Presence, the Red Lamp

Presence, the Red Lamp is from Robin’s poetry book “More Than Knowing”

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In early morning light, I see
red glowing up the hill,
shiny bright light glows in the brown of the wood,
shining eternal light of God down the mountain to my home?
I look closer to see sunlight
flow through red water-food for hummingbirds.
I remember the homeless poem
I promised to write.

homeless-pixabay-cc0-public-domain
Public Domain by Leroy Skalstad

How the homeless haunt me;
the man sitting in the rain in a park in Charlotte.
He was an attorney who lost his family someone said.
Rain fell a sheet of gray wetness one morning
as he sat on the bench in the park
beside of my office.
The morning was cold,
I took him my rainbow-colored umbrella.
Large canopy of color in my hand,
I said, “Here this is for you,” and he looked blankly
at me, but took the umbrella.
“Don’t give them money,” the dictum of all city dwellers.
Instead, I gave him my umbrella
little comfort to me.
What happened to him? To his family? What gray day destroyed him?
At the end of the day,
when the rain had stopped and the sun began to shine,
outside my office door leaned the umbrella gently in a corner.
The homeless man nowhere to be seen.
A colorful yet silent thankfulness
dripping wet in the corner.

The homeless are nameless birds
roosting on our corners,
sleeping on park benches, streets, sidewalks, warm doorways.
Relatives by loss and often mental illness,
they are connected by a cardboard sign
and some same black magic marker.
Who gives the marker?
Odd questions always come at the wrong time.

homless-woman-pixabay-cc0-public-domain-leroy-skalstad
Public Domain by Leroy Skalstad

Once I knew her name, for she lived on my street
or nearby in the woods where rapes happened.
She had multiple personalities
that she argued with as she walked by my cozy house.
Once, after a stint in jail,
she was lucid and clearly intelligent.
She was forced to take her meds there.
The officer said she would be fine
if she could just stay on her meds,
but they are expensive and
how do the homeless get prescription cards?
The last I saw her she was arguing with her other personality,
the one who was belligerent,
“Why didn’t you take that sandwich she offered? I’m hungry!”
“I asked for money and I want money!”
One Christmas I gave her a small token gift,
wrapped in pretty paper with a bow.
As I write, I know it was more for me than her.
She still was gracious and kindly thanked me.
As she walked into the dark woods,
she celebrated the shiny bow
as precious.

Beauty,
a gift given in nature
by light, trees, water.
We celebrate these beautiful things,
these places that are the wild
where our homeless live.

In Columbia, South Carolina,
there once was a river city of homeless.
Their cardboard houses were constantly taken down.
The average homeless person walks ten miles a day.
Nobody wants them.
Keep them out of the neighborhood
away from the rivers and bridges.
That is not my daughter, sister, mother.
Not my brother, son, father.

©JRobin Whitley

Mother Teresa said that when we look in another’s face,
we see Christ.
Presence.
The red lamp in the church is
about the presence of God
shining light into our dark places.
We always have hope.
Even if we are Christ of the homeless,
Christ’s face is homeless.

light-in-darkness

You
too could be homeless
or light.
You are the light of presence.
Red light shining down
love,
kindness, a meal.
Bread of life.
Tabernacle of the holy.
Feed the birds.
Shine your light.
The hope is you.


As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”

Luke 9:57-58 NRSV

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Clothing as a Faith Statement…or a Political Statement?

Psalm 139:14 NRSV
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

My life in the mountains these past nine years has been very healing. Because of our loving, supportive community, and church, for the first time in my life, I feel good about who I am. I am a butch woman. To be “technical” I am what is called gender queer. You can read a full article on that term, but here’s a summary from Slate.com’s article:

“Genderqueer, alogender-queer-from-slate-pageng with the somewhat newer and less politicized term nonbinary, are umbrella terms intended to encompass individuals who feel that terms like man and woman or male and female are insufficient to describe the way they feel about their gender and/or the way they outwardly present it.”

 

I guess this is a “coming out” of a sort in that I have never said this to many people. It’s scary enough to come out as a lesbian, much less to say the word “queer”. I should have calculated how many years it took me to say the word “lesbian” applied to me. It might have been interesting. Butch and lesbian are not terms often used in Christianity as a way of talking about faith. Yet, without acknowledging these identifying terms, one cannot know the faith challenges and blessings found in a life condemned.

