Date: Sun, 15 Oct 95 12:09:12 EDT From: "James D. Anderson" Subject: More Light Update Nov. 1995 WITH CONTENTS LIST MORE LIGHT UPDATE November 1995 Volume 16, Number 4 Presbyterians for Lesbian & Gay Concerns James D. Anderson, Communications Secretary P.O. 38 New Brunswick, NJ 08903-0038 908-249-1016, 908-932-7501 (Rutgers University) FAX 908-932-6916 (Rutgers University) Internet: jda@mariner.rutgers.edu MORE LIGHT UPDATE is the Monthly Newsletter of Presbyterians for Lesbian & Gay Concerns, an organization of Ministers, Elders, Deacons, and Members of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). Send materials marked "For publication" to the editor. PUBLICATION DEADLINES: 6 weeks prior to issue month. Most material appearing in MORE LIGHT UPDATE is placed in the public domain. With the exception of individual articles that carry their own copyright notice, articles may be freely copied or reprinted. We ask only that MORE LIGHT UPDATE be credited and its address be given for those who might wish to contact us. Suggested annual membership contribution to PLGC: $50.00. Annual subscription to MORE LIGHT UPDATE: $10.00. Note: * is used to indicate italicized or boldface text. CONTENTS List of PLGC Contacts Join us in celebrating AIDS/HIV Heroes & Heroines Celebrating Brothers and Sisters on the Front Lines of the AIDS/HIV Pandemic Morning People, by Douglas B. Saylor Ritual in the AIDS Community: Remembering, Celebrating, Healing, by Carol Reese, Executive Director, The AIDS Pastoral Care Network (APCN), Chicago The Listener, by Will Smith A Town and Its People in the Age of AIDS, Review of: My Own Country: A Doctor's Story of a Town and Its People in the Age of AIDS, by Abraham Verghese. Reviewed by Craig Machado. COMING OUT Coming Out: Being Political and Spiritual, by Laurene Lafontaine, PLGC Co-Moderator and Presbyterian Lesbian Pastoral Activist! Do You Have the Will to "Win" the Dialogue?, by Chris Glaser Sin? Get Over It! -- A sermon preached at Downtown United Presbyterian Church, Rochester, New York on June 18, 1995, by Charles Collins Family Values, by Donn Crail (new Director of the Lazarus Project) * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * PLGC Contacts For our electronic readers, here is the complete list of PLGC contacts from the back of the Update. We haven't been including it in the electronic version of the Update, but with more and more electronic readers, we need to share it with you, too! So here it is: PLGC OFFICERS AND CONTACTS CO-MODERATORS: Laurene Lafontaine, 1260 York St. #106, Denver, CO 80206, 303/388-0628; Robert Patenaude, 3346 Hollydale Dr., Los Angeles, CA 90039, 213/660-6795. COMMUNICATIONS SECRETARY: James D. Anderson, P.O. Box 38, New Brunswick, NJ 08903-0038, 908/249-1016, 908/932-7501 (Rutgers Univ.), FAX 908/932-6916 (Rutgers Univ.), email: jda@scils.rutgers.edu. RECORDING SECRETARY: Jim Earhart, P.O. Box 8362, Atlanta, GA 31106, 404/373-5830 TREASURER: Richard Koteras, P.O. Box 961, Cedar Crest, NM 87008, 505/281-1631, 505/844-8624 (work). PLGC Coordinators & Laisons ISSUES: Scott Anderson -- see Exec. Board. UNITY THROUGH DIVERSITY: Rev. Deana Reed, 1816 Kilbourne Pl. NW, Washington, DC 20010, 202-462-2184, fax 202-667-1734. JUDICIAL ISSUES: Tony De La Rosa, 5850 Benner St., #302, Los Angeles, 90042, 213-266-2690 wk, -2695 fax, 213-256-2787 hm; Peter Oddliefson, Harris Beach and Wilcox, 130 E. Main St., Rochester, NY 14604, 716/232-4440 wk, -1573 fax. PRESBYNET: Dorothy Fillmore (see exec. board); Bill Capel, 123-R W. Church St., Champaign, IL 61820-3510, 217/355-9825, P-Net: BILL CAPEL, internet: bill_capel.parti @ecunet.org NOMINATING COMMITTEE: Doug Calderwood, Chair, P.O. Box 57, Cedar Crest, NM 87008, 505-281-0073. PRISON MINISTRIES: Doug Elliott -- see Southern California. PLGC POSTINGS -- Positions Referral Service: Michael Purintun, 522 Belgravia Ct. Apt. 2, Louisville, KY 40208, 502/637-4734. LIAISON TO PRESBYTERIAN AIDS NETWORK (PAN): John M. Trompen, 48 Lakeview Dr., Morris Plains, NJ 07950-1950 LIAISONS TO PRESBYTERIAN ACT-UP: Louise Thompson (see exec. board); Lisa Bove, 7350 Sunset Blvd., Hollywood, CA 90046, 213/874-6646; Howard Warren, Jr., 2807 Somerset Bay, Indianapolis, IN 46240, 317/632-0123 (Damien Center), 317/253- 2377 (home). LIAISON TO MORE LIGHT CHURCHES NETWORK: Tammy Lindahl (see exec. board). EUROPE: Jack Huizenga,Voice of America, 74 Shoe Lane, London 4C4A 3JB, United Kingdom, (171) 410-0960, preceded by 011-44 if calling from the U.S. ALASKA-NORTHWEST (AK, WA, No. ID): Richard Gibson, 4700 228th St., SW, Mount Lake Terrace, WA 98043, 206/778-7227. COVENANT (MI, OH): Rev. James J. Beates, 18120 Lahser Rd. #1, Detroit, MI 48219, 313-255-7059. LAKES AND PRAIRIES (IA, MN, ND, NE, SD, WI): Cleve Evans, 3810 S. 13th St., #22, Omaha, NE 68107-2260, 402/733-1360. LINCOLN TRAILS (IL, IN): Mark Palermo, 6171 North Sheridan Road, Apt. 2701, Chicago IL 60660-2858, 312/338-0452. LIVING WATERS (KY, TN, MS, AL): Jimmy Smith, email jimmy722@aol. com; Michael Purintun -- see PLGC Postings. MID-AMERICA (MO, KS): Merrill Proudfoot, 3315 Gillham Road, #2N,Kansas City, MO 64109, 816/531-2136. MID-ATLANTIC (DE, DC, MD, NC, VA): Elizabeth Hill, 8605 Warrenton Dr., Richmond, VA 23229, 804/741-2982, PresbyNet LISA FURR; Georgeann Wilcoxson, 819 Delaware Ave. S.W., Washington, DC 20024-4207, 202/863-2239, P-Net GEORGEANN WILCOXSON; Brent Bissette, 223 Riverwalk Cir., Cary, NC 27511, 919-467-5747. NORTHEAST (NJ, NY, New England): Sally Witherell, 28 9th St., #403, Medford, MA 02155-5140, 617-625-4823 (Clarendon Hill Presbyterian Church); Gary Ireland, 10 Winter St., Montpelier, VT 05602, 802/229-5438; John Hartwein-Sanchez, 23 Sherman St., #2, New London, CT 06320, 203/442-5138; Charlie Mitchell, 56 Perry St., Apt. 3-R, New York, NY 10014, 212/691-7118; Amy Jo Remmerle, P.O. Box 34, Amherst, NY 14226, 716/626-0734; Kay Wroblewski, 74 Freemont Rd., Rochester, NY 14612, 716/663-9130. PACIFIC (No. CA, OR, NV, So. ID): Richard A. Sprott, 3900 Harrison #301, Oakland, CA 94611, 510/653-2134, email: sprott @cogsci .berkeley.edu; Dick Hasbany, 4025 Dillard Rd., Eugene, OR 97405, 503/345-4720. ROCKY MOUNTAINS (CO, MT, NE Panhandle, UT, WY): Dean Hay, 412 E. 3400 S. #1, Salt Lake City, UT 84115, 801/485-4615; Laurene Lafontaine -- see Executive Board. SOUTH ATLANTIC (FL, GA, SC): Jim Earhart -- see Recording Secy; Laurie Kraus, 5275 Sunset Dr., Miami, FL 33143, 305/666-8586. SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA AND HAWAII: Doug Elliott, 1232 Dell Drive, Monterey Park, CA 91754, 213/262-8019. SOUTHWEST (AZ, NM): Richard Koteras -- see Treasurer; Rosemarie Wallace, 710 W. Los Lagos Vista Ave., Mesa, AZ 85210, 602/892- 5255. SUN (AR, LA, OK, TX): Jay Kleine, 8818 Wightman Dr., Austin, TX 78754, 512/928-4063, 331-7088 work. TRINITY (PA, WV): Rob Cummings, PO Box 394, Jackson Center, PA 16133-0394, 412-475-3285; Eleanor Green, P.O. Box 6296, Lancaster, PA 17603, 717/397-9068; Jim Ebbenga & Kurt Wieser, P.O. Box 1207, Landsdale, PA 19446, 215/699-4750. PLGC Executive Board Scott D. Anderson (1997), 5805 20th Ave., Sacramento, CA 95820- 3107, 916/456-7225, 442-5447 (work) Lindsay Biddle (1997), 3538 - 22nd Ave. So., Minneapolis, MN 55407, 612/724-5429, email: lindsay@geom.umn.edu Lisa Larges (1997), 426 Fair Oaks, San Francisco, CA 94110, 415/648-0547 Tammy Lindahl (1997) 6146 Locust St., Kansas City, MO 64110, 816/822-8577 Tony De La Rosa (1997), 5850 Benner St. #302, Los Angeles, CA 90042, 213-256-2787;Jim Earhart (1996) -- see Recording Secretary Dorothy Fillmore (1996), 7113 Dexter Rd., Richmond, VA 23226- 3729, 804/285-9040 hm, 804/828-2333 wk, PNet: DFILLMORE, internet: dfillmore.parti@ecunet.org (or) dfillmor@cabell. vcu.edu (NO TeU on dfillmor!) Michael Purintun (1996) -- see PLGC Postings Mike Smith (1996), 1211 West St., Grinnell, IA 50112, 515-236- 7955 Louise I. Thompson (1996), 12705 SE River Rd. Apt. 109-S, Portland, OR 97222, 503/652-6508. