What's Really Important

First of all, THANK YOU for all the well wishes I've received by text message, email and Facebook.

I wish I could tell you what happened to me in the last 24 hours, but I'm still drawing a blank.  I remember taking our foster son to the park to play with some friends.  I remember filing an application for an attorney.  I remember watching a video or two on the Far Between web site.  Apart from that, the first thing I really have any clear memory of in the past day was waking up in the emergency room at about 1 a.m., with my husband Göran and our dear friend Peggy by my side.

What I am told is that, around 5 p.m., some good Samaritan found me face down on a sidewalk, toppled over my bike, on the south side of a public park adjacent to our home.  I was covered in blood and had a major gash on my head which the doctors have since stapled together.  (Staples?  Really?  Actually, I have some vague memory of the doctor telling me he was about to staple my head.  But I don't remember much anything of the actual experience itself.)  The man who found me walked me home with my bike, and then I called my husband Göran on my cell phone.  Göran called the ambulance.  The stranger who found me stayed until help arrived, and wrote his name and phone number on a piece of paper before he left.  I'm telling you all this because this is what people told me happened.  I don't remember any of it at all, even though everyone assures me I was quite loquacious through the whole experience.

Our son Glen and his boyfriend Will had spent time doing vigil with Göran and our friend Peggy in the hospital.  (I think I remember Glen crying by my bed side.)  He and Will later went home to pick up our other foster son (who was staying with a next door neighbor) and keep an eye on him and put him to bed while Göran remained behind with our friend Peggy.

They did a CAT scan on me from head to toe.  (I vaguely remember being carted to the CAT scan machine, and being awkwardly moved by the nurses from the gurney to some pads in front of the machine.)  I had a concussion.  They discovered a cyst around my spleen, which at first they were going to hospitalize me for, and possibly do immediate surgery.  Further study of the CAT scans revealed, however, that the cyst was not accident-related, and was not as urgent as they thought.  Once I was awake enough to stand up, the doctor prescribed heavy-duty painkillers and said I could go home -- but ordered me to bed rest for the next week or two.

Trust me.  I'm horizontal typing this.

I was dreaming before I woke up.  In my dream, Göran and I had learned that we were going to be able to adopt our foster son.  I was also in some kind of process, petitioning my Stake to reinstate my membership in the Church.  Göran says I was talking virtually the whole time I was in the emergency room with them, though I don't remember any of this.  I was telling our friend Peggy about our trip to California, and the wonderful time we had at Circling the Wagons.  One of the first things I remember from waking up was saying: "I wish I weren't excommunicated from the Church."

I guess I could be dead.  I could be seriously incapacitated, or in a coma.  The doctors tell me my memories from the last 24 hours may or may not come back.

The first really strong emotion I felt was just gratitude.  Apparently I'm OK.  I woke up surrounded by family and friends, eventually learning of a barrage of well wishes and offers to help on Facebook.

I don't know if this will sound odd for me to say, but I woke up feeling the Spirit, reassuring me that I was cared for and everything would be OK.  I woke up knowing that life is precious, and that what is most precious in life is family, friends and faith.  I never felt abandoned by God.  If anything, I felt sustained by him.  I have one fleeting memory of flying through the air, and thinking that word: "sustained."

My wish not to be excommunicated is a wish to have my outward relationship with the Church rectified to match the inward relationship I feel with God.

I do remember a kind of darkness too, and thinking I was close to death, and thinking if death came now, I was ready.  Maybe even eager to see what is on the other side, because I trust it is marvelous.

But really, I have a son to raise now, and my husband isn't ready to let me go.  And I wept tears of joy realizing that we were still together as a family.  I was weeping when I woke up, at the thought of adopting our foster son.

I wanted to post a picture of myself, to prove to you all that I am all right.  I took a picture on my iPhone of me grinning, with gauze bandages wrapped around my head like some sort of turban.  I remember seeing it for the first time in a mirror at the emergency room, and -- still groggy -- saying something goofy like: "I look like one of those Jewish ladies in Miami."  Göran absolutely forbade my posting any such picture.  So you will have to take my word for it.  I am here grinning, happy to be still among you.

750

Seven hundred fifty is the number, in a new survey of individuals identifying as both LGBT/SSA and Mormon, who reported having spiritual experiences in which they were reassured by their Heavenly Father that their gayness was a good and intrinsic part of who they are.  This was 47% of a sample of 1600 respondents to an in-depth survey that covered information about early perceptions of sexual difference, sexual identity formation, efforts to cope with sexual orientation, and the role of faith in all of this.  Preliminary findings from the survey were presented by John Dehlin and Bill Bradshaw at this year's Sunstone Symposium.

That number made me feel much less alone.  I had a very powerful (and unexpected) experience of this nature in 1986 (as I've described in my spiritual autobiography).  For many years, I was the only person I knew who had had such an experience.  Gradually, over the years, I read of or encountered others who shared experiences of a similar nature.  I've encountered these types of stories often enough to realize that they are not uncommon.  Still, 47% out of a group of 1600 gay men and lesbians seemed like an astonishing number to me.

Any reckoning of the ultimate significance of this number, however, will need to account for the fact that 16% of survey respondents reported receiving spiritual confirmation that God rejected their homosexuality.  The apparent conflict highlights the challenges of validating spiritual experiences and evaluating them in a broad context.

The other presented data I found interesting had to do with respondents' reported levels of happiness and quality of life.  This is the first time I've seen the different relationship configurations of gay men and lesbians evaluated in this way.  Single or celibate gay men and lesbians reported the least happiness.  Gay men and lesbians in mixed orientation marriages reported the next lowest levels of happiness.  Gay men and lesbians in some sort of committed relationship reported quality of life slightly less than healthy heterosexual married individuals.  Gay men and lesbians who were legally married reported levels of happiness comparable to or even slightly higher than healthy, married heterosexuals.

What I thought noteworthy about this is the fact that while, on average, gay or lesbian individuals in mixed orientation marriages reported lower quality of life than gay or lesbian individuals in committed same-sex relationships or in same-sex marriages (or, for that matter, married heterosexual individuals), they were still happier than single/celibate gays and lesbians.  This is logical, when one considers the fact that needs for human touch and companionship will be fulfilled even in a less than ideal marital relationship.

This data confirms the observation that the Church's recent emphasis on celibacy as the only acceptable option for gay and lesbian individuals is unlikely to deter individuals from entering into mixed orientation marriages.  Since the Church's emphasis on singleness/celibacy for gays and lesbians effectively consigns them to the most stressful and unhappy life status, no one should wonder why, if gay individuals don't opt for a mixed orientation marriage, the vast majority eventually end up leaving the Church if a same-sex relationship is an option.