Many who meet me do not understand what I mean when I talk about being condemned. When I was younger, in order to protect myself, I learned how to “pass” so that I could be in the church and later become a pastor. I know how to wear a dress and walk in high heels (though I hate both). Once I was removed from the church however, the dresses and high heels were history. I will never wear anything like that again. From an early age, the only thing I didn’t like about church was the fact that I had to wear dresses (or skirts). When I was a child, this was before the times where you can go wearing dress pants if you are a woman. The males wore pants and ties (which I loved) and the females wore dresses/skirts and hose. It was physical torture for me.

Attire is not what condemns a person, but attire is often seen as an indicator of sexual preference. It’s been great to see many straight women embrace pants and ties. When I began to work in offices, I found a way to wear dress pants in a way that felt natural to me. My attire would have been considered gender neutral probably. It was a safe way to dress, one that didn’t call attention to how I felt inside. Yet, dresses always made me feel wrong and vulnerable.

I remember a conversation with a colleague in seminary where she said that dressing up made a person feel good about himself or herself. Since she was a woman, she of course meant dressing up in a dress, hose, and pumps. I know this specifically because of our conversation. I disagreed with her, but at the time could not say that the dress made me feel worse about myself because of my gender identity. It was only during that time that many were beginning to talk about gender identity. Furthermore, at that time, there was a witch hunt for LGBT seminarians. The church had basically a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy but many seminarians were asked and they had to lie to stay on the ordination path.

Many things changed. Several years after my removal as a pastor, the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America (ELCA) voted to accept Lesbians and Gays in committed relationships as pastors. Of course, it was too late for me to return to the pastorate because of my health. Still, I rejoiced that the church could see the ways that the LGBT community serves and witnesses to God. Then, several years later, Gay and Lesbians were allowed to marry in the entire US in 2014. By 2015, I was married to the woman of my dreams. Every year, I’ve gotten to be more and more myself.

My wife and I have talked about gender and how it’s interfered, or the perception of it has interfered, with the things we’ve wanted to do in life. For me it was learning to play trumpet and how I dress. For her, it was learning to play guitar and how she dressed. There’s a theme here. How many times have I been asked, “Why are you dressed like that?” My answer finally became (because it’s true), “I dress for comfort.” Which is true.

Robin in January 2017.jpgAs you can see from this picture, comfort often means being dressed casually. While I wouldn’t wear this as a pastor or in the offices where I worked in Charlotte, I would have worn this to the doctor’s office. Lucky for me, mountain life is casual.  At the same time, the community is so loving that I’ve been able to wear bow ties and vests. I often wear hats.

Now there are new companies who cater to those of us who avoid dresses and still want to look dressed up or dapper. As you can see by the hoodie I have on in the photo, it is produced by a company called Haute Butch. I’ve become a big fan of their site because they show styles of how I always wanted to dress.hautelogo-final-for-black-bg-sample They also have great clothes. They are teaching me how to dress to impress…when I need to do that. Of course, here in rural NC, my way of dressing to “impress” is dangerous.

How can clothing be dangerous? As you can see by the hoodie I’m wearing, it’s rather easy to see the word “butch” on the hoodie. It’s a really comfortable hoodie and so I wore it to my allergy doctor today where I get my shots. The office I must attend is in a more rural setting near a more conservative town. Today, I actually worried that what I wore made me a target for hatred. A target in ways that I never felt targeted before.

Did it stop me from wearing it? Truthfully, I thought about it. With HB2 and all the other hatred that is being fueled, I wasn’t sure that it would be wise to wear it. Yet, it was perfect for the temperature. Then I realized I can’t allow my fear of others hate to control me any more. Many of you have known this all along. I’ve been a fearful person in my life and I’m tired of it.

When I bought this hoodie, I bought it because I wanted to live out and proud to be who I am. For 2017, I didn’t make formal New Year’s resolutions. Yet, perhaps I did unconsciously  make a decision to live my life braver than ever. At my age, it’s time. If you are younger, you have a better opportunity than I to live your life to the fullest. Be who you are. You are good. You were created good. Be brave and live braver still. You are a wonder.


13 For it was you who formed my inward parts;
    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
    Wonderful are your works;
that I know very well.
15     My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
    intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
16 Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.
In your book were written
    all the days that were formed for me,
    when none of them as yet existed.
17 How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God!
    How vast is the sum of them!
18 I try to count them—they are more than the sand;
    I come to the end—I am still with you.

Psalm 139:13-18 NRSV (the entire Psalm is awesome)