Rob's Recital

It wasn't a major event in his musical career. Rob played beautifully as his teacher sang Schumann and Caldera. Then Rob smiled broadly, bowed, and yielded the ivory to the next student. His part of the recital was over in five minutes.
Still, it's a moment to give thanks for my husband and his music. It tumbles out to the sidewalk on Saturday mornings to greet passersby, ambles down the hall to the kitchen to mingle with the electronic whirrs and beeps of David's gameboy and the clatter of dishes. It winds up the stairs to our bedrooms and office, then on into the rafters of our house. It weaves itself into the fabric of our life as a family. It's known to bring a satisfied gleam to Rob's eyes, goosebumps, a flush to the cheeks, and joy to my heart.
Not a major event, but still...

Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things

In India, Arundhati Roy writes, "Love Laws" define who should be loved, and how, and how much. Defy these laws and you may lose your life; conform to them and you are sure to lose your soul.
These laws take their toll on Ammu, a young mother and divorcee, who returns with her children to her family home. Life there is poisoned by Baby Kochamma, the ubiquitous aunt whose youthful, unrequited love for an Irish priest has left her bitter, overweight, frightened of the world, and glued to the TV. Baby Kochamma has, by plight of circumstances, conformed to the Love Laws, and lost her soul.
By contrast, Ammu falls in love with Velutha, a gorgeous carpenter employed by the family business. The relationship is sensuous and powerful, but doomed. Velutha is an untouchable; in loving him, Ammu is breaking the Love Laws and publicly disgracing her family.
To preserve the family's reputation, Baby Kochamma trumps up charges that Velutha both raped Ammu and caused the death of a little girl, Baby Kochamma's grand-niece. (Does Baby Kochamma secretly envy Ammu's love for Velutha since her own equally forbidden love for the Irish priest could never bloom?) Velutha is hunted and brutally killed by the police.
Ammu must grieve Velutha's death silently and alone. Broken and embittered, she alienates her own children, is driven from the family home, and, despite desperate efforts and wild dreams of rebuilding a life, dies alone in a hotel. The church refuses to bury her. She is wrapped in a dirty sheet and fed to the incinerator in a crematorium for beggars, derelicts, and police-custody dead. Defying the Love Laws has cost both her and her lover their lives.
The theme is familiar to us gay men. It is echoed in films like Brokeback Mountain, dances like Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake, many gay novels, and the lives of untold numbers of gay men like Matthew Shepherd whose love never had the chance to be spent. Like Ammu, many a gay man has grieved the loss of a lover silently and alone.
This story taps into the profound sadness so many of us gay men feel; but it also energizes our resistance to the Love Laws--whether in South Asia or here in the US--that constrict our hearts and crush our spirits.

Every Family Has Its Ups and Downs

Eleanor rides a barge down the river to meet her conniving husband outside his castle. "How dear of you to let me out of jail for Christmas, Henry," she says venomously. The family quickly falls into its usual dysfunctionality. When one rowdy son asks "What'll we hang, the holly or each other?" Eleanor turns aside to Henry: "I don't like our children." After a spirited brawl leaves everyone bloodied, dazed, and black and blue, she speaks the unforgettable line that is the title of this post.

These are scenes from The Lion in Winter, but they could well be snippets of the present day Anglican conversation about homosexuality.

As a relative newcomer to Anglicanism (14 years), I'm puzzled by the rancor of so many of our conversations. Is all this venom really necessary? Can someone explain this? In an era when the lack of civility poisons our public discourse, you'd think Anglicans would model a more civil way of talking through tough issues.

Don't get me wrong. As a gay man, I'm certainly not going back into the closet. As a gay priest, I'll continue to support gay couples ready for marriage, and qualified gay candidates for bishop. No changes there. Yet I'd be very sad if my church lost its connection to the larger Anglican communion, unintentionally becoming, as The Economist recently forecast, simply a gathering of aging white liberals. I'd be sadder yet if this loss was hastened by well-intentioned but insulting rants by those I agree with.

I admit it's a cliche, but how you say something is as important as what you say. Right now, the words from both sides are too loaded with righteous indignation. As we say in California, "Negative energy, dude!"

Good idea: "If we can lower the emotional reactivity in the midst of this current controversy we just might be able to find a way to live together," says the presiding bishop of the Episcopal Church. "A non-violent response to this situation will need space and time to operate, and perhaps an unexpected or even humorous response. "

She got that right.

Please, somebody tell a joke!