No Need of Repentance

There's a turn of phrase that Jesus uses in the Gospels that fascinates me. On numerous occasions, Jesus refers to "persons which need no repentance" (for instance, Luke 15:7). Whenever Jesus is quoted as saying this -- and he does in numerous contexts throughout the Gospels -- it is always to contrast such people with repentant sinners. It took a while for this to sink in, but I've gradually realized that Jesus is teaching through irony whenever he uses this phrase. Of course there is no such thing as a person who has "no need of repentance." Of course plenty of people both then and now think they have no need of repentance. And until we get that we do, the whole import of these teachings will be lost on us.

Consider, for instance, a reading of the parable of the prodigal son that has become popular in Mormon circles. I can't help but think that many Mormons, when they read this parable, just can't help but identify with the Elder Brother. They think of themselves as the righteous faithful who have labored in the heat of the day and deserve all that the Father hath because they've earned it. And so they've read this parable in a way that actually completely undermines it by suggesting that of course the Father was happy to see his wayward son return, and so threw a nice party for him, but the prodigal son still has no inheritance any more. Nope, he spent it on prostitutes and wild living. It's gone now, and the Elder Brother is the real winner in this story and still gets "all that the father hath."

The whole thrust of Jesus' teaching was to push us to see the ways in which we are ALL the prodigal son. The account of this parable in Luke is set in a context of Jesus condemning pride and self-righteousness, all of which are the primary obstacle preventing us from seeing our need to repent. In the story of the prodigal son (we'll call him P.S. for short), P.S. acquires two qualities that Jesus presents as essential for salvation: humility ("I am no more worthy") and a desire to serve ("make me as one of thy hired servants"). The Elder Brother (or E.B. for short) has the latter quality of a desire to serve, but is utterly lacking in the former quality of humility. He is judgmental and has no compassion for his little brother. E.B.'s lack of humility actually reveals the one quality he does have as self-serving. And that grasping and lack of humility block him from entering into the Kingdom! In many of Jesus' parables, the coming Kingdom of Heaven is likened to a great feast. And Jesus says of E.B.: "He was angry and would NOT GO IN." The Father has to plead with him to enter, to remind him of the qualities that would allow him too to be saved: compassion, forgiveness and humility.

Many of us live in a religious culture marked by privilege. In that cultural context we prefer to think of ourselves as always good, always righteous. But I am convinced that failure is essential to growth. Did P.S. screw up? Heck yeah. But lessons learned the hard way are usually the most indelible ones. And what P.S. became as a result of those hard lessons is what we all need to become, regardless of the specifics of the path by which we become, namely, humble, compassionate, and forgiving. Those are the qualities that will unlock the Kingdom to us.

The Greatest Apostle

In the last day or so I’ve had a number of conversations with different people about the significance of Elder Dallin Oaks’ condemnation of same sex relationships during his talk at the Saturday morning session of General Conference.

By way of full disclosure, my husband and I this last August celebrated our 25th anniversary as a couple (and the beginning of our tenth year as a legally married couple!), and Dallin Oaks’ talk did not upset me in the least. I knew going into conference that the church has not changed its position on this issue, and I don’t expect its position to change without a lot of prayer and fasting. And the choices that I’ve made in my life I have made carefully and prayerfully, seeking the guidance of the Holy Spirit. I have tried and tested those choices over the course of many years, and they have born much good fruit. I trust that with time, the truth will out. And I know where I stand with God, and where I stand is a good place, and so I have much patience for the working out of these issues within my beloved Latter-day Saint community. And working out they are. There are ample signs of that.

Even though I did not feel personally wounded by Oaks' talk, I fully expected that many would be. And I mourn with the many for whom this talk adds a fresh wound to so many other wounds that remain unhealed. I remember what it was like when I was just coming out, just trying to figure these things out, filled with doubt, trying to chip away at the years of internalized shame that remained encrusted on my soul. I listened to my heart, and trusted that coming out was the right thing to do, and eventually discerned that my relationship with my husband was the right thing for my life. As I entered into that path, I was in a sense taking my very first wobbly steps as an adult, taking responsibility for my own discernment process and my own choices. And it’s hard, when you are just learning to walk on your own, and there are people on the sidelines telling you that you’re wrong, that you can’t possibly know the things that you know, that you are a sinner. It’s easy to get thrown off balance. And my only advice in that situation is if your heart is telling you something is right, the only correct course of action is for you to follow it, so keep your gaze up, stand up straight, keep walking, and don’t let the bastards grind you down.

Now my response to conference overall was that there were many good, uplifting, Christ-centered, grace-centered gospel messages in conference. I felt the spirit teach me through them. And some people have gotten mad at me, and said, "Those talks don’t matter. Those general authorities weren’t as important as the one who condemned us." And my response to that is that something is only ever as important as we make it. Why should we invest more importance in a message that comes from a high-ranking apostle than in a message that comes from an emeritus 70? That’s not the Gospel. Christ didn’t say, "This high-ranking person is more important than this other person who has no rank." In fact he said the opposite. He said things like, "If you want to be the greatest, you need to be a servant, not a ruler," and "The last will be first and the first will be last," and "Be like a child." Stuff like that.

If the retired 70's message is grounded in a firm understanding of the Gospel, and if it is delivered in a spirit of Christ-like grace, and that is the talk that most deeply penetrates my soul, in my mind that makes it the most important message in conference. The most important proclamations in any conference are not proclamations on the family or statements of policy, they are the declarations of Christ’s love and the call for each of us to align ourselves with it. I heard that call loud and clear at conference, both over the pulpit and in the quiet whisperings of the Spirit in my heart, and that’s what I’m trying to do.

I expected hurt and anger about Oaks' statement. I confess I was a little bit taken aback by the depth of the fury at his perceived "doubling down." And my only response to that is that righteous indignation is particularly ineffective as a solvent. It does not soften. In fact, it has the opposite effect. It hardens, it entrenches. Love, connection, and listening, on the other hand, are excellent solvents. They are, in fact, the only solvents that enable us to penetrate hardened shells and gain access to the heart. If you want to make lasting change in the world, be soft. Look patiently for openings, for fertile earth, and then plant seeds. Love.

That is the Gospel.

Prayer of a Gay Mormon Son, Brother, and Dad

Dear Father in Heaven:

I thank you that I always have recourse to you, that in time of pain and trouble I can turn to you and you are always there for me, a never-ending source of light and love in my life. There are times when I know that I could not go on if it were not for you, and this is one of them.

I thank you that you have filled my home with light and peace in this difficult time. At a moment when I might have felt abandoned, I have felt your resplendent presence here in our home, guarding and protecting me and my husband and anyone who comes through our doors in peace, to remind me that it is you who decides who belongs to you. Thank you for making our home your temple.

I thank you that in this moment of uncertainty, people of faith and love of every race, creed and walk of life, humble and kind and wise people, have reached out to me and my husband and our family in love and concern. I thank you that I am surrounded by friends. Please make me a better friend to those who need one.

Thank you for your Spirit, which has given me words of comfort and kindness to speak to those who are mourning right now, and which has lifted me up and given strength to my limbs so that I might reach out, lift up, embrace and love. Thank you for your light unfailing that shines brighter when we share it.

Please bless our son. He has been a light to us, and we are so grateful that he has grown up to be strong, wise, and compassionate. We are so proud that he knows who he is, and is not afraid. We are so proud that he has chosen a profession of service to others, and that his greatest desire is to protect the weak and the voiceless. We are so grateful that he has found someone to love him and be his companion through life, who cares for him and strengthens him. We are thankful for our son-in-law, who is gentle and kind and joyful, and who brings joy to everyone whose life is touched by his. Please bless them both, protect them against life's dangers and challenges. Show them the way of life.

Please comfort our straight parents and siblings, all our family and friends who are afraid and confused and in mourning right now. Please reassure them so that they will know we are OK. We have been trying to reassure them, but they are still grieving. So please reassure them, because if it comes from you, I know they will finally be comforted. Let them not lose faith in you, or in your capacity to take sorrow and turn it to joy, to take pain and turn it to strength, to take misunderstanding and turn it to light, to gather in all the scattered and claim them as your own, to overcome hate through your love.

Please forgive those who, at this time, feel the need to heap judgment and condemnation on others. Please forgive those who think you are defended by their words of condemnation, as if you need to be defended. Please forgive those parents who are cutting off their own flesh and blood. Please forgive the ex-spouses who are now trying to tear custody of children away from their gay ex-spouses as a result of this. They know not what they do.

Please pour out your Spirit on all your gay, lesbian, bi and transgender sons and daughters. Light the path ahead of us so that we can see, even when the world is dark.

Please help us know how to comfort, strengthen and protect those of our children who are now filled with confusion and doubt as they are being told by pastors of your church that they no longer belong to your kingdom. May our constant love steady them and reassure them. May our faith and hope comfort them. Please fill them with light and make them know that you will never forsake them.

You have responded to this situation with a surfeit of love and light so that I might know that this is not about me. It is about teaching us to love each other better. Thank you.

Please teach us to love, even as your Son loved us.

In his name, Jesus Christ.

Amen.

