In an age bombarded with messengers that claim to speak for God, how do we discern messages that are truly life-giving?  With the ancient psalmist and the prophet in Micah 3:5-12, we cry out against the self-interest, greed and fear which corrupt leaders’ motives and rob social relationships of authentic justice.

Psalm 43 bears witness to the staying power of individuals and communities who cry out for deliverance from unjust condemnation. Praying for truth and light to guide her (lest she be deceived), the psalmist  proclaims her place at the altar of God.   She seeks refuge in God.  She does so in the face of injustices which might tempt her to stay downcast while she struggles for deliverance.    Such authentic staying power can only come from the experiences which connect us to our true worth in God’s eyes:  worship, community and prayer.   Far from being a retreat from action in the world, this psalm reminds us of the tragic costs when any are systematically displaced, diminished or neglected in God’s house and in God’s world.

Today’s lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender communities bear the unique burdens of widespread demonization – isolation and condemnation from those who claim to speak for God.  In the third chapter of the book of Micah, the prophet cries out against those leaders who proclaim divine national blessing while robbing and displacing their citizens and neighbors.  Their greed – for material gain, popularity, shallow sources of security – clouds their judgment and confuses the abundance gained at others’ expense with the true peace of God.  Micah knows “the sun will go down on the (false) prophets” whose moral bearings are so confused (verse 6). 

Those who think they lean on God have instead lost their way and selfishly accumulated false gain.  Those who would build God’s Zion do so with “blood” and “wrong” (Micah 3:10).  Are they tempted to an “ends justify the means” mentality about their institutions?   The text provides clues for God’s alternatives:  justice, equity and genuine service which are not perverted by self-interest.  Filled with a different Spirit, with justice and courage, Micah dares to speak the truth about the consequences of such injustice and inequity: the impending loss of revelation from God and the ruin of their community.

	How is the Body of Christ blessed by the gifts of the LGBT communities when they live together in authenticity and radical reliance on God in the face of condemning messages? When and where might we, like Micah, demand authentically justice-oriented leadership in church and society? Are we modeling what we’re demanding?

Perhaps 1 Thessalonians 2:9-13 reminds us to ask whether authentic leadership seeks to dominate or to nurture.   Paul’s gender-specific “father” imagery (verse 11) about his church-planting role calls to mind our tradition’s entrenched notions of leadership as domination.   Yet, he speaks of urging, encouraging and pleading with a church family that faces discouragement, self-doubt and fear. 

Elsewhere in 1 Thessalonians, Paul compares himself to a nurse and to a dependent child (1 Thessalonians 2:7).   We are reminded, too, that he is not alone in the labors of the Gospel – and neither are we.  Paul reminds the Thessalonians of “our labor” and says “we give thanks” (verse 13).  As Paul stakes out his authority to proceed with the letter’s encouragements and admonishments, he does so not by appeal to office, fear or divine entitlement, but to service, relationship and a devoted life.  Perhaps this is why the Thessalonians accepted what they had heard as authentically “God’s” Word and not simply a form of “human” communication. (verse 13).  Yet the community must continue to discern both the nature of their own suffering and their responses to God’s word.

Like the verses that follow the 1 Thessalonians passage, the gospel in Matthew 23:1-12 has also been misused as support for anti-Semitism.  When we look faithfully and closely at the social context of the passage, we acknowledge that Jesus’ critique of the religious leaders of his day is not a Christian critique of Jews. We see in this passage an enduring challenge to demand for all leaders to be authentic and accountable for their just or unjust actions.

We also remember that we are all leaders in some way.  The call to authenticity here includes practicing what we preach, purifying our hearts’ motives for public ministry, and living in relationships of mutuality.   When we do these things, we place ourselves in a humble place, remembering that Jesus said “You are all students” (verse 8).  Such is the path that avoids imposing our own burdens and needs upon others for whom we are responsible.  Such is the path to inhabiting Moses’ seat (whatever the leadership role to which we’ve been called) as if we are on the holy ground of the burning bush.  There, we listen anew to the Liberator’s call to be agents of justice-making and need not be anything more or less than ourselves.

	In what situations are you called to be a leader? What difference does thinking of yourself as a “student” make when you discern or seek to state God’s will and way? How and when do you know to speak or act for God’s justice?

We live in a day when “All are Welcome” signs are posted outside so many churches.  Too often, however, the signs are only marketing gimmicks when churches do not truly offer God’s hospitality.  There is such a contrast between the open invitation and the congregation or denomination’s claims in its ordination position or its work for justice.  Where is the authenticity in such self-promotion?  We live in a day when leaders of both church and society may clamor for their own acceptance, status, material gain and popularity, and do or say whatever will gain them such security. Believers who do so cloud their discernment of God’s revelation and risk communal ruin.  Authentic lives, staying power and justice go hand-in-hand.