Jesus and the Samaritan Woman

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

The Gospel presents the beloved story of Jesus meeting the woman by the well. It's a long story, to be sure, and it's remarkable for its length and its imagery. Most of the Gospel stories are simply not this long, and because of its length, it implies an importance worthy of particular study.

First of all the story takes place in Samaria. By Jesus' day the state of Samaria used to be part of Israel but over the centuries it had been divided from the main country and its Jewish inhabitants had inter married with the non-Jewish neighbors and adopted foreign customs to the extent that the Jews in Israel did not recognize them as "real Jews." Samaritans were not only looked down upon, but the object of ridicule at most and shunned as outcasts at the very least. In the Gospels Jesus encounters several Samaritans and in one famous example uses a Samaritan as the hero in one of his better known stories, the one we now call The Good Samaritan.

The fact that Jesus was in Samaria at all, catches the reader's attention. Why was he there? Why was he in the land of the outcasts? Well, the answer is not far behind. There are no outcasts in Jesus' love and his mission included all the outcasts, even Samaritans.

The next surprise in this story is that when a woman approaches the well, he speaks to her and engages her in conversation. She is shocked, since she is both Samaritan and a woman, two reasons why a male Israelite should avoid her. But again there are no outcasts in Jesus' love. Everyone is precious, everyone valued, everyone spoken to.

The word play that follows between her and later the disciples underlines the confusion between immediate, limited goals and much farther reaching spiritual ones. Jesus offers the woman living water, she hears the term as it usually refers to moving water which is most desirable since its movement usually means it's clean and good for drinking and cooking. Jesus means the water for the soul, to refresh her spirit with an understanding of love and healing. He brings up her relationship with men, which is somewhat vague, but clearly does not put her in a good light! He does not offer her condemnation, but comfort. He welcomes her into fellowship and continues to hold out the offer of living water for her soul. He identifies himself to her as the Messiah, a rare disclosure in the Gospels and she races to her village to tell the others. They come eventually and see for themselves and believe.

The form of misunderstanding repeats when Jesus' own disciples find him and are shocked to see him speaking with the woman and eventually try to get him to eat. He says he has food they know nothing of. They again think he means food literally, but again he refers to the spiritual food of a nourishment which reaches far beyond the needs of the stomach.

Jesus continues the metaphor of food and expands it to the harvest. He explains that the harvest is ripe. The people are hungering for food that satisfies the spirit. Food of love, food of forgiveness, food of hope, food of healing. Though sometimes challenging, people can always find the food that will satisfy the body, but it is only through God that we will find the food that satisfies the deeper hunger of the spirit. It is this food and drink that Jesus offers and no one is prevented from coming to this well, or this feast. No one.

When God's people hunger and thirst in spirit, God will provide abundantly. When God's people hunger and thirst in body, it is our will though God's generous grace that can and must feed them.

The General Convention of the Episcopal Church adopted and committed itself and by extension all its member churches to work toward the UN's Millennium Development Goals. These 8 goals address worldwide issues of poverty education, violence (particularly against women and children), health (particularly AIDS and tuberculosis) and economic opportunities especially among the poorest in our world. Progress is being made and there are many wonderful stories around the world that illustrate this. The Episcopal Church expends millions of dollars around the world through relief and development aid as partners in the Millennium Development Goals. The money they give is money that comes through the member Dioceses and individual churches. At St. George's, we have contributed thousands of dollars through the years to Episcopal Relief and Development taking action in ways that we can. Occasionally we send out appeals for this fund and our members are generous and this is one important way that we witness Jesus' love that no one is excluded and that all are important. The nourishment we receive for our souls at the altar of God, in the bread and wine, the prayers and fellowship allow us to extend the grace we receive to feed the bodies and protect the lives of our brothers and sisters around the world.

During this month of February, designated Black History Month, we've heard other stories of people approaching the well looking for the living water of God's promises. Through forums and personal witnesses we've heard individual accounts of lives lived in the shadow of racism and prejudice. Lives of African Americans and lives of Americans of European descent. What has not been said yet, and needs to be said publicly and from the pulpit is that racism is a white person's disease. While prejudice is an equal opportunity character flaw, racism not only includes it but extends further to the abuse of power exercised by one race over another. When the race that is in the majority of power, systematically uses that power to keep another race down, it is racism. In this country racism is rampant and despite our desire to be blind the truth of it transcends our education, economic and justice systems.

