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Foundry is an historic, progressive United Methodist Church that welcomes all, worships passionately, challenges the status quo, & seeks to transform the world.
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Monday Jul 09, 2018
Thursday Jul 05, 2018
Monday Jun 25, 2018
Monday Jun 25, 2018
When You’re Not Feelin’ It
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, June 24, 2018, the fifth Sunday after Pentecost. A Tempo sermon series.
Texts: Isaiah 55:8-13, James 5:7-8
Every Sunday I extend the same words of welcome at the beginning of worship. Among those words are these: “No matter what you feel or don’t feel today…” Sometimes, I adjust to say “No matter what you feel or if you’re just not feelin’ it today…” you’re invited to come and be met by God who knows you, loves you, and wants to be closer to you.
A phrase that’s used these days for experiencing lots of emotions is “having all the feels.” For many over the past couple of weeks, the most prevalent “feels” have been rage, disappointment, and heartbreak as the stories of thousands of children separated from their parents at our border have come into the public consciousness. Part of the tragedy here is that migrant children have been suffering at our borders for a long time. Using this suffering as a deterrent to coming to the U.S. is new (through the “zero-tolerance” policy), but for years the horrendous violence and poverty in countries like Honduras and Guatemala have meant that children—both accompanied by a parent and unaccompanied—have arrived on our southern borders seeking a better life, a place of safety, and have not always found what they were seeking. Our failure as a nation—and across administrations—to mend our broken immigration system and to invest in a humane program to consistently care for children and families in a way in line with our core values has meant that trauma is added to trauma for vulnerable members of our human family. This most recent horror takes that to new heights, the only possible benefit being that it’s opened the eyes of many to this suffering being inflicted in our name and may have the effect of spurring some substantive change through public pressure. Of course, it’s hard to believe that will actually happen when we’ve seen other violence done to children yield no such change. And, of course, the suffering of immigrants and asylum-seekers is but one of many instances of profound pain in our world.
Sometimes in the face of such overwhelming pain and struggle, we are drawn more closely to God, seeking solace, guidance, courage, and inspiration. Other times, we may be left feeling distant from God, as in a dry and weary land. Sometimes we may feel energized by the opportunity to serve and to be in community with God’s people at church, to organize and strategize, to vent in safe space and to seek ways to engage in acts of sacred resistance. Other times, we may not find energy at all—not to worship, not to serve, not to engage, not to pray. Sometimes, we’re just not feelin’ God or church.
And that response can happen for so many reasons. Sometimes it may be due to what’s happening in the world. Other times, we may feel uninspired or aggravated by what is happening in our church—to what other people are doing, to what is being said or sung or prayed or how things are being managed or organized. Other times, it may be our own stuff that leaves us feeling untouched, unmoved… like “meh.” That is, we may be exhausted, overwhelmed, distracted… And there may be times when we are simply in a season of spiritual “dryness.” This is a common experience, even for famous Christians! In 2007, a collection of Mother Theresa’s private writings[i] was published revealing that she’d suffered for most of her adult life with spiritual dryness. She didn’t feel God’s presence at all.
And that is the worst kind of “not feelin’ it.” To want to feel that Christ is near, to want to feel Spirit’s love and power, to want to feel the comfort and care of God our Father and Mother, and to not feel any of it…that is difficult and painful. The revelation of (now) Saint Theresa’s spiritual suffering came as a shock to many since her public life of self-giving service to the destitute and dying in Kolkata was so steady, so constant; her daily practice of spending hours in prayer is the stuff of legend.
And it is there we receive the core message of today. Saint Theresa just kept serving. She just kept praying. She just kept bringing herself to be before the One Who Is even when she didn’t feel anything. //
Both our scripture texts today employ images of planting and harvest. James writes, “The farmer waits for the precious crop from the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. You also must be patient.” And in Isaiah we hear God promise: “As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.” When we are in a moment or a season of spiritual drought, we are encouraged to be patient. And we are given assurance that our patient waiting will not ultimately be in vain. We don’t know God’s thoughts or God’s full purpose, but we are assured that God’s word is poured out and is potent. In the beginning, our story goes, God spoke and the whole world was created. God’s word—eternally spoken—God’s word of love and justice and peace and mercy and restoration is like water, life-giving and life-sustaining.
