Healing without a cure

Episode 5

Rev. Michael England (left), Rev. Ron Russell Coons (center) and Rev. Kittredge Cherry (right). Photo by Audrey Lockwood. Courtesy of the Kittredge Cherry and Audrey Lockwood collection. 

When Rev. Ron Russell Coons got diagnosed with AIDS, he thought a lot about what healing meant when death was certain. He pursued it in his strained and broken family relationships and he preached about it from the pulpit. Though he knew, without a doubt, that he would die from AIDS, Ron claimed that he believed in, and had experienced, healing. What does healing mean when everybody knows it can’t mean survival? Maybe healing is one’s biological family and queer kin showing up and reaching for connection across those fractures.

NOTES:

Accounts of the evening the National Council of Churches delegation visited MCC San Francisco, and the work they did with Ron Russell Coons on AIDS, can be found in The Church with AIDS: Renewal in the Midst of Crisis, edited by Letty Russell (Westminster John Knox, 1990).

There are many, many books engaging the question of healing in American Christianity. 

Music:

“When the Roll is Called Up Yonder” is by James Milton Black. 

“Give Me Jesus” is a traditional spiritual arrangement by Charles Ivey. The soloist is Maria Barnet. 

“It is Well with My Soul,” also known as “When Peace, Like a River,” is by Horatio Spafford.

THANKS

Special thanks to

  • Ron’s family for speaking with us on and off the record. We know this was a stretch and we appreciate it.

  • Dr. Joseph Marchal, for helping us understand Ron’s “We Have AIDS” sermon and the biblical text it was based on. It’ll be a great special episode one day. 

  • Steve Russell for sharing his memories of Ron and his brother, Chuck Russell Coons. 

Resources:

AIDS Alabama – “Together we can end the HIV epidemic in Alabama.”

Association of Welcoming and Affirming Baptists – supporting LGBTQ+ Baptists and their families.

TRANSCRIPT:

Episode 05 – Healing Without a Cure

NOTE: This audio documentary podcast was produced and designed to be heard. If you are able, do listen to the audio, which includes emotions and sounds not on the page. Transcripts may contain errors. Check the corresponding audio before quoting in print.


Jack St. John: Our first hymn tonight is number 259. Let's all stand to our feet, please, and join in singing When the Roll is Called Up Yonder. Let's start on the chorus. When the Roll is Call up Yonder.

Lynne Gerber: On a Friday night in March of 1989, The Metropolitan Community Church of San Francisco – you know, MCC– welcomed a delegation of clergy, theologians, and other church leaders from the National Council of Churches. You heard about them in the last episode.

Singing: When the roll is called up yonder, When the roll is called up yonder, when the roll is called up yonder, I'll be there 

They had come to San Francisco that night to learn about how MCC was addressing the AIDS crisis. Six years after they refused to vote on  MCC's application for membership.


They had been invited by an MCC minister, Ron Russell-Coons. In 1988 Ron started showing up to National Council meetings with his IV pole, an infusion pump, a lot of medications, and a mission to get supposedly liberal Christian churches to take AIDS more seriously. His very presence made the need for healing palpable. And he used that presence to tell the church of a new reality. 

Ron Russell-Coons: There have been times when I've wanted to see my faith as something like wishing on a star. If I wish hard enough, it might happen. And I wish upon a star that my friends were not suffering with AIDS. And I wish upon a star that there were no such thing as the HIV virus. I wish. I wish, and maybe by wishing it will make it so. The reality is we have AIDS. 

Lynne Gerber: Ron knew a lot about the complicated relationship between religion and reality. The realities of being gay and having AIDS ruptured his body and his faith. They ruptured his relationship with the church and his relationship with his family. They made him see deep problems with the theologies he was raised with. And they forced him to encounter God in new ways. 

