Light Work

by Nathan Brasfield, Director of Youth and Outreach Ministries

 

Eleven years ago this year, on a misty September morning in Seattle, I was walking around downtown with my duffel bag, looking for the coffee shop that was calling my name. I would fly back home to Memphis that evening, and it was the first time during my trip to Washington that I had the opportunity to explore the city.

 

For several days, I had been on nearby Bainbridge Island because my new Episcopal priest friend was being installed as rector of a parish there. Tommy was one of the people I had met just a couple of months earlier at my first Wild Goose Festival in North Carolina. As a then-closeted Methodist on staff with a non-affirming congregation, my first experience of the truly inclusive community at Wild Goose was transformative, and it continued to transform my life through the simple presence of some special people I met there.

 

This included Tommy, who invited me to this gathering on the island to celebrate his new ministry with other new friends, including several people (all Episcopalians) who were part of my story at Wild Goose. In several ways, then, this trip turned out to be like “Wild Goose Part II” for me, which is how I have described it ever since.

 

One night on the island, we cooked fresh salmon and veggies together over an open fire in our host’s backyard and ate with our hands, looking up at the stars and breathing in the scent of cedar and fir. At one point in our conversations, I told my story of self-acceptance and my first steps toward coming out at Wild Goose. And just like at Wild Goose, I was celebrated and welcomed by these new friends in this new place. A couple of others also shared their stories of vulnerability, self-acceptance, and joy, and we concluded our dinner by passing a banana cream pie around the fire, eating spoonfuls straight from the pan until it was gone. At some point, someone pointed out to the group what was so palpable to everyone. We had been, in a way, sharing communion.

 

And so, on this morning in Seattle, following the human connection and communion that I had experienced while I was on the island, I finally settled on a coffee shop. And it was a good choice. The espresso was delicious, and it (rightfully) came with a glass of sparkling water. It was also crowded, so with dishes in both hands and a duffel bag on my shoulder, I eventually settled for an ottoman since there were no empty tables. And then I heard a voice calling out to me. It was from a young woman at a table with an empty chair who said, “You can sit here if you want.”

 

As I got up and settled across from her with all my luggage and beverages, I thanked her for her generosity, and she asked me what I was doing in Seattle. I began to tell her about Tommy and his installation, but then, with her permission, I took the time to tell her the much longer story of what had happened in my life around the Wild Goose Festival and how it had all led to my being invited to Washington.

 

Surprisingly, as I reached the end of my story, she started to cry. She then explained that she had ended up in Seattle after leaving her church and family to be with her girlfriend. Taking each other’s hands across the table, for a moment we just sat and saw each other with tears in both of our eyes.

 

It occurred to me that while I had been telling her my story, I had used words like “God,” “the church,” and “the Holy Spirit” in the context of hope, joy, and a sense of blessedness in who I am. My sense was that words like these had at least at one point meant a lot to her in some way, but they had all been painfully left behind. My sense was also that she never expected to have a conversation like this with someone in Seattle. In any case, through still more tears, she then spoke the words that have remained with me ever since. “I don’t even know why I talked to you,” she said. “I just saw light coming from you.”

 

When I returned home, I was at work talking with a good friend who was a deeply devoted volunteer in the church work I did at the time and who is now on staff at Memphis First United Methodist Church, down the street from Calvary. Since I was still not open about my sexuality at home and especially not at work, I didn’t tell her anything about the more meaningful aspects of my trip, and I forget the specific context of when she said this, but, when we were discussing something about what it means to be the church in the world, she said, “You know, it’s really about just letting our light shine.”

 

As much as I’d like to, I can’t really remember the face of the young woman in Seattle. And as much as I believed that I’d never forget it, I can’t remember her name, either. I did leave her my name and the web address of my blog that day because I told her my story would one day be on there, and I hoped we could stay in touch. I never heard from her. But in remembering her, I think about what it would mean for me to honor that moment we shared when she somehow saw light coming from me, and when she responded to it by reaching out to welcome a stranger, and when she listened with an open heart, and when she shared her grief as she also gave deep encouragement to someone going through uncertain times.

 

I was at a crucial time in my life when I was in the coffee shop in Seattle. And it is true that I was becoming both more fearful and more joyful during those months than I had ever been in my life, and that I was experiencing some truly amazing things along the way. But it is also just as true that I was a guy in a coffee shop with a duffel bag, looking for a place to sit. Still, I was seen. And I am grateful that I responded to a gracious invitation to let myself be seen.

 

The most important things in our lives, whether we do them as the church or simply as human beings on our shared journeys toward wholeness, are not a matter of heavy lifting. They are matters of light and visibility, of letting our light shine and of seeing the light in others. By letting this sort of thing happen, we might discover genuine human connection with strangers, surprising communions, and deep satisfaction in simply being present. It’s all really just light work.

 

You’re invited to join Nathan and others from Calvary who are interested at this year’s Wild Goose Festival in North Carolina on September 2-6. And Calvary returns to Memphis Pride Fest on June 6! There are many slots available to march in the parade and/or to serve at the Calvary booth during the festival.