Already, in Theology and the Disciplines of the Foreign Service, my memoir, I spoke of this story; it goes back to the year 1990. I had spent the previous four in Oxford, working on an earlier book. On my return to it, I discovered that the Washington diocese of The Episcopal Church (TEC), in which I was (and de iure still am) canonically resident, had in the meantime gone a considerable distance towards affirming same-sex unions, in advance of most other (TEC) dioceses. Although uneasy about the move, I was not necessarily opposed, provided there proved to be sufficient grounds for it. But I needed first to know what these grounds were. And at the annual diocesan convention (synod) in January of that year, I handed out a flyer calling for further consideration prior to taking any decisions.

My action, for me uncharacteristically bold, had two main results. One, was that four or five of the diocesan clergy responded positively to my initiative, being similarly uneasy about the move the diocese was making. Prior to the next diocesan convention, we met a few times to assess the situation. But other than sending out a couple of mailings to convention members, we took no particular action.

The other result was that I was invited by the members of the diocesan task force on sexuality already in existence, to join it. I thought it reasonable to accept, but the experience turned out to be one of the most co-optive, manipulative, and coercive of my life. Of the task force co-chairs, both priests, one was widely regarded as homosexual. The other, although heterosexual herself, strongly supported same-sex unions (she went on to become one of the first women bishops in TEC). Most of the task force members, lay people, were of the same mind as they were. Evidently, I and my two lay allies were expected to fall into line. And when we failed to, the majority made their unhappiness with us unmistakable. Even so, I attempted to come up with a statement to which both the majority and the minority could subscribe. But the majority showed little interest.

Towards the end of 1990, I submitted a resolution for the 1991 diocesan convention. This called simply for the co-chairs of the task force, instead of being both pro-approval as heretofore, to be one for and the other against, or at least uncommitted. But for doing so. I was witheringly denounced at a task force meeting by the first co-chair. When the resolution came to a vote, it was defeated, 118 to 114. Still if one submitted by me, who had been away for years and had no real standing in the diocese anyway, could come so close to adoption, evidently the diocese, which was to become widely known for its support of same-sex unions, was far from being all of that mind then.

Difficult as it was, my service on the task force had significant benefits. It led me to read widely on the subject of same-sex unions, considering that if I found the arguments in favor of their acceptance to be convincing, I was bound to go along with them. At times, I thought I might be convinced. The explaining away of the condemnation of homosexual acts in Romans 1.18f. by the late Professor John Boswell of Yale University, was of a sophistication I thought I could not match. But Canon Theologian Kendall Harmon of the Diocese of South Carolina, whom I had not previously heard of, supplied me with the measured, but thoroughgoing refutation of Boswell's arguments by Richard Hays, probably America's foremost New Testament scholar. In the end, I was not convinced; still I acquired a wider knowledge of the subject than I would otherwise have. Another benefit was getting to know people who had come out of a homosexual "lifestyle", in particular, Alan Medinger of Regeneration, an organization for those similarly coming out. I found his concept of redemption close to my own. Further, he reminded me of the pioneering work of Elizabeth Moberly, whom I had encountered in Cambridge, England, some years before. She had come to the unconventional conclusion that a homosexual orientation could usually be traced back to early childhood trauma in a man's relationship with his father. Her conclusion appealed to me in that, conversely, I had had a strong relationship with my father--despite his having been totally deaf from childhood. And for me, my sexual orientation has not been a question. These benefits contributed importantly to the position I will set out in this article.

My year on the task force was so nerve-wracking, that for some time I felt unable to engage in the diocesan discussions. In 1999, however, I tried again, along a line which may be worth noting. I spent three years of my Foreign Service career in wartime Vietnam and altogether was involved with that country, officially off and on, from 1952 to 1979. Thus, the question of whether the American intervention there was justified, was critical for me. What enabled me finally to decide, was Argument Without End by Robert McNamara, Secretary of Defense in the Kennedy and Johnson administrations and chief proponent of America's intervention. However, on the basis of post-war conferences between the leaders on each side, which he was instrumental in organizing, he concluded that the war had been unwinnable at any acceptable cost and that, further, it was unnecessary. Each side had grossly misunderstood the intentions of the other and the "bottom lines" of each were, in fact, not so far apart that the differences could not have been negotiated.

In this, I saw a model for the resolution of the church's division over the sexuality issue, likewise costly. It would consist in discussion sufficiently deep and honest to discern what the bottom lines, the vital interests, of each side actually were. Given their sharing in the human condition with its insufficiency, I felt that the need of each to turn fully to the Lord would emerge. My article "Vietnam and the Sexuality Issue" setting forth these ideas was published in the diocese's monthly newspaper, occupying a full broadsheet page. Disappointingly, from those committed to same-sex unions, it elicited no meaningful response.

