I was related neither to the departed, nor the departed's family. The only connection was the departed's grandson-in-law. We had grown up across the street together. I had officiated his wedding. So, when he texted me one morning at 7:30 AM I paid attention. I also paid special attention because of the subject matter:

"Do you do funerals?" he asked. 

His grandmother-in-law, Mary, was at the time on her deathbed and was expected, within a week, to pass. He asked if I would be willing to do the funeral. His mother-in-law like how I did the wedding. I guess she figured I could do a good funeral too.  Makes sense, right?

Here's the thing, I had never officiated a funeral by myself. Sure, I had helped out, seen a funeral, but had not officiated one all by my lonesome. I agreed that I would officiate the funeral, and within two days the call came that Mary had, indeed, passed away. In three days the funeral would commence. 

Across our minds ideas about death arrive. My theological education surely invited plenty of opportunities to ponder its ineffable mystery. Until I have to provide the final words, the words before someone is lowered into the grave, it doesn't hit home the same. I created a funeral service to the family's specifics, and I suggested we use 1 Corinthians 13. You know it, the passage all about love. With that in mind I wrote a homily, along with the other material that constituted this secular/sacred returning to the ground. Here's what I discovered:

We gather this day, surrounded by creation, to pay our last tribute to Mary. In her 88 years she was privileged to act on this mortal stage, she played her part well. Now the curtain falls; she moves through the exit; the drama of her earthly life comes to close. While it comes to a close, we hear the words of St. Paul from Corinthians 13. When heard we are usually in the throes of a wedding. We associate these words with marriage, unity, and devotion. Yet, in a similar way, these words stand for much the same even though we gather here today. Love remains.

Today we gather together because of the love that has been shared with one another. Throughout the years lives have been weaved together through trial and triumph, through hope and agony, through rain and shine. Through one life many have become bound. We remember the stories of her life, of her struggles, and then we remember our own stories. We remember the relationships and lives forged in the goodness of love.

In his passage St. Paul writes, “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.”

Today, we give thanks for the life lived. We give thanks for the grace that she was able to move away from reasoning like a child, to reasoning like an adult. We give thanks for the fact that she knows fully love, all divine. Let those of us that still remain on this mortal coil give thanks for the beautiful love with which we have been given: in the form of a mother, grandmother, and guide we give thanks.

I realize it is nearly impossible to say anything that might console you at this hour; something to clear the clouds of sadness floating in your mental skies. On one hand, there is small consolation in knowing that death comes to every individual. Kings and beggars die, rich and poor die. Death comes to old and young, guilty and innocent. Death is the unavoidable common denominator among humanity.

But, death is not the end. As Rev. King once remarked, "It is not a period that ends the sentence of life, but a comma that punctuates to more lofty significance. Death is not a blind alley that leads us into a state of nothing," but an open door that leads us into love immortal.

Though death be a universal experience, so too is love. While death greets us at the grave, love reaches beyond. For in these coming weeks sadness will remain. A grave may seem the only place to which one can pay respects. But I offer you a different memorial. Though a body be lowered into a grave, her spirit still lives in our love.

When we find patience, kindness, when we embrace ourselves, neighbors and family, there is love. There she lives. Through love we carry her spirit, and her spirit carries us. Though death has brought you here, know that love carries you forward. Know that into love’s divine arms, and into daily lives, she has been sent to prod us, poke us, encourage, and sustain us. Where there is love, there you will find Mary.

Amen.

I have no enemies.

How am I to love them?

One of Jesus' most radical commands was to love our enemies as Christians. But, I have no real, meaningful enemies.

No enemy curses me. No enemy raises fists at me. No enemy persecutes me. No enemy hates me. I doubt anyone in the enemies of my state — Taliban or Al-Qaeda — care much about a stay-at-home dad living in the Deep South.

Frankly, I’m not important enough to have enemies in this world, and I’m not doing anything important enough that might make me any, either.

Further, I'm a member of the implicitly privileged class, a white male with a graduate degree. I don't even have any institutional enemies with which to contend!

I want so desperately to love my enemy, but I’ll be damned if I can find any. To love my enemies would require an exercise in delusional imagination, the conjuring of ghosts to hate so that I might be able to love them. Maybe I should have them sit in an empty chair.

To love an enemy I would have to envision conflict, create it and exacerbate it to transform those with whom I disagree into enemies.

We do this more than we should, inventing scenarios in which we play the maligned, the victim, the oppressed. It was on display at the Republican National Convention in which an audience almost universally white imagined they were being oppressed.

