: LGBTQ+

1 Corinthians 12 introduces its readers to the lasting image of the fledging church as a physical body – each part with different but important roles to fulfil. This metaphor has endured for centuries, and is a challenging one for many Christians today, who struggle with things like hard denominational boundaries and tribal us/them attitudes. For Fr. Ruth, a queer priest in the Church in Wales (CiW), it has a similarly challenging but uplifting message. 

Ruth is a curate (trainee vicar) in the Islwyn Ministry Area in the Diocese of Monmouth, and she’s part of a team that looks after twelve different churches up and down the Gwent Valleys. She’s also bisexual, gender-non-conforming, and in a civil partnership with her spouse, Hannah. In addition to her ministry in the CiW, Ruth is one of four Pastoral Leaders of an ecumenical LGBTQ+ church in Cardiff called The Gathering. 

If that surprises you, that’s okay. But, despite what you may have been taught, queer people have always been a part of the life of the church. We have always been vicars, ministers, deacons, worship leaders, caretakers, congregants, youth group leaders. We are a part of the heritage and life of the church in a way that has, for too long, been overlooked and brushed aside.

The Anglican Church, in particular the Church of England, is undergoing a real reckoning at the moment over the issue of blessing same-sex marriages. The CiW has already had this conversation, and voted in 2021 to bless the marriages of same-sex couples. Whilst, for many, this does not go far enough, it is generally seen as a good first step, and it sets a precedent for other Anglican churches also having this discussion. It also puts those campaigning for marriage equality in a really good position for the Church in Wales to formally allow the sacramental celebration of marriage (hopefully) soon. The current position is bittersweet for many, though. As Fr. Ruth explained to me: “When the current legislation passed, that was a huge change for the Church in Wales. But I felt quite conflicted about it. In part, I am delighted that we can offer something to people for whom the church have been offering nothing. But, in part, it feels like a half-hearted step, where, what you're saying is ‘we're going to recognise that these relationships are good and holy and that God can bless them, but we're not willing to offer you the sacrament of marriage’. It feels theologically incomplete. And it's hurtful, as a queer person in a relationship, to know that the sacrament of marriage is withheld from us.”

It is still a huge deal, though, especially when you consider the length of Christian history that we were completely excluded from the public life of the church. We were still there, though, in closets and in the background, and I like to find queerness reflected in artwork throughout Christian history. It’s forever fascinating to me the ways in which artists, for hundreds of years, have been interpreting biblical stories in ways that we, as audience members and critics, can see the homoerotic. In this artwork, we can see ourselves reflected; here, in the shadow of gender transgression, there, in the hint towards homoeroticism. Indeed, for many artists throughout history, the only acceptable outlet for them to express their homoerotic desires was to displace them through artistic interpretations of ‘safe’ stories and figures – biblical scenes and characters. For example, artwork depicting the martyrdom of St. Sebastian is almost always homoerotic – after all, an attractive young man, mostly naked, is often depicted as being penetrated by arrows.

For Ruth, the ways in which she honours her place in the Church, and where she sees herself in the heritage of the church, is through the practise of the Eucharist. A useful image for her in thinking about the Eucharist is that of a human heart. “During the Eucharist, the church is like the chambers of the heart. It draws in that which needs nourishment. In the movement of the Eucharist, the nourishment is received, like blood going out to the lungs and coming back again, and then it's sent back out into the rest of its community.” So, when Jesus says, at the Last Supper, “Do this in remembrance of me” (Luke 22:19, NRSV), and we partake in this remembrance, we become a part of something bigger than us – an invisible string that stretches back centuries, connecting everyone across the world that’s ever remembered Jesus’ life in this way, like branches of a nervous system spanning time and space and holding us together. In this act of remembrance, “in becoming the body of Christ, all of the boundaries get blurry. So we become parts of a whole. That requires all of our differences.” It requires our differences in sexuality and gender identity, and how we interact with the world around us as embodied creatures. “As someone who the church historically would have said ‘we have no need of you’, I find it really, really heartening that those who still wish queer folks weren’t in ministry can't say ‘we have no need of you’. Because here we stand within the sacramental honours of the life of the church. You cannot say to me: I have no need of you. The challenging side is, I can't say to them I have no need of them either. We are brought together in that wholeness. And that wholeness is of God and so it's not up to us to say we have no need of one another.”

