UPDATED: Christie drops appeal, Marriage Equality in NJ is here to stay!

 UPDATE:

On Monday, October 21st, just hours after the first couples began receiving their marriage licenses, the Christie Administration dropped its appeal of a lower court ruling that brought marriage equality to the state.  The Supreme Court will no longer review the case in January as described below, and marriages may continue.

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On Friday, October 18th, the Supreme Court of the State of New Jersey voted unanimously to deny the Christie administration a stay of a Sept. 27 lower court ruling  legalizing marriage equality, while an appeal of that case proceeds.  Same-gender couples in the state may wed as soon as Monday, and are already completing the applications in many municipalities to pass the 72-hour waiting period before the law goes into effect. The Supreme Court is expected to rule on the appeal in January.

"On Monday, New Jersey will begin to tear down its Berlin Wall separating straight people who have had total freedom, and LGBT people who have not," said Steven Goldstein,  the founder and former Director of Garden State Equality, a plaintiff in the case along with six New Jersey families.  "Imagine the happiness you’d feel if you won the Super Bowl, the Nobel Prize and an Academy Award all in a single moment, and multiply it by a million. That’s how we LGBT New Jerseyans feel right now.  Ultimately, the Supreme Court’s action today is more than about us longtime couples in love. This is also a triumph for LGBT youth and our hope they’ll get to live in a kinder world than we did. We seek a world that will tell every child, whether LGBT or not: You are normal, and so are your dreams."

Response from the Diocese of Newark

Episcopalians have also been preparing for this day for a long time.  The Right Rev. Mark Beckwith, Bishop of the Diocese of Newark, issued a statement to Friday night to his flock, which makes up the northern third of the state. "I rejoice that state law now provides the opportunity for all couples to receive the full benefits of marriage. I join my prayers of thanksgiving with those many couples who are – at this moment, applying for marriage licenses. Many of our diocesan clergy are preparing to officiate at celebrations. I have been in conversation with one priest whose congregation is planning a group wedding ceremony – and how I as bishop might participate."  He went on to outline his expectations for how clergy and parishes will proceed, using the blessing rite adopted by the 2012 General Convention of the Episcopal Church.  The rite is still distinct from a marriage in the eyes of the church, but clergy who choose to can act as an agent of the state, which considers the couple married under the law.  The June Supreme Court ruling means that the Federal government also recognizes the marriage, with all the rights and responsibilities that go with it.

Clergy are expected to come to an agreement with parish leaders about holding such services.  Approximately half of the 100 congregations in the diocese have endorsed the work of The OASIS, the diocesan LGBT ministry which was authorized by the Right Rev. John Shelby Spong in 1989.

"We are finally be able to say to our gay and lesbian members, 'The State of New Jersey has finally caught up with Redeemer,'" said the Rev. Cynthia Black, rector of Church of the Redeemer in Morristown, an Integrity Proud Parish Partner which has been blessing same-gender relationships since 1991. "For the past 22 years, this church has publicly affirmed that all committed and loving couples are equal in the eyes of God."

Members of Redeemer have been preparing for this day.  One parishioner, Colleen Hintz, creates vestments, and designed a special set to be used at the services.  "My sister is a lesbian—I never thought I would live to see the day that she would be able to get married to her beloved Sarah," she said, holding back tears. Hintz’ sister and her partner live in Texas, a state that has yet to approve marriage equality.  Another, Carol King, composes hymns.  She has been working to choose or write appropriate music for the services. "This is a simple matter of justice for me," she said, "Justice has been denied for far too long."

Response from the Diocese of New Jersey

The Diocese  of New Jersey, with its cathedral at Trenton, recently elected the  Rev. Canon William H. "Chip" Stokes as its new bishop; he will succeed the Right Rev. George Councell in November.  The two leaders issued a joint statement after the lower court ruling, stating, "(We) applaud Superior Court Judge Mary Jacobson's ruling that same-sex couples must be allowed to marry. Our hope and prayer is that Judge Jacobson's court order will be honored, and that same-sex couples may be married beginning October 21."

The Diocese of Jersey also endorsed the official blessing rite adopted at General Convention, and Bishop Councell has given his clergy permission to officiate at these services if they choose to, a position we are hopeful Stokes will uphold.  An official list of welcoming congregations is maintained by The OASIS, the diocese's LGBT ministry.

Christian Paolino is Chair of the Stakeholders' Council of Integrity and Diocesan Organizer for Newark

Around The Church In 15 Days

-Vivian Taylor
Executive Director, Integrity USA

Last week I was invited to speak at the National Press Club as a part of an event by the Not All Like That project. It was an amazing opportunity to meet other Christian leaders and believers and hear what folks had to say. It was a diverse group of people speaking to harm done to LGBTQ by folks claiming Christianity, and how as Christians we can now work to undo that harm.

Here's a video of my speech from that event:

Since then I have been on a wonderful journey across the country. My next stop was Atlanta. I was blessed to join Integrity Atlanta for Pride. The Pride Eucharist held at All Saints' featured an incredible homily from Bishop Mary Glasspool, I had the chance to meet some of the 250,000 Pride attendees at the Integrity booth and in the parade, over all it was an amazing.

Traveling west, I visited Integrity's hardworking administrator David Cupps in Kentucky for a day long meeting.

From them, I made my way to Texas where I visited several Church folks in Austin before heading to Houston. It was a great joy to join Integrity Houston for a Spirit Day reception.

Tonight I'll be speaking at Christ Church Cathedral here in Houston after the Integrity Eucharist. If you're in the area, why don't you come on out?

From here I'm headed out to Portland Oregon to attend a Believe Out Loud training and meet even more folks, and from there I'm headed to California.

This trip has been an incredible opportunity to make connections with so many people. It strong reminder that the real power and energy of Integrity is in the people. As I have gone from place to place, one thing is very clear: No one is more of an expert on the specific local situations than the folks living there. Speaking with people about their own lives and experiences is an absolute treasure trove.

