Living Under the Rainbow

A Worship Service on Living the Welcoming Congregation

By the Reverends Mark W. Christian and Jonalu Johnstone

First Unitarian Church of Oklahoma City

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Reading

A Network of Mutuality

Martin Luther King, Jr (SLT 584)

We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny.           In justice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.  There are some things in our social system to which all of us ought to be maladjusted.  Hatred and bitterness can never cure the disease of fear, only love can do that.  We must evolve for all human conflict a method which rejects revenge, aggression, and retaliation.  The foundation of such a method is love.  Before it is too late, we must narrow the gaping chasm between our proclamations of peace and our lowly deeds which precipitate and perpetuate war.  One day we must come to see that peace is not merely a distant goal that we seek but a means by which we arrive at that goal.  We must pursue peaceful ends through peaceful means.  We shall hew out of the mountain of despair, a stone of hope.

Rainbows

Prayer and Mediation

As we enter into a time for prayer and meditation, we invite you to consider some of the many things said and written of rainbows.

And the bow shall be in the cloud; and I will look upon it, that I may remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is upon the earth.  (Genesis 9:16)

Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray. (Lord Byron)

The soul would have no rainbow if the eyes had no tears. (John Vance Cheney)

Each band or level, being a particular manifestation of the spectrum, is what it is only by virtue of the other bands. The color blue is no less beautiful because it exits along side the other colors of a rainbow, and "blueness" itself depends upon the existence of the other colors, for if there were no color but blue, we would never be able to see it. (Ken Wilber)

Why are there so many songs about rainbows
And what's on the other side?
Rainbows are visions, but only illusions,
And rainbows have nothing to hide.
So we've been told and some choose to believe it
I know they're wrong, wait and see.
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers and me.  (Paul Williams and Kermit the Frog)

We of many cultures, languages and races are become one nation. We are the Rainbow People of God. (Desmond Tutu)

We may run, walk, stumble, drive, or fly, but let us never lose sight of the reason for the journey, or miss a chance to see a rainbow on the way. (Gloria Gaither)

Living Under the Rainbow

A Sermon in Two Voices and Four Parts

The Reverends Mark W. Christian and Jonalu Johnstone

First Unitarian Chruch of Oklahoma City

Sunday September 17, 2006

Who’s Holding the Bow?—Mark Christian

Is there anything like a rainbow?  Is there any single thing in the observable and natural world to rival a rainbow?  Mountain-scapes can take my breath away.  The roar of the ocean colliding with rocky shores makes me realize the world is powerful in ways I can’t fathom.  The Milky Way on an old fashioned dark night—devoid of light—connects me to mystery and history and awe.  Pastel sunsets show me “purple mountains majesty” at the molecular level.  But is there anything in the world so marvelous, so magical, so enthralling as a rainbow?  I don’t think I have ever seen a rainbow that didn’t leave me fulfilled yet strangely wanting more.

A bit ago Jonalu and I shared some thoughts about Rainbows.  I’d like to share another quote on rainbows—this one from Mark Twain.  He writes from the perspective of a world traveler who sets out convinced of our modern achievements only to glimpse some of what we have lost.

We have not the reverent feeling for the rainbow that (the aboriginal) has, because we know how it is made.  We have lost as much as we gained by prying into that matter.  –Mark Twain, A Tramp Abroad

I don’t usually disagree with Twain but also I don’t believe that coming to understand how something happens has to diminish amazement and appreciation.  It’s said that there’s a danger in learning how sausage is made.  That may be true but having learned a bit about optics doesn’t have to deny one the majesty of rainbows.

Any ray of visible light can become a rainbow.  It’s all a matter of refraction, reflection and angle of perception.  Move your hand in just the right way and a ring—be it diamond or rhinestone—can cast a rainbow.  A kid with a garden hose on a sunny day can make a rainbow just by creating a fine-enough spray with a thumb and an upward slant.  Rainbows are, from the perspective of physics, completely predicable—still I don’t think there has ever been a boring rainbow. 

On an intellectual level, the rainbow is proof that diversity is present even amid apparent uniformity.  All whole light is the same.  It’s kind of vanilla.  What actually constitutes whole light, though, is a whole spectrum of individual bands of light—some visible, some invisible, but all present—all always present.  Thus the rainbow reminds us at a physical—almost molecular—level that unity demands recognition of diversity.  I would proffer that idea to Mr. Twain to ponder.