But to love an enemy would be daring, costly, painful. American lives are not generally built on these characteristics, so all the martyrdom and suffering Jesus tells his followers to expect at the hands of the powerful have been bent in our world into pithy sentiments about playing nice within pluralism. But Jesus rarely played nice with the true enemies of humanity, those wild beasts that would stampede the poor like weeds under foot and those that would drive love from religion as if it were a demon hoard. To Jesus, loving an enemy did not include ignoring injustice.

But where does one find an enemy of humanity to love? Where does one find someone who eats at perpetual banquet tables while the rest of the world starves for a handful of rice? Where does one find someone who sleeps softly while the world burns? Where does one find someone who steals birthrights from the poor and gives them pottage in return?

If I can find no enemies to love, perhaps I am the enemy, and that my life — just in every day chores and errands — consumes more of the Earth than one person should be able to lay claim.

What would it mean for us if we understood ourselves, as Americans, as among the enemies of God, of humanity? What would it mean for once, instead of imagining ourselves as liberators or as victims, we imagined ourselves as oppressors?

Even if I were to do all I could to live justly on this Earth, the privileged nature of my birth — the system I am inextricably caught in — requires me to be an enemy of humanity.

And then it is I who must endure the love of an enemy, the good done to the life that curses, the shame of having heaps of coal-burn blisters on my head.

But if I am the enemy, all is not lost, but found, because in this, I fall upon the knowledge — the grace — that I am loved as an enemy. And that kind of love can be transformative, enough even to make enemies.

I should have expected it. I’ve lived my entire life in the Bible Belt, and nothing breeds more conversation more than a religiously themed book sitting on table. In fact, if the book in any way, shape, or form resembles Christianity someone, more than likely, will start conversation with you.

On the table, alongside my coffee, sat American Grace. This fantastic book on the American religious experience was being utilized for research purposes. I knew something was awry when a gentleman strolled by, slowing as he passed.

“Is that a good book?” he asked.

“Yes. It is,” I answered quickly. My brief response was not enough to sway him from my table. He continued the conversation, and admittedly I did too. Ah, the price for being nice.

Soon enough we arrived at the fact that Christian churches aren’t as powerful as they once were. They don’t hold cultural power or dominance, at least within the country as a whole. This couldn’t be because of what was argued in American Grace, namely that the era of growth in the 1950s was an outlier, not the norm.

Instead, he argued we were a damned nation, a country corrupted by those that did not bow to Jesus. I asked, knowing the answer, if only Christians were capable of good? Could it be that Christians were also responsible for harm? This, wasn’t the case, he assured me. Quoting the ol’ Gospel of John he said, “…and you will know the truth and the truth will set you free.”

This isn’t the first time that I’ve heard this passage quoted. In fact, for many fundamentalists this is a go-to scripture for anything that ails the secular/sinner/not-agreeing person. Unfortunately, this textually rich passage in the Gospel of John has become the Cliff’s Notes version of Fundamentalist theology.

Fact is, I know the truth.

I know the truth about child hunger.
I know the truth about institutional racism.
I know the truth about the state of education in America.

When Jesus offered liberation through truth it wasn’t a golden ticket absolving people of responsibility. Instead, it’s liberation from participating within the power structures of the world. It’s liberation from propagating policies and ways of life that condemn rather than, truly, set people free.

Christians across the globe have become so concerned with making sure people know the truth about Jesus that they forget what that truth provokes. Love for the neighbor becomes sublimated to a concern about recognizing truth. They remained entombed in the truth of power, rather than the liberation of love.

So, there I was, being told that the truth will set more people free. I was being told that churches aren’t preaching that anymore. In the way he meant it, I couldn’t agree. Too many make professions of faith in Jesus all that’s necessary.

On another level he was absolutely correct: too few churches preach the liberation into love that Jesus offers. Too many fail to offer liberation into a way of life that seeks wholeness and peace, rather than division and hate.

In the moments after his quoting of scripture to me I searched for the best way to express what I thought. Instead of telling him, I asked him, “What does your truth call you to do? Does it love all, serve the poor, and seek peace?” Unfortunately, there was not “Aha!” moment, no immense conversion moment. Rather there was silence. I thanked him for his time, and left before he could respond to my question.

To believe in the truth is one thing. To accept it’s liberation and invitation to live it out in radical hospitality and love in another. Indeed, if only more churches preached it. 

For much of human history conversations about mental health have been held behind closed doors, if held at all. Only recently has it become socially acceptable to publically pursue mental health treatment, as well as discuss it. Theology does have something to say about the topic, but the Church on the whole hasn’t been the best at making this conversation primary. 

