There's not a word yet for old friends who've just met...

The tiny people and I are going to Minnesota this week.

I cannot describe to you how excited the boys are. Aunty K and I planned this trip back in … August? 2005? I'm not sure, but it feels like it's been on the books for millennia. And, considering that it's been planned for a high percentage of Cooper's lifetime, he's about to blow his top he's so eager to leave.

Back in October, he would look at the clock and say, "It's January o'clock! Time to go to Minnesota!" We finally got him to understand that we weren't leaving until after Christmas. This gave him the distraction of Welcoming the Birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ so as not to get too stir crazy in the meantime. A few awesome presents worked well to defer the hourly questions about when we were boarding the airplane.

But, as soon as school started again, the children returned after a two week break and learned that "Jingle Bells is over." This was a favorite song in the 2 year old class, and Cooper's classmates were totally destroyed to learn that they couldn't parade around with loud, clanging instruments and shout "HEY!" at the top of their lungs for another 11 months. With the decay of Christmas excitement came the realization that it was, finally, JANUARY, at long last.

Their completely wonderful cousins sent J and C a huge box of hand-me down clothes and accessories a couple of weeks ago. Included in the box of super-fancy, totally grown up "my cousins wore these then sent them to me?!!!" clothes were a pair of L.L. Bean boots and two, separate but equal Billabong backpacks. Upon receiving the good news that they could pack stuff in these backpacks to take with them on the plane, the boys ran around collecting both beloved and arbitrary, yet available, objects and stuffing them inside. We haven't seen some of their favorite toys in days, since they've been tucked away for safe keeping since.

Now, I know what you're all thinking: Minnesota in January?!?!??! Really? Really!

Yes, I know. I know it's cold. I know it's colder than I've ever felt in my life. Aunty K's calls throughout the years with updates on the weather have prepared me, somewhat. In fact, I got a call from her on Wednesday saying, "I just want to let you know what -20 degrees feels like: When I blink, my eyeballs freeze."

Let us all give a collective shudder.

Here's the other thing: We're not just staying at their house. We're going to a gorgeous, beautiful retreat center about an hour north of St. Paul. This idea, in theory, is stunning and brilliant. Our trip was planned out of the collective excitement about some quiet time with our children and each other, and a desire to get away from the other constant stimuli of daily life. What we're slowly realizing is that we've committed to a week in a cabin in the woods in the dead of Minnesota winter with four children, four and under, no media assistance and the necessity of walking to another building for all of our meals.

God be with us.

And it looks like God has already softened the blow a little. The high on Tuesday is going to be 24F. That's, like, FOURTY DEGREES warmer than it was last week. I'll take it. Aunty K is prepared and resourceful, and has already packed tubs of winter clothes for my children who have only seen snow twice in their lives and buckets of art supplies for all of them. We're praying that the unusualness of it all will entertain them more than we can: extra, dear buddies to play with, new scenery, a gorgeous cabin with stunning views and lofts in which to sleep. We're also planning to do some Lenten planning for our churches, so at night, when the children sleep, I can pick her brain, which is far more creative than mine. I am the total winner here. For my prize, I awarded myself with cozy, flannel pajamas.

We also get to spend a week at a place where our delicious meals are prepared for us in the quiet of a holy kitchen where good and kind people are available to lead worship, inquire about our lives and ministries, and remind us that we are equipped with all that we need to do these jobs.

Next week is going to be wonderful for a thousand reasons, but it's an especially wonderful time for me to embrace the two pieces of me that I hold so dear: Ministry and Motherhood. I've said before that I came into these two roles simultaneously, and I met Aunty K at the same time. When we met, we were both pastoring in churches, our husbands were both PhD students, we were both pregnant for the first time with boys who were due on the same day, and were delivered by the same midwife at the same hospital. Gonzo was right: there's not a word yet for old friends who've just met. We spent the first few months of our sons' lives running through the specifics of how this new world order was treating us. We signed up for swimming class with our 12 week old babies, and spent every Wednesday after class lunching, nursing, changing diapers, drinking decaf coffee and talking about everything we could find to talk about.

Our roles as wives, mothers, pastors, and women have developed side by side, and I'm so grateful for her friendship. Neither of us are good at keeping up with long-distance friendships, and yet, we've made this one work for 4 ½ years. I credit this to our ability to have serial 30-second phone conversations throughout the day:

Aunty K: I just called to tell you that your 18 month old Goddaughter is a brilliant smart-ass.

Me: What did she do?

