AQA2U launches today

AQA 63336 has launched AQA2U, a new way to receive information direct to your mobile phone.

If you sign up to an AQA2U service, you can receive regular texts on the subject of your choice - from football and lottery results to news and household tips. It costs 98p to subscribe to a topic, and then 25p per text you receive - up to 14 per month.

I'll be sending out writing tips via WRITING2U, a steady stream of excellent advice such as this:

Twitter.com is the writer's best friend. It encourages clarity, brevity & wit - hallmarks of good communication.

I'll also be publishing GAYNEWS2U, with regular LGBT newsflashes such as this from last week:

Amazon blames LGBT fiasco on software glitch: Gays remain unconvinced after 1,000s of gay titles disappear from Amazon rankings.

To subscribe to either feed, text WRITING2U or GAYNEWS2U to 63336. You'll be charged 98p to subscribe, then 25p per text.

To sign up [to other services], join the AQA Club (getting a free question & answer to your mobile phone in the process!) and then follow the steps to subscribe to an AQA2U service.

You'll also find instructions on how you can earn money being an AQA2U publisher.

I sent this in an email to Twitter today

Dear Twitter,

You are bloody fabulous. You are a prized and cherished part of my world. You have delivered me with so many opportunities. Let me say from the offset that I LOVE YOU.

And yet.

I can't understand how you got where you are while having such massive ongoing technical issues. I access Twitter both on the web and via DestroyTwitter (a rather brilliant API client). In recent weeks I'd estimate up to a third of my time spent on Twitter has been DOWNTIME. Nothing coming through the client. Nothing coming through on the web. Often seeing the Fail Whale or other fascinating icons you provide. Often just getting a "cannot connect" message. As I write this I am 50 minutes into the latest outage. Nothing for 50 minutes. I'm dying! My perspicacity is fading!

How can this be? Your rise to popularity has been astronomical and much deserved, which makes me puzzled why you can't get your act together on the technical side.

Twitter. Dear, dear Twitter. You are going to lose everything you have and become a laughing stock. Users like me will gradually tear ourselves away from Twitter, knowing that however much we love you, the constant tension, the persistent dynamic of love-hate, the ongoing emotional turmoil are not healthy things. Or worse, you are going to be faced with mounting legal claims for damaged laptops from people like me who, in a fit of rage during one of your many outages, will have thrown their machines against walls, out of windows and into canals.

Please Twitter, for the sake of all that is good and noble and worthy in this too-often sad and depressing world, do something about this.

I speak amid tears and with a heavy heart.

Dave Rattigan

J'accuse the Church of Nigeria

Conservative Anglican Rev John Richardson likens liberal Anglicans to the accusers of the woman caught in adultery (John 8). In response to the abhorrent actions of the Church of Nigeria in supporting the persecution of homosexuals, many, including myself, have asked why western conservatives have not condemned the hateful stance (pdf) of Archbishop Akinola.

Richardson asks, "Where are your accusers?", and paints liberals as eager to throw stones at the Nigerian Church.

Nigeria is already a country where homosexuality is illegal and open to severe punishment. To this, Akinola adds the declaration that procreation is threatened and human existence will be wiped out (Nigeria faces "complete annihilation") if gays are allowed to have unions. He calls for a theocracy, explicitly stating that human rights are secondary to running the nation according to biblical law. He makes the absurd and offensive claim that same-sex marriage will lead to male prostitution, and expresses his desire to outlaw gay churches, fellowships and clubs. Finally, he supports the imprisonment of same-sex partners (five years) and anyone who supports them (three years).

Like Richardson, I can see a parallel with John's story of the adulterous woman. But to me it is obvious that the Church of Nigeria is picking up the stones, ready to do violence to the homosexual, and western liberals are asking conservatives, "Why the hell aren't you doing something?"

This isn't about standing up for some abstract principle. It's about intervening to end oppression and persecution. In such circumstances there is no virtue in standing idly by and refusing to condemn.

This site is an archive

There was a time when I had blogs here, there and everywhere. To make things somewhat less confusing, I've archived everything here. Well, I tried to archive everything here, but Blogger's flawed system screwed me around and I lost about four years' worth of blog posts. However, readers of The Grace Pages (my religion-oriented blog from 2004-2005) will find most of my writings about fundamentalism, spiritual abuse, theology and the Bible.

On here are also sporadic posts from High Anxiety (a brief blogging journey through my struggle with depression and anxiety), The (Will and) Grace Pages (writings about coming to terms with my sexuality), Scambled Eggs (words and language) and a few other blog projects from over the years.

'Ello, 'ello, 'ello!

The Grace Pages is moving

A REMINDER: New location of the Grace Pages -- Bookmark it. Link to it. Add it to your Bloglines. It's the same but different.

daverattigan.typepad.com

A new kind of Britain

Is this what the British have to look forward to? Regular terror alerts, sieges on mosques and evacuations? Terrorist attacks, both successful and unsuccessful, week in week out? Armed police unloading five bullets into the head of a suspect in front of bewildered and panic-stricken crowds?

I'm not sure what to make of what happened yesterday. We simply don't have the details yet, although I'm not sure why they're so long in coming. Tony wonders if it's safe for a non-English-speaking tourist with a backpack and a propensity to panic in the face of gunmen to be wandering the streets.

Spoke too soon...

The man shot dead yesterday was not connected to the London bombings. There has apparently been a massive mistake. It seems to me Muslims must be the most terrified people in London at the moment. Not only do they face the same threats that all civilian Londoners face, as well as the threat of racially motivated violence, but now they have the added fear that they being in the wrong place at the wrong time puts them in danger of receiving five bullets in the head from the police. In the absence of a reasonable explanation for yesterday's shooting, who could blame them?

Goodbye, Mr Rattigan

Clearing out some old papers yesterday, I came across a historical relic: a reminder of my brief sojourn as a secondary teacher, which met its premature end about six months ago. Sitting at the bottom of a box was my planner, an A5 ringbinder full of registers, timetables and notes. It was almost painful to look at; not in a heartfelt, tragic sort of way, but more a squirming embarrassment. It was the same feeling I got when I watched Robert Donat's first day in the classroom in Goodbye, Mr Chips the other week. Ugh.

Doubtless things would be very different were I to enter a classroom now. Back then I was anxious and depressed, and my attempts to keep order were blunderingly inconsistent; I was like a blind hunter firing off bullets in every direction and hoping one of them hits.

I have a fantasy I often entertain, in which I bump into a former student -- any of my students -- downtown. We sit down next to each other on a bench, and I make informal conversation and renew our acquaintance. This time I am no longer Mr Rattigan, "Sir", but Dave. There's no tense stand-off over some infringement of the school rules, just a conversation full of care and concern, one that shows them that I am a human being and that I know they are a human being, too. We part company as friends.

I threw the planner away with great delight.

I will be returning to the classroom in September, by the way, in a related, but different capacity. Watch this space for news.

What's going on?

The reports from London right now are far more confusing than those two weeks ago. About two hours ago there were reports of three "incidents" at tube stations around the capital, and a fourth on a bus. Eerily reminiscent of the events on July 7. However, since then the reports have just been confusing. Information on the incidents has been scarce, and those reporting live from the scene keep being moved on as more and more of the areas surrounding the incidents are cordoned off. At Downing Street, BBC reporters are being chucked out of the area, and someone's just been arrested at gunpoint.

I was about to say the Prime Minister's in hiding, since he was due to appear half an hour ago, but he's on TV as I speak. Blair is typically restrained in tone, which is one thing I have appreciated in his approach to the terror attacks the last couple weeks. His short speech now is clearly unscripted, and thankfully absent those annoying. Pauses he. Seems to. Have adopted. Recently.

His words have not really added much information, but it is looking like London has had a fortunately narrow escape today.

Update: The police chief head guy from Scotland Yard has just spoken. His words were very unclear. He said there was no evidence of "any attacks involving chemicals or anything", from which I don't know whether he means they were attacks, but not involving chemicals, or they were not attacks at all. So I am still a little confused. In any case, the situation is apparently under control, and Londoners are being encouraged to return to normal.

Recollection in handwriting of a strange conversation

I have Writer's Block.

I have Writer's Block. Oh my God, I feel faint. It's worse than that: I am Writer's Block. My body is a block. Not just a small block, but one of those huge breezeblocks. My typing fingers are like little blocks shooting off from the one big block that is my body. I am the Block Man. Just call me Block. At this moment in time David L Rattigan is Writer's Block personified. I am the essence of what Plato would call Writer's-Block-ness. If Writer's Block had an Ideal, I would be It. Writer's Blockage oozes in semi-liquid form like day-old porridge from the very depths of my being at this time. For the first time in the history of the cosmos all the Writer's Block in the universe has been concentrated in one place, and I am that place. The blockness is making me nauseous. If Writer's Block kills, I am in the throes of death. Shakespeare might say that if Writer's Block be the food of death, shut the hell up. The entire space around me is becoming blockified. Everything and everyone within a square kilometre of me is enveloped in the primordial sludge of my blockness. I am Block.

(Apologies to Woody Allen.)

Ladies and gentlemen...

...please welcome rejected disciple Tom Hinkle to the blogosphere.

Encore

I was probably about 13 when I did these doodles.

Me voila

Frustrating day at work?

Feel sorry for Messy Christian.

My conducting debut and the 'Beryl' mystery

It's funny to think that after a lifetime making music, I never picked up the conductor's baton in public until today. Our regular director was absent, as were all the reserves, so it fell to me to conduct O Lord of All Hopefulness during the signing of the register. It was straightforward enough, and the choristers couldn't be bothered looking at me anyway, at least until I boomed out entirely the wrong words to the second verse, and then the choir girls looked right in my eyes with grins that threatened to turn into giggles.

It was fortunate I did not crease up. We were already quite giddy after the priest referred to the couple, Dave and Kathy, as "Dave and Beryl", prompting quite a bit of laughter -- but not as much laughter as when two minutes later he read the wedding vows as "soul and Beryl" rather than "soul and body". I think everyone now -- especially the priest's wife -- is dying to know the identity of this mysterious "Beryl".

Caught in the web this week

A fascinating article at Slate describes what drove Roald Dahl to create Charlie and the Chocolate factory. Hat-tip to Dave Cullen.

I discovered Christ Portrayed, a blog devoted exclusively to images of Christ in art and film.

One Jim Johnson relates his journey towards accepting gays and lesbians as brothers and sisters in Christ at Straight Not Narrow.

I foolishly add another arrow to my quiver at Liverpool Culture Watch. It's small at the moment, but when I get a few other authors on board, I hope it'll take off as a regular guide to arts and culture on Merseyside. I am pretty excited about the impending Capital of Culture year for the city, but equally worried about the prospect of genuine culture getting brushed aside to make room for big business. For instance, they're forcing Quiggins out of their premises to make room for new developments. This is insane. It's a major cultural centre in the city, and they're stomping all over it in the name of, um, culture. Read about the (so far fruitless) campaign to save it here.

In response to the bombings, resiliant Londoners have refused to be scared. We're Not Afraid celebrates the response.

No, hang on. Londoners are actually shit-scared. And they're saying it here at I'm F*cking Terrified.

Sense amid senselessness (2)

Simon Jenkins in the Sunday Times (London). (10/07)

Jon Stewart is back off vacation and on top form. (14/07)

Belated congratulations to advocates of women bishops

Congratulations to all those who have fought for years for women bishops in the Church of England. I remember Maggi sighing over the issue only a few months ago, seemingly resigned to desperation. Now the CE is closer than it has ever been, with women bishops probably only a few years away.

