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There is this wonderful old English custom of the good priest, or vicar, or parson—as you would have it—"walking the Parish." What must a good priest do? Walk the Parish! Simple, right? My prayer upon ordination, upon entering Harvard Divinity School and graduating, on my way to Birmingham and the Bronx, was from the bottom of my heart, and that prayer offered to God, just about every day in many, many ways, was and is to be the best parish priest and pastor that I can be—to "walk my parish." If we do not "walk our
parishes," how might we know those we are called to serve? Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., used to talk about "praying with our feet." I am not sure that we really can pray for our parish—for our people—if we do not walk among them. I thank today, on this occasion, beloved Professor Preston Williams for having introduced me to Dr. King as
a theologian, teacher, and spiritual father.
"Where is all of this hip hop coming from, Father Tim?" "Who are all of these Spanish-speaking people entering our doors, bringing strange statues, relics, babies and family by the dozens?" "Gay people—a gay priest in the Church…in Alabama?" "We're gonna let the poor who eat in the Parish Hall come celebrate Eucharist with us on Sundays?" Not questions actually, but statements, and all really uncomplicated. Who? What? Where? When? How? Why? Human fears and concerns from good, God-fearing and God-loving people. But it really is all about an old, beautiful, neighborly, wise practice learned anew: it's all about walking the Parish! Peter Gomes here at Harvard used to touch this reality in preaching classes when he exhorted us from his back (coaching) pew at Memorial Chapel, "Mr. Holder! Trust the text. Trust yourself. And trust The People!" (Pretty good for a Republican, I always thought to myself, taking the advice).
When you look at me, hip hop is probably not the first thing you think about. Or for that matter, when you get to know me, my being gay is hopefully not your only thought. I often say that being gay is about being a good priest after all, because it is who God made me to be, not somebody else. And I guarantee you that even after we have been around one another for some time, my being "Padre Primo" of Iglesia Episcopal de la Gracía—the first Spanish-speaking congregation in the history of a 180-year-old Episcopal diocese in the Deep South—is a fact that might astound you. Do you realize that the 2005 First Decade Award is made at this wonderful Harvard feast day to a student who flunked the Spanish entrance exam my first week at the Divinity School? I sat there listless—and Spanish-less—in Sperry Hall wondering about my future at Harvard. Keep hope alive! Y muchos gracias por Maria Guadalupe, Madre de la Iglesia de la Gracía y Madre de las Americas!
So I accept this First Decade Award from Mother Harvard with humility and great joy. But I must be honest.
This esteemed award is given on the basis of he or she who exemplifies Harvard Divinity School's aim to prepare its daughters and sons in the ways of justice, peace, and beauty, truth, compassion, and service—high words. Best worded, this award is made to he or she who first is taught and then seeks and finds the justice, peace, and
beauty, the truth, compassion, and service given by God to all if we but do a little walking around the parish, show ourselves, and know ourselves in our people, in the hood where the "Word was made flesh and dwelt among us," en la communidad donde vida es un celebracíon grande, in the rainbow that is all life created by a loving creator who gave us not junk, but life and being in very self-image—feminine, masculine, gay, straight, all color, all life, bless you Professor Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza for helping me imagine God much bigger.
There are many to thank this evening. Thank you, Professor Cornel West, for teaching us about the radical value of humanity. Thank you, Professor Allan Callahan, for introducing me to African American
"appropriation" of the Bible which taught me again the lessons of my own mother and father, which is that God is alive and working among us
"here and now". And we, too, can own and claim what is our story—like the African American—There IS a Balm in Gilead!—if we will follow the way of Love, which is God. Thank you Professor François Bovon for your scholarship, your love of Gospel and student, for your patience and my "A"… finally! Thank you, Dudley Rose and Claudia Highbaugh, for the peace and beauty of joy. During my toughest days "walking the parish," I have never forgotten you, your faith and hope in which our "joy is complete." Amen! WORD!
And that brings me to hiphopemass.org. "Walking the parish" in the "South Bronx USA" means that you are at least a little "hip hop." My street name is "Poppa T!" I wear a precious bling cross given to me by a godson, DJ "Ol School Sam," a newly baptized Christian. On behalf of hiphopemass.org and Trinity Episcopal Church of Morrisania, I bring you, Harvard Divinity School, "Seminary of the World"—greetings from the Hip Hop Nation where hip hop came into this world as expression of justice, peace, and beauty—emceeing, DJ-ing, rapping, dancing, graffiti, and cultural style. There is great, untapped love in the song and rhyme of our younger generations.
"The Word Was Made Flesh and Dwelt in the Hood"
By MC D.O., Parishoner, Trinity Episcopal Church of Morrisania in the South Bronx
Performed at the Harvard Divinity School Alumni/ae Dinner, June 2005
Couldn't express the feeling I was looking for the words
My man on the block came up and said "word!"
Tossin and turnin like I couldn't sleep
And when I woke up, looked up to see
Workin so hard tryin to live my dreams
Martin Luther King, said he had a dream
All I had to do was think it, cause if I speak it,
I can be it... and live all my dreams
The word was flesh and dwelt in the hood
And when the sun rose it was all understood
I was lookin all over, couldn't find a clue
Till I realized, it's in me, it's in you
Said I was lookin all over, searchin for the truth
Till I realized, it's in me, it's in you
The word was flesh and dwelt in the hood
And when the sun rose it was all understood
The word was flesh and dwelt in the hood
And when the sun rose it was all understood
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