2024 Pride Sunday

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button above.

Rev. Michelle LaGrave and Carrie Holley-Hurt
August 4, 2024
First UU Church of Austin
4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756
www.austinuu.org

Come join us as we kick off LGBTQ Pride Week here in Austin! It takes courage to live authentically. We’ll have queer speakers, awesome music, and a glitter blessing. Come celebrate with us.

Chalice Lighting

This is the flame we hold in our hearts as we strive for justice for everyone. This is the light we shine upon systems of oppression until they are no more. This is the warmth that we share with one another as our struggle becomes our salvation.

Call to Worship

A PROTEST AND A PARTY
by Hannah Roberts Villnave

People sometimes ask:
Is Pride a protest
Or a party?

And the answer is
Of course
Yes.

And why not?

Why not
Rejoice as we resist
Dance as we demand change
Celebrate as we create community that delights in
All of who we are?

So bring all of that
With you this morning.

Bring your policy demands
Bring your glitter
Bring your supreme court broken heart
Bring your rainbow socks
Bring the emptiness you feel
For our siblings gone too soon.

Bring your Gloria Estefan remix
Bring your tender hope for change
Bring your most garish eyeshadow
Bring your spirit, tattered and battered
By a world that seems insistent on
Choosing fear and hate.

Gather up all these things
And bring them here
To a place where we don’t
Have to shoulder these burdens
Or celebrate these joys
Alone.

Come, let us worship Together.

Affirming Our Mission

Together we nourish souls, transform lives, and do justice to build the Beloved Community.

Reading

JESUS AT THE GAY BAR
By Jay Hulme

He’s here in the midst of it –
right at the centre of the dance floor,
robes hitched up to His knees
to make it easy to spin.

At some point in the evening
a boy will touch the hem of His robe
and beg to be healed, beg to
be anything other than this;
and He will reach His arms out,
sweat-damped, and weary from dance.

He’ll cup the boy’s face in His hand
and say,
my beautiful child
there is nothing in this heart of yours
that ever needs to be healed.

Sermon

NOTE: Carrie Holley-Hurt’s homily is an ai generated transcript.
Please forgive any errors.

Carrie Holley-Hurt

So, fun fact, pride at this church is actually my anniversary. Almost a decade ago I showed up at this church knowing nothing about you people and fell in love hard. So this is very exciting for me that I get to participate in this pride ceremony today. So when Reverend Michelle, who is generous, asked me what I wanted to do, how I wanted to contribute, I said, well, I want to give my testimony.

And I know that might be a little weird, but y’all, I come from a Pentecostal tradition, and so I’m going to give my testimony. And I hope that for those of you who were raised in a fundamentalist or otherwise soul-crushing church, that this does not trigger you. In fact, I hope my testimony is liberating and that it will inspire you to think about your own stories, your own narrative of growth and liberation.

So growing up I was different. I didn’t fit in at all. My body didn’t fit. My style didn’t fit. My mind didn’t fit. And I tried as best I could. I tried to act and look just like everybody else. I tried with clothes and hair, even got an eating disorder. I worked so hard to hide myself and to fit in all the right boxes. And then at some point that all just became too much. It was too hard, too stressful.

And after leaving my religion, I started to allow myself to be more me. And some of that included acting on my queerness. And it was freeing, but only up to a point, because I quickly found out that everyone I loved was not always loving about who I was. And so I stopped the process of coming out and went back into hiding, well, half-hiding because I couldn’t actually hide from myself anymore.

Then many years later, my own kid came out as queer, followed by several of my loved ones who are younger, and I realized that I never wanted them to go into hiding. I knew that they were perfect and wonderful as is. And I did not want the world to suffer because they felt the need to hide. So I came out again. I fully came out to my loved ones and this time I didn’t do it for their acceptance but as a display of my own acceptance and a really beautiful thing started to happen. I began the process of accepting all the parts of who I am, not just the queer part, but the neurodivergent part, the size of my body, my disabilities, in all of the ways that I will never conform to the societal standards of good enough.

I will never fit into those boxes. You see, in embracing myself I stopped embracing the boxes of patriarchy and internalized homophobia. When I decided I was going to fully embrace my queerness and stopped hiding it started to lose control over me. This to me is the beauty of queerness and those who have said yes to their queerness. They say, You, system of suprimacy, you don’t get to have control over me. I’ll not be confined by your boxes, the system that tries to punish me into conforming. You no longer get to call the shots.