I imagine Saint Theresa… continuing to show up, putting herself in the flow of God’s grace, in the flow of God’s word, through service, worship, sacrament, and prayer. Not necessarily feeling God’s presence or power, but patiently attending to those practices that put her in proximity to the word and work of God. I have read that Saint Theresa’s presence was powerful, that love and light was felt when she was in the room. Evidently, even though she may have not been feeling God’s presence, God’s love and light were made manifest through her. You see, God’s word accomplishes that for which it is purposed…
When we’re not feelin’ it, it remains so important to continue to show up. If you are in a season when you feel you’ve lost faith, then show up in worship and let the church hold faith for you and hold you! If you’re feeling cynical, show up at a service project and observe the commitment and hope in action of others. If you’re fed up with the fact that the church isn’t all it’s supposed to be and are thinking the whole organized religion thing is a waste of time, then show up and really look in this or any congregation and see where love and reconciliation and hope and restoration and joy and justice really do happen in ways large and small. I think that some folks believe that if they’re not feeling something they think they’re supposed to feel, then something is wrong with them or something is wrong with the church. What I want to suggest is that sometimes, just like many of our spiritual ancestors, you just won’t be feelin’ it that day or even for a long while. And no matter what you feel or don’t feel, you are welcome, you are encouraged, to come and at just be in the midst of the gathered body and the music and the prayers and the words and scriptures and to be reminded that just because you’re not feelin’ it doesn’t mean that God is not present and working for good in the world…
If you struggle to pray because it seems like nothing is happening and no one is there, just keep showing up and allowing the word of God—through scripture or a prayer book or a song or a poem—to be in your mind. A dear friend, Dr. Ann Jervis, a teacher of New Testament and an Anglican Priest, once shared how, in her daily praying of the Hours—the morning, midday, evening, and night prayers from the Book of Common Prayer, she would sometimes feel deeply moved, but other times, she’d just “get through it.” Sometimes, she said, she just went through the motions, read the Psalms, recited the prayers, and the rest, without feelin’ it at all. But, she said, the feeling is not what it’s about. It’s about making yourself available. It’s about showing up.
Spiritual master Evelyn Underhill writes, “Intellect and feeling are not wholly in our control. They fluctuate from day to day, from hour to hour; they are dependent on many delicate adjustments. Sometimes we are mentally dull, sometimes we are emotionally flat. On such occasions it is notoriously useless to try to beat ourselves up to a froth: to make ourselves think more deeply or make ourselves care more intensely. If the worth of our prayer life depended upon the maintenance of a constant high level of feeling or understanding, we would be in a dangerous place. Though these often seem to fail us, the reigning will remains. Even when our heart is cold and our mind is dim, prayer is still possible to us…The determined fixing of our will upon God, and pressing toward [God] steadily and without deflection; this is the very center and the art of prayer.”[ii] This is what my friend Ann was saying. And I witnessed a quality of being in Ann that communicated a spiritual groundedness that can only be the fruit of a deep, sustained practice of being in the flow of God’s grace.
I’m not suggesting that showing up through attending to spiritual practices and holy habits will automatically restore to you what is missing; it certainly doesn’t solve the tragedies in our lives and in our world. But the long record of God’s people through history affirms that God can and does bring new life out of the dry places. And, I don’t know about you, but I find that sometimes when I am in a dry and thirsty season and manage to get myself into a space shared between friends over a cup of coffee, or the space of a classroom, a mission gathering, or a sanctuary—sometimes, when I least expect it, something happens in that sacred space that feels like water seeping deep within me to touch seeds of hope, courage, wonder, and love I didn’t remember were there. In those moments, I might cry, I might laugh, I might shout, I might grow silent and still, I might discover a new resolve to act or to serve. In those moments—perhaps you know what I mean—I find myself thinking, “The Lord is near…” And—sometimes only for a moment—I’m no longer thirsty…and it’s enough.
[i] https://www.amazon.com/Mother-Teresa-Private-Writings-Calcutta/dp/0307589234
[ii] Evelyn Underhill, Devotional Classics: Selected Readings for Individuals & Groups, Richard J. Foster & James Bryan Smith, eds. (HarperSanFrancisco, 1993), 115.
Sunday Jun 17, 2018
Sunday Jun 17, 2018
Sing Your Prayers
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, June 17, 2018, the fourth Sunday after Pentecost. A Tempo sermon series.
