SOUTH LOOP — Walking the lush, green stretch of South Dearborn between Polk and Harrison streets, it can be easy to miss what neighbors lovingly refer to as "Grace Place."
What's harder to miss, though, is the staggeringly tall Rev. Edward Curtis, or "Ted" as he prefers to be called, standing in front of Grace Episcopal Church's deep red brick facade, smiling and greeting people from the community.
“I’ve always felt that [title] stuff was kind of distancing,” he said. “Nowadays, I just feel we’re all part of the same team and I don’t think I’m known by ‘Father Ted’ to God, I think I’m just Ted.”
For more than a decade, Grace Place, 637 S. Dearborn St., along with the Chicago Temple Homeless Ministry and First United Methodist Church, have played host to struggling Chicagoans looking for a hot meal 51 out of 52 Saturdays each year.
"The good thing is we can do it," Curtis said. "The bad thing is so many people need it."
Now, nearly 25 years after putting together his office in the church, he's preparing to once again pack it away and begin the next chapter of his life.
At the end of the month, Curtis said he and his husband, Al, whom he married last June in Iowa, plan to see what life has in store for them in Albuquerque, N.M.
In the meantime, he's working hard to wrap up the legacy he's built at Grace Place.
A legacy of hope
Among his greatest accomplishments is facilitating a $10.5 million deal with the city in 1999 to build a 170-room single-occupancy apartment building at 1801 S. Wabash Ave.
Another big moment, he said, was playing host to leaders of the Occupy Chicago movement, who came from around the country to advance social change.
Looking back fondly, he said he remembers a woman who asked him for money, saying she was a single mother leaving an abusive relationship. Curtis said four months after dropping her off at a bus station, he received a card in the mail from her, returning his money and saying she and her son were safe, housed and economically viable.
It's this type of response from those he's mentored that motivates him to keep going in challenging times, he said.
Maureen Jenkins, a journalist and longtime congregation member of Grace Place, said she's personally witnessed Curtis change the lives of a wide range of people throughout the years — noting the congregation ranges from those with advanced degrees to homeless residents.
"He's thoughtful, and very kind, and very smart, and I think that attracts a lot of people," said Jenkins, who also holds a degree in theology, adding that she's enjoyed many heartfelt and meaningful discussions about life and religion with Curtis.
She said another favorite part of being in the congregation at Grace Place is the annual "Blessing of the Animals" event that Curtis organizes, where animals across the city are invited to take part in a blessing and attend worship services with their owners.
A personal turning point
Just as Grace's understated exterior might hide the bustling activity inside, the introverted and modest Curtis, too, has a story not many know.
Curtis said it was at times a painful journey to become the man he is today.
Coming from a "military dynasty" where notable members of his family include a father in the Air Force, a Navy doctor grandfather and two heroic uncles who fought during World War II, Curtis said initially it was clear what he would do with his life. As a young man, the choice to enroll in the military was easy.
“Growing up, the Episcopal Church, the United States government and the military were the same thing, that was [how it was in] my family,” he said. “Once I matured, I started separating some of those things out.”
His maturation, he said, stemmed from the confusing realization that he was gay, coupled with traumatic experiences during the Gulf War. Curtis said his experience in the military left him with a new sense of global inequality, and for the first time, an awareness of his own privilege.
He decided to leave the Army, and in the same day, had a friend retrieve him from his base in Washington, D.C. in a pickup truck. The friend drove him to Manhattan, where Curtis enrolled in seminary and ultimately became ordained.
His first job in the church was in Milwaukee where, still "quasi-closeted," he said he befriended a local pastor and his family, who were on the front lines of working to make the church a more LGBT-friendly place.
“But I wasn’t out, it was just awful,” he said. “I don’t do secrets well, I never have. It’s a lot of energy.”
After establishing himself in Milwaukee and doing some work in Cleveland, Curtis eventually made his way to his home at Grace Place in Chicago, still "about 70 to 80 percent out."
'Everybody's got to come out'
He said the acceptance and love of his urban congregation helped him finally begin to open up and realize truths within himself that allowed him to better serve his community.
“Everybody’s got to come out,” he explained, saying not just in regards to sexuality, but about politics, religion, oppression, violence, illness and more. “Because when you come out and talk about it, it diffuses it but also gets people to deal with it.”
What's more, he said, it was his own self-acceptance of being gay that opened his eyes to other social issues like poverty, violence, racism, sexism, corporate greed and more.
"If my family could be wrong about me, what else could I be wrong about?" he said he started to ask himself.
He credits a "sea change" in attitudes regarding sexuality within the church and American culture that has helped create a nurturing environment for him to be himself.
Curtis said he's now comfortable acknowledging his sexuality is a gift from God, and he uses his personal experiences to help others "come out" from whatever problems they're dealing with in life.
Looking forward, Curtis said he plans to stay engaged in New Mexico's church scene and plans to pick up gardening with his husband — a hobby they're both "equally ignorant" about.
He said his work in Chicago might be over for now, but he hopes his legacy will linger for generations to come.
"There's a great quote from St. Irenaeus, 'The glory of God is to live fully alive,'" he said, with a reflective smile. "Not a bad thing in this day, when there's a lot of forces keeping people half-dead. Kind of beautiful."
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