PRIDE week communion

It's PRIDE month.  For the last three years, June has been a really strange time in ministry for me.  People often refer friends, relatives, and colleagues to talk through issues around identity and gender diversity.  I get calls from people dissatisfied with their own church's stance who are trying to figure out steps to allyship.  I get calls from parents trying to do the right things.  But the most holy calls I get are from people from the LGBTQIA community, folks looking for hope after church rejection, spiritual trauma, and family rejection.  

These folks are brave:  brave to recount the pain, brave to dare to accept themselves, brave to let themselves sense a glimmer of healing grace.  Their stories are sacred, and I feel nothing but gratitude that I'm let into this sacredness.  

Recently I was asked by a group to provide a two-minute speech about the power of story-telling during a time of holy conferencing (the nice version of debate) at the gathering of Minnesota United Methodists.  I talked about being a child who overheard trusted adults tell stories of injustice perpetrated against gay and lesbian people in United Methodist Churches.  Overhearing these stories shaped me in the way of justice. I'm sure it's one of the reasons why God sends folks to me now.  If you're interested, my little speech is at 3:32:00  (1) Facebook Live | Facebook

This week I found myself in a conversation with a beloved stranger simply because he saw the rainbow windows on the front of my church.  For two hours we were on holy ground as he spoke through anxiety to tell me what he had experienced.  At one point, he brought up communion.  I asked him if he wanted me to serve him communion.  He asked me, "What does it mean to you here?"  And I responded, "It's more important what it means to you."  And he said yes.

Luckily I was able to find one of these single-servings we used during COVID.  I hate them.  

   They feel sterile--and to me, communion is messy.  

   They are hard to get the film off--and to me, grace should be easy.  

   They can be simply grabbed--and to me, communion should be served.

But in this moment, with this gentleman, it's what I had, so I "grabbed" one.  As soon as I said "This is the bread broken for you to remind you that God knows what it feels like to be broken," he began to sob.  Snot, tears.  The whole works.  And I was reminded about the messiness of grace that is served and received.  And it happened through the sterile single-serving that I fumbled to get the film off.  I will never view one of these single-servings the same again because it provided this precious soul nourishment. 

When I talk about God's grace being the loving action of the Spirit in our lives, THIS is what I'm talking about.  It comes through rainbows in windows, sterile communion, messy tears, and story-sharing.