The fascination with rainbows is something deep within the human experience.  I believe we have an almost archetypal awe of rainbows.  I suspect this has been a definitive part of our species from the beginning.  This mythic connection perhaps explains why the ancient Hebrew telling of the epic of the deluge ends with a rainbow given as a promise by God to never again wipe life off the face of the earth in anger.  In the myth, after the flood, God puts down the bow of anger—a weapon—replacing it with a radiant bow in the sky and covenanting with creation to never again act so viciously.  Whether God keeps that promise against capricious and wanton destruction is, of course, a matter of debate but we have the rainbow as a lasting sign of the promise of peace and hope.

Not only is there the biblical precedent of the rainbow as a sign of a covenant.  There is evidence that cultures around the world for millennia have discerned symbolic meaning in the rainbow.  The historically Incan provinces of Peru have adopted the rainbow as a symbol of solidarity with their ancestors.  In Germanic areas there is a long history of the rainbow being used on flag and shield as a sign of a new era, hope and social change.  The rainbow was among the first symbols adopted by the modern environmental movement.  Many of us can remember—and even long for—a once promised “Rainbow Coalition.”

Today, and finally to the point, the rainbow has come to be a symbol of the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgendered Community in their struggle for civil rights, a political voice and social acceptance.  Diversity amid unity, a promise of hope amid capricious fate, a reminder that beauty and harmony come in more than one hue—I for one find current holders of the bow to be appropriate keepers of its promise.

A Tale of Two Cities—Jonalu Johnstone

When I moved to Oklahoma City the end of December 1999, I felt like I’d stepped back in time at least a decade when it came to ideas about sexual orientation and gender identity.  I had been living in Madison, Wisconsin, where State Representative Tammy Baldwin, an out lesbian, had recently been elected to Congress – THE Congress, the one in Washington.  Madison gay, lesbian, and bisexual people had not just bars, PRIDE, and churches, but a community center, bowling leagues, square dance clubs, business and professional organizations, radio shows, political committees of various stripes, parenting organizations, book clubs, and who knows what else.  Even transgender people received some recognition and supports.  The church, which I served as New Congregation Minister, was a third gay or lesbian from its start, with a bunch of lesbian families.  I was used to a milieu where same-sex couples expressed affection as openly as male-female couples. 

Not that it was Eden.  We worked hard to defeat an effort in the state legislature to explicitly forbid marriage equality – it’s on the ballot there this year, and Wisconsin stands a fair chance of being the first state to defeat such a measure.  The children of some our lesbian couples faced harassment in the schools.  And from time to time, religious extremists attacked us as the contemporary Sodom, a misuse of Biblical texts, as those who attended my class this morning know.

I found the folks who seemed extreme in Madison would have fit right in in Oklahoma.  City officials here needed two years of battles and a court order to allow a modest acknowledgement of Gay Pride on street banners.  The dominant newspaper completely ignored Pride festivities, though they drew thousands of people.  Some of that has changed – the Oklahoman now reports even-handedly on Gay Pride, and the banners do fly. 

But it’s clear we live in a place blatantly – sometimes even proudly -- repressive of people who identify as gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender.  The school system refuses to include sexual orientation as a category for anti-discrimination or anti-harassment policies.  Meanwhile, more students fling the taunts of “gay” or “queer,” or worse than any other accusations. These words are used against straight people, too, to keep them from violating gender boundaries.  And young people who struggle with sexual orientation or gender identity often leave school, or even get thrown out at home because of conflicts around who they are.  Worst of all, churches and basically good people consider it a “Christian” act to actively endorse discrimination, if not outright hatred.

I have to say, despite it all, I love Oklahoma and Oklahoma City.  Perhaps because of the family ties I have here and the cultural comfort.  I also love it because liberal thinkers here are true liberals – they’re not taking the easy course or responding without careful consideration.  They’re forced to defend what they say with reason, with deliberateness, and with moderation.  It makes for a depth of commitment and thoughtfulness that I appreciate.

That’s why it matters that eight years ago, in 1998, this church took the step of declaring itself a Welcoming Congregation.  Not a rash step.  There were two years of study and dialog.  There was opposition.  People left the church – not a lot of people, but some.  Others likely stayed while stopping their ears to the whole matter. 

Discussion of sexuality makes everyone a little uncomfortable.  So does discussion of oppression.  Put them together, and strong reactions are inevitable.  The truth is discussion of sexuality makes me uncomfortable – I was brought up that these are private matters.  Discussion of oppression makes me uncomfortable – I don’t like to admit that there are ways that I have been kept from being all I could be.  That hurts, it makes me sad and angry and afraid.  I hate even worse admitting that there are ways in which I have kept others from being all they could be, with my attitudes and actions.  I know that’s true, and stirs in me regret, guilt, even shame. 

