#First United Methodist Church

[firstchurchmesa]

Full Worship Service - October 22nd, 2023

The full worship service broadcast during 9 am Worship on Sunday October 22nd, 2023.

 Want to support the ministry at First United Methodist Church of Mesa?

 Donate at https://app.sharefaith.com/app/giving/firs6957441 

 Watch the full Worship Service at Livestream.com/FirstChurchMesa

[thedaveandkimmershow]

I was caught yesterday by something I'd forgotten. For a little bit, then, I had one of those What was I thinking? moments because a lot of time's gone by. I couldn't imagine what Past Me had been up to Once Upon A Time.

Okay so our most recent home remodel work includes removing nails from walls. Armed, then, with hammer and pliers and, starting in the kitchen, I began my search for these wayward nails.

Which I couldn't actually see. 

Seriously, looking at the walls, here, there, everywhere I'd expect to see photos hung, there weren't any nails. It was only when I happened to look higher, above the kitchen window, above the kitchen door. Above both ends of the living room. Then above the fire place. And so on.

At first I couldn't imagine what all these nails were doing in all these odd places. Which is awkward since I'm the one who put them there.

So yeah. It took a little bit to remember what those nails were about. The pattern and locations gave it away, eventually.

We used them to hang garlands. Basically, tree branches strung together to create decorative borders for rooms at Christmastime.

Yup. At Christmastime.

You see, Once Upon A Time, that was our thing. For the Christmas season, beginning at some point after Thanksgiving, we hung garlands over nearly every room in the house. We got them from Value Village one year, a lot of them apparently, and they became our tradition.

Now, this wasn't totally out of the realm. Because when we were kids, one of the Christmastime events in which we participated with our families at First United Methodist Church in downtown Seattle was the hanging of the garlands. Hundreds of 'em. 

I don't know where they came from, but my memory is they weren't already put together. They may, in fact, have come to the church from somebody's woods.

So there was a lot of separating, organizing, carrying, and hanging that took hours, beginning in the basement and ending along the fronts of the three balconies in the sanctuary underneath the church's iconic dome.

What can I say?

That's the memory that springs to mind whenever the subject is "garlands".

Of course I don't remember how they were hung at the church back in the day. But in our house we used nails.

Apparently.

The almost embarrassing part of this remembering is that, while we were sitting in the living room talking about our foray into decorating with tree branches, there, above our front door were, yes...

Tree branches.

Garlands, right there in plain sight. Hanging over our front door. Which I hadn't managed to see, of which I hadn't been consciously aware in a really long, long time.

It's amazing how something in plain sight can remain so hidden. Both by vision and by memory.

😕

[firstumcschenectady]

“Hallelujah, It Is Finished!” based in theory on John 21:1-14 as a story of resurrection

Dear ones, it is official. The era of institutional discrimination against queer and trans people in the United Methodist church has ended.

The phrase that said that “homosexuality is incompatible with Christian teaching” is gone, and our new statement on Human sexuality reads:

We affirm human sexuality as a sacred gift and acknowledge that sexual intimacy contributes to fostering the emotional, spiritual, and physical well-being of individuals and to nurturing healthy sexual relationships that are grounded in love, care and respect.

Human sexuality is a healthy and natural part of life that is expressed in wonderfully diverse ways from birth to death. It is shaped by a combination of nature and nurture: heredity and genetic factors on the one hand and childhood development and environment on the other. We further honor the diversity of choices and vocations in relation to sexuality such as celibacy, marriage and singleness.

We support the rights of all people to exercise personal consent in sexual

relationships, to make decisions about their own bodies and be supported in those decisions, to receive comprehensive sexual education, to be free from sexual exploitation and violence, and to have access to adequate sexual health care.

The “funding ban” is gone – church support at levels can be extended to organizations doing ministry with LGBTQIA+ folx.

We don't call anyone “self-proclaimed practicing homosexuals” anymore (PHEW), and now we affirm that queer clergy can be ordained and appointed in The United Methodist Church AND that if they can't be safely appointed at home they can be appointed across conference lines.

We now allow clergy to preside over and UM churches to host same-gender weddings.

There are no longer chargeable offenses for ones' sexual orientation or for doing same-gender weddings.

AND we've created a process to RESTORE CREDENTIALS of those who lost them because of their sexuality, gender identity, or presiding over a wedding. (It remains to be seen if anyone will use this.)

AND we've put in place a regionalization plan that allows for areas around the world to do ministry in ways that work for them, THANK GOD, and also means we can move from these NEUTRAL stances to POSTITIVE statements in the near future.

Friends, that first one, the “incompatibility clause” was added in 1972 and we've been fighting to remove it every since. 52 years.

The era of harm to God's beloved queer and trans people through The United Methodist Church is OVER.

HALLELUJAH.

I have a memory of being in junior high Sunday school and learning that The United Methodist Church was bigoted against queer people and being simply horrified that they didn't know better yet. I thought back then that it was just a matter of time for the church to catch up.

I remember going to General Conference in 2004 and learning how intentional and organized the homophobic movement was. It blew me away. It wasn't simply that the church forgot to notice they had this justice issue to fix. It was that people were working hard, with great intentionality, to do harm to God's beloveds.

I have done my part, to change the church. So have you. So have tens or hundreds of thousands of people. Maybe more. I can't quite process how many people have worked so hard to bring this day. The laborers have been many, and until this past two weeks the fruits have been few. But here we are.

THIS is the First Sunday of a fully inclusive United Methodist Church.

And, I thought it would feel better.

It is like I forgot about how pain works. I forgot that when the active harm stops coming, that's when you finally get to really feel it all. That's when the grief hits. That's when the anger is finally able to be let out.

Until this week the harms kept coming, and all we could do was survive.

And now we have to heal.

Darn it.

IT IS FINISHED, HALLELUJAH.

And.

And we lost beloveds to suicide. And we lost those called to other churches or professions. And we lost the full authenticity of those called and serving. And we lost members who were told they were incompatible, or they couldn't get married, or they couldn't have their kid baptized. And we lost those who just couldn't stay anymore. And those who have been WAITING have lost so many years.

52 years.

