Angels with Orange Wands

We are at a midpoint in Lent … how is that going for you? Before I was ordained I used to tie myself in knots trying to explain to friends how the process of Lenten fasting worked. Chiefly, I tried to say, the idea is to give up something you will miss so that you will be reminded to think of it each day. Also, of course, is the notion that it should not be something that you ought to give up anyway. The point is to be mindful of the idea of repentance, which means to turn away from those things that disconnect us and toward the one thing that always does connect us, which is sharing God’s love.

The question takes on new meaning in a pandemic. Last year we had just begun our lockdowns, mostly, when Lent suddenly was upon us. We were still giving up everything it seemed, more and more each day. Frankly I gave myself a pass last year because it was just too much to bear. Now we are in the official second year of the pandemic. Isolation and safe behavior have become (I hope) a new norm for most people. We have coped, mostly virtually, with the things we had to forgo in order to live. Still, it is scary enough all by itself.

So this year the question is not what have you given up, but rather, what else have you given up? Haven’t we all given up enough yet?

My husband and I were vaccinated yesterday. Through what can only be described as grace we received a link by email from a dear friend and because we caught it at the right moment we had about 10 minutes in which to make appointments, and we did. It was important to us to go to a drive-up where we would not have to walk a long distance or be indoors. In the metropolitan Portland area that meant the clinic in short-term parking at the Portland airport. We were grateful to get the appointments and relieved a few seconds after booking them to receive QR-codes by email, magically linked to our health-care provider accounts as well.

While we waited the 10 days for our appointment date to come around we read in the newspaper about how people on one occasion waited in line for 5 hours; but in the meantime the process had been worked out well. We were there less than 45 minutes altogether. And the people who shepherded us through were truly angels. We were blessed many times over. They even rang a bell as we drove away; two more vaccinated. Hallelujah!

The true bread which gives life to the world is that bread which feeds the soul; and that is love. When we refuse love we suffer the anguish of our own dark nights. When we give love we receive more love and that builds up ever more love. Thus when we give thanks we give love and we build love. Yesterday as we drove from post to post, angels directed us with bright orange tarmac wands. At each curve, at each new line-up, at each new staging area we were greeted with eye-smiles, thumbs-up, waves, and we were pulled along as though on angel wings by the light from those orange wands. And as, at each point, we called “thanks” and waved back, we could feel the love building in our hearts.

The epistle to the Ephesians (2:1-10) reminds us that when we can understand that the desire of our selfishness is the manifestation of the absence of love we can escape that vacuum. And when we learn, we are no longer “dead through our trepasses” but rather alive in love, with love, through love. Even the simple gift of a wave and a “thanks” is enough of a Lenten fast to bring us to repentance. (8): “For by grace, you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing, it is the gift of God.”

In John’s Gospel (3:14-21) Jesus tells Nicodemus (and, of course, us) that “the light has come into the world.” The light of which Jesus speaks, of course, is love. Love is freedom. Love is fulfillment. Love is responsibility because love comes only when it is given. “Those who do what is true, come to the light.”

This Lent, try this approach to your Lenten fast: look for the angels around you who are pointing you to the light of love.

4 Lent Year B RCL 2021 (Numbers 21:4-9; Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22; Ephesians 2:1-10; John 3:14-21)

©2021 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.

Tough Love

I’ve been taking my time putting away Christmas decorations. I told several people I kept having the feeling that Christmas was stolen from me this year. We had lights on the house, a tree, lots of decorations, all the usual food, lots of presents—you’d think I’d have been satisfied. But what we didn’t have was a four week run up of church through Advent—not just the liturgical realities but also the preparations and rehearsals for Christmas itself. We didn’t have friends in or drop in on anybody. We didn’t sing. After Christmas I love the sweetness of the season of Christmas too—the twelve days ending in the feast of the Epiphany, the arrival of the magi, the fruition of the remembrance of Emmanuel “God-with-us” and the launch into the refreshed new year. I was really looking forward to Epiphany this year.

