I hear a lot of religious people use the quote “Love the sinner, hate the sin” when referring to homosexuality. Did you know that this phrase was not coined by any Christian? It is not found in the Bible, or any book used by the LDS church. It was Mahatma Gandhi who actually coined the phrase – but it has been adopted as the Christian homosexuality theme.
A while ago, someone who I consider an “online friend” commented on a Salt Lake Tribune story that was related to homosexuality in the LDS church. She stated the following:
“To 'love the sinner and hate the sin' is a clever use of misdirection. It allows the speaker to judge others while calling himself/herself virtuous.”
This got me thinking a lot about a phrase I myself have championed in the past. I wondered what it might look like if someone really did love the sinner, while hating the sin.
If I turn to examples of Christ in the scriptures, I can think of three in particular where this catch-phrase could apply. The first is the woman caught in adultery; a common example throw into the face of homosexuals by anti-homosexuality Christians as an illustration as to how they think God would treat us. The second is the thief on the cross. The third is the man who lacked faith that Christ could heal his child – a story that coined a catch-phrase of its own: “Help thou my unbelief.”
I don’t think anyone would deny that Christ loved these three people. He defended the woman caught in adultery, proving to all her accusers that her sins were no worse than their own. I would imagine such a touching display from a man such as Jesus would change her life in unexpected and profound ways. Christ’s admonition to “Go and sin no more” came with no threats or condemnation, even though he, himself, as a perfect man – and I think a lot of people think that is the most important part of the story.
I disagree.
While studying this story while a missionary and after, I was always impressed by the fact that Christ writes on the ground just after the woman’s accusers ask him what should be done to her. Studying this one specific point of the story led me to only one small piece of information – that writing as such was a way in which Christ was showing distain or disrespect for the accusers… sort of a Jewish way of blatantly ignoring someone. I believe it is the words that follow that are the point of the story – “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.”
I do not believe it is possible for imperfect, sinful people to love the sinner while hating the sin. To find out why, we need to go to the next story.
On the cross, a thief looks to Christ and says “Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Christ’s response was, “Today, thou shalt be with me in Paradise.”
There is much speculation as to what Christ meant by “paradise.” Did he mean heaven, or just the paradise that is in the spirit world? Either way, Christ was able to look past the faults of this man to recognize his faith in the atonement. Christians literally believe that the thief’s petition in faith alone saved him.
Is it easy for us to love this thief while hating his sins because Christ had already forgiven him? What about the other man being crucified with Christ? Do we love him the same, regardless of what he did to earn his spot on the cross?
In my final example, we have a man without faith, who petitions Christ on behalf of his child. Does Christ sometimes reward someone’s faith before even they, themselves have it? Do Christian people love this faithless man in light of and, perhaps because of, his sins?
I very rarely see such love in today’s Christian world when it comes to the subject of homosexuality. Many of those who profess such love show exactly the opposite by their actions.
If you believe homosexual behavior is a sin…
You cannot love a homosexual unless you love those who are celibate, those who marry members of the opposite sex, and those who are in homosexual relationships alike.
You cannot love a homosexual if you are so preoccupied with the “sin of homosexuality” that you overlook the fact that the person is a child of God.
You cannot love a homosexual if you condemn them to Hell, judging a group without taking an individual account of its members.
You cannot love a homosexual if you kick them out of your churches and drive them away from Christ.
You cannot love a homosexual if you refuse to understand how they feel, or why they make the choices they do.
You cannot love a homosexual if you compare them to people who victimize children, adults, or animals.
You cannot love a homosexual if you compare them to people who commit crimes.
You cannot love a homosexual if you are so polarized over the issue that the subject of homosexuality is taboo.
You cannot love a homosexual if you believe homosexuals are the ones defining themselves solely on their sexual behavior.
You cannot love a homosexual if you remain silent while fear and mistrust is seeded, and lies regarding homosexuality are forwarded and encouraged.
You cannot love a homosexual if you believe salvation is contingent upon the impossible change of attractions.
You cannot love a homosexual if you do not understand why the word “impossible” was in the last sentence.
You cannot love a homosexual if you do not realize that Christ alone can effect change, and realize that there as simply times where change is not in his plan.
You cannot love a homosexual until you are willing to invite one who is promiscuous, drug and alcohol addicted, unbelieving, feminine, and well-dressed, to sit next to you in a worship service.
You cannot love a homosexual until you have a prayer in your heart that the spirit of Christ will touch him or her, and are willing to accept that when that spirit of Christ does, it will confirm to him or her that they are the way God created them.
You cannot love a homosexual until you are willing to watch destructive behaviors be erased by the love and light of Christ, and willing to accept that when that happens that person will be your equal as a gay Christian.
You cannot love a homosexual until you realize that the atonement of Christ will cover his sins just as they will cover yours, and until you see your own sins as equally deserving of Hell-fire as his.
Then you can start to love a homosexual.
Showing posts with label church. Show all posts
Showing posts with label church. Show all posts
Monday, June 14, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Choices and Birthdays
I learned something new today. I was over at Rob’s blog (Scrum Central) earlier today, reading about Stuart Mathis. I debated whether or not to post anything to commemorate the day of his death, but as I read Rob’s blog, I noticed a picture that hit me as curious, odd, and incredibly poignant.
Stuart was celebrating his 16th birthday on the day that I was born. This was the first time that I realized he and I shared a birthday. I thought of what Stuart must have been feeling on this day – and compared it to my own experience of turning 16. I remember the party – the first time my parents agreed to stay downstairs to show all of the kids that we were now old enough to be trusted. I had dreams about dating, about driving, about growing up, and about freedom.
Did Stuart have the same outlook on life at age 16? Was he convinced that even though he knew he was gay, he would live a life dedicated to God and the church – as I was. Did he dream on this day of his first date, urging his desires to want to date women while secretly longing for men?
Suicide is a difficult subject for me to discuss, because as a gay Mormon I definitely came to the point where I had to choose between life, and acceptance. I had the whole thing planned. My death would not have brought about memories – it probably wouldn’t have even mentioned the conflict between my gay self and my religious self – I would have simply left a note of love, and jumped. I chose jumping for a couple of reasons: 1, when you hit the ground it is over quickly, and 2, there would be one last rush of adrenaline. Nothing like proving to yourself you are alive before you die, right?
On the day I came out to my family and told them I was leaving the church, my dad suggested that he would rather have a dead son than a gay son. Strangely, it was the exact opposite that I had heard from them when I came out but was committed to reparative therapy (in that they suggested they would rather have a gay son than a dead one). I never questioned my choice of acceptance over death until that moment. But soon enough, my life was so caught up in love that now I question why I ever put myself through the option.
To those teetering on the edge – we’ve all been there. We know what it is like. It is dark, and scary, and difficult. My mom ripped out Stuart’s story out of my copy of “In Quiet Desperation” because she didn’t want me to even read into suicide as an option. It isn’t worth it. You’ll miss out on too much.
Live instead. Live the life that Stuart and the others felt they could not. That is the greatest lesson we can learn from the pain we share with Stuart.
Stuart, I certainly would have preferred to celebrate our birthdays with you this year. We are grateful for your pain. It has touched and taught so many people so much.
Stuart was celebrating his 16th birthday on the day that I was born. This was the first time that I realized he and I shared a birthday. I thought of what Stuart must have been feeling on this day – and compared it to my own experience of turning 16. I remember the party – the first time my parents agreed to stay downstairs to show all of the kids that we were now old enough to be trusted. I had dreams about dating, about driving, about growing up, and about freedom.
Did Stuart have the same outlook on life at age 16? Was he convinced that even though he knew he was gay, he would live a life dedicated to God and the church – as I was. Did he dream on this day of his first date, urging his desires to want to date women while secretly longing for men?
Suicide is a difficult subject for me to discuss, because as a gay Mormon I definitely came to the point where I had to choose between life, and acceptance. I had the whole thing planned. My death would not have brought about memories – it probably wouldn’t have even mentioned the conflict between my gay self and my religious self – I would have simply left a note of love, and jumped. I chose jumping for a couple of reasons: 1, when you hit the ground it is over quickly, and 2, there would be one last rush of adrenaline. Nothing like proving to yourself you are alive before you die, right?
On the day I came out to my family and told them I was leaving the church, my dad suggested that he would rather have a dead son than a gay son. Strangely, it was the exact opposite that I had heard from them when I came out but was committed to reparative therapy (in that they suggested they would rather have a gay son than a dead one). I never questioned my choice of acceptance over death until that moment. But soon enough, my life was so caught up in love that now I question why I ever put myself through the option.
To those teetering on the edge – we’ve all been there. We know what it is like. It is dark, and scary, and difficult. My mom ripped out Stuart’s story out of my copy of “In Quiet Desperation” because she didn’t want me to even read into suicide as an option. It isn’t worth it. You’ll miss out on too much.
Live instead. Live the life that Stuart and the others felt they could not. That is the greatest lesson we can learn from the pain we share with Stuart.
Stuart, I certainly would have preferred to celebrate our birthdays with you this year. We are grateful for your pain. It has touched and taught so many people so much.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
A Dream
Even though I am now completely out in my life, and although most people who frequent this blog know who I am, I have to admit that I have maintained a certain level of anonymity for posts like this one. It is very difficult at times, and sometimes unwise, to discuss extremely personal, powerful spiritual experiences – but doing so anonymously seems a bit more practical.
