A long silence followed, during which both women sat, eyes closed, each going over in her mind that which they had gone over, verbally and mentally, many, many—too many—times before.
Sue was the first to open her eyes. “Look, Alice …” She leaned forward. “Here’s where my bottom line is: I wish with every fiber of my being that we could be an ordinary couple, as the song says. I wish whatever worries that enter our lives would just be the same worries everyone has. Like health, security, peace. But maybe we can’t have that. Not now, apparently. Maybe sometime.
“But if we separate because we can’t be an ordinary couple, I think we will miss the whole point of our lives. If we split up now, we may never be together again. And I don’t want that to happen.
“At the same time, I’m talking about sacrifices I would be willing, more than willing, to make. If push comes to shove, I could at least compromise my religion. I know some theologians who suggest a pastoral solution for people like us. People who are prohibited from a Church-sanctioned marriage because Church law hasn’t caught up to today’s understanding of human nature.
“Maybe, with the guidance of the right priest, I could learn to live with you in good conscience. But we want to be totally honest tonight. We want to be perfectly candid with each other. Could you live with me that way? In good conscience?”
Alice shook her head. Not in the manner of one saying “no,” but rather as one just overcome by the enormity, the immensity, the seeming insolvability of it all.
“I’m trying to marshal my thoughts,” Alice said finally.
“The priesthood is a wonderful but complicated calling, at the very least. It is a marvelous vehicle for helping people, for leading people in worship, for patching marriages—where that’s possible.
“It also puts a priest in a goldfish bowl. Parishioners expect perfection. They’re never going to get it, but still they expect it. You’re constantly being evaluated and criticized. The hours are long. In reality, it’s not anywhere near nine to five. It’s around the clock.
“The point I’m trying to make is that the priesthood—and I’m primarily thinking of the Anglican priesthood, though all this is the same with the Roman priesthood—the point is that it’s a demanding profession. And that’s just the ordinary everyday demands of this priesthood.
“Let me explain it this way: Suppose two people get married. And I’m not considering a gay couple. A pair of straights. Let’s say the man is an alcoholic, or almost one. She marries him because she’s confident she can change him.
“So, on top of all the new demands and lifestyle of a newly married person, she has to reform her husband. What would you guess would be the odds that she could carry it off?”
Sue sat back in her chair and folded her arms. She could tell the general direction in which this was heading. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the concluding argument. But the question had been asked. A response was expected.
“The chances are not good,” she admitted. “They’re not good for her working a cure for her husband’s drinking. And, partly for that reason, chances aren’t good that she or anyone could save the marriage.
“But,” she continued, forestalling a further statement from Alice, “neither of us is addicted to anything. It’s not us.”
“It is and it isn’t. My point is that a conscientious priest faces plenty of pressure just to do his or her basic sacerdotal job. It’s demanding and unrelenting. A good marriage can be very helpful in relieving much of the stress.”
“Do you have any doubt that we would have a happy marriage?” She was pained at the implication that their marriage could fail.
“Not for a moment,” Alice replied. “What I suggest we do is factor in all the added concerns that we—no, make that I—would have to face.”
“Okay. Let’s hear them.”
“Well, I can’t stress this too much.” Alice leaned forward as if to better gauge Sue’s reaction to all this. “Just about the main thing that could complicate everything is the bishop. Bishops come in all sizes and strengths. Some bishops flat-out refuse to ordain a gay man or a gay woman.”
“They can do that? In this day and age!”
“Uh-huh.” Alice nodded. “What with one thing and another, they can do just about whatever they want when it comes to the essentials of priestly life.
“Now, granted, my bishop—I say ‘my’ because he has already virtually accepted me—anyway, he’s in charge of the Diocese of Central Michigan. The See city is Lansing. My bishop, by past performance, does ordain gays. He demands a close and meticulous scrutiny before he confers orders. He never gave me the impression that he is open to this across the board. Each case is examined as unique. So, before I get into the ordinary, run-of-the-mill-type priestly ministry, I’ll have to pass muster because I’m ‘different.’
“Nor does all this mean I will forever serve the bishop of Central Michigan who ordains me. The bishop can and will retire, if he lives long enough. Or he may be translated to another See. In which case, if I were openly gay, I could be in some trouble.”
“How?” Sue thought this was cruel. That the bishop’s successor could change the rules of the game to suit his own beliefs seemed unfair.
“How could I get in trouble?” Alice was about to clarify her statement. “Honey, in some ways, placement can be more important than ordination.”
“Placement?”
“I want a parish ministry. I stand a very good chance of getting such an assignment. But what if the bishop gets angry? What if a bishop wants to punish me? What if he removes me from the parish and puts me into a jail ministry, or seminary assignment—or places me on his own staff at the Diocesan Center?”
“Isn’t there anything you could do if that happened?”
“Remember now, I’m gay.”
“How could I forget?”
“I emphasize the gay issue because of what might be termed an ‘official’ stand of the Episcopal Church.”