Here's Bishop Tom Wright on why he voted to delay the motion.

The Richard White solution

Richard writes:

In the light of recent events, it's really quite frightening to realise the mindset of some of the people who think they have a right to live in a country like Britain. People who follow a religion that has repeatedly been taken the basis for hatred and violence towards any that oppose their worldview. People who count as holy, a book that seems to applaud mass murder. The destruction not merely of their military opponents, but innocent civilian women and children. People who persist in following their religion despite its shameful history. A history that includes innumerable acts of terrorism and racial hatred. A history of oppressing women, keeping them subservient and dictating how they may dress. A religion that has a track record of nations that have been brutally governed by rulers who took it upon themselves to be the voice of their God and to impose ridiculously detailed legislation as to what was permissible in everyday life. A religion that seems to have so often fostered paranoia. Should we really put up any longer with allowing these people to live amongst us? To share the benefits of our liberal society even though their ultimate allegiance is not to our government but to their invisible worldwide nation.

It's hard to disagree with his conclusion. Rest of the article here.

'My little willy' in mourning

Gretchen Franklin, otherwise known as Ethel in the BBC's Eastenders (in its glory days, before it became the abysmal tripe it is now), has passed away at 94. She will be forever remembered for her "little Willy".

'Orwellian fixing of language' at the BBC?

Last week Harry's Place pointed out some discrepancies in the BBC's coverage of the London attacks. Initial reports referred to "terrorist attacks", where the next day references in the same reports had been deliberately replaced by "bomb attacks" and other phrases.

The Telegraph reported it this morning, noting that the BBC claim not to have removed the language of terrorism in toto from their coverage (although they admit they changed the reports in accordance with their policy on language). This is true: I listened carefully to the Beeb the next day, and there was no shortage of "terror" and "terrorism" references.

Tom Gross is mildly outraged. Andrew Sullivan calls it "Orwellian". While I do wonder whether someone was idiot enough at the BBC to think no one would notice, there is nothing Orwellian about it. Words are powerful things, and journalists are responsible for the language they use. What I find more disturbing than the antics of editors at the BBC is the assumption the critics seem to have that couching reporting in the language of "terrorism" that has dominated the debate over 9/11 and Iraq is somehow apolitical or objective. What we're really talking about is not the BBC's bias over and against the neutrality of their critics, but about different ways of framing the debate, none of which are value-free. I don't think by changing language in this way the BBC is denying these were acts of terrorism; they're simply trying to reframe the way these things are talked about in public. Reframing -- in a "War on Terror" that has been as much about words as about bombs and guns -- is what we need right now.

Agnostic is human

I rarely publicly call myself an agnostic, perhaps because "agnostic" suggests to most people less conviction than I probably have. In a paradoxical way, the incarnation, death and resurrection of Jesus is a central conviction shaping my approach to life at the same time as it's all up in the air in a haze of uncertainty and ambiguity. I came to a definite turning-point at about this time last year, when I took a kind of existential leap into the unknown and confessed that I didn't know a damn thing any more, but I was unwilling to pretend, and willing to jump, knowing whatever vicissitudes I might pass through on the way down, I was sure to end up safe in the hands of the Universe.

I'm a comfortable agnostic, as a friend told me on the phone last night. He phones me to pour out his religious doubts, and after listening to him spill his guts, I only ever have one response: Don't worry about it. Thus saith the Lord: Chill. He finds me reassuring, although I must admit it is scary to think I have that much power to allay the fears of someone so disposed to genuine angst and doubts.

Last night I tried to pinpoint why I thought there was nothing wrong with being agnostic. At one time it was a bedfellow with atheism as a great sin, the sin of rejecting God. I'm comfortable with it now because it seems it's only human to be agnostic. When knowing and knowing how we know and how to know and whether we really know and what to know in the first place are such torturous and dicey enterprises, I can't say I have much confidence in the idea that God puts much responsibility on our shoulders for being metaphysically correct. That fundamentalism in all its forms only ever seems to breed hatred and violence is a massive clue that certainty in religious belief is probably the last thing we need to have a harmonious world.

While perhaps we all have the capacity for religious or spiritual experience, we humans don't appear to have been given the faculties for metaphysical correctness. This leads me to think we should take these things with a pinch of salt, which is why at the end of the day agnosticism is only -- and rightly -- human.

A good week for idiots

Michael Howard is an idiot. He wants an inquiry into "what went wrong". The call looks to me like political opportunism. Who's to say anything "went wrong"? Shit happens.

Someone at my local hospital is an idiot, too. The other day my 1-year-old niece had some sort of accident while she was alone in the room with my two nephews, aged 3 and 4. My sister was in the next room, so she knows when it happened, but not how. On Saturday morning my sister noticed there was something wrong with her daughter's leg, and took her to Emergency, where they found a fracture. So she finds herself apparently under suspicion for child abuse, and they were not allowed to leave the hospital until this morning.

Yesterday my sister was distressed and in tears. It seems it was all insinuation and constant probing and interviewing, without much communication what was really going on. They fed the baby spaghetti-hoops and chips, and my sister was fed nothing.

I understand hospitals need to be wary of child abuse, but that can be done without causing this amount of distress to an innocent mother. Idiots.

Bakker to preach tolerance to ex-gays

Can't wait to see how far Jamie Bakker gets when he speaks to the Exodus conference.

Youse 'ave gorra be jokin' me?

No. At long last the Liverpool language is receiving the serious study due to it. A linguist at the University of Louisville has been doing some research into our local dialect. As the son of a newsagent, my favourite local quirk is "book" for "magazine", but I see the lengthy Merseytalk dictionary doesn't yet recognize it.

I wonder how long it will be before Mr Tudor-Smythe at SPECS picks up on this?

Bomb the bastards: My response to terrorism then and now

On September 11, 2001, I went about my day in a daze. I watched the news reports through tears and felt I was caught up in the middle of a surreal fantasy. This was what happened in third-world countries, not in a buzzing western city full of people just like me.

My emotions went from shock to anger. I still remember how I felt walking down Main Street, not quite conscious of everything going on around me. I was livid. I was mad, and I wanted something to be done. Frankly, if someone had put a gun in my hand and provided me with someone to blame, I'd have happily pulled the trigger.

Over the ensuing weeks, my anger fuelled my desire to see revenge. Not justice; just cold, immediate revenge. I heartily joined in choruses of the Battle Hymn of the Republic, lustily invoking the "grapes of wrath" and God's "terrible swift sword", dreams of a violent victory dominating my thoughts. My honest reaction was "Bomb the bastards." I knew the intense aftershock of having witnessed such a devastating attack so near to home.

Bush eventually found someone to blame, of course, and he wielded the swift sword on God's behalf. The grapes were trodden and their blood-red juice flowed.

This time around, I'd learned something. As I stood before the TV on Thursday morning, stunned by reports that were looking uncannily reminiscent of 9/11, how easy it would have been to let the same feelings well up inside me. And how tempting it is for a nation in the wake of an atrocious terrorist onslaught to jerk the proverbial knee and cry, "Bomb the bastards!" How easy it would it be for a media to exploit public anger and play into the hands of politicians hungry for another war, a government on hand with the rhetoric necessary to sustain the fervour.

I am relieved to say I haven't detected quite that reaction, either from the media or from the Government. Blair's response so far has at least been measured and unsensational.

One thing I have also learned over the last few years is that it is not enough to stand by and say nothing. When I saw Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11, I left the theatre that night knowing that these were unusual times we were living in, and I couldn't go on sitting on the fence. It wasn't a case of having been fully persuaded by Moore, or not seeing through his clever tricks and manipulative habits, but of being struck by the realization that whichever side of the fence you were on, it was not the time to leave the hard stuff to others. We all have a responsibility in this.

So, what can I do? I have always been lousy at following political arguments. I am usually good at seeing absurdity in things, however, and that has stood me in good stead as a satirist. I hope to expand on that. In times of national crisis, politicians (in theory) have intellectual debate; comedians tell jokes.

One of my inspirations is the satirist and comedian Jon Stewart of The Daily Show. Just watch as the guy rips into the "partisan hackery" of the hosts of CNN's (now defunct?) Crossfire. I share his disdain for mere partisanship and I love the way his spoofing cuts right to the heart of the absurdities. That's what I hope to achieve through my satires and parodies. I rarely set out to make a single, definable point in my satires, but I do like to provoke questions and perhaps reframe a situation or debate in a new way.

Why satire? I know for some folk, satire really isn't "their thing". Someone last week asked me (after I had made an asshole of myself in the immediate aftermath of the London bombings) how I would feel if someone wrote a satire about spiritual abuse or homophobia, both of which I have experienced. I think the assumption was that I would be offended or hurt. In fact I have suggested several times on this blog that I don't believe anything is beyond being treated with humour, least of all the things that directly affect and hurt me personally. Humour has been the mainstay of my life and my salvation in the most difficult times. Finding the irony and absurdity in life has kept me going when I've been at my lowest. To me irony is at the centre of the gospel. Perhaps that's what Barth meant when he said that "laughter is the nearest thing to the grace of God".

Ministry of Satire will be back up tomorrow.

Why am I gay?

It's the church's fault.

Love in Action out of action?

Controversial ex-gay therapy organization Love in Action may soon be out of action if they don't get licensed with the State of Tennessee. Here's the letter they received this week (click to enlarge):


Hat-tip to Queer Action Coalition.

Sunday: Update here.

Sense amid senselessness

Robin Cook talks sense in today's Guardian.

Noel Coward speaks from the grave.

F*ck, yeah!

"They're eating dinner? This is ridiculous! What must be done to arouse these idiots? A thing like that leaves them unmoved. But put the tea in the cup before the milk and they go berserk!" (Kenneth Williams observes the British resiliance to attack in Carry on up the Khyber. Right now I wish I could show the entire banquet scene from the film as a tribute to the British character. More of the British response from Andrew Sullivan here, here and here.)

Listen to Rudyard Kipling's wise words to the British at this time.

Proud to be British

My folks have a store, so I quite often survey the headlines, especially after a day like yesterday. What I find often angers me. My usual read, the Telegraph, annoyed me. It was the only headline I saw that flagged up both Al'Qaeda and "terror". "Just words," I hear you say, but I'm hoping our response as a nation will move away from the rhetoric of Bush's War on Terror. The Blair government has been good so far in that regard, and I hope it stays that way. Words are such powerful things, and it's time we reframed this situation in a different kind of language.

Inevitably, the tabloids irked me. More than one headline mentioned "suicide", when all indications so far were that these were not suicide bombs. Some papers announced with an air of authority that 37 were killed (the confirmed toll so far) where another stated unapologetically, "70 dead".

I didn't see any Union Jacks, and I admit I'm rather glad. Our reserve and resiliance are the best testimony to the character of our nation without getting carried away by jingoistic fervour. I hope it stays that way. I'm proud to be British -- and I speak of our people here rather than our government -- and I think that can and will be expressed in the coming months in many ways without resorting to a politically charged nationalism.

The day after

I am sorry for the timing of my satire yesterday. While I don't regret the content -- the questions I had in mind as I wrote were expressions of my immediate and genuine concerns, which I still hope to discuss at a later date -- I do regret being so hasty to publish online. I didn't consider that many of my fellow bloggers and readers were much closer to the situation than I was.

