A Devotion by Willie Sordillo
I write on the evening of the day one of my closest friends for over 40 years died. George was a multi-talented musician whose primary instrument was piano, but who also played double bass, clarinet, sang and could tap dance if called to. He was my musical partner on many occasions when we both lived in Cambridge, and he went on to help form a band that toured nationally, sometimes sharing the stage and their bus with Pete Seeger as they performed songs in support of justice, peace and the environment. He later moved to Washington, DC where he established himself as one of the pre-eminent musical theatre directors in the city, winning the prestigious Helen Hayes award on two occasions. Just weeks before Nina was born, George and I teamed up to play music in the lounge of a cruise ship through Alaska’s inside passage. It was my last hurrah as a touring musician before settling down to fatherhood and the longest time we spent together since George’s move to DC. He had a quirky, bubbly personality and a strong sense of humor. He would interrupt situations which looked like they could become violent or involved unequal power relationships. He was a teacher, a gardener, a cook and a vivacious oddball who loved and was loved by many. And yes, he was gay. He was not the first or only gay man I have called a friend, but he was a best friend, and through him I learned a lot about the trials and dangers he and others faced that I didn’t. And I learned how much he loved being gay, the exquisite joy of it! Equality is a concept I’d long embraced, but George and other friends made it personal.
I had known George for many years by the time Jenny and I moved to Framingham and decided to investigate the possibility of finding a church. Both Jenny and I had strong spiritual longings but neither of us had been part of a religious community since our youth. And frankly, the exclusionary tendencies of a large number of people identifying as Christians made us wary. When we discovered that Grace Church in downtown Framingham offered an express welcome to the LGBT (Q, X and other letters wouldn’t be added for a few more years) community, we were both surprised and delighted. For the first time as an adult, I thought it might be possible to both maintain my commitment to equality and join a church. I could honor my beliefs and my friends while trying to understand what it meant to follow Jesus without feeling these things were at odds. Were it not for ONA, I do not think I would be a church member today, and my life would have followed a very different trajectory.
What has ONA meant for me? It has meant that I have been able to fully express both my faith and my commitment to justice, because I belong to a faith community that shares my commitment and my values. It has meant that I do not have to deny my beliefs, betray my friends or compartmentalize my life in order to call myself a Christian. Ultimately, it has led to professional work for a denomination which espouses equality and interprets Jesus’ message as a call for universal love. It has led to ongoing work in churches as a musician. But most important, being part of an ONA church has allowed me to join with a large number of like-minded people to collectively contribute to increasing the visibility and rights of people of all identities and expressions. And this makes a better nation for all of us.
I don’t understand Christianity without ONA. What would it mean to call myself a Christian while turning my back on those people Jesus lifted up, the downtrodden and oppressed? What kind of church would deny the full humanity of someone as gifted and soulful as George? And what of all the others, who may not be as gifted or charming as George, but who are fully human, fully themselves, fully worthy of love and respect, fully expressions of God’s unrelenting creativity, mortal bits of God-spark populating the world? Who’s going to stand with them if not the church? What would my life be without a spiritual home, a community of like-minded believers, a place of refuge for all of us? ONA has meant that I don’t have to answer those questions. I’ve found a place with a big table where there’s always room for one more chair. I just need to sit down and join the feast. That’s what ONA means to me.