Excommunication and Sacramental Theology

I was able to attend Sacrament meeting in my ward for the first time in over a month today. I've been to three sacrament meetings during the last five weeks. I attended with friends in Mesa, AZ on April 26, after participating in the ALL conference. I attended sacrament meeting with Affirmation members at local wards in Santiago, Chile on May 3 and Buenos Aires, Argentina on May 10. On May 17, I participated in a testimony meeting on the Hill Cumorah in Palmyra, NY, not an official sacrament meeting, though a very significant gathering that was attended by the Palmyra Stake President. Last weekend, my husband and I were camping with a friend in western Minnesota, where my only church was private prayer and scripture study surrounded by lakes and prairie and blessed by wind and rain beating on the roof of my tent. Though I've had my share of church in the past month, it felt really good to finally be home and to be greeted warmly by members of my ward. I've missed them.

One of the things I realized in worshiping at my home ward is how important my home ward is to the spiritual work I need to do in my life. The Gospel is true in Mesa, AZ, as it is in Chile or Argentina, or in the Church's home stake of Palmyra, or even in the wilderness on the Great Plains of western Minnesota. But there's a sense of accountability I experience in worshiping with people who know me. And there's something about being at home that puts the focus back on day-to-day soul-building work. I felt I had been gone too long and I was grateful and relieved to be back.

The theme of our Sacrament Meeting talks was Church attendance, and then we had a special fifth Sunday lesson on the Sacrament. In between, the title of the Sunday School lesson was "Woe unto you, hypocrites!" (We focused on texts in Matthew 21 and 23.) The end result, for me, was deep reflection on my motivations in attending Church (realizing, with gratitude, that I still attend out of a deep yearning to be close to my Heavenly Father, and to put myself in a place where God has promised to meet me). It also involved some wrestling with a sense of loss or exclusion at not being able to take the bread and the water at Sacrament.

I have a lot of complicated thoughts and feelings about not being able to take the bread and the water. On occasion friends have told me that I'm not unworthy and I should just take it. Whatever my state of worthiness or unworthiness, my understanding of the Gospel requires me to respect good order in the Church, which includes accepting the restrictions placed on me as an excommunicated member. I want to take the bread and the water only when my membership has been fully restored, when my right and obligation to partake of the Sacrament in that way is recognized by duly ordained priesthood leadership.

But an insight I had long ago, almost from the first time I started attending the LDS Church almost ten years ago, is that I can still participate in the Sacrament and experience the healing power of the Atonement through my participation, even without partaking of the bread and the water. I've always had a sense that "partaking of the Sacrament" was something you do fundamentally in your heart. And some of the scriptures we studied today in Sunday School and in our fifth Sunday meeting on the Sacrament helped clarify for me that this isn't just my idiosyncratic take. It's a profoundly scriptural way to understand the Sacrament.

First I reflected on this text from Matthew 21:28-31, which we read in Sunday School:

But what think ye? A certain man had two sons; and he came to the first, and said, Son, go work to day in my vineyard. He answered and said, I will not: but afterward he repented, and went. And he came to the second, and said likewise. And he answered and said, I go, sir: and went not. Whether of them twain did the will of his father? They say unto him, The first. Jesus saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That the publicans and the harlots go into the kingdom of God before you.

My reflection on that was that saying you will go work in the vineyard is sort of like making a covenant. It's like baptism. Baptism is a formal way of saying you will go work in the vineyard. But as we know, you can make that covenant and still not show up for the work. And Jesus' commentary here is that there are some people (like publicans and harlots) who haven't entered into the formal covenant, but who are doing the work. In other words, there is work for me to do, even in my covenant-less state. In other words, it's not pointless for me to show up at Church and to work on my soul and to seek guidance from God about what work he'd like me to do.

There was a sweet brother, who in the opening prayer at Sacrament meeting, thanked God for his mercy, and asked for God's mercy on all of us. That prayer was balm to my soul.

Those reflections on the mercy of God and of the work I have to do, whether under covenant or not, were still with me as we began the fifth Sunday lesson on the Sacrament. We started by reading together 3 Nephi 9:20:

And ye shall offer for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit. And whoso cometh unto me with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, him will I baptize with fire and with the Holy Ghost, even as the Lamanites, because of their faith in me at the time of their conversion, were baptized with fire and with the Holy Ghost, and they knew it not.

This was cross referenced with D&C 59:12:

But remember that on this, the Lord’s day, thou shalt offer thine oblations and thy sacraments unto the Most High, confessing thy sins unto thy brethren, and before the Lord.

In 3 Nephi Christ commands (invites?) his followers to "offer for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit." My bishop explained to us, in relation to D&C 59, that this is "the sacrament we offer to God": a broken heart and a contrite spirit. And I realized that this has nothing to do with what we are eating or drinking while the Sacrament is being administered. (Cross reference with Matthew 15:16-20? "Do not ye yet understand, that whatsoever entereth in at the mouth goeth into the belly, and is cast out into the draught?" etc.) I also noticed that the Lamanites, "at the time of their conversion, were baptized with fire and the Holy Ghost, and they knew it not." Again, not outward ordinances that matter, but what is going on in one's heart. "Everything depends," my bishop emphasized, "on getting and keeping the Holy Spirit in our lives."

I felt the Spirit at Church today, inviting me to ignore the distractions of the adversary that would try to convince me that it is useless for me to attend or participate because of the limitations placed on me by my excommunicated status. I felt the Spirit comforting me, inviting me and including me, and strengthening me for the challenges of the week ahead, helping me to do the work that I've been put on the earth to do. I also felt something of a reproach from the Spirit to be mindful, never to let my membership status be a reason to get discouraged or to forget mindfulness.

My bishop reminded us that perhaps the most important word in the Sacrament prayers is "remember." Amen.

Somos Bendecidos (We Are Blessed)

It feels extremely difficult to capture what I feel in words, but I will try.

I just spent eleven days in Chile and Argentina with a group of LGBT Mormons and their families and friends. Four of us were norteamericanos (gringos in Chile), two of us were from Mexico, and the rest of us were native Chileans and Argentinians. Oh, and one very special friend who is puertoriqueña, and only an honorary Mormon, but someone who makes me very proud to include people of all faiths in my extended family circle.

We spent plenty of time there socializing, just hanging out eating (I put on 10 pounds down there), seeing sights, talking, laughing, singing (!!!)... Our last night in Chile, Roberto, our dear new friend and brother in Christ, invited us over to his apartment and played his guitar for us and serenaded us with songs about the love of God, and the tears ran down my face, as they are now, just thinking about it. He looked us right in the eye and sang to us. Beautiful! Gringos don't know what it is to wear their hearts on their sleeves, until they have gotten to know a few South Americans.

We also, of course, spent time gathered in Jesus Christ's name, praying, singing hymns and telling each other the stories of our lives. Some of us gave formal talks, but we all, every single one of us, shared from the heart. The vulnerability was incredible. We told stories about what it means to be gay or lesbian or bi and Mormon, and we laughed and cried and hugged and kissed, and just were together, in the kind of beautiful silence that allows the Spirit to shine in our hearts.

Our first night in Argentina, as we were sitting and sharing our stories, as we were listening to Roxana Lopez, the Affirmation Argentina coordinator for years, share her story, my husband, who does not understand much more Spanish than "gracias" and "¿como estás?", leaned over and said, "I don't know if I should tell you this. It is kind of weird, and I don't know if you will believe me." And I replied, "You can tell me. I will believe you." And he said, "I see auras around the people." I asked him what color the auras were, and he said: "They are all white." And then, nodding at Roxana, he said, "Hers is huge. It's rising up like a flare."

My husband Göran is not from the land of Woo. He is not the kind of person who has spiritual experiences, or the kind of person who talks about them if he does. But that happened.

Our last night in Argentina, as we were sitting in another more informal circle talking, a young man who had arrived late to the conference because of the demands of work shared his story with us. There was just a quality of brightness about him. I don't know how else to describe it than that. Something that I could discern only spiritually. As soon as he started to speak, I could tell there was something, very, very special about him. He described his conversion to the Gospel as a youth, how he went on to serve a mission for the Church in Nicaragua, and then his heartbreaking struggle to come to terms with his sexuality since his mission.

(Such a typical gay Mormon path -- deferring dealing with this aspect of ourselves until after our missions! And, by the way, yes, gay people have to come to terms with our sexuality, especially in this heteronormative society, but our sexuality is not the sum total of what it means to be gay!)

And at this point, he is facing a disciplinary court in the Church and is likely to be excommunicated. He has told his Church leaders that he simply can't feel that he is supposed to live single just because he is gay. It's a truth so self-evident to him that the only choice remaining to him is to be excommunicated, given the Church's position on this. But he loves the Gospel. He still believes in it, and he has the sweetest, most bright testimony, which he bore at the testimony meeting we held Sunday morning, a few hours before Göran and I boarded our plane for New York.