When I was 14 and praying about why I should remain a member of the church, I remember having a very vivid dream. This dream is just as vivid to me today as it was the day after I had it. In it, I was show certain possibilities – things I think I needed to see at that point in time. When I woke, the feeling I had was intensely spiritual. In fact, I had never had similar feelings in my entire life… until a few nights ago.
The details of that first dream are now slightly irrelevant to this conversation, and were so personal that I won’t innumerate them here, but I do need to say that although this dream was inspiring and powerful, I now know it to mean something completely different than what I thought it did originally.
But this most recent dream… it is significant, and very applicable.
I dreamt I was at a mission reunion. Two of my very mission friends know about me and my partner Adam (in real life). They were there in this dream, as well as the hundreds of other missionaries I had the chance to serve with, to welcome into the mission field as an office missionary, and even the ones I didn’t know, but recognized their faces. The mission reunion was interesting in my dream, and although I felt at peace there, I was not comfortable.
At first I blamed this on the fact that I knew I was gay, and here I was, at a mission reunion. I thought my discomfort was because I was a sinner in the eyes of all these people – but it soon became apparent that my discomfort stemmed from something else.
I walked up to a sister companionship who were talking by themselves, only to hear them talking about me as I approached. I couldn’t hear everything, but I distinctly remember hearing the word “gay” in their conversation.
I froze, and wondered how they knew.
Suddenly, I was surrounded by all these good members of the church. They had fear and loathing in their eyes. The two friends of mine stood a little ways back, with compassion. It almost appeared like they were begging for forgiveness. Suddenly I realized that they had spilled the beans, and that everyone at this reunion knew I was gay.
On cue, one of the most flamboyant Elders in my mission field yelled “Is it true you are gay?” right in front of everyone. At first I was mortified, but then suddenly found myself in a teaching situation. I had the opportunity to explain what it meant to be gay.
Then my dream skipped, as they often do. I found myself on a barren street (one I recognized… it is the street that led to my house). No one was out, and the streets were empty. I set off home, pondering the events that took place during my “mission reunion.”
I was asking myself questions I have asked myself in life many times. “Why me?” “Why am I gay?” “Why do I constantly have to explain myself and clear up misunderstandings and misconceptions?”
In my dream I prayed, and asked God these same questions.
I admit I was surprised when a booming voice answered. Strangely, although the voice was loud and overpowering, it was also recognizable and calming. “Because I want it that way,” it said.
And then I woke up.
I must admit that I have drifted from the church over the past few years. I’ve allowed myself to make excuses to not go, and specifically have avoided places where I knew I would feel the spirit, because I was afraid of feeling guilty.
But the moment my eyes fluttered opened I felt that same, intense, overwhelming, screaming spirit I had only felt once before – when I was 14.
I don’t know why I have to go down the path I am going down. I don’t know, exactly, what it was about the experience of excommunication that I’m sure God wanted me to discover and learn from. But I do have one more piece of the puzzle. I know, beyond any doubt, that I have a job to do – even as an excommunicated Latter-Day Saint.
I am to tell my story, to teach, to explain, and to clear up misunderstandings and misconceptions.
The desire I have had to go to church, partly to just “stick it to the people” who would not want me there is not borne out of hostility. My Father wants it that way.
It was good to feel the spirit again and know that I am on the right track. It is good to know that somehow, my mission in life – whether changed from that vision of long ago or not – is somehow still being fulfilled. It is good to know that I am still capable of being a tool in the Lord’s hand.
I think I need to make a better effort to go to church… because somehow, somewhere, it is going to lead to a teaching experience. And a learning one too, I’m sure.
When I was 14 and praying about why I should remain a member of the church, I remember having a very vivid dream. This dream is just as vivid to me today as it was the day after I had it. In it, I was show certain possibilities – things I think I needed to see at that point in time. When I woke, the feeling I had was intensely spiritual. In fact, I had never had similar feelings in my entire life… until a few nights ago.
The details of that first dream are now slightly irrelevant to this conversation, and were so personal that I won’t innumerate them here, but I do need to say that although this dream was inspiring and powerful, I now know it to mean something completely different than what I thought it did originally.
But this most recent dream… it is significant, and very applicable.
I dreamt I was at a mission reunion. Two of my very mission friends know about me and my partner Adam (in real life). They were there in this dream, as well as the hundreds of other missionaries I had the chance to serve with, to welcome into the mission field as an office missionary, and even the ones I didn’t know, but recognized their faces. The mission reunion was interesting in my dream, and although I felt at peace there, I was not comfortable.
At first I blamed this on the fact that I knew I was gay, and here I was, at a mission reunion. I thought my discomfort was because I was a sinner in the eyes of all these people – but it soon became apparent that my discomfort stemmed from something else.
I walked up to a sister companionship who were talking by themselves, only to hear them talking about me as I approached. I couldn’t hear everything, but I distinctly remember hearing the word “gay” in their conversation.
I froze, and wondered how they knew.
Suddenly, I was surrounded by all these good members of the church. They had fear and loathing in their eyes. The two friends of mine stood a little ways back, with compassion. It almost appeared like they were begging for forgiveness. Suddenly I realized that they had spilled the beans, and that everyone at this reunion knew I was gay.
On cue, one of the most flamboyant Elders in my mission field yelled “Is it true you are gay?” right in front of everyone. At first I was mortified, but then suddenly found myself in a teaching situation. I had the opportunity to explain what it meant to be gay.
Then my dream skipped, as they often do. I found myself on a barren street (one I recognized… it is the street that led to my house). No one was out, and the streets were empty. I set off home, pondering the events that took place during my “mission reunion.”
I was asking myself questions I have asked myself in life many times. “Why me?” “Why am I gay?” “Why do I constantly have to explain myself and clear up misunderstandings and misconceptions?”
In my dream I prayed, and asked God these same questions.
I admit I was surprised when a booming voice answered. Strangely, although the voice was loud and overpowering, it was also recognizable and calming. “Because I want it that way,” it said.
And then I woke up.
I must admit that I have drifted from the church over the past few years. I’ve allowed myself to make excuses to not go, and specifically have avoided places where I knew I would feel the spirit, because I was afraid of feeling guilty.
But the moment my eyes fluttered opened I felt that same, intense, overwhelming, screaming spirit I had only felt once before – when I was 14.
I don’t know why I have to go down the path I am going down. I don’t know, exactly, what it was about the experience of excommunication that I’m sure God wanted me to discover and learn from. But I do have one more piece of the puzzle. I know, beyond any doubt, that I have a job to do – even as an excommunicated Latter-Day Saint.
I am to tell my story, to teach, to explain, and to clear up misunderstandings and misconceptions.
The desire I have had to go to church, partly to just “stick it to the people” who would not want me there is not borne out of hostility. My Father wants it that way.
It was good to feel the spirit again and know that I am on the right track. It is good to know that somehow, my mission in life – whether changed from that vision of long ago or not – is somehow still being fulfilled. It is good to know that I am still capable of being a tool in the Lord’s hand.
I think I need to make a better effort to go to church… because somehow, somewhere, it is going to lead to a teaching experience. And a learning one too, I’m sure.
Friday, December 12, 2008
A long time coming...
With all the hype over California’s Proposition 8, and all the hoopla surrounding the after-effects, I decided to take a little break from my blog. I needed to clear my head and ensure that when I finally did sit down to write this piece, that I was doing so with a straight head. Sometimes, I get a little emotional over this issue.
First of all, I need to say that I get it. I understand why the church voices its doctrine in the way that it does. I don’t disagree with the LDS church or its decision to get involved in the Yes on 8 campaign. I understand that to the LDS church and its members, marriage is not just something that exists in this life, but is something that echoes the structure of the eternities. Families are how God gets things done, and marriage and children are the highest, most sacred rite; the closest to Godhood one can get in this life.
I also understand why the LGBT community is so upset over the time and money the LDS church spent fighting what they believe is (and what California ruled was) a civil right to legal marriage.
Gaining a clear understanding of this issue is difficult without the facts, and FACTS have been a bit hard to come by in this case. I feel FACTS have been skewed by both sides of the argument. Unfortunately, most of the evidence I have uncovered does seem to place some blame on the Yes on 8 campaign (notice, I DID NOT SAY the LDS Church), and I do very much feel that the Yes on 8 campaign was run with more dirt and malice than the No on 8 campaign was. I think this is why the LGBT, including myself, is so upset over this issue, and has chosen to place blame with the LDS church.
The fact is: The LDS church, or to put it more correctly, its members, financed more than half of the Yes on 8 campaign, which was full of lies and misconceptions. I received a copy of a letter sent by the Yes on 8 campaign to a businessman who had donated to the No on 8 campaign that was so awful and sickening, that to me, it bordered on blackmail. It wasn’t worded kindly, it wasn’t respectful. This letter told this business that if they did not donate equally to the Yes on 8 campaign, then the Yes on 8 campaign would post the name of this business, and advertise it as being against traditional family values.
The letter had four signatures. One was the chairman of the Yes on 8 campaign, one was a lawyer, one was a Catholic representative, and the other? LDS.
I will do my best to contact the LDS man on this letter in hopes of discovering his reasons for allowing his name to be used. After I let my bishop read this letter, even he was appalled. He told me that there must be a reason, something I was missing, something that only the LDS side of the argument could answer, as to why the LDS church would allow its name to be used in a strong-arm argument. I was assured that this was not the church’s way... although I do believe the current evidence dictates otherwise.
