Christ and Culture

Göran and I have been traveling in South America since the end of April, to participate in two Affirmation gatherings, one in Santiago, Chile and the other in Buenos Aires, Argentina. The Chile gathering last weekend was powerful, despite being relatively small. The Argentina gathering is coming up this weekend. In between, we have been enjoying the sites and smells and tastes of the southern cone of South America.

Yesterday morning over breakfast, I was having a conversation with a couple of other Affirmation members. We were talking about the Andrew Lloyd Weber musical Evita, a topic inspired by our locale! Adry mentioned another Weber musical he loved, Jesucristo Superestrella (known in English as Jesus Christ Superstar). I got excited. That's my favorite musical ever. I have the album and love listening to the music, especially at Easter time. I feel the Spirit when I listen to it, and there are so many songs in there that I find very insightful about the nature of Christ's ministry.

Beth said she was pretty sure some General Authority (she wasn't sure if it was an apostle or a seventy) had said that Latter-day Saints shouldn't watch Jesus Christ Superstar because it portrayed Jesus Christ as wrestling with his calling, occasionally feeling overwhelmed by it. We agreed on the theological merits of this portrayal of Christ. In Gethsemane, Christ prayed for the Father to take this cup away from him if it were possible. Part of the reason we love and are so grateful to Christ is because his earthly mission on our behalf was extremely difficult, one that was so difficult even he, the Son of God, recoiled from it. The musical simply took the expected sorts of artistic license to dramatize that aspect of Christ's ministry.

Now I don't know if a General Authority ever told Church members they shouldn't watch Jesus Christ Superstar. I can certainly imagine lots of Mormons recoiling from a rock opera that comes across as not quite reverent enough for the subject matter, or that may portray Christ in some way that seems incongruent with LDS teachings about Christ. I had to admit that I personally didn't feel at liberty to watch the musical until I had left the Church, but was glad I had watched it.

I said that one of the reasons I felt it was good that I had left the Church for a time is because it had freed me to find the good in things that I never would have found in the restrictive environment of "Mormon culture." There were so many things that Mormons assume to be part of the Gospel, but are not the Gospel at all, just our own cultural biases and prejudices cloaked in the mantle of religious respectability. And it was then I said, "Mormon culture does not interest me in the least. Only Mormon doctrine, only the Gospel interest me." And it was then I entered into a very interesting discussion with Beth, because, as she has described it, she is not so sure about Mormon doctrine, but she identifies "culturally" as a Mormon.

My bias (well documented in this blog, I think) is that I don't identify with the idea of calling oneself a "cultural Mormon." I disagree with John Dehlin, for instance, when he says that being a Mormon ought to be like being Jew -- namely that it should be about belonging to a people and a community, and not about our beliefs. For me, to be a "cultural" Mormon is to take the take the worst part of Mormonism, and leave behind the most precious part. Mormon "culture" has redeeming aspects, I'll grant. It's not all terrible. Though I would argue that the best parts of the culture are in fact the product of Mormon belief, the part of Mormonism that cultural Mormons want to jettison. That's my bias. I've named it right here.

Now Beth clarified that her definition of Mormon culture is inclusive of the beliefs; she sees Mormonism as the whole package, beliefs, culture, etc. She said that we can't really know what the beliefs are separate from the culture, because the beliefs come to us in a cultural context. And in fact it is impossible for a person to receive or interpret a belief outside of a cultural context. Which actually is all quite insightful.

I agree with that, and I would even go so far as to say that, assuming God is real and he transcends human culture, when God reveals himself to us, we can't help but frame our experience with God in our own cultural context. Though in my experience with God, there are always aspects of God's revelation of himself to us that shock us, that surprise us, and that snap us out of our tidy cultural paradigms. In fact, I think that's exactly how we can detect God's fingerprints in human history. We see traces of God's influence on human culture in those moments when revelation forces a break with the norms and values of the time and place in which God revealed himself.

I realized that perhaps what stood between me and Beth was the question of how, precisely, we define "culture." And I have a tendency to define "culture" as purely human production, that which we create for ourselves apart from God's influence, inclusive of all the various literal and figurative idols we create to bow down and worship. And Beth has a tendency to define culture as the human context for understanding anything, including God. Which I think is a very insightful way of thinking about culture.

Still, I am left with the sense that the process of exaltation, if you will, involves gradually changing our context for understanding God. In other words, there are aspects of our context that are immature, and that need to be trained, that require certain kinds of discipline and experience. That's what life is for! Life is designed to give us that experience and discipline, if we will accept it, if we will engage. That's what covenants are! They are us accepting certain kinds of challenges that will help us receive that discipline and experience.

Another way for me to think about it is that human "cultures" (Mormon "culture" included!) are never in stasis. They are in motion. A human society is always on some kind of journey. The journey can be very slow, so that it almost appears to be in stasis. But it's actually in motion. That's what history is about, both secular and religious history: tracking the motion, whether it takes place over decades or over millennia. And if a people are in covenant with God and in relationship with God and if they are open to and are receiving revelation, they will gradually be letting go of old aspects of the culture that are no longer helpful and accepting new concepts that align it more with a divine framework for understanding things. This can be a very uncomfortable process, if we're doing it right I think.

What I don't grant is that everything about Mormonism is culture, that it's all human production. That is the same thing as denying the existence of God. Which, given my experience with God, is as absurd as denying the existence of my parents. Or, had I had no personal experience with God, as absurd as denying the existence of my grandfather (whom I never met, because he died before I was born). Beth agreed with me on this. But the difficult question is to figure out where God ends and human culture begins. My sense is that the places to look first are those places where we are most troubled.

In any event, this is the truth communicated in that wonderful musical Jesus Christ Superstar. I love Mary Magdalene's song, "I don't know how to love him," which communicates an emblematic theme of the musical. All the disciples are portrayed as troubled by their relationship with Jesus because there are aspects of him that they just don't comprehend. (Very true to the biblical text, I think!) Judas Iscariot's problem is that he wants to force fit Jesus into a purely secular, political context:

I remember when this whole thing began
No talk of God then, we called you a man...

All Your followers are blind, too much heaven on their minds
It was beautiful but now it's sour, yes it's all gone sour
God Jesus, it's all gone sour

Listen, Jesus to the warning I give
please, remember that I want us to live
Come on, come on, listen to me
Won't you listen to me?

Isn't that the ultimate Christ-and-culture clash? And isn't the transformative moment when our failed solutions prompt us to stop asking God to "listen to us," when we finally still ourselves enough to listen?

Maybe this is what Jesus meant when he said that it is better to pluck out an eye and enter into Heaven blinded, than to keep our sight and be cast into hell. At some point, unless we allow our perspective, our "view," to be challenged we will never look to that which can exalt us.

Acquitting Yourself

My husband and I have been having our kitchen renovated. Anybody out there thinking of doing this, I have one piece of advice for you: Don't Do It. Göran and I were talking about this and he said, "Next time, let's just buy a new house."

Yesterday, we had our electricians install some new circuits to accommodate a dishwasher and a new (powered up) combination microwave oven/hood, and bring our kitchen up to code by installing a new outlet. (We live in a house that's over 100 years old, and one of the major headaches of renovating has been dealing with old plumbing/circuitry and new codes.)

After completing their work (which was all beautifully done), I completed the paperwork for the job and made the final payment. And just as they were leaving, one of the electricians handed me a little card that said "ASK ME ABOUT MY FAITH." "We're a faith-based company," he explained, "and we're always happy to answer any questions people might have about our faith."

I was mildly amused, only because, being as devout a Latter-day Saint as I am, and having engaged in some missionary activity of my own over the years, it felt odd to be on the receiving end of someone else's proselytization. Also, I didn't expect to be proselytized by my electrician.

At one point, while they were checking which circuits they needed to turn off to work in the kitchen, I had actually had to turn off my work computer and was making good use of the time by doing some daily scripture study in the living room. They had seen me sitting in front of two open Bibles (I was using different translations of the Bible for this particular study), and my Bibles were still there in plain view on the coffee table as they were shaking hands with me and getting ready to walk out the front door. Surely they realized that I am a devout Christian. This was also their second trip, and in some of our discussions I had said, "I'll need to check with my husband about that." So I assume they must also have realized that I am gay and that they were doing their electrical work in a gay household. I wondered what they made of all that.

I have to admit I had some complicated thoughts and feelings about it all. I couldn't help but wonder, were they judging me for being gay? Was it that kind of faith they wanted me to ask them about? What would have happened if I had taken up the invitation from the card and asked them? What kind of conversation might have ensued about the fact that they were inviting a gay couple to investigate their faith? And what would they make of the fact that I am gay and am also already a devout Christian?

It also occurred to me that it seemed odd that I should care at all what they thought, since my framework for understanding myself as a gay man is within the context of my faith as a Mormon. That is where it matters to me. I'm not so much concerned about how my gayness might play out in a Jewish or Buddhist or Unitarian or Evangelical Christian context, but in a Mormon context. Still, for some reason I did care.

