Malcolm Boyd~Priest, Author, Rebel, Activist, Out and Proud Gay Man

The link to the Wikipedia page describing Malcolm Boyd’s life is filled with accomplishment and “firsts.”  Malcolm was at the center of much of the social change and civil rights movements of the 20th century.   He was an iconic Episcopal Priest, for many reasons, most of which pertained to his ability to confront the status quo.  He was defined by many as a “rebel” and that certainly suited him.  His small stature and gentle way made it easy for the hardest of hearts to melt in his presence.  He was blessed and he celebrated his blessings.

His best selling book (1965) “Are You Running With Me Jesus” was a watershed event, introducing an intimate sense of a very personal relationship with God, at a time when most mainstream churches were focused on the ‘Social Gospel” of charitable works for those less fortunate.  “Are You Running With Me Jesus” pushed into that very sterilized sense of “religion” and challenged it with the notion of a God who is with us when we are washing dishes and brushing our teeth.  It was intimate, vulnerable, heartfelt, as was Malcolm.

My first "mentor" priest, John Fuller Mangrum, quoted from "Are You Running With Me Jesus" often in his sermons.  The book had a profound impact throughout churches in America.

In terms of “greatness” or “leaders” Malcolm was a true gentle man.  He was not interested in building empires, or shattering them.  He simply wanted to live a “committed life” and share his humanity with others.  His hope was that in doing so, people would feel less frightened of difference, pretense, and other barriers to intimacy and to God.

I had heard of Malcolm for years before I met him.  I was one of the folks who came to know a "personal Jesus" in the Episcopal Church, influenced by his writing and later his life.  

Our meeting was not typical.  I was living in Miami, and on the board of Whitman Brooks Institute there.  Whitman Brooks created annual training days on GLBTQ issues in the 1970s and 1980s.  We were putting together our Spring event, a Saturday dedicated to learning about ourselves, and deciding upon a keynote speaker.  I suggested Malcolm, the rest of the board agreed, so we invited him to come to Miami, and he did.  In addition to his keynote address, he attended the workshop that I created (I did it for many years, both in Miami and Los Angeles) “Gays and God” an exercise in separating out our pain from religious abuse from a personal spirituality that was affirming of our lives.  It was a great workshop, Malcolm loved it, and I’m sure he gave it his blessing when I moved to L.A. and offered it at Whitman Brooks conferences here.

As a part of his keynote address to the group, he shared about his own concerns of growing older (potentially alone) and living in Los Angeles, and being part of the “Gay Elite” of Los Angeles.  He basically commented about how many of his peers in L.A. were a bit full of themselves, thinking that they were the vanguard of a coming age of Gay liberation.   At the time, he seemed unsure of that possibility, but it proved to be more prophecy than satire.  

In spite of all our foibles, flaws, internal fights, and at times dark expressions of humanity, the LGBTQQ community in Los Angeles leads the world in showing forth courage and leadership.  It was one of the reasons I left Miami to move here, and it remains my first love of the place, even when it’s not easy to live here.  It’s still the best game on the planet, and it has been an honor to have been a part of it, even though we aren't always very loving or supportive of each other.

The author Alice Walker talked about this issue in communities of color, how living a life under siege tends to distort our view of each other, and cause us to inflict pain on people who are just trying to express how they see us.

We have our own version of this "Barrel Full of Crabs" in the LGBTQQ communities, the difficulty of seeing ourselves without the harsh judgements imposed by the larger society.  

Most artists have a deep sense of the relationship between our gifts and the creative nature of God.  True to form, Malcolm refrained from tearing down his fellows, and shared his gifts as generously as he could. 

Early on, I invited him to my apartment in West Hollywood for dinner.  It was cordial enough, he was a lovely man, but we never became close friends.  We came from very different cultural references.  I a Southerner who lived through both sides of the Civil Rights movement in the South.  He, a visitor during the "movement" who remained a "Yankee."   I knew our perspectives were too different to bridge, and I was busy with my own work in Offender Rehabilitation, Substance Abuse Treatment and HIV Prevention.

