A Prayer for a Portuguese Forest
by Carl Mazza
In the debate among Presbyterians, and others, on whether or not gay/lesbian persons should be ordained as ministers, along with their status as full-fledged church members, it is usually understood that there are two sides: Those passionately against and those passionately for. Yet I think there is a third group as well - those of us who are sorrowful and angry over the church's preoccupation with that which depletes its power to love and draws its attention away from the great issues of justice and evangelism, around which we must be united and fully engaged if we are to survive.

I am an evangelical. My conversion was dramatic and completely life-changing when, as a young person, I was sinking into the abyss of homelessness with my family, and the isolation and fear were killing my soul. It was a group of Presbyterians who reached out to me at that time - in friendship, with no strings attached. I was not associated with a church, and my view of Protestants in general, let alone Presbyterians, was not positive. But these gentle folks, in their listening, caring and friendship, quietly determined to help me and they literally lifted my soul to God. I can never forget this, or them, or the community of faith from which they drew so much strength of spirit. Through them I owe the Church a debt which I can never fully repay.

On this issue which faces the Church, we can choose to work together as we are, everyone included, or we will soon have nothing left worth saving. The dispute itself has become a depletion which we can no longer afford. The real test of our worth, and our very survival, will depend on our willingness to be united in the service of God's love for, and passion to redeem, all children of earth. To the extent we lose that engagement in our mission, we quickly become irrelevant and unneeded. In our righteous debate, we tragically are beginning to lose some of our best talent, on all sides of the issue, in the great cause we serve.

Nancy Mathews is a third-year student at Union Theological Seminary. She was our intern at Meeting Ground last summer, and did a remarkable job organizing hundreds of young people and their leaders who in turn accomplished scores of work projects. She was an energetic and creative spiritual leader who brought to our discussions and Bible studies a fresh, creative dimension and inspiration.

Nancy sent us a copy of the letter which she wrote, as a candidate under care for ordination, to the Session of her church. It is one of the most honest, caring, yet straight-forward statements of the struggles of a young seminarian, committed to the service of God, the church, and humanity, who yearns to find a place of service.

The following is her letter in full:

Dear Warren Wilson Church and Session:

In 1990, I came out as a lesbian. In 1997, I confirmed receipt of a call from God, and discerned to answer this call by pursuing ordained ministry in the Church. It was natural for me to choose the Presbyterian Church because it is the church I was raised in, as well as the generations of my family before me. In 1998, I joined Warren Wilson Presbyterian Church and College Chapel because it felt like home. I knew that I wanted to pursue God's call, and that this was the place to begin the journey. I was loved and encouraged by the community, and soon after I joined, Warren Wilson's session affirmed my call to ordained ministry in the Presbyterian Church. I applied to two seminaries, San Francisco Theological Seminary and Union Theological Seminary in New York, and decided to attend Union. In 1999, my partner, Donna Kilpatrick, and I had a commitment ceremony down by the pond. Rob presided over the occasion, and many of you were there showing your love and support.

In the fall of 1999, we moved to New York where I was enrolled at Union. By the year 2000, I decided to halt my pursuit for ordination in the Presbyterian Church because the Presbyterian Church does not ordain gays and lesbians. I am a lesbian. I have a partner that I love and am proud of, and I would never want to hide her from the world. I know that I am the luckiest woman in the world because of her. I came out when I was twenty and will not go back into the closet. The closet is a dark and scary place; it is away from God's call, which inhabits all parts of my life.

I am angry. People are killing themselves because they believe that the church will not welcome them if they come as they are. The Presbyterian Church is not dismissed from the roster of conservative denominations who are to blame. Blood is on the hands of the Presbyterian Church whether or not individual congregations, sessions, ordination committees, presbyteries, or the General Assembly perform witch hunts to seek out, to change, or to persecute gays and lesbians, but because it is in the Book of Order.

The "liberal" churches are in a quandary. The religious right, disguised as the Renewal and Reform Movement will take the church, while Presbyterians practice saying "homosexual" in the mirror to see if they look comfortable. This is not a comfortable topic of conversation. In fact, I feel uncomfortable writing you this letter, a letter that is a product of inability to talk about things that are uncomfortable. As I said in the first sentence of this letter, I am a lesbian. I am leaving the Presbyterian Church because they do not ordain gays and lesbians. I will join the United Church of Christ and pursue ordination there. They have a congregational polity that allows individual churches to become "open and affirming," thus the ability to ordain gays and lesbians.

This has proven to be an extremely heart wrenching decision. I miss my church community, my sacraments, and my worship service. It is a process laden with difficult conversations with my parents who are die-hard Presbyterians. My how-many-ever-great-grandfather was the first Presbyterian minister in the United States. We/I have history. My parents attended and tended to Donna and my commitment ceremony. They love and accept us as a lesbian couple. They are growing in their understanding and compassion for the gay and lesbian community. They are struggling to understand what it means when the Presbyterian Church says that it will not ordain gays and lesbians, and why I will not duck around the policy. For me it is simple. The church is killing people, and when they are not, they are disenfranchising individuals and groups of people that would otherwise contribute to the fulfillment of God's work and witness in the world.

I am mad. I am not mad at you or at me. I am mad at both of us. I feel that I should have told session that I was a lesbian pursuing ordination in an anti-gay denomination, and that you should have been a church that was open and affirming for gays and lesbians in the life of the Presbyterian Church and the Western North Carolina Presbytery. I am mad that we are both bumbling on the cusp of the future of the church. The church will be taken by the "conservatives"; a group of people far more conservative than your wildest dreams. This brand of conservatism desires to snuff the prophetic power and heart of the Bible because they do not believe that God continues to speak in new and different ways.

We are not going to solve the problem, but we can define our boundaries. We can affirm simple things. We have the power to discern when we are acting out of fear, and when we are acting out of love. We have the power to discern when God's voice is being heard in the world, and when God's voice is being stifled. We have the power, the faith, and the grace, to believe that God's plan is bigger than anything we can contrive from racial, gendered, creedal, classist, or sexual orientations.

I can't fight the fight from within. I am called to preach. I am called to the pulpit. I am called to community. But, you see, lying isn't fighting, hiding isn't believing, and ignoring hate isn't being faithful. So, I have to go make a new home. I have to beg you to fight where I can't. I have to ask you to get uncomfortable, or I'm not doing my part.

I remember ripping lumber down on the farm's table saw one Sunday morning. I can remember the air, the sky, the intense pleasure that I felt in being a part of creation, in making something. In that space I decided that if I hurried, I could be at church at eleven. 10:55 a.m. I sat down on the back pew, winded and covered in saw dust. There was a prayer at the top of bulletin for a Portuguese forest. It was about treasuring the forest by treasuring all of the things that had been made from the wood of the forest, from cradle to coffin. I knew that I had found a home. I am of the same trees as you. My maker made me with the same love as you were made. My call is the same as yours, and my discomfort is out of the same fear as yours. There, we've already defined a boundary.

May God bless you and keep you, encourage you and love you. And may God send word that I miss you.

Sincerely, Nancy Matthews

Prayer for a Portuguese Forest:

"I am the heart of your hearth on the cold winter nights; the friendly shade which screens you from the summer sun; and my fruits quench your thirst as you journey on. I am the beam which supports your house, the board of your table, the bed on which you sleep, and the timber which builds your boat. I am the handle of your hoe, the door of your home, the wood of your cradle and the shell of your coffin. I am the bread of kindness and the flower of beauty. You who pass by, please, listen to my prayer - Harm me not!"

This notice has been posted in the forest reserves of Portugal for over a thousand years