I had put the card they handed me into the file where we've been keeping all the other receipts and documents related to our kitchen renovation. But finally I couldn't resist the temptation to pull the card out and take a look at it. There was, of course, a URL on the card, so I typed it into my browser and checked out their church's web site.

The first thing that struck me about the web site was the lack of identifying labels. The word "Christian" didn't even appear on their home page. Weird. I dug deeper. There was a link that said "What we believe." So I clicked on it, and found a series of one-sentence summaries of what they believed about things like "salvation," the "trinity," "the Bible," etc. I read all of the statements and by the end had concluded they were indubitably Evangelical Christians, but had obviously done everything possible to make it impossible for anybody but a scholar of theology and religious history to attach that label to them. A rather ambiguous statement of belief under the category of "worship" suggested that they may or may not tolerate speaking in tongues. I couldn't tell. The very last category was "marriage," and there they had two sentences about the sacredness of marriage, which they described as being between "one man one woman," and how they promoted "strong family values." I didn't assume that this meant they were anti-gay. I tried digging deeper by using the site search engine to do a search on "homosexuality," "gay," "lesbian," and "same-sex marriage." Literally nothing came up. I wondered if they had rigged the search engine to prevent such search terms from achieving a match, or if they had studiously avoided publishing anything on their web site that might contain such terms. Interesting.

Still, I was left with one impression. The electricians I had encountered had been polite, helpful and efficient, and they had done excellent work which they obviously took pride in. It occurred to me that if I was going to hire an electrician, I might prefer to hire one who used his electrical work as a form of evangelization. At the very least I could trust that he'd do the best electrical work he possibly could in order to make an impression on potential converts.

As I was praying this morning at the start of the day, I thought of them again. Of course I have my own salvation to work out, which was the main subject of my prayers. But as I thought of these two electrician guys, I felt the Spirit affirming that they belong to God too. All I needed to understand about their invitation to me to "ASK ME ABOUT MY FAITH" was that they had a relationship with God that entailed certain responsibilities, including the responsibility to share the good news with others, and that they had acquitted themselves and that was good.

Innocence Lost... and Regained

A few days ago, I received a Facebook friend request from an old friend that took me quite by surprise.

He and I were in the same deacons and teachers quorums when I was a youth in the Church, growing up in the Rochester, NY area. He and his brother were both my friends.

One of my favorite memories of our friendship was of him and his brother teaching me how to dance. I was a socially awkward teen (to say the least), and one day while confessing to them my feelings of inadequacy on the dance floor, they promised me personal lessons to alleviate that. So we met one afternoon, and they took turns showing me dance steps, how to lead, etc. I guess I thought it was a little odd, three guys getting together and dancing with each other. But it was also thrilling to me literally being swept off my feet by them.

See, they were good-looking guys. An unspoken truth of our friendship was that I had an unrequitable crush on them both.

Unfortunately there was, truth be told, some rather unkind speculation I occasionally heard expressed in the form of jokes or innuendos or gestures or nicknames given them by other members of my deacons and teachers quorums that these two young men were gay. They talked a certain way, with a certain inflection; had certain interests (in dance, theater, the arts); presented themselves a certain way. I say "unkind speculation" because certainly in the Mormon ward I grew up in -- in the Mormonism I grew up in! -- such things were not looked upon kindly.

Yet, these friends of mine were unfailingly kind, generous and faithful. They were innocent in every meaning of that word.

I lost touch with them after graduating from high school. It was at the end of my junior year at BYU that everything in my life crashed and burned (almost committed suicide, resigned from the Church, left BYU, etc.) and I lost touch with almost all of my LDS friends at that time, including these two brothers.

Still, I always remembered them. I still always thought of them from time to time, wondering whatever had become of them. As I was coming to terms with my homosexuality, I remembered the speculation about them. I wondered if they were gay too.

Through the miracle of social networking, in the last year or two I've begun to reestablish relationships with quite a few old friends from that time in my life. And then a few days ago, this friend's name showed up in a Facebook friend request.

I immediately clicked "Confirm." I went to his FB page, and it didn't take much exploring to confirm he was gay. I messaged him, and we started a conversation via FB messaging. Eventually, the emotional and spiritual charge of the conversation outgrew the capacity of FB messaging, and we exchanged phone numbers. And through the miracle of modern phone technology (namely iPhone "Facetime"), we were suddenly looking each other in the eyes and talking to each other.

His first words to me were, "Hello, Old Man!"

I laughed. "I suppose I am fifty now," I replied.

"Are you that much younger than I am?" he riposted, "I just turned 51."

The shock of old friends seeing each other literally for the first time in over thirty years.

It's hard to express the sense of awe I felt seeing him and hearing his voice. Old friendships really never die. They might go dormant when friends are separated, but they can spring instantly back to life again when friends are reunited.

(This is why I trust the Eternal Kingdom will be a most marvelous place.)

So he told me his story. BYU. Mission. Marriage. Kids. The whole messy sexuality thing. The ugly, painful divorce thing. Coming Out. Family/loss of family. But the reason I had felt the need to call was because of what he had expressed about spiritual yearning. I knew we had to talk voice to voice, face to face about that.

After telling me some of the facts of his life, he actually apologized to me. "I didn't mean to load you down with all this stuff." But, see... I always loved him. I realized, hearing his voice, seeing his face (what a beautiful man), I still love him. No, he wasn't loading me down. Telling me about his life -- including the parts about the abuse and the heartbreak, and losing everything that ever mattered -- nothing is more sacred than this.

I remembered us as young teachers, as young Boy Scouts, as young men. We were innocent then. We had no idea what kind of pain life had in store for us. What life had to teach us. He told me the part of his story that I didn't see back then. The hidden pain. The hating oneself, the wanting to die. He said he used to write down every night: "I want to die." There was suicidal ideation and suicide attempts and suicides in both our stories.

At a key moment in our conversation, when he had asked me to tell him my story, particularly the part about coming back to the Church (which is what interested him the most), he asked me: "Were you angry [at the Church]?" I was telling him about leaving the Church, resigning my membership. "Hell yeah, I was angry," I said. We had both been angry.

Yet, here I was looking into his face. And yes we were "old men" now! And now we both knew about particular pains that had been part of our lives that we dared not speak of back in those days of our youth and innocence. And now we'd told stories of since then, that had led through still more pain, and the plethora of ancillary stuff that comes with that kind of pain.

And yet, here he was, still the same kind, generous, beautiful man. The same man who had once taught me dance steps on a Saturday afternoon so I could have a little more confidence at the next Stake youth dance. The man I had secretly loved and still love!

We talked about our faith and about our lives, and I didn't see bitterness or recrimination or anger.

We can choose to be innocent, no matter what life throws at us. Perhaps we feel at a certain point that we have lost innocence, that innocence is irrecoverable. But we only truly lose innocence when life makes us bitter, and we seek to give bitterness back. Even when that has happened, we can always choose to lay down our arms. We can always choose peace. And as he and I spoke, I had a growing sense of awe, a dawning realization that whatever innocence he might have lost in all these years, he had regained it. He has claimed the high ground of love, and he's not relinquishing it any time soon.

When it was time to say goodbye, we both wept. Not because we will never see each other again! We are already plotting an in-person reunion, possibly at the Affirmation gathering in Mexico City in February, where he promised me the hug to end all hugs.

I wept mostly tears of gratitude for what we now can see in each other with a clarity that only the vicissitudes of life can have taught us.

I'm Trying to Be Like Jesus

Super cautious, as usual, I arrived at the stepping off point for our "Mormon Allies" Pride contingent at 8:30 this morning. I wanted to make sure any arrivals would immediately find their place. I was literally the only person on the block for another half an hour or so. It was a privilege to greet each and every member of our contingent as they arrived, until we were all there and ready to start marching.

A number of members of our contingent were individuals who are wavering between semi-activity and complete inactivity. One of them confessed to me, "I wasn't sure if I should march as a Mormon. I haven't been very active in the last year."

I said, "You belong with us! We are marching as the church that should be, not necessarily as the church that is."

The majority of our contingent were active members. I realize Pride is a still a stretch for many church members, so I was incredibly grateful for these courageous brothers and sisters, some of whom chose to march as families. Two primary age daughters of one couple who marched with us very politely asked my permission to be one of the carriers of our banner! So this year I was mercifully spared  that duty! I was deeply impressed by the maturity and compassion of even the youngest members of our contingent.

One of the great moments for me during today's march was just before we were getting ready to start. I gathered our Mormon Allies contingent together and we bowed our heads in prayer, thanking Heavenly Father for all our blessings, and asking to be instruments of healing, in the name of Christ, who is our healing.

Our contingent was positioned right in front of a Roman Catholic contingent. We had been fraternizing with them, sharing jokes and stories as the two contingents were gathering. After seeing us bow our heads together and offer a prayer, they approached us as a group and asked, "Can we pray with you?"