This young man said he was was wrestling with the question of whether to attend his Church court or not. Everyone turned to me, I guess because I was the only person in the room who had been excommunicated, and they asked me what I did. And I said I did not attend my Church court. I might have, if I hadn't been a poor student, and if the plane tickets from Northern Michigan to Massachusetts (where my court was being held) hadn't been so expensive. Though at the time I didn't see any point. But had I known then what I know now, I think I would have attended. And that is what I said to him and to the group. I thought, they need to see the light and the beauty and the brightness in this young man as they contemplate doing this.

We wept as we hugged each other goodbye. We've chatted on Facebook since and he's promised to keep me posted about what he decides and what happens with the Church court, and I've promised to keep him in my prayers. But whatever happens, I know he is well cared for by our Heavenly Father. Angels will bear him up.

At our testimony meeting on Sunday I bore my testimony too. I bore testimony of what I had experienced in Chile and Argentina. The Spirit had been present in a particular way during those ten days, and it had been engraving a particular message in my mind and heart. And that message was that we -- LGBT sons and daughters of God -- are blessed. There is some special plan that God has for us, that he is reserving just for us, that only God knows.

And in the meantime we should be of good cheer. We should live our lives with every ounce of love we can muster. We should be bright. We should shine. God put us here to bless not ourselves, but others. We have this chance to do this, even or especially when others don't see the special in us. When they see us as dirty or less than our outside of the grace of God. That gives us that special opportunity to love without asking anything in return.

Marching in Holy Places

This past Sunday, a member of our high council came and spoke in my ward. And if there was any doubt in my mind about the importance of having a good, strong Mormon presence at Gay Pride this coming Sunday (June 30!) before his talk, there was none after.

I wasn't the only one who made the connection. Another member of my ward and I talked about his talk afterwards, and we had both independently come to the same conclusion. This talk was about Gay Pride, and why we need to be there!

I get the objections to Pride. I have on occasion admitted to preferring Church to Pride on a Sunday morning. I'm not always comfortable with everything at Pride. 

Mormons Building Bridges made me feel differently. Once I realized I could bring all of who I am to Pride, the sense of conflict I felt evaporated. And the lessons I learned marching with our Mormon Allies contingent are driving me to participate again this year.

Our high council speaker this past Sunday offered us an interesting interpretation of the "standing in holy places" concept which has become a common theme in Church-correlated materials lately.  (See Psalm 24:3; Matthew 24:15; and D&C 45:32; 87:8; 101:22 for the relevant scriptural texts.) The more conventional LDS interpretation is that the imperative of "standing in holy places" means we should spend lots of time in temples, ward meeting houses, and in prayer-filled homes. Which is a fair enough interpretation! Spending time in these kinds of places fills me with peace, and anchors me in right thinking and love.

But our high council member prodded us a bit by suggesting that maybe the ultimate holy place, the holy place where we always stand is within us. It is the place we make holy by living our lives in such a way that the Spirit of the Lord always dwells in us. He said (according to my journal): "To stand in holy places is to receive the Holy Ghost and follow its promptings."

He went on to talk about how the Gospel of Jesus Christ is not "a one size fits all" gospel. Each of us faces different challenges and has different needs. My journey as a gay Saint has meant a journey through wildernesses that most straight Saints have no concept of. This is why the Gospel is not complete if we are not actively seeking the Spirit's promptings so that it may "show unto you all things what ye should do" (2 Nephi 32:5). We each need that personally for ourselves.

I particularly loved our high council speaker's example of Samuel the Lamanite. Samuel belonged to a race/group of people the Nephites assumed to be lost and fallen.  He compared Samuel preaching to the Nephites to something like if a prophet from Guatemala showed up in Salt Lake City and started telling all the good, white Saints their failings.

He speculated that the wall Samuel preached from was probably not as high as it is in the classic Arnold Friberg painting. The stones flung at him and the arrows shot at him were probably much more up close and personal, and non-miraculous missing would have been much less likely.

Later that evening, I attended the special broadcast from Salt Lake City, announcing some of the new ways the Church was going to engage in missionary work, with an ever-growing emphasis on full-time missionary - member cooperation. Missionary work, the broadcast emphasized, was about relationship building. Bridge building.

An artfully prepared montage that showed individuals reaching out to friends -- over lunch, at a basketball game, on a school bus, at a children's birthday party -- drove the point home. In my mind, I saw Mormon Building Bridges as part of that montage, marching in Gay Pride.

Like the message delivered to us by our high council speaker, a core message during that Sunday evening broadcast was that there was no one "right way" to do this. That we needed to be attentive to the Spirit, to listen and follow the promptings of the Spirit and go where it told us to go.

It still feels risky to many Latter-day Saints to participate in Pride. After my last post on Pride, some individuals pointed out to me that there had in fact been at least some documented instances of threatened discipline for participating in Pride -- though fortunately none were carried through. There's still a lot of misunderstanding among Latter-day Saints about what participation in Pride means. Some of us feel a bit too close to the stones and arrows that might come hurtling at us... From both sides of the wall!

Yet, this past Sunday I knew, with that miraculous, peaceful, clarity-inducing warmth of the Spirit, that the place I need to be this Sunday is at Gay Pride. I invite you to prayerfully consider if the Spirit might be speaking to you to come join us as well.

If you are here in the Twin Cities, come join us. We have plenty of t-shirts for all participants, emblazoned with our "Mormon Allies" logo, and the slogan, "Where Love Is, There God Is Also."

Contact me via Facebook if you're interested in joining us!

All Coming Together

Yesterday, Göran and I went to church with our new foster son M.  We went to Lyndale United Church of Christ.

I did feel the Spirit there.  And there was this incredible moment in the service when this sister got up and spoke about her last five years' spiritual journey with the congregation.  She talked about her slow, painful recovery from brain damage (that got my attention), and what the love of the community has meant to her, how it has made her feel like she'd found the home where she could walk totally sustained.  I think her talk was also the one moment in the service where our foster son (who'd complained all the way to church) literally sat up and listened to every single word.  I was grateful for this; and grateful for where the Spirit fills in the gaps for me, giving me the message I needed to hear.

During the "prayers of the people," when any individual in the congregation could speak out loud the prayer closest to his or her heart, I prayed out loud about an important piece of my journey as a gay Mormon, about the journey I'm in with Affirmation right now, in the midst of new opportunities for dialog within the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  I spoke from the heart about the rush of emotions many of us are experiencing right now in the wake of the Church's latest overture ("Mormons" to "gays" "dot org").  It felt fairly raw.  Vulnerable.  But honest.  And the Spirit was present.  I felt spiritually cared for.

The best part of being at Lyndale yesterday was running into an old, old friend, also named John.  John is, like me, a teacher.  He delights in clear thinking.  He's a talented writer.  (The two things usually go together.)  He is a deep questioner, but a man of even deeper faith.  He understands what it means to take leaps of faith, even as he surveys the leap ahead with the eye of a skeptic.  We don't run into each other often at Church (since I have a track record of attending Lyndale something like once or twice a year, and he's not an every Sunday parishioner either).  But I felt a genuine leap of delight in my heart when I saw him sitting there, and saw three empty seats next to him.  It was a genuine delight to worship beside him, and share some hugs of fellowship.

After the service, John turned squarely to me and we talked heart-to-heart for a while.  He had tons of questions about the whole "gay Mormon thing," which for me includes my rock-bottom commitment to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (I'd said the full name twice in my prayer) and my rock-bottom commitment to my marriage to my husband.  He said to me, "To be honest, John, I thought I understood everything about your journey, except your return to the Mormon Church."

I replied, "To be honest, I understood that part of my journey very little myself -- except that it is what the Spirit required of me."  At that he nodded recognition and respect.  "But," I continued, "with the benefit of hindsight, I'm starting to understand better."

We left it at that, with much love.

*****

This morning, I found a message in my Facebook inbox from one of my sisters.  She said, "Jukka what are u doing?"  Jukka is the Finnish equivalent of "John," or maybe more colloquially "Jack."  It's the name I've always been known by in my immediate family.  She continued, "_____ and [I] have asked [each other] this a thousand times. That religion is so not worth saving. What they did to u as a gay man is nothing compared to what they do to us as women. I know you are an extremely spiritual person but u know joe smith was a liar and [adulterer]. Really give me something. I love you."

Like the question of my friend John at Lyndale UCC, my sister's plea was both loving and uncomprehending.  This post is, in some measure, my attempt to "give her something." To give my friend John something.  To give something to the many others who have asked me this question on-line and off, some more politely than others.

There's a level at which there's nothing I can give to anyone else who demands these kinds of answers of me.  I have to follow the Spirit, or I will lose the Spirit.  And the Spirit has told me to cast my lot in with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  And I would be lying if I said I didn't have a testimony of the Church.  And that's as much as I want to say on this score right here.

If you don't understand that, at least know me.  If you are a woman, and you think my commitment to the Church must be some kind of denial of your humanity, I can only share the understanding that the Spirit has shared with me about women's place in this journey.  Some sense of that was captured in the dream I shared on my blog the other day, the dream I've labeled in my dream journal #976, "Family Reunion," in which a grand matriarchal family gathering was presided over by my grandmother and all my other great aunties, and in which I learned that a true understanding of Church history will look to the role of women and not men.  (This was symbolized in my dream by an imaginary Mormon matriarch named "Cornelia Roads West."  I think of Cornelia as a sort of imaginary amalgam of what Eliza R. Snow might have been if she'd been Church president instead of Relief Society President!)