I hope I am mistaken, but even if I am, there will be few others within the LGBT community with more sympathy than I, and fewer still who are willing to seek for answers. If anyone knows any specifics, I would be very happy to discuss them. In fact, I’m salivating for the chance to discuss it with someone who worked closely with the Yes on 8 campaign, because for the life of me, I cannot understand why a church that I believe to be led by God himself would resort to using lies and falsehoods in a dirty campaign. Did the Yes on 8 campaign really think they were telling the truth? They had to know they were being deceptive, right? If God himself is against gay civil marriage, then there must be a better way to reach people than to spread the lie that schools would have to teach children about gay marriage, or that churches could lose their tax exempt status for not performing such marriages if a law were to pass that would require the state or federal government to recognize (legally) such unions. And let’s not forget about those “Six consequences of Gay Marriage” pamphlets that got distributed (written by Glen Greener and Gary Lawrence, two members of the LDS church), that were all refuted by a still-in-good-standing BYU professor (if his arguments weren’t legit, wouldn’t he have been fired like the other BYU professor who supported gay marriage?)
I don’t know how much the ACTUAL church donated to the Yes on 8 campaign, but I am sure that there is now an investigation as to why phone trees, ad production, actors, and website fees weren’t reported. I highly doubt that these funds came from the tithing funds of the church (the legality of such would be questionable), but I would like to know from where it came.
So if anyone might know of someone I can talk to in order to get these questions answered, I’d appreciate an email to gaysaint@gmail.com. Everything said in that discussion will remain confidential. I just need to know... for me.
My personal views of this subject will be discussed further... eventually.
First of all, I need to say that I get it. I understand why the church voices its doctrine in the way that it does. I don’t disagree with the LDS church or its decision to get involved in the Yes on 8 campaign. I understand that to the LDS church and its members, marriage is not just something that exists in this life, but is something that echoes the structure of the eternities. Families are how God gets things done, and marriage and children are the highest, most sacred rite; the closest to Godhood one can get in this life.
I also understand why the LGBT community is so upset over the time and money the LDS church spent fighting what they believe is (and what California ruled was) a civil right to legal marriage.
Gaining a clear understanding of this issue is difficult without the facts, and FACTS have been a bit hard to come by in this case. I feel FACTS have been skewed by both sides of the argument. Unfortunately, most of the evidence I have uncovered does seem to place some blame on the Yes on 8 campaign (notice, I DID NOT SAY the LDS Church), and I do very much feel that the Yes on 8 campaign was run with more dirt and malice than the No on 8 campaign was. I think this is why the LGBT, including myself, is so upset over this issue, and has chosen to place blame with the LDS church.
The fact is: The LDS church, or to put it more correctly, its members, financed more than half of the Yes on 8 campaign, which was full of lies and misconceptions. I received a copy of a letter sent by the Yes on 8 campaign to a businessman who had donated to the No on 8 campaign that was so awful and sickening, that to me, it bordered on blackmail. It wasn’t worded kindly, it wasn’t respectful. This letter told this business that if they did not donate equally to the Yes on 8 campaign, then the Yes on 8 campaign would post the name of this business, and advertise it as being against traditional family values.
The letter had four signatures. One was the chairman of the Yes on 8 campaign, one was a lawyer, one was a Catholic representative, and the other? LDS.
I will do my best to contact the LDS man on this letter in hopes of discovering his reasons for allowing his name to be used. After I let my bishop read this letter, even he was appalled. He told me that there must be a reason, something I was missing, something that only the LDS side of the argument could answer, as to why the LDS church would allow its name to be used in a strong-arm argument. I was assured that this was not the church’s way... although I do believe the current evidence dictates otherwise.
I hope I am mistaken, but even if I am, there will be few others within the LGBT community with more sympathy than I, and fewer still who are willing to seek for answers. If anyone knows any specifics, I would be very happy to discuss them. In fact, I’m salivating for the chance to discuss it with someone who worked closely with the Yes on 8 campaign, because for the life of me, I cannot understand why a church that I believe to be led by God himself would resort to using lies and falsehoods in a dirty campaign. Did the Yes on 8 campaign really think they were telling the truth? They had to know they were being deceptive, right? If God himself is against gay civil marriage, then there must be a better way to reach people than to spread the lie that schools would have to teach children about gay marriage, or that churches could lose their tax exempt status for not performing such marriages if a law were to pass that would require the state or federal government to recognize (legally) such unions. And let’s not forget about those “Six consequences of Gay Marriage” pamphlets that got distributed (written by Glen Greener and Gary Lawrence, two members of the LDS church), that were all refuted by a still-in-good-standing BYU professor (if his arguments weren’t legit, wouldn’t he have been fired like the other BYU professor who supported gay marriage?)
I don’t know how much the ACTUAL church donated to the Yes on 8 campaign, but I am sure that there is now an investigation as to why phone trees, ad production, actors, and website fees weren’t reported. I highly doubt that these funds came from the tithing funds of the church (the legality of such would be questionable), but I would like to know from where it came.
So if anyone might know of someone I can talk to in order to get these questions answered, I’d appreciate an email to gaysaint@gmail.com. Everything said in that discussion will remain confidential. I just need to know... for me.
My personal views of this subject will be discussed further... eventually.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The List
One of the many questions I often asked myself, and later asked to others, was “What can I do to overcome my same-gender attraction?” I was given various answers from multiple sources, but tried literally everything someone thought would help. I have compiled a quick list of everything I tried, in hopes that, perhaps, it can be of help to someone else, as well as show you exactly how much I did to try to overcome this part of my nature. I would like to elaborate on each of these list items, so forgive me if this post runs a bit long:
1. Prayer
2. Fasting
3. Church attendance
4. Scripture study
5. Seminary/Institute
6. Temple attendance
7. Mission service
8. Group and Individual therapy
9. Weekly meetings with bishops / Blessings
10. Church activities
11. Sports
12. Enlarging my circle of male friends
13. Reading church sponsored materials
14. Dating
1. Prayer. My Father in Heaven and I still have a great relationship – and this relationship was built on prayer. I’m sure you’ve heard of other gay young men who have claimed that prayer has been a staple in their life, and I am no different. I depended so much on prayer, that I don’t think there was a single day that went by without my offering at least four prayers a day related specifically to this issue. I’ve had prayers that have lasted hours, I’ve had prayers that lasted seconds. I’ve had tears during prayers in private, and even tears during prayers in public. Perhaps, most significantly, were the prayers I said before going to bed. My mom once caught me getting into bed without kneeling, and she asked me if I had forgotten to say my prayers. I made up some excuse about how I had said my nightly prayer earlier when she didn’t see, but the fact was, I prayed from the moment my light went out until I fell asleep every night, in hopes of keeping my thoughts clean and avoiding any dreams that might end up erotic. I don’t know how long these prayers lasted on average, but often they went well into the night.
2. Fasting. I was taught that fasting on fast Sunday was really the only time someone needed to fast, and that fasting any extra was superfluous. I was taught fasting on fast Sunday was enough to show God that you were willing and ready to do his will. I started fasting half-day when I was eight, and moved to a full fast when I was sixteen. I started fasting for the issue of same-gender attraction every month when I was twelve. I never missed a month, and often added extra fasts "just in case." Even when family outings, or holidays, or something else interfered, I made up the fast the week before, in hopes of showing the Lord just how hopeful I was, and how willing I was to put Him first.
3. Church attendance. I was never one to dislike going to church. I loved every meeting, and often went to more than one church session. For a while I was a member of a Spanish speaking branch, so I would attend those meetings, a branch missionary meeting, and then attend my home ward meetings all in the same day. Even after “coming out,” church attendance has been something I enjoy doing. I can’t remember ever skipping a meeting growing up, unless I was sick. My family even made it a point to find the local church on vacations.
4. Scripture study. I love the scriptures, especially the Bible and the Doctrine & Covenants. The Book of Mormon has never been a favorite of mine, but I made sure to read it every day anyway, and always rose to a scripture reading challenge, whether issued in a class, or by the church. I’m excited to share some of the things I have learned in regards to the scriptures on this blog. On average, my scripture study started around a half hour a day, but as I found temptation more difficult to resist, that time increased to at least an hour.
5. Seminary/Institute. Most high school kids I knew would occasionally cut class when it came to seminary, without any guilt or remorse. After all, we lived in Utah, and seminary was “release time” from a regularly scheduled school day. The school didn’t really care what you did with that time. I never missed a day. Institute was the same way. I always did my assignments, participated heavily in any and all activities (yup, even early morning devotionals), and never got anything less than an A. This was the one class where I felt it was inappropriate to get anything less… after all, how could I justify a B in "“God 101."
6. Temple attendance. When I turned 12 and went to the temple my first time, I loved it so much I made it a point to go at least monthly. This schedule became harder as I grew up and had less and less time, but when I was told that temple attendance might be the key to overcoming SGA, I increased my frequency. Once endowed, I frequented as often as possible, which often meant going more than once a month. If I felt particularly unworthy, I would go anyway and sit on the grounds until I did feel worthy, or would return another time that month.
