A spiritual self-portrait - gay ex-priest

National Catholic Reporter, Dec 3, 1999 by David Schimmel

Using my homosexuality to develop an honest relationship with God

I'll start this reflection with a quick self-portrait.

As I looked in the mirror recently, I noticed that my eyebrows are turning white. I never gave much thought to the gray gradually taking over ny beard and full head of hair, but the pure white strands above my eyes serve as quiet sentinels of the aging process.

Doctors are less subtle. The podiatrist tells me that I have arthritis in my toes, "which will only get worse," and my primary care physician explains that my occasional chest discomfort is a thickening of scar tissue from the open heart surgery I underwent at age 13.

I'm now a middle-aged man of 48 years, but I do not feel old. In fact, I am grateful for this time in my life when I feel more consciously alive than I can ever recall. Yet, this awareness also includes the reality and gradually louder reminders of limitation and physical death.

Several years ago, I formally moved out of a commitment of 25 years in vows with a religious congregation, and 14 years as an active, ordained priest. The five-year process of discernment that preceded this decision was an excruciating, exhausting experience of kicking and screaming. Of course, few people witnessed it because, as an introvert "off the scale," I felt my therapist-spiritual director and God were already too large an audience.

Obsessed with what people would think of me. I finally and ungracefully grew to accept the wisdom, passed along by a friend, that "what people think about me is none of my business."

I live alone but share a wondrously loving relationship with a man.

Following my call to nurture my Christian spirituality, but outside the structure of religious life and priesthood, I am self-employed as a spiritual director, retreat director, workshop leader and group facilitator. I bring good listening skills and perceptiveness to my direction and facilitation, and theological training along with musical and artistic talent to my presentations. While I'm not expecting this work to make me wealthy, I do look forward to a cash flow that alleviates fears of insufficient funds for my hefty health and car insurance premiums, and the next quarterly tax payment.

In my work, there always seems to be something more to do, and I have within me the essential ingredients for perfectionism. I consciously take time, however, to prepare and enjoy balanced meals, to take a brisk walk regularly and to pray daily. A monthly flow of people coming to my apartment for spiritual direction helps me to stay on top of the housework; birthday and anniversary celebrations give me an excuse to bake bread, cook a roast and make a pie.

This, in short, is who I am.

In the foregoing, I tried an old confessional trick: Take the most dramatic thing you have to say, express it in the least incriminating manner and stick it in the middle of a number of less serious sins. What you're hoping is that the confessor's attention will wander with the prelude of lesser faults or that he will refocus on the postlude of misdemeanors.

I've tried it often. It never worked.

In like manner, in the paragraphs above I snuck in the fact that I'm gay. I certainly don't consider that a sin, but otherwise the parallel holds up. In today's homophobic culture, both in society and in the church, the words "I share a loving relationship with a man" probably make all the other aspects of who I am seem irrelevant. No matter what other quantities I possess, I will be viewed primarily as a "gay man."

Yet that's not how I see it. As is true for any heterosexual person, my sexuality is important, but it is not my singular identifying mark.

Still, in striking a balance between ignoring or magnifying my homosexuality, I can make use of being gay as one way to develop an honest relationship with God. I willingly take my cue from the "Song of Songs," which celebrates erotic love as a revelation, however fleeting, of the divine. In one possible translation of its conclusion, the book identifies the intense passion of love as "flashes of fire, flames of God" (Songs 8:6).

Like the woman in the "Song," who admiringly eyes every inch of her lover's body, so I delight in gazing upon the man I love. His muscular arms are strong enough to be tender with me, as well as with his nieces and nephews who adore him. He reminds me of Isaiah's description of a strong and tender God: "Here comes with power the Lord God, who rules by his strong arm.... Like a shepherd he feeds his flock; in his arms he gathers the lambs, carrying them in his bosom." (Isaiah 40:10-11).

This God is at work in the world in the person of Jesus, who is strong enough to lay down his life for his friends (John 15:13). Jesus asks me to do the same by collaborating with him. He expects excellence, and I work hard to contribute my best to the fulfillment of his plans. Yet as a friend he also supports me tenderly, listening to and helping me sort through my fears, angers, prejudices and loves. The image of working side by side with Jesus energizes me. I am proud to be associated with him, and he with me. We laugh and cry and do good work together.