Hey, Lady!

Do you know what neighborhood you're in?

(A little bit of the story of how a girly girl, ordained, Episcopal, mother of three became a minister to drag queens and what the LGBTQ community has taught her about the love of God. Really. I wrote this a few years ago, but it is very informative.

Anyway, I made you look, didn’t I? ( A bit of a long read)

I think in theological literature this might be called a Confession, you know like the Confession of St. Augustine or St. Patrick (I am full of myself). Well, maybe this is a chapter in the Confession of St. Night Knight (explained later maybe).

Let’s be clear: Madonna is almost as old as I am. That’s all you’re getting. I am a fifth generation San Franciscan (born at St. Mary’s Hospital), mostly raised by a grandmother who taught me that my only vocation was as a wife and mother. Well, I wanted to please and I tried. But I really wanted to be a nun. I have no idea where I got that idea. My family was made up of mostly pissed off Roman Catholics and Mormons. Then my father converted to Judaism. Really. This put a crimp in my vocational plan. My child brain reasoned that if it was good enough for Jesus, I could live with it. How’s that for 9 years old? When I became a teenager none of the parents of the kids I went to youth group with at Temple Emanuel wanted their sons to date me because I was a… what’s that word in Yiddish? Oh well. I went to Galileo High School (just barely). Then I proceeded to try and make Grandma happy (over and over). In the process, I gave birth and raised three very interesting children (all survived and all still speak to me). Along the way, I came to the Episcopal Church, came to my senses (sort of), went back to school and became an ordained deacon in the Church. Which brings me to YOU.

Now that you have a little of the back story (the full memoir, “The Yellow Tablet Confessional or My Life and How I Tried to Avoid It” will be out as soon as I get off my ass and finish it).So now we can move on. Can I hear an “amen”?

My first relationship with a gay man was in high school. I won’t name him because he is a public figure and my Facebook friend (I still have your attention, don’t I?). We hung out together a lot in art history class (these are just about the only classes I made it to). I was very hurt he didn’t ask me to his Junior Prom (don’t worry fella, I’ve worked through it). I adored him, because he liked being with me. It might have been a crush on my part, but you know…whatever. When we both got husbands, well, you know how that is. I had very close relationships with gay men during my marriages (yes, there’s an “s” after that word. Shut up). I recall one of my husbands (are you over that “s” yet?) saying that he objected to their “proprietary interest in me”. What the hell does that mean?( Well, we don’t have to talk about him anymore; he’s gone and my friends are still there). Since I have come to religion (this may seem ironic) I have mostly worked with gay men as colleagues. And since my work has slowly become my life, many have become my closest companions. When the last child left home and the cats moved to Florida (boy, that was expensive), I moved into a religious community of men. I think some of them might be gay (must be the brown dresses). A couple of months ago I was wondering why I can’t seem to get a date (what do you think?). I stopped worrying about it when I realized that I was having a freakin’ good time, felt fulfilled in my vocation and I always have someone to talk to and who will talk to me (I am relatively confident that I won’t get a marriage proposal, which is comforting. I am so over that).

Now, that is the middle story (can I hear an “amen”?).

When I began doing pastoral ministry on the street in the middle of the night (Grandma would be horrified), over time my colleagues and I noticed that when I walked the Castro, I had more contacts and developed more relationships than in any other neighborhood (this was after young folks stopped yelling at me, “Hey, lady. Do you know what neighborhood you are in?). The boss explained that as a straight woman I might be viewed as more trustworthy, given the experiences of so many with male priests and pastors and the institutional church. At least they had the good sense not to say that it was because I was a non-threatening little (all be it very cute) old lady. Madonna is almost as old as I am so I couldn’t be old. What ever the reason, here I am.

Now let me share what I have learned from my relationships about the love of God (let’s see if I can hold your attention; you knew this was coming; I am a minister after all).

The God that I have come to know wants us to be our truest selves. Not other people’s or society’s idea of what we should be. I have witnessed the tremendous courage of LGBTQ people working hard to be themselves, in the face of fear and hatred. Witnessing that courage, I have learned that it is okay to be whatever I want to be; whatever I hear God calling me to be (I can also wear what I want, damn it).

The God that I have come to know wants us to be whole, to have healing from the hurts that living in the world has brought upon us. God wants us to heal each other. I have learned by watching the love of this community as they become family for each other; hold the sick, the injured; the dying; support those in need; honor the dead and advocate for those who have lost the strength to advocate for themselves. Witnessing this love has caused me to reflect on my own fear of offering my life and what I have to give. Using the excuse of not having whatever I think is needed, is not an excuse I can use anymore. I have witnessed a true giving of self for healing. I have heard the term “wounded healer” so often. Now I really understand what it means. It’s not shameful to be wounded; that “woundedness” can become our best gift.

The God that I have come to know wants us to be happy. God wants us to have love and to be in relationship with each other. God loves us passionately just the way we are made. God adores us. And all love is made in God’s image. Love is messy. Love is hard. Love is complicated. Love takes courage. Being in a love relationship with God and other people is all those things. I have witnessed the love of many of my friends and have found great inspiration for my own journey. I have learned about being loved in a way that does not require my being someone else in order to earn that love. In the safety of that love, I have learned that I can be stupid; careless; joyful; depressed; eccentric; angry; screwed-up; etc. and still be lovable (if I get boring or obnoxious, I just need a play date or a foot massage or a firm talking to). And I am still loved. Not for what I can give or what I am, but simply because I am. These are important things to know about love no matter what the love relationship is, whether it’s between lovers, spouses, parent and child, friends or community members. It’s important for people who claim to work for God (like me) to know these things and experience real love because God is love. All love is a gift from God. There was a time when I was a little housewife (not that little; I worked out a lot then and had some awesome biceps) that I thought I was incapable of really loving. I learned that I can and do love. It’s a commandment you know, actually two. Love God and love your neighbor as yourself. Remember to love yourself. It’s a commandment.

So, (we’re almost at the end)……

Thank you to every gay man that ever loved me. Thank you to every drag queen; drag nun; drag king; transgender person; lesbian friend; bi loved one; queer and questioning person ( I hope to God I haven’t forgotten anyone) that ever accepted me for who I am; taught me about love; told me I was stylish; asked me whether God loved them; let me borrow their mother’s clothes; listened to me cry; taught my kids how to spit and ride the bus on Mission St.; taught me how to eat a jello shot; taught me to sip a cocktail with a straw so I don’t ruin my lipstick; made me push forward when I wanted to give up; asked me to be their godmother; made me a saint; never proposed marriage to me; asked me to bless their marriage; dolled me up like a faux queen; and the list goes on and on forever.

This lady knows what neighborhood she is in and may God bless you everyday of your life for your ministry.

And to quote my good friend in Christ (he knows who he is), “and all God’s children shouted AMEN!”