ME: Speaking at The Riverside Church

11/19/2007 8:19 PM

Yesterday, Sunday, November 18th, I was asked to speak to The Riverside Church congregation about the group Maranatha: Riversiders for LGBT Concerns of which I am Deputy Convener. I was SOOO nervous, but thankfully, it went fine. I have reprinted my speech below.

Much Love!

Chad

"MINUTE FOR MISSION" for Maranatha: Riversiders for LGBT Concerns

by Chad Gurley

Presented at The Riverside Church on Sunday, November 18, 2007

Hello. My name is Chad Gurley, and I am honored to speak with you today about The Riverside Church's ministry, Maranatha: Riversiders for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Concerns. Of course, with ever changing definitions, self-identifications, and updated political correctness, Maranatha could potentially be termed Riversiders for Queer/Questioning Concerns or Riversiders for Same Gender Loving Persons Concerns or Riversiders for Intersex or Gender Identity Concerns . But to be concise today, I hope you will allow me to group all of these into the phrase "gay and lesbian" knowing that when I say this, I am not excluding anyone within our LGBTQSGLI community. Now, that's a mouthful.

I am the Deputy Convener of Maranatha, and when asked by our Convener, my mentor and dear friend, Dr. Wilhelmina Perry, to do the minute for mission for Maranatha, I was nervous and not sure how best to sum up what Maranatha is, what Maranatha does, and why Maranatha is important to The Riverside Church, as well as the gay and lesbian community – especially in a QUOTE UNQUOTE "Minute". Still, I will do my best, and hope you will be patient with me.

The word "Maranatha" means "The Lord Cometh" or "Lord Come to Me" and was used by the early Christians who were persecuted for their faith in Jesus Christ. As they would pass one another or sit together in cells, they would say, "Maranatha" in order to give each other the hope and encouragement that Christ was with them and that Christ was coming again to take them Home. In the face of all the adversity, do not be afraid. Be strong and faithful. I believe this must have meant a great deal to those few courageous gay and lesbian folks here at Riverside who, 30 years ago next year, in the late 70's, decided to "come out" publicly to their church family and form a group of support for one another in God's House, becoming one of the oldest gay and lesbian groups in a church community in the United States. And they should be applauded for their historic prophetic vision of knowing they were included at God's table and asserting such to those who were probably uncomfortable, who disagreed, and who did not have the same conviction.

For the past 29 years, Maranatha has involved itself in so many ways, I would need countless minutes to do it justice. I could tell you about Maranatha's commitment to helping gay and lesbian homeless youth, who make up the majority of homeless youth on the streets today, many kicked out of their own homes and families because of confessing who they are. Or I could tell you about Maranatha's partnership with gay and lesbian senior or elderly organizations, which assist and care for those who are often left alone without extended families or without protection from abuse by those who are homophobic in nursing homes or care centers. I could tell you about Maranatha's advocacy work, in its hope for marriage equality, or laws that would protect us from discrimination or hate crimes. Yes, I could go on and on about all that Maranatha has done and is doing, but what I believe is the most important thing that Maranatha does, the most important thing it has done for me personally, is something seeming so simple, yet so profound for those of us who are gay and lesbian, and that is sharing the faith that God does truly love us.

In Arkansas, I was born and raised a Southern Baptist, saved and baptized when I was eleven, attended a Christian elementary school and later a very fundamentalist Christian university. Needless to say, my faith in God is deeply rooted in my soul; however, in knowing very early in my life that I was different from other boys, I began harboring my secret, which ultimately grew into intense hatred for myself. While I wanted to trust that God loved me, for I loved God so much and wanted to do whatever God wanted me to do, I was bombarded by images and verses and slogans that only affirmed that God hated me, despised me, rejected me fully and completely for who I was. Even the unconditional Love of Jesus Christ, His unfaltering Grace, seemed too far out of reach for me from what I had been taught and learned, and in hating myself, I began to believe a different kind of song, "Jesus MAY love me BUT". I wanted to obey Christ's command to love others as you love yourself, but when you don't love yourself at all, it proves to be very difficult to find the energy to love others as you should love. I was broken and alone and made tearful pleas to God to change me so that I would be loved by God, but my prayers were never answered, and I was left confused and severely depressed.

