Celebrating an Empty Garment Bag

From Unraveling to Filling

“If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.” Zora Neale Hurston.

This is why I write. Specifically, this is why I wrote Unraveling and brought it into the world at this moment. Since late February, I’ve been writing pieces here at Wednesdays at the Well that coordinate with the unraveling of my clergy robe. And that reveal more of my journey of coming out and leaving ministry in the United Methodist Church.

Much has happened in the life of United Methodism since last Wednesday. The General Conference of the UMC concluded and completed some historic work. I watched some of those worship services and plenary sessions. I listened to, and read about, and observed from a distance some of the celebrations. Ending 50+ years of codified discrimination and hatred of LGBTQ+ people is a big deal. I do not deny that what happened at General Conference is significant and celebratory. For an institution to remove a clause in their sacred writings deeming queer people incompatible with christian teaching after decades of harm and destruction is absolutely worthy of celebration.

And this celebration is not mine.

What is mine? A story that I continue to lift, and tell, and share. A story that feels more important now. That doesn’t clash with celebration, but rather compliments it.

This UMC celebration is a costly one. While it brings about (possibilities for) a more inclusive church, it is itself exclusive. It’s too late for everyone to be included. And for this celebration to be authentic and sustainable it must also include acknowledgment, apology, institutional repentance, lament, and reparations. And recognition that the UMC hasn’t only built its system on queer-phobia, but also racism, sexism, classism, capitalism, and colonialism.

For some, the pursuit of love and freedom led us away from the places that taught us about fighting oppression and working for liberation. My heart holds the heavy pulse of so many conversations about changing institutions from within and without. And the beating judgements of those who once preached both paths as valid until I said for the sake of my soul I had to go.

I am carefully and cautiously taking in all the post-General Conference news and stories. I am perplexed and puzzled when I see denominational leaders who received surrendered queer credentials from some, and forcefully took them from others, now wearing rainbows and joining in the celebration parade.

I am astonished reading of a path created for those who surrendered, withdrew, or had their credentials revoked to submit a letter requesting to re-enter the process. Again, I am thinking about the countless letters, notes, and messages I sent that have still not received response or that received a dismissive curt reply. Where is the accountability? Integrity? Honesty? Honoring of the humanity you rejected and grace you withheld?

I am pained when I read notes from friends, former colleagues, strangers who are living in a mix of Methodist emotions, wondering what’s real, what to trust.

I am know many who are unmoved by any of this because United Methodism has lost all credibility and any relevance.

I am reminded of the queer beloveds whose bodies and spirits held/hold decades of institutional pain and whose labor birthed this moment of change.

I am awed by the queer organizers and delegates who did this amazing work and who hold it all in tension.

I am grateful and exhausted. Hopeful and skeptical. Open and guarded. Raw and real. Still and ever healing. I cry. I sing. I pray. I dance. I remember. I wonder.

Trauma does this to you.

Healing does something too. It helps hold the reality of it all. The grief, the sadness, the anger are real. The wow, the so what, the now what, the celebration are real.

And so are our stories. Whether we share them or not. And I am telling mine as an act of resistance and of planting seeds for others to tell theirs. And as an ongoing witness to the lives and callings that were crushed en route to this celebration. They will kill you and say you enjoyed it. Unless you remind them that you are alive and speak truth to the lasting impacts of the harm they inflicted.

My life and calling have experienced resurrection not because of, but in spite of the UMC. And though this celebration isn’t mine, other celebrations are. And that is what I really want to write about. These are the stories I really want and love to tell.

And these stories of joy and celebration are not hung in one closet with the stories of sorrow and grief in another. They are so intimately and intricately connected. And flourish best when hanging gently and freely like freshly washed sheets in the summer breeze on outdoor clothes lines soaking up the sun together.

This is true for all our stories, not simply United Methodist ones, or christian ones, or ones of faith. All the stories of our lives are a weaving of emotions and experiences. Give your stories fresh air and warm sun.

I’ve shared about a box of United Methodist stuff I keep on a shelf in the basement and about some of the items in it. Before I put that box away again, there’s one more thing I want to bring into the light.

When I was commissioned, the church where I was serving gave me several gifts, including a garment bag engraved with my initials to hold my clergy robe. Since I unraveled the robe, the garment bag has sat empty in the basement, alone on the shelf, too big to fit in the box.

This journey now takes a turn. I will continue to share stories of my unraveling, of coming out and back together, AND I’m ready to fill this garment bag with things that fit and feel fabulous. And take this garment bag on the road, traveling to places ready to experience the beauty and the power of stories. To people eager to name, and write, and share their own stories. To a world thirsty for hope and healing.

This garment bag is my celebration. And I invite you to celebrate with me.

If you are in the area, I invite you to a BIG Book Launch Celebration this Saturday, May 11^th from 2:00 to 4:00 PM at Central United Methodist Church-Detroit. The garment bag will be there too, holding space for the host of emotions we carry.

Unraveling is….more than a book. It’s a poem. An extra-ordinary poetry show. An engaging sermon.  An empowering workshop. A captivating story about the ways church harms and church heals. A gentle invitation to unravel.

Wherever you are, I invite you to open the Unraveling Package. Our summer calendar is beginning to fill so don’t wait to reach out.

Water-filled and Full of Words,

Rebecca & 10 Camels