“Which is—?”
“Which is that the Church is, theoretically, guided by the biblical ideal. It’s not a position carved in stone. Very few things in Anglicanism are inflexible. And nothing in Anglicanism is infallible in the Roman sense.
“But, for instance, there’s the question of experience in the matter of gay priests.”
“‘Experience’?”
“It’s been fairly constant that when a gay priest is accepted in the average parish, a number—sometimes a goodly number—of parishioners walk.”
“So let them walk.”
“Easy enough for us to say. But there’s been a steady drop in attendance and membership in the Church. For reasons as diverse as gay pastors to the changes in the Book of Common Prayer.
“To try to sum this up, there is an element of risk in what we face. Not completely unlike that married couple we were talking about a little while ago.
“No matter how beautiful a marriage may be, there’s always an element of risk. All of a sudden, a couple is asked to give up a lifestyle peculiar to the single state in favor of a radically different lifestyle peculiar to the married state.
“It’s a gigantic leap. And it involves a risk. When you complicate that by one partner’s having an alcoholic addiction, the risk increases tremendously.”
Sue rose from her chair and began to pace. “So what you’re saying—what you want me to understand is that the bare bones of the priesthood is very demanding.”
“Exceptionally so.”
“Okay, I can see that. So are lots of other jobs. Police, firefighters, doctors, nurses—and most of the other service positions, as well as marriage and parenthood—all of them are demanding and involve risk.
“A cop straps on his weapon and walks out the door. He may never return. Same with firefighters. The special demands of living intimately with another person or having the responsibility of nurturing a child—all of that involves risk—”
“And now you’re going to tell me that people
accept these risks, most of them successfully.”
“Yes.”
“But I’m trying to tell you that our case is different. Our problems multiply because we are gay. Just being as we are might not carry too heavy a burden were we to occupy almost any position in life excepting the priesthood. Remember: Self-righteous parishioners reject the entire ministry of a person, no matter how much dedication and special talent, just because his or her orientation is different.”
Sue stood still and faced Alice. “Yes, I understand all that. But I submit that for what we will gain, we can accept all the challenges they can throw at us. Alice, sweet, how many chances will life give us to find the perfect partner? You and I, we’ve got that now. We can’t let it slip away.”
Minutes passed in silence. Each woman tried to carefully pick the next direction of this brutally candid conversation.
Finally, Sue spoke again. “So far, just about all the negative things you’ve said involved the consequences should we come out of the closet. We’ve talked about marriage and we’ve talked about being open for all to see.
“We’ve talked about the bishop’s reaction. We’ve talked about parishioners. I take it it’s pretty well certain that some of your prospective congregation would leave the parish if not the Church. And that’s a consideration the bishop would have to deal with.
“Now …” Sue began pacing again, this time more slowly and deliberately. “ … now let’s suppose that we go right back to the beginning—”
“The beginning?”
“To just after you came in the door a little while ago.”
“Oh … okay.”
“Your proposition was that you stay in Detroit for as long as you’re needed, while I return to Dallas.”
Alice nodded.
“The unfairness of that is what set me off: Why should you be forced to shoulder this burden by yourself when I could be here to help you?
“What I propose now, dear, is a return to the status quo. I’ll go back to Dallas tomorrow. We’ll keep in touch by phone until you return. And after that we go back in the closet and stay there to the best of our ability.”
Another long silence.
“The best of our ability,” Alice said slowly, “may not be enough.”
“What can you mean? Not being pushy, keeping our distance, respecting the sensibilities of others—even if they are modern-day Pharisees—should be enough for any bishop or parishioner.
“I know you want me. And I know you want to be a priest. And I assume there isn’t that much difference between the degree of desire. What I’m suggesting is a delicate balance … for everyone’s sake.”
“There’s something more, Sue.” Alice spoke deliberately.
“What?”
“My father.”
Sue realized her mouth was hanging open. “Your father?”
Alice’s face was squinched as if she was searching for words. “It started very slowly and very long ago. I didn’t say anything to you about it. I thought it would blow over.
“Daddy began his inner journey to Rome sometime before I was accepted into seminary. He kept his plans very quiet. At first, and for a long while, Mother was the only one who knew. Then, as it came close to the time when he would leave the Episcopal Church to join the Romans, he told me and my two brothers.
“Naturally, we were shocked. Richard took the news better than Ron and I did. Of course, Richard wasn’t as intimately affected. But then that was to be expected; Richard was never really involved in any organized religion.
“Ron was knocked for a loop. Mostly, I suppose, because he’s been running for bishop for a long while. But that’s another story.
“I must confess, I was livid when Dad told us. My reactions were totally negative. I regarded him as a heretic, a traitor! I hated him. I hated him because he had been the model for my vocation. I wanted to grow up to be like him. We even resemble each other.” She shrugged. “So, okay, we’re not that great-looking—”
“You are as far as I’m concerned.”
Alice’s lips turned in a downward smile. “That’s what love will do for you.
