Towards a Fuller Gospel

Ten years ago, I was living in San Francisco, where I went to school full-time and worked in retail part-time. Though I grew up in the church, and the Episcopal tradition had been important to my family for multiple generations, this was a chapter of my life when I did not consider myself to be an Episcopalian. But, I was living in a city that was hitting peak gentrification. The gap between the haves and the have-nots increased before my eyes, and the signs of displacement were inescapable. I longed for spiritual comfort and sought to find it in community. So, on a rare Sunday morning without a scheduled shift, I decided to check out an Episcopal Church in the area.

I found myself sitting in the pews of a grand, historic Episcopal church located in an aspirational neighborhood. The church was one of those places where the stained-glass windows told centuries-old stories, the organ thundered with precision, and every element sought to express the majestic nature of God. The preacher that morning was a well-respected white cleric, who, according to his bio in the day’s print-perfect bulletin, was from a wealthy area in Northern California and known for his eloquence, academic writing, and theological depth.

His sermon that day focused on “living in faith.” He began by referencing a nearby lower-income, racially diverse neighborhood well known in NorCal. It was one of my favorite neighborhoods to frequent. It reminded me of where I grew up in Southeast San Diego. To me, though the neighborhood was historically underserved and economically lacking, it was rich with its creative minds, deep thinkers, and adaptive, resourceful leadership. The streets teemed with colorful art, soulful music, iconic small businesses, and hot spots. There was a sense of a particular community care and pride that only seems to grow in the cracks of our systems. Leaders from this community were actively organizing to resist gentrification and the displacement of their neighbors.

At the mention of the neighborhood, I perked up in my pew, yearning to hear a message about hope or resilience or some other interpretation of the Good News as it was reflected in those streets.

Unfortunately, the sermon that I was longing for was not the sermon that this preacher was able to give.

I sat in the pew, dumbfounded. The preacher and I saw two different neighborhoods. We had two different ideas of how God showed up in the world. He seemed to understand God’s presence in the quiet and orderly rhythms of life, perhaps finding God most where there was ease.

I, on the other hand, had encountered God in the resistance: in the resilient joy and inconvenient courage of communities that had to fight to be heard, or seen, or stay together, or even to simply pass on their cultural traditions from one generation to the next.

Once the sermon was over, a woman behind me was delighted in how well the sermon was structured. Another declared the sermon a display of his theological prowess. As the sermon ended, I was surrounded by a sea of bobbing heads and satisfied murmurs. I felt like I was the only one in the congregation who felt disconnected with the interpretation of the Good News. In a house of God, I felt like a stranger.

I never returned to that congregation, nor did I attempt to attend an Episcopal Church again in my remaining two years in San Francisco.

That moment of disconnect was the first time I realized just how much perspective shapes the way Scripture is preached and received. How much richer would our understanding of Scripture be if we heard it through the lens of those whose experiences of God’s grace were different from those lenses that we’ve historically held as more “reputable” or “respectable”?

Hearing Scripture interpreted by diverse preachers also strengthens the Episcopal Church’s mission. When we embrace diverse voices, we affirm the dignity of all people and acknowledge the ways God moves in different communities. This not only deepens our faith but also makes the Church more welcoming to those who have felt unheard or excluded.

The Episcopal Church is at its best when it reflects the full breadth of God’s kingdom. Our diocese is home to people from a breadth of different racial and ethnic backgrounds, life experiences, and theological traditions. This same diversity is not yet reflected in our ordained leadership, nor is it reflected in the pulpit on an average Sunday at many of our congregations.

And so, our diocese is offering Towards a Fuller Gospel,  a dynamic virtual speaker series featuring priests and preachers of diverse racial and ethnic backgrounds from across the Episcopal Church. This dynamic program aims to help bridge a diversity gap that many of us have been lamenting. I know this series will help us all discover what more of God’s goodness might be revealed to us if we heard from more diverse voices. Join me in interpreting scripture through their diverse lenses. 

Towards a Fuller Gospel will take place on Tuesdays in May, from 6:30 PM to 7:30 PM. Guest speakers will include The Rev. Katie Nakamura Rengers from the Diocese of Alabama; The Rev. Canon Eric McIntosh, Canon for Beloved Community Initiative, Diocese of Pittsburgh; and The Rev. Ryan Macias from the Diocese of Los Angeles. You can register by clicking here.

 The Episcopal Church has long prided itself on being a place of openness and inclusion. But true inclusion is not just about welcoming people into our pews—it’s about making sure their voices are heard from the pulpit.

Hearing Scripture through diverse voices is not just about fairness or representation; nor is it about checking off boxes on a “woke agenda.” It is about faithfulness. It is about ensuring that we do not limit the ways God speaks to us. It is about recognizing that no single cultural lens or social position can fully capture the breadth, length, depth, and height of God’s word.

We have so much to gain from accessing the gift of diverse voices and perspectives. May we have the courage and the humility to do so.