Texts: Isaiah 49:8-13, Colossians 3:16-17
“Those who sing pray twice.” It’s a phrase I’ve heard here and there for years, but never knew where it came from until this past week when I discovered—lo and behold—it is adapted from some words of Saint Augustine! Y’all are going to start thinking I have some kind of obsession with the fifth century Bishop of North Africa! After a little research, it seems Augustine’s point is that singing adds an extra dimension to a text—that words sung rather than spoken express a depth of emotion that cannot be conveyed otherwise.
This idea that song conveys meaning is a very ancient concept. Many of you know that “Myths of ancient indigenous cultures claim that the universe began with one root sound which permeates the entire universe. According to ancient Vedic (Hindu) philosophy, the Sanskrit word, Om, is the primordial sound from which the whole universe emanated. Om represents the Divine and the Absolute.”[i] The idea then, is that chanting “Om” puts you on the same sound “wave” as the Divine Creator and connects you—or makes you aware of your connection—to the whole of creation. Indigenous and religious cultures from around the world have, over the centuries, developed their own unique chants and songs. Songs of joy unite people in that spirit, narrative songs teach the stories of tribal identity and relational values, repetitive chants are used to focus and quiet the mind. Stories are told of how the Muslim sung call to prayer—called the adhan—have brought about conversion simply through the power of hearing it.[ii] Psalms—our Judeo-Christian chant and hymnbook—are the lyrics of prayers to God and meditations on God written to be sung or chanted. Both listening to and singing certain kinds of music and chants are known to have concrete effects upon the body. This isn’t just about sitting in the Lotus position chanting “Om.” Think about what happens when you are singing something or listening to a piece of music and all of a sudden you are moved to tears; or you feel in your body a sense of strength and courage; or you feel more relaxed or at peace. At a funeral, you might be holding it together pretty well until a familiar melody begins to be played and voices swell to lift up the lyrics of the hymn… All this is to say, that music has a kind of spiritual power. It is one of the most ancient forms of connecting with God, of being in relationship with God; it’s one of the most ancient forms of prayer.
As we continue to ponder how we might “return to God’s pace” through prayer in this A Tempo series, I want to focus today singing as a form of prayer. One of the prayers I have loved from my youth is referred to as “The Prayer of St. Francis” and is included in our United Methodist Hymnal on page 481. The words of this prayer are beautiful. Some years back, I heard these words set to music by the singer/songwriter Sarah McLachlan and my heart broke open all over again at their power. Something happens when words and music work together to express or carry a message.
Some might imagine that only a professional singer will be able to create or participate in such a powerful—and even mystical—phenomenon. But every time we gather for worship, we are singing prayers. Last fall, we spent a whole series calling to mind the ways that singing together is a central part of our worship life as United Methodists and we studied together John Wesley’s “Directions for Singing.” We looked at our hymnal during another sermon series on grace and noticed the headings in the top corners of its pages that help signal the theological or spiritual theme of the hymns in that section. And today I want us to explore the “psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs” that we may have sung for years but never mentally connected with prayer. And for those of us new to this whole Christian worship thing, my hope is that our reflection on this central act of worship and the idea of prayer through singing will help you understand why we do it. (and, by the way, if you don’t have a great voice or can’t carry a tune fear not! The Bible encourages us to “make a joyful noise” not “make a pretty noise”—so you’re good!)…
Our text today begins with the encouragement to “let the word of God dwell in you richly.” Singing is a great way to do that! I can’t help but think of my Nana floating around the house humming and singing hymns… a powerful image… Singing is a great way to learn things—I probably learned most of my core theology through the songs I sang as a child and youth. Singing songs that have been sung in historic moments of struggle—those sung on civil rights freedom marches or the songs sung at Reconciling Ministries convocations for example—help connect us to the movement across time. Some of our hymn lyrics are a statement of faith or testimony or a proclamation of hope or a call to action. Singing these kinds of hymns invites us to contemplate the promises of our faith, the providence of God, the call of God, and more. These hymns plant the word of God deep within us, draw us close to God and are a form of contemplative prayer.
