity was considered good and the other half bad. I fought for the opportunity to see the upcoming RENT film when complimentary movie tickets were donated to local schools in the area. I even had a conversation with Adam Pascal, star of RENT on Broadway and film, that made a huge impact on me while I worked on the youth production of the show. I first learned to waltz in Cinderella and would go on to compete in ballroom dance two years later. My life belonged to the arts and I couldn’t see myself doing anything else. I loved Broadway and anything Broadway adjacent. If I’m being honest with myself I still do, though my tastes have varied as I’ve gotten older. 

Image Description: A Photo of Rev. Analyse Triolo with words on a pink background that state, ” ‘This is Me’ was an anthem, not just for the group of outcasts that were singing the words, but it’s an anthem for queer outcasts everywhere. It’s been one of the anthems of my ministry since before I heard the first note.”

In spite of that I never saw The Greatest Showman until I was quarantined in the parsonage in Queens, NY. I was afraid that the hype would only lead to disappointment, and at that point in my life, disappointment was something I had in spades. I watched, mesmerized, recognizing lifts I’d done in my own ballroom routines present in the film’s choreography. When I heard Broadway actress Keala Settle perform “This is Me” I wept. A lot. The song was an anthem, not just for the group of outcasts that were singing the words, but it’s an anthem for queer outcasts everywhere. It’s been one of the anthems of my ministry since before I heard the first note.

I am not a stranger to the dark

Hide away, they say

‘Cause we don’t want your broken parts

I’ve learned to be ashamed of all my scars

Run away, they say

No one’ll love you as you are

Ministry has come dangerously close to breaking me several times over the last decade as I coped with my Mom’s cancer diagnosis and passing, a grueling and often demeaning call process, and then finally beginning ministry five weeks prior to finding myself within 5 minutes of the first Coronavirus Epicenter. 

I am brave, I am bruised

I am who I’m meant to be, this is me

I’ve had to fight my entire life. It’s not uncommon for the women in my family, it turns out. I had to fight in my first middle school because I wasn’t white enough, and again in my second school when I was not Hispanic enough. I’ve had to fight bisexual erasure, informing people that it isn’t just a phase. I’ve had to battle my own perceptions of what being bisexual enough even meant. I still do.

And I know that I deserve your love

There’s nothing I’m not worthy of

Let me tell you, walking into the 2019 Churchwide Assembly felt like how I imagine Lettie Lutz and the rest of the performers walking into that reception at the start of the song. I was armed with rage fueled by years of rejection, heartbreak, and silencers that spoke louder than any words could’ve. It’s what had brought me there with a singular goal of sharing my story publicly, and to do one of the boldest things I’ve ever done in my life at the end of the Assembly’s first plenary session. I tracked down the newly elected Bishop of my assigned synod, introduced myself, and politely informed him I hadn’t heard from his office in six months. Two weeks after the conclusion of my time in Milwaukee I had an apology from the Synod and paperwork for the church that would eventually call me. 

I suspect I’ll be fighting for the rest of my life in one way or another. Fighting to face my own demons. Fighting to love the messy parts of myself I often try to hide. And fighting to leave this world better than I found it for those who come after me. I haven’t had the easiest journey, but I haven’t had the hardest one either, and I take pride in doing the work.

This is me.

Rev. Analyse Triolo (she/her) is a year and a half into the wild adventure of Pandemic Pastoring in the mystical land of Queens, NY. In her spare time, she enjoys reading comics, Greek Mythology, and planning out her bi-furious half-elven rogue (Tiefling Rogue? She can’t decide…) for her next D&D Campaign. She also loves singing showtunes so loud her neighbors can hear. Analyse multi-classed as a Master of Divinity while at the Wake Forest University School of Divinity, and as a Master of Arts in Ministry at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago. Roll for initiative!

 

UPCOMING EVENT – THIS SATURDAY

Click Here for the PDF version of the flyer

 

POSE!

Sharei Green June 3, 2021 No Comments

By: Kelsey Brown

There are not many places in the world made for Black Queer folks

As June rolls around I see the pride advertisements pop up like a field of dandelions 

A sea of white

That’s not to say that Black folks have been absent from the movement for LGBTQIA+ equality  

In fact, we would not have Pride, or a reason to celebrate without the risks taken by Black and Latino Trans Women from San Francisco to Stonewall 

But being Black and being Queer have never been something I’ve taken for granted 

I stand on the shoulders of these powerhouse people who made a way long before I was even a twinkle in my mothers’ eye.

