Author: escofrank

She sang to me in Spanish…

13707606_1203614609673259_1642299643884555984_n (1)I just went through an amazing process as an episcopal candidate for the Western Jurisdiction of The United Methodist Church. As a steady “2nd” in the voting process, I was able to talk to many people…delegates, those who were connected to caucus groups and those who were not, as well as those who were hanging on the sidelines. I heard more than I’ll be able to process in the coming months. For now, I’m soaking in all that I learned, all that was whispered, and all that was said both as pain and hope.
I went knowing that I could trust God’s Spirit to guide me. So I knew exactly the moment when I needed to step out and give my concession to the will of the Body and the move of the Spirit: to elect Bishop Karen Oliveto as our most qualified candidate. I had a moment to share with the greater Church a piece of my heart, and I am forever grateful for that moment. I am sure it was why I was there.
But after that speech, came something so beautiful: the hugs! People lined up to hug and love on and congratulate for a work well done. I’ll never forget those hugs. They felt like a dump-truck of love being poured out on my soul. I teared up for days just remembering…
In the middle of the Line of Hugs was an elder Latina woman who came up to me and began singing in Spanish. She wanted me to sing with her…she demanded it, really. So together we sang: “He decidido sequir a Christo…no vuelvo atras, no vuelvo atras…” (I have decided to follow Jesus, no turning back, no turning back…). It’s a song from my childhood, and we sang two verses…stopping the line to sing lustily, heartily, and with full voice as Wesley has instructed us. Two Latinas singing…a Latina mother figure bringing along another Latina into the moment of deep connection and deep joy for what God was doing in our midst.
She sang to me! She sang with me! We sang in our mother tongue. My soul is so very full. Gracias, Amiga Mia. Dios con nosotros…it is enough. It is vey well with my soul.

Happy Birthday, Me…I Wish For…

IMG_1539Happy Birthday, Me!  Today I’ve lived 59 years.  While it is a personal day of celebration, it is also a national day of mourning.  Too many deaths.  Too much hatred. Too much pain. But, well, I still have some wishes… Here are a few of them:

  1. I wish for young Black and Brown children to never have to be told how to “act” so they can live when stopped by the police. I wish for violence everywhere to cease.
  2. I wish for Police Officer’s main job to be Peace Officers…seeking avenues for peace, safety, and stability.  I wish for their safety too.
  3. I wish for immigrants near and refugees world-wide to find communities that will surround them in love.
  4. I wish for LGBTQ persons to be equally valued because they live and breathe.
  5. I wish for politician who stir up hatred to step down. And the same for media.
  6. I wish for the Church to flood the world with acts of kindness, generosity, and love that mirrors Christ’s love for us, and that changes us now.
  7. I wish for peace on earth, justice for all, and mercy unending.

Happy Birthday to me! May it be so. Amen.

Love you, #Orlando

011.jpg SocialOrlando suffered deeply this week.  On our holy day, Sunday, early in the morning, 49 dear souls were lost to us at the hands of yet another mass shooting. I keep hearing the strains of people saying that Love will win out every time, and that love conquers hate.  I believe that. I hope that. I dream that. I keep hearing about love…

All the while my heart is crying deep sobs in pain. Orlando has experienced tragedy  and horror, and now families are visiting mortuaries and hospitals…some praying and hoping for their loved one to return to them whole, while others are planning memorials for their young.

The pain is cut deeper by what a wise woman, Rev. Jennifer Yocum, said on her Facebook post. She wrote to her straight friends, reminding them that the tragedy in Orlando was more than a shooting in a bar.  Bars, she said, are places of sanctuary where people who have to hide go to be free in their own skin.  They are “communication centers, communications hubs, our reminder that we are not alone.” And Jennifer takes it deeper. She reminds us that “when churches would not let us cross their thresholds, the bars were where we held our memorial services and our weddings.” (Ouch, Church!).  And they are places where human rights are organized, where hope is born.

And then Jennifer states that in Orlando this week, an atrocity occurred against a group of Latino/Latina LGBTQ persons, who were doubly disavowed in culture.  And #Pulse was a place that served as a “double sanctuary” for them.

