<\/p>\n
December 1 is World AIDS Day–a day to remind the human For those of us personally touched by AIDS, it is also a day Yet the late 1970s were the heady days of the gays rights One was my friend Jeffrey Michael. <\/span>We were part of a tight group of people who formed a He was the first person I ever knew who had come out; the But our friendship was not easy. <\/span>Of the questioning friends, I was usually the last person to I tried not to listen, but I had heard. <\/span>I heard his testimony of joy, of
\nfamily of the toll of the AIDS epidemic and take stock of progress against the
\ndisease. <\/span>It is, indeed, a global <\/i>day that connects rich and poor, people
\nof all races and creeds, and men, women, and children in a common understanding
\nof our fragility, our responsibilities, and our compassion for one another.<\/p>\n
\nto remember friends and family lost–a sort of contemporary Day of the
\nDead. <\/span>In many ways, I was the last
\nperson one would expect to have been directly affected by the AIDS
\nepidemic. <\/span>In the late 1970s, I was
\na student at an evangelical Christian college in California, a place known more
\nfor New Testament scholarship and mission trips than wild weekends in San
\nFrancisco. <\/span><\/p>\n
\nmovement and Harvey Milk. <\/span>When
\nAnita Bryant’s anti-gay crusade came to our state, many of my evangelical
\nclassmates supported her movement.
\n<\/span>But a few classmates did not.
\n<\/span>Instead, they choose to come out.
\n<\/span><\/p>\n
\ncommunity of questioners at the college; we tended toward theological,
\nliterary, and political edginess in the midst of the evangelical
\nenvironment. <\/span>In the safe embrace
\nof youthful friendship, Jeffrey Michael told us that he was gay.<\/p>\n
\nfirst person I ever knew who said he was “gay”; and the first person I knew who
\nwas seriously a gay Christian. <\/span>He
\nwas kind, funny, caring, faithful, and thoughtful–with a blistering theological
\nintellect and a profound trust in God’s presence in one’s life. <\/span>He wanted to become an Episcopal priest
\n(long before such things were openly discussed). While we were students, he was
\nin a car accident, nearly died, and suffered brain damage. But, miraculously
\nenough, he pressed through intensive therapy and graduated with honors in
\nreligious studies. <\/span><\/p>\n
\nchange my mind on any issue; I struggled with Jeffrey Michael’s confident sense
\nof identity. <\/span>I had been raised to
\nbelieve that it was wrong to be gay–socially, morally, and biblically. <\/span>Jeffrey Michael and I had blistering fights
\nover scripture and theology.
\n<\/span>Although I was loath to admit it at the time, his arguments shook me to
\nthe core. <\/span>And many days, it was easier
\nto ignore him and escape to my own comfortable prejudices than to deeply engage
\nthe challenges he presented to my small world. <\/span><\/p>\n
\nself-discovery, of pain, of fear–of all the complex emotions of a young gay man
\nseeking to understand God and the world.
\n<\/span>After college, he became a nurse to AIDS patients and poured himself out
\nto the “untouchables” of the 1980s as a sort of “Brother Teresa,” a priest
\nwithout formal ordination, among those whom the church then wanted to
\nforget. <\/span>Eventually, he died with
\nthem: <\/span>A priest who became a
\nvictim, the nurse who succumbed to the plague. <\/span><\/p>\n