Beloved Child of God: Pride Sermon

“Through Him, All Things” by Lauren Wright Pittman

I had the privilege of preaching at this year's Pride Worship for the DeKalb/Sycamore community. It was based on Jeremiah 1:4-10 and Luke 4:14-21. 

I am greatful for the faith leaders in this area who joined in planning and leading this year's service and to Salem Lutheran Church in Sycamore for hosting. 

A note, there might be grammatical errors or missing words, I don't edit the sermons I preach, and often do not read word for word. 

Grace, peace, and mercy be to you from God our Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. Amen. 

 

Beloved child of God, you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever. 

 

Those are the words that are said at someone’s baptism, they are the words that claim us as God’s own child, marked with the cross of Christ, marked with the love of Jesus lived out in his life, death, and resurrection. It is a big statement that we, as children, as adults, as infants, are sealed by the Holy Spirit, marked with the cross of Christ forever. These words are an invitation to trust in what we cannot see, to be willing to be led into places that we haven’t even begun to imagine yet. Those are the words that I am relying on today, as I stand before you as a pastor in the church of Christ, a member of the DeKalb community, as a transgender individual, who is trying their hardest to trust in the promises of my childhood, who is going through the motions to make sense of what is happening in this world. 

 

These words have been etched on my heart since I was an infant; they held me close as I grieved the death of friends and family. These are the words that have supported me as I battled the insecurities of adolescence. These are the words I turned to many years ago when I began questioning who I was created to be, questioning did God make a mistake with me. These are the words that I try to lean into when I find myself up against the lies the media is spewing. These are the words that I tried to reconcile when I decided to no longer hide who I am, no longer willing to be in the closet. These are words that you may have never heard or believed, but I am here to tell you that even if the water wasn’t poured, the cross wasn’t traced, the words spoken here today are for me and for you. These words are not just said in baptism but is the promise that we get in our readings today, that we are claimed and named beloved. That naming doesn’t come with the requirement of being a certain type of person, who loves a certain type of people, who have a certain set of abilities. That naming is for you, the questioning, the immigrant, the queer, the struggling, the non-believers, the one living with a disability, the closeted and everyone in between. 

 

This naming is what has held me through the moments of doubt, through the rejection, through the fear, through the anger. I grew up in the 90’s a time and place where social issues wasn’t something we thought a lot about. My upbringing was wonderful, I had the picture-perfect family, a nuclear family if you may, a mom who became everyone’s mom, a dad who worked hard so that my siblings and I could have everything we needed. But growing up in that time and place, the child of two parents from small towns, conversative leaning, meant that it wasn’t until later that I learned you could be someone else, someone that doesn’t fit the status quo, that what others may see on the outside should be a reflection of who you feel like on the inside, not based on the anatomy you were born with. 

 

My childhood can be summed up with the understanding that I was a tomboy through and through, something everyone assured my parents I would grow out of. Athletic shorts, graphic tees and ball caps were my go-to clothing option and fits were had if I had to wear anything else. As I grew, the pressure of my peers got to me, and I tried and failed at dressing more feminine. The sleeves became shorter on my shirts, dresses were borrowed from friends, and the smile was plastered on. But even when I tried to wear the clothes I should have been wearing as a teenage girl, if felt more like I was playing dress up than becoming who I was destined to be. I lived in this polarizing sense of self throughout high school and college, I tried to do what others were doing, I tried to pretend to like the things my college roommates liked, fawn over the hot actors in the movies, dress up for parties, but I found myself more and more relying on my cargo shorts, graphic tees and ball caps. It wasn’t until my senior in college, while watching Boys Don’t Cry, that I realized that you didn’t have to grow up to be what society deems acceptable based on your biological sex. 

 

It was in a matter of months that I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, in an empty apartment that I proclaimed to myself who I was, who others always saw me as, who I was created to be. It was in those months of self-discovery that I started to recognize that there were signs all around me ushering me to this discovery, it was almost as a weight had been lifted. But just as I was becoming comfortable with who I was and who I was becoming, the fear snuck in and stole my breath. 

 

How was I going to tell my pastor, the church I worked at, my academic advisor, the summer camp I was planning on returning to that the person they once knew wasn’t who I was today? 

How was I going to walk into a sanctuary knowing that people in the pews would be upset, be fearful of who I am now, and hear words that condemned who I was becoming?

