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Needle, Thread and Fabric:
by Kevin Drewery |
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Debbie Lynn Karr was born in Tulsa on May 1st 1957. She remained in Tulsa until her adult years and then began to travel. Debbie was a gourmet cook and used fresh herbs while preparing her favorite meals. She loved all of nature's animals, flowers and birds. She always had pets; her last pet was a black chow named Kadi. During her life she lived in many states from the west coast to the east coast. She was married in Waco, Texas, then moved to Tucson, Arizona, where her daughter Katrina Kay was born. Debbie became ill and was misdiagnosed for over a year. She was diagnosed with AIDS in July of 1989. The disease had progressed to a point that it was difficult to keep under control. Debbie wrote the following note a few weeks before she was admitted to the hospital for the last time: |
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To Those Concerned: Debbie lived until 7 p.m., September 24, 1990. She was dearly loved and will be missed by her daughter, Katrina, her puppy Kadi, her mother, dad, brothers and her many friends. Debbie's Mom |
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We come together
To renew our faith in the
Holiness, goodness and beauty of life;
To reaffirm the way of the open mind
And the full heart;
To rekindle the flame of memory and hope;
To reclaim the vision of an earth more fair,
With all her people one.
With needle, thread, and fabric sewn,
Their names, their lives, their deaths are known.
Let these quilt panels show us all
Love and compassion still stand tall.
-- Kevin Drewery
After being asked to do an issues project on the topic of discrimination, we chose to examine the topic of AIDS. We felt as though ADIS patients often experience unnecessary discrimination and their needs and feelings are often overlooked. All of us wanted to reach out to try to understand those who have and will fall victim to this disease as well as to show others to do the same.
After viewing the film "Common Threads," we were deeply moved and decided to make a quilt patch in honor of five children in Massachusetts who have died of AIDS. This would be a form of reaching out to the many family members of AIDS victims and showing them how much we supported and felt for them. AIDS, a disease unmercifully preying on the human race, has reached home in numerous places around the world. Deaths of many are closer to home than we may think. Massachusetts, the state in which we live, is full of innocent people whose lives have been taken.
Our quilt patch stands as a reminder to people of all ages that AIDS is a very serious problem that won't just go away. We, as a community, have to decide what we can do to help people with AIDS and what we can do to help prevent the spread of the disease. Knowing that others are concerned with their welfare might encourage people to protect themselves and their offspring from AIDS. Drug users, people engaging in sexual relations, doctors, everyone should be aware of the rapid spread of AIDS, and to be concerned not only for themselves but for each other.
Students at Milton Academy Middle School
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Our local AIDS support group (Polk AIDS Support Services) received
a phone call that a young man in jail was being released from jail
because he had AIDS. We were asked to try to locate housing for
him, which we attempted to do. His conditioned worsened, and he
was transferred to the County Hospital, where he immediately died. |
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We never me Clarence. We never even got to talk to him. He was gone so quickly. We know nothing about Clarence. His quilt is in memory of a man who otherwise would not have been remembered in the AIDS epidemic. Webster Benner, Jr. and Harriet Benner |
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by Kevin Drewery Ministerial Intern, Ecumenicon Fellowship
Good Morning.
I would like to first begin by thanking several people for helping to make this morning's service possible.
To the members of the Worship Services committee who were more than a little shocked when I was proposing a July service back in November, Thank you.
I would like to thank Bonnie Ulmer and the staff and volunteers of the Names Project/DC Chapter for working with me since December to make sure that we had panels for this morning. Most of you probably don't know that the quilt is usually being inventoried during this time of the year and isn't, generally, available for displays. This situation was compounded by the fact the Names Project moved it's warehouse facilities from San Francisco to Atlanta. Bonnie, and her crew, worked very hard to make sure that we not only had panels, but that we had the specific panels that I requested for this service.
