Prophesying in Love and Loving Prophetically

I woke up to the news on Sunday morning: 20 people killed in an LGBTQ nightclub in Orlando, FL. I was in shock, like most people. So little was known by that time, as it had only occurred a few hours before. We only knew the number of people reported dead and injured, so far, and that the shooter  was dead. In the hours that passed, the number climbed to 49 (50, if you include the shooter). Forty-nine. Forty-nine people were dead because of one person. It was unfathomable and gut wrenching. I'm still in shock over it. Add to that the fact that for each person there could be at least a hundred people, if not more, that are affected by their death. That's close to five thousand people that could potentially be affected by this directly, and that's an extremely conservative estimate.

I couldn't stop looking through my newsfeed all day Sunday. As more and more information came out, more and more posts were being made about how the Muslim community stands with the LGBTQ+ community, how we need to do something about the current gun regulation in this country, vigils to attend in different cities, etc. etc. While some of this was, in a sense, wonderful to see, I still felt helpless. I wanted to DO something! I still do. For now, though, this is my outlet. Writing is my way of doing something, and so I'll use this medium for now until I can find other meaningful ways to respond to such a catastrophic and tragic situation...

My church community is one that I hold closely to my heart. It is my lifeline. I love coming in through the doors every Sunday, and I sincerely love many of the people I worship with. We're also fortunate to have some truly wonderful preaching voices among our clergy. Today, one of our priests preached about the prophetic messages in two of the day's scripture readings. (For those who are unfamiliar, we Episcopalians read from the Revised Common Lectionary, which assigns our readings for the days of the year, Sundays in particular.) He spoke of how we, too, are called to speak prophetically in love, with Jesus as our model.

I reflected on this as I went about my day, having a difficult time shifting my attention away from the day's news. How are we called to speak prophetically in love in this situation, and is that enough? What does it mean to prophesy in love? Are we merely talking about love as a sentiment? If so, are we going far enough in trying to bring about the vision that is the Kingdom of God? Would it be more appropriate instead to say that we are called to love prophetically? And if so, what does this look like?

The answers to these questions, especially the latter, are not easy to come by, and I am by no means an authority for any of them. I am not a member of ordained clergy, I do not run a ministry program in my congregation, and I fail over and over again to live the life that I have been called to in Christ. But I still want to explore this more, and hopefully offer some possible answers to this difficult question.

To begin, I'll give a summary of today's Gospel lesson. Jesus is at the home of a Pharisee for a meal. (For those who don't know, a pharisee is a member of an ancient Jewish sect, noted for his strict observance of Jewish law.) A woman who is known to be a notorious sinner comes in, weeps on, kisses, and rubs ointment on Jesus' feet. The Pharisee is scandalized, and mutters something about how Jesus must not be a prophet, since he would never allow such a woman to even come near him. Jesus, who must have had Vulcan hearing, speaks up and gives an analogy of two debts being forgiven, one much greater than the other, as a way to show the virtue in forgiving those who are seen as less righteous than others. In addition, he points to the actions of the woman and juxtaposes it with the treatment offered, or lack thereof, by his host. "Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has bathed my feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little." (Luke 7:44-47, NRSV)

This entire story is scandalous. Not only does Jesus allow a woman to touch him, but a woman of "great sin" (we're never explicitly told what sins she has committed, by the way, though it's insinuated that it's of a sexual nature), and he directly challenges his host! Moreover, from my own limited knowledge of ancient Middle Eastern culture, Jesus not being treated hospitably by his host would have been scandalous as well, as hospitality was the rule and not the exception. Even still, later in the reading, he speaks to the woman directly, and forgives her sins. All of this is going against the social norms of the time, and would have sent a strong and clear message to early Christians, for whom it was written: Love scandalously. Love prophetically.

Prophets, as our priest pointed out today, are called to speak up against the powers that be with the voice of God. If that isn't a heavy burden to carry, I don't know what is. Fallible, flawed, and finite human beings are called to speak with the voice of a Being who is infinite, unfathomable, ultimately unknowable, and supremely enigmatic...whose idea was this?! But prophets have existed, nonetheless, and, those that are true prophets, continually call us to a new way of living by speaking truth to power. They have pointed us continually in the direction of justice, equality, mercy, and love. The essence of their message is spoken over and over again: another way is possible.

So with this in mind, I return to my previous question: what does it look like to love prophetically? If we're to take the definition of prophet as someone who essentially speaks truth to power, and acts in ways that grabs the attention of those in power in an effort to change the status quo, then there are several ways that this could go, both on a micro and macro scale. Below are some ideas of what it could look like:

- Asking a homeless person for their name and their story, instead of just walking by as we are more apt to do.
- Making sure that the spaces we more privileged folk occupy are safe(r) for those on the margins.
- Making room for spaces that are specifically for marginalized folx, especially LGBTQ folx of color. 
- Making sure to listen more than speak, especially if you are in a space for and with those who are less privileged. 
- Taking real action to fight with and for oppressed people, not just putting up a hashtag, or a bumper sticker, or sending "thoughts and prayers." 
- Asking really hard questions like, "Why are people hungry?" instead of being satisfied with only feeding the hungry. Or asking, "How do we actually stop this from happening?" instead of "Why does this keep happening?"
- Acknowledging and promoting leadership of marginalized folx instead of being "a voice for the voiceless."
- Calling others out when they mess up, and encouraging them to do better.
- Calling out the culture of charity and promoting a culture of justice.  

