Since our Sunday worship has moved to the fellowship hall, you may have noticed the two banners hanging to the right of the stage which commemorate two AIDS Rides that were undertaken and supported by St. Mark’s. As Sunday December 1, 2024 is the 36th annual World AIDS Day, this seems like an appropriate time to take a moment and reflect upon the first worldwide pandemic many of us recall, the role St. Mark’s has played, and where we might go from here.
We lived in a rather different world in the 1980’s…no gay characters on TV, no one openly serving in the military, no legal protections for gay folk, and certainly no marriage equality. When alarming numbers of gay men began experiencing unexpected and lethal illnesses, first in the large coastal cities, and soon everywhere, no one knew what was causing such sickness. The outbreak of illness was rapidly followed by an outbreak of fear and even hatred in the population at large. Some families turned their backs on their sons, gay men lost their jobs, their housing, even their health insurance, in the wake of the hysteria. When folks needed medical attention, they were often turned away and when they died, it was difficult to impossible to find a funeral home to take the body or a house of worship to conduct a service. It would be fair to say that what came to be called AIDS brought out the very worst in a good portion of our society.
But that’s not the whole story, because even as many families and society were gripped by fear and even bigotry, others rose to the occasion. First, it was predominantly gay men who stepped up; who cared for the sick, brought meals, raised money, bathed the wounds, sat bedside vigils, and buried the dead. Before long, others in the community stood beside them. The LGBTQ community did not wait for others to decide that these lives mattered. They showed the world what was possible when everyday folks truly acted heroically, making herculean efforts to support those living with, and dying with, AIDS.
And you’ll be pleased to know that St. Mark’s came forward and our people did their part too. You may know that many, many, funerals were held from St. Mark’s for gay men who died from AIDS related illnesses at a time when other churches would not do so. But that is not all that happened here. Folks from St. Mark’s were instrumental in the foundation of Richmond AIDS Ministry, one of the first AIDS Service Organizations in Richmond. People who were members here or would become members, were tireless in their service. They were nurses and social workers at the Infectious Disease Clinic at VCU; the Director of Client Services, the Chair of the Board, and numerous members of Care Teams at RAM; volunteers at the Richmond AIDS Information Network at Fan Free Clinic; and the Chair of the Central VA Chapter of The NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt. Personally, and professionally, we had folks who were committed to seeing that those who were sick, those who died, and those they left behind, were loved and cared for, day and night, throughout the darkest times of the pandemic. Their actions, their lives, truly bore witness to what it means to be Christ unto your neighbor.
In the mid 1990’s the world changed dramatically with the introduction of the so called “AIDS cocktail.” The combination of antiviral drugs had an immediate impact. People infected with HIV or who had AIDS no longer faced a certain death sentence. A lethal disease became a manageable condition. That did not mean the involvement of St. Mark’s folks ceased. Money needed to be raised… money to support those living with HIV/AIDS, money for research, money for activism…and thus the AIDS Rides were born. Muti-day, long rides, that required riders and crews to care for them; folks of every size, shape, color, identity, and orientation, rode all over the US, and St. Mark’s was there. Look at the photo on the board beside the door in the fellowship hall. You’ll recognize some of the folks from that ride who continue to be part of our church family. And then go take a look at the banners. Look at the smaller squares on the banners. Those squares, the ones with the names handwritten upon them, were each carried by a St. Mark’s rider as they peddled mile after mile, determined that not one of these folks be forgotten. Please look at the names and hold each one and each rider in your heart and in your prayers.
And as WORLD AIDS Day approaches on December 1, 2024, please remember not only these folks and the faithful service of the people of St. Mark’s but lift up the 32 million who have died worldwide and the estimated 40 million (the majority of whom are women & girls), who live with HIV around the world today. We may hear less about HIV/AIDS than we did 30 years ago, but this pandemic is not over. Not all people have access to medication that makes transmission of the virus unlikely, nor to those medicines that allow for a high quality of life for those who have the virus. Support the work of our local free clinic, Health Brigade, as they continue to serve folks who are at considerable risk and lack the resources to access the support they need. And if you will, take a few minutes to write your members of the House and Senate in Washington, DC and let them know you are paying attention. Tell them that while it is a good thing that PEPFAR (President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief, which was started by George W. Bush and has saved an estimated 25 million lives worldwide) was extended until March 2025, you expect them to work for full funding and a full five-year reauthorization. Tell them you still care, and you’ll be watching and praying. And having told them so, be sure you do indeed still care, and watch, and pray. St. Mark’s folks helped change a portion of our world once. Let’s extend our reach farther still and do so once again.
