We have all heard this story, many as part of an expression of individual conscience or faith, others out of sharing traditions.
- Now in those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus, that a census be taken of all the inhabited earth. 2. This was the first census taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. 3. And everyone was on his way to register for the census, each to his own city. 4. Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the city of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and family of David, 5. in order to register along with Mary, who was engaged to him, and was with child. 6. While they were there, the days were completed for her to give birth. 7. And she gave birth to her firstborn son; and she wrapped Him in cloths, and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.
Luke 2:1-7 (NASB)
This season, you are invited to step out of our common experience as GLBT Americans, and to express solidarity with others who have faced the question of whether there is room in the Inn for them and for their families.
Our community now struggles so poignantly with this very question. Rick Warren has been selected to give the Invocation at the Inauguration January 20th, placing a prominent supporter of Proposition 8 on the program for the special ceremony which I, and many other LGBT folk, once dreamed, envisioned and hoped would come. Are we to be included, or is there to be no room for us in the Inn?
Some years ago I drove my family to visit my mother in rural Arkansas on Christmas Day. As we passed Hope (how oddly appropriate) the ice began. By Arkadelphia it was a burden. Just west of Little Rock all traffic on I-30 came to a frozen stop. Slowly we made it to an exit and found a Holiday Inn, causing great joy for the two tired and worried boys in the back seat. That Christmas night I went into the establishment only to discover there was no room for us in the Inn.
We were directed to a local church which served as the Red Cross emergency shelter, and found our way with many others to the cots, coffee and hot chocolate provided for us. The younger lad thrived and became quite the social primate, making friends from across America. The older son shivered under his blanket and went introspective. I observed how the travelers formed themselves into hearth groups in this most modern of "caves" and was struck by the uniqueness of the hearth groups (or families) as we all strove together to endure a night of unexpected solidarity.
A few years later Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans. As evacuees began arriving at the Austin Convention Center, I contacted the Red Cross to see how I could be of service. My lawyer skills were not needed in "first response" - lawyers are more the clean up crew in such situations, but there was a critical need for chaplains, so I put on my minister hat, grabbed a few relevant items and headed for the experience of a lifetime, armed with the memory of what it was like at least to spend one night in a Red Cross Shelter.
I continue to marvel at the strength of the people of New Orleans. As I watched the Hearth Groups forming and changing through the days that followed, I prayed, cried and held hands with many – directing chaplains of other faiths to those who requested them. With little formal structure, those of us who served as chaplains became de facto ombudsmen as well. My particular work focused on the elderly and on the room of "unattached" men – some single, but most of whom had gotten their families out of New Orleans before being left to the flood. For these wonderful folk in the cavern of the Austin Convention Center, there had been no room in the Inn.
I was given a differently colored armband for entry each day along with a Chaplain's badge (under the auspices of the Austin Police Department's Chaplain's office, which assumed this responsibility). Unlike others I did not remove the armband nightly, but let the rainbow grow on my arm, so my tribe could find me if needed – and they did. I helped with HIV medications, replacement dentures, eyeglasses – and negotiating computer time between the teenage gamers and the adults who needed to find relatives. I even joined the chorus demanding the Saints game be shown on the Television in place of the disaster reports. If you ever need to know what to send in such a situation understand teddy bears will abound and large print magazines and books will be scarce, so do remember the elderly. And diversion – a local establishment provided me with dozens of chess sets and domino sets which were greatly appreciated by all ages.
I responded as a chaplain, not as a gay man, but as a gay chaplain I had my place. I will never forget a story I told here during the relief effort. Austin kos held a gumbo party in my apartment.
Gumbo and Jambalaya
My name is Lawrence. I'm 18 years old, and I had fun at the Gumbo Bash.
Well I'm Karyn and it has been a pleasure to be invited to such a shin dig! If the people here at this small gathering of friends represent the great state of Texas then it's as awesome as I imagined it would be.
Orlando who is 17 years old "says I want to play in the NFL!"
My name is Angie I am grateful for the gumbo and jambalaya and the kindness of all the People in Austin Texas I really miss home but I am grateful that I am here with my family
Edwima says just be thankful and grateful.
Veronica (78) says, "I want to thank all of you people for being so nice, and it's so truly appreciated. I haven't laughed or smiled in a couple of weeks as I have here tonight. I had a wish for gumbo and it came true! It was delicious! And so was the jambalaya."
Troy says, "Like the tree in front of my house in New Orleans, I bent but I didn't break. And I'm being propped up by the people of Austin. And I will bear fruit again."
A New Orleans chef (Karry) prepared the gumbo in pots borrowed from Wink, a nearby restaurant. Women and men who needed to clean something simply washed up or swept, bringing a sense of order to a people who needed order to return. The kids tossed a football outside. Karry went with me to return the borrowed pots to Wink, where he discussed the finer points of roux with the Austin Chef in a language I could barely follow.
As I drove a few folk back to the convention center and passed 6th Street, Miss Veronica exclaimed, "Look – Bourbon Street. And Gay people. It is like home."
God Bless you Miss Veronica, and all of my New Orleans friends. I have never felt so included as to be told my people reminded this wonderful woman of home and her people. And really, we are one people.
Whatever your tradition of conscience or faith, take time this season to step out of our community and into the broader community of life (of which we are an important part) and remember those, like Miss Veronica of New Orleans, for whom once there was no room in the Inn. Care about her. She cares about us.
And listen to some holiday jazz. Every now and then we have to turn off the computer and deal with the people.
Yes We Can.