When I moved to New York, I decided not to go to church, for I could not reconcile my being gay with my being Christian, and I struggled for many years, until just after September 11th, my parents, who did not accept my being gay, came to visit me in New York and stated that we WERE going to church together the Sunday they were here, and that we were going to go to The Riverside Church. "You know Chad, it's famous, Rockefeller built it." I honestly did not know anything about Riverside, so I shrugged my shoulders and said sure, I would go with them.

That Sunday, so close after September 11th, was emotional for all of us, and as we sat in the pews, just down there, we held hands during service. It was then that one of the ministers rose to speak and said something to the effect of "We have got to end homophobia and embrace our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters in Christ." My heart fluttered awake. I felt Mom's hand in mine and knew at that moment that I was being called home; my parents had brought me and introduced me to my church home. Home! Could it be? I finally felt God's true love for me manifest and Christ's warm embrace. I joined Riverside shortly thereafter.

In June of the next year, Maranatha held its annual Pride Breakfast and Sunday service. I felt like a little kid all over again as I got ready for church that morning, but instead of feeling hatred for myself, instead of feeling that Jesus wanted no part of me, I felt love, hope, excitement, acceptance. My spirit was renewed. When I walked into the Assembly Hall for Maranatha's Pride Breakfast, I was greeted with open arms – there in that room was a group of other gay and lesbian people and straight friends who not only believed in God, but believed that they, as themselves, were affirmed and loved by God, and their passion and compassion moved me so deeply, my soul felt relief and release. My burden was lifted.

In many ways, I believe that Maranatha and the community of Maranatha through God's providence has healed me and made me whole again. Maranatha helped to give the courage to say with assurance, yes, I am gay AND I am Christian. I AM a child of God. Maranatha has carried me back to my Savior's embrace of Grace and has encouraged me forward in my personal spiritual journey, one that I did not believe I could have because I am homosexual.

So, in closing, I hope that those of you listening who may feel alone or abandoned, who need a shoulder to lean on, a friend to confide in, or an embrace to catch your falling tears, will come to us in Maranatha for support, for we are here for you, and we feel so blessed to have the opportunity to give back to you in sharing the Love of God we have been given. Praise God.

"Maranatha"… "The Lord Cometh", and He loves me so much, He loves YOU so much! Christ's given Freedom for all to be just exactly who He has called you to be is the best news, the greatest gift, and we are forever grateful.

Thank you, Maranatha and The Riverside Church for reconnecting me with our most Loving God!

ME: Now are the days

November 12, 2007 - Monday

Now are the days when I walk out of work, at a time one would consider a reasonable hour, only to find that night has fallen, blackness everywhere, well, except in those small circularly lit locations of street lamps or the square patches left by flashing traffic signs. Now are the days when I must wrap myself in a knitted scarf, bury my hands in my corduroy coat pockets, and move quickly towards my destination, hoping to beat the chill rushing towards my bones. Now are the days when Halloween candy has been replaced by Christmas garland, Santa Claus already appears on Coca-Cola cans, all leaving Thanksgiving in a kind of holiday limbo. And now are the days when I often experience the most loneliness, my faithful companion, when I notice more intently that I am somehow on the outside of the couples and families walking bundled together on the sidewalk, keeping each other safe from the dark and warm in the cold. Now are the days when I listen to Annie Lennox's new album, discovering my own tears coupled with her beautiful moans. And, please don't get me wrong; I'm not feeling sorry for myself, for somehow I relish in this dark emotion, which seems to envelope me and release some necessary cry aloud to announce my existence and a hope for an other in which to wrap myself during these dark, cold, holiday days that are now.

ME: Red and Yellow, Black and White . . . AND Orange!

10/19/2007 5:36 PM

This weekend, I will be attending an "Undoing Racism" Conference at The Riverside Church, put together for our lay leadership. This summer, I was elected to the Mission and Social Justice Commission at Riverside, hence my being invited. This conference couldn't come at a more opportune time, as all across the United States, it seems that blatant racist displays have heightened in occurrence. Just last week, a black, Teacher's College professor, just across the street from me here at Columbia University, found a noose hung on her office door. For those of you who don't know, nooses were used in the lynchings, violent executions usually by hanging, of African-Americans particularly by the Ku Klux Klan after the Civil War, and sadly, sometimes even after the Civil Rights Movement. It is a hateful kind of "let's teach them a lesson, let's show who's boss", fear-mongering act, wanting to express white dominance, which is utterly and completely deplorable, disgusting, and oh so wrong. Therefore, the fact that empty nooses are now popping up all over the country, in New Jerseyand Louisiana recently, shows that although America has continued to make improvements in its racial relationships, it is a far cry from our living together in true peace and harmony.

