Next Wednesday is Epiphany, the anniversary in the Christian church's calendar when the three wise men arrived in Bethlehem with gifts for the Christ child. And, just as that event was a gathering of threes-three wise men, a family of three, and (in a delightfully non-Unitarian sense), the birth of trinitarianism, this will be full of threes. Not, perhaps, a wise thing to do it an Unitarian church, but its my first sermon, so perhaps you'll forgive me.
Epiphany, of course, has another, more recent, meaning. Webster's dictionary says it's "a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something" or "an intuitive grasp of reality through something (as an event) usually simple and striking" or "an illuminating discovery" or "revealing scene or moment." And, this sermon is about three epiphanies in my life that, as it turns out were associated with Epiphany.
"Ah," you may ask, "but what does this sermon have to do with dignity?" Let me tell you about Dignity. Dignity is-in addition to a concept related to worth, honor, and esteem-the name that gay and lesbian Catholics chose for a church organization to serve their needs outside of the established church. I want to tell you three personal stories about Dignity.
Now, I'm not gay, and I'm certainly not Catholic. But I have a gay brother (and a gay son, but he's not part of this story). My brother is a true Unitarian-comfortable in any church-and during one period his life found spiritual comfort in the Catholic church. Catholics, he claims, are quite similar to Unitarians in that they believe in a personal religion, personally arrived at. Getting back to Dignity, it was natural for my brother to find his way to Dignity during this period in his life. And, because he's the kind of person to drag his friends and relatives into everything he does, I found myself (along with my father, who is also neither gay nor Catholic) sitting in a small church (actually an MCC church) in San Diego attending a Dignity mass. And here's the thing. This mass was like any other Catholic mass. An ordained Catholic priest showed up, participated in a normal church service, and administered the sacrament (that's what they say, isn't it, "administer the sacrament?") What made the whole affair so extraordinary for me was that this event occurred in San Diego. Now if you're a priest, oh anywhere, I suppose, but especially if you're a priest in San Diego, you are not supposed to go off to some strange church and give a Mass for gay and lesbian people. Yet, there he was, risking his professional status, and, for all I know, his immortal soul. And he thereby transformed a perfectly ordinary act into one of unimaginable courage. Epiphany Number 1.
Let's move on to the second story. Dignity, as you might guess, is a nationwide (maybe international) organization, and like any organization, it sponsors those rites and rituals needed just to keep itself going. One of those rites is the fellowship dinner, in which members gather for a rubber-chicken feast and an endless series of boring testimonials concerning the organization. So, on one of my visits to San Diego, for the very same reason that I found myself at a Dignity mass, I also found myself at a Dignity fellowship dinner. This dinner was like all dinners of its kind. Various Dignitites (Dignitaries?) sit around comparing notes on the political and social goings-on in their chapters. Then someone steps up a mike, taps a couple of times, and asks for our attention. What follows are a long, boring, series of remarks about other members, past and present, and the future of the organization. Again, these speeches were no different from those heard at any other church fellowship dinners.
Except, maybe, for a couple of things. First, some of the past members spoken of were past members not because they had moved on, but because they were dead or dying of AIDS-more on that later. Second, many of the speakers were in uniform who spoke of colleagues in uniform. Not an unusual thing in San Diego since it is, after all, a Navy town. What made the whole affair so extraordinary was the willingness of these men and women, first to willingly defend a nation that was more than uncomfortable accepting them as defenders or indeed as citizens,for reasons deeply rooted in bigotry and prejudice. (This was back in the "don't do" days, before "don't ask; don't tell.") Just as remarkable was their willingness to appear in uniform in an almost public forum. A Naval officer appearing in uniform and giving a speech at a church dinner is nothing out of the ordinary, quite as unremarkable as a priest giving a Mass. But, as in the first story, the setting provided by Dignity transformed this most ordinary event into one of extraordinary courage. Epiphany Number 2.