The impact of racism is felt overwhelmingly and tragically by African Americans and indeed most people of color. But the sin of racism is felt keenly by white America in ways we can't even recognize. It takes a lot of energy to hate. It takes a lot of energy to fear. It takes a lot of energy to push others down. It takes a lot of energy to turn away and pretend nothing is happening. But all that energy has a twisting, negative effect on the ones perpetrating it. That energy is violence and spiritual disease. Violence harms both the victim and the victimizer, and both are in need of healing.

Black History Month is a wonderful way of celebrating the stories of black Americans who achieve wonderful goals and give pride and energy to those chafing under the effects of racism. It's also a time for white Americans to be honest and as Dr. Raboteau so movingly said in his address to us a few weeks ago, repent for the evil that is the legacy we carry.

Therapists who work with family systems and counsel troubled individuals, can often find the impact of harm done generations before through a variety of diseases or hushed stories. Often referred to as the understated "family secrets," these illnesses may include alcoholism, incest, murder, or even neglect. Damage done in one generation is somehow passed down until it is recognized and the generation who does so has the opportunity to break the cycle and work through God's grace to find healing and only then can the dysfunction turn around to find balance and harmony. Only then is peace and love restored and cleaned through the living water of God's love.

The scourge of racism is like the whip whose fiery lash was felt on the backs of African American slaves but held in the angry fist of the white slave owners. Though the legality of slave owning racism is generations old, the shameful legacy exists today and as part of our commitment to Millennium Development, as part of our commitment to love one another and as part of our commitment to God, we must all seek God's healing. As victims and victimizers. We can break the cycle of violence but we must first recognize its past and how it lives in the present and repent it.

In the words of the Rite 1 confession, I address this to our African American brothers and sisters and to all people of color who have been victims of racism and on behalf of the descendants of slave owners and all those of white America who have benefited from the scourge of racism "I am heartily sorry for these our misdoing. The memory of them is grievous unto me, the burden of them is intolerable..." I ask your forgiveness for me and all others who recognize this sin and invite us to a moment of silence to beg God's forgiveness also.

Jesus reached out to the woman at the well and even in her private shame offered living water. He did not send her away, punish her or ignore her. He satisfied her thirst for God's love. As he does for us and all who ask for it. Amen.

© 2008 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Martin, Malcolm & Me

By Cheryl L. Thompson

When I was asked by Marlene to speak to you, my first reaction was, how do I get out of this, I don't even sit on the pulpit side of the church. But I remembered that Jesus often asks us to step out of our comfort zone for some reason. I don't know the reason for this, but I guess I have a story to tell. I have always been a believer. I have many conversations with God and am always grateful for the way things turn out and believe that he or she has a hand in that outcome. I don't really believe in coincidence, and sometimes, small things happen that are evidence to me of God's presence in my life. My big blessings, are my husband, although not always, and my son, again, not always, but I feel that my life could have taken so many turns, that would not have left me in the place that I am now. Another blessing is this Church. I feel like I have a home. I didn't feel that way for many years.

I was raised as an AME or Baptist depending on whether or not my mother was going to send me to church or attend church herself. My father briefly attended church and then stopped, but I believe he was typical of a preacher's kid. My parents met and married in New York, so that I am a native New Yorker. Most people believe New York is an integrated city or at least people get along peacefully. I'll get back to that later. When my father stopped attending church, he found a group called the African American Cultural Society; this was a group of mostly black men with thick glasses who sat in my father's room and discussed books they had read about African history. I was seven years old and I served the role of typical hostess, which I learned from my mother. I would serve them tea and cupcakes which I had made on my little stove and I would listen to some of what they said. Other times, my father would have me read to him from these books, so that I have forgotten more African history than most people ever learned.

