June 14, 2009

My Journey
Alison Longstaff, June 14 2009
Church of the Good Shepherd

(my final talk at Good Shepherd before I head off to my ordination)

"for I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you took care of Me; I was in prison and you visited Me.'" Matt 25:35-36

In ancient Rome and Greece, newborn baby girls were regularly abandoned by the roadside and left to die. Girls were considered a liability. They cost money to marry off, and they couldn’t carry on the family name. By the time of the Lord’s birth on earth Roman society was experiencing a severe shortage of women because of their neglect and abandonment of baby girls. It didn’t stop the practice though.
There are parts of the world where girls are still treated this way. Indeed, the practice of subjugating and devaluing women continues in many subtle ways in every corner of our world. Our culture has come a long way, but we’ve still got a long way to go.

However, this isn’t meant to be a “women’s lib” talk. It is a cry against discrimination in every form. We all know injustice, not just women, not just blacks, not just immigrants. Every one of us in this room, at one time or another in our lives has felt marginalized, singled out, or picked on. From playground bullying, to being the last one picked for basketball, to being refused service or support because our income is too low, we have all experienced that feeling of the door slamming in our face---of being deemed unworthy. We all know the emotional experience of having the pack withdraw from us and look at us with dislike. It feels rotten.

If an infant experiences the withdrawal of the pack, it faces certain death. Such abandonment communicates profound dehumanization. That child is considered a waste of time and resources. How can the most helpless and innocent of all human beings comprehend such a rejection? Perhaps that is why all forms of rejection cut so deep. It communicates to our “lizard brain” that we are singled out to die. Though you and I may be relatively mature, and know in our heads that we will survive rejection just fine, an experience of rejection or abandonment can still throw us into a profoundly vulnerable emotional place. Our lizard brain sees the complete withdrawal of our support, resources, and foundation, and it believes we are going to die.

That was essentially what my emotional state was when I wandered in here. I had been cut out of my pack. I had been left by the road to die, without a backward glance. I was the walking wounded, rejected by my spiritual family and kicked out of the only spiritual home I had ever known. Yes, I was welcome back, if I kept my mouth shut about the injustice and the sexism I was witnessing. Yes I was welcome back if I gave up my call to ministry and suppressed it as unnatural and unfeminine. After all, the Papal Decree had come down from the top: “God says women can’t be ministers, so shut up and stop your whining.” (I think those were the bishop’s exact words....) I was welcome back if I stopped being me. They wanted my body in the pews, but not my heart, my intelligence, or my longing to be a minister.

So I stumbled in here, lost and confused. I had nowhere to belong.

“for I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you took care of Me; I was in prison and you visited Me."

I brought with me music and enthusiasm, a passel of equally hurting friends, and a deep yearning to belong. Poor pastor Ros had no idea what to do with me. I hovered around the edges, just wanting a place where I fit in. And you enfolded me in your kindness.

And you guys didn’t just let me hang around the fringes; you welcomed me in just the way I was. You didn’t just tolerate me, you seemed, proud of my desire to be a minister! It blew my mind. I began to realize that I had found a new home when Pastor John said, “Look, you are our seminarian. See, there’s your name on our bulletin, ‘Alison Longstaff, our seminarian.’” I burst into tears.

You offered me unconditional love. You treated me like I was worth something, just the way I was. You blew me out of the water. Like a kicked puppy, I still sometimes wonder when the criticisms and judgment will begin again. If you sometimes read hesitancy and caution in any of us who have come to your fold from a colder place, that is probably what you are reading. Be patient. It takes a while to learn that it really is safe here.

And though we may look around and think we are kind of a motley crew, just remember this: Jacob, of “Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” fame, accepted into his flock all the speckled and spotted sheep, all the blemished and broken ones that others didn’t want. And from that beginning, he became the wealthiest man of all.
So maybe this church of unconditional love, peace, and patience don’t have glossy brochures, buckets of money, or a huge membership. So it is small and humble and struggling. It has the one thing that matters. It has everything it will ever need. It has love.

You had me at the first hello. You took me in, warts and all.
That’s all it took to win my love forever. Now it’s my turn to give back. From one lost lamb about to become a Shepherd thanks to you, my deepest, most heartfelt THANKYOU.