To all the people I've met and will meet on this trip, let me thank you for your hospitality and friendship. To everyone else, I pray and hope that I have the chance to meet you soon!

Coming Out Into Love

Vivian Taylor
-Executive Director, Integrity USA

As some of y'all may know, my father recently passed. The night before he died the Hospice nurse sat my family down and explained that in her opinion he would probably die within the next 24 hours, and that we should say anything we had to say to him soon.

My father had chosen to spend his last days at home, his medical bed sitting in the middle of his library. The library was connected to the living room and the kitchen, so that he could continue to hang out with us as long as possible. After the nurse left I walked into the library, shut the doors, and sat down. He had lost consciousness, but I was ready to tell him everything that was on my heart, all my secret, everything that I was sorry for, everything that I'd forgiven him for, everything that I was thankful for that I'd just never mentioned. I was ready for it to take hours.

Instead, it look about four minutes. There just wasn't much that he didn't already know, there wasn't much that we hadn't already talked about.

I only came out to my father about two years ago, but it changed things between us. It was not simply that he now had confirmation that I was a trans woman and that I was gay. Being out to him allowed us to talk about our lives, to compare to notes, to collaborate.

The night I came out to him he called me. I was walking around my neighborhood in Boston. One thing his said was, “I don't completely understand this, but I trust you.” And from day to day he showed that he did.

That trust, that knowledge that when my full self was known I was still loved, still trusted, it was the single most freeing and blessed experience of my life.

Today is National Coming Out Day. Coming out isn't just about simple identification. Coming out is about living honestly, living fully, giving the people in your life the chance to love you for who you really are.

Coming out is an act of radical vulnerability, and as such is can be absolutely terrifying. It can also have serious risks. Thanks to our world's societal bigotries and biases, not everyone you come out to will respond well. Some might reject you, break relationship with you. There's no way around that being a painful, ugly experience.

Still, the benefits are incredible. You have the chance to change the world with the true of your own being. You have the chance to celebrate the reality of your creation by God, to grow and explore without walls of silence trapping you in. You have the chance to be truly known, to be truly loved.

To all the people coming out today, I say congratulations! I praise your bravery and your honesty! To those of you who are still trying to make the decision, well, it's up to you, but just know that it's wonderful out here, and that we're here when you are ready.

Requiescat in Pace: Michael W. Taylor, Ph.D.

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The sympathy of the Integrity board and leadership is extended to our Executive Director, Vivian Taylor, and her family upon the death of her father, Michael W. Taylor, Ph.D, on September 29th at his home in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.

Dr. Taylor grew up in Nigeria, the child of Baptist missionaries. He did his undergraduate work at the Department of Classics at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, studying for a year in Athens. Continuing a long family tradition of service which Vivian also shares, he was a military historian in Vietnam with the United States Navy, achieving the rank of Lieutenant. In an essay published by the Center for Hellenic Studies at Harvard, he described returning to Vietnam decades later and having tea with a Vietnamese contemporary who -- as they discovered through conversation -- had been on the opposite side of a specific battle.

Dr. Taylor continued to excel in learning after leaving active duty. He earned his Ph.D. in Classical Archaeology from Harvard, and then went on to earn a law degree from U.N.C. He established a law practice focusing on public policy, civil rights, health care, and environmental issues. 

He also ran twice for a seat on the U.S. House of Representatives, found time to write four books, and visit archeological sites throughout his life. 

“Mike was a very astute man; he observed the world around him with great clarity.  I have no doubt that he had a crystal clear perception of all my flaws and shortcomings, and yet, he always focused on my strengths.  His Christ-like compassion called him to affirm me and my ministry often and for that I will forever be in his debt,” wrote Roger Thomas, executive director of Stanly Community Christian Ministry, and a family friend, in a memorial published in the Stanly, N.C., News & Press.

Dr. Taylor is survived by his wife, the Hon. Susan Chandler Taylor, his children William, Vivian, and John; and his mother, Evelyn Taylor; three sisters; and seven nieces and nephews.  Memorial services were held 2 p.m. Sat., Oct. 5, 2013, at the University Baptist Church, 100 S. Columbia St., Chapel Hill, N.C.

Those Who Bear Our Demons

Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid. Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear. —Luke 8:35 –37

Sean R. Glenn
-Integrity Blogger

Earlier in September, I wrote a piece for Walking With Integrity concerning the spike of recent anti-LGBT violence in Seattle, Washington, wherein I brought to light the need for a re-articulation of our witness despite our victories on the political stage. Although I had exhausted my concerns about events particular to Seattle, a feeling of unease remained with me; there was more to say. Seattle is not a singularity, and the violence suffered there is being felt elsewhere, too; in other regions where (at least legally) the stigmatization of LGBT folk is beginning to be torn down. As such, I offer a continuation of my previous submission, with the desire to see beyond localized events and consider some tricky theological ideas.

October 12, 2013 marks the fifteenth anniversary of the death of gay Episcopalian, Matthew Shepard, the University of Wyoming student who was brutally tortured and left to die, hung on a fence near Laramie, Wyoming; an unspeakable act of homophobic violence. The story is well known; Shepard’s death sparked an almost unprecedented flood of civil rights activism, activism which eventually led to legislation that bears Shepard’s name: the Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act of 2009. This transformation is, to my mind, salvific; it speaks its own kind of soteriology. Much like the cross, Shepard’s fence was transformed—it did not win. The sin of murder was transformed into the grace of protection for others; by bearing witness to Shepard’s death, communities proclaimed witness for those under the threat of oppression everywhere. Fifteen years later, we remember our queer martyr, our queer saint, knowing full well that the work before us—at home and abroad—is not done. Queer communities continue to live under the specter of violence, even in those regions (such as New York,ⁱ Massachusetts, and Washington State) where we are afforded protections of the law, the right to legal recognition of our relationships, and the support of our allies, within the church and outside.

