Gay Before God: An Awakening Love Forbidden by the Church

by William Bruce

  “What will you do?” asked Terry, the first question he had been able to put to the bishop.

  “We shall see,” replied the bishop, unwilling to reveal his plans and thoughts. He knew he had another meeting with Richard and the archdeacon after evensong, and then they would decide what to do. He was somewhat dismayed his approach to Terry had not been successful. He had expected a confession and a desire for repentance, which would’ve been very gratifying, and something to which he could have graciously responded. He was fond of forgiving people when they were sincere. But Terry had been stubborn, unwilling to see sense, somewhat bewitched by love, a spell which cannot be broken either by an appeal to morality or financial well-being.

  They rose from their seats, the bishop extending his hand in a benedictory way, and Terry shaking it briefly. Nothing more was said and the arid silence spoke of all the distance that lay between them. Terry walked down the episcopal drive very happy to be out in the fresh air.

  James was waiting on the other side of the Cathedral. They met, not at the usual place at the West End, but under the window of a side chapel where the passers-by were few. Most of the snow had been blown away by a cold wind.

  “Let’s go home,” said Terry when he arrived. “He has so upset me!” He looked down at James’ hand for the assurance that his ring was on his finger. He was pleased it was and hated himself for doubting it.

  “Why? What did he say?” was James worried response. “He didn’t persuade you to give me up did he?” He added more light-heartedly, “threaten you with ‘excommunication’ or something like that?”

  “No, I think it is you they will get to, not me. I am beyond their reach. I know how I feel. I will always be there for you, whatever they do.”

  They came together in a hug, which would have seemed innocent enough between two men in a public place. It gave them the reassurance of their love for each other they needed at that moment.

  “Terry!” came a voice quite close by from a person they had not seen approach. Perhaps he had been watching for some time, it was difficult to tell.

  “Hello Charles,” said Terry disengaging himself from James quickly.

  “What are you doing here? You should have phoned me,” said Charles showing he was a little hurt.

  “I had to go and see the bishop, and it was all very sudden.” There was a sense the Charles already knew that answer.

  “Hello Charles, we didn’t see you,” said James still a little put out by the interruption. He knew Charles had known Terry for some years and had been close, but over time they had grown apart. In the meantime Charles had met and become close friends with Victor, though Terry had always tried to underplay that.

  “As Diocesan Surveyor, I am always looking for things,” announced Charles, rejoicing in his job title. “Anyway Terry, I have got to dash but you must call round for a coffee soon.” It was obvious the ‘you’ was singular and James was not included in the invitation.

  “Which hole did he crawl out of?” asked James once Charles was out of earshot. “I think he is the one that gave the bishop your phone number, and probably spread a few rumours into the bargain.”

  “No, I don’t think Charles would do that. I have known him for years and he is supposed to be my friend.”

  Just then Terry’s mobile began to ring. He looked at it and saw it was Victor.

  “Hello,” said Terry

  “What are you doing?” The question was barked over the phone.

  “Just going for a walk,” was Terry’s insufficient reply, not wanting to hurt Victor by telling him the whole truth.

  “You bloody liar! I know you are with that bloody aged vicar! You are with him now, hugging and kissing outside the Cathedral. Don’t you think that is disgusting, and him supposed to me a so-called man of God? It makes me sick.”

  “It’s alright, calm down, please Victor, this doesn't help,” pleaded Terry. He looked at James and made an apologetic face.

  “You can tell him I want to see him!” demanded Victor. “Put him on!”

  Reluctantly Terry handed the phone to James, holding it between his fingers as if it was hot, and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Yes, what do you want?” asked James, tentatively ready for a blast of abuse. But Victor’s tone had turned more reasonable, perhaps calculating a different approach was necessary. He was also a little afraid of James because this man had somehow found the key to Terry’s heart, which had eluded him for years.

  “We need to talk, just you and me. How about this evening?” asked Victor calmly, though James knew he was having to control himself carefully.

  “Ok, I will meet you on the High Street, at 6pm. Is that alright with you?”

  So the arrangement was made for James and Victor to meet. It would only last an hour but for Terry who had been expressly excluded it was one of the most nerve-wracking hours of his life. What was Victor going to say? Would he convince James to disappear? How threatening would he be?

  “Shall we go for a drink,” was the first thing James said at the liaison. He had wanted to offer Victor a handshake but then thought how ridiculous that would seem.

  “Here will do,” said Victor gesturing with his thick arm to a nearby student bar. “I can smoke here.”

  The place was virtually empty. James looked at Victor as he stood at the bar, waiting to be served. He was wearing much the same kind of clothes as when he first met him, an expensive suit and shirt, and a carefully chosen tie. It was obvious he took great effort with his appearance and was willing to spend money to prove his good taste. James noticed, in as much as he was concerned about such things, Victor wore the latest fashion in footwear, dark brown shoes that came to a sharp point at the toe end. Under the clothes James imagined a large muscled and tanned body. He could see why Terry would like such a man, be glad to be associated with him, even take him as a boyfriend. As Victor turned away from the bar with the drinks James noticed that, inserted into his ear was a hands-free phone piece, with a tiny flashing blue light.

