When I was a kid my grandmother would rock back and forth on her green metallic rocking chair singing old Spirituals like, “We shall overcome, someday.” I still remember her tears. My grandmother, big and yellow, a proud Christian, guarded our South Dallas porch singing songs like, “I’m a solider in the Army of the Lord. I’m a solider in the Army.”
Have you ever felt like you're not where you're supposed to be? I'm not talking about misreading directions and getting lost. I'm talking about being in a place, a dynamic, a behavior where your gut tells you, "I'm not supposed to be here."
The Apostle Thomas gets a raw deal.
Really, in mainstream American Christianity, and in the secular popular imagination, he gets reduced to some kind of one-dimensional figure, known only for a moment in which he was proven wrong.
As my queer son grew in maturity and wisdom, I questioned so many things—my importance in my son's life, the world's ideology, family members' loyalties, my son's safety, his happiness, and whether or not who he is is who he wants to be.
Easter Sunday. A day of many questions and confusion within a hope-filled community.
"But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.
I left the Sunday matinee of Fun Home and blinked into the sunlight. We had decided to go spontaneously as the last stop of our whirlwind weekend in the city.
I didn’t grow up in a tradition that observed Lent. Perhaps they found it too Catholic for their belief system. Now I minister in a church that observes Lent, Ash Wednesday and Maundy Thursday.
To say that it was a steep learning curve for me is an understatement.