The Glance - 5. Chapter 5

The Glance – rev. 5

John wandered around his office at home, puttering, his mind running around and around. He was having trouble settling down. He should be working on his sermon, or on the class he was teaching, or looking ahead to the series or … Well, there were lots of things he should be doing. But he wasn’t. He was wasting time thinking about Chuck. Well, maybe it wasn’t wasting time, but he wasn’t getting any work done.

He had so enjoyed this past weekend. It had been great waking up in Chuck’s arms. It had been wonderful making love with someone, feeling as if someone cared about him – not for what he could do for them but just for him. He hadn’t felt that good in a long, long time. But – well, it was so impossible! Where was this going? How was he going to have a good relationship with Chuck and continue to be a good priest? What would his people think? What would the bishop think? Aaaargh! He was going nuts letting his worry and imagination run away with him. He’d been in the closet for far too long and it had taken a heavy toll on him.

He thought back to the other clergy he had known over the years. Some had remained closeted their whole life, leading double lives; during the day they were the height of respectability, at night, they dressed up and went to the bars, seeking furtive sex to give themselves the fantasy of being loved, even if only for a fleeting moment. Others had come out publicly, only to find themselves without a parish and looking for other work, their vocation denied because of their sexuality. And still others, the lucky few had managed to find a parish and a bishop who would tolerate, sometimes even accept, their sexuality. If they were very lucky, they had even found their soul mate, too. He had looked at those people as being living fairy tales (no pun intended), people who had somehow managed to find everything – love, acceptance, careers. Of course, there were the others, too – those who had foundered on the rocky shore, taken up drinking, or drugs. Even darker were the ones who had found themselves in love with one of the young men in the parish; an illicit relationship at best, conflicts of interest all over the place, and sometimes worse as attacks and accusations flowed. It was all very dark, gloomy and thoroughly depressing. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobweb of dark thoughts that threatened to drag him down into paralysis.

He loved Chuck. There, he’d said it to himself. He loved Chuck. Chuck made him happy, fulfilled him, made his soul float with joy. He loved Chuck.

He sat down in his favorite chair, near the window in the family room, gazing into the garden and reached for the phone. He dialed and waited through the rings. No answer, just another one of those annoying messages, but at least it was Chuck’s voice not just a canned message. “Chuck, it’s John. I was just thinking of you. Want to get together for dinner?” He put the phone down and went into the kitchen. What to cook? He enjoyed the domesticity of planning a meal, especially now that he had someone to plan it for. Chicken? A roast? Fish? So many choices – so little time!

He finally settled on a stew, easy to make, delicious and it would keep if Chuck couldn’t come over. He cut up the beef into cubes, sliced the onions, cut up carrots, celery, potatoes and some baby turnips. He turned on the oven and put a large pot on the stove, filmed the bottom with olive oil and butter and began to brown the vegetables. As they browned, he shook the meat cubes in some seasoned flour and put them aside. Once the vegetables were nicely browned, he removed them from the pot, and started to brown the meat in batches. As each batch finished browning, he removed them and started another. Once everything had been nicely browned, he poured in some wine, scraped up the bottom of the pan and let the wine come to a boil. He added some beef stock, and then put the meat and vegetables all back in the pot. He put the covered pot into the oven and began to clean up the kitchen. When everything was put away, he relaxed. There, it was done. The stew could cook for several hours and be ready to serve this evening with a good crusty bread and a salad. And if Chuck couldn’t come over tonight, then it would taste even better tomorrow or the next day.

He moved back into his office, humming to himself. His dark mood of earlier had lifted, flushed away by the work of cooking. His mind had been cleared. He loved Chuck. One day at a time, he thought, just like the 12 step groups said; one day at a time. If things were going to work out for the best, then he needed to not drive himself nuts worrying about everything. He just had to take it one day at a time.

He settled down at his desk and began to work on the sermon. “How many times should I forgive my neighbor?” Yes, that was a good text. He could work with that, could focus on Jesus as one who accepted others and invited them into relationship with Himself. There was peace there. Being with Chuck gave him peace, too. “Forgive us our sins as we forgive others,” was there a clue there to relationships? He hummed quietly to himself as he worked.

After working for a couple of hours, he got ready to go and pop into the office, checking himself in the mirror as he walked by in the hall. It was an unconscious movement. He had done it so often before. But this time he stopped. He realized that there was more going on. Sure, he checked his hair, straightened his jacket. He did that all the time, but this time he noticed that there was an almost imperceptible checking of posture. He stood straighter as he looked at himself. And he understood, intuitively, for the first time in his life, the toll that being more-or-less in the closet had cost him.

He had checked himself to make sure that he appeared straight. Was he standing tall? Were his wrists straight? Did he look OK, were his clothes neat and tidy but not so fashionable that someone might begin to question? Was his hair neat, but not so fashionable... Did he look straight?

