Where You Go, I Will Go. A Wedding Service. The Love Of Idgie and Ruth.

Rough draft: Sections of a wedding service for two queer women, written as an assignment.

Greeting and Introduction

The couple stands facing the one presiding.

Officiant: Welcome Partner #1 and Partner #2. Welcome to this day. A day made sacred by the presence of love and beloved community. Please turn to see all those who have gathered to share in the delight of your love.

The couple turns to face the gathering of witnesses.

Officiant: Look out and see the community who loves you and has gathered here to affirm the power, grace, and holiness of your love for one another. We know that love does not grow in isolation. It is nourished, supported, and challenged by those in our lives who bear witness to it. With us today are all those you see before you, all those who could not or would not be here, and all those who have gone before. We offer special thanks to those whose lives, hearts, and struggle have made this love, this moment, possible. You stand here today as part of their legacy. Your love is part of a rich history.

To those gathered, will you repeat after me.

Officiant: We see you.

People: We see you.

Officiant: We support you.

People: We support you.

Officiant: We delight in you.

People: We delight in you.

Officiant: We love you.

People: We love you.

Officiant: You may be seated.

The couple turns back to face the officiant.

Officiant: To love is an act of revolution; in spirit, in heart, in body, in mind. To love is to defy greed, control, and cynicism. To love is to claim the deep transformation that comes when we commit ourselves to one another and allow ourselves to be truly seen. In choosing to love we name ourselves worthy and step into the power of the divine love that connects each of us. To love is to recognize the lie of scarcity and choose a new path.

The Homily (aka A Short Sermon)

“Where you go, I will go;

    where you lodge, I will lodge;

your people shall be my people,

    and your God my God.”

I love these words. They speak to a sense of unity that so many of us long for. They come from the book of Ruth, an ancient tale of resilience and deep love. However, most of us probably know them from the sacred story of Idgie Threadgoode and Ruth Jamison in Fried Green Tomatoes. These were the words, found on a torn out page of the bible, that Ruth sent when she called for Idgie. Now, I’ve only seen the film so forgive me any inconsistencies with the book. But this was this passage that invited Idgie back into Ruth’s life. It was a commitment of the heart, but it was also an expression of need.

“Where you go, I will go;

    where you lodge, I will lodge;

your people shall be my people,

    and your God my God.”

Ruth and Idgie shared a love that saved both of their lives time and time again. Together they started a business, raised a child, nourished a community, and defied injustice. They built a life. It was a life that had not been modeled or laid before them. Each day they perfected their covenant. They laughed, wept, played, fought, and fiercely defended one another. Their love was quiet but transformative, not just for themselves but for all those whose lives they touched. And no, their lives were not free of violence, loss, or trial, but together they tasted a honey so sweet that it defied death.

Today we are here to celebrate the love of Partner #1 and Partner #2. Like Idgie and Ruth their love is one of creation. It does not remain confined to two hearts. Instead it moves into the world and lifts others up. We feel them do this in their music, their deep kindness, their cultivation of family, and the careful care they show to each other, their beloved dog, and their garden. I have felt that love and I know many here today have been touched by that love as well.

It is an honor to stand in celebration of a love that is so fierce, so evident, and so kind. Today we gather to bear witness to this love and the deep commitment that has long existed between your two hearts.

Just as your love transcends your pairing, so does this act of commitment. This world does not make it easy to love. There is profound heartache, incredible injustice, and wounds within each of us that escape naming. Love will be tested, and it will take more than the power of two to overcome. So as a community we also make a commitment to you.

Together we vow again…

Officiant: We see you.

People: We see you.

Officiant: We support you.

People: We support you.

Officiant: We delight in you.

People: We delight in you.

Officiant: We love you.

People: We love you.

May your love be as deep, comforting, and charmed as the love of Idgie and Ruth. May that love continue to grow and blossom thanks to its deep roots in care, respect, accountability, and passion. May you know the unconditional love and support of one another, of your community, and of all creation. 

