Sunday, 9th October 2016
I first
visited Christ Church on Mother’s Day, 2005. I had spent the previous six weeks
or so at my grandmother’s house here in Oak Cliff helping to care for her.
Arrangements had been made to move her later that week to a nursing home near
my Dad’s office, where she would only live for about another six weeks. Anyway,
I digress; what I want to say about that first visit is this: walking in those
doors, entering this amazingly beautiful nave, with its stunning woodwork and
majestic stained glass windows, filled with the rapturous music expertly played
by Dr. René Schmidt on that wonderful organ back there [wow, this is turning
into one really long run-on sentence]; I just knew I had found a home. Home,
that’s the only way I can describe it. I felt like I had come home.
You see,
it had been some time since I had been involved in a local parish or church. As
a young Christian, who happened to be gay, I had found many so-called churches
very unwelcoming. So, I was leery of most churches, fearing the eventual
rejection. I never doubted that God loved me, but I questioned whether the
people of God did. However, the welcome I received here at Christ Church on
that Mother’s Day in 2005 was so affirming, I was willing to take the chance.
It would
be several months later before I returned for my second visit. While I’m baring
my soul today, I should also explain that I suffer from bipolar depression. I
have a long history of suffering through very extreme depression for long
periods of time, without seeking help until I became suicidal. I would usually
then seek treatment, start on antidepressant medications, and then as soon as I
felt somewhat better, quit taking them. This cycle ran itself over and over for
years. And 2005 proved to be a very difficult year with the loss of my
grandmother, and subsequently moving into her house. I was almost literally
haunted by her memory.
Back to
Christ Church: late summer/early fall of 2005, I returned to Christ Church for
that second visit. And I believe it was a divine appointment, if you will. The
very next week, Fr. Bosworth, who was rector at the time, was starting an
inquirers’ class. I joined that class, and learned quite a lot about church
history, the Book of Common Prayer, and our faith in general. Not to mention
meeting and getting to know some amazing people here at Christ Church. One
person in particular with whom I felt a special connection was the Hon. Mrs.
Gladys M. Shook. Something about her age and temperament helped soothe the loss
of Granny.
Having
been baptized as an infant by my grandfather, who was a Methodist pastor, and
confirmed during my college years in the Charismatic Episcopal Church, which to
my knowledge no longer exists as such; it was my pleasure to be received into
the Episcopal Church and the Diocese of Dallas here at Christ Church on Sunday,
18th December 2005 by the Rt. Rev. +James M. Stanton, the 6th
Bishop of Dallas.
My early
years at Christ Church would be sporadic due to my ongoing struggles with my
mental health. But in about 2009, I became very serious about my participation
in the life of this parish. I began to more regularly attend Sunday and
Wednesday Masses and joined the Altar Guild. And as time passed my involvement
grew. I joined the choir. I started serving as an acolyte. I became a lay
reader. I joined the murder mystery and spirituality book club. And then in
2012, I was flattered when the Hon. Mrs. Gladys M. Shook nominated me to take
her seat on our parish Vestry.
But
2012, as it would happen, would be a life-altering year for me in more ways
than can be imagined. See, bipolar depression is not my only major chronic
health issue: in August of 2002, I was diagnosed as HIV+; and already by 2006,
my diagnosis had progressed to AIDS. I would follow a similar pattern with my
physical health that I had with my mental health. I would go to the clinic,
start on an anti-viral medication regimen, and eventually quit taking them, for
any number of reasons, but mostly out of denial. If I did not take medicines
two and three times a day, I was not reminded that I was sick. I know this is irrational,
but I have come to admit those were my feelings.
Sunday,
19th February 2012, was my 35th birthday. It was also the
day of the Bishop Arts Mardi Gras parade. Some of you will remember marching
with Christ Church in that parade. I had planned to, but did not make it. After
Mass that morning, and lunch at La Calle Doce, where you will find a group of
us from the choir almost every Sunday of the year (we’ll be in Lily’s section,
she is our favorite waitress), I went home to rest for a bit, planning to return
to the Church mid-afternoon to head to the parade. But, almost as soon as I
reached home, I was nauseous and vomited. I thought at first, maybe this was
because of the second celebratory margarita at lunch. However, I continued to
feel worse, with flu-like symptoms. I slept most of the rest of that day, and
the rest of that week.