I must also thank the members of the Social Action committee who selflessly not only agreed to participate in this service and host Wednesday night's pot luck and showing of the "Common Threads" video, but also allowed me to volunteer them into helping me with last Sunday's RE class where the children and youth of our church help make a panel for the quilt that will be dedicated later in the service.
I must thank Daisy Grubbs who has been an absolute angel in helping me plan the installation pf a Frank Lloyd Wright "Garden Sprite" statue in the church gardens in memory of ALL who have lived with AIDS. The statue will be a larger version of the statue on my left.
I would like to thank Gerard Donelan for the use of his artwork for the cover of the Order of Service.
I wish to thank the Maryland Gay Men's Chorus and their willingness to sing songs that address all the many lives touched by this Quilt. The men of this Chorus have the reality of HIV constantly in their consciousness. I wish to thank Bread and Roses Feminist Singers. Lesbians and other feminists have been on the front lines since the beginning of this devastating disease.
I would like to thank Erin Gatewood for spending 6 ½ hours with me this weekend. She was very instrumental in helping to keep me calm, as the time for this service got nearer. And, after 3 sewing machine needles, she finished the borders on the RE quilt panel and my panel for John.
My last thank you is to Barry Douglas. A man you have never met, until today. His quilt panel lies on the floor in front of the pulpit. He was a friend and a mentor to me. Barry was the most devoted activist for gay/lesbian/bisexual/transgender rights that I have ever met. He instilled in me his philosophy that freedom does not come in finite quantities. So long as some don't have it, we must all work towards it.
I have something to tell you now. It might not be very popular, but I feel that it is important for you to know. Please place your hymnals back in the holder and put any sharp objects under your chairs.
When I first heard about the idea of an AIDS quilt back in 1986, I thought that it was not only a ridiculous idea but also a fundamental waste of time, energy, and money. These resources, I felt at the time … please note that I say "at the time"… could have been going to much better use. What can I say; I was only 19 and felt that I was invincible. I felt that people didn't need to know names. I felt it was more important to work on Safer-Sex education and medical research. At that point I had no idea about my own future. I didn't know anyone that was infected with, or affected by, AIDS.
People are fond of saying a lot can happen in a year. This was a lesson that I about to learn. The 1987 March on Washington for Gay & Lesbian Rights happened on the weekend of my 21st birthday in October of 1987. Ed, my lover, and I had decided too late to go to Washington and ended up spending the weekend in Richmond, Virginia. Sunday morning, as we watched CNN's coverage of the march, I saw the Names Project Memorial AIDS quilt for the first time. How wrong I had been. The Quilt displayed 1,920 panels. We were devastated! I had no idea that what was a simple concept would have been so moving. All of this was compounded on us because we had learned 2 ½ months earlier that I was HIV+. During those 2 ½ months we went from not knowing anyone to pondering my own mortality and losing someone to the disease. That moment of CNN coverage would forever color my perception of the disease. Viewing the different panels, each with their own story sewn into 3' x 6' pieces of fabric, was a testament to someone's life. I think that this help to prove to me that sometimes you can watch something worthwhile on television!
It would be three years before I would encounter the quilt again. This time it was in Raleigh, NC while attending the Southeast Conference for Lesbians and Gay men in March of 1990. This was different. I wasn't protected by the comfort of the television. I had over 1,500 panels surrounding me. Each panel a tribute to a light that had been extinguished because of a disease that people still had many misconceptions about. Of course, there was also the reality that, now, these were my people. I decided then that if I ever had an opportunity to help with a display of the quilt that I MUST do it. As much because it was a noble cause as for my own personal need to confront a virus that was swirling through my bloodstream and could strike at any time.
Moving ahead, the year is 1992 and Ed and I are living in Greensboro, NC. I was working as a manager of the local Gay & Lesbian bookstore. My job had afforded me the ability to be very out, and outspoken. A group formed to bring the Quilt to Greensboro and asked if I would help them with the merchandising once it had arrived. I said yes, without realizing all that was going to be involved. It was a lot of work, physically, and mentally.