Columbia's School of the Arts encouraged everyone to wear orange this past Tuesday as a show of solidarity against bigotry and for diversity, for not only was the noose hung on the professor's door last week, over the weekend, bathrooms were vandalized with anti-Semitic and anti-Muslim graffiti, somewhat surprising considering that we are a liberal university in one of the most diverse cities in the world! I donned my bright orange Penguin v-neck sweater, ready to join the masses in saying, "Enough is enough!" I mean, really, this is 2007, almost 2008, and it is completely outrageous that these kinds of things are happening, and further, that somehow hate is continuing to be passed down from generation to generation. When I got out of the subway station and entered Earl Hall's gates, watching people rushing from class to class, building to building, I thought that I had gotten the date wrong from the flyer. Everyone seemed to be dressed so, uh, normally. Then, occasionally, I would see a pop of orange from across campus. I was discouraged. There are so few of us in this solidarity, I lamented. Upon arrival at my office, I noticed no students were wearing orange there either. "What happened? Where is your orange? You couldn't wear an orange shirt, pants, shoelaces, something?" I asked. All replied, "I guess we didn't get the memo." Turned out, the School of the Arts did not do the best job of advertising the day (something I would think the School of the Arts should know how to do, actually); however, at the rally after lunch, once all the orange wearers got together, we did seem like a rather large orange fist raised up from Columbia saying that we do not accept this and will not accept this on our campus, in New York, or in the world.

So, although I am not especially thrilled about sitting in a conference ALL weekend (I do relish my weekends), I am excited to learn what we can do to make this world a much more humane and accepting place to live. We're all human. We all feel, love, suffer, experience, enjoy. We all pump blood through our hearts and breathe air into our lungs. Hopefully, this conference will help to teach me some ways, even if they are just simple, everyday ways, in which we can work together to end not only racism, but also sexism, classism, homophobia, religious-intolerance, and the like. After all, God loves all God's children – no matter what.

ME: Drizzles

10/11/2007 4:20 PM

It’s drizzling in New York City today. Cloudy skies and windy remnants of the severe storm, which plundered through the North American plains, dropping at least 28 tornados along the Midwest and South, are now passing over us here in the Northeast in a rather gloomy, anti-climatic fashion. And I can help but feel a little melancholy, although I’m not exactly sure why. The weather isn’t helping my mood much, but that’s not really the crux of what has me feeling dreary. At least, I don’t believe so. Perhaps it’s because time this week has moved in slow motion, each second seeming much longer than the “tick” of “ticktock”, giving me all the more moments to reflect, allowing discontent to rupture.

Earlier today, I read a small part of an interview with a well-known actor, and the title of the article was something to the affect of “He knows where he’s going and where he wants to go”. Upon reading that, I let out a silent moan thinking, good grief, I really only know where I’ve been. Where am I to go; actually, where do I want to go? Those are questions aspirations are made of, and I still haven’t quite figured out any of it yet. (And is that something that has to be figured out, I’ve wondered?) In any case, it made me grumble with slight jealousy that while others are ambitiously working their way towards their “goals”, I am still a little kid looking out the window at the rain falling, day-dreaming away the days, within a 30-something year old body, which, it would seem, should be somewhere much further along in this thing we call life.

Alas, I digress and must assert to myself that sometimes daydreams do billow into dreams, which can then burst into goals, which just might motivate this little kid towards some grand aspiration other than watching drizzling precipitation. We can hope!

ME: Nightlights of the NBA

10/4/2007 3:07 PM

Years ago, I used to blog or journal quite a lot. Then I began writing poetry, and all my thoughts were turned into tight, concise little bodies of verses, which I completely understood; however, some folks who read my knitted words wondered just what it was I was trying to say. Ah, the joys of poetic form. And now, that form has seemed to have left me, and sadly, without being able to write, I do feel altogether alone. For it was in those moments of expression that I felt the most comfort, even if what I was expressing was painful or even uncomfortable. So, I thought I would mildly attempt to journal a little again, in hopes that I will find some understanding of myself, begin another healing, as it were, even if it would seem to others as utter jibber-jabber about mostly nothing. All of this being said in hopes that you will please try to bear with me as I attempt to find my way.