Or I could speak in real-life terms about my real-life mother, and what her faith as a Latter-day Saint has always meant to her and what it means to her now, even as Alzheimer's diminishes her ability to always express it as clearly as she once did.  I could speak of it in terms of mom always being the real backbone of our family.  My father is a wonderful, sensitive, faithful, loving man and has always been a wonderful patriarch, but I think he won't disagree that mom was the real strength in our family.

And I simply don't belong to a Kingdom of God which isn't also ruled by Queens, Priestesses and Moms as well as Kings, Priests and Dads.  So I don't think my devotion to the faith of my mother, the faith I am certain of in part because she "knew it" (Alma 56:48) detracts in any way from her humanity or the humanity of any other woman on the planet.

And yes, I suffer because of sexism in the Church.  And I cheered for the former Relief Society President in my ward who wore pants to church two Sundays ago.  And yes, I understand what it means to be denied priesthood because of who and what I am.  The one thing I can say with certainty is that there is a good deal of light on a good many subjects that will cause all of our eyes to smart when the veil is pulled all the way back: on women, on race, on gays and on many, many other things.  The rabble rousers for justice will be just as surprised as the status quo worshipers.  The meek will be less surprised.  The peace makers, less surprised.  But we're still all in for a wonderful surprise.  I think that's what scripture means when it says, "every knee shall bow" (Mosiah 27:31).

The Church is not perfect.  No church on earth is perfect.  And I'm yet to meet a perfect person of no faith at all.  And I've encountered many arrogant SOB's of all creeds and no creed at all.  And I've been an arrogant SOB myself.  I categorically don't exclude myself from that category.  And the good, really faithful, patient, salt-of-the earth Mormons that I know, they all know that humility befits us better than any kind of certainty that demeans others.  I've learned that lesson so well from other Latter-day Saints.  Through their lives they have taught me a faith I'm willing to embrace.  And so if you are concerned about justice, pay attention to the example of those good, humble, loving Mormons at least as much as you do to the legalists and pharisees.  That is as much as I honestly want to say about that right here and now.

Oddly, I'm at a strange place in my life where it's more painful to me to see others treated unfairly than to be treated unfairly myself.  It's partly the nature of my relationship to God.  God has made me see so clearly my own true worth, and he's made me see it in a way that I am so utterly confident of it, I am frequently surprised to find myself virtually untouchable in that inner sanctum of my heart to all those from all sides who would try to tarnish the dignity that is my birthright as a child of God.

So don't understand me if you can't.  But I really do love you.  And I trust that love to carry us all through to the Glory God has prepared for all of us.  And I don't begrudge another human soul making this journey however God lets them make it.  But I have to make this journey as a Latter-day Saint.  God won't allow me to do it any other way.

*****

Since I'm sharing very personally this morning, I want to share this excerpt from my diary, which very much captures how I feel right now:

...Made love to my husband this morning. In [it] I understood our love for each other as a lynchpin for everything else in our lives: my work to build Zion, for reconciliation in the Church; my calling as a teacher; our love for [M., our foster son], and the importance of [our son's] road.

*****

All coming together. A fundamental rule of perception: when we lack the Spirit, we see only fragmentary images. Things look unresolvable, insurmountable, like life is a tangle of contradictions. When we have the Spirit, we can see the road stretching ahead. We may not always see the end goal (sometimes we catch a glimpse of it), but we see clearly where we need to go.  And things come together.  We see how life's not a jumble of irreconcilable contradictions, but a beautiful harmony of all things working together, all things moving toward some great perfection in a dance of love.

This is the only "something" I can give anyone.

On Righteous Anger

Whenever good Christians want to justify a temper tantrum, they usually cite the example of Jesus overturning the vendors' tables in the temple. The problem is, I'm not sure Jesus was actually angry here. I think Jesus was making a calculated political statement, challenging religious authorities in a way that led to his execution. The fact that Jesus never acted out of anger, that he was always in control, was evidenced in the way he faced the ordeal of his crucifixion and death.

Of course many Christian theologians wrestle with depictions of God's wrath in the Old Testament. I personally see descriptions of God's wrath in the Bible as reflections of our own anxieties and inclinations. Perhaps God presents a wrathful face to us in order to break through to us. Or - and this how I prefer to see it - perhaps through the distortive filters of our own wrath and our inability to abide God's presence, we see God's loving face as wrathful.

I believe this, because if we look at the image of God presented in scripture we see it becoming progressively more loving. We see God's love shining through in the prophetic utterances of Isaiah. And we see it perfectly expressed in the life of Jesus.

So to those who want to use the Bible to justify modern-day religious zealotry or wrath against those we disagree with, I say, why should we regress? The Scriptures are a record of our history with God. That doesn't mean we need to relive the darkest aspects of that history. The Scriptures can be a Rorschach, in which we see ourselves as much as we see God's will. We can only understand the true meaning of the Scriptures through the Spirit, which always speaks to us in the language of peace and love. That says something about the Author of supposedly wrathful scripture.

So is anger a sin? I'm inclined to say no. If it is, we shouldn't emphasize that. It is certainly not a sin in the ordinary sense of a natural reaction to some hurt or wrong.

Perhaps we can distinguish between anger as a normal human feeling, and anger as a mode of acting in the world. Anger, as I understand it, plays an important role in any healthy grieving process. In a social sense, anger is important as an indicator of where hurt and injustice are.

But I would still argue that it is not helpful to act out of anger. If there is sin in anger, it is there. We should pay attention to anger, we should be aware of it, but we should not let it dominate us. When we let anger rule our emotions, we become incapable of hearing or seeing clearly. Effective communication becomes impossible because we hear everything through the filter of our anger. Instead of hearing what people are actually saying, we hear what our pain and what past bad experience incline us to expect. That in turn closes us off, and shuts us down precisely at the moment in communication when we need to be opening up.

Anger causes us to see adversaries and opponents where they are not. It causes us to act rashly, and lash out in ways that hurt even those who are our friends, allies and loved ones. The beautiful, terrible thing about anger is that the most natural response it provokes is anger, which in turn feeds the original anger, creating a seemingly never ending cycle.

I call this beautiful, because anger has a quality that allows us only effectively to control it in ourselves. Whenever we try to hush other's anger, whenever we try to point out to others that they are angry, it only provokes more anger on their part. So the most effective response to anger on the part of those of us who wish to dissipate it is to control it in ourselves, and allow it to run its course in others. Anger, In other words, requires a unique discipline of us that focuses us deeply inward.

One great fear that I frequently hear expressed by activists is that suppressing anger makes us ineffective in standing up to injustice. I agree that we should not suppress anger. Suppressing is a form of denial. It is a purely negative act. We should, rather, tame our anger or bridle it. Taming our anger involves acknowledging it, not denying its validity, but holding it in check so that we can evaluate all our options.

That inward taming of anger has the benefit of producing a unique quality in us especially valued by activists: determination. Determination is the blessing of feeling and experiencing anger, but not allowing it to dominate us. That blessing of determination is what grants us the strength and feeds the ingenuity to seek justice, peace and love.

That inward taming of anger has another benefit of producing unique qualities in those we interact with: calm and empathy. When we interact with others in a disciplined way, others will mirror back to us those qualities that we project. Anger produces anger. Calm produces calm. Listening makes space for listening.

Taming anger gives us, in other words, the tools we need to address the sources of injustice and hurt that produce anger in the first place.

So is there such a thing as righteous anger? If there is, it is solely the province of God, a mystery that belongs only to the Source of all creation and wisdom. If we follow in the footsteps of Christ, we will not traffic in it.

Gratitude as Teacher

Recently, a friend of mine posted on Facebook that "Systems of power commonly solicit gratitude in the form of guilt in order to keep the system running smoothly."  Case in point: millionaire executives of a failing junk food conglomerate giving themselves big, fat raises before declaring bankruptcy, and then blaming the failure of the company on striking workers, whom they accuse of insufficient "gratitude."

Fair enough.  It puts a little bit of a damper on my Thanksgiving to reflect on such things, especially when I think of the number of workers who will be out of jobs just in time for the holidays.

Yet...  In a very real sense, in more ways than one, gratitude has saved my life.  And it literally has become one of my most valuable teachers.

Now my friend Melanny poses a fair question.  And I'm glad she's posed it.  When gratitude is converted from a spontaneous response to the good in our lives into a religious duty (as it often is within my particular religious framework as a Mormon), does it create a frame of mind in which we become all too pliable in the hands of the powerful?  When we teach gratitude as a virtue, as a philosophy in which we "always look at the bright side of life," does it turn us into Pollyanna-ish zombies, incapable of standing up to gross injustice?

My short answer to this question is, No.  And here's why.  I worked hard as hell to defeat Minnesota Amendment 1, which would have permanently banned me and my husband from being married in our home state.  For nine months, every week -- sometimes twice a week -- I was manning the phone banks, training phone bankers, and canvassing.  In between that, I was participating in and organizing meetings of people within faith-communities, including my own Mormon faith community, to work against the amendment.  I donated hundreds of dollars to the campaign, more than I have ever donated to any political campaign.  I've never worked so hard for any political campaign.