In a world full of divisive individualism, rituals like a Eucharist serve as an important reminder that we are a part of a much, much larger whole. The human body is an ecosystem of multitudinous grace, apathy, compassion and anger – never just one thing, always many interlinking feelings and experiences and beliefs. And, if a single human body is an ecosystem, how vast must the ecosystems of our societies be? Another word for Eucharist is Communion. This is the term that I grew up with in my faith tradition, and it holds both a special and fraught place in my heart because of it. The obvious reason behind it being called Communion is that it is through this ritual that we commune with God – we honour Jesus’ life and death, and are in communion with something greater than ourselves. But, through the connections and interconnections of this action, are we not also in communion with one another? Are we not then, in spite of all the things that separate us, one body? 

 ‘Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot would say, “Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,” that would not make it any less a part of the body. […] If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be? If the whole body were hearing, where would the sense of smell be? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be? As it is, there are many members yet one body. The eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you,” nor again the head to the feet, “I have no need of you.” […] If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honoured, all rejoice together with it.’ (1 Cor. 12:12-26, NRSV). 

On the 1 December 1994 a tree was planted in the Gorsedd Gardens in front of National Museum Cardiff.

The tree was planted on World AIDS Day 1994 as a memorial to those who have died of AIDS in Wales. Since its planting it has been known by a few different names including the Tree of Life and the Red Ribbon Tree, and has become the focus for yearly World AIDS Day commemorations on 1 December each year, with people attaching red ribbons to the tree.

The tree was planted by Mike Phillips and Martin Nowaczek (co-founders of Cardiff Body Positive), along with the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress of Cardiff. At the planting a balloon was released for all those who have died of AIDS in Wales. By the end of 1994 (the year the tree was planted) there had been 10,304 reported AIDS cases and 7,019 known deaths in the UK (with 141 cases and 118 of these deaths in Wales).

Speaking about the planting of the tree Mike recalls that “I was around 25 when we planted the Red Ribbon Tree. We’d opened the Cardiff Body Positive drop-in-centre the previous day and Martin, already ill, was feeling tired. He died less than 6 months later”.

The plaque next to the tree was rededicated in 2021 and the original plaque donated to St Fagans National Museum of History. It was displayed at St Fagans in 2022/23 as part of the exhibition Wales is… remembering Terrence Higgins.

The Cardiff Body Positive collection recently donated to Amgueddfa Cymru is closely associated with the tree as its co-founders Mike and Martin planted the tree in 1994.

Cardiff Body Positive was founded in 1993 and were based at 57 St Mary Street, Cardiff. It supported people living with HIV and AIDS from across Cardiff and south Wales, and was one of a number of Body Positive groups around the UK. Their drop-in centre opened the day before the Tree of Life was planted, and they later organised what they called a ‘Celebration of Life’ at the tree – celebrating the lives lost to AIDS and showing solidarity and support to those living and affected with HIV/AIDS. The Cardiff Body Positive newsletters in the collection contain some obituaries for those who died of AIDS in Wales including its co-founder, Martin.

Cardiff AIDS Helpline was also operating about this time as well as the South Glamorgan AIDS Network. It was Cardiff AIDS Helpline that organised the first Candlelight Memorial to be held in Wales, which was held on 1 December 1993 on the steps of National Museum Cardiff, with almost 600 people attending. They held another World AIDS Day Candlelight Memorial in 1994 on the evening following the planting of the tree.

Today there is still no cure for HIV, but effective treatment now means that people with HIV can’t pass the virus on and can live long and healthy lives. The Welsh Government HIV Action Plan as well as organisations and networks such as the Terrence Higgins Trust, and Fast Track Cymru are working towards preventing new infections and eliminating stigma by 2030.

When it came to writing this article, my thought space had been taken to the theme of journeys; the unknown ground between a beginning and an ending. My journey as a young producer for Bloedd’s latest project, an LGBTQIA+ oral histories exhibition, has been a nearly yearlong one. What began as conversation in a shared space containing mutual interests and passions, defined the nucleus of my work here. The beginnings of this time had been an unpacking of what we felt as a collective was important to represent for an upcoming exhibition. We knew from the jump that we wanted to represent voices that may often go unheard; those whose experience may not be recounted upon by the mainstream perception of what it means to live an LGBTQIA+ life. 