AND, sorry, I know I'm Debbie Downer, but we know we closed the Central Jurisdictions in 1968 to create a beautifully diverse fully shared body of Christ and racism is still alive and well anyway. And we also know that women have had full ordination rights since 1954 but don't have pay equity or any other kind of equity. So removing formal discrimination doesn't solve the whole problem.

You already knew that too.

Ever since the rules changed to allow all of our siblings their ordination rights, I've been humming Mark Miller's song “The Journey Isn't Over.” God's call in my life to bring justice in the church and the world for God's beloveds who are trans and queer hasn't changed. I'm so grateful, so very, very grateful not to be ashamed of my denomination more. But the journey isn't over:

From Seneca Falls,

from Selma to Stonewall

we've come a long way,

we've come a long way.

From Seneca Falls,

from Selma to Stonewall

we've come a long way,

but the journey isn't over.

Friends, THIS journey will be over when God's beloveds who are trans and queer, God's beloveds who are women and non-binary people, God's beloveds who are BIPOC, God's beloveds with disabilities, AND ALL of God's beloveds are able to live in fullness and abundance in the kindom of God.

From now until then, we're called to make it so.

Hallelujah, THIS STAGE is finished, AND the journey isn't over. Amen

[bossymarmalade]

CBC video: Stolen Children | Residential School Survivors Speak Out

Since their first arrival in the “new world” of North America, a number of religious entities began the project of converting Indigenous Peoples to Christianity. This undertaking grew in structure and purpose, especially between 1831 and 1969, when the governing officials of early Canada joined with Roman Catholic, Anglican, Methodist, United, and Presbyterian churches to create and operate the residential school system. The last federally-run residential school, Gordon Indian residential School in Saskatchewan, closed in 1996. One common objective defined this period: the aggressive assimilation of Aboriginal peoples.

[ legacy of hope ]

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Richard Luscombe at The Guardian:

The Proud Boys have lost control of their own name after the far-right extremist group subjected a Black church in Washington DC to a “hateful and overtly racist” attack during the violent final days of Donald Trump’s first presidency. The ruling Monday by Judge Tanya Jones Bosier of Washington DC’s superior court grants the church – the Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal church – power over how the Proud Boys moniker is used. Bosier’s decision opens a pathway to seizing proceeds from the sale of any merchandise featuring the white supremacist group’s name, logos and insignia, too. Lawyers for the church sought the ruling to satisfy a $2.8m judgment stemming from the December 2020 attack during a rally by Trump supporters who falsely claimed that victory was stolen from him when he lost the presidential election that year to Joe Biden. Several Proud Boys members scaled a wall at the church and embarked on a rampage of vandalism that included burning a Black Lives Matter (BLM) banner. The mob included Henry “Enrique” Tarrio, a planner of the 6 January 2021 Capitol attack who was subsequently sentenced to 22 years in prison for seditious conspiracy. But he was among 1,500 people pardoned and freed when Trump returned to office in January after defeating Kamala Harris in November’s election. In a June 2023 ruling, DC superior court judge Neal Kravitz said Tarrio and fellow Proud Boys members John Turano, Ethan Nordean, Joseph Biggs and Jeremy Bertino had “acted with an evil, discriminatory motive based on race and that their conduct was reprehensible to an extreme degree” when they attacked the church.

It was one of a number of violent incidents that took place in the Washington DC area between Trump’s defeat to Joe Biden in the 2020 presidential election and the deadly January 6 attack by his supporters trying to keep him in office. Tarrio did not take part in the Capitol insurrection because he had been arrested for stealing a BLM flag in an separate assault on the Asbury United Methodist Church, one of four churches attacked by the Proud Boys on the same night. He watched the riot he had helped organize from a hotel room in Baltimore.

Here is some poetic justice, on Black History Month no less: Far-right domestic terrorist group Proud Boys lost their own naming rights to the Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal Church in DC, which was one of the churches vandalized by the far-right group.

See Also:

Daily Kos: You’ll never guess who now controls the Proud Boys brand

Washingtonian: A Historic DC Black Church Now Owns the Proud Boys’ Name

[vague-humanoid]

(RNS) — The African Methodist Episcopal Church’s top officials have called for the U.S. government to halt all its funding of Israel, citing the deaths of tens of thousands of Palestinians in the Hamas-Israel war.

“The Council of Bishops of the African Methodist Episcopal Church calls on the United States Government to immediately withdraw all funding and other support from Israel,” reads a statement issued on Wednesday (Feb. 14), the 264th anniversary of the birth of the historically Black denomination’s founder, Richard Allen.

“Since October 7, 2023, in retaliation for the brutal murder of 1,139 Israeli citizens by Hamas, Israel has murdered over 28,000 Palestinians, mostly women and children. The United States is supporting this mass genocide. This must not be allowed to continue.”

The statement was signed by Bishop Adam J. Richardson, senior bishop of the denomination; Bishop Stafford J.N. Wicker, president of the bishops’ council; Bishop E. Anne Henning Byfield, chair of social action, and Bishop Francine A. Brookins, co-chair of social action.

Bishop Harry L. Seawright, the leader of the AME’s Alabama district, said in a Thursday interview with Religion News Service that he and other bishops also supported the statement, which he said reflects the denomination’s stances on social action.

“We have always tried to take a social stand against injustice, unfair treatment of all people,” he said.

Seawright said he was not aware of any other Black denominations that had adopted the same stance. Bishop Vashti McKenzie, a retired AME bishop and the president of the National Council of Churches,  an organization of Protestant, Orthodox, evangelical and historic African American churches, told Religion News Service that she believed the AME Church was the first national denomination to take this step.

In January, Progressive National Baptist Convention President David Peoples declared his denomination’s stance in favor of a cease-fire at a news conference at the Lorraine Motel, the Memphis, Tennessee, site where the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in 1968.

[hiwerethemountaingoats]

This is a song about the organ harvesting colonies on the moon that, uh, that men and women work on six months out of the year, and the other six months they live in utter secrecy in locations that they are not allowed to disclose. Without families, without friends, without other occupations than giant televisions granted to them by the government. I alone seem to be bearing witness to this phenomenon. This is called Surrounded.