And what fueled this unprecedented political commitment to prevent a constitutional injustice being committed against my family?  Was it discontent with the status quo?  Anger at the powers that be? No.  Discontent and anger, I've found, are draining emotions.  They tend to motivate -- in me at any rate -- disgust and paralysis.  No, these were not the emotions fueling my involvement in the campaign.

It was gratitude.  And a very specific gratitude.  Gratitude for my husband and our son.  Gratitude for my family.

Phone-banking was hard work.  You spent a lot of time talking to people who thought it was polite to tell you point blank that homosexuality is a sin.  Or people who thought you were nice enough, but your relationship really didn't contribute to society.  And so on.  What kept me going?  I had a framed color photograph of me and Göran and Glen sitting on the desk in front of me.  When things got tough, I looked at that picture and I remembered them, my love for them, my deep, deep gratitude that I had them in my life.  I remembered everything my husband has given me, which is everything that is really good in my life.  That's what kept me going.  And I knew at some deep, instinctual level, that if I had ever let slip that gratitude as the driving force in my activism, if I ever instead had focused on my frustration over all the people who didn't get it, or the absurdity of having to fight this kind of amendment in the first place, I would lose it.  We were, after all, behind in the polls most of the time I was volunteering.  I knew I would have slipped into discouragement and given up and gone home.  It was gratitude that kept me getting up and going back, time after time.

Within the past few months, I've been through what was, undoubtedly, the most personally grueling experience of my life -- a bike accident, concussion, and undetected subdural hematoma that could easily have left me dead one week before my 49th birthday.

I have permanently lost 8 hours of my life, 8 hours of memory that are a personal reminder to me of my brush with oblivion.  And I remember, when I finally became cognitively aware of what was happening to me, I was first aware of nurses gently moving me into a CT scanner.  And then later, a doctor (a rather hunky male doctor at that!) applying staples to my head to close the terrible gash above my right temple.  And I remember that my first conscious thought was, "Oh, I think I'm here because I almost died."  And then my response to that emergent awareness: Gratitude.  Thankfulness that I was alive.  Thankfulness that there were people here caring for me, doing their best to make sure I was OK.  And then, gazing over to my right, seeing my husband sitting by my emergency room cot with an expression of relief in his face that I was finally speaking coherently, and my son, with tears streaming down his face.  I remember thinking, "Glen, don't worry, I'm OK."  And I remember tears streaming down my own face -- tears of gratitude that my family was here by my side, that I had everything that really mattered to me right here: my life, my family.

Gratitude was not just a pointless, passing emotion here.  It became a source of boundless energy in the face of real danger.  It was a force for healing.  My gratitude kept me from panicking.  It kept me peaceful, open to my healers, open to my healing process -- a process which, after all, has required most of all patience.  Patience and gratitude go together.  Yes, gratitude does keep things "running smoothly," but not in a bad way.

And has gratitude turned me into a mindless zombie accepting whatever the status quo wants to dish out at me?  Not in any meaningful sense.  I've already described how gratitude turned me into a fighter for justice for Minnesota gay and lesbian families.

But gratitude has also become a teacher to me, a guide to what is right and wrong in my life.  One of the greatest moral struggles of my life has been trying to figure out what to make of the contradiction between the anti-gay teachings of the church I love -- a church I am deeply grateful for! -- and the love I feel for the man I have given 20 years of my life to.  And I discovered the first inklings of a resolution to that conundrum, in a prayer of gratitude to God.  As I knelt before God, in the early days of my return to the Church, I felt prompted by the Spirit to simply enumerate the things I was grateful for.  And so I began to list them: my testimony of the Gospel (I was grateful for this greatest of gifts, this compass that keeps me steady in my life), I was grateful for the atonement of Christ, grateful for my health, grateful for my work, and for a roof over my head.  More than for all of those other material things, I was grateful for my husband, who had been by my side in life, through thick and thin, even when I'd been a miserable jerk.  He'd stuck with me and loved me, and I'd loved him back and I was grateful for him.  And I felt the Spirit whispering to me, See all the good you have in your life.

It was then it dawned on me.  God saw my relationship with my husband, and God called it good.  It dawned on me, we can never really be grateful for sin.  We might enjoy sin.  We might use sin to get enjoyment.  But we are never really grateful for it.  In the end, sin blights our lives and leaves a bitter aftertaste in our throats.  The only gratitude we ever really experience in relation to sin is the gratitude for our redemption from it.  And the fact that I could feel genuine gratitude before God for my relationship with my husband, and that I could feel blessed by God in that gratitude had taught me an important moral truth.  And it taught me about the epistemological value of gratitude.

Yes, gratitude is a teacher.  I think that's the most fundamental meaning of the common-place saying that gratitude gives us a sense of perspective.

Don't mistake gratitude for complacency, or for compliance with convention.  Real gratitude is none of those things.  If you think gratitude means putting up with the demeaning of another single life anywhere in all of God's vast and good creation (including yourself), you've misunderstood the meaning of gratitude.

Gratitude has put fire in my bones, it's taught me about life, and it's literally saved my life.  So all I can feel in relation to gratitude is, well, gratitude.  It seems fitting to me that we have at least one day a year devoted it.

So whatever else you help yourself to this Thanksgiving, don't feel guilty.  Skip Black Friday, and have at least one extra serving of gratitude.  You'll be grateful you did!

On Walking Together

One day in my Religious Histories class, after I had spent some time discussing my faith as a Latter-day Saint, one of my students asked me which, in my understanding of faith, I felt weighed more heavily: adherence to principle or personal loyalty.

I thought it was a very insightful question.

Without hesitating, I replied: Personal loyalty.

As a young man, I almost certainly would have responded to this question very differently.  Maybe that's the definition of "idealism": to believe that adherence to principle must outweigh everything else, even interpersonal bonds or personal loyalty.

As I've matured, I've begun to realize that adherence to principle can only be righteous to the extent that our knowledge or our understanding of the principles in question is perfect.  And I've realized that I am far too imperfect, and my knowledge is too imperfect, to insist that my understanding of a principle is the understanding.  I have a great love of principle.  But I can't insist that others adhere to it as I understand it.  I've begun to realize that adherence to principle, in order to be righteous, must be viewed as a journey toward greater truth and greater understanding.  As we evolve in our understanding, and as we discipline ourselves (i.e., as we become more capable of adherence), our adherence to principle becomes more meaningful.

At the heart of my current understanding of faith is my very personal encounter with God.  As a result of my encounter(s) with God, I cannot think of God or my relationship with him in terms of abstract principles.  In fact, it feels disrespectful (sacrilegious?) to do so, having encountered and interacted with him as a real person.  God has communicated his love to me in very specific, very concrete, very personal terms; he has answered very specific questions; he has made very specific promises to me; and he has asked of me very specific things.  I have in turn made pledges of love, confessions, expressions of gratitude, promises.  And these interactions have not been a one time thing.  They're renewed on a regular basis -- potentially every time I get on my knees to pray.

God and I interact within history.  There are idiosyncrasies, peculiarities of the time and place in which I live that shape me as a person.  Even without the constraints of history, I am a unique individual.  God works with me, and responds to me individually and personally.  We have a mutual history, a past, present and future.

I can never make any sort of claim to know the mind of God beyond what I've learned from my interactions with him.  My interactions with God have taught me that God is far beyond my understanding.  I realize I am incapable of knowing the mind of God to the extent that I am not like him.  A major goal of my life's work is to become more like God, so that I can increase my capacity to absorb truth.

But in the meantime, my relationship with God must be grounded in trust and obedience.  I must trust that his knowledge and love are greater and more perfect than mine, and I am on occasion required to do things I don't completely understand based on trust.

(This is not, by the way, a blind trust.  It's a trust made possible by a personal history with God that has taught me he is trustworthy, that he truly loves me and sees further than I.

And, by the way, I don't expect that anybody take my word for anything in these matters.  My understanding of faith in terms of personal loyalty means I always refer people back to the Source: back to God.  If you have any question about any of this, don't talk to me about it.  Talk to God.  Get it from him.

That's my understanding of what missionary work is all about.  In popular parlance, we talk about missionaries converting people.  If that's what actually happens, then what we're talking about is a form of idolatry.  True missionaries refer people to God, and God does the converting.)

The most important thing I've learned from God is that everything I do in the world must be grounded in a very concrete, personal and specific love for myself and for my fellow beings.  My first and foremost obligation to you is to love you.

I'm not talking about the knuckleheaded kind of love in which I presume to know what's good for you better than you know yourself.  That's not love at all, that's just presumption and arrogance, though presumptuous, arrogant people go around calling this "love."  I'm not talking about the kind of love in which I see you as a means toward some end.  That's actually called objectification, and it's a form of abuse.  It's a sacrilege, it's a violation of the sanctity of the other.

I'm talking about the kind of love that involves the hard work of learning to understand you on your own terms; asking you questions and listening to your answers; interacting with you; knowing you.  All of this presumes that love is impossible outside the realm of personal relationships and personal loyalties.  Love requires a process of discovery.  Love is a journey.