I think these data also beg the question: If singles (gay and straight) are the most unhappy of these demographic groups, how have we as a Church/society failed singles?  These are the individuals that demand our most serious and immediate attention.  What can we do to address this problem?  Are our families, Churches and social groups configured in such a way as to create or exacerbate the unhappiness measured in this survey?  And if so, what do we need to do to change that?

Finally, these data speak to the question of why legal relationship recognition in the form of full marriage equality matters.  Based on the data that was presented, it's impossible to know conclusively why legally married same-sex couples reported higher levels of happiness than same-sex couples who were only in extra-legal committed relationships.  Is it because commitment in the form of marriage offered a greater sense of security and stability in the relationship?  Is it because gay couples who are legally married are more likely to live in states where society treats them as equals?  Whatever the case, it seems to me that any commonwealth that claims to be concerned about the well being of all its citizens, needs to consider the impact that denying marriage rights will have on the health and well being of its gay citizens.

Parenthetically, it's worth considering the implications of this data about quality of life and happiness for religious beliefs about homosexuality.  Religious opponents of same-sex relationships have always argued that a lifetime of diminished happiness is a small price to pay for exaltation in eternity.  Regardless of what the data say, in other words, we still have to wrestle with larger questions about the meaning of suffering, and the relationship between holiness and happiness.

I think it's worth noting that I did experience an increase in personal happiness after I found and made a commitment to my life partner, Göran.  However, I feel like my level of happiness in life increased even more dramatically after I opened myself up to wrestling with what my testimony of the Gospel and of the LDS Church meant to me as a gay man, and after I started attending Church and applying Gospel principles to my life.  Our decision to get legally married and the personal satisfaction I've derived from getting married are connected to my faith.  In other words, I am happy to the extent I am able to live a life of integrity and wholeness -- in my relationship with my husband, as well as in my relationship with God and with my community of faith.

None of the data presented by Bro. Dehlin and Bro. Bradshaw free us of the responsibility of wrestling with difficult questions.  Data never just speak for themselves.  All the same, it is helpful to have data.  With or without the data, we still have to wrestle with the questions of meaning.  But it is better to wrestle with these questions in the presence of good data, than with no data or bad data.  I've personally wrestled with a lot of these questions, and I've for the most part found resolutions to the most troubling questions, and Bro. Dehlin's and Bro. Bradshaw's data offered me some helpful perspectives on my own experience.

The Road Home

One of the earliest, hardest lessons I had to learn as a kid was taught to me by my Grandmother. I was a young child, and I'd just come smack up against some terrible perceived family injustice. I complained loudly, "THAT'S NOT FAIR!" And Grandma replied calmly, "Life's not fair." That was quite a painful revelation for my child's brain to try to process.

In some sense, it's taken me a lifetime to process it. There are various ways that we try to do that. We can reject the unfairness. We can fight it. We can devote our lives to fighting wrongs. Or we can feel overcome by it. We can feel sorry for ourselves. Or we can find some level of acceptance of the reality of it, and build our lives in the crannies and crevices of an unjust social order.

My next major lesson about the unfairness of life I learned as a teenager in Ms. Kunz's eleventh grade Social Studies class. We learned about the study that had played a pivotal role in the Supreme Court decision abolishing segregation in 1954 (Brown v. Board of Education). Little black girls, when asked to choose between light-skinned dolls and dark-skinned dolls, preferred the light-skinned dolls, because they were more "beautiful."

I think all decent people, when the reality of that study sinks in, can't help but be revolted by the implications. That study made so painfully clear that these little black girls, in rejecting dark-skinned dolls as "ugly," were rejecting themselves. So that study made crystal clear the full extent and nature of the damage done by American racism. We realized that a racist system didn't just affect us in our outer life, in our social relations, in the realms of economics and law. It touched us in the most sacred realm of our inner life, in our conceptions of ourselves as superior or inferior, as beautiful or ugly. It touched us in our ability to love ourselves, or to love our neighbors as ourselves. And once the full implications sunk in, America was never the same again. Decent people could not, would never accept the old compromises that relegated human beings to inferior statuses.

Social unfairness is most profoundly unfair because it distorts our image and our understanding of ourselves.

So, when I witness confusion like that expressed here by Andrew, I am not surprised, though I am still saddened. No, there's not a single gay or lesbian person who, at some point, didn't have to come face to face with this reality, as he put it: "It doesn’t matter if you’re celibate; you’re still failing. It doesn’t matter if you’re in a gay relationship; you’re still failing. It doesn’t matter if you adopt or otherwise have children; you’re still failing." So many of us have had to wrestle this sense that there is something profoundly, irreparably wrong with us that we can't fix, and that makes us a colossal failure, a disappointment, a freak.

When I confronted it myself fully, honestly and completely in the spring of 1986, the result was near suicide. I happen to know there's no way out of that pit that anyone ultimately can offer you. There's some profound existential sense in which we face that demon alone. Others can try to point to you a way out, a way forward, but you might be blind to it. You have to see it -- and take it -- for yourself.

What it took time and maturity and much struggle in a dark night of the soul for me to realize was that even my psyche -- even my ego, my image of myself -- was not the most sacred, most inner part of me. There is a me that is purer, more sacred, more eternal than that part of me that can be distorted by social inequities. There is an inner kernel of me -- the true me -- that cannot be sullied, that cannot be touched by these things. It is that part of me that is closest to God, that recognizes itself as a child of God; that knows its inherent worth; and that motivates me to live my life with dignity and with compassion. It is that part of me that enables me to forgive first myself and then others, and then engage in the all important work of healing the injuries sustained in a world that is just not fair.

Many of us are motivated in the work of justice by anger. We're still rebelling against the unfairness of an unjust social order. But we haven't necessarily healed those deep wounds yet within ourselves. So we fight instinctively out of fear or rage. Eventually, we burn out.

But some of us have come through to that deeper place.

I won't give up, and I'm finding an inner strength that I recognize won't burn out. Because for me this is no longer about anger or fear, or about the self-doubt that is the product of social distortion. Yes, I'm still healing from some of those wounds. Perhaps the healing process won't ever be 100% in this life. But for me, this new struggle is about love.

What has most helped me access that inner wellspring of truth, beauty, justice and love? My husband. Our son. Our family. The struggles, pains, and challenges of a shared life have granted me insight into and access to those most powerful, ancient magics.

Somehow, it's easier for me to see the inherent beauty, purity and dignity of the human soul reflected in others. When I'm comforting my son because something someone said at school deeply injured him, wounded his ego, I see his inner beauty, his deep, inherent worth -- the worth that no one can give and no one can take away. That's the part of him that I see, that I speak to when I comfort him. That's the part of my spouse that I see, that I speak to, when he comes home after a really rough day at work and feels too tired and too discouraged to go on any longer.

