Chapter 1

I don't know if I can explain the attraction of preaching the Word of God. There are people out there who live 'high on the hog' I think is the expression, because they have a gift. Either just a silver tongue, or because people think the person can heal them. I don't get paid. Make that, 'I didn't get paid', for preaching. I just wanted to communicate the joy and excitement of knowing Jesus.

I preached ... and led worship ... and mended broken bits of church buildings ... and swept floors ... for nearly thirty years. My preaching got the occasional compliment, but very little other feedback.

When my wife ran off with the organist of a nearby Baptist church, I plodded on for a while. The divorce proceeded inexorably and I didn't fight it, but then I discovered online erotica. Some of it was very good. A lot was badly written, poorly constructed, and full of grammatical and spelling errors. A pity, when often the premise, if unlikely, was quite imaginative.

If you can write a decent sermon, you're probably literate enough to write an essay ... or a short story. I set about putting down ... in computer memory ... some of my fantasies. I posted something and made a mistake in saving the piece, so it was incomplete and I was amazed to be inundated with requests to complete the story. That was how it started. I have never been impressed with the attitude 'sex is dirty' ... the attitude which says we should cover up the excellent bodies God gave us. Of course, it is a service to humanity that some people cover up, but that's beside the point. My stories contained things that probably would have raised eyebrows among the people who listened to me on Sunday. Some of them, anyway.

Because of who and what I am, my stories contained religion as well as sex. When I wrote about various difficulties, like losing your partner to cancer, or homosexuality, or polyamory, I was surprised by the positive nature of the feedback from people who had been moved, or encouraged, or reassured by what I'd written.

One day, I wrote a piece inspired by a rather unusual young woman in a different church who I met while doing some repairs around her church. I gave it to her, forgetting that there are people who are ... deeply disturbed ... by explicit accounts of sex, no matter how discreet. It turned out that she ... and her husband ... were among them.

I was summoned to the Superintendent.

It seemed that what I wrote was 'incompatible with my profession'. I apologised to the couple for disturbing and upsetting them, of course, but I failed to see that what I wrote was, in and of itself, wrong or immoral.

Don't get me wrong. I know that my careless, inconsiderate action hurt someone. Two some ones. That it was not deliberate is no excuse. My apology was heartfelt. But to me sex, between two loving, consenting adults is a beautiful thing, a gift of God, and something to be celebrated, not treated as dirty to be hidden away. I suspect my marriage might have been a lot better had I learned more about sex and how to make it good, before we married. Perhaps prospective couples should have seminars on how to make it good for their partner? Yes, I know that learning together is part of the fun, but it'd be better if we started out knowing the basics of foreplay, for example.

Well, for a month or two I just filled a seat. That was okay, actually – I think maybe I had been a bit burnt out. Certainly my enthusiasm had diminished, and it was good to sit back and relax a little, take stock, you might say. During that time, I had time to think about things I'd put to one side; issues of doctrine and dogma, or rules and regulations, that I wasn't entirely in agreement with, but which I wasn't sufficiently bothered by to make an excuse to leave the church. An example is infant baptism. Personally, I can see the logic of baptising, or 'Christening', a baby who is born to believing parents who are actively involved in the church, though I'd still prefer the Baptist system of infant dedication and baptism by choice as an adult. I was very uncomfortable about offering the rite to parents who never attended church, clearly had no idea of what it is to be a Christian, and equally clearly had no intention of teaching the child about the faith as he or she grew up. But that is by the by.

I was a little surprised no-one commented on my more regular presence at my home church, or my absence from the preaching plan, but didn't really worry about it. I did think that perhaps if people had really valued my efforts they would have commented. Anyway, things moved along at their usual rate until the day I met Bill Brown in town.

"Hey, Jim; I haven't seen your name on the plan recently."

"No, Bill. I resigned."

"Oh? I'm sorry to hear that. I always felt your sermons had something to say, to challenge, without causing a guilt-trip."