John Darnielle introducing Surrounded (First United Methodist Church | Ames, IA | September 12th, 2015)

[divinum-pacis]

First United Methodist Church in Charlotte, N.C., hosted hundreds of LGBTQ people and their allies May 1, 2024, for a celebratory sing-along after the United Methodist General Conference lifted a ban on gay ordination. (RNS photos/Yonat Shimron)

[whencyclopedia]

John Wesley Gilbert

Born into slavery in rural Georgia, John Wesley Gilbert (1863-1923) rose to national prominence as a scholar, teacher, community leader, and Christian missionary. During 1890-91, he was the first African American member of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens. He was among the first 50 Americans of any race, ethnicity, or background to conduct professional archaeological work in Greece.

For much of the 20th century, Gilbert was best known for his 1911-1912 mission to the Belgian Congo with white bishop Walter Russell Lambuth of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South or MECS (the MECS has since become part of the United Methodist Church). Gilbert's 1890-1891 sojourn in Greece at the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, in contrast, often received passing word but never serious study. In 2011, the newly founded Society of Black Archaeologists recognized Gilbert as the first professionally trained African American archaeologist. Today, he is often called "the first black archaeologist." Yet his life, and especially his year in Greece, has never received the in-depth exploration it deserves, until now.

Lost Records

No one was sure how the fire started. In the pre-dawn hours of 3 August 1968, flames swept through Haygood Memorial Hall, the main building of historically black Paine College in Augusta, Georgia. Bystanders gathered to watch helplessly as the blaze climbed up, engulfing Haygood's famous clock tower, which for nearly 70 years had rung out the hours loud enough to be heard across town. The structure was still smoldering at sunrise. The clock tower stood but was too damaged to save and had to be pulled down. Inside was devastation. Though fireproof cabinets protected recent student records, the offices of Paine's president and vice president were destroyed, along with a priceless collection of African artifacts. Many of the school's early catalogues, newspapers, and other records also perished.

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[cartermagazine]

Today In History

Leontyne Price, world-renowned opera singer, and the first African American singer to achieve an international reputation in opera—made her formal debut at the Metropolitan Opera House on this date January 27, 1961.

Both of Price’s grandfathers had been Methodist ministers in Black churches in Mississippi, and she sang in her church choir as a girl. Only when she graduated from the College of Education and Industrial Arts (now Central State College) in Wilberforce, Ohio, in 1948 did she decide to seek a career as a singer.

She studied for four years at the Juilliard School of Music in New York City, where she worked under the former concert singer Florence Page Kimball, who remained her coach in later years. Her debut took place in April 1952 in a Broadway revival of Four Saints in Three Acts by Virgil Thomson and Gertrude Stein.

Leontyne Price performance in that production, which subsequently traveled to Paris, prompted Ira Gershwin to choose her to sing the role of Bess in his revival of Porgy and Bess, which played in New York City from 1952 to 1954 and then toured the United States and Europe. The year 1955 saw her triumphant performance of the title role in the National Broadcasting Company’s television production of Tosca, and she sang leading roles in other operas on television in the next few years.

CARTER™️ Magazine

[lboogie1906]

Sergeant Major James Ermine Huger, Sr. (January 4, 1915 - October 14, 2016) was born in Tampa. He earned his high school diploma and AA at Bethune-Cookman College. He attended West Virginia State College where he received his BS. He earned his MS from the University of Michigan. He served as the business manager of the school for more than 40 years.

He was drafted into the Marine Corps becoming one of the first African American Marines. He served as a Montford Point Marine and trained at the Montford Point facility at Camp Lejeune. He was promoted until he reached the highest rank as a non-commissioned officer: Sergeant Major.

Mrs. Bethune asked him to run the United Negro College Fund in DC. He was a member of the Stewart Memorial United Methodist Church and served as Charge Lay Leader. He was appointed to the Urban Renewal Advisory Board for the City of Daytona Beach. He became the city’s first African American elected official when he was elected city commissioner. He was the first African American to serve on the Volusia County Council and served as chairman. He served as the city’s community development director.

He served as a Trustee Emeritus on the Bethune-Cookman University Board of Associate Trustees, Associate Trustee of Halifax Health, President of the Board of Stewart Marchman Center, Board Member of The Rape Crisis Center, and Board Member of Florida Health Care. Huger participated in numerous other organizations including the Daytona Beach International Speedway Checkered Flag Committee, The Association for Retarded Citizens, The Division of Blind Services, The Florida League of Cities, NAACP, Governor’s Martin Luther King, Jr. Committee, HOPE House, the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History, The Elks, the American Teachers’ Association, Daytona Beach Chamber of Commerce, and the Florida Committee of 100. He was the executive director for Alpha Phi Alpha. He is credited with integrating Daytona Beach’s municipal golf course and contributed to The Halifax Associates Membership Handbook and the Disaster Preparedness Guidebook for Community Development Professionals. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #alphaphialpha

[istandonsnowpiles]

First United Methodist Church of Chicago

[apenitentialprayer]

