Text: Galatians 5:22-23
Speaker: Bethany Davey
Today is the first of our Fruits of the Spirit worship series, and we’re kicking it off with a focus on joy. What a fitting start to our series, and what a fitting focus for Pride Sunday.
Pride Sunday is, indeed, a Sunday for joy, a Sunday for joyful resistance.
Pride Sunday is a Sunday for celebration, and a Sunday that confronts and refuses the violent boundaries of our societies: the barriers that include some while excluding others, the gates of access kept by those holding social and political power, the borders designed to keep out, the lines that become dangerous and all too often lethal.
None of this is new. Throughout recorded human existence, we observe fortress walls, borders and imposed barriers of all sorts. Most often, these lines of demarcation are determined by those within, to accommodate those within and to keep perceived “outsiders” out.
We can observe this very human pattern not only in who is kept out, but what is kept out. We may convince ourselves that whatever behavior, belief or practice we find undesirable lives “out there” or “over there,” beyond our established border walls. When we believe ourselves so other than another, we are more likely to believe our lines of demarcation, barriers and separations are not only important, but justified and even beneficial, necessary.
We’re prone—as a species—to harsh divisions, to polarization. We too often operate—particularly in Western, colonial thought—in opposites, binaries, either/or dualisms. But in reality, humans and life are (thankfully) more complex and nuanced than either/or allows. Though we’re focused on two particular verses of Galations 5 during this series, Galations as a whole has much to say to the notion of barriers, in-groups and out-groups.
Believed to be one of the earliest New Testament texts, Paul’s letter to the Galations cautions against our very human tendency to form rigid differentiations among ourselves. It might be easy today to consider Paul and other Christ-followers to be Christians as we know Christians. But Christianity as we understand it didn’t yet exist. Paul was Jewish. Jesus-followers encompassed an emerging, radical subset of Judaism in which deciding who was “in” and who was “out” became incredibly complex. Rather than neat, orderly distinctions between groups, there existed overlap, complexity and sometimes confusion.
Paul found himself concerned with the state of Jesus-following communities such as those in Galatia, who were—in Paul’s perspective—swirling in a sea of angst: how will we know who is the real deal? How can we determine who is in and who is out? What are the indicators? Circumcision? Law-following? Paul, a renowned teacher, fears for the survival of the community, the future of this emerging community of faith. How will we survive if we preoccupy ourselves with notions of who’s in and who’s out? How will we thrive in the midst of already-present opposition and persecution, if even among ourselves we argue over the smallest of particulars?
Can we recognize ourselves in the debating Galations? Convinced that someone is wrong (probably “them”), and someone is right (hopefully “us”)? In this profoundly polarized season of United States—and even global—reality, it is not difficult to imagine such an “us-them” separation. Before we even arrive at the Fruits of the Spirit in Galations 5:22-23, Paul has been correcting, redirecting and guiding the Galations toward better community practices that will nourish one another and their faith. Rather than clarify exactly how the particulars ought to be, Paul instead leans into the complexities and nuances that are ever-present in reality and in community.
Just before indicating the fruits of the Spirit toward which the community should strive, he points out several tendencies the community should avoid, “Now the works of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity, debauchery, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these. I am warning you, as I warned you before: those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God” (Galations 5:19-21, NRSVue). Though I have often heard these verses used to justify the sexual Purity Culture in which I grew up, the majority of these warnings are not directly associated with sexuality. Quarrels, dissensions and factions, envy: all these will threaten the blooming community of Jesus-followers to whom Paul writes. The well-being of the community is Paul’s primary concern, in all of his cautions, and he seems certain that getting wrapped up in particular rules will zap the community of its collective vitality.
But, Paul doesn’t merely advise the community about what to avoid, he reminds them of the intentions, behaviors and practices that embody God’s Spirit: the Fruits of the Sprit.
Paul goes on, “By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against such things” (Gal 5:22-23). Paul isn’t merely advising on what to avoid; he is also directing how to be together, in community, in collaboration with the Spirit of God.
I can, however, relate to the Galations’ desire to clarify the “rules.” As a child, as soon as I learned to read, I read rules. I was particularly drawn to rules posted in public places, which outlined prohibited behaviors. My parents still recall their surprise, usually with a chuckle, when their small child stood at the side of the pool before jumping in, reading every last one of the posted rules. I can still recall the comfort I experienced knowing the expectations, convincing myself that so long as I avoided everything on the list of rules, all would be well.
As I aged, I learned that a strict adherence to the rules didn’t necessarily guarantee a certain outcome. I have also learned that sometimes—often—rules reflect the preferences and norms of those in positions of sociopolitical power, and can even cause harm to those who the rules seek to “keep in place.” I have learned that order does not equal justice, and I have learned that prohibiting or stopping a harmful behavior does not automatically ensure that a life-giving one takes its place.
