in his tight theology.

He prayed to God, long prayers full of questions.

Why would you make someone like this? Why would you tell them they have to be alone?

He didn't want to tell Stephen's friends that they were in sin. He didn't want to tell his dying son that his soul was sicker than his body.

So over the months, a new belief took hold. In Matt's mind, there was no conflict between homosexuality and Christianity, and the hundreds of years of church tradition had been missteps.

It was only a matter of time before the church realized as much, he thought.

In the meantime, word spread from the AIDS outreach organizations across the Chattanooga area that a minister's son had caught the virus, and the Nevelses were asked to speak atThey told the Nevelses they would pray. Matt said he watched everyone else disperse.

***

Months later, Matt and Frances moved their son home to die. He'd been whittled away from 160 pounds to 72 pounds. His legs thinned to matchsticks. His cheekbones created a gray frame on his face.

Experimental medicine ravaged his nerve fibers, and the feeling of the sheets touching his feet at night made him scream for Jesus to take him.

Cards arrived, with reassurances about resting in God's will. But few hinted at the gay issue. Dr. Steelman sent three notes that Frances kept in a box with all the other condolences, but he didn't visit them or come talk to Stephen.

One of Dr. Steelman's cards read: "Someone mentioned to me yesterday that Steve's condition has declined