Far Between and Many Miles to Go

Kendall Wilcox is a gay Mormon who has been producing a documentary that asks the question: What does it mean to be homosexual and Mormon?  One of the most remarkable aspects of this documentary is its very open-ended approach to this question.  On the Far Between website, Kendall has posted dozens of interviews with gay and bisexual Mormons, each of whom is invited to answer the question, "What does it mean to be homosexual and Mormon?"  Kendall has gone out of his way to include folks with dramatically different perspectives, from individuals who have remained active in the LDS Church and have chosen to marry a member of the opposite sex, to those who have embraced their homosexuality and have definitively cut their ties to the Church, and many others in between.  And the results, as they are unfolding on the web site are incredibly moving and quite amazing.

Kendall's achievement so far is that much more remarkable, when you consider the difficulty of even finding the right language to ask the central question of the film.  Every element of that question is disputed.  Am I "homosexual" or "same-sex-attracted (SSA)" or "gay"?  Can I even be considered "Mormon" if I am excommunicated or have resigned from the Church?  Is a "Mormon" defined culturally, or in terms of the beliefs a person holds, or ecclesiastically in terms of membership status?  If you ask the question, "What does it mean to be gay and Mormon?" you will alienate a major segment of the community that Kendall was trying to reach, because they reject the term "gay."  If you ask the question, "What does it mean to be SSA and Mormon?" you alienate a different major segment.  So in the actual interviews, Kendall has opted for the question: "What does it mean to be homosexual and Mormon?" (using a term that almost no one relates to), with a follow-up clarification of "however you choose to define any part of that question."

One of the themes that emerges in almost all of the interviews is that that intersection of Mormon-ness (however defined) and homosexuality (however defined!) creates a profound emotional/social/spiritual crisis for those who find themselves there.  (I love that the Far Between logo consists of two barely intersecting circles!)  The stories are painful, precisely because -- at least at first -- it seems literally almost impossible to bring those things together.  The stories are moving because they demonstrate human resiliency in the ways individuals navigate this intersection.  Collectively, a very interesting picture begins to emerge as you see the myriad of different solutions to the problem of being homosexual/gay/SSA and Mormon that people find.

And for me, this speaks volumes to Kendall's achievement as the film's producer.  Kendall is both "homosexual" and "Mormon," so he has (one presumes) experienced something of the anguish that is so evident in the stories of the many folks he's interviewed.  Kendall himself is fairly open about the fact that the urgency of finding a very personal resolution to the contradictions is what drives this project.  This film is his way of going forward, his way of trying to figure out what to make of all this.  But I think Kendall's project will succeed where other similar projects have failed, because of the extraordinary patience with which Kendall pursues this.  He hasn't, as far as I can tell, leaped to any conclusions.  He's not pushing any sort of agenda, apart from bringing as many different voices as possible into the discussion.  His openness is his agenda.

I hope Ty Mansfield doesn't mind my sharing the fact that the evening before Kendall was scheduled to arrive at his home for an interview with him and his wife, I got an urgent call from him, asking me to tell him everything I knew about Kendall Wilcox.  He was understandably nervous about how his marriage might be portrayed in this kind of documentary.  There are risks involved in sharing, especially when you're not sure of the agenda of the person you're sharing with.  As far as I can tell from the interviews that have been posted, Kendall has done a good job of nurturing the kind of trust that is necessary for something like this to unfold.  Part I of his interview with Ty was posted here.

A film of this nature has the virtue of attracting anyone who wishes to be heard -- or the vice of attracting anyone who wants a soapbox or a bully pulpit.  Kendall has done a remarkable job of framing each story as "a" story, one angle, one perspective, on a multifaceted and complex problem.  So one senses that the film will not, in the end, validate any one path over another.  And therefore the final product has the potential of alienating many and pleasing none.  Though it also has the potential of illuminating the issues more profoundly than any other treatment of this subject before ever possibly could.  And that latter potential is worth all the risks of engaging in this kind of project.

I had a fuller appreciation of the risks and the potential of this project when yesterday I finally watched part II of Kendall's interview with Wilum.  I am now embarrassed to admit that it took me a long time to get around to actually listening to the interviews with Wilum, because one look at the images and I thought I knew everything I needed to know about him: "Angry gay ex-Mormon."  My prejudice couldn't have been more misleading.  Every assumption I made about him was completely wrong.  (Except the one about him being gay!)

