Several years ago, I was pastor of a welcoming and affirming church. As a queer clergywoman, one would think that such a place would be the perfect place to flourish and thrive as a pastor.
In Genesis 1 we read, “In beginning, God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.”
The month of May finds those within the Christian tradition solidly within Easter season, reveling in the promise of resurrection, while simultaneously celebrating Mother’s Day.
Trigger warning: description of addiction and substance abuse
I’ve long held that feminism, in order to be true and engaged and practical, must be intersectional. Such is also the case, I believe, for LGBTQ rights.
The work of justice for queer people must also include justice for other marginalized groups.
“This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal. I know the world is bruised and bleeding, and though it is important not to ignore its pain, it is also critical to refuse to succumb to its malevolence.
Lilith has been a misunderstood, appropriated, and redeemed woman throughout the ages. Many feminists claim her as an empowering figure in Jewish mythology, with contemporary artists such as Sarah McLachlan, who created the all-women music tour, “Lilith Fair,” reclaiming her story.
“They tried to bury us; they didn’t know we were seeds” —Mexican Proverb
Advent is that particular liturgical season in the Church when there is a focus on the coming of God, incarnate. For many LGBTQIA folks, the Church is not the place where they come for hope or participate in the anticipation of God becoming human.