Let's move on to the third story, which, as it turns out occurs on Epiphany, in the same church as the first story. The service, on this occasion is lay led, and, befitting the occasion features three wise men, each of whom had something to say, and what they had to say had to do with acceptance-acceptance of gays and lesbians, not by other folks, but by God. Wise man Number 1 was a rather large and jolly soul, appropriately enough, the very incarnation of Santa Claus, our modern version of the Magi. He spoke of acceptance here on earth. God's commandments, he says, are those of faith and good works. Sexual orientation is simply not a consideration in His scheme of things. And, what a gift that if, I imagine. If you are gay or lesbian, and Catholic, it's a good message to find under your Christmas tree. Something you can hold on to the rest of your life.
Wise man Number 2 looked nothing like Wise Man Number 1. He was a thin, sickly looking, Hispanic fellow, but, if the Grinch had stolen his Christmas, he certainly didn't show it. He spoke also about acceptance-acceptance in heaven. Straight, gay, lesbian, whatever-he said, there's room in heaven for you; a place has been prepared. And what a gift that is, I imagine. If, like the second wise man, and others in the congregation, you are dying of AIDS, this is the message that you want to find under your Christmas tree.
Now the third wise man was not a man; she was a woman, and she spoke to old testament reading that I chose for this service. The message in this reading was also one of acceptance-acceptance in the Church. Acceptance, full participation in the church, says the third wise man, is not a matter of gender, but rather, a matter of faith. And what a gift that is, I imagine, if you are a woman of faith who can't understand why you're a second class citizen in the church. This message, that you are not, a second class citizen in the real, church is just what you want to find under your Christmas tree.
Well, it's my hope that by now, your liberal, feminist, maybe even radical deconstructionist, consciousnesses have been raised to record highs and are screeching at you like the sound of fingernails on a blackboard. Forget the Catholic establishment in San Diego. Forget the military. Here we have a woman-a lesbian, even, and therefore double-victimized-who has been so hegemonized ... (Is that a word? If it isn't I'm sure that the radical deconstructionists will make it one.) ... so hegemonized that she chooses a tale of obvious male domination as an expression of her misguided faith in an male-dominated institution based on dark- and middle-age dogma. Let's help her out, in our imagination. Let's suppose that she takes herself seriously, that she believes there is a real church that is all to imperfectly represented by Catholicism. She decides that the best way to serve this church is to become a U-U minister. Which she does, and, as fate would have it, she finds herself a candidate for minister of the newly expanded Community U-U church of San Antonio. Her candidating sermon is on January 6, 2000, and to open the millennium she revives her 1992 Epiphany sermon, expanding a bit here and there.
The search committee (sigh) is obviously uncomfortable with the candidate. "Is it because I'm a woman? Because I'm Lesbian?" she asks?
"No," they reply, we like women in our pulpits and gays and Lesbians and African-Americans, and Hispanics. We're cherish diversity."
"Well, then, what's the problem?"
"It's this God thing. You, know, the faith bit."
"This is a church, and you have a problem with God and faith?"
"Well, yes. Many members of our congregation are uncomfortable with those notions. And then there's the Christ problem too. We're really not into Jesus."
"Oh," she says, "then I'm just what your congregation needs. Unitarianism is known for its acceptance of all true believers, no matter what their beliefs, and I'm certainly a true believer. You've just told me that you value diversity. I bring you not just biological diversity but true spiritual diversity. What's more, most of your congregation is uncomfortable with my beliefs. You U-Us are well known for fostering intellectual discomfort. When can I start?"
So, the third wise man is speaking to us. She brings us back to essentials, to faith, but not just faith, to a consideration of what we consider fundamental, what makes us Unitarian-Universalists, and she leads us out of that dark place where dogma, albeit unwritten and even unspoken, dominates our institutional decisions.
And what a gift to find under our Christmas tree. The courage born of Dignity that gives us the power to do the ordinary, no matter how uncomfortable it may seem. Epiphany Number 3.
I'll close with W. H. Auden's description of this very same courage in a man called Joseph standing in the shadows of the stable as the Magi depart.
To do what is difficult all of your days,
As if it were easy. Joseph praise.
Here's to Dignity.