Image Description: Grayscale image of Kelsey Brown with arms outstretched, with the words, “Because we were left out of the publicized Gay rights movement, we created our own spaces where freedom, fluidity and fashions reigned supreme.” Photo Credit: Emily Ann Garcia

Because we were left out of the publicized Gay rights movement, we created our own spaces where freedom, fluidity and fashions reigned supreme. 

Ballroom and the culture surrounding it transforms the lives of all who encounter it 

It’s so much more than “Yass Queen” and “Spilling the tea” 

It’s a safe space where the outcast and turned away are welcomed into a new family, one that uplifts and affirms 

Houses become safe havens and strangers become inseparable 

Now don’t get me wrong 

Going to a ball is an extravagant affair 

And walking the floor in the hopes of securing a trophy for your house is an honor 

But the joy that permeates the room is so much more than rainbow capitalism or a “show” 

It’s a battle – it’s a place to say “look at me” in a world that would shove us back into the closet – out of sight out of mind. 

Shows like Pose on FX and Legendary on HBO Max have provided the world an insider look into the Ballroom scene and has given the “children” an education of sorts on the before, during and after of a still wildly active community of misfits. 

These shows pull back the curtain on the lives of the underrepresented – 

in Ballroom trans women are idolized, not ostracized. 

Houseless folks are taken in and given place and purpose. 

The different become the divas and the function doesn’t stop for anything

We leave it all on the floor

Pride month can be difficult for a variety of reasons 

We’re all just trying to find our place 

Use our voices 

Celebrate

Especially after the year and a half we’ve had 

But my call to you dear friends is to remember the reason why this celebration exists in the first place 

Because of injustice, because of police brutality 

Our ancestors took bricks 

Broke windows 

Disobeyed 

And fought back 

So that we could dance in the streets

So, we could leave our broken relationships and find our chosen family 

So that even after they were gone 

We could live 

So, get out there friends – 

LIVE 

WORK 

POSE! 

May the joy and opulence found in ballroom inspire you this pride season to be your most authentic self. To take up ALL the space and to, when things get tough – leave it on the floor.  

Rev. Kelsey Brown (she/her) describes herself as sometimes funny, very queer, frequently anxious, and completely absurd. A 20-something hailing from Long Island, New York – she comes equipped with the accent & attitude to back it up. In her free time, she is falling back in love with spoken word poetry, breaking it down on the dance floor, and ritual creation. She believes with her full heart that God’s delight in diversity is call for us all to embrace the fullness of humanity. Racial justice and advocacy work fuel her fire, while deep friendships and long naps quench her thirst. She can be seen in her natural habitat – quoting showtunes, doubled over in laughter and challenging others to “do the work.” Her ministry in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America has taken many courses including camping ministry in New Jersey, Synod work in Metro New York and Internship in sunny Southern California. She is blessed to serve as the Pastor of Jehu’s Table, a Lutheran Church in Brooklyn – Pastor Kelsey brings to the Church a pulse of integrity and personhood for all people, a love of preaching and deep care for the other.

UPCOMING EVENT

 

Click Here to view full event flyer

 

The Sacred and the Secular, Both/And

Sharei Green May 27, 2021 No Comments

 

by Alex Aivars

Image Description: An Image of Kesha with praying hands on a gray background.

I always love when pop music uses Christian imagery. One song that has stood out in recent years is Kesha’s “Raising Hell.” In the song, Kesha does an amazing job of blending the sacred and secular, using Christian slang to describe secular things, and vice versa. 

“Hands up, witness”

When I’ve heard a favorite song in worship, I’ve raised my hands in praise. When I’ve heard a great song when I’m out dancing at a bar, I’ve raised my hands in appreciation. I’ve witnessed the Holy Spirit in both places. 

“Solo cup full of holy spirits”

At the church I serve, we use wine and grape juice in a cup during communion to signify the blood of Jesus during our worship services on Sunday mornings. Before seminary, either at a party or at a bar, while holding a cup of alcohol, I would have many conversations about God. These conversations helped affirm my calling to be a pastor. Both were and are holy moments. 

