Introduction

“Oh cruel, cruel!” I wailed. “Is it nothing to you that you leave me here alone? Psyche; did you ever love me at all?”
“Love you? Why, Maia, what have I ever had to love save you and our grandfather the Fox?” (But I did not want her to bring even the Fox in now.) “But, Sister, you will follow me soon. You don’t think any mortal life seems a long thing to me tonight? And how would it be better if I had lived? I suppose I should have been given to some king in the end—perhaps such another as our father. And there you can see again how little difference there is between dying and being married. To leave your home—to lose you, Maia, and the Fox—to lose one’s maidenhead—to bear a child—they are all deaths. Indeed, indeed, Orual, I am not sure that this which I go to is not the best.”
“This!”
“Yes. What had I to look for if I lived? Is the world—this palace, this father—so much to lose? We have already had what would have been the best of our time. I must tell you something, Orual, which I never told to anyone, not even you.”
I know now that this must have been so even between the lovingest hearts. But her saying it that night was like stabbing me.
“What is it?” said I, looking down at her lap where our four hands were joined.
“This,” she said, “I have always—at least, ever since I can remember—had a kind of longing for death.”
“Ah, Psyche,” I said, “have I made you so little happy as that?”
“No, no, no,” she said. “You don’t understand. Not that kind of longing. It was when I was happiest that I longed most. It was on happy days when we were up there on the hills, the three of us, with the wind and the sunshine… where you couldn’t see Glome or the palace. Do you remember? The colour and the smell, and looking across the Grey Mountain in the distance? And because it was so beautiful, it set me longing, always longing. Somewhere else there must be more of it. Everything seemed to be saying, Psyche, come! But I couldn’t (not yet) come and I didn’t know where I was to come to. It almost hurt me. I felt like a bird in a cage when the other birds of its kind are flying home.”
Till We Have Faces / Lewis, C.S. / pt.1 ch.7

Seven years ago I was ordained a priest in the Episcopal Church. I hadn't been raised in the Episcopal Church- or even a liturgical church for that matter- but I was drawn to the beauty of the Prayer Book, the richness of the sacramental life, and the strength of catholic devotion. I am an Anglo-Catholic- albeit the affirming sort- and I am often asked if I was a Roman priest who decided to become an Anglican. I am also gay. My sexual orientation should be of little interest to anyone, except for the fact that I am also partnered to a beautiful man (also anglo-catholic and beginning his own journey towards holy orders) with whom I am forbidden to fully love- according to the current policy of the diocese in which I currently serve. So, I live in the closet- unable to live and serve Christ openly with my soul mate; unable even to walk with integrity down the hallways of the church in which I minister; unable to be known- truly known- as the person God created me to be.

I serve in a diocese where the bishop has chosen not to know whether or not there are gay clergy within his diocese- in fact I think he is convinced that gay clergy only exist in California and New Hampshire. He has created a "don't ask, don't policy" by which one is free to privately live one's life as one chooses.... as long as one doesn't wish to share a non-heterosexual relationship with the community. What hurts the most that is that this diocese thinks that it is holier to practice promiscuity- as long as it happens in secret- than to live in a holy, monogamous relationship with a person of the same gender openly. And because of this twisted sense of morality (although we all know that this comes from fear and cowardice, and not any sort of attempt to inculcate discipleship- nevermind faithfulness to ordination vows), I am forced to live in darkness, underground, hidden- always afraid that someone will discover who I truly am and bar me from serving Christ's Church. I live in the closet because I can not make the choice that this diocese in the Episcopal Church is asking me to make: I can not choose between my priestly vocation and my Spouse. Both are gifts that God has given me- gifts for which I offer thanksgivings to God daily. Both of these gifts help me live out my baptismal promises and both aid me in my journey towards the holy life in God.

I am proud that the General Convention of the Episcopal Church- and many Bishops of this Church- have found the courage to be Prophets for Justice- both in the Church and in the world- and are bold to proclaim that all baptized people have been made new creations in Christ and have become members of the Body of Christ- no matter one's gender, race, or sexual orientation. I am proud of the Episcopal Church for taking the steps it has taken to bear witness to the inclusive love of God in Christ Jesus. I am filled with joy when I ponder the events of the last few years: we have a partnered gay bishop and several dioceses have made steps to attend to the pastoral needs of gays and lesbians. Many of those dioceses provide for the blessing of the unions of faithful gay couples. Many welcome the ministry of gay laity and clergy and celebrate the gifts they bring to the Body of Christ. I am elated to witness the inbreaking of God's Kingdom within these dioceses. And yet, at the same time my heart is filled with sorrow- as I sit here in the darkness, hidden, almost alone, longing for my own liberation and for the liberation of other gays and lesbians who are faithfully serving Christ in the closet of this diocese.

I believe I am here because God has called me to be here- at least for now. I have family situations which require me to be in this particular geographical location- and I am grateful that God called me to a place that keeps me near my family. Yet, I wish I could be under the protection of a bishop who respected me and affirmed me as the priest God has called me to be. I wish I could live openly with my husband in the parish. I wish we could share our gifts together in a supportive community of faith. For now, I trust God and I remain faithful.

I created this blog in order to give me an opportunity to share my experience as a gay priest in a diocese that has chosen to reject Christ's call to share the love of God with all, and has chosen not to be faithful to the promises made in the Baptismal Covenant. I write to give voice to others who are silent and mute; I write in solidarity with all others who have been rejected and cast aside by the Church; I write with cries for liberation and justice- and with a deep longing to join the other birds who are flying home.