Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
October 27, 2024

Eyes Wide Open
Mark 10:46-52

When I was in about fourth grade, the world was taken with a new visual phenomenon: Magic Eye images.

You may have seen your first one in a poster frame at the mall, with a soft pretzel or a fresh squeezed lemonade in your hand, a group of strangers crowded around close, squinting.  Or, if you’re like me, maybe it was at a scholastic book fair, a group of classmates leaning over the desk, saying things like: look through the picture!  Let your eyes unfocus!  With someone periodically exclaiming: ohhhh!  I see it!  A sailboat!

Magic Eye posters were a fad that swept the country in the early 90’s – a popular version of a “random dot stereogram, a visual trick that shows how humans can achieve the sensation” of seeing something in 3-D, “by looking at a pair of 2D images filled with randomized, black-and-white dots…”. By shifting where an image is placed relative to its background, the inventor of these images figured out how to “trick the brain into seeing depth and create the illusion” of seeing a flat image as 3-D.[1]

Developed by a couple of graphic designers, Magic Eye images hide a 3-D image behind repeating columns of brightly colored static.  When your eyes unfocus, the hidden image suddenly appears.  Many of you can remember that “aha” moment of suddenly seeing the car or the airplane behind the static.  In a design article about the Magic Eye craze, one journalist wrote, there is “something entrancing about staring at the hypercolored static, searching for something you can’t see but know is there. As satisfying as it is to best a trick, there’s a perverse pleasure in trying, and failing, to bring something hidden into view.”[2]

I have a confession: I could never see the hidden image.  Try as I might, my brain could not unscramble the static, and the 3-D image never appeared. Magic eyes left me cross eyed and headachey, frustrated that I couldn’t see the cool picture that everyone else saw.

It was an early lesson in the truth that sometimes, we can’t see the world the way others see it.  Our brains operate differently; what is obvious and evident to you may not be so clear to me, and vice-versa.  We need each other to help us see what our eyes, our brains overlook, or that which social location or experience hides from us.  The story of Bartimaeus is a good example of this.

We’ve been journeying with Jesus through Mark’s gospel over the past six weeks or so.  Along the way, Jesus has been teaching his disciples what discipleship looks like: humility, service, healing, and care.  As he travels through the Galilean countryside to Jerusalem, Jesus challenges social norms that prioritize some while shutting others out.  Women, children, people who are sick, those who are poor – the people the world forgets are the ones Jesus brings into the center.  “The first shall be last in the kingdom of God,” he says.  Three times, he predicts that his counter-cultural message will provoke the authorities, that he will be killed and in three days, rise again.

But his disciples don’t understand what he’s trying to tell them.  Try as they might, they just can’t see it.  James and John think discipleship will lead to political power if Jesus is the messiah, and they ask him to sit at his left and his right.  The rich man thinks adherence to the 10 commandments will be his ticket to the kingdom.  But Christ challenges all of them to embrace humility instead.  To walk the way of the cross.

So Mark shows us one more time what it means to be a disciple of Jesus.  Mark wants us to notice the irony, that the blind man can see Jesus clearly, can see who he is – calling out, Jesus, son of David! – naming Christ the Messiah, when those closest to Jesus don’t understand what that means.  Bartimaeus believes Jesus will heal him, so he persists in crying out, even though the crowds shush him, and try to silence him.

In Biblical times, a blind man would have had no means of livelihood, no place in polite society.  He would have been destitute, an outsider among outsiders.  His cloak would have been spread in front of him to catch the coins tossed by pilgrims on their way out of Jericho, heading towards Jerusalem as Jesus was.

Remember the story of the rich man, who was challenged by Jesus to sell everything, give the proceeds to the poor, and follow him?  The man wouldn’t, or couldn’t do it – he went away grieving, the story goes, because he had many possessions.  When Jesus calls out to Bartimaeus, the blind beggar is willing to jump up, leaving his cloak – likely the only garment he owns – behind in the dust of the road, to follow Jesus on the way.

For Mark, followers of Jesus must be bold, persistent, courageous, and humble.  We must be able to see the world around us clearly, even when others refuse to open their eyes to reality.  We must be like Bartimaeus — willing to leave everything behind in our haste to follow where Christ is leading.

