Whew — I enjoyed revisiting that old essay, but I’m glad that’s done.
Some observations, in closing:
1) My own hyper-awareness and morbid fascination with AIDS surprised me. To be fair, the essay was written in 1992, and things were very different then.
At the ripe old age of 28, I was also opening myself to my own sexuality for the very first time. The church had schooled me to expect God’s wrath to rain down from heaven at any moment, and a part of me, I think, was still afraid that His judgment would, in fact, come in the form of AIDS.
I’m not proud that I felt that way. At the time, though, I was a closeted fundamentalist minister. I spent every day with people who lived their lives in constant fear of discovery and punishment. I knew no other way of thinking, so gimme a break.
2) Is it me, or is there a subtle current of homophobia in that essay? Again, this is a historical document … a photograph of where I was at the time.
3) The most important feature of the essay, I think, is the ending. It’s rare, I think, for any of us to be able to put a finger on THE moment of personal transformation … and here, preserved in text, is the beginning of my own.
I could see the pointless hatred of my church. I was understanding how my job at the seminary was contributing to and perpetuating that hatred. I was coming to understand that there had to be more to spirituality than constant self-doubt and fear.
And then comes that moment, on the corner of Peachtree and 5th, when I glimpsed what could be … and that vision made all the difference in my life.
Years later, Clyde and I would move to Atlanta. We’d remember St. Mark. We’d seek out the church … and its influence would, quite literally, change our lives forever.
So here I am, thirteen years later: happier than ever, healthier than ever, and still hitched to the most wonderful man on the planet.
It’s a very good place to be.
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