I want to suggest, from a theological perspective, that a curious thing is happening, and to do so, I turn us to the Lukan pericope above and a homily thereon by Dr. Thomas H. Troeger. My last piece highlighted local violence in Seattle, but Seattle is not the only place that LGBT communities, to the surprise of many, continue to face unexpected—and sometimes, fatal—force. I posited the notion that continued solidarity is requisite; that work for affirming communities of faith is now required beyond the walls of our churches; that our witness must extend beyond those groups we have already fought to recognize (and, most certainly to those groups which are uncomfortable for us to recognize); that the work begun at our baptisms is never over. What I failed to mention, however, is that however much we might recognize this need, the continued presence of the hegemonic imagination is liable to render within us a legitimate anxiety. It would be a refusal of pastoral care to ignore this anxiety. Violence enacted in areas where we would otherwise presume protection—places like Seattle and New York City—reveals that we cannot presume an extant realization of our shared dream. As New York City Council Speaker, Christine Quinn has said, “I mean, a man was shot in Greenwich Village because he was gay. I thought those days were long behind us.”ⁱⁱ

Many of us thought these days were long behind us. To be sure, with work, they can be. The Lukan pericope cited at the beginning of this essay is useful to this end; it illustrates a kind of cultural anthropology that, as illustrated by Dr. Thomas Troeger, and despite the yawning gap of time between the first century and now, remains enacted: deviance labeling.ⁱⁱⁱ Concerning Luke’s account of Jesus’ healing of the Gerasene demoniac, Troeger says,

His [the demoniac] community had tightened their circle
to keep him out.
He is not like us
He is the mad one.
The sick one.
The crazy one.
The unnatural one.
The misfit.
He is the utterly other. [. . .]
Deviance labeling
is a way for us to escape
dealing with our own fears and angers.
We heap our projected fears upon those who are different from us.
And because there are so many of these demons
their name is “Legion,”
which is exactly the name given to them
in the biblical story. [. . .]
Calling the demon “Legion”
suggests that there is nothing inherently wrong with the man himself.
He has been invaded
by demons not of his own making.^iv

This should, of course, seem entirely obvious to us. Scapegoats have habitually formed communal identity. While I do not condone the act of scapegoating, we must realize that we still live in a world that, knowingly or unknowingly, thrusts its own demons onto others. To be sure, this is a reality that Jesus recognized and sought to critique. Br. Robert L’Esperance, SSJE, brings this to light in a homily on Luke 8:19-21. L’Esperance illustrates that the ministry of Jesus
undid many of the assumptions that undergird his society and the various social constructs that held it together. It raised the whole issue of group belonging and thorny religious questions of group identity, inclusivity and exclusivity, and who could lay claim to the Abrahamic covenant, not to mention who would serve as scapegoat, the essential social glue that held these groups together.^v

What intrigues me, however, is the community’s response after Jesus heals the demoniac—after Jesus renders his status as scapegoat unstable, illegitimate, and the fault of the community. We are not privy to the rest of the story. Jesus tells the man to go back to his community and “declare how much God has done for” him. What we are told, however, is that the Gerasenes present at the healing were “seized with fear,” asking Jesus to leave. As Troeger writes,

What were they afraid of?
If the man himself
had been the problem,
then they would have had nothing to fear.
He was in his right mind now.
They were afraid
because the man
could no longer be their scapegoat.
They were afraid
because their neat and simplistic world
of who is in and who is out
had vanished.
They were afraid
because their deviance labeling
would now have to end.
They were afraid
because they could no longer
project phobias upon the man.
They were afraid
because now they would have to acknowledge
that it is the whole community
in need of exorcism.^vi

The undoing of presumed social glues can be the catalyst for fear, rather than due self-examination. I am well acquainted with this fear; theological education is surprisingly adept at dismantling long-held convictions, and my time in seminary was the cause of a great period of paralyzing dislocation. It is a fear with which I continue to battle. As our work for equality lifts LGBT communities out of the mire of stigmatization, we may find the imagination of closet unwilling to relinquish its control, terrified to examine itself as the unstable construct that it is. As the Spirit says to our paradigms “What God has made clean, you must not call profane,”^vii we may find ourselves required to begin a new kind of work, a continuation of the work already done. Reconciliation is never easy, but it is our calling; it is our duty; it is the nature of our on-going soteriological transformation. In so doing, may we also remember that we cannot ourselves, as stigmatized communities, fall into the same patterns as those paradigms that would seek to do us harm.

“No more scapegoats
No more chanting:
‘You’re out, you’re out,
you can’t come in!”^viii

i “Is Anti-LGBT Violence on the Rise in NYC?” <http://gothamist.com/2013/08/19/is_anti-lgbt_violence_on_the_rise_i.php> (accessed October 1, 2013).

ii “Anti-gay Hate Crimes set to double in New York City in 2013,” <http://rt.com/usa/anti-gay-crimes-double-691/> (accessed October 1, 2013).

iii Thomas H. Troeger, “No More Scapegoats,” in ed. Olive Elaine Hinnant, God Comes Out: A Queer Homiletic (Cleveland, OH: Pilgrim Press, 2007), 42.

iv Ibid.

v Br. Robert L’Esperance, SSJE, “Belonging to Jesus,” a sermon preached at the Society of Saint John the Evangelist, Cambridge, MA, September 24, 2013 <http://ssje.org/ssje/2013/09/24/belonging-to-jesus-br-robert-lesperance/#more-8507> (accessed October 1, 2013). Emphasis mine.

vi Troeger, “No More Scapegoats,” 43.

vii Acts 10:15.

viii Troeger, “No More Scapegoats,” 46.

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.