7. Mission service. I made a promise to God that if He would do two things for me, I would serve an honorable mission for Him with all my might, heart, and strength. First, I wanted my inappropriate desires to go away. Second, I wanted to learn a foreign language. I repented for the second requirement my first day in the MTC. The wording of my release letter informed my priesthood leaders at home that I served a “… very honorable mission.” They were impressed by the addition of the word “very,” as was I.
8. Group and Individual therapy. I have a whole other blog on this subject.
9. Weekly meetings with a bishop. After I started therapy, I decided I needed the help and support of everyone who wouldn’t look down on me. I started meeting weekly with my bishop, and at his request started attending a singles ward, where I met with that bishop weekly, and my home ward bishop monthly. I used these meetings to bounce ideas, report on my progress, discuss my frustration, get priesthood blessings, and get encouragement. I found these two bishops to be especially supportive of me. I still meet with that home ward bishop on an every-other-month basis.
10. Church activities. During the years when I was in college and working full time, I found it difficult to arrange my schedule in such a way that I was able to participate in church activities during the week. At the insistence of my counselor, as well as my bishop, I made such arrangements. I also participated in my own “activities” during church – such as learning the names of every member of the elder’s quorum, and ensuring that I went anywhere I was invited to go with my fellow peers.
11. Sports. Yup, I even started learning new sports. I started figure skating (I know, not exactly a "straight" sport, but it gave me an outlet where I could set and achieve goals), learned to play golf (however awfully), attended super bowl parties, learned to play ultimate Frisbee, volleyball, and tennis, and specifically integrated myself into any sports related activities at church… except basketball… I never liked basketball. I gave myself this one exception.
12. Enlarging my circle of male friends. When I got home from my mission I really only had two good close male friends. It was suggested that building healthy relationships with other men would be advantageous, in hopes of settling the need I had for male companionship with friendship. I reconnected with two mission companions, and, as mentioned earlier, learned the names of the elders in my quorum (which, subsequently, earned me a spot as the quorum’s first counselor), and started to integrate myself into new circles of friends. I consider my success in this aspect to be rather high.
13. Reading church sponsored materials. Yes, this includes the Ensign and the Liahona (the Spanish version), but it also includes Evergreen books, the church’s 12 step addiction recovery program (in hopes that I would find something useful), Ty Mansfield’s book (with Stuart’s section ripped out by my mom. She didn’t want me to read anything that could be interpreted as “failure”), my counselor's book (which is fantastic), and many others. I reread the entire missionary library during this time as well, and had my bishop order in all of the materials written specifically to church leadership in regards to same-gender attraction.
14. Dating. When I got back from my mission I was practically engaged to a girl who had waited for me. When that didn’t work out I took some time to be single, and then continued along the dating path, with the encouragement of my parents, church leaders, and counselor. My church leaders always would ask, “Do you think your not wanting to get married could be because you haven’t found the right one yet? Maybe it isn’t because of this whole SGA thing.” Uh huh. Sure. I really did enjoy my time with these women, and became very good friends with most of them. Thankfully, most of us were able to part ways on good terms, and most have accepted me fully for who I am today.
The only step I can think of that could be on this list but isn’t, is the step of marriage. That is something I don’t think should just be “tried.” I realize that it decreases feelings of SGA for a very select few, but there is just no way I would be willing to take that risk. More on my feelings about marriage later.
If you can think of something that should be on this list, but isn’t, please feel free to contact me at gaysaint@gmail.com. Most likely, I've already tried it and just forgot to add it, but I'm always willing to accept suggestions.
1. Prayer
2. Fasting
3. Church attendance
4. Scripture study
5. Seminary/Institute
6. Temple attendance
7. Mission service
8. Group and Individual therapy
9. Weekly meetings with bishops / Blessings
10. Church activities
11. Sports
12. Enlarging my circle of male friends
13. Reading church sponsored materials
14. Dating
1. Prayer. My Father in Heaven and I still have a great relationship – and this relationship was built on prayer. I’m sure you’ve heard of other gay young men who have claimed that prayer has been a staple in their life, and I am no different. I depended so much on prayer, that I don’t think there was a single day that went by without my offering at least four prayers a day related specifically to this issue. I’ve had prayers that have lasted hours, I’ve had prayers that lasted seconds. I’ve had tears during prayers in private, and even tears during prayers in public. Perhaps, most significantly, were the prayers I said before going to bed. My mom once caught me getting into bed without kneeling, and she asked me if I had forgotten to say my prayers. I made up some excuse about how I had said my nightly prayer earlier when she didn’t see, but the fact was, I prayed from the moment my light went out until I fell asleep every night, in hopes of keeping my thoughts clean and avoiding any dreams that might end up erotic. I don’t know how long these prayers lasted on average, but often they went well into the night.
2. Fasting. I was taught that fasting on fast Sunday was really the only time someone needed to fast, and that fasting any extra was superfluous. I was taught fasting on fast Sunday was enough to show God that you were willing and ready to do his will. I started fasting half-day when I was eight, and moved to a full fast when I was sixteen. I started fasting for the issue of same-gender attraction every month when I was twelve. I never missed a month, and often added extra fasts "just in case." Even when family outings, or holidays, or something else interfered, I made up the fast the week before, in hopes of showing the Lord just how hopeful I was, and how willing I was to put Him first.
3. Church attendance. I was never one to dislike going to church. I loved every meeting, and often went to more than one church session. For a while I was a member of a Spanish speaking branch, so I would attend those meetings, a branch missionary meeting, and then attend my home ward meetings all in the same day. Even after “coming out,” church attendance has been something I enjoy doing. I can’t remember ever skipping a meeting growing up, unless I was sick. My family even made it a point to find the local church on vacations.
4. Scripture study. I love the scriptures, especially the Bible and the Doctrine & Covenants. The Book of Mormon has never been a favorite of mine, but I made sure to read it every day anyway, and always rose to a scripture reading challenge, whether issued in a class, or by the church. I’m excited to share some of the things I have learned in regards to the scriptures on this blog. On average, my scripture study started around a half hour a day, but as I found temptation more difficult to resist, that time increased to at least an hour.
5. Seminary/Institute. Most high school kids I knew would occasionally cut class when it came to seminary, without any guilt or remorse. After all, we lived in Utah, and seminary was “release time” from a regularly scheduled school day. The school didn’t really care what you did with that time. I never missed a day. Institute was the same way. I always did my assignments, participated heavily in any and all activities (yup, even early morning devotionals), and never got anything less than an A. This was the one class where I felt it was inappropriate to get anything less… after all, how could I justify a B in "“God 101."
6. Temple attendance. When I turned 12 and went to the temple my first time, I loved it so much I made it a point to go at least monthly. This schedule became harder as I grew up and had less and less time, but when I was told that temple attendance might be the key to overcoming SGA, I increased my frequency. Once endowed, I frequented as often as possible, which often meant going more than once a month. If I felt particularly unworthy, I would go anyway and sit on the grounds until I did feel worthy, or would return another time that month.
7. Mission service. I made a promise to God that if He would do two things for me, I would serve an honorable mission for Him with all my might, heart, and strength. First, I wanted my inappropriate desires to go away. Second, I wanted to learn a foreign language. I repented for the second requirement my first day in the MTC. The wording of my release letter informed my priesthood leaders at home that I served a “… very honorable mission.” They were impressed by the addition of the word “very,” as was I.
8. Group and Individual therapy. I have a whole other blog on this subject.
9. Weekly meetings with a bishop. After I started therapy, I decided I needed the help and support of everyone who wouldn’t look down on me. I started meeting weekly with my bishop, and at his request started attending a singles ward, where I met with that bishop weekly, and my home ward bishop monthly. I used these meetings to bounce ideas, report on my progress, discuss my frustration, get priesthood blessings, and get encouragement. I found these two bishops to be especially supportive of me. I still meet with that home ward bishop on an every-other-month basis.
10. Church activities. During the years when I was in college and working full time, I found it difficult to arrange my schedule in such a way that I was able to participate in church activities during the week. At the insistence of my counselor, as well as my bishop, I made such arrangements. I also participated in my own “activities” during church – such as learning the names of every member of the elder’s quorum, and ensuring that I went anywhere I was invited to go with my fellow peers.
11. Sports. Yup, I even started learning new sports. I started figure skating (I know, not exactly a "straight" sport, but it gave me an outlet where I could set and achieve goals), learned to play golf (however awfully), attended super bowl parties, learned to play ultimate Frisbee, volleyball, and tennis, and specifically integrated myself into any sports related activities at church… except basketball… I never liked basketball. I gave myself this one exception.
12. Enlarging my circle of male friends. When I got home from my mission I really only had two good close male friends. It was suggested that building healthy relationships with other men would be advantageous, in hopes of settling the need I had for male companionship with friendship. I reconnected with two mission companions, and, as mentioned earlier, learned the names of the elders in my quorum (which, subsequently, earned me a spot as the quorum’s first counselor), and started to integrate myself into new circles of friends. I consider my success in this aspect to be rather high.
13. Reading church sponsored materials. Yes, this includes the Ensign and the Liahona (the Spanish version), but it also includes Evergreen books, the church’s 12 step addiction recovery program (in hopes that I would find something useful), Ty Mansfield’s book (with Stuart’s section ripped out by my mom. She didn’t want me to read anything that could be interpreted as “failure”), my counselor's book (which is fantastic), and many others. I reread the entire missionary library during this time as well, and had my bishop order in all of the materials written specifically to church leadership in regards to same-gender attraction.