I apologize for being an insensitive asshole.

There was trepidation as I checked the BBC news this morning to get updated as to the situation. There was at least some relief that the death toll (37 confirmed) had not risen since last night, although only the coming days and weeks will tell how many of those lives being treated now will be claimed.

My condolences and sympathy to all those directly affected by these horrific attacks.

London: Fears and fortune

This day was perhaps inevitable, and after the devastation of 9/11, I can't help but think we were fortunate. It is a symptom of our times that a death toll of 33 (so far confirmed) can be considered mercifully small. Like everyone I have had fears of this kind of thing happening; I have had terrifying nightmares of being caught up in a terrorist attack; and yet I can't imagine what went through the minds and hearts of today's victims in London.

A little later I'll blog something about why I made the response I did. Far from being rooted in flippancy, my response stemmed from my own memories of and personal feelings about the events of 9/11. I'll expand on that. There were reasons for the timing, and maybe I'll talk about that, too.

London explosions

Thankfully, it is looking like this morning's events will not be our 9/11, although reports have been nothing if not ambiguous. Best news source continues to be the BBC, who were wisely tempered in their coverage while other news channels were indulging in the expected speculation. (BBC website may be hard to access at the moment.)

For an alternative viewpoint, see Ministry of Satire. The easily offended need not click.

Initial reports of explosions confusing

News networks across the nation tried to make sense of events in London this morning amid an array of conflicting reports.

"We are getting news of an elderly man with a stubbed toe," reported the BBC at 10:07am with typical restraint.

Over on Sky News at the same time, newsreaders screamed into cameras, "Get the fuck out of the country! They're here! They're here!"

Stories from eye-witnesses were wide-ranging.

"I thought I could see some smoke, but it could have just been a cigarette," said Sandra Revell, 29. "We did not panic."

A few feet away, Burt Jenkins, 40, sobbed as he spoke of "big explosions and alien spaceships with laser beams descending on the Houses of Parliament."

"Utter pandemonium," said ITV news, while Channel 4 correspondents praised the "great display of British calm."

Spiritual abuse: The conspiracy of silence

We decry the Moonies and the Scientologists for their manipulation. We won't allow the Jehovah's Witnesses and the Mormons to get away with abuse. Why? Because they're not one of "us". When it's one of our own, we hide behind the call to Christian leniency and grace, declaring ourselves "brothers and sisters" and refusing to sound the alarm. There's a conspiracy of silence.

I spoke to a vicar the other day about a "Christian" group I am investigating because of the horrendous emotional and psychological abuse that has been going on there for years. "I have concerns," he said, "but I wouldn't call them a cult, and I don't think it's at the stage where anything needs to be said publicly. I think they're genuinely trying to follow God." I wonder if they had come under a non-Christian banner or had denied the Trinity, would he have been so reluctant? I don't expect the sincerity-card would have been played quite so readily. I don't doubt most abusers are quite sincere, but when it comes to protecting the vulnerable and preventing abuse, the sincerity of the abuser comes way down on the list of priorities.

I appreciate the work of the cult specialists, but my concern is the abuse that's taking place in places that are recognized as Christian churches and assumed to be safe. It is easy -- especially for Christian organizations -- to go after the "cults", because they're easily identified and labelled. It is a harder thing that takes courage and conviction to overcome Christian niceties and expose abuse at our own altars.

Rwanda: We cared, but we didn't care enough

Thought-provoking stuff from Fergal Keane. Audio is in the sidebar on the right. Hat-tip to Richard White.

Free Zach

The story of Zach in words and pictures. Hat-tip to Peterson Toscano.

A day in the life of a cultbuster

I'm a certified cultbuster now. Did you know the Home Office has a department that deals with cults? I'd heard through someone that they had dealt with this particular cult before, although when I phoned the HO they said they had no record of it. I expect to hear back from them tomorrow.

I also spoke to a vicar in the same town. He said he had "concerns", but didn't consider the church a "cult". He said he'd heard stories of manipulation and control just the same from his daughter's archery club. (I bet they don't get their archery lessons directly from God, though, and I bet people who leave to join the golf club instead aren't denounced as followers of Satan.) He also thought the allegations were mainly from one small circle of people who were just miffed their plans to become leaders had been scuppered. He obviously hadn't spoken to my Mom, who is still recovering from the nervous breakdown they gave her almost three years ago, or the lady I spoke to on the phone yesterday who hasn't spoken to her family in five years.

If London wins, my life is planned until 2012

We will find out today whether London has won the bid to host the 2012 Olympics. If they do, the next seven years of my life look like this:

2008. Liverpool (European Capital of Culture year)
2010. Vancouver (Winter Olympics)
2012. London (Olympics)

Nah, frankly, I could care less about being here for the Olympics. Just wanted to register my pride in my two native cities -- Liverpool and Vancouver -- being the host of the Capital of Culture and the Winter Olympics respectively.

Unwritten rules on skid row

I received an email from a friend last night. He and I spent our teenage years together at the same church, and like me he has been appropriating for himself everything he experienced there. He'd been sorting through some old papers on the weekend, and had come across a photocopy containing these words:

A footballer jumps when he scores a much needed goal. A college student who is nervous about her test results dances around when she hears she passed with high marks...... Why? Expressive movement is something that is natural to us. Yet in western culture we discourage people from acting naturally in Christian worship. If Christ has changed your life, then you have every reason to wave your arms, jump up and down and dance for sheer joy...." (A Heart for Worship, Chapter 7, Worship Him with the Dance)

He goes on to explain:

It reminded me of the discomfort I always used to feel when attending [the church]. There was always the unwritten rule that thou must stand whilst singing, and if you didn't wish to look like a backslider then you must also clap, smile, jump up and down and occasionally scream, "Praise the lord". After which you should turn to the person to the left of you and say "God loves you"....... blah blah blah. Oh and don't whatever you do sit within 3 rows of the last row, otherwise know as skid row.

I never sat on "skid row": I was one of the holy ones. But I know just what he means. Some of the younger folks who would rather sit away from the action were often exposed and shamed by the pastor during the service.

Originally I thought that the idea of [our church] being a cult was an extremist point of view, although I could see your line of thought. I've always associate cults with mass suicides and the like, oh and of course the moonies. It was only when I visited factnet.org and a few websites about literal brainwashing that I really saw [the church] in a different light. I think it was on the factnet.org website that it had a list of 10 things which could define a cult. About 4 of the 10 things I could recognise from [the church].

He and I only renewed our friendship a few weeks ago, after losing contact for a few years. It's fascinating to hear his reflections on an experience we shared together and yet have never talked about until recently. I'll see if I can persuade him to write something more indepth about his feelings.

By the way, for the record, the cult to which I have referred recently is not my previous church. I tend to regard the Pentecostal church in which I spent my youth not as a cult in itself, but as a church with abusive leadership and a number of cultish traits. Unfortunately, I've seen far worse elsewhere.

Hall of Shame

Now that LeavingFundamentalism.org is back being regularly updated, I can add some names to the Hall of Shame (and Fame). I will check the backlog of email requests, but it would help me if those who have sent in requests over the past three or four months would drop me a reminder here.

Hucksters on the list include Smithton Revival pastor Steve Gray, healing evangelist Benny Hinn and possibly one or two popes. Oo-er.

Hall of Fame is also open to conservatives and evangelicals who have bucked the trend and done something praiseworthy. Theologian Stan Grenz is waiting to be added, and other nominations are welcome.

Tennessee to probe ex-gay group further

After their own investigation of abuse at Love in Action found allegations unfounded, the State of Tennessee has announced another investigation into the Memphis-based ex-gay therapy organization, this time to see if they are operating their services illegally.

Leaving Evangelicalism: When You No Longer Belong

LeavingFundamentalism.org is up and running again! I forked out full whack for Microsoft FrontPage yesterday, and I am glad I finally did, as I can finally update several of my websites that have been neglected far too long.

Latest article on LF is by my friend P James Bowen, in which he talks compellingly about his painful decision to leave behind evangelicalism.

Stop by the LF Forums as well. We need a few interesting (and vocal) folk to get the forum into shape, so register ASAP and get talking. Thanks a hundred times over to Roopster for his help and generosity getting things back on track again with the site and the forum.

The cult website is also back online. On my original site, I had included the church's homepage in a frame, but their webmaster changed his code so that any frames linking to the site would automatically refresh to a full page. In effect, my website automatically directed to their own website. No hacking was involved, but I don't doubt the move was calculated.

Cult playing dirty

A few months ago I launched a website to address major spiritual abuse at a church in Liverpool. Yesterday I accessed the site and found it automatically redirected me to the homepage of the church itself. I now think I know how they did it, and I have no doubt it was deliberate.

I'll be getting my FrontPage software back today, so I'll be able to address the problem. Look for a relaunch of all my sites, too, including LeavingFundamentalism.org, which has declined since my computer woes left me unable to update it.

Anglican Resistance

This sounds interesting. Hat-tip to the Salty Vicar.

NT project will start soon

The New Testament in Plain English project will begin soon. If you have already made a request to be added to the blog and I haven't responded in any way, please email me. Make sure you have read the FAQs first, though.

I have in mind to start with Mark 1, since it is relatively simple in New Testament terms, but I shall see what the other contributors have in mind.

'Love in Action' not abusive according to Tennessee

The state of Tenessee has apparently finished its investigation into ex-gay organization Love in Action. Allegations were unfounded, according to reports. No further information about the investigation has been released.

Converted to the Super Lamb Banana

When will I get back to some deep theological essays and stop writing about things like bizarre hybrids of farm animals and pieces of fruit?

I must say, after writing this article for Wikipedia, I am quite sold on the hitherto-despised Super Lamb Banana. It's taken about seven years, but I think I am finally used to it. The 15-foot creature is growing on me (not literally -- that would be hideous), and it's actually quite amusing. I suppose I was just too fuddy-duddy to accept such an innovation a few years ago, but now this giant banana stuck slap-bang in the middle of Liverpool's historic waterfront appeals to my postmodern sense of irony. What do you think?

Not really a blog entry...

...just a pic I needed to host somewhere. For anyone interested, it is a still from a missing scene in Terence Fisher's 1958 film Horror of Dracula.

Chatshow bite was 'only the beginning', claims Ferret

The ferret who famously attached herself to the hand of the late Richard Whiteley has revealed devastating secrets about her sordid relationship with the popular quizmaster, within just hours of his unexpected death.

In return for a six-figure sum, the diminutive beast will tell all in News of the World this Sunday. She is expected to claim that the apparently spontaneous nip was the start of a romantic association that lasted on and off for a decade, according to our sources. There was also a string of affairs with other celebrity animals, including Emu, Basil Brush and Miss Piggy.

The pair always claimed the relationship never went beyond dental, but the ferret insists there is more of the story to be told.

'I always knew there were other rodents,' the ferret, now in her seventies, told us, 'but I held onto him because I was desperately in love with him.'

Meanwhile, a gerbil who once worked for Yorkshire TV has reportedly received £20 from the Ilkley Gazzette for revelations about the star.

Countdown legend Whiteley dies at 61

I am in shock. Richard Whiteley cannot die. He and Carol are a team. How will Countdown survive?

His puns were awful. To say his ties were lacking in taste would be kind. But he was a friendly face, a joker you loved enough to invite into your home every day. Dammit, I shall miss the man. Been watching that show since I was a teenager.