I fought
severe fatigue and weakness, with frequent vomiting and endless diarrhea to
return to work a week later. Over the course of the next month, I would
continue losing weight, dropping almost 50 pounds. I hesitated to seek medical
help, because I was uninsured, and thought I would just get over it. But by
mid-to-late March, I was not getting any better. In fact, I was so sick, I
could not keep down anything I ate or drank, including water. I knew I had to
get help. I packed a bag for a few nights and drove myself to the emergency
room at Methodist Hospital.
I was so
sick, I knew that I would be admitted, but I thought maybe I’d stay three days
or so. I never imagined it would be three and a half weeks! And most of that time was spent in an isolation room where
my visitors had to wear masks, gloves, and gowns just to visit me. It would
take ten days before a tentative diagnosis: disseminated histoplasmosis, a
fungal infection also known as “cave disease” or “spelunker’s lung”. As the
oncologist / infectious disease specialist explained it to me, this fungus’
spores are common to our area, but most people’s immune systems are strong
enough to combat them without symptoms. As the first lab results would show, I
had practically no immune system left. My CD-4 Helper T-cells, which in a
normal person range from 250 up into the thousands, were down to 6. And so
after this tentative diagnosis which would not be confirmed until my final week
in the hospital, I began a daily infusion of Amphotericin B, a sickly yellow
life-saving liquid that was pumped into my blood stream intravenously. I had to
have 14 days of this treatment before I would eventually be discharged. And
because I was uninsured, it would turn out, I’d have to have two more weeks of
this infusion as an outpatient since I could not afford my post-hospitalization
prescriptions.
Thus, I
made the difficult decision to quit the only job from which I had not been
fired and apply for disability. I would not qualify for regular social security
disability insurance (SSDI) because of my spotty work history, due to my mental
health issues. However, I was approved presumptively for supplemental security
income (or SSI) and received my first benefit check in June of 2012. I also
applied for and continue to receive food stamps. SSI is currently limited to no
more than $733 per month. That and the financial support of my family is all
the income I had at the time.
And as
soon as I was discharged from the hospital, I returned to my home, Christ Church.
I had received regular visits from Fr. Ernie+ McAfee and Dr. Daniel Pearson,
among others, during my hospital stay; but I was so grateful on Sunday, 22nd
April 2012 to be physically back in my happy place, surrounded by friends.
I just
want to say, you, the parishioners of Christ Church, saved my life. Because of
you, and our common commission to share the Gospel of Christ, I have a reason
to live. Yes, I still get down or depressed from time to time, but I
religiously take my medications these days. Both my mental and physical health
are about the best they have been my entire adult life. And so, I say Thank
You. Thank you for being there for me.
I fear I
may have gotten a little off-track: I am supposed to be talking about
stewardship, right? Well, here goes: I want Christ Church to be a life-saving,
hope-building, safe space for others as it has been for me. And so, in the fall
of 2012, I filled out my first pledge card for the year 2013. Based on my
limited resources, I knew I could not afford to tithe (give a tenth), but I
pledged what I thought I could reasonably give. That first year, I only
fulfilled about 75% of my pledge. The next year, I pledged and gave a little
more. And then in 2015, my brother hired me for part-time work keeping the
books for his heating and air conditioning business, so my budget grew. So, for
2016, I pledged a tithe of my anticipated monthly income, and God has richly
blessed me: I have already fulfilled my pledge for 2016 and continue to donate
monthly. It does not make sense, but the more I give financially to God through
this parish, the more money I seem to have in the bank.
And I
want to point out one other aspect of stewardship. Stewardship is not just
about your money. It is about the three T’s: time, talent, and treasure. We all
have given of our time by being here this morning. When I could barely afford
to give but a few dollars, I gave of my talents to the Altar Guild, lay
readers’ ministry, serving as clerk of our Vestry, serving as a lay Eucharistic
minister, and the list goes on. Not everybody has as much free time to donate
as I have, but every one of you has some talent that can benefit our parish. If
you are not already giving of your time, your talent, as well as your treasure,
I urge you to begin: the new liturgical year 2017 starts on the Sunday after
Thanksgiving with the beginning of Advent. That gives you a few weeks to think
about how you can help to keep this beacon on the corner going for another 126
years.
Thank
you.
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