14. Dating. When I got back from my mission I was practically engaged to a girl who had waited for me. When that didn’t work out I took some time to be single, and then continued along the dating path, with the encouragement of my parents, church leaders, and counselor. My church leaders always would ask, “Do you think your not wanting to get married could be because you haven’t found the right one yet? Maybe it isn’t because of this whole SGA thing.” Uh huh. Sure. I really did enjoy my time with these women, and became very good friends with most of them. Thankfully, most of us were able to part ways on good terms, and most have accepted me fully for who I am today.
The only step I can think of that could be on this list but isn’t, is the step of marriage. That is something I don’t think should just be “tried.” I realize that it decreases feelings of SGA for a very select few, but there is just no way I would be willing to take that risk. More on my feelings about marriage later.
If you can think of something that should be on this list, but isn’t, please feel free to contact me at gaysaint@gmail.com. Most likely, I've already tried it and just forgot to add it, but I'm always willing to accept suggestions.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Coming Out
My relationship with Dave moved quickly, more out of necessity than anything else. I knew my parents would never support my decision, and so I quickly had to come up with living arrangements that didn’t include my parent’s basement. Dave spoke with his parents, who, although LDS, were extremely supportive of me, and it was decided that I would move in there.
I very clearly remember the Sunday afternoon that I told my mother I was moving out. I was, of course, extremely nervous. Luckily, she had already known about my same-gender attraction, so I didn’t have to start from the beginning. I had arranged for some friends of mine to show up with a truck at 7pm, and I already had most of my stuff organized in such a way that I could pack easily.
I can still feel the emotion of that day. I was so sad, because I knew I would no longer be a welcome member of my family, now that I had “acted out” on my tendencies. My mom was napping on the couch and I sat at her feet for almost half an hour before she noticed I was there. She finally asked me what was wrong.
It is very painful to recount what happened after that moment, so I’m going to skip over it briefly. I became an emotional mess. The only thing I could do was wall myself off from everything everyone was saying. Before I got done crying my entire family was in the room, my dad called home from work, my sisters called from their respective apartments, my bishop and his wife were there. At one point I found myself defending my right to live, as my father informed me he would rather see me dead than gay. My bishop, who was a kind and intellectual man, did the best he could to stop anyone from saying things that would be forever damaging, but things were still said.
I can’t say that I’m proud of myself in that moment, because I said some things I wish I wouldn’t have said as well. Finally, the doorbell rang, my friends there to bail me out. My dad helped me pack – I don’t know if he was trying to be helpful and apologetic for the things he had said to me, or if he was just trying to get me out of the house quicker.
My relationship with my parents and family has never been the same. I blame myself, partly, for that. I don’t know how I could have softened the blow for them, I don’t know how I could have prepared them better. I gave them almost two years of foresight, they had read the books, talked openly with me about my experiences in counseling (at this time I was still involved in counseling and group therapy), and although I know they wish I would have been capable of making a different choice, I feel as though I prepared them the best I could for either outcome. Still, it was a heart-wrenching experience for me to pull away from that house. I had to hide behind a bit of strength and defiance, and I wish I could have come off that evening with a little more kindness, but I didn’t know how.
That night, Dave’s mom cried with me for hours. I remember breaking down to her, and I remember her putting her arms around me and telling me that I was safe, and loved, and wanted. I didn’t understand how someone who was LDS could be so loving and kind to me. When I asked about this she simply stated, “God made you the way you are for some greater purpose. He knows more than we do.”
The next five months of my life were an adjusting period as I learned how to live as an out gay man. I attended church every week, held regular meetings with my priesthood leaders, and finished out my group counseling session, where everyone learned of my choice, and, surprisingly, received it well. One of the group members mentioned the first week after I had come out, that I walked in, sat down, and looked relaxed for the first time he had seen. They knew the time and effort I had put into my decision, and I was respected for it. I finished out the group therapy with a Christ-like love for my friends in that group, and hope they are all doing well. I wish them the best.
At the end of the five months, and I recount these next few experiences only for the sake of completeness, my relationship with Dave turned sour. Law enforcement showed up on our doorstep, and Dave confessed to me his desire to seek a relationship with underage boys. I was of the opinion that our relationship could still work, as long as we loved each other and he was willing to seek professional help, to which he agreed. But once his secret was out he didn’t feel any desire to hide it, and he began telling me about his trips to the local pool, and the young boys he met there, and how some of their parents were “OK” with him spending time with their son. When I confronted him about one particular boy, we got into an argument that resulted in his attempted suicide.
I saw Dave in the hospital a few days later, and told him how happy I was that he had survived. I told him how much I loved him, but then told him that if he was so scared to break up with me that he would rather kill himself, then I would do the hard work for him.
Dave’s parents asked me to stay in the home with them, because, they said, I had become a son to them. I told them I also felt a familiar bond, but that Dave was their son, and he needed their support.
I don’t regret any decisions I made, and am still very grateful for Dave and his amazing family. I do wish there would have been a way to slow down the relationship so that I could have learned about Dave’s problems before we moved in together.
I did feel cheated. I had given my heart to Dave, even if it was for only five months, but it was his completely. He had never loved me.
I knew that this was an opportunity to possibly get back into church, to live a celibate life, but I wanted so badly to be loved.
So I took the experiences I garnished, spent three months as a man with no commitments to anyone as I discovered myself, and enjoyed learning about the gay culture from my new roommate, who was kind enough to share his apartment with me for a few months. My new bishop was much kinder than the one in Dave’s ward, probably due to the fact that he was about 40 years younger, and I found myself easily able to confide in him. It was during these few months that I realized that the self-hatred I had harbored for so long was waning, and I could see the church side of me, and the gay side of me, finally getting along.
I very clearly remember the Sunday afternoon that I told my mother I was moving out. I was, of course, extremely nervous. Luckily, she had already known about my same-gender attraction, so I didn’t have to start from the beginning. I had arranged for some friends of mine to show up with a truck at 7pm, and I already had most of my stuff organized in such a way that I could pack easily.
I can still feel the emotion of that day. I was so sad, because I knew I would no longer be a welcome member of my family, now that I had “acted out” on my tendencies. My mom was napping on the couch and I sat at her feet for almost half an hour before she noticed I was there. She finally asked me what was wrong.
It is very painful to recount what happened after that moment, so I’m going to skip over it briefly. I became an emotional mess. The only thing I could do was wall myself off from everything everyone was saying. Before I got done crying my entire family was in the room, my dad called home from work, my sisters called from their respective apartments, my bishop and his wife were there. At one point I found myself defending my right to live, as my father informed me he would rather see me dead than gay. My bishop, who was a kind and intellectual man, did the best he could to stop anyone from saying things that would be forever damaging, but things were still said.
I can’t say that I’m proud of myself in that moment, because I said some things I wish I wouldn’t have said as well. Finally, the doorbell rang, my friends there to bail me out. My dad helped me pack – I don’t know if he was trying to be helpful and apologetic for the things he had said to me, or if he was just trying to get me out of the house quicker.
My relationship with my parents and family has never been the same. I blame myself, partly, for that. I don’t know how I could have softened the blow for them, I don’t know how I could have prepared them better. I gave them almost two years of foresight, they had read the books, talked openly with me about my experiences in counseling (at this time I was still involved in counseling and group therapy), and although I know they wish I would have been capable of making a different choice, I feel as though I prepared them the best I could for either outcome. Still, it was a heart-wrenching experience for me to pull away from that house. I had to hide behind a bit of strength and defiance, and I wish I could have come off that evening with a little more kindness, but I didn’t know how.
That night, Dave’s mom cried with me for hours. I remember breaking down to her, and I remember her putting her arms around me and telling me that I was safe, and loved, and wanted. I didn’t understand how someone who was LDS could be so loving and kind to me. When I asked about this she simply stated, “God made you the way you are for some greater purpose. He knows more than we do.”
The next five months of my life were an adjusting period as I learned how to live as an out gay man. I attended church every week, held regular meetings with my priesthood leaders, and finished out my group counseling session, where everyone learned of my choice, and, surprisingly, received it well. One of the group members mentioned the first week after I had come out, that I walked in, sat down, and looked relaxed for the first time he had seen. They knew the time and effort I had put into my decision, and I was respected for it. I finished out the group therapy with a Christ-like love for my friends in that group, and hope they are all doing well. I wish them the best.
At the end of the five months, and I recount these next few experiences only for the sake of completeness, my relationship with Dave turned sour. Law enforcement showed up on our doorstep, and Dave confessed to me his desire to seek a relationship with underage boys. I was of the opinion that our relationship could still work, as long as we loved each other and he was willing to seek professional help, to which he agreed. But once his secret was out he didn’t feel any desire to hide it, and he began telling me about his trips to the local pool, and the young boys he met there, and how some of their parents were “OK” with him spending time with their son. When I confronted him about one particular boy, we got into an argument that resulted in his attempted suicide.
I saw Dave in the hospital a few days later, and told him how happy I was that he had survived. I told him how much I loved him, but then told him that if he was so scared to break up with me that he would rather kill himself, then I would do the hard work for him.
Dave’s parents asked me to stay in the home with them, because, they said, I had become a son to them. I told them I also felt a familiar bond, but that Dave was their son, and he needed their support.
