I have long been in the habit of taking lengthy "vacations" from regular church attendance, sometimes for six months or longer. I would reach and surpass my limits of endurance with all the nonsense and stupidity then go on a mental health break. Sometimes I would investigate other parishes. So I first began to attend St. Margaret's Cedar Cottage in East Vancouver.
It was the spring of 1995 and they were congregating in the rectory, since the church had succumbed to arson and the new building was almost ready for occupancy. I rather liked it though I found the rector, a woman, to be a little too political for my comfort. I've always been one for keeping church and state separate, if you must know. I agree that we need to be vocal and proactive about social and environmental justice but I draw the line at telling people how to vote.
The rector was spearheading the acceptance of same-sex blessings. I wasn't then comfortable with the theology of this and said as much to the rector during a coffee visit together. I didn't tell her I was ant-gay, since I was not. I simply wasn't sure what if anything the church should have to do with endorsing gay relationships, especially given all the promiscuous and very unacceptable behaviour that I had noted in the gay community during my years of ministry there. She dropped me like the proverbial hot potato and soon was no longer available for coffee. I got the hint and tried to return to St. James where things went from bad to worse as the openly gay priest became a major headache and embarrassment to everybody and worked hard at undermining and harming me.
I have already mentioned that said priest was instrumental in triggering my first real symptoms of full blown PTSD. I became unemployed and eventually homeless. I stayed right away from church till sometime almost a year later when I finally found housing. I returned for a while to St. James but really felt like I was wasting my time there. I really had no friends there and in my state of not wellness no one expressed even a modicum of support or interest in what had happened to me or in how I was doing, much less wanting to do anything to help. I went for another lengthy break from church. I was soon living in the parish of St. Margaret's Cedar Cottage. I thought I'd test the water. The rector was not exactly welcoming but conceded I could attend just as long as I didn't upset anybody. I really did not have a clue what she was talking about. These people, being Anglicans, had done absolutely nothing to communicate that there was anything wrong.
Through much of this time I had been befriended by a student priest with connections to both St. Margaret's and St. James. She was very supportive and helpful but eventually it came out that she had been networking with the clergy and parish councils of both churches to do what they could to keep me quiet. I was also networking with a housing advocate whom it turned out was very connected to this little conspiracy. She became their chosen agent and tried to convince me that I needed to get on medication and apply for disability. Even though I was aware of suffering from PTSD, confirmed a year or two later by the psychiatrist who treated me, I did not believe that I was that far gone and I certainly didn't need to go on medication.
Since she was helping me with housing I decided to go along with her, agreed that I had depression and went to my family doctor about getting medication. The doc confirmed in no uncertain terms that I did not need medication, I did not have depression, but he did refer me to a psychiatrist to help me deal with my issues of trauma.
When I mentioned this to both the housing advocate and the priest from St. Margaret's Cedar Cottage they both dropped me like the proverbial hot potato. That was when I became suspicious that they had been conspiring against me to shut me up. I was apparently considered public enemy number one about their gay agenda when in reality I had come to accept as valid same-sex marriage. Still, I thought the Anglican Church would better use its energies to address our then developing crisis of homelessness instead, since I myself had been recently homeless and the church was doing dick-all about it.
I tried to talk to the student priest about this. She confirmed that they had been conspiring against me to shut me up then refused to talk further about it. We never talked to each other again. She became suddenly and profoundly and absolutely unavailable to me.
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