Sermons

Minister: Rev. Margaret A. Beckman | In the spirit of those who fought the State outside of the Stonewall Inn in 1969, we need to be more radical about righting what has been oh-so-wrong for too long.
~ Op-ed by Raquel zzwillis, May 31, 2019 out.com
 

READING   Old look, new way, same us. Welcome to Pride 2020” by Zach Stafford. Tuesday, May 21, 2019. The Advocate

During the first few weeks of this year, I found myself at the ONE Archives at the University of Southern California as I prepared to start my new job as the editor in chief of The Advocate. And I came across something that changed how I approached this job in a profound way.

Deep in the archives of the world’s largest collection of LGBTQ history was an original copy of the second issue of The Advocate — from 1967 — which was more newsletter than the glossy magazine it has become.

And what stood out to me the most — even more than the 25 cent price tag — was the headline above the fold: “L.A. Cops, Gay Groups Seek Peace.” The story was on how queer activists held a meeting with the L.A. Police Department after a string of incidents — one being the historic Black Cat riots, which predate the Stonewall riots and led to the creation of The Advocate.

As a journalist who has spent many years writing about the tensions between our community and the police, and as a queer person of color who must navigate the police constantly, a chord was struck for me. It struck me because it could be literally written today.

And ever since then, a phrase has been stuck in my head that maybe the queer gods whispered to me there: “We must look back if we want to move forward.” And it’s this phrase that brings me to today, where I’d like to announce that we are bringing back the original logo from that same issue I found, but with a few modern updates.

We as a community have survived so much: the police brutality that inspired this very magazine, the AIDS epidemic, Stonewall and other riots that broke out and created a foundation for our revolution, and even this morning, when you woke up in Trump’s America.

It’s this resilience that has stood the test of time, just like this magazine, that I think should be the focus as we prepare for Stonewall’s 50th anniversary alongside Pride season. Because while things are difficult today, they were also hard yesterday and the yesterday before that. One thing I’ve always admired most about queer people is that even while knowing this we never give up — and this logo is testament to that.

READING   (SOMETHING INSIDE) SO STRONG

The higher you build your barriers
The taller I become
The farther you take my rights away
The faster I will run
You can deny me
You can decide to turn your face away
No matter, cos there’s….

Something inside so strong
I know that I can make it
Tho’ you’re doing me wrong, so wrong
You thought that my pride was gone
Oh no, something inside so strong
Oh oh oh oh oh something inside so strong

The more you refuse to hear my voice
The louder I will sing
You hide behind walls of Jericho
Your lies will come tumbling
Deny my place in time
You squander wealth that’s mine
My light will shine so brightly
It will blind you
Cos there’s……

Something inside so strong
I know that I can make it
Tho’ you’re doing me wrong, so wrong
You thought that my pride was gone
Oh no, something inside so strong
Oh oh oh oh oh something inside so strong

Brothers and sisters
When they insist we’re just not good enough
When we know better
Just look ’em in the eyes and say
I’m gonna do it anyway x 4

Something inside so strong
And I know that I can make it
Tho’ you’re doing me wrong, so wrong
You thought that my pride was gone
Oh no, something inside so strong
Oh oh oh oh oh something inside so strong

Brothers and sisters
When they insist we’re just not enough
When we know better
Just look ’em in the eyes and say
I’m gonna do it anyway x 4

Because there’s something inside so strong
And I know that I can make it
Tho’ you’re doing me, so wrong
Oh no, something inside so strong
Oh oh oh oh oh something inside so strong

Words and music by Labi Siffre

SERMON

On June 28, 1969, I was 13 years old. It would be another ten years before I participated in anything both gay and public and when I did, I was, for the first time in my life, confronted with hate speech and the threat of violence directed at me. It would be another ten years before I began to understand the depth of the pain and the extraordinary risks of those at the Stonewall Inn in June of 1969 and those who birthed the gay liberation movement in America. Now, fifty years later, I am coming to grips with the probability, if not the certainty, that liberation and full rights of members of minority groups and identities can never be assured.