There's nothing that anyone can say any more that can take this insight away from me. What I am, all the things that are a core part of me, I know to be good, because that is the part of me that God sees, that God speaks to when God comforts me. I know that my capacity for intimate love is part of that core part of me because it is also through that intimate love between me and Göran that I am able to access that deepest, purest, best most beautiful part of myself.

So I'm in this marriage fight for the duration. You all can keep trying to strip me of my dignity, tell me something's wrong with me, something's broken, I'm a freak, my love is unnatural. That I ought to be locked up in a concentration camp till I die. All the things the world tells me every day. Whatever you do to try to make me less than you, mars your own soul. It contributes to the distortion that keeps you from becoming everything you possibly can be. I owe it to myself, and I owe it to you to try to be better than that.

Can Mormon Theology Accommodate Same-Sex Marriage?

Speculation on this matter seems to be cropping up more and more lately in the world of the interwebs. Once upon a time, this was a very important question to me.

I should note, parenthetically, that whether folks have argued pro Mormon theology accommodating same-sex marriage or con, it's all speculation. So periodically, you get someone launching off on a long-winded explanation as to why Mormon theology cannot possibly ever accommodate same-sex marriage. These kinds of arguments are made both by Mormon anti-gay apologists as well as by gay anti-Mormon activists, by the way. But this is as much speculation as the theological forays of those gay-friendly and gay Mormon apologists who want to argue that, yes, indeed, Mormon theology can accommodate same-sex marriage.

The thing is, "theology" does not hold an elevated place in Mormonism. We don't have theological seminaries, and we therefore don't have scholars on the payroll of the Church who specialize in theology. We do occasionally have General Authorities who poke fun at the idea of high theology. For Mormons, theology really doesn't matter much. What matters is doctrine. And, while some folks want to make a big fuss about the problems involved in determining what Mormon doctrine properly speaking is, I think most will agree that Mormon doctrine finds its living embodiment in the teaching of living prophets, seers and revelators, and in the policies and procedures of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

So what theology we have is, more or less, amateur theology, and it doesn't carry any weight at all in the Church. Theology is used -- by amateur Mormon theologians -- to rationalize or justify or apologize for a particular point of view in relation to Mormon doctrine. And this is as true of someone who wants to argue that Mormonism can never accommodate same-sex marriage as it is of those who argue that it can and must. Every Mormon knows that a new revelation from God could change the entire doctrine and practice on this subject; and every Mormon should know that human speculation regarding the mind and will of God on any particular subject is risky business.

I recognize I'm in a precarious place here. I am excommunicated from the Church, and so officially I remain under judgment and subject to the discipline of the Church. I love the Church and have a testimony (I have an amazing testimony!), and I do the best I can to obey as many rules of the Church as I can. But I also remain committed to my life partner.

I've done my best to make the right decisions in life, and I freely acknowledge that I've made many bad decisions. But there is no doubt in my mind, heart or soul that my decision to seek out and find and commit to and love my husband is one of the best decisions I've ever made. It is a decision I made after much searching, prayer and fasting, and after seeking and receiving guidance from my Heavenly Father. So there is no doubt in my mind that it was the right decision. So people can take that for what it's worth.

I've tried to avoid the temptation to speculate about what all that means. All the same, even if you eschew theology, you can't help but have some kind of internal theology; a kind of spiritual worldview based on your personal struggles, questions, and experience. So, for what it's worth, here's my "theology" on this subject. It's based on two scriptures and on personal experience.

First scripture:

And the Lord God said, It is not good that the man should be alone (Genesis 2:18)

Second scripture:

For the body is not one member, but many. If the foot shall say, Because I am not the hand, I am not of the body; is it therefore not of the body? And if the ear shall say, Because I am not the eye, I am not of the body; is it therefore not of the body? If the whole body were an eye, where were the hearing? If the whole were hearing, where were the smelling? But now hath God set the members every one of them in the body, as it hath pleased him. And if they were all one member, where were the body? But now are they many members, yet but one body. And the eye cannot say unto the hand, I have no need of thee: nor again the head to the feet, I have no need of you. Nay, much more those members of the body, which seem to be more feeble, are necessary: And those members of the body, which we think to be less honourable, upon these we bestow more abundant honour; and our uncomely parts have more abundant comeliness. For our comely parts have no need: but God hath tempered the body together, having given more abundant honour to that part which lacked: That there should be no schism in the body; but that the members should have the same care one for another. (1 Corinthians 12: 14-25)

My personal experience is that being gay is an intrinsic aspect of who I am, and always has been. God has reassured me that he knows this about me, because he knows how I am woven together; he knows me from my inmost parts. And he has reassured me that I may rest in the knowledge that this aspect of me is good, that it has a purpose, and that I just need to trust in him.

This for me is about the sum of it. It is good for me to have a life partner, to not have to walk alone through life. I have a place in God's plan; I am part of the body. My family, my relationship with my partner, has a valuable place in my extended family, and as part of my extended, extended family of all God's children. No other part of the body has a right to say to me that I (that we) don't belong, that I (that we) don't have a place. And God's creation in me is good. It has an end and a purpose. God has a valuable role for me as a member of his family, and God has blessed my and Göran's efforts to care for one another and for others.

I have yearned for detailed answers, for theological answers to the questions related to my faith as a Latter-day Saint, and to being gay. But what I've learned is that it is more important for me to have patience and to have trust and to have compassion.

And I suspect that the Church as a whole will not receive more satisfactory answers to these questions until we have, as a Church, learned more of those virtues of patience, trust and compassion as well.

It Is Not Good for Man to Be Alone

I was having a conversation the other day with an individual in the Church whom I respect and admire. We were discussing my status in relation to the Church. I expressed my profound desire to be a member of the Church. I talked about my testimony, how I know that the Church is true, and how I am blessed by that knowledge.

In fact, prior to having this conversation, I had experienced a renewal of my testimony in sacrament meeting. I had been attending church with my friend Mary, who was baptized in January of last year. And throughout the meeting, and as I listened to talks on the subject of baptism and the gift of the Holy Ghost, I felt the Spirit sweetly present. But it was more than just a feeling of perfect peace and joy and anticipation. I had the experience I've had on occasion which is actually sort of indescribable, but can best be described as an experience of light. And the Spirit was there reminding me that the Church is true, God is real, and there is a light and a truth and a power beyond any we can imagine, guiding us in the strait path, and waiting to receive us if we stay in it. And the Spirit was also calming my doubts, and reassuring me that I am in that path, that I need only be patient and carry on.

