Date: Fri, 19 Jun 1998 14:44:53 -0400
From: Chris Ambidge <chris.ambidge@utoronto.ca>
Subject: *Integrator* files for 1993


INTEGRATOR, the newsletter of Integrity/Toronto
volume 93-4, issue date 1993 05 12

copyright 1993 Integrity/Toronto.  The hard-copy version of this
newsletter carries the ISSN 0843-574X

Integrity/Toronto Box 873 Stn F Toronto ON Canada M4Y 2N9

== contents ==

[93-4-1]
IN THE COURTS OF THE LORD  /  A Response to Jim Ferry's book
     by the Rev Doug Fox

[93-4-2]
FATHER MARTIN'S STORY  /  a thumbnail autobiography

[93-4-3]
STRAIGHTENING OUT  /  by KD MILLER, who was at the Integrity/Toronto
     retreat early this month

[93-4-4]
SHARING OUR QUESTIONS
    by THOMAS ROACH, who was also at the Integrity/Toronto retreat

[93-4-5]
STRENGTH FOR PILGRIMS  /  from a sermon by the Rt Rev Barbara Harris

[93-4-6]
FROM JULIAN OF NORWICH

[93-4-7]
LETTER FROM NICARAGUA  /  by Scott Sorrell


=========


[93-4-1]
IN THE COURTS OF THE LORD:
   A Response by the Rev Doug Fox

[The Rev DOUG FOX is honorary assistant at All Saint's Church,
Sherbourne St.  He was a witness for Jim Ferry at the Bishop's Court
trial in 1992.]

WHEN THE NEWS OF JIM FERRY'S FIRING broke in July of 1991, I knew him
only as a friend of my parish priest's.  Since then, I and a great many
others have come to know and respect Mr Ferry.  In refusing to resign
and in pressing for due process, he was not simply making a case for
himself.  Rather, and despite efforts of the diocesan administration to
the contrary, this priest wanted to raise the wider issue of the
church's pastoral responsibility towards its lesbian and gay members.
The effort has been successful in some significant ways.  First, the
voices, and dollars, raised in support of Jim's cause showed the
Anglican community in this country that there is significant and broad
support for a change -- in fact, a reversal -- of the customary ways the
church has dealt with lesbians and gays.  By thus raising the issue's
profile, Jim arguably also helped the supportive voices to win agreement
from the whole church, as represented in the General Synod of the
Anglican Church of Canada, for church-wide discussion of the matter -- a
discussion we had until that time been at pains to avoid.

In his book *In the Courts of the Lord*, where he describes his
struggle, Jim acknowledges that prior to his firing, and the dramatic
events that followed upon it, he had for the most part played along with
our church's "don't want to know" approach to homosexuality.  But over
the course of a few weeks, he moved from being a gay priest struggling
with his conscience to a leader in the struggle to transform an
institution.  This of course led to a public battle between him and the
Diocese, a battle in which very many people became involved, myself
included.  Jim provides a full accounting of the fireworks in his book.
However, what I value more in the story is the personal perspective that
it offers; it is not just the story of a trial, but a spiritual
autobiography.  Hence it begins many years before the bishop's court,
when Jim was growing up.  Like many gay and lesbian children, Jim sensed
his differentness quite early on in life, and like many of us also, he
took many years to come to terms with that difference.

The pivotal moment in both stories -- the public one and the private one
-- was when Jim, who was under attack from a small group of homophobic
parishioners, was invited by the Bishop of Toronto to resign quietly.
That request fit in with the church's traditional way of dealing with
homosexual clergy in danger of being outed -- namely, to ask the cleric
in question to pay the price, and do so as unobtrusively as possible.
But Jim Ferry refused.  The reason he did so was not merely the sense
that he had done no wrong.  The last straw was that he was expected to
resign without even an offer of severance pay, for fear it would be seen
as "rewarding his behaviour." He writes, "I had been willing to resign,
knowing it was unavoidable, as long as the bishop would stand with me.
Now he wanted to strip away the only thing I had left:  my dignity.  I
couldn't stand up and resign before my congregation in those
circumstances -- it would be like telling them I knew I was an evil
pervert and that the harsh treatment was what I justly deserved." (p.
146)

