I used to be an Episcopal Priest.
When I was a priest I would pray. I prayed alone in whispers to Love. I prayed in public from a book of prayers we held in common. I prayed in gasps of awe and wonder at Love’s creation. I prayed with people in living rooms and at hospital beds. I wrote prayers and posted them. Every year I would write a prayer for Mother's Day and Father’s Day, I would change them up and add new things, but they were pretty much the same- year after year.
When I started this newsletter about two years ago I had just received a grant from the Episcopal Church Foundation to help heal some of the hurt caused by a church that proclaims welcome yet lives in fear and disgust of actual human sexuality. My dream was to help the church that I loved live into its stated dreams of inclusivity. I was the rector of a sweet congregation that proclaimed God’s love for everyone.
Meanwhile, backstage in my life, other beautiful things were happening. Years earlier my beloved husband and I opened our marriage for reasons that are none of your business. It was the best way for us to honor our love and commitment to one another. We chose to expand our love and our family with the hope of a long-desired baby with another partner of mine. With luck, grace (and a really great acupuncturist) I got pregnant just before I got the grant to become a sex educator.
Those of you who have lived in closets know, but to those of you who have not, trust me, it is no place to make a life, let alone raise a baby. We had many long family conversations about my love of my church, my love of my vocation, and my love of truth. We talked about my grief that these things were now in tension.
While I was still pregnant I met with my bishop, who had endorsed my grant application, and we discussed among other things polyamory as an abstract concept. She asked for resources to understand it better. She said to me that as long as no one was hurt she didn’t see what business it was of the church. We talked about the patriarchal and capitalist roots of marriage as it is practiced in western culture. I want you to know that I had reasons for the optimism that destroyed me.
In February my beautiful miracle baby was born and held in love by all three of his parents. In May we finalized a three-parent adoption with an amazing Judge who brought us a huge Danish and read us a Mary Oliver poem. A few weeks later I went to my bishop and shared with her the shape of my family. I asked for her help in navigating coming out to my congregation so that I could be my full self with the people I served.
I did not know it at the time but Father's Day 2023 was my last Sunday- at my congregation and as a priest. I was not allowed to say goodbye to my community. I was not allowed to speak to my vestry who announced my resignation without my consent. I was not allowed to speak about what was happening to me. I slipped into a sick and brutal alternate reality called Title IV.
Another time I may attempt to describe in more detail what this past year has been, but for now, I will just say that Title IV is an abusive Kafkian hellscape. My bishop never spoke to me again. Agreements were drafted by panels and demolished by the bishop. Meetings with aggressive lawyers got rescheduled at the last minute. Deadlines were blatantly ignored. The stated values of care and reconciliation felt like a sick joke. I never received one word of pastoral care or compassion. I was stripped of my identity, community, voice, vocation, and livelihood with a four-month-old baby and a severe case of post-partum depression. I was not allowed to say anything publicly about my life or what was happening to me. This is the the church’s strategy: shame, silence, and isolation.
The accusation against me was that I violated the church's teaching on marriage. And yet, the church violated countless canons in Title IV, played fast and loose with the process, and abandoned any pretense of Christianity.
I have spent the past year wrestling with hope that somehow there would be a way forward, some way to hold onto my family and my ordination. But it turns out that there is no room in the Episcopal church for me. The only proposed solutions on the table were either to destroy my family or to cut me out of the church.
And so I have chosen my family, my beautiful family that is no longer welcome in the church I used to love. I have chosen my family that the church sees only as a violation of doctrine and not a valid expression of love.
The last post that I published here was a prayer for Father’s Day. That was the last day I got to be a priest in the world. That was the last day I put on a collar. That was the last day I put bread in the outstretched hands of people who hungered for a taste of how loved they were. This has been a year of deep grief and anger. This has been a year of heartbreak and despair. But it has also been the first year of my baby’s life. It has been a year of joy and wonder. I do have some plans and ideas for what comes next. (subscribe and I will keep you posted) I still have dreams and hopes. I am nearly giddy with the taste of freedom and the ability to speak again. And, as of today, I am no longer a priest.
This coming Sunday is Father’s Day. I will be with my beautiful family with one mom and two dads (kinda like Jesus - just saying). I might make brunch, we might cook out, but we will definitely not be going to church. I will be with my family, the violation of church doctrine that is my home and my heart.
I have not prayed much this year. The old forms of prayer stick to the roof of my mouth. My heart stretches Godward and comes home empty. I hope to rehabilitate my soul and begin the process of healing. If you want last year’s prayer it is here. You are welcome to use it, share it, rewrite it as you wish.
But this year for Father’s Day I have written a prayer for the fathers of my children, two brave kind men who have said yes to my wildest hopes and held me in my deep despair.
Thank you God [who I am not even sure I can believe in any more] for both the fathers of my children.
Thank you God [who sometimes get called “Our Father”] for the ways they love our children and the ways they love me.
Thank you God [who if you are anything, are simply Love] for making us a family.
Thank you God [who they tried to use as a weapon against us] for the ways they have held me this year as the church has done its best to erase our family.
Thank you God of creation, God of compassion, God of healing and miracles. Thank you God of adventure and discovery. Thank you God of mystery and new beginnings.
And God [who is probably even now up to wilder and holier grace than I can imagine] please protect our family from those who see us as anything other than a family. Be with the fathers this coming year, keep them strong and grounded, keep them safe.
[amen]
My two husbands (because that’s what they are, regardless of what we can legally put on paper) and I raised four beautiful children together over the years; we, too, were grateful for third parent adoption in Oregon. Our children thrived under the loving care of three parents; by next year all four will have graduated from college. And we, too, have experienced so much of what you describe and have lost beloved faith communities through church processes that I can only describe as hell on earth. We have also lost jobs because of discriminatory behavior (fortunately we were able to walk away instead of being let go). I’m so sorry that you experienced both at the same time. None of what you have experienced is okay, none of it is Christian (at least, not what Christianity should be), and none of it will change until the “good” people who are still in these congregations do something about it other than sending you thoughts and prayers and tut-tutting about how unfortunate it is before going back to their Sunday social hour. We ended up starting our own faith community after several horrible experiences with churches who were too cowardly to offer us the opportunity to attend and serve as our authentic selves.
It’s time to expand those statements of welcome, folks… and to create safety for every kind of loving, committed, beautiful family, in church and everywhere.
Thank you for describing your experience openly. Sending lots of love and empathy your way.
Dear Kerlin, I, too, was once an Episcopal priest. And I, too, was shown the door because my personal life did not conform to expectations. Some details differ, but those aren't important. The bottom line is that I had hoped to be understood, to at least be asked what was going on for me, and why my life had taken the turn that it did. None of that happened. And I was what I called an "ecclesiastical homeless person" for a decade. Only after a long time in the desert did I find a community that could welcome me completely.
I'm sorry that I am only finding you here on Substack after all this time. I pray that you are finding peace and support in meaningful ways.