Well, that sort of got taken from us too, didn’t it? We knew it was going to coincide this year with the certification of the Electoral College votes by the US Congress. But we didn’t know what else was coming down the pike. No sweet multi-course meal, no music by the fireplace this year. Rather, it was a tense day reminiscent of other days of tragedy in the world. I spent most of it working on academic research on one computer with CNN open on the other computer and NPR on the radio behind me. The only exception was the hour I spent driving to a healthcare appointment and back—all of that time spent listening to NPR on the radio as well. The capital was “breached,” a mob attempted a “coup,” a vile set of circumstances came home to roost (forgive my nicely mucked up metaphors). Democracy, in the form of the Congress reconvened if shaken returning to the constitutionally-mandated work of certifying a free and fair election, triumphed. But the social fabric remains shaky at best. Everyone is angry or frightened or both.

It seems there is a lot of anger floating about in the world today and much of it landed on us, much of it is still present within us. Preaching a gospel of love often feels futile. People want to believe in love, but it is really quite difficult to understand the concept properly. We love chocolate, we love strawberries, we love the sunshine, we love beauty, we love music, we love each other. Yes, these are all inward ways of comprehending love. But this is not what we mean when we say that we are called to walk in love. To walk in love is to give oneself to the act of always loving—it is an outward action, not an inward sense.

When difficult things present themselves, it is very hard to think about how to work around them by walking in love. Part of it is that we think we are supposed to love some one or some thing that obviously has caused us harm. Maybe, if you can do that it might help. But really, what it means to walk in love through difficulty is to refuse to give into hate, refuse to be embroiled in fear. Instead, we must fill our hearts and minds with the love of God and keep going forward. A psalm comes to mind (23:4) “yea though I walk the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil.” In a week like the one we just experienced in the United States, with mounting death from a pandemic that could have been mitigated year ago, with a seditious coup propagated by a sitting president, it is indeed tough to love.

Thus, it is time for tough love. It is time to refuse to be consumed by fear or hate or trembling, but instead to walk in love. How? Not by disregarding the circumstances. Rather, by responding bravely and firmly but always with a loving heart.

Here is where the season of Epiphany can show us the way. In Genesis 1:3-4 God’s creation is defined by the manifestation of light, which was good, because light is love. God’s love shines like the sunlight. The presence of light is the sign of the presence of love. The presence of love separates the dimension of love from the chaos of the absence of love. When we walk in love we walk in the dimension of light, the dimension of creation, eternally.

In the book of the Acts of the Apostles (19:1-7) Paul, arriving in Ephesus, baptizes a group of believers. Now, baptism is new birth by the Holy Spirit given through the action of water. The flowing water is a symbol both of the birth process and of the motion of the spirit, always forward, always cleansing, always refreshing. In Mark’s Gospel (1:4-11) Jesus is baptized by John in the Jordan river. As Jesus comes up out of the water he receives a dramatic vision of heaven accompanied by the arrival of the Holy Spirit descending “like a dove” together with the voice of God. Interestingly, it is an internal experience for Jesus, it is not just a response to baptism but also a catalyst to action. It is the acknowledgment of and the catalyst for the creative power of the presence of love.

We baptize children, we baptize new Christians. We forget, easily, that the people we baptize are people who embrace love. What happens after baptism? Many of us forget to walk in love. We pretty much learn to walk defensively, walls up, in fear. We learn to reside with the absence of love. And we forget that when we do that we create the kind of world we have now.

If we want a world that is not ruled by chaos or hate, then we must learn to fill our own world with love, even when it is tough. We must learn to look for, to prize, to nourish the light of love in our lives. Is there an LGBTQ perspective? Only that it is in this that we are truly and fully integrated. Indeed, it is we who are identified by the love we are created to share who can show the way.

1 Epiphany Year B 2015 RCL “The Baptism of Our Lord” (Genesis 1:1-5; Psalm 29; Acts 19:1-7; Mark 1:4-11)

©2021 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.

Light and Love

Christmas is all about hope. In Christian hearts it is all about the intertwined revelation and realization of Emmanuel “God with us.” The idea of God with us is all about hope, trust, faith and relief. At Christmas we are reminded of the revelation of God’s eternal presence with and within us, but we also are reminded of the revelation of the humanity of God in the Christ child. The realization that God has the experience of breath and hurt and hunger and sleep and growth and work and of all of life is the understanding that God always is with us. Even in a pandemic.

On the eve of Christmas we “gather” around our symbolic offerings of gifts and candles and we sing the carols that tell the story of the child born in a manger—divinity born in humility. On Christmas we “gather” around tables laden with the special gifts of sustenance and nourishment. At some time or other we give each other gifts as we act out the ritual of the revelation of goodness and mercy that comes in the loving act of giving. Even in this 21^st century pandemic we have managed to gather online, on the phone, through social media—we have gathered because the essence of Christmas is the shared revelation of the arrival of full-blown love among and within us.