Lent 2011- The Year of the Body

• Eat a vegan diet free of processed grains
• Yoga every day
• Enjoy one sensual/sexual act a day
• Make a dentist appointment
• Dance more and with less fear


All of our bodies are worthy of connection and resurrection.

A Seder And My Desire

I sat in a room of 200 and thought about family. A family of strangers, sidewalk acquaintances, comrades, friends and old/would-be lovers. A community of faith. Faith that yes, justice is possible and it is worth giving our lives too.

We filled our mouths with history, resistance and gratitude. I watched as s/he moved with intention through the kitchen. And I thought, I want that. Button down shirt tucked in with firm hands. Strong forearms and short hair. I want that. I imagine too hot food brought to hir lips for a hesitant taste, measuring the ratio of spice and subtlety. I consider the ritual we could create together, our flavors blending, birthing something new.

A baby boy pushed along the floor with toy cars while someone at the microphone slammed about the bulldozed olive groves in Palestine. And I thought, I want that. A sweet haired child, big mouthed and wide eyed, transferred from my hips to hirs. I want that. Struggle, possibility and newness lined up alongside each other.

We moved through the Haggadah sipping syrupy sweet wine and singing songs of blessing and survival. Us, this core of queerness, unity and hope. This family cell that rebels and conforms at once. We queer all that we touch, make it strange and right and perfect. We spin retaliation into rehabilitation and can hold our children as we scream for a new world. Because those screams don’t injure, just readjust. So tender cheeks go unscathed and there is an intimacy in our work.

Romance, resistance, relationship. I want that.

Korech

Last night I prepared the matzah with charoset and maror, placed it on my tongue and felt my chest well up. For 37 days I’d eaten no processed carbs and the bite with which I broke my fast was the marriage of bitter and sweet. A balance. Maror to symbolize the bitterness of enslavement and charoset to celebrate the sweetness in freedom. They came into me with one taste, my tongue confronted and soothed. I was embraced by the agony that sometimes bleeds into this world, the image of Jesus’ hands hallowed out and worked. There was grief for the slow slashing of dignity and safety and self. I was back in my own Mitzrayim, a narrow space that I had helped to construct with my own heavy glue of isolation, self hatred and resentment. But there was stillness also. A breath among the sting. The sting that pushed beyond, that brought me to the sweet and made it deep and rich and rooted. The sting that woke me up, complicated the sugars and made them real. It was resurrection, resilience, release. It was those extremes held between the rush towards freedom, sustenance born out of necessity and given holy meaning, it was those things that allowed me to love the sum of myself.

Lenten Thoughts

“Lent, in some Christian denominations, is the forty-day-long liturgical season of fasting and prayer before Easter. The forty days represent the time Jesus spent in the desert, where according to the Bible he endured temptation by Satan. The purpose of Lent is the preparation of the believer—through prayer, penitence, almsgiving and self-denial—for the annual commemoration during Holy Week of the Death and Resurrection of Jesus.”

I’ve never really understood the purpose of Lent. I figured it was about sacrificing something because Jesus supposedly sacrificed himself to save our souls. So we had to suffer because he did. Like giving up chocolate is somehow equivalent to having nails driven through your body and being hung in the sun to die. Like going without sugar can somehow compare to murder.

This year I want to put a different spin on it. Instead of looking at it as suffering so that I might earn salvation, I will look at it as an opportunity to push myself closer to the persin I want to be. A persin that lives by gospel values of radical love and service. A persin that is committed to caring for others as family and compassionately confronting oppression. This Lenten season I will strive to resurrect my own life, my own joy and my willingness to dig into what surrounds me. I will strive to abstain from the temptation of comfort that comes with blind privilege and remember that true salvation can only come from collective liberation.

At the moment there are two main barriers for me. I’m tired and I’m ignorant. My body and my heart are tired. Sometimes it feels like I hardly have the energy to take care of myself let alone extend that care to others. And there is so much that I don’t know, so much I still need to learn about. I allow my lack of knowledge to paralyze me. Especially when it comes to being a white ally. I worry about saying or doing the wrong thing so I do nothing. Which is probably the worst thing of all.

