Over the past weeks, I have received numerous messages that have run the gamut between support and condemnation. Somewhere between those two extremes, I received a lovingly written email from a man who cares a great deal about me. He is, as far as imperfect humans can be, blameless and without guile.
In his email, he posed important questions about my motivations and methodology. He quoted passages from my posts that he felt to be unfair judgments of prophets and apostles. He also asked (but did not accuse me) if I had considered that I was being too hasty in my judgment of these men, if I was confident enough to pit my experience against that of men who have lived many times my years, if pride could have clouded my judgment, and if I had considered that I could be wrong. Earnest questions from an earnest man.
It was a helpful process for me to spend much of the evening responding to his questions. I thought it might also be helpful to others to reproduce my response here. As always, writing and responding to critique helps me to clarify my own thoughts and reasons. So thank you.
______________________________________________________________________
You have outlined here many of my own self-doubts and internal struggles. I'll try to respond as best as I can and do so in the same spirit of openness and love you have demonstrated.
The baseline for everything I've said and written has been a series of experiences over the past several years. When these experiences began, my difficulties with church doctrine were centered on questions of the history of race in the church and gender roles. When Proposition 8 flared up (so this would have been shortly after ____ and I were married), for the first time I was confronted with questions about sexuality and the plan of salvation.
Over the next several years, I gave intermittent attention to these questions, but found few answers besides noted scholars showing how English translations of the biblical record had been part of a centuries-long twisting of meaning and interpretation into calcified and generalized messages against LGBT people when, in fact, the original texts say something quite different (most notably I'm referring here to the story of Sodom and Gomorrah and Paul's statements in his epistles). So, my intermittent attention to questions of God and sexual orientation had left me with serious distrust of the English scriptures' authority to resolve this issue. And since my Greek and Hebrew aren't really exegesis-ready (or ready at all), I needed other sources of guidance.
As I began working at Epic, I became friends with many more LGBT individuals and, thanks to my travel around the country, met up and stayed in contact with a number of gay friends from my mission, college years, and more. This intensified my disquiet, so I did what you would expect. I took it to the Lord. Again, and again, and again. Time and again, I received the impression that I can best represent with these words:
"They are mine and they are whole. They are my sheep as you are my sheep. They are my lambs as you are my lambs. Their place is your place. Their salvation and comfort are your salvation. The difference between you and them is no difference. The plan is the same. Read and ponder my words to my disciples on the Mount."
That's a cumulative recreation of a number of distinct and partial impressions. These impressions came strongly as I worked closely with coworkers or heard the heartbreaking stories of gay mission companions and friends dwindling in or estranged from the church. I returned again and again to the Sermon on the Mount and gradually began to associate these friends who were not given a workable life in the church as those who were persecuted for righteousness' sake. I also saw among the many injunctions in the sermon a calling to mourn with those who mourn. Though perhaps it was not my place to ask, I asked the Lord for insight into their pain so I could mourn as their brother in Christ. To feel some part of what they felt.
The result is a strong conviction about the Lord's place for LGBT brothers and sisters in his plan and in his kingdom. And it is a conviction diametrically opposed with doctrines that teach that homosexuality is an inherently evil practice or perversion and, at best, a debilitating life challenge. So you see, there is no rush here. This is the product of countless hours and prayers.
And so, you ask, "What if you're wrong?" Of course I could be wrong, But if careful study, pondering, and prayer has brought me this knowledge and conviction, how could I ever know if I'm right or wrong about anything? Have I not followed the process taught and modeled by the church and the prophets? Have I not gone to the font of all wisdom and love? The only way I would know I was misguided would be from additional light and knowledge. This is something, on this topic, that the leaders of the church do not seem inclined to give. Point me to an explanation by prophets of homosexuality's inherent sinfulness, and I will read and ponder it.
If the brethren are silent on the why and the still, small voice whispers a steady stream of instruction, what am I to do?
