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The Pespicable Church
By Steven Fales | August 1, 2010
I am Episcopalian, officially. Unofficially I’m a member of Metropolitan Community Church. Between the two of them, I’m getting my eleventh-step needs met, if you know what I mean. One of the most political things I can do as a gay American is to join an affirming congregation and mean it, even a little. And I do mean it. A lot.
The short story of my conversion is this. After I was excommunication I had a few important spiritual experiences that let me know that god knew who I was and that “it” loved me. But I couldn’t pray anymore. Everything came out in old Mormon prayer-speak. So I stopped praying. And I slammed the door on organized religion. And in a way, I slammed the door on god. It was me and my charm and my looks and my intelligence and my talent and my arrogance against the world. Filled with so much resentment and anger and pain and confusion, I descended very quickly. Humanism was not enough. The theatre and all the fine folk there were not enough. I was not enough. I was in trouble.
I did a course called the Landmark Forum that helped shake things up a lot. But this was still secular. And though I feel I had some psychological breakthroughs that appealed to my intellect, and though it started me on a path of transformation, it wasn’t until I found the 12-step movement where I seemed to find “god” in the white space of the twelve steps. It was a huge breakthrough. And I’m still on a path of spiritual progress, not perfection. But to be able to stop binging on crystal for the significant stretches I have in the last seven years. Miraculous. And its continuing to work, one step at a time. Doing numerous advanced courses from Landmark Education (it’s own form of efficient insanity) could not help with my grandiosity (in fact it fuels manic tendencies) or my binging. And it is not designed to at their own admission.
However, my return to organized religion was something I did not expect in a million years. I was performing in San Francisco and met an extraordincary man after the show who I started dating. To my total surprise (and mild detestation) he told me he was Episcopalian. And so on Sundays I’d go with him to Grace Cathedral on Nob Hill. Afterwards we’d go home for one of those delicious naps!
The first time I went it all seemed so grand. I felt so small and was extremely cynical and judgmental. Then my boyfriend got up to get in line for the Eucharist (communion/sacrament) and he wishpered, “Do you want to come?” I looked at him and said, “Who, me?” It had been two years since my excommunication. And I had done such things: prostitution, drugs, etc. He was asking me, a sinner, a homosexual, if I wanted to go up and partake. Did he think I was Mary Magdalene or something? I hesitated, and something deep inside me said, “Yes.” I had been invited. And it wasn’t just my boyfriend inviting me. I heard the call. I was welcome at the Lord’s table. When I knelt at the altar and partook of the bread and wine (I don’t drink the wine now. Luckily it is optional.), I had unknowingly taken my first steps back to god in a religious way. My heart was open. And it would continue to soften.
After my lovely boyfriend and I broke up (I had things to do in New York!), I explored the Episcopal Church again and again. In Cedar City, Utah in a tiny branch where a woman was the priest and where she broke the bread also for our brothers and sisters in Judaism and Islam. Imagine! Then in Miami where I went to an Easter service that was filled with joy! Then to the splendor of St. Bart’s in New York where I met Rev. Gene Robinson where we became friends. In Sag Harbor. In Provincetown. In Dublin. In London. St. John the Divine in New York as well. Even in the midst of Hollywood. And how many 12-step meetings had I attended in Episcopal Churches? And other Churches? (Oh, and I’d dabbled with New Thought Christianity in Portland, OR and Religious Science and Unitarian Universalists and Agape. All great experiences for the most part.)
Then life brought me more permanently to Salt Lake City in the fall of 2007. I had lived here and worked here. But I wanted to base here to be near the kids and create more community. St. Mark’s Episcopal, the Diocese Center and Cathedral of Utah was one block away. Finally I could start seriously investigating the Episcopal Church and take the Inquiry Classes. I loved it. I was able to start replacing the distorted and impossibly works-heavy Mormon Restoration with all it’s shackles and distracting temple ceremonies with a Jesus that could love and accept me and heal me and know me. A simpler and clearer Jesus who could begin even as a metaphor. This has been such a revelation. As an Episcopalian my faith is connected to the ages, but it also extends to a progressive and inclusive future. And I am freeing myself of Mormon-speak. And starting to hear Jesus-speak. MCC has helped me hear Jesus-speak, too.
I joke that at the Episcopal Church I can believe anything and they’ll take anyone! One in the Nicean Creed a woman replaced the pronoun of the Holy Spirit from he to she. I was dumb-founded. But no one came to kick her out! My daughter in her youth said, “Daddy? Do you still go to the pespicable church?” I love that. With as high-church as it is often accused of being, it can appeal to most pespicable of us. And I have to confess, that I sometimes go for the fabulous coffee hour. And also for the Tiffany-stained glass windows. St. Mark’s has a pioneer elegance that just can’t be beat. The oldest continuously in-use church in Utah. 1883. The third-oldest Episcopal Cathedral in America. I’m boasting now. Sorry.
Today I returned after a year away (NYC, LA). I was welcomed back with open arms. I am known somewhere. Not just online. Not at a bar. Not at a 12-step meeting. Not just a the gym. I am known at a church. I was baptized at St. Mark’s Episcopal on Father’s Day 2008. I’ve been a member now for three years and I do not regret my decision. Bishop Carolyn Tanner Irish baptized and confirmed me. She is retiring soon. It was significant that a woman who was from a large Mormon pioneer family, could welcome me back to Christ. In a way, The Mother, Mary, took me by the hand and said, I want to re-introduce you to someone. He happens to be my Son, too. And there Jesus was. A new Jesus. And I was ready to see him for the teacher and healer he is. Perhaps Lord Buddha could be the same for me. But in the Pespicable tradition, if I want to think of them as One, well, I don’t think it would matter too much. But Jesus is much more hot, you have to admit! (No lightning struch as I was writing that.)
There is more I could say about this journey, but I will stop here. I just know that of all the things I am doing to get ready to go to New York City on Tuesday, I had to stop in and take care of my spiritual life. The difference in the reviews when I am filled with ego and when I’m not are night and day. “Worship deflates the ego.” And worshiping myself doesn’t count. That’s why I’m Pespicable.
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