WWJD for Queers Fleeing Terror, and Why Should Integrity Care?

Then the king will say to those at his right hand, “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?” And the king will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”

-Matthew 25: 34-40

One day my friend and I were stopped by the police in a remote area.  I was tortured and raped by the policeman [because I was gay].  I can still hear the other policemen who were watching laughing and jeering. The pain was like none other I had ever experienced.   I went to the hospital.  I didn’t report to work for days.  When I did go back to work, I quit my job. I was too terrified to step out of my house.  I tried to report this attack, but the police officer who took the report laughed in my face.   The very next day, the policeman who had tortured me came to my house and shouted, “Open up!  We already know who you are and we are going to kill you.”  So I left my beautiful country.  I left my job, my home, my belongings, my studies.  Two friends helped me get out.  I came to California and stayed with some relatives, but soon, after realizing that I was gay, they kicked me out and I was homeless.

-“Juan,” a gay man from El Salvador

More of Juan’s story is available here

It is illegal to be openly lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender in approximately 80 countries throughout the world, including five that impose the death penalty.  Unchecked violence against LGBT people is rampant in many additional countries as well: violence like murder, torture, mutilation, and gang rape.

At least 4,000 people flee to the United States fleeing that terror every year, but until they are granted asylum by the U.S. Government many of them face months of friendlessness, fear, and desperation.  They are not allowed to hold jobs, or use most medical or social service programs. Often they find themselves without any money, living on the street or in detention facilities, doing whatever they need to do in order to survive from one day to the next, unable to communicate well in English, confronted with more anti-LGBT bias, facing culture shock, excluded by their ethnic communities, and struggling for their health after so many traumatic experiences. They are tremendously resilient people, but these challenges can be crushing.

But – yes – there is hope!

“Juan,” whose story appears above, is being helped by Hadwen Park Congregational Church and the LGBT Asylum Support Task Force in Worcester, Massachusetts.  A growing number of churches and LGBT community centers are taking asylum-seekers like him under their wing: Providing them with a sense of community, food, shelter, and a helping hand until their asylum applications are approved by the government and they are able to find work.

The Task Force is part of a national network called the LGBT Faith and Asylum Network (LGBT-FAN) that aims to encourage and help more churches and community centers reach out to people who have fled to America seeking safety.  We have established a website with stories and information about how groups are providing help, who “asylum-seekers” are, and how people can get involved.  Within the next year we plan to set up a charitable fund that will provide grants to churches and other groups that are supporting asylum-seekers’ living expenses. Integrity USA is part of this effort, as are the Episcopal Public Policy Network and leaders from dozens of other faith-based, policy, and human rights organizations.

While I served as Executive Director of Integrity USA, and now as a member of the New Orleans chapter, I have often heard the question raised: Now that we can have our relationships blessed by priests, there are a lot of friendly Episcopal churches, and openly LGBT people can even serve as bishops, what is Integrity for?  Is it time to declare victory and move on?

One answer to that question is that Integrity must continue to exist in order to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, care for the sick, and visit those in prison.  One of Integrity’s special missions might be to follow these Christian commandments, with a special focus on people who have landed on our doorsteps after fleeing for their lives because of anti-LGBT bigotry and terror.

If you feel moved to consider that possibility, please visit LGBT-FAN’s website and send us a note through the contact page.  You can check out www.lgbt-fan.org and www.lgbtasylum.org for more information.

-Max Niedzwiecki, Ph.D.

Coordinator, Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Faith & Asylum Network (LGBT-FAN)

Principal, Daylight Consulting Group

Former Executive Director, Integrity USA

(Photo Credit Jessica Rinaldi - Reuters)

Groaning in Labor Pains: the String of Anti-LGBT Hate Crimes in Seattle

Therefore, keep awake — for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake. — Mark 13:35–37

by Sean R. Glenn

Sean R. Glenn

​Though a little over two months away, the Feast of Christ the King — and along with it, Advent — is barreling toward us. I have come to enjoy Advent because it gives liturgical communities pause to consider our own restlessness as we await the fleshy Incarnation of Christ. What kind of restlessness is this? I imagine it is a kind of restlessness known to early communities of Christ followers; a restlessness — or, as Paul aptly names it, συνωδίνει (sunodinei, labor pains) in Romans 8 — that might not be so different, despite the chasm of time separating the first century from now. To be sure, the modern world does plague us with its own unique challenges. Yet, there is a theme we can share with the expectation of occupied peoples of the first century; just as God’s logos became flesh and dwelt among us in a world of violence, so too do we continue to face the taxing burdens that the imagination of violence weighs upon us.

​Christ was incarnated into a world of violence. We, too, live amid the specter of violence; but, some of us more than others. While I have, for the time being, made Boston, Massachusetts my home, I am a native of the Pacific Northwest, and lived for four years in Seattle’s queer neighborhood, Capitol Hill. Capitol Hill was my first exposure to communities of queer folk, and I quickly made it a home not only physically, but emotionally and spiritually (Saint Mark’s Cathedral, the Seat of the Episcopal Diocese of Olympia, my eventual church home, resides on the northern end of Capitol Hill). I began the journey of adulthood there, and the neighborhood still tugs at my imagination every so often; a place of true character, vibrancy, and multidimensionality. 

​But lately, the news I hear coming from Seattle paints achanging picture. Many of my friends continue to work, live, and play on the Hill (though this is slowly changing), so naturally I receive a lot of information about what is going on back home through phone calls, emails, and social media. What has me the most worried is the string of anti-LGBT acts of violence that are on the rise. A local community blog, Capitol Hill Seattle, reports a small, but worrisome increase in violent crime on Capitol Hill, namely assaults involving firearms, supported by data from the Seattle Police Department from 2008–2012. As Daniel Hanks of Social Outreach Seattle states, “While crime may not be getting worse, it does seem to be getting more violent and involve weapons — guns in particular. That is what has prompted SOSea to say that violent crime is on the rise.” Myriad other sources demonstrate this trend, both in Seattle and across the nation, including two recent attacks within a month of each other.

