Finding Manna in the Wilderness
Before I even hit Casper, Wyoming, friends and colleagues were voicing concern. Isn’t that where Matthew Shepard was murdered? Aren’t you afraid? Why go there? You could get a job anywhere.
Well yes, but ministry isn’t a job. It is a calling and I heard God calling.
There was this little church, which stated in its profile that it was a “basket case” and was struggling to recover from a downturn in their attendance and finances. Much of this was due to the congregation’s commitment to be “a progressive liberal voice pledging to be an Open and Affirming sanctuary in an intensely conservative and fundamentalist community.”
They had even voted to close their doors, but heard the Spirit saying “no” and those who remained were united. They knew what they had to offer was just too important—that there were hungering souls out there, gay and straight, that needed the manna that they sought to offer.
I had looked at the Casper Star-Tribune and realized I was getting attacked before I even arrived. I read to get a sense of the tone and immediately saw insults and threats. Someone had done their homework and knew that I was a lesbian, therefore immediately tried to nullify anything I might have to say about God and faith.
Since then, in my contributions to the paper and even my contributions to the community, I have been attacked for trying to promote “my secret agenda” (you know that “gay agenda” that none of us have an actual copy of) and I was even referred to as “Satan’s spawn.”
Well here we are, four and a half years later. Attendance has doubled, and so has giving. We even have members of the Casper community, some from other churches or faiths and some with just no interest in attending church, who pledged this last year. They have shared their belief in us and what we are doing and see the value in their lives for our continued presence.
But still there are struggles. We have not reached the place of being self-sustaining, though we continue to inch closer.
For me personally, Casper is a very hard place to be at times. The majority of the other churches in town shun me and those who are my clergy friends dare not associate with me too publicly, lest it create problems in their own churches.
This past spring, I headed a fundraiser for a local poverty assistance agency (Interfaith), which the churches all pull their money to. While the event was a huge success and raised $40,000, a church in town promptly pulled the largest offering from Interfaith’s monthly budget, in part because of the person leading the fundraiser. The pain I felt was intense.
Is it selfish of me to stay in the game? Do I play the martyr and withdraw myself to save the funding?
One of the other painful experiences was when I was blocked from performing a funeral for a charter member of the church because of my sexual orientation and because of claims that we were “not a real church.” The local Hospice Chaplin did not discourage the family member’s position and instead agreed to do the funeral in place of me. Try explaining that to grieving senior members of the church that had been with this woman for fifty years. But they stood by me in their grief. They have always stood by me, young and old, gay and straight, republican or democrat.
Why come? Why stay? Because it is not about me—it’s about us!
It is about the man who came for his first visit a couple of months ago and broke down crying during the prayers saying, “until I walked in here and saw that rainbow flag, I thought there would never be a place that would accept me.”
It is about one of my little eight year olds who recently drew me a picture of myself and my partner saying, “I love my Gay Pastor.” Her father, a career army guard guy, could barely contain himself greeting me at the door saying, “isn’t it great … they repealed don’t ask don’t tell.” He shared how maybe some of his guys and gals can come back.
It’s about one of the life members coming home from college last year and coming out calmly, with no fear of rejection. It is about the countless LGBT folks who have finally worked up the courage to take communion, finally believing that they were worthy. Fed by the good news that all really are welcome and not just welcome but affirmed as beautiful and wholly Holy.
Visit Safe Haven in the Heartland to support UCC Casper Wyoming.