Richard Whiteley
1944-2005
Yorkshireman
Presenter of Channel 4's Countdown
Famously bitten by a ferret
Remembered for his ties
His puns will live on

Brain-rest

I need brain-rest now. The local festival was a sensation, exceeding all expectation. The highlight for me was the announcement of the raffle winners at last night's concert. One of the prizes was "a set of four candles". The unintended joke dawned on the compere and the audience at roughly the same time and there was a bemused pause followed by outbursts of laughter and applause. British readers will get the joke. Others may need to acquaint themselves with this. Apologies to Ronnie and Ronnie.

Our new curate arrives today. Rumour has it he is 6'9" tall. Having said that, only a few weeks ago he was in his thirties and had a wife and several children, where now he is 25 and single. We now have five clergy on staff (not all fulltime, nor all paid), which makes us a very fortunate parish.

I just looked out of the window to see a woman letting her dog do a turd on the sidewalk. I always watch these situations carefully, because it winds me up no end when people let their dogs foul and then just leave the mess behind. I wanted to pat (pun entirely unintended) this woman on the back when she reached into her pocket and produced a poop-scoop. Bravo!

The sky is clear blue, and it is shaping up for a beautiful day. Cathedral this morning and parish this evening. Then some R'n'R this evening, I think.

Cheerio.

Tennessee to investigate 'Love in Action'

The ex-gay ministry Love in Action is to be investigated by the state of Tennessee. Although the reason is officially confidential, it is undoubtedly a response to the furore over 16-year-old Zach.

I spoke to a gay guy this week who, although he is living with his male partner, believes that he is condemned by God. Fifteen or so years ago he was advised by his pastor to get married. He and his wife had at least two children. Both the pastor and the wife knew all along he was gay. Marriage (and therapy, I assume) was the solution to his homosexual feelings. After ten years, this Pentecostal elder could bear the torment no longer. He left his wife and family and decided to be a "practising homosexual". He left behind his church. He believes he is wrong and fully expects to go to hell.

It's about time someone called these idiots to account.

Episcopalians to be given crayons, say bishops

In a move unlikely to find much favour on either side of the Anglican divide, bishops have said the ECUSA will be permitted to attend future conferences only if they bring crayons and colouring books and promise to be quiet.

"If they sit on the floor where we can see them, they'll be allowed in," a spokesperson told us, "but if there's any monkey business, we'll get right back in the car and drive them home."

The Archbishop of Canterbury lauded the plan as a workable solution to the current controversy, and harshly rebuked renegade churches who threatened to jettison the plan by bringing in video games instead. He also made clear the strategy would only work within strict guidelines.

"We simply cannot have any old crayons," he said. "As people of the Paschal moment, children of the creative Pentecostal Spirit and birthed in his image, they must be the best. They must be Crayola."

The ursine archbishop waffled something about a "modern existential crisis" before heading back to Lambeth Palace to solve world poverty.

Related: American churches shown door as gay row deepens (The Times)
Accurate summary of latest Anglican developments (hat-tip to Maggi)

Tropical temperatures, black coffee and fag-ends

I've been through several strong coffees and about ten cigarettes so far this morning. It is the opening night of our local arts festival, and I am one of the front men. Tons to do, and the temperature is sweltering as I sit here in my makeshift office putting last-minute things together. My shirt is sticking to me. Looking forward to tonight's opening concert.

The three Rs

The Canadian satirist Rick Mercer is now blogging. This is the guy who went round America with a microphone, asking questions like, "Do you support the Bush administration's bombing of Saskatchewan?", "Will you join our campaign to outlaw the annual polar-bear hunt in Ottawa?" (a university professor enthusiastically signed up, I seem to recall) and "What do you think should be done about the crisis with the capital's National Igloo?" (apparently it was melting).

Did anyone catch the BBC documentary about Roald Dahl last night? Wonderful. Although I'd been expecting something about his stories rather than his private life, it was illuminating and touching. Children's fiction is so important. And the young definitely need that dark, subversive kind of stuff Dahl provides. Sucks to the grown-ups who say otherwise!

There isn't really a third R, but the title sucked with only two.

The New Testament in Plain English

The New Testament in Plain English has been given a provisional start here:

Inspired by Wayne Leman's Better Bibles Blog, this blog will be a multi-authored project to translate the New Testament into plain English. Although if it is ever finished the result will be a full Bible translation, the process of translation will be the aim in itself. The discussions and debates will themselves be the whole point, with the final translation almost a by-product.

What are Dave Rattigan's qualifications?
I make no pretence of being a qualified Bible scholar or linguist. I do, however, have a degree in Biblical-Theological Studies, and a Post-Graduate Certificate of Education in Religious Education (I'm a qualified teacher of secondary RE, in other words). My own private studies have given me a grasp of the New Testament beyond my college education, and I also have a solid informal background (again my own reading and studies) in language and Linguistics in general.

Who can contribute?
Those who are suitably qualified. Formal qualifications aren't strictly necessary, but to avoid this becoming a free-for-all, there will need to be some evidence of knowledge and understanding of the issues at an academic level. Do you have a background in Biblical Studies? Have you written before on scholarly issues? Do you have a good understanding of language and Linguistics? I will invite a number of people to contribute at first, and others will be invited to apply if they are nominated by an existing contributor. You are welcome to request a nomination, but have a think about whether you are really qualified first -- I'd hate to have to embarrass someone by turning them down.

Is it Christians-only?
No. Anyone suitably qualified and with a scholarly interest in the Bible can apply.

How do I contribute?
If your application is successful, you'll be added to the blog as an author, which means you can log into Blogger at any time and add or update an entry. There is no requirement for how much you post or how often, but your contribution should fall into one of these categories:

• A translation of a verse or passage
• A defence of, argument for or discussion about a translation or translation issue
• A response or contribution to a particular discussion on the blog
  

For the sake of clarity, the project will begin with just one book of the New Testament (since that is my area of expertise, in so far as I am "expert" at all), and will be confined to one passage initially. I suggest a gospel, probably Mark, but I will see how far I get finding some contributors before I/we decide.

A scamble of links

Lynne Truss meets her match. Wahey!

Wiki experiment at LA Times goes seriously awry. Wahey!

When good wikis go bad

LA Times 'wikitorial' gives editors red faces. Heh.

Memphis gay teen forced into therapy

This repeats a lot of the information I've already blogged about, but hopefully it will be published elsewhere online.

For almost two weeks the Internet has been abuzz with the story of Zach, a gay youth from Tennessee. In a situation largely ignored by the mainstream media, but drawing a massive response from bloggers and online commentators, the 16-year-old's parents have enrolled him against his wishes in a bootcamp-style ex-gay program they hope will turn him back to the straight and narrow.

The controversy began on Zach's blog, where he had been candid about his sexuality. On Sunday, May 29, he wrote:

"Somewhat recently ... I told my parents I was gay. This didn't go over very well, and it ended with my dad crying, my mom tearing, and me not knowing what I'd done - or what to do. ... Well today, my mother, father, and I had a very long "talk" in my room where they let me know I am to apply for a fundamentalist christian program for gays. They tell me that there is something psychologically wrong with me, and they "raised me wrong." I'm a big screw up to them, who isn't on the path God wants me to be on. So I'm sitting here in tears, joing the rest of those kids who complain about their parents on blogs - and I can't help it."

Later on that week, Zach informed his readers that on the order of his parents he would be going to Refuge, an intensive reparative therapy program affiliated with ex-gay group Love in Action. Rules at Refuge include not acting "campy", keeping a "moral inventory" and reporting sexual fantasies and masturbation to a counsellor. Zach records his feelings:

"Soon, this will be all over. My mother has said the worst things to me for three days straight... three days. I went numb. That's the only way I can get through this. I ... I pray this blows over. I can't take this... noone can... not really, this kind of thing tears you apart emotionally. To introduce THIS subject... I'm not a suicidal person... really I'm not.. I think it's stupid - really. But.. I can't help it, no im not going to commit suicide, all I can think about is killing my mother and myself. It's so horrible. This is what it's doing to me... I have this horrible feeling all of the time... I wish this on no person..."

Under the heading "It's been a week of torture, anger and crying", Zach wrote that he didn't know how much longer he would be online, because "if they wake up, I'm screwed." Dated Friday, June 3rd, that was Zach's last blog entry.

The story has been reported all over the Web, with one online petition in his support gaining almost 1700 signatures as of June 21, and a crowd of almost 150 from the newly founded Queer Action Coalition campaigning daily against Love in Action outside the group's headquarters in Memphis.

Unable to ignore the controversy, Love in Action's founder, Rev John Smid, released a statement June 16, in which he did not address Zach's situation explicitly, but appealed to freedom of religion and parental responsibility as justification for the organization's methods:

"It is our intent with this program to assist the parents of minor children in bringing forth information and awareness in helping these young people in making informed decisions about how they will chose to act upon their sexuality upon reaching adulthood.

"This program is operated on the will of the guardian or parent. We will work with the minor children as long as they are not overtly distracting to their own program or the program of others.

"... we are standing firm on our belief that a Christian parent has the responsibility to intervene on behalf of their children when deemed necessary. ... we believe it is their moral, Christian, responsibility.

"We are treading upon a dangerous line when we consider taking away the rights of parents to raise their children in their own moral convictions."

Elsewhere, a one-time Refuge participant claims that Smid told him he would "rather have you commit suicide than have you leave Love In Action", although the quote remains unverified, and it appears Smid has neither confirmed nor denied the allegation.

Latest reports, again unconfirmed, say that Zach has been enrolled for a further six weeks in the program.

Update: The State of Tennessee announces an investigation.

A film not by Ken Burns

The Old Negro Space Program reaches great heights in parody. Particularly interesting to me linguistically was the contrast in language between the black characters and the one white character in the film.

Thirty years ago linguist William Labov undertook a pioneering study into the language of African Americans, comparing it to the language of educated whites and academics. He published it as Black Intelligence and Academic Ignorance, dispelling (reversing?) the myth that black Americans could not speak properly while the educated could. Unfortunately it is no longer available online except to Atlantic subscribers. His thesis, however, was that black Americans tended to communicate clearly (in their own variant of English, as sophisticated in its own terms as any), where educated whites had much more difficulty expressing themselves in plain language. The language of African Americans was concise, sophisticated and clear; the language of academics was convoluted and imprecise.

The Old Negro Space Program illustrates this brilliantly. Listen to "Dr Warren Fingeroot, African American Studies, Fresno State University":

What we see recurring -- or re-occurrng, if I may -- in this story -- or tale, if you will -- is the insistence or the assertion on the part of NASA that it never happened, which I think is a very roundabout way of denying or negating something, if indeed that is your intention or your intent.

Compare that to the clear, effective language of one of the African Americans:

It sure is f*cking cold up here. Yes, sir, I 'bout froze my motherf*cking nuts off. God damn. Space is one cold motherf*cker. ... But shit, woman, it is cold as f*ck up here.

Certainly the vocabulary is not to everyone's taste, but compared to Dr Fingeroot's meandering tangle of words, this is clear English, and it exemplifies Labov's point.

Dost God speaketh, or does he just speak?

When God spoke, he talked in plain Hebrew. And then plain Greek. And nowadays, I'd like to think he's carrying on the tradition and talking in plain English, but to hear some people complain, there's something much more godly about the language of the KJV and the Prayer Book.