“I wanted to have a radio show,” she went on after a moment. “I wanted people to come to church to hear me. Everything Dad did so well, I wanted to do, too. Here I was, entering seminary, and he dropped this bomb.
“Eventually, at seminary, word got around. I don’t think it was deliberately cruel, but they really started to hit on me.”
“Who?” Sue was surprised that people who were studying for the priesthood could be so mean-spirited, so … so unchristian!
“Just about everybody. A teacher would say something like, ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’ Or classmates would ask me when I was going to nail my theses to the church door—
“Oh, not all of them; many were quite decent; others seemed unaffected.
“Why would they do such a thing? Your dad doesn’t threaten them. It’s his life to lead.” Sue stood facing Alice, legs apart, hands on hips, in a combative stance.
“He does threaten them,” Alice insisted. “First, his departure is a gigantic loss. Dad is famous—at least on the local scene.
“I suppose, with one thing and another, he is well known and recognized through the radio show, the newspaper column, his reputation as a top-notch speaker. At least much of the state of Michigan knows of him. He’s known far more widely in the whole country as far as the Episcopal Church is concerned. There was a time when he was being seriously considered for a bishopric.”
“He was? But he didn’t get it, obviously. What happened? Did whoever runs that process guess right, that he was going to defect? That’s a remarkable feat of foreknowledge … or did your dad tip his hand early on?”
“No.” Alice shook her head and stared steadfastly at the carpet. “He could have had the position if he had wanted it. But he didn’t. It was clear to us, his family, that he wanted to remain a simple priest.
“My point is that the Church considers him an exemplary churchman. They—clergy and laity—feel a great loss at his leaving. You know,” she said after a moment’s thought, “I doubt they’d hurt so badly if they could just understand the impetus behind his move.”
“You mean, if he were leaving like most of the others—as a protest against the ordination of women.”
“Yes, I think so. It’s just … not being able to understand his reason. You see, he has no problem with women priests. He was the first to encourage me. There’s no scandal either. He hasn’t taken advantage of women or children. He has no evident problem with any of the theology of the Episcopal Church. And, so far, I don’t think he has explained his position in any clear way.
“Even those who want to understand him can’t seem to. So a goodly number of Episcopalians deeply resent what he’s doing.”
“Even so,” Sue said, “that’s between them and him. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“His opponents—clerical and lay—have made it my business. I was as surprised to be treated the way I have been as you are to hear about it.
“This is the bottom line. The effect of my father’s journey to Rome is spilling over on me. So, all the hesitation I’ve felt about us—you and me—particularly our potential coming out—is intensified immeasurably.
“Not only would we face the risk of alienating future parishioners—if I were called to a parish by an understanding bishop—but I’m afraid there would be a lot of mistrust. People would tar me with the same brush they’ll use against my father …” Her words dwindled off into an uneasy silence.
“It doesn’t matter,” Sue stated finally. “Even if you said you never wanted to see me again—”
“I couldn’t do that. I know that’s the direction I was going in … but I couldn’t do that. What I felt had to happen—that we had to go our separate ways—I hoped would come from you. I hoped that after I painted as black a picture as possible, you would take the initiative and call it quits. I couldn
’t do it myself.”
“What I was about to say …” Sue moved to Alice’s chair, bent over, and embraced Alice protectively. “What I was about to say,” she repeated, “was that if you told me to get out of your life, I would respect your wish. But I would never really leave you. We would always be together. In some way.”
Tears trickled down the cheeks of both women.
Sue stood, and brushed her tears aside. “Isn’t there anything we can do about your father? I mean, there really isn’t anything we can do about us. Except, maybe, try to stay out of the spotlight, as it were, and in the closet.
“But your father … you know him much better than I. Is there anything possible that might change his mind … change his situation?”
Alice bit her lip. “I thought something was going to happen … but it didn’t. On top of that, I’m quite sure that he doesn’t know about us. Oh, he knows that we’re close friends. But if he knows we’re lovers, he certainly is keeping it to himself.”
“Maybe he’s keeping quiet on purpose,” Sue argued. “Maybe he’s waiting for you to say it’s time. He might even bless our union, even though that would be pressing things, especially in the Roman Church.”
“Nothing so convenient,” Alice responded. “As a matter of fact, I’m quite certain that he disapproves of a gay relationship. I never asked him. I was afraid if I showed any obvious interest in this lifestyle, he might guess that I’m gay. I’ve heard him argue the question. His stand is: If someday scientists can say without hesitation or question that some people are genetically programmed toward gay relationship and sex, he might … in fact would reconsider. But, until then …”
Sue shook her head. “He’s the only movable piece in this chess game. We’ve got to find some way of handling him.”
“Let’s forget about Daddy,” Alice said, as she took Sue by the hand. “We’ve got tonight. Let’s not waste it.”
NINE
Walking hand in hand with Sue toward the bed brought back a long-forgotten memory.
The Sacrifice Page 11