But some years back, I realized that so many of the hymns I grew up with are direct addresses to God. Not really sure how I missed that detail for so long—perhaps some weird disconnect between “this is a song I sing in church” and “these are prayers that I pray.” I’d made the initial connection by the time I arrived here in the Baltimore-Washington Annual Conference, but it was here that I encountered the tradition of using the words of hymns as public prayers. I’ll never forget hearing Bishop Felton May pray before he preached using these words: “Breathe on me, breath of God, ‘til I am wholly Thine. ‘Til all this earthly part of me, glows with thy fire divine.” (UMH #420) It was then that I began to really think about praying the hymns and singing my prayers.
I wonder if there are hymns and songs that come to your mind as examples of what I’m talking about… There are prayers of invocation like “Spirit of the Living God” and “Open the Eyes of My Heart.” Prayers of lament like “Nobody Knows the Trouble I See.” There are prayers of petition like “I Need Thee Every Hour” (#397) and “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling.” (#384) There are prayers of praise like “Holy, Holy, Holy! Lord God Almighty,” (#64) “How Great Thou Art,” (#77) “Blessed Be Your Name,” (WS #3002) and “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee.” (#89) There are prayers of confession like “O Sacred Head, Now Wounded,” (#286) and “Just as I Am, Without One Plea.” (#357) There are prayers of commitment and surrender like “Here I Am to Worship” (WS #3177) and “Here I Am, Lord.” (#593) There are prayers of thanksgiving like “For the Beauty of the Earth” (#92) and “Great Is Thy Faithfulness.” (#140) All of these and many more give us powerful words to pray through singing.
Think about what it’s like when the music in this sanctuary draws all of us in and we raise our voices together…there’s something mystical about it. It’s a deep form of communal prayer.
Throughout the Bible we are not only encouraged to sing to the Lord, but we’re given whole books of songs—like the love song that is Song of Solomon and the Psalms. I’ve long celebrated the way the Psalms cover the full range of emotions, but this past week I found a writer who made me think about that in a new way—particularly parts of the Psalms that get really raw in anger and suffering. The example the writer uses is Psalm 137, a lament over the destruction of Israel. Briefly, the context of that Psalm is that the people have been the victims of horrific violence, their loved ones hurt and killed, their homes destroyed, and they are now exiled into the very lands inhabited by their conquerors. The Psalmist gives voice to the lament and the raw emotion of the moment. The Psalm begins, “By the rivers of Babylon—/ there we sat down and there we wept / when we remembered Zion.” But the last words of that Psalm are, “O daughter Babylon, you devastator! / Happy shall they be who pay you back / what you have done to us! /Happy shall they be who take your little ones / and dash them against the rock!” The author writes, “Verses like that embarrass us. They’re disquieting, disconcerting. Part of me wants to edit them out of the Bible. What a mistake that would be, like censoring a prayer… What if we sang out in our anger…? What if our vengeful urges were put to music to sing to God? I can imagine the experience would be cleansing, healing. We all have enemies. We’re supposed to pray about them…Why should we be surprised when a psalm gets raw? A lot of other contemporary music is.”[iii] This is simply another reminder that we don’t have to hold anything back from God. God can take whatever we’ve got. And this week I imagine we might have some anger and raw emotion to bring into God’s presence in prayer.
Throughout scripture we see people at key moments break into song—I realized it like one long musical in the old style---dialogue, dialogue, dialogue, and then someone starts singing! There’s Miriam’s song of praise to God for liberation from slavery (Exodus 15:20-21), Israel’s song of thanksgiving for God’s provision of water in the wilderness (Numbers 21:17-18), the fight song of Deborah, Prophetess and Judge (Judges 5), David’s songs of praise, the prophet Isaiah’s songs of judgment, victory, and praise, the prophet Zephaniah’s song of joy (Zephaniah 3:14-20) and Mary’s song of praise— what we call the “Magnificat”: “My soul magnifies the Lord, / and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, / for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.” (Luke 1:46-48)
Pray the hymns. Sing your prayers. Connect with God and with others through the power and cosmic resonance of music and feel Spirit’s power. Prayer is the heart of our spiritual life. And when you sing, you pray twice.
[i] https://blog.pachamama.org/healing-sounds-of-the-universe
[ii] http://www.ethnotraveler.com/2013/12/a-reason-to-rise-the-men-behind-the-muslim-call-to-prayer/
[iii] Rick Hamlin, “To Sing is To Pray,” https://www.huffingtonpost.com/rick-hamlin/to-sing-is-to-pray_b_3154977.html
Monday Jun 11, 2018
Monday Jun 11, 2018
Held
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, June 10, 2018, the third Sunday after Pentecost and Pride Sunday. A Tempo sermon series.