By the time I was eight, my father became interested in traditional African religion, which meant Voodoo here, but Yoruba in the outside world. My father traveled to Cuba to become initiated in the religion. He changed his name to an African name, taking on the name of one of the Nubian Pharaohs. He changed his clothing to African attire, which I had to make for him, because there was no store or on line ordering for such clothing. He found that he could escape some of the rules about black limitations in this attire. Because people assumed he was not American. He enjoyed this greatly. When it was time for the second phase of this initiation, he could not return to Cuba because a revolution had happened. He then traveled to the village of Ife in Nigeria to complete his training. After several years, he became a Yoruba priest. He explained to me that the gods had two sides, a good and bad, that some of the gods were tricksters. He had altars for several gods in our house and a bloody cross on the inside door of our apartment. The cross represented the belief in the connection between the ancestors and the living with the horizontal representing life on this plane. Thus, the cross had a symbolic connection with the African slaves in their religious experience. In addition, he always had food for the dead on the floor in a New York City apartment, I don't believe that food was consumed by the dead, but it was eaten. I was terrified. There were blood sacrifices of birds, chickens, goats, and lamb, in my house. I told other people and they didn't believe me. They would say to me your father is just ahead of his time, or that my imagination was overly active. At one point, he was involved in a ceremony that involved cutting spots in his head and mixing his blood with the blood of others. I was convinced that this would kill him. It didn't, but it sent me running to the Roman church. I learned there that it was a sin to conjure up the evil spirits and I believed that my only protection was the power of God and the saints of the Catholic Church. I attended CCD alone. I spent hours in the church lighting candles and praying, I mostly prayed for safety. I was baptized when I was 15 years old, alone. Only my godmother and the priest were there. When my father finally found out what I had done he was totally outraged. He wanted to know how I could become a part of the oppressor: didn't I know that Catholics was purveyors of the slave trade. He believed that I had lost my mind. I believed that I was saving my soul.

While these events were occurring in my house, the outside world was also affecting me. When I graduated from 6th grade, I was notified that I would be attending a junior high school in upper Manhattan because of my grades and IQ score. This was in 1957. I was 12 and I was once again terrified. I had seen what was happening to the children in Little Rock and had no reason to believe it would be different for me in New York. There were streets in New York that you could be hurt on just because of your race.

I was so afraid, I asked my mother to come with me to school on the first day. She was afraid too, but would not admit it, because she believed she had to be there for me. My entrance into the school was uneventful, but I was never included in any social interactions. I was once told that I might have been invited to a party, but no one wanted me there. I learned to be with myself and to do my work. But I also learned to be quiet. I did my work and never shared unless called upon because my classmates were not happy with my ability. I even had a teacher who accused me of cheating on the Iowa Exams, when I had the highest score in the class. I simply asked her whom could I have cheater from. We never got along after that and my grades in English were always lower than my grades in Spanish, a language I have not mastered to this day.

Needless to say my faith has been shaken and stirred, so James Bond, I am not. Shaken came first, John Kennedy was assignated, it was the first Sunday that I did not go to Mass since my conversion. My father and I sat together glued to the television. When God did not reach his or her hand out of heaven and destroy me, I realized that I would not die if I didn't go to church.

A man I adored was killed, my heart was broken, I was angry with God. At a time of such hope, there was national despair. I could not believe that weekend. Two years later, I man I had quiet respect for was the next assignation: Malcolm X. He was a soft-spoken man who adored his wife and four daughters. His intelligence and charisma brought him to a place he never expected to be. He was a child of limited resources and hope. He visited our home on several occasions because my father was involved in the Black Nationalist movement so that they developed a relationship based on shared beliefs. His fiery public rhetoric stood in stark distinction to his private life. His ability to see that his situation was a result of circumstances was his strength. He was able to express the dark side of Martin Luther King's hopefulness. Martin was a man who came from circumstances that were hope filled. Martin was entrenched in the black middle class. Malcolm was entrenched in the black underclass. These men saw the world differently and while both were deeply religious, their needs and sense of society were diametrically opposed. I never met Martin. I simply loved him as I did JFK. There was such principle, hope and conviction that life could be better

Malcolm did not share a belief that life in America could be improved without a revolution. Malcolm was clearly bright but understood a piece of American life that is often missing among the middle class. Martin understood this, and wrote an essay to social scientists saying that while he understood the morays of the South and that a non-violent movement was the most powerful tool for that area, the cities were different and he did not know what tools would be appropriate. He called upon the social scientists of the time, to teach and to help with the ways in which cities were responding to the civil rights movement. He did not want to see riots but he couldn't find a tool that would be responded to in the cities.

