sermon on 1 Peter 2:2-10

sermon on 1 Peter 2:2-10
given by shannon
at james chapel: union theological seminary
april 22, 2008

We hear a lot about Union as a community. Both about the ways in which we succeed as a community and the ways in which we fail. I think there are a lot of us who came to Union because of its promise of community. Its tradition of being a haven for heretics, its tradition of being different.

I know that I came here expecting a utopia of sorts. A place where I would be welcomed and heard. A place where I could bring all of myself, and all of myself would be okay. But Union hasn’t quite been that way. Sure I am accepted, but I don’t quite feel celebrated in the ways that I thought I would. As one of only a few transgender people on campus I sometimes feel like people don’t quite know what to make of me. I have been supported, but not fully. I still question where I fit and which bathroom I should use.

I have poured my heart out in classes and in papers only to turn around and have classmates and professors continually use the wrong pronouns for me. I have heard transphobic speech in classes. There have been moments when I have felt downright rejected here.

And I think if Union, this liberal, supposedly inclusive place, rejects me, then what is the world going to do to me?

I have a feeling that I’m not the only person on this campus who has felt rejection at Union. I could list all of the ways in which we may have felt rejection, but I think there are too many. We all hold some moment of rejection in our hearts.

This passage in 1 peter that we’re talking about today calls people living stones. This metaphor for building and community where each person plays a part. Each person is a brick in the building. All are needed in order to build something beautiful. But not just that; in this passage it’s the stone that is rejected that becomes the cornerstone on which all else is built.

What does this mean? What does it mean to build a foundation on the people who have been rejected? What kind of a community comes out of that?

How do we shape our rejection into something that can be built with?

I know for me, when I experience rejection, I want to reject back. Push the people who have rejected me away. Protect myself. But if I do these things, then nothing can be built. If I walk away, the building falls. If the cornerstone isn’t strong enough to withstand the rejection, the community crumbles.

So we’ve gotta face the rejection head on, continue to engage. Continue to be brave enough to put ourselves out there to face rejection again. And as I say this I realize that it seems like I’m making it too easy. And I am. But I don’t know what else to say. It seems stupid to say that you have to keep putting yourself out there even if you get knocked down. I know that. It seems like you are somehow abusing yourself. And in the midst of the rejection sometimes it is necessary to withdraw, to make sure that you’re getting taken care of.

But you can’t withdraw forever. There is an element of risk in building something beautiful. There is a weight that will sit on your back as you educate other people about your life, as you become the foundation for community.

And if we all bear a bit of that weight and that burden, then maybe the load will become lesser for others. I hope that my experiences here will make it easier for other transpeople to walk these halls in the future. And I realize that this sounds trite and cheap and doesn’t really hold the deep pain of rejection. But know that I hold that pain in my heart. And still I stand convinced that on my back. And on the backs of others rejected. This community is being built. Or at the very least transformed slowly into something beautiful.

We are living stones; and the stones that the world rejects will become the cornerstones. We are living stones. Our rejection makes this place tremble, but ultimately it will make this place stand.

Comments

[Julie]

Thanks for writing. It got me thinking about how when I've entered a community in the past thinking that that it would be for me the epitome of acceptance and love, I have been sorely disappointed when it doesn't work out as I'd hoped. And I think now looking back, that the problem wasn't my yearning, but the instruments of that satisfaction, the people of the equation, are more human, with the daily mundane responsibilities of living, than the idealized embodiment of love that I'd sought. When I tried to shape mere mortals into such forms there was heartache, and there always would be should I seek the divine in human form.