Jim has described his book as "a social commentary disguised as an
autobiography." In the case of the incident described above, the
commentary is in the prophetic mode:  it diagnoses perfectly the root
cause of Christian mistreatment of lesbians and gays.  The church has
not heard our pain and responded compassionately to it -- at any rate,
not decisively enough to change the de facto policies and teachings that
contribute to that pain.  Reading Jim's account of his journey within
Anglicanism, I believe that until he was given such short shrift, he
thought the time had come when compassion would enable our church to
break new ground on this issue.  This is what led us in the past to
change our response on such matters as slavery and the remarriage of
divorced persons.

Not yet.  But Jim's story implicitly invites us to be part of such a
transformation.  By sharing many details of his life with us, and then
by recounting the story of the conflict with the Diocese from a personal
perspective, he shows us the effect that homophobia in society and
church has on him and others.  There are also many illustrations in the
book of healthy reactions to the dysfunctional church, the paramount one
being his own decision not to go away quietly.  If we need any other
clue to the theological argument the book is making, we need look no
further than the title.  Psalm 84, "My soul longs, oh it faints for the
courts of the Lord!  " is about the joy of feeling close to God in a
place of worship and in the practice of faith.  But for Jim and for many
lesbian and gay people, among others, the churches have become instead
the other kind of court, the one of human judgement.  The tribunal
convened for the Diocese has become a contemporary symbol, albeit an
unwilling one, of this aspect of Christian communities.

To see these events from Jim's perspective, and understand what
Christian bigotry has cost him and many others, is to be challenged for
a response.  For those lesbian and gay Christians, particularly clergy,
who are among the "discreet," it will be a painful affirmation of the
oppression that wounds and imprisons so unjustly.  But others also will
find the book disturbing.  It shows the institutional church in the
unwholesome position of siding with snoops and gossips and bigots, while
being unwilling to "condone" the behaviour of someone who had entered
into a loving, faithful, freely-chosen relationship.  On the other hand,
the stirring show of love and support for Jim, as well as his testimony
to the new life and joyful growth that he experienced in taking the
freedom to share his life with the partner of his choice -- surely these
events sing to our hearts in the liberating melody of the Spirit. In
summary, this book offers strong, and, I believe, necessary criticism of
the way the Anglican Church of Canada treats lesbians and gays.  In so
doing it sounds a note of hope.  I heartily recommend it to anyone who
wants to understand better the human context of gay and lesbian issues
in the church.

        +  +  +

 [IN THE COURTS OF THE LORD is available in bookstores across Canada for
$24.95 hardback.  It can also be ordered by mail from ABC, 600 Jarvis St
Toronto M4Y 2J6 (416) 924 9192.  ABC will process foreign orders.  The
book does not have a US publisher, but US bookstores can order directly
from KeyPorter books in Toronto.]


=========


[93-4-2]
FATHER MARTIN'S STORY
    [Fr Martin's Story appeared in Our Stories, published by Integrity
     US in 1988 and by Integrity Canada for General Synod in 1989]


I find writing a letter to you relating my sexuality to my spirituality
a hard thing to do. First, I do not think of myself primarily in sexual
terms. Second, it is a risky thing to put one's life on paper for
publication. Third, this task is like relating my spirituality to my
hair colour:  that is a part of my life which has always been.

I have always known that I was gay, at least from the age of three or
four. Of course, no child knows what it means to be a sexual person, but
I became aware of my own sexual interests.

At about the same time, I learned that being different is not an easy
thing in this world. Johnny, who lived next door, wore thick glasses and
had crossed eyes. He was different. He was teased and tormented by me
and all the other regular guys in the neighbourhood. Johnny cried a lot.
I learned not to show that I was different.

One Sunday in Church School we were doing our best to make Johnny's life
miserable. Our teacher broke up the little game and lectured us on how
God loved each of us just as we are, and that we must try to love each
other. I learned that God loved Johnny -- other kids might not, but God
loved Johnny and me.