The Christianization of African-Americans

Postcolonial American culture's preoccupation with breaking away from Europe was far removed from the situation among Africans in the United States at the time. The initial tenacity with which African Americans held onto their indigenous practices and the reluctance of many Southern white slaveholders to teach Christianity to the slaves limited the Christianizing process in the early period. Even the Great Awakening of the 1740s, which swept the country like a hurricane, failed to reach the masses of slaves. Only with the Great Western Revival at the turn of the nineteenth century did the Christianizing process gain a significant foothold among black people. The central questions at this junction are: Why did large numbers of American black people become Christians? What features of Protestant Christianity persuaded them to become Christian? The Baptist separatists and the Methodists, religious dissenters in American religious culture, gained the attention of the majority of slaves in the Christianizing process. The evangelical outlook of these denominations stressed individual experience, equality before God, and institutional autonomy. Baptism by immersion, practiced by Baptists, may indeed have reminded slaves from Nigeria and Dahomey of African river cults, but fails to fully explain the success of the Christianizing process among Africans. Black people became Christians for intellectual, existential, and political reasons. Christianity is, as Friedrich Nietzsche has taught us and liberation theologians remind us, a religion especially fitted to the oppressed. It looks at the world from the perspective of those below. The African slaves' search for identity could find historical purpose in the exodus of Israel out of slavery and personal meaning in the bold identification of Jesus Christ with the lowly and downtrodden. Christianity also is first and foremost a theodicy, a triumphant account of good over evil. The intellectual life of the African slaves in the United States —like that of all oppressed peoples— consisted primarily of reckoning with the dominant form of evil in their lives. The Christian emphasis on against-the-evidence hope for triumph over evil struck deep among many of them. The existential appeal of Christianity to black people was the stress of Protestant evangelicalism on individual experience, and especially the conversion experience. The "holy dance" of Protestant evangelical conversion experience closely resembled the "ring shout" of West African novitiate rites: both are religious forms of ecstatic bodily behavior in which everyday time is infused with meaning and value through unrestrained rejoicing. The conversion experience played a central role in the Christianizing process. It not only created deep bonds of fellowship and a reference point for self-assurance during times of doubt and distress; it also democratized and equalized the status of all before God. The conversion experience initiated a profoundly personal relationship with God, which gave slaves a special self-identity and self-esteem in stark contrast with the roles imposed upon them by American society. The primary political appeal of the Methodists and especially of the Baptists for black people was their church polity and organizational form, free from hierarchical control, open and easy access to leadership roles, and relatively loose, uncomplicated requirements for membership. The adoption of the Baptist polity by a majority of Christian slave marked a turning point in the Afro-American experience [...] Independent control over their churches promoted the proliferation of African styles and manners within the black Christian tradition and liturgy. It also produced community-minded political leaders, polished orators, and activist journalists and scholars. In fact, the unique variant of American life that we call Afro-American culture germinated in the bosom of this Afro-Christianity, in the Afro-Christian church congregations.

- Cornel West ("Race and Modernity," from his Reader, pages 61-63, 63)

[sheerfreesia007]

Straw Hat Secrets - Prologue

Title: Straw Hat Secrets - Prologue

Fandom: Kingsman

Pairing: Agent Tequila x OFC!

Author: @sheerfreesia007​

Words: 6,292

Warnings: Fighting, Torture, Beating, Kidnapping, Tying to a chair, Violence, Death, Stabbing, Knives

Permanent Tag List: @paintballkid711, @fioccodineveautunnale, @phoenixhalliwell, @linkpk88, @weirdowithnobeardo, @athalien

Gif Credit: @bonniebirddoesgifs

Looking at himself in the mirror Tequila adjusted the blue and black plaid shirt before tucking in the ends into his form fitting black jeans. Henry had told him to dress nicely for the meeting and Tequila had taken it to heart by going out and buying some new clothes. Just as he was brushing off his shirt front he glanced down at his watch and saw that it was five minutes to seven. Walking over to the end table next to his bed he grabbed the earpiece that laid there and slipped it into his left ear. Adjusting it until it sat snuggly and comfortably in his ear he winced when he heard the radio feedback screech in his ear.

“Alright it looks like we’ve got everyone on the comms right Ginger?” Champ asked in his raspy tone over the earpiece and Tequila sat on his bed while he waited to hear back from Ginger.

“Yes, sir. Everyone is accounted for.” she replied easily.

“Alright, good, good. Let’s begin. So tonight Agent Tequila is going to be attending a meeting with the Colonials hoping to gather as much intel as possible on their next attack. This group has been a thorn in our side for the past five months, with all of their calculated attacks on certain historical monuments throughout the States.” Champ explains to everyone on the comms. “Agent Tequila has been working undercover infiltrating the group for the past month and he’s finally gotten an invite to their meeting tonight. His mission is to find out the location of their next attack and gather any other intel that would help us stop this group.” Champ continued to brief as Tequila nodded his head along with his words.

“Champ, we have agents stationed as close as the Grayson Millworks building. It’s less than half a mile from the First United Methodist Church where the meeting is going to be held.” said a gruff voice that Tequila had come to know as Agent Moonshine, another agent who was working in Virginia on a separate case with his own team. Agent Moonshine had become a sort of mentor for Tequila as he spoke with the older agent during his first undercover mission. He would often ask the older agent for any tips on combating the loneliness he had begun to feel while on this mission and Moonshine would often tell him to continue thinking of that sweet day of when his mission was complete and he’d be able to rehabilitate back into his everyday life. Oftentimes Moonshine’s words would help Tequila through a rough night of isolation and loneliness and he was grateful for the older agent.

“Good, Tequila we will have Whiskey on observation on our end but you also have that locator device on you that with just a push of a button your location will be broadcasted to everyone and Moonshine’s team will move in.” Champ explained solemnly and Tequila nodded his head.

“Yes sir.” he responded gravely. He knew that he was on a dangerous mission and there wasn’t any room for him to let his guard down. He was always on high alert whenever he met up with Henry and the Colonials, they were a group that had done some serious damage to the monuments that they attacked. Not to mention the innocent civilians that were killed during any of the attacks, according to Henry those lives were just collateral for the group’s cause, which was to protect the Constitutional rights they had and to show how the current President of the United States was not upholding the main goals of the Constitution. Tequila didn’t agree with anything that came from the group and oftentimes when he did meet up with Henry and his friends he often found them all just spouting maniacal nonsense, but he would have to play his part and convince them all that he was firmly in their camp.

“Good, are there any questions?” Champ asked in a way to start wrapping up the briefing. Tequila listened to everyone on the comms confirm that they didn’t have any questions before he confirmed as well. He felt a sense of ease and peace as he sat there on the bed, everything was going to be fine. He had his backup and the group was slowly opening up to him and allowing him in for a long month. “Alright everyone be on high alert tonight. Hopefully we’ll be able to get the key intel we need tonight. Signing off.” Champ closed out the briefing and Tequila sat there on the bed for a moment in the silence as everyone logged off the comms to leave an open channel. Taking a deep breath Tequila stood from his bed and grabbed the wool lined tan jacket before grabbing his dark blue baseball cap and slipped it onto his head as he walked out the small two bedroom house that he had been living in for the past month, he was eager to get this mission over with and hopeful that he’d be able to complete his mission tonight.

