In which I am grateful for my father

A GROUP FROM MY CHURCH back home put a proposal in favor of same-sex marriage before the church's vestry, which is like the church's board of directors.

My mom has been involved in the effort from the beginning, which is wonderful, if not entirely surprising: her middle initial, L, effectively stands for liberal. The woman has never met a minority group she didn't adore, which she made abundantly clear by attending a gay pride parade just weeks after I came out, and years before I could have stepped foot near a leather daddy wearing chaps and nipple clamps.

On the day of the presentation to the vestry, however, my mom, who is a member of the city's school board, had a last minute meeting to save public education, and was forced to pull out of the presentation.

Then something even better happened: my dad agreed to attend. He even agreed to speak in her place.

I can't tell you how proud this made me. My father never makes public statements on political issues, and his private statements on, say, foreign policy have been known to include the statement "Bomb the bastards back to the Stone Age." Moreover, like any good Yankee, the man has a strict "Don't ask, don't tell" policy when it comes to sexuality - homo or otherwise.

What's amazing to me is that my parents, while motivated by my stake in the issue, both made it clear that they aren't doing this on my behalf. For them, this is about doing what's right, what's just, and what's good.

I want to share what my father said said because it's beautiful.

(Warning: there are a few sentences where he goes on as fathers will about their children. I am not trying to be immodest in posting those sentiments; I'd prefer to share this whole cloth).

I am not here this evening to speak as a member of the St. Francis parish, although I have been for a quarter century.

Nor am I here to speak as the father of a son who is gay, who I love beyond any words. That said, when I think of him, I think of Ernest Hemingway’s profound observation that “Courage is grace under pressure.” The courage and grace he has shown in dealing with his sexuality - first to his family, then to his friends, and then to the great unknown that is society - leaves me in awe. I don’t know if I could have ever summoned his strength and his belief in the essential goodness of people.

No, tonight I’d like to speak with you about a matter that goes beyond St. Francis and the Episcopal Church, but strikes to the most American of values. We are a people who believe deeply in fairness and equality. They are qualities that more than two centuries ago sparked a flame that allowed the rest of the world to dream of - and embrace - democracy and which make us a universal symbol of hope to this day.

No one wakes up in the morning and decides they want to be gay. Why would they want to be loathed by people who don’t know anything about their dreams and hopes and fears? Why would they want to be the subject of cultural ridicule? And why, finally, would they be willing to face discrimination from the institutions they value most, including their church where, in my son's case, he was Baptized, received First Holy Communion, and served as an Acolyte before he outgrew the robes.

I am not well-versed in the intricacies of Episcopal dogma or politics, either at the international, national or, most importantly, local level - and honestly, they don’t particularly interest me. What I am concerned about is this fundamental issue of humanity.

In 1966, Bobby Kennedy traveled to South Africa, a country then suffocating under the boot of their loathsome and, ultimately, self-destructive, policy of Apartheid. Kennedy spoke at the University of Capetown and said this:

“It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring those ripples build a current which can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.”

Today, the question before us is more subtle but it calls to us the same essential questions Bob Kennedy asked:

If not now, when? And if not here, where?