I cannot love you unless I'm willing to stick with you for a significant amount of time.  So I have to make a commitment to you that transcends the typical vicissitudes of the normal human relationship.  My love for you means that, on occasion, I will have to be pissed off at you.  I will have to endure your imperfections.  But guess what?  It's mutual.  So you will, on occasion, be pissed off at me and will have to endure my imperfections.  Fortunately, outweighing the pissed off moments will be moments of delight as well, times when I am deeply grateful for you; when I learn and benefit from your strengths.  (And you from mine!)

We will, over time, learn deep gratitude and appreciation for each other. We will be delighted in each other's happiness.  We will hunger for some "greatest good" for the other.  We will honor the freedom and the choices of the other, because we will recognize that no "good" is meaningful without freedom.

This type of love requires a relinquishing, a letting go.  And this is why I must insist that in matters of faith and human relationships, personal loyalty must outweigh adherence to principle.  Adherence to principle over personal loyalty negates the learning process that is required for real love.  It requires efforts to achieve control that negate the freedom required by love.

*****

There have been some discussions over on Main Street Plaza about Mormons marching in LGBT Pride parades.  Some have expressed concern about whether Mormons who march in Pride fully understand the LGBT community, whether they fully support the aspirations of most LGBT people for equality.  Some seem to want to require that Mormons pass some principles-based litmus test if they wish to march at Pride, or they shouldn't be welcome.

What I've realized from these discussions is that different people have different understandings of the nature and meaning of Pride.

Some see Pride as a declaration of principle.  They therefore insist that in order to participate in LGBT Pride, you need to line up with LGBT principles.

Some, however, (myself included) see Pride as an expression of community.  From this perspective, we would insist that LGBT Pride should include all who want to be in community with LGBT people.

I would argue that the principle-based definition of Pride is problematic, in that it assumes that all LGBT people have the same goals, needs and agenda, and that they all agree on what principles they stand for.  A quick glance at the list of groups that march in Pride should belie that assumption.  At Pride you find bars and sobriety groups.  You find atheist groups and religious groups.   You find all stripes of political candidates and political groups that any given marcher may support or not support.

I would argue that an assessment of that diversity of principle within the LGBT community forces us to boil the core principle of LGBT Pride down to the principle of loving and supporting LGBT people.  That's why, so often, you see people at Pride carrying signs that say things like: "I LOVE MY LESBIAN DAUGHTER." I think in a very real sense, that is ultimately what Pride is all about.

Now Mormons who have marched in Pride have been doing in essence exactly what other marchers are doing, when they hold up a sign that says "LDS [heart] LGBT."  They're essentially saying: Wherever this journey takes us, we're committed to you.  We're committed to loving you.  So I don't understand why the good folks at MSP have issues with faithful Mormons marching at Pride...  Unless they have issues with faithful Mormons.

As I've made my case that this is about love, relationship and community, not principle, Alan at MSP has protested: surely everyone marching at Pride must agree to at least one rock bottom, core principle: namely, that homosexuality is not a sin.  Surely we have the right to demand that people believe in that or adhere to that, or they can't march at Pride.

I would agree with Alan only in the sense that in order to enter into any sort of journey with me, you need to be willing to surrender your proclivity to judge, your hunger to prioritize your theology or your principles over your relationship with me.  If you can do that, then you can walk with me, both figuratively and literally.  If you cannot: if you must judge, if you must insist on principles over loyalty, then you cannot.  Even if you walk with me physically, you are not really with me in this journey.

And -- by the way -- this is a fundamental Christian principle.  The ideal of "judging not," of "forgiving debts" is deeply embedded in the teaching and life of Christ.  It's deeply embedded in the kind of love that Jesus taught.  So in asking members of my faith to do this, I am actually inviting them to live their faith more deeply and more fully.  I am asking them to become more Christ-like.

I disagree with Alan in the sense that we cannot present a theological requirement.  We can't say: You must believe X, Y or Z in order to march with me.

Or rather, we can say it, we can demand it, but to do so undermines the possibility for growth that comes through human relationships, through love.  When I demand theological conformity, I injure your conscience and mine.  When I invite relationship, I invite growth.

I would much rather march at Pride with someone who believes homosexuality is a sin, but who is willing to suspend judgment in order to learn to know me as a human being, than march at Pride with someone who knows homosexuality is not a sin, but who is uninterested in me as a human being, and who is willing to sacrifice his relationship with me for some abstract principle.  I am wary of such people, even if they claim to be "on my side."

I know some folks will think I'm fuzzy headed.  I'm a believer who says belief is not of ultimate importance.  I'm a theologian who says theology cannot save us.  I'm making a principled argument against principle.  But the longer I have wrestled with the great questions in life, the more I have come to the conclusion that while all these things -- belief, theology, principle -- have their place, they can never trump real, concrete embodied relationships between human beings.  The value of belief, of theology, of principle is to clear away the obstacles that prevent us from loving wholeheartedly.  The minute they cease to do that, I say toss 'em.

With Paul, I affirm: prophecy (principle) will cease.  But love endures forever.

Buyers and Merchants Will Not Enter the Place of My Father

I've been reading the Gospel of Thomas lately. I love this text! It's become part of my "standard works," and I read it along with the other four canonical gospels. Arguably, it predates all of them. Scholars think it is at least as old as the oldest parts of the New Testament -- the oldest parts of the Gospel of Mark, and the Pauline Epistles. Thomas was a "sayings" gospel. Unlike the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, Thomas doesn't have a storyline to follow. It's just a collection of "sayings" of Jesus, recorded in seemingly random (and sometimes repetitive) fashion. Scholars think that the gospels of Matthew and Luke used another "sayings" gospel as a common source. That "sayings" gospel -- called "Q" by the scholars -- has been lost. But it seems likely that "sayings" gospels like Thomas and "Q" were the earliest written accounts of the ministry of Jesus.

A number of the sayings in Thomas are immediately recognizable as sayings that have been recorded in the canonical gospels. Others are similar to the canonical sayings, but with a bit of a different twist.

For example, in Thomas 64, we find a version of the parable of the wedding feast (compare Luke 14:16-24 and Matthew 22:1-10). In the Thomas version, the master sends his servants out to issue invitations to come to a banquet. In turn, each of the invited makes excuses, but all of the excuses in the Thomas version are a bit more mercenary: "Some merchants owe me money; they are coming to me tonight"; "I have bought a house, and I have been called away for a day"; "I have bought an estate, and I am going to collect the rent." As in the canonical versions of this story, the master then sends his servants to collect guests from among the poor in the streets. But then Jesus interjects the rather blunt moral: "Buyers and merchants will not enter the place of my Father."

The Thomas version contains a much more unambiguous condemnation of materialism and capitalism. Jesus here seems to be saying that people who are too concerned with wealth and material goods will simply be too distracted to pay attention to what is really important. They will simply miss or disregard the invitation to enter into God's kingdom. The Gospel of Thomas also includes two other parables that should be familiar to readers of the canonical gospels: the parable of the rich man who invested his wealth in building storehouses for all his produce and wealth, but then died the very next day (Thomas 63; Luke 12:16-20); and the parable of the merchant who sold all his wealth so that he could buy a single pearl (Thomas 76; Matthew 13:45-46). Both of these parables are about wealthy men, but in the first case, the man invests his wealth in building storehouses for his wealth, while in the second case, he gives up all his wealth for the "pearl". Both, again, are morality tales warning against the dangers of distracting wealth. It is better to give it all up for the sake of the pearl of the gospel.

But this morning it occurred to me that there is another layer of meaning in Thomas' story of the wedding feast than just a condemnation of materialism. "Buyers and merchants" are people who are obsessed with favorable exchange. They give only so that they can get in return; and they are usually trying to get more than they give, to play the vicissitudes of the market to maximum personal advantage. Much of Jesus' teaching promotes the opposite moral. Followers of Jesus should give without expectation of return or reward:

Give to every man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh away thy goods ask them not again.... For if ye love them which love you, what thank have ye? for sinners also love those that love them. And if ye do good to them which do good to you, what thank have ye? for sinners also do even the same. And if ye lend to them of whom ye hope to receive, what thank have ye? for sinners also lend to sinners, to receive as much again. But love ye your enemies, and do good, and lend, hoping for nothing again; and your reward shall be great, and ye shall be the children of the Highest: for he is kind unto the unthankful and to the evil. Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful. (Luke 6:30-36, emphasis is mine)

This willingness to give away without hope of receiving is linked in this teaching recorded in Luke with the qualities of mercy and kindness that God displays toward us. Even though the Luke account of this saying of Jesus includes the rubric "your reward shall be great," clearly the ethical thrust of this saying is that it is not for a reward that we should behave in such a manner, but to be "children of God." If God behaves in such a manner, then so should we, if we are his "children."

If we wish to be like Christ, and like our Father in Heaven, we should give, unconditionally, without expectation of return.

We should give up our expectations.