*-*-*-*

Sitting in the passenger seat of Henry’s beat up pickup, Tequila stared out the windshield as Henry drove slowly through the small town on West Main Street. They stopped at the light of South Independence Avenue and West Main Street as a country station played on the radio at a low volume as background noise. Turning his head he saw out the driver’s side window a familiar old red farm truck pulling into the back of the funeral home across the street. Frowning softly his eyes focused on the truck as it pulled around the building and was no longer in sight, Billy Weeds owned that farm truck and he was part of the Colonials group so he should’ve been heading towards the Church for the meeting. Why would he be going to the funeral home?

“Hey Henry-” Tequila began which caused Henry to jolt in his seat and snap his head to look at him across the truck. “Why’s Billy going to the funeral home? I thought he was going to be at the meeting tonight?” Tequila questioned as his eyes narrowed on Henry. He could see Henry shift in his seat uncomfortably, his hands gripped the steering wheel tighter and his face flinched and grimaced unintentionally.

“O-oh Billy will be there, he just n-needed to pick s-something up from the funeral home.” Henry said, sounding unsure of himself as his face grimaced once more. Tequila instantly knew he was lying, it was plain as day on his face that he wasn’t telling the truth. Slowly relaxing his body back into the seat Tequila tried to make himself seem unbothered by the information but alarm bells were going off in his head.

“He needs something at the funeral home? After it’s been closed?” Tequila asked curiously as he turned his head to stare out the passenger side window. He didn’t want Henry to suspect that he knew Henry was lying, he wanted to seem as unthreatening as possible to boost his chances of getting out of this unscathed.. 

“Yeah, he talked to Mr. Durin about g-getting something and Mr. Durin left it at the b-back of the funeral home for Billy.” Henry stuttered nervously. Tequila wondered if Henry was lying about Billy needing something from the funeral home, or if he was lying about the whole thing altogether. All Tequila knew was that Henry was lying about something and he needed to be on his guard about all of this. He idly wondered if he should press the locator device in his pocket or if he should wait. He had to leave his communication device at home because he didn’t want anyone to notice it while he was at the meeting, and now Tequila was wondering if that was the wrong move.

“Good evening folks, the time is now seven thirty and my name is Fiona Turner. I hope you’re all having a great evening and I hope you stay with me as we try to brave out this snow storm the local weather station is calling a nasty squall.” says the woman on the radio and Tequila’s eyes look out the window at the darkening skies around them. Clouds cover the night sky and block out the moon and all of its light casting a dark gloomy feel on the town.

“Alright here we are.” Henry says slowly as he pulls into the Church parking lot. Tequila notices a few other cars that belong to other town residents and he’s surprised to see Mrs. and Mr.’s pristine old Cadillac parked in the first spot in the lot. Tequila watches as Henry puts the truck in park and begins getting out of the truck, he’s stalling and Tequila quickly looks around to see if anyone is waiting for them to get out. Once he’s comfortable he gets out of the truck and closes the door with a heavy hand. “Easy man!” Henry hisses at him and Tequila shrugs his shoulders apologetically at him. 

Just as he’s walking up the sidewalk to the Church doors with Henry he spots Allen Wrights stepping away from the side of the building flicking a cigarette butt to the ground and Bruce Martin is walking up from Tequila’s right side as if he came from the smaller parking lot for the Church. Tequila tenses as he slips his hands out of his pockets preparing himself for a fight as the two men near him. But just as they reach him and Henry there’s loud running footsteps from behind them that causes Tequila to whirl on his booted heel and swing at Billy Weeds.

His fist connects with Billy’s cheek and the man falls down to the floor, Tequila hears something clatter along the sidewalk but he doesn’t have time to investigate it further as both Allen and Bruce are advancing fast on him. Turning to Bruce, the larger of the two men, Tequila takes a moment to survey the man trying to find a point of weakness. With all of his training Tequila was always the most skilled in hand to hand combat, it was due to all those rodeos he would work as a kid growing up there were plenty of rodeo riders who thought less of him for being a rodeo clown and tried to step up to him. 

Noticing Bruce’s heavy stagger towards him Tequila waited until he was close enough and swung his clenched fist into the man’s left side remembering him complaining about pulling something while he was out hunting last weekend. Bruce groaned but didn’t fall to the ground like Billy, he just hunched over trying to minimize the area that Tequila could reach. Tequila continued to deliver blows to his left side, alternating their exact target by a few inches to cover the sore area. As Tequila got into a groove of alternating his punches against Bruce’s he could hear the shouts and commotion of the three men around him, he didn’t let up on his punches towards Bruce as he listened in to the others.

Billy was moaning as he slowly got up from the ground behind him, Henry was shouting out nervous exclamations about the whole situation and Allen was scrambling around the sidewalk and grass for something, most likely whatever Billy had dropped when he got punched in the face. Bruce grunted in a low tone before swinging wildly at Tequila causing Tequila to go on the defensive and put his arms up around his face. He took a step back as Bruce continued swinging wildly and angrily, already tiring himself out.

“C’mon already! Someone help me!” shouted Bruce angrily at the other men who all suddenly began swarming Tequila. Luckily it was only Allen and Billy who came to Bruce’s aid since Henry was too nervous and wasn’t a fighter at all. Tequila quickly delivered a punch to Billy on the left side of his jaw knocking him back down to the ground before Allen swarmed him and tried to get him into a headlock. “Find the damn syringe!” shouted Bruce aggravated and Tequila knew without a doubt that they were trying to drug him for some reason. If he allowed them to drug him he knew it was over, he wished he had brought some of his weapons from Statesman but hadn’t because he had been worried about the other civilians in the meeting.

Tequila grappled with Allen for a little bit before he was able to flip the man over his shoulder and lay him flat on the sidewalk causing the man to groan loudly. Popping  back up with his fists raised next to his face he watched as Bruce shook his fists out while watching Tequila. Bruce ran towards him and wrapped his arms around Tequila’s waist in a tackle before righting himself and tossing Tequila to the ground with a low groan. Grunting softly Tequila tried to quickly get to his feet but Allen was suddenly sitting on his back trying to hold him down.