  “Right, I want you to leave Terry alone,” said Victor barely before they had sat down with their drinks. “He doesn’t know what he is doing. He is all confused, like a child. He is upset because soon he will be forty.”

  “Don’t you think it is up to Terry to decide what he wants?” asked James, feeling that he was talking to Terry’s parent or social worker rather than someone who called himself 'his husband'.

  “I know Terry much better than you do.”

  James took a sip of his drink, while Victor lit another cigarette. It was his second one so far.

  “Hello Mumsie,” said Victor, obviously into his phone piece. James realised Terry’s mother had been brought into the discussion. “You have got to tell him. He has gone all crazy. Speak to him!” Victor turned away so he could concentrate on this phone conversation. He made no apology to James, who just sat there wondering where Terry might be and what he was thinking. He got out his mobile and thought he could send him a text, but Victor was bringing his call to a close.

  “Bye Mumsie, take care, you speak to him, get his sisters to talk to him, make him see sense, bye!” Victor took another drag on his cigarette, and as the smoke began to escape from his tight mouth, he said, “You see, that was his mother. She is so upset with what is going on. She’s a lovely person and you are hurting her too! It is going to ruin her Christmas!”

  “All I can say, Victor, it is up to Terry. Surely, it has to be. No one should force him into anything, after all he is an adult.”

  “But you need to leave him alone! Give him space. Stay away from our village. If you went away he would quickly forget about you, or maybe just have a bad memory.”

  Victor had finished his drink and was starting his third cigarette. What James had noticed were the eyes, dark impenetrable pupils, deep, absorbing, not reflecting anything they saw. They were not kind eyes, dreamy eyes enticing you into adventure, but calculating, fixing eyes wanting to envelop and devour your hopes. />
  “If Terry asks me I will leave him alone. That is all I can say,” said James, knowing how much it would hurt him if Terry did finish their relationship, but it was always something for which he had to be prepared.

  “He is not all innocent, you know,” said Victor changing his tack. “He has been a gay man for many years, with lots of experiences. I am sure he could teach you a thing or two.”

  “And already has,” added James with an unappreciated smile on this face.

  Victor always struggled with humour and he could not understand why James was smiling. He thought it must be something to do with English understatement and irony. Why couldn’t they just talk plainly, he thought, like they do in France.

  “I don’t think there is anything else to say. So when he tells you to piss off, is that what you will do?” said Victor, followed by a long puff of smoke aimed in James’ direction.

  “If it comes from him, I will leave him alone.”

  They parted company, as much in distain of each other as they had met. Victor was annoyed he had not convinced James or even frightened him off. But he was confident of the support of Terry’s family, his mother and sisters, whom he had got to know over the last seven or so years. He had wheedled himself into their circle, perhaps in preparation for a situation as such as this.

  James walked away in the opposite direction. His route took him uphill towards the Cathedral. He needed to get a view and clear his head. He had naively expected Victor to be more conciliatory, and he certainly had not expected the involvement of the family. He had never met them and wondered what he must look like from their point of view, considering what they had been told. Just then his phone went.

  “Is it over?” asked Terry

  At once a pain shot up James’ left arm, almost paralysing him for a second.

  “Is the meeting over?” clarified Terry, and James was at once more at ease.

  “He is very cross isn't he? He spoke to your mother as well.”

  “Whatever he said, don't believe it. I really do love you and I want to be with you. He can’t force me to leave you, and nor can mother for that matter, though what it has got to do with her, I don’t know,” said Terry with a new-found confidence.

  “I love you so, and I am sorry I can’t help it,” replied James, beginning to feel the tears in his eyes. “You can dump me if you must, but I will never stop loving you, to my dying day.”

  “But I will be there forever for you, so don’t worry. Victor will get over it, and the others will come round, they just need time. Come to me now and I will make us a lovely supper.”

  “Ok, I am on my way,” said James. He was desperate to see Terry.

  “I had one of those wretched headaches today but it has gone now. I will bank up the fire, and we can draw the curtains and forget about everyone else. Contra Mundi!”

  James felt so exhausted. His day had started in the arms of Terry, and now he felt so relieved it would finish in the same way. It did not seem to matter what might happen in-between if every day could have the same beginning and ending. Then he knew he could face all adversity, his critics and foes, even the full lambasting of the Church of England, all because of his enduring and reciprocated love for Terry.

  Chapter 9

  “Hello, Rachel, my dear,” spoke the bishop as he reached forward to kiss her on the cheek. “How are you?” His concern seemed genuine enough.

  The bishop’s wife had set up the meeting, and Rachel had been asked to come on her own, while the children were at school. This bishop had assumed she didn’t work and it was lucky he had chosen a time that kept him in the illusion.

  “Tea or coffee?” He knew the words would summon his wife hovering beyond the study door.

  “How are the children?” He had met them at one of the clergy events, and impressed Rachel with his memory of their names.