Will folks look at this film project in its entirety, and do the same thing I did in relation to Wilum's interview?  Will people just assume they know everything they need to know about a film that asks a hotly contested question like "What does it mean to be both homosexual and Mormon?"  Many people most assuredly will...  But I think, assuming the project is successfully brought to completion, the end product will stand the test of time.

Part I of my own interview with Kendall was recently posted here.  The interview was conducted just after the closing devotional held at the Kirtland, OH Affirmation convention last September.  I was still feeling a bit buzzed from the spiritual high I had experienced that morning, first in the testimony meeting and then in the devotional that came right after.  I remember feeling a bit scattered during the interview itself, though actually seeing it, I look and sound less incoherent than I remember! 

Watching it now, seeing my story intersected with the very different stories of so many others, I am left both with a sense of gratitude and of vulnerability.  I have a greater appreciation of, and hopefulness about how all of our stories seem to be unfolding toward some wonderful ending.  And I'm not just talking about the ending of this film project!

Twin Cities Pride

I never really felt that I had any choice but to try to organize a Mormon contingent to march in Twin Cities Pride this year.  Three hundred fifty LDS marchers in Salt Lake City Pride on June 3, 2012 changed everything for me.  To me that event signaled something seismic in the Mormon collective consciousness.  And I knew I wanted to participate.  I couldn't be at Salt Lake Pride, but I knew I wanted to march in Pride as a Mormon, with other Mormons.

Minneapolis and St. Paul seemed like a really unlikely setting for something like this to happen.  The Minnesota religious landscape is dominated by Lutherans and Catholics.  Mormons are a tiny minority here, and LGBT Mormons a tiny minority within a tiny minority.  But ultimately, we had about thirty marchers, five of whom were gay or lesbian, and the rest of whom were straight supporters.

There were a number of miracles associated with the parade.  The first miracle -- for me -- had to do with who participated: entire families, including mom, dad and young children.  We had a "Primary" contingent within our contingent.  Adorable kids carrying signs like one memorable one adorned with a rainbow and the phrase, "I want to be like Jesus."  Miraculously, the kids made it through an hour of waiting and two hours of marching in the hot summer sun without the least bit of fussing.  It was a no tears march, at least for the kids.

One of the families marching with us included a gay family member.  Mom carried a sign that read: "I love my gay daughter and her girlfriend, and I'm a Mormon."  That sign melted a lot of hearts.  People ran up from the crowd to hug mom and thank her in person.  It was deeply moving to me to see the entire family rallying around this young woman.  A younger sister joined her mom in support by carrying a sign that said, "I love my lesbian sister."  Later, Mom told me tearily, "She was going to march in Pride anyway, on her own.  But when we heard that there was going to be a Mormon contingent, we realized we could all march as a family." I could barely find the words to express how moved I was by this show of support, but Mom countered, "We're her family.  It's our job to support her.  What really mattered to us was that she could see all these other people from our church out here to support her as well."

A sizable portion of our contingent included members of the young single adults ward.  I remember speaking to one of them in the weeks running up to the parade, and she commented how this just wasn't even an issue any more for her generation.  Two of them brought guitars with them to the parade so we could occupy ourselves as we walked by singing hymns like "Come, Come Ye Saints" and "The Spirit of God," and Primary songs like "Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam," "Popcorn Popping on the Apricot Tree," and "Families Can Be Together Forever."  The noise of the parade probably drowned out our singing for the vast majority of parade watchers, but it didn't matter.  Those hymns were for us.

Fellow Mormon bloggers Ren and Reuben were there. Ren got held up with a work crisis the night before, and had sent out a disconsolate message in the wee hours of the morning with the disappointing news that it was unlikely she could make it to the parade.  She showed up anyway, a bit bleary eyed for having only gotten about four hours of sleep, but ready to show her support.  She kept pinching me throughout the parade.  "This is just so you'll remember that this is real," she grinned.  It was real.  Though the reality of it didn't totally sink in until I got home a few hours ago.