As an Anglican, I am familiar with the debate over the new forms of worship in the Church of England. I've read the folks who write in to the Telegraph to complain that the beautiful language of the Prayer Book has been dumbed down. Frankly, I love the liturgy, and can see nothing unpoetic or unbeautiful about the forms of service we use. But at the root of these complaints is not simply style and beauty, but the tacit notion that God speaks to us -- and in turn we should speak to him -- in language that requires an education to understand. The truth is, not everyone has an "education", and the purists exclude millions from the life and worship of the Church when a grasp of a particular form of English is a condition for participation.

This is why Wayne Leman's campaign for a plain English Bible is so important. The Bible was not written for the middle classes.

Wayne and I have been discussing the idea of starting an online plain English translation of the Scriptures. It would be peer-reviewed, i.e. subject to ongoing criticism and change by others in the blogosphere who have the necessary expertise or interest in the subject (translation, unlike reading and listening, does require some education!). I'll be honest about my qualifications: I have a degree in Biblical-Theological Studies; I have a grad-level grasp of New Testament Greek itself, and thanks to my private studies, a greater grasp of New Testament scholarship and interpretation in general; I have an excellent grounding in the principles of language linguistics, but am not formally trained in that area. I make no pretence of being a qualified linguist or New Testament scholar and translator.

I envisage an ongoing project in the form of a blog, perhaps, to allow comments. Wayne and I and other peers can pick a particular book with which to start, and perhaps publish several different versions, alongside dialogue and debate, before deciding on a final version.

Wayne, are you up for this?

I'll be getting back to our other diablogue later.

What is a preposition, and is it something you should end a sentence with?

My friend Matt has requested an introduction to prepositions. I am lousy with technical terms when it comes to grammar (as an armchair linguist, I have an array of stock phrases that I throw in to sound like a trained linguist, and then the rest of the words I just make up), but if I were to give you a layman's definition of a preposition, I would say this:

A preposition is a (usually short) connecting word in a sentence that locates something temporally or spatially, e.g. on, in, with, over, up, for etc.

Today's blog title ends a sentence with a preposition. A language pedant would insist that "Is it something with which you should end a sentence?" is the only correct rendering. Other examples, ending with and without prepositions:

Who are you going with? | With whom are you going?
What subject are you speaking on? | On what subject are you speaking?

Churchill famously mocked the pedants when he wrote (or said):

Ending a sentence with a preposition is something up with which we shall not put!

For a more detailed technical definition of the preposition, see here.

Incidentally, I tend to avoid ending sentences in prepositions in many contexts, but I see that as a matter of style and preference rather than "proper English".

Got Attitude?

This month's Attitude magazine not only manages to be incredibly patronizing to its audience, but also reveals sloppy editing. The column on page 26 opens thus:

Gays are outrageous about sex: we love divulging information about that most intimate of acts.

Turning to the next column on page 28, I read this subheading:

Footballers, policemen, builders, postmen...us benders love to objectify a hot occupation.

It was looking like a parody by the time I read the first line on page 42:

From stalking our exes to being entirely wrapped up in ourselves, us gays love a crazy obsession.

Unimaginative, cliched and unforgiveably sloppy to overlook it at least three times in the same edition of the magazine. Ugh.

And the Lord said, "Good grief, with all this smoting and saithing I seem to be doing, I really am getting quite confused..."

I don't know where to begin my diablogue with Wayne Leman. He has privately suggested a round of ad hominems, which sounds like fun, but I'm running low on imaginative insults this morning.

We at least appear to share a common approach to language: Wayne's view is descriptive, rather than prescriptive. Prescriptivists are those vigilante language police who write lengthy diatribes decrying the world for ending sentences in prepositions (a crime up with which Winston Churchill famously would not put). Descriptivists -- pretty much any trained linguist -- are concerned for describing how language works in practice, and see "proper English" as that which is actually spoken and written by everyday English speakers, not some mythical standard that exists perfectly only in textbooks.

We also share a passion for plain English. What is the point of language if it communicates nothing? Ironically, it is the most educated who struggle the most with speaking plain English. This is a notice from downtown Edinburgh, as reported in Private Eye magazine's hilarious Pseuds' Corner last week:

Castle Street has been selected for implementation as an early action exemplar project to demonstrate the aspiration for quality that will help promote Edinburgh's New Town as a prime destination and retail experience.

What I wouldn't give for a large sock with horse manure in it. (Apologies to Woody Allen.)

In the absence of any hardcore nitpicks with Wayne's campaign for a better Bible, I would offer the following points for consideration:

We should give translators room for linguistic innovation. For example, the James passage that says "You desire and do not have; you covet and do not get," was understandable to me, even if have and get without objects are not ordinarily heard. I often use unconventional wordings and even coin new words and grammar myself in everyday speech because I'm a very inventive communicator -- but plain English and innovation are not necessarily mutually exclusive.

We should also be wary of confusing plain language with literal language. Wayne's objection to "There is neither Jew nor Greek ..." seems fussy to me. Most of our everyday language is metaphorical or figurative, and I cannot imagine most readers of English having a problem interpreting there is neither as "there is no distinction made between", just as James can say, "The tongue is a fire" without inviting confusion, or Jesus can say, "This is my body," without starting a major schism. Oh, hang on, bad example.

Your turn, Wayne. Maybe there's something in there you want to run with. Or with which you want to run. Or failing that, I don't mind going back to the ad hominem idea. I have a wart that's worth a few cheap shots.

Aung San Suu Kyi...

...the tireless campaigner for justice in Myanmar (Burma), turns 60 today. She spends it under house arrest. God bless her.

Crimes of fashion

Surely these outfits are illegal?


I think that guy in the middle is saying through his teeth, "Guys... guys... I think I broke my damned neck... Guys...?", and the chubby feller is saying, "Shut up and keep smiling." The other two's eyes are just shifting from side to side as if to say, "Who the hell's idea was this, anyway?" Hat-tip to Wilzhead.

'Love in Action' releases statement

Love in Action, the ex-gay ministry at the centre of the current Internet furore over Zach, has released a statement to the press. Read the digest at Ex-Gay Watch.

I'm off to the dreamy spires of Oxford to see a friend today, but tomorrow I hope to continue my diablogue with Wayne Leman of Better Bibles. (Although given we appear now to agree on everything, I'm really going to have to nitpick to get a good fight out of this one.)

Zach

The Internet (but not the other media, apparently) has been abuzz with the furore over Zach, a gay teenager in the US whose parents have forced him into ex-gay therapy.

You can read my response here:

F***ing mad with the fundies
How fundamentalists create and perpetrate the 'gay lifestyle'
Fundies are not the only fruits: The dangers of turning Zach into a poster-boy

Fundies aren't the only fruits: The dangers of turning Zach into a poster-boy

I don't know much about Matthew Shepard, the gay teenager murdered a few years ago and subsequently held up by liberals as a martyr for his sexuality. Perhaps I'll look into it. I am naturally suspicious of turning anyone into a poster-boy for a particular cause, however, especially when that person is not around to speak for himself. In the case of Shepard, his absence makes it easy (although not inevitable) for his persona to be manipulated and his name to be exploited for political ends.

Let's not do that with Zach. I don't know him. He could be an angel; he could be the son from hell. It's wonderful that so many people are fighting for his cause, but let's not give Zach a makeover. Let's not mythologize an individual. Let's not turn a real human being into a propaganda tool. But by all means let's continue the passionate and compassionate fight for his rights.

How fundamentalists create and perpetuate the 'gay lifestyle'

This is what makes me mad about Zach. Here's a hypothetical situation: Rejected by his family, made miserable to the point of contemplating suicide, Zach, at the age of 16, runs away. This is the first bullet for the fundamentalists: Zach becomes a rebellious tearaway; a family is split apart; Exhibit Number One; evidence of the destructiveness of the gay lifestyle.

Alone and inexperienced, Zach turns to the only people who are there for him, only they're the wrong sort of people. He gets in with the wrong crowd and pretty soon he's abusing drugs and alcohol. Another bullet in the fundamentalist gun; more evidence of the destructive gay lifestyle; Exhibit Number Two.

Vulnerable Zach is taken advantage of by predators and opportunists. With no one to protect his welfare, Zach is easy prey. By now he's stripped of all self-respect anyway, so what the hell if he lets himself get deeper. And maybe sleeping with every guy who comes along is the way to receive the love he never got from his parents. He becomes promiscuous and is exposed to all manner of STD and danger, not to mention the emotional risks. Confirmation that the gay lifestyle brings nothing but death; Exhibit Number Three.

Zach is ripe for exploitation of the highest order. Without love, without money and without real friends and guardians to look out for to his interests, Zach sells his body. He becomes a rentboy. At least it keeps him alive, and feeds his addiction to alcohol and drugs, one of the few things he feels he has worth living for. This is Exhibit Number Four; the final nail in his own coffin, and certainly the final nail in the Religious Right's campaign of hatred against gays.

Divided families; teenage rebellion; self-loathing; depression; drugs and alcohol; promiscuity; STDs; prostitution. All evidence of what the Religious Right has been saying all along: Homosexuality is not natural, and it brings nothing but destruction. Perhaps they will be fortunate enough to have an early death by AIDS added to the list in the near future.

That's what makes me mad about Zach.

I don't know what online petitions are really worth these days, but I had nothing to lose by signing this one.

Addendum: A number of people have queried whether Zach's story is true. I'm pretty perceptive in detecting the hallmarks of myths and hoaxes, although I'd be the first to admit if I turned out to be duped. In this case, however, I see no reason to question the truth of the story. The blog has all the signs of authenticity, including comments from people who know Zach personally. The story has been reported widely, using real names and referencing real organizations, and I have yet to see denials from any of the persons or organizations in question. Hoaxes are typically characterized by lack of detail and specific references, gross exaggerations and poor writing. Nothing about this to me signals a hoax.

Battle for the Bible: Wayne Leman and his campaign for a Bible he can read

Anyone who has been reading my blog from the beginning will know that I have a bee in my bonnet about the advocates of "Proper English". On the other hand, I have been outspoken in advocating "Plain English", which is something quite different. I am still trying to figure out where on the scale to place Bible scholar and linguist Wayne Leman.

Wayne is determined to see the Scriptures made accessible to all people, and with that in mind, he is passionate in advocating the use of good, plain-speaking English in Bible translations. In this I am totally behind him. Few things irk me more than people who can't string a sentence together without flying over everyone's heads, and this should apply to Bibles as much as anything, or perhaps more than anything. After all, the Scriptures weren't given for intellectuals and academics, or even for the educated. They belong to the people.

Recent tirades (I make him sound like a warrior, but he confesses he is "a tender-hearted fellow") are against ungrammatical wordings, although he has a list of at least nine translational categories to look out for. (After that last sentence, I hope ending sentences with prepositions isn't one of them.) He cites some quite bizarre translations that you wouldn't believe could possibly make their way into a Bible. "The righteous is delivered from trouble", for example -- these translators seem to have problems speaking their native language. "The wicked is a ransom for the righteous" is another one. I pity these guys' wives.

On the other hand, I wonder if Wayne doesn't stray too far over the mark from Plain English to Proper English territory. The Plain-English advocate is concerned for effective communication and intelligibility. The Proper-English advocate nitpicks over technicalities, whether they really make a jot of difference or not. I'm skeptical of his argument for transitive verbs needing objects. Wayne complains, for instance, that "You desire and do not have" (James 4:2a) requires an object, i.e. You desire and do not have x, y and z. Likewise with "You covet and cannot obtain" (4:2b). He worries that children might learn to speak "ungrammatical English" by reading such apparently poor wordings.