"Of course!" we replied. So they joined us, and we all held hands in one great circle. A member of my ward volunteered to be the voice, and offered one of the most beautiful prayers I've ever heard about the mystery of the love of God. The Spirit was thickly present. When I opened my eyes and looked around the circle I saw expressions of awe and tears in people's eyes. After the Amen, we collectively let out a cheer, and  the march began. I'm not quite sure what happened there, but it was one of the most beautiful experiences I've ever had.

For those who marched last year, the experience of marching in a contingent of Mormon Allies was no surprise, but still moving. People were excited to see Mormons at Pride! They would cheer: "Mormons! Go Mormons!" It was wonderful seeing the delight in the smiles of those experiencing it for the first time.

It was particularly poignant to me noticing LGBT Mormons watching us along the parade route. They smiled, they waved! I ran up to give hugs at a couple of points. One woman ran up and breathlessly told contingent members the story of her life with the Church, how she had been baptized at 18, been married in the temple. "Mormons! No f---ing way!" She shouted excitedly. "We're trying to make things better," one of our contingent members offered meekly.

Shortly after that encounter, two women approached us. "We're Mormons. Can we march with you?" they asked. "Of course!" we replied, hugging them warmly, and offering them t-shirts and signs.

Last year, at the Pride bandstand, the announcer had been so flabbergasted, she muffed the reading of our group description, and the only intelligible thing she managed to get out was what everybody already knew about us: "Mormon Allies!!!" This year, the announcer managed to read clearly and forcefully so everyone could hear and understand:

We are LGBT Mormons and we are straight Mormon Allies of the LGBT community, here to advocate for our LGBT loved ones, neighbors and fellow citizens.  We are here to visibly demonstrate our love, solidarity and support, to speak out against misunderstanding and exclusion, to join in the struggle for fairness, and to fulfill our obligation to God by loving our neighbors as ourselves.

Still, there was confusion. A man approached one of our contingent members and said, "I love God."

Our member replied, "God loves you."

"What?!" he replied in astonishment, "I thought you were protesters!"

"NO!" she exclaimed, "We're here as part of the parade, to show our love for the gay community!"

"Then do you mind if I keep that as a souvenir?" he asked. He pointed to the sign she was carrying.  It said, "I'm Trying to Be Like Jesus."

Of course she handed him the sign.

Once again, I'm reminded of why Mormon Allies needed to be at Pride. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has become so strongly identified in the gay community as an anti-gay Church, people are shocked and amazed to see us. They literally can't believe their eyes; can't believe that we're there; can't believe that, if we are there, we're not protesters against LGBT Pride.

I had hoped for a larger contingent this year than last, but we had roughly the same showing as last year, about thirty brave souls. Saints at Pride are still pioneers. Perhaps next year we should march with hand carts. I suggested that, and the kids loved the idea!

Last year was stressful for me. I was eager for our contingent to be "a success" in terms of numbers. There was a cloud of criticism and controversy surrounding Mormons at Pride that has only dissipated a bit this year, and I was afraid the criticism would discourage people from coming. Perhaps it did discourage people, both last year and this year.

Still, this year I felt a great calm. I realized that Christ calls us to the thin spaces, the spaces where it is difficult to be, the spaces where sometimes we have to stand alone. If I had had to stand alone, I would have been grateful for the privilege. I was blessed not to have to stand alone.

What made it most worth it for me was witnessing the participation of a member of our contingent who worked hard to organize last year's event, who at the last minute had gotten horribly sick and been forced to sit it out. She had suffered a kind of anguish both last year and this about marching, because she is not yet out to her family. Marching in Pride is a hell of a way to come out.  She wasn't sure if she could do it.

But today she did not content herself to march. She danced! Her face was transfigured with joy, as she moved gracefully back and forth, in and out toward the crowd, and all around our contingent.

She carried a sign: "I will walk in my integrity" (Psalms 26:11).

Amen.

Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor's Wife (or Husband)

One week before participating in a panel on "Marriage" at the Salt Lake City "Circling the Wagons" conference on November 3, 2012, I participated in a conference call with the four other panel participants, Steven Frei, Craig Mangum, Josh Weed, and Jay Jacobsen.  (Jay was the panel moderator.)

The phone call began with each of us simply telling each other our stories, and talking about what our fears and concerns were in relation to the panel.  For those who are unaware, there was a fair amount of controversy leading up to the conference about the planned inclusion of Josh and Steve, since they are both in so-called "mixed orientation marriages," and since Steve is president of North Star, an organization that provides support to individuals who are in similar relationships.

What I remember most about the conversation was just a genuine feeling of warmth among us.  Steve and I have been friends for many years, since we discovered each other through the blogging world.  There have been various times when Steve and I have provided direct personal support to each other, and I've always been very grateful to Steve about his empathetic support through the challenges I've faced as an openly gay man in a 20-year committed relationship who also has a testimony of the Church and has been active in my ward.  That experience of friendship between me and Steve seemed to spread among the five of us as we talked.

One moment that stood out for me during our conversation was when I described how absolutely critical it had been for me through my recent accident and brain surgery to have my partner there close by with me in the hospital, before, during and after the surgery.  Josh and Steve both asked, with concern in their voices, if Göran had experienced any difficulty at the hospital getting unobstructed access to me through this time of crisis.  Both expressed relief when I answered that the hospital had essentially treated us as a married couple.  They really cared about this important right for same-sex couples, I realized, because they personally cared about me.

At the beginning of the conference Josh Weed began his keynote address by apologizing to everybody who had been hurt through the misuse of the story he had published on his blog about his marriage to his wife Lolly.  He told of a story he knew, in which the parents of a gay man had sent their son a copy of Josh's story, and told him that he would be welcome in their home if and only if he had managed to do the same thing Josh had done (i.e., marry a woman).  Josh expressed grief at the widespread use of his story in this manner.  He emphasized that those who used his story in this way had misunderstood its whole point, which was really to demonstrate the importance of unconditional love and acceptance.  He invited anybody who had experienced this type of abuse to contact him, tell him what had happened.  He invited anyone within the sound of his voice, if anyone every tried quoting him or using his story to coerce gay men or lesbians into heterosexual marriage, to tell the people doing that that we had heard, from Josh Weed's own mouth, they should not do that, what they are doing is harmful, and they should stop.

Josh concluded his talk by offering two examples of unconditional love that he had experienced -- from his father and from a friend -- and presenting them as models of how parents and friends of LGBT people should respond to them.  Unconditional love, he explained, means just that -- no conditions.  It is love that is offered no matter what.  Love that grants us the freedom to choose what we want for our lives.  Love that is there and supports us, whatever those choices are, trusting that we are the ones who must decide what we need and what path will bring us the greatest happiness.

The entire gathering let out a collective sigh of relief.  Josh, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

That was the spirit that prevailed as we began our panel in the following session.

Now, a public conversation between two men in same-sex marriages and two men in so-called "mixed-orientation" marriages on the topic of "marriage" -- in the abstract at least -- sounds like an impossible conversation to have, especially in the context of LDS Church life and faith and amidst the minefields of marital politics that plague our nation at the present time.   Given what the LDS Church teaches about marriage, wouldn't there be conflicts of viewpoint and opinion between individuals in this situation that would be impossible to resolve?

But rather than focusing on the seeming conflicts and contradictions, we each simply told our stories.  We each told about the "aha!" moments in our lives, the points at which we made critical realizations that turned us down one particular turn in the road rather than another.

In the telling our stories, we found common ground.  At one moment in the discussion, Josh turned to me and said, "So much of what you've said about your relationship with your husband sounds so much like my relationship with my wife."  He began to enumerate point by point the similarities he saw between our two marriages.  He had been particularly moved by my statement about how some of the happiest moments of my life were after my surgery, when Göran came to my hospital room after work, and simply sat by my side holding my hand while we watched TV together.

Barrier after barrier dropped, like so many scales.  I experienced a full, unconstrained feeling of brotherhood with these other men.

There were some challenging questions that had the potential to push the limits of brotherhood.  I was asked to explain how I could justify personal revelations confirming that my marriage was the right path for me, given that they seemed to conflict so clearly with Church teaching.  Josh was asked to address the viewpoint expressed by many that his marriage couldn't possibly last.  By this point in the dialog, though, I felt as though the other men on the panel had my back.  I wanted to be there to defend them too.  Josh expressed his belief that the Spirit could in fact lead someone like me down the path it had led me.  Steve stressed his feeling that he would never tell someone to try doing what he had done just because he had done it.  We each have different paths that it's up to us to discern.  None of our stories, none of the personal answers we had found should or could or would be used as fodder for a political or religious agenda.

After the conference, a group of about 20 conference participants gathered for a meal.  I continued the conversation with Steve, and later with Josh.  At one point, Steve said, "I hope things weren't too difficult for Craig."  He explained how out of the four individuals discussing marriage, Craig was the only one whose journey had led him away from the Church.  He hoped that this hadn't left Craig feeling like the odd man out.  Brotherhood was more important.

Could the panel have been harder hitting?  Could we have wrestled with more difficult questions than we did?  Yes, absolutely.  Were we taking the cowardly way out by focussing on personal story-telling and the finding of commonalities?  No, I don't think so.