So, very early, I learned that being different means you cry a lot, and
being a regular guy takes a lot of work.

Learning, or more accurately reading, has served me well over the 40-odd
years that have passed since that day. From Dr. Kinsey, I learned that I
was not too different. From college humanities, I learned that there
have been a host of gay men and women who have made great contributions
to our culture and history. From B., R., and C. I learned that other gay
men were seeking ordination -- I was not alone. From a kind and
supportive priest, I learned that I could say, "I'm gay," and the world
would not come to an end or even fall apart. From my course in ethics, I
came to understand the difficulties of strict natural law. I learned
that relationship and responsibility go hand-in-hand.

I regret that when J. told me during a civil rights march about the hell
of trying to pass as a regular white guy, I did not risk letting him
know that I understood something of the hell of trying to pass as a
regular guy who is white.

I rejoice that I could tell my mother that I am gay.

I regret that I allowed a former girlfriend to believe there was more to
our relationship than there could be.

I rejoice that I received a letter from a former parishioner apologising
for calling me a damned faggot twelve years before, and that I can
forgive him in Christ.

I regret the fear that welled up in me when a lady started a
conversation with me by saying, "Father, I know you are gay."

I rejoice when she went on to tell me that she was a Lesbian, and that I
was the first priest to whom she has been able to reveal herself to
during the 60 years of her life.

Where am I now?  I am gay. I am happy, at least most of the time. Like
most Christians I know, my life has been and continues to be filled with
regrets and joy -- guilt and grace -- sin and forgiveness.


========


[93-4-3]
STRAIGHTENING OUT
   by KD MILLER, who was at the Integrity/Toronto retreat
    early this month

[KD MILLER is a writer of short stories and a parishioner of St
Clement's Eglinton.  Her article on a bridge-building series at that
parish was printed in *Integrator* earlier this year.]


IN THE MIDDLE of any retreat, I get homesick. It only lasts a few hours,
and once it's over I go back to enjoying the novelty of the retreat
environment. But for those few hours, I miss not a place so much as a
state of being. I've come for peace, but I want my stress back. I've
come to contemplate and concentrate, but I miss my distractions. My mind
feels as unfamiliar to me as the saint-named room I've been assigned.
Nowhere, within or without, am I "at home".

This year I took part in the Integrity retreat held at the Convent of
the Sisterhood of St John the Divine in Willowdale. If I was nervous
about being the "token straight", I was reassured by the warm welcome I
got from the Integrity folk, and their generous acceptance of me as part
of the group.

But then the homesick hours set in, as they always do, and I was very
much a stranger in a strange land. Though I wasn't being treated like an
outsider, I couldn't avoid being just that. For I was the "one in ten"
(thirteen, actually) who was different by virtue of her sexual
orientation. So for the first time, I had to think objectively about
what it means to be heterosexual.

It means that I have never had to come out to myself or anyone else.
From the moment somebody said, "it's a girl," my sexuality has been
assumed. Expected. Understood. Greeted with ceremony and honoured by
law. I have been toasted as a bride and legally protected as an
abandoned wife. In between, I've been allowed to choose the best, the
most advantageous, of two family benefits packages.

I've never had to be furtive or fearful. I've never had to deceive
others or myself. Above all, I've never had to try to be something I'm
not.

"When I first came out to my parish priest," one of the men in our
retreat group said, "he advised me to try to be straight. So for three
years, I did try." With whom, I couldn't help wondering. What a
horrible, destructive bit of pastoral advice that was, for everyone
concerned.

I imagined "trying" to be a lesbian. True, I was struck by the beauty of
the women in the group. Its standard is very different from the one I
try to achieve through bouts of starvation and self-torture. I can
appreciate that beauty. But could I go to bed with it?

Maybe. Maybe curiosity could eclipse inhibition. And maybe, since I can
respond as well to hand and mouth as to penis, I could reach some kind
of grinding, mechanical orgasm.

But the self-deception involved, and the exploitation of my partner,
would be as sinful as anything could possibly be. On some level of my
being, I would be outraged. In some corner of my mind, I would be
screaming no. And I would be terribly homesick. Homesick for myself.