​This is all the more troubling because it suggests that, while Washington joined the ranks of those states to legalize same-sex marriage in 2012, it would appear that our choice victories on the political stage have done little to quell hatred on the ground. Such victories, while not unimportant, might tempt us to lay down our guard a little too easily, prompting us to believe something is realized when it is, indeed, not; that our work is done. This is perhaps analogous to Paul’s concern regarding a kind of “realized eschatology” prevalent in some early first century churches (1 Thessalonians is a prime example). I have written elsewhere on the dangers of a realized eschatology, but in this instance I ask a practical question: is our work done? The answer is no. We may be tempted, in light of our recent victories, to ask “well, that’s over; what possible role would an organization like Integrity have in a region where the battle is won?” To such reasoning I humbly respond, “The battle is not won; keep awake.”

This is, I believe, a new chapter for organizations like Integrity in regions where many of the intra-ecclesial struggles are beginning to settle. The Seattle area is a region where many Episcopal churches do indeed embody a kind of incarnational radical love, striving to live into that final, but most important article of our baptismal covenant: that we “strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.” Although the presence of Integrity’s affirming work is still direly needed in areas where the imagination of the closet is still hegemonic, it is also necessary in areas where LGBT folk are already fully welcome to sit at Christ’s table. The work now is to look outwards. As we are nourished by the sacraments within the liturgy, we must turn beyond the narthex and seek to bear witness for, serve, and stand in solidarity with those communities we may not already see: queer people of color, trans* communities, those under the heel of poverty, and even those of us that are already recognized, even if only on paper.

Therefore, let us keep awake.

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. 

Pilgrims and Witness: LGBTQ Lives in the Episcopal Church

Since the announcement that I was going to be the next executive director of Integrity, I've had a couple of folks come to me with the same question. There are variations, but the basic form is "Do we still really need Integrity? DOMA's been struck down, all over the country there are communities that are friendly to LGBT people, what else is there?"

Each time I'm asked that question, I'm reminded of the incredible blessing of community. Yes, there are some of us who are doing pretty well. There are some of us who are out and proud, who have families and friends and congregations that love us, who have gainful, meaningful employment that provides us with a livable wage, who are basically free from the specter of discrimination and bias. There are a few of us who have our slice of the pie, our shot at the American dream.

By taking a wider view, though, by taking everyone in our community into account, we can see that the situation is much more complex. Many of our Episcopal sisters, brothers, and siblings face issues of employment discrimination, health care insecurity, racism in and out of the LGBTQ community, transphobia, and other challenges besides. To understand what these challenges mean, we need to take the time to listen to those who face them. 

I'm pleased to announce our new project, Pilgrims and Witnesses: LGBTQ Lives in the Episcopal Church. Over the next few months we will be featuring a series of articles by new bloggers on Walking With Integrity. These writers come from a many places across our Church. They will have the chance to talk about their faith and explore their experiences as Episcopalians and LGBTQ people. In engaging with these incredible people's unique stories, in hearing a diversity of voices, we have the opportunity to come to a deeper understanding of our faith, our work towards equality, and all the possibilities opened to us by a life with Christ.

Look for these articles starting next week!

Justice Rolling Like A River: Hello From Vivian

One of my father's favorite Bible verses comes from the prophet Amos. “Let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream!” He had it hung over his desk at his law office. I grew up seeing that verse over and over, and have always loved it. Our work as followers of Christ is to love each other and to love the world, and in loving, to bring that justice and righteousness to the benefit of the whole world. I've thought of that verse often as I have prepared to meet the incredible blessing of becoming the executive director of Integrity USA.

Last night I took a walk through my neighborhood in Cambridge, Massachusetts. I happened to pass by a broken sprinkler head that was pouring out a strong, steady flow of water onto the sidewalk. The sidewalk was made up of old, uneven bricks and ran down a slight incline to the street. It seems simple, there's water, there's an incline, there should be a straight course from the broken sprinkler to the street.
What happened instead was more complex. The water pooled in some areas and branched out in others. The water was affected by the unevenness of the bricks, the texture of each brick, and the variations of sand and twigs and pebbles between the bricks.

Instead of flowing straight to the street the water meandered back and forth. Some areas in the middle of the flow of water were left dry, others out at the edges were inundated.

I see the work of Integrity and the situation of those of us who care about the rights and well being of LGBTQ people as a lot like that water flowing from that broken sprinkler. We have had great success in working towards justice for LGBTQ folks, and we have won incredible victories. Still, there is so much work left to do. While LGBTQ people are safe in some dioceses, welcomed and celebrated, there are still many areas of the Church and the nation where people are not confident in their security. There are people unsure if they will be able to follow their call to vocation because of their sexual orientation or gender identity, there are people still afraid of what their children might learn in their parishes, there are LGBTQ folks who do not feel welcome in the LGBTQ community. So long as trans women of color are still being murdered for being trans, so long as our community continues to disproportionally face poverty, so long as hatred and ignorance remain, we have work to do.

There is no one size fits all solution for the diversity of challenges that we face. Like that water had to pass through each crack and over each brick in a unique way, so we must face each challenge across the nation and Church in it's particular existence. That means that I intend to have a focus on the local level of our organization across the Church. What is effective in one place may not be effective in another, but we can always learn from one another.

As we go forward, I do want to maintain three focuses in all of our work. We need to be mindful to work for inclusion of LGBTQ people of color in our communities and our work, to support LGBTQ parent families, and to work toward education about and inclusion of transgender and non-binary people. In doing that work together, we follow Jesus' example of crossing all boundaries to show the perfect love of God. We do this work so that God's justice and righteousness will flow throughout the entire world.