Tears began to well up and overflow as he looked at himself. All those years of denial, semi-secret living, hiding in plain sight! All those years! He could feel a howl begin in his stomach and he crumpled to the floor, the tears running unashamedly down his cheeks. He fumbled in his pockets, looking for the handkerchief he knew was there, crying and still trying to stay in control. All those years!

Sure, there had been others who knew he was gay, a few other clergy, a few friends outside the church. But to his parishioners, he was simply "Father John." He had no other identity for them. He had no other life for them. At least that's what he felt. He was just there. And for so many years he had hidden himself, afraid that they would reject him, and thus reject his "call." He loved the Church, but what a cost, what a cost!

He rocked back and forth on the floor, sobbing into the handkerchief, still trying to control the sound, unwilling to let it all out. He had a sudden flashback, remembering one night in his room as a young teen-ager, when he had done the same thing. He had faced who and what he was. He was gay. And that knowledge frightened him so much that he had retreated to his room that night and cried and cried and cried -- silently, using the pillow to muffle his sobs, unwilling to face his parents with this frightening new self-knowledge.

What was he going to do now?

He loved Chuck. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Churck. But Chuck was pretty much out of the closet. Not a flamer -- no (he smiled quietly inside), no, Chuck was all man. -- but he was still pretty open about who he was. John felt his whole world crumbling around him, felt himself caught between two places -- Chuck and the Church. He cried and cried and cried.

Chuck found him there later that afternoon. Crumpled up on the floor, dressed to go out but curled up in ball with a handkerchief wrapped in his hands. Fear and shock ran through him in an instant. He rushed over to pick him up and then stopped, afraid. Was John hurt? Had he had a stroke, a heart attack? Was he dead? What was wrong with him? He gently reached down and saw that he was breathing, and began breathing again himself. As he got down beside him, John awoke and reached for him instantly.

"Hold me, Chuck, just hold me." And he began to cry again.

Chuck knelt down and wrapped John in his arms. He began to rock him, back and forth, back and forth, like a mother with a child, or a father comforting his son. Love was in every movement. His hands stroked down John's back, fluttering around his face, trying to bring comfort. He didn't know what was wrong, but he knew that he had to try and make it better.

"Shhh. Shhh. It's going to be OK." And they sat there, rocking back and forth.

John woke up slowly. It was darker outside, the light filtered in through the windows shaded with the colors of sunset; reds, purples, oranges,dark blues, all chased dark cloud shapes outside his windows. What was he doing in bed? He didn’t remember going to bed. He became aware of a body nestled up to his, a warm furry fuzziness against his back, following his spine all the way down, legs entwined with his. There was an arm around his chest, holding him firmly. It felt so comforting. A musky odor floated up into his consciousness. It was Chuck. Suddenly it all came flooding back – the mirror, the overwhelming emotions, and then nothing, just darkness. What had happened? He stirred, just a little, and knew, somehow, that Chuck was awake.

“I’m here, sweetheart. It’s OK.”

Chuck began stroking his chest, long, slow movements which flowed from chest to crotch and back, again and again. John felt his breathing deepening, slowing, felt himself beginning to stir. He turned over to face Chuck in the bed, reaching for him. He clutched Chuck, trying to melt into his warmth, his safety, nestling his face into that warm chest fur, cupping Chuck’s strong butt cheeks with his hand, pulling him closer. As Chuck continued to stroke him, nuzzling his neck, head, kissing him gently, he felt himself beginning to relax, to melt into the safety of those strong arms.

“Oh Chuck. It was awful. All those years…,” his voice trailed off into a heavy silence.

“It’s OK. I’m here.”

The silence stretched on. Finally, John sighed, a huge, heavy sigh, filled with years of sadness and regret. It was as if he was letting go of a heavy weight he had been carrying for so long that he didn’t even know it was there. Chuck’s arms curled protectively around him helped him to feel safe and he could begin to reflect back on his life without fear. He was enough of a therapist himself to know how important it was to face the past.

“It’s been so long,” John began. “I didn’t even realize how much I had hidden – from others -- and from myself as well. I knew God was calling me to ministry way back, probably about the same time that I knew I was gay.” He laughed a bit. “How astonishing that the two biggest forces in my life should come to the surface at the same time! I felt drawn to God so strongly. I wanted to serve God, to be with God, to feel God filling my life and soul. Everywhere I looked, I could see the hand of God around me – in people, in beauty, in nature, in art, in everything. God was, and I wanted to be with God. At the same time, I saw beauty in boys, in men. I wanted to be with them, too. I loved the muscles, the smoothness. I loved the strength. I loved men’s minds, what they could talk about and men’s souls, what little I could understand about that. I loved men.

And I didn’t know what to do with both those things. God seemed to inhabit the Church, so I thought I needed, I wanted, to become a priest and serve God in the Church. Even though I could see God everywhere, the Church seemed to be the best place to find God. And I wanted friends, male friends, special friends. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I knew that’s what I wanted.”

