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I went to see Milk a week ago, a new film directed by Gus Van Sant about the first openly gay man elected to political office. It was a moving piece of cinema. And I was surprised to find that I did not forget about it afterward (which is what happens with most movies I watch) but it keeps coming back to my thoughts in various ways.
I still find it hard to believe that this drama played out in my lifetime. It was sobering to see the violence, discrimination and hate that so many gays and lesbians faced in those years and prior: police brutality and arrests; violence and verbal insults; the possibility of losing your job because you were gay. I was a toddler in the late 70’s (so obviously didn’t have clue what was happening!) and didn’t come out until the late 90’s. When I did come out, it took a while to actually claim a place in the community – to see my life and history connected to the lives of other GLBT folks. I suppose I knew that these things happened or had heard about them, but to see documentary footage woven into the film made it especially poignant to me. I find it hard to believe that some of my older gay friends and colleagues actually lived through this.
I was moved by the insatiable hope and ambition that seemed to motivate Harvey Milk and others in the film. He seemed to have a deep sense that a better day was coming and was willing to throw himself fully into the fray. Despite several lost elections and setbacks, he did not give up. Against the odds, he continued his quest for public office, sometimes at great personal cost. And when he finally was elected, he became a beacon of hope and possibility for others even in his death.
The film left me grateful for the amazing gifts that Milk and other GLTB activists and advocates have given to our world. Societal attitudes have changed dramatically over the past 30 years and my life is a small example. Yes, there have been challenges and difficulties related to my sexual orientation but I have never been a victim of a crime or knowingly been discriminated against. Thankfully, it is the same for many of my gay friends. But there is still work to be done and this movie also left me asking, “What am I willing to do to make equality a reality for everyone?” The recent spate of anti-gay marriage amendments in several states show us that GLBT folks are not completely welcome to make our relationships public and, even if we do, they are not honored with the same rights (and responsibilities) given to others. Whether the solution is gay marriage or civil partnerships, I’m not sure, but there is still inquality. GLBT folks are still not welcome to serve as the spiritual leaders within many churches and religious traditions. There are still places in this country where it is not safe to be “out”, where individuals are forced to lie or to hide this very real part of themselves.
The picture may look bleak right now but this movie was an infusion of Advent hope. There is a day of justice and equality coming for all of God’s children. Though the pace may be excruciatingly slow, things are getting better; the day is drawing near. Like the film, this season also asks us what we will do to bring the Kingdom of God on earth. Are we living with the boldness and freedom that would allow us to become the agents of change in our world? Are we willing to serve as voices of challenge, dissent or compromise? Will we stand with those within and outside of our community whose dignity and rights are not recognized? There is much work to be done but thanks be to God for the hope that will strengthen and nourish us on the journey.
I am sure I have said it before in this blog, but Advent is such a powerful season of the church year for me. There is that constant blurring of darkness and light; the mingling of grief and loss with hope; visions of the world as it is now (broken and bruised) are contrasted with visions of the cosmos as it is to be when Christ comes again (whole and healed). This season honors the messiness and complexity of my life and calls me deeper in the wonder and mystery of God.
For the past two weeks, sermons at Park Avenue Christian Church have been focused on Mary, especially her response to God’s call. This week Pastor Jackson used her as a model for how we worship. I’ll let you listen for yourself but, in short, I heard that worship is fundamentally about a response to God. It is saying, “Amen – so be it” – agreeing that God is good; declaring that God is trustworthy and loving; allowing God to surprise and delight us; letting God reshape our priorities and values. But worship is also a living, extravagant “Alleluia!” - not simply the verbal assent that we offer corporately each week but, as Mary shows us, a decision to embody what we believe through our lives and actions. Worship is active and engaged, it is never passive. It is a “yes” that has legs.
But worship and life are not always easy and I have especially been thinking about how Mary’s “yes” did not guarantee her a future of eternal happiness and bliss, as some Christian traditions seem to play up. Contained in the yes was future pain and grief mingled with amazing joy. She holds in her being the ecstatic outpouring of the Magnificat, “My soul magnifies the Lord…” but also the bitter tears shed at the foot of the cross.
Mary must have had some hunch, deep in her being, that God was trustworthy. And I wonder if that understanding was formed through corporate worship. She would have heard the history of God’s work in and through her people; she would have memorized and sung the Psalms that speak of God’s steadfast love. Maybe she knew and loved the stunning words that emerge from the bleakest part of Lamentations: “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, God’s mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” I don’t think she said yes ignorantly or meekly but I want to believe that she knew that she was opening herself to the possibility of both great joy and pain, to the fullest expression of what it is to be human. Or even if she didn’t know what the future held, she trusted that God would walk through it with her.