Ugh. Wayne. I think we should dialogue on this one. Would the imperative "Love and do not hate" be ungrammatical? Would anyone have a problem understanding me, even in the absence of an object to be loved/hated? "You desire and do not have; you covet and cannot obtain" reads well to me, and I find it difficult to believe the missing object hinders communication. I am all in favour of plain English, but in this particular protest I detect the faint aroma of the William Safires and Harry Blamireses of this world.

Well, Wayne, I am up for some discussion of all this. We haven't chewed proper meat on this blog in ages, so if you're up for some crossblog dialogue (a diablogue), let's go for it.

'Candyman' cleared of molestation charges

An eccentric celebrity was today cleared of charges that he had plied a 13-year-old with chocolate before molesting him.

Willy Wonka, 45, usually one to shy away from publicity, has become known in recent years for his extravagant tastes in candy and his lavish Californian ranch known as the 'Chocolate Factory'. It was there that he was accused of supplying Augustus Gloop, now 16, with several pounds of fudge and then assaulting the boy.

Visitors to the factory were made to sign a document forbidding them from sharing his 'candy-making secrets' and details of their stay with outsiders. Witnesses claimed he would lure young children into the factory with Everlasting Gobstoppers and other confectionery products, promising, 'Come with me and you'll see a world of pure imagination'.

A former employee identified only as 'Oompah' testified to having once walked into the 'Bubble Gum Room' to find Wonka 'juicing a girl of twelve like a blueberry'.

The case against Wonka began to fall apart, however, when it was revealed that the Gloop family had a history of deception to obtain savoury food items, including Bratwurst. The claims about Augustus's last trip to the factory, during which he apparently dived headfirst into the chocolate river 'in a vain attempt to satisfy his incorrigible lust for candy', were the final blow to the prosecution's case against the colourful millionaire.

Observers are speculating that Wonka might rejoin Slugworth to resurrect his languid career, but even after yesterday's unanimous verdict, critics are still calling on the Candyman to radically overhaul the way things are done at the ranch.

'This isn't over yet,' said a spokesman for the Buckets, the family who famously accepted a lifetime's supply of chocolate and a share in the factory in return for silence about allegations against Wonka. 'Entertaining kids alone in his glass elevator, sharing fizzy lifting-drink with minors and inviting them for private tours round his Fudge Room -- it has to end.'

'Candyman' cleared of molestation charges

An eccentric celebrity was today cleared of charges that he had plied a 13-year-old with chocolate before molesting him.

Willy Wonka, 45, usually one to shy away from publicity, has become known in recent years for his extravagant tastes in candy and his lavish Californian ranch known as the 'Chocolate Factory'. It was there that he was accused of supplying Augustus Gloop, now 16, with several pounds of fudge and then assaulting the boy.

Visitors to the factory were made to sign a document forbidding them from sharing his 'candy-making secrets' and details of their stay with outsiders. Witnesses claimed he would lure young children into the factory with Everlasting Gobstoppers and other confectionery products, promising, 'Come with me and you'll see a world of pure imagination'.

A former employee identified only as 'Oompah' testified to having once walked into the 'Bubble Gum Room' to find Wonka 'juicing a girl of twelve like a blueberry'.

The case against Wonka began to fall apart, however, when it was revealed that the Gloop family had a history of deception to obtain savoury food items, including Bratwurst. The claims about Augustus's last trip to the factory, during which he apparently dived headfirst into the chocolate river 'in a vain attempt to satisfy his incorrigible lust for candy', were the final blow to the prosecution's case against the colourful millionaire.

Observers are speculating that Wonka might rejoin Slugworth to resurrect his languid career, but even after yesterday's unanimous verdict, critics are still calling on the Candyman to radically overhaul the way things are done at the ranch.

'This isn't over yet,' said a spokesman for the Buckets, the family who famously accepted a lifetime's supply of chocolate and a share in the factory in return for silence about allegations against Wonka. 'Entertaining kids alone in his glass elevator, sharing fizzy lifting-drink with minors and inviting them for private tours round his Fudge Room -- it has to end.'

Evangelicals: The most misunderstood group in America?

Gay liberal Dave Cullen thinks so.

Fucking mad with the fundies

At 16 years old, Zach is being sent to boot-camp to because he is gay. He came out to his parents recently, and they flipped. Now he is undergoing an intensive programme to make him straight. He writes:

I can't take this... noone can... not really, this kind of thing tears you apart emotionally. ... I'm not a suicidal person... really I'm not.. I think it's stupid - really. But.. I can't help it, no im not going to commit suicide, all I can think about is killing my mother and myself. It's so horrible. This is what it's doing to me... I have this horrible feeling all of the time... I wish this on no person...

Go read. Am I overreacting to suggest this is blatant child abuse?

Hat-tip to Greg at The Parish.

Don't mean a thing if you ain't got that swing (Neville Skelly has it)

I was tempted to go home yesterday afternoon rather than brave the cold winds and wet weather at Liverpool's Pier Head, but after a power-nap and a black coffee in Burger King, I headed back towards the waters to listen to Neville Skelly and his orchestra. What a blast.

Huytonian Skelly is apparently fast becoming the King of Swing. And I can believe it. In the first half my toes were tapping, but numb; my fingers were icy-cold. By the end of the second, I was swinging with complete strangers and perspiring (perhaps the cider also helped loosen the limbs and warm the cockles). All the favourites were on the programme: Mack the Knife; Fly Me to the Moon; Come Fly with Me; New York, New York. Look out for this guy.

My gay bar debut

It was only in jest that I suggested a gay bar after the theatre. I am not at home in regular pubs and bars, so a proposal to visit a drinking establishment is best interpreted with tongue firmly in cheek. Not that night, I guess, because suddenly we were headed for The Lisbon, the "least unpleasant" of Liverpool's gay bars, according to my date. Oh well. It was about time I made my debut "on the scene".

I was mildly surprised to find a place with an atmosphere very much like any typical downtown British pub. Crowded. Smoke-filled. Noisy. Hot. At first, most people would probably not notice it was a gay bar, although a conscious study of the crowd would give the game away. I was surprised to see a number of straight-looking girls; but I was soon informed these were known as [excruciatingly camp term to describe straight girls who hang out with gay guys]. I suppose I was also surprised to see the majority of men were straight-looking, actually fairly boring-looking, although in retrospect I'm not sure what I expected to see: Barechested young men dancing around a pole? Drag queens swinging their pink handbags around outrageously? Unrestrained orgies at every table? Frankly, most there looked like the highlight of their nights would be a packet of cheese-and-onion crisps and a conversation about the latest goings-on in Coronation Street.

There were one or two spots of excitement. At one point a tall, slim, handsome young man arrived, making an entrance worthy of the catwalk. Removing his shades, he remained poised in the doorway for a second, stirring everyone to a state of mild excitement and eliciting a few whoops from the crowd.

"What was that about?", I asked.
"That guy in the shades. Walked in like he was Tom Cruise. Now there's a real queen," my friend said, nudging me.

I had one cigarette and a glass of mineral water, and then we left. On reflection, I would not say I was overwhelmed by the experience, but nor would it be accurate to say I was underwhelmed. To be fair, it was a thoroughly whelming introduction to the gay scene.

LeavingFundamentalism.org

Readers will be pleased to hear LeavingFundamentalism.org will be regularly updated as of this week (fingers crossed). All my websites have suffered the last couple months, and my main computer -- the only one that currently has Microsoft FrontPage -- has been out of action. However, there are a number of essays to be added, as well as a backlog of requests for the Halls of Fame and Shame, so expect some activity over the next few weeks.

Also look out for two new satirical projects to be published at Ministry of Satire.

The Roald Dahl Experience

My bathroom reading this week has been Roald Dahl's delightfully gruesome and hilarious Revolting Rhymes, a book which gave me no end of pleasure as a child. The link will take you to the text, unfortunately absent Quentin Blake's exquisite illustrations.

In the age of Snicket and Potter, it is nice to see Dahl's work receiving something of a revival. The Roald Dahl Museum has just opened its doors in Buckinghamshire. The second film version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is premiered soon, and next year should see the first adaptation of The Fantastic Mr Fox, directed by the great Wes Anderson.

Being an Anderson fan, I am more hopeful for the latter; I had higher hopes for the former until I saw the most recent trailer. I hope the schmaltzy, trite, Hollywoodish tone is just packaging; even Elfman's score sounded disappointingly routine and overblown. It will be quite a task to live up to the original.

Psalm 23 and the Evolution of Me

There was only one Bible verse racing through my mind as I lay flopped out like a starfish on the lawn:

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.

It was the climax of one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life: Coming out to Mom. My heart was beating frenziedly, my breaths long and heavy, my arms and legs sprawled lazily out in every direction. I collapsed and saw nothing but sky, and I remembered the psalmist's image of a sheep made to lie down in green pastures. In the following verse I could see a description of my journey towards being an openly gay man:

He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

"Coming out" is a strange and difficult time for anyone. Even in today's tolerant world, homosexuality is still closeted, especially in religious circles. The closeted young man trying to come to terms with his sexuality is confronted with a plethora of options, often -- perhaps more often than not -- destructive and not conducive to being a healthy, openly gay person. (This is what happens when anything is pushed underground; subversive and self-destructive ghettos are fuelled by the hatred and prejudice of others; and yet the haters, ironically, will then seize upon it as evidence of the supposedly debased and perverted nature of homosexuality.)

As I was coming to terms with my own sexual identity, I was faced with a crossroads, and looking back I can see the hand of God leading me down the right path. I could easily have made the wrong "friends" and become entrenched in the seedy side of gaydom. The timing could not have been more perfect when a friend referred me to a gay forum that consciously subverted the gay community's tendency to ghettoization and cheap, sordid licentiousness. The friendships I made there have been priceless. Surely God was at work in my life somehow, gently nudging me into the paths of righteousness...

...for his name's sake. I had trouble with that phrase. Behind it is the ancient notion of protecting one's name, and thus upholding honour. God, don't you have a better reason for wanting me to be righteous than simply to save your own reputation? Lord, is that what our relationship is all about -- making you look good?

Then I remembered that in Jesus God shared his honour with everyone. He invited everyone to the table, to a place of respect, dignity, honour and worth. I can't relate to a God who is only concerned for upholding his own reputation. But God who shares his name and his image with his creation, who creates us worthy to share in his honour: He is the God I know. He doesn't lead us into righteousness for him. Nor is it all about me. He does it, like everything, for us.

"Incitement to hatred" and freedom of speech

I am very skeptical of any laws that inhibit freedom of speech. I'm uncomfortable with Germany's law against so-called "Holocaust denial", for example -- in theory (this is an important qualification) I don't think any point-of-view should be excluded a priori from a public debate.

Now the British government brings in a new law against "incitement to religious hatred". I share comedian Rowan Atkinson's concern that this could be used to silence comedians and satirists, as well as discouraging or even ruling out altogether legitimate criticism. As an armchair satirist, I think there are few things, if any, that are out of bounds for comedy; I'm a firm believer in being outrageously offensive, and I wouldn't want to deprive anyone -- especially a satirist -- of the right to say, "Fuck Muhammed" or indeed, "Fuck Jesus".