"Thanks! I got so little feedback that I wondered if anyone was bothered at all."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I've been remiss in saying anything to preachers, I suppose. Um ... Jim, have you got time for a coffee?"

I shrugged. "Sure. Where'd you like to go? I've been bereft since Pollards closed."

"The University isn't bad. The coffee is good, fairly cheap, and it's Fair Trade too."

We did that and chatted for half an hour or so, quite generally. Then Bill said, delicately, "I get the impression that you're not entirely in agreement with the church position on certain matters."

I chuckled. "You could say that. Until recently, I didn't think any of it was worth making waves over, but increasingly I've come to believe it's not a bad thing I'm out of the active ministry."

"I'm not so sure about that. I know someone who is struggling with an issue. Would you be prepared to have a chat with him? He needs someone with a theological background who isn't, um ... wedded to the status quo."

I shrugged, and handed him a card with my details on. "Get him to give me a call. I'm pretty flexible these days."

The young man, Philip, looked awkward sitting in my lounge with a cup of tea. I got him talking about inconsequential things and eventually he relaxed enough to get to the point. It was obvious, at least to me, that he was a deeply spiritual young man, committed to a genuine, active, relationship with God. "But I'm gay," he said quietly.

"The Bible forbids homosexual activity," I said, "as you clearly know. But equally clearly, God does not reject anybody. The desire to do something is not a sin. Dwelling on the desire ... like Jesus said, 'looking upon a woman to lust after her is adultery'. But no one thing is worse than any other. Lying to the tax man is as bad as adultery, is as bad as murder. Obviously, there is a legal difference. But to God, the only thing that matters is the degree to which something – even if it's strictly legal – separates you from Him."

"So ... you say ... I'm okay as long as I keep celibate? And don't ... what ... lust after someone? So I can't have someone to love?"

I sighed. "I can't judge," I said. "I know what the Bible says, and I guess you've heard the arguments around the issue. I don't think you can dismiss the Bible out of hand, for several reasons, but I also can't condemn you or lay the law down for you. I'm sorry, but it has to be between you and God."

"Oh," he said, and thought deeply. I didn't interrupt. Then he said, "Mister Bolton,"

"Jim," I interrupted with a smile.

"Oh, right. Jim ... you seem to have, I don't know ... I mean, you won't say anything definite about my situation, but you do seem to be very certain about other things."

"Some of the time," I admitted, "I feel God is saying something very definite to me. Here, all I can say is He loves you and wants you to love him back."

"That's a pretty big 'only'," he said thoughtfully.

"I suppose it is," I agreed.

"I wish I knew Him that well," he said, wistfully.

"He wants that, too."

His eyes widened. "How..."

"Why don't we pray?"

Well, we prayed. I never know what to expect, but certainly nothing seemed to happen at the time. However, the next morning Philip rang, really excited. "I had this dream! I dreamed that I met Jesus! Then when I woke up I was praying, but the words didn't make any sense, I just knew I was praying and I felt so good I didn't want to stop. In fact..." I had to smile as his voice suddenly stopped making sense for a few seconds. "Thank you!" he said, "I feel ... I feel really great! Can I come to see you again?"

"Of course! Any time, just call to check I'm free."

I suppose that was the beginning, unless the beginning was talking to Bill, or ... whatever.

Philip started coming over once or twice a week, then asked me to have dinner with him; he turned out to be a pretty good cook. We'd pray together and became, I think, good friends.

A few weeks after we began meeting regularly, he asked if he could bring a friend. I smiled, and said, "Of course!"

I was a little surprised that the friend was, in fact, a girl. She was possibly the quietest person I'd ever encountered outside a psychiatric ward; she responded to direct questions, but barely audibly and with a minimum of words.

I suggested a Bible study, which occupied half an hour or so, then we prayed together, though Teri said nothing out loud. However, she was with him again when we met a few days later.