Ron was a visible religious leader with AIDS. He was the voice of AIDS to more mainstream church people who didn't know anyone else with disease. We learned a lot about what we know about Ron through the sermons he preached. Sermons he preached in public. From a pulpit. In front of family and friends and strangers. But a lot of what he worked through in those sermons was really personal – his personal, theological, and political struggles. And when we talked to his friends and family members, we learned that those personal struggles were even more complicated than what he told folks in public. Like a lot of peoples' personal struggles with AIDS and sexuality and religion & family. 

Ron Russell-Coons: But I tell you tonight that my experience with God, my understanding of the gospel, is that with God there are no throwaways. With God there is no other. God welcomes all. Each one is a precious person in God's sight. Each one is a child of God. Each one is of infinite worth, whether that person is diseased or not. We have AIDS as a community, and God loves us. The intention of God is that humanity might be drawn together in love, so that we can say, especially as the church, we have AIDS. We will journey together.

Lynne Gerber: Ron's experience with AIDS was a journey. For him and for the people who journeyed with him. It took them through difference and conflict and hope and some harsh realities. This episode is about how Ron and his family -- biological and chosen -- walked with him through his life and his death. It's about how they wrestled with the hopes for healing that Christianity raises and that AIDS begged for. And it’s about how they walk with him still. 

This is When All Get To Heaven – episode 5 – Healing Without a Cure, I’m Lynne Gerber


Ron Russell-Coons: January 15th, 1988, just one year ago. 

Lynne Gerber: Ron used to write letters to his sister – a lot of letters. We exchanged letters with Ron’s sister too. But she didn’t want to be interviewed and we’re not going to use her name.  He wrote to her about things he couldn't really talk to her about but wanted to express. And he used them in his sermons, reading parts of them from the pulpit, to share some of the things he was learning from AIDS.

Ron Russell-Coons: Well, once again, the faith issue has been resurrected. Hear me, please hear me. I know that I am God's child and that God loves me and is at work within me. While I may be dealing with esophagitis and shingles, I am experiencing incredible inner healing. Though it may sound absurd, AIDS has been the catalyst for my healing. 

Lynne Gerber: We don't know if he actually sent these letters, if she received them, or if she responded. His brother, Darrell Coons, has his doubts. 

Darrell Coons: I've sometimes thought that he projected the things he supposed that she would say to him because of the conversations they had had.

Lynne Gerber: AIDS wasn't the first thing to rupture their family. Ron tried to acknowledge that to his sister in one of his letters.

Ron Russell-Coons: My coming out meant that a lot of people got hurt. I divorced my wife of nine years. I left two beautiful children. Beyond that, you were affected and our parents were emotionally crushed. And for all of that, I carried a tremendous weight of guilt. My guilt often broadened to areas and things over which I had no control or responsibility, but I felt the guilt. 

Lynne Gerber: Ron and his siblings were raised Southern Baptist. Conservative, though not necessarily as conservative as that would be today. Ron's coming out was hard for everyone. Darrell told me about it.

Darrell Coons: When you talk about the family, mother and daddy got to the point where they were as supportive as they felt they could be. 

Lynne Gerber: That measure of acceptance that their parents, Ruth and Charlie,  were able to muster -- Darrell says it was hard won. 

Darrell Coons: Daddy had gotten out of the automobile business. And they had gone into motel management and sometime during that time, they were in Tempe, Arizona, and Ron came down with a gentleman and  daddy wasn't real happy to see that, but, they wanted to see Ron so that he gave him a motel room. Sometime while they were there, the other gentleman got a little rough physically with Ron. And I never heard all about it, but I knew that he went to see if mother could help him with a busted lip. And the story that Ron told me one time was that, the things that that guy had given Ron, the bloody lip and a black eye daddy gave him. And sent him on his way. And I think that opened a little bit between Ron and daddy. It had been a little hard for daddy to understand and he still didn't understand, but he was like me. He came to the point where he said, you know, he's my son and I love him and that's not going to change. Don't understand it. And I'd rather he not bring it around where I have to see it, but okay. 

Lynne Gerber: Darrell and Ron’s parents stretched toward Ron, as much as they could. But it seems that their siblings couldn't stretch that far.

Darrell Coons: My older sister is in the Assembly of God church and she just could not accept it. 