For any display of the Quilt, including this one, a lot of planning that is involved. You may not realize this, but did you know that there have been threats made against the quilt. I remember that our biggest concern during the 1992 display was vandalism. Yes, this was a serious concern. So much so that volunteers from the committee had to stay on-site with the panels during the entire display. About eight others, and myself actually stayed at the convention center during the evenings taking shifts monitoring the site and the panels. All of us had difficulty the first night. You are in a large conference hall with the grave-size panels of over 2,000 different victims of the epidemic. I remember referring to it as spending the evening in "the room of lost dreams." As a person who had been HIV+ for just over five years, this was particularly painful. You see, for the first 8 years that I was positive, doctors (especially those in Virginia and North Carolina) weren't that encouraging about long-term survival with AIDS. I didn't really have a bright outlook on the long-term possibilities of my life. Even after living with HIV for 5 years, I thought that my participation in that Quilt display was going to be the last public thing I would accomplish before getting sick. After the third night sleeping at the display, I realized that it was because of this room fool of names and lost dreams that I had to make the most out of mine.
Probably the most important thing that comes from any display is how the people who attend it are affected by it. The '92 display was no different. I want you forget about any preconceived ideas that you may have about North Carolina and Greensboro. Jesse Helms does not represent the entire state (as far as the ability to be compassionate and human is concerned). I witnessed many moving events those four days. I watched busloads of school children, who had only heard about AIDS through television, be able to put personalities, and sometimes faces, on some of the statistics they had heard about. I saw grieving spouses and former lovers have the ability to publicly acknowledge their loss in a safe and compassionate setting. And yes, I have seen big, burly, butch, heterosexual men going into the room stoic and come out blubbering. Most of the people that viewed those panels that weekend had never met a person with AIDS or had known anyone who had died as a result of it. ! Yet, when they came out of the display, they wanted to make sure that they did their part to make sure that the Names Project could continue to do this work. I'm sure that some of what was purchased from the merchandise table ended up in a closet somewhere, never to be touched again. But, in that act of purchasing it, they were doing what they were comfortable with to make sure that those panels could be displayed again. For the first time, I started to feel safe about being HIV+. I was able to witness total strangers coming together and witnessing the totality of loss that AIDS was taking. I saw them comforting each other, and those of us working the display.
So, now we are here in Silver Spring. It's 9 years later. The Quilt has grown from 1,920 panels to over 44,000. There are more than 83,000 names listed on those panels. In this room today, there are 40 panels with the names of 99 individuals and 8 organizations that have been touched by AIDS. There are 46 chapters in the United States and 36 affiliates across the globe. Now, we have gone from one AIDS death every 30 minutes to one every 5.6 minutes, worldwide. And, today, there are panels in our Sanctuary. Why?
It started with the first time that I walked into our beautiful sanctuary. Before 1987, I could have cared less about quilts. I had no appreciation for their beauty, their detail, or their stories. Of course, that has all changed. I came into this sanctuary the weekend after Mathew Shephard was murdered and saw these incredible quilts hanging on the walls. How could I not feel like I belonged? Kerry Mueller described our sanctuary as sparse but elegant. I think that she had it right on the mark. The focal point of this room is its collection of quilt panels. I was caught up with the feeling of sacred space unlike any I'd felt before. Their beauty first intrigued me and then I learned about their history. So, I felt this was appropriate setting to help bring to quilt to other people, especially those I love.
There are three reasons that I felt it important to share this experience with you all.
First, I'm uncertain how many of you have ever seen the quilt displayed. I know that it hasn't been back to this area, in its entirety since 1996-the last weekend that I saw my friend Barry alive. I know that it's important to be able to help attach humanity to statistics before they will seem real. Well, here you have it. A room full of very real lives lost as a result of AIDS.