So why do we talk about it?  Bring on all this discomfort?  Again?  Because still, gay, lesbian, and even more, bisexual and transgender people are hurt and oppressed, particularly here where we live.  Particularly by churches – not this one so much, I hope.  Our problem is that sometimes, we don’t notice, and other times, we don’t act.

Oppression and Transformation—Mark Christian

It’s safe to say that the inclusion of Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgendered persons has happened in Unitarian Universalist circles about as fast as anywhere.  This is due, in part, to our nascent liberalism.  Inclusion is what liberals do—or what we tell ourselves we do.  Perhaps we are essentially observational and pragmatic—it’s here, it’s queer—we got used to it.  Actually acceptance of the women’s movement and the lesbian presence within that movement opened a door.  The Women’s Movement found early and significant ground within Unitarian Universalism creating an organic opportunity for connection to the Gay Movement.

In talking over this sermon with Jonalu she convinced me of something that was so basic to me that I couldn’t see it.  The prime reason Gays and Lesbians have been welcomed among us is that they are theologically oppressed.  The dominant Christian culture has identified them as theological targets—biblically and ontologically evil.

Our response here, one might think, stems from righteous indignation.  Our response can take that form but the source of our response is deeper—our solidarity as oppressed persons.  Make no mistake; we are generally a privileged people.  A walk through the parking lot or a look at where we live bespeaks our privilege.  Most of us here today, though, are here because we have found we can’t be anywhere else.  We are often excluded by prayers offered at schools and around friends’ dinner tables.  The dominant assumption of a God personified—let alone God as a man—reminds that we don’t fit in. 

We know that our religion makes us suspect in many people’s eyes.  We laugh at the jokes about Unitarians needlessly knocking on doors, or burning question marks, but deep inside we know that those jokes are often told at our expense.  Garrison Keilor has risen to folk idol status among us—but he has been said that we don’t get it—he’s laughing “at” us, not “with” us. 

Our experience with theological oppression puts us in solidarity with Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgendered persons.  Like calls to like.  I believe we feel called to use the grace of our dominant socioeconomic privilege to offer a haven for those who suffer from religious and theological persecution. 

That doesn’t mean were perfect at it.  It certainly doesn’t mean that my slate is clean.  There is always the temptation among the oppressed to find someone to oppress.  The whole oppression game is built upon finding the person below you on the totem and lauding your power over them. 

I can say that I was naïve about Gays and Lesbians when I went to college in 1975.  I grew up in this church and took part in our Human Sexuality class so I know I knew what “Gay” was.  I am certain that I had known Gay and Lesbian persons here at church—of course they were largely closeted then.  I remember one incident at college encountering someone who I would now call “stereo-typically” gay and arguing strongly that there was “No Way” David was gay.  Shall I say that while I still don’t possess very accurate “Gay-dar,” that back then I couldn’t have spotted a queen dressed up like Carol Channing in a chorus line in San Francisco.

Don’t laugh too much.  My story gets worse.  Ten years later, I was working in a radio station in Shawnee, Oklahoma.  The morning DJ, who as Program Director was my boss, was Dennis.  The morning newsman was Bill.  Both are gay.  Yep, morning radio team in Shawnee America at the height of Reganism and the Moral Majority—Gay.  Certainly not openly in the community—but openly enough around the station.

Let me say that these co-workers were not what I would call Gay in a “good way.”  Pardon my language but one was Prissy and the other was Bitchy—consistently so.  I took to calling them Bambi and Thumper.  Which, in retrospect, while meant derogatorily—was certainly not as offensive as some of the things I heard them called. 

Today, I am ashamed of the way I acted and thought.  I fell into the trap of using what power I had as a heterosexual man, to try and get ahead by pushing them down.  It was a hard and sad realization for me to make.  I can now see the pernicious way  being closeted amplified traits in character to the point where these men became caricatures of being gay.  Closeting, I see now, is not only oppressive—it is destructive of the soul.

