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Sergeant Max Orrery was 27, and had turned down a promotion six months back to stay in Atlantis. He had a well-earned reputation as one of Colonel Lorne's best men- steady under fire, attentive to detail and absolutely by the book, whenever the book was unlikely to get you killed in the Pegasus galaxy. Despite having the gene he was no pilot, but he laughed at the jokes in John's sermons, so they got along fine. John thought he was dating one of the anthropologist-Anns, though whether it was the brunette or the redhead he wasn't sure.
At the moment, however, the sergeant's face was anything but his usual relaxed and open expression. He sat across from John with shoulders hunched, and his hands fiddled nervously with the Bible he held in his lap.
“I just don't know if I can stay in a church that ignores what the Bible says, Chaplain. I mean, I'm no homophobe, it's not mine to judge and we're all sinners. But... pastors? They're supposed to set the example for the rest of us. Don't the bishops know that?”
One part of John's brain was listening attentively to Sergeant Orrery and evaluating which Biblical passages to recommend and what the ratio of pastoral care to education should be for the next ten minutes or so. He was fully present with his parishioner, he was more concerned about Max's well-being than his opinions about the clergy in homosexual relationships, and he was reminding himself firmly of Max's service record in order to calm down the other part of his brain.
Because that other part of John's brain- the part that otherwise would be panicking about the fact that according to current schedule he'd be exiting the closet with a thud in about three weeks- was silently but methodically reciting John 1:1-14. In the original Greek. The conversation had been long enough already that John would soon be reduced to parsing the verbs, and that would suck. But this conversation was, in the end, not about him, so it was time for him to ante up and earn his paycheck.
This would be so much easier if Max wasn't such a decent guy.
“Yes, Max, that is absolutely a part of a pastor's job. Our bishops were all pastors first, most of them for several years, and they do get that. Two things, though,” John picked up his Bible and started thumbing through it, not really sure what he was looking for, yet. “First, the bishops didn't make this decision on their own. The vote at the General Assembly was decided by over a thousand members of the denomination, and it was a forty-sixty split between clergy and laypeople. Every one of the delegates was chosen by their synods as a representative. The bishops do have a role in the process- they're figuring out how the policy's going to work, but the decision belonged to the Assembly. Okay?” Thank heavens he'd learned to say more than two sentences at a time in the last few years.
“So you think the vote was fair?”
“I think we've put a lot of time and effort into making sure the Assemblies are set up so that all of the votes are as fair and honest a representation of the denomination as possible. And Max, if we start saying that this vote wasn't fair, then we throw a taint on every other vote that's gone through. Some of those include things like ordaining women and standing with Africa and sharing pulpits and communion with other denominations.” John could hear himself slipping into his lecture-voice, and it bothered him. That wasn't what Max needed.
“But not all the votes have been fair. The CCM-”
And John had to shut that down right now. “Max. A lot of people didn't like Called to Common Mission, but that doesn't mean the vote wasn't fair. I admit, I wasn't Lutheran at the time, so I missed the whole thing, and frankly I've never met an Episcopalian I didn't like, far as I know. But apostolic succession is a pretty small trade-off for what we get in return, and it doesn't hurt anybody.”
“But it's wrong! And it has no Biblical basis.”
Finally, he knew where this was going, and thumbed quickly past the Gospels in his Bible. John tilted his head. “Max, do you know what apostolic succession is?”
Max fidgeted slightly in his chair. Bingo. “It has to do with who can make someone a pastor.”
“Yeah. Basically, the idea is that there's a line of bishops and pastors who can trace back their ordinations, like a family tree, to the apostles. Since the apostles' ministry was directed by Jesus, only people along that line should ordain new people, to make sure the church remains Christ's church. Now, before CCM, the Lutherans figured that all real ministry was through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, and that the Spirit didn't need to worry about someone's ordination-ancestry, like that.”
