COLORADO: RIFT OVER SAME-SEX CEREMONIES FRAYS EPISCOPAL DIOCESE

Clergy Exchange Volleys as Church Weighs Gay Rights

By Jean Torkelson, Rocky Mountain News — July 10, 2004

A private same-sex ceremony in April between two Episcopalian women has escalated into charges of deception, "secret protocols" — and even a taunt of perjury against a retired Colorado bishop.

"Jerry Winterrowd knew such covert blessings were being done," says the diocese's most outspoken leader of the traditional wing, the Rev. Don Armstrong.

He argues that Winterrowd, who retired in January, paved the way for today's disputes by secretly laying down guidelines for same-sex blessings 10 years ago — but testified otherwise during a 1999 lawsuit brought by a lesbian youth minister.

"That's a bald-faced lie," Winterrowd retorts. "If Mr. Armstrong feels that way, he ought to make a presentment (church complaint) against me."

Such is the rift between two men who once played tennis and enjoyed dinner together with their wives.

The rift in the Episcopal Church USA — and the Colorado diocese — illustrates how American society is being riven by the movement to widen marriage to include same-sex unions.

This weekend marks a nationwide campaign to urge church members to support the federal marriage amendment, which defines marriage as solely a union between a man and a woman. It's scheduled for a Senate vote next week.

Last summer, the gay rights issue made history in the Episcopal Church USA when the church officially approved an openly gay bishop and the right of each diocese to develop so-called same-sex blessings — essentially, a ritual presided over by a priest and the closest thing to an official church marriage for gay couples.

In Colorado, both Winterrowd and his successor, Rob O'Neill, favor the idea. But to placate conservatives, the newly appointed O'Neill promised in January he would not authorize same-sex blessings until a task force study was finished. The study just ended, O'Neill said this week. He declined to give details, but said the findings don't call for same-sex blessings right now.

In the interim, the traditionalists hoped O'Neill would "repent" altogether from his gay rights stand, which they believe is a fundamental break with historic Christianity. They have founded the Anglican Communion Institute, an international body that has submitted a 50-page document to the London-based worldwide Anglican Communion, appealing for sanctions against the pro-gay American church leadership.

In Colorado, conservatives claim to have the behind-the-scenes support of about 40 clergy in 30 parishes — about a quarter of the total number. Armstrong, a member of the Standing Committee, a diocesan advisory board, projects a $500,000 budget deficit because parishes are withholding funds from O'Neill's control, though the bishop disputes that figure.

And now, the fragile goodwill on both sides is fraying in earnest. The present tear traces back to April 24, when, at Good Shepherd Episcopal Church in Centennial, assistant rector Bonnie Spencer "made promises and exchanged rings" with lay leader Catherine Anderson, the widow of an Episcopal priest. They say there was no blessing by a priest.

The ceremony had been forbidden by O'Neill. Because of "the current climate," he says, he categorically turned down several requests for same-sex ceremonies, including even low-key prayer gatherings.

So, when Spencer went ahead with her ceremony anyway, conservatives were outraged that O'Neill responded with only a light rebuke — 6-week paid leave — which Spencer and Anderson could have used for a vacation. The two women declined to be interviewed. Spencer is expected to resume her parish duties later this month.

O'Neill and the affronted traditionalists met in June to hash things out. At that meeting, O'Neill confirmed what conservatives found startling: that the diocese had "at least 11 same-sex blessings performed," according to a private process Winterrowd set up in 1994.

O'Neill denies the process amounted to "secret protocols," though he concedes "some variations" existed in the ceremonies that could be misconstrued as outright same-sex blessings.

Winterrowd bristles at the notion he did anything wrong, saying what he allowed was gay couples "to improvise and write their own prayers" — clearly the right of any Episcopalian under church law, he says. However, he says, he added a crucial caveat: "Under no circumstances may a priest bless that relationship."

Winterrowd's policy became important to a 1998 lawsuit brought by Boulder youth minister Lee Ann Bryce, who charged she had been wrongfully fired for participating in a same-sex ceremony with her partner at St. Aidan's parish in Boulder. In a deposition, Winterrowd's testimony helped the diocese win.

Is there any chance, as conservatives hope, that O'Neill will reconsider his gay rights stand?

"I don't know how to answer that," O'Neill replies. "I believe, in the life of our church, there is room for those who hold different perspectives to live together with integrity and goodwill."

Winterrowd, too, is solidifying his gay rights beliefs. He's bitter and regretful now about the vote he cast with the Anglican majority at the 1998 worldwide Lambeth Conference, which asserted that homosexuality is contrary to scripture. Today, Winterrowd calls that vote "a very ugly moment in the long and glorious history of the Anglican church."

"If there's no discipline, the communion (the Episcopal church) will probably fall apart," predicts Armstrong. One thing he and O'Neill agree on: The crisis may require an outside body to step in and settle the issue.

Says the bishop: "The issue Don is raising is, what is the authority of the worldwide Anglican Communion over individual provinces (such as the U.S.)? That question hasn't been answered yet."