Lynne Gerber: This is the sister Ron wrote letters to.

Darrell Coons: She thought that Satan had gotten a hold of Ron. And in fact, the times that, that I went to visit him, I got letters and phone calls from her, that she was, telling me, don't go out there, don't be around that, because you can't allow yourself to be around the things of Satan and, So, we just didn't, we didn't go there. My younger brother was also in a, church that, was non denominational, but had come out of the Assembly of God. And he was very  much the same way. And in fact, I think he may have written some letters to Ron that were very, very hurtful.

Lynne Gerber: We reached out to both of Darrell and Ron’s siblings. Their sister wrote us a letter expressing her love for Ron and her sorrow at losing him. She also reiterated her conviction that his life choices violated her religious beliefs. Their brother didn’t respond. Because we don’t have their perspectives to share, we’re leaning hard on Ron and Darrell to tell this story and we respect the ways each has grappled with it. We also know that family dynamics are complicated, that there are always other points of view, and that there are likely other pieces to this story that we won’t ever know.

Lynne Gerber: We don't know much about Ron's coming out process. But I can imagine that, as a Southern Baptist -- a Southern Baptist minister -- he might have thought his sexual orientation was something that could be healed. Meaning that God could make him straight. And that at some point he realized that God was not, in fact, making him straight. And that maybe his sexuality didn't need to be healed. And that maybe there were a lot of things about God that might be different than he and his family thought. Here's how he finished that letter to his sister. 

Ron Russell-Coons: Finally, in these last few months, I've been able to forgive myself and my past, What a gift of grace. The inner peace is of God. And so your prayers and your concerns can change. Instead of asking God to change my orientation, and then incidentally to heal my illness, you can thank God for the healings that I am now experiencing.

Lynne Gerber: So, some surprising things about healing. Sometimes the things that call out for healing don't need to be healed at all. Sometimes healing comes from embracing things you once desperately wanted to be removed. And sometimes that kind of healing breaks other things. Like some of Ron's closest relationships. 


Lynne Gerber: And then there's AIDS. And the reality that, in the late 80s, AIDS only had one outcome. The reality that it, that Ron, wouldn't be healed -- if by healed we mean restored to bodily health. 

Ron Russell-Coons: November 1987, 

Lynne Gerber: Another letter to his sister. 

Ron Russell-Coons: I'm trying hard to understand the emotions and the feelings of my family members. Sometimes I get so angry with all of you. Why can't you just accept the fact that I have a virus, AIDS. It is a virus. It's life threatening. And all that I need is your love and your support. There are other times when I'm in a more analytical frame of mind. I know that this is so embarrassing for you. My little brother has the gay disease. My brother has a sexually transmitted disease. STD. VD. And while you say the words to me, I love you, you're mad as hell with me. Say it. Tell me you're mad. Because I long for you to move through your anger to a place of acceptance. And then maybe you can be the sister that I need.

Lynne Gerber: Ron faced the reality of his sexuality and it was healed -- not because it was removed but because it wasn't a rupture anymore. It gave him a different kind of faith; faith in the healing possibilities of facing hard realities. Even, or especially, the ones that just can't be removed. We can hear his hope that if his sister faced AIDS more fully -- faced the facts of the disease and the feelings it may have evoked for her -- the rupture between them could be restored. 

Ron Russell-Coons: I really believe in healing. I believe that God is working miracles in our time. There, was a time in my life when I heard about healing and I would have thought about people like Kathryn Kuhlman, Remember Kathryn, anyone? “I believe in miracles” and... 

Lynne Gerber: Kuhlman was a faith healer. She started her healing ministry in the 40s. And by the 60s and 70s her healing services were popular on TV and on the radio.

Ron Russell-Coons: And then, of course, we've had recent uh, televangelists who have shared their healing ministries with us. And, frankly, I've been real turned off by that because it has all kinds of messages for me that I don't want to hear at times. For example, when I have one of those days when I feel particularly bad, a punk day, and I turn on the television and someone is telling me that if I have enough faith, I can be healed. And I want to take my big red Bible and hurl it right through the television. But I do believe in healing and healing is happening for me every day.