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Join us in celebrating AIDS/HIV Heroes & Heroines Join us this month as we celebrate our brothers and sisters on the front lines of the AIDS/HIV pandemic. We begin with Douglas Saylor's "Morning People." Doug, a long-time PLGCer and PWA introduces us to friends and acquaintances, their concerns and gifts, in San Diego. Carol Reese, Executive Director of the AIDS Pastoral Care Network in Chicago, writes about "Ritual in the AIDS Community: Remembering, Celebrating, Healing." Will Smith, a student at San Francisco Theological Seminary in San Anselmo, shares his experiences with the special gift of listening. Craig Machado, life-partner of PLGC's Coordinator in Oregon (Dick Hasbany), gives us a review of "My Own Country: A Doctor's Story of a Town and Its People in the Age of AIDS," by Abraham Verghese. Our regular columnists, Laurene Lafontaine and Chris Glaser, ask us to take another look at "coming out" (the main theme of our October *Update*). Laurene, PLGC's co-moderator and a "Presbyterian Lesbian Pastoral Activist!", focuses on the political and spiritual aspects of coming out. Chris asks us of we really want to "win" the Dialogue. If we do, we will "come out." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Celebrating Brothers and Sisters on the Front Lines of the AIDS/HIV Pandemic Morning People by Douglas B. Saylor Yesterday morning I was feeling well enough to leave the house and do some walking. Before checking in at the coffee shop (San Diego has a coffeehouse / drop-in center for those ill with HIV), I visited my favorite bookstore. I was wearing my dark glasses, walking a bit slowly, having some trouble with slurred speech, all of the usual quirks I have as a result of AIDS-related neurological problems. From behind me, I heard a voice, "Excuse me please." I turned, startled, and saw a boy -- he looked to be about twenty-one or twenty-two, coming through on a motorized cart. Our eyes met, and I felt an instant bond of kinship between us. I smiled and said, "It looks like you're getting around pretty well today." He smiled back, warmly. He might have had MS; I don't think he had AIDS, but he was gay. We spoke for a few moments; like me, he occasionally had a little trouble speaking. I don't recall what pleasantries we exchanged, but I never will forget that moment we shared, brother to brother, soul to soul. I left the shop, my eyes welling with tears. I had seen him in a way that I could not have seen him, years earlier. Before my illness, I might have looked at him, if I did at all, with embarrassment or even pity. I'm sure he knew the Look of Pity. I myself have become aware of it, and I know the exhausting emotional toll that it can take. For a brief moment, I felt an intangible connection with that crippled boy. It made me recall other men I had met since my illness, men with whom I share a kind of secret friendship. I met them, too, during the day, bright and early in the morning. The Morning People are not scurrying off to work. They have the leisure to sit at a coffee house. Usually it is a mental or physical impairment that keeps the Morning People from work; sometimes it is drug use. The homeless are Morning People, and sometimes the elderly are as well. In my healthier days, I would get up early and go for a walk before work. I followed the same route each day. Midway through, I would come across a homeless man who appeared to be very old, with short white hair, and a tan, wrinkled face. What always struck me about him was his radio. He would sit on the same bench for hours, with a portable radio tuned to classical music. He never smiled back at me, or even acknowledged my presence as I would pass him. I had nothing to give him but my good will, and he wasn't asking for money. I was glad to see that he was able to take comfort in his beautiful music. Several months ago, I woke up early, and wanted so badly to go for at least a part of my old walk. I have petit mal seizures now that prevent me from doing too much exercise. I find them very embarrassing, although friends assure me that it looks like I've just fallen asleep: my eyes close, and my jaw drops. This particular morning, as I tried to do the old walk, I could sense that I was going to have one of my seizures; they call it your "aura," when you can feel them coming on. I was able to sit on a bench when it hit. After a few minutes, I thought I could hear music. When I came to, I noticed a small portable radio placed near me. I looked up, and saw the white-haired man. He didn't say anything, but his presence felt so comforting, almost fatherly. When I was fully alert and able to stand, he picked up his radio, without saying a word, without really even looking at me, and walked away. He had perhaps sensed that something was wrong, and so he offered me his source of solace. I was touched. One of my Morning Friends is David, who, in the jargon of social work, has a "triple-diagnosis." He is HIV infected, mentally ill, and has a problem with substance abuse. He is someone I certainly never would have gotten to know previous to my illness. Of course, he has driven off most of his friends, swinging from depression to euphoria, and then numbing himself with vodka. Most people have gotten tired of his attempts at recovery, the unreturned phone calls, and the bizarre letters he sends in the mail. I read one of the letters he sent to me once. Usually I don't. He had enclosed a poem he wrote, and I swear it was absolutely beautiful. Maybe I can see how hard he tries. Maybe, because of my own cerebral degeneration, I know how hard it is to maintain an equilibrium. David always teases me and calls me "Dad," (even though he is twenty years older) because he says I give such good advice. Of course I can't remember a thing I've said to him. I'm just glad to think it helps him at the time. And then there is Skylark. I met Skylark one morning at the coffee house. We visit from time to time. His number is always being disconnected as he moves from one cheap apartment to the next, usually with his mother. Skylark thinks, from what he has read in the library, that he might be schizophrenic. He hears voices sometimes, and feels "disconnected." He has no insurance. He does not know if he should go to a medical doctor or a psychiatrist. He does not know how he would find one. Perhaps it is an indication of my own mental state, but I understand what he's talking about, usually. I know what it feels like to have said the wrong thing, not quite to have understood the conversation. Social situations, even phone calls can become embarrassing, when you're no longer sure of yourself. Often, I ask him just to stop talking, and to let me rest. He devours any food I offer, and I always wonder how long it has been since he has eaten. He's so small and thin, almost frail. Sometimes he asks me to hold him. In my introspective moments I question these friendships; I wonder if I have a messiah complex, or if I am just plain stupid to befriend these lost souls. But often now I feel a little like a lost soul myself. And it sounds a bit patronizing, doesn't it, even the idea of having a messiah complex when these men clearly bring comfort to me. I might have known that it would end up like this. My first inkling that the "saviors" are really the saved came to me ten years ago, when I was doing my goody-goody volunteer work with hustlers in the park. One morning when I wasn't teaching, I went with the AIDS Project to distribute condoms and bleach. This eighteen-year-old injection drug user promptly sat me down and told me about the love he felt for his partner. He spoke, straight from the heart, about love. It was more authentic and beautiful than almost anything I have ever heard in the Presbyterian church on the subject. Ray knew love, and lived it. I haven't seen him in a long time. He'd be out working the streets, and he always asked me for any spare change. That man did know how to love, though, without conditions, without strings of any kind. His friend was blessed, I always thought. Even homeless and addicted they had a much happier life than many I've known. Morning People seem to know, much better than healthy people do, how to be quiet, how to just sit, how sometimes it is enough just to have a presence with you while you are struggling. They know about releasing your expectations of another. They do not require you to remember details, or even to make a lot of sense. They know that you have to take people on their terms, without demands and criteria for friendship. They know that somehow we're all muddling through this together, each in his own way. I am grateful to Chris Glaser, whose article, "From Shoah to Shoah," in the *More Light Update* (November 1989) made me acquainted with not only his writings, but also with *An Interrupted Life*. Etty Hillesum, a young Jewish woman who met her death at Auschwitz, wrote in her diary at the camp: "If all this suffering does not help us to broaden our horizon, to attain a greater humanity by shedding all trifling and irrelevant issues, then it will all have been for nothing." Those words have been reverberating through my thoughts these past few days. There is something about my own pain, that no matter how senseless it seems, has given me a chance to see beyond my narrow scope. I can not think of AIDS as any kind of gift, or anything good at all. But it has helped me find some comfort in those who I had previously ignored and overlooked, the Morning People. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Ritual in the AIDS Community Remembering, Celebrating, Healing by Carol Reese, Executive Director The AIDS Pastoral Care Network (APCN), Chicago A phone call came recently. "Our cousin Rita died and we need someone to help us with her funeral." The request did not seem unusual until we heard, "Rita is a man. The priest refuses to do the funeral because we want to remember the way he was -- *Uncle* Rita. Can you help us?" APCN's founders realized the importance of ritual in people's lives. Early on, the Network worked hard to identify clergy who would celebrate rituals for those affected by AIDS. Rituals mark significant times in our lives. We use them to celebrate the beginning of life, the joining together of two lives in love, and the end of a life well lived. Rituals lend respect and dignity to our lives, set aside sacred space, and free us to move in new directions. I remember Steve Wakefield, Associate Director of the Night Ministry, saying, "in the beginning we called APCN with questions like, 'We have to go to a funeral. Is it okay to wear leather?' Our friends were dying and many of us had never been to a funeral before." More than a decade into the epidemic we are more accustomed to taking part in the rituals of lives passing than we ever dreamed would be true. An article from the November 30, 1994 *New York Times* explores the ways in which the gay community has re-claimed funerals and memorial services as their own rituals. "... Often elaborate affairs, the services have become platforms for grief and celebration and the politics that surround AIDS." For our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters, to re-claim a sense of spirituality has been an uphill battle. The community has done so because rituals help us to ground ourselves. Rituals can become the glue that holds us together when we feel that the effect of loss after loss will certainly tear us apart. What became of *Uncle* Rita? Well, one phone call away was an evangelical parish pastor who was willing to honor the family's wishes about Rita's funeral service. He helped the family celebrate the life of someone they loved. The funeral was held in the apartment of one of Rita's relatives. Later, the pastor recounted what it was like for him to hear Rita's nieces and nephews tell stories of special times with their uncle, in young voices filled with love, respect and great sadness for their loss. It was important to the family that sacred space be made for their grieving. The pastor was reminded that "church" can happen powerfully outside the four walls designated for that purpose. He also had a deeper awareness that our sisters and brothers who sometimes march to very singular drummers are not isolated "eccentrics," but loved persons integrated into loving networks of family and friends. In this time of AIDS, we are called to make holy time and space for loving those affected by AIDS and to celebrate the lives of those who have died of it. Go, then, and be vessels of care for your sisters and brothers. Help make heaven and earth meet in their times of celebration and in their times of sorrow. [Reprinted, with permission and thanks, from *The Spirit*, Newsletter of The AIDS Pastoral Care Network, 4753 N. Broadway, Chicago, Il 60640, 312-334-5333, Spring 1995, p. 1.] * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The Listener Copyright 1995 by Will Smith Note: This essay was written as a "Theological Reflection" paper, required for internship at San Francisco Theological Seminary where the author is currently a student -- an openly gay student. It's original title was "Theological Reflection II: 'Waiting to Die.'" It is late August in the summer of 1995. My first year anniversary in the Bay Area has just gone by, and I find myself still thinking that the West Coast is a mystery. I long to return back east, to New York. To what I know, to what is comfortable. Yet, I also find myself resisting that urge, wanting and needing to process this past year within the context where it took place. In the past year, I have experienced culture shock in moving from east to west, bought a car, joined a church, seen the beginning and the end of an important loving relationship in my life, and I have sat watch, waiting for a friend to die. My internship with **Marin AIDS Interfaith Network (MAIN)** began, uneventfully, in February of this year, and continued to be so for the next few months. However, around April, I began in earnest doing what I had been hired to do: working with gay and bisexual men living with HIV/AIDS. Whereas my co-intern had been hired to work with women, I had been hired mainly because I share a connection with most of MAIN's male participants in that I, too, am an openly gay man, though HIV negative. This connection has led many of the men I see for regular visitation to share intimacies about their personal lives as gay and bisexual men. We seem to have a familiarity and awareness that heterosexual men, for lack of a better term, 'just don't get,' be it intellectual, emotional, spiritual and, yes, physical closeness. There are shared experiences that cannot be expressed in mere words or other empirical data; experiences of growing up gay, coming-out (to ones self as well as others, forever and always), dating, loving, endurance, compromise, romance, passion, breaking up, commitment, friendship. And not always in that order. One such man, that I shared these concerns with, was "B.J." (not his *real* name). On July 10th, he died of complications due to AIDS, between 10:30-11:00 p.m. that night. I had been with him from late morning on that day, until he passed on, except for an hour break in the evening. I heard his last word, and I watched as he went to sleep after comfort measures had been implemented. I listened to his breathing throughout the day; though it remained consistent, its pace slowed until it there was no life left in "B.J." About the same time I began my work with MAIN, I also began dating a man I had met in my church. His name is "George." I often shared the progress of this relationship with "B.J." In fact, I would hardly be in the door of "B.J.'s" apartment when I would hear him calling from his bedroom, "Wilhelmina, get in here and tell me, how is that man," in his best Bette Davis imitation. I shared my frustrations and my doubts, as well as my hopes, my dreams for this relationship with "George," with "B.J." And he would listen. He would later voice his concern for my well being also. I would listen, too, as he would tell me how important it was for him to hear of such relationships, and his hopes for one of his own even as AIDS ravaged his body. He talked openly about no longer being able to "perform" because of the AIDS virus within him, but he also talked about how sex was not the important thing for him. It was the caress, the kiss and the held hand that were important to "B.J." -- along with being able to play a good game of Bridge and a love of *Star Trek: The Next Generation.