So, while I can understand the Galations’ desire for clarity of the “rules,” Perhaps Paul grappled with how to respond, understanding that adherence to rules made no guarantees, that the rules may benefit those with sociopolitical power. And for someone attempting to nourish the life of this sprouting community, perhaps he understood that guiding them in what not to do would not encourage growth in the way that telling them what to do, to build, to nurture would. “… the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.”
Joy.
If ever there were a barrier-breaking, wall-tumbling, border-blurring practice it’s this: joy.
If ever there were a place where joy and joyful, life-sustaining resistance is on display in its bountiful fullness, it’s at Pride marches and celebrations across the United States and around the world. Yesterday, I attended my first Pride March. Our family has nearly always had a conflicting event on the day of Pride, but this year, the calendar aligned so that Anna and I could attend. I have never experienced anything quite like it.
“Blessed be the ones who dance in the corridors of death.”*
The Pride March was magic.
Color.
Abundance.
Freedom.
Movement.
Connection.
Embrace.
Sparkle.
Breath.
Belly laughs.
Tears.
Heartbeat.
Beautiful, bountiful, pulsing dance, in step with thousands.
Togetherness.
Sacredness.
And joy, joy, joy.
The celebration was particularly joyful for me because I, too, am queer. Though this part of me is not immediately evident, the attraction I experience has never been exclusive to men. This part of me was deeply confusing, painful and isolating as a child, teenager and young adult. You can only imagine what a child who reads pool rules, a child growing up in fundamentalist evangelical Christianity, thinks and feels about this complexity. It took decades of life experience, spiritual, theological and emotional healing for me to come to a place where I could even imagine saying from the pulpit, “I am queer, and I am God’s beloved. So are you. So are we all.”
I can, of course, as someone in a heteronormative partnership “pass” as heterosexual. I have wrestled with the importance of sharing this part of myself broadly, especially because I am happily partnered with Josh, a man. As my mom expressed when I came out to my parents, “What does this mean?” For me, it means I refuse the shame that has chased me my whole life, and I acknowledge and love my full self, in all of my beautifully, complex, beloved humanity. It also means that I refuse to receive the social benefits of “hiding” my sexuality while those who cannot “hide” theirs suffer. In solidarity with my queer and trans siblings, I name my own queerness.
And mostly for me, particularly on weekends like these, naming my queerness means joy. It means getting to experience the abundance that comes with arriving home to and within myself, and the ways that self attunement carves channels for vibrant communal connection. These vibrant webs of communal connection were evident as we journeyed down High Street yesterday. A bunch of love-filled Mennonites atop a quilt-covered hay wagon connected with thousands of love-filled humans on the sidelines. The music pulsing, the waving enthusiastic, the smiles wide, the joy abundant.
Joyful, sacred, holy.
In many cities yesterday, Pride celebrations burst into their city streets as another, glorified, militaristic parade took place in the Capital. The juxtaposition reminds us that it is not enough to focus on what we might avoid or stop. We don’t merely want to stop gun violence or war or homophobia or transphobia.
We want to cultivate communities where all can thrive, where all can live in bountiful abundance, in the beautiful complexity of our shared humanity. This is the work of the Spirit, the work of the kin-dom of God. “Sing a new world into being.”**
Paul advised the Galations not only in the behaviors they ought to avoid, but in the intentions, behaviors and practices to which they should commit themselves, those which would grow the community of Christ, those which would allow both individuals and the community to flourish. “By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against such things.”
It harms the whole community when queer and trans community members are denied acknowledgement of humanity and existence, are denied access to basic needs, are denied all that becomes possible when one cannot only survive but thrive. The whole community suffers the loss of siblings and the loss of magic.
Color.
Abundance.
Freedom.
Movement.
Connection.
Embrace.
Sparkle.
Breath.
Belly laughs.
Tears.
Heartbeat.
Beautiful, bountiful, pulsing dance, in step with thousands.
Togetherness.
Sacredness.
These are the joyful realities and practices, ever-present in queer, joyful resistance, to which we all must strive.
And so, our community can lean into the complexity of our shared humanity, the glorious messiness of human-ing in community, by naming what we do intend, and what we do want to practice. “By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against such things.”
For the child at the pool side, struggling to trust herself, can she recognize that there is more to this pool experience than what she’s told to avoid? What if the pool rules also read, “Notice the smooth coolness of the water all around you, holding you, carrying you, playing as you play…or, number 4: try to talk underwater, and laugh when it sounds silly…number 5: feel the warm, summer wind on your skin as you emerge…number 6: splash as much as you can…and finally: joyfully, jump in!”
*Jan Richardson, Voices Together #1049, 2000.
**Mary Louise Bringle (lyrics), “Sing a New World Into Being,” Voices Together #809, 2006.
