They stand inside your church, Lord, and know a wholeness that can benefit it. Long ago they learned that they must regard the lilies of the field, putting their trust in you. Pressured to hide their identities and gifts, they have served you with an unyielding, fierce love inside the same church that condemned them. Taught that they must feel self-loathing, nevertheless they learned integrity and dignity, and how to look into your face and laugh with grateful joy, Lord. Victims of a long and continuing torture, they asserted a stubborn faith in the justice of your kingdom. Negativism was drummed into them as thouroughly as if they were sheet metal. They learned what it is to be hated. Yet, despite real rejection, they insisted on attesting to the fullness and beauty of all human creation, including theirs, in your image. They are alive and well and standing inside your church. Bless them, Lord, to your service. (Malcom Boyd)
by Patricia Broughton
Phyllis is dead.
Shot herself to death Monday afternoon.
You remember Phyllis:
the lesbian who wanted to be ordained in the
United Methodist Church (God knows why).
Wanted to be a minister in a church that told her quite clearly:
"No queers allowed here"
(Only they said it much nicer than that, of course.)
Still, Phyllis persisted (God knows why).
insisted she had a call to ministry,
insisted she'd be less than whole
proclaiming the Gospel of Jesus Christ
from the vantage point
of a closet.
Somehow she clung to the notion that she, too,
was made in the image of God (God knows why),
even while being battered by the church,
even while her gifts and graces were being trashed.
Well, Phyllis is dead now.
She's not around to bother you anymore, Church.
Not around to stand before you,
insisting that you see her
and hear her
and know her.
No, Phyllis isn't around anymore.
And all you have left to contend with, Church,
is a host of witnesses-
angelic and otherwise -
who stand expectantly before you.
And not a closet in sight.
En vallfartssång
Jag lyfter blicken mot dig,
du som bor i himlen.
Som tjänaren ser
mot sin herres hand,
som tjänarinnan ser
mot sin husmors hand,
så ser vi mot Herren, vår Gud,
och hoppas på hans nåd.
Förbarma dig, Herre, förbarma dig,
vi har fått nog av förakt.
Vi har fått nog av de självsäkras hån,
av de högmodigas förakt.
(Bibel 2000)
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