The Bishop - Chapter Seventeen: Methuselah Visits the Bishop

 Chapter Seventeen: Methuselah Visits the Bishop

In the quiet early morning hours, after he said his prayers, the Bishop would often sit quietly with his coffee and talk to Mary. Of course, she didn't really answer back, but in his imagination he would spin out whole conversations with her, and these conversations brought him great solace and comfort, especially when he felt alone, as he did now.  The decision he had made, and the way he had gone about it had isolated him.  Canon Suzanne Sharpe had resigned...well, taken early retirement...in protest. Archdeacon Robbie Ready was giving him the cold shoulder and refusing to help him sort through the situation as if to silently say, "You made this mess, Bishop, you fix it."  Even his dear friend Chancellor Trehewey, although supportive in her duties was hurt that he had not consulted her before sending out his memorandum just over a month ago.  And what had happened in the Diocese in the mean time?  Well, it was vestry season, and as was to be expected the vestries of most of those conservative parishes had voted to leave the Diocese and join a breakaway Anglican body.  It would take some time for this new parental body to receive these parishes and so in the interim, they had elected the Rev. Rebecca Hope as their moderator. How Presbyterian, he mused to himself.  Soon enough, he was sure they would elect her as their bishop. They had wasted no time in discontinuing their assessment payments to the Diocese and that strain was already beginning to show on the books. Mr. Arnold Argent C.A., drew up a revised budget for the remainder of year projecting what would be an absolutely catastrophic deficit for the Diocese. 

And was there any positive outcome of his authorization of a rite for same-sex marriage?  Well, the authorization was now in effect.  He was aware of a few weddings now set for the summer for some who had been civilly married for a few years, and others who had waited long for the church's blessing, but quite frankly, no one was crashing down the doors of the Anglican Church looking for gay weddings. The world had moved on and had left the Church behind.  Yet, to his knowledge, not one heterosexual nuclear family had imploded the morning his authorization came into effect, so that was positive at least. 

"What have I done?"  He asked Mary, but he could not hear her voice today. He had not been able to  hear her for some time now. "I have single-handedly torn this Diocese apart," he said, hoping that he would hear some words of comfort in response.  He yearned to hear her say, "No, Will, you have not," but no ethereal assurance was forthcoming.  He was alone, truly alone.

Later that morning, as the Bishop was half-heartedly going over some documents on his desk - they may have been Mr. Argent's revised budget for that matter - he was interrupted by an old man standing at his door.  It was Canon Swiftman, that aged Methuselah of of the Diocese.  It will be remembered that Canon Swiftman was the rector of the Church of St. Alfred-the-Great, and had been for nigh on sixty years.  He was now ninety years old, the oldest working clergyman in the Diocese.  He had refused retirement many times and even the late and resolute Bishop Temperance Verity, our Bishop's predecessor, had not been able to put him out to pasture.  Even at his advanced age, he was still a good and faithful priest.  Oh, he was miserable, to be sure, and had been for years, but he was faithful.  It will also be remembered, that he was the senior priest who stood up at the last episcopal election and nominated Mr. Perkins when the election was stalemated. It was in his aged wisdom that he had discerned the Diocese needed a "pastoral" bishop, and the synod (not to mention the Holy Spirit) concurred and thus  Mr. Perkins was elected to his present office.  It was hoped, and those hopes now seemed dashed, that Mr, or rather Bishop Perkins would be a breath of fresh air and hope for the church after the reign of his stern predecessor.

"My lord," he said, addressing the Bishop with an archaic formality with which no one had yet addressed him in his time as diocesan bishop, but Canon Swiftman was archaic, and formal. "I pray you will forgive my unscheduled visit, but while I was saying my office this morning, I was overcome with the most irregular sense that I must come and speak with you...and at my age," he gave an uncharacteristic little grin, "one doesn't put off such things."

"Quite so, Canon," the Bishop smiled and gestured for him to take a seat.

"My lord, I shan't take up too much of your time, God only knows I have so little of my own left at this advanced age, and I might not get up again if I sit..."

Again, the Bishop smiled.  They were silent for a moment and then the Bishop spoke, "Canon, I am afraid I have let the church down...and I have let you down.  I know why you put my name forward. You told me so yourself, you felt the church needed a pastoral bishop. I have not been what everyone hoped for -- and I'm not sure that's what they really wanted anyway..."