Malcolm believed a revolution was necessary. This is not such an unusual thought; Thomas Jefferson thought there should be a revolution in every generation. Martin appealed to the educated, those people who were ready to move into an integrated society. Malcolm appealed to those people who were not going to be released from the barriers of discrimination. His rhetoric was extreme, but it resonated with black people who felt defeated and hopeless. Martin's rhetoric resonated with blacks who just needed to be unshackled. Around 1964, Malcolm X did what Muslims are supposed to do. He made the Hodge, the visit to the Holy City of Mecca. It is here that he met Muslims from all over the world. People dressed in the same garments, there was no way to determine who was rich or poor, but he saw people of many ethnicities. He came back to the United States feeling a need to express his new understanding that much of the problem in the U.S. is economic discrimination. He became Islamic in a broader sense of the word and was no longer limited to beliefs of the American Nation of Islam, which may or may not be interpreted as a cult. His awareness that some people were held in poverty and that the political system needed to address this. He saw the problem as one that exceeded race. He spoke of all people deprived of the American dream. His ideas became inclusive; he understood that many groups in America were deprived of the chance to achieve. This awareness resulted in his alienation from the Nation of Islam and ultimately resulted in his assignation. He was aware that he was in danger. I knew him as a father who adored his daughters and loved his wife. His ideas changed over time, but I believe that Martin needed Malcolm. The two standing in apparent opposition allowed people to choose a civil rights activist they could trust and follow. Martin had appeal to blacks and whites because he acknowledged the need for the humanity of all people to be recognized. He did this from a deep belief in Christianity, a conviction that most of us could relate to.

His non- violence in the light of the violence we saw on TV raised our commitment to the civil rights movement. He was the right man for the majority. Malcolm was the right man for the minority.

In 1965-66 Martin Luther King began to speak about poor people, he began to speak about the Viet Nam War and to talk about discrimination of black, brown, red and yellow people in this country and in the world. He planned a Washington, D.C. Resurrection City after the Memphis garbage man strike. This would move Martin from a black civil right leader to a leader of oppressed people. Just as Malcolm had come to the awareness that poverty is a major problem for Americans and for all people all over the world; Martin also began articulating the same belief. When he spoke about this with the plan for all people to come to Resurrection City on the great lawn between the Jefferson and Washington Memorials, he was killed. He was killed in 1968. While I know I can be a conspiracy believer, it is striking to me, how these two giants of the civil rights movement were killed at the same point in their thinking. The recognition that there is a deep philosophical and economic basis for the maintenance of the status quo appears to me to have resulted in their deaths, my final shaking of hope and belief was the assignation of Robert Kennedy. I remember listening to the radio through the night, and saying to God, I know this is wrong but if someone had been killed let it be McCarthy, I wasn't really wishing him dead but was so overwhelmed by the loses in the public arena, I didn't think I could accept another one. At this point, I was so angry with God that I stayed away from any formal practice of religion for almost 20 years.

Then my faith was stirred, I had given birth to a boy who needed moral development, I know people believe that this can be done without church, but I still believe that Jesus is present when two or three are gathered in his name, which to me means a community. I was not concerned about his spiritual development because I know or believe that we are hard wired to seek God. I wanted him to have the comfort I had once enjoyed in the Roman church but I wanted him to have none of the craziness. I knew he could not be catholic, but I had been so nurtured by my local priests, the church was always open in those days, you could sit in safety and silence. There was time to be with God. While I am not always happy with his current practice of his religion, I trust his belief because I have seen it since early childhood.

I was at once afraid that I had left the one true church, until I saw the consecration of Bishop Barbara Harris. That experience helped me understand, that God is the base of the Church and humans do whatever they do but it does not change God. This stirring set me free.

Back to Malcolm and Martin, without them with their diametrically opposed approach to civil rights would anything have happened? The Northern States could have felt comfortable in their de facto segregation and the South would continue to feel justified in their de jure segregation. I have lived through both and have seen the value of both perspectives. One could not have existed without the other. The more frightening Malcolm, even though dramatically changed after the Hodge, was killed first. The other, Martin, entrenched in the black middle class, began to talk about economic deprivation in the richest country in the world was killed also. For me hope died and did not find resurrection until 1982. At that point, I was ready to return to an interactive relationship with God. I am not without fear and doubt, but belief helps me get through life's challenges. What I have learned from all of these experiences is that God is always present. And we must learn to listen to what God is trying to say to us. We cannot reject anyone because he or she may be the return of the Messiah. We must see God's presence in each and everyone we encounter, despite the difficulties we sometimes experience.

Amen.

© 2008 Cheryl L. Thompson

Long and Dusty Road

By The Rev. Deacon Christine McCloud

And so, our long and dusty journey into the wilderness has begun. Lent not only helps us to recall the forty days that Jesus spent in the wilderness as he prepared himself for his ministry but it also gives us an opportunity to go inward and prepare ourselves all over again for the reality that God has for us. It's an opportunity for us to ask ourselves "Where am I as another Lent begins? Where am I on my faith journey at this moment in time?"