Against this background I will explain why the church cannot approve of same-sex relations and remain the church. In the Anglican tradition as in a number of others, the basis of the church is Scripture; apart from Scripture, it must lapse into incoherence. And same-sex unions are inconsistent with Scripture. I speak here in terms not just of the condemnations of homosexual behavior in Romans 1.18f. and elsewhere in the New Testament or of the prohibitions in Leviticus 20 in the Old. These are cited often enough, but more fundamental is creation itself. According to Genesis 1.27: "God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him, male and female he created them." Both Karl Barth in the theological anthropology of part 2 of volume 3 of his Church Dogmatics and Pope John Paul II in his Theology of the Body, understand this to mean that the image of God is found not on man alone or woman alone, but in man and woman together. Still less, therefore, can it be found in two men or two women together. Another way of putting it, is that the latter pairs are inherently unable to achieve what God has purposed for them, individually, as well as jointly. Notably, both John Paul and Barth take man-and-woman together as the point of departure for their ensuing discussions.

What is set out in Scripture may generally be seen as having its counterpart in human experience, and that is the case here. Despite recent cultural shifts regarding sexuality, incest appears still to be prohibited. The objection to incest is that it involves a union of two individuals who genetically or otherwise are close to each other. The potential of a union depends on the extent to which it combines diverse elements, provided these elements are capable of combination. In the human sphere, the deepest division is between the two sexes: the derivation of sex from the Latin seco, cut or divide, is indicative of this. Therefore the union of a man and a woman has a potential of which other sorts fall short. It may be seen as an analogue of the union of the human and the divine in Jesus Christ, in which the potential, realized in the power of his resurrection, is the greatest of all. Affirmation of same-sex unions thus, implicitly, denies its power.

But where in all of this is the room for compassion with homosexuals? Are they not completely shut out? No, room may be found by looking at the sources of homosexuality, its etiology to be technical. That a source is not to be found in genetics, despite the intensive searches for the homosexual gene, would appear certain. Homosexuality is ipso facto a reproductive disadvantage. When a group within a population has such a disadvantage, even a small one, it disappears rather rapidly. And, evidently, there are at least as many homosexuals today as there ever were.

This is not to say, though, that homosexuality must be a conscious choice. Evidently, in most cases it is not. What then is the answer? An important clue lies in the work of Elizabeth Moberly, of which I spoke earlier. This pointed to an etiology in early childhood trauma in a man's relationship with his father. Therapists dealing with the condition regularly say that it is more complicated than that. Still, there would appear to be something to it. One day some years ago, I happened to meet a self-professed gay priest of the diocese whom I knew, and we had coffee at a McDonald's. Without any prompting from me, he told me that when he was three and a half, his father had contracted tuberculosis. As a result, his father, although he remained in the house, for six months avoided all contact with him. Not being able to understand why, this would have been a serious trauma for him. Consistent with this conclusion is the talent displayed by many homosexuals, for example the poet W. H. Auden. In their case, early childhood trauma could function like the grain of sand in the oyster.
At the least, we may suppose that childhood trauma of some sort--a legacy of the Fall--is etiologically important. To the extent that it is, we can regard homosexuals as victims and, as victims, deserving of compassion, of being listened to for their stories, especially of their formative years, of being asked whether they would like to be prayed for. More than this, we can offer them what has healed us and made us whole, namely the biblical gospel culminating in the incarnation, death on the cross, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. In sharing what is most precious to us we are truly being neighbor to them.

So to proceed is certainly appropriate with homosexuals consciously unhappy in their life style, of whom there appear to be many. It may be also with those unconsciously unhappy--essentially the rest of them. For, as is empirically evident, homosexual relationships can never be satisfying the way heterosexual relationships can. This is why, no matter how many concessions to homosexual demands are made, more are always sought. Such listening and offering would involve recognition that their problems are genuine even though their adopted remedy--homosexual behavior--is futile. True compassion for homosexuals is to be seen along these lines, not in the approval proffered by their heterosexual advocates.

Compassion should not, however convey acceptance, even tacit, of their behaviour. In approving of it, their heterosexual supporters are being not compassionate, but destructive. Still less should it convey support of the agenda of the homosexual activists. For rather than conform their behavior to the standards of the church, they have set about upending the church to accommodate their own. In effect, they have taken on the knowledge of good and evil not only for themselves, but also for the church and for the world too. And as we learn from Adam and Eve in Genesis 3, this is the original destructiveness. But even the activists may warrant a certain sympathy. For they are missing out on the blessing which could otherwise be theirs. Further, St. Paul, after concluding his condemnations of homosexual behavior in Romans 1, opens chapter 2 with "Therefore you have no excuse, O man, every one of you who judges. For in passing judgment on another you condemn yourself, because you, the judge, practice the very same things." Heinous though it is, do not we all in some fashion attempt to conform the gospel to our own ways? And, until we have confessed our faults, our own need for God's mercy, are we warranted in calling attention to those of others?

Past responses by homosexuals to approaches such as the one outlined above, would make its effectiveness seem uncertain. But God may still make use of it, and of the position it is based on, if these accord with his purposes.

Fr. Ted Lewis is Resident Theologian of All Saints' Church, Chevy Chase, Maryland and a contributor to VOL. His 29-year career in the Foreign Service included postings in Vietnam, the Congo, Korea, and Laos, in which he served as both an embassy economist and a non-stipendiary priest. His time since his Foreign Service retirement has been devoted to theological study and writing as well as to parish ministry. In his Theology and the Disciplines of the Foreign Service he brings his secular and ecclesiastical careers together, describing the links with theology that he came upon in the Foreign Service and drawing the implications of these links for theology, especially a Barthian natural theology.