Both the prophet Isaiah in chapter 61 and the author of Psalm 126 speak God’s word to the people who have returned to Jerusalem from their exile, their captivity, in Babylon.  It was both a promising and a frustrating time full of both tears and joy.  They view the “ancient ruins” and “former devastations” with “faint spirits,” but the prophet promises them “a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning.”  The psalmist sings her song of praise for the God who “restored the fortunes of Zion (Jerusalem),” but she is remembering this blessing for her hearers at a time of difficulty and shares this prophetic hope with them:  “Those who go out with weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, carrying their sheaves.”

I sensed the call of God to preach the Gospel in the United Methodist Church at a young age.  I was inspired by the pastor who baptized and confirmed me and gave me my first communion.  He was a kind, intelligent man who got me excited about the scriptures, the hymnal, the history and mission of the church.  During High School, I remember many a Sunday in worship at that small, rural church where I had been confirmed.  Every Sunday I sat gazing upon Warner Sallman’s “Good Shepherd” that hangs above that altar to this day.   This Nordic Jesus (it was a Norwegian-Danish Methodist congregation, after all) stood in the midst of a flock of sheep, not unlike my grandfather’s sheep up the hill a little way from the church.  Jesus is lovingly holding a lamb as the older sheep crowd around.  In the midst of this flock of white sheep, and partially hidden by Jesus’ white robe is a single black sheep.  I knew the expression “black sheep” which is defined by the American Heritage Dictionary as “a person considered undesirable or disgraceful by a respectable group.”  I identified with the black sheep standing faithfully beside Jesus, Sunday after Sunday for now over half-a-century.  A guidance counselor at a University of Wisconsin program for gifted High School students recorded that I spoke at that time of feeling that I was different from my High School peers--a common report by gay and lesbian people about their feelings during childhood and adolescence.

I “came out” while a student at the University of Wisconsin in Madison and an active member of University United Methodist Church.  It was 1971, and I was 20 years old.  I came to an awareness of my sexual orientation in the broad wake of the 1969 Stonewall Rebellion, an act of resistance by gay, lesbian and transgender persons in the face of police oppression in Greenwich Village in New York.  I joined the Madison Gay Liberation Front, and I viewed this work as Christian ministry in the light of Liberation Theology.  A couple of years later, I faced a young woman in the admissions office at a nearby United Methodist Theological Seminary who tearfully informed me that my application to study for an M.Div. degree would be rejected because of a new policy specifically barring gay and lesbian students.  I later received a letter to that effect.  Shortly after that, it was reported that this same school expelled two gay seminarians.

Lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LBGT) persons often find themselves exiled from the beloved churches of their youth.  Observers suggest that many LGBT persons are specially gifted with spiritual callings--and so this exile from their spiritual homes is particularly difficult.  Such exiles can be like tearfully sown seeds.

All contents copyright 2003 by the Wisconsin Chapter of the Methodist Federation for Social Action. Permission is granted to United Methodist congregations, individuals and groups to reproduce and distribute this devotional without charge. All other use requires the advance permission of the editor.