Uncross My Heart by Austin, Andrews & Austin Read Free Book Online Page A

mini-Methodist wanted celibacy, the flamboyant feminist wanted sexual freedom, and I wanted out. “Can we really say that Jesus was so human that he had relationships as we might?” The moderator tugged at her tight tweedy vest. “Dr. Bird?” Staring at the heronlike man and hearing him addressed as Dr. Bird amused me.
    “Mary Magdalene was assumed to be Jesus’s wife, according to the gnostic Gospel of Philip. But Jesus’s kisses to Magdalene were platonic,” Dr. Bird chirped.
    “If I may.” The gypsylike professor raised her hand. “Joseph, Jesus’s father, was a good Jewish man respected in his community—”
    “Adoptive father,” the Methodist minister interjected in support of the Virgin Birth.
    The gypsy professor couldn’t contain herself. “Talmudic law required that a good Jewish father do five things for his son—circumcise him, redeem him, teach him about the religious laws, teach him a trade, and obtain the appropriate wife for him. Jesus was circumcised, then an animal sacrifice offered up to ‘redeem him,’ religion and the trade of carpentry taught to him. Why would Joseph stop short of finding him a wife, when not to do so was forbidden? Further, Mishnaic injunction states, ‘An unmarried man may not be a teacher.’ Jesus was certainly a teacher.”
    A young man in the audience stood up. “So when Vatican II wrote, ‘Priests through virginity or celibacy are consecrated to Christ in a new and exalted sense,’ it should have added, too bad Christ Himself couldn’t have remained celibate?”
    I jumped into the fray. “Celibacy was not Christ’s message. It was the message of Greek philosophers a century before Christ. By the time Christ arrived, the Christian cult was competing to outdo the pagan cults by being bigger virgins than they were. After Christ died, church father Tertullian outlined the order of excellence in relation to sexual activity. At the top of the list were virgins, people born of virgins, which is a very short list.” The audience laughed. “Then married couples who engage in sex for procreation, and, of course, last are those who have sex and actually enjoy it.”
    “On that note, let’s open the floor for questions.” The moderator let out a gust of wind, no doubt relieved to gain control again.
    A steady stream of people snaked into the center aisle and lined up to take the microphone. A disheveled, sandy-haired fellow directed a question to Dr. Bird on the Greek variations of the word “love.” I noticed a familiar figure behind him. Unable to see clearly with the lights glaring overhead, I put on my glasses for better distance.
    The woman spoke into the microphone. “Vivienne Wilde, with a question for Dr. Westbrooke.”
    My heart flew into my throat. How dare she stalk me after having sabotaged me in the press?
    “As an Episcopal priest, what do you personally believe about Jesus’s sexuality?”
    It took me a moment to gather my thoughts and decide politically how to answer her question but be true to myself. “The Episcopal Church’s position is one of tolerance. While we do believe in the celibacy of Christ, we do not—”
    “What do you personally believe?”
    “She’s kind of putting you on the spot there, Dr. Westbrooke,” the minister from New York joked, which bought me a few seconds.
    “It’s not important what I think personally about—”
    “It is to me,” she said. I paused. The moderator made a guttural sound, as if to step in and perform a rescue operation, but I held up my hand.“I’m honored, Ms. Wilde. If we believe that Christ took the form of a human, a male, like other men on earth, and I do, then we cannot lop off the sexual part of his being simply to satisfy our puritanical preferences.” I stopped at that. There was a beat before Vivienne Wilde smiled and thanked me and sat down.
    I don’t recall what happened after that—more questions from others, mercifully not directed to me—and then it was over.