A Rainbow Cross, Unlikely Prayer Beads, and Aunt Ruth
It’s been a strange and difficult week. One in which I’ve found myself discombobulated, scattered, and mixing up schedules left and right. I don’t think we’ve eaten a single meal at home this week, as that would have required planning and preparation- neither of which I’ve had the wherewithal to do. For the next few day in St. Louis, United Methodists from around the globe are gathering to determine the fate of the UMC and the LGBTQ members in their midst. To say this is personal is an understatement. I’ve felt this vote coming this week with every fiber of my being.
Last Sunday I had an anxiety attack while sitting in the choir loft at church during the 11:00 service. I haven’t had an anxiety attack in 7 years. As is customary, it happened when I thought I was doing just fine. I had already listened to one uplifting sermon at 9:45 in which our executive minister stood up and affirmed all of our LGBTQ friends and family, and their place in the church. “All Means All” was the mantra of the day, and I felt so much love and support from all of our church family. In my second worship service of the day, we opened worship with Mark Miller’s “Welcome.” It is a beautiful and uplifting song, and as the title indicates, it welcomes all to worship together. During the sermon, our lead pastor made the same affirmation and reiterated that “All Means All.”
And then we were reminded that our beloved Mark Miller, who has given so much to the church with his time, talents, and gifts, cannot be ordained into ministry or have his marriage celebrated in the church. And that was when I realized that I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t keep the tears from coming. I convinced myself that if I could just manage not to sob or wipe away tears then maybe it wouldn’t be noticeable to the congregation. I tried to will the tears to stop with every ounce of stubbornness in me, and I dug my nails into my arms. There are times when physical pain can ease the emotions ever so slightly. The emotions passed temporarily and I managed the rest of the service with minimal tears. I made it to my car faster than has ever happened in the history of our church-going. Typically it takes us a good 20-30 minutes to make it to the parking lot. I’m pretty sure that I made it in under 3 minutes flat from the choir loft to my car. And then I sat there and sobbed big ugly sobs. And that’s how this week has gone. I’m fine, and then out of the blue, I’m not.
Monday night I had the opportunity to see Nadia Bolz Weber speak at the Cathedral of Hope. The energy in the sanctuary that night was amazing. The love, and pain, and pain transforming through love, was palpable. During the Q and A, a gentleman stated that he was Methodist and spoke of the vote this weekend. He spoke of the heartbreak of loving his daughter who identifies as gay, and loving his church, and the despair of figuring out what to do if the vote does not go as hoped. I was sitting across the room and just thought, “Same, my friend. Same.”
Tuesday was a blur as I worked on 3 hours sleep and walked like a zombie through the day. I started binge-watching West Wing again, which always helps to remind me that there is still hope for humanity yet. Wednesday was long and choir practice helped. But then insomnia set in and once again Thursday rolled around with far too few hours in my sleep bank. Thursday, I met a friend for lunch- almost 45 minutes late because I had written down the time wrong and had a whole lot of trouble navigating the morning paperwork that had to get done. Thursday night brought about more West Wing episodes.
Friday, I was awake by 3:00 am, but could not bring myself to get out of bed until 9:00 am. I truly can’t account for the 6 hours in between other than trying to sort out and solve all of the ills of this world only to end up more tired and disheartened. But when I finally got up, I remembered a necklace. It was a necklace that belonged to my Aunt Ruth and I decided that I needed to wear it. And then I decided that I needed to hold it in my hands. And then halfway through the day, I realized that it had become an unusual set of prayer beads for me.
I came into possession of the necklace over 7 years ago when I picked it out to wear to her funeral. It was among other costume jewelry that Aunt Ruth had given my mother toward the end of her life. I kept the necklace after that day and have worn it on occasion since. I have no idea if the necklace was a gift to her or if it was purchased as the perfect accessory for a particular outfit. I don’t know if Aunt Ruth liked it, or if she wore it often, or if it held any value at all for her. But, I know that it was hers, and that it reminds me of her, and therefore it holds value for me.
Aside from my mother, Aunt Ruth was the only Methodist in our family when I was growing up. On both sides, my extended family was decidedly Southern Baptist. Aunt Ruth was the most devout and devoted Methodist I’ve ever known. She poured herself into the church and was not afraid to speak her mind if she felt things were out of order. She had a steady sense of right and wrong that was not swayed by popular opinion, or by fear of the loss of position. The only thing more important to her than the church was her family. My Aunt Ruth was the oldest of 5 children. She was a wife, a mother, a grandmother, and she more than lived into her biblical name. She was a woman of incredible strength and grace. She was fiercely loyal. She was unafraid to work hard and let her voice be heard. She was elegant and timeless, and one of the people that I admired most in my life. There have been so many times since she died that I wished I could have her counsel or seek the wisdom she gained from a life well lived. Throughout this week, I’ve wished for her presence. The last couple of days, I’ve felt it. I don’t know how Aunt Ruth would feel about the vote at General Conference this week. My guess is that it would make her sad to see her beloved church in turmoil. I believe with my whole heart that she would fight for my Rebekah and her place in this church- the Methodist Church that she lovingly served her whole life.
This morning, I ended the week by attending a memorial service for a fellow choir member. We celebrated her life well lived and the contributions she made to all those around her. And then I went to pray in the prayer room at Grace Avenue, holding my newly claimed prayer beads. I went to pray for clarity, for love, for strength, for guidance. I went to pray for the delegates in St. Louis, who are currently having hard conversations, holding tensions, searching for answers, and trying to move forward in love.
I have been in this room at least a hundred times over the years. And yet in all that time, I never noticed the details of the stained-glass cross in the center of the window. The stained-glass cross in the center of the window is filled with a rainbow of colors and sits under the arch of a rainbow in panes above it. The sunlight shone so brightly through it that it glowed and cast rainbows all around. And then the sobs came- again. I sat there staring at this window that I’ve seen a hundred times, and yet somehow have never seen clearly. I absolutely felt Aunt Ruth beside me with a loving presence of reassurance. Here I was surrounded in this place by love and rainbows and legacies of the past and promises of the future, but I could not find the words to pray- so I simply offered up my tears as my prayer.
Lord, in your mercy, hear my prayer.
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