John fell silent for a while, Chuck’s hands soothing him, giving him comfort as he worked to bring up old memories and face them.

“We’re so screwed up about sex and relationships. The other guys at school talked about girls. Somehow, I just knew I couldn’t talk with them about boys. But there was no one else to talk with. It was clear at the church that I couldn’t talk there.” He snorted, “I couldn’t talk about straight sex much less gay sex. So, I began to hide. I could talk about God, a little. But that’s not really something boys talk about with each other. ‘What do you want to do when you grow up? Oh, I want to be a priest.’ No, that’s not something we talk about, so I began to hide that, too. So there I am, in my teens, with both these strong drives going on and I felt I had to hide – hide from everyone. No one wanted to know the real me.”

“You know, going off to college was a relief. I was away from home, and no one knew me. I could begin to look at things, to experiment. It wasn’t so bad being gay at college. There were lots of other guys there, too, just like me, trying to figure things out. We could get together and give each other support. There were older guys there, too, some professors, some grad students, and they could guide us a bit.” He laughed, remembering, “Sometimes they wanted to guide us a bit too personally, but that was kind of fun, too. At least it was someone to talk with, and that was good. I could get involved in things, learn a bit about how to be a gay man.”

“But, while that part was getting easier, it still wasn’t easy to talk about God. Most of the gay guys had given up on the Church, and God. The older grad students and even professors were pretty bitter about it. And the religious students were even worse! Maybe I was just unlucky, but the guys who identified as religious were all pretty conservative. God forbid, literally, that I talk about being gay with those guys. They would have tried to pray it out of me.”

“So there I was, trying to put two parts of me together, and having to hide one part from the other. It was pretty awful.”

John sighed, unaware that tears were running down his cheeks again. He fell silent, lost in his memories and pain. Chuck continued to hold him, trying to give John some of his own strength, hoping that it would somehow pass through his arms into John by some sort of psychic osmosis. He knew from his own experience some of the pain that John was remembering, but it had never been this bad. He had not had this incredible struggle between the two halves of his own soul. He could feel just how awful this had been for John, and perhaps still was.

“Somewhere along the line, I made the choice to be a priest. It felt as if I were giving something up, as if I were denying a really fundamental and important part of myself. But I just didn’t see what else I could do. Whichever way I went, I was going to give up part of myself. If I was going to be a priest, then I needed to give up being gay. If I was going to be gay, then I needed to give up being a priest. I agonized over that for a long time, for years, and then I chose.”

“Going to seminary turned out to be tough, too. Seems I wasn’t the only gay wannabe priest in the seminary. And all of us were struggling with the same sorts of issues. So where did we turn for comfort? Each other.”

He laughed again, and looked up at Chuck with a smile, “Don’t let anyone ever try to tell you that there’s no sex in seminary. Put a bunch of randy guys in their 20’s together and you get sex. The straight guys got girlfriends, and if they were too guilty about it, they got married. The gay guys got each other, or went out to the bars together. There was sex, and guilt, and sex and guilt…oh,it was a great time.” He said sarcastically.

“But then you get ordained and you go out to your first parish. And you learn how to hide even more. You’ve got to behave, and if you don’t you better make sure you don’t ever get caught. You’ve got to watch yourself with the parishioners. God forbid you get involved with a parishioner, ’cause remember, you’re only in your 20’s at that point and the younger guys are still your peers. That’ll get you thrown out faster than lightning. So you hide, and hide and hide. And it begins to corrode your soul like acid. And you go on like that.”

He fell silent again. Chuck held him close, “You sound pretty angry and bitter about that.”

“Yep. I am.”

“What happened today?”

“I looked at myself in the mirror, and I saw myself again for the first time. And I didn’t like the picture I saw. I caught myself subconsciously putting on a mask in order to go out. Do you remember the movie The Birdcage, that scene with Robin Williams and his boyfriend where he tells him to try and walk like John Wayne?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there I was, living it out in my own house looking into the mirror, trying to walk like John Wayne in order to pass. And I hated it. I just fuckin’ hated it. I can’t live like this anymore and I don’t know what to do. And it’s all your fault.”

“My fault?”

“Yes, your fault. If I didn’t feel about you the way I do, if I didn’t have to see myself reflected in your eyes, then maybe I could go on hiding. But I can’t.”

Chuck reached down and kissed him on the lips, John reaching up eagerly, hungrily for his mouth. It deepened into a soul-wrenching kiss, one that spoke of the depths of their relationship, that hinted at what was to come.

“John, I love you. I know it’s only been a few weeks, but I love you. I think about you when I’m not here and I want to call you and laugh with you and joke with you, and make love with you.”

“I know, Chuck. That’s what brought this all to a head today. I love you, too, and I can’t keep living like this, in hiding. I don’t want to live like this. And I don’t know what to do.”

They clung to each other, and slowly that changed until they were making slow, sweet love, sealing their words with a kiss, with many kisses, and drawing strength from each other as they set out into the unknown.