To the Other Side

A sermon preached with the people of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Oakland, California.

Jesus said, “Let us go across to the other side.”

And so the disciples got in the boat and set sail from Jewish territory to the other side: Gerasenes; gentile territory. And I imagine their minds were full of the kinds of things they might encounter on the other side. These men and women who had left everything behind; who months before wouldn’t have dreamed of a journey like this. What would they see? What would they smell or taste? Should they really be doing this? What would their parents think? They are not supposed to consort with the people on the other side.

I imagine pulse rates started to climb, right along with blood pressure. I imagine balls of sweat forming on brows. I imagine queasy sourness rising up in stomachs.

I imagine storms.

And I imagine those internal storms breaking forth into the atmosphere itself. Circling relentlessly as gusts of rain. Bursting across the bow as the tallest waves. Howling in pain as piercing winds.

And when they can’t take these tempests anymore the disciples run to find Jesus. Because something in them knows he can help. Knows he has the answer. And they find him ... asleep. Comfortable, even. Resting on a cushion.

And they look at him and they say “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?”

And suddenly, the storms stop. Inside and outside.

And Jesus asks the disciples, “why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” 

Because here’s the thing. Those storms – those internal storms – wouldn’t have started, if the disciples really trusted in Jesus’ repeated call to the other side. Yes, he means it: the Kingdom of God is for all people. 

I imagine after the storms subsided, they all settled back in, maybe some hanging over the edges of the boat and watching as Gerasenes drew closer and closer, until they finally set foot on the holy ground of the other side.

Where they could show that the Kingdom of Heaven will be for all people. But not through words. Not through proselytizing. Not with violence or coercion, or all the ways Christians have misinterpreted and battered this call. Not by changing anyone. But by allowing themselves to be changed.

God doesn’t call us to conquer or de-other the other side. God calls us to know the other side. To be in relationship with the other side. To be guests on the other side. Until, of course, it’s not the other side at all. It’s other members of God’s beloved, marvelously made.

Because, friends, we know. We know that when we, church, do this work – when our church reflects more and more of the glorious diversity of the reign of God, lives are changed, saved and made the better for it.

Decades ago, God called this Episcopal Church to one particular journey to the other side. God called us to hold up, love and be proud of the many LGBTQ+ people who have always been a dedicated part of this church (yes, always), and to advocate for LGBTQ+ people everywhere. Called us to respect all people as full members of the Body of Christ, and to allow access to marriage and ordination to the diaconate, priesthood and episcopacy to people of any sexual orientation or gender identity.

And boy oh boy was there a storm. The Good Ship Episcopal rattled and rocked. It made the news. It got sued. Some people jumped overboard and swam back from where they’d come; preferring to leave the community they had loved; the people they had worshipped alongside, than to come along to the other side. Because of course, there wasn’t really a storm. Or there was, but the storm was coming from inside the house. Inside our hearts. And all the while Jesus was right there with us, snoozing comfortably. Waiting until we realize there was absolutely nothing to be afraid of.

And, while we have a long way to go to get to what I would call a fully inclusive church, I would say we made it to that particular other side. And this ship is more beautiful than it ever was. 

Our canon laws and highest temporal authority – the General Convention of the Episcopal Church, meeting as we speak in Louisville, Kentucky – promise access to marriage and the ordination process. And if a bishop denies that access based on sexual orientation or gender identity they can (and have!) been brought to ecclesiastical court – I know, it’s a real thing, in this century! One particular bishop who made conditions unsafe for God’s LGBTQ+ children in his diocese is now a member of another church because of this. And while I am not in a position to condemn (as a wise priest once said of another, historic, questionable bishop, he’s “alright … God’s got him covered.”), I think that it is is just fine that he has been compelled to practice his ministry elsewhere.

But back to the beauty. If not for my LGBTQ+ siblings in Christ in this church, my faith would be incomplete. I would not have, as one example, received the gift of the love story of David and Jonathan, some of which we heard in our first reading this morning. The gift of knowing that like all scripture, it can be interpreted many ways, including as a model of friendship. But it can also be a story about two men who are in love; who are in fact married. “Then Jonathan made a covenant with David, because he loved him as his own soul.” 

Not only does that expand my world and my understanding of the story of God and God’s people; not only does it enrich our theological imagination as a people; but queer reading of scripture saves lives in a world where Christianity as a whole does deadly serious harm. The presence of LGBTQ+ members of this church, theologians, clergy, staff members, biblical scholars and more allow many who have been so hurt to heal and, sometimes, to come back to a church that not only loves, but celebrates them as God intends.

I am so glad the Episcopal Church did this work. I am so thankful to those who engaged in that hard work; especially those whose very being was publicly and constantly attacked throughout the many conflicts of this storm, but whose faith was so strong, they stayed.

I wonder, what other sides we are being called to today? What other sides are being called to us today? The Episcopal Church as a whole, sure. But also, St. John’s. Who’s not here? Look around. Who don’t you see?

Oh, do you feel that wind? I feel a storm coming on.