I went to church this morning.
So? You ask. Lots of people go to church Sunday morning.
Well, that used to be true for me, but the only service I have
attended in the past 10 years was a wedding in a United Church conducted entirely
in French.
I used to be very much involved in the Anglican Church. I
was a warden for many years, often lead the prayers of the people, read the
lessons, organized lay activities, wrote anthems and music for the Psalms, and
assisted with communion. At one point our parish priest had moved to another
parish, leaving us leaderless for about 3 months. Shortly after he left both
the organist and the other warden resigned. That meant I was the only legal
representative of our church. (The legal body of an individual Anglican church
is composed of the priest and two lay wardens.) The bishop’s office ensured we
had a priest every Sunday for service and it was my job to welcome him or her
and introduce them to the church and congregation. I had to arrange for an
organist every Sunday. I sat on the committee with representatives of the other
church in our parish in the search for a new priest. Every week I stood before the congregation and
kept them up-to-date on the search for a new priest and any issues that had
arisen. I called general meetings of the
entire congregation to consult and take direction from them.
Shortly before we moved here 12 years ago the Church was discussing
the issue of blessing same sex marriage. At our parish meeting called to
discuss the issue, I opened the remarks by saying that if I were gay I would
not be asking for a blessing, but, instead, would be asking for the sacrament
of marriage. That got things going and by the end of the evening the congregation
had voted 100% in favour of approving the blessing of same sex marriage. We
then moved to one of the most conservative areas of Ontario.
The local parish was in turmoil, going through one temporary
priest after the other, most seemingly dead-set against accepting the blessing
of same sex marriage. After two years we simply stopped attending church as a
protest against the national church’s inability to come to agreement on what we
saw a small step towards the full inclusion of our gay brothers and sisters in
the life of the church. The local parish finally found a priest who stayed for
nearly 10 years. I had a breakfast meeting with him and he told me, boldly,
that he had spoken with God who told him to oppose same-sex unions. Well, that’s
not the same God I had learned to
respect.
And then a few days ago, unexpectedly for us, the Anglican
Church of Canada voted to accept same-sex marriage. It took a majority of 2/3
of the laity, 2/3 of the clergy, and 2/3 of the bishops, but it passed. I happened
to encounter the woman acting as interim priest the day after the vote and had
a heart-to-heart with her. This morning
I decided to show the community my approval of the vote by attending Morning
Prayer. The Rev. Barbara read a letter from the Bishop on the vote. But, throughout
the service, my mind kept going back to the people I knew in Toronto in the
1960’s who lived in fear of police entrapment and imprisonment, or forcible confinement
in psychiatric hospitals where they were subjected to electro-shock and drug "castration,"
and of fear that their employers would discover that they were gay and be summarily
dismissed from their jobs, and of how they could be beaten and humiliated by
the very police who were supposed to be protecting them. And I thought of how
far and how fast the lay and political world had moved on the issue while the
churches dragged their heels.
And, I thought of my anger and judgment of my fellow
Anglicans—and did I really have the right to turn my back on them for so long?
Does that not make me no better than those who turned their backs on our gay
brothers and sisters all these years? I need to think long and hard. It is just
as well there was no communion service this morning because I could not decide
whether or not to partake. And, after
the service a few members who remembered me from my active days quietly whispered,
“Congratulations.” That baffled me, as I had done nothing to advance the cause
of gay rights within the church these past ten years, except stand by silently.
I haven’t won anything. The battle is not over. There are angry and hurt people
on the other side of the issue who, like the former priest, feel that they are
standing with tradition and the church as they understand it. I know that there are many who are bewildered
by the rapid changes in technology and the attendant changes in social
awareness and acceptance that communications have engendered.
When I was a child I was taught that women were incapable of
“men’s work,” that homosexuals were sick perverts, that black Americans were
lazy, that First Nations were pampered and “spoiled” by the government, that the poor were that way because of some failure on their part, that if
the police arrested someone they should be locked up and the key thrown away,
that people convicted of murder, even if they were a 14-year-old child, should
be hung. But, I went out into the world and encountered it and learned that
what I had been taught as a child was wrong, heartless, and hateful. But, I also have to remember that the people
who taught me did not teach these things in order to be mean or spiteful; they
taught what they thought was the way the world worked. But, as anyone who has every
looked at a history text has learned, people are and have been wrong about the
way the world works ever since the first person asked, “I wonder why….” We cannot judge. I cannot judge. I feel
humbled that the Anglican Church of Canada has proved me wrong about my smug
arrogance in thinking they would not advance as quickly and unexpectedly as
they did. I should have known better.