Granted, many church leaders refuse to discuss mental health because it might challenge their conception of God: the everywhere, all-knowing, all-powerful God. For me, to ignore the need for mental health says something about what we think about creation. I wonder how different our world might look if congregations of all faiths made pursuing mental health a priority.

From Oklahoma City to Blacksburg, Virginia I wonder what the future might have held had congregations raised awareness. For the abused child or depressed mother, I wonder what the future might hold if congregations raised awareness. Surely, not all those facing mental health sit in pews, but those sitting in the pews do inhabit communities outside the church. Change, if only slowly, can arrive.

Theologically speaking, if we hold in some fashion that the face of the divine shines through all existence, wouldn’t proper care for creation include mental health? We could use any number of theological ideas to support mental health care. The question, at least in mind, comes back to how we view creation and role within it.

According to the National Institute of Mental Health, 1 in 4 American adults suffer from a mental disorder annually. Chances are that each day we’re interacting with many people suffering. Now, imagine the church. If you attend a church with an attendance of 200 on a Sunday morning, 50 of the attendees are facing something. If 25% in our congregation were suffering from cancer, AIDS, or heart disease would we not attempt some proactive assistance?

I’m not a psychologist, counselor, or therapist, but I do believe in the wholeness and goodness of creation. I believe in it because that creation myth penned long ago says that God called creation good. Time and time again in the faces of many I see that goodness—even in the faces of those that no longer remember who I am. What a prophetic work the church could pursue if mental health, mental wholeness, was brought out into the open and into the community? From providing community conversations about mental health to mental health clinics the possibilities are endless.

For me, this strikes particularly close to home. My grandfather suffered from Alzheimer’s before he passed, and now my grandmother faces dementia. As of this past week she has suffered an infection that now clouds her mind even more, and causes her fits of paranoia. Sadly, I know that I’m not the only person dealing with this. My family joins the countless strangers on the street that have loved ones facing the same disease and struggle.

For the church to remain silent, for the church not to help educate, prepare, and support adequately congregants and the community will remain a great injustice. While some churches have succeeded in accomplishing this, far too many can only help pray when the moment arrives. In creating the beloved community we must be bold enough to face the dim, dark ages of mental health conversation and embrace them.

I know that I will, more than likely, no longer have the grandmother I had when I was young. I will not have the grandmother that went with me to the strawberry patch. Lost to a disease is a grandmother with whom I would watch The Sound of Music time after time. In these instances, as I wonder about where God is all of this, I want to say that God breathes from the church, from the community in support.

In the end, any theology of mental health needs a god of love; one that embraces without shame who we are, and provides the space for us to face ourselves. I can only hope the church, what is so often called the body of Christ, can find that same space to face who they are: a community full of broken people needing love, and needing support. Silent for far too long, it’s time we speak up for the 25% among us facing our own demons. 

My dad has a saying that he uses whenever he or someone else attempts to do something and completely misses the objective.  It’s a country saying he probably learned from his momma or daddy who grew up on and around farms.  He says, “You couldn’t hit a bull in the butt with a bass fiddle.”  For those of you unfamiliar with the business end of a bull, it’s rather large, and a bass fiddle, well it ain’t to small either.   

Over the past few weeks, my attention to Amendment One in North Carolina has grown.  I’ve spent time in North Carolina, and I find it to be one of the most beautiful in the nation.  (The most beautiful is Kentucky, in case you were wondering.)  I might like to settle in that region someday.  So, my trouble isn’t with North Carolina or the people who live there. 

My main trouble is with the religious folks that support Amendment One and bans on LGBT marriage in general.  The arguments I’m reading couldn’t hit a bull in the butt with a bass fiddle.

I've read all kinds of arguments about being opposed to LGBT equality.  These arguments include: we are protecting marriage; keeping God first; the Bible says so; and our forefathers would be ashamed.  I’m in the process of having an extended discussion on this topic on my Facebook page, and these themes keep showing up. 

In my opinion, all of those arguments are bull-butter. It isn’t that they aren’t logically sound or unintelligent.  Far from it: these arguments are logically constructed by some very intelligent people.  Each of them has a right to their opinion. 

But, for religious folks like me, I have to ask, what’s the motivation?  Jesus said that we speak what is in our hearts.  If you are opposed to marriage equality and for the stripping of a wide array of rights in Amendment one, ask yourself, where is your opposition coming from?

I believe the arguments given are a cover for fear.  Plain and simple, people are afraid. 