So pride then is pointing to the liberation that is found in this act. Liberation on the most personal level. And please know that this message isn’t just for queer people. I love straight people. Some of my best friends are straights. Like my husband, who is a straight cis-man.

No, this message is for all of us because all of us need liberation. All of us feel the weight of the boxes that systems of supremacy try to force on us. The current contrived controversy with the Olympic boxers show us just how demanding and punishing these systems can be on all of us.

We all need the liberation of self. That deep embrace of our own inherent dignity and worthiness. And that comes when we stop conforming and we stop hiding ourselves. We embrace ourselves. And while I know not everyone can do this publicly, because it’s just not safe, I get it. When those of us who can – do. Let us all be those people. Let us continue to do the work of becoming a more radically welcoming church so that we can help others on their journey.

Thank you.

Rev. Michelle LaGrave

This is my story. Or a piece of it, anyway. A portion of the truth … that is me, that is my spouse, that is my family, that is you, that is all of us. Because I can’t really separate out my story from the stories of those I love, those I know, those I don’t know, but with whom I have crossed paths in some way. Our stories are interconnected because we are interconnected on the deepest level. Our stories go out into the world, shape and form each other, and then return to us, re-shaping and reforming ourselves, again and again.

This story is a Love story and I don’t mean a romantic, frilly sort of love, though that is a piece of it at times. I mean the kind of Love story in which people come to love themselves, and each other, in a most agonizingly authentic way and then have the courage to say to the world – “This is who I am!” and “This is who we are!”

The opening setting for this Love story, my Love story, is Andover Newton Theological School, a beautiful campus filled with tall trees and brick buildings, sitting on a hilltop just outside of Boston, Massachusetts, a rather typical New England scene. It began fifteen years ago, and I was deep in the process of ministerial transformation, of becoming a Unitarian Universalist minister. While my own faith tradition had a long history of welcoming, affirming, and marrying people of all sexual orientations, these were new practices, or emerging practices, for many of the faith traditions present at the school and were a frequent topic of theological conversation. As was the question of gender and gender identity. The very first openly transgender people were attending the school, and the very first transgender panel had recently been held. Gay marriage was only a few years old in Massachusetts and less than a year old in nearby Connecticut, where I am from. What I’m trying to say in setting this scene is that everything felt very new and fresh and groundbreaking in the area of GLBT rights. (Yes, it was still GLBT back then.)

And so it was within this cultural context, that I headed to the first day of class, Pastoral Care for GLBT People, with one of my best friends, Craig. We were joking around about something some of our friends had said about sexual attraction and how it works, and we decided to playa game, a bit of an experiment to bring back to the conversation. We would go to class and pick out the person who most immediately, without thinking about it, struck us as attractive and then share about it with each other later. As I scanned the room, I immediately noticed a very butch-presenting person – short, spiky hair, tats on her arms, thick, brown leather bracelet, cool sunglasses hanging around her neck. Oof. I immediately felt the attraction and wanted to get to know her, and so I went and sat kind of nearby. Afterward, I told Craig who I had chosen. It was the first time I ever admitted out loud to another person that I felt attracted to someone who was a woman or was genderqueer. I was in my late thirties.

About two months later, that person had become my girlfriend, my first, and only, girlfriend. Coming out on campus was relatively easy because I lived there, which was kind of like living in a fishbowl. I met up with her after an evening class and while walking around campus she took up my hand and held it. Boom! Done. I was out at seminary. Scary, but overall, not too painful.

What was terrifying was the prospect of coming out to my family and some of my friends. I was afraid of losing, or damaging, relationships with people I loved and cared about. And I did, but not the most important ones. Here’s where social location is important. I was a white, cisgender woman, well into adulthood, super well-educated, living in a liberal area of the country, following a calling to ministry in the most progressive faith tradition available. I had all of the advantages, all of the privileges, except for money, that would bode well for coming out, and still, coming out was terrifying. I risked, and experienced real loss. I lost relationships and I lost jobs. We all do. It takes courage to come out. Coming out is an act of resistance, coming out is an act of defiance, and coming out is an act of pride.

