Invocation:
This is not the age of information
This is not the age of information.
Forget the television the radio
the blurred screen

This is not the age of information
This is not the age of information
This is the age of loaves andd fishes
And one good word
Is the bread for thousands.
from the Welsh poet David Whyte

O God,
May our meditations this day
bring forth the one good word,
And may we ourselves become
bread for a thousand.
Amen

I had gone to the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art to see Robert Wilson's Stations of the Cross, commissioned for the Passion Play at Oberramagau. They were amazing and left me slightly stunned by the powerful images. But before I left the museum I climbed to the upper floor for a smaller installation entitled "Maya." The room was completely filled by a stepped Mayan temple on which had been placed 30 years' worth of collectibles, action figures and U.S. cultural icons-some from Macdonald's or other venues: Smurfs, soldiers, Barbies, characters from The Wizard of Oz, ET and other movies. They had been collected and were being displayed by Jarvis Rockwell, son of Norman Rockwell. Some of you may know of Norman Rockwell's idealization of American values in romantic images of prayerful Thanksgiving family dinners, friendly policemen treating a runaway boy to a soda at the local diner, first haircuts or ballet recitals and other Kodak moments. His son's iconography presents a different and disturbing portrait of American consumerism, other cultural values, and some of the disturbing images we hand on to our children, a mirror of our shadow side; point-counterpoint with his father.

As if this stunning display was not enough, a second room presented a number of tableaus made up of parts from the figures. The one I remember the most has direct resonance with today's gospel. Seated in a little chair was a male figure. In front of him on five small platters were heads. Immediately I knew this was another powerful station of the cross. "Who's head shall I require today?" the seated figure of power seemed to be saying.

At the time I saw the exhibit I thought that the scene could refer to the American workplace depicted in a regular newspaper comic strip entitled "Dilbert." But the more I carried that image the more I knew its deep resonance in scripture, the life of the Church, and in me.

John the Baptist's head was required by those who wished that his truth would go away. They foolishly believed that taking off his head would remove the troublesome prophetic voice. But we know that John's message would not be silenced, that there are some things worse than physical death, such as the death of our stories, the death of truth, the denial of our soul's journey. John's story was not eliminated simply because his head was put on a platter. And his prophetic voice still points toward the truth of God which was revealed in Jesus.

In the growing movement toward equal rights for gay and lesbian people we still find those in power serving up various heads, hoping to still the voice of prophetic witness. This week the head of Canon Jeffrey John of the Diocese of Southward in England has been served up. Last month it was one of your own bishops, Michael Ingram, and perhaps he is still feeling it. Garth offered his own head at Synod and in a newspaper editorial. And there are many, many others, those whose heads were required by those in power, by those for whom unity is more important than justice for all of God's people.

My own head has been on that platter several times. In a desire to cut me off from my body, from my incarnational, God given identity, while I was interviewing in several parishes before coming to my present position I was told that I had many desirable gifts and talents in my ministry but, "We're not ready for you, dear," meaning the gay part of you. If you'd just cut that off you'll be fine. "If you come out, you'll never get another job in the church. Your ministry will be over. You're writing your own death warrant for any progress in your vocation." "Why don't you become a therapist; you can work with me, be more anonymous. Don't push it." And from one of my ordaining bishops, "Why don't you try to get a job in a big city like New York. You could live quietly and come under less scrutiny."

Being made front page news my first day as Rector of the Church of Our Saviour in Arlington, Massachusetts, was an attempt by the Christian Right to serve up my head to the community on the platter of intolerance. Poisonous letters to the editor followed, verbal assaults at my first Town Day appearance and when I spoke at a community forum for the Human Rights Commission evening on diversity, the loss of 1/4 of the congregation who refused even to meet me, and many other small and large insults made me wonder if I had the faith and courage required to be the "talking head" that I felt called to be. Threats to my personhood and my priesthood were a regular occurrence. The fact that I have a partner, that we live in the rectory, that our commitment to each other is transparent has served us up. But we are no longer alone, and our voices continue to speak the truth of our lives in God, in the radical hospitality that Jesus promised for all people, no exceptions. We have become a witness and we continue to live lives of faith and truth.

Canon Gene Robinson of New Hampshire is on the platter now, the first openly gay, partnered man to be elected as a Bishop. He'll be served up at the US General Convention this summer in Minneapolis for confirmation by the national church representatives. "Live free or die" is the state motto of New Hampshire. Surely if we cannot all live free in the truth of our own embodiment we will surely die. The Church as we know it must die to the kind of "spiritual apartheid" that places limits and barriers on God's love.

In 1976, the General Convention of the US Episcopal Church resolved "that homosexual persons are the children of God who have a full and equal claim with all other persons upon the love, acceptance, pastoral care and concern of the Church." Almost thirty years after that resolve we often seem afraid of that full and equal claim. We still cut the prophetic voices away from the body thinking that the truths of those voices will go away, thinking that our unity as Anglicans means that we must be of one mind rather than providing a spacious container, a mansion of many rooms where all might dwell together in love.

In the tradition of John the Baptizer, our call as Christians is repeated at every baptismal service by each member of the faith community: "Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself? Will you strive for justice and peace and respect the dignity of every human being?" In our parish sometimes the voices who ask the questions are the old, the young, the poor, the gay people, the stranger.

In the name of the One who calls us to claim the blessing that is ours, to live in truth-and keep our heads.
Amen.