This is an extremely limited list, and there are infinite possibilities. And that, too, is a characteristic of prophetic love: endless possibility. Love as sentiment only takes us so far, but love as prophetic action? There is no end to how far we can go. 

Daniel Gutierrez, the bishop-elect for the diocese in which I geographically reside, said the following in his recent post on Facebook, and I feel that it encapsulates the essence of what prophetic love is:

"Through our tears, pain, bewilderment and sadness we must envision something new. It has to begin today, and it must start with us. I believe in the goodness of humanity. We have seen it time and time again. Hopeful people whose lives express a deep and abiding love for all creation. A world where forgiveness is stronger than revenge, where empathy abounds over hate, acceptance mightier than exclusion and that the light of love and life is shining brighter than the darkness of hate and death. 

"We must find our voice. It must begin in our churches and we must take it to the powerful. We can make a difference. It is the only path we have in a world that has a tendency to slip into the darkness. May we all believe in the transformative power of hope, peace, goodness and love."

I pray that we will not only "believe in the transformative power of hope, peace, goodness and love" but that we act in it. Because that is loving prophetically.

May it be so.

Time: In Memoriam

It isn't as though no time has passed
Since the last moment that I heard
Your voice.
Time has come the way it usually does,
With rushing waves of seasons
And endless crawls through spaces
Dark and heavy with uncertainty.
I have made it
Have survived without you for all this
Time,
Just as I knew I would.
Time has taken my naive child self
And molded her into something
That I am not always quite certain of,
Yet am certain that she
Is
Real.
But time always returns me
To this place,
This space where I can do nothing but
Remember
Where I was,
What I was
Thinking,
Why I knew
How I knew
That you
Were the who I had to let go of
Too soon.
Time has healed me
But has also sealed me in this
Locked cage of wanting
What could have never been.
Each year
Each month
Each day
Each moment that passes
Amasses to more distance from that moment;
Forever cystalized amber.
The pain of your absence not forever etched
Into my skin
But cemented into my existence
Because now there is always a before
And an after.
Thought continues to dwell on you
Even when I know
It could be better spent
And makes more sense
When it can find something else
To occupy its
Time.
I have exhausted time
Beyond its means
To try to find some meaning to this,
Some word
Some phrase
To shine some rays of light
To give me hope. . .
And therein lies my sin
Because even after all the
Time that has past
I still have this seed
From some stubborn weed
That breeds within me.
Hope for things that will not come,
Hope to revive what has already gone.
I hoped for you.
I did not love,
But hoped only to love
One day
Some Time
Always.
But never came instead,
So time has left me
Grieving for the dead
Which has not fully died,
And has somehow kept me living.
I live with this,
Will always
Live
Because time does not die with our wounds,
Though it at times stands still.
I have not stood still,
But still have felt,
What was left since that
Time
When we left with our goodbyes.

Reception or Nothing Closed Can Open

This poem was inspired by several things over the last few days.  The first, a yoga class within which the theme was receiving (using the Twitter war between Kanye and Amber Rose as the inspiration and example, no less).  The second, one of the teachers of said yoga class reached out to the wider social sphere, humbly asked for funds for a much needed surgery, and did it from such a place of wholeness, rootedness, and gratitude that was nothing shy of inspiring.  (Btw, they reached their fundraising goal in record time, which was beyond amazing.)  And the third, recognizing my own hesitancy to open to things new and as yet unknown.  Receiving, as I point out in this poem, is a complicated and messy business.  But it can be beautiful and life giving when it comes from the right place.  

Nothing closed can open, and opening is not

invitation to wounds, or abuse, or pain.

Instead, opening to receiving is the act of active asking,

not as a hungry mouth 

gaped wide as vacuumous void,

waiting to consume any and all,

But as hands cupped to rain to drink the sky.

I am thinking of the nature of trees, 

those receivers of above and below,

with vast arms open, 

for their roots have dug deep enough 

to drink in the earth.

Temptation lies not in the wanting, but in the waiting to give.

Muscles contract in spasms waiting to birth

what is not yet time to be born. 

How complicated this all is, 

this holding of tension with intention--

holding and being held.

A hand opens, one to another, without fear of being

asked to give--for asking is its own giving.

Reception comes only by owning one's own deserving

as a natural consequence 

of being human fully.

So open as the fertile soil comes to be planted 

with good things,

and bear the fruit of gratitude.