So here is the plan for the next 40 days (and beyond):

• I’m not going to eat processed carbs. They slow me down and make me feel crazy. Taking better care of my body is not just about me. When I feel better I’m more likely to lend my time and energy to others. I’m more likely to ask how I can help.
• I’m going to go on at least one solo adventure a week. I need to get unstuck and remember the amazing possibilities that surround me. I need to give myself the opportunity to interact with people I don’t know.
• I’m going to read at least 3 books that will push me towards becoming a better white ally and apply for the Anne Braden training.
• I will read more than headlines about what is happening in communities of color both locally and globally.
• I will strive to address racism even if it makes me uncomfortable or I’m uncertain how to. And I will no longer wait for the people of color in my life to take the lead on that.
• I will learn more about the history of San Francisco so as to better hold myself accountable for my part in its gentrification.

More to come….

Thoughts On Faith From 2006

God is not grand, it is us. It is divine only if we say so. Only if we dream of living in a holy fashion, in communion.

Christ is resistance. Resistance to hopelessness and fear and greed. Resistance to the things that do not nourish us but take away our power to live joyously. Christ is a symbol of power, his murder one of many, his faith revolutionary. We kill our hope. We nail it to a cross so we might always find it, but never use it, for we are afraid of the power within ourselves.

A Hesitant Embrace

I realized tonight that part of my hesitancy to embrace a structured study of my faith is my fear of having to absorb other people’s pain around faith and the church. My faith is the beauty of my life, I would be unrecognizable without it and I want it to remain joyful. I don’t want to carry my faith as a struggle, like being queer or being a womyn. It is who I am. Engrained in me. But still there is shame. Fear of being misunderstood, morphed into some ugly thing I am not. I talk about church and people forget who I am. I mentioned Seminary and one of my closest friends slapped me.

And I understand. I remember sitting in a church full of people who signaled their approval when our pastor told them he refused to allow his queer sister into his home. I’m familiar with the judgment, the self righteousness, the greed and the long history of oppression. But that is not my god, or my church. The cross I wear around my neck is not meant to symbolize some mystic god that is looking to punish or save us, it is a reminder of those that have fought before me…it is a call to action.

Real Faith

San Francisco is not so different. There are leaves that change and families that carve pumpkins and real relationships that happen. It’s not so strange here.

The city often feels surreal to me. Fake, temporary, isolated. It makes it hard for me to build a life for myself. It makes it hard to feel settled. But the novelty is wearing off. I’m no longer awed by stretches of people in costume, hoards of lesbians, Dolores park or the ocean. It feels commonplace and over time I’ve forgotten to be grateful. And it’s that lack of gratitude that has made it so difficult for me to feel real here.

Once again I find myself searching for some purpose. Searching for that next step. And I think it’s leading me out of San Francisco. Not forever, but for a few months.

I’ve long ignored my faith. It has fueled who I am, the decisions I make for myself, but I have not given it the attention it deserves. I haven’t studied or committed or sacrificed and I think it’s time. Time to put my faith first and see where that leads me. Perhaps it will lead me back to a humbler, more authentic me.

Part of me feels like this would be running away. From what I’m not sure. From relationships, feeling to settled, complacency, happiness, community. Why is it that I search for the hard times? What is my real calling?

A New York Story

Taking the subway from Brooklyn, sitting next to Brittawnee quizzing hir for hir very first all veg waitressing job. enoki mushrooms, carrots, red peppers, no and yellow too, don’t forget the jicama. Amazing.

It’s amazing how many homes a persin can have and never be home at all. I ease between places forgetting the home I just left behind. Ignoring a life I never wanted. Rocking with the subway, legs touching, pressed in friendship, avoiding the piece of egg left on the seat from a passenger before us.

