John wandered around his office at home, puttering, his mind running around and around. He was having trouble settling down. He should be working on his sermon, or on the class he was teaching, or looking ahead to the series or ... Well, there were lots of things he should be doing. But he wasn't. He was wasting time thinking about Chuck. Well, maybe it wasn't wasting time, but he wasn't getting any work done.
He had so enjoyed this past weekend. It had been great waking up in Chuck's arms. It had been wonderful making love with someone, feeling as if someone cared about him -- not for what he could do for them but just for him. He hadn't felt that good in a long, long time. But -- well, it was so impossible! Where was this going? How was he going to have a good relationship with Chuck and continue to be a good priest? What would his people think? What would the bishop think? Aaaargh! He was going nuts letting his worry and imagination run away with him. He'd been in the closet for far too long and it had taken a heavy toll on him.
He thought back to the other clergy he had known over the years. Some had remained closeted their whole life, leading double lives; during the day they were the height of respectability, at night, they dressed up and went to the bars, seeking furtive sex to give themselves the fantasy of being loved, even if only for a fleeting moment. Others had come out publicly, only to find themselves without a parish and looking for other work, their vocation denied because of their sexuality. And still others, the lucky few had managed to find a parish and a bishop who would tolerate, sometimes even accept, their sexuality. If they were very lucky, they had even found their soul mate, too. He had looked at those people as being living fairy tales (no pun intended), people who had somehow managed to find everything -- love, acceptance, careers. Of course, there were the others, too -- those who had foundered on the rocky shore, taken up drinking, or drugs. Even darker were the ones who had found themselves in love with one of the young men in the parish; an illicit relationship at best, conflicts of interest all over the place, and sometimes worse as attacks and accusations flowed. It was all very dark, gloomy and thoroughly depressing. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobweb of dark thoughts that threatened to drag him down into paralysis.
He loved Chuck. There, he'd said it to himself. He loved Chuck. Chuck made him happy, fulfilled him, made his soul float with joy. He loved Chuck.
He sat down in his favorite chair, near the window in the family room, gazing into the garden and reached for the phone. He dialed and waited through the rings. No answer, just another one of those annoying messages, but at least it was Chuck's voice not just a canned message. "Chuck, it's John. I was just thinking of you. Want to get together for dinner?" He put the phone down and went into the kitchen. What to cook? He enjoyed the domesticity of planning a meal, especially now that he had someone to plan it for. Chicken? A roast? Fish? So many choices -- so little time!
He finally settled on a stew, easy to make, delicious and it would keep if Chuck couldn't come over. He cut up the beef into cubes, sliced the onions, cut up carrots, celery, potatoes and some baby turnips. He turned on the oven and put a large pot on the stove, filmed the bottom with olive oil and butter and began to brown the vegetables. As they browned, he shook the meat cubes in some seasoned flour and put them aside. Once the vegetables were nicely browned, he removed them from the pot, and started to brown the meat in batches. As each batch finished browning, he removed them and started another. Once everything had been nicely browned, he poured in some wine, scraped up the bottom of the pan and let the wine come to a boil. He added some beef stock, and then put the meat and vegetables all back in the pot. He put the covered pot into the oven and began to clean up the kitchen. When everything was put away, he relaxed. There, it was done. The stew could cook for several hours and be ready to serve this evening with a good crusty bread and a salad. And if Chuck couldn't come over tonight, then it would taste even better tomorrow or the next day.
He moved back into his office, humming to himself. His dark mood of earlier had lifted, flushed away by the work of cooking. His mind had been cleared. He loved Chuck. One day at a time, he thought, just like the 12 step groups said; one day at a time. If things were going to work out for the best, then he needed to not drive himself nuts worrying about everything. He just had to take it one day at a time.
He settled down at his desk and began to work on the sermon. "How many times should I forgive my neighbor?" Yes, that was a good text. He could work with that, could focus on Jesus as one who accepted others and invited them into relationship with Himself. There was peace there. Being with Chuck gave him peace, too. "Forgive us our sins as we forgive others," was there a clue there to relationships? He hummed quietly to himself as he worked.
After working for a couple of hours, he got ready to go and pop into the office, checking himself in the mirror as he walked by in the hall. It was an unconscious movement. He had done it so often before. But this time he stopped. He realized that there was more going on. Sure, he checked his hair, straightened his jacket. He did that all the time, but this time he noticed that there was an almost imperceptible checking of posture. He stood straighter as he looked at himself. And he understood, intuitively, for the first time in his life, the toll that being more-or-less in the closet had cost him.
He had checked himself to make sure that he appeared straight. Was he standing tall? Were his wrists straight? Did he look OK, were his clothes neat and tidy but not so fashionable that someone might begin to question? Was his hair neat, but not so fashionable... Did he look straight?
Tears began to well up and overflow as he looked at himself. All those years of denial, semi-secret living, hiding in plain sight! All those years! He could feel a howl begin in his stomach and he crumpled to the floor, the tears running unashamedly down his cheeks. He fumbled in his pockets, looking for the handkerchief he knew was there, crying and still trying to stay in control. All those years!
Sure, there had been others who knew he was gay, a few other clergy, a few friends outside the church. But to his parishioners, he was simply "Father John." He had no other identity for them. He had no other life for them. At least that's what he felt. He was just there. And for so many years he had hidden himself, afraid that they would reject him, and thus reject his "call." He loved the Church, but what a cost, what a cost!
He rocked back and forth on the floor, sobbing into the handkerchief, still trying to control the sound, unwilling to let it all out. He had a sudden flashback, remembering one night in his room as a young teen-ager, when he had done the same thing. He had faced who and what he was. He was gay. And that knowledge frightened him so much that he had retreated to his room that night and cried and cried and cried -- silently, using the pillow to muffle his sobs, unwilling to face his parents with this frightening new self-knowledge.
What was he going to do now?
He loved Chuck. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Churck. But Chuck was pretty much out of the closet. Not a flamer -- no (he smiled quietly inside), no, Chuck was all man. -- but he was still pretty open about who he was. John felt his whole world crumbling around him, felt himself caught between two places -- Chuck and the Church. He cried and cried and cried.
Chuck found him there later that afternoon. Crumpled up on the floor, dressed to go out but curled up in ball with a handkerchief wrapped in his hands. Fear and shock ran through him in an instant. He rushed over to pick him up and then stopped, afraid. Was John hurt? Had he had a stroke, a heart attack? Was he dead? What was wrong with him? He gently reached down and saw that he was breathing, and began breathing again himself. As he got down beside him, John awoke and reached for him instantly.
"Hold me, Chuck, just hold me." And he began to cry again.
Chuck knelt down and wrapped John in his arms. He began to rock him, back and forth, back and forth, like a mother with a child, or a father comforting his son. Love was in every movement. His hands stroked down John's back, fluttering around his face, trying to bring comfort. He didn't know what was wrong, but he knew that he had to try and make it better.
"Shhh. Shhh. It's going to be OK." And they sat there, rocking back and forth.