Unexpected Testimonies

Last night we had the latest in our monthly gay Mormon get-togethers. Seven of us gathered together at the home of one member of the group, and we put together an amazing taco bar. The only slightly awkward moment was just before we started eating. Someone new to the group, D., asked, "Will we say a prayer?" We took a quick poll to see if everyone in the group was OK with that. They were. So the person hosting offered a beautiful prayer, directed to "Our Heavenly Parents," giving thanks for everything that had conspired to bring us this food: the laborers in the fields, the sun, the rain, the earth, the hands that brought it to our table.

Over food we shared stories. We talked about family. Since there was a new person, there were lots of questions about coming out, and about reactions of Mormon family members to being gay, and experiences at BYU, and so on. The usual gay Mormon stuff.

At one point, a member of the group, J., shared an experience. This individual has sort of dropped out of activity in the Church. He feels very conflicted about his membership in the Church. One of his co-workers had approached him earlier that day, and had asked him: "You're a Mormon, right? So what do you think about that John Smith guy? Was he crazy, or a liar?" J. hadn't known how to answer that question. He actually stood there, sort of deer-in-headlights stunned for a minute or two. A customer interrupted their conversation long enough for him to think about it a bit. As he recounted the story to us, he realized that he really wasn't sure what he believed about Joseph Smith. It was a painful question for him. When the co-worker returned and they resumed their conversation, he replied to the effect that it just wasn't as simple as chalking Joseph Smith's career up to fraud or psychosis. "You still believe!" his co-worker taunted him. To J.'s chagrin, he realized that perhaps he did. He realized that voluntarily or not, he had just born a kind of testimony.

As one member of the group later put it, by virtue of being gay, our relationships with the Church are necessarily complicated. Her response to the story was to ask: Does this guy believe in the reality of "spiritual phenomena"? (Those were her words.) J. said, "No, this guy's an atheist." "Well then," she replied, "I guess in his mind Joseph Smith could only be one of those two things -- crazy or a liar." She expressed that she had questions and doubts about the Joseph Smith story. Maybe it didn't happen exactly the way we think it did, but perhaps there was something real in it too.

I shared my own journey with the Prophet Joseph Smith. I said that a major turning point for me was reading Fawn Brodie's No Man Knows My History. As I read her account of the martyrdom of the prophet, she described that moment when Joseph had crossed the Mississippi, and was getting ready to flee to points west. Knowing full well that he would probably not get out alive if he turned himself in, he did precisely that. He went back, and was taken to Carthage. When I began reading Brodie's book, it was at a point in my life where I took for granted that Joseph Smith must have been a fraud. But that part of his story worked its way into my brain. It bothered me. That was not, I was forced to conclude, the behavior of a fraud. The deeper I looked into the life of Joseph Smith, the more I saw ways in which his life had been marked and shaped by the divine. Joseph Smith was a deeply flawed man in significant ways, yes. But he was also a prophet of God.

Our story-sharing and conversation was heartfelt and real. People expressed doubt freely, people asked questions, people shared faith. It was one of the coolest conversations I've ever had. One member of the group who's been gathering with us is not Mormon. He was asked if he felt awkward listening in on such a very Mormon conversation, and he said something to the effect of, "No, not really. It's about faith. It's about stuff that we all have to deal with, one way or another."

After we broke up for the evening, I gave a member of the group, S., a ride home. He was curious about my yoga practice. I had mentioned earlier that my experience with yoga was very spiritual, and he wanted to know more about that. "How is yoga spiritual for you? Do you pray while you're doing yoga? What is it like for you?" I told him that I usually arrive at yoga practice early, and I often pray before class starts; and that I sometimes have had the experience of receiving revelation during yoga practice. I explained that one of the purposes of yoga is to help calm the mind and heart, to clear the mind of those inner voices, that constant chatter that goes on in our brains, and to open up and listen. That's why, I think, I often receive revelation while practicing yoga: because it helps put me in a posture of listening. Yoga also teaches you patience and endurance, and it teaches you to face stress and adversity with calm and strength.

I said I was grateful for all of these gifts which yoga gives me. But I told him it was the gospel of Jesus Christ that gave me understanding of who God is, and who I am, and the nature of my relationship to God. Without that, the rest could not be as meaningful to me. The gospel means everything to me.

I've been thinking a lot about President Monson's talk at the Sunday morning session of conference the last day or two. I shared some of it with the group. I loved that he used words like: "learning through experience," "thinking," "choosing," "striving," "seeking," and "finding."

D. talked about our intentions: how we can make mistakes along the way, but if our intentions are right, we'll always get back on track. "Maybe the branch in the path," he said, "is the path."

Amen.

Suppose...

"Suppose that in this community there are ten beggars who beg from door to door for something to eat, and that nine of them are imposters who beg to escape work, and with an evil heart practice imposition upon the generous and sympathetic, and that only one of the ten who visit your doors is worthy of your bounty; which is best, to give food to the ten, to make sure of helping the truly needy one, or to repulse the ten because you do not know which is the worthy one? You will all say, administer charitable gifts to the ten, rather than turn away the only truly worthy and truly needy person among them. If you do this, it will make no difference in your blessings, whether you administer to worthy or unworthy persons, inasmuch as you give alms with a single eye to assist the truly needy."

--Brigham Young, Journal of Discourses 8:12
as quoted in John A. Widtsoe, ed., Discourses of Brigham Young (Salt Lake: Deseret Book Company, 1941), p. 274.

"I Still Pray"

I occasionally cry in yoga practice.  I want to be a member of the Church.  I long for the completion that will come some day when I am finally a member; when my outward relationship with the Church reflects my inward faith and testimony.  And when I reflect deeply on such things, as yoga prompts me to do, I sometimes weep.  It's not a bad thing at all, actually.  The tears come along with a deep, deep comfort; a reassurance that this all will work out eventually.  It helps me find patience and hope and love.  It's a good thing.

I have a yoga instructor who's particularly sensitive to these kinds of moments.  And she'd noticed me crying through a couple of sessions and finally asked me if everything was OK.  So we ended up talking a bit about what was going on for me, and that meant explaining to her that I was both gay and Mormon.

Her eyes lit up.  "One of my best friends is gay and Mormon," she said.  She told me that he practiced yoga as well, in the same studios where we practice.  I asked what his name was, and when she told me, I realized I had already met him.  I had actually had some classes with him.

"I want you two to meet and talk," she declared.  "Sometimes he takes this class.  Next time he's here, I'll introduce you."

I told her that would be nice, and we sort of left it at that.

In the weeks after that conversation, I actually occasionally passed him by in the halls on the way to or from a yoga session.  I thought about introducing myself, but it just seemed kind of awkward.  I tried to imagine how I would start that kind of a conversation.  "Hi, I hear you're gay and Mormon!  So am I!"  Nope.  Way too awkward.  I had no idea what his Mormonism (or his gayness for that matter) might mean to him.  He might consider himself totally ex-Mormon, and might not really be interested in talking to someone who considers himself a believing/practicing (even if excommunicated) Mormon.  Neither our gayness nor our Mormon/ex-Mormonness necessarily meant we had a whole lot in common.  So we continued to pass each other in the halls from time to time without me approaching him.

But Monday he showed up in the yoga class that I have with this particular instructor who had wanted to introduce us.  And sure enough, after the practice was over, she said, "Hey, John, _____ is here today!  I want you two to talk!"

When I came out of the locker room, the instructor was sitting there chatting with him.  She introduced us, and then departed.

"Well," I smiled a bit sheepishly, "E. thinks we might have something in common worth discussing."

He smiled back.  "Are you an artist or a dancer?" he asked.

"Well, no," I replied.  OK, so our instructor hadn't told him why she thought we needed to talk.  And obviously he wasn't expecting that it might have anything to do with being either gay or Mormon.

I sort of put the ex-communicated gay Mormon thing on the table.  He smiled knowingly.  "Oh, OK!"

We ended up talking for about a half an hour.  I told him bits and pieces of my story, and he told me bits and pieces of his.  Eventually, I told him that I had been attending Church in my ward for the last six years.  That raised an eyebrow.  He asked me what it was that had gotten me going back to Church, and so I told him a bit about the spiritual experience I'd had at Sunstone years ago that set me in this path.  I talked about what it meant to me to face up to the fact that I had a testimony after all.

I wasn't sure how he would react to this.  Sometimes I've encountered a mixture of anxiety, defensiveness or even hostility from other gay ex-Mormons when I tell them that.  But I got none of that from him.  I told him what this means to me.  He talked about having a testimony, though he hadn't been to Church in many years.

"I still pray," he said, "just the way I was always taught."

"I stopped praying for many years," I said.

We continued to talk for a while about our respective journeys in life, and what we had learned.  There was a gentle, graceful spirit there between us as we spoke.  There was The Spirit.  I felt so grateful for this.  I felt so grateful for him, and for the quiet testimony born just in the fact that he still prays.

I spent the rest of the afternoon reflecting on this.  I reflected on the incredible way that our Heavenly Father takes care of us.  He does not under any circumstances abandon us, even when we've been abandoned by the Church.  I wondered how many of us there are out there who have been discarded or pushed away or left feeling there was no home for us in the Church any more, who had this kind of love and faith.

I think there will be a great, wonderful, terrible surprise for all of us in the end, when all things are finally revealed.

