to help those living with AIDS, not condemn them. The Rt. Rev. William Down said "As Christians we cannot say that it is not our problem. We have a duty to be both responsible and positive.'' The leader of the Island's largest church called on Bermudians to minister to those living with AIDS regardless of how they contracted the disease. "Our calling as Christians is to love people.'' Bishop Down urged his congregation to try to understand how those with AIDS or the AIDS virus HIV feel, and not shun or avoid contact with them.

Bishop Down's approach is in striking contrast to the treatment AIDS sufferers sometimes suffer. A recent story from the United States pointed out what some AIDS sufferers face.

"Jane'' told the people in her Bible study class in a Southern Baptist Church in Missouri that she had AIDS. The next week, a woman was getting into the pew next to Jane when her husband stopped her. When the woman persisted, her husband said in a voice loud enough to be heard around the church: "That woman has AIDS.'' The family marched to the other side of the sanctuary. Her confidence and faith shaken, Jane turned to her pastor. He advised her to find another church.

That Jane encountered discrimination at her church is no surprise -- many people with AIDS have become accustomed to slights and snubs and outright rejection from those who fear their disease.

What is worth noting is that Jane and others with AIDS are persisting in finding spiritual homes. They are drawn by the same powerful human need to find meaning in human tragedy that has historically brought the terminally ill to the doors of churches. That need is overpowering the fears and prejudices they might encounter there.

Byron Remie, a slightly built, physically demonstrative 29-year-old black man with AIDS, and Dora Gough, a grey-haired 66-year-old white woman, hug each other fiercely within the First Baptist Church of Houston.

Each bears the scars of societal attitudes toward AIDS, but have found comfort in each other's arms in this flagship church of Southern Baptist conservatism.

When Gough let the church know that her son had AIDS, she received no response. Before he died four years ago, her son made a request that she has not forgotten. He asked her not to forget his friends. She has taken care of 15 of them. Many of the people she cared for were disowned by their families.

"Mom, I have AIDS and I want to die,'' was the simple, harsh way Katherine McCracken's son told her of his illness. Her oldest sister doesn't want her son in her home, and the churches that used to be her spiritual home offered no programmes to help her. But the Christian Tabernacle Church in Houston, Texas, provided both mother and son with friends and support groups.

Katherine McCracken says, "I know that if Jesus was here today, he would not turn his back on these people. I know that. That's one thing that gives me strength -- to know that Jesus would be with my son.'' Jesse Scott, 56, lives at Benji's House, an AIDS hostel in Texas. Scott has advice for church congregations that want to open their arms to people with AIDS: "Say it. That's all you have to do is just say it. Say `All are welcome'.

"Just reach out and love them. Just reach out and let them know they have a place to go. Just because they have the virus doesn't mean that Jesus doesn't love them. Only God can judge, only God.'' It is clear to us that Bishop Down understands. We can only hope that other churches in Bermuda are listening.