On the First Sunday after Christmas the lectionary leads us to more spiritually metaphorical insights. The scripture points to light in the darkness. We remember in prayer the new light enkindled in our hearts. We listen to Isaiah (62:1) prophesy Jerusalem’s “vindication shines out like the dawn, and her salvation like a burning torch.” The imagery of light covers the panoply of metaphor from the slow emergence of enlightenment to the consuming fire of love. In the opening passage of John’s Gospel (1:1-18) we are treated to the image of “the light of all people” that “shines in the darkness” and yet “the darkness did not overcome it.” We learn that the prophet John the baptizer “came as a witness to testify to the light,” the “true light, which enlightens everyone.”  We are reminded of the eternity of God’s love that both “shines” right now and yet was not ever past present or future overcome by the absence of light. We are reminded in the epistle to the Galatians (4:4) that it is forever now “when the fullness of time had come” that God reminds us that we are children of love.

The metaphor of light as love is powerful precisely because as humans we have daily and constantly the experience of the revelation of light emerging and growing and shining and bringing warmth, indeed as the sunlight in Western Oregon has today brought comfort into the midst of the string of winter rain. We are reminded that this new love that we experience each year at Christmas, like light, is the realization of a promise of eternity in our hearts. In households everywhere as we hang up our new shirts and move the furniture to make way for something new, as we smile and say “thank you” over and over for our new gifts, we demonstrate how much our lives are enhanced by the sudden understanding that it was love in action that acquired that gift that now changes our daily life in simple and yet profound ways. Love enters in and once in, like the light, grows.

The metaphor for Christmas is that the truth, the now, the revelation and the realization is the moment to embrace love. Now the fullness of time has come, now we see that as children of God, created in the image of God, which is love, we must open our hearts to reveal and realize that in this love we have seen a glory full of grace and truth (John 1:14); and that “we have all received, grace upon grace” (1:16).

The light, the grace, these are love.

First Sunday after Christmas all years (Isaiah 61:10-62:3; Psalm 147 or 147:13-21; Galatians 3:23-25;4:4-7; John 1:1-18)

©2020 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved

Love Transfigures All

When my husband, Brad, and I were married the presider, at the very end, told us to say “I love you” to each other every day. I had an immediate recollection of my Dad and his last wife Maxine, because many times every day they said “I love you” to each other. They were a model to married people everywhere they went, especially after Max was paralyzed and they developed a sort of dance that Dad used to move her from car to wheelchair or from place to place around the house. As they danced this dance they sang a chorus of “I love you.” It was magical.

And so, married in the 30^th year of our relationship, Brad and I began to do as instructed, and to say “I love you” to each other every day. We’re still going strong 12 years on from that moment. The remarkable discovery for us was that the act of speaking your love is much more powerful than the simple conveyance of emotions. As our presider (and Dad and Max) no doubt knew, the act of saying those words, in fact, builds up the love, increasing it exponentially every time you say it. It is a powerful lesson about the power of love itself.

In Peter’s second letter (1: 19) the apostle writes: “You will do well to be attentive to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.” Of course, the metaphor of the lamp shining is everywhere in scripture, because the lighting of lamps is such a common human experience. We need to remember that lighting a lamp does more than change the ambience of the room, it enlightens by revealing the truth. The light shines to reveal the reality of existence otherwise hidden. Especially when the truth revealed is the power of love.

The lamp shining in a dark place is a sign of hope; the light draws love, which generates hope. The truth is that love governs everything. The presence of love balances life. The absence of love dissolves functionality. The dividing line between the darkness of self and the enlightenment of unity with God, creation and with each other, the line between life and disfunction, the ultimate line is the revelation of the presence of love. And we are attentive to the presence of love as it rises in our hearts like that metaphorical morning star, which happens when we repeat the words “I love you”

Both Peter and Matthew (17: 1-9), in the scripture appointed for today tell the story of the transfiguration of Christ. The most powerful moment in each account, of course, is the theophany that occurs in the sudden presence of the voice of God saying: “”This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!”