A Valentine's Day Message

This morning, I woke up and started work in the usual way.  I found some Valentine's Day gifts from my sweetheart waiting for me on my desk.

I am the luckiest man in the world!

Among other things, there was a CD with Stevie Wonder's "As" on it, and instructions to listen.

Here's a few lines from that beautiful song I wanted to share with all of you:

We all know sometimes life's hates and troubles / Can make you wish you were born in another time and space / But you can bet your lifetimes that and twice it's double / That God knew exactly where he wanted you to be placed / So make sure when you say you're in it, but not of it / You're not helping to make this earth / A place sometimes called hell / Change your words into truths / And then change that truth into love / And maybe our children's grandchildren / And their great grandchildren will tell / I'll be loving you until the rainbow burns the stars out in the sky...

I wish you all to find the love you all deserve, a love that inspires you as love has inspired me.

Why Even of Yourselves Judge Ye Not What Is Right?

I've been reading the New Testament lately. This time (this is something like my dozenth time reading it through from beginning to end) I've decided to read the gospels in order of composition -- at least, in so far as the scholars are able to discern order of composition. So I started with the Gospel of Mark, then moved to Matthew. I'm in Luke right now and then will move on to John. I'm also supplementing my reading of the four canonical gospels with other extra-canonical texts, like the Gospel of Thomas, the Secret Book of James, Dialogue of the Savior, the Gospel of Mary, etc. There's a book out, edited by Robert J. Miller, entitled The Complete Gospels that has a lot of these references together under one cover. This book includes a reconstruction of the so-called "Q" Gospel based on an analysis of the gospels of Matthew and Luke, and the so-called "Signs" Gospel based on a careful reading of the Gospel of John. Whether or not all of the assumptions these scholars made in creating these "reconstructed" gospels are correct or not, they make fascinating reading and are definitely useful.

The Complete Gospels provide new translations of the four canonical gospels, with footnotes that draw readers' attention to divergences between different available texts, highlight translation problems and provide historical or cultural context. The translation, the "Annotated Scholars Version," also represents an attempt to translate the gospels into idiomatic American English. So, for example, in Luke 12:59, what is translated in King James as "till thou hast paid the very last mite" is translated in the ASV as "until you've paid every last red cent." Despite having lost the solemn cadences of the King James version, this translation isn't obnoxious like the "Good News" translation, which sounds like a 1970s hippy version of the Bible. (Yuck! I can't bear that version.) The goal of the ASV translators was to tip off the readers when the original Greek is more edgy or colloquial (as it tends to be in the Gospel of Mark) or more eloquent and formal (as it tends to be in the Gospel of John), and it more or less works.

If you grew up like me never reading anything but King James, I highly recommend trying different translations, if only because I've found that it breaks me out of certain mental ruts. Sometimes a different translation of a familiar phrase will help me to see things I've never noticed before. Reading the ASV, there have been numerous occasions when I've been startled by a particular verse. I've found myself asking, "Does it really say that in the Bible?" I'll check it against the King James, and sure enough, it says that. But I'd never noticed it before, probably because I'd become so accustomed to reading the text in a certain way: to see certain words or phrases and ignore others. To see the text the way I'd been trained to see it. And the new translation bumped me out of the rut, and helped me to see words, phrases and meanings I'd never seen before, even having read it a dozen times.

*****

I experienced an example of this earlier today, in my study of Luke chapter 12. In verse 57, I found these startling words tumbling from the lips of Jesus, as he taught a rather unruly crowd on his way to Jerusalem:

Why can't you decide for yourselves what is right?

Say what?? That sounded like Jesus had just scolded the people for not thinking for themselves. And that didn't sound like anything I'd ever read in the Bible before.

So, as usual when I've stumbled across an odd turn of phrase in my ASV, I cracked open my King James to see what the seventeenth-century translators had made of this verse. (And to compare the ASV with the words I'd accustomed myself to reading!) I've used the KJV translation as the title of this post: "Why even of yourselves judge ye not what is right?" Sure enough, that sounds like Elizabethan English for "Why can't you think for yourselves?"

So the next question is, How can I have missed this every single other of the dozen or so times I've read the New Testament cover-to-cover?

When I examined it in context, it became obvious to me. This verse immediately precedes the following, which I'll quote in its entirety:

When thou goest with thine adversary to the magistrate, as thou art in the way, give diligence that thou mayest be delivered from him; lest he hale thee to the judge, and the judge deliver thee to the officer, and the officer cast thee into prison. I tell thee, thou shalt not depart thence, till thou hast paid the very last mite. (vs. 58-59)

Now, I've always read this passage rather literally. I'd always assumed that Jesus was here advising people to settle their disputes out of court. This passage had always sounded to me very similar to the Apostle Paul's admonition in 1 Corinthians 6: 1-8 that members of the Church should not sue each other. It also sounded to me something like Christ's teaching in 3 Nephi that "he that hath the spirit of contention is not of me, but is of the devil" (3 Nephi 11:29). I'd become so accustomed to reading these verses in that light, that my brain had more or less gone on auto-pilot as I approached the end of Luke chapter 12. I skipped right over the statement in verse 57, assuming that I already knew the moral of this story. It was the ASV that -- by throwing Jesus' words at me in a slightly different way -- had helped me to see what verse 57 actually said on its own merit, and in turn, to see the verses following in a dramatically different light.

Now, there's another curious verse earlier in this same chapter which should have prepared me to read verse 57 differently. It's a verse that has always somewhat troubled and annoyed me. It's the part in verses 13-15, where a man comes to Jesus and says, "Master, speak to my brother, that he divide the inheritance with me." Jesus' response: "Who made me a judge or a divider over you?"

Now, this sounds very similar to what Jesus says in verse 57. Essentially, Jesus is saying to this man, You need to learn to solve your own problems.

Jesus doesn't leave him entirely without advice. He follows his retort with an admonition about the dangers of covetousness -- of materialism. He drives the point home through the parable of the rich man who built a bigger barn, and thought he could now rest easy because of all his material possessions. "But God said unto him, Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee: then whose shall those things be, which thou hast provided?" (v. 20). And the moral: "So is he that layeth up treasure for himself, and is not rich toward God" (v. 21).

Now this is a powerful moral... And, again, that's what I'd always focused on in reading this section of this chapter of Luke. Those words "Who made me a judge or a divider over you?" always troubled me, because it ran contrary to the conventional view of Jesus among Christians. Most Christians believe that Christ is the ultimate judge of all of us. Wouldn't it be legitimate to turn to the Divine Judge incarnate in search of justice? Yet, here Jesus begins his teaching with the quip, You need to learn to solve your own problems.

So the discussion at the end of the chapter about settling with your adversary in the way before he takes you to the judge, I realized, is actually a kind of parable. Like all of Jesus' parables, it functions at multiple layers of meaning. On the one hand, this is indeed a teaching against covetousness, materialism, and contention. It is indeed a warning that if we can't find a higher road in the conflicts that naturally arise between us, the end result can be ugly. We can lose, and big time, when we fight each other rather than learn to make peace with each other. But, I also for the first time saw a different layer of meaning here.

This is actually also a parable about the dangers of surrendering one's personal moral judgment to an external authority. Jesus begins the teaching with an explicit statement: Why can't you learn to think for yourselves? The discussion of settlements and judges is actually a parable through which Jesus says, in essence, when you surrender moral judgment to an external authority, you become a prisoner. And you won't get out of prison till you've paid the very last mite (or as the ASV puts it, "every last red cent"). This is about the cost of regaining one's moral bearings, once one has surrendered one's judgment.

This runs so deeply contrary to the conventional image of God, in which we imagine that God despises independent thought. Here we see a Jesus who, twice in one chapter, demands that we solve our own problems and think for ourselves.

For Mormons, this shouldn't be shocking. We have a wealth of scripture that provides a corrective image of God; an image in which the central bone of contention between God and Satan hinges on the whole question of human agency. Satan was cast out because God insisted on a plan governed by human freedom. A plan in which we learn to grow and develop and think for ourselves.

There's a difference, of course, between thinking for ourselves and thinking only of ourselves. And it's precisely in this direction that Jesus points, when he accompanies admonitions to be independent with admonitions against contention and against materialism. The true way to spiritual maturity and independence is a way of putting others first, of accepting responsibility, of taking up one's cross. Luke 12 also contains a very interesting discussion in which Jesus acknowledges the difficulty of this way, when he says:

I have a baptism to be baptized with: and how I am straitened till it be accomplished! (v. 50)

(Compare with the ASV translation that puts it a bit more plainly: "I have a baptism to be baptized with, and what pressure I'm under until it's over!")

If Jesus was showing us the way forward into spiritual maturity, then this quote -- which might under other circumstances sound self-indulgent -- is his way of saying, This isn't easy.

But the way forward, if we take it, is a way of trust. That's what all these verses in this same chapter about sparrows and lilies of the field are all about. Jesus wants us to learn to judge for ourselves, to strive for moral discernment. But that doesn't mean we don't need to learn to trust in God in some very ultimate sense. In fact, the only way is to trust completely in God as provider. In other words to let go. That's the definition of faith.