When we look closer at today's Gospel, there is an invitation there for us to understand more abundantly what it means to move from the river into the desert. Jesus, after having been baptized in the River Jordan was led into the desert by the power of the Spirit. It is in the barren desert, rife with temptation and angst, that Jesus comes to understand what the will and purpose that God had for his life. And while Satan or the devil or whichever axis of evil tempted him, we find that the choices Jesus had to make were quite similar to those that we confront in our own personal and spiritual decisions.

Forty days is a long time to roam in a barren desert. But imagine what it would be like to roam in a barren desert for 40 years or more. A desert that borders a land rich with resources; where it borders a land touted to have equal opportunity for all; where it borders a land where all you had to do was work hard to achieve the so-called "American" dream. What do you think would happen to your psyche if intermittingly during those 40 years of desert roaming, you came ever so close to leaving the dustiness of that place only to have someone block your exit and push you even further into the thistle and brush of the desert? Many of us would crumble and fall prey to the vultures circling above. Some of us would compromise our very souls to buy our way out that place. And then, there are others like Absalom Jones, Sojourner Truth, Harriet Tubman, and one in particular whose story I'd like to share with you briefly, The Rev. Dr. Pauli Murray, who not only lived barren, desert lives, but who emerged with absolute resolve, from their personal deserts as significant contributors to our American and African-American history and heritage.

The Rev. Dr. Pauli Murray was the granddaughter of a slave and a great-granddaughter of a slave owner who overcome extraordinary barriers throughout her life. She was born during the height of Jim Crow segregation in Durham, North Carolina in 1910 and was forced endure the wholesale burdens of being a black person in a segregated society. Murray had considerable talents as a writer, activist, and attorney, yet these talents would and could not spare her from the prolific racism and sexism that denied her other educational and career opportunities throughout her life. She lived a lifetime on the margins of racial identity and came to a deep understanding of the connectedness that bound all people together and scoffed at the absurd cruelty of segregation. Murray believed strongly that whites, as well as blacks, had much knowledge and experience to gain from racial interaction and she spent most of her years refuting the shallow myths of segregation. Murray's racial policies centered on inclusiveness of all of the races and later on when her gender became another barrier, she focused as much energy and verve on addressing yet another oppressive system that proved to slowly strangle and kill the spirits of those affected.

As I was pulling my thoughts together for my sermon this week, I took a few minutes and I called Rev. Sandye Wilson who was a protégé of Pauli Murray and I asked her to share some thoughts of Pauli. Rev. Sandye told me that Pauli's life was very much like today's Gospel story – a life of living in the desert. Rev. Sandye went on to tell me, that when Pauli emerged from her wilderness, she ended up doing some extraordinary things in the midst of constant conflict. Pauli she said evaded and eluded many temptations to sell out her soul and principles and oftentimes, was soundly rejected by her own people and community. Yet, Rev. Sandye went on to say, "Pauli remained strong in the face of incredible odds and adversities – she was never afraid because she knew she was never alone." From the little that I've been able to read of Pauli, she refused to be kept down by regrets or expectations of her past. Instead, she lived on the fringes of history and in many cases, just pulled history along with her.

Pauli's journey that eventually led to a law degree from Howard University, a master's degree from the University of California's law school and a Ph.D. from Yale was neither a clear or straight path – she travelled many a long and dusty road in pursuit of her dreams.

Pauli took leading roles in both the civil rights and feminism movements. A friend said of her, "Murray was a civil rights activist before there was activism and a feminist when feminists could not be found." Pauli was a living testament to the ability of a black woman to garner achievements to the match of anyone, black or white, male or female. Her political activism challenged the exclusion of blacks and women before many of these issues were even on the national forefront. She fought for integration before it became a goal of the leading civil rights organizations such as the NAACP whose primary focus was on achieving equal rights, not integration. In 1940, Pauli along with a friend were arrested, jailed and fined for refusing to go to the back of a Virginia bus. This was a precursor to the "jail-no bail" strategy that would gain popularity 20 years later. While a student at Howard in the mid 40's, she participated in sit-in movements to desegregate Washington D.C.'s restaurants and other public facilities long before sit-in's were the mode of choice for the civil rights movement in the 60's.

