*Please see accompanying slide slow at the bottom of the page. Photos start on page 2.

As I get back to work after a sabbatical season, I thought I would take this time to reflect on just a few snippets from my time away. A sabbatical can take many forms and as I began my sabbatical I had some tangible plans in place – including travel to various places and events – and I also had some less tangible hopes in place – including spaces for creativity and connection.

My first adventure on sabbatical was to head to Indiana to the campus of Anabaptist Mennonite Biblical Seminary (AMBS) to attend an introductory workshop for a program called Transition Into Leadership. Through this program I am serving as a mentor to a pastor in our conference who has been about the work of pastoring for a little over a year. For me, the weekend served as a lovely way for me to transition out of the routines of daily ministry and into a time of sabbatical rest.

On the way home from that weekend, I took time to stop at two art museums in Ohio with hopes of encountering a couple of sculptures by artist Louise Nevelson – a sculptor who has been a source of inspiration for my own artistic journey and practice since I was introduced to her work by my high school art teacher [and an artist you will likely hear more about from me in a future sermon or written reflections]. When I arrived at the first museum in Toledo, Ohio, I discovered that they were undergoing a massive renovation and that only a very small portion of their collection was actually on display. The rest was packed away in storage – it was on its own sort of sabbatical.

While I was disappointed to not be able to encounter the Louise Nevelson piece in their collection in person – I was delighted to find another beloved artist’s work on the patio in front of the museum. [Slide 1] – This is a piece by Alexander Calder, an artist well known for bold, colorful, playful lines and forms. I found the title plaque for this piece and discovered that it was called: Stegosaurus. This discovery was added joy. I love dinosaurs, I have since I was a kid and I still do. To turn and look at this piece again with the image of a stegosaurus in my mind was pure fun. It was a delightful invitation to embrace this space of sabbatical as an opportunity to slow down, like a lumbering dinosaur, to take time to look at things from multiple perspectives; to see old things in new ways and to encounter new things with engaged curiosity.  

It was an invitation that was reinforced when the next adventure of my sabbatical took me to Minneapolis to celebrate the 50th anniversary of Brethren Mennonite Council for LGBT Interests (BMC). I arrived in Minnesota a couple of days before the event so that I could spend some time visiting with friends and exploring the Twin Cities. [Slide 2] One of my first stops was at the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden; a place we would frequently visit when we lived there. And while many of the pieces in the sculpture garden move around and flow in and out of view, the centerpiece of the set up – Claes Oldenburg’s Spoonbridge and Cherry is like an old friend. You may or may not remember that I preached a sermon during covid zoom church days that used Oldenburg’s sculptures to explore the parable of the talents. To encounter this piece in different seasons of my life is like having a touchstone to those past moments – to who I have been while also encountering it anew as who I am in this current moment. It is an invitation to reflect on identity. 

In the Matthew text today, Jesus is also reflecting on identity. He is curious about what others are sensing about him. Up to this point, his interactions with people have taken the form of teaching and healing and miraculous nourishment. Here, in Caesarea Philippi, a city on a trade route just beyond the region of Galilee where Jesus had been mostly at work, a city bearing the names of those with imperial power, a space of polytheism and economic diversity, it is here that Jesus asks: 

“Who do you say that I am?”

Simon Peter responds: 

“You are the Christ, the child of the living God.”

Jesus responds to this statement with:

“Happy are you, Simon, because no human has shown this to you. Rather, [God], has shown you.”

Jesus says this to Simon, in part, because Jesus is well aware that he is not the messiah that Simon was likely expecting…Simon’s community, living under Roman occupation, was hoping and praying for a messiah that would come and overturn the political powers of the day, would disrupt the systems of the empire, and bring about justice and freedom for their beloved community. Jesus, in his preaching, teaching, and healing ways was indeed about the work of disrupting the order of the empire – though not through political power or military force – instead through community care and connection, healing and hope. Jesus’ revelation of Christ in the world was unexpected. 

The Spoonbridge and Cherry sculpture photo here is paired with a Louise Nevelson sculpture that I wasn’t expecting to find – a metal outdoor piece that is a very different texture than the wooden assemblage collages of hers that I had set out to find on my sabbatical adventures. I had forgotten this piece was part of the sculpture garden collection and, when I rediscovered it, I found a bench nearby to pause and sit with the piece for a while. What surprised me as I sat in silence near the sculpture was how many people walking through the garden would come around the corner of the path by this piece and simply stop in their tracks. They were mysteriously transfixed by the presence of this piece. Over and over again – I would see people who had casually passed by many other pieces in the garden freeze in front of this sculpture. While the photo here doesn’t nearly do justice to the piece – there was clearly something about it that reached out and moved people to stop and pay attention.  

I and over a hundred other people had travelled to the Twin Cities to pay attention together. [Slide 3] We had come together to pause, pay attention to, and celebrate the 50 years of BMC’s efforts to support and connect queer and trans individuals and their families and to work for inclusive change in denominational, congregational, and educational settings. The theme of the weekend celebration was: Rooting Our Stories: Reveling in 50 Years of Queer & Trans Anabaptist Resilience. 

Throughout our time together we rooted and reveled. We rooted through story telling – making space for the elders in our midst to share reflections about the earliest days of BMC and for individuals from across the decades to share about the impact of BMC on their own journeys. We invited people to record names of significant people, or moments of lifegiving connection, on paper leaves and attach them to a sculptural tree throughout the weekend as a visual reminder of the life and fruitfulness of the deep roots that the years of BMC’s work have produced. Around the base of the tree people placed mementoes and artifacts of those experiences. 

Through all of this we were living out the invitation of Isaiah 51:

  Look to the rock from which you were cut
    and to the quarry where you were dug.