Last night, at Columbia University’s opening to Queer Awareness Month, we had the honor and delight to hear John Amaechi speak to us in a large room in Lerner Hall. The room was packed with people to hear this 36 year old, 6’10”, stocky, former NBA player, dressed in a navy, tailored suit and multi-colored stripe shirt, speak about his being gay, black, British, and his coming out in the largely homophobic profession of sports. I must admit, he was wonderful, inspiring, handsome, and eloquent, if not also blunt, outspoken, and directly to the point. He is a psychologist now and certainly made us all think, ask deep questions (such as, why do we all feel the need to label people, just as I did above with “gay, black, British”?), as well as laugh and have a good time. Many students ask him questions, some interesting, some boring, some trying to sound intelligent only to sound silly, and still, no matter the question, he pondered them all and then answered each so sincerely, I was enamored.

John spoke of his mother, who passed away some years ago due to cancer, and had such love in his heart for her, it resonated upon every word he used to describe her and brought out an affectionate sparkle in his eyes. While it was endearing to hear him speak of his mother, it did make me sad, and I found myself feeling a little weepy, although I maintained my composure throughout the remainder of the talk. I began to wonder what it would be like to date such an amazing man with such a fondness for his mother, and, as another student raised her hand to ask a question, I tried to picture myself going out to dinner with the larger-than-life Mr. Amaechi in some nice, swank New York City restaurant, where everyone would look at us with awe and admiration. Already feeling sensitive and emotional, it was then that I scolded myself harshly, as the frenemy in me does so often, simply telling myself that I was way out of my league, and how could I even fancy such a daydream.

Then those voices, which I imagine we all hear from time to time, especially when we begin comparing ourselves to others, erupted in an unified chorus, basically affirming that I was NOT successful or accomplished, not all that attractive to look at, ultimately a failure at the 34 years of life I have lived thus far, and that it would be an absolute miracle if anyone of moderate social standing found me the least bit appealing. I mean, my bathroom is dirty and there are dishes sitting in the kitchen sink. Repulsive.

I shook myself back to John speaking at the front of the room, walking from side to side, his hand outstretched and animated as he began to tell us what we could do for all of us, gay, straight, black, white, rich, poor - humanity. He said, we each had to shine our own unique light. We might not believe we were the smartest or the best light. We might believe that we don’t really have much to offer anyone. We might wonder if we even have a light within us at all. But, he assured us, we all do. “Think about a nightlight,” he said. The nightlight is such a dim little light, not even as bright as a candle, with such low wattage, you might wonder what it is good for. In fact, even if you wanted to, it would be virtually impossible to even read by a nightlight. However, he told us, the sparkle in his eyes brightening, remember that the nightlight is one of the most warm, securing lights you have in your home. That one little bitty light in a hallway can keep you from tripping over your slippers while frightening the nighttime monsters away. That light can provide you with enough clarity to see your way through the dark. So no matter what you think of your light, shine it. Shine your light, and perhaps you will help not only yourself, but also someone else see their way through this sometimes very dark world.

The room rose in a standing ovation, which he modestly accepted. And, as I stood, smiling and clapping, I decided to stop listening to the frenemy in my head who all to often tells me I’m not good enough, that my light is far to dim to shine. Instead, I would shine whatever light that I have, the light that I have been blessed with, given, and hopefully, just maybe, someone, even if it’s just me, will find my light quite incredibly bright.

ME : live 1

Sent: 8/1/2007 12:15 PM

my cable is broken,
therefore my internet
is down,
therefore my phone
is disconnected.

it now amazes me
how much
i rely
on them.

now there is silence,
the sound of my birds,
the wind through
the window through
the fan through
the fan
to my living room.

i now wonder
how much living
i've really been doing.

i'm waiting to die
rather than longing
to live.

and still it's life.


Live!

ME : umbrella

Sent: 6/5/2007 9:23 PM

Jesus
lean out with Your umbrella
give me a little shelter
from this rain that falls
hard hail upon my soul

ME : invitation to smile

Sent: 6/5/2007 9:22 PM

i don't go out
i sit alone
at home
waiting for something
to come to me
arrows spin round
and round

i hear outside
i know it's
happening
music of life
there for me
inviting my scared,
fractured soul
to smile.

ME : THANK YOU

Sent: 6/5/2007 9:21 PM


Father God
Mother Earth
for All
You've
Given Birth
We Thank You

Poetry : trying to be

Sent: 3/1/2007 8:01 PM


stop trying to be
something thought better
and just live this moment
of being, knowing
i am

alive