Beloveds,
We’ve seen some difficult headlines this week. Most notably, the Supreme Court has been formally asked to consider overturning Obergefell v Hodges, the case that legalized same-sex marriage.
Even if the current legal analysis suggests the Court is highly unlikely to overturn the ruling, it’s enough to spike our anxiety. We all thought the same about Roe v Wade, too, right?
The fact that a core group of people just can’t seem to leave us alone and let us live our lives in peace is infuriating. The more I think about it, the angrier I get. They’re asking for a change in a ruling that doesn’t affect their lives either way.
The fact that they can’t understand the harm they’re advocating for is mind-boggling to me. Forgive me for assuming, but I imagine it must be for you, too.
Or, maybe you’ve moved into the denial stage of grief. Or the pure, unbridled rage. Or the numbness. Or the bargaining with God stage.
No matter what stage of grief you find yourself in, friends, it hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and I am so sorry. In this time of hurt and betrayal, I must remind us of something important: Don’t forget the lineage from which you come.
We come from a legacy of trailblazers and world-changers, of prophets and poets, of innumerable world wonders wrapped in human skin who show us the way to move forward during times of oppression and outright aggression toward our people.
We come from Marsha P. Johnson and Silvia Rivera, loud and proud activists who never stopped shouting for the world to pay attention to the plight of LGBTQ+ people.
We come from Harvey Milk and Baynard Rustin, gay politicians who knew how to get things done in courtrooms and capital buildings to create a more just society.
We come from Audre Lorde and Andrea Gibson, queer poets whose lyrical writings remind us of the joy, whimsy, pain and awe of being alive.
We come from Elton John and Freddie Mercury, queer musicians whose melodies changed the face of music as we know it.
Perhaps most profoundly of all, we come from Jesus Christ, who queered the boundaries of spirit and flesh as well as life and death, showing that life is still possible no matter who is trying to kill you.
None of them were gifted in all the areas needed to instigate necessary, systemic change. But they each had a deep, profound gift that was a necessary piece of the broader puzzle. Until we have a society that is more just, their work is our inheritance.
Don’t let these headlines freeze you into inaction. Learn from our predecessors and do what they did so fantastically: work your corner.
I know the phrase “work your corner” may sound unnecessarily provocative, as it alludes to imagery of sex workers standing on “their” street corner, aiming to get clients. I intentionally use it, though, because the people trying to take our rights away view our simple, daily lives as “corner work.”
A straight man kisses his wife on the cheek, and it’s endearing; I kiss my wife on the cheek, and it’s sexual and “too inappropriate” for children to see. I could go on, but you have your own examples playing through your head.
I’m not going to waste my time on my corner trying to hide who I am or the ways in which God has gifted me. I’m going to use my gifts to work my corner—to bring about change through the ways in which I’m equipped.
How are you equipped? What are your skills and talents, relationships and connections you can work right now?
Maybe you’re an artist who can create protest art. Maybe you’re a pastor who can officiate weddings (I’ve seen a number of you sharing so on social media this week–thank you). Maybe you’re a writer who can not only pen poems of our revolution, but also scripts for friends and strangers to use when calling their representatives.
What is your corner? How can you work it?
Listen, I know it’s not fair that we can’t simply sit back and enjoy our lives right now. That’s not the season we’ve been invited into, beloved. We have the chance to see that season, though, if we take up the mantle of those who came before us and continue their work.
In the book of Esther, after Esther is taken into the king’s palace, her uncle Mordechai learns that Haman intends to slaughter the Jews. He risks his life to appeal to his daughter, asking her to use her place of influence–her corner–to sway the king to save the Jews.
She initially didn’t want to, as she felt the king wanted nothing to do with her and wouldn’t listen. Her uncle wrote back
“Do not think that because you are in the king’s house, you alone of all the Jews will escape. For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:13-14).
Our individual places of privilege will not save us from this threat, but using our positions and talents for the collective just might.
Don’t give up, beloved. Don’t lose hope. If we believe there’s no hope left, then they’ve already won.
Stay strong, beloved. Lean on your community and do what you do best. We need you now more than ever.
With love,
Pastor Kali
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A bivocational pastor, writer and spiritual director based in Williamsburg, Virginia, she currently works as a Spiritual Director at Reclamation Theology. Cawthon-Freels is the author of Reclamation: A Queer Pastor’s Guide to Finding Spiritual Growth in the Passages Used to Harm Us (Nurturing Faith Books), and a contributing correspondent at Good Faith Media.