"I am an Anglican," one woman in our group said. "I was raised an
Anglican. But now, to attend an Anglican service with its heterosexual
assumptions and exclusive language is to do myself psychological damage.
So I go to MCC. I love it there. I'm accepted, and I have friends. But
I'm still an Anglican. And sometimes, I wish I could just go home."

My own homesickness was temporary. In a few hours, the convent that is
home to the Sisterhood felt welcoming to me again.

I'm always moved by the sight of the blue community leaving the chapel
after service. Two by two, measured pace, eyes straight ahead. I look at
the senior nuns and think, they've been doing this all their lives. I
can't begin to understand their vocation, can't imagine myself
attempting their life. Yet I honour their difference. I admire, almost
worship it.

Why does their difference affect me this way, when the difference of
others, of homophobes, for example, can repel or frighten me?  How can
I, as a Christian, exclude anyone, or include them conditionally?  This
weekend, I have been shaken, and put to shame, by something one of our
group has said about homophobes in the church:  "They are my Beloved's
beloved. And so I must love them."

How do I love my Beloved?  What does it mean to be a heterosexual
Christian?  During the retreat I managed to say aloud what I have
struggled not to think -- that for me the Eucharist can be an erotic
experience. Well, why not?  Every Sunday, I hear a (usually) male voice
say, on behalf of the Son of Man, "This is my body..." And then I take
that Body into my own.

It is not the eroticism that puzzles me, but my struggle to keep it at
the periphery of consciousness, to avoid dwelling on it. Why shouldn't I
dwell on it?  As a straight woman, why shouldn't I want Jesus to enter
more than my mind?

Now the retreat is over. Come Sunday, I'll be back "home" at St
Clement's, a church I've heard described this weekend as one of the best
in terms of bridge-building. But as I approach the altar rail, I'll be
homesick for the small, intimate Eucharist we shared on the last day of
our retreat. We sat in a circle and served each other. The man to my
right tore off a bit of bread and handed it to me. "Kathleen," he said.
"Our new sister. The body of Christ. The bread of heaven." Then it was
my turn to serve the woman on my left. I fumbled with the bread.
Stumbled over the words. And managed not to cry.


========


[93-4-4]
SHARING OUR QUESTIONS
    by THOMAS ROACH, who was also at the Integrity/Toronto retreat

[THOMAS ROACH is a member of Integrity/Kingston and is currently all out
of answers]


Christ is here.

This is the Church

These were the first two phrases that ran through my mind as we
celebrated the Eucharist together at the end of this year's annual
Integrity retreat.

Christ was indeed with us in that circle gathered together around the
altar. We, as members of the whole body of Christ had been challenged
all weekend to share our experiences of our God, our Faith, our Church,
and Ourselves. Because many of us have experienced much pain at the
hands of other peoples' gods and churches, this was no easy task.

As we talked together it became clear that many people had become unable
to sit weekly in the pew of their parish church. I know that that had
been true for me, and I had eventually left my parish as a result. I
felt some comfort and strength in knowing I was not alone.

On the surface, our reasons for leaving were often quite different, but
I believer that there is a commonality in them. Quite simply it is
difference. I have sat in the pew of many churches over the past few
years and often found little relevance to me in the words that I heard.
I have also become increasingly aware that the views and theology that I
hold are often very different from those people in the pews around me.

This kind of difference was pointed out by a video we had seen on Friday
night. For some people justice is about maintaining the status quo,
while for others like me it is about striving for equality, fairness and
mutuality. We may use the same word, but if justice is maintaining the
norm, then there is clearly no place for me.

This is but one of many examples of words or concepts that there is no
agreement on what they mean. It isn't easy to understand all of the
language and concepts of what each of us is saying, but the rewards are
great if we try. In any discussion that we allow ourselves to be
challenged by another's views, we can grow in our own understanding. It
is important that we share our individual experiences, struggles and
theologies. Jesus isn't the answer, Jesus is the question. Answers are
easy, the questions are the tough things. This is why I would rather
listen to someone's honest questions, than anyone's pat answers.