"My lord," the old man interrupted him, "I would like to tell you a little story."

The Bishop looked up, slightly confused.

"When I was a young man," the old patriarch continued, "when I was in seminary, well, I fell in love.  I know you will think this incredible, that miserable old T.R. Swiftman could be in love...I'm sure not a single person in this diocese would believe it, but I assure you it was so.  There was another young man, I shan't name him, but...in all my years, Bishop I have never told this to a single soul, or even let these words cross my lips, but I was in love with him. We were in love with each other. "

The Bishop listened intently.

"You see, my lord, I never expected such a thing to happen.  I had never taken any interest in girls. I wasn't always such an austere person, but I never really considered myself the loving sort. I just didn't think I was wired for it. And then, we met, and well, you have been in love Bishop..."

"Yes, I have."

"Well the feelings are so unexpected. I never ever believed I would feel the way I felt, but I had never really felt those things before.  To my great astonishment, he felt the same way for me. Of course we kept it secret. For awhile we imagined we could make it work, that we could find a life together, and continue on in some hidden way.  But alas, graduation and ordination approached.  That was a long time ago, my lord, and the world, the church, was a very different place." Canon Swiftman paused for a moment and then continued, "He was the one who ended it. I don't think I would have had the courage to stop.  We were both in love with church, though, and had such a deep sense of calling. We knew it was the right thing, and he had the courage to make the decision.  I considered turning my back on my vocation, but he released me from the pain of making that choice."

"I had no idea, Canon."

"No one did, and as I said, it was such a long time ago, and we were most discreet. At any rate, we were both deaconed and then priested, and during his curacy he met a young lady in the parish and he married her.  Then they went off to some God-forsaken place up north and were there for many years.  Occasionally I had word of them and one day I learned that after many years, and several children, the marriage had fallen apart. No surprise, I suppose.  He returned back to the Diocese and began to live very openly as a gay man. He was something of a fixture in "the village".  He even bragged about being a kind of chaplain to the gay community.  I saw him at meetings from time-to-time, but we never spoke. It was too painful, and to be honest, I disliked the way he was carrying on.  I had chosen a different way, alone. And truthfully, a way quite to my liking, lonely, but to my liking.  Not long afterward, he was removed from ministry by one of your predecessors for his flagrancy.  As I said, it was a different time.  It was not long after that, I learned he died of AIDS."

"I'm so sorry..."

"And now, I expect you know of whom I am speaking, Bishop.  I have never shared this with another living soul, not even my confessor.  I could not do what he did. I could not choose to marry, live a lie, destroy a woman's life.  And I would not be a scandal to the church, so I packed it all away and have lived the life I have lived.  He was a good man, a good priest, but it was just not our time and the paths we could take were quite limited. He chose his, and I chose mine.  Yet, sometimes I wonder, what if we had been young men today? How might our story have turned out?  Would I reach the age of ninety the lonely, cantankerous curmudgeon that I am today?" He peered over his glasses at the Bishop and gave another little smile, and then sighed, "But I was born when I was born. Who am I to question the Lord's doing, Bishop?"

"Who are any of us to question the Lord's doing, Canon, still..."

"Indeed," he interrupted, "that is why I came here.  You see, Bishop, we are where we are today.  The Lord has called you into this very particular and specific moment for a reason, and you have done what you were called to do. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.  It has not been easy. It has not been what you, or many others have expected, and you have made enemies. I'm sorry for that.  But do you understand, my lord, that you have set others free? You have given them the opportunity to have what was not my lot, nor that of my friend.  That is perhaps the most pastoral thing any bishop could have done.  Controversial? Certainly. Divisive? Definitely, but it is an act of generosity, of grace, that was not offered to me, and it could have changed my life. You have given a lot of people hope, Bishop, this old man included.  I have indeed lived to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living, and for that I thank you."

Without a further word, the old man bowed reverentially before his bishop and turned and shuffled away.  

The Bishop sat stunned for some time, trying to take it all in.  He wasn't sure what to think or how to feel. He thought he knew what was meant when he was called to be a "pastoral" bishop, what was expected of him. Canon Swiftman had dismantled all that now.  Yet, after a while he began to understand why indeed he had been elected and with that realization he finally heard Mary's voice again, and she told him in no uncertain terms what he must do next.