I know now why I came here.
It was to break bread. At 1am with the excluded of the church.
It was beautiful and amazing. I had been drumming since the mid-evening with a group of young United Methodists called MOSAIC—Methodists blah-blah-acronym for the All-Inclusiveness of the Church (or something like that). It's the young adult branch of MFSA—Methodist Federation for Social Action. I had casually made plans to go out with Beth (Stokes!–A much better surname than) Jones, my old seminary roommate. But then I got caught up outside the Convention Center with a group of drummers from MOSAIC and other affiliated UM-related GLBT groups. They had started a 24-hour-long drumming protest to call for inclusion in the Church. And then I couldn't leave. Till 1am.
Some of the chants were really funny like "Hey, hey, ho, ho, homophobia's got to go!" and my favorite "We're here, we're Methodist, get used to it!" That one then moved into "We're queer, we're Methodist, get used to it!" We also sang Barney, the purple dinosaur's song "I love you, you love me…" and it ends "Won't you say you love me too?!" (Or not,.,hint, hint) It didn't hurt to sing "I am the church, you are the church" and "We are marching in the light of God." We did those for the traditionalists.
But the night wore on and I just kept drumming. (Stokes stood me up). Great folks, great sentiment, great proclamation lived in that circle. There was playfulness and joy, and… unfortunately, bigoted people with Bible tormenting us (not Methodists—some fundamentalist group from the area). It did get a little scary, but thankfully the bike cops moved in and told the counter-protesters couldn't harass or intimidate us. We stayed on the grass; they had to stay on the sidewalk. The Texas Rangers actually helped us!
The cops finally decided it was better for us to move over to be in front of the Convention Center, while the women in long dresses holding "God hates homosexuals" signs, the young boys whose mothers brow-beat them into going out to counter-protest with them, and the men in their 20's for whom it's very convenient to say that women should be silent in the church, had to stay on the other side. (Whew, cuz they were pretty creepy).
That was the time when we moved from proclamation to sacrament. I stayed with a handful of young adults—many of whom who'd been out all day in the sun drumming. They were gay, allies of the gay community, Christians, and sunburned, all of them, praying for change in the Church.
One of the men approached me and asked me if I knew anyone who was clergy in the group. I told him that I was. He asked me if I would officiate for Holy Communion. And I did. And it was beautiful and amazing. It was the most holy and awe-inspiring communion I'd ever presided over. It was apple juice and crackers and a couple slices of wheat bread. It was the richest meal I've maybe ever had.
The order of for communion was an order of drumming, and so the soft rhythmic drumming that had pulsed all afternoon continued into the early morning. I offered words of "Hosanna, hosanna, in the highest" and the people responded with "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!" All to the soft, pounding rhythm of sore palms on the head of a drum.
A dear gay friend of mine was there. He'd been called to the ministry 25 years ago; now he serves in a para-church ministry setting. He's been a friend and a mentor to me. I was humbled to serve him the Body of Christ. I still feel silently humiliated that he can't serve me… He didn't mention a word of hurt or regret and loved me with a warm hug.
We cried, we shared in true joy, we broke bread (cracker) and it was in an honest, open, and affirming moment. Under the swirling stars of night we lifted our hands and heads back to the dark sky to celebrate all that is good and truthful. It was beautiful. It was the first time that I felt really honest in saying that "all were welcome" at the table and not like a embarrassed hypocrite. Praise be to God.
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