Lynne Gerber: By the time Ron was diagnosed he had left the Southern Baptist Church and was an MCC minister in Seattle. He had likely abandoned some of his older ideas about healing. But he found that even in liberal spiritual communities they had their own ideas about healing. Ideas that, in the face of AIDS, were inadequate at best, cruel at worst. 

Ron Russell-Coons: I was brand new in Seattle, and this was such a shock to all of us that the new pastor has to deal with AIDS and the congregation has to deal with that. And Gail Shahbaghlian came to me and said, I would like for you to be a part of a group.  

Lynne Gerber: Gail Shahbaghlian was Ron's therapist. And his best friend. It was a certain moment. When he was diagnosed, he asked her to help him to learn how to die. 

Ron Russell-Coons: So a group formed and at first it was Ron's group and then it became a regular group therapy. And I was the only person with AIDS in that group, and that was an interesting dynamic. But everyone wanted to make me physically well, including Gail. I had to be well for everyone. And I was going crazy in group therapy, trying to be what everyone wanted me to be, and do it their way, adapt to what everyone expected. 

Lynne Gerber: Here's another thing about healing, especially in a religious or spiritual context. Some people want to use healing -- yours, theirs, anyone's, everyone's -- to vindicate whatever it is they believe in. They want folks to be well so that all knees must bend and God gets the glory. Or to show that the new faith you're coming to is better than the one you're leaving behind. Or that all the hard emotional work you're going through is worth it. But when you won't be healed, or at least not in the way that makes all knees bend, the pressure to be living proof that our way is the right way is terrible. No matter what that way is. And it can make you feel terribly lonely. 

Ron Russell-Coons: Next week I'm making what I feel like could be my last journey to Alabama to stay with family. I say that only because it's just too hard. making all of the arrangements to receive medication treatments. And I guess I set myself up for this. I had dreamed of what that trip would be like. Well, as it turns out, my family has turned into an us and them. 

Lynne Gerber: For Ron, facing the full reality of AIDS meant that some emotional ruptures may not be bridged. That some personal wounds might not be healed -- if by healed we mean taken away.

Ron Russell-Coons: My brother in law informed me that he would not let my sister come to see me because his cousin, who happens to be an RN, told him that breathing the same air would cause them to come down with AIDS. And I realized that next week as I journey to Alabama, I will see my parents and I thank God for that opportunity to sit back and eat southern food and enjoy their company. And enjoy the love that they will share with me. But there's still the us and them. 

Lynne Gerber: Facing the realities of AIDS meant facing limitation after limitation after limitation -- physical, emotional, spiritual. inter-personal. The us and them that would never become a we. But for Ron, even still, there was something in the facing that was powerful enough and sacred enough, to merit the word "healing." Even as he became more precise about what "healing" did and didn't mean. 

Ron Russell-Coons: What is the difference between healing and a cure? A cure is high tech medical stuff. Healing, healing is possible when a person moves toward wholeness. And I tell you tonight that those of us with AIDS, those of us living with AIDS are learning about healing. We are being healed, healed of old relationships that were broken, healed of a self image that was damaged, healed of our guilt. We are experiencing and learning something about healing. It is possible to be healed without being cured.

Lynne Gerber: Being healed without being cured -- the possibility of transforming rupture even if that rupture never goes away, even as it keeps breaking you. Ron came upon this paradox of healing as he journeyed through AIDS. And the paradox became more distilled as hope for a cure felt more distant. 


Ron Russell-Coons: December 1st, 1988. Dear sis, hopefully your Thanksgiving was filled with rich food and abundance of love. I missed my family. Remember past Thanksgivings on Grandma's farm? How did she ever produce such grand culinary treats for so many people with 12 grandkids underfoot? The sights, the sounds, the smells of those reunions seem to be more vivid for me these days. I guess it's a part of the process of sorting through my life and focusing on the parts that had substance.