I don’t regret any decisions I made, and am still very grateful for Dave and his amazing family. I do wish there would have been a way to slow down the relationship so that I could have learned about Dave’s problems before we moved in together.
I did feel cheated. I had given my heart to Dave, even if it was for only five months, but it was his completely. He had never loved me.
I knew that this was an opportunity to possibly get back into church, to live a celibate life, but I wanted so badly to be loved.
So I took the experiences I garnished, spent three months as a man with no commitments to anyone as I discovered myself, and enjoyed learning about the gay culture from my new roommate, who was kind enough to share his apartment with me for a few months. My new bishop was much kinder than the one in Dave’s ward, probably due to the fact that he was about 40 years younger, and I found myself easily able to confide in him. It was during these few months that I realized that the self-hatred I had harbored for so long was waning, and I could see the church side of me, and the gay side of me, finally getting along.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
The Fall
--
Just a note: Although this entry doesn’t specifically tell of my first homosexual experience (nor will I ever relate those types of details), it does discuss how I met my first boyfriend, and the spiritual experiences that relate thereto. While recounting this story to a friend, just as it is outlined here, she told me it was “too much information.” However, it is a pivotal point in my story, and the spiritual experiences contained herein MUST be recounted.
--
It wasn’t long after that experience with the church, that shift of faith, that I met Dave (name has been changed). Dave was an interesting fellow, and we became friends long before I knew he was gay (blame it on faulty gaydar if you want). When we finally discussed his sexuality, I suddenly was filled with a million questions: What was it like to be an out gay Mormon? How did you resolve the inner conflict? What did it take to come to terms with, what I considered was, breaking the law of chastity?
In counseling, I was told I needed to stop running away from my fears. Whenever I had met anyone else like Dave in the past, I immediately ran in the opposite direction. This tendency I had to run away affected my relationships with male friends, as well. I never allowed myself to get too close to someone I was attracted to, just in case. This was a behavior I was told I needed to change, so I decided to maintain my friendship with Dave. This, to me, necessitated my telling him of my own personal struggles with homosexuality.
He took the news very well, and promised to never do anything to make me uncomfortable. The joke flirting he was known for while thinking I was “straight” stopped immediately, and he did nothing but listen and answer my questions to the best of his ability. I found this to be very comforting, and also very strange. I was always taught that gay men were only after sex, and after telling Dave of my own homosexuality, I practically expected him to pressure me into more intimate situations. This was simply not the case. Dave respected my boundaries, and I respected him for that.
When I told him I had some more embarrassing questions to ask him, that I didn’t think would be appropriate to do in private because of my own temptations, he immediately suggested we go to dinner. The public ambiance of a restaurant would remove any possibility of “falling into temptation” while maintaining enough privacy that our conversation would not be overheard. I was cautious at first, because I didn’t want to feel like I was being taken on a date. We resolved that we would each pay for our own meals, take separate cars, and treat it as nothing more than two friends going out to eat, because, after all, that would be exactly what it was. We went to Panda Express so nothing would be too formal, and I finally got to ask the questions that had been weighing on my mind regarding alcohol, drugs, sex, promiscuity, and the more negative details of the gay lifestyle.
Questions led to more questions, and when dinner was over and we had been sitting in the restaurant for far too long, our conversation turned back to religion, and I thought it would be safe to invite him back to a house that I was watching for a friend so that we could continue our conversation.
As the night drew to a close I saw something in Dave’s eye that sent my head into a spiral. There was a glimmer there that told me he was starting to have feelings for me. I knew he would never act on this interest, out of respect for me, but I also knew that the situation had come that I had prepared for during the last 12 years of struggle. That fact didn’t scare me as much as knowing that I wasn’t strong enough to resist. I started telling myself that there was nothing wrong with wanting to know what it felt like to hug him, but before my train of thought could go beyond that, I excused myself and went into the bedroom, where I hit my knees in prayer.
I pleaded with my Heavenly Father. I told him that the moment had come where I would fall, and I knew I wasn’t strong enough spiritually, even after all of my preparation, to resist. The worst part was that part of me didn't want to resist. I begged God for any excuse… a telephone call, an earthquake, a fire, an angelic vision, anything to distract me or give me a reason to send Dave home.
In that moment I think I felt the spirit more strongly than I ever have in my life. I could almost make out the words, “It will be alright.”
I argued back. A spiritual revelation like that was not enough. Couldn’t I at least get a “Don’t do it!”, or “You'll go to Hell!?” Things would not be alright, I was going to fail!
The voice returned, and simply said, “I know.”
I don’t believe those two words were an endorsement, maybe not even approval, but I did learn more about agency and the lengths to which God is willing to go for my happiness. I knew that God wanted me to be happy, and that if His way wasn’t working for me, then He was willing to allow me to try my own.
I think when people say they received an answer from God telling them that it was OK to be gay, that they aren't lying. I know, from an LDS perspective, that such an answer would seem impossible. But I think, perhaps, that such a claim is simply an answer similar to mine - and what a loving God it is who gives us such range on our agency.
My resolve remained unsure as the spirit drifted slowly away. The only thing that remained was the knowledge that I was, in fact, gay, and the choice in this situation wasn't whether or not to break the laws of God, but whether or not I would allow myself to love. Did I dare allow my relationship with Dave to grow? Was it even possible for me to love? I had tried with so many women without success, so since I had never felt those feelings was it even possible? I didn't know.
But I finally got off my knees, resolved to give love a chance.
Just a note: Although this entry doesn’t specifically tell of my first homosexual experience (nor will I ever relate those types of details), it does discuss how I met my first boyfriend, and the spiritual experiences that relate thereto. While recounting this story to a friend, just as it is outlined here, she told me it was “too much information.” However, it is a pivotal point in my story, and the spiritual experiences contained herein MUST be recounted.
--
It wasn’t long after that experience with the church, that shift of faith, that I met Dave (name has been changed). Dave was an interesting fellow, and we became friends long before I knew he was gay (blame it on faulty gaydar if you want). When we finally discussed his sexuality, I suddenly was filled with a million questions: What was it like to be an out gay Mormon? How did you resolve the inner conflict? What did it take to come to terms with, what I considered was, breaking the law of chastity?
In counseling, I was told I needed to stop running away from my fears. Whenever I had met anyone else like Dave in the past, I immediately ran in the opposite direction. This tendency I had to run away affected my relationships with male friends, as well. I never allowed myself to get too close to someone I was attracted to, just in case. This was a behavior I was told I needed to change, so I decided to maintain my friendship with Dave. This, to me, necessitated my telling him of my own personal struggles with homosexuality.
He took the news very well, and promised to never do anything to make me uncomfortable. The joke flirting he was known for while thinking I was “straight” stopped immediately, and he did nothing but listen and answer my questions to the best of his ability. I found this to be very comforting, and also very strange. I was always taught that gay men were only after sex, and after telling Dave of my own homosexuality, I practically expected him to pressure me into more intimate situations. This was simply not the case. Dave respected my boundaries, and I respected him for that.
When I told him I had some more embarrassing questions to ask him, that I didn’t think would be appropriate to do in private because of my own temptations, he immediately suggested we go to dinner. The public ambiance of a restaurant would remove any possibility of “falling into temptation” while maintaining enough privacy that our conversation would not be overheard. I was cautious at first, because I didn’t want to feel like I was being taken on a date. We resolved that we would each pay for our own meals, take separate cars, and treat it as nothing more than two friends going out to eat, because, after all, that would be exactly what it was. We went to Panda Express so nothing would be too formal, and I finally got to ask the questions that had been weighing on my mind regarding alcohol, drugs, sex, promiscuity, and the more negative details of the gay lifestyle.
Questions led to more questions, and when dinner was over and we had been sitting in the restaurant for far too long, our conversation turned back to religion, and I thought it would be safe to invite him back to a house that I was watching for a friend so that we could continue our conversation.
As the night drew to a close I saw something in Dave’s eye that sent my head into a spiral. There was a glimmer there that told me he was starting to have feelings for me. I knew he would never act on this interest, out of respect for me, but I also knew that the situation had come that I had prepared for during the last 12 years of struggle. That fact didn’t scare me as much as knowing that I wasn’t strong enough to resist. I started telling myself that there was nothing wrong with wanting to know what it felt like to hug him, but before my train of thought could go beyond that, I excused myself and went into the bedroom, where I hit my knees in prayer.
I pleaded with my Heavenly Father. I told him that the moment had come where I would fall, and I knew I wasn’t strong enough spiritually, even after all of my preparation, to resist. The worst part was that part of me didn't want to resist. I begged God for any excuse… a telephone call, an earthquake, a fire, an angelic vision, anything to distract me or give me a reason to send Dave home.
In that moment I think I felt the spirit more strongly than I ever have in my life. I could almost make out the words, “It will be alright.”
I argued back. A spiritual revelation like that was not enough. Couldn’t I at least get a “Don’t do it!”, or “You'll go to Hell!?” Things would not be alright, I was going to fail!
The voice returned, and simply said, “I know.”
I don’t believe those two words were an endorsement, maybe not even approval, but I did learn more about agency and the lengths to which God is willing to go for my happiness. I knew that God wanted me to be happy, and that if His way wasn’t working for me, then He was willing to allow me to try my own.