I told this friend with whom I was conversing of my profound gratitude for my testimony. I told him I regard my testimony as my greatest gift. But after my testimony, the second greatest gift in my life, a gift that is as much from God as my testimony, is my relationship with my husband.

I have also recently, experienced a renewal in my relationship with my husband. I realize that my relationship with my husband is much like my testimony, in that both require nurture and renewal. My testimony represents my relationship with God, in much the same way as my wedding ring and other tokens like the marriage certificate hanging on our bedroom wall represent my relationship with my husband. Göran and I have been working in the past month or so on some aspects of our relationship that needed improving. It's easy for our behavior in our significant relationships to get into a rut, for us to take certain things for granted, when in fact we can't do that at all. And in every relationship, we go through periods, as we do in life in general, when sometimes we just slide along with old habits, thinking that is enough. And then we realize it isn't enough, and we need to strive and try to do better. And Göran helped me to realize recently that some striving was necessary. And as I've made efforts, there's been a renewal of affection and closeness and happiness in our relationship. It's renewed my "testimony" of my relationship, if it's possible to think of it in those terms. I realize that there is a richness and a goodness in my relationship with Göran that is life-giving and sustaining and that God intends for me and Göran. This relationship is a vehicle through which God gives both of us, his sons, blessings that he intends and wants for us.

I explained to the friend with whom I was conversing that I understood the apparent contradiction between these two things -- these two gifts, these two testimonies. I understood that in relation to the yearning I had expressed to be a member of the Church, there were only two possible paths forward, two possible ways for me to become a member of the Church. One would be that I outlive my husband long enough to be readmitted to the Church as a celibate, single person. The second would be that the Church receives a revelation enabling a transformed understanding of gay and lesbian people and our place and role in the family of our Heavenly Father.

This friend acknowledged that such a revelation was possible, but he felt it was extremely unlikely. I could tell by the way he made that statement that he truly could not conceive of a scenario in which the Church would acknowledge and bless a relationship like the relationship between me and my husband. But I also realized that this individual thought of gay and lesbian relationships primarily in sexual terms, as a sort of giving in to sexual temptation. He doesn't have the experience I have of a relationship that is multidimensional, that is about companionship, intimacy, growth, learning and sacrifice. There is a biblical term that perfectly describes what Göran and I are to each other: help meet. There is a biblical principle that explains why, after much soul-searching, I realized that it was not just unnecessary but wrong for me to be required to go through life single. It is not good that man should be alone.

We should not be alone in any sense of that word. We should not be excluded from the communion, from the loving embrace of the Church. When the Church excludes, it fails in the purpose for which God created it. If we have a desire to build the Church and Kingdom of God, we are called to join. And the only question the Church has to ask at that point is: "See, here is water, what doth hinder... to be baptized?" (Acts 8: 36) Nor should we be excluded from the blessings of family, of intimate connection and relationship that are the core of family. Family, with its joys and sorrows, its celebrations and struggles, with all the work and growth it requires of us, goes hand in glove with the communion we are all meant to experience as members of the Church. No one in the Church sees the slightest contradiction between their commitment to their families and their commitment to the Church. The two reinforce each other. They work together.

And that's how I see it too, with my family.

I realize, after six years of "living the gospel," that there is no contradiction. I experience no contradiction. There is perfect, mutually reinforcing harmony between my faith, my love for God, my hope, my love for my partner. It's all the rest of you out there who think there's a problem. You who think I should quit the Church because it has no place for me; you who think I should quit my partner because the Church has no place for us. But that's your problem. It's not my experience.

I love and respect and am grateful for this friend of mine in the Church. We prayed together, and he used his priesthood power to lay his hands on my head and bless me. And I literally could feel the power of the priesthood as he laid his hands on my head, and I wept. So understand my love and my respect.

I think he could not imagine a Church in which my relationship with my husband would be blessed, partly because -- for all his goodness -- he simply doesn't understand my relationship. He thinks of it in terms of sexual temptation. He doesn't understand yet that the sexual aspect of my relationship with Göran is not unlike the sexual aspect of his relationship with his wife, i.e., one element in a multidimensional relationship that plays an important role in a much bigger picture.

In the Church people use the term "same-sex attraction." Usually that really annoys me, because it typically gets used in a way that implies that in relationships like mine, there's nothing but sexual attraction. That distortion of my relationship in that way is necessary to justify the extreme rejection and exclusion of gay relationships. But the principle of attraction -- of sexual attraction -- is a divine principle. I think the idea of sexual attraction is perfectly described by the biblical phrase one flesh. Attraction draws together what God intends to be together. It unifies what was once separated. There's a reason God put this yearning deep inside of us, and made it so powerful that it is, over the long haul, almost impossible to resist. Because without the laws of attraction, there would be only centripetal forces pushing us apart into our own separate, selfish worlds. God needed there to be a centrifugal force drawing us back together, keeping us in tension between our own selfish needs and desires and our hunger for oneness. Out of this tension is born the struggle and growth and miracle of family. It is our attraction that keeps us coming back and trying again, even when things get tough, even when we fail.

I think if we reflect on the reality of relationships like that between me and my husband Göran, it becomes harder and harder to think of such a relationship as at odds with the Gospel. The illusion of irreconcilable contradiction -- along with the assumption of the need for exclusion -- becomes harder and harder to sustain.

My Body

I've been practicing yoga now for almost two months. In addition to participating in the classes (and practicing postures and breathing on my own), I've been reading a book by a teacher/practitioner that has allowed me to learn more about the philosophy and spirituality undergirding the physical practice.

I'll say at the outset that my practice of yoga has been a profoundly spiritual experience. I have had a number of startling and powerful spiritual experiences, on the mat, in the classroom. And my practice of yoga has also deepened my prayer life and my spirituality off the mat, in my personal prayer life and in my day-to-day living.

I'll also add that I see a broad correspondence between the fundamental principles of yoga and Latter-day Saint teaching/belief. Mormons are profoundly committed to the principle of the fundamental unity of spirit and body. We recognize that "the spirit and the body are the soul of man" (D&C 88:15) and that "spirit and element inseparably connected, receive a fullness of joy" (D&C 93:33). Yoga honors this connection between the physical and the spiritual. And it links the physical practices to spiritual principles, the "Yamas" and the "Niyamas." The physical practices are intended to develop the kind of discipline and spiritual insight that will better enable the five moral restraints of nonviolence, truthfulness, nonstealing, moderation and nonhoarding (noncovetousness?), and the five observances of purity, contentment, zeal/austerity, self-study and devotion to God. I have found yoga as a discipline has been helping me to clear away many physical and mental and moral distractions that inhibit my prayer life and interfere with my ability to live the teachings of the Church. It has granted me greater insight into some of my own limitations, and has offered me a format for working on those limitations, and thereby deepening my love and commitment to my Savior and my Heavenly Father. So for me, yoga has actually provided me some spiritual tools to deepen my faith as a Latter-day Saint.