Second, you are all very important to me. I've learned to open more with people I care about. I needed a way to help you visualize what I had been taking about when I have told you that I have out-lived 47 friends, and acquaintances. There are 40 panels in here this morning. This is a visual representation of the loss that I have worked through. The loss that has helped me to grow into the person that I am today.
You know, though, the third reason is the most important reason, to me. Currently it's estimated that 25% of all new AIDS/HIV infections happen in teens. There are many theories as to why this is. One could be the lack of a proper dialog with regards to AIDS education. Most teens have not taken the Our Whole Lives or About Your Sexuality curricula. There are some teens feel that they are invincible. One of the other theories that are bounced around is that people with HIV are living longer. Fortunately, there are many more pharmaceutical options now for those of us living with HIV. The unfortunate side effect of this is that some people think that it's OK to be risky because they can just take a pill. I have been blessed to be accepted by our teen group and Susan Westenbarger, the lead advisor, for who I am with all my foibles-biological, and otherwise. I am, after all, the advisor that they refer to as Crotchety Old Man Drewery (C.O.M.D. for short). They have been a constant reminder to me of all that is possible in the world. All three of our graduating seniors are going to college. Many members of our YRUU are involved at the district level. They are an example of what well-rounded teens can be. If, by showing them these panels, and sharing with them my story, I can spare any of them from making a life-changing mistake, then it's worth doing.
Shortly after seeing an actual panel for the first time I stumbled across a piece of scripture that has brought me great comfort. It's from Isaiah 48:10 "See, I have refined you. Though not as silver. I have tested you in the furnace of affliction." I debated long and hard about whether or not to share this passage with you. Finally, I felt that it was important. When the time comes that AIDS has come and gone, we, as a people, will have been refined. We will have witnessed humanity at its best moments. The compassion showed by a stranger to a person who is dying in a hospice. The volunteers who tirelessly prepared meals for homebound people with AIDS. And yes, all of the people who have walked, ran, and biked (I'm talking about you here, John) to help raise money and awareness about the disease. We will also have witnessed humanity at its less than best. The abandonment of family and friends afflicted with the various aspects of living with, and dying as a resul of, AIDS. The political and social disenfranchisement of minority groups. The attempted demicide of American citizens who live their lives differently than the majority. Medically, we will have solved one of Nature's greatest questions and challenges. No doubt, the after-effects from a cure for AIDS will result in many other medical miracles. Spiritually, we will have relearned the lesson that we are all connected. What affects one of us affects us all.
Before moving to this area, I used to do a lot of public speaking about AIDS. One of the questions that I used to get, quite a bit, was whether or not I would want a panel made for me if I were to die from AIDS related causes. I used to dodge this question like the plague. No pun intended. However, in preparation for this service, I decided to answer it. The answer is yes. On July 27th I celebrate my 14th anniversary of being HIV+. I have outlived many people I cared about. I have owed it to their memory to live a life that is as full as possible. When the time comes, I think that it is very important to be linked to them with needle, tread and tapestry. They are my sisters and brothers. My Goddess parents and children. They are my friends and lovers. They have taught me a lot and perhaps the addition of my name will help others.
Please take as much time as you need to view the panels after the service concludes. Although my voice is still strong, theirs is only heard through viewing their names. We all owe it to them to not forget their loss. Their humanity. Until we stop thinking about AIDS in a statistical sense and start thinking about it as the human tragedy that it is, we will make no real progress.
In Unison: May the blessing of truth be upon us,
May the power of love direct and sustain us,
May the peace of this community preserve our going out and our coming
in,
From this time forth, until we meet again.
If you choose to leave during the postlude, please do so quietly for the benefit of those listening to the music.
Because of the fragile nature of the Quilt panels, we ask that you do not brink beverages into the sanctuary during this morning's service.We ask that you take time after the service to view the quilt panels. We also ask that you do not touch the panels.