My first year here, Kate Foster and McKenna Lewellen took me on a tour of the city, a tour that they often led for groups visiting the Center.  We went down to the inner harbor, over to East Baltimore near Hopkins hospital – which I now know is where the old Faith church building is.  We went to West Baltimore, and saw the old entertainment district along Pennsylvania Avenue, and the rows of vacant rowhouses of that showed the painful impact of disinvestment.  As we crossed neighborhoods, they pointed out how roads changed names as we moved from one part of town to another.  How affluence gave way to poverty in the span of just a few blocks.  And I began to see how red lines drawn on a map years ago persist in the life of the city today, dividing neighborhoods, sequestering wealth, abandoning neighborhood schools, and creating what Lawrence Brown named the Black butterfly.

It was as if the static of chance, the static that says this is just the way it is, the way the city grew, the way we who have choice continue to choose where and how we live and work – faded away, and the image of the racist policies that led to such disparity came into sharp relief.

I wonder if once you see those magic eye images, you can always see them – or if you have to go through the process every time to be able to grasp the image.  If it still takes some time, to be reminded of what’s there.

I wonder for how long Bartimaeus treasured his newfound sight – if every morning he awoke, blinking in the first light of dawn, praising God for opening his eyes to see the beauty and the bright truth of the world around him – the precious faces of his family, the smiles and crinkling eyes of his closest friends.

Our task as people of faith is to look past the static that blinds us to the truth of the world as it is.  And to follow Jesus as Bartimaeus did – once our eyes are opened – by seeking to challenge the forces of exclusion and oppression.  By building communities of care.  By holding on to the bright, shimmering truth when we glimpse it – a world suffused with the grace and goodness of God is to be treasured.

I know that watching or reading the news over the next few weeks is going to be challenging.  The last few weeks of this divisive, difficult election cycle are not going to be pretty.

Parker Palmer observes that “it takes no special talent to see what’s ugly, numbing, depressing, and death dealing in our world.  Staying aware of what’s good, true, and beautiful demands that we open our eyes, minds, and hearts, and keep them open.  …With eyes wide open, we can begin to see beauty in the most surprising places, not only in nature, but in human nature.  That’s what will give us the inspiration, strength, and courage to resist all that’s wrong and work for what’s right… Keep your eyes open, and keep hope alive.”[3]

May it be so.

[1] Stinson, Liz, “The Hidden History of Magic Eye, the Optical Illusion that Briefly Took Over the World,” July 1, 2022, Aiga Eye on Design, https://eyeondesign.aiga.org/the-hidden-history-of-magic-eye-the-optical-illusion-that-briefly-took-over-the-world/

[2] Ibid.

[3] Palmer, Parker J. Facebook post reflecting on Mary Oliver’s poem “Mindful.” January 29, 2019, https://www.facebook.com/share/p/emBosMPmatsKdTi4/

Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
October 13, 2024

Faith is an Action Verb
Mark 10:17-31

Black Mountain Presbyterian Church is a thriving congregation that sits right outside of the town center of Black Mountain – a vibrant main drag, with local galleries, shops, and restaurants, that was once home to the radical Black Mountain School.  The church sits far enough away from the Swannanoa River and its tributary, Flat Rock Creek, that it escaped the worst of the flooding two weeks ago.  But along with the rest of the town, they lost power and water, had no cell service, and were suddenly cast into tragedy and uncertainty when Helene swept in.

As the floodwaters receded and it became clear that many neighbors had lost their homes, and many,

many more were stranded by broken roads and failed infrastructure, the church sprang into action.  It emptied its fridges and began cooking hot meals outside under tents, feeding the folks who were camped out in cars along the road in Black Mountain.  As soon as supplies began to be trucked in, the church became a distribution point, setting up a triage area to receive and share food and other essential items.

Today, two weeks later, they are overflowing with donations.  The spacious narthex has become a food pantry, stacked to the ceiling with canned goods, lined with shelves brimming with soups and instant meals.  Hallways are piled high with cleaning supplies, gloves and buckets and bleach – all you’d need to clear the muck and mud out of a flooded house.  Their open fellowship hall has tables filled with diapers, medicine, and more.  Volunteers from as far away as Louisiana are helping sort, organize, and distribute things to the people who need them.  They’ve received so many contributions, they’re using a big hall in nearby Montreat as overflow storage.  And still, a team is outside – cooking and serving hot meals to their waterlogged neighbors.  The congregation has turned into a hub for community needs.

