“One man’s hands can’t tear a prison down
Two men’s hands can’t tear a prison down
But if two and two and fifty make a million
We’ll see that day come round
We’ll see that day come round.”
Pete Seeger wrote “One Man’s Hands” in the 1950s, and the Chad Mitchell Trio covered it best. You can hear their version here, and you can hear founding member Joe Frazier’s voice harmonizing clear and strong in the third line. The Trio still perform from time to time, but Frazier now spends most of his time as the vicar of St. Columba’s in the small mountain town where my family has a weekend cabin. I may have left the Episcopal Church, but I never left St. Columba’s. After my hometown church family ostracized me, Father Joe Frazier offered safe haven — and for me it was truly safe, because Father Joe is a gay man. I always worship at St. Columba’s when we visit the mountains. I cherish the precious minutes I spend with Father Joe. The photo above may be a little out of focus, but I know you can see the love.
Father Joe announced this morning: “We’re going to have a karaoke sermon.” Seated next to me, Carmen groaned in mock annoyance. In the choir stall, Alan pushed a button. The music began to play, and Father Joe invited us to join him. “When you know the chorus, sing it with me”, he said — but I’ve long known this song by heart. I didn’t need to learn the chorus.
I met Father Joe in 2008 during my state’s passionate battle for and against same-sex marriage. I was working hard for marriage equality in my hometown. In gratitude, Father Joe offered me a CD of Trio hits. When I heard “One Man’s Hands,” I pictured the gay men and lesbians who had felt alone and helpless their whole lives. I celebrated the fact that now they and their straight allies were coming together in common cause. That year, “two and two and fifty” almost won a victory in my state — almost, but not quite. The struggle continued, but now more powerfully because now we had built a movement.
Fast forward two years. By the summer of 2010, I had reported my pastor, left my church, recovered from the most dangerous impact of clergy sexual misconduct (an eating disorder), and begun to equip myself for this work. But except for the leaders of The Hope of Survivors and Tamar’s Voice, I didn’t know a single survivor. I live in a very large city, and I couldn’t find even one other survivor. I felt so small and helpless — but I also felt called to this work. The lyrics to “One Man’s Hands” took on a new meaning. I was only one survivor, but I knew I would find another, and then two more, and then fifty…
We’ve just finished the third annual Clergy Sexual Abuse Awareness and Prevention Month, and what a month it has been! I’ve had the privilege to work with Erik Campano (see my stories here, here, and here), I’m now connected with many other leaders in the Hope of Survivors network, and I’m in conversation with a young survivor whose courage would absolutely knock you over. This work is hard, there’s so much to do, and we are still a very small army. Small — but strong and growing. We are committed, we are united, and when two and two and fifty make a million, we will see the day of truth, justice, and healing come round.