BY KRISTA RAMSEY
The Cincinnati Enquirer
Doug was invited to serve as a leader of his church, and he accepted. That would be the end of the story except that some people say Doug is gay. In the Presbyterian Church, homosexual and elder are not words that flow together.
The result has been two years of unsought controversy for Doug. In 1995, he was ordained an elder at Knox Presbyterian Church in Hyde Park. Then a church member filed a complaint, saying there was proof Doug was gay. A local church court nullified his ordination. This week, an appeals court reversed that decision.
Doug did not accept the position as elder to make a statement. He did not refuse it to avoid one.
He became an elder for the same reason he had been a deacon, an usher, chairman of adult education, the person who arranged rides to church for people who needed them. ''I just believe that when the church asks you to serve, you should try to say yes,'' he says simply.
Finding acceptance
His service has taken a form Doug did not expect, one he and fellow members may not fully comprehend.
It has offered this church of 1,300 members the chance to find unity in the midst of individual differences. It has allowed them to struggle with theological issues without struggling, irreparably, with one another.
Doug, an attorney, does not know where his fellow members come down on the issue of ordination of homosexuals. Perhaps more importantly, he does not feel the need to know.
What he does know is that his church continues to be his spiritual community, a place where he is allowed to be who he is. A place to confess one's faith and one's failings. A place to find acceptance and love.
A seeking life
Doug was not born into Presbyterianism. He chose it. His family was not religious. In high school, as his friends rebelled by leaving their faith, Doug rebelled by embracing his.
It was at Ohio State University that Doug began attending a Presbyterian church. ''I found it a community that welcomed openness. You were free to think. You could ask questions, have doubts,'' he says.
At 19, he was baptized by a Catholic priest, attended both Catholic and Protestant services, and sometimes went to a synagogue as well. He acted out of religious interest, not confusion. Then as now, he knew who he was. A child of God.
In the last two years, his faith has been tested. His best friend died of cancer. His mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. His ordination as an elder was approved, then denied him, then approved again.
At times, he wondered about his denomination, but never about God.
''The facet of God that speaks to me is God as the giver of freedom,'' he says. ''Jesus' ministry was about the unshackling of people.'' It is upon this point - not the public controversy - that Doug has taken his stand.
His God is not a God of exclusion, he says. His spiritual family - Knox Presbyterian - is not a family that casts away one of its own, even over great differences.
Doug felt, at times, he should leave the Presbyterian church. But he could not leave his family at Knox. They have not merely weathered this storm, but been revealed by it.
''I don't know that Knox has been changed by this,'' he says, ''but what it has always been, has been made visible to us. I'm not sure that the people at Knox ever really had to be brave before. I'm not sure they knew how brave they were.''
These church members have not settled the issue of ordination of homosexuals. They have not changed church policy, or led a revolt.
They have simply loved Doug. They have asked him to lead them. They have patted his shoulder, taken communion from his hand.
Whatever the complexities of the issue, on this point Knox Presbyterian has been abundantly clear.
''The people of Knox may not be of one mind on whether homosexuality is a sin, but they are of one mind that it is God's job to make judgments, not ours,'' Doug says.
That is why he chose to serve them. And why this gentle, thoughtful man remains.
Krista Ramsey's column appears on Saturdays. Write her at 312 Elm Street, Cincinnati 45202.
RAMSEY ARCHIVE