So proud.

 And the Lord added to their number daily 
those who were being saved. 

--Acts 2:47

I did something yesterday I have never done before. It was a last-minute decision. I wasn't really sure I wanted to do it, but it wouldn't let go of me. It got stuck in my mind and then in my heart-- and I just had to do it.

Curious, now, aren't you? 

My church, University Circle UMC, is part of the Reconciling Ministries Network (RMN). We are also strong supporters of the Human Rights Campaign (HRC) and the Gay Straight Alliance. We profess and believe (and behave as if) all are welcome.

About a week ago, I received an email telling me that the RMN was participating in the 2014 Pride Parade in downtown Cleveland on June 28. They were extending an invitation for member churches to join them. I also learned that the Grand Marshal this year was a member of our congregation.

So as the social network person for the church, I put out the word. The event went up on Facebook. I sent out an email on the prayer chain seconding the invitation. Come, I said. Come and walk the walk.

But in my own mind, I wasn't sure I was going to do so.

The day got closer, and still I waffled. Should I go? I wouldn't be walking all alone or anything. Oh, but it was going to be so hot. Oh, I don't know. . . .

I emailed someone whom I thought would be going, to ask for a ride. Turns out they weren't going to attend or walk. Off the hook, I thought.

Pfft. Right. The Parade would not leave my mind.

So I Googled for directions. I hemmed. I hawed. Then I spoke with my beloved, and guess what he says, from two thousand miles away in Montana.

You should go, he says. You should go. For your brother and brother-in-law, if for no other reason.

So . . . I went. 

And I am so glad I did. I truly am. For a number of reasons.

There were over 40 groups there, I am guessing, but I never did find RMN. I found HRC and decided to walk with them. It was a great bunch. Like most of the Parade participants, I believe most of the HRC group were members of the LGBT community rather than allies like me. (Is this the point where I confess to having returned my wedding rings to my left hand? True story. Sad, perhaps, but true.) We carried a huge banner, 30' x 55'.

 We were lining up next to a very . . . umm . . . interesting group of mostly men wearing mostly leather and chains, and very little of either one. One of the younger male members of HRC confided to me, "They make me a little scared. Definitely not my thing!" Much laughter, much love.

As we waited to step off, a beautiful transgender person dressed in gold lame walked past-- in six-inch heels. And she walked the whole parade in those heels (although she did take off the gold lame jacket after about a half mile).

At one point, just before the final corner and the home stretch, there was a group we lovingly called the Haters. 

The Haters come every year. They have to have a permit, and they have to stand in a particular location. This bunch was pretty tame, actually. I will not dignify their messages by repeating any of them here, but I must tell you about the Guardian Angels.

The Guardian Angels come out every year, as well. When the Haters show up, so do they. Dressed in white tunics, constructed to look as though they have enormous spread wings, wearing rainbow ribbons draped around their necks, these beautiful souls arrive early and stand, shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the Haters, between them and those who march. They don't say a word. 

One look at their faces tells you they are praying for every person in front of them and behind them. They. Were. Beautiful. Truly the image of God's love in the world.

So we cheered as we passed, and when we got to the final corner we made a full circle, banner and all, and the crowd went wild. We walked the final blocks and said goodbye, and called it a day.

It was hot. It was different than anything I had ever experienced. At times it was way outside my comfort zone.

And I am so glad I went.

Because there were not a lot of allies there, and we need to walk the walk.

If the beautiful soul in gold lame showed up this morning in her six-inch heels, would we really, truly know how to welcome her? I hope so. But I am not completely sure. 

But I hope so.

Because this, friends, is how the Church is called to act. This unconditional love is what draws people, lures the broken-hearted and disillusioned. It's not the building or the music, or even the best sermon ever preached from a pulpit.

It's the Love. Because in that Love lies the Hope and Promise of the future. Amen.

Circle of Life

There is a time for everything,

    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

a time to be born and a time to die,

a time to plant and a time to uproot,

 

a time to kill and a time to heal,

a time to tear down and a time to build,

a time to weep and a time to laugh,

a time to mourn and a time to dance,

 

a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,

 

a time to search and a time to give up,

a time to keep and a time to throw away,

 

a time to tear and a time to mend,

a time to be silent and a time to speak,

 

a time to love and a time to hate,

a time for war and a time for peace.

--Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

(Want the audio version? Here it is! To Everything There Is a Season)

Sometimes I get so busy, so caught up in life, that I stop really seeing what is going on around me. But over the past month, I have had the pleasure of watching a family of robins go from couple to family to empty nest, in the course of a few weeks. And I have been amazed.

Back in early May, when it was still quite chilly, especially at night, I was gone one day and when I came home in the evening, there it was on my front porch, high under the peak: a beautiful robin's nest, woven, sturdily constructed and decorated with a sprig from a money plant. I was so excited!

And the next morning, under the back awning, another surprise: a finch's nest. Not nearly the work of art the robins built, this nest looked more like a handful of grass and twigs thrown up with a prayer that it would stick and stay together. But a house is a house when it's built on love.

One Sunday when the kids were over, we were saddened to find a broken robin egg on the porch. The nest was too high to see if there were more, so we waited.

Pretty soon Mama began spending more and more time in that nest so perfectly tailored to her shape.

And on the back porch? I would peek out the door and see a red little head atop the disheveled pile of grass. Every time I would open the door to go out, she would fly away. But she always came back, and she, too, spent a lot of time on the nest. Waiting.

Soon the robins hatched: One, two, three-- four? I began to see wobbly heads perched atop spindly necks, wide open mouths silently asking for more. I remembered Jack Kent's great line in Round Robin. 

"Most of him was head, and the rest of him was hungry!" 

Man, oh man, were they ever! Mama made endless flights, pulled dozens of worms from my lawn, fed her babies all day long, it seemed-- and then hopped into that nest and sat right down on top of them. From inside the house, my cats and I enjoyed watching her teach and train those babies.

And meanwhile, out back-- still waiting.

The baby robins began looking less like aliens and more like birds. They began to stretch their wings a bit, and the peeping! So much noise from such tiny little heads. Soon I realized I was only seeing three heads. Somebody didn't make it. My heart caught a little.

Two Sundays ago I went out the back door and Papa Finch was visiting Mama Finch on the nest. As I came out, he flew, but she stayed put. My heart grew hopeful. 

But that was the last time I saw any finch on that nest. Apparently it was not their time.

Oh, but those robins! The kept growing, practically right before my eyes! Their feeble peeps became robust cheeps. Their wings spread and flapped at the air, and once, while I was watching, Mama hopped in the nest and gave one of her babies a firm nudge-- and suddenly he found himself out of the nest and perched wobbling on the porch beam. (That was the first time I had any robin poop on my porch, too. . . . lol)

Then it happened.

I got up Sunday morning, opened the front door-- and the nest was empty. I looked down to see a fuzzy little guy flapping and hopping like crazy, and Mama standing nearby keeping watch. The nest was strangely quiet. And so it goes. . . .

* * * * *

For a time, I am now blessed with a houseguest, a young lady beginning to make her own way in the world. As her parents dropped her off in the evening, I watched as yet another nest began to empty. Even as perhaps they couldn't name it yet, there would be quiet where there had been singing, a bed no longer rumpled with sleep. I could see this was harder on Mom and Dad than it was on their beautiful daughter.

Life goes on. In the face of loss, new life appears. This, friends, is what the Resurrection is all about. Yes, it's about a risen Lord-- but it's also about the renewal of life, not just at life's end, but every single season. Weeping and mourning may last for the night, but joy-- and peeping and stretching one's wings for flight-- will come in the morning. 

(Need another one? Circle of Life)