The incense clouds swirled around as he censed the Gospel Book; the choir and congregation chanted and into the momentary silence when they ended, he intoned, "The Holy Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ according to John." They responded, "Glory to you, Lord Christ." He began to proclaim the Gospel, letting the words roll off his tongue, "...and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free." It sounded differently in his ear today, portentous, important, new. He finished the reading, "The Gospel of the Lord," and turned back to return the Gospel book to its place on the altar as the congregation finished the Gospel Acclamation singing Alleluia's all the while. It was time. He took his place in the pulpit, shuffled his papers, cleared his throat and began. He crossed himself as he said, "In the Name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen. Please be seated." That phrase rang through his mind, "...the truth will make you free."
"Please, God," he thought to himself, "let that be true today."
"For years now, I have carried chains. Wherever I've walked, they have dragged behind me. Whoever I've talked with, they have weighed me down. However I sit, they pull at me and make me uncomfortable. And yet, I carry them. They've become a part of me, an uncomfortable and yet familiar part of me. Those chains are my secrets.
We've all got them, don't we? The little secrets, the big secrets, the small things which we've forgotten, and the bigger things of which we're always aware -- our secrets. We go through life with them. They are the things we don't want others to know about, or the things we're afraid to trust others with. They're the secrets we worry about, and think about, and hid from ourselves and others. And eventually, they're the secrets which weight us down with chains. Too many secrets and eventually we'll drown in our won secrecy, pulled under by the weight of them all. You know what I mean. Each of us lives with our own secrets.
It was to that experience that Jesus spoke these words, "...you will know the truth and the truth will set you free."
Perhaps the most liberating experience any of us can have is to share something precious with another person, and to discover that person is a true friend. A friend is one who hears your secrets and holds them close, one who doesn't judge your secrets but who can hear the pain that comes with them, and who bears that pain with you.
As we come to know and love Jesus, we let him into our hearts, we let him into the dark secrets, and discover that he loves us fully and completely, that he bears those secrets with us -- and the burden is lifted, and we are free.
Today, I need to share a secret with you. One I have carried for my whole life, and one which I tell few people. It's time to share it. It's time to trust you. It's time to be free.
Brothers and sisters, you've known me for a number of years now. I've been there at births, at weddings, at deaths. You've shared your secrets with me, and I have held them close. What you have not known is that in all those years that I have been your priest, I have been a gay man, too."
John paused, struggling with himself. This was so hard, to open up this part of himself that he had hidden for so long, to become this vulnerable to all these people who were so precious to him. He drew in a breath to begin again and looked up. He'd been so drawn into himself that he hadn't even noticed what was going on around him. As he looked up, he became aware of people standing up in the pews, of a noise that gradually grew louder and louder. They were clapping! Tears began pouring down his face as he looked at the congregation, his congregation, his people, his family and saw the love and appreciation in their eyes. Mouths moved silently as people said, "We love you," back to him. The room rocked with affirmation and love. Slowly the sound died down and people took their seats again. John struggled to continue.
"I, uh, don't really know what to say. I'm almost speechless! (Everyone laughed gently.) I'm not sure how to continue now.
I'm gay. There, I've said it. For years I've dreaded saying that, been terrified that someone would find out and that I'd be kicked out of the ministry. I love being a priest. I love being your priest. And so, I've denied a big part of myself in order to do that. But that's meant I've been walking around dragging these chains. And I'm tired of carrying the weight of all that secrecy.
I know this won't be easy for some of you. My door is always open. Please come and talk with me. Now you know the truth, too. Together, I hope we can be free."
He descended from the pulpit and took his place as the congregation began to recite the Creed. One of his lay assistants, sitting beside him, reached over and squeezed his hand. He saw tears in her eyes as she smiled at him.
And the service carried on.