How was I going to tell my parents that the baby girl they brought home from the hospital, their youngest daughter, that I was actually their son?

 

Those are questions that kept me in the closet, they are the questions that still swirl when I go to new places, those are questions that hit me like a brick wall when I started receiving texts on January 20^th. Those are questions, that I am sure, we have all faced in one way or another at some point in our life. 

 

These past six months have been some of the most stressful months in my life, really since coming out. All the fears that kept my in the closet, that was quickly dimmed by the warm welcome I received by friends and allies, came back, with vengeance. How can I live my truth in a country that has decided my life doesn’t have value? How can I preach the words that we are God’s beloved when so many are using God’s own words to strip the rights of my neighbors?

 

Most of the time my questions build and build, they are on an endless list running in the background of every interaction, questions about if I am worthy, questions about if I am right, questions about who someone else may think or believe, questions about if it would be better to seclude myself back in the closet. But then I think about our Gospel for today, it is not the appointed Gospel for this weekend but one that I was drawn to. 

 

This is a piece of a larger story in the Gospel of Luke. Jesus is traveling around and teaching, showing his disciples and followers that there is another way than following the path of the religious leaders who are beginning to stray away from who God is. Today we see Jesus returning home, the place where he grew up, the place where he tested his parents’ love, made friendships with those in the area, and learned the skills of his dad. It was the Sabbath day, a day set aside for rest, and Jesus did what he knew, he went to the synagogue to read scripture, to proclaim to those in the space that God has appointed him to bring the good news to the poor, to release the captives to heal and to show God’s love. The part we don’t see is the grumbles, is the snickers, is the doubt that followed Jesus’ proclaiming what Jesus had known as the truth, challenging the status quo. Jesus returned home and forced others to see him as himself, not the person he was in his childhood, but the person God created him to be. 

 

Jesus preached against what people knew, Jesus challenged what was right and what was wrong, Jesus preached and lived a life that invited others to not see their neighbor as a stranger but to see them as God sees us, as someone who is worthy of love, worthy of being fed, worthy of the dignity that those who fit the status quo has. Jesus wasn’t spared from the rejection, the fear, the hatred; it is what led him to his death on the cross. Jesus wasn’t afraid of the rejection or the hatred because he undoubtedly believed in what he was saying, who he was, and continues to be is the truth. 

 

Living as Jesus lived, being confident in our authentic is something we are being called to strive to be, and it is even more important today that we live into our belovedness. You are claimed, with the baggage you have, the pain, the fear, the joy, the love, as a beloved child of our Creator, a beloved child who is worthy of love, whose life is worthy.  

 

Even when I boldly proclaim that you are a beloved child of God, I know it takes a lot of trust to believe that it is for you. But please know, that I wouldn’t proclaim it if I didn’t believe it myself.

 

As I was writing my sermon, I found myself stuck on how to end it, what words could I come up with that would leave a mark, and what I came up with were the words that I have held close for the last 12 years of my life, the words of Joel Workin. Joel was someone I never got a chance to meet; he died of AIDS before he was able to become a pastor in the church, but his words have given me comfort. In his death, his writings have been collected in a book called Dear God, I am gay – Thank you! Much of what Joel wrote about was his experience in a church that refused to allow gay and lesbians to become pastors. Thankfully, since his death, the church that I belong to and many of the churches represented tonight allow not only gay and lesbians but also transgender individuals to follow God’s call to serve the church. His writings talk about the pain that he felt, but also about the faith that sustained him. One of the pieces of writing is a prayer that I have recited time and time again, and in that prayer, he makes promises that I wish to leave you with tonight, promises that I am going to keep as we continue to live in a world that is working so hard on dividing us.

 

"God, this is my promise to you, this is what I will do with your help: I promise to live always in your light and never to return to the darkness. As much as the world may preach hatred, I will respond in love. As much as the world preaches fear and fright, I will stand fast in your peace and assurance. As much as the world may beat and oppress, I will forgive and await reconciliation. As much as I and my siblings may grow weary and despairing, yet I will trust and believe that with you all things are possible. As much as I fail and stumble, I will repent and cling to your mercy. Having seen your love enfleshed, your caring grace and compassion at work in my new family, I will not hide or cower or become embittered or unbelieving. I will hope and trust, and I will endure the blows and insults and the rejections when they come, but I will not hide and will not fear. As your child, I will and I will love, no matter what.”

 

Amen.