Having moved to New York two years before Bishop Paul Moore, Jr. took the helm of the Episcopal diocese there in 1972, and having come out entirely within New York church circles, I read with great interest the article, 'The Bishop's Daughter' in the March 3 New Yorker, in which Honor Moore posthumously outs her father as a bisexual man who had a lasting gay relationship, as well as other gay affairs,
Bishop Moore was the iconic post-60s liberal bishop. He was six-feet-five. When he became Bishop of New York Newsweek put his photo on its cover. He stopped work on the immense and unfinished Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine—the largest gothic structure in the world—because he believed spending money on such a structure was offensive in the face of the many impoverished residents of Morningside Heights and of Harlem over which the cathedral loomed.
He early on ordained women as priests once the national Episcopal Church changed its policy and, when it was still officially forbidden, the first openly lesbian priest in 1977. He and his cathedral raised the ire of conservatives by such actions as setting up a Shinto altar in one of the bays along the nave or celebrating the anniversary of the musical Hair with a mass, albeit one composed by Hair's composers. I was there, and it was one of the most incredible church services I ever attended: imagine 'Let the Sun Shine In' improvised on a 141-rank organ in a space with an 8-second reverb—but I digress.
I moved to New York to attend Columbia University, and while I wasn't really confused about my sexual orientation, I was afraid, somehow, about what to do with it or how or whether to act on it. I attended the cathedral, and fell in with the group of young men and seminarians who attended church there, began serving at the altar, and felt very much at home. Soon I became acquainted with a young man I realized wanted to seduce me.
The sexual conflict became too much for me at some point, and I went to one of the cathedral priests for counseling. He, naturally enough, was gay—I'm sure I wouldn't have sought him in particular if I thought he'd be anti-gay, but I didn't think about it consciously at the time—and his advice, in a nutshell, was pretty basic and pretty sound: to accept people for who they are, and to be myself, whatever felt right for me, rather than being pressured by anyone into anything that didn't feel right. Since where I grew up nothing even that positive was said about gay people, it was progress just for me to hear this said out loud—and from a priest. And our talks opened the possibility that, when it did feel right for me, I could accept my sexuality and enjoy physical intimacy with another man, and it would be OK.
I mention this history because it seems that Bishop Moore had an affair with a young man at Columbia who was considering becoming an Episcopalian. So, there was an established counseling relationship established between the two before the affair began, leaving aside for a moment the fact that the bishop was a married man with nine children. Indeed, Moore had affairs with other young men who came to him for counsel or to seek ordination, according to the current Bishop of New York, who wrote a pastoral letter in response to the New Yorker article and mentions anonymous complaints that had been forwarded to the Presiding Bishop at the time.
The New Yorker's intriguing revelations form part of a forthcoming book and raise many ethical questions. Should Honor Moore have dishonored the family pact to keep their father's secret? ( The family was aware of parts of his life, and some of her siblings have written letters berating her for outing him. ) Was this father of nine children in fact, gay? ( Honor writes of her parents' sexual problems, for which they sought professional help. ) And, from an ethical perspective, having sex with someone you counsel or whom you might ( or might not ) ordain is now termed sexual abuse, without anything else needing to be known. Of course, from the point of view of his marriage vows, having sex outside of marriage was adultery, even in the Episcopal Church. And, does this negate the many good actions and causes that Bishop Moore espoused?
As a gay man who still finds in the Episcopal Church a place where mystery can exist without needing definition, where reason is respected as much as dogma, where faith and doubt are not mutually exclusive, where my relationship is honored and LGBT issues are open, especially now that one gay bishop has had the courage to be out—I am troubled by the revelations about Bishop Moore.
From my experience of vulnerability around sexuality, I can say that if the priest I went to for counseling at the cathedral had made some kind sexual overture towards me, I would have bolted out the door, perhaps never to have entered in again. ( Maybe I err about my resilience, but not about my vulnerability or naiveté at 18. ) I worry that there are those who were abused or manipulated by Moore who have not had the resilience to continue in the church or in their lives. The anonymity of the complaints forwarded to the national church may have made them inactionable; however, Moore stepped down—now clearly under pressure resulting from those complaints—in 1989.
Mixed with the bitter feeling over Moore's sexual exploitation is another feeling, perhaps dating from my coming out in that post-Stonewall but pre-internet experience of being part of a very closeted, don't-ask-don't-tell society, whose secrets one felt bound to keep, however dirty they might be. And that feeling, that Bishop Moore was one of us, even though secretly, stirs a kind of pride. Much of what he stood for was good. The conflict is this: his public actions may be good and exemplary, but his private ones are not.
The challenge for his church—and for churches of any stripe—is to overcome the homophobia ( as we call it now ) that keeps gay bishops and other ministers closeted, and simply allow same-sex relationships to be accepted for what they are. Other church figures have been caught up in homosexual scandals, but the difference is that the others were on the record preaching against the very actions they themselves did. We've learned that Bishop Moore had a secret, and that he was guilty of sin ( or wrongdoing, if you prefer ) , but we haven't learned that he was a hypocrite. It may be a small distinction, but he didn't preach one thing and practice another. He preached compassion and acceptance. He accomplished much that was good, but I wish he'd been able to keep his sex life out of his ministry unless he had been willing to own up to who he really was.
Having come out back when it was finally becoming Christians' 'Time for Consent' for gay and lesbian relationships ( to borrow the title of theologian Norman Pittenger's groundbreaking work ) , I am grateful that the contexts of sexuality and religion were no longer being viewed as mutually exclusive.
Sadly, secrecy was still so much a part of church expectations then, that Bishop Moore broke the rules to express his sexuality, and he did it at least in part within the context of his Christian ministry. Today, alas, the very issue of whether GLBT orientations and relationships are God-given—and therefore inherently good—or are 'contrary to scripture' is the fault-line splitting Moore's denomination and communion apart.
As a gay priest told me, the tragedy is, that though no one on the newly Episcopalian Fundamentalist side will say it, their new denomination should call itself 'The Heterosexual Episcopal Church.' I can see the new church signs now, varying a longstanding Episcopalian motto: 'The Heterosexual Episcopal Church Welcomes You.' The revelations about the famously liberal bishop of New York, I fear, will only make them feel more secure in their prejudice.