“No walk of shame ’cause I love this dress”

Image Description: A grayscale photo of Kesha on a black background with the words, “I love this blending of the sacred and secular, using words from each world interchangeably because it reflects my own sense of self.” – Alex Aivars

I love this blending of the sacred and secular, using words from each world interchangeably because it reflects my own sense of self. This speaks to me as a gay Christian. I’ve been told I should be ashamed of my sexuality. I’ve been told my love does not belong in the sacred world. I’ve been told I can’t be a Christian and gay. I’ve been told I can’t be a pastor and gay. But, I have found my sexuality to be holy and good. The Holy Spirit has shown itself in my life, time and time again. I can be both Christian and gay. There is the divine in my love. Yes, I’m #blessed. 

“But I don’t wanna go to Heaven without raisin’ hell”

Jesus raised hell while on earth, flipping tables and sparring with the religious authorities. Jesus was, in fact, the perfect mixing of the sacred and secular, the holy and profane. In Jesus, a profane human contained sacred God. In fact, the two were so well mixed, that you couldn’t parse out which part was secular and which part was sacred. Jesus was both holy and profane, secular and sacred.

“This is our salvation”

After raising hell on earth, Jesus was then raised from hell, from the dead, to new life in heaven. God in Jesus saved us from death, so that we could share in holy, sacred, eternal life. Thanks be to God.

Alex Aivars (he/him) is currently in his first call as pastor of  St. Stephen Lutheran Church in Lansing, MI. Since this is a part-time call, he also develops websites for businesses, non-profits, and other churches. In his spare time he likes to read, hike, bike, ski, and make art out of post-in notes.

A Spark of Flaming Love

Sharei Green May 20, 2021 No Comments

By: Anders Nelson

 

Image Description: A grayscale image of Dolly Parton on a Black background with the words, “fire ignites one’s whole being unapologetically for the sake of discovering the deeper truths held deep inside that only this fire can stir up.”

Fire doesn’t mix well with most things, nor does fire do well at listening to those who attempt to control it. It consumes, it harms, it destroys. 

Yet Dolly Parton knows what it means to feel fire inside you and relish every moment of it. 

For her, fire is not so much a force of destruction but the spark of beauty, the ignition of love, a burning sign of vibrant truth and deep joy. This fire ignites one’s whole being unapologetically for the sake of discovering the deeper truths held deep inside that only this fire can stir up. In a very similar way, the Holy Spirit (in all of her mysterious ways) inspires and ignites us individually and as the whole church to do the work of seeking beauty, love, truth, and joy in ourselves, each other, and our Creator. But despite the hard work of the Spirit, we might find ourselves attempting to put out these fires.

Growing up, wrestling with my queer identity felt like trying to hide a bonfire in the middle of a room full of my family and friends: nobody was willing to call it out and eventually I reached a point where I couldn’t sit there looking at it without saying something. “Hey! Have you all seen this? This is real and this is good. Okay? Okay.”

There’s liberation in seeing those flames as wholly good and not out to burn our lives to the ground. In fact, they might just inspire us towards burning down the things in our lives and our world that need to be burned down. Such discernment and reflection is necessary for the sake of the life of the church alongside the work of queer liberation. And if nothing else, this fire might inspire us to put on some drag, dance in our seminary’s chapel, and truly show the world what it’s all about.

This red hot emotion

Puts fireworks in motion

It looks like the 4th of July

There's no use in fighting

This fire you've ignited

Just stand back and watch the sparks fly

As the season of Pentecost approaches, may the revelatory sparks fly for you as they have for me. May the movement of Deep Wisdom stir up in you some meaningful, revelatory moments. And above all, may the flaming Spirit be with us until we’re all shouting, “Baby, I’m Burnin’!”

 

Anders Nelson (he/him) is the associate pastor at St. Paul Lutheran Church in Wheaton, Illinois where he’s been serving since the very beginning of the pandemic. He’s subsisted the last year mainly on learning how tasty vegetarian cooking can be, singing hymns and broadway numbers in the shower, and scheduling as many Dungeons and Dragons sessions as possible. 



 

Pride Devotional: Melissa May

Lewis Eggleston May 13, 2021 No Comments

CW: song contains strong language

At 15, I was having a real doozy of a time learning to express my unique and authentic self: I was a bicurious young Lutheran navigating the cliques of straight-laced, almost exclusively white youth in the aggressively heteronormative Mennonite high school I attended. You couldn’t wear tank tops or short skirts, and you were not permitted to dance. Questioning the teachings of the Church or of Scripture was out, as was cursing or considering sex before marriage. 