Moving away from the typical portrait of queerness being a thrown brick in protest, that while important, we are more than our fight for freedoms; our stories can be found in the everyday, in the places we visit, the jobs we keep, the people we love and share our lives with. The given name of this exhibition, Ours to Tell, came only after we had completed our collection of stories, the self-described journey we undertook over several months of visits and interviews, holding dialogue with well over fifty years of experience. But what is in a name? Ours to Tell is a reclamation. It’s our way of saying “here is a story, told by a firsthand account of the storyteller”. It’s our way of saying “these words are cut from a book hidden away in the attic of my mind. I’ve ventured into the attic, and I’m dusting it off for you.” It’s our way of saying “this is where I come from”. 

While the journey of this project has been underpinned by a great deal of planning and preparation, what you can’t prepare for is what you might uncover in someone else’s story. You commit to the routine of presenting a series of questions, from you to the storyteller, with only a table between you. It comes as a surprise the level of detail, which is excavated by the storyteller, they are like a hoarder being handed a stepladder, invited to dig up their stowed away possessions from the attic. Your questions are prompts: “when did you first see your identity reflected in someone else?”, “what does a safe space look like to you?”, the list goes on. The exciting part is that you don’t know what’s coming next, and you are there, alongside the storyteller, who guides you through a journey which may well bring up a familiarity or nostalgia for the listener. During these times when I’ve had the great pleasure to listen to these stories, I can confidently say that I have felt every kind of emotion in response. I laughed. I have cried. I have been moved. I have been taken on a journey.

Enabling the participants of this project to confidently speak about their experiences has proved an undeniable joy, though I cannot understate how this project has affected those coordinating its launch. Fellow young producer Joss Copeman, like me had been drawn to this exciting opportunity, Copeman’s “personal work is largely centred around queer narratives and themes of identity and the self.” The journey which unfolded from Ours to Tell has been greatly beneficial, as it pertains to young LGBTQIA+ creatives and makers, taking inspiration from unheard voices, now affected and transformed by echoes of their experience. This is a feeling I know will resonate with the audience, and I can only hope it will stir others in future, to share what might be put away, gathering dust in the attic. 

I’d like to conclude with a quote that shook me like a cat in a tree, “Art is not just for oneself, not just a marker of one’s own understanding. It is also a map for those who follow after us.”

Written by Ivy Kelly, Amgueddfa Cymru Producer (Bloedd).

Bloedd is the platform for youth engagement at Amgueddfa Cymru.

When trying to visualise people’s lives, particularly those from the past, it’s often the small things that bring lives to life such as a ticket to a lecture or a brooch - and two items in Amgueddfa Cymru’s collection certainly do that. 

They both relate to Cranogwen, the bardic name for Sarah Jane Rees (1839–1916) a master mariner, poet, writer, editor and temperance worker who, for most of her life lived in the small town of Llangrannog, Cardiganshire. She was born there and throughout her life travelled from there to become one of the most well-known women in Wales in the late nineteenth/early twentieth century. And it was here that her two partners lived, first Fanny Rees “Phania” (1853-1874) who died aged just 21 and later Jane Thomas (1850-?) who, in most of the census returns is described as a ‘domestic worker’, ‘general servant’ or ‘charwoman’. 

Cranogwen was often away, involved in myriad projects and giving lecturers but her first tour started in 1866, a year after controversially winning an Eisteddfod poetry prize when it was revealed a woman had beaten the men. Consequently, when she started touring her name was already known as a Y Gwladgarwr journalist noted:

The reader will remember that it was the young girl lion who took the prize at the Aberystwyth Eisteddfod for the song for the Wedding Ring. After hearing that, and also understanding that our leading poets, such as Islwyn and Ceiriog were competing, I was a bit surprised that there was some ‘dirt in the cheese’ somewhere. [i]

Cranogwen’s tour centred on her lecture ‘The Youth and the Culture of their Minds’ although this did expand later to include two other lecturers, ‘Anhebgorion Cymeriad da’ (Essentials of a Good Character) and ‘Elements of Happiness’, all concerned with improvements in people’s characters. As she spoke in Welsh, they were predominantly covered by the Welsh language press with the English language media paying very little attention. 

Cranogwen started off in the Aberystwyth area so hopefully Jane did travel with her to provide some support but as the talks grew in popularity Cranogwen travelled further afield and just two months later at Swansea’s Brynhyfryd Chapel nearly one thousand people turned out to see her - a daunting prospect for anyone so hopefully Jane was there as well to give support.