Look to Abraham your ancestor,
    and to Sarah, who gave you birth.
They were alone when I called them,
    but I blessed them and made them many.

The stories shared throughout the weekend revealed just some of the blessings that have unfolded over BMC’s 50 years. What started with a single person gathering a handful of individuals together has grown into an organization that has and is challenging and supporting change in institutions while also prioritizing care, hope, and space for healing for a multitude of communities and individuals. 

And where we celebrated was an active part of the rooting and reveling. We gathered together on the campus of the University of Minnesota, home to the Tretter Collection, the largest archival repository of LGBTQ history in the midwest, and now home to the historical archives of BMC. [Slide 5] 

The Tretter Collection is housed at the Elmer L Andersen Library of the U of MN which is home to many archives and special collections. The archive building itself is an architectural marvel – what you see pictured here are part of giant, climate controlled, underground caverns in which the collections and archived materials are stored. Simply being in the space felt inspiring and holy – to be surrounded by an unfathomable amount of memories and stories – struggles and joys – of individuals and communities. Mundane scraps tucked away as treasure to be discovered again in a future season. 

[Slide 6] Some of the scraps of BMC’s archival collection were pulled out of the vault and arranged in displays for us to peruse over the weekend. Here you can see a display case of Pink Menno paraphernalia – Pink Menno being the grassroots organizing group who took the lead on a campaign for LGBTQ justice and inclusion within MCUSA. The work of which this congregation supported in various ways over the years.

The Sing and Rejoice book on the top right is included in the archive because when it was first published in 1979 it contained a hymn called “Praise the Lord” that had a verse that included the phrase: Praising God is a privilege to all. Black and white, straight and gay, old and young, short and tall – a line which was so offensive to some folks that the decision was made to rip hymn 91 out of ‘almost’ every copy of the book before it was widely distributed.

And the bottom right picture gives you a taste of some of the rest of the display that was available for exploring throughout the weekend. 

[Slide 7] We also continued to encounter some of the scraps of archival material that are not tangible items easily placed in a vault; the memories and experiences that reside with the living archives of those who experienced them. During one sacred space gathering each of the Executive Directors of BMC shared brief reflections on their tenure and named a significant moment or event that rippled the waters and in its own way changed the flow of the stream of justice. Each of them, as well as everyone gathered there, then placed a rock on a fabric river as a witness to the impact of the work of BMC and as a symbol of Holy encounter – the stacking of rocks being a practice time and again in scripture, and beyond scripture, to mark a moment of connection and Holy presence.    

Even Jesus, in the Matthew text today, after he celebrates Simon’s recognition of God’s presence within him, calls Simon: Peter – a word meaning rock – and says – I will build my church on this rock. While many have claimed Peter to be the rock upon which Jesus is building the church…the text isn’t actually clear about what rock Jesus is referring to – and as I think about rocks being symbols of Holy encounter – it makes more sense to me that the rock Jesus is referring to might be the places where people encounter and recognize the presence of the Holy and make space for it to continue to be loosed upon the world.  

Love, loosed upon the world is magical and mysterious. It recognizes the presence of grief and suffering and the impact and harm of injustice; and it also makes space for healing, hope, and transformation.

[Slide 8] After sharing so many stories of pain, struggle, and joy that have all been present throughout the work of BMC, we let loose with a dance party. We reveled in the revelations that the weekend had offered about the mysterious stream of justice and love that have flowed forth over the years and as a source of rejuvenation for the work that must continue. 

For the work continues [Slide 9] – Aiden Bettine, seen in the picture on the right, is the lead archivist for the Tretter Collection. Aiden was a gracious host – it may have helped that we fulfilled one of his dreams to have singing happen in the library atrium [that is a choir lining a circular staircase in an open rotunda]. Aiden addressed the group during our opening gathering and assured us that “You are archivable” – “Your life is worth archiving” – for a group of individuals, and a collective institution, that have often been pushed aside and treated as less than, this was a refreshing refrain – a reminder that every life is full of dignity. Every person a living archive of experiences that are valuable and worthwhile. And that’s not just a message for queer folks. It is a message for all of us.

[Slide 10]  One of the activities we did while at the archives was to use photocopies of some of BMC’s archived materials to make collages and turn them into a zine. This was an opportunity to practice a literal art of binding and loosing – sorting through the layers of what has been, looking at it from different perspectives, letting go where needed, and repurposing it into something new. We are all living archives – full of struggle and pain, hope and joy, loneliness and connection, we are mundane and sacred. The invitation is to lean in with love as we sort through the layers of ourselves and each other and find ways to tend the collections of our beings and relationships with dignity.

That is holy work. [Slide 11] This is a pile of stones that the pastors who gathered at AMBS during my first week of sabbatical created together over several days as we shared stories of times we had experienced God’s presence. It is a small sampling bearing witness to the multitude of holy spaces that people get to experience when we loose love and justice into the world. 

[Slide 12]  As sabbatical drew to a close, I found myself at another sculpture garden, this one in Baltimore at the Baltimore Museum of Art. I went, once again, with the intention of seeing a Louise Nevelson sculpture and I did see it – however, the piece that stopped me in my tracks on that visit was this piece – another Alexander Calder creation like the Stegosaurus I had encountered at the start of sabbatical – this was a sort of bookend companion to it – only this piece is entitled: 100 Yard Dash. I knew it was a sign that my sabbatical season was nearing the finish line. 

The arc of God’s love and justice is long – there is no sprinting to the finish line of love – loosing love into the world is a marathon of community care and connection, healing and hope. May we have the courage to keep at it, taking space to rest and reset when necessary, and pausing to witness and mark holy moments that are sure to be found on the journey.