It was suffocating.

In these walls, which brought me spiritual darkness, a few works of art and passages of the Bible hammered through the barriers to let some light in. One of these artworks was a pop song that came through these walls like a battering ram: Meredith Brooks’ Bitch.

I’m a bitch, I’m a lover

I’m a child, I’m a mother

I’m a sinner, I’m a saint

I do not feel ashamed

I’m your hell, I’m your dream

I’m nothing in between

You know you wouldn’t want it any other way

On the surface, it was wonderful to loudly sing a curse word–I didn’t get to hear many provocative expletives at that time–but then I also realized how liberating it was to own the idea that I could sometimes be rebellious, even mutinous, toward the status quo and still be a sinner-saint child of God. (By the way, I’m convinced that if Martin Luther had been around in 1997, he’d have loved this song). I could question God like the psalmists did, and I could stand apart from some Mennonite customs and not be an awful person or an anti-Christian. 

I’m 39 now, and I recently remembered Bitch and have been regularly rocking out to it. It reminds me that God didn’t make a mistake when I was created: I am an adventurous, boat-rocking queer minister who loves to not only pray and worship but also to examine, question, and disobey when called to do so. And I hope God wouldn’t have it any other way.

Bio: Melissa May (she/her) is a pastor who served for five years in the wilds of northern Canada and western Alaska, and is now taking some time away to rest and work part-time as she interviews for possible new congregational calls. She lives with family and her very well-traveled cat, Mia, in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, where she’s looking forward to in-person Trivia Nights and Dungeons and Dragons sessions eventually resuming.



Pride Devotional: Proud Mary

Lewis Eggleston May 6, 2021 No Comments
From now through the end of Pride month, members from the Proclaim community (the LGBTQIA+ seminarians and rostered leaders in the Lutheran church) will be sharing songs that have evoked a sense of Pride in their lives. They will reflect on how these songs stirred their spirits, while celebrating God’s creation and offer a dash of Good News in their reflections. Please share these devotionals with your friends, family and spiritual communities!  
 

Proud Mary
by Lewis Eggleston
 
Every now and then, we like to do things nice…. and easy. These iconic words send chills down my spine while my heart readies itself for Tina’s five-minute intro that is almost as good as the song itself. 
 
I started performing “Proud Mary” in 7th grade with the pep band, where I would blat the baseline on my tuba at every varsity basketball and football game. As the years went by, I remember a time or two where I would dip the bell of the tuba and bring it right back up, mimicking Tina’s iconic dance moves, the only thing missing was a sequin number and some killer legs. Fingers crossed that, someday, my dream may still come true. 
 
Proud Mary. 
 
For queer folks, these are loaded words. 
 
As a child when I played this music I surely was not out or “Proud” but reflecting back on the lyrics & her performance of this song, Tina was preaching to me. 
 
I left a good job in the city
Working for the man every night and day
And I never lost one minute of sleeping
Worrying ’bout the way things might’ve been
 
As a queer person, that presumably comfy “good job or good life” meant living in a closet where society and the church would still see me as “good”, however working for the “Man”, playing someone I wasn’t, every night and day, is too much and as it turns out, I truly never lost a minute of sleep worrying about the way things might have been, had I stayed in that closet. To help bring this point home, in the words of Joel Workin, “The most precious grace God gives us is the grace to be ourselves. And now, it is time to let grace abound.” Amen!  
 
This Pride season, this Proud Mary will keep on burning & rollin’ on the river. 
 
Thanks be to God & Tina.
Lewis Eggleston (he/him) 
is the Associate Director of Communications & Development at Extraordinary Lutheran Ministries. He lives in Kaiserslautern, Germany with his husband and dog-child Carla. He was recently approved for ordination for ministry in Word & Service. He spends his free time running/hiking/or singing to the German wildlife. 
 

An Earth Month Reflection

Lewis Eggleston April 29, 2021 No Comments
by Andrew Tobias Nelson
 
CW: police brutality
 
Dear officer:
I watched you watch yourself tackle that man
What are you doing to your brother?
What have they done to you?
I watched you cuff him and put him in an unmarked car, when he should’ve been locked in an embrace instead
Allowed to grieve
Allowed to rage
Allowed to heal
How have you distanced yourself from your own kin? Your own humanity?
 