Peter uses the metaphor of the lamp to remind his followers that the words of God’s love are the conveyance of “majestic glory,” moving people by the power of the Holy Spirit spoken from God. Matthew’s account tells us the disciples were “overcome by fear.” How reminiscent is this of the fear experienced by the shepherds who saw the star in the night sky over Bethlehem? Fear, after all, is a darkening of the human spirit by, on the one hand, powerful emotions that overwhelm reality, and on the other hand, the release of endorphins that prepare the body to do battle. It is the release of fear, the return of calm, that is like the lamp shining in the darkness to reveal the truth of the presence of love. This is why the angels tell the shepherds, as Jesus tells Peter and James and John at the transfiguration: “Get up and do not be afraid.”

A cloud, a shadow, then God, then brightness and shimmering truth—love revealed.

LGBT people hold the keys to this shimmering truth. Our very being, our purpose, our social role—all of this is defined by whom and how we love. Giving love is the essence of our existence. This giving of love is that rising morning star that can raise up the light and flood creation with the truth of God’s love shared among us.

Love transfigures all.

 

Last Sunday after Epiphany (Exodus 24:12-18; Psalm 2; 2 Peter 1:16-21; Matthew 17:1-9)

©2020 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.

Salty Helpers in the Nest

I love to cook. I’m good at it too, as my friends will tell you if you ask them. Like Gladwell’s ten thousand hours theory, I’ve learned over time that cooking, which is equal parts art and science, relies on experience. I started cooking as a child, at my grandmother’s right hand.

But my best salt story comes from adolescence. I remember we were living in Pearl City, Hawaii, so it would have been 1965 or so. I remember making a peach pie for the family for dessert. That’s not all that simple a thing, so I must have been fairly accomplished at that age if I was making pies regularly. I don’t remember much about the construction of it, but it was really a thing of beauty—golden crust, all piled high with the bright orange-yellow peach filling. It looked and smelled delicious. We all couldn’t wait to have a piece for dessert. Proudly I served the slices all around the table. Then, fortunately, my mother and I took the first bites simultaneously. I say fortunately because it was inedible and we were able, despite nearly choking, to stop my siblings from taking a bite. It was all salt! It turned out, I recalled, as I reconstructed having followed the recipe, that I had mixed up the salt and sugar, using a cup of salt and a teaspoon of sugar. Oh well …

Too much salt spoils the pie, and everything else too. A friend complained on social media a couple of years ago about having been to several restaurants where salt seemed to be an ingredient in all of the dishes. I replied that it was supposed to be seasoning, not an ingredient. Salt works chemically in several ways but primarily it is best used for enhancing flavor, which it does by causing things like onions to give up their harsh acidity and leaving behind a more intense and sweet-savory onion flavor. That’s why so many dishes start with sautéing onions with a dash of salt and pepper (the pepper adds intensity too; but neither salt nor pepper should be recognizable as ingredients in the finished dish). I’d better stop before I get too far out on this limb—I’m a good cook but I’m no food anthropologist or chemist.

But if your restaurant dish tastes like salt you should send it back, but be explicit why. It probably got—like my pie—too much salt in the “season everything on the way to the table” step.

In Matthew 5:12 Jesus says: “You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot. He says this to his disciples, but of course, in full ear of a large crowd too. It is a layered metaphor, not unlike the way a cook learns to layer flavor with the judicious use of salt. The metaphor for uselessness comes from the fact that salt, when too watered down, loses its ability to cause the flavorfully necessary chemical reactions. In other words, you—God’s children—are meant to add flavor to God’s kingdom by gently teasing out the goodness around you. You do this by showing the love of God that is in your heart. But if you let that love get too watered down—primarily by self-centeredness—it is no longer helpful to anybody.

Ah, here we are back at love again—and you thought this was going to be about salt. Well, love is one interpretation of salt here. If you lose your salt it means you have become so focused on your own self that you have quit giving love. You have become so watered down you no longer add flavor to your relationships with the people you love.

The tricky part is, and you all know this, first you have to take care of your own self. If you have lost your salt you are of no use to anybody. But once you have some back, it attracts more to you. Like love, a little beginning can add up to a lot. So it is your responsibility to get your salt back. Try giving a little bit of love. The rest will take care of itself.

There is another metaphor here in Matthew’s Gospel, about a light shining. It is mirrored in Isaiah where it is a metaphor for justice, which is a wonderful form of love, and in the Psalm, where it is a metaphor for righteousness, which is also a wonderful form of love, and in 1 Corinthians, where it is a metaphor for wisdom. My goodness—layers and layers and layers of metaphor. Just like seasoning.