You ask about pride. No doubt I am guilty of this sin. But I have searched my conscience to find the enmity that President Benson taught of. I have no enmity towards the leaders of the church. I do have a difference in belief with them. I earnestly wish to know why we have this difference. But no enmity. My difference has forced me to ask questions about what I believe about their infallibility in matters of practice and doctrine, but I am not angry with them. I seek to keep a humble perspective as I take this journey of questions.
Why then, you may ask, do I use terms like "hateful" if I profess no enmity? Because I'm imperfect. And hurt and confused. But I used the word on purpose. I did not use the term "spiteful". That term would imply a cognizance of one's hatred. I am in no place to judge the mindsets of church leaders, just as they are not in a position to judge mine. But I can judge effects. We can be hateful without premeditation. Was it hateful to cause pain to black brothers and sisters because of incorrect doctrine embraced by the body of the church? Of course. Its result was hate whether the body of the church wanted that effect or not. Preaching the sinfulness of homosexuality, its abnormality, its lack of place in the plan of salvation, of shrugging our shoulders or adding our question to the metaphorical shelf while "we" go on with our happy eternal families and "they" are ostracized and cut off sends a message of hate, of ontological dislike or distaste or disenfranchisement. This type of ontological gap cannot be bridged by other loving gestures like anti-discrimination legislation because, in the end, the ontological distance and exclusion is still there, glowering in the shadows and making it clear that "they" can come closer, but no further than the clear line that keeps us separate.
Finally, you ask if I have the impropriety to match my limited experience and age against the collective experience of these men. I think experience and age merit respect and serious consideration. But experience does not always equal wisdom, nor does it include all possible perspectives. I think the religious history of all faiths, and especially ours, teaches that quite clearly.
I hope that answers your questions and helps put your mind at ease that, if I am blundering, I am not blundering because of half-cocked anger, pride, or thoughtlessness. That I am trying to be careful and humble in both thought and deed. Perhaps our difference in this idea is that I do not equate humility to acquiescence to authority and precedent. I esteem loyalty as a virtue, but I think humility involves submitting your life to the truth, no matter its source. Thus, for me, silence is no mark of humility, not when you have something to say. No doubt I will continue to experience pride and you are right to call out any immoderate tone or thoughtlessness. But those briefs moments of passion are not the basis for this journey, and I hope that will become clear with time.
In his email, he posed important questions about my motivations and methodology. He quoted passages from my posts that he felt to be unfair judgments of prophets and apostles. He also asked (but did not accuse me) if I had considered that I was being too hasty in my judgment of these men, if I was confident enough to pit my experience against that of men who have lived many times my years, if pride could have clouded my judgment, and if I had considered that I could be wrong. Earnest questions from an earnest man.
It was a helpful process for me to spend much of the evening responding to his questions. I thought it might also be helpful to others to reproduce my response here. As always, writing and responding to critique helps me to clarify my own thoughts and reasons. So thank you.
______________________________________________________________________
You have outlined here many of my own self-doubts and internal struggles. I'll try to respond as best as I can and do so in the same spirit of openness and love you have demonstrated.
The baseline for everything I've said and written has been a series of experiences over the past several years. When these experiences began, my difficulties with church doctrine were centered on questions of the history of race in the church and gender roles. When Proposition 8 flared up (so this would have been shortly after ____ and I were married), for the first time I was confronted with questions about sexuality and the plan of salvation.
Over the next several years, I gave intermittent attention to these questions, but found few answers besides noted scholars showing how English translations of the biblical record had been part of a centuries-long twisting of meaning and interpretation into calcified and generalized messages against LGBT people when, in fact, the original texts say something quite different (most notably I'm referring here to the story of Sodom and Gomorrah and Paul's statements in his epistles). So, my intermittent attention to questions of God and sexual orientation had left me with serious distrust of the English scriptures' authority to resolve this issue. And since my Greek and Hebrew aren't really exegesis-ready (or ready at all), I needed other sources of guidance.
As I began working at Epic, I became friends with many more LGBT individuals and, thanks to my travel around the country, met up and stayed in contact with a number of gay friends from my mission, college years, and more. This intensified my disquiet, so I did what you would expect. I took it to the Lord. Again, and again, and again. Time and again, I received the impression that I can best represent with these words:
"They are mine and they are whole. They are my sheep as you are my sheep. They are my lambs as you are my lambs. Their place is your place. Their salvation and comfort are your salvation. The difference between you and them is no difference. The plan is the same. Read and ponder my words to my disciples on the Mount."