Dear corporation:
I watched as you drilled for oil, dug up habitat, poisoned fresh water, and put the blame on kids who haven’t yet learned about recycling.
What are you doing to your mother?
What has she done to you?
I watched you enslave children to make cheap clothing that fills holes we have dug in the earth, when the land does not need filling, it needs rest
Allowed to breathe and fly
Allowed to swim and drink
Allowed to heal
How have you cut yourself off from your own kin? Your own humanity?
 
Dear God:
I heard the stories of your coming to your kin, in our own humanity.
What we did to you
What you keep giving to us
I watch as You bring the sunrise, the spring, the coming out, the dance, the embrace
Blessing the joy
Blessing the tears
Blessing the healing, however long this process may take
How you weep for our divisions and delight in our differences. How you continue to join us in our humanity, among all of our Earth-kin.
 
 
 
Today, for every gift made to ELM, we will plant one tree through the organization OneTreePlanted in honor of Earth Month. Or, you can click the link to donate directly and plant as many trees as you desire. Thank you!
 
Image Description: a child is holding a pinwheel in an open field with the words: Dear God, I heard the stories of your coming to your kin, in our own humanity.
What we did to you
What you keep giving to us
I watch as You bring the sunrise, the spring, the coming out, the dance, the embrace. -Andrew Tobias Nelson
Andrew Tobias Nelson (he/they) is a transmasculine, bi-vocational, spiritually curious minister living in Upstate NY with over 100 houseplants and their fiance, who is a druid in the local pagan community and a really good cook. Always on the lookout for sci-fi and fantasy novels by more diverse authors, trying to stay socially aware without getting overwhelmed. When it’s not covid times, Andrew sings with the Albany Gay Men’s Chorus and seeks out new trails for running in the capital district.

Homecoming

Lewis Eggleston April 22, 2021 1 Comment
by Robin Lovett Owen
 
In your beginning, God scooped up humus – rich, dark soil – and breathed life into it, and called you, you. And God looked at this body, with all its sinews and muscles and rolls of fat, with your face, size, hair and skin, abilities, and God called this body good. This is your home: your body. And God placed you exactly where you belong: the garden, along with all the other animals – your siblings. This is also your home: God’s good Earth. One is not more your body than the other, because the soil and you are the same, really – humus.
 
But if this is the story of a beginning and a garden, there is also a story of exile. I don’t know what your exile from your body/earth home entailed, but I know that mine has been tied up with queerphobia – and that it is the earth, the garden herself, who has so often welcomed me back home.
 
Since a young age, I struggled with the gendered expectations placed on me – girly, delicate, demure. Even now, the femininity expected of me feels like a pair of pants three sizes too small. Perhaps this is why I have always struggled with disordered eating – I have always strived for something not quite right for my body. At every turn, whether it was because my body did not fit the androgynous cut of clothing I wanted, or because peace with my body at any size has proven elusive, my body has felt less like home and more like exile. And I know I’m not alone – queer people suffer from disordered eating at higher rates than our straight peers.
 
For me, queerness is about the journey home – the experience of coming to love this body home of mine. It is about accepting all the very good things God created in my body: the gift of sexuality, the joy of eating, the softness of my belly, or the bliss of joyful movement. These things remind me that just being is a gift of grace.
 
I’ve had many companions on this journey back home, including the queer community. But the Earth has been my dearest companion on my way back home. Whether in mountains or prairies, the Earth has reminded me that my creatureliness is not to be scorned but to be loved. The motherliness of male songbirds and the industriousness of female worker bees remind me that there is nothing unnatural about gender nonconformity. The trees bloom in the spring, the tides of Lake Michigan come in and out, the animals become fat before winter sets in – all remind me that my body waxes and wanes, and every change is good.
 
When I marvel at God’s good earth on this Earth Day, I remember that I, too, am fearfully and wonderfully made – just as I am, queer and whole. I am reminded that I need this good body/Earth home to heal.
 
Today, for every gift made to ELM, we will plant one tree through the organization OneTreePlanted in honor of Earth Day. Or, you can click the link to donate directly and plant as many trees as you desire. Thank you!
 