Lynne Gerber: Ron could be a sentimental guy. And he could get deeply nostalgic about his family past, especially in the face of his fractured family present. But Ron had another family -- his queer kin -- who were as practical, reliable, brave, and as present to the realties of AIDS as he needed them to be. 

Ron Russell-Coons: I was given a reprieve on Thanksgiving day for my daily IV injection of amphotericin. Since they've increased the dosage, I felt really weak most of the time. The remedy for that, most of my friends think, is for me to eat. All the time. We were invited to a gathering at my therapist's home. They fixed a huge bowl of mashed potatoes because I happened to mention that I had a craving just for that. My craving has ceased.

Lynne Gerber: They also indulged a particular passion of his. 

Gail Shahbaghlian: Anyway, you heard about his obsession with cows? 

Lynne Gerber:  That’s Gail, his best friend and therapist. And here’s Chuck Russell-Coons – his partner and lover.

Chuck Russell-Coons: On Ron's 40th birthday, which was a birthday he did not particularly want to celebrate, two friends from Florida, and I, kidnapped Ron. And we took him out to eat at a restaurant and we began his famous cow collection. With every course, the waiter brought a new cow. 

Lynne Gerber: Linton Stables  – his housemate – was one of a few that Ron and Chuck made a home with in Ron's last years. This is Linton describing Ron moving in.

Linton Stables: Immediately our lives changed and we All changed, all five of us, as we adapted to each other's cycles, our cycles of our lives. And, I mean, this is not meant to be not nice, but most of us mostly adapted to Ron's cycles more than the other way around. This is September and it wasn't, the month wasn't even over and we were already planning for Christmas. And we realized soon that Christmas to Christmas was a major cycle for Ron. And it became one of our cycles too. And I learned, from Ron some of the very small pleasures that can really make Christmas and life wonderful. And one of them was, last Christmas when we got our little cow lights for the Christmas tree.

Lynne Gerber: These were the people who knew Ron and knew what he needed. And signed themselves up for giving him what he needed as best they could. They knew he needed to eat and were there in the small windows when he actually wanted to. They knew his thing for cows and that Christmas was everything. They knew he needed a place to die, a community to do it in, and a bridge to his family, especially his parents Ruth and Charlie. They made themselves that bridge. 

Gail Shahbaghlian: When he was pretty close to dying and we kind of knew that his parents, flew out to See him and, when they got there, it was clear that they were both so nervous. I mean, it was just palpable. Charlie wouldn't even go to the room 

Lynne Gerber: Because Ron was so sick or because he so disapproved of Ron's life.

Gail Shahbaghlian: I don't know for sure, but he just sat. So His mother was so nervous. So I said, you want to go for a walk? And she said, yes. And so she and I just, went for a walk and she said, I just don't know what to do. And Charlie, he won't see him and this and that. And I said, look, you, you aren't going to get AIDS, you can't get it unless there's some exchange of blood and I just think you ought to crawl in bed with him and just hold him and just be there and so. We talked and I don't know if I can. But she got a little more comfortable, I think, as we walked and talked so then we went back and she came in the room and I just said to Ron, why don't you scoot over so your mom can get in there? And he had lines you know, but we got that handled and she got in bed with him and she cried and he cried and they were just holding each other and then I just left, to give him some time. And it was really wonderful cause when Ruth came out, she said, oh, Charlie, that was just the most incredible experience. you have to go in. And he just shook his head. He was a man of few words for sure. I don't think that was a surprise to Ron, but it was certainly hurtful. But when they left, Ruth was urging Charlie to come to the door and he came to the door and just kind of waved and said goodbye. 

Lynne Gerber: Wow.

Gail Shahbaghlian: Talk about awkward.

Lynne Gerber: It sounded awkward. Sure. And it was a stretch. A big stretch. Probably as big a stretch as they could have made as they said goodbye to this son whom they loved but couldn’t really understand. 