When Jesus says, all who follow me will have plenty of brothers and sisters and mothers in this life and in the life to come, I can’t help but think about that church, and the story of how they have sprung into action to care for their community in the wake of this tragedy.  Because what does family do if it doesn’t feed you, help shelter you, make sure you have what you need to get through?  Pastor Mary Katherine Robinson observed – “It’s bringing strangers together and making them friends, and that’s beautiful to watch.”[1]

“Good teacher,” the man asks: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”

Many of us have pondered this question at one point or another.  How can we be sure we are saved?  How do we get to heaven is a question commonly asked in our culture, or as I’m more likely to phrase it – how can we find our way into the reign of God?

These aren’t everyday, lighthearted questions.  These are questions that might weigh heavy on our souls, the ones that keep us up in the middle of the night.  The worry over getting it right drove the rich man to fall on his knees at Jesus’s feet, so concerned was he about salvation.  Still, they aren’t questions that we as Presbyterians spend a lot of time talking about.  And here’s why: as my friend and colleague Shannon Webster liked to say – quoting, I think, his old theology professor, “we believe God loves us not because we are good, but because God is good.”

And we remember this each week as we confess our faults and failures together in our prayer of confession.  We name collective shortcomings big and small, and have time to reflect in silence on our personal ones.  And each week, with a splash of baptismal waters, we are assured – there is nothing we can do and nothing we can fail to do that will separate us from God’s love.  Salvation is to be found not in anything that we do, but rather by the grace and love of God made known in Christ and community.

Still: Jesus tells the man: Sell what you have, give the money to the poor, and follow me, Jesus’s response to this man is typical.  Enigmatic.  Challenging.  It’s so upsetting the man leaves, upset, grieving.  The only time in the gospel stories when Christ invites someone to follow and is turned down!

Jesus turns the man’s concern about himself – what must I do to inherit eternal life – outwards, into concern for others.  Jesus shifts the focus – from personal piety to community service and generosity.  And shifts the time frame – from what might happen one day, in a far off eternity to how the man responds to immediate needs, here and now.  Maybe the teacher is teaching us that service is an outward expression of inner convictions – care for others and concern for people who are poor is a demonstration of discipleship.  What if it is our generosity and care for one another that saves us?

The core of Jesus’ teaching to this rich man is that wealth is an impediment to grace.  Our stuff gets in the way of our ability to be disciples.  It insulates us from reliance on God and one another.

I wonder how we hear this truth as American Christians.  Evangelical scholar Ron Sider calls us Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger.  Plenty of interpreters have tried to explain this story away, but I believe we need to hear it now more than ever.  Because of our social location.  Because of our shared wealth.  Because we have enough, and when we have enough, God calls us to generosity.

There is a Japanese theologian named Kosuke Koyama who says that though we live in a fast-paced world, God is a slow God.  God moves, Koyama says, at three miles per hour – the speed that Jesus moved as he walked and talked through Galilee.   He writes: “The work of God goes on in the depth of our life, whether we notice or not, whether we are currently hit by storm or not, at three miles an hour. It is the speed we walk and therefore it is the speed the love of God walks.”[2]  The work of God in the world is unlikely to be at a pace of our own choosing.  IT seldom happens quickly.  But the Spirit is still at work.

We come together in this place week after week to hear and be reminded of the love of God, and the call of our loving God to give and care generously.  To look beyond ourselves and see the needs around us, and to discern together what good we can do.  Not because our salvation depends on it – God’s got that covered already – but because Faith is an action verb.  It is something that we do together.  Because we trust God is at work, albeit slowly, we lend our hands and hearts to the task of loving our neighbors, of advocating for change.  We give generously, trusting that God will use what we offer.  And trusting that our community, this community, will support us when needs arise.

I’m grateful for the wisdom of the deacons in creating the DEAR fund – a resource available to members and friends of this church who have emergency needs.  Medical bills, car repairs, rental assistance, help recovering after a fire – the DEAR fund has helped bridge the gap for folks in need in our Faith family.

Yesterday, our kitchen and fellowship hall were filled with folks chopping, sauteeing, prepping casseroles and gift bags for folks who are in homebound, or otherwise in need of a little help and care.

I am grateful for the care and example of Black Mountain Presbyterian Church.  But you know what?  I am also grateful for the care and example of this family of Faith.