I told a few friends about the wonderful relationship I have with my husband's Aunt Dottie.  Actually, Aunt Dottie has made it clear to me that she is my Aunt Dottie too, so I should really call her my Aunt Dottie.  Aunt Dottie is devout a southern, black Methodist.  When we finally discovered her and all the other members of Göran's biological family in Memphis four years ago, when Aunt Dottie learned that her long-lost nephew was gay, and in a committed relationship with a white, gay Mormon, she made a fierce decision.  Nothing, absolutely nothing, was going to interfere with her nephew being fully reunited with his family, and experience full and unconditional love from them.  The lost had been found, and she would fight for us.  And she did.  I was getting daily text messages from Aunt Dottie expressing love and longing to meet us, until our joyous, tear-filled meeting in August 2008.

Now Aunt Dottie is a southern black woman who came of age at the height of the Civil Rights Movement.  When we toured the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis with her, she told us some stories that left us weeping by the end of the tour.

Aunt Dottie had some questions that she was dying to ask me about Mormons and blacks.  Everybody out there knows what those questions were.  But she waited two years to ask me any of these questions.  She waited until we were absolutely firm and strong in our relationship.  She waited until she was certain that we could discuss these difficult issues with an unshakeable foundation of love.

I love my Aunt Dottie.  She is an inspiration to me and to my husband.  And we have had some incredible, powerful, amazing conversations.

So did we on our panel about marriage need to go right to the really, really difficult questions?  The very real questions that do in fact need to be answered at some point?  Some day we will have that public conversation, I am certain.  But only after we are certain we have a foundation of love that can allow us to be vulnerable.  Only when we know that our wrestling with these questions is something we can do together, where the person on the "other side" of the question from me is not an antagonist but a friend, there to wrestle with me, not against me.

Last night Steve and I started to have some of these deeper conversations, where we shared openly with each other our doubts as well as our certainties.  I talked about, at some point, feeling envy of those who could be heterosexually married, and who consequently could enjoy full membership in the Church.  He spoke of wrestling with envy of those who could experience a same-sex relationship, with the depth of connection that allowed with a significant other.  I realized, in confiding our struggles and our doubts, it actually helped confirm us in the paths we have chosen.  We should not envy, should not covet another's path.  We are where we are supposed to be.  Where the Lord needs us to be.

I am so grateful.  I pray for these kinds of conversations to fill our families, our wards, our Church, our nation, the world.

Extending the Saints' Understanding

This phrase from my favorite LDS hymn ("The Spirit of God," LDS Hymnal, #2) has been bumping around today in my recently operated skull.

I'd always assumed that the "understanding" referred to here was doctrinal.  But one of the basic principles of the gospel is that doctrinal understanding does not come until we've been able to demonstrate obedience to the principles underlying those doctrines.  Jesus Christ demonstrated through his life and death and teachings that the central principle of the gospel is his pure love.  We can align ourselves with Christ, and we can understand the doctrines of Christ by loving as Christ loved.

So what if the "Saints' understanding" that God wishes to extend in the latter days is understanding of each other?  What if it is empathy and compassion?  What if it is love that does not coerce or compel? For if I understand anything about the plan of salvation, it is that kind of love upon which our Heavenly Parents have founded the entire creation and plan of salvation.

*****

Göran and I recently received a phone call from a young family member.  It was kind of a coming out phone call.  I say "kind of," because this family member didn't call us to inform us that they were gay/lesbian.  They called to inform us that they are "struggling" with this; trying to figure this out.  Maybe gay, maybe bi, maybe straight.  We were talking via "Face Time" on our iPhones, so we could see the worry and consternation in the face of this youth.  We could see how difficult, how risky it was to talk about this.

It might have been tempting in this kind of situation to advise this individual about what they need to do.  But instead, our response was simply to say, "We are so proud of you.  We know what a good person you are.  We've seen how compassionate and caring you are toward others.  We know that you will let that love and compassion guide you in trying to figure this out.  We love you so very much!"  By the end of our conversation, this youth was beaming.  Consternation and anxiety had transformed into tears of joy: "I feel so happy!"  We ended the conversation by saying: "If you EVER need someone to talk to, if you EVER have any questions, we want you to call us IMMEDIATELY.  We will always be there for you.  We LOVE you."  We left the ball in this young person's court.  We knew that the most important role we could play in this individual's life was not the role of adviser, but the role of loving supporters and sources of information.

The first religious leader I ever came out to was a Lutheran pastor.  This pastor's approach to the issue of homosexuality is what I would describe as the more "liberal" approach.  His basic perspective was that "gay is OK," and that gay individuals should just seek to apply the same standards to same-sex relationships as straight individuals.  I think this pastor thought that the best way he could help me was to make this sort of "policy statement".  He did help me, but not in the way he thought.  I took that notion -- that "gay is OK" notion -- and I filed it away in my brain for future reference.  Eventually, yes, I did come to embrace my own version of that notion.  But not that night.

That night that was not what I wanted to hear.  At that point, I did not want to be gay.  I had come out, I had made myself vulnerable to this pastor, hoping that he would explain to me exactly what I needed to do to "make the gay go away," to become straight. I thanked him, and left his office and walked out into the night.  I was angry.  I was in pain.  I had not wanted him to tell me that.  I walked several miles, until I passed a Catholic Church.  I paused at the threshold of this church.  I knew that Catholicism was more conservative on this issue.  I considered whether I ought to walk into that church and seek out a priest.  Maybe a priest could tell me what I wanted to hear.  That change of sexual orientation is possible with the help of God.

I didn't actually end up walking into that Church.  Partly because it dawned on me that there were no guarantees that a different pastor in a different Church could be any more help to me than the first one I'd gone to.  I realized that this was my quest.  I needed to figure this out on my own.

Other people might mean well.  They might want to help.  But their opinions on this issue could only ever remain that: their opinions.  I had a sacred obligation to God and to the truth.  Making the congeries of all-important decisions I needed to make around this was something that ultimately I could only do for myself.

I did find ways to explore different paths on my own.  I dated women.  I spent a summer in a Roman Catholic monastery learning about celibacy.  I fasted and prayed and meditated.  I studied the scriptures.  I read books about homosexuality.  I tested my own emotions.  Finally, as the result of a prompting of the Spirit to "be open to all the options," I opened myself to the possibility of a loving, committed, same-sex relationship.  Eventually, when I was ready, I tested that notion, and found the truth in it.  Eventually on my own I found the spiritual and moral principles that have allowed me to chart my course through life since then.  This past summer, Göran and I celebrated our 20th anniversary.

I am concerned about despair, depression and suicide among gay youth.  I almost committed suicide myself.  But what I can say about my near suicide at the age of 23 is that it was not a clear-cut case of "gay self-loathing."  For me, it was more about the fear of being cut off from God.  I eventually found the answer to my problem by turning to God.

There's a kind of zeal I see among some folks who are concerned about  the well-being of LGBT individuals, and particularly about the well-being of LGBT youth.

I believe that we must find as many effective ways to communicate unconditional love to LGBT youth.  But I do not think the answer is to try to shelter our youth from viewpoints or perspectives on homosexuality that we disagree with. When we try to shelter youth from these perspectives, we do them a disservice.  Because ultimately, I believe it will undermine our credibility in the eyes of our youth.  We can try to shelter them from certain questions but they will still ask themselves these questions.  They will never, ultimately, be able to be confident in whatever path they choose unless they are satisfied that their decisions are based on the fullest exploration of the truth, however that truth reveals itself to them.

*****

I have received numerous worried emails from friends asking if I really intended to participate in the upcoming Circling the Wagons Conference in Salt Lake City, where two prominent individuals in so-called "mixed orientation marriages" (Steven Frei and Josh Weed) would be offering keynote talks.  I think the implication has been that by agreeing to participate, I would somehow be legitimizing a perspective or a path that does not deserve legitimacy.  How could I as a self-respecting gay man in a committed same-sex relationship do that?  Isn't that a sort of treason?

I hope it's clear, based on what I've said, that I can't possibly view things in this way.

First of all, I know Steven Frei personally.  He has never treated me with anything but respect.  He's never said or implied that my choices in regard to my relationship were wrong.  He's empathized with the challenges I face and the pain I experience being excluded from full communion in the LDS Church because of my relationship status.  He's expressed admiration of the faith it's taken me to pursue a path of testimony and faith in spite of these obstacles.  He's only ever expressed love toward me and treated me as a brother.

Likewise, the more I've gotten to know Steve, the more I've learned to respect him for the challenges he faces as a member of the Church and as a faithful husband to his wife and father to his children.  I couldn't dream of advising him what to do in his unique situation.  All I can do is love him and support him in the path he's chosen and pray for his greatest happiness.

Steven's life experience has challenged me. There was a point in my journey where I would have assumed that my path is the best possible path for a gay man.  The life experience of people like Steven Frei and Josh Weed have complicated that perspective.

