Remembering Mama (and my Dad) and a Small Presbyterian Church in southwest Louisiana
or Why I Am a Feminist, GLBT Activist, and Grassroots Organizer
Michael J. Adee, Elder, First Presbyterian Church, Santa Fe, NM and National Field Organizer, MLP
My mother grew up in the Texas panhandle on a depression farm. She met my Dad during the war and put him through college so that he could finish his engineering degree. She taught my brother and me to play ball, how to cook, and how to take care of our own rooms and laundry. She taught us that every person was created in God's image and that every person, and there were no exceptions, was welcome in our home, and in our little Presbyterian Church in southwest Louisiana. Mom taught us to respect every person, to mind our manners, and that the Gospel embraced all of God's creation - people, animals, and nature.
Her hearty laugh, easy smile, unfailing faith and stubborn optimism took every person in, friend, family member, and stranger alike. In their Presbyterian churches in Montana, Texas, Oklahoma, and Louisiana my parents taught the married couples classes, my Mom participated in women's circle groups, my Dad was an Elder, often clerk of session, and frequently moderator of presbytery. When I became a teenager my Dad and I sang in the church choir and on a big day we would have twelve singers. My Mom did not sing in the choir, even though she had a wonderful voice and loved to sing, because she became blind because of diabetes when I was ten years old.
Mom taught justice and inclusion, before "inclusion" was a word in Presbyterian churches. She never thought of an "in" group or an "out" group based upon any human difference. No one was "off limits" from her heart, our home, or our church. Her faith was simple and durable, and not dogmatic. Mom expressed her doubts and her sorrows, in the midst of her confidence in God. Everything was not in concrete for her, or down pat, which may well have been the reason why her faith could expand to meet the challenges she would face with honesty, grit and grace. Her life and faith were marked by humility, not a pious arrogance. She had experienced much personal loss in her life. Her theology and ethics had been hammered out in the midst of the realities of life, not an escape from them. She became a clear moral and spiritual force in our lives, in the life of our church, and in our community. Her faith, and that of my father's, was not wrapped up in words or appearance so much, but in how they cared for others, how they treated people, and how they lived out their values.
Mom died when I was 24. I offered a eulogy for our family for my Mom. Unconditional love, grace, a sense of humor, and an open heart for all persons were her legacy. Her smile lit up a room and when "Doris was there" something magical happened to every gathering. She was the strong and gentle kind of Christian I wanted to be, the kind of human being I wanted to be. And, that might have been true for many others who knew her and loved her, loved being with her, too.
Probably not knowing it, Mom paved the way for me to become a feminist, to become a GLBT activist, to speak up for equal human, and civil rights for all persons, inalienable rights. She, and my Dad, taught me that justice, fairness, and civility were Christian, even Presbyterian and democratic values. They taught me to use my heart as well as my head.
Dr. Letty Russell, Yale Divinity School professor and recipient of a Woman of Faith Award in our church, articulated exactly what my Mom, and my Dad, taught me growing up in our home by their lives and in the church: "As long as the church does not directly confront its own collective sins of sexism, heterosexism, racism, and classism, it will not be able to practice full table hospitality in the name of the one who welcomed all persons to God's kingdom."
Many years later I found my way to Mt. Auburn Presbyterian Church, Cincinnati, Ohio. It was in this extraordinary community of faith that I would be able to put together the childhood lessons from my parents, home, the Bible, Gospel, and church. The women, and men, of Mt. Auburn, and our former pastor, Dr. Harold Porter, taught me the absolute critical and essential need for inclusive language and the value of feminist theology. They taught me what I has suspicioned all along my faith journey, that God was not only male. As a "More Light" Church, they taught me the importance of being a welcoming and affirming congregation to all persons, regardless of human difference or condition. They taught me that sexuality was a gift from God, for all people, not just for heterosexuals. And, that being gay was a good gift to be embraced and lived out with joy, passion, and integrity.
With open minds that gave way to open hearts, the women and men of Mt. Auburn Presbyterian Church, young and older, of differing racial, ethnic, and class backgrounds, of differing and all sexual orientations, taught me by word and example to stand up, to speak out, to see the connections between racism, sexism, and homophobia. They affirmed for me what I had learned from my parents and the Gospel, that every person is a child of God, created in God's image, and deserving of respect. And, that none of us should get in the way of the Gospel and the call of God to service in the life of the church.
While the mission of National More Light Presbyterians is clearly, passionately and unapologetically working for the full participation of GLBT people in the life, ministry, and witness of our church, we stand in solidarity with women, people of color, and other minorities in the Presbyterian church, and in society. I do not, and MLP does not, divide justice up into sections or tidy categories. I would not, and could not be serving as your national field organizer if this was not the case.
So, it seems that my Mama, and Letty Russell, and the Gospel are right. Everyone is created in God's image, everyone matters, everyone is deserving of a place at the table, that it is God's table, not ours. And, that it is our opportunity, responsibility, and privilege to make way for everyone to be at that table. Maybe my Mama would say that this is practicing good manners.
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