I leave you with the video I made for the Not All Like That Project. This project is focused on giving pro-LGBTQ Christian the opportunity to speak out and speak up for our brother, sisters, and siblings. If you would like to speak out, I invited you submit a video as well.

Thank you,

Vivian Taylor

  

Requiescat in Pace: Anita Jones

Anita Jones

A memorial service was held August 15th for Anita Jones, Integrity Lifetime Member and former Convener of the Atlanta Chapter.  She died August 2nd in Louisville at the age of 64.

An actuary by trade, Anita graduated from the University of Louisville and worked for Capital Holding Corporation and Ernst and Young.  But friends point to her work in social justice as her true calling.  In addition to Integrity, she was active in the I Have a Dream Foundation, an organization that promotes equal access to higher education by equipping children in low-income areas with access to tuition assistance and guidance to prepare them for further study.

Anita's funeral took place August 10th at the Church of the Advent in Louisville, and she was interred at Louisville Memorial Gardens West.  An additional memorial service was held at St. Luke's, her Atlanta church home, on August 15th.  The sermon from that service, by the Rev. Liz Schellingerhoudt, Associate for Pastoral Care, follows:

Anita Jones. Friend, sister, daughter, and companion in the Christian faith. Last summer, we said our goodbyes to Anita, but only superficially, knowing that she was on the other end of the phone and email, and that she would periodically come to visit us. Today we celebrate her life among us, her gifts to the world, and mourn her leaving us for good, much sooner than we would like.

A friend told me that she visited Anita this spring, and while driving to lunch, the car behind them laid on the horn in frustration with Anita, who wasn't turning right on a red light. Anita quipped to the driver behind her, "My friend, right on red is an opportunity, not an obligation" and she remained sitting at the light until it turned green. She would not be moved to do what she did not want or think appropriate to do. This little story says a lot about Anita, about her sense of humor, her sense of what was right to do at any given moment, her ability to stand firm in what she believed, and her ability to frustrate us at times!

Today's Gospel lesson is part of what's known as Jesus' Farewell Discourse, his last will and testament if you will. It is an intimate conversation between himself and his closest friends, his disciples. He is talking about his impending death, and imparting his teachings to them – the wisdom that he wants to be sure they carry with them even after he is gone. His prediction that he will not be with them for much longer is deeply troubling. His encouragement to them in their grief and confusion is one of the reasons that this passage is used so often in funerals. If you spoke to Anita this last month, you may have had a similar experience. She calmed us with her calm about her impending death.

Jesus says, don't be troubled, don't be distressed, don't be in despair. I'm not abandoning you, but I am going ahead of you, and preparing a place for you, a permanent, life-giving dwelling. A place where you can abide. It is comforting and continues a theme of radical hospitality and love that is Jesus' message. But his disciple Thomas isn't having it. When Jesus says it's going to be OK, I'm going to show you, Thomas's response is something like, how is this OK? It's OK, Jesus says, because I have shown you the way, and that way is through truth and love. The way of Jesus is the way of Love - radical, hospitable, and sacrificial love.

The promise of Jesus to his disciples is that although he will die soon and be gone, he has opened the path to God in a new way that will remain open to them even after he is gone. In John's telling of this story, he is helping his small, persecuted faith community recognize and claim the distinctiveness of their identity as a people of faith, as people who have chosen to follow Jesus.

Anita, as do many of us, had trouble with the last sentence of the Gospel reading though: "No one comes to the Father except through me." It rings of an exclusivity that is at odds with the way that Anita lived her life. In the Gospel story, John's community has been kicked out of the synagogue, the place where God can be found, and they are worried about how they will continue their relationship with God. Jesus assures them that they cannot be excluded by anyone from God's presence. They do not need to belong to any particular group or worry about being accepted by the religious establishment – they belong because Jesus has brought them before the Father, and that's all they need.

It is, in this sense, a statement of radical inclusion. No one or no circumstance, as our passage in Romans proclaims, can separate us from the love of God. We make a mistake if we think it is a statement about who is in and who is out. It is a deeply intimate conversation between Jesus and those who have chosen this way of knowing God, and how Jesus has broken the ways in which we try to decide who is in and who is out.

Anita was familiar with being excluded because of her sexual orientation, and made it her life calling to include the excluded. She lived out her favorite bible verse from Micah, "what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?" 

Do justice, love kindness, walk humbly with your God. Anita's life reflected a commitment to do these things. In this way, she was a philanthropist in the classic Greek sense of the word. The concept of the philanthropist was first introduced in Ancient Greece by the author of the play Prometheus Bound. From the play, the word developed the meaning of someone who has a "love of what it means to be human" in the sense of caring for, nourishing, developing, and enhancing "what it is to be human." Love of humanity asserts that our nature and purpose in life is educational – to make ourselves more fully humane through self-development, pursuing excellence of body, mind and spirit. Loving what it means to be human is reflected in our baptismal covenant – to respect the dignity of every human being and to work for justice and peace.

Anita at a Kentucky Derby party

Anita was definitely a philanthropist in the classic Greek understanding. She committed her time to Integrity – acting as convener for several years; she committed her time, almost full time, to her Dreamers; and to her church. Once Anita got behind something, she had laser focus and commitment. Supporting justice for gay and lesbian folks in the Episcopal Church through Integrity; supporting education for our Dreamers; and praying daily for our St. Luke's community and the world in Morning Prayer are just of few examples. And once she moved to Louisville, she didn't waste any time getting involved in Church of the Advent, even becoming a vestry member and attending Morning Prayer at another Episcopal Church. The philanthropist in her pushed her and us to do more than we thought we could do. She held us to a higher standard than we would have held for ourselves.

There is another meaning of philanthropist, though, a more contemporary understanding. That understanding is of one who gives of their personal financial resources to support the public good. Unfortunately, the ancient understanding, of one who gives in other ways, has been lost.

