A Reflection from our Vestry
Since the beginning of February, I have been having nightmares and flashbacks back to 1981. The summer of 1981 was a time of confusion, fear, and uncertainty for most gay men. That summer the first news reports appeared of gay men in New York City and San Francisco being afflicted with, and dying from, a strange form of cancer and pneumonia, causes that were rare in the general population.
In the months (then years) following, more articles, reports, personal word of mouth communications, and rumors became more common—monthly, then weekly, and then daily. At first, the medical community called it the “gay cancer” or “gay-related immune deficiency” GRID but across the country many called it the “gay plague.”
The advance of this disease, whatever it was called, challenged the gay community because, as a community, we were losing friends who we loved and our population was literally being decimated by a disease that seemed unstoppable, vicious, and relentless. And, at the time (and for years), there was no known cure. Added to the self-imposed and societal-enforced stigma associated with being gay and with many gay men afraid to be known to their families, friends, and employers as gay, many of us lived in silent fear and horror as we watched the real-life tragedy unfold. Many turned to drugs and alcohol; some turned to suicide; many, like me, suffered a deep, dark depression in silence; and still others reacted with recklessness—since they were helpless so why not enjoy every minute of life.
As the days of our current pandemic unfold into weeks and months, I see our local community, my faith family, and the nation dealing with the crises in the same manner—some turning to alcohol and drugs, others suffering with depression, others afraid to talk about their fears, and yes, once again, many acting recklessly. I feel as though I am living through 1981 again. There are so many unanswered questions.
I would offer one observation and hope that in retrospect I learned living through 1981 and then the decades since. As devastating as AIDS has been to the gay community and society as a whole, eventually the gay community began to learn compassion and to build community resources and networks to help one another. Most of all, the gay community gained a common-identity as survivors. That newfound sense of purpose and belief in our own humanity and spirituality eventually spawned into advocacy to serve in the military, adoption rights, and the basic right to marry and validate our life relationships and commitments.
My faith once again calls me to trust and believe, that as scary and devastating the current weeks are, that God is still in control of all things. I believe that as we live through this time, lessons are being learned—lessons that we will be able to share and testify to for years to come. Stories of compassion, stories of survival, stories of pain, loss, and depression, stories of the faithfulness of a loving, Mother God. Already, I am heartened by stories I have heard of acts of selflessness and of opposing groups sharing in a newfound sense of humanity. Out of the rubble of our depression, fears, and feelings of helplessness, GOOD WILL COME. But for now, I trust in the truth of I Cor 13:12: “We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us.” (from
The Message
).
For now, I miss you all. I miss sitting in the pews and sharing the signs of peace. Just imagine that first Sunday walking through the doors and seeing you all together again…perhaps that will be a small taste of Heaven to come.
Peace,
James Abbott