The government argues that the legislation is clear about what constitutes "religious hatred", and dismisses Atkinson's concerns. But who decides if the boundary has been crossed? Ask people in the street their opinion of George Bush, and some of the responses will liken him to a Nazi dictator. If the man on the street cannot decide whether Bush is a fascist despot or simply misguided, how subjective is this process of determining the meaning of "hatred" going to be?

Besides, debate, even when bigots and hatemongers are trying to get a word in, is always healthier in the public square, rather than underground, where it takes on far more subversive and dangerous forms.

My letter to T

Hi T******,

It was great catching up with you the other day.

Make sure you are sitting down!

I have some news I'd really like to share, but to be honest, it is painful to share. I have shared it with everyone I am close to, and I really wanted to tell you the other night, but I figured it would be hard for you to take. I'd rather write than tell you over Messenger, as this way you can think over it and reread it a few times to avoid a kneejerk reaction. It will be hard for you to accept because of your beliefs and the way you've been brought up, I guess, but I hope you can be sensitive. I am telling you because I always wanted to be able to pick up where we left off and be friends when I return to BC; but at the same time I know your reaction may be one of disappointment, anger, outrage, sadness etc. I really don't know.

Well, here's the news: I am gay. Openly gay. I have been all my life, but have denied it for obvious reasons. I am also no longer a "born again" Christian. I am still a Christian, and very committed to my local church, but probably the sort of Christian a lot of folk at the ********** and other born-again churches would look down on or not consider to be a Christian at all. You may have picked up on the fact I was never totally comfortable with the beliefs of ********** -- for example, we had that "argument" over T****'s "living arrangements", and I remember one time you put me on the spot about whether Hindus would go to hell or something, and I wouldn't say for sure. At the time I was really struggling with a lot of the teachings I'd been brought up with.

Frankly, I know that a lot of churches -- including many ********** churches and perhaps **** ******'s -- teach that gays are all predators, a danger to children, a threat to civilized society etc. That saddens me, and I hope even if you don't agree with me living my life as an openly gay person, you can still see that all that stuff is a myth. I'm the same old Dave who just wants to love people, serve people, have a laugh and do the right thing. Who I am on the inside has never really changed.

I am "out" to everyone, so it doesn't bother me who knows, per se, although I haven't personally told anyone from the ********** yet (apart from my aunt, of course). Many of them would take it badly. Gays get such bad press, and I can remember the things I heard people there say about gays and lesbians. To some people -- and I really hope and pray you are not one of them -- it just means I am an evil, dangerous person.

Anyway, get in touch. Tell your parents if you must (I am not really encouraging you to), but I can almost hear Pastor ******'s response in my head as I write. Good grief.

It's painful to have to write these things to people whom I'm not sure would understand. But I have to say that you were my best and closest friend in *********, and I'd be overwhelmed to know you could try to accept me for who I am and just try to get to know the real me.

Cheers,

Dave

Excerpts from my secret diary

I kept a diary for about a year. It was during my first associate pastorate, immediately following Bible College. I can't and won't share all of it, but I will share some excerpts. There were limits to honesty with myself back then, so bear in mind this was a few years ago.

I cannot recall exactly how many times I have picked up this book to write down what I am about to write now. Many. What I am going to record is something that has been disclosed to only a small handful of people over the course of the past 8 years. My heart is racing as I put pen to paper. This is the record of my struggle with homosexuality.

Writing this is a big step for me. It is the first time any mention of it has ever been committed to paper. Who knows who might pick up this book and read. A friend. A stranger. A member of my family. Someone who hates me. Someone who loves me.

I have felt the undercurrents of homosexual orientation since I was a child. Throughout my prepubescent childhood I had encounters with a few different boys, of the sort, I imagine, that most "straight" guys have. Games involving viewing, and sometimes touching, other guys' genitals, that sort of thing.

... I use the terms "gay" and "homosexuality" tentatively because I do not think of myself as gay. I may struggle with that particular form of sexual temptation, but why should I be forced to make that part of my identity? Incidentally (well, actually, very importantly) my sexual feelings towards women are normal. I am attracted to women, their faces, bodies, their genitals, their personalities. I struggle as intensely with lusting after women as I do with lusting after those of the same sex. In fact, I am more likely to succumb to this temptation because, when you're tempted to lust after another man, lusting after a woman doesn't seem half so objectionable!

In retrospect, this last paragraph was gross overcompensation, spurred on by my denial of the fact I was largely, but not exclusively, gay in orientation. More later.

Fearing rejection

I had a friend, T. She was my closest friend out in BC. I looked after her kids during the day, and in the evenings we would have an absolute riot; most nights I didn't roll out her front door till 3am. Problem is, she was and is a diehard charismatic fundamentalist who hangs on every word the preachers have taught her.

I hadn't spoken to her for a couple years, although I'd always hoped when I returned to BC we'd pick up where we left off. My Internet conversation with her last night was painful; not because I told her I was gay, but because I couldn't bring myself to tell her. I've already had one brush-off from a charismatic friend, but T and I are far closer, and I value her friendship far more. To her I have always been "Pastor Dave", a wise, godly Pentecostal leader who's there to uphold the Word of God, and this news will be devastating for her. From experience, I think her instinct will be to see me as led astray by Satan, if not literally demon-possessed. She will see me as a backslider, someone who needs to recommit to the Lord and "get back in the right place with God". Any confidence she had in my integrity or character (and there was much, since she idolized pastors and preachers) will be gone. Her faith is of such a kind that she will be unable to see me as anything but tragically lost.

I will have to tell her before rumour gets around town. Ironically, having done the hard task of coming out to my parents, I think T may be the hardest of the lot -- certainly it's the one whose outcome I feel I can most confidently predict.

Dumb thing for writers to do

I made a mistake when I gave up writing for my trip last week. I didn't intend to; au contraire, I took my laptop all the way to Wales; but somehow I ended up lying in when I'd planned to write, and now I've lost the thread.

I do have ideas for The (Will and) Grace Pages and High Anxiety, however, so watch eagerly.

I also have two satirical online publications coming up, which I hope will be updated monthly. I won't share the titles yet, but watch Ministry of Satire carefully.

On the personal front, I may have an opening in a local elementary school to do various projects, including workshops. The Head Teacher was excited when we talked about the possibilities yesterday.

Here's to you, Mrs Bancroft

Actor Anne Bancroft has died at 73. She loathed being remembered for her 1967 role in The Graduate, but how could we forget her brilliant performance as she transforms Mrs Robinson from sexy seductress to bitter wash-out? Another personal favourite of mine was as actress Mrs Kendal in The Elephant Man (1980).

To me she was certainly in that category of film actresses, along with Tippi Hedren and Honor Blackman, who remained as alluringly beautiful as time went on.

She leaves behind husband Mel Brooks, which makes me rather sad.

Good travel writing

Travel writing is not something of which I've done much, but it is a genre uniquely suited to the writer untied to an office and a 9-5 working day. I intend to do it much more.

What makes a good travel piece?

As with any non-fiction, it is essential to realize that non-fiction requires no less imagination or creativity than fiction. My regular readers will know that my own non-fiction is filled with metaphors and irony; rote description is the stuff of textbooks. Paint pictures that draw readers into the experience of a place rather than listing details. Talk about the things no one else notices, because otherwise a) you're not giving anyone anything more than they can find out themselves from a pamphlet and b) life is nothing if not a succession of unnoticed moments that together create the whole. Don't give people the height of the Sacre Coeur in inches: describe what the stone felt like to touch, the expressions on local faces, the feelings as you walked up the great steps and what amused you about the nuns walking by.

I'll be writing soon about my recent trip to Wales; feel free to critique my writing in light of what I've just said.

Possibly the worst thing to say to a bishop

One of our bishops lives in the neighbourhood where I'm housesitting. Yesterday I was taking a walk round the block, and I said hello to a grey-haired chap who was in a driveway washing his car. After a double-take, I recognized him as the Bishop, whom I had met at church several times just to shake hands.

"Oh, I say, you're the Bishop of [such-and-such], aren't you?"
"Yes, that's right!"
"I thought I recognized the face. I'm from [such-and-such] Parish."

And then came possibly the worst thing to say to a bishop.

"You probably didn't recognize me without me dress!"

He knew what I meant, of course, but anyone passing by at that moment would have got some very odd ideas about the Bishop.

The Church's debt to gay vicars

It has long been a staple of the argument in favour of gay clergy that the Church has a history of gay vicars without whom we would have been the poorer. I always smelled a rat: Perhaps it was an urban legend, or at least a bit of an exaggeration. This week, after an intriguing conversation with a friend from my parish, I discovered that half the vicars I know are closet gays. Some will be celibate; others will have a partner tucked away discreetly; maybe some are so closeted their only relief is through seedy trips to bars out of town, but I don't really know. Certainly it made me reconsider the claim of the left that we would not have a church without the generations of gay priests.

I think the real scandal, then, is not that the Church is full of raving queers, but that the Church at large pretends they simply don't exist. It's two-faced: We love and honour our parish priests, and benefit from their gifts; we denounce and reject them by our campaigns of hatred against gays and lesbians. I wonder how much of the story of gays in the priesthood is yet to be told?

Go Reds!

I don't even watch football, and yet I am overwhelmingly excited and proud that Liverpool won the cup this week. Last night we stood around for five hours in the sticky heat waiting for the Liverpool team to arrive downtown for their homecoming.

Not being one for sports or rock concerts, I've never been a part of such an event. The streets of Liverpool were filled with an estimated 300 000 people. People were on rooftops, hanging out of windows, in trees, on traffic lights and lampposts, climbing over statues and monuments and scaling public buildings. Hundreds of thousands of bits of red paper filled the air like snow when the team arrived, and the noise was manic. I couldn't help but get into the spirit of the event myself, and I became hoarse shouting and cheering. The Liverpool anthem, You'll Never Walk Alone (yes, that one from Carousel), was sung with great gusto and emotion. It has special significance in the wake of the Hillsborough disaster some fifteen or so years ago, during which some ninety Liverpudlians were crushed to death.

The drive home was like a parade in itself. My sister was driving, and against her wishes I made full use of the horn. For a good few miles outside the city fans were walking home, their flags and scarves draped over their backs, and we motorists provided a steady chorus of beeping and honking to much cheering and applause.

It was an exhilarating evening. I was so tired when I got home, I dished out food for the cat and put it down on the table in front of my friend before I realized what I was doing. You know you're overtired when you start serving guests Whiskas Tuna with Carrot.

Elsewhere on the GraceWeb (I need to copyright that!) today: Chicken and egg: How I changed my mind on gays. Big increase in traffic on both sites yesterday thanks to US conservative pundit Hugh Hewitt, who linked to me and (so I hear) gave me a plug on his nationally syndicated radio show.

Chicken and Egg: How I changed my mind on gays

Which came first: The chicken or the egg? Conservatives will tend to assume I first wanted to be openly gay and then adjusted all my principles to fit in with my desires. From a conservative point-of-view, moving from experience to theology is dangerous, where moving from theology (Bible) to experience is always the right thing to do. They tend to be naturally suspicious of my change to liberalism, and coming out gay for some would be the final piece of the puzzle: Aha! He wanted to be gay, so he had to become liberal.