Texts: Isaiah 41:8-13, Acts 17:16-28
Back in the mid-80’s, the band U2 had a hit called “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.”[i] When I went back and read the lyrics, I recognized in that 1980’s song the same yearning addressed by Saint Augustine in his book The Confessions written at the turn of 5th century of the Common Era. A famous prayer from that book is, “Our hearts are restless until they find their rest in thee.” For Augustine, this was not a naïve, untested sentiment, but rather a reality discovered through the crucible of living, through relentless looking for meaning and happiness. As one author puts it, “Behind Augustine are a succession of desperate searches for fulfillment: excessive pleasures, false religions, philosophy, dissipation and distractions—futilities that left him so weary of himself he could only cry out, ‘How long, O Lord, how long?’”[ii] In other words, Augustine had tried to find what he was looking for all over the place, in all the obvious ways presented by the world, and yet remained restless and unsatisfied, not at peace or happy. He still hadn’t found what he was looking for.
What he finally discovered is that fulfillment, peace, and purpose are found most profoundly through life in God, relationship with God, loving God, being loved by God, being held in the grace and mercy of God—this is the context in which it is possible to truly find rest. Our Christian tradition affirms that we live and move and have our being in God. We are always surrounded by God’s grace and mercy and love—whether we know or acknowledge it or not. What United Methodists call God’s “prevenient grace” is always present and at work, loving and nudging and holding us. Active awareness of this reality is a form of prayer.
A couple of weeks ago, I shared a story about my first spiritual retreat and my surprise that the initial “exercise” I was given consisted of floating on a raft in the pool and simply imagining the raft as God holding me. I was directed to spend my first couple of days “resting in God.” It wasn’t as easy as it might sound. In the world, we get used to the idea that we have to always strive for things, to produce things, search for things, to be a certain way, to prove ourselves, to measure up, to succeed and put on a happy face and pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and convince ourselves and others that we are OK and that life isn’t as hard as it is sometimes… How can we possibly just “rest in God” with all that to manage? Don’t we need to get busy??
Add to that, to be held in God requires trust and trust is not a simple proposition. When we’ve been burned, trusting anyone or anything becomes a challenge. Trust is hard—for some of us more than others. There are big trust questions that may make it difficult to allow ourselves to be held in God: Is God really there? Does God want me or love me? If God holds me will I be OK? Will I be held back or set free? These questions are too big and deep to address fully this morning.
But on this Pride weekend when we celebrate the beauty and gifts of LGBTQ people—and do so in active, sacred resistance to a world and church that continues to discriminate and reject; at the end of a week that saw two well-known people (Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain) end their lives through suicide after long struggles with depression; and in the face of heart-rendingly cruel policies inflicted by our government upon migrant children and their families[iii] and so many other parts of our human family, it seems particularly fitting that I had planned to focus today on prayer as simply being held in God. I hope you will forgive me if I don’t try to parse the biblical text or provide subtle and nuanced theological responses to the big questions today. I like doing both of those things—or a least trying to do them.
But today, what I want to do is to simply invite all of us to consider the Christian promise that Augustine experienced firsthand and that we hear through the prophet Isaiah—that God is with us and holds us. The word of God through Isaiah includes these words: “I have chosen you and [will] not cast you off; do not fear, for I am with you, do not be afraid, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my victorious right hand… I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, ‘Do not fear, I will help you.’”
These words can sound hollow when we are in a place of deep affliction. We want God to make it so that human beings aren’t so cruel or vulnerable to despair and illness; we want God to fix things so that we aren’t so insecure or afraid, so that we can share the fullness of who we are with confidence and with pride. But the scriptures never promise that troubles and trials will not come; in fact we are basically assured of them. In a well-known passage from Isaiah we are told that it is not if but when we pass through the flood and walk through fire that God will be with us. (Isaiah 43:1-2) God will be with us and will care for us in the midst of our suffering, whatever it may be.