Her words cut deep. For I know that we have not been Church or Sanctuary to many, and especially to our LGBTQ brothers and sisters. I attended our #UMC General Conference, and I felt the agony of once again being unable to state out loud that “open hearts, open minds, open doors” applies to All.  Instead, it applies to those who are already “in,”  those who are self-proclaimed as “valuable.”

So now there are three emotions rolling around my soul:  Deep sadness/pain; revulsion…the feeling of throwing up; and hope for something different.  The pain and sadness are about the loss of life and the persistence of evil.  The revulsion is about my own United Methodist Church, that can’t decide to broaden the circle, and that forgot our central theological theme: Grace. It makes me sick to my stomach.  The hope is that somehow, someway this will change.  I don’t want change tomorrow.  I want change to happen Now. Today. Immediately. #ItsTime for Love to win out over evil.  There is no other way for us go forward.

Tears are flowing. God is crying with us. Today we mourn.  And today we work to Love everyone, an action that crushes evil, an action born out of the understanding that God is Love. May.It.Be.So. Love You, #Orlando! Every single one of you.


The last day of General Conference #gcumc #gc2016


It’s the last day of General Conference  (of The United Methodist Church) and there is a mood of celebration, and well…relief. It has been a time where we have gone deep with our emotions; where we have spent long days and nights together; where we have wailed in pain and found hope in love across boundaries; where we have connected with God and God’s people.  We have been surprised by the fact that there is something better than “winning” and “losing.”  There is the surprise of God’s Spirit creating a new way that encompasses All:  All means those we agree with and those we disagree with; those who look like us and those who don’t; those who experience the world similar to us and those who have vastly different ways of being in the world; those who we love easily and those who we hate easily. All means all.

What I know for sure is that it is not easy to be a global church.  To be global means we choose to stay in connection even though our worlds are vastly different.  It means we live with the tension of discomfort and unknowns.  It means we bring honor and kindness before critique and judgment.  It means we listen more than we speak.  It means we choose love and connection over hate and schism.  It is the hardest choice of all.  But it is the one that will make the most difference.  Imagine if we could show how to love each other by doing good without harm, and staying in love with God. Imagine if that was our witness to the world!

We are trying to be a global church, yet we don’t know how.  We don’t know how to navigate the complexities.  But we do know, innately and intuitively, how to love. We know this because we have been loved deeply by our God.  And that’s the core of what we need to know. It is a good starting place.  To love. To love.  To love.

It looks easy.  It is really hard. Yet, it is just the beginning of the path of Christ. May we love well today, and after we leave here…

Faith, hope, & love,


Packing for General Conference

UnknownSo, I’ve been sort of packing for General Conference in Portland. I don’t enjoy the packing experience, so the “sort of” is about thinking and procrastinating, yet knowing the time is coming soon when whatever I have in the suitcase will have to do. As I pack, I dream about being a minimalist, so that I could wear the same thing over and over and be okay with that. Also, it would make the packing experience simpler. Minimalists create open space we that we aren’t overcome with our stuff and have room for our experiences…
But I’m not a minimalist…yet. So, I am wondering what I will need for the Portland weather, and the Conference Center weather, and of course, there’s always the decision about shoes… It’s a little maddening. And confusing. And, it’s something I don’t really want to think about.
But I am going to General Conference as a Volunteer, and I will be helping to host many delegates and UMCers from all over the world. They didn’t know what to pack either. But it’s my job (along with many others) to provide an environment of hospitality and care. Having experienced extreme hospitality recently in India, I am aware of how beloved one can feel when we attend to the little things, and when we make room for new relationships.
Last General Conference (2012) I swore I’d never go to another General Conference again. I experienced some cool things, but I also experienced some hatefulness and encountered people who were hurting by the decisions and discussions that occurred. But here I am going again, even going with excitement. I guess hope never really dies, and I still dream that something will be different, and that love can win out. Even when we disagree. Even when we don’t understand. Even when our mind is made up.
I’m going to do my best to pack light this time…so that there is some space in my soul for the surprises that God can bring. I’ll bring my bandaids, just in case, but I’m confident that God created this Body of Christ to heal; and that God created this Body of Christ for love. I’ll be looking for the new Body called “United Methodists.” And the world will be looking too… May they see us simply as a people who know how to love. Simply as ones who can engage in justice and holiness with courage and kindness. Simply as ones who focus on Christ who loved us all well.