The truth is that I accepted other gays long before I accepted myself. I accepted that being a practising homosexual could be okay by God a long time before I brought myself to admit it could be okay for me. Were I to put these things on a timeline, I'd sketch my journey out of the closet roughly as follows:

Four years ago I first met gay Christians online, through a (non-gay) forum, and gradually came to believe I could still treat them with respect and fight for them to be respected, even if I disagreed with their sexual behaviour;
Three years ago I read a book that finally dissolved all my objections to gay relationships;
Two years ago I started to question whether I would ever come out of the closet, which I had never considered, even after I had changed my mind about gays;
A few months ago, after the long process of learning to accept myself as gay, I began coming out to close friends. I tasted freedom to be myself, and I decided this would be the first step towards coming out to the world at large;
Two weeks ago I came out to my family.

The book that changed my mind about gays, by the way, was Bruce Bawer's A Place at the Table: The Gay Individual in American Life. As a gay Episcopalian, a Republican and an outspoken critic of the gay ghetto, his approach cut through all the stereotypes, and it meant I could no longer hold onto the myths with any integrity. He spoke so tenderly of his own experience as a gay man, and it resonated with me both as a gay man and as a Christian confronted by the challenge whether to accept or condemn gay relationships. I melted.

When I changed my mind, I still intended to stay in the closet. The most I'd allow myself to hope was that perhaps when I reached my sixties I would find a "companion", and by that age I would not mind so much what people thought. I thought I could just get by on the twenty or thirty per cent of my sexual attraction that was directed towards women. Deep down I knew that the pull towards men was stronger in every way, but I was in denial.

This year I finally found help for the anxiety and depression that has consumed me on and off for the past eight years. In my newfound confidence, I decided I wanted to have some friends around whom I could simply be myself without pretence or defence. I would pinpoint the ones I wanted to tell and then at the right moment I would bring up the subject. The response was overwhelmingly positive, and it was freeing. Things accelerated; I thought it wise to build up a network of supportive friends to whom I could turn if coming out to family turned out bad; not that I ever thought they would reject me, but I expected it could be hard for them to handle.

Some conservatives will want to believe I changed my mind to accommodate my desires. Some have to think this, because the idea that gays and lesbians change their minds only to accommodate their personal desires is another of those convenient myths that makes it easy to dismiss them. I guess they really have no idea that some of us know we're okay and yet still fight fearfully to remain in the closet. We accept ourselves only with a long struggle.

By the way, I heartily recommend reading the compelling -- even heartbreaking -- introduction to Bruce Bawer's book. In fact, I challenge you to read it.

'Room with a View' filmmaker Ismail Merchant dies at 68

I feel terribly sad about this. Ismail Merchant, who with his partner James Ivory has made dozens of first-class films, including several based on the works of EM Forster, has died.

I always felt a deep affinity with their films, although I never understood why. I didn't realize they were gay, let alone partners, and now it makes sense why I would identify so strongly with their work. I wish I could grab this guy and hug him and thank him for sharing his gifts with the world, and especially with gay men like myself who have so desperately needed his films. I wish there were more artists and filmmakers like that.



Maurice, one of my alltime favourites, has been an inspirational companion on my own journey out of the closet. It was possibly the first mainstream film to deal so candidly and movingly with a gay romance.

Hat-tip to Towleroad.

Anything goes? I wish

One thing that comes through very strongly even in the most gracious conservative responses to the news of my sexuality is the assumption that by being openly gay I have decided simply to cave in to all my sexual desires. People tell me how they have had to resist pornography or deny their fantasies because they wanted to do the right thing, and the implication is that I have given up fighting temptation -- anything goes, because I've come to the conclusion that in order to be happy I should be able to indulge all my sexual urges.

This is so off-base. It's not a philosophy I live by. I resist my "urges" same as anyone. If I didn't, I would be having 19-year-olds in my bed every night; I would be out in seedy stores looking for a cheap thrill; I would be arranging sexual encounters over the Internet, something it is very easy to do in certain quarters of the gay community. Does anyone really think I've given up the hard task of making ethical decisions about how to express my sexuality? To be blunt, the inference is patronizing and insulting. I'm committed to doing the right thing by my conscience and by God. He's still leading me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. (More on that psalm later.) I've no more given free rein to my sexual desires than you did when you chose your wife or had your first kiss.

Yesterday someone asked how I expected conservatives to respond, if not negatively, to something they saw as detrimental. One thing I expect -- and I hope people expect it from me, because I am prepared to give it -- is for people not to jump to a conclusion at all, but to show some interest in getting to know me and understand me. Believing the myths and sticking with the same tired old rhetoric may be convenient, but will you actually take time to find out what's really going on inside me, and try to relate to me as a fellow human being trying to walk with God and be genuinely fulfilled?

The Richard White experience, the Liverpool experience, the Gay Vicar experience

Do not be deceived by the boring-looking 40-something-year-old whose photo was inadvertently placed in his sidebar: Richard White must be experienced in person. Yesterday he was the main attraction at my first ever official blogmeet downtown. We had coffee; I discovered free WIFI in the coolest part of town, to my great delight; I prattled at length about my journey out of fundamentalism and out of the closet; he acquitted himself as a listener quite brilliantly; he prattled at much shorter length about his own journey out of fundamentalism; then we took off to meet Carol and Celia (link to her impressive artwork coming soon) for a lunchtime meditationfest.

The meditation was wonderful. It was like an out-of-body experience -- I was swimming in mid-air around Celia's studio. We listened to the sound of our breathing and then contemplated the breathing-image in various scriptures. Very refreshing.

In the (unpleasantly muggy) afternoon, I stuck around to watch the build-up to last night's European football final: Liverpool vs Milan. I got out my recorder and saved some of the hysteria for posterity, including drunks singing the Liverpool anthem ("You'll Never Walk Alone") on Karaoke outside Thornton's. I interviewed an 80-something lady who refused to give me her name or age or much else. She was actually an Everton fan, but she'd been hijacked by Liverpudlians and was wearing a Liverpool scarf.

Then I had dinner with a friend from church, who informed me that about half the Anglican vicars I knew were closet gays -- not homophobes sanctioning prejudice and then leading a double life, but simply ordinary vicars who had decided to go through ministry without revealing their sexuality to their congregations. I always thought it was a bit of an urban myth that the priesthood was full of gays, but this conversation blew my mind.

(Edit: I should have made it clear the whole "gay vicars" thing is totally unconnected with my meeting the Anglican curate Richard White. Both he and his wife are adamant in denying the accusation that he is a closet vicar.)

Afterwards I really wanted to hang out outside Wetherspoon's, where the excitement was building as the match neared its end, but I figured it would get dangerous. Already glass bottles were being flung around willy-nilly, fans were enthusiastically piling themselves on top of passing cabs and buses, and a few idiots were starting to get physically aggressive. I hung around to record the excitement for about half an hour, but made my way home before the end. I thought I might at least catch the end of the match at home, but there was a delay on the line, and I had to listen to the nailbiting penalty shootout as relayed by my sister over the phone.

I'm not a football fan, but when Liverpool get this far, I'm damned proud. They won on penalties, by the way. Yay! I thought of announcing it to the train, but anyone on the train at that time of the night was clearly uninterested in football.

Go Reds!

Update: I should share this parody I wrote in the comments section:

Police raided the home of an outrageously outspoken homosexual today and seized several hundred sermons and a dog collar.

"I never suspected for a moment," said his partner of six months, Bruce. "Oh, darling, this is such a shock. He's always been camp as two t*ts."

There is evidence that he would frequent churches in the area late at night, even engaging in Eucharistic liturgies anonymously.

The South Liverpool Association of Raging Queens is currently investigating how an ordinary bender was able to live a double-life as a vicar for so long.

My first blogmeet

I am meeting another blogger. In the flesh. For coffee in a cafe downtown named after one of my favourite movies. Then I'm going to some lunchtime meditationfest organized by said blogger, who is an Anglican curate.

Don't forget to keep checking out The (Will and) Grace Pages, which is still being updated almost daily. I am hoping to start blogging the story of my struggle to come to terms with my sexuality, possibly as early as tomorrow.

By the way, have some fun with yesterday's survey and post your responses on the comments thread!

Getting the cold shoulder

I had a friend, one I knew because she was the granddaughter of a lady at my church in BC, even though we have only talked by Internet and phone, and never in person. When she decided to move in with her Muslim boyfriend, I was probably the only Christian she knew who didn't judge her. Her church "friends" literally gave her an ultimatum -- you dump him or we dump you. She lost every single one of them.

So when I came out gay, I figured she would at least know what it's like to be judged by other Christians, and receive the news with a soft heart. Not so. I got a cold response, and even colder today when I talked to her again, thinking perhaps she was over the initial shock. There's no desire there to find out what's been going on inside me for twenty years, no inclination to talk about any of this. She was quick to register her disagreement with my new "lifestyle", and hasn't said much else other than "I have to go. Bye".

Only from Christians, eh.

Everything you always wanted to know about Dave but were too afraid to ask

I stole this survey from Drina, who stole it from someone else. Feel free to steal it from me.

THREE NAMES YOU GO BY:
1. David
2. Dave
3. Charlie

THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD:
1. Shep
2. Baxter
3. Porgy

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. My large hands
2. My large feet
3. My large, oh, never mind

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU DON'T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. My weight
2. My inability to grow facial hair in the right places
3. My small, oh, never mind

THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE:
1. British
2. Canadian
3. Welsh

THREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU:
1. Having a spider crawl across my face while I am asleep (it actually happened at 1am today and woke me up)
2. Heights
3. Loved ones dying

THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:
1. Blogging/writing
2. The Daily Telegraph
3. Coffee

THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW:
1. Runners
2. Jeans
3. Grey sweater

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE BANDS:
1. Elastic
2. Broad
3. Ray Conniff and his...

THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP:
1. Romance
2. Conversation
3. Commitment

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE:
1. My early stage career included pantomime appearances in drag
2. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory makes me feel all warm and nostalgic
3. I did not gobble down a whole can of octopus chunks last night

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE PREFERRED SEX THAT APPEAL TO YOU:
1. A slim, slightly toned figure
2. Run-fingers-throughable shortish hair
3. Boyish good-looks

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES:
1. Reading
2. Films
3. Music (listening and performing)

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW:
1. Move into a new place (my own or shared)
2. Have a romance
3. Get some paid work

THREE CAREERS YOU'VE CONSIDERED:
1. High-school teaching
2. Acting
3. Film-directing

THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION:
1. USA
2. Austria
3. India

THREE KID'S NAMES YOU LIKE:
1. Esmerelda
2. Englebert
3. Gretel

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE:
1. See the world
2. Get my PhD
3. Share my life with someone I love

THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY A CHICK:
1. I love Moulin Rouge
2. I have long chats about personal things with people I don't even know
3. I swoon over cute guys

THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY A GUY:
1. I burp and fart when the hell I like
2. I hate shopping
3. I have a mother who still nags me

THREE CELEB CRUSHES:
1. Jude Law
2. Montgomery Clift
3. Wil Wheaton (when I was 13)

Got Attitude?

I went a store today and bought two gay magazines. More than anything, I wanted the buzz of buying a gay magazine for the first time and not giving a damn about what anyone thought. I even plucked up the courage to ask the grey-haired lady behind the counter if they had Attitude magazine.

I bought one called Bent (ugh) and the more well-known Gay Times. You have to sort the wheat from the chaff, much as anyone would buying an ordinary men's magazine. I enjoyed them both, and discovered a diversity of subjects I didn't expect, including religious news and views. Alas, the centrefold didn't do anything for me.