Steve and Josh and I (and another panelist) will have an opportunity to talk together about an issue that (as a marriage equality activist) matters a lot to me: marriage.  I assume it matters a lot to them too.  A lot of people are struggling to figure out how to feel about marriage as it relates to LGBT people.  In November (literally 2 days after Circling the Wagons), Americans in four states (including in my home state of Minnesota) will be voting on referenda related to marriage for gay and lesbian people.  Shouldn't we have good, thoughtful conversations about this issue that explore this issue in depth? Won't people feel better about the decisions they make in relation to this important issue if they've heard it explored from different angles?

Ultimately I believe that the safest, most responsible way to work our way through these issues is to learn from each other's experience.

Ultimately, we need to perhaps deal with the paradox that there is no single solution that works for everybody in relation to challenges like this. 

Ultimately, I believe the most important test for me is whether I can "extend my understanding" of those whose paths are different from my own.  That is ultimately how I am most faithful to God, how I begin to help to build God's kingdom -- Zion -- here on earth.

I hope as many as possible will come join us at Circling the Wagons in Salt Lake, November 2-4, 2012, and participate in the conversation.

Wagons Circled, Camp Broken

The Circling the Wagons Conference in San Francisco began Friday night with Carol Lynn Pearson reading poetry, followed by open discussion and sharing. My favorite poem of Sister Pearson's compared life to a school play, in which people are assigned roles not necessarily by acting ability, but by the director's sense of what will allow each actor to grow the most. 

It was quite a while ago that I'd come to look at life as a drama in which we each play roles, some as heros, some as villains, some as bullies, some as victims, some as healers. After it all ended, after the curtains went down, after the masks and the costumes came off, the cast -- the whole cast -- would all gather backstage with God the Director and debrief. We'd all be surprised to learn the true identities of the person behind each role.  Maybe our arch enemy in the drama, it turned out, was our best friend from way back.  Maybe our soul mate in the drama, had, until then, been a stranger.  Taking the masks off and reflecting on the roles we'd each played would teach us not only about ourselves, but about the identity of God, and about the true nature of everything...

Geckoman surprised me by being there with his wife! She melted my heart with her gentleness and humility. Literally my heart just melted.  She is perfectly matched by her devoted spouse. I met Gecko years ago, when he was on a business trip in the Twin Cities, and was humbled by his generosity of spirit. Meeting them together, I instantly fell in love with her, and instantly understood why Geckoman remains devotedly by her side.  He read a poem about the prairies and about hunger for redemption, which I pray that this conference added to him and his in at least some measure.

The most poignant moment of the evening for me was when a young father read a poem he had written to his son. The teenage son was there, accompanied by his whole family.  The son had recently come out, and everyone was there to support him, mom, dad and siblings. The poem was about a father's hopes for his son, and it moved me to tears. I marvel how this seems to be an increasingly common occurrence: LDS parents and siblings literally circling the wagons around their gay family member, determined that nothing and no one is going to harm their loved one.  Signs of hope that the sorry days of disowned, cast-out gay children will soon be a thing of history.

A Model for the Church

The following morning, keynote speakers Mitch Mayne and Bishop Don Fletcher described the confluence of individuals and circumstances that have allowed the Bay Ward and the San Francisco Stake to become models for the rest of the Church in beginning to heal the anguish and misunderstanding around homosexuality in the LDS Church and in the broader Mormon culture.

The most important step in the San Francisco model has been the implementation of a moratorium on excommunications for individuals in same-sex relationships. According to a talk delivered by Matt Mossman of the San Francisco High Council (the text of which is available here), the current handbook of instructions for the LDS Church requires disciplinary procedures only in a handful of situations which Bro. Mossman described literally as “horror stories” – cases involving extreme abuse. Homosexual behavior is not included on that short list of situations requiring Church discipline. Homosexual behavior is included on a longer list of situations in which a disciplinary process may be implemented at the option of local leaders. Local leaders in San Francisco and elsewhere have simply categorically decided not to exercise that option in the case of consensual homosexual behavior. They have, simultaneously, worked with local Church members and leaders to educate about LGBT issues and create a more welcoming environment in LDS wards. And in the Bay Ward in particular, where demography and geography have conspired to create a ward with an unusually large proportion of LGBT members, and where the bishopric now includes an openly gay man, the result is an historic opportunity for LGBT Saints to practice their faith unmolested, in a very LGBT-friendly environment.  LGBT folks are coming back to the Church.

The question begged is, what does this mean for the vast majority of LGBT Mormons who don't happen to live in San Francisco (or in the handful of other East and West Coast Stakes where similar conditions exist and similar practices are being implemented)? 

That question as it presents itself very personally to me is, if gay men and lesbians in these stakes are allowed to be in committed same-sex relationships and remain active members of the Church, why must I (and others in my situation) be treated differently?  Why must I remain excommunicated?

I've asked this question before to a number of individuals, and I posed it again in a conversation I had with High Councilman Mossman after the final session of the conference.  Nobody -- including Bro. Mossman -- has really been able to give me a good answer. We're in completely new territory. And the answer, I think, is that we'll know if the status of folks in my situation can change only with time, as we see if the practices of the San Francisco Stake produce good fruit that can be replicated elsewhere.

That fruit would likely include, among other things, more united, supportive families, and a healthier, happier, less suicide-prone generation of LGBT Mormons. Dr. Caitlyn Ryan presented a summary of a study freshly published in booklet form by San Francisco State University, Supportive Families, Healthy Children: Helping Latter-day Saint Families with Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Children. (Here's where you can get a copy.)  The family I described above who attended Circling the Wagons with with their teenage gay son are a model of the ideal type of family described in the Supportive Families study, and with any luck, leaders throughout the Church, like those in the San Francisco Stake, will provide increasing encouragement and support for LDS families to follow in their path.

LGBT Pioneers

In the meantime, those LGBT Mormons who insist on seeking joy and redemption in relationships where fully reciprocal intimate love is possible, and who wish to practice their faith as Latter-day Saints and remain connected to the Church, remain pioneers. Kim Mack and I spoke about the realities – spiritual and social – faced by gay and lesbian Mormons who suffer the ultimate sanction in LDS communities – excommunication – and what that means for our spiritual paths. 

(Hint: an authentic, Gospel-centered path for LGBT people in our situation is not only possible, but can offer us opportunities for growth, and teach us to find peace and joy and the pure love of Christ beyond words to describe!) 

Sister Pearson spoke out -- in her poetically eloquent way -- on behalf of romantic love as a great democratizing force, and on why equals choosing one another freely is and must always be the kernel around which meaningful family and meaningful faith grow.

I also co-facilitated a workshop with Utah-based therapist Hollie Hancock on “What Helps (and Hurts) in Resolving Sexual, Religious, and Social Conflicts.” The workshop really boiled down to the question: How do we enter into dialog with people who disagree with us? How can we have hard conversations that not only don't end in bitterness, but that actually increase love and deepen relationship with all the significant people in our lives? Hollie and I role-played some scenarios, and then gave our workshop participants an opportunity to role-play as well.

It felt to me that the focus of folks like me and Sister Mack and Sister Pearson and Sister Hancock during the conference appropriately had to be on offering tools to LGBT folks for spiritual survival and growth in situations where we won't necessarily get much outward encouragement from our immediate Church and family environment.  For now -- despite deeply encouraging signs of improvement in places like the San Francisco Stake -- that is still very many, likely the majority of us.

Connections

The content of the conference was wonderful. But in the final analysis, it was the relationships that the conference fostered that were most transformative for me. This was the first time that my husband has ever attended any such event with me in its entirety, from beginning to end!  It felt good to be there with him, to be able to reflect publicly with others on my faith, on our common faith, and to have him be a part of it.  He is a part of me, every bit as much as my faith is, and it felt so amazing to me to bring all those parts of me together into one great whole.

After the session in which I spoke, I was approached by someone who told me that, while he was grateful for my words over the pulpit, what he really came for was to see me and Göran together, and to see other gay couples as well.  His whole life, he had been told that gay couples couldn't be happy, and he wanted to see for himself.  And it meant everything to him to see.

I spoke to another gay man who is not LDS -- yet.  He's been investigating the Church.  He has a testimony and wants to join.  He was grateful to see how others of us manage the challenges this presents.  The Gospel offers us something worthwhile, some pearl of great price, even when we have to negotiate some pretty incredible hurdles to get at it!  To me, this seems an acid test for the Church.  Will we really be open to everyone who feels the call of the Spirit to join us in this great work?

All the connections were so important to me -- the hugs, the words expressing love, gratitude and faith; the stories told; the tears shed and the laughter shared.  It's always hardest for me when these gatherings finally end, when we turn our backs, face outward and go our separate ways.  I'm grateful, though, for the pieces of each other that we keep, that we take home with us as we do the work that needs to be done in each and every one of our lives.  To all of you I met, thank you!  I cherish the piece of you I have right here, in my heart.

We each have our roles to play, until someday when all the masks can come off, and forgiveness is offered and accepted, and love perfected, and we're all welcomed home into our Heavenly Parents' arms again.