It is my prayer. It is my dream. It is my fervent hope.
Faith, hope, & love,

operation Streamline & Shackles

“take the shackles off my feet so i can dance… i just wanna praise You, i just wanna praise You.” Shackles, by MaryMary


The lyrics of this song invaded my soul as I sat for the first time in the DeConcini Federal Courthouse in Tucson this week.  I was invited to go with a group of women from First United Methodist Church in Tucson, and although it wasn’t on my calendar, it had been on my heart, so I just went.  I was thinking of all the other things I could do…but there I was riding the train to the courthouse.  It was a beautiful, sunny day in Arizona…

We entered the court room, and immediately, my senses were troubled.  At the front of the room were rows of pews, not unlike what we sit on in church, and a group of men and women were already there.  The number of people was in the 70’s by my unofficial count.  Two of them were women.  The rest were men.  Except for one or two, most were young: I’d guess they were mostly in their 20’s or 30’s, though I did wonder if a few of them were teens. The mass of young people waiting to receive prison sentences was destabilizing. I first smelled the odor of bodies that had not had access to a shower or clean clothes.  And then I heard this sound.  It was a quiet tinkling with no rhythm.  I looked closer to see where it was coming from, and I saw that their feet and hands were shackled with chains.  For the whole of the time we were there, we heard the chains clinking as groups of young adults were brought before the judge.

They were there because they crossed the border illegally.  In this court, they didn’t have any other crimes to contend with, save the “crime” of “illegal entry” or “re-entry after deportation.”  They were told by the Honorable Bernardo P. Velasco that they could either enter a plea of guilty to illegal entry/re-entry, or they could reject the plea agreement and have their case go to trial.  All of them, every single one of them, decided to take the plea agreement, which was between 30 – 180 days of prison before they were deported to their countries of origin.

This matters because now they are sentenced and become “criminals.”  This is how we criminalize the immigrants among us.  This is what we do in America with peoples who are migrants.  We may have a heart for the Syrian migrants “over there” and we may even criticize other countries for not welcoming those fleeing from horrible situations; but meanwhile, in our own backyard, we are not only unwelcoming, we throw those who are asking for help into prison, and we stamp them as “criminals.” We do this to young men and to young women, and we have not even shown mercy to the young children who cross the border unaccompanied by parents.  Well…

There is, of course, the matter of illegality.  They are breaking the law.  Yes. That is true.  But that fact speaks to the insanity of our “laws” and our lack of movement around immigration reform; and our refusal to see the dirt on our own faces as we pay “under the table” for cheap labor and then throw them in prison; and our privatization of prisons that profits off, and perpetuates crazy laws to make more profit, from those who are seeking sanctuary and safety and connection with their families.  Those who are suffering. These facts are also true.

On the bottom of the Statue of Liberty, the statue of a woman with the lamp of freedom, who is called “Mother of Exiles,” is the quote from the poem written in 1883:

“Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,  The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.  Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I will lift my lamp beside the golden door.”

I guess we have stopped believing in receiving the tired, poor, huddled masses seeking freedom and family.  I guess we decided that slavery still is ok, and that sending people en masse to prisons is just fine, and that the history of Jews being sent away on trains can be replaced with a current story of Latinos and Latinas being shipped away on buses and planes.  I guess we don’t believe in freedom and love and kindness and care for our neighbor.

In our holy scriptures, in Leviticus 19:33-34, it says:

When immigrants live in your land with you, you must not cheat them.  Any immigrant who lives with you must be treated as if they were on of your citizens.  You must love them as yourself, because you were immigrants in the land if Egypt; I am the Lord your God.”

I guess we don’t believe in that either.  We cheat them out of due process, kindness, and family.  And we treat them as criminals instead of citizens.  We don’t really care that God requires love.

We got back on the train, and it was still sunny outside, but suddenly, the world seemed shadowed and cold and heartless.

“take the shackles off my feet so i can dance…i just wanna praise You…i just wanna praise You.”