She was rejected early on to the University of North Carolina law school because of her race and later on, after winning a fellowship to Harvard University, was denied admittance there because of her gender. These experiences guaranteed that Pauli would be both pioneer in civil rights and women's rights. In 1945 Murray successfully completed her Masters of Law degree from the University of California, Berkeley. Her master's thesis was The Right to Equal Opportunity in Employment, which Thurgood Marshal labeled the "bible" for civil rights lawyers. Twenty years later, she was the first African American to be awarded a Doctor of Juridical Science degree from Yale University Law School.

She was a trusted friend and advisor to Eleanor Roosevelt, although their relationship was often called "mercurial and contemptuous." The First Lady sought Pauli's wisdom and council on matters of racial and gender equality. In the 60's, she became a founding member of the National Organization of Women where she is fondly remembered as the one who bridged the gap between race, gender, culture and class with passion and dedication, but without bitterness or malice.

How I came to know about Pauli Murray was that I knew her to be one of the "infamous 11" women who were ordained on January 8, 1977 in Philadelphia. I was 15 years old at the time, a sophomore in high school who secretly dreamed of ordained ministry one day. What a cathartic event that was for me! I remember cutting out and saving the picture from an article from whatever magazine and seeing Pauli Murray's face among the women. Not only were there female priests, but there was one there who looked like me to boot. I carried that picture in my prayer book for many years. It served as a constant reminder to me that things were possible even when they didn't appear to be possible. Somewhere along the way, I lost that picture, but by that time, I no longer needed it because the image was indelibly seared into my brain. The spiritual fortitude and boldness of these women allowed a young teenaged girl to one day realize her own dream.

At 67 years of age, Pauli Murray became the first African-American woman ordained priest in the Episcopal Church. In her autobiography, Song In A Weary Throat: An American Pilgrimage, she wrote: "Several days before ordination, I was suddenly seized by an agony of indecision, as though I had been assaulted by an army of demons. The thought that the opponents of women's ordination might be right and that I might be participating in a monstrous wrong terrified me… I prayed fervently for some sign that I was doing God's will." As the story goes, during the ordination service, Pauli was the last one to be ordained. At the very moment when the bishop laid hands on her head, the sun broke through and streams of colored light shined down through the stained glass windows. The audience gasped, and later on, Pauli was told about the moment. She took it as a true sign of God's will. Her ordination to the priesthood was a powerful sanction of her identity in the oneness of God. One month after her ordination, Pauli had the opportunity to celebrate the Holy Eucharist in the Episcopal Chapel of the Cross in Chapel Hill, the same chapel where records show that on December 20, 1854, her grandmother, Cornelia Smith, a slave child of Mary Ruffin, was baptized. Pauli said of her experience at Chapel Hill that she finally believed that "all of the strands of my life had come together."

Pauli Murray worked incessantly to obliterate any barrier that kept us apart as people. She not only dreamed of a world and society where all of God's people could come together regardless of their differentness, she worked tirelessly to be a model of change. She did not waiver or falter in the face of her own oppression nor did she cower or run from the inevitable opposition from those who were staunchly against any type of change. Pauli knew, better than most, that any type of oppression is a sickness that is a sure killer of the spirit and mind. She knew that the only way to continue the liberation of the human spirit was to "soak ourselves in the waters of our baptism."

Pauli Murray died of pancreatic cancer in July, 1985. With all that she accomplished with her life, for the good works she manifested during our country's most difficult times, her fight for inclusion and connectedness continued and still continues after her death. She forced people to look at the entire picture of oppression. "Don't make me choose which issue to fight for," she once said, "I am as oppressed as a woman in a man's world as I am as a Negro in a White world." Some people – black and white, men and women – hated her for that. As Rev'd Elizabeth Kaeton said, "Why even in ECUSA (the Episcopal Church), it's 'easier' to remember Absalom Jones than Pauli Murray. And this has remained so. It has taken our Church nearly 20 some odd years to even consider Pauli important enough to be included in our Lesser Fasts and Feasts.

None of us will ever have to endure the obstacles that Pauli Murray had to in her life. And virtually none of us will have the opportunities to be leaders in so many different aspects of history as she had. However, all of us do have the opportunity to accept God's invitation to wade in the waters of His absolute love and truth and to set our hearts on fire in passionate service to Him.

Amen.

© 2008 The Rev. Deacon Christine McCloud