* On the day that he died, I had brought with me a book to the hospital, afraid that I would become bored with the waiting. I don't believe that I was thinking very clearly at that point; I was merely concerned with getting to the hospital and passing the time, not wanting to think that "B.J." may be dying. With the doctor gone, having said that aggressive attempts at fighting an equally aggressive infection would provide minimal results, I found myself alone with "B.J.," like so many other times before. Only now, he was asleep, comfort measures having been put into place. Now he was dying; the faint sound of a death rattle beginning in the back his throat. I remember picking up my book and reading perhaps one sentence, when I looked out of the window in his room at Marin General Hospital. A splendid view of Mount Tamalpais seemed unimportant to the fact that I could see "B.J.'s" apartment complex directly across the way. I could even pick out his window; a window in which I knew, a bright teal colored orchid sat in wait. I put the book aside and did not return to it. Instead, I walked to "B.J.'s" side, took his hand and began to catch him up on the latest about me and "George." After all, I knew he was expecting it. Of that I am sure. I talked about my doubts, my second thoughts, my hopes. I talked about the caress, the kiss, the held hand. I talked about my God-sense within the relationship; I told "B.J." that I loved "George," but that I was not in love with him, at least not yet. I remember feeling an honesty, an openness and a willingness about me that had not been there before. I wanted to give "B.J." this moment. Because, he had given me so many of his. I had always experienced "B.J." as a listener; not a listener in the sense that Websters would define it, but as if he were somehow from an empathic race of listener beings, a listener who would hear and convey what he heard from one whom he loved, to "the grandfathers," or God, as he knew God. "B.J." had been reluctant to leave this life. He told me weeks earlier that he felt he had not listened enough, and that he still had more of his ear to give and more of his voice and prayers to convey for others. As I continued to talk with "B.J." about my relationship, I noticed that he had begun to cry. His eyes were still closed, his breath raspy, his body limp as if he were sleeping. But, he was listening. And in listening to me, he had begun to cry, perhaps knowing that this was the last that he would hear from me. I remember squeezing his hand and blotting his tears with my finger, wiping his brow and telling him that it was all right, that "the grandfathers" needed him now more than we did. That he had work of a different kind to do for us, now. David Martin, the Director of Ministries for MAIN, had, earlier in the day or week, I don't remember which, shared his belief that when people are dying, they experiment journeying in and out of their bodies; testing the water's so to speak. I now believe this as well. I was given a break around 6:00 p.m. to rest and eat. Having done so, I returned to the hospital, yet I didn't return immediately to "B.J.'s" room after parking my car. Instead, I don't know why, I sat there feeling nothing. Yet, suddenly, I felt an overwhelming love come over me, fill me and caress me warmly. And I knew that it was "B.J." I felt contented and eased by this, not as if a burden had been lifted, but rather as if the pending, 'expected' sadness were not necessary, nor important. I knew, I felt, that "B.J." was in bliss. I returned to his room, and sat watch with others who had grown to love "B.J." until we sensed that he had gone from us. In the light of a brilliant full moon, illuminating the high, trace fog, we washed his body, and spread lotion on his limbs and dressed him, honoring the vessel that no longer held him. "B.J." has gone to be with "the grandfathers," and I no longer have the listener to tell that my relationship, too, has ended. Yet, I have been left with a newer understanding of what it must mean to "lay down one's life for one's friend's" (John 15:13b) -- to be truly present and to listen, not merely with one's heart, one's knowledge, one's prayers and one's belief system, but also with a shared, common life experience and the bond this may create, such as within the understanding and affinity expressed among gay men. Or that of women. Or of heritage. Or love. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * A Town and Its People in the Age of AIDS My Own Country: A Doctor's Story of a Town and Its People in the Age of AIDS, by Abraham Verghese. Vintage Books, 347 pages, $13.00. Reviewed by Craig Machado. AIDS has touched so many lives as it persists through the waning years of this century. AIDS: a household acronym; a disease whose destructive course still stymies medicine; a damnable, unwanted tragedy; a sexual transgression in the eyes of some; a mark of retribution for others; a public health matter; a private "lifestyle" matter; a family matter; a harbinger of more deadly microbes to come? We have been blessed, in the grip of this virus, with many fine writers who have found the courage and strength -- in many cases the chroniclers themselves are afflicted -- to bring to this world the multiple voices AIDS speaks in poems, plays, essays, memoirs, novels, magazines such as *POZ*, devoted entirely to AIDS. Yet in the totality of this ever-growing corpus of AIDS literature, first-hand accounts by doctors who treat AIDS patients are surprisingly scarce. Abraham Verghese's *My Own Country: A Doctor's Story of a Town and its People in the Age of AIDS* stands tall among the many contributions already made on behalf of AIDS awareness/understanding. This is one of the few books on HIV that moves the reader beyond earlier AIDS- as-holocaust settings in cities like New York, San Francisco, Los Angeles, to Johnson City, Tennessee -- a place most people have never heard of, nor are likely to associate with a disease that has carried a distinctly urban, mostly gay, "not my kind of people" label. What Verghese discovers is that AIDS has grown into the very heartland of America, has become an "equal opportunity" virus in such a way that people least suspected of having it -- an upstanding socialite couple, heterosexual, married forty odd years, for example -- do, in fact, get it. Dr. Verghese, an immigrant from India, first becomes interested in AIDS while doing intern work in Boston and decides to specialize in infectious diseases, an area, he recalls, fellow colleagues shun as not high-tech, prestigious or lucrative enough. And of course there is the stigma of AIDS itself, rendering even the concerned medical professional suspect. He accepts a position with a veteran's hospital in Johnson City, starts to speak out publicly on AIDS and soon develops a sizable AIDS caseload -- mostly gay and bi-sexual men, but others too. Verghese begins to see parallels between the lives of his gay patients (and others with AIDS) and his own struggle as a dark- complected foreigner looking for acceptance in America. He is curious, not only about the bodily manifestations of HIV disease and ways to mitigate it, but also the people themselves: What is it like to grow up gay in America? How do gay people survive in a society which so despises them? What does the family think? Who are the loved ones? Do they turn away when finding out that a parent, child, sibling, partner, is gay and has AIDS? Why? Are people with AIDS like India's caste of untouchables? In many ways, Verghese embodies those qualities we long for in a doctor -- humility, empathy, compassion, interest in the patient beyond the clinical setting -- but rarely find in the impersonal, bureaucratized world that medicine has become. And because of the nature of this virus, whose sexual transmission engenders so much blame-the-victim posturing, a physician needs to go the extra mile in helping his/her patient deal with a hostile world. For Verghese this means visiting his patients at home, attending the local AIDS support group, hugging patients, being so vulnerable as to cry with someone when both realize the treatment is no longer working, the end near. Verghese does a great service to his profession in writing this book. He is eloquent, forthright, self-critical; he is a model of what a doctor should be as well as being an engaging, forceful writer. And when he finally leaves Johnson City, he is struck by the basic goodness of its people which even AIDS can not diminish: "I remember the acts of human kindness that illumine our world." *My Own Country* is a lasting testament of one doctor, one community, where compassion becomes the ultimate act of healing. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * COMING OUT Coming Out: Being Political and Spiritual Last month, we celebrated National Coming Out Month. But did you know that October was also Clergy Appreciation Month. I discovered this interesting tidbit by listening to Focus on The Family radio programming while visiting folks in Southern Colorado. I did call to check out if there was a special appreciation for gay, lesbian or bisexual clergy. Needless to say, the person who took my call didn't quite appreciate my call. It was incredibly ironic that the oral arguments for the Colorado anti-lesbigay Amendment 2 took place on the day before National Coming Out Day. It definitely brought home the feminist axiom, "The Personal is Political." Certainly what happens as a result of the oral arguments, written documents and the decision of the United States Supreme Court Justices will affect us all quite profoundly and powerfully. This coming July, there will be some decisions made at the 208th General Assembly in Albuquerque. These actions will have a profound affect on the lesbigay and heterosexual community of faith. Indeed, the political in both society and our church will then become intensely personal. We are currently living in a society that is inclusively challenged. We trust that this current shift to the political and religious right within society and religious communities will soon cease. People of faith and conscience will begin to see through, as well as experience, the impact of exclusion and discrimination. It will be upon people of faith to call for justice -- justice as expressed by Jesus the Christ. The embodiment of this call for justice is personal, spiritual and political. It is important to experience the reality that the personal is political as well as the personal being spiritual and the political being spiritual. So often, being political is seen as a role for "just" activists and "other people." Yet, we all have the responsibility of being political because it is so personal and spiritual. They go hand in hand. Political is not the antithesis of being spiritual, it is the result of being spiritual. I'm suggesting a definition of spirituality which is based on a right/just relationship: with God, with oneself and with others/society. It is living one's life in such a way that respects and honors God, self and others. Therefore, being political is an active expression of one's sense of respect and honor. Take coming out for instance. Coming out is a spiritual event in our lives because it is respecting and honoring the person we are created to be, whether that is gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered or heterosexual. Often, we hear and experience quite the opposite response. But when we claim and say who we are, we are saying YES to who we were created to be. It is truly a spiritual and liberating experience. It is also a political statement, because we are telling the truth of our lives, no longer silent and acquiescing to the stereotypes and untruths promoted by the radical right. When we come out, we affirm with Audre Lord, "(our) silence will not protect (us)." Indeed it is the truth of our lives that will protect us. Coming out is not only a personal or private act. It is a process which is done in community. As my wonderful friend "a self-avowed snowy white het" Virginia Davidson has said, "What makes people nervous is that lesbian and gay people talk about who they are." We live in a society that is so afraid to deal with sexuality or spirituality. In this current society and denomination, being dogmatic avoids the underlying problems of homophobia, heterosexism, sexism, racism and other oppressive fears. Historically, there has always been a struggle with sexuality and spirituality, particularly within the Judeo-Christian tradition. This tradition has been heavily influenced by dualism, on which the philosopher Plato based his understanding of human existence within the world. Platonic dualistic thought promotes the notion of opposites: good and evil, spirit and physical body, spiritual and sexual, and male and female. Spirit, spiritual, male were seen as positive aspects of life. Conversely, the physical body, sexual, and female were seen as negative or evil aspects of human existence. Therefore, sexuality and spirituality were posited as opposites. This underlying belief is one of the factors in the current struggle to understand the lesbigay community. Yet, the struggle in our society and religious communities is not so much about the sexuality of gay, lesbian and bisexual persons as it is understanding human sexuality within a positive affirming framework. Spirituality and sexuality are different sides of the same coin. Both express the mysterious connection we experience within ourselves and with the divine. As we come out, we claim our sexuality and spirituality as life-affirming aspects in our lives. Coming out and being out is vitally important as we seek to integrate our sexuality and spirituality. It is our willingness to know ourselves and to be known in relationship and community. It is a politico-spiritual process in which we "participate in shaping a society in which people can be nurtured with justice as individuals in community." So in the Spirit of coming out, let us proclaim not only a "National Coming Out Day" and Month, but Year, Decade and Lifetime!! Take the next step! Be out and proud! Be actively involved in your expressions of your spirituality through the politico-spiritual efforts within your local PCUSA congregation, presbytery and synod; within Presbyterians for Lesbians & Gay Concerns, the More Light Churches Network and the justice oriented groups within PCUSA! -- Laurene Lafontaine, PLGC Co- Moderator and Presbyterian Lesbian Pastoral Activist! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Do You Have the Will to "Win" the Dialogue? by Chris Glaser Copyright (c) 1995 by Chris R. Glaser. All rights reserved. Permission granted for non-profit duplication. **Author's request: Please copy and distribute this column to people you believe need to read it, accompanying it with your personal note. Please don't send it anonymously to anyone, because that can engender fear rather than courage.** *Also, consider purchasing and sending to church leaders a copy of **Called Out: The Voices & Gifts of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgendered Presbyterians**, available from Chi Rho Press, P.O. Box 7864, Gaithersburg, MD 20898. Phone: 301-670-1859 (Office hours 2-7 P.M. EST weekdays). Costs: Single copies @ $15.95, six or more @ $13.45; shipping charges: $2.50 for one copy, $3.50 for two; $4.50 for three; $5.50 for 4-5; $6.50 for 6-7; and 7% of total order for 8 copies or more.* On a recent visit to San Jose Presbytery, my host, Carol Holsinger, lent me William L. Shirer's memoir, *Gandhi*, to read on my flight home to Atlanta. Shirer described his early skepticism that Gandhi's path of non-violence could achieve India's independence from Britain. The journalist contrasted it with the violence of American independence, pitting gun against gun. Gandhi wisely observed, "The British want us to put the struggle on the plane of machine guns where they have the weapons and we do not. Our only assurance of beating them is putting the struggle on a plane where we have the weapons and they have not."