Leap of faith: the Catherine Deveney interview

y CATHERINE DEVENEY

For Gene Robinson, death threats have become a way of life – a price he is paying for being the Anglican church's first openly gay bishop. Now banned from the upcoming Lambeth Conference by the Archbishop of Canterbury, he is at the centre of a row threatening to tear the religious establishment apart

BISHOP Gene Robinson is usually defined in terms of his nationality and sexuality – and they are not unconnected. Gay American bishop Gene Robinson… Well, ain't those Yanks somethin'? Ordaining a gay bishop an' all, no matter what the rest of the world thinks? Same way they goes stompin' off round the globe leaving their big muddy footprints all over places as don't belong to them.

Not that the rest of us don't have gay clergy, of course. It's just that we prefer to keep them locked in the communion wine cupboard as far away as possible from the mitres and preferably with parcel tape over their mouths.

Robinson has become an icon. He's a symbol of American arrogance or modernisation, of disunity or inclusion, depending on your standpoint. He's the man who threatens to split the Anglican church. Robinson says schism is not inevitable and God can bring an Easter out of any Good Friday, but he has been banned from the once-a-decade Lambeth Conference of bishops – which will open in London on July 15 – in case his presence offends the conservatives. Then arch opponent Peter Akinola of Nigeria announces he's not coming anyway, because he wouldn't mix with Robinson's supporters, so the brothers-in-Christ thing is getting a bit strained.

Homophobia has become almost as taboo as homosexuality once was. There are, though, two final bastions: the army and the church. 'Cos in the army you don't want no poofs around when there's men's work to be done and in the church… well, because God says so. Or does he? Robinson says there has been a fundamental misinterpretation of God's word. And perhaps a misrepresentation.

It's a bit dehumanising being a symbol. There are loads of press cuttings about Robinson to read before interviewing him but they are all issue-based – even his book, In the Eye of the Storm. But here he is, sitting with a very human cold, a small, avuncular man with glasses and a smile. You can see the steel flash, though. You need it when all people ever say about you is that you're gay! And American! And a bishop!

The cardboard cut-out version of Robinson makes me curious. What's the journey that took him from being a married priest with two daughters to being a gay bishop kneeling at a New Hampshire altar in a bulletproof vest?

ROBINSON GREW UP in Kentucky, the conservative south of America, in the 1950s. His parents were tobacco farmers. "We were extremely poor. I didn't live in a house with running water until I was ten. If you wanted water, you cranked it up out of a cistern. If you wanted hot water, you brought that inside, put a pan on the stove and took baths in a little pan of hot water."

His parents were largely uneducated. In fact, his father only went back to graduate from high school when Robinson was 11 or 12; there's a picture of the two of them in front of the fireplace, his father holding his precious diploma. But his parents were very religious. They thought most established churches had too much baggage and followed a scripture-based American denomination that, ironically as things turned out, had no priests.

The conventional interpretation of scripture Robinson received inevitably caused him difficulty and he still has sympathy with those who can't reconcile homosexuality with the Bible. "After all," he says, "I grew up with the anti-gay message as well. I was taught what they were taught. And it's only through a very rich and painful journey that I have come to a different place."

The word 'gay' wasn't used back then. People didn't even refer to 'homosexuals'. "We often referred to people who were 'that way' and the thought that you might be was like ending your life prematurely. It was a terrible place to be, and that's part of why I am public now, so that teenagers who suspect themselves to be gay or lesbian have positive role models."

But by the age of 12 or 13, Robinson knew he was 'that way'. "It was too painful to think it might be true in any profound and lasting way, but even as a passing phase it was horrifying. Frightening beyond words. I spent many years praying to God that this would not be true of me, that this would only be a phase I was passing though. It was such a shameful thing."