Yoga has been doing that partly by teaching me about my relationship with my own body. This has been invaluable to me. I have begun to experience some incredible healing of deep, deep injuries in the intersection between physical and spiritual.

For instance, one of the first things I became aware of through the practice of yoga was how my everyday posture was fundamentally fearful and protective. I began to realize that I walk and sit and stand in a way that is sort of drawn into myself, hunched over. Head down, shoulders drawn in, slightly bent forward. I've always sat with my legs tightly crossed, my hands or arms crossed. As if my whole life I've been trying to make myself smaller and less visible; and as if I've been trying to cover or protect my vitals. Standing up tall with my spine at its full height, with my head high and my shoulders back, I realized, has always made me feel vulnerable, so I've basically spent my whole life ducking, trying to avoid being seen.

The physicality of yoga has brought me in touch with something else more fundamental and profound. I've always had an aversion to sports, to physicality. I've never liked sports -- either watching or playing sports. And though I've always enjoyed physical exercise, I have never engaged in the kind of discipline that would actually build physical strength. Yoga does that. In two months of practicing yoga, I am slowly finding myself able to accomplish certain physical feats I never would have dreamed possible. I am finding my body has physical strength and flexibility I never dreamed I could have -- even when I was twenty-five years younger! And for the first time ever in my life, yoga is putting me in touch with the power of my physical body.

This, I realized, is what I've spent much of my life protecting myself from, hiding from. I was afraid of my own body, and the power in my body. I was afraid of the sexuality that was connected to that physicality and that strength. And I'm beginning to be aware of the distortions that that fear created. Because we can try to hide from our physicality, but it won't go away. And if we're hiding from our physical selves, we're not developing a healthy relationship to our physical selves.

So, for instance, I've always, since teenager-hood, struggled with masturbation. I honestly don't think the masturbation was a bad thing. It was the one connection I really had to my own physicality, my physical body. And I think at some level, through masturbation I was trying to figure myself out, figure out the link between the spiritual and the physical. It was also, I now realize, a way of closing myself off from what seemed very threatening and frightening to me: relational sexuality. I've always felt like, in or out of relationship, I had to have this private sexuality, this private relationship with my own body.

But as I've developed my yoga practice, I've found the urgent need I'd always felt for masturbation sort of evaporating away. I don't know how to say it other than that I find myself developing a different kind of relationship with my body, as I've begun to appreciate the goodness and power and strength inherent in my body. I don't know how to describe it other than to say that I feel like I'm finally furnishing the house of my body and fully living in it, and it feels very, very good. It's enabling me to let go of physical compulsions and anxieties and just be me. I feel like I'm really breathing for the first time ever.

And that's another example... My asthma is going away. Maybe it's just that the breathing exercises in yoga are expanding my lung capacity, so the asthma affects me less? I don't know. But I am breathing more fully and deeply than I ever have before in my life. And that alone feels like a physical miracle to me.

Yoga probably isn't for everyone. I'm not necessarily recommending it to everyone. I think what is fundamental is finding some kind of practice that permits us to deepen our relationship with our physical bodies. Last night, I met with my gay Mormon Family Home Evening Group, and D. was saying how important dance had been to him as a way of exploring that physical/spiritual connection. So people might find that connection through dance, or football, or whatever.

But I am incredibly grateful that I have found that connection, that I am finding that connection and continuing to deepen it and learn from it. It's not something I have to force myself to do, like going to the gym. Going to the gym was a chore. But this I hunger for, and I am incredible grateful for.

Yoga

About a year or so ago, a friend of mine persuaded me and Göran to take a yoga class with her.

It was actually this amazing (and kind of emotional) experience for me. At the time, I almost published a blog post about it but ended up not publishing it because of a lot of conflicted thoughts and emotions I had about it.

A key point in the experience was where the instructor told us to clear our minds of everything in the past and everything in the future, and to just be present, here, in the now. In the moment he told us that, however, I was very aware of how important, as a believing Mormon, the interrelated concepts of memory, history and the past are. What flashed through my mind was an awareness of all the times in scriptures where the Lord admonishes the faithful to "remember": remember their covenants, remember their history, remember who they are. Everything that I am, everything that matters to me, I thought, depends on my ability to stay grounded in memory. So I wasn't sure I could allow myself to do what the instructor was asking me to do. It was an emotional moment. I think I started to cry.

Despite my emotional issues, the experience was amazing. It definitely pushed me to my physical as well as emotional limits. In fact, I'm sure the fact that I was being pushed to the edge physically had something to do with the emotions I was feeling. I did as many of the exercises as I could. I spent a fair amount of time in the "child's pose," the position we were instructed to take if we were too tired or felt unable to try some of the more advanced positions. The instructor was really incredible. He was great about creating an environment in which it was OK to try and fail. His whole approach was, Maybe you won't be able to do this position, or hold it very long, but there's nothing lost in trying. Occasionally, he would come by and gently reassure me by placing his hand on my back, or helping me with a particular posture. And always reminding us to focus on our breathing... Really important in yoga.

It was definitely this intense experience that I had a longing to repeat, even though I wondered if the "philosophy" that was being presented in class was compatible with my faith as a Latter-day Saint. I've given it a lot of thought on and off in the intervening year.

That was my one and only experience with yoga until yesterday. A member of my gay Family Home Evening group was encouraged by a friend from his ward to take a yoga class with her, and he became hooked. So he's been pestering me to try yoga again with him. We took a "sculpt" class yesterday -- very physically rigorous.

This time, there was no talk from the instructor of letting go the past or the future. Just a work out. She was basically just telling us what to do, what physical postures, what moves, etc. It was kind of a combination of yoga and an aerobics class. Still, there came a point -- especially as I was beginning to reach my physical limits -- where I found my thoughts naturally gravitating toward my life, and big questions about who I am, and what I really desire in life. A funny thought came into my head, mostly focused on how exhausted I was starting to feel, and how some of my muscles were started to feel fatigued or achy. I thought, "This is sort of what it's like being a gay Mormon." I mentioned it to J., on the mat beside me, and he sort of smirked, we both sort of laughed a bit. But at the same time, the thought triggered deeper emotions. I was aware of everything I am, and everything I desire deeply, including full acceptance and inclusion in the Church. And I started to cry again.