Anything that is achieved through law and politics can be reversed through law and politics. We are seeing that process at work right now as there is a significant, and perhaps strengthening, group of Americans who are enthusiastic about the possibility of using the judicial system to eliminate or rescind legal rights for entire groups of people for no other reason than they either feel their superior position in the value heirarchy of humanity is being threatened or their personal religious or cultural norms are offended by them. I do not know if there are people within this political group who are willing to die for their cause, but we all know there are some who are willing to kill for it.

Waking up as a member of a racial or sexual or citizen minority group in America today is much more dangerous than it was five years ago. If you doubt this fact, you are not listening carefully enough to those who live with this daily fear. A fear that is sometimes a nagging presence that doesn’t ever quite go away, but that doesn’t prevent one from living a mostly normal life, and that sometimes is an acute and present danger that results in hyper vigilance and high stress. You may think I exaggerate. I assure you, I do not.

As people of progressive and liberal faith, we call out these injustices and we bear witness to the suffering of our neighbors, children, friends and ourselves.

Why are we here, fifty years after the Stonewall Uprising, talking about LGBTQ rights and full equality? We are here because we must be here. This morning, during PRIDE month, I am lifting up in sheer gratitude and praise the tremendous advancements and achievements of the pride movement and the extraordinary work of hundreds of thousands of people in the non-LGBTQ community to bring rights and equality as far forward as we are on this day. This is a fact, and it is also a fact there is so much more to do. We have come a long baby, but we have farther to go and it is a stark reality that we could lose all the progress we have made in these last 50 years if we give in to those who peddle fear and mistrust as a way of preserving their own inherited power and privilege.

We are living in troubling times when some of the very few who hold most of the wealth and power will do anything, really anything, to preserve their position. We can see the toll this is taking on those who are most vulnerable. Will it end in disaster? I don’t know. I don’t know what disaster looks like – it probably depends on your point of view.

During the Stonewall Uprising of 1969, the lives of gay men were not worth much to anyone but themselves and each other. Gay women, transpeople, queens and gender non-conforming people and queers in general were in the same position. When the police raided the Stonewall Inn that night, they had deviated from their norm – which was to get a message to the mafia bosses who owned the club that they were coming, and preparations were made. But that night, there was no advance word at Stonewall. There was a new police commissioner who forbid the officers to warn Stonewall. He thought he had the right and the power to arrest the Stonewall mafia bosses and employees and severely beat their patrons and threaten them with worse.

What happened? There are many stories about what happened on Christopher Street that night. One story is that a few of the police focused their outrage on one person, a woman who was belligerent with the police. As she was repeatedly hit with a police riot baton and shoved into a patrol car, she turned around and looked at the mostly immobile and terrified group of men in the street and shouted, “Why don’t you guys do something!” As she was led away, the men woke up, looked at each other, and without a word, but in near unison, decided to do something in service to their own value as human beings.

The Gay Liberation movement moved from the fringe to the forefront. Brave people stepped out the shadows and out of the closet to bring the movement forward.

People lost their homes and their jobs and their families and their religion and some lost their lives. They gained their inherent dignity and worth – long denied by much of the world, but never eliminated.

When it comes to the human struggle for our own inherent worth and dignity, there is a spirit that cannot be snuffed out. People will rise up. There is something inside us, call it the spark of the divine, that cannot be extinguished forever. You can kill me, but you cannot put out the spark of the divine that lives in me. This truth, I think, is the legacy of Stonewall and the message of Labi Siffre’s song that declares without apology – there is something inside so strong. Something inside so strong you cannot overcome it. Something inside so strong that I can withstand the onslaught of disrespect and fear and even hate that others can hurl at me. It says to the world, “You can build your barriers. You can take away my rights. You can turn away from me in every way possible. You can try to defeat me. But you will not.” We hear in this song – My life force is so strong that though you want to stop me from living my life as the person I am – I’m gonna do it anyway. I’m gonna do it anyway. I’m gonna do it anyway.

In this complicated time of fear, uncertainty, division and misunderstanding, may we be among those whose work is to heal and not to harm; to listen more than we speak; to support and embrace the stranger among us; to be allies in the struggles for full rights and equality for all people. May we among those who do not remain silent when public witness is required and may we continue to be the people who choose to Side with Love.

Our lives are blessed when we place the needs and value of others in harmony and equality with our own. Our lives are blessed when we know and proclaim that all of us, no exceptions, share the one light, one life and one love that will not let us go.

Blessed Be. I Love You. Amen.