State laws have changed with regard to homosexuality, and with those changes came cultural change. But how can scripture change? It doesn't, says Robinson. Our interpretation of it does. Take the often-quoted chapter from Leviticus, which says: "You men shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination." Abomination, argues Robinson, means something completely different now. "What that word meant in its context was 'not customary'. There was no value judgment." Eating pork, for example, was also an abomination and few adhere to that now.
We have to acknowledge cultural differences, argues Robinson. Homosexuality was not an accepted concept in biblical times. What was part of Greek and Roman culture, though, was older men teaching adolescent boys the ways of the world and in the process using them for sex. That, says Robinson, was child abuse and no wonder St Paul was against it. But in biblical translations, that has been translated simply as 'homosexuality'.

In biblical times, the male seed was seen as containing everything necessary for life and women were mere incubators. So masturbation and coitus interruptus were also frowned upon. "But we have changed our minds, haven't we?" says Robinson. "Even the so-called biblical literalists pick and choose what they want to be eternally binding." Jesus said his followers should give up their possessions, he continues. But the literalists don't fixate on that. So does Robinson believe the Bible reveals absolute truths? "Yes. But do I believe in one person's ability to grasp it? No. I don't think any of us have the whole truth. Only God knows the whole truth."

As a young man, he hadn't worked out his own truth and undertook therapy to try to 'cure' himself . "I look back on it now as a lot of wasted money. Twice a week with a guy whose neck I'd like to wring. I think it's a failed proposition to say this can be changed. But I desperately wanted not to be gay and I longed for a family. I loved children."

Eventually, he believed himself ready for a relationship with a woman and he met Boo, who was to become his wife. He never deceived her. "I told her within a month that I had struggled with this my whole life, that the only romantic relationships I had had were with men, that I had gotten into therapy and felt that I had changed." Looking back, did he love Boo or just convince himself he did? "Oh, I loved her. Oh God, yeah. I loved her. I wanted this marriage to work. I thought it would work."

But a month before their wedding Robinson became anxious. "I remember breaking down in tears and saying I was just so fearful that this might raise its ugly head again somewhere down the road. She was very understanding and said, 'You know, if that happens, we love each other enough that we will find a way to deal with it.' And 13 years later, we did."

About ten years into the marriage, and by now an Anglican priest, Robinson recognised that he couldn't suppress his sexuality forever. For the next three years, he and his wife went to therapy, both together and separately. "We decided the only way we could keep our wedding vows to honour each other was to let each other go. There was no other person involved. She was not involved with anyone. I was not involved with anyone. We just did this for ourselves and each other."
Robinson decided they had to be honest about the reason, because everyone thought their marriage was perfect. "Ours was the marriage to emulate." Robinson's parents were devastated. "I flew home to Kentucky to tell them, not even sure I would be able to stay in the house that night. I think my father was on the verge of throwing me out. I did wind up staying, but it was horrible." Men are often more threatened by homosexuality than women. Did his mother react differently? "Oh yeah. My mother is the one who has always exhibited God's unconditional love. I don't think I could do anything that would make my mother stop loving me. But I think it was horrendously painful for her, for both of them."
And for him and Boo, of course. They ended their marriage by going back to church. "We took a priest with us to the judge's chamber for the final divorce hearing, then we went back to his church and asked each other's forgiveness for any ways we might have hurt each other." Then they returned their wedding rings as a symbol that they were each releasing the other from the vows they had made. "We pledged ourselves to the joint raising of our children, we cried a lot, and then we had communion together," recalls Robinson. "It was one of the most healing moments of my whole life."

He still has a great relationship with Boo, who married again. She was even a presenter at his consecration. "In a way we still love each other very much." And if they'd stayed married? "Everyone would have been damaged. It would have hurt me, it would have hurt her, it would have hurt our children. You can't live a lie and not have it affect everyone around you. I think it would have eaten me alive from within and it would have caused untold distress for my wife. Clergy climb into the pulpit every week and ask people to live lives of integrity. And if they're not able to do that themselves, what credibility do they have? So I never doubted it was the right thing to do."

But by doing it, he risked everything. Back then, there seemed no prospect of being openly gay and remaining a minister. "I thought my life as an ordained person in the church was over." His two daughters were eight and four and he told them the truth immediately. "Kids often think they have caused divorce somehow, that they are responsible, so I didn't want it kept secret. I think it's probably easier on girls than boys but they have been fantastic."

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