I do think, however, I've found a kind of resolution to the whole issue of being "fully present" versus the importance of "remembrance." I think there is a way in which memory is only necessary within the realm of the temporal. Memory is important to us now. Memory is important because there is a now that is somehow separate from past and future. But, as best I understand, the scriptures also make clear that God inhabits a realm in which there is neither past, present, nor future; in which all things are present. And as I have come to understand it (partly through the experience I had yesterday), this is the realm we were being invited to enter by my yoga instructor a year ago. I was being invited to be present with the me that just is; the me I have become; and not the me that is filtered through my intellect. In the day-lit conscious mind, there is an ego constantly trying to living up to some expectation of myself, there is an ego holding on to certain ideals of how I see myself and how I would like others to see me. And this ego, for the most part, is far too limited; our conscious will and desires too often hold us back from our full potential. As far as I can tell, much of God's involvement in history has been to try to break down human ego. (That's what the whole concept of repentance is about.) So I understand how it is necessary to try to free ourselves from that, from ego. And one way to do that is to spend time grounding ourselves not in a mundane now, but in a transcendent now that is the totality of everything we were, everything we are (in the mundane now) and everything we will be in the future; in the same transcendent Now that is present always to God. Spending time reflecting on that wholeness, and reflecting on the ways I already abide in it is a powerful thing, something I've decided I really need to do more often.

Remembrance is important. It has to do with the fact that we are related -- connected -- to God, to all our brothers and sisters, to every living soul, to all creation -- which the concept of covenant holds. Yes, we must remember our covenants in the time-bound realm. But in the eternal realm, we are our covenants. When we enter into the realm of completion, where we have become, there's no more need to remember.

There was a point, yesterday, at the end, where the instructor invited us to pray. And I did, freely and joyfully. This yoga class was this amazing experience, and something I've decided I want to participate in regularly.

I'm going again this afternoon!

Given for a Principle

As part of my daily scripture study today, I read D&C section 89, "The Word of Wisdom." In verse three -- at the end of the preamble written by the prophet -- I was particularly struck by the phrase "given for a principle." The Saints usually focus on the phrase "principle with promise"; we usually focus on the health benefits that come from following the injunction to avoid alcohol, nicotine and caffeine. But it seems to me that the prophet invited the Saints to look at this revelation as more than just a health code; to see the social, moral and spiritual principle underlying it. So this time around, I read it to see if there was a larger pattern that might be applied in other areas of our lives.

The beginning of the revelation proper is verse four, which warns against "evils and designs which do and will exist in the hearts of conspiring men in the last days." The revelation then proceeds, in verses five and following, to discuss a series of products and their healthy and proper uses. The evils and designs at issue have to do with the ways in which American capitalism subordinates all human values to the profit motive; how it exploits human needs and desires by fostering addictive behavior; how it uses clever techniques to create extraneous needs and desires, to persuade us that we want things we don't in fact need at all and that may in fact be bad for us. That's why the Word of Wisdom is presented in the form of an explanation of what humans in fact need, and how the world's goods supply those needs in a healthy way when used properly. Proper use is a central principle here. The goods at issue here are not in and of themselves harmful. The concern is misuse of good things.

When we consider the history of American capitalism since 1833 when this revelation was received, how our entire economic system has been possessed by mass consumption and mass marketing spinning ever out of control, it gives added significance to the phrase "evils and designs which do and will exist... in the last days." Whatever concerns the early Saints may have had about the evils of Demon Rum, they seem, to me, dwarfed by the mayhem of the wars and world-wide ecological disaster that are the unintended side-effects of oil-driven industry. The Word of Wisdom does have something directly to say to the modern meat industry, about which a good deal more could be written -- whether we're talking about the destruction of rainforests for the production of South American beef, or the toxic ecological effects of concentrated, mass-scale hog farming, or the cruelty of the poultry industry, or the health effects of McDiets. The bottom line is, we live in a society where something on the order of half a trillion dollars a year are invested in mass marketing, in order to get us hooked on fast food, fast cars ("zoom! zoom!"), pornography, stylish clothes, and hand-held electronic devices, all with very questionable effects on human lives, human relationships and the ecology of our planet.

Pornography, to me, is a classic example of our our economy works, and how the Word of Wisdom exposes the evil underlying it. Humans have a legitimate need for love and affection, and sex is the physical dimension, a physical expression of that most sacred need. Pornography commodifies that need, and sells us sex in a way that can't possibly meet that need in a humanly satisfying way. We become "addicted to love," substituting pictures of sex acts for human relationships, and in the process distorting the human relationships themselves. And our economy uses pornography to sell us chewing gum and cars. Has anybody else noticed how common it has become lately to sell clothes -- usually really expensive clothes -- by presenting pictures of people who aren't actually wearing any?

The Word of Wisdom, I think, humanizes us by reminding us that all the world's goods have a proper use, and warning us against a system that would use our own fundamental needs and urges against us, to get us buying stuff without thinking whether or how we actually need it.

Why "Mormonism" Will Ultimately Liberate "the Gays"

Andrew recently offered a post explaining why he thinks "queer theory" holds more promise for the gay community than "GLBT activism," grounded as it supposedly is in "essentialist" or "essentializing" approaches to sexuality. Of course, there are plenty of LGBT activists who subscribe to "deconstructionist" "queer theory," so I'm not sure it's quite accurate to characterize this as a question of queer theory versus GLBT activism. However, it's probably* true that the vast majority of gay men and lesbians in this country -- including activists -- subscribe to what he would characterize as an "essentialist" approach to sexuality. I.e., You're either gay or straight (or bisexual). We just "are" this way.

Now, what's interesting is that queer theorists themselves seem to be at least a little bit troubled by the fact that their views of sexuality seem to converge with the views of the extreme, homophobic Christian right, which insists that homosexuality is an illusion/delusion, that sexualities are completely socially constructed and are, in essence, whatever we want them to be. What I find a little bit troubling (apart from the fact that this view of sexuality doesn't actually seem to correspond to the real-life experience of the vast majority of gay men and lesbians), is that in order to get around this itsy bitsy little problem, queer theorists will in turn argue that the problem with the Christian right view is that it insists on there being a right and a wrong. Take morality out of the equation, and it doesn't matter how polymorphously perverse our sexualities are. We have a right to do whatever we please, so it shouldn't matter if there's no such thing as homosexuality. There's no such thing as heterosexuality either. So there!

That view of sexuality is "liberating" for about two seconds. Usually the two seconds can be lengthened out to four or five years if you're in some cutting edge liberal arts program at a major secular University. It is liberating precisely until you realize, as a gay man or lesbian, that you do in fact find the most fulfillment in a loving relationship with a person of the same-sex, and despite all your efforts or wishes that that not be the case, it is. And so some queer theorist telling you that you're supposed to revel in your polymorphous perversity, and some Christian right therapist telling you that your homosexuality is due to your fear of connecting with your own masculinity or a Satanic deception -- none of that helps in the least. What helps us is what helps everyone else in the world: love, freedom, acceptance, community, commitment. And guess what? Morality.