But Anita was both. She gave, with strict anonymity, to the causes she cared about. Her sister, Debbie Jones, talked to her about disclosing her generosity after her death. Anita was open to the idea, only because Debbie wanted her life to be an inspiration and challenge to others. Her extreme generosity enabled Integrity, our I Have a Dream Chapter, St. Luke's – and many others that we'll never know about – to do important work. She lived frugally and managed her money well so that it could be a resource for the greater good, to make justice possible for those denied full access to the enjoyment of their own humanity – whether it was exclusion from full participation in the church because of sexual orientation or exclusion from education by being born into one community as opposed to another. Anita put her resources of time, energy, and money to improving the quality of life for so many.

I want to add a comment to the Dreamers here today. She loved you, each of you. She prayed for you daily. And she always expected your best, and wants you to continue to do your best. She was so very proud of you and you are her children. What Anita had to give, she gave intentionally, with purpose. She made a commitment to work for you, without pay, to volunteer her time, for 10 years, and she did this almost full time. The money she contributed, she earned herself, through an education, hard work, and developing expertise in something she loved doing. She denied herself a much higher standard of living than she could have lived because giving was of such high importance to her. It's the reason she was able to give more of herself than you'll ever be able to count, so that you can become the full persons you were born to be. She gave you her time, her expertise and her financial support, and she wants you to love your life.

Anita's whole life was a prayer. She had an often quiet, but always strong, presence. With the precision of her actuarial mind, she examined everything carefully – from the details of the IHAD program to how we prayed together in Morning Prayer. She insisted that our prayers pay attention – when we prayed for the president, governor and mayor, she insisted that we also pray for all local leaders, arguing that not all St. Luke's members live in the city of Atlanta. She insisted that we pray for the women religious of the Catholic church when they were struggling for justice with Rome. And when the news broke about the Atlanta Public Schools several years ago, we prayed for the victims of the scandal – children and parents in particular, but we also prayed for the school board members who had caused the scandal.

Anita's challenge to us is to look at our lives and ask "In what ways can we do more?" In what ways can we become philanthropists – lovers of what it means to be fully human – and how can we challenge ourselves and enable others to be fully human, the best we can be? In what ways can we make our whole lives a prayer and do as the Lord requires, to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God?

Amen.

Cloud of Witnesses: The Rev. Bill Richardson & UpStairs Lounge Victims

On June 22nd, Integrity New Orleans held a memorial service at St. George's Episcopal Church in that city, to commemorate the 40th anniversary of a fire at the UpStairs Lounge, a gay bar in the French Quarter which also served as the home of the local Metropolitan Community Church, a protestant denomination founded specifically to minister to the LGBT community. 

Thirty-two people were killed in the fire, three of whom were never identified. The bar was located on the second floor.  Air Force veteran and bartender Buddy Rasmussen was able to help some patrons escape, but many were trapped by locked doors and barred windows, including the Rev. Bill Larson, pastor of the MCC congregation; his assistant, the Rev. George Mitchell; and Mitchell's boyfriend, Louis Broussard.

A man named Rodger Dale Nunez, who had a history of causing trouble and was ejected from the bar earlier that night, reputedly confessed to a number of people that he started the fire, and was even seen purchasing incendiary materials on the security camera of a local drug store.  Nunez was never charged, and committed suicide the following year.

The Rev. William P. Richardson

Especially remembered at the service, celebrated by the Rev. Richard Easterling, was the Rev. William P. "Bill" Richardson.  Richardson, who was rector of St. George's from 1953-1976, held a similar service the in the days after the fire, in defiance of his own bishop (the Right Rev. Iveson Noland) and other clergy who refused to permit their churches to be used or provide any other pastoral response.  City leaders also did little to acknowledge the event, the largest targeted killing of gay people in the nation's history.  Richardson died in October of 2007 at the age of 98.

In a letter to Integrity, Richardson recalled the conversation with Noland: "'Bill, this is the Bishop. Have you read the morning paper?' I said, 'Yes, Bishop, I have.' 'Is it true that the service was at St. George's Episcopal Church?' 'Yes, Bishop, it was.' 'Why didn't they have it in their own church?' he asked. I replied, 'For the simple reason their own small church holds about 18 persons. Without any publicity we had over 80 present.' 'What am I to say when people call my office?' I replied, 'You can say anything you wish, Bishop, but do you think Jesus would have kept these people out of His church?'"

"Father Richardson saw to it that a memorial service was held for the grieving families and members of the gay community who were not held to very high public esteem at the time," recalls Integrity New Orleans member Billy Soileau.  "Protesters had lined and blocked the entrance, holding 2 x 4's and threatening mourners, and Fr. Bill went out and escorted each attendee personally through the disdainful crowd." 

While much attention is focused on the Stonewall Riots, Soileau recalls life in New Orleans was little different. "We had already experienced harassment along the lines of Stonewall when -- in 1962 -- a private gay Mardi Gras Ball was raided, many were arrested, and publicly exposed in the Times Picayune. Many were fired from their jobs and had their careers ruined, and several suicides also resulted."

"The tragic deaths in the fire lit a spark to begin the movement on the local scene toward equality and justice for LGTB persons," wrote June Butler on her popular blog Wounded Bird, which she maintains under the pen name Grandmère Mimi. "Fr. Bill Richardson's courage in agreeing to hold the memorial service at St George's placed the Episcopal Church squarely in its midst.  Many, even those within the movement, are not aware of this pivotal event in the history of the struggle for gay rights."

At the service Lynn Koppel, a parishioner at St. George's, recalled another occasion when Richardson did not waver from his pastoral ministry.  As Soileau tells it, "He went into a really rough neighborhood to an institution of ill repute to ask to see a young man whom had left his family due to their lack of acceptance." Approached by the boy's father, Richardson located the young man and reassured him that his family did love him, convincing him to return home.