Lynne Gerber: Healing doesn't save you from death -- if by healing we mean taking it away. That group that Ron had been a part of, of people wanting him to be well? They learned together that the kind of wellness they wanted wasn't going to happen for Ron and that claiming it wasn't going to be helpful. This wasn't a betrayal of spirituality or a lack of faith. It was finding out yet again that healing doesn't need to mean restoration. And that there are other, deeper meanings to be found by engaging limits and finding something like healing through them. 

Ron Russell-Coons: The Christian church has told us that we are to live and live and live, and what we've interpreted that. to mean, eternal life, is that everyone stays the same. And that someday we're going to just like, you know, ascend or something, but no one is supposed to be sick. No one is supposed to die. That's the lie of the church. The truth is that everyone dies. And we discovered that in our group, that we are all in the process of dying. And so people have quit saying to me well, Ron, if you happen to die. If I happen to die? Of course I'm going to die. We're all going to die. 

Lynne Gerber: Ron and Gail and Chuck and Linton and everyone else in their queer web planned for Ron's death. And at Ron's memorial, Gail told folks how it happened. 

Gail Shahbaghlian: It was after the service here, and when we got home, his fever was about a hundred and three, so we worked at bringing that down. He went to sleep, and about 3 o'clock he woke up. And he said, Chuck went to the ocean. I said, yeah, Chuck went to the ocean. He said, well, how about that? And I said, well, you know, he left. You didn't say much to him, and he needed a break. And, well, am I going to tell him! And he was just like doing all this verbalizing of stuff that he hadn't been able to say while he was not, not very with it. So at that time we had a popsicle and just laid in bed and talked and we got out his cows and, and I asked him names and he says, I think we'd better name them. Meaning that he didn't remember. So it was interesting that, that, we had Jose and Josette and, was it Togo? Togo. And, and this cow we named Frosty. And we played with the cows a while, and then we had to stop so Ron could get sick, and then he said, Do you think Frosty's tired now? And I said, I don't know. You tell me. Is Frosty tired now? And he said, yeah, Frosty's tired now. 

Lynne Gerber: His brother Darrell told me about Ron’s death too. 

Darrell Coons: When I talked to mother after he died, she was the one who called me and told me that he died. I don't know whether he had speed dial or whether Chuck had dialed it, but he had called mother and tried to talk to her. And she said, I couldn't understand anything he said. But, she said, I heard him suffering. And after a little while, he dropped the phone and Chuck said, I'll call you back. And when he called her, Ron was gone. And so mother called me.

Lynne Gerber: Ron died reaching toward the fullest range of life that he could. And opening up to the fullest range of emotions that dying conjured for him. A range that blessedly wasn't limited by the need to be well. Even if, at times, he was well.


Jim Mitulski: I’d like to welcome you this afternoon to Metropolitan Community Church of San Francisco as we celebrate together the life of Ron Russell-Coons. I know that Ron would love this service. He'd love the, the banners that were made. He'd love the things that Chuck has placed here. The, there's a stole that Ron wore that are by Ron's ashes. And a picture of Jimmy Dean. And a cow. And, um, some cows, several cows. 

Lynne Gerber: Ron planned his memorial with his beloved people. Jim Mitulski officiated. They played Kermit the Frog singing The Rainbow Connection from The Muppet Movie. And they all sang Somewhere from West Side Story. So sentimental. And so moving. 

Jim Mitulski: We're going to have a scripture reading right now from Deuteronomy,. 

Lynne Gerber There was supposed to be a Bible reading. But they had a hard time finding one. 

Jim Mitulski: Well, we don't have a Bible here either. Oh, those. those liberal churches. 

Lynne Gerber: Chuck remembered how Ron gave him permission to do things Chuck had never done before.

Chuck Russell-Coons: Ron was the first person who told me that it's okay for you to wear red and purple at the same time. Actually said, is that it's okay for you to wear red and purple at the same time. 

Lynne Gerber: And his queer kin remembered how Chuck and Ron met and their Holy Union ceremony. They raged at the cruelties of AIDS and the cruelty of the world toward people with AIDS. And they made space for his family -- whoever showed up, however they showed up. Darrell was there.