“Let’s go Henry! Jab him in the neck!” Allen snapped at a nervous looking Henry holding a syringe. Tequila watched while twisting his head from side to side to keep Henry in his sights. Struggling mightily Tequila tried to dislodge Allen but the man was larger than he looked and much heavier than he anticipated. “Hurry up! I can’t hold him!” shouted Allen and Tequila tried to get him off his back once more but Bruce suddenly pressed down on his shoulders while Billy grabbed his legs.

“Now Henry!” snapped Bruce in an angry bellow and a moment after his shout Tequila felt a prick in the side of his neck and gritted his teeth. He was disappointed in himself that he let them get the better of him in the fight and now as he felt the drug coursing through his veins he felt his limbs grow numb.

“C’mon let’s get him in the truck before anyone sees. Mother fucking undercover cop trying to get into our group. Gon’ learn his lesson..” Allen instructs them all as Henry runs to back his pick up and lowers the tailgate. Tequila realizes too late that they had figured out he was undercover, though for the wrong agency they still managed to piece together that he was working undercover. Bruce, Allen and Billy all struggle to get Tequila into the truck bed when suddenly there comes a shout from the trees behind the church. Tequila can’t see who it is that shouted as he’s now laying in the bed of the truck but he hears Moonshine’s voice loud and clear. Bruce, Allen and Billy all hurry to get him fully into the truck before Henry slams the truck into reverse and careens out of the parking lot and onto the main road. Tequila grunts softly as he spies one of Statesman's drones flying in the air above them as he stares up at the sky going numb from the drug that they administered to him. Bruce looks down at him as he crouches in the truck bed next to him with Allen and BIlly all watching Moonshine as they drive past him and his crew.

“Who is this bastard?! Those guys were armed to the teeth!” Bruce calls out to Allen and Billy as all of the men look down on him. Tequila just stares up into the sky constantly keeping his eyes trained on the following drone.

*-*-*-*

It’s not much longer when the truck pulls onto a dirt road and travels through the surrounding trees causing Tequila to recognize Henry’s property. They had driven him over to Henry’s house. Just as the truck drove further down the tree covered dirt road a soft beeping sound rang out and the truck jerked to a stop. Billy leaned over the roof of the truck to talk to Henry.

“What’s that noise Henry?” he called out and Tequila strained his ears to be able to listen in on Henry’s response.

“My drone alarm.” he answered darkly, causing all three men to peer through the trees looking for the drone, as a sinking feeling consumed Tequila. “It’s gotta be small if we were able to detect it earlier.” Henry explained as he began to drive further down the road. Tequila wondered if Statesman would pull the drone away to a safer distance or if they’d keep pursuing the truck. Henry’s truck came to a stop and he hopped out of his truck not bothering to close his driver side door before Tequila heard him running away for a moment and a door slamming closed before his rushing footsteps were heard once more coming back to the truck.

“Do you know where the drone is?” Billy asked as he peered up at the dense trees as Henry walked around the truck and towards the front of the dirt driveway. Tequila could only stare up into the trees but he could hear the cocking of a firearm before a gunshot rings out loudly and soft thud follows after a moment, Tequila felt another sinking feeling in his gut as he heard Henry come walking back to truck before dropping something into the bed with all of them.

“Damn Henry, never thought you’d be a sure shot.” Allen says in awe and Tequila knows without a doubt that he no longer has his surveillance backup and that Henry had shot it out of the sky. He tries to move his numb fingers but they don’t move and he wonders if the drug will stay in his system for much longer, he has a desire to grab that tiny little locator device on the inside pocket of his jacket.

*-*-*-*

Tequila groans low in his throat as a sharp stinging pain blossoms on his right cheek, he sucks in air through his nose where pain blooms as well and his eyelids flutter open. Wincing he quickly lowers his eyelids as the bright lights nearly blind him. He slowly sucks in a breath through his nose and grimaces at the pain in the middle of his face. He figures his nose is most definitely broken as he tries to twitch it, feeling the familiar crackling under his skin. He groans softly as he shifts in his seat and feels the aches and pains that he’s developed thanks to Bruce, Allen and Billy. Another slap flings his head to the side and he smirks darkly up at Billy who is looming over him with an angry scowl on his face.

“Who are you?” he shouts in Tequila’s face who only begins to chuckle in response knowing that it’ll piss him off even more. “I mean honestly, who are you? Normally people break after this much of a beating.” Tequila files that piece of information away, so they’ve done this before to someone and have been able to break them for whatever purpose they needed.

“Who cares Billy? Let’s just get this going again. He’s due for another round with Bruce.” Allan says as he leans against one of the tables that are pressed up against the brick wall. Tequila wasn’t conscious when they brought him to this room and during each beating that they gave him he had tried to figure out where they had taken him. He hadn’t had much luck because it was an unfamiliar room, one that he hadn’t ever been in with the group.

The room was large with a gray cement floor and red brick walls. It looked like a basement to him because of the large furnace in the far corner and the small rectangular windows that were high up on the wall. There were boxes stored in one corner and folding chairs and tables set up along the wall. But Tequila couldn’t figure out what building he was in no matter how hard he wracked his brain.

Bruce began walking towards him from his spot on a folding chair near where Allan was standing and Tequila smirked up at him as well, knowing that Bruce was just like Billy in the sense that he grew angry with each show of bravado that Tequila presented. Bruce cracked his knuckles and Tequila’s eyes darted over to them, noticing that some of them were split. Just as Bruce was stepping close to him there came hurried footsteps from the stairs behind Tequila causing the three men to look up.

“What is it Henry?” asked Allan with a furrowed eyebrow.

“Sheriff has called for a stay in order due to the storm developing more.” Henry rushed out worriedly as he walked over to the table and flipped on the radio that sat on the table behind Allan.

“Good morning everyone, my name is Fiona Turner and the time is now one in the morning.” Tequila sat there surprised that it had been so long already since they first kidnapped him, he hadn’t felt like that much time had passed since his car ride with Henry. “Due to the snow storm conditions worsening in these early morning hours, multiple counties have called for a stay in order. Those counties include Washington County, Smyth County, Wythe County, Carroll County and Grayson County. Government officials are asking that everyone stays indoors for the time being and to stay off the roads until further notice. Once we get the lift of the stay in order we will broadcast it to you all.” The woman on the radio said in her raspy voice and Tequila furrowed his eyebrows at her words. 