That's a cumulative recreation of a number of distinct and partial impressions. These impressions came strongly as I worked closely with coworkers or heard the heartbreaking stories of gay mission companions and friends dwindling in or estranged from the church. I returned again and again to the Sermon on the Mount and gradually began to associate these friends who were not given a workable life in the church as those who were persecuted for righteousness' sake. I also saw among the many injunctions in the sermon a calling to mourn with those who mourn. Though perhaps it was not my place to ask, I asked the Lord for insight into their pain so I could mourn as their brother in Christ. To feel some part of what they felt.
The result is a strong conviction about the Lord's place for LGBT brothers and sisters in his plan and in his kingdom. And it is a conviction diametrically opposed with doctrines that teach that homosexuality is an inherently evil practice or perversion and, at best, a debilitating life challenge. So you see, there is no rush here. This is the product of countless hours and prayers.
And so, you ask, "What if you're wrong?" Of course I could be wrong, But if careful study, pondering, and prayer has brought me this knowledge and conviction, how could I ever know if I'm right or wrong about anything? Have I not followed the process taught and modeled by the church and the prophets? Have I not gone to the font of all wisdom and love? The only way I would know I was misguided would be from additional light and knowledge. This is something, on this topic, that the leaders of the church do not seem inclined to give. Point me to an explanation by prophets of homosexuality's inherent sinfulness, and I will read and ponder it.
If the brethren are silent on the why and the still, small voice whispers a steady stream of instruction, what am I to do?
You ask about pride. No doubt I am guilty of this sin. But I have searched my conscience to find the enmity that President Benson taught of. I have no enmity towards the leaders of the church. I do have a difference in belief with them. I earnestly wish to know why we have this difference. But no enmity. My difference has forced me to ask questions about what I believe about their infallibility in matters of practice and doctrine, but I am not angry with them. I seek to keep a humble perspective as I take this journey of questions.
Why then, you may ask, do I use terms like "hateful" if I profess no enmity? Because I'm imperfect. And hurt and confused. But I used the word on purpose. I did not use the term "spiteful". That term would imply a cognizance of one's hatred. I am in no place to judge the mindsets of church leaders, just as they are not in a position to judge mine. But I can judge effects. We can be hateful without premeditation. Was it hateful to cause pain to black brothers and sisters because of incorrect doctrine embraced by the body of the church? Of course. Its result was hate whether the body of the church wanted that effect or not. Preaching the sinfulness of homosexuality, its abnormality, its lack of place in the plan of salvation, of shrugging our shoulders or adding our question to the metaphorical shelf while "we" go on with our happy eternal families and "they" are ostracized and cut off sends a message of hate, of ontological dislike or distaste or disenfranchisement. This type of ontological gap cannot be bridged by other loving gestures like anti-discrimination legislation because, in the end, the ontological distance and exclusion is still there, glowering in the shadows and making it clear that "they" can come closer, but no further than the clear line that keeps us separate.
Finally, you ask if I have the impropriety to match my limited experience and age against the collective experience of these men. I think experience and age merit respect and serious consideration. But experience does not always equal wisdom, nor does it include all possible perspectives. I think the religious history of all faiths, and especially ours, teaches that quite clearly.
I hope that answers your questions and helps put your mind at ease that, if I am blundering, I am not blundering because of half-cocked anger, pride, or thoughtlessness. That I am trying to be careful and humble in both thought and deed. Perhaps our difference in this idea is that I do not equate humility to acquiescence to authority and precedent. I esteem loyalty as a virtue, but I think humility involves submitting your life to the truth, no matter its source. Thus, for me, silence is no mark of humility, not when you have something to say. No doubt I will continue to experience pride and you are right to call out any immoderate tone or thoughtlessness. But those briefs moments of passion are not the basis for this journey, and I hope that will become clear with time.
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