This Won't Convince Anyone

I understand this guy's frustration.

But if I were a talented gay hair stylist who wanted to marry my partner of 15 years, and I had a chance to style the hair of New Mexico's anti-marriage-equality governor on a regular basis, I'd do it, and use the time to get to know her better, and to talk to her about the issues.

Those kinds of connections and relationships are an opportunity, not an indignity.

My Time Among the Catholics

I've posted on my Religious Histories blog about my experiences learning about Catholicism while on my mission, and later while spending time in a monastery exploring celibacy.

Happy Easter!

Why So Gay?

There's been some discussion in the Moho Facebook group about the terms Same-Sex Attraction (SSA), Same-Gender Attraction (SGA), Homosexual, Gay, Queer, etc. Whatever words we might use to describe men who love men and women who love women.

I guess we'll be perennially condemned to have this discussion over and over again. That sort of comes with the territory of belonging to a despised minority. My perception is that as people become more comfortable with who they are, they become less preoccupied with what they call themselves.

I've never been a fan of the SSA and SGA terms. My gut level response to the terms is, it's about so much more than mere "attraction." Other words that I'd use to describe the feelings I feel toward men would include "connection" or "bonding." Furthermore, SSA and SGA tend to connote mere sexual attraction (though there's no reason why they couldn't connote more). And I'd really prefer a word that speaks more to the totality of feeling a connection to men that includes social, emotional and spiritual components, as well as a physical component.

Of the available choices, I guess I still prefer "gay." But that deserves to be unpacked too. If I prefer it, why that term as opposed to something like "SSA"? I mean, the bald meaning of the word is "cheerful" or "happy." Does this mean I'm never sad? Taken literally, it could be kind of silly as a self descriptor.

However, words are symbols. They are short hand. As short hand, "gay" is not a bad word, because cheer, happiness, exuberance, or gaiety is definitely what I feel in the company of men. I like a word that says something positive about how I feel about being whatever it is that I am that has to do with my desire to be pair-bonded for life with another man. I like that the word is not sexually oriented, that it doesn't single out my sexual attraction as the trait that defines me.

I also prefer the word gay because it has a history of being used by people like me to self-identify. Of the available choices, "gay" is one of the few words that hasn't been imposed on me and others like me by some medical or religious establishment. The history of a word often has more to do with its acceptability as a descriptor than anything else. That's one reason I believe "queer" will never be widely accepted, and other words like "faggot" will remain almost universally rejected.

And that's ultimately what the use of words needs to boil down to. It is disrespectful to insist on calling people by a name that they themselves are uncomfortable with. It is respectful to call people by the name that they have stated a preference for.

There are, for instance, at Church, some folks who insist on calling me "John Wrathall." I don't object to that. I will never make a fuss about that. That is my name. But the only reason it is my legal name is because I live in a society that makes it difficult and costly to legally change my name, even though I consider myself married, and even though my marital name would be "Gustav-Wrathall." "Gustav-Wrathall" is the name that I have chosen to signify that I have intertwined my life's fortunes with a man whose name prior to our relationship was "Gustav." "Gustav-Wrathall" is the name that we both have chosen to signify our commitment to each other and the mutual life we have chosen to build together. So I have a preference for that name. I have used it to describe myself for almost two decades. And my feeling is that -- whether or not people regard my relationship with Göran as valid -- if they have respect for me as a person, they will refer to me by the name I (we) have chosen: "Gustav-Wrathall".

It's a little more challenging when we're dealing with terms that are used to describe large numbers of people. Not everyone who might be described by the term "gay" likes the term "gay."

In my experience, the vast majority of people who are "same-sex attracted" prefer the term gay -- especially once they have come to a place of self-acceptance. We tend to embrace terms like "same-sex attraction" when we still feel tentative and uncomfortable with this aspect of ourselves. People who use terms like SSA or SGA tend to do so in order to minimize the "same-sex attraction" and distance themselves from it. That in itself says something about the terms.

I've never felt that being gay "defines" me in any way. I am many, many things: a human being, a male, a Finnish-American, a historian, right-handed, a paralegal, partnered; I am loving, spiritual, intellectually curious; I am many, many things. And gay. But I don't feel any need to distance myself from my gayness or minimize that aspect of my life. I am gay. My gayness is what it is. At different times in my life, my gayness has seemed more or less important, depending on what issues I happened to be dealing with at that time in my life. It was a huge issue when I was coming out; at other times in my life, it hasn't really registered. It is neither the most important nor the least important aspect of who and what I am. It just is a part of me, like my right-handedness.

But because many people do feel conflicted about being gay, and because this is a difficult issue, I think we are called upon to exercise sensitivity and charity when speaking or writing about this. In any given situation, I try to pay attention to what terms people are using, and then I try to match my language to be sensitive to their feelings and concerns. Because ultimately, showing respect and having unhindered dialog is more important to me than insisting on being called "gay."

Whatever you choose to call me, I am what I am.

Sunstone, August 4-8, 2010

This year at the Salt Lake Sunstone Symposium, there will be an unusually large number of sessions dealing with the issue of homosexuality.  I'll be participating in four sessions, either as a presenter or as a chair:


#173 (Thursday, August 5, 4:45 - 6:15 p.m.), "Some SAHD Stories."  This isn't a gay-themed panel!  But I'll be one of a number of presenters, in my capacity as a "Stay At Home Dad"!

#313 (Saturday, August 7, 8:45 - 9:45 a.m.), "Church, Priesthood, and the Gay/Lesbian Journey Toward Spiritual Maturity."  This is the one session where I'll be the primary presenter.

#352 (Saturday, August 7, 2:15 - 3:15 p.m.), "The Epistle of Paul: Homosexual Spirituality and the Redemption of Pleasure."  Paul Toscano is the main presenter at this session; I'll be chairing.

#363 (Saturday, August 7, 3:30 - 4:30 p.m.), "Two Loves: Documenting Gay Mormons' Stories."  Two Loves is a 25-minute documentary film exploring the stories of gay Mormons.  Michelle Ripplinger will be presenting and discussing the film; I'll be chairing the session.

Other sessions addressing the issue of homosexuality and the Church include #225, "Same-Gender Marriage & Religious Freedom: A Call to Quiet Conversations and Public Debates"; #251, "Responses to the Documentary 8: The Mormon Proposition"; #275, "Developments from the Community of Christ 2010 World Conference" (in this session a paper will be presented on the Community of Christ's Section 164, which provides for the full participation of gay and lesbian individuals in the life of the second largest Mormon denomination); #332, "The Gay Mormon Literature Project"; #351, "Mobilizing the Saints: Behind the Scenes Strategies on SSM"; and #371, "Gay and Mormon on the Stage and Screen".


Of course, there will be lots of sessions having nothing to do with same-sex attraction.  I'm particularly interested, as a teacher of American religious history, in some of the history-themed panels, and plan to make as many of those as I can.

If you're planning to attend Sunstone and/or be in the Salt Lake and/or Provo/Springville areas during that time, let me know!  I'll be staying with my brother Joe and his wife in Provo, and commuting to Salt Lake for the Symposium.  I'd love to see if we could plan some kind of Sunstone Mohos and Friends get-together.  (Maybe Scott and Sarah are already organizing/planning to organize one of their meet-ups to coincide with this weekend, which I'm usually never able to attend living here in the Great White Northern antipodes of Mormonism?)

If we can't organize a formal get-together, I hope to see some of you at least informally in the sessions and/or in the hallways of the Salt Lake Sheraton!

Westward ho!

Know Thyself

We've all heard of the couple that met in high school, never dated anybody else, got hitched, and lived happily together forever after. I think they live in Nebraska somewhere. For most of the rest of us, it took a while longer to find a life mate. And I think there's a very good reason for that.

We typically think of dating and courtship as a process whereby we get to know other people better, to determine if the person we're dating is somebody that might be a good fit for us. We assume that we're evaluating them and they're evaluating us, and if the evaluations turn out mutually positive, then we decide to make the relationship more permanent. But what is going on in reality is a good deal more complex than that.

True, we are evaluating the other person. But at the same time, we are learning to know who we are as a person in relation to them. Because the truth is that until we begin to contemplate the possibility of loving and living with another person, we know very little about how we would function in such a situation. Our likes, dislikes and needs in the context of a relationship are often as much a mystery to ourselves as they are to a potential mate. If you don't believe me, consider how many gay men and women get married to members of the opposite sex, and eventually figure out that they're gay. If this is true of something as seemingly basic as sexual orientation, it is true of a good many other (perhaps equally important) things.

When individuals tell me the story of how they found their mate, I very frequently hear something like this: "I searched and searched. I was desperate to find Mr. Right, but no matter how hard I tried I could not find him. Every relationship I tried did not work out. So eventually I gave up, and decided I just needed to learn to be happy on my own. And just when it seemed I had found that I really was OK and good and whole all by myself, then I found him." That's how it worked for me. And there's a very good reason for that too.

