Photo credit: Noaks Ark Mosaik
Facing the Truth
In May 2000, while serving as a priest in Christ Church, Mayfair, South Africa, I tested positive for HIV. It was a moment that split my life in two—before and after the diagnosis. Back then, antiretroviral drugs weren’t yet widely available in South Africa. While people in Europe and North America were gaining access to treatment, we on the African continent watched from the sidelines, hopeful but largely helpless.
I was one of the fortunate ones. Because of my position in the church, I had access to a medical aid that covered six months of antiretrovirals. After that, I had to pay for them myself. The cost was staggering. My monthly salary as a priest barely covered the medication. There was no money left for groceries, no cushion, no backup plan.
A Stinging Response
When the church decided to change our medical aid provider, I realized the new plan wouldn’t cover ARVs at all. I went to speak with the diocesan chancellor, hoping for understanding, maybe even support. What I got was condemnation. He looked at me and said, “And why do you think all the clergy of Johannesburg should be taxed for your transgressions? Why should we pay for your sinfulness?”
It was one of the most painful moments of my life—not just as someone living with HIV, but as a man of faith who had dedicated his life to the church.
Turning Pain Into Purpose
That moment of rejection could’ve broken me. Instead, it pushed me toward something greater. In 2002, I helped found INERELA+—the International Network of Religious Leaders Living with or Personally Affected by HIV. We created a space where religious leaders could speak openly, without shame. A space where HIV was met not with judgment, but with empathy.
I’ve been especially moved by Noah’s Ark Mosaic in Malmö, Sweden. Their work with religious leaders—those of us who often hide behind collars and robes—helps us remember that faith isn’t about condemnation, it’s about compassion.
A New Chapter in Sweden
Eventually, I was invited to Sweden by the Church of Sweden to work on HIV issues. My first question to my new boss was simple: “What does the church say about my HIV status?” The answer? “Absolutely nothing.” I was received with joy and given full access to treatment. No shame. No stigma. Just welcome.
Hope and the Work Ahead
We haven’t reached the point where there’s no stigma—neither in society, nor in the church, and certainly not in the past. But today, as I stand among you, I know we’ve taken a step forward. We’ve committed to working together to answer the big questions: Who am I as a person living with HIV? Who am I as a person of faith?
May God bless us on this journey—as we search for answers, together.