There's a reason why the vast majority of "queer" folk take a more essentialist perspective for granted. It's because it fits with our experience. And it works best for us. Now I'll grant that the inner workings of sexuality are likely complex. I'll grant that just because the sun appears to rotate around the earth doesn't mean that it in fact does. Just because I have to rely on Newtonian mechanics to ride my bike and go about my business day-to-day doesn't mean that Einstein was wrong about time and space being relative. Nevertheless, the sun still rises every morning outside my eastern window, and I still organize my day around the very Newtonian clock hanging on my wall. Einstein isn't particularly helpful for running my life. And queer theorists (not to mention Christian right therapists) are a long way away from showing that their speculations about the nature of sexuality are anything like natural law. Eve Sedgwick is no Einstein (even though she's almost as difficult to read).

There came a point in my life where I realized that in order for my life to have a meaning, it needed a center. I spent a lot of time and energy searching for that center. I tried to find it in academics, in humanism, in political activism, in artistic endeavor. I certainly tried to find it in my relationship with my husband. I pondered whether a meaningful life could even be possible if it was centered merely in the self, in myself; though that's always seemed least promising of all. My best efforts to make sense of my life and find a center in anything but God ultimately failed.

The most meaningful parts of my life -- including my coming out and coming to terms with my sexuality, and the establishment of my relationship with my husband -- were the parts of my life that literally had been touched by God. And so opening my heart to the Spirit, and accepting the Spirit's invitation to "come home" was ultimately simply an acknowledgment of that fact. And it was the single most liberating act of my life.

I am willing to say that opening my heart to God would and could be liberation enough. But as I followed the Spirit's invitation to "come home," and to enter as fully as I could into the path of faith, without self-condemnation and without fear, I began to learn that the Restored Gospel offered very specific hope and liberation to me as a gay man that I didn't see anywhere else.

For one thing, it quickly became clear to me that religious traditions, like Protestantism, that are rooted in a scripture-based authority paradigm, will never be able to resolve the problem posed by homosexuality in a satisfactory manner. All they will be able to do is engage in a never-ending argument about how the scripture applies to homosexuality; an argument that becomes increasingly irrelevant as historical/textual criticism of the Bible undermines people's faith that what the Bible may or may not say about homosexuality really matters anyway. This is not helpful to gays. But a revelation-based authority paradigm, in which human beings seek wisdom directly from God, in which human beings are in a dynamic, historically contingent and ever-evolving relationship with a living and eternal God, a God who is progressively revealing to them line upon line and precept upon precept the truth of their own natures, and the truth of God's nature as revealed through them.... This holds promise.

Religious traditions, both eastern and western, that hold that spirit is somehow beyond and/or superior to matter; that hold that physical existence is a trap or a delusion or tainted with sin; these traditions couldn't really help me either. Perhaps I could find peace in some path of asceticism. My husband has frequently accused me of being a "monk," of having too little interest in material things. It's probably true that without him, I would be living something like a monk. I was seriously tempted by monasticism in my mid-twenties. But ultimately I realized that while I might find "peace" in this approach to the spirit and the flesh, I would never find what is best captured by a turn of phrase in Section 93 of the Doctrine & Covenants: "fullness of joy." Namely, that thing that we find in the eternal union of "spirit and element, inseparably connected."

Our bodies are real, and they matter. And they are good. Very, very good. And it is God's intention, according to "Mormonism," God's "work" and God's "glory," to enable us to enter into that fullness of joy. My fellow Latter-day Saints may not understand what my relationship with my husband means to me (though it's not that difficult to understand, if you are happily companioned, it's not that huge of a leap of imagination). They may believe that my homosexuality is somehow the flawed by-product of a sin-filled creation; that God would never intend to make me this way because to do so would undermine his whole plan for creation. But what others know or don't know can't determine my happiness, nor does it set the limits for what God can and can't do. And God is in my life, so I have it on good authority that my life is headed toward something very, very good.

So I choose to be patient, and to walk down this path step by step. The only reason at this point in my life I might trade up what I have for whatever elusive dreams reparative therapists or queer theorists might offer me would be if I somehow abandoned the connection to the Spirit that has so filled my life with faith, hope and love in recent years.

But what would be the point in that?

__________

* I don't have any survey data to back me up on this. My impression that the vast majority of gays and lesbians hold more "essentialist" views of sexuality is based on personal observation of many, many friends and acquaintances, and involvement in a wide variety of gay organizations. In fact, I dare say that the only people I know who insist on a more "deconstructionist" view of sexuality are people in academia.

It's All Interrelated

One consequence of working at home is that I'm not forced to get up off my butt and walk or ride my bike to work for at least half an hour a day. Also, I don't make it to the gym as often. So I've had to be more conscientious about getting some form of exercise every day, usually a combination of calisthenics and walking.

Finally, in order to assist me in my quest to avoid turning into a total formless blob, we finally invested in the Wii Fit game system. I've got to hand it to the ingenious Japanese engineers who designed this system. It's really helping me a lot in ways I never would have imagined.

One of the advantages is that there are a whole bunch of exercises that work on every part of your body. After the first few days of working out with this system, I was experiencing muscle aches all over my body. Which I think is good... Better than experiencing an ache here or there. The whole body aches seemed proof that I was getting a balanced workout throughout my entire system.

The philosophy of the Wii Fit system is that your end goal is to develop balance and good posture. When you stand and move the right way, and when your left and right sides are balanced, it has a tremendous effect on things like metabolism and strength and general well being. I've noticed, for instance, after about 10 days of training with these exercises I sit at my desk completely differently. And when I sit or lie down or walk, or do anything physical, really, I feel more comfortable and relaxed.

I guess I never really thought about it or took notice until now that the strength of the muscles around my waist or my thighs have an impact on my ability to pick things up with my arms or my ability to keep my balance on my feet. My ability to balance has an impact on how quickly my feet get tired when I need to walk a long distance. It's amazing to me to realize how the muscles on one end of my body actually interact with muscles on the other end of my body.

The thing is, it is all interconnected.

The same is true of every other aspect of our lives. Our physical well-being has an impact on our ability to concentrate mentally. Mental clarity enables spiritual reflection and strengthens moral action. Physical strength renders us more fit for moral service. Spirituality and morality are in turn concerned with relationships and behavior that foster physical health and mental peace. Everything that we do, every relationship that we have has an impact on everything else.

