Date: Fri, 19 Jun 1998 14:44:53 -0400 From: Chris Ambidge 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