I think when people say they received an answer from God telling them that it was OK to be gay, that they aren't lying. I know, from an LDS perspective, that such an answer would seem impossible. But I think, perhaps, that such a claim is simply an answer similar to mine - and what a loving God it is who gives us such range on our agency.
My resolve remained unsure as the spirit drifted slowly away. The only thing that remained was the knowledge that I was, in fact, gay, and the choice in this situation wasn't whether or not to break the laws of God, but whether or not I would allow myself to love. Did I dare allow my relationship with Dave to grow? Was it even possible for me to love? I had tried with so many women without success, so since I had never felt those feelings was it even possible? I didn't know.
But I finally got off my knees, resolved to give love a chance.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
A Shift of Faith
I can tell you the exact moment when I lost faith in the church’s ability to help me overcome my same gender attraction. It was the same moment that I realized they had no understanding of my struggle. Sure, I knew that Elder Oaks had stated that the causes of homosexuality were unknown. I knew that the church didn’t officially endorse marriage or reparative therapy as a solution to the “problem.” But for some reason I continued to believe that there was something I was missing, something that could be found in the church, something I wasn’t doing, or didn’t understand, that by finding, would put into perspective the grander scheme of my place in the plan of salvation. Now I leave that for God to reveal, and hope that he will do so using the church. Until then, I’ll finally listen to the choir of church leaders that I had heard for so long singing “I don’t know.”
The moment was rather simple. I was sitting in sacrament meeting in my local single’s ward during the time that the federal marriage amendment was before the senate. Around this time the church put out a letter requesting all of its members to write their senators in support of the amendment. Our high-counsel man got up to read the letter, but instead of simply reading what was put out by the church, he first attacked “gays and lesbians” as being “detrimental to society and the sacred institution of marriage.” His rant continued for about ten minutes (perhaps there was just some time left in the meeting he felt he should fill?), before finally reading the letter, adding his personal testimony to the fact that the amendment needed to pass, and sitting down.
The bishop during this time knew of my plight. He purposely avoided my eyes during the entire tirade, and did not stop the man at the pulpit. Obviously I was furious. I remember feeling my hands ball into fists, hoping no one would notice while at the same time feeling an overwhelming desire to get up and march out in protest. The only reason I didn’t was because, at this time, I wasn’t prepared to come out publicly.
To make matters worse, as the words of the closing hymn were being sung, I was struck by the incredible hypocrisy that only I seemed to notice. I looked around the congregation in awe and wonder as they sang “As I have loved you, love one another.” I got so choked up I couldn’t sing.
That night I wrote my senator asking him to vote “no” on the federal amendment to legally define marriage between one man and one woman.
The next week I had my regular appointment to see my bishop and report how I was doing. After informing him of the astonishing event I had witnessed, and that he had been apart of the week earlier, and telling him of my choice to write my senator in opposition to the amendment, I was informed my temple recommend was then in danger. I was, the bishop informed me, in violation of two of the temple recommend interview questions (paraphrased): 1. Do you sustain the leadership of the church, and 2. Do you support or affiliate yourself with any group whose practices are contrary to the doctrines of the church.
I did not lose my temple recommend that day, but was warned to repent and take heed. I left the office flabbergasted and awed that such a display of outright hatred was expressed with no repercussions. This fact caused me to distrust my bishop’s sincerity in his quest to help me. I realized that the church, with all of its understanding of both the physical and spiritual world, had no idea, or just didn’t care, what it felt like to be a full-fledged worthy member struggling with same gender attraction. There was no endorsed program to help me, and those that tried to help knew less about how to help than I did.
The moment was rather simple. I was sitting in sacrament meeting in my local single’s ward during the time that the federal marriage amendment was before the senate. Around this time the church put out a letter requesting all of its members to write their senators in support of the amendment. Our high-counsel man got up to read the letter, but instead of simply reading what was put out by the church, he first attacked “gays and lesbians” as being “detrimental to society and the sacred institution of marriage.” His rant continued for about ten minutes (perhaps there was just some time left in the meeting he felt he should fill?), before finally reading the letter, adding his personal testimony to the fact that the amendment needed to pass, and sitting down.
The bishop during this time knew of my plight. He purposely avoided my eyes during the entire tirade, and did not stop the man at the pulpit. Obviously I was furious. I remember feeling my hands ball into fists, hoping no one would notice while at the same time feeling an overwhelming desire to get up and march out in protest. The only reason I didn’t was because, at this time, I wasn’t prepared to come out publicly.
To make matters worse, as the words of the closing hymn were being sung, I was struck by the incredible hypocrisy that only I seemed to notice. I looked around the congregation in awe and wonder as they sang “As I have loved you, love one another.” I got so choked up I couldn’t sing.
That night I wrote my senator asking him to vote “no” on the federal amendment to legally define marriage between one man and one woman.
The next week I had my regular appointment to see my bishop and report how I was doing. After informing him of the astonishing event I had witnessed, and that he had been apart of the week earlier, and telling him of my choice to write my senator in opposition to the amendment, I was informed my temple recommend was then in danger. I was, the bishop informed me, in violation of two of the temple recommend interview questions (paraphrased): 1. Do you sustain the leadership of the church, and 2. Do you support or affiliate yourself with any group whose practices are contrary to the doctrines of the church.
I did not lose my temple recommend that day, but was warned to repent and take heed. I left the office flabbergasted and awed that such a display of outright hatred was expressed with no repercussions. This fact caused me to distrust my bishop’s sincerity in his quest to help me. I realized that the church, with all of its understanding of both the physical and spiritual world, had no idea, or just didn’t care, what it felt like to be a full-fledged worthy member struggling with same gender attraction. There was no endorsed program to help me, and those that tried to help knew less about how to help than I did.
Monday, August 4, 2008
The Mission Years
To say my mission was the best two years of my life wouldn’t exactly be the full truth, but I did gain incredible life experiences for which I will always be grateful. The people, the culture, the language, and the friendships I made were incredible. I loved immersing myself in the scriptures in ways I never could do at home, and couldn’t believe that the doctrines of the church that I had grown up with were viewed so unconventionally in average society. For those who might be wondering, I served from 2002 to 2004 in the Texas McAllen mission. Now, just in case there is a random missionary from that timeframe that might be reading this and horrified at the possibility that I was their companion, just let me assure – I feel very blessed, even lucky, to have never been attracted to one of my companions.
That said, in relation to my homosexual feelings and desires, serving a mission was very difficult. That difficulty started in the MTC, where I was forced to shower with other men. For years I had taken myself out of situations where I would be in the presence of undressed men, and I find it slightly ironic that my first experience with a live nude body was seemingly church endorsed. I did everything I could to avoid being in the shower with other people by showering at night, at odd times, or by moving to a different bathroom where the men were, at least, less attractive. Yet the repercussions didn’t escape me, and my thoughts became very difficult to control. I also was robbed of my pornography outlet (again, I was very upfront with my priesthood leaders about this… and this was before the so-called “raising of the bar”). I found myself often seeking solace, even if it was just outside of the dormitory door for ten minutes, where I would write or read scriptures in hopes of relieving the tension.
Things did get better in the mission field, although some days were better than others. I have one companion that I have now told my whole story, and he was the most sensitive companion to my issues. One night, I had had a particularly rough day, and although this person didn’t know what I was struggling with at the time, he did notice that something was bothering me. It was probably my fists that gave it away, sometimes balled up so tightly that the knuckles literally turned white. The physical agony I felt cannot be understood by someone who has not been in a similar situation. This companion looked at me very seriously as he climbed into bed, and said, “I don’t know what is bothering you, and I know you don’t want to talk about it, but just promise me you’ll talk to the mission president if you have another day like today.”
I was so preoccupied that I hadn’t even noticed that he noticed I was preoccupied. I responded by telling him that I was ok, but he was serious about making me promise to see the mission president if I ever felt the same again. In fact, he wouldn’t let it go until I did.
A few weeks later, I was tracting (knocking on doors) with this same companion, when a young man about our age opened the door with his shirt off. As usual, my companion managed to get the man to invite us in, and proceeded to teach our first lesson. I remember the day well, but I don’t remember the discussion. My head literally swam through the whole thing, and the guilt I felt for being preoccupied over this man’s body over his soul was enough to send me spiraling back into that place where I physically hurt. Luckily it was getting late, and I was able to find enough distractions to keep myself from thinking about the man for the rest of the evening. That night, however, my companion said nothing, but gave me a look that reminded me of the promise I had made to him.
That companion told me just four months ago that he suspected I was gay, but that during those hard days he didn’t know what it was that was causing my suffering. He doesn’t remember the man without his shirt (and why should he?), nor did he put together that this man was a trigger that put me into the same place I had been in a few weeks earlier. I told this companion everything during a mission reunion just this last April. He is the only missionary I served with that currently knows me as an out, gay man, and his love and support has been a great pillar to me. Our friendship has only strengthened.
The day following the man without a shirt, I woke up in what could only be considered a depression. I made an appointment with the mission president, as per my promise, and actually had the opportunity to sit down with him that same day. I expected to be sent home, part of me wanted to be sent home, but after asking me a few questions regarding my past and present conduct, I was simply told that I would have an appointment set up in a few weeks with a traveling counselor from LDS Family Services. During the interim between the meeting with the mission president and the appointment with the counselor, my companion was transferred, and I got someone new. When it came time for my appointment, he was allowed to sit outside of the door, but he knew where we were. I kept trying to come up with an excuse as to why I needed to see someone from LDS Family Services, and this new companion of mine was not one to let the subject go easily. I never did come up with an excuse. I eventually just refused to answer his questions.