[1 - footnote] What struck me was Gandhi's combination of spiritual appropriateness and political pragmatism. I immediately connected it to our own struggle in the church. What does this mean for the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgendered movement within the church? Our opponents want us to put the struggle on the plane of a power struggle where they have the power and we do not. Our only assurance of beating them is putting the struggle on a plane where we have the power and they have not. Our opponents want us to put the struggle on the plane of biblical authority, where they posture themselves as being on high ground when it comes to biblical interpretation. Our opponents want us to put the struggle on the plane of theology, where they quote theologians uninformed by our unique perspectives of God. Our opponents want us to put the struggle on the plane of church tradition, where they point out the "historic" condemnation of homosexuality. Our opponents want us to put the struggle on the plane of morality, where heterosexuals with a 50% divorce rate condemn us for supposedly not forming lifelong relationships. Our opponents want us to put the struggle on the plane of biology, because men and women "fit" together, as if the commonwealth of God were determined by "natural" order. Our opponents want us to put the struggle on the plane of the "peace, unity, and purity" of the church, which they claim we endanger in an already divided church tainted by homophobia. Our opponents want us to put the struggle on the plane of ordination, where they recoil at us serving as models for their (and our) children. Our opponents want us to put the struggle on the plane of General Assembly actions and Permanent Judicial Commission rulings, where they have the votes and we do not. Our opponents want us to put the struggle on the plane of analysis and discussion, where they can appear to be "fair" as they pick our psyches and our souls apart. Our opponents want us to put the struggle on the plane of "dialogue," where they exercise "power over" us because we are not equal partners in the dialogue as long as we fear coming out and as long as we are denied ordination as elders, deacons, and ministers. Defensively, we have matched "weapon" for "weapon" by addressing the Bible, theology, morality, biology, the church, ordination, role models, General Assembly actions and Permanent Judicial Commission rulings -- all through our participation in both discussion and dialogue. We have proven ourselves more capable than our opponents in addressing each of these issues, yet *our* views are dismissed because *we* are biased. In the front pages of *Christianity, Social Tolerance and Homosexuality*, the late John Boswell quoted Moritz Goldstein from "Deutsch-judishcher Parnass" in relation to antisemitism: "We can easily reduce our detractors to absurdity and show them their hostility is groundless. But what does this prove? That their hatred is *real*. When every slander has been rebutted, every misconception cleared up, every false opinion about us overcome, intolerance itself will remain finally irrefutable." This past Sunday, speaking to a class of a United Methodist Church here in Atlanta, I was asked what was the most difficult thing I faced from our opposition. The answer came to me immediately: "That they hide their prejudice and bigotry behind the facade of 'reason.'" As John Boswell used to say -- using reason, you cannot argue a person out of a position not arrived at by reason. Bigotry is never arrived at by reason. But reason is employed to defend its presence in the church and within our society. When every biblical, theological, moral, ecclesiastical, biological, and legal question is answered regarding homosexuality, there will still be homophobia and heterosexism. What "weapon" do we have to refute the irrefutable, to transform the bigoted and prejudiced person? Jesus shows us the way. Religious leaders of his day had prejudiced notions of God, of the poor, of women, of Samaritans, of eunuchs, of foreigners, of Gentiles. To overcome bigotry, Jesus told stories, rebuked the self-righteous, overturned tables in the temple. Ultimately, however, Jesus gave himself. To this day, his sacrifice wrestles with our conscience as the church. Jesus came out as a child of God. So we must come out as gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered children of God. If we have the will to "win" this dialogue on homosexuality in the church, we must be willing to come out in whatever role in the church we find ourselves. If we do not have the will, we have no right to claim the name "gay," "lesbian," "bisexual," "transgendered," or "Christian." If our supporters throughout the church do not have the will to come out publicly and forcefully as such, they have no right to name themselves either our "friend" or "Christian." Until we have a glut of church court cases, More Light churches, PLGC memberships and contributions, letters to the editors of Presbyterian publications, openly gay and openly gay-positive seminarians, ordinands, deacons, elders, ministers, and presbytery and synod executives, our church will not change. In his book, *On Dialogue*, Dr. David Bohm describes the meaning of "dialogue," whose root words mean "through the word," suggesting that communication and meaning come through the words of the dialogical process. He contrasts "dialogue" with "discussion," which means "to break things up" -- in other words, to analyze. The 1993 Orlando General Assembly called us not to analyze but to find meaning. The question is not whether lesbians and gays and bisexuals and the transgendered should be in the church, but what is their meaning in the church? How should it reform the church and its attitudes and ministry? God's Word called a diverse creation into being. God's Word called for justice through the prophets. God's Word called for reconciliation among us and with God. God's Word -- God's action in history -- was made flesh. The Incarnation is what causes *metanoia* -- a change of heart, an about-face, repentance, conversion. No one but you can make the words "lesbian," "gay," "bisexual," and "transgendered" flesh to your family, your friends, your co-workers, your community, your congregation, your presbytery. No one but a friend can make the words "gay-positive" and "advocate" and "sexual justice" flesh to others. And it is the embodiment of those words that can cause *metanoia* -- a change of heart, an about-face, repentance of homophobia and heterosexism, conversion. It is in coming out -- offering ourselves -- that we put the struggle with our opposition on a plane where we can win. No matter how hard they try, they cannot deny our stories, our selves, our faith. Court TV has recently overwhelmed us as a nation, but it reminds us of the genius and grace of American jurisprudence. As a lawyer, John Calvin might have appreciated this genius. As a denomination so judicially inclined, we Presbyterians might do better applying its grace. Our nation's judicial system believes "innocent until proven guilty," so defense attorneys and prosecuting attorneys have unequal tasks. The defense has merely to cast reasonable doubt on the prosecution's assertion of a defendant's guilt. But the prosecution's task, or **calling**, if you will, is **not** to prove the defendant's guilt, but **to seek truth and justice**. Our opposition has sought to prove our guilt and has persuaded our church -- even when admitting its own reasonable doubt -- to assert that homosexuality is a sin, that homosexual people may not be ordained as elders, deacons, and pastors, that homosexual unions may not be blessed (even though this latter proclamation was not ratified by presbyteries). We must urge the church, as the jury, to discern truth and deploy justice. The truth is we are innocent until proven guilty. Justice requires that the present verdict of the church be set aside. We are not seeking inclusion in the church. We are seeking justice within the church. If we all step forward, we will cast yet more reasonable doubt in the heart of the church, enough for it to remove its bigoted ban on our ordination. If our church is truly in dialogue with us, I believe it must exhibit four characteristics of dialogue identified by organizational consultant Linda Teurfs: suspension of judgment, active listening, identifying one's assumptions, and inquiry and reflection. The judgment of the 1978 and the 1979 assemblies must be suspended. We must actively listen to one another. Prejudices must be illuminated. And the church must seek more light. _______________________________________________________________ 1. William L. Shirer, *Gandhi: A Memoir* (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1979) pp. 17-18. *Many thanks to Margaret Haney, Associate Executive of Hudson River Presbytery in New York, for giving me the articles that I quoted about dialogue when we co-led a workshop for the Association of Presbyterian Church Educators.* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Sin? Get Over It! A sermon preached at Downtown United Presbyterian Church Rochester, New York on June 18, 1995 by Charles Collins (c) Copyright, All rights reserved. Text: Luke 7:36-50 -- "... When his host [Simon] the Pharisee saw this he said to himself, 'If this fellow were a real prophet, he would know who this woman is that touches him, and what sort of woman she is, a sinner.' ..." -- NEB Simon was certainly on his high horse that day, wasn't he? Do you know what it means to be on your "high horse"? It's not a common expression these days. It's one I remember from my childhood, but I think it's a helpful metaphor for getting started with this story from Luke. When someone is on his high horse, he speaks and acts as though he is the center of the universe, if only for a moment. Have you ever found yourself on your high horse? It may have been when you were caught in stop-and-go traffic on the expressway en route to an important engagement, and the other drivers seem especially stupid. Or when your son came home from his first year at your liberal alma mater and announced that he and his friends were forming a chapter of Young Americans for Newt in '96. I could imagine two horses rising up with that news! At times like these, when the view from your high horse is clouded over with self-importance, it's nice to have a friend snap his fingers and utter those magic words: "Get over it!" Or more to the point, "Get over yourself!" It's times like these when we need a reality check to remind us what is really important in life, and to bring us back to earth. Things look different from atop a high horse. You can't see people's faces; you can't learn what makes them tick, what makes them unique. The tendency is to separate people into categories such as: normal or deviant; like me or different from me; ally or enemy; helper or trouble-maker; in or out; saint or sinner; and so on. Simon's role as a Pharisee was literally to live atop his high horse, separating people into categories based on their appearance, or race, or class, or sex, or behavior. His goal was to assure the purity of the Hebrew community, the people of God, by enforcing strict laws which excluded individuals who deviated from the norm: the lame, prostitutes, the blind, Gentiles, Samaritans, tax collectors, and others. His justification was that these people were unclean and unworthy of commingling with the "holy people" of the one God of Israel. To Simon these people were sinners, and as such, deserving of exclusion; or to use a more modern notion, discrimination. But Simon missed an important connection between exclusion and sin -- both the sin of the EXCLUDED and the sin of the EXCLUDER, Simon himself. The woman who entered Simon's home to honor Jesus was excluded fundamentally because she was a woman without a husband to provide for her. She had no status as a single woman; there were no jobs for her so that she could earn a living, so she sold what she had -- her body -- in order to survive. Take away a person's dignity, deny her opportunities because she is a single woman, and she may survive by practicing an illegal trade, or she may fight back, or she may simply give in. All options which look like sin from atop a high horse. Tell the black man he need not apply. Send the message to African American youngsters that Affirmative Action unfairly discriminates against the privileged without noting the high unemployment among young black men and the erosion of educational opportunities in our cities, and watch the black-on- black violence rise in urban neighborhoods. Sure looks like sin from atop a high horse. Discharge soldiers from the military, workers from the factories, and clergy from the churches because they are gay or lesbian and listen to the public lies and private desperation. Sounds like sin, when perched on a high horse. Indeed by focusing on the differences of others as reason to exclude them from the community, Simon in fact exacerbated the very sins he decried. He blamed the woman without noticing the unjust treatment women were afforded in Roman-occupied Palestine. He blamed the victims, we blame the victims, without recognizing the unjust systems which they must maneuver, just to survive. Do you see the vicious cycle here? We exclude others for being different from us. We deny them access to opportunities. Then when they exercise desperate measures to survive, we declare their acts sinful and thereby justify their exclusion even more. The real irony is that the EXCLUDER, Simon, committed perhaps the most egregious sin of all: the denial of the grace of God. By focusing on the sin rather than the love which the woman demonstrated with Jesus, Simon effectively pronounced God's grace a sham, implying that God's forgiveness was ineffective and required the vigilant eye of a dutiful Pharisee to bring it to fulfillment. There is no greater insult to God; no greater sin. For the woman's sake, for Simon's sake, for our sake Jesus snaps his fingers and says, "Get over it!" Had Simon been listening carefully to the parable of the two debtors he would have heard that BOTH his sins and those of the woman had been forgiven, that sin is not the issue with God. But Simon remained atop his high horse, unable to comprehend the magnitude of God's grace in his own life, as well as the life of the woman he despised. And what of the other Pharisees sitting at the table? Did you hear them? "Who is this man who even forgives sins?" they asked. "Get a life!" we tell them. "Didn't you hear? God has forgiven our sins already! Get over it! Get on with life!" It appears that the Pharisees were the real losers in this story. They were the ones excluding themselves from the celebration of grace, of wholeness, of full participation in life. And isn't that the way it is for any of us when we sit in judgment of others, perched atop our high horse? Kitty Moran and I recently spoke to a group of students at the School Without Walls about growing up lesbian or gay in our society. We knew the students had questions that they were afraid to say out loud, so we gave them index cards on which to write their questions and comments anonymously. After answering a number of questions I came to the last card. On the card a student had written that he believed that gay people are living sinful, disgusting lifestyles and are going to hell if they don't repent. I had heard this before; you have heard this before. The words were not in and of themselves particularly shocking. But coming from a young person, this opinion was particularly painful to hear, not because of harm done to Kitty or me, but the harm the youngster was doing to himself. I said to the class, "You are just about to graduate from high school, and it won't be long before you begin working on a job with all kinds of people: African American, Latino, Jewish, Asian, Buddhist, Native American, women, men, older, younger, gay, lesbian. You will be expected to work effectively with an increasingly diverse team of folks. If you make up your mind that you cannot work with black people, or Asians, or deaf people, or gay people, who is going to be the one without a job?" When Simon and his cronies persisted in focusing on the sinfulness of those around them, they did not stop the woman from loving Jesus. They did not stop Jesus from loving the