We got a wonderful response from the crowd.  I knew we would.  Prior to the parade, I had received a glowing email from a member of the Pride committee.  She wrote: "I have had so many people tell me I'm nuts for loving LDS folks after what happened with Prop 8 in California, and I always confidently reply, 'Well, that may be... but that wasn't the LDS people I know and love because they wouldn't be a party to that sort of thing.'...  I'm not a particularly religious person, but I find it heart-warming that there are so many people of faith who get what God's love is purportedly about."

Minnesota Gay Pride attendees are notorious for giving a warm welcome to the groups that are least expected.  So members of conservative religious groups are especially loved.  As we were lining up before the parade, a crowd of "Minnesota Atheists" descended on us.  "Mormon Allies!" they shouted, "Can we get our picture taken with you?"  People would cheer as we passed.  "Mormons!"  I overheard a teenage girl shouting gleefully, "I love the Mormons!"

Some were a bit more skeptical.  My partner, who was marching with us carrying a sign that said, "I [heart] my Mormon husband" got a shout from an African American woman.  "I wanna talk to the Mormon brother."  She kept shouting it until I waved him over there.  She wanted to know what an African American could want to have to do with Mormons.  I guess she ultimately approved of him being there to support his spouse!

But there was a more painful story too.  Inspired by Marni Zollinger's sign in the Portland Mormon Pride contingent, Amelia N., a member of our contingent, decided that she too wanted to carry a sign reading, "Sorry We're Late."  An older man stepped forward out of the crowd to take a picture of her.  Then he approached her, wanting to say something.  He was gay, and had once been a member of the Church.  He told her "I was excommunicated three days after my lover died.  I love you people.  But get the f**k out."

Later, after the parade, as Amelia recounted this incident to other members of the contingent, there was a sense of heaviness, of sadness.  We all agreed.  As wonderful as it was to receive the cheers and the accolades, it was this heartbreaking story that reminded us most why we were there.

We were late.  Far too late.  And "sorry" just doesn't cut it.  Though we still felt we had no choice but to start doing the work.

*****

Shortly before the parade began, our contingent gathered in a circle for a prayer.  I expressed a desire to be the voice.  "I don't usually get to pray with other Mormons," I said -- a consequence of being excommunicated.  Everyone present smiled and nodded approvingly.  So I prayed for safety, for protection from the heat of the sun, for the Spirit to be there with us to help us be an example and a source of hope.  Later Ren hugged me.  "I'm glad you prayed," she said, "It's about time."

Organizing for Pride was a spiritual experience for me.  I had my ups and downs with the whole thing.  There were days when I was ecstatic, and days when I was completely terrified and despondent.  At one of my low points, I heard Christ speaking directly to my mind and heart: "I'll be there."  That experience inspired my "Dear Faithful, Active Mormon Pride Participant" post.  It kept me buoyed up through the following ups and downs.  Whenever I felt discouraged, I remembered: I have an appointment with Christ that I have to keep.

There had been so much to do, so much "stuff" to be done, actually marching in Pride was finally a tender mercy, a grace.  There was nothing more left to do but to be.   To walk.  To sing.  I was so grateful for the hymns.  (Thank you, Ranell and Julia!!)  Sam, the other gay man in the contingent besides me and my husband, was effervescent.  "This is the most spiritual experience I've ever had outside of Church on a Sunday," he exclaimed.  To be there, surrounded by our straight brothers and sisters, the ones who were really willing to put themselves on the line for us, who were willing to risk the skepticism and disrepute that to march in gay Pride of course risks in Mormon circles, for us that was sheer gift.

One of our key organizers wasn't able to be there with us.  Just days before the parade she came down with what at first seemed like a cold, but progressed into something serious enough that she spent this morning in the emergency room.  She wore her "Mormon Allies" t-shirt to the doctor's office, and was following us avidly on Facebook as we posted pictures and quips from the parade.  I was so heartbroken she couldn't be there in body as well as spirit, but it was clear to me what a gift this was to her as well.

Amelia, who had helped with the transportation of parade props, gave me a ride home at the end of the day.  I turned to her to try to thank her, and I just couldn't hold it in any more.  I just broke down weeping.  "You don't know what this means me," I said.

It will take me a while to fully process everything.  It feels historic.  Part me says we'll look back decades from now, and remember 2012 as the year Mormons marched in Pride.  But right now, I just feel exhausted and incredibly grateful.

Thanks everyone, and good night!