[1] Robinson, Mary Katherine, qtd. By Carter, Darla in “Black Mountain Presbyterian Church and Volunteers bringing ‘beautiful spirit’ to feeding and supporting the community,” Presbyterian News Service, 10/8/24, https://www.presbyterianmission.org/story/black-mountain-presbyterian-church-and-volunteers-bringing-beautiful-spirit-to-feeding-and-supporting-the-community/?utm_content=311293034&utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook&hss_channel=fbp-22627435207

[2] Kosuke Koyama, “Three Mile an Hour God,” in Three Mile an Hour God: Biblical Reflections (Orbis, 1979), 6-7. Found on External Word blog, Nicholas Lash, Theological quotes, 9/20/13, https://externalword.blog/2013/09/20/kosuke-koyama-on-the-speed-of-god/

Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
March 24, 2024

People Power!
Mark 11:1-11

In September of 2003, the Dalai Lama visited Washington, DC, and offered an address at the National Cathedral.  It was the second anniversary of the September 11 attacks, and, as I was living in DC at the time, I knew I needed to be there to hear him.  The sun was shining brilliantly, the sky was sparkling blue as I got off the metro. Walking toward the cathedral, the sidewalks began to be crowded with people – all heading the same direction, walking to hear the Dalai Lama.  When we reached the entrance to the grounds, I realized that the line to get into the cathedral stretched down the driveway, through the gate, and out to the street – then curved down the sidewalk and around the corner!  So, we kept going, walking another two blocks to join the end of the line.  Then, we waited, slowly winding our way along the tree-lined streets, standing in the dappled shade as we inched toward the sanctuary.  It took more than an hour to get onto the grounds of the cathedral, and by that time the nave was filled to capacity.  So as the organizers set up loudspeakers outside, we found a spot on the lawn, and sat down crisscross applesauce on the grass amidst the crowds of others to listen.  If I’m honest, I don’t remember much about what he said.  I had to strain to hear, to sort through his accent and the echo of the loudspeaker.  An article in the Post afterwards said that there were more than 3000 people sitting outside in overflow – what I remember is the hush that fell over the crowd that day –  it was as if together we held our breath and leaned in, just hungry for words of hope from this wise teacher.

At that time, the horror of the war on terror was just beginning to unfold.  The Bush administration was spinning the tale about yellowcake uranium that would become their justification, their fabricated justification for invading Iraq.  They’d just outed Valerie Plame.  I was 22 years old, simultaneously brimming with idealism and furious about the drumbeat for war that was reverberating in Washington at the time.  So I leaned in, we all did, listening so carefully, for a world leader to guide us on a path to peace.  We needed it.  I needed it.

Who have you joined a large crowd to see?  Who have you waited in a ridiculous line to hear, or stretched on tiptoes by the side of the road just to catch a glimpse of, to draw near to?  Politicians draw a crowd.  Some musicians do.  4.35 million people saw the Taylor Swift Eras Tour, that’s almost the entire population of Los Angeles.  They say you can hear the roar of the crowd by a red carpet from blocks away.  Fans flock to see the Ravens and the Orioles and the athletes who play professional and collegiate sports… all people and events that may require a bit of patience to witness.  The biggest crowds I’ve been in lately have been political demonstrations, the street theatre of protests and pride parades.

If you’ve been in a crowd like that, you know the tenor changes based on the message of its leadership.  The Dalai Lama, three thousand people sit quietly in the grass.  The Rally to Save America led some 2000 people to storm the US Capitol, wreak havoc and interrupt the certification of electoral votes.

I can’t help but wonder what the tenor of the crowd was that day in Jerusalem.  The city would have been overflowing with people, peasants who poured in from the countryside to celebrate Passover, to make their sacrifices in the temple.  Remember that Israel was an occupied land; there would’ve been a lot of Roman military presence for the festival, to keep order, to prevent a revolt.

But that doesn’t stop Jesus from continuing with his plan. Christ’s followers line the street down from the Mount of Olives, they wait for hours – no dappled shade here, they stand in the sun by the rocky road.  They wait, and shout and stand on tiptoes in the dust just to catch a glimpse of him.  Their hope nearly crackles in the air – Hope that Jesus would save the people from Rome, end their suffering, and rule as King over Israel.

When he finally comes into view… what must they have thought?  This?  This is our savior?  A man riding a donkey?  No saddle to sit on, just the draped fabric of a cloak?