 
Image Description: Green grass background with the words: This is your home: your body. And God placed you exactly where you belong: the garden, along with all the other animals – your siblings. This is also your home: God’s good Earth. One is not more your body than the other, because the soil and you are the same, really – humus.- Robin Lovett Owen
 
Robin Lovett-Owen (she/her) is the intern at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church in Waukegan, Illinois and is eagerly awaiting first call. She is also an artist who makes queer Christian art, and her work can be found on Facebook, Instagram, and Etsy @3Solas. If she’s not in the studio or at church, she can be found hiking with her spouse, Lee, and dog, Sophie.

A Statement from ELM

Lewis Eggleston April 17, 2021 No Comments

“He was a son. He was a brother. He was an uncle. He was a father. He was a grandson. He was so much more, and he did not deserve this at all….I need everybody to know that he is much more than this…..He had a smile that was angelic. He lit up the room. He was funny. He played. He was an amazing son. And I can never get that back.” – Katie Wright, Daunte’s mother

Extraordinary Lutheran Ministries denounces and laments the murder this week of Daunte Wright by Brooklyn Center law enforcement, and the murder of Anthony J. Thompson, Jr. by Knoxville law enforcement, along with the lives of the at least 33 Black people and 23 other people of color killed by law enforcement so far this year. Every time Black, Brown, and Indigenous lives are ruthlessly taken by the hands of white authority, the wounds of the world grow deeper and their cries resound in God’s ears. 

In the Gospel, Jesus names the love of God as central for the work of justice, and teaches that we are to love our neighbor as ourselves. By linking love of self, love of neighbor, and love for God, Jesus calls us to refuse a self-love that is rooted in supremacy and death. The white members of ELM’s board and staff name our own culpability in the ways we have not lived up to this Gospel call to uphold Black, Brown, and Indigenous lives as not only beloved of God – but also made in God’s image and worthy of life in abundance. We join our voice in naming and repenting of those ways we have clung to dehumanizing systemic powers that offer security for some while producing death and suffering for many. We renounce the idols of white supremacy, the demonic forces of racism, and the death-dealing violence that come as a result. 

ELM recommits to an anti-racist identity at every level of the organization and implores white members of Proclaim, those who support ELM’s mission, and predominantly white communities of faith to the following calls to action:

Local Action

Donate to BIPOC activists on the ground in Minnesota and Knoxville: 

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-sponsor-emt-training-for-poc

Venmo: @MNTeenActivists

https://venmo.com/Appalachian-CommunityFund

www.blackcoffeejustice.com

 *Check in with and care for your siblings of color. DO SOMETHING: call them, send them a care package, pay for their dinner/groceries. Make specific offers to redistribute resources and ask what support they need.

National Action

Commit to reparations in the ELCA: Click on the following link to make a contribution through Immanuel Lutheran Church in Seattle to the 66th Synod fund. The 66th Synod Fund is named in memory of the Alpha Synod and Jehu Jones and is devoted to helping elderly Black ministers survive after years of serving congregations without the ability to have adequately paid their pastors. The endowment is led by a Board of Black women in the ELCA.

Sign up for and take action in the Movement for Black Lives: https://m4bl.org/Movement 

Get mobilized on the nearly 300 local and state pending bills designed to keep black and brown people from the polls: track them through the Brennan Center, support the ACLU’s work, and get involved with the League of Women Voters’ efforts.

Pray with Us 

We pray for Black, Indigenous, People of Color experiencing relentless racialized trauma, and its ensuing exhaustion and grief, especially for those who are also LGBTQ2SIA+, disabled, or members of other marginalized communities. We pray fervently for the families of Daunte Wright and Anthony J. Thompson, Jr. and their communities. We, the white members of the board of directors and staff of ELM, ask God to give us the strength and wisdom we are lacking to start removing the sin of white supremacist thinking and ways of life from our hearts and minds. We, the BIPOC members of the board of directors and staff of ELM, pray that white people do more – stand up stronger, fight harder, and find the mettle to scream at the top of their lungs that Black, Indigenous, Latine, Asian and POC Lives Matter, and are beloved. We pray that the sacred divinity of Black, Brown, and Indigenous bodies be given the honor and reverence that our Christian faith demands. 

Image Description: Over a black background, the scripture verse from Jeremiah 6:14- They have treated the wound of my people carelessly, saying, “Peace, peace,” when there is no peace.