Aunty K: She and her brother were shouting "POOPEYHEAD" at each other, and I told them to stop. I warned her that if she said it again that I'd take away her teddy grahams. I turned to tell her brother what his consequence would be and when I looked back at her, her mouth was crammed full of snacks and she said through stuffed cheeks, "MRPHOOPYFHEAD."

Me: I've never been so proud.

Aunty K: Okay – gotta go. I'll talk to you later.

Me: Okay, when we talk next, remind me to tell you the story of Cooper, his penis and a bike helmet.

Aunty K: Can't wait!

Me: Me neither! Bye!

It's amazing how much information can be conveyed in such short interactions.

So, next week is a chance for us to nurture our friendship, the friendship that our children are developing, and to work on our lives as ministers and mothers at the same time. For me, it's also a chance to feel unapologetic about my calling to both of these vocations. Like many mothers who work, I feel an awful pull to be in both places at the same time. I love my church, my calling, my congregants, my vocation. I am blessed, if not equally burdened, by this call to serve the church in such a way. I am also completely head-over-heels for my baby boys, and would relish the opportunity to just be with them all day, every day. Except that when I've done that, I've felt a little lost and off-balance.

I know that God called me to both of these tasks for a reason. Without the perpetual call of my children to be present with them for bedtime, mealtime, Saturday playtime, Friday movie night, Sunday lunch, I would be out all the time. I am an extrovert to the n^th degree, and I would fill my schedule and say "Yes" far too often if it wasn't for the anchor and grounding of my family's needs. They force me to set good boundaries, even when I don't want to. And my church gives me a place to use the gifts and talents I know I've been given. I also really like talking to grown-ups and having conversations that don't end with me wiping someone' s bum. I like feeling needed by people other than my children, who are sort of programmed to need me. I enjoy that people choose me, from time to time.

So, next week I will get to be with both a person who has chosen me and the tiny people who are stuck with me for life. I will live out my calls as mother, minister and friend in the snowy, frozen tundra of northern Minnesota, which, despite all logic, sounds a little bit like heaven in a way.

And yes, I'm going to go back there someday... but hopefully when it's a tad warmer.

When the mightiest word is love...

Welcome to the White House, President Obama

Inaugural Poem- Elizabeth Alexander

Published: January 20, 2009

The following is a transcript of the inaugural poem written and recited by Elizabeth Alexander at the Inauguration of President Barack H. Obama

Praise Song for the Day

Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.

A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin."

We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road."

We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."

Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light.

Sermon: The Cost of Discipleship

Rev. Mandy Sloan Flemming
Saint Mark United Methodist Church
January 18, 2009

The Cost of Discipleship

Luke 4:14-30, NRSV: Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone. When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.

He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind,

to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The
eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him.

Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your
hearing.” All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came
from his mouth.

They said, “Is not this Joseph’s son?” He said to them, “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, ‘Doctor, cure yourself!’ And you will say, ‘Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.’”

And he said, “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown. But the truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the land; yet Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon. There were also many lepers in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian.”

When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way.

One: The Word of God for the People of God.
Many: Thanks be to God.

*******************************************************
My colleagues have spoken about how and why we believe in the development of better human relations and how we seek to empower others to become the whole persons God intended. You have heard it said that we, as a church, are people called to service and mission, proclamation and witness. We’re called to share our stories, weave our stories together and point all of it back to the grace of God, from whom all good things flow.

Why, then, does this passage also point us to the troubling consequence of discipleship? Jesus comes, preaching good news to the poor, release of the captives, recovering of sight to the blind, and freedom from oppression. The Incarnate God says that this is the year of the Lord’s favor. As he is presented with the lectionary text for the day, Jesus reads the words on the scroll and proclaims that he is the one who has been the recipient of the Holy Spirit, which has anointed him and sent him, and today, the scripture had been fulfilled in your hearing.

Those gathered in the synagogue are thrilled at this news – finally, one has been sent to heal them, free them, and promise them God’s favor. This is the gathering of faithful people who have found a way to maintain their faithfulness to God in a world where there was no reward other than God’s own promise. And, on this day, they hear these words spoken to them, by the Jesus, the Messiah, the Anointed One – the one for whom they’ve been waiting – and he gives them some Good News.

Like any good recipients of a good sermon that warms the heart, they immediately begin to praise Jesus. They love him. He tells them exactly what they need to hear – that, finally, they are going to get some of the goodness of God’s promise that they’ve been anticipating for so long. No more suffering, no more poverty, no more blindness, no more oppression – this is a people who are ready for the Lord’s favor, they are ready to see and to shout and to rejoice in their freedom. You can almost hear them, rising up and saying, “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!’