Darrell Coons: I didn't think this was going to be this hard. What can I tell you? He was my brother. It wasn't just a coincidence of us having the same parents. He was a brother. He was a kindred spirit. Ron was my friend, my teacher, my confidant, my guide, my inspiration. He helped me when I was 16 to hear God's call to ministry. And a few years ago, when I had lost my way, he called me back. One day, a few years ago, in Seattle, Ron and I were out driving around, just kind of seeing the sights, and I was telling him my plans for the future. And in his quiet way, he said, Have you given up on the church? Well, I was still a Southern Baptist at that point, and a divorcee. And I said, Yeah. And he said, Oh, Darrell, don't do that. He said, there's a wide, wonderful church out there waiting to let you serve, and God wants to use you.

Lynne Gerber: I find this remarkable, that Ron's experience facing the limitations of one church didn't lead him away from all churches. So much so that he encouraged his brother who was facing similar limitations to consider a wider experience of church -- and of God. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't make the same choice. But I'm moved by it. 

Darrell Coons: I didn't always understand Ron, and I'm not, I'm sure I probably won't ever understand everything about Ron, but I know that he loved the Lord with all his heart, and he wanted to serve. 

Lynne Gerber: Ron and Darrell's parents couldn't be there. 

Darrell Coons: I talked to mother and she said, I would love to be there, but your daddy can't do that, said he saw him there at the end, and he said that that needed to be when he said goodbye, 

Lynne Gerber: But they participated in the way they could, with Gail, again, being the sturdy bridge. 

Gail Shahbaghlian: Last letter from Mother to Ron. My dearest son. How can I tell you in this last letter what you have meant to your daddy and me, our firstborn son, and called of God to live a difficult role. You gave us so much more joy than sorrow and always knew when we needed to be lifted up. So concerned with everyone. So anxious to please. Not quite believing your own exceptional talents. As I think back over the years, I remember a young boy who questioned every turn in the road, as if to say, God, why am I doing this? Why am I here? Always wanting to know and to be a real part of each life you came in contact with. We had such fun singing together, you and I. We dreamed of one day having a family singing group, but this was not to be. God chose to use you in a separate way so your voice could be heard as it was intended and your influence caused your brothers and your sister and then your daughter and son to follow by singing their individual praises to our Lord. Your presence in our lives has made us all better children of God. We have had such fun at family reunions, Christmases together, vacations together and just being together. I will miss your wonderful phone calls and Daddy and I will miss your letters. Your life's work has not gone unnoticed. You have given many wonderful gifts to others. The gifts of joy, love, and laughter. We will be together again. Until then, we love you always, Mother and Dad.

Lynne Gerber: “We will be together again” – Ron’s mother’s hope, assertion, maybe even  belief – that Ron’s sexuality wouldn’t keep them from the Christian assurance of a heavenly reunion. 

Lynne Gerber: Eventually they found the Bible. And Jim read the passage. From Deuteronomy.

Jim Mitulski: This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Now choose life so that you and those who come after you may live. 


Lynne Gerber: Sometimes Ron spoke of his experience of the sacred in a way that sparkled with the clarity and directness of unencumbered love -- like the love of queer kin. 

Ron Russell-Coons: The unconditional love of God can be experienced. Through the very ones that we have formerly named as the marginal other. I know the eternal lover of my soul because I have known Richard and Fran and Brenda and John and Tom and Oscar and Michael and Will and Ben and Jim, Randy, David, Jack, Phil, and Tom. I know God because I have known these persons. 

Lynne Gerber: But love isn't always clear and isn't always unencumbered. Especially family love. And something sacred is still there too. Sometimes seeking healing looks like sitting in painful tensions and unresolved places. Again and again. In the hopes that healing might show up. Ron's children, Julie Peterson and Joey Coons, have sat in those kinds of tensions for a long, long time. Tensions fueled by missing their father for years before he died. Losing him to coming out, to his divorcing their mother and moving far away in order to come out, to the social storms that rocked their young worlds and felt impossible to navigate. Even when everyone tried. 

