But it is not the call of our heritage in Stonewall alone that compels us to be mindful of our edges, because it is also the call of our biblical ancestry: those folks we just highlighted as part of our story, part of God's story, and part of the Church's model for how to live and love in community. David and Jonathan were tribal and political rivals of each other, and their love for one another exceeded that of marriage or family. Ruth was not just a religious and ethnic outsider, she was from the hated tribe of Maobites, and yet her love and care for Naomi was an exemplar of the divine quality of chesed, or lovingkindness. The Ethiopian eunuch was a religious, ethnic, national, and sexual outsider, and Philip conceded that there was absolutely no barrier to keep him from becoming part of God's family and community. Matthew's Roman Centurion and Jesus reached out to one another from across the divide of occupier-occupied to request and provide healing for his lover. Again and again in the bible, the story of our people is a story not just of love, not just of courage, but of love and courage that overcomes the gulfs of difference, alienation, adversity, rivalry.
Not to mention that Jesus' entire reason for being seems to have been to cross religious and ethnic chasms; to bring God's healing and wholeness to, literally, everyone; to frustrate social norms and stymy expectations: Love your enemies, he said. Do good to those who hate you. Be the greatest of all by serving everyone. Don't worry about what you'll eat or wear, worry about what the widow and prisoner and sick people and random 5000 families on the hillside will eat and wear. Give away all of your stuff and don't ask for it back. Love your neighbor. Oh, and everyone is your neighbor. Everyone is your mother and sister and brother. Quit jostling for the best seats, take a back seat. And don't be afraid. Don't be afraid.
There is a lot to be afraid of out there. We have already listed some of the frightening things that are happening to black communities, trans communities, women, fat people, disabled people, the mentally ill, and to others at the edges of us. And marriage isn't going to solve all these issues; not to rain on marriage's parade. This is an incredible, long-awaited moment in our work for more justice for more people. Queer and genderqueer people in 13 states finally have something that others have had for years, and queer and genderqueer folks in 37 states no longer have to worry about what happens to their relationship if they or their children are traveling or vacationing in Texas or Michigan. And marriage is not going to fix everything. Justice has not yet come. Our time has not arrived. Because we are not free until we are all free. We are not safe until we are all safe. We cannot celebrate until we can all celebrate.
And this is not Us versus Them. This is not meeting Their needs over Our needs. This is not about all of us fighting over slices of the pie. Partly because They are Us. Partly because They are in this room. Because We are black, trans, women, fat, disabled, mentally ill. One of Us got up three weeks ago and told the rest of Us that she, alone, is a four-fold threat. Because she is black, because she is a woman, because she is a lesbian, because she is proud. We are Them, We are the edges of Us, we have come from the edges and we can remember what it feels like to have our nose pressed up against the glass. God says in Exodus, "You shall not wrong or oppress the stranger among you, for remember that you yourself were strangers in Egypt."
And it's not Us versus Them partly because there are not limited slices of pie, unless the pie is winning, unless the pie is hierarchy. Otherwise the pie is infinite and bottomless. Don't let anyone tell you different. It's free refills at God's House. It's all you can eat. Because there is enough and more than enough love, dignity, respect, wholeness, healthcare, marriage, affordable housing, restorative justice, immigration reform, living wage to go around.
I want us to be a church that knows there is enough for us all. And I want us to be a church that remembers that the people we look past, overlook, ignore, the people we're embarrassed by or don't approve of, the people we condemn, re-victimize, victim-blame are us. That they are us now, among us, and also that they are our heritage - back to the stifling, sweaty nights of the Stonewall rioters, and back to the stories and the pages of our sacred book. We are and we have always been the outsider, the foreigner, the eunuch, the stranger.
Jesus said, "Don't be afraid." And Saint Audre Lorde said, "Your fear won't protect you. Your silence won't save you. Do something anyway." (That's a paraphrase.) This is the time for action: Saint Francis said, "Preach the gospel at all times, and when necessary use words." Do something. Do anything. There is so much to do, but you don't have to do it all yourself. You don't even have to do something about everything. Pick something. Give yourself to it. Act as if you are fighting for your life. Act as if every "unsavory," "unkempt" person at our edges is one of our Stonewall heroes. Fight for their life. Act as if this moment in which you act is The New Stonewall Watershed Moment from which historic change will come.
That's the church I want us to be. What do you want for your church? What does this signify, what we do here? Who is your God? What is the outcome of your prayer life? And what does all of it mean in the end if the end is right here and right now, at the edges of us?
This answer is the source from which we will find our Pride.