I was asked to share how I came to St. Mark’s and why I have chosen to stay:
How did I get to St. Marks?
By way of Mickie Jones, assisting with a community dinner, along with Beth and many others. From then on Mickie would call, tell me what was happening and when she needed me.
I could not say no,
I had the pleasure of spending a lot of time with Mickie, Mandy, Beth and Marlene.
In 2015 When Beth and Marlene got married, I was asked to be there and help. I was not about to miss out on all that fun.
The truth is, I enjoyed you all so much that I wanted to be here.
I had never been in a church where they served alcohol. Everything here was new to me, and I’m still catching on.
Not to mention, Father David, Malinda and many others just kept saying, you just need to join our church at each event.
What makes me stay at St. Mark’s and drive the distance each week.
Simply put, each of you….
I’m so grateful for our clergy, Father David, Buck - who has hugged me every time he has seen me, Sarah, Dorothy, and now our beloved Father Benjamin.
On the day George Floyd was murdered, I received a call from Mickie that morning with nothing but empathy and concern for me, and
then a call from Father David, after our conversation. I felt comforted.
I had two of my friends call me, but no one from my previous church.
I was comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. Because I was having conversations about issues that were normally only discussed within my home. Especially not with anyone of a different race.
I was scared, angry and hurting.
It was clear God was telling me something, and a change was needed.
Listening to many of you, like Karen, Howard, Malinda and others especially those in our J&A group. I feel like since there are real conversations on the issues here and that there will be change.
You all have made a difference, and you are making a difference in the lives that you touch.
And I grateful to be here and be a part of anything that St Mark’s is involved in.
The love and empathy, each of you have for others is what makes St. Marks the unique place that it is. It is the agape love that you all display here and outside of the walls of St. Mark’s that keeps St. Mark’s special.
The phone rang the other day, and it was Malinda. She asked, “Would you be willing to talk…” and before she could go any further I replied “Yes!” Because let’s be honest, if there’s one thing I love to do, it’s talk. Then she explained that my talk would be directly related to our annual stewardship drive and my answer remained affirmative. She let me know that Howard would be in touch.
Howard called soon thereafter. He said, “We would like you to answer a question that can only be answered by you; why St. Mark’s to begin with, and why did I stay? So I got to thinking. How had I chosen this parish, and why have I remained?
Well, I came here to find a husband. No, seriously. I was newly single, living in the Fan, and ready to build a life that was based on my choices. I am a cradle Episcopalian, and have always felt at home in it, but the suburban church I was raised in just didn’t have much appeal to me. So I decided to shop around. As a Richmond native, I already had preconceptions about the Episcopal churches around here. I will not share my mother’s views on any of them, but I quickly narrowed the field to three and started with St. Mark’s. You all have been stuck with me off and on ever since.
It wasn’t until about five years ago that I really became engaged here, and like most beginnings, it followed swiftly on the heels of an ending. My mother succumbed to a long illness in 2019. During her last few months, Buck was kind enough to come visit her at our home. Buck sounds exactly like my mother’s father, and they hit it off.
When she died, the rector at her church was away on vacation and there was no assistant at that time and so we were in need of an officiant, There was a Baptist preacher from my brother-in-law’s church who would have happily and I am sure ably presided, but we all agreed that my mother, ever the traditional Virginia Episcopalian that she was, might not be thrilled at that prospect. So I asked Buck, and he and David were there at All Saints and Hollywood for her
service and it was beautiful. Buck and David worked together like an old married couple, and between David’s ears and Buck’s tongue, they proved perfect for the moment.
About a year later I was at an extremely low point in my life. David and Sarah were there for me at a very critical time. At a moment when kin had proven to incapable of caring, they did. Benjamin has continued that relationship of support and understanding. It is not maudlin to say that I am not only here at St. Mark’s because of them, but also simply “here”.