Julie: it was a very difficult time in history. There was so much beyond him being a gay man with AIDS. He was our father. Like all those other things were second to who he was to us. And so not having him in our life in that role was, was painful and difficult.

Joey: it was a grieving period every time we saw my dad, we love seeing him and loved to catch up with him. But then it was that grieving constantly, 

Lynne Gerber: And yet, there's healing here too. If we don't require that "healing" erase all tension, all pain, all loss. 

Julie: Again, I wouldn't, I wouldn't trade him for anything in the world. I think the Lord taught me so many things through that relationship. And I believe with all my heart loved the Lord and wanted to other people to know the love of God. And so I'm grateful for that legacy that he leaves. I just wish we had had that personal relationship as a father and child that, that we missed.   

Lynne Gerber: And sometimes seeking healing looks like holding a broken space between people you love. Alone. Waiting for healing. Even if it takes time. Like it has for Ron’s brother Darrell. 

Darrell Coons: But, when I got to be, I guess it was 43, when I had my 43rd birthday, I had to spend a little time by myself. Because I realized that I was then at the age that Ron was when he died. And each year I, I celebrate his birthday whether anybody else does or not.  I actually said something to my sister about it this past year. We were talking on the phone on, we talk on Sunday nights and. I said, yeah, I said, I was looking at the calendar the other day and this next Thursday or whenever it was, it's Ron's birthday. She just kind of said, yeah. And it's like, okay, I'll drop it. 


Lynne Gerber: Some things don't need to be healed, however broken they feel. Some things can't be healed, or at least can't be cured -- or resolved -- or just taken away. But some things of great meaning can be found through brokenness -- broken bodies, broken hopes, broken relationships -- things that can feel powerful enough to merit the term healing. Even if it doesn't justify the suffering. Even if you would never choose it. Even if it still isn't okay. 

Ron Russell-Coons: I've been angry. I've been angry at having to let go. And in all of that process, I've looked for some meaning. Is there any meaning in AIDS? And for me, there has been the gift of emotional healing and spiritual healing. A peace that I've never had in my life before. A restlessness that once was there is now turned to peace. I thank God for the healing that will continue to go on. And that as a community, I'm thankful that we can reach out to each other and affirm that illness, physical, physical illness, and death are not failure, but it's a part of life. And that we're here together, to support and to walk with each other and to journey. Letting go is healing. Grabbing a hold is healing.

On the next episode of When We All Get to Heaven, the church faces an attack: 

Jack St. John: This has been a place that has been safe for us.  And we do not need a spirit of fear now in this place.

CREDITS

When We all Get To Heaven is a project of Eureka Street Productions and is distributed by Slate. It was co-created and produced by me, Lynne Gerber, Siri Colom and Ariana Nedelman. 

When we started this podcast AIDS felt more like history. Now it feels more like current events. If you want to support the important work being done countering the current challenges to AIDS research and treatment, there are links to good groups in the show notes. They’d love your support.

Our story editor is Sayre Quevedo. Our sound designer is David Herman. Our first managing producer was Sarah Ventre. Our current managing producer is Krissy Clark. Tim Dillinger-Curenton is our Consulting Producer. Betsy Towner Levine is our fact checker. And our outreach coordinator is Ariana Martinez.

The music comes largely from MCC San Francisco’s archive and is performed by its members, ministers, and friends. Additional music is by Domestic BGM.   

We had additional story editing support from Arwen Nicks, Allison Behringer, and Krissy Clark. 

A lot of other people helped make this project possible, you can find their names on our website. You can also find pictures and links for each episode there at – heavenpodcast.org. 

Our project is supported by the Henry Luce Foundation, the E. Rhodes and Leona B Carpenter Foundation and some amazing individual donors. It was also made possible with support from California Humanities, a non-profit partner of the National Endowment for the Humanities. You can visit them at www.calhum.org.

Eureka Street Productions has 501c3 status through our fiscal sponsor FJC: A Foundation of Philanthropic Funds

And many thanks to MCC San Francisco, its members, and its clergy past and present – for all of their work and for always supporting ours.