The key to the light metaphor is to understand that light helps us see things as they really are. Shining light shows the difference between giving love and the absence of love. Shining light shows how love reveals justice, springs from righteousness and comes from wisdom.

There is a bio-sociological theory that homosexualities are necessary for just this purpose—that lgbt people are necessary to reveal the true power of love in creation. Sometimes called the “helpers in the nest” theory (https://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-26089486) the idea is that we are here as light shining in society through the love we share, which in turn reveals the true power of love given freely. I most like this theory because it resonates with my own experience as a pastor—I’ve seen over and over the “light” and “salt” added to a congregation by its lgbt members.

You see, light and salt are our job. Love, love and more love—give love. Let all creation know that love is in your heart and salt is in your blood. As Jesus said: let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.

 

Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany (Isaiah 58:1-9a, (9b-12)); Psalm 112:1-9, (10); 1 Corinthians 2:1-12, (13-16); Matthew 5:13-20

©2020 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.

The Bridegroom’s garland*

Isaiah’s prophecy (61:10 ff.) is rich with metaphor; how else do humans explain the experience of the presence of God but to say what it felt like? I have known God on the prairie sweeping like angels’  wings over acres of corn, I have known God in ascending clouds of incense at the feet of God’s altars, I have known God a million times in the eyes of communicants. God is everywhere for sure, but sometimes metaphor is useful for describing theophany, which is this experience we have of God in human time and space. Christmas is a time of ongoing theophany.

Isaiah has this lovely metaphor this week “God has clothed me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decks himself with a garland.” Of course, this metaphor is meaningful in a specific way at a specific time. Still I chuckled thinking about getting ready for our wedding.

Brad and I have been together for almost 36 years. We had a pretty exciting beginning, and then we had all of the usual potholes, and then we got it worked out. And like most gay men of our generation, and unlike most heterosexuals, we assumed we never could get married, so we didn’t even think about it. In our eighth year together we had a house blessing which we chose to think of as a blessing of our relationship. But it was in our 30^th year together that we decided to go to City Hall in Toronto and get married legally, just because we could.

What a shock. So I have been trying to think about how I felt getting dressed that morning. I don’t think that was the biggest thing on my mind. And, like being ordained, it turns out it is the aftermath that is the most important part of a sacrament like marriage. Still, I dressed as an Anglican priest, and I suppose the “garland” Isaiah refers to was my pectoral cross, which I drew on at the last moment as we were ready to go.

It was the cross of Christ crucified and risen, Christ who had chosen me, a gay man, as a priest in His church. Christ, who had chosen us, a gay couple, as an example of righteousness. The robe of righteousness was laid around our shoulders that day, in our aging bodies and in our mature love for each other.

The blessing of Christmastide is the coming of the light into a darkened world. No matter how many times we experience this, it remains a constant. Christ brings light. Christ is the light which is life. And we, gay people, are the candles in which Christ’s light enlightens the world.

I hope you had a merry Christmas. Don’t forget we still have nine days of Christmas left! Happy New Year to you too.

*First Sunday after Christmas (Isaiah 61:10-62:3; Psalm 147; Galatians 3:23-25;4:4-7; John 1:1-18)

©2013 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.

It must be Christmas*

It must be Christmas because: a) everyone keeps saying happy holiday to me; and, b) it keeps snowing, and snowing, and snowing.

And school is over at last. Time for rest, time for peace. Last night was the longest night of the year; the night in which we sleep, deeply, to prepare, to purify, to be ready for the coming of innocence into our hearts. The solstice is upon us indeed.

Thus this is the moment of the coming of light. From this moment forward the light increases, not just in real terms in the daylight, but in our hearts and souls as well, as the warmth of this season, nurtured with God’s love, grows into fulfillment of God’s kingdom, in and through us. What more can I say?

It is not anybody’s generic “holiday.” It is going to be Christmas.

God just wants all of us to be one. Decorate, light, give, rejoice.

*4 Advent (Isaiah 7:10-16; Psalm 80: 1-7, 16-18; Romans 1:1-7; Matthew 1:18-25)

©2013 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.

The light really does shine*

Isaiah 9:2 “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness– on them light has shined.”