My fellow parishioners have also been a tremendously supportive and caring influence, and I cannot imagine things without this chosen family. I don’t know if I can ever give as much as I have gotten, but I try to every day. I am thankful to worship and serve with this church
Kent
post script - after Kent's Sunday testimony someone came up to me and commented on what a wonderful talk it was but they couldn't remember his name and said, "he's our bike minister - right?" I thought it a perfect title. Kent created, organized and with Ed's help implemented a bike donation ministry that supplied 24 bikes for Rag & Bones, a local collective that repairs and provides bikes at no or low cost to those in need, as well as training young people to repair bikes. They were thrilled and commented that they didn't realize there was a church in Richmond that knew who they were and what they did for the community. They do now, thanks to Kent - they know St. Mark's. Good on ya Kent, Minister of Bicycles!
We are, once again, at the beginning of the annual voting season. (Yup, we are called to the polls in Virginia every year.) This year is another go-round for the extremely contentious atmosphere that our democracy has been facing for some time. We’re all, no doubt, very tired of the rancor, the inability of our leadership to come together and get things done. Our leadership prefers to bicker. What can you do? I’ve heard so many people tell me that our government is broken, it’s all pointless, so they’re just going to sit this one out.
Oh no. We can’t do that. We are Christians, and we are called to participate. “For you are called to freedom, brothers and sisters, only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become slaves to one another.” (Gal 5:13) Paul is telling us that our freedom comes at a price—we may not do whatever we feel like doing, but must serve one another in love. Love others as we love ourselves. That is, we must take care of those who cannot take care of themselves—the widows and orphans. We are called to see to it that the system is taking care of everyone.
Micah reminds us, “and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.” (6:8)
How do we translate Micah’s admonishment to do justice into our Twenty-First Century lives? We participate in our democracy, we keep it alive. Democracy is an expression of loving our neighbors. We cannot simply take care of our own little plot of the universe. We are called to make sure that everyone has the same basic needs met—decent housing, enough to eat, medical care, access to education—that we expect for ourselves. Everyone needs to be treated with the same level of respect that we want for ourselves and our families.
While we can successfully navigate through this world offering respect to everyone we meet, as individuals, we can’t possibly dole out life-needs on a grand scale. That takes us coming together in community to work for the common good. That ultimately means we need good government, compassionate government, to do this work of loving our neighbors.
So we need to participate in making sure we have good government. Thus, we vote. We vote wisely, for people who hold the values of loving neighbor in their hearts and minds. We pay attention, do the research, find good people to vote for. We must vote faithfully. And then we stay engaged, participating in democracy not just in November, but year-round. We advocate for the things we feel are important, for the leaders we have elected to represent our will. We advocate for loving our neighbors.
And we don’t just see to it that we ourselves vote. We help make it possible for everyone to cast a ballot. As a community of faith, we ask ourselves if we need in some way to help get “souls to the polls.” We make sure our families, friends and loved ones get off the sofa and to the voting booth. And then we advocate for fair, equitable voting laws, for everyone. We must continue to demand that every one of our neighbors can make his or her voice heard. That is what we are called to do.
This year especially, vote as if Democracy depends on it.
“Cast your vote, not on a partisan basis, not based on your biases,
But vote your values. Vote the values of human dignity and equality.
Vote the values of the rock on which this country was built. Vote.”
Will You Come and Follow Me (The Summons) is one of my favorite hymns. It can be a bit tricky to sing and as I learned at one point in my life even trickier to play on the piano. But is it a beautiful hymn and truly a summons.
“Will you love the you you hide” is a line that Amos picked out in his Sunday reflection. As he wrote, “We all find faults with ourselves and struggle to love ourselves as we are – this is, of course, the precise opposite of God’s love.” And indeed, it is. Amos speaks to our current environment when sadly it seems some of us are too readily othered by many. Some of us it seems by simply living and being the person God made us are now being told to once again hide, to deny, to be healed of what is not sickness but rather self-knowledge and self-understanding, our identity.
As a woman I know some of what it is like to have my identity, my safety, and my autonomy challenged. But I do not know what it is to try to live a life in which I am forced to deny who I am.
Growing up in 1960’s Louisville KY our across the street neighbors had a daughter a few years older than me. She was like me in some ways in that we were both “tom boys” as girls who preferred to climb trees and play 500 in the street were called back in the day. But even as a child I knew there was something in her that was hidden – she always seemed tense and unsettled. Her parents belonged to some fraternal organization that had a teen auxiliary which sponsored fancy dress socials, and I so felt for her when she had to dress up in the powder puff pastel prom gowns for yet another dance. She’d have to stand in the driveway and pose for photos with her dad. Her face was drawn tight.