But that’s not what they say. What they say is, “Is not this Joseph’s son?” It’s as if all they can see is the six year old boy who grew up in their midst, chasing animals in the barn and squirming in his seat. They cannot hear what he has to say, and Jesus knows this. This Gospel word is not for them. Jesus continues by prophesying first that he will be run out of his hometown, and then reminds the assembled congregation of believers that when the going got rough for Israel, God was faithful to a Sidonian and a Syrian. Outsiders. Foreigners. The Bible is packed with stories of people who came from outside of the Israelites to identify God’s claim on their life and make the radical transformation from people of the world to people of the kingdom. There was so much at stake for these men and women that converting to a faith in the one true God was less risky than living with the knowledge that God’s promise was for them and not responding to it. For the hearers of Jesus’ first sermon – this new is enraging.

We gather today, not only to hearken to a call of social justice and mission in the world, but to remind ourselves why it is that we do such things. Theologian Rebecca Chopp argues that “The church is not created for fellowship, continued support, spiritual nourishment, or even social service; rather, the church is called to give to the world news of emancipatory transformation.” She believes that “Christianity must undergo, in proclaiming the Word to and with the world, its own thorough transformation, one in which Christianity’s complicity with the modern order is questioned and uncovered.”

Indeed, O Lord: Save us from weak resignation to the evils we deplore.

Chopp argues that we seek emancipatory transformation by deliberately speaking of freedom from a position of marginality. Now, even the faithful people and recipients of the promise cannot even assume that the message is for them.

Those in the temple hear Jesus’ teachings and they run him out of town, and try to push him off a cliff! Now these are some folks in need of emancipatory transformation. Whatever it is they are expecting from God and this hometown prophet is not what they will receive. Jesus tells them that the Scripture is being fulfilled in their hearing, but they are not the ones receiving the favor. This huddled group of faithful people, who have clung so long to their otherness and unworldliness, are now being told that even they are not the disenfranchised anymore – because they have each other. They have found, as Chopp identifies, fellowship, support, nourishment, and service amongst one another. But they have not yet found transformation.

They have not yet been changed by the Good News that Christ comes to give. They are bound by their interpretation of Scripture, their history, their narrative, their expectations. But Christ comes and says: I am not bound by your expectations. I am the Son of God, the living Christ, and I have come to teach you how much God loves you, and how we are called to be in relationship with one another –not just with the people who are like us or nice to us or praiseworthy or acceptable or piteous. This Good News is for the people who have never had a good word spoken to them, and today – that doesn’t mean you. It means those who are outside freezing in the rain, unable to be cured, locked up in prison, and silenced by the government. We are called to tend to them, heal them, listen to them, and remind them that THIS is the year of the Lord’s favor, so that they may be the ones to say, “MY eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!” And we can, at last, gather together in worship and praise of the God who refuses to let any of us go, so that we can be transformed into a people of true freedom.

Amen and Amen.

Why you should Google-search your blog title first...

[Subtitle: Can you tell that I should be writing my sermon for tomorrow?]

I was googling my own blog tonight, just to see where it cropped up. I do this on occasion, and I've found it in some new places in the last week (thanks, Methodist blogging world!).

I found no surprises, which is nice, but I did find this gem for the first time:
















First, I invite you to guess the genre:
a. Science Fiction
b. Macabre
c. Horror Fiction
d. Southern Gothic
e. Bildungsroman
f. All of the above

For those of you who actually took the time to consider it, the correct answer is "C," though I'm certain many among us could argue at length at the legitimacy of "A," "B," and "E,"since this story must involve some fascinating childhood psychological development of the protagonist. I'm pretty sure this is not Southern Gothic, even in the broadest of definitions.

It turns out that Parley J. Cooper is a fairly prolific author from the 1970s, who whipped up such priceless literary treasures as "Wreck," "Conspiracy," "Restaurant," and, just to mix things up by adding an article, "The Studio." I found a stunningly enjoyable review of "The Feminists," which makes me want to run out and re-read "1984," just to cleanse my palate.

So, lesson learned. I thought I'd done my research when naming my Blog, and was fairly certain that even with the spattering of "Reverend Mothers" and "Rev. Mammas" out there, that this title wouldn't be too troubling. Perhaps what surprises me most is that I haven't seen this until now. Given that the author's name is also the name of my second-born, I would assume that this connection would have been made sooner. Ah, well. Revelation comes when the time is right.

So, to all the people who have googled "Salmon Risotto Wine Pairing" and come up with a photograph of my shoes in a wine rack (yes - this has actually happened), I offer you my apologies. Google, for all of its power and might, is not an accurate tool. But, it certainly is enlightening.

Why 80s music will never die...