They are afraid God won't love us as Americans if we love and support our LGBT brothers and sisters.  They are afraid their children will identify as LGBT if we allow LGBT marriage.  They are afraid that their worldview won't win, and John Boehner says American won't vote for a loser. 

When I am afraid, I tend to lock the doors and protect what is mine.  That’s natural and normal.  Nothing wrong with responding to fear, but making a decision affecting the rights of others is a decision that should not be made from fear, but love. 

I am not saying if you support Amendment One or oppose marriage equality that you are an unloving person, but I am asking if your opposition is loving most of all.  What is at the heart of beliefs?

So, if you read this far and are for Amendment One, you are likely mad as hornet or think I am going to hell.  I might go to hell, but not for this article. 

To attempt to get you to reconsider your support, I want to assure you of a couple of things: first, God loves you.  Shoot, God loves us all.  God won't stop loving the US of A for allowing LGBT folks to have marriage privileges and rights.  I personally think God will like us more if we do allow those rights, but what do I know? 

In any case, God loves always. 

I can hear you saying, God loves us but wants us to change to be in God's likeness, to be holy.  But, isn’t relentlessly loving us, no matter what, what makes God holy in the first place?  Each of us has to wrestle with what changes we have to make in our lives, but none of us has the right, nor did God instruct us, to judge others. 

Recognize that making a decision based on fear is a sure-fire way to make a bad decision.  I am not saying you have to change your beliefs, but I am asking if you want to live in a world where consenting adults who love one another and have families do not have access to the same rights that other consenting adults who love one another and have families access without even thinking about it.

If you and your church want to close your hearts and doors to LGBT folks, do it.  That is your business and you can answer to God for it.  But closing the doors of our government and access to basic, fundamental rights like the right to marry, well, that's petty and motivated by fear.  Step into the fear.  Your world won't end.

I live in Maryland and our legislature approved LGBT marriage, and so far, the Orioles are in first place in the AL East.  That's the most remarkable thing that happened since the passage of this "heinous" legislation.  So good, so far. 

In truth, no law will prevent people from loving who they decide to love and no law should prevent consenting adults from gaining the privileges our government gives to individuals who will commit to loving each other for life.  Even our government recognizes that commitment is not fool-proof: we have divorce.  So, if our government can extend grace to all us married straight folks by giving us an out on our promise, why can't the church extend grace to folks who want to at least publicly and legally benefit from this commitment they've already made?

Think about it: would God really damn someone for loving another so much they want to spend their lives together, raise children together, grow old together, and make difficult end of life decisions together?  Is that even an open question?  Look, I don't like all the things God loves either, but, God doesn't ask me to be perfect, God only asks that I accept God’s love and extend that love to others.  Love is the question and the answer here, at least I think so.

 Of course, I could be swinging at bulls again.

Joshua Bailes is a full-time father and husband, part-time law student, ordained baptist minister who is speaking his truth.  He doesn't mind hearing your truth either, in fact, he hopes you will share yours.  His mission is to create a world of relentless love by accepting himself and others.  You can reach him via Twitter: @joshuasbailes or via email: joshuasbailes@gmail.com.    

On Sunday, April 29, Sean Harris, Pastor at Berean Baptist Church in Fayettesville, NC incited vitriolic speech in support of Amendment One. 

In his sermon he said things such as this: 

“Dads, the second you see your son dropping the limp wrist, you walk over there and crack that wrist. Man up. Give him a good punch. Ok? You are not going to act like that. You were made by God to be a male and you are going to be a male.”

Speech such as this does not reflect a Christian identity. Furthermore, this speech reflects the hate speech that increases suicide among gay teens.

That’s why we’re asking you to send a letter to Sean Harris speaking out against it.

You can respond how you’d like but here’s one suggestion to make a unified statement:

We ask also that you find a Bible, tear out a page, specifically Micah 7:8: 

“Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy: when I fall, I shall arise; when I sit in darkness, the LORD shall be a light unto me.”

Highlight that passage and send it along with your letter with the name of a gay teenager that has committed suicide on the page from the Bible. If you're not comfortable tearing out a page from the Bible, print the passage off, or simply write it down.

Send it to Sean Harris.

If you’re willing, take a picture of yourself with the letter and Bible page and upload it to Facebook, Twitter, or any social media. 

We ask that you speak the truth in love, but know that this speech is not reflective of a Christian identity. 

This is for all those in the LGBTQ community that have been abused, assaulted, or pushed unto death because of hate speech such as this. 

MAIL TO:

Sean Harris
Berean Baptist Church
517 Glensford Drive  
Fayetteville, NC 28314