But my story, my Love story, did not end there. There was to be another coming out. Less than a year after meeting each other, my girlfriend came out as transgender. FTM, female to male, as we said back in the day. He had newly come into this identity, partly as a result of some of the work he had done at seminary. My girlfriend was really a transman. Many of you know him, as my spouse Micah. Yes, I married my ex-girlfriend. (That’s my favorite trans joke … Okay, it’s my only trans joke, but I really like it.)

So now we had a second coming out as well as a gender transition before us. These were hard, on both of us, in different ways. While I shared with you the story of my being attracted to a woman, having a first girlfriend, and using she/her pronouns to describe it all, that’s the story from my historical perspective. Now, both Micah and I avoid the use of his deadname and use he/him pronouns to talk about him at any age, long before he came out as trans, long before he came out as a butch lesbian, long before he played softball, long before he joined the Girl Scouts, back to when he was a little kid who played football on the playground with the other little boys, until they told him he couldn’t play anymore because he was a girl.

Returning to our Love story, that summer right after graduation, Micah came out to his family and friends, shared his new name and pronouns, and began gender-affirming care. We joined support groups for trans people and trans partners. We marveled at the way people began to treat us differently when they thought, incorrectly, that what they were seeing was a heterosexual couple. I got through some terrifying moments when I was afraid for his safety. One or the other of us often raged at the mistreatment he received, especially in relationship to his healthcare. And we got through it all, we still get through it all, with both Love and courage. By the next February, Micah had legally changed both his name and gender marker, and knowing we were to get married later that summer, also took on my last name and became Micah Shiloh LaGrave.

Our wedding was beautiful. We were married on the beach in Connecticut. I wore cargo shorts and a tiara. People who were walking along the beach joined in the circle of family and friends surrounding us for the ceremony, strangers welcomed in to the trans/partner wedding.

But before that, we worried that our wedding wouldn’t happen at all, or would only happen with great difficulty, at least legally. Because first we had to get a wedding license and even though Micah had all his gender marker papers in place, and even though gay marriage was legal in Connecticut, it wasn’t almost everywhere else. It was an exciting, but also fraught time. We worried the whole way down to get the license, and while standing in line, and while being helped. And we thought we were right to be worried, because as soon we handed over our papers it became clear there was a problem. The clerk took them in back and there was a lot of whispering and consulting going on before she came back and finally said, IIUmm, you both have the same last name? Are you related?/I We laughed with relief. They didn’t care that we were queer, they were concerned we might be committing incest! It never occurred to us it might be an issue that Micah had already taken my last name a few months back.

All of this is to say, that while there are moments of humor and misunderstanding, and lots of love along the way, coming out is long, hard, tough work. Coming out is never finally and fully over. It must be done again and again. And so it is, that we have Pride every year. We support those who are newly coming out and those who have been coming out for a long, long time. And we remember, that Pride began as a riot, led by trans women of color, as an act of resistance, and defiance, and of agonizing joy to throw off the cloak of oppression and finally act free by simply being ourselves – out loud, in public, and on the streets.

Pride says, still says – you cannot, will not hold me down. You policymakers, you legislators, you enforcers, you false prophets, you conservative religious fundamentalists, you oppressors, you the system, you cannot hold us down. We will persevere and we will survive as we have always done – whether we are lesbian, gay, asexual, bisexual, pansexual, polysexual, intersexual, transgender, non-binary, nonconforming, polyamorous, or plain old queer, we will persevere, we will survive! We are courageous! We are proud! And we will celebrate!

May it always be so, Amen, and Blessed Be.

Extinguishing the Chalice

We extinguish this flame, but not the light of truth, the warmth of community, or the fire of commitment. These we hold in our hearts until we are together again.

Benediction

As we go forth, we offer you this final blessing.

May you receive and reflect love, everywhere you go, and know-in your deepest heart and in every day – you matter and you belong.

May you hold on to hope and your inner sparkle even when discouragement and despair beckon.

May the beauty that is you shine out, bright as the stars from which we came and to which we will return.

Together may we make this a place of welcome and healing, of connection and plurality.

Together may we practice compassion and courage, seeing and celebrating and supporting each other.

Together may we be the sparkling force of love that our world needs.

Blessed by this community and by the divine, go forth and celebrate with pride!

Amen and Blessed Be

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