Though I'm not a particular fan of 80s music (I know, I'm the only one of my generation...), this weekend forced me to reevaluate my dismissal and to revel in music that was experimental, keytar-driven and, on occasion, rockin'.



Neil Patrick Harris hosted SNL on Saturday, and this was the highlight of a particularly good episode. Note the closing scene. Your inner 13 year old will love it.



Thanks to my friend who performs here as the first violinist and arranger of this stunning re-interpretation of an 80s classic.

This proves, once again, that being a teacher is *truly* the greatest job of all time. Seriously, folks. This counted as actual work!

A blog about the blog

Reverend Mama: Popular Pages

167 revmamaflemming.blogspot.com/2009/01/why-im-in-favor-of-same-sex-marriages.html

146 revmamaflemming.blogspot.com/

92 www.revmamaflemming.blogspot.com/

So, wow.

I post my stats from Tuesday's post here so that you can revel with me in the overwhelming popularity of the article. As you can see, it is so popular that it's more referenced than my actual blog address. This took some serious work from you readers!

Most days, I get about 50 hits a day, and I swear only about 10 of those are mine. I've gotten some new readers when posts get added to Fidelia's Sisters or Divine Caroline, but as you can see, Tuesday's post was read by more than just the average readership. In fact, so many of you read and re-read, forwarded and linked this post, that I had a whopping 238 new readers and 400 page loads in a SINGLE DAY. On Wednesday, it showed up here, at the Reconciling Ministries blog site.

I've gotten, and continue to get, comments of support and encouragement. You've linked this as your Facebook profile status, copied it to friends, and I've heard from many whom I know, and more whom I don't.

Truly, this is a story worth sharing.

I want to say thank you for your support, but beyond that, I want to invite you to share your own story in a comment below. This story is not even really mine to tell. It belongs to the faithful and devoted members of Saint Mark, and to all the people who encourage and support the GLBT community in our church and society. I appreciate you calling me brave, but it was not my bravery that wrote this story. All I can do is share it, and pray that it makes a difference in changing the minds and hearts of many.

Blessings and love to you all.

Humbly,
Mandy

Why I'm in Favor of Same Sex Marriage: The Story of Saint Mark United Methodist Church, Atlanta, GA

Saint Mark United Methodist Church is an extraordinary place. I've not shared much, to date, about this wonderful church that I serve and what makes it so. In order to frame this post properly, I owe you a description of the context here.

In the early 1990s, Saint Mark, like most intown Atlanta churches, was struggling. Members had moved out of the city center and into the suburbs, and were no longer willing to drive back to their home churches. So, the suburban churches thrived as the intown area crumbled. Real estate prices plummeted. The streets were vacated. The 1980s were not good to Atlanta's heart.

The only folks who seemed to be moving into the midtown and downtown areas were folks who didn't feel welcome anywhere else. The 1980s saw a surge of single, gay men buying up property and settling into the area. Things started changing.

The Pride Parade began in Atlanta in the 1970s, and took off in earnest by 1981, around the same time that the AIDS virus began to be diagnosed in the community. If you read the history, you'll see that these two events - a celebration of life and one's wholeness and the staggering defeat of death - walked hand in hand throughout the 1980s. It was a heartbreaking time. As the Parade gained strength and turned out record numbers, the responses also grew more public and hateful. Across the street from Saint Mark UMC stood Atlanta First Baptist Church, Charles Stanley's church. The protests were increasing by the year. One year, a current church member recalls, the Baptists across the street hired guards on horseback. Then, it was violent and absurd. Now, it's laughable ("What did he think we were going to do? Break in and redecorate?!").

Like most of the intown churches, Saint Mark, which had been a thriving and active church for the better part of the century, had dwindled to about 100 folks. This church has always had a history of social justice and activism in the world. Bishop Bevel Jones, who served as our senior minister from 1963-1967 has dubbed Saint Mark the bellwether church of the southeast, and it's true. Our folks have always had the courage to stand up and do what is right, for the sake of the Gospel. When it was apparent that the church was in danger of closing its doors, the people who remained took their call to be the church in the world seriously. They decided that they were going to do what they had always done, which is to minister to the people in need in the community surrounding the church.

The next June, on the Sunday of the Gay Pride Parade, as the Baptists picketed, the old folks from Saint Mark sat outside with a banner that read, "All are welcome here!" and handed out bottles of water to the parade participants. What happened next could have only come as a result of the Holy Spirit blessing this church's willingness to stand up and say: We are here in love, not hate. We open our doors to the least of these, because that's what Christ has called us to do.