That's something for me to think about as I do push-ups or hold a yoga pose on my tip toes.

Of Our Humanity

God forbid that I should justify you: till I die I will not remove mine integrity from me. (Job 27: 5)

Job's friends, Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar, argue with Job along two different lines. Along one line, they accuse Job of very specific sins, namely oppressing the poor and ignoring the pleas of the widow and the orphan:

Is not thy wickedness great? and thine iniquities infinite? For thou hast taken a pledge from thy brother for nought, and stripped the naked of their clothing. Thou hast not given water to the weary to drink, and thou hast withholden bread from the hungry.... Thou hast sent widows away empty, and the arms of the fatherless have been broken. (Job 22: 5-9)

Their accusations are, of course, utterly false. The Lord's own testimony of Job is that he is "a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil" (Job 1: 8). When Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar find Job unwilling to accept their first line of argument, they seek to undermine Job's confidence in himself with a second line of argument, namely that all men are inherently weak and sinful:

Shall mortal man be more just than God? shall a man be more pure than his maker? Behold, he put no trust in his servants; and his angels he charged with folly: How much less in them that dwell in houses of clay, whose foundation is in the dust, which are crushed before the moth? (Job 4: 17-19)

If Job is not guilty of the specific sins of which they accuse him, his friends insist, he must be guilty of some sin worthy of God's punishment. Furthermore, in failing to acknowledge his sinful nature, they argue, Job is at least guilty of the sin of pride. If he will acknowledge his sinful nature, and thus relinquish his pride, they promise him, God will cease to punish him.

This second line of reasoning is impossible to argue against. To take issue with his friends, Job would have to argue that he is perfect and without sin, when all other men are not. Furthermore, since Job's friends are now accusing him of sins of the heart (such as pride), there is no proof that Job could offer them that could possibly convince them. Whatever he says in his defense will only convince them further that he is guilty.

Job is stung by what feels to him like betrayal. His friends simply won't believe him. Their would-be comfort is no comfort to him at all. "Ye are forgers of lies, ye are all physicians of no value. O that ye would altogether hold your peace!" (Job 13: 4-5). In this exchange between him and his friends, Job realizes he is completely alone. His children are dead, his wife has abandoned him, and now he discovers that even with these companions there is an unbridgeable chasm of accusation and mistrust. There is no human connection or consolation for him at all.

It might have been easier for Job to succumb at least to this second line of reasoning. After all, could he really be sure that he was not guilty of some sin that had brought these trials upon him? To acknowledge this would at least have allowed them to comfort him (even if on their terms rather than his). Why not admit that in fact all humanity is sinful, and therefore he must -- in his humanity -- indeed be guilty of some sin? Why not humble himself before God in this way?

But ultimately Job cannot do this. He cannot accept the sort of abstract theorizing about his situation that his friends insist on. And thus his cry: "Till I die I will not remove mine integrity from me."

Job's integrity is found in the specificity of his life, not in some theoretical discussion of sin that is abstracted from the details of a lived human life. But Job's integrity is also found in his capacity to perceive, understand, and relate directly to God. Job does not need anybody else to tell him whether he is sinful or not. There is no reason why Job is not capable of discerning the nature of his dilemma at least as well as -- if not better than -- his friends can. To his friends, Job insists (slightly mockingly) "No doubt but ye are the people, and wisdom shall die with you. But I have understanding as well as you; I am not inferior to you" (Job 12: 2-3). He feels obliged to underline it repeatedly, because his friends just don't seem to listen: "Lo, mine eye hath seen all this, mine ear hath heard and understood it. What ye know, the same do I know also: I am not inferior unto you" (Job 13: 1-2).

In his aloneness, Job realizes, if his friends will not believe him, he has only one recourse left. "I would speak with the Almighty; and I desire to reason with God" (Job 13:3). And perhaps, if I who am outside of Job's suffering, who am outside of his unique, specific relationship with God, can discern any purpose in God's putting Job through this kind of trial, it is in this. Perhaps it was to teach Job about his utter, existential dependence on God and God alone that Job was permitted to suffer the way he did. "For God maketh my heart soft," he says toward the end of his exchange with his friends, "When he hath tried me, I shall come forth as pure gold" (Job 23: 10, 16).

Integrity is a hallmark of Job in another sense too, a sense I alluded to in my earlier essay. It was in his insistence on the integrity of body and spirit, his sense that without physical existence, without his connection to wife and children, without a healthy physical body free of disease and pain, there is no existence worth having. We cannot transcend physical existence; there's no spiritual truth that has meaning apart from real physical bodies and real relationships in this life. This is why Job insisted that when he gets his explanation from God, it will be face to face, in the flesh (Job 19: 25-27).

I believe this is why gay Mormon suicide continues to be a problem. I believe gay Mormon suicide will continue to plague us so long as our community cannot recognize the fundamental nature of the bond between body and spirit, a bond that is the same for homosexuals as for heterosexuals. There is something fundamental within us that yearns for the wholeness and integrity that comes from intimate relationship. To be told that we are unworthy of that is to be told that we are fundamentally inferior. It is to shatter the fundamental unity that makes us both human and divine.

I have searched, I have wrestled, I have pleaded. I've wished for my life to end, and came close to ending it. I have argued with friends (and with people I wouldn't really call friends). I have studied, I've fasted, I've prayed. I've offered my heart and my relationship and everything I have and am on the altar of God. I have suffered, physically and spiritually. I have been in the dark, alone. And one day I came through the other side with a profound, unshakable sense that there is nothing wrong with me as regards my sexual orientation. There are things wrong with me; I have physical imperfections/handicaps/disabilities (the most obvious one is my asthma) that I anticipate being fixed in the life to come. But in my love for my husband, I experience only wholeness and goodness that continues to grow in perfection and beauty. If there were something wrong with me in the loving relationship I have with my husband, God should separate us in order to perfect us.

My sense of this is mine alone. I cannot give it to anybody else. No one can know -- either professed friend or professed enemy -- what I have experienced or the nature of my relationship with God. Like Job's friends, my friends can only speculate about what is in my heart. And then, if they choose to do so, condemn me on the basis of their speculation. On the other hand, to others in my situation, there's no assurance I can give that will offer peace. You cannot go by somebody else's life or example. There is only your life, your struggle, your dark night of the soul in which you wrestle with God alone and find your own answers. Only after you have asked yourself the hard questions and answered them honestly will you know how you stand and where you need to go.

But I can bear witness for myself, of my humanity and my integrity. I can say that a world that would divide me from my husband, penalize us for making our lives together, make us inferior under the law, punish and coerce and harass us into being straight, is not a world that recognizes humanity or integrity.

We are not inferior.