Gay people know about this walking in darkness business. I remember as a teenager always feeling apart from my “friends.” I remember cringing at every Christmas party because my parents’ friends would inevitably ask me about having a girl-friend. I hated Christmas movies because in the end, the really cute guy always wound up with a woman. I knew that I walked in darkness, indeed (I thought) that I always would have to do so, because my happy ending would never be permitted. I knew that there was no way to reconcile my innermost truth with the world around me. I think we all have stories that fall somewhere along a continuum like this. Christmas was not happy because it only served to highlight the differences, the other-ness of gay life.

This year my husband and I celebrate our 33rd Christmas together. Our tree is lighted, presents are (mostly) wrapped, the refrigerator is stocked, and we look forward to mass together. Is it a miracle that after all of these years we go to mass, not only as life partners, but as priest and mate? Of course it is. It is the miracle of Christmas. The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light, on us this light has shined, brilliantly.

The light, of course, is the presence of God in our lives, in our family, in our work, in our home, in our neighborhood. God is always in our midst, right here in the thick of everything. Through the mercy of God the child Jesus was born for us—yes, us—you and me gay and lesbian and bisexual and transgendered us. He has brought peace, and justice, and righteousness. He has ended the darkness of our own exile with the brightness of the fullness of life.

All of us in the gay, lesbian, bi-sexual, and trans-gendered community can identify with those shepherds standing on the hillside that night, long ago. The angel that appeared in their midst terrified them. The presence of God can do that, if we are not prepared. And yet, if we can get past our fear, if we can get past our own self-judging territorial walls, then we can see this great light, and we can hear the voice of the angel saying to us: “Fear not, I bring you news of great joy for all people.” The child Jesus was born to bring the very human word of God to us in a way that nobody could miss. The grown up Jesus would mount his ministry among the down-trodden, walking from place to place, proclaiming the good news: “The kingdom of God has come near.” And he would teach us that the kingdom of God was already in our midst. To see it, to touch it, to bring it into our reality means tearing down all of those walls, putting our closets behind us, freeing ourselves to love as God has called us to do. All we have to do is love God and love each other, to see this kingdom.

Is everything perfect? Of course not. We still cannot marry in most of the world. We must keep one eye out all the time for the presence of oppression or violence. Too many of us are ill or alone. Too many still dwell in the darkness of their closets. Although life for our community is better in many ways than it was when I was a boy, it still is far from perfect. Rose-colored glasses do us no good. But good old-fashioned faith can change our lives. Belief is the essence of faith, and our belief in the possibility of the fullness of life is critical. The joy of a life lived in the fullness of Jesus’ call to us to love one another can drive away the terror of the closet and shine the brilliant light of God’s love into our hearts.

The darkest exile, my friends, is the one we create for ourselves when we choose to hide who we really are. And when we finally see the light and put that exile behind us, the brilliance of God’s light can be overwhelming—terrifying even—or, it can be awesome. But as the angel says, fear not, my friends. Be who you are. That is how God wants it to be. Reach out your arms in love to your 3-year old nephew, to your Alzheimer’s ridden parent, to your constantly irritating siblings, to everyone you meet. Stretch out your arms in love and you will see this bright light that God has brought among us.

God’s grace, my friends, has appeared among us, bringing salvation to us in freedom to be who God has made us to be. The miracles of Christmas are in our hearts and souls, just waiting to spring forth and shed God’s brilliant light on the whole world. This Christmas, let the light of God’s love shine in and on, and through you.

Christmas I (The Nativity of Our Lord)(Isaiah 9:2-4,6-7; Psalm 96:1-4,11-12; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-14)
©2011 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.

We are all born blind*

When I was about 11 or so, my dad had a terrible car accident. I remember it was the 4th of July and he had just shipped into Long Beach from Taiwan. We’d greeted him at the pier, and we’d had a great reunion evening, and then early that morning he’d taken the car in to the ship to get the stuff he’d bought in Taiwan, including some magnificent rosewood furniture. But, the main thing was, he’d brought Chinese fireworks for the 4th. So all day we waited for him but he never came; some time in the late afternoon Mother got “the” phone call—he’d been in a wreck and had been taken to San Diego where there was a better military hospital. (You know, right, that this is a fifty page story, so I’m doing my best here to cut to the chase.) Mother had to buy a new car [!] with the money in her purse … it was a horrid chevy station wagon. She paid for it off the used car lot, then she and I drove to San Diego to see Dad. She got a neighbor to babysit the kids (my much younger siblings). Dad was in traction with broken hips. But let’s just cut to the chase. Three months later, Dad is home, and they sit me down in the living room after the kids are asleep, and they explain to me how bad men will try to touch me. It took me years to figure out that really nice Navy nurse (a young red-headed guy) had put the moves on Dad, and Dad had ratted him out.

