And Injustice for All

The church was probably mainline protestant, but might have been christened Catholic at one time. There were ornate stained-glass windows on both sides of the pews, flanked by elaborate carved wood figures with the occasional covering of gold leaf. The church wasn't full, but it wasn't empty; the pews dotted with silent, bored, elderly members, tired of the pomp and circumstance of every Sunday, but obliged to attend because of their upbringing. It was a rainy windshield in front of a dark gray sky.

When I walked in, I chose to sit on the lefthand side next to two middle-aged, be-sweatered gentlemen. It was closer to the back than the middle, but not far enough that I was in teenage territory. The organ began to bellow behind us, rumbling of psalms and choruses, often sung but usually forgotten. It was an average Sunday, between Epiphany and Lent, and all were prepared for another monotone sermon by the aged pastor, who had been master of the pulpit since 1977.

As the prelude droned, I took stock of those around me. Most were clothed in dark, neutral colors, probably to match the weather of that Sunday. But the two men next to me wore brighter colors in their similar apparel. They were dressed a little too well for church.

Then the murmuring began. I looked up to find a different man standing at the front of the church, clothed in jeans and a denim button-up, forsaking the traditional white robe and sash. It appeared no one knew who he was, but he took charge as though he'd been doing this for centuries. "Fellow followers of Christ," he said, speaking loudly over the now discussion-filled sanctuary, "Your former "pastor", shall we say, is gone this week. I have been led by the Spirit to speak to you today."

At once everyone quieted at this man's daring authority; authority claimed to have been bestowed upon him by God. He began to preach a characteristically evangelical sermon, inserting comments about the game last night, declarations against the music of the popular culture, and laughing about his daughter's latest news at the family dinner table.

Then the tone changed as he caught sight of the two men seated next to me. "Fornicators!" he said, wrinkling his face in anger, "Faggots! You have been found guilty of the unforgivable sin by the Lord our God!"

I stared back at this newcomer, startled. I quickly looked around to see who else was as confused and flustered as I, but it appeared that time stood still; it was only me and the men seated next to me who heard these words. The congregation was paused mid-movement, mid-sneeze.

When I had seated myself next to these men, I knew that they were a couple. It was obvious by the way they spoke in peaceful, happy voices and looked at each other with love in their eyes. I thought nothing of it; they were welcome in this house of worship by unspoken agreement.

Then I noticed their reaction. Neither one looked angry or opened their mouth to fight back; they merely sat, heads down, silent and sad.

The accuser continued his tirade, "You dare to defy God and His laws! Look at yourselves! You are no longer men; you have traded your masculinity in for the ways of woman! Why do you show your unholy faces in this holy place? Don't you know you have committed yourselves eternally to hell? For the Lord has said, "Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor male prostitutes nor HOMOSEXUAL OFFENDERS nor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God." Do you disagree with Him?!"

As I spoke, I looked to my friends. They nodded, and slowly we began to stand, facing the accuser with tears streaming down our faces. He continued to yell, and it took all that was in me not to yell back. Because that wouldn't help. It wouldn't make him stop. There was nothing we could do but face our accuser and give him what he wanted: the pain that poured silently from our eyes and our hearts.

Eventually, worn out, he began to slow his speech, but began to curse us louder as we turned and slowly walked out of the church into the warm sunshine. I stood with these men, these brothers, and hugged them, begging forgiveness for the accuser, the church, the world.




This was a dream I had 3 nights ago. I'm still learning.