quilted

It is possible to be woven into a quilt of the finest and warmest of stuffs.

This I know.  It happened to me last night.

I was back in the midst of a people with whom I had made life for years.  I was invited back to celebrate a ten-year anniversary of a justice event given birth through the hearts and energies and convictions of some of God’s finest souls.  The event was held at the church I had been member of for four years, left, and returned to pastor for five.

There were people there with whom I raised my babies.  People who taught me leadership and life.  People who shared in the symphony that is ministry.  People close to my heart and woven into my life and how can thanks of that magnitude be lived?

I am proud that ten years ago the risk was taken to speak and witness on behalf of glbt folk.  I am proud that we joined with others to advocate for healing the wounds of historic exclusion of same from communities of faith.  I’m proud that a new way was proclaimed and lived.  The church bumped through conflict;  churches often do when they follow the Way.  Grace led us through.

We gathered to celebrate the then and the now stitched together by love holy and fine; compatriots in the making of music, worship, witness, celebration, and life.

The Body alive.

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