So, let’s see, I was 11. And it was 13 years later before I could let the eyes of my soul, “born blind” open up and realize it was okay to love another boy.  And this is the value of today’s Gospel for gay and lesbian and bisexual and transgendered people everywhere. Because we are all born “blind” my friends. And we have to let our eyes be opened if we are going to experience the beauty of life God has made for us. In the story you might notice that there is a lot of chatter about how Jesus made the blind boy see, but there isn’t any detail about the process. Okay, a little bit of mud. But, it isn’t the mud that opens the boys’ eyes anymore than it was mud that opened my own eyes when I finally came out. One day I just realized I was gay, and I just wanted to stop playing blind. You know what, in 1975 it was harder than you might think to come out. It took the blink of an eye to come out to myself; but it took months to find a sympathetic gay person to take me by the metaphorical hand and show me how to find the community into which I had been born. All jokes aside, his name was Billy, and I’ll never forget the joy and laughter with which he welcomed me into the reality of my own self, and drew me toward the community where I could and would be nurtured.

You know, I intended this story to follow on from the gospel about the man born blind. But now that I think about it, it follows too from the story about the selection of David, the least of  Samuel’s sons. Later we will learn that David was “the fairest of men” and that his love for Jonathan surpassed the love of God. So let’s see, sometimes these weird stories we tell about our own lives are pretty much like these stories where God chooses the right one, which is why the Bible is considered revelatory.

“For once you were in darkness but now in the Lord you are light.” You are light. You. Are light. Let your light shine friends, let it illumine the world.

Let me put it more bluntly—BE GAY! Or, REJOICE AND BE GAY! And let your light shine my friends.
*4 Lent (1 Samuel 16:1-13; Psalm 23; Ephesians 5: 8-14; John 9:1-41)

©2011 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.

Sometimes the Light Really Does Shine*

I don’t know about you but I’ve been having something of a – hmmm, let’s say trying – time. It isn’t the recession, but it probably is related to the general malaise around it. And it isn’t anything else in particular I can point to. But I must say, that the first line of the first reading appeals to me this Christmas: [Isaiah 9:2] The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined. It is comforting to remember that forever in the history of creation, people have walked in darkness, and that forever and eternally, on us, the light of Christ shines. It helps to know we are connected to creation through God who created us in God’s own image, and through God’s only Son, given so we might get it — about living in unity.

I heard a report on the nightly news that most Americans — 73% I think they said – celebrate “Christmas” but only a few — maybe about 20% of them — celebrate the birth of Christ. That’s sad of course. It explains why we’ve been listening to “Silent Night” at SuperFresh since Halloween. But it is too sad to think that all of those people out there rushing around buying presents and hanging decorations and worrying about their dinner menus don’t get it. Hmmm. Well if my job is to give us an uplifting message I’m not doing too well here, am I?

What about “don’t ask, don’t tell?” Well, if ever there were a case of people walking in darkness having the light shined on them this is it. And it is a terrific example of God fulfilling the purpose of God’s creation. God made us gay for a reason.  Whether you ground it theologically by saying God made us gay in God’s own image, or whether you appeal to sociobiology, which says there must be a part of the population whose job is not reproduction in order to lift up the spirits of the rest, either way, God made us gay and now God has made light to shine on our lives, here as indeed it already does in many other parts of the world. It is a little bit like new birth, isn’t it? And there is the Christmas metaphor. If all Christmas means is gifts and groaning boards that’s pretty empty. But if we can imagine that what Christmas means for us – both this Saturday and always – is that there is always the possibility of rebirth, then we truly know what it means to be people of faith.

Isaiah goes on to say the yoke of their burden is broken. And they shout “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” Hallelujah! For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all — even you and even me. God loves us, the sign God has sent to us is the birth of a child, a reminder that everything can always be made new.

So let’s be like the shepherds who wanted to go have a look. Let’s go with haste to that place in our souls where God’s fire is burning brightly, where a child’s birth can shake the world, where everything can always be made new. When we get there, let’s sing “Joy to the World.”

Merry Christmas my friends.

*Christmas Eve 2010 (Isaiah 9:2-7; Psalm 96:1-4,11-12; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-20)

©2010 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.