The next Sunday, people came to see if Saint Mark meant what it said. The following Sunday, those people brought people with them. By the end of the year, membership had tripled. Saint Mark regularly had 200 visitors on a Sunday, though earlier days had seen barely 100 members in the pews.

The 1990’s and the turn of the Millennium saw renewed life at Saint Mark. We refer to it as the “Miracle on Peachtree." During that time the congregation grew to over 1,900 members, an especially miraculous renewal considering that the church had been on the verge of closing (see the 1996 article from Whosoever Magazine). We were the first Atlanta church to begin an active AIDS ministry, and as we welcomed in hundreds of hurting and dying people, we also buried more than one could imagine.

This is a remarkable place. It is a church in the truest sense of the word - a community of disciples, who are so aware of the power of God's presence in their life that all they can do is sing praises. We are, on occasion, cranky and nitpicky. But we are also filled with grace and the ability to name God's powerful claim on our lives. Each week, through the open red doors, we look out over the property that used to be inhabited by First Baptist Atlanta. They moved to Dunwoody in 1997, and their presence in Midtown Atlanta is now only a memory, as the sanctuary was razed and in its place now stands a lovely park.

As you can imagine, each member here has a story to tell. There are recurring themes of abandonment, disownment by family and church alike, and a subsequent re-claiming of one's place in the family of God in Christ. We have an amazing children's ministry, that looks like the whole of the kingdom of God, as these children have come from all over the globe to be loved and cared for by wonderful people. The witness of these loving parents remove any speculation that same-gendered parents are eroding traditional morality. I see them every week, parenting their children with the same passion, commitment and love that I try to offer to my own little ones. As is modeled in the congregation that I serve, there is no room for hate in the kingdom of God. Each person's story I hear is a testament to that.

One of the most remarkable stories comes from Bill and Matthew, who were recently featured in a piece on NPR. Bill, who is African-American, and Matthew, who is Caucasian, have been together for thirty-five years. That's right. Bill and Matthew are a bi-racial, homosexual couple. The odds of these people meeting, falling in love and staying together for nearly four decades are so unlikely it's not worth computing. Consider the climate in which they met, 35 years ago in 1973. They had to be very creative with their relationship so that they could live and travel together and not be questioned.

Their story is much longer than what's presented in these few minutes, but I wanted to share it with you. Love, indeed, makes a family. And I am proud to know this one.

Same-Sex Marriage in Connecticut and New York

by Arun Venugopal and Brian Zumhagen
NEW YORK, NY December 13, 2008 —WNYC's Arun Venugopal attends the Connecticut wedding of two men, Matthew Malok and Bill Whittaker, who've been together for 35 years. And WNYC Weekend Edition Host Brian Zumhagen gets an update on the situation in New York from Alan Van Capelle, Executive Director of Empire State Pride Agenda.

As you read, listen, consider and hear... think of the stories of people you know. We all have family members, friends, co-workers, neighbors who are members of a community that has been abused, at worst and misunderstood, at best. Some of the most loving families I know are non-traditional in makeup. This might even be true for you - maybe you were raised by your grandmother. Maybe you were brought up by one parent. Maybe you had a great and loving family system, regardless of who and how it was comprised. Maybe you had a perfectly "traditional" family that was utterly dysfunctional.

Be patient, friends. Be aware. Know that God is Love, and in our loving we find the holy breaking in and healing what needs to be healed. As we share our stories and listen to them being told, may God's presence guide us as we move toward living as a full and welcoming community.

You can find a picture of Bill and Matthew, along with their story, at freedomtomarry.org.

For more information about LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgendered) rights and issues, visit some of these links:

Human Rights Campaign - Working for equal rights for the LGBT community
Reconciling Ministries Network - a grassroots community of United Methodists who are pushing for change in the denomination
Georgia Equality's - Working for LGBT rights in Georgia
Mega Family Project - Providing support for Georgia's LGBT families and children
Chris Kids Rainbow Project - Provides a safe and supportive residence for homeless and runaway LGBT youth
AID Atlanta - Providing support and services for people with HIV and AIDS
Methodists United - A blog of the stories of GLBTQ&S United Methodists around the world

You'll thank me for this later.

Now you can avoid watching the Pilot episode of the Dana Carvey Show, which Matt and I managed to wade through earlier this week. This was, by far, the highlight - featuring Dana Carvey and the much beloved Steve Carell. If you're brave, check out Episode Five, which features Steve Carell and Stephen Colbert as "The Waiters Who Are Nauseated by Food." Brilliant.

THAT OUTFIT REALLY BRINGS OUT THE COLOR OF YOUR EYES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Reverend Mama: Routine

Reverend Mama: Routine

Now appearing here at Fidelia's Sisters!