We’re too far removed to realize this, we don’t have a good frame of reference, but people of that time would have known that Jesus is engaging in carefully calculated political theatre here.  This is a protest, one that pits the power of the people against the power of Rome.  When Roman generals returned from war, they would ride their chariots through the city gates with throngs of people cheering their return.  Prancing white horses led the marching army straight to the temple of their war god, where the general would make a sacrifice.  Ched Meyers points out that Jesus is entering Jerusalem as a conquering hero, a general returning from war.  Instead of a chariot, Jesus rides a donkey – evoking the promise of the prophet Zechariah, who predicts the savior of Israel will come on a colt.  Jesus has no crown of laurel on his head, but he will soon wear a crown of thorns.  Rome ruled through military power, oppressing the people through taxation and the threat of violence.  The kingdom Christ brings is different than that.  His is the way of peace, and solidarity.  The way of love – the only power that is stronger than hate, able to survive anything – even death.

Though they understand him to be their messiah, it’s clear that the crowds don’t fully understand who Christ is and what he came to do.  His ministry has offered healing, and wisdom, calling people to life abundant.  But we are schooled in the ways of death.  We believe in fire power, not people power; we bow to the rule of violence.  And so that is what many expected, and hoped he would bring: a violent uprising to overthrow their oppressors.  But Jesus and the drama of holy week teach us that God won’t swoop in to smite our enemies.  God will not singlehandedly undo wrongs wrought on the world, God needs our hands for that.  The divine is not a conquering hero.  God works in humble ways, sitting us down, criss-cross applesauce in the grass to break bread together, to share abundance, to hear words of peace even when we have to listen hard, even when we have to strain to hear them.

There are churches that call this day “palm and passion Sunday” – the idea being that we read all of the holy week texts today, so we don’t jump from the joy of the palm parade into the joy of the resurrection and miss all of the pain of Holy Week in between.  But we aren’t going to do that.  One, because I hope you’ll find a way to be part of our observation in the days ahead, gathering for a meal on Thursday, coming here to remember and hear again the story of the crucifixion on Friday, making space for prayer and reflection on Saturday, before we gather again in hope on Sunday.  But we’re not rehearsing the passion story today because we live in a good Friday world.  We don’t need to be reminded of the suffering around us, we feel it in our very bones.  130 dead at a concert on the other side of the world, in the nation of our sworn enemy, and still our hearts ache for those families, their community.  What we need to hold onto this holy week is God’s promise in Christ not to abandon us here, in the midst of our grief, stuck in the jaws of disillusionment and war.  But to face the reality of evil and sin and death with quiet courage, committed to walk the way of peace.  No matter what.

Thanks be to God.

 

 

Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
February 25, 2024

Who is He to Us?
Mark 8:27-38

In Hendersonville, NC, not far from where my parents live, there is a small aquarium.  They have some 300 aquatic animals and are staffed by a team of volunteers and interns.  And it is there, in the Aquarium and Shark Lab in Buncombe County, North Carolina – that a miracle has occurred, a miracle involving a small stingray named Charlotte.  Charlotte has lived in a tank with no males of her species for the past 8 years.  Yet somehow, Charlotte is pregnant!  Her round, serving platter sized body has a large hump, and any day now she could give birth to as many as four pups.  Did she mate with a shark?  Was it immaculate conception?  Scientists say probably not – instead, a rare but not unheard-of occurrence called parthenogenesis, in which a creature impregnates itself.[1]  Hear Jeff Goldblum saying, “Life, ah, finds a way.”  Left in a shark tank by herself for longer than Gillian has been alive, Charlotte found a way.  What a strange world we live in, where people across the internet are anxiously awaiting the birth of stingray Jesus.

It makes sense, because other news the past few weeks has been bleak.

I have been particularly heartbroken by the death of a teenager in Oklahoma I read about this week.  Their name was Nex.  They were 16 years old.  They should be studying, and planning for summer, and laughing with friends, or lounging at home, but no.  Those of you who follow the news know that Nex died two weeks ago, after a fight in the girls’ bathroom at school.  See, Nex lives in Oklahoma, in a town called Owasso.  I went to college with a girl from Owasso, she grew up in the Presbyterian church there, her childhood pastor wrote one of my favorite Presbyterian primers (called Being Presbyterian in the Bible Belt[2]) – all of which to say that Owasso has some strong, faithful, progressive Presbyterians but still, it is not a safe place for trans and nonbinary kids.  In Oklahoma, kids may not use the bathroom that corresponds with their gender identity; neither may they be called by their chosen name in school, only by the name and gender on their birth certificate.  And so Nex was bullied at school, and never talked with the school administration about it because, they said, what difference would it make?  February 7 was no different.  Three older girls made fun of what Nex and their friends were wearing, so Nex stood up for themselves, and got thrown to the floor, knocking their head on the ground, and blacking out.  Kicked out of school, and sent home.  Nex seemed to be okay, but complained of a headache.  Their grandma rushed them to the ER the next day, but it was too late.[3]

Now there isn’t an authoritative report yet about what happened.  We can’t know.  The police made a statement, saying that trauma didn’t cause that child’s death.  Maybe it would be more accurate to say that trauma didn’t immediately cause that child’s death.  Instead it was caused by having to exist in a world that insisted on a false binary, refusing to see the beautiful spectrum, the rainbow of identities that encompass all of us.  Death by a thousand cuts.