“Shit, what do we do with him?” Billy asked with a scowl and Tequila looked over at him wondering the same thing. He shifted in the seat they had tied him to and smirked softly at him causing him to scowl harder.

“We could just leave him.” Allan suggested and the other three men turned to look at him as he shrugged his shoulders. “Eric’s in charge of the building and with the stay in order he won’t be back here unless it’s an absolute emergency.” Allan explained. Tequila stayed quiet as he listened to the men hem and haw about what they were going to do with him. He tried wracking his brain for an Eric and realized that Allan was talking about Eric Wilson, the manager of the Grayson Rehabilitation and Healthcare Center. That was most likely where they had him hidden in the basement of the building, Tequila began to try and think of the area around the building trying to think of his best route out of here.

“Let’s rough him up one more time before leaving him.” Bruce says darkly suddenly and Tequila snaps his head to the large man. He grits his teeth as he tilts his head up towards Bruce and smirks at him knowing full well that whatever they do to him is gonna hurt. With the first powerful swing Bruce’s fist connects with the side of Tequila’s face and his consciousness fades quickly to black.

*-*-*-*

The next time Tequila wakes up he’s alone in the basement and the room has gotten much colder since the last time he was awake. He groans as he looks around the room while a shiver runs up his spine, the room is empty except for him sitting tied to the wooden chair in the middle of the room. His left eye is swollen shut and his temple aches and throbs in pain, the boys had definitely done a number on him as he silently takes in all his aches and pains. He shifts slightly on the chair and grits his teeth when he feels a sharp pain in his right side, it reminds him of the pain of breaking a rib when he was a rodeo clown. He tries to take stock and see how many bones they had broken inside him but to no avail in his current position he won’t be able to tell..

The silence of the room consumes him and Tequila grunts softly as he shifts once more on his chair. Suddenly there is a loud howling sound outside the window and Tequila turns to one of them and sees that the glass is completely white from the piling up of snow. He wonders how long he’s been out and how long ago the guys left him here. The radio that Allan had played before was turned off and sat dark on the table against the wall. Without any way of telling how late or early it is Tequila sighs and begins to shift his arms. He can feel the rope tied around his wrists and sighs once more when he feels the rope give a little and he can slightly pull his wrists apart.

He twists his hand and feels the end of the rope against the ball of his other hand. Managing to get a loose grip on the rope he tries to tug it but it takes him a couple of tries before he’s able to loosen it a little bit. He spends the next bit of time trying to loosen the knot that was tied at his wrists, not keeping track of how long it takes as the harsh wind still howls outside the snow covered windows. He knows it’s taken him a long time to undo the knot because by the time he’s done he can no longer hear the howling wind through the windows. The snowfall has continued to completely block out the windows.

When he finally feels the rope loosen he breathes out a large sigh of relief. He slowly begins to move his arms and grits his teeth at the ache that flares up in his muscles. He’s been tied to the chair for so long that his muscles feel like jelly from the strain and position they were in. He slowly brings his arms around his body and rests his balled up fists on his thighs breathing through his teeth trying to take in the ache and breathe through it.

“Fuck.” he rasps out in pain as feeling starts to come back into his arms. He’s starting to get angry now that these assholes jumped him at the church and beat him before tying him to a chair then left him in an empty basement during a snowstorm. Tilting his head from side to side he groans as his muscles stretch and he begins to shake his arms feeling the pins and needles sensation ebb away.

He rises from the chair and groans loudly as his muscles protest in agony, he bends over at the waist and rests his hand on the seat of the wooden chair as the pain overwhelms him for a second. Slowly straightening his posture as he got used to the pain, he looked around the dark room before he spotted a pile of folded blankets in the far corner near the stack of plastic storage totes. Making his way over to the pile he gritted his teeth through the pain as he made his muscles work through the pain. He knew he had to get out of here now, he didn’t know how long until the guys came back and checked on him or even if they would come back. He didn’t want to miss his chance to escape while he had it so he huffed out a short breath and resolved himself to work through the pain that was trying to consume his body.

He grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped it over his shoulders before tying it around his neck. Sighing softly as he felt the extra layer of warmth seep into his weary body he then turned and moved to the staircase along the opposite wall. Thankfully the basement wasn’t packed and it was mostly clear for him to walk without bumping into anything. He stared up the staircase in silence for a moment trying to listen to see if there was anyone upstairs. He didn’t want to walk up there blind but the desperation to get away was starting to claw at his insides. 

Trudging slowly up the stairs he listened at each step for any other noises but there weren’t any. When he finally made his way to the door at the top of the stairs he rested his forehead on the door and took a second to breathe slowly, one of his legs was severely injured and the pain was almost too much for him to take. When he felt the pain in his leg become a dull throb he twisted the doorknob and slowly opened the door cautious of any surprises he’d find on the other side.

But when he opened the door completely he saw that the building was deserted, there was no signs of anyone being there for hours. Squinting his eyes slightly he looked towards the row of wide windows and widened his eyes as he saw how much it was snowing. The snow had covered the roads with at least twelve inches it looked like, Tequila sighed softly knowing that he’d have to walk through that weather to be able to escape. Hopefully Agent Moonshine was still nearby with his crew and it wouldn’t take him long to get to them for help.

Just then there was a large pickup truck driving slowly through the road with a plow attached to the grill of the truck and Tequila quickly ducked down from the view of the windows. From his quick look of the truck he couldn’t tell if it was Henry’s truck or not but he knew he couldn’t stay here any longer. If it was the guys they would be coming back to check on him and he couldn’t risk staying here.

Moving towards the back of the building he stepped into the kitchen and his eyes quickly found the knife block and he grinned widely at his luck. Normally knives weren’t his forte but he had been trained vigorously with them and he would be able to defend himself from anyone. He quickly grabbed the largest chef’s knife before slipping the smaller paring knife as well as one of the steak knives into his pockets on either side. He then walked through the kitchen and towards the back door hopeful that the truck hadn’t pulled into the back parking lot. 