woman. But they WERE successful in excluding themselves from the human miracle happening in their midst. Jesus said to Simon, "Do you see this woman?" That was the pivotal moment in this story. Simon saw only a woman who had no business touching Jesus, had no business untying her hair in public. Her behavior that day was as disgusting as her reputation. Sound familiar? Does it sound anything like the words of those who challenged the call of Jane Spahr three and a half years ago? And today when we hear these words of condemnation, the Christ within us cries out, "Do you SEE this woman? Do you see Jane Spahr? Do you see how she loves and affirms everyone she meets, everyone whose life touches hers? Do you see how she holds men, women, and babies dying of AIDS, how she loves them through their death? Do you see how she builds bridges between black teenagers and white elders in urban Pittsburgh? Would you keep her from her ministry, just as Simon would have kept the woman from comforting Jesus? For Christ's sake, get over it!" If you ever have the opportunity to spend some time with prison inmates, I encourage you to take it. I have spent two weekends with my friend, Uta Allers, leading workshops at the Wyoming Correctional Facility in Attica. If you have never visited with a group of prisoners, it may seem unthinkable, too risky. After all, what benefit could possibly come from spending a couple of days or even a couple of hours with inmates? Aren't prisons meant to keep criminals separate from the rest of us? Only half true. Prisons ARE intended to keep prisoners IN; but they are not and never should be intended to keep the rest of us OUT. There is too much to be gained. And if someday you find yourself in a conversation with an inmate, remember that the issue is no longer why he or she landed in prison. That was the past. The issue is now. The issue is the present. The issue is the tears she may use to wash your feet, or the ointment you may place on his forehead. Don't be surprised if you discuss your children, or hers. Don't be surprised if he wants to know what you think of Plato's "Republic," the book that he just finished. And if you have a favorite piece of music, hum a few bars. She'll listen, no matter how off-pitch you may be. Sin, you see, is no longer the issue. Love is now the issue. And the wonder of love is its mutuality. It is not, it cannot be unilateral. The beauty of this story about the woman and Jesus is that they needed each other. Jesus needed her attention, her warm tears on his tired, dusty feet; the softness of her hair against his skin; the refreshing scent of the ointment. And the woman needed his attention as well, his affirming words amidst the endless cacophony of ridicule, his reassurance of her humanity, his celebration of her wholeness. Isn't it amazing that our God needs you just as much as you need God? God does not approach you from atop a high horse, but on the street, at the market, or in your home. And at those times when your backside feels a bit too comfortable in your saddle and people begin to look like categories rather than human beings, look for God to say, "Get over it! Get on with it! Get on with life!" -- AMEN * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Family Values Donn Crail to Be Director of the Lazarus Project After almost 19 years as pastor of 1st Presbyterian Church of Baldwin Park, California (a More Light congregation!), the Rev. Donn A. Crail will be leaving to become the Director of the Lazarus Project at West Hollywood Presbyterian Church in Los Angeles. The Lazarus Project is an out reach ministry "of reconciliation for lesbian, gay, bisexual people." In order to introduce Donn to the wider PLGC community, I share his "Family Values" column from the September 1995 newsletter of 1st Presbyterian Church, Baldwin Park. -- JDA "Family values" has become a code term for a conservative political agenda. I'm somewhat unclear, however, as to what these "family values" are, since in the political rhetoric, they seem to include term limits, a balanced budget amendment, and the right to own an AK-47 assault weapon. Also unclear is whether "family values" refers to valuing the family, or the values embraced by a particular family. If it is the latter, then the obvious question is, "whose family are we talking about?" From my family, which I greatly value, have come many of my values and convictions; and yet, by the assessment of almost anyone who knows me, I am a liberal. Hearing so often now that phrase -- "family values" -- spoken as though its meaning were clear and self-evident, I have found myself reflecting on what values I hold, growing out of my family of origin. I'm not sure what values Dan Quayle learned from his family, but here are a few of the ones I believe I learned from mine. There were basic things like: * finish what you start ... pick up after yourself ... eat your vegetables (but some exceptions are allowed) ... keep commitments ... many things are good up to a point, and then they are bad (e.g., organization, competition, chocolate cake) ... etc. There were values that seemed to have particular emphasis in our family: * Never define yourself as a victim. If you think you are one, you are. * Think for yourself, which includes the right to think differently from others. * We educate ourselves -- teachers can only help us to do that. * Keep an open mind, something might enter it that you can use. * Laugh a lot -- it is the lubrication of life. Primary to personal goal-setting was the following: You can be whatever you want to be -- if you work for it. (Actually, this advice I always knew was somewhat false -- could I ever sing like Pavarotti? Yet I knew it was best to live as though it were absolutely true. Somehow the good life is a least as much in the striving as in the arriving.) There were many values related to family relations: * Arguing with your siblings is good entertainment and intellectual exercise; but don't get mad over it -- and try not to damage the furniture or alarm the neighbors. * Never hit people -- it hurts; and they might hit you back, which also hurts. * People make mistakes. It doesn't mean that you can't love them, or that you shouldn't. * Your family is your anchor. There you can always be yourself. They are part of you as you are part of them. Stay in touch and you'll always know who you are -- they'll remind you if you tend to forget. And there was much we learned about others: * Poverty is no crime, though it's no virtue either; and wealth is no virtue, though it's no crime either. In most instances, either state is neither a reward nor a punishment, but simply a circumstance. * Everyone is entitled to equal rights -- everyone! That is what makes equal rights equal! Some don't get theirs, so if you can, go to bat for them. * Have moral courage! Love justice, hate injustice, and do both passionately. * War is failure, even if it is won. Because of the actions of others you may not be able to be a complete pacifist, but be all the pacifist you can be. * Don't judge people -- but don't be naive either (some people are not as bad as they seem, and some people are not as good as they seem.) * If you err, do it on the side of too much compassion, rather than too little. Among my four siblings and myself, there is great political diversity; so being exposed to the same family values did not result in uniformity. That is probably because one of the values we learned best, and earliest, was that it is all right to disagree. I haven't said anything about faith. My religious experience came after my parents died. Religiously, our family was -- and is -- as mixed as it was politically. There was, however, much in my family's life that predisposed me toward faith in God; chief among these was a love of justice. Conservatives, it seems to me, count justice as a minor attribute of God, or they think of God as the angry judge; but justice -- and with it mercy -- I find to be the very attribute whereby God, and God's love, can be distinguished from all the gods who are counterfeit. -- Shalom, Donn. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *