Charles, an Episcopal bishop, married Felipe Sanchez Paris before several hundred people at St. Gregory's of Nyssa Episcopal Church in San Francisco over the weekend. The bishop says he was guided by his belief that all human beings are called upon to live as fully as they can.

That same precept guided him in 1993 when, at age 67, he announced he was gay.

"The single most powerful possibility for raising people's awareness and consciousness would be when in the church relationships are being blessed," said Charles, who turned 78 on his wedding day. "When people see that two human beings want to commit their lives together and are able to do that and have the desire to do that with the blessing of God.

"My 8-year-old grandson was there, and I think of what the world will be like when young people see two people can make a deep commitment to each other, and it has nothing to do with gender and everything to do with love."

A grand total of four different clergy helped officiate the wedding, which began with drumming and ended when Charles and Paris were lifted in chairs and carried outside. The ceremony included singing, dancing and opportunities for the guests and the betrothed to give impromptu speeches. Three of the couple's nine grown children participated in the wedding, welcoming the new spouse into the family by placing a lei around his neck.

David Perry, one of the best men, read from the poem "The Truelove" by David Whyte.

"If you wanted to drown you could," he read. "But you don't."

"I could barely get through it," Perry said. "This man had lived his life in fear of drowning and now he said, 'I'm tired of drowning.' "

Charles, who served as bishop of Utah for 15 years and then president of the Episcopal Divinity School in Cambridge, Mass., was married for 42 years and has five children. He told his wife he was gay in 1976, but he didn't come out publicly until he retired 11 years ago.

For years, Charles said, he told himself it would be too hard on the diocese, on his family, on his wife. But then keeping his secret became unbearably oppressive.

"I was ashamed of myself for remaining silent when the church was involved in an acrimonious debate about the whole question of gay people in the life of the church. I couldn't live with that any longer," he said. "I came to realize that I was only going to wither and die and it would be a destructive relationship for my wife and myself."

In a letter to fellow bishops, Charles wrote, "I will not remain silent, invisible, unknown."

The Episcopal Church continues to be highly divided over the issue of gay priests and same-sex marriage. Last year, in a hotly debated election, Gene Robinson, an openly gay priest, became bishop of New Hampshire. The church had long held that it was possible to ordain gay priests, as long as they were celibate, but Robinson's election created a furor because he has a longtime partner. Robinson and Charles are the only two openly gay bishops to this day.

The question of whether to bless same-sex unions has also caused some internal strife: Though such unions aren't officially encouraged, the church has acknowledged that in some dioceses, officiating such ceremonies is common practice.

Charles and his wife ended their marriage soon after his public announcement. Nearly 70 and unsure "how to be gay," Charles moved to San Francisco. For the first year, he lived among Episcopal Franciscans and began to build a new life.

"What was nurturing was just simple things," he said. "Walking down the street seeing a rainbow flag or two men holding hands."

He directed a gay ministry. He went dancing. He had openly gay friends.

"At whatever age you come out, you have to live through whatever you've missed," he said. "Even though you're 67, you have to go through a process I associate with adolescence. Hopefully, you do it with a little more maturity and grace."

Two years ago, after some relationship fits and starts, he met Paris, 62, a retired professor and political organizer with four ex-wives and four children.

And the white-haired bishop fell in love.

"As people get older, they turn into two kinds. Some become thinner and wispier, and the lifeblood has gone out of them because they have regrets and there are some things you can't do anymore," said the Rev. Leng Lim, a friend who's also an Episcopalian priest. "Or there are people who become really alive to the moment, to the vulnerability that is there, to the love. Because they've worked through their own stuff. And Otis belongs to that second group. "

Several days after marrying, the couple took turns recounting the details of their wedding. True to form, Charles shed his bishop-like pensiveness and hopped out of his chair to sing and demonstrate a dance.

"See what I mean by energy?" said Paris, who has a habit of pausing mid- sentence to smile.

Charles is rarely at a loss for words, but reflecting on what had passed he said, "I don't think I can describe it, but I do feel different."

He touched his chest and stared at Paris for a long time.

"So," he said softly.

END