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We had a guest singer join us in worship this week, an African-American woman with a powerful, soulful voice. We have been working together over the past few weeks on Compagnia Colombari’s production of Strangers and Other Angels. From the first moment I heard her sing, I knew that I needed to invite her to share her gifts at church. Her voice is not polished as someone who is classically trained but there is a depth, a ferocity and power in her singing that I have rarely heard. She happily accepted the invitation and we were planning to reprise a version of “This Little Light of Mine” that we had performed the afternoon prior.
About 15 minutes before worship, just as choir rehearsal was wrapping up, she asked if she could sing another piece during the service. I am often leery of things that I haven’t had the chance to practice and I think many trained musicians always feel a certain tension between spontaneity and quality (in other words, you can’t have quality without preparation). But I also grew up in the Pentecostal church and in congregations where music was not always tightly scripted. There was room for Spirit, for something that might speak to God’s people in a spontaneous, fresh way. She sang the piece she was thinking of (it sounded almost like the Spiritual, “I Want Jesus to Walk With Me”) and I was able to find a satisfying chord progression to support her. We ran through it and I told her that we could use it during Communion, while the choir was being served.
It was a wonderful, uplifting service and when we got to Communion the elements were consecrated and broken, as they are every week. The choir sang Dixit Maria, a beautiful motet by the Renaissance composer Hans Leo Hassler, as the bread and wine were distributed.
Dixit Maria ad angelum:
Mary said to the angel:
Ecce ancilla Domine
Behold the handmaid of the Lord;
mihi secundum verbum tuum.
Let it be done to me according to your word.
And then after a short silence, the soloist sang (in the same key but in the minor mode):
Walk with me Lord; walk with me
Walk with me Lord; walk with me
Ooh, while I’m on this tedious journey
I want Jesus to walk with me.
Oh, hold my hand Lord; please hold my hand
Oh, hold my hand Lord; hold, hold my hand
While I’m on this tedious journey
I want Jesus to walk with me.
- Vanessa Bell Armstrong from the album “Peace Be Still”
Though one piece was planned weeks ahead and the other an intuitive, last-minute choice, each gave us a powerful but complementary image of Mary’s response to God. The Hassler offers an elegant statement of trust and obedience – unvarnished, pure and direct. And in the plaintive moaning of “Walk With Me, Lord” I hear Mary humbly asking God to hold her hand and walk the journey with her, because she knows that she can’t do it on her own.
I don’t know about you, but there are days when I need a Mary who is full of simple faith and trust, completely open to God. And there are other days when I need a Mary who has weathered the challenges and struggles of life but is so sure of God’s sustaining presence in the midst of them that she can still respond with a weary but equally heartfelt “yes!” I am deeply grateful for worship that allowed me to hear and see both of those this week.
I am grateful for the ways that Jesus continues to be present to me. This morning while walking to the subway station, a young girl, proudly pulling her backpack and walking behind her older brother (I assume), looked up at me and gave me most sincere and joyous smile that I have ever seen. I saw contentment and freedom written across her face. Throughout the day, she has been something of an icon. I picture that smile again in my mind and I can’t help but smile myself! What a gift!
And at church this week I’ve been enjoying rehearsals of the Clarion Music Society, an fine early music group that is using our Sanctuary to prepare excerpts from Bach’s Christmas Oratorio for a performance next Wednesday. Today I happened to walk in while they were rehearsing the alto aria, “Schlafe, mein Liebster.” Something about the music in that time and space spoke deeply to my soul. I felt loved, held with great tenderness. And as I left to run some errands afterward, the piece continued to work within me – a gentle reminder that I am indeed held in God’s loving arms, even as Jesus was held with great love and tenderness by his mother. Here’s a clip from Youtube – not the same as a live performance but a way to enjoy the beautiful music. (I found the video distracting, so I encourage you to close your eyes and enjoy!)
Schlafe, mein Liebster, genieße der Ruh,
Wache nach diesem vor aller Gedeihen!
Labe die Brust,
Empfinde die Lust,
Wo wir unser Herz erfreuen!
Sleep now, my dearest, enjoy now thy rest,
Wake on the morrow to flourish in splendor!
Lighten thy breast,
With joy be thou blest,
Where we hold our heart’s great pleasure!