Two men walk in and you can feel the “jesus christ. i don’t have the energy to ignore them” vibe run through the train. Two men. A black man with a guitar and four yellowed teeth. A white man with blood shot eyes, nice shoes and a stool. He sits placing a cello between his legs. A cello. A fucking cello on the J line. And the black man starts singing Tracy Chapman, forgive me is all that you cant say. years gone by and still, words don’t come easily, like forgive me forgive me. And something feels profound; something about the whole damn moment feels holy. Tracy Chapman, Brittawnee, the worn black overcoat of the black man, the journey, the care the bloodshot man took when he touched the strings of the cello… the repulsion of the people around them, blind to the gift they’d been presented at 10:58am on the J line. Perhaps they’re numb to miracles.

Riding the subway can do that to you.

A Holy Confession

I never talk about god. Or what I think about god. My faith is an enormous part of who I am. It defines my diet and how I interact with people and the world around me. It molds my politics and my values. It's what pushes me to question power and oppression. It is everything to me. But how many of my friends understand that? Very few.

Church was never a big deal in my family. When I was 6 or so my grandmother would get me to go to church by bribing me with donuts and those round glass containers of apple juice. I would go and pass out the bulletin at the local methodist church and enjoy my donuts. That was about it. I didn't learn much of anything about god or Jesus or myself. I was just there for the food. My mother never went with us. She left the church when they refused to baptize me because I was born out of wedlock. Looking back I'm grateful that it wasn’t a huge part of my childhood because it gave me a better understanding of what it means to live by example. I can thank my grandmother for that.

Around 7th grade I started going to church on my own. Park Heights Southern Baptist. It was a time in my life where I was craving answers and communion with god. I found it there...and I ran with it. I never completely lost myself, but I was close. Over the next few years I got saved, was baptized, went to church 2-5 times a week, started bible study at my high school and never parted with my Thomas Kinkade bible carrier. It was a pretty intense experience and it all came crashing down the Sunday my pastor spoke out against his lesbian sister from the pulpit. He told us how he hadn't allowed her in his house and how he politely declined the gifts she had bought for his children. He spoke of sin and contamination and proudly proclaimed that when she asked if she could come to church he had said no. He broke my faith. I had always been honest about my struggles and never truly gave up my sense of right and wrong and one thing had become overwhelmingly clear...that church was not a place of god.

So I stopped going to church, but I never gave up my faith. Through the help of many spiritual mentors and guides I came to understand my gifts and know myself as a spiritual person. Art and activism became rituals and through them I found my salvation.

As I got involved in activism I quickly saw the connections between radical movements and spirituality. They’re so closely linked, yet many radicals turn their back on faith. They view it as something that attempts to control them, but what they don't realize is that it's what brought them there in the first place.

It's hard to talk about god without coming off as oppressive or condescending and I resent the shit out of that. I resent the fact that the only words I have to talk about this are so tainted. I resent the fact that religious institutions have stripped people of their faith. I resent the fact that we allowed it to happen. That we still are. I don't want to be lumped in with the christians, or the muslims, or the jews, or the pagans. I want to have a conversation that understands that "god" transcends all those things.

The god I speak of has no gender, no form, no species, no voice. The god I speak of is within everyone, everything. It is what pushes us to love and grow and change. It is what makes us cringe when we experience pain or witness it elsewhere. It is why we desire communion with others. It is our hopes and our sadness, it is everything. It is our essence. And we waste it. We waste our god. We use it up on petty prayers and shallow relationships. And why? Because we are scared. Scared to know any sort of pure joy because understanding joy makes pain that much worse. But why live a life in the middle where you will never truly experience anything? I seek balance. A balance of the pleasure and the pain.

Since I have been back in Berea I have had alot of time to think about god and my faith. I’ve had time to examine my thoughts about what Jesus, the humyn, symbolizes for me and the impact he has had on my life, my faith and my work. I've found a church and reconnected with an old spiritual community. I've explored my faith alone and over long cups of tea with friends. I see god in others and in myself and I am thankful for the many blessings that have helped me to accept where I am.

My only fear is that others will think I'm crazy. That they’ll think there is something in the Ohio water and perhaps there is...and perhaps it has given me strength.