  This was something the bishop had carefully checked in the filling system devised by his wife for all the clergy and their families in the diocese. In his first years as a bishop he thought the task so important he sat up in bed at night trying to remember names. His wife would test him with the photo shots. He grew so confident in this skill that when he got a name wrong, which now happened more often on account of his age, he would use it again and again, until the person concerned might even think they should be re-Christened.

  “Has James left home?” asked the bishop, hesitant to clarify the facts, his face looking seriously pastoral.

  “Well, I don’t really know, I suppose.” It was the first opportunity for Rachel to speak. “He has taken a few things with him, but comes back to look after the children.”

  “How very bizarre,” mused the bishop, who had no concept of the hands-on father. His vocation as a career clergyman, working hard for God and his church, morning, noon and night, meant he had little to do with the upbringing of his own children. His wife, eager to fulfil the role of clergy wife, and adored by the congregations for doing it, always stayed at home. “So when he is not with you he is staying with his new friend?” His vocabulary failed him and he didn’t want to name the one whom he saw as the villain.

  “Terry, you mean?” completed Rachel. “I have met him, you know, and actually we get on quite well.” She wanted to add, ‘after all we share the same tastes in men’ but thought the bishop would not appreciate the comment.

  “How very bizarre,” repeated the bishop, taken aback by the reasonableness of what she said. “This is all very modern!” It was an adjective the bishop rarely used in a positive sense. He knew his power lay in the outrageousness of the situation and he didn’t want it normalized. “I think you are taking this all very calmingly, if I might say so.”

  “I have known James for a long time, and much of this is not a surprise to me,” Rachel explained.

  “You mean you knew he had these propensities?” asked the bishop somewhat puzzled.

  “I supposed it was something I thought I could control.”

  A time a silence, while the bishop took in what he had just heard. Rachel was not expected to say anything.

  “I think you took on James as a project,” he decided. “You trained as a social worker didn’t you, so is he like a client to you?” A theory was forming in the episcopal mind.

  “I don’t think it is like that.”

  “I don’t blame you, as we all have to make allowances in our marriages. But maybe the whole thing tells us something about your needs.” The bishop was always keen to focus on the way someone could be helped. He went on. “I am just so sorry James has let you down, the way he has deserted you, and left you, and your children, to fend for yourself.”

  “I don’t quite see it like that,” responded Rachel. She didn’t want the bishop to perceive her needs and seek to meet them, certainly not without checking with her first. “He still looks after the children, in the week and at weekends.”

  The bishop didn’t want to know about such arrangements. To him this just confused matters and threatened to fog his moral judgment.

  “But you are in the midst of it all and cannot see clearly. Take it from me, and I have had a lot of experience of such things,” he went on without realizing the irony of what he said, “you took James on, perhaps without fully understanding what you were doing, and now he has rebelled.” He paused so that she could take in the gravity of his words. “Do you think you can win him back?” The bishop was becoming impatient for a solution. He was under pressure to act. He knew the archdeacon had issued his ultimatum due to run out at the end of the week.

  “Please, bishop, can you not wait to see what will happen. I see it like a storm that will blow over, in time.”

  “I am not sure there is time. The storm has already caused a lot of damage, and who knows what else it might do. No one would blame you for marrying James in the first place.” The bishop was now fully confirmed in his theory. “In some ways it was your Christian duty. However, now the matter is really out of your hands.”

  “Pl
ease, bishop, just give us time,” Rachel pleaded.

  “Well, the archdeacon has given James an ultimatum. Either he goes back to you or we sack him.”

  “It does seem so extreme.”

  “I think you are too close to see the damage. You are very kind in trying to protect him, which is all to your credit.” The bishop felt he could appeal to her sense of self-esteem by adding. “But, you need to stand up for yourself, and for your children.”

  “I just think it is all so soon,” she quietly replied, knowing her words were not being heard.

  “When the papers get the story, which could happen anytime, today, tomorrow, they will be banging on your door, or hounding your kids at the school gate. Surely, you don’t want that!”

  “It seems to me it is the church that is making matters worse,” Rachel challenged.

  “Well, the church has certain standards and morals to uphold.” He decided to continue in a more conciliatory way and leaned forward. “Can I tell you a little secret? Just between you and me. I don’t normally speak this frankly, but sometimes you have to. There are a number of clergy in this diocese who have been wayward. It is just human nature I suppose. There are those who drink and drive, those who put their hands in the till, those who have too much to do with the youth club, if you know what I mean, and it’s my job to sort it out.

  “But all those things are against the law,” responded Rachel.

  “Yes they are, and if I didn’t act swiftly there would be many more clergy in the courts,” said the bishop justifying his urgency. He did not hear how she tried to show the difference in her situation.

  “But James hasn’t broken the law, or committed any crime. He may have been unfaithful to me, but I really don’t see why others should be so outraged.”

  “But they are. It is God’s law, which I suppose is even higher than the law of the land.” The bishop knew he was the arbiter of this divine legality.