Angel

“So that is their tradition, and they focus on passages of the Old Testament that support that tradition. This idea that you need to be vigilant all the time to avoid sin, it’s always struck me as having an underlying idea that sin is appealing. That people naturally want to sin. I am inclined to go the other way. I think people naturally want to be good, but life gets complicated and sometimes people make bad choices, hard choices.”

“What’s that got to do with sex?”

“Well, it’s…. Most people don’t want to kill anyone. I don’t think most people want to harm other people. It’s not a tempting kind of sin. So it helps support a tradition of a constant battle against sin if you focus on pleasurable things that are sinful. That’s why those kinds of religions focus a lot on sex and abstinence. The more Evangelical churches tend to be more strongly opposed to homosexuality, premarital sex, that sort of thing. That’s just my opinion, but I think that’s why.”

“What about your tradition? What does your church say about gays?”

“We’re against discrimination, but we’re not allowed to perform gay weddings, and the church won’t ordain anyone who is openly gay.”

“Why won’t they ordain someone who’s gay?”

Why wouldn’t they? Paul didn’t have a good answer. “I guess they think it’s a bad example,” he said.

“So it’s, like, we want to be open and welcoming to you, even though we think you’re a dirty sinner?”

Somehow the conversation was getting away from Paul. “I think our position is evolving,” he said. “Society changes and the church changes too.”

“But that’s not what you believe,” said Ian. “You don’t think it’s a sin.”

“No.”

“You think there’s a New Covenant. But your church says it is a sin, and you think that’s okay because it’s their tradition?”

“That’s the position they took on the issue.”

“And that’s okay with you?”

Paul moved the phone from one ear to another, buying a moment to come up with a response. “I don’t think it’s a contradiction, theologically, for a church to take that position,” he said.

“Well, it’s a good thing you only have one toilet in the church-office bathroom, or you’d shit yourself trying to make up your mind which to sit on.”

“What?”

“You’re like a politician. You’re talking out of both sides of your mouth. ‘It’s not, theologically, a contradiction’? If you think it’s not a sin, and someone else says it is, then they’re wrong. You can’t just say, ‘I don’t think it’s a sin, but if you do, hey, that’s cool’. It is or it isn’t. ‘We want to be welcoming and open to you, but a gay minister would be a bad example’. What is that?”

“I don’t think you’re understanding what I’m saying.”

“What do you preach on the subject—you personally?”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“It never came up.”

“It never came up? What is that? You just wait for things to come up? I thought you were the minister.”

Paul was used to having the final say on questions of faith and religion. He wasn’t expecting an argument from Ian,

and it stung. He had been showing off, confident in his authority in this area. He wanted Ian to be impressed. Now Paul wanted to backtrack and reword his statements to make Ian understand what he meant. But he couldn’t, because Ian had understood perfectly well. He saw right through it. Not only was Paul’s position a bunch of contradictory mumbo jumbo, it revealed a flaw in his personality. Ian was right: Paul wanted to please everybody. It was one of the reasons his sermons had become so unmemorable. There was nothing remotely controversial in them. There was nothing to make people think in new ways. At least the fire and brimstone church of Ian’s youth had had some fire.

“Are you still there?” Ian asked.

“Yeah, I’m still here. I’m just thinking.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just a sensitive subject for me.”

“I’m… I’m not a hypocrite.”