The counseling session was, to put it simply, a waste of time. The counselor made me feel like a sinner, like someone who was “lucky” to be on a mission as opposed to someone who was working my butt off every day to be there. He gave me a few scriptures to read regarding Nephi’s leaving Jerusalem, which I suppose was to be some way of telling me to leave my homosexuality behind to find “the promised land.” It really is too bad that this counselor didn’t understand that even those men who choose to live some sort of gospel-approved life with this problem, it never, ever, ever gets left behind.
My mission president called me a few days after my appointment to ask me how things went. I responded, “Just fine,” to which he asked if I would like to see the counselor again. My answer was, of course, no thank you. I think the mission president took that to mean that this one counseling session somehow had “fixed” me. Honestly, I felt even worse, but I knew that I was going to be home in a few months, and hoped that at the completion of a successful mission God would see fit to finally bless me with the ability to love a woman.
I was released honorably soon after, with the faith that the gospel and a conventional family was what awaited me.
That said, in relation to my homosexual feelings and desires, serving a mission was very difficult. That difficulty started in the MTC, where I was forced to shower with other men. For years I had taken myself out of situations where I would be in the presence of undressed men, and I find it slightly ironic that my first experience with a live nude body was seemingly church endorsed. I did everything I could to avoid being in the shower with other people by showering at night, at odd times, or by moving to a different bathroom where the men were, at least, less attractive. Yet the repercussions didn’t escape me, and my thoughts became very difficult to control. I also was robbed of my pornography outlet (again, I was very upfront with my priesthood leaders about this… and this was before the so-called “raising of the bar”). I found myself often seeking solace, even if it was just outside of the dormitory door for ten minutes, where I would write or read scriptures in hopes of relieving the tension.
Things did get better in the mission field, although some days were better than others. I have one companion that I have now told my whole story, and he was the most sensitive companion to my issues. One night, I had had a particularly rough day, and although this person didn’t know what I was struggling with at the time, he did notice that something was bothering me. It was probably my fists that gave it away, sometimes balled up so tightly that the knuckles literally turned white. The physical agony I felt cannot be understood by someone who has not been in a similar situation. This companion looked at me very seriously as he climbed into bed, and said, “I don’t know what is bothering you, and I know you don’t want to talk about it, but just promise me you’ll talk to the mission president if you have another day like today.”
I was so preoccupied that I hadn’t even noticed that he noticed I was preoccupied. I responded by telling him that I was ok, but he was serious about making me promise to see the mission president if I ever felt the same again. In fact, he wouldn’t let it go until I did.
A few weeks later, I was tracting (knocking on doors) with this same companion, when a young man about our age opened the door with his shirt off. As usual, my companion managed to get the man to invite us in, and proceeded to teach our first lesson. I remember the day well, but I don’t remember the discussion. My head literally swam through the whole thing, and the guilt I felt for being preoccupied over this man’s body over his soul was enough to send me spiraling back into that place where I physically hurt. Luckily it was getting late, and I was able to find enough distractions to keep myself from thinking about the man for the rest of the evening. That night, however, my companion said nothing, but gave me a look that reminded me of the promise I had made to him.
That companion told me just four months ago that he suspected I was gay, but that during those hard days he didn’t know what it was that was causing my suffering. He doesn’t remember the man without his shirt (and why should he?), nor did he put together that this man was a trigger that put me into the same place I had been in a few weeks earlier. I told this companion everything during a mission reunion just this last April. He is the only missionary I served with that currently knows me as an out, gay man, and his love and support has been a great pillar to me. Our friendship has only strengthened.
The day following the man without a shirt, I woke up in what could only be considered a depression. I made an appointment with the mission president, as per my promise, and actually had the opportunity to sit down with him that same day. I expected to be sent home, part of me wanted to be sent home, but after asking me a few questions regarding my past and present conduct, I was simply told that I would have an appointment set up in a few weeks with a traveling counselor from LDS Family Services. During the interim between the meeting with the mission president and the appointment with the counselor, my companion was transferred, and I got someone new. When it came time for my appointment, he was allowed to sit outside of the door, but he knew where we were. I kept trying to come up with an excuse as to why I needed to see someone from LDS Family Services, and this new companion of mine was not one to let the subject go easily. I never did come up with an excuse. I eventually just refused to answer his questions.
The counseling session was, to put it simply, a waste of time. The counselor made me feel like a sinner, like someone who was “lucky” to be on a mission as opposed to someone who was working my butt off every day to be there. He gave me a few scriptures to read regarding Nephi’s leaving Jerusalem, which I suppose was to be some way of telling me to leave my homosexuality behind to find “the promised land.” It really is too bad that this counselor didn’t understand that even those men who choose to live some sort of gospel-approved life with this problem, it never, ever, ever gets left behind.
My mission president called me a few days after my appointment to ask me how things went. I responded, “Just fine,” to which he asked if I would like to see the counselor again. My answer was, of course, no thank you. I think the mission president took that to mean that this one counseling session somehow had “fixed” me. Honestly, I felt even worse, but I knew that I was going to be home in a few months, and hoped that at the completion of a successful mission God would see fit to finally bless me with the ability to love a woman.
I was released honorably soon after, with the faith that the gospel and a conventional family was what awaited me.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
The Early Years
I was always a little different. I was the kid in elementary school who would bring fresh picked flowers to my teachers simply because I was taught to value the fact that they were of a profession that would ensure my future success. I was always sensitive, and kind to the kids other kids picked on. I remember one day specifically, when my mom and I gave a ride home to one of the girls who was a favorite class scapegoat. My mom told me, “It’s a good thing you’re nice to her, because one day she is going to grow up and be beautiful and she’ll remember you were nice to her.” Funny as it may be, that girl grew up to be one of my closest friends, model gorgeous, and now lives in Russia with her millionaire father.
I’m not trying to say that every sensitive, kind, flower-bearing man is gay, simply that, in my case, these traits came easily to me as a direct result of my feeling “different.” As I look back on it, it wasn’t these traits that MADE me different; they were just the RESULT of something I already was. I think that it is important for me to make that distinction. That isn’t to say that all homosexuals possess these traits – but now I’m getting off topic.
I’m pretty sure the first time I became aware of my sexuality was around age 12. I remember feeling my first twinge of guilt around this age when I was ordained a deacon; I had recently had my first erotic dream – which included a cameo appearance by my best friend’s younger brother. I was so terrified of church discipline (I was sure I would be kicked to the curb if I dared tell anyone about the dream, let alone about the fact that I was, indeed, genuinely attracted to him) that I simply learned to keep my mouth shut, all the while starting down a destructive path of self-loathing.
I promised myself that no matter what I would simply follow the gospel that I had been taught. I compartmentalized my feelings, and thought if I just ignored them they would go away. I continually read my scriptures, attended the temple regularly, read the church magazines before anything else, and was active in seminary, boy scouts, and young men’s. I had great experiences with dating. I prayed at least six times a day. I literally did everything I could think of that the church told me to do – not only because I believed the gospel, but because I wanted to distract myself from the ever bulging mental box in which I had sealed my feelings.
I discovered early on that I could relieve some pressure if I dabbled in pornography. This, surprisingly, I did not feel I needed to hide from my priesthood leaders, and spoke to them often regarding the issue. They never asked what KIND of pornography I was viewing, and I never volunteered the information during my teen years. I have to admit that I was a bit shocked that I never lost my temple recommend, continued to be called to leadership positions, and eventually, was called to serve a mission.
My story will continue there, next week...
I’m not trying to say that every sensitive, kind, flower-bearing man is gay, simply that, in my case, these traits came easily to me as a direct result of my feeling “different.” As I look back on it, it wasn’t these traits that MADE me different; they were just the RESULT of something I already was. I think that it is important for me to make that distinction. That isn’t to say that all homosexuals possess these traits – but now I’m getting off topic.
I’m pretty sure the first time I became aware of my sexuality was around age 12. I remember feeling my first twinge of guilt around this age when I was ordained a deacon; I had recently had my first erotic dream – which included a cameo appearance by my best friend’s younger brother. I was so terrified of church discipline (I was sure I would be kicked to the curb if I dared tell anyone about the dream, let alone about the fact that I was, indeed, genuinely attracted to him) that I simply learned to keep my mouth shut, all the while starting down a destructive path of self-loathing.
I promised myself that no matter what I would simply follow the gospel that I had been taught. I compartmentalized my feelings, and thought if I just ignored them they would go away. I continually read my scriptures, attended the temple regularly, read the church magazines before anything else, and was active in seminary, boy scouts, and young men’s. I had great experiences with dating. I prayed at least six times a day. I literally did everything I could think of that the church told me to do – not only because I believed the gospel, but because I wanted to distract myself from the ever bulging mental box in which I had sealed my feelings.
I discovered early on that I could relieve some pressure if I dabbled in pornography. This, surprisingly, I did not feel I needed to hide from my priesthood leaders, and spoke to them often regarding the issue. They never asked what KIND of pornography I was viewing, and I never volunteered the information during my teen years. I have to admit that I was a bit shocked that I never lost my temple recommend, continued to be called to leadership positions, and eventually, was called to serve a mission.
My story will continue there, next week...
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