Word was spreading quickly and, as a journalist at Baner ac Amserau Cymru noted, ‘There is no need in the world to go to the trouble of giving a description of the lecture today, because it is already quite well known throughout Wales.[ii]

Everywhere she went praise was showered upon her, causing one journalist to wonder if she could live up to the hype: ‘since we had heard such praise for her, we expected her to be good. But we never imagined that she was as talented as she is, and so masterful at her work.’ [iii]

Night after night she spoke to rave reviews and her one-hour lecture expanded into two and even longer when local dignitaries sought to appear on stage alongside her, adding their pennyworth. Local poets flocked to her, often writing englyns, many of which were published in the papers, and women were following her example and taking to the stage. 

This caused concern. 

Women, particularly ‘young girls’ (she was 27 at the time) should not be lecturing, said the men, who complained of the impropriety of women speaking in public. ‘The inhabitants of South Wales,’ ranted the Cardiff Times, ‘are running wild with the young ladies who are lecturing about the country [and] in the opinion of many eminent men this is going too far. 

At the Association of the Calvinistic Methodists held at Carnarvon the Rev. Henry Rees, and eminent minister, whose name is known through the Principality, spoke against female preachers, and stated that it would be far more becoming in those who are fond of preaching to attend to those duties which belong to their sex. We are glad that a gentleman of Mr Rees’s standing has set his face against this new mania.[iv]

‘Are these women not at home?’ Seren Cymru joined in, ‘are we ready to see our parishes being dotted, if not flooded, and women lecturing.[v]

Most journalists ignored them and continued their rave reviews of Cranogwen. 

The talks usually began at 7pm and tickets cost 6d (about £2 today) and audiences were huge with many writers noting how listeners would sit quietly entranced for two hours often nodding in agreement and rewarding Cranogwen with thunderous applause. In almost all her talks it was noted that the profits went to pay off chapel debts. 

Throughout 1867 Cranogwen continued to tour and the Amgueddfa Cymru ticket is dated to 2 January but no newspaper report has been found for Brynmenyn, Bridgend – but then there were so many talks not all were covered and the tour was a year old by this time. 

In 1869–1870 Cranogwen toured the United States giving the same sort of lectures – and we would need to examine the immigration records to see if Jane went with her. 

When she returned, Cranogwen continued her good works, and in the early twentieth century she, like many eminent women, become involved in the temperance movement. Drunkenness, particularly among women was endemic as they tried to escape harsh lives and a number of unions were set up to try and tackle this including the Rhondda Women’s Union, set up in April 1901. It was so successful that a decision was made to expand it, and Cranogwen was instrumental in changing it to Undeb Dirwestol Merched y De (U.D.M.D.) (South Wales Women’s Temperance Union) where she was the Organisational Secretary, with her address still listed at Llangrannog. Once again, Cranogwen was touring extensively with the Union.

As they arrived at each town, Union members would process through the streets carrying banners before settling at a chapel where prayers and hymns, and readings from the Bible, were read out followed by speeches by leading members of the Union. In addition, guest speakers featured well-known Welsh women who would draw in audiences, followed by tea and cake and socialising, and the three-hour events were attended by hundreds of people. There would be collections, and sales of pamphlets and badges. The example in the Amgueddfa Cymru collection is technically a brooch and it is not clear if the badges Cranogwen received money for, were these brooches. 

By December 1901, new U.D.M.D. branches were growing throughout south Wales and by the time of Cranogwen’s death in 1916 there were 140 branches throughout South Wales. 

Cranogwen was indefatigable, and one can only wonder at her energy. As well as all her good works one of her strengths was the encouragement of so many young women to become writers and orators, even if the men disapproved. 

Cranogwen died in 1916 at Wood Street Cilfynydd, Rhondda Cynon Taf, her niece’s house. ‘No other Welsh woman enjoyed popularity in so many public spheres’[vii] noted the Cambrian Daily Leader. Unfortunately, it is not yet known when Jane died, hopefully the forthcoming biography by Jane Aaron will tell us more, but just five years earlier they were still living together in Llangrannog and the town was to remain Cranogwen’s permanent address for most of her life. No matter how much she travelled, it seems she always went home to Jane. 

Memorial to Sarah Jane Rees, Llangrannog (WikiCommons)