The responses to subsequent anniversaries of the fire are indicative of the shift in public opinion in the intervening 40 years. In 1998, 300 people attended the 25th anniversary service held by the MCC, and exited the church to face TV cameras without feat.  This year, the sitting Roman Catholic Archbishop of New Orleans, the Most Rev. Gregory Michael Aymond expressed regret in an interview with Time over the actions of his predecessor, the Most Rev. Philip Hannan, and other clergy.

A documentary, called simply The UpStairs Lounge Fire, was also released this year.  The building, at the corner of Chartres and Iberville Streets, is still there, with the still-damaged upper level unused.  It now hosts a nightclub called the Jimani Lounge on its ground floor, which acknowledges the building's tragic history on its web site.

"Fr. Richardson was married and a father of two children and his family was adored by many," recalls Soileau.  "He recounted to me that this experience sparked his continued lifelong support of the gay community for equality locally, as well as within the Episcopal Church. It was simply the right thing to do. Born on Groundhog Day, he certainly emanated brightly until his departure from this life, when he was nearing the 100 year mark."

May he and the victims of the UpStairs Lounge, rest in peace and rise in glory.

Integrity Stakeholders' Council Chair Christian Paolino compiled this article with the generous contributions of Billy Soileau and June Butler

Integrity Announces Executive Director: Vivian Taylor

Integrity USA is pleased to announce its new Executive Director, Sarah Vivian Gathright Taylor. Taylor will be the first openly transgender woman to lead a major mainline protestant denominational organization in the US.

 “I am thrilled to have this opportunity to serve both Integrity USA and the wider Church. Working together in the love of Jesus Christ, there is nothing that can prevent us from opening the full Love of God to all people regardless of their orientation or identity,” she said.

Vivan Taylor

Currently residing in Somerville, Massachusetts, Taylor is a North Carolina native who enlisted in the United States Army at age 18. She served as a Chaplain's Assistant in the U.S. Army National Guard from 2003 to 2010. After graduating from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill with a B.A. in Religious Studies, she deployed with her unit, the 1/130th Aviation, to southern Iraq from 2009-2010. 

Taylor has also worked as a freelance writer since 2009, and her work has been featured in newspapers and other publications across the country including the Huffington Post, Charlotte Observer, Chapel Hill News,  and others. She writes about being a solider at war, veteran life, LGBTQ issues, trans and genderqueer life, body positivity, Christianity, and her adventures in the world.

Taylor has worked since 2004 to promote a greater understanding of gay, lesbian, bi, transgender, and queer people in the Episcopal Church, and has worked with both Integrity USA and TransEpiscopal to advance diversity and acceptance in the Church. She testified before the Episcopal General Convention in 2012 in favor of adding gender identity and expression to the Church's nondiscrimination clause and was a member of our communications team, helping to produce the daily news briefings we provided.

In September of 2012, Taylor was invited to the White House to meet with Vice President Joseph Biden and a number of other national leaders. She used the opportunity to advocate for full inclusion in the U.S. military of all transgender people willing to serve.

Taylor is also among the first trans women to enter the Episcopal ordination process. She is an avid Sung Compline promoter and participant, and is currently working to develop a new intentional community in the Allston neighborhood of Boston, Massachusetts.

Integrity's President, the Rev. Dr. Caroline Hall commented, “We are delighted to have Vivian taking up the helm of Integrity. Her appointment is in line with two of our strategic goals: to bring more young people into leadership, and to increase our diversity. She was an integral part of the Communications Team at the last General Convention and has the leadership skills and ability to think strategically which are vital as we move into a new organization in a very different, more inclusive church. The future is looking very bright.”

Requiescat in Pace: Dr. Felipe Sanchez-Paris, Husband of Bishop E. Otis Charles

Bishop Charles & Dr. Sanchez-Paris

The board and staff of Integrity USA were saddened to learn of the death on Tuesday night of Dr. Felipe Sanchez-Paris, husband of the Right Rev. E. Otis Charles, retired bishop of Utah.

"Felipe was a charming and delightful man who will be sorely missed," stated the Rev. Dr. Caroline Hall, Integrity's President. "One of the many courageous stands he and Otis Charles took was in 2004 when they held a controversial public blessing for their relationship. It is people like Felipe who have laid the path we walk today."

Dr. Sanchez-Paris is a graduate of Georgetown University and received his doctorate from the University of Southern California in Los Angeles.  He served on the faculty of a number of universities, retiring in 2000 after 18 years as a Professor of Public Policy and Administration at California State University, Bakersfield. 

Bishop Charles, who served as Bishop of Utah from 1971-1986, came out as gay in 1993, the first Christian bishop to do so.  The couple met in 2001, and have been members of St. Gregory of Nyssa Episcopal Church in San Francisco and involved with OASIS California, the diocesan LGBT ministry.  They were married in Los Angeles on October 29, 2008.

"Felipe was a man who embodied the fullness of life — a great intellect that was always routed through his compassionate heart," said the Right Rev. Marc Handley Andrus, Bishop of California, in a statement published July 31st.

Both Dr. Sanchez-Paris and Bishop Charles appear in Love Free or Die, the award-winning documentary about the episcopacy of the Right Rev. Gene Robinson, the recently-retired Bishop of New Hampshire whose election as an out gay man sent reverberations throughout the church.  

Bishop Robinson recalled the couple's testimony on the resolution to create a provisional rite for same-gender blessings, which was adopted at the 2009 General Convention of the Episcopal Church in Anaheim.  "In our documentary film, Bishop Otis described his attempts at heterosexual life as a suit that just didn't fit. Then, he describes meeting the love of his life, Felipe, and 'the suit fit!'  Felipe sits beside him, radiating delight and joy at Otis' tribute to their love. We will all miss our beloved Felipe, but none more than his husband, Otis."