Out of this retreat I have a new basis for hope in our Church. If we can
gather together with questions, we will grow in faith, love and
community. In doing so Christ will be with us and that will be the
Church.

I learned a new definition:  Peace isn't the absence of war, but he calm
in the midst of it. I have returned to Kingston and the chaos of my
life, but he peace I received at that convent in Willowdale remains with
me. And I continue to ask questions.


========


[93-4-5]
STRENGTH FOR PILGRIMS

[From a sermon preached at Grace Cathedral, San Francisco, by the Rt Rev
BARBARA HARRIS, Suffragan Bishop of Massachusetts, on the occasion of
the dedication of the Magdalene Icon.]


WHAT IS THE GOSPEL MESSAGE that the church offers to contemporary
[society]?  How does the church fulfil its mission of proclaiming that
Gospel?

I fear we will have difficulty with those two questions. Not so much
because we don't know what to say, but because so many of us are
spiritually exhausted or so locked into a survival mentality or so
lacking in a vision of what can be, that we are timid in our witness.
But most of all, it is because we are confused about this Jesus we seek
to proclaim.

Mary Magdalene and the other women of Jesus' company, if not fully
understanding, were faithful to the end. They stood bent at the cross
and went early to the grave, while those whose apostolic succession the
ordained now claim were hiding for fear. And some 2,000 years later,
some of us are still locked in that upper room for fear, waiting for a
safe time to speak, a safe time to witness, a safe time to take a stand
for justice.

When Jesus cleared the temple, he showed a side of his personality that
many prefer to ignore. This angry, violent Jesus does not fit the
concept that so many have taken for their idea and their ideal about
what the Christ should be. The Jesus meek-and-mild idea has been so
overworked ... that it bears precious little resemblance to the Christ
of the New Testament.

We must throw ourselves into the struggle for the rights of people. It
is not "behold the lilies of the field" that got Jesus into trouble; it
was "behold the money changers in the temple."

All this points to a crucial battlefield for Christians today, as we are
called to join the struggle for the rights of people over and against
the love of money and power.

Unless Christians throw themselves into the struggle with some of the
vigour and daring that Jesus showed in the temple, we will never get
into any front-line evangelistic engagement, let alone confrontations
with the forces of injustice, oppression and evil. Evangelism means
*knowing* the Good News, *preaching* the Good News, *doing* the Good
News, *being* the Good News.

If there is no astonishment in our witness, in what we do, surely there
is no salvation in what we say.


========


[93-4-6]
FROM JULIAN OF NORWICH


I saw no difference between God and our substance, but saw it as if it
were all God... virtues come into our soul at the time it is knitted to
our body.  In this knitting we are made sensual.... thus I understood
that God is in our sensuality, and shall never move away from it.... we
cannot be entirely holy until we know our own soul -- and that will be
when our sensuality... has been brought up into the substance.

He did not say "you shall not be tempest tost, you shall not be
discomforted", but he said "you shall not be overcome"

         ... Revelations of Divine Love


=========


[93-4-7]
LETTER FROM NICARAGUA [In 1991, SCOTT SORRELL spoke at an
Integrity/Toronto meeting on life  for lesgay people in Nicaragua, and
an article on him appeared in *XTRA!*   a month or so later. We have
just received this letter from him.]


Dear Friends:

A few years back I spoke to a group of people at an Integrity meeting. I
don't know if I will be remembered?  My name is Scott Sorrell and I am a
Canadian from Toronto, and I have been living and working in Managua,
Nicaragua for the past 5 years. I work in a residential protection
centre for minors called "Children Martyrs for Peace". I teach Sign
Language and assist with programme plans for the special education
department. In total, I work in 7 different orphanages throughout
Nicaragua.

As well as this work I have been strongly involved with the Nicaraguan
gay community. I began a street programme in Managua where I give out
condoms and AIDS and STD information to teenagers and (mostly male)
adults between the ages of 11 and 25 who are prostituting or engaging in
various types of homosexual activity.

I am writing to you because I need your help. I am a single gay man and
I am adopting two children from one of the centres that I work at and I
am trying to raise money for lawyers' fees, living expenses and return
flights back to Canada. I have never written a letter like this before
and I am unsure as to how I should go about it. Perhaps I should tell
you a little about my two sons.