“So Lutherans don't see that in the Bible.” Max's shoulders seemed a little looser, now that they were on a topic that had been and gone a decade ago. John, on the other hand, was more tense than ever, aware of the parallels between this topic and the one they were really talking about, and the pitfalls available if he wasn't very careful.
“Well, I think the Episcopalians would tell you the Biblical support for it is Jesus looking at Peter and saying, 'On this rock I will build my church.' But folks read that differently.” John shrugged expansively and grinned.
“So, wait, do you think CCM is Biblically-supported?”
This could leave some nasty potholes down the road for him if he wasn't careful. “I don't see that verse as a direct order for apostolic succession, personally, but I can sort of see where other folks might get that. Since it doesn't hurt anybody and it isn't as big a deal to me as it is to them, I'm willing to let it slide.” He saw the doubt on Max's face and glanced down at his Bible. “Max, do me a favor and open your Bible to Romans chapter fourteen, will you?”
Max blinked. “Okay, chaplain.” He found it quickly, and glanced up for the verse number.
“Read verses 13 to 15 aloud, please, sergeant.” A little hierarchy couldn't hurt, at this point.
Max found the spot, and started to read. “Let us therefore no longer pass judgment on one another, but resolve instead never to put a stumbling-block or hindrance in the way of another. I know and am persuaded in the Lord Jesus that nothing is unclean in itself; but it is unclean for anyone who thinks it unclean. If your brother or sister is being injured by what you eat, you are no longer walking in love. Do not let what you eat cause the ruin of one for whom Christ died. “
Max's voice had started to trail off at the end. John leaned forward a bit. “Max, do you see how this applies?”
“I think so, chaplain. But it's still-” Okay, better to be a little short with Max on this topic than the other, and as he was apparently going to get snippy anyways, might as well be now.
“Max. We have planes and trains and-” he stopped himself just in time, “cars; inviting Episcopalians to our ordinations for a generation or so doesn't take a lot of work. It isn't like it'll take them a lot of time and effort to come; they're about as well-spread over America as we are.”
“But sometimes, isn't doing the right thing more important?”
“Sure. Abolition of slavery was seen as a stumbling block to some, because slavery is all over the Bible. But the churches that were against it supported abolition because that so-called stumbling block was less important than the suffering of the millions of people who were effected by it.” And yes, he had been hoping he'd be able to work that line in. He'd be able to build on it later. “That isn't true for inviting Episcopalians over for our ordinations. Well, unless they really hate our casseroles.” He smirked, and was relieved to see Max grin back.
“Well, okay, I guess that makes sense. And yeah, what's well-liked and what's right aren't always the same thing. But....” John waited, and silently switched the back-burner of his brain from John 1 to the Christ hymn in Philippians 2. “That doesn't mean we abandon what we stand for.”
“Right. Look, what you said earlier, about pastors setting an example, that's right on target. We allow our pastors to marry because we think that healthy, monogamous relationships are good for us, and are what God intended for us- and that's right out of the Bible, in Genesis 2. Sex, itself, isn't a bad thing. But it always creates a new level for any relationship it's a part of- there's a level of trust that's a necessary part of it, and when that trust is abused a relationship can go from healthy to unhealthy in a matter of nanoseconds. That's why we insist on monogamy and commitment and why we don't condone sex outside of marriage. Right?” Max didn't so much blink at the last part, and John wondered, idly, just how long Max and the anthropologist had been seeing each other.
“Right. But the Bible specifically says that homosexuality is wrong.”
“Max, there are about six verses in Bible that come anywhere close to mentioning homosexuality at all. It wasn't something people were concerned with in that culture- marriage was an economic institution more than anything, fidelity was essential to knowing who your heirs were, and any sex that didn't lead to procreation was, frankly, pointless. The Bible has a lot more to say on marriage and family than it does on sex, and the stuff about sex is mostly to make sure people didn't cheat on their spouses or sleep with their relatives.”
“But those six verses are still there.” And Max was back to clutching his Bible and looking nervous. Damn.