This, for me, is not an idle promise or just a hopeful thought. It is my own personal experience and part of my core testimony. When I was in my mid-twenties and suffering from a deep clinical depression, I distinctly remember a moment when, alone in my little garage apartment in New Haven, I announced to the universe that I was done with God and done with faith and done with trying to be loving and patient and done with caring so much. Because nothing matters and nothing changes and it’s all too hard and I was tired of trying and angry at the injustice and cruelty in the world and it’s all a mess so why bother…?! And in that moment I became aware of a presence with me. I knew that God was there with me. Now, you may imagine what happened next is that I immediately fell into God in bliss and peace. But what actually happened is that I screamed at God until I was out of breath. My primary message? “Go away! I don’t want you here. Leave me alone. I’ll find my way without you. You have allowed the world—and me!—to fall into this pit.” And then God stayed. I can’t explain how I know this. I can’t paint a word picture of the experience. All I can do is tell the story as directly and honestly as I can. I knew that God was with me, assuring me that I didn’t have to take on all the inner voices of despair and desolation, all the voices of nihilism and self-destruction, all the injustices of the world by myself. God was there to strengthen, to help, to guard my life.
God showed up then and held me when I hated myself and despaired for the world and was pretty much done with life. And God showed up in my friend April who insisted on staying with me even when I told her to go away too. And God showed up through a system that got me some counseling and medication to address my illness. Again and again over the course of a 10 year struggle, the presence I felt when I was alone, showed up in and through others. Friends it is so important to show up, to be patient and persistent, to be kind. I am one of the lucky ones who was eventually able to get access to treatment and for whom that treatment has resulted in freedom from chronic depression.
But, as with any illness, that is not always the case. Some people struggle throughout their entire lives to manage the highs and lows of mental illness. Some have no access to treatment. Some folks may think they are supposed to feel miserable because they’ve been told they are bad or wrong or broken. The statistics for LGBTQ youth and adults whose depression leads to suicide reveals an epidemic of the church and society’s own making.[iv] For many people from all walks of life, self-medication—trying to fix ourselves or fill the void through all sorts of unhealthy substances or practices—often makes things worse, not better.
And sometimes, the disease takes over and a person dies. And I want to be very clear—because over the course of history, the church has done harm with its teaching—death by suicide is the result of disease. Terrible diseases like cancer and heart disease invade people’s bodies. Sometimes, folks recover or are able to control the diseases through treatment and live long lives. Other times, not. When that happens, we have to confront the infuriating reality that we cannot control diseases, only walk together on the journey. And, I hasten to add, we may not be able to heal mental illness, but we—as the church—can and must do everything in our power to correct the discriminatory policies and theologies that trigger or fuel it!
The message today is that you don’t have to be healthy for God to hold you. You don’t have to be happy for God to hold you. You don’t have to be in or out of the closet for God to hold you. You don’t have to have a great romantic relationship for God to hold you. You don’t have to be suffering for God to hold you. You don’t have to understand things for God to hold you. You don’t have to be rich, you don’t have to be poor, you don’t have to be employed or to make straight A’s or to be strong or part of the “in” crowd for God to hold you. You don’t have to cheer for the winning team for God to hold you. No matter where you are, who you are, or how you are, you are held in God’s love and grace. God is with you. And when the floods threaten to overwhelm or the fires grow to their hottest point, when inner voices, other people, or earthly systems of empire strive against you, contend with you, are at war with you—God says, “Do not be afraid. I will help you.”
One of the most powerful practices of prayer is to simply acknowledge that God is holding you and loving you just as you are—and then to let yourself be held. God will never cast you off even if others do. And on this Pride weekend I will not fail to say out loud that this kind of prayer, this being with God and being held in God—even with the smallest shred of trust on your part—is the primary prayer the church should encourage for all of us who are trying to be and become fully ourselves. LGBTQ friends, whatever garbage you have heard about “praying the gay away” is just that: garbage. I encourage you—and all!: Let yourself be held in God; ask God to help you know yourself as God knows you. That will give you plenty to work with and to work on. And it will ultimately set you free.
[i] https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/u2band/istillhaventfoundwhatimlookingfor.html
[ii] https://christianhistoryinstitute.org/incontext/article/augustine/
[iii] https://www.nytimes.com/2018/06/07/us/children-immigration-borders-family-separation.html?hp&action=click&pgtype=Homepage&clickSource=story-heading&module=first-column-region®ion=top-news&WT.nav=top-news
[iv] https://www.thetrevorproject.org/resources/preventing-suicide/facts-about-suicide/#sm.0001vmoqrhqlqdskwrv1js9ko5xu2