This was a preventable tragedy.  Schools should be safe, and adults – teachers, administrators, parents, community members – must do what we can to make them so.  Kids should be able to be who they are, to identify however they believe best expresses their evolving identities.  When someone tells you who they are, believe them.

In our passage this morning, Peter professes the truth about Jesus: you are the Christ, the anointed one.  It’s the first time one of Jesus’s disciples names this truth about him.  First, Jesus tells Peter not to tell anyone, and then Jesus tells Peter what it means to be God’s anointed one… what kind of Messiah he will be.  But Peter didn’t believe him.  Jesus told him who he was, but Peter didn’t understand.  Peter was stuck on an old belief; he thought a messiah would be a conquering hero, overthrowing Rome to put a king like David back on the throne.  But Jesus didn’t come seeking political power. He isn’t building military power and might.  Instead, Jesus came to show a new way, the way of peace.  He came to confront the reality of evil in the world, to vanquish the power of empire and lead us in the way to justice, healing, and peace.

Jesus knew the path ahead would be dangerous – not just for him, but for all those who walked with him.  People who challenged Rome were crucified, publicly, to dissuade others from making the same mistake.  Some scholars think “take up your cross” may have been a rallying cry for revolutionaries at that time, so certain was Rome’s response to resistance.  By telling his disciples to pick up their crosses and follow him, Jesus is naming the risk of discipleship: they risk their very lives.  Jesus knows that his work to uplift the poor, to feed the hungry, to heal the sick, to help the suffering will provoke those who benefit from the world as it is.  Jesus challenges the death-dealing powers of the world, inviting people to life and life abundant.

For we who hear Jesus when he says, pick up your cross, and follow me – for all of us who are called to be disciples, the road ahead is difficult.  We are called to work that asks us to give everything we can, all that we are, to build peace.  To cultivate compassion.  To create communities and support schools where kids like Nex are free to be themselves.  Where children can grow up, and live to old age without fear, whether they are Palestinian or Israeli, Ukrainian or Russian, from Park Heights or Pimlico.

Reading this text is something we must do carefully.  Because we’ve all heard it used a different way – used to keep people stuck in impossible situations.  Stay put, don’t leave your abusive spouse or challenge your terrible boss, suffering is just your cross to bear.

But Christ came to bring life, and to bring it abundantly; he offered sight to the blind, and set captives free.  Suffering in and of itself is not holy – it’s not God’s will for us to suffer.  But, still- When someone tells you who they are, believe them – Jesus told us, and showed us, that the way of discipleship is not easy.  We who wish to follow Jesus must be brave.  We must be willing to risk speaking up and showing up for people and causes we believe in.  We must be willing to sacrifice time, invest our resources, and dedicate ourselves to the messy, beautiful, ongoing work of building and being beloved community.  Trusting the truth that somehow, life will find a way… after all, we live in a world where a stingray named Charlotte can conceive on her own!

We don’t have to be beholden to false binaries, or old beliefs.  With God, anything is possible, even going a new way, a way of peace.  May we all find the courage to speak up, to create safe and brave spaces, so that all might thrive in the days ahead.  May it be so.

[1] Watercutter, Angela, “Why TikTok is so Obsessed with a Mysteriously Pregnant Stingray” Wired, 2/23/24, https://www.wired.com/story/charlotte-pregnant-virgin-stingray-jesus/

[2] Foote, Ted and P. Alex Thornburg, Being Presbyterian in the Bible Belt: A Theological Survival Guide for Youth, Parents, and other Confused Presbyterians, Geneva Press:Louisville, KY, 2000.

[3] Goodman, J David, “In Video, Nonbinary Student Describes Fight in Oklahoma School Bathroom,” The New York Times, 2/24/24, https://www.nytimes.com/2024/02/24/us/oklahoma-bathroom-video-nex-benedict.html