When we are desperate to get married, we don't listen to what's going on inside of us, and we don't allow ourselves to be ourselves. All we are focussed on is trying to put on a front for the other person that we think they will find pleasing. But when we are dating someone or courting someone in that way, the other person will often smell something wrong. It may come through as insecurity or clinginess or something else in the relationship that just doesn't feel right. They'll sense a problem, and eventually they'll move on -- not necessarily because you wouldn't be a good match, but because there's no strong sense of who you really are to know whether you would be a good match.

The final secret of relationships is the one that is least secret because it is the one story about relationships that is not merely very common but universal. There is no "perfect" relationship, not even those married high school sweethearts who live in Nebraska. There is no relationship, no matter how well matched the couple, that doesn't require work and lots of it.

Learning to know yourself in the context of a relationship is not just about learning what you like, dislike and need in a relationship (things you learn early in a relationship). But it is learning what you only learn when you have been in a relationship for a much longer time: what kind of a mate you are. How you communicate. How you listen. How you make decisions. How you act and react. The first kind of knowing is what helps a couple come together in the first place. But the last kind of knowing is what helps a couple stay together, even couples who face tremendous difficulties within their relationships. The last kind of knowing is perhaps also the single greatest gift of a relationship; because the other person helps reflect those aspects of ourselves back to us, if we will let them.

The ELCA Vote

Today the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America's national synod, gathered at Central Lutheran Church in downtown Minneapolis, will vote whether to allow non-celibate gay men and lesbians to be ordained as ministers.

For a time I was an active member of the ELCA. I have witnessed these kinds of assemblies at the local level. I have participated in ELCA conferences designed to discuss and study the issue of homosexuality. I have been a member of an ELCA task force designed to promote dialogue on this issue. I have witnessed the kinds of debates that I am certain will take place today a few blocks from where I live and work. I know people whose lives will be profoundly affected by the outcome of today's deliberations. Part of me is glad I am not a part of this particular debate. I'm certain it will be painful, and I don't think I could bear to watch.

I'm grateful for the faithful work of Rev. Peter Strommen, pastor of Shepherd of the Lake Lutheran Church in Prior Lake, MN, who accepted and carried to completion the thankless job of heading the task force whose recommendations will be voted on today. God bless him.

I think I can honestly say that the actual outcome of the vote is less important to me than how they reach the outcome. I will be praying for them today.

Barak

It's been a long time since I felt the kind of hopefulness I felt last night as I watched Barak speak at the Excel Center. (I watched it on TV, had no desire to battle crowds in St. Paul.)

The sense of hope I felt was quite involuntary and unexpected. My hopes and expectations have sunken pretty low in the last twenty years. All I wanted was someone who was not in the thrall of the neo-cons. Someone who wasn't just downright evil. But Barak is so much more than "not Bush."

Part of me is skeptical. They always start out looking so nice. He sure can give a speech.

Part of me is also afraid. He's young, idealistic, and black. Seeing him on the stage with Michelle, it's like the 21st-century version of Camelot. He looks and sounds like a combination of JFK and Martin Luther King. And we know what kind of end they both met...

But all you can do is hope and pray for the best, and do your part to make the best come into being... I'm glad that godawful interminable primary is finally done, and Barak can get down to the business of trouncing McCain.

One Learned Man Is Harder on the Devil Than a Thousand Ignorant Worshipers

I want to thank the Somali Muslim woman who had this bumper sticker posted on her van. I caught a glimpse of it as she was pulling into the parking lot of a local Islamic center.

Re-Creation

Last week I got sick. The diarrhea hit at about 4:00 a.m. Wednesday morning, and lasted through Friday night, when I was starting to get genuinely worried, since the instructions on the Imodium box say to call a doctor if symptoms last more than two days. But then things changed, like the shifting of a bad wind. The nausea departed, my energy returned, and my bowels recommenced their normal functioning. When you've been ill, nothing feels better than just good old normality. Fortunately, I knew to drink lots of water, even if I couldn't bring myself to eat much, and eventually my body recovered all by itself.

But I was still experiencing some of the symptoms of the sickness (though was on the mend) when we left on a camping trip for Blue Mounds State Park Friday morning. So I was going somewhat on faith. I felt the signs of healing in my bones, though wasn't all the way there. But I'm glad I didn't let that stop us from going on the trip we'd been planning for some months.

The prairies down there are amazing. Rolling green hills, covered with outcroppings of dark red/purple "Sioux quartzite." The unique stone ranges in color from flesh-like tan and brown colors to deep blood red and purple, and it is everywhere in that part of the country, exposed by the recession of the last glaciers. The Minnesota farmers never tried to flatten out the soil there. They just planted over the hills, sometimes even terracing. The winds never seemed to stop blowing, and the sky was always changing. The clouds were like mountains over the red cliffs.

We went to a place called "Hole-in-the-Mountain," which sort of looked exactly like its name. As if there had been a mountain there, and the gods had just come and swooped it up, leaving nothing but crumbs around the edges, little foothills to remind us of what had been there. We sat on top of those hills where we could see almost everything, while the wind rushed wildly around us. You could lean into the wind and it would hold you up. We could barely talk to each other. All we could hear was the wind.

We went to Pipestone National Monument, which was both strange and wonderful. Wonderful because the monument consists of a series of paths that wind around the rocky hills and cliffs and over streams, unveiling one beautiful vista after another. But strange because this land is considered sacred to the native Lakota, as is the stone after which the park is named -- the pipestone. When God gave it to them, he told them, "This is your flesh." At the monument, native Lakota craftsmen who have quarried and worked the sacred stone for generations were there, doing their work for tourists to watch. I thought, this is wrong. The government should give the land back to the Lakota people. If they want to let tourists come watch, then fine. But as it was, it felt strange. An intrusion into that which should not be intruded upon.

Our last day, we wandered around the cliffs at Blue Mounds, enjoying the sunshine and the warmth, and later in the day, enjoying the relief to our aching legs and feet when we could finally relax after a weekend of hiking.

Nights, Glen would start and tend the campfires while Göran and our friend Jonathan and I would take turns cooking and cleaning. Our breakfasts consisted of granola and eggs, our lunches of cashew butter and jelly sandwiches, our dinners of rough-cut veggies roasted in tin foil packets over an open fire with olive oil, herbs, and Italian-sausage-flavored pressed tofu. Much more delicious than it sounds. Memories of Glen's laughter and the sense of peace we all shared while watching a beautiful sunset will warm me for years to come.

As always, it was a time for me to slow down. To heal. To be aware of the connection between my body and the earth. To listen. To dream, and to record my dreams. To let the Spirit teach me. To be mindful of God's love, and of all our sacred destinies.

Conversations about Race, Part II

Lyndale United Church of Christ, the congregation that Göran, Glen and I attend together, is joining other United Churches of Christ congregations in on-going "conversations about race."

When Pastor Don Portwood introduced the subject on Sunday, May 11, he handed out a couple of essays. One of these was an excerpted version of Peggy McIntosh's "White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack". The other essay was Robert Jensen's reflection on Peggy McIntosh's essay, entitled "White Privilege Shapes the U.S."

If the notion of "white privilege" is an alien concept to you (and it very likely is if you are white) I recommend you read these essays. If you can only read one, I recommend you read McIntosh's first. But both essays are relatively short, sweet and to the point, and they spell out in terms anyone can understand how and why racism still shapes all of our experience, to the detriment of all of us.

I was introduced to the concept of white privilege as a first year graduate student at the University of Minnesota. (We certainly didn't read McIntosh's essay or discuss white privilege at BYU in the 1980s. Perhaps some of you can attest whether the Lord's University has evolved since then.) So I've been intellectually aware of it (though -- nature of the beast -- paying attention to it only sporadically) for something like 20 years. But now that I re-read these essays, I'm left with the same questions I was left with 20 years ago, "So now what?" and "Where do we go from here?"

Here's the problem. As both McIntosh and Jensen point it out, you can be aware of white privilege and even deplore it. You can do all the "consciousness raising" you want. But it still doesn't make it go away. White privilege seems immune to awareness, which it constantly conspires to reduce to oblivion in any event. As a white man in a relationship with a man of African descent, I am aware of the fact that my white privilege didn't evaporate because of my relationship; nor does he gain white privilege through me. It doesn't work that way. When the two of us walk into a store or a restaurant, I am still treated differently than he is.

Yet, despite the seeming imperviousness of white privilege to individual awareness and effort, in my life I've proceeded with the assumption that in fact awareness can make a difference. My personal awareness may not put a dent in the overall system of white privilege, but it can make a difference in the relationships I am a party to and in the systems in which I have real power and influence. When I am in a room full of white faces, and I see a complexion of a different color, awareness of how white privilege operates in such a setting can help me to behave in such a way as to increase the degree to which all in that room are included and empowered. Awareness can educate my political behavior (how I vote) and economic behavior (what I consume and where I buy it). I think at root, if we didn't believe this, why would we bother to share and discuss articles like McIntosh's?