I had to go through a time of transformation before I could understand the way oppression destroys human potential.  A particular moment came circa 1994.  I was working at Clear Channel Radio.  Broadcasting can be a rather “raw” work environment—the newsroom particularly so.  I recall one day when a co-worker covered the Gay Pride Parade.  You need to know that stories get “slugged” with titles never make it on the air and reporters often exercise their sense of humor with their “Slug.”  I hit the ceiling when I picked up the story about the Pride Parade and discovered it slugged—sorry about the language here but I think it’s important—“Salami Sliders.”  I confronted the reporter who said, predictably, “It’s only a joke.”  I countered, knowing his personal crusade for smokers’ rights, by asking:  “How would you like it if I slugged a story on smoking as ‘Butt Suckers’?”  “That would be different,” he said.  “No, it isn’t,” I replied.

We are called to use our privilege—our socioeconomic status, our majority status—when we have it—to transform the world into a more caring, more loving and more just place.  We transform the world one person at a time.  That is the promise of the rainbow.  That is what it means to live “Under the Rainbow.”

Allied Under the Rainbow—Jonalu Johnstone

Mark’s talking about the role of the ally.  I can’t tell you what it’s meant to me to have Mark, the quintessential straight, white man to be engaged around these issues.  You may not know that our closest most supportive ministerial colleagues in Oklahoma City are those who are in GBLT supportive churches or who identify themselves as bisexual, gay, or lesbian – some out and others not so much. In some circles, we as Unitarian Universalist clergy might be theological outcasts, but these

Christian colleagues, who know the sting of rejection, embrace not only me, but also Mark, in part because of our church’s Welcoming Congregation stance, no doubt, but also because they recognize an ally.

When Church of the Open Arms or the Cathedral of Hope, predominantly gay congregations, or their ministers, take positions on issues related to sexual orientation – marriage, adoption, hate crime legislation – others may see them as defensive or self-serving.  Because of that, our church, even without a Christian label, has greater impact than theirs. When Mark, as a straight man, endorses the equality of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people, the words are taken more seriously than when I as a lesbian do.  After all, he’s presumably more neutral; it’s not a personal issue for him in the same way it is for me.  We – those gay, lesbian and bisexual people in these pews, and those outside these doors -- need straight allies, individuals and organizations. 

What do allies do?  And this applies to all kinds of allies – white people allying with people of color, men allying with women, able-bodied people allying with people with disabilities.  First, they take seriously the concerns raised by people living with oppression.  Allies accept that the experiences people cite in their lives are real, even if the stories sound odd, or even unbelievable.  They listen.  They educate themselves about the issues and topics and even the controversies within the oppressed communities.  And I tell you, those can be hard to share.  Allies treat personal stories carefully and ask what they can do to help.  And, most importantly, they don’t always need to be told what to do because they lead. 

After the overwhelming state vote to endorse a constitutional amendment defining marriage as between a man and a woman, Mark wrote a pastoral letter to the GLBT community, reminding us that many straight people, including him, did not support the amendment, that many churches, including ours, do not define homosexuality as sin.  No one had to tell him to write that letter.

Just as no one had to tell Nancy Blankenship, one of the members we’re proud of, to fight against the library restrictions on children’s books addressing the topic. 

When occasions arise, when something should be said – from interrupting a joke to sharing stories about discrimination, allies say them.  Which is not to say it’s easy; it isn’t.  Yet sometimes, it’s actually easier for you than for us; because, believe it or not, you hold greater credibility, and though it might not seem so, you have less to lose.  Plus, people will say things around you they wouldn’t dare say if someone who was gay were listening.

Gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people have often unwittingly come to mistrust straight people.  Allies smash through the barriers created by that mistrust to connect in covenant.  By saying we are a Welcoming Congregation, we have made a promise not only to the people in these pews that we support them without regard to sexual orientation or gender identity.  We have also said to anyone who looks on our website, or sees us march in the Pride parade, we can be trusted, we are allies.  We promise to stand together under the rainbow flag.

Covenant is the foundation of the church, but it’s bigger than that.  Covenant is a saving force in the world.  Until we all – in this church and outside it -- learn to live together in the spirit of covenant, trusting one another to do their best, forgiving when forgiveness is called for, loving even when it’s hard to do, keeping the promises we have made, until then, we cannot be the people we are meant to be. 

God gave Noah the rainbow as a sign of such an unending promise.  We live under that rainbow.  Sometimes, we see it – red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet – stripes in the sky, or on the rainbow flag.  But, all white light is made up of those colors.  Know that whether the rainbow is visible or invisible, we are always living under it.  Whether or not we see it with our eyes, we are living with the promise, with the covenant.  How can we do anything but strive to keep those promises to one another?  How can we do less than to walk together?  We are called to fulfill our promise as a Welcoming Congregation – for the good of all, without regard to labels, for ultimately what matters is living up to our covenant of love.  So may it be.  AMEN.