Peering out the door he sighed relieved as he found the back parking lot empty. Just as he was stepping out in the cold snow filled air he heard the front door open and the voices of Henry and Billy sounding out in the otherwise empty building. Tequila quietly and quickly shut the back door and began to trudge through the snow as quickly as he was able to. He didn’t want to wait for those two idiots to find that he was no longer tied up in the basement and possibly get into a fight.

As he was just at the edge of the tree line of forest behind the rehab facility he heard the two of them shouting. Slipping quickly into the trees he was greeted with a clear forest floor and thanked his lucky stars for the full coverage the trees offered from the snow. He would be able to move easier and quicker through the forest now since the snow wouldn’t impede his path. Moving through the trees away from the building he was a little disoriented but thankful for being able to make up some time in his journey away from the Colonials.

He knew if he went north he’d probably reach the church and the Grayson Millworks building but now with Henry and Billy knowing he had escaped he had a feeling that they’d rally the group and they’d start searching for him. Suddenly there was a loud shout and Tequila ducked behind a tree before peering around it. His eyes scanned the forest with narrowed eyes before he spotted the short stature of Henry as he walked through the forest yelling out his name.

“C’mon Noah! C’mon out!” called Henry, sounding aggravated as he walked through the forest. Tequila watched silently as Henry moved closer and closer to his hiding spot as rage began to boil inside of him. He gripped the Chef’s knife tightly in his hand and waited patiently to see if Henry got close enough to him. “C’mon Noah! You need to come out now!” shouted Henry angrily as he stepped up the tree right next to where Tequila was hiding. Tequila watched as he reached into his jacket pocket and began to pull something out before he lunged forward and plunged the chef’s knife into Henry’s right shoulder effectively damaging his dominant arm. He dragged the knife down from his shoulder towards his collar bone before pulling it out swiftly and plunging it back into his chest right over his heart. Henry yelped in pain and blood spurted from his mouth as his eyes widened on Tequila, he loosely grabbed at Tequila as his complexion began to turn white while Tequila twisted the knife in his chest. 

Henry suddenly coughed and Tequila was sprayed with blood before Henry’s legs collapsed and he fell to the forest floor. Blood pooled around him and Tequila yanked the knife out of his chest before turning away from him and heading south away from the rehab building and the town of Independence. He would travel south until he was a safe distance from the town before contacting HQ for a retrieval request. Without a look back at the dead man lying on the forest floor Tequila pulled the blanket together around his neck and huddled down into it before stepping out of the forest and into the blowing storm.

*-*-*-*

Tequila squints his eyes as he looks up from the ground as the wind howls around him causing the snow to fly around as if in a vortex. If he was peacefully and warm inside while looking out he would imagine he’d think this was pretty. But having walked in it for what feels like forever Tequila feels half frozen and has developed a new hate for snow and the cold. He trudges along Route 21 keeping close to the tree line just in case Henry and the guys drive all the way down here, he doesn’t think they will but it’s better to be safe than sorry. 

Up ahead he spots the small sign that reads ‘Welcome to North Carolina’ and he sighs a breath of relief. He’s finally going to make it across state lines, the relief that overcomes him makes him stumble a little and he quickly rights himself before moving back towards the treeline. He still needs to be cautious but the relief almost makes him want to cry tears of joy. With his luck though they’d freeze on his lashes before even making it down his face.

He knows that the main branch in North Carolina is located in Raleigh but there’s also a smaller branch in Charlotte which from this state will only be another two day walk. Once he’s there he can alert them to contact HQ and let Champ know that he’s alright. But just as Tequila thinks that thought he groans low in his throat as pain flares up inside of him from all of his injuries. He has to make it to Charlotte since that’s the closer option for him since Raleigh would be three days instead of two, he’d be lucky to make it to Charlotte without any lasting damage to his body but Raleigh would probably retire him early if he went there.

With worry and pain starting to rise up and consume him, Tequila grits his teeth and plunges back into the forest where he can get some relief from the weather. He stumbles through the forest now as his pain is now becoming unbearable for his tired body. He lets his hands come out and trail along the trees to keep himself steady as he continues to walk. His determination is hanging on by a thread but he pushes himself along.

*-*-*-*

It feels like it’s been hours of blindly stumbling through the forest, Tequila doesn’t know what time of day it is or even what day it is at all. He’s been on his feet for the whole time because he’s been too worried that if he sits down to rest he’ll never get back up again. In his travels he’s noticed that the wind is no longer howling around the trees and even though it’s still freezing it’s not as cold as it was when first started his journey. Though he supposes that could be because he’s gotten used to the cold by now.

Just ahead of him he spots a clearing and his body sags with exhaustion at the sight. There’s a small pond in the clearing and there’s a few large rocks around the pond scattered sporadically but almost like a seating pattern. Tequila stumbles as he gets closer and falls heavily into a large tree trunk and wraps his arms around it tightly. He’s barely able to keep himself upright while holding on as his body sags against the tree trunk. He steadies himself as much as he can and then takes one step into the clearing. He whines softly and high pitched as his body completely shuts down and he falls flat on his face in the mossy undergrowth of the forest. His eyes try to see around him but it’s no use as unconsciousness comes up like a black wave and pulls him under quickly with a soft huff leaving his body.

[hiwerethemountaingoats]

I wrote this song in Colo, Iowa. That's in Northeast Story County. The Colo-NESCO Royals. I went and looked at where our house used to be. The city of Colo bought our house from our landlords so they could knock it down because it was a fire hazard. So that's how I wound up moving to Ames. We got a notice from the city, "You can't live - we like you fine, but you can't live here anymore, we're gonna knock your house down. May be a good time to check out the other parts of Story County." But, so, the little tiny toolshed wasn't really a shed, it was just a little tiny house behind the house, with a work desk that clearly hadn't been used since the 50s. That's where I wrote this song, it's called There Will Be No Divorce.

John Darnielle introducing There Will Be No Divorce (First United Methodist Church | Ames, IA | September 12th, 2015)

[blackqueernotables]

Rev. Dr. Pamela Lightsey: the first out Black lesbian elder in The United Methodist Church.