“Sure. Two of them are in Leviticus- and we talked about the Holiness Code in Bible study last month, and now that I know you like shellfish I don't think you're worried about them. The other four- well, they deal with things like temple prostitution and pedophilia and things like that, if you look at them in context.” John glanced at his watch. “Unfortunately, I have a meeting with Dr. Weir that I have to prep for in about twenty minutes, but I'd be happy to go through them with you another time.”
“Sure, okay.”
“Good. I'll email you later today with the verses you'll need to read. Thanks for coming in, Max. I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to talk to me about this.”
“Sure, Chaplain. We all trust you.” And wow, hearing that would never get old. Max turned to leave, but John stopped him before he was out the door entirely and they prayed together for a moment before he let him go.
Finally, he sat back down at his desk, and stared out the window for a moment. He hadn't lied- he did have a meeting with Elizabeth, and he did have to prep for it. But he had everything he'd need laid out- the preparation he needed wasn't bureaucratic, he needed his head in the right place for it. He felt a little antsy, though, so he got up and went next door.
The room that he'd chosen for the chapel wasn't unduly large- but it did have some of the most spectacular windows in Atlantis, barring the gateroom. Sunlight poured through them for most of the day, and the stain in the glass turned it golden and warm. He had a simple altar up front, with a candle and some weavings from the Athosians and a large cross he'd made from wood from the Alpha site. The eternity candle- well, oil lamp- was in one corner, and he'd found a pedestal for a baptismal font to put in the other. There was enough room for about eighty of his people to sit in the congregation's space, and it was comfortably full most weeks, for both services.
Almost all of those who attended regularly were Marines, plus a few social-scientists. He didn't have a lot of Lutherans, but that didn't matter. Some of them were Christian, some just called themselves spiritual. He had a handful of Jews and Muslims who would show up for parts of the service every so often- he had helped them schedule and get materials for their own prayer services, but sometimes it was nice to be in a larger group of people seeking God, even if you had different ideas about who God was. There was even a pagan from Botany who showed up now and again- though from the conversations he'd had with her, he figured she was the “fluffy bunny” type. He'd met several serious pagans in his three years in Chicago, and she didn't seem to have the depth of commitment they'd had.
But that wasn't very charitable, he reminded himself. It was not his to judge, and they were all his people, every last one of them.
Rodney, of course, had never come- John would have been stunned if he had. Most of his minions didn't either- though John figured that was a halfway split between atheism and getting so lost in work they didn't know what time it was. Rodney seemed to have that effect on people. Attending services or not, they were all his responsibility. There were times when that responsibility felt like a lead X-ray vest on his shoulders, but he wouldn't give it up for the world.
John smirked to himself. He hadn't, actually. Given a straight choice between Earth and Atlantis, he'd pick Atlantis every time. His smirk softened into a smile as he moved around the room, straightening chairs and checking the oil lamp. Sanctuary maintenance was a lot like ammunition inventory or running diagnostics on a puddlejumper- easy, basic work that centered him. During his meeting with Max, his emotions had been running close to the surface, so he could be honest with his parishioner. For his meeting with Elizabeth, however, he'd have to be cool and collected. A few minutes of light cleaning let him put his emotions behind his usual public face again.
He finished just in time to grab his laptop and head to Elizabeth's office- with a clear head, now. The databurst should have come through some time in the last hour: she should have news on how his disentanglement from the Air Force was going.
Just three weeks left- he'd been feeling the anticipation build since August, but it was only the last few days he'd had to consciously quell the extra spring to his step. Of course, if this morning was anything to go by, probably his hair was making up for it. Nevertheless, he'd caught himself staring at Rodney in unexpected moments, and he couldn't afford rumors starting before he confirmed his reasons for leaving the military. If he was going to stay on as a civilian chaplain he had to maintain as perfect a reputation as possible. Soon enough he'd likely be specifically assigned to the science and medical divisions- the city had enough residents for two chaplains, now, and the military would almost certainly want to send another of their own through.
Of course, probably half the city would think he'd gone batshit once they found out just who he was leaving the Air Force for... but he was looking forward to that.