My childhood included close family friends who were gay and lesbian. In mid to late 1960’s Louisville they couldn’t be out (and keep their jobs, their housing, etc.) but I knew and knew it was sad and wrong that they had to hide who they were and who they loved and lie behind the excuses of “just sharing the house to save money,” or “well I’ve just never found the right women…” Years later it was good meet these folks again – one man was a pall bearer for my father – and be able to fully and openly acknowledge them and their partners/spouses.
So even as a young person, I had the language for what it was to be gay or lesbian. I always kind of assumed that my across the street friend was lesbian. She left home the first minute possible and though her parents lived there for decades after, she never came home for a visit. I learned many years later that she died young and only near the end of her life did she see her parents again.
Somewhere along the line as my knowledge of gender and orientation and identity expanded it dawned on me that she wasn’t lesbian, she was transgender. I wondered what her life must have been like struggling between the person she was expected to be and the person she knew herself to be. I could only imagine her battles in an unaccepting world. It made those dresses and dances even sadder to me.
Returning to Amos’s reflection it is a sad truth that today transgender children, teens and adults are being targeted and dangerously othered. Their safety is not assured and, in some cases their very lives are at risk. Why? This discrimination and hate is so at odds with our baptismal promises. It is so at odds with the example of Jesus who taught us to love one another as he loved us.
So, altering the hymn a bit - Will we love the you you don’t have to hide? I think yes.
And my childhood friend, I wish I could go back and tell them how beautiful and loved they were just as they were.
I’ve listened with interest to some the campaign chatter this last week or so. And some of it made me think. Made me think of being a daughter, of the women who were my “mothers,” and of not being a biological mother.
When I was a little girl, a baby really my parents had the opportunity to travel some and so they did. Many times. I was fortunate in that my dad’s older sister was available to be my primary caregiver. And she was so much more. Never having married herself she was in many ways more of a mother to me than my own mom. And given that she was a schoolteacher she needed additional help to take care of me while she was working. From the time I was six months old I was used to being passed from auntie to neighbors to friends – some six or so women in all who on any given day would pick me up, care for me and pass me on as their family/work schedules dictated. What it taught me was that there were many mothers in my life, some of them filling in the gaps my own mother’s limitations left. I grew up secure in the knowledge that if I lifted my hand up a larger loving hand would reach down to grasp it.
Occasionally I get the question, Do you have any children?
For a brief time, I was a stepmother. The man I lived with for several years had two young sons. We had them during the summers and some holidays. I would say at best it was fraught and I learned to walk that fence rail between two parents who still harbored old wounds that they would sometimes inflict on their children. I think about the boys from time to time and pray that they are happy men.
While I was program director at VisArts we offered a popular summer session for children and youth. The youngest came for a late morning class and if they chose could stay through lunch (they brought a bag lunch) for an early afternoon class. Being 6- and 7-year-olds those who stayed through lunch mainly ran around and goofed and maybe drank some of their juice and ate their cookies. Half an hour into the afternoon class it was total melt down. Crying, frustration, bedlam. So, I took to rounding them up at noon and sitting down with them to eat lunch. Most of the conversation was from me: Have another spoonful of your yogurt, take a few more bites of your sandwich, try a carrot stick and do eat some of those apple and cheese slices. One little fella piped up and asked, “Whose Mommy are you?” My answer was: This week I am all y’all’s Mommy. It worked. Afternoon meltdowns averted.
I have on my bulletin board at church a quote the source of which I am not sure of but it goes something like this: it won’t matter how much money I made or how big my office was, what will matter is that I was important in the life of a child.
I take that to heart. I have been blessed to be part of so many children’s lives through the ministry of the church. My life has been enriched by their questions and laughter and occasionally tears. We’ve gone on mission adventures together, planted and tended a garden, learned some of our faith story, packed Food Pantry bags, and shared quiet moments of reflection. Some of these youngsters are grown now with children of their own. Can I be that old?
My hope and prayer is that if they’ve learned anything, if they’ve taken anything away from our time together that first and foremost they know deep in themselves that they are profoundly loved and cherished by a God and a community that sees them as perfect. And I hope that they know if they lift up their hand a loving hand will always reach to grasp it.
Occasionally I get the question, Do you have any children? I think I do.