Nicolas is a 10 year old deaf boy from the Atlantic coast who grew up in
an orphanage in Managua. I began working with Nicolas 3-and-a-half years
ago teaching him Sign Language.

Nicolas' parents were murdered when he was small by the Contras. He was
placed with an aunt who physically abused him and then gave him away to
a soldier friend who turned him over to his wife. She felt he was
"retarded" and beat him when he failed to listen to her requests and
subsequently he was placed in hospital care repeatedly due to the
beatings. He came into government care when he was three and was
labelled "retarded and non-educatable".

After his first year in the centre he developed asthma and then
tuberculosis of the spine. He began to learn some sign language, mostly
signs for survival (food, drink and washroom signs). I began to work
with him to improve his communication skills. Now it is years later and
Nicolas studies at a school for special education where I also teach. He
still receives class at home from me as well. His signing has greatly
improved and Nicolas can communicate almost all of his wants and needs.
Nicolas moved into my house 15 May 1992.

Omar is the second boy that I am adopting. He is 9 years old and he has
been living at the orphanage for the last 8 years of his life. He and
Nicolas have been together most of this time and have been the best of
friends. Omar is one of the few children at the centre who can sign and
communicate with Nicolas and they have been calling each other brother
for as long as I can remember. When they are out walking around the
neighbourhood or in a park they walk with their arms swung over each
other's shoulders. Sometimes they sleep in the same bed. Omar has been
spending weekends with me and Nicolas since August 1992 and moved into
my home in the first week of December.

Nicolas and Omar, of course, are forever changing and growing. They
continue to make me laugh and cry and they challenge me in ways that
make me understand why it is good not to take life too seriously.

We have been working on learning to write numbers in English and
practising the multiplication tables. Nicolas learns very quickly and is
excited about showing everyone who visits the English numbers he knows
how to write.

Sometimes I find myself staring at both of them from a distance. Nicolas
says I hug them too long and too hard. I fear that he is right. All
parents must go through this. Sometimes I worry about how little time I
actually have left with them before they will be teenagers and not want
to spend time with me. I sit here now, realising how much of them both -
- as boys and children -- I will miss.

I love the way Nicolas holds Ricky, our cat (who is almost as big as he
is), to his entire chest and the throat sound he makes for its name; the
way Omar sits and studies books and then draws things as if magically
appearing from nowhere; the familiar sounds of their laughter as they
run and shout through the house. I watch them both at night from my
window while they are in bed. I see Nicolas making up stories in Sign
Language to Omar and himself about adventures in faraway places
involving planes, animals and friends of ours. I can see Omar's eyes,
full and wide listening and watching and then his own hands flying all
over signing a part of their story. My boys are changing so fast. I know
there isn't a lot of time for us to enjoy their childhood, but we sure
are going to make one good run for it.

I have been in Nicaragua for many years now working in the gay
community, the orphanages and helping out wherever I can. As money is
tight, I can say that I am only paid enough to survive. I need to raise
about $4500 US. If you can help, please contact me.

I know that this all perhaps sounds strange to you people but after
living here all these years I find myself stuck and without contacts
that I might have if I were still in Canada. I feel desperate but more
than that I feel isolated and alone. Please know that if anyone would
care to write, please do so as I would greatly appreciate this. My
address is:  Scott Sorrell / APDO 4750 / Managua, Nicaragua / phone 011-
505-2-44465.

My contact in Canada is:  Cathy Sorichetti / 202-31 Durnfort Road /
Scarborough ON M1B 5T6 (416) 282-1462 [do NOT send money directly to
Nicaragua]

On behalf of my new family, I would like to thank you for your time and
support. Sincerely

Scott Sorrell


========


End of volume 93-4 of Integrator, the newsletter of Integrity/Toronto
copyright 1993 Integrity/Toronto
comments please to Chris Ambidge, Editor
        chris.ambidge@utoronto.ca   OR
Integrity/Toronto Box 873 Stn F Toronto ON Canada M4Y 2N9