Courage On The West Coast

Berto Gandara
Integrity Blogger

3,730 miles is the distance from my hometown in Puerto Rico to where I am currently living: Orcas Island, Washington. This enormous distance reminds me of the vast journey I have witnessed these past eight years. I am astounded at the many changes I have experienced in myself and the world around me. I have gone from being a Puerto Rican Roman Catholic priest of a missionary order in the Caribbean to an openly gay Episcopal priest, married to another priest, and immersing himself in this new culture, language and church. From not thinking possible to be open about my sexuality, or any way LGBT people could be more welcome, to experience major victories for LGBT people in the world and in the country and to be told my by father how proud he is of Hugh and I as a couple. There are so many things have I seen transformed in these past eight years since I moved to New York City. I have witnesses changes that as a nineteen year old boy going off to seminary in 1983 I would have never dreamt of, and if I had had the courage to dream them I would probably would have been terrified.

Yes, there is still so much evil and ignorance in the world as we have witnessed with the killings in Pakistan and Kenya and nearer to home at the cold hearted attack on a plan to make accessible healthcare for all. On the other hand the LGBT community has found signs of hope, although so much more still needs to change. Arriving on Orcas Island, three weeks ago, I was greeted by a story that illustrates this journey. I share this small story because I wish to give hope and encouragement to all who continue to struggle and find it hard to be who they are as LGBT people.

Orcas Island is small, just 57 square miles and under 5,000 inhabitants. It is a rural community, accessible only by ferry or plane. When my husband and I arrived at Orcas we were surprised to find the main town, Eastsound, awash in pride flags. It seemed that every store had a pride flag. After a couple of days we inquired if there was some pride celebration going on and we were told this heartwarming story. This summer a gay couple, David and Lee, had established a bakery in the island. As part of the opening celebrations they had flown the pride flag out of their establishment. Soon after someone approached the couple to convey a message from a group of anonymous community members that wanted the flag removed. They told the owners, “We’re okay that you’re gay, but don’t throw it in our faces.” They also told them it might damage their business. After a very troubled summer to get their business started and a terrible car accident in which they almost died, it seemed the community was not welcoming them in their midst. Lee and David decided to remove the flag. They wanted to be good neighbors and not ruffle any feathers. When locals noticed that the flag was gone a letter to the editor was sent to the local paper titled: “Fear is ignorance; anonymity is cowardly.” In a very short time the letter received enormous attention, an outpour of support for the bakery and a cry of “put back the flag” came from all corners of this little community. This incident galvanized the community and soon not only the bakery but what it seemed every store in town had the pride flag. This past Sunday I attended the Eucharist at Emmanuel Episcopal church, here in town, and what a pleasant surprise was to hear that the vestry, the adult forum, and the staff of the parish had decided to join and fly the rainbow flag from the church flag pole. Indeed we have come a long way, there is reason to hope which gives us strength to continue working for the rights of all!

I am looking forward to contributing to "Walking with Integrity" and in my following articles would like to explore on how Latinos and Latinas respond and address the issues around LGBT rights.

Witnesses and Pilgrims: A Journey Into the Church

Greetings!

Earlier this week, I was asked if I might offer my work as a contributor to the Walking With Integrity blog. I humbly and gratefully accepted, and, as such, this post is offered as an introduction to the Integrity readership; a chance to tell my story and discuss topics about which I plan to write.

I grew up in Edmonds, Washington, a small sea-side suburb near Seattle, Washington, a city to which I would eventually move during the duration of my undergraduate career as a student of cello performance at Cornish College of the Arts. Although my family taught me the value of spirituality during my upbringing, I was not raised in a Christian context (though I was, in many ways, raised with the Christian values of justice, equity, respect, and the recognition of human dignity). For the most part, the Church was viewed with a characteristic West Coast suspicion. For most of my youth, I flatly rejected the premise of organized religion and, for that matter, religion on the whole. It was a dangerous folly of the human condition (or so I assumed).

Yet, from an early age, I recognized a personal affinity for music, art, and architecture of a particular liturgical bent. I was not able to put words to this affinity until my first eucharistic liturgy as a member of the choirs at Saint Mark’s Episcopal Cathedral in Seattle. I had, of course, supplemented my income as a teenager by playing cello for other liturgical contexts, but it wasn’t until the liturgy in the Anglican tradition, connected with an historical imagination, that I felt suddenly less apprehensive about the religious subject. Within that context, music was no longer an adornment, a commodity, or a consumer product. Music became peculiarly alive; music became multidimensional, transchronological, and ministerial. This was not the museum veneration of the concert hall; this music transformed from historical artifact into living reality. I say this knowing full well that many of the elements of liturgical action are, indeed, affect—that is, somehow “unauthentic.” Yet, it was this very affectation that became real, honest, and authentic. Paradox, it seems, became a close companion.

And so, within the context of my first liturgy, I resolved to change my trajectory (though little did I know that this trajectory held far more for me than I initially expected). This resolve, however, confounded a growing internal struggle that had begun my first day of conservatory training. It was difficult to concentrate on my cellistic studies; though I am glad my teacher at the time forced me to work through it. After completing my bachelor of music, I set off on a new adventure: I moved to New York City to begin a master of arts in music composition at Queens College, during which time I was recruited to sing as a chorister at the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine under the inimitable improvisateur, Bruce Neswick.

During my second year of graduate study, I began to discern a call to ministry in the Episcopal Church, though I did not know what that would end up looking like; though a confessed Episcopalian on the outside, I still had my doubts. I decided to apply for a Master of Sacred Music at the Yale ISM and Boston University. While neither institution accepted me to the MSM degree, the BU School of Theology rather unexpectedly offered me a place as a candidate for the Master of Theological Studies after the completion of my M.A.Mus.

Then, quite monumentally, my life changed again. On January 10, 2011 I was diagnosed with the HIV virus. It was a blow I had not expected, from which I did not know if I could recover spiritually. Not three days after my diagnosis, however, I attended a daily said Eucharist at the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine. It was the height of Epiphany season, and the Celebrant’s sermon that day spoke to me in uncanny ways. I thanked the priest afterward and divulged the reason for my gratitude. “Your words hit me at my core today,” I said, “for you see, I was diagnosed with HIV three days ago.” The Reverend Canon took my hands, looked me in the eye, and smiling said, “We live now. This is when God comes to us.” It knew right then and there what the role of a priest really was, and I resolved that, someday, I would seek ordination (though I kept this to myself for two more years).

Theological education changed my life forever: now, no conceptual or ontological stone is left unturned; no assumption is left unquestioned. It was at BU that I discovered Queer Theology, social activism, and a burning desire for justice. I have since graduated from the MTS program at BU and am working as a liturgical musician in Boston, teaching cello, composing, and working, in my due time, toward becoming a priest in the Episcopal Church, should the Spirit carry me that direction.

The work I offer to Walking With Integrity, given my own interests and educational trajectory, will focus on the arts—music, architecture, dance, and visual craft—as well as related topics in Queer Theology (my MTS thesis was the formulation of a queer theology of music) and their relationship to Anglicanism. The first piece I hope to offer (sometime toward the end of September) will focus on Anglicanism’s great patron of twentieth century arts, the Reverend Walter Hussey.

I look forward to sharing my thoughts with you, and I am grateful for the opportunity to talk about that which I most love.