The challenge for white folks is not to rush on to the conclusion that just because you've been "educated," you're set and the problem is solved. It helps to acknowledge that even with the best conscious efforts, we will continue to act in a white supremacist manner in many unconscious ways. So reminding ourselves and continuing to study the issue -- continually striving to elevate unconscious reflex to the realm of conscious action -- is crucial. It also helps to acknowledge that we can only solve a very minuscule part of the problem as individuals. So the work will involve evaluating collective behavior and seeking to link up politically and socially on a local, regional and national scale. In other words, it may require political organization.

But my final observation is mainly theological. Our awareness of interlocking systems of oppression -- racism, sexism, homophobia, the class system, systems that privilege able-bodiedness, etc. -- has grown out of efforts by individuals to speak their personal truths. Women speaking out about sexism. Racial minorities speaking out about racism. Gays and lesbians speaking out about homophobia. Disabled people speaking out about inaccessibility. Aren't we all hungering for "accessibility" in some meaning of that word? But these are personal and individual expressions, the truth of the world seen "from the ground up."

The reality that shapes all of our individual experience to devastating effect "from the sky down" is the concentration of world imperial power in the hands of a few, who manipulate regional and global economies and who wield devastating military power. Those "powers that be" have created global heavens for the few "haves" and global hells for the "have-nots," and purgatories that keep the rest of us living in fear, thinking that our selfish clinging can prevent us being cast into "hell." Does this not resemble the demonic reign of the "powers and principalities" the Apostle Paul wrote of? Spiritual evil in high places? Can we cure any social ill until the rule of demonic powers is overthrown? So part of me feels that, while we need to be engaged with hand and heart and all we've got, nothing can be solved without opening our hearts to the Millennium, cultivating faith in and submission to the God whose method of resisting evil is to teach us how to resist it, but who has also promised to come again to save us.

For those of us caught in the gears of the machine -- whether because of our race or our sex or our sexuality or because of the configuration of our bodies -- isn't the moment of salvation when the Spirit teaches us that we have a Divine birthright that transcends the worldly systems that define us? A birthright shared by those who are fooled by the system into contributing to our oppression. Even if we cannot free ourselves of the effects of an unrighteous system, that knowledge frees us in powerful ways nevertheless. It can fill us with an empowering peace and resolve. But we can't fully enjoy that freedom if we exercise any degree of unrighteous dominion over others.

That is why I am also aware of the power of theologies that remind us how evil cannot be overcome without repentance and humility and submission to God. In the face of racism, we white folks are like camels, trying to figure out how we can fit through the needle's eye. We need help if we are going to pass.

Trading Places

Sunday I had an odd experience.

I arrived at my ward -- as I always do -- about fifteen minutes early. In other posts, I've written about running the gauntlet past Sister "Smith". In recent weeks, she has not been at Church, and she was not there last Sunday either. The second counselor in the bishopric, Brother C. was standing there, handing out programs as people walked in. As I arrived, he smiled broadly and said, "Would you mind helping out?"

"Sure," I said.

"Here," he replied, thrusting the stack of programs at me.

So I sat down next to the door, and shook hands with people, and handed programs out to them as they arrived. It was fun. I would smile, people would smile back. Little kids would eye the programs, wondering if it was OK to take one. "You want one of these?" I asked one boy with big, brown eyes, and a cowlick just like his father's. He nodded shyly, so I handed him one, and then he smiled. Ward members I knew passed by and received programs. And members I didn't know, but with whom I was now connecting for the first time, through a handshake, a smile, and the passing of a piece of paper.

My Sunday School teacher, Brother B. was one of the last to arrive. He always has a bit of a mischievous gleam in his eyes, and an enthusiastic smile. After he found his seat, he grinned back at me and signaled to his pew. Did I want to come sit with him and his wife? I nodded, and smiled back gratefully.

The incredible, amazing, wonderful thing about being an excommunicated gay man in a Mormon ward is you never, ever take a single thing for granted. Every connection, no matter how seemingly minor, is never insignificant. Every smile is a gift, every handshake is a gift.

It occurred to me Brother C. could just as easily have left the programs on a chair, untended. People would have just picked them up as needed. But there is something about receiving it from a real person, along with a welcoming greeting.

I wondered about Sister "Smith." I hope she's OK. I thought how odd it was that I had now traded places with her.

Strange, I thought, that I should be welcoming people to the LDS Church.

I know to some of you I sound pathetic. But I know that the Restored Gospel is true. And the way I see it, this is just a role I have to play, necessitated by this time, this place, these circumstances. It does not prevent me from learning what my Heavenly Parents sent me here to learn, nor from becoming what my Heavenly Parents sent me here to become. What you see is not all of me.

I'd rather have it this way. I'd rather know every minute how significant these relationships, these gifts, and these opportunities for service are. Because it is in the moments when we appreciate most that the Spirit speaks to us most clearly.

Conversations About Race

If you think we don't need to have a "conversation about race" in America just because a black man is on the verge of receiving the Democratic Party's nomination for President, consider what he had to do to get there. He had to deny his own pastor. I have listened to what Jeremiah Wright has said about race again and again, and I still can't figure out what he's said that is false. Mind, I've listened to him in context, not just the sound bites that our infantile mass media obsess on, but what the man himself has said and continues to say.

And I'm not the only one who thinks Jeremiah is right. In a strange twist of fate, my American Religious Histories class was doing its unit on the Black Church, and reading Alfred Raboteau's Slave Religion right at the moment that the media was going ape-shit over Jeremiah's call to repentance. Yes, that's what Wright was doing, calling America to repentance. And not a soul among my mostly white students could disagree with what the man has said. Now keep in mind that I was teaching at a United Churches of Christ (UCC) Seminary, which happens to be the predominantly white denomination that Pastor Jeremiah Wright belongs to. I can't say how heartened I was to see that white future pastors of this denomination (and of other denominations -- we have Methodists, Presbyterians and Unitarians at United too) without missing a beat are standing in solidarity with a fellow pastor who happens to be black, and who is taking a beating in the media because he's dared to call America to repentance for its sins of militarism and racism.

And the denomination as a whole is standing by him as well. The UCC has called on all its member churches to take up the challenge laid down both by Jeremiah Wright and by his parishioner, Barak Obama, and to begin having an extended conversation about race. So on Sunday, at Lyndale United Church of Christ, Pastor Don Portwood asked us not to delay this conversation any longer. And when Pastor Don asked us what we thought about this, Sister Glenda Rooney had the presence of mind to remind us that there's no one conversation about race, there are conversations about race. Everyone will have their own perspectives on this all important matter, that will be uniquely based on their own personal history, age, and station in life. All deserve to be heard in the conversation. And all have a responsibility both to speak and to listen. But speak from the heart, and don't make up stuff just because you think it's what someone else wants to hear. Because above all, a conversation has to be honest.

I want to converse about race. Let's do it right here, right now, on this blog. And here's my opening salvo. First, I know enough from my own efforts to come to terms with this in my life that it is a life work to achieve the clarity of soul that makes brothers and sisters out of all of us in the truest sense. The enemy of our souls is forgetfulness, lack of consciousness, letting ourselves fall into the old, worn habits of thought and ways of being. So we owe a debt of gratitude to those who have a knack for offending us into consciousness.

My second thought is, I'm not sure that it is possible -- as Americans are wont to insist -- that a collective evil can be overcome individually. The great racist sins of this nation were all committed collectively, institutionally. Yet we act as if repenting of those sins is something we do individually. That doesn't compute for me.

My third thought is, guilt is a pre-repentance emotion. In other words, if you are white and discussions on the topic of racism arouse guilt, to me this is a sign that you are not fully committed yet to overcoming racism. Godly sorrow is closer to the range of emotions that will be helpful, along with resolve to make good and to stay on the path.

Because my fourth thought is, this is a process. Too often, white folks get fired up about racism. For a moment. And then we forget all about it. We forget that true change requires a day-in, day-out commitment. We need to commit ourselves to read something about racism every week. Commit ourselves to attend a lecture, read a book, participate in a workshop, anything on a regular basis that will over time build awareness. Accept that there are no simple answers to this problem any more than there are simple answers to any of life's great challenges. We need to commit ourselves to wrestle both individually and collectively with solutions, and when efforts fail, to commit ourselves to try something new until we find something that works.

My fifth and final thought (in this opening/continuing conversation) involves taking a larger historical perspective. There were three moments in American history when white folks and black folks came close to achieving (and yet failed to achieve) a true and lasting consensus over the issue of race in American society. The first historic moment was roughly from 1790 - 1820, during the Second Great Awakening. The second historic moment was in the aftermath of the Civil War, from roughly 1862 - 1870 or so. The third was during the Civil Rights Movement, from about 1950 to the mid-1960s. After each of these moments, white folks generally got tired and lost interest, and the country fell back into its racist slumber only to be aroused by the next crisis.

But if we look at what those three historic moments had in common, it was an emerging awareness that racism is a fundamentally spiritual problem.

In other words, we can't make this journey without God's help.