We did however remain deeply respectful of each other.  I would run into him at the various “AIDS Mass” services that the Episcopal Diocese would hold at least once a year to remind the church that the epidemic was around us, silently taking lives.  As usual, they were excruciatingly Episcopalian (which is generally a good thing), tasteful, well thought, with some self deprecating humor, enough to relieve the solemn seriousness of the massive multiple losses we were all living with.  All of us were pulling into our safe cocoons, there was so much death around us.   In the years between 1985 and 1993, I watched over 130 acquaintances, friends and most of my former lovers die from AIDS.  Malcolm was there with us, in spirit and in the flesh, reminding us of God’s love in a seemingly unloving world.  Malcolm was running with Jesus, and with the rest of us.  

We had a friend in common, the iconic Sallie Fiske.  Sallie was also a writer, journalist, one of the first women to work in and on television in the early 1950s.  Sallie and I had a deep love for each other.  When she passed away, many people came to offer their memories of her life.   Malcolm was one, offering his deep affection and appreciation of her genius.  “She was just so damned GOOD!” he exclaimed at her memorial.  And he was right.

In 2006 I moved to Portland Oregon, a city which offered me many challenges, some opportunities, and time for reflection on my life.  While I was there, a local publisher printed what I think was Malcolm's last book, a work of fiction, not his usual offering.  I went to the book signing at the the Q Center in Portland.  We exchanged pleasantries, it was good to see him and Mark.  That was the last time I saw him.  

When I returned from Portland in 2011, it was too painful for me to return to my old haunts in the GLBTQ community.   I have too many memories, some of them quite painful.  At the time, I was focused on re-building my life here.  After 4 years, I'm doing and feeling a lot better, venturing out more, hoping to re-connect with folks from my past.

Over the last few years, I have spent time with my brother, who returns to the D-Day activities in Normandy France every year, for almost 30 years.  He bemoans the loss of veterans, the brave young men who stormed the beaches, and later erased the scourge of Hitler and the Nazi’s from Europe.  My brother Gene is himself a retired combat veteran, a trained sniper, Special Forces, Airborne, “Black Opps” and we have grown close.  Last year, he received the French Legion of Honor for his work with WWII and other veterans.  He is a Veterans Services Officer with the Disabled American Veterans, helping all veterans get their full benefits, including P.T.S.D. benefits.  He is experiencing his own version of “Multiple Loss” syndrome, and he is able to hear me when I talk about the AIDS holocaust, the (estimated) 650,000 AIDS related deaths in the United States.  Most of the men he served with have died from illnesses directly connected to their military service.  Over 60% of my own peer group died in the plague years.  We have much to share, and the clear sense that we have lived through a very unique set of situations that only fellows who have lived it can understand.  So while the content of our trauma is different, the processes of recovery are similar, along with the need to talk with others who lived it, who are falling away with each passing day.

There was an unexpected and uninvited guest today, a remnant of the past that we all struggled with, an icon of the world we all once lived in, and many still do.  A lone picket, on the sidewalk, offering his comment and protest on Malcolm and all of us.  Imagine this at the funeral of a loved one, and welcome to the world of being "Queer."

Todays service was like a reunion of sorts of all of us (in Los Angeles) who are still alive and were at the beginning of what is often called “The Gay Rights Movement.”  For me that started in 1975, for some, it was earlier.  Being in the church, seeing the ravages of time and hard lives on all of us, was both painful and triumphant.   Los Angeles Mayor Eric Garcetti offered some comments about the nature of our city, and life itself.  We are called the “City of Angels” and the mayor pointed out that we are a city of people who do great things, and are angels to those around us.  We offer a beacon to the rest of the world.

Malcolm was one of those angels whose light shone brightly over much of the human experience.  The mayor also reminded us that “in the end” the only thing that matters is whose lives we’ve touched, and what we have done to make the world a better place.

Thank you Malcolm for sharing so much of yourself with us, and making the world a better place.