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When Crew and I first met, I asked if he would grant me an interview. He did. Crew lived in the Diocese of Newark, New Jersey, then the realm of John Shelby Spong (who has applied his "a bishop rethinks" book franchise to every clause of the Nicene Creed), and he spoke of Spong with clear devotion. Crew told deeply personal stories about his life as a homosexual man—in the Deep South, in a rural community of Wisconsin, in the urban streets of Newark—and of his onetime effort to be the husband in a heterosexual marriage. That marriage was not to last. (Crew now refers to a man named Ernest, his partner since 1974, as his husband.) I found this talented and charming nonconformist both fascinating and disorienting.

How much have Crew and I changed since we met in 1992? Have I come to agree with him about blessing gay couples? No. Has he changed his mind about sexuality or become any less an admirer of Bishop Spong? No. But primarily by listening not only to each other's beliefs but to the reasons we hold those beliefs, we've learned to reach across the crevasse of our most profound differences.

This sometimes means sticking up for one another. I have challenged fellow conservatives who depict Crew as a libertine who would celebrate any and every sexual coupling engaged in by Episcopalians. Crew has publicly defended my work as a reporter when he had nothing to gain by doing it. I have tried to be a quiet peacemaker when my fellow conservatives clash with Crew. Crew once expressed his disappointment when my writing about Bishop Spong became too aggressive (I had included Spong's every verbal pause for effect, and it was a cheap shot).

The New Commandment Task Force has met with an understandable skepticism, especially from conservatives. Frank Griswold, presiding bishop of the Episcopal Church, helped meet expenses for NCTF's first four meetings, which only added to some conservatives' suspicions. Conservative critics depicted NCTF as a gathering of theological quislings. (We all know the type of meeting: facilitators-for-hire forbid any appeals to Scripture; declare that every person has an equally true grasp of reality; write every spoken thought, however inane, on a Flip Chart; and imperiously give every person advance permission to "tend to your own comfort needs.")

If NCTF had borne any resemblance to that picture, based on the real horrors of past dialogues mandated by the Episcopal Church's national leaders, I would not have felt a moment's interest in attending its session in South Bend. But in my waning months with EU, I came to know Cox as a priest who clearly affirms historic Christian orthodoxy in his own preaching and writing while striving to keep the Episcopal Church from arguing itself into irreversible division. Knowing and trusting Cox made me confident that an NCTF meeting would be what dialogue-by-fiat can only pretend to be. NCTF offered an honest discussion in which both sides are free to describe their most deeply held beliefs, and to risk the hurt feelings and righteous indignation that such candor usually produces. We're still encouraged to use "I" statements and to listen respectfully, but appeals to Scripture are welcomed and debated.

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July 8 2001, Vol. 45, No. 9