The Parable of "Game Over" - Or, How I Stopped Breaking Stuff and Chose to Press Restart

It has been one of the greatest pleasures I've had for a long time to enjoy a number of conversations over the past two weeks that have clarified and enriched my thinking and my soul. I'm indebted to each of you who continue to spend time, prayers, and thought on my behalf, even in the most unexpected places.

In my last post, I made it clear that the structure that had once given texture, purpose, and cosmic order to my existence had crumbled. What comes after that?

As they so often do, video games give a good overview of the situation.



When you lose your last life, the game ends. You then have three options.

1. Select "Start New Game" from the home screen (that appears only after you've been tormented by the Game Over screen long enough to wonder if you're seeing Mario either throw up his hands or perhaps transform into a mustachioed guinea pig).
2. Eject the game cartridge and insert a new one (for my younger readers, a game cartridge was a magical block that, with the right mix of aspiration and timing would allow your Nintendo to project something useful onto the screen). 
3. Walk away from the Nintendo. Play outside or some nonsense like that. 

In a situation of limited time, I always went with option #1. First, I was usually angry and dissatisfied that I hadn't dodged a particular blow from Bowser with enough dexterity. I wanted payback and mastery. There was even some peer pressure that drove me to be able to say, "Oh yeah, I beat that game, too."

If the anger occasioned by my defeat was irrationally blinding enough that I needed a break from the a certain crocodile pit (Pitfall had no save points!) or megaboss showdown, I might throw in something different (with a blow into the cartridge for good measure; you know, to...yeah, I don't know what that was for either. Is there a social science study of that phenomenon? Do you think B.F. Skinner started it as a final prank on all children of the 80s and 90s?). The problem was that, especially with limited time, I was unlikely to master the new game before school/work/bedtime/the end of my turn. There was a high risk of dissatisfaction. 

In the very rare occasion that my anger rose to the point that I was a danger to myself, the console, or those around me, I might take a walk. Usually this option was proffered by a mother who was likely questioning the wisdom of investing good money in a gaming system that made her sons behave like rabid fools. I will say that my more passionate siblings reached this level of meltdown far more often than their cool and collected older brother. That's how I remember it anyway. 

There you have it, the parable of the Game Over. Wait, you want an explanation? How very apostolic of you :) If you have ears to hear... 

Whether or not you believe in a probationary mortal state or see life boxed in by ends of nothingness, the time is short. On that, we can agree.

With that constraint, there are a few options left to you when you realize you haven't won. In other words, when you realize that your triumphant theology has significant holes and that you're not quite as assured of eventual celestial victory as you once thought.

Option #1: Stick with the faith. Start again, even with the most mundane ideas, and rebuild your understanding and belief. Though the anger at being lied to is real, you try to walk a difficult path between using that anger to fuel a passionate search for new meaning and doing your best to not allow anger to color the things you currently see. The hope here is that, with a little more spiritual elbow grease and effort, you can make it past the sticking point that knocked you back to the "Start New Game" screen.

Option #2: Try something else. Replace your faith. See if it's worth investing the additional time and energy to really begin from scratch. Investigate other belief systems. Profess allegiance to Islam, Judaism, born-again Christianity, Buddhism, secular humanism, etc.You're still willing to play the belief game, but would rather spend the last minutes of your turn on Earth investing in something different.

Option #3: Walk away. Renounce the possibility of spiritual knowledge, truth, and beauty. Focus on the tangible, the here and now, the circumstances under your direct control.

I don't think any of these options are right or wrong in the traditional sense. I think it depends on your level of anger, how far your patience has been tried, how many times you have been misused. I also don't think any of these options is final. You can start with Option #3 to clear your head and then go about finding or restarting your faith further down the road. It happens every day.

But the choice I have to make is not what option I eventually wish to choose. It's about which option I choose right now. To complicate things, I've realized this isn't a 1-player game. If I don't continue to play, other players are affected. My presence changes the dynamics of the game (hopefully) for the better.

I've decided that my anger doesn't burn hot enough to sustain Option #3. I also find it daunting to completely walk away from belief. I am too reliant on a community and too hopeful that there really is something larger to life beyond evolutionary competition. For those who have chosen Option #3, I wish you the best of luck. I may even join you in the future. But I have a few more rounds in me before I go and play outside.

So, for now, that leaves Options #1 and #2.

I look over to my fellow players. They're really keen on this game. They're rallying around me to start again. So I think I'll put in the effort to start rebuilding. While they're taking their turns, I'll probably get some Option #2 in, see what other games are out there, see if there's something to those other games that appeals to me. I think I'll have capacity for both.

At the same time, this most recent Game Over has given me more experience and more skepticism. I'm not the same player that I used to be. And I won't be using any cheats.

When I was younger, one of my favorite games on the computer was Chip's Challenge.



There was a certain level towards the latter end of the game that seemed impossible my first go-round. At a certain point, I had failed the level so many times that I got a prompt: "You seem to having trouble with this level. Would you like to move on?"

In a moment of desperate weakness, I clicked yes. The regret began slowly. It built and built until I arrived at the conclusion of the game. My victory was hollow and meaningless. I knew there was one level in my past that was a sham. It took me far more effort than I'd care to mention here, but I eventually beat that level. Only then was I a real Chip's Challenge champion.

The same caveat holds for my faith. No more shortcuts. No more papering over problems. No more deferring to the wisdom to good men and women (or persuasive men and women) that tells me I should focus on one thing and not the other, just until I can squeak by to the next level. No cheats. That's how I'm going to play.

What's the result of such a stoic (or masochistic) approach to belief?

First, it means that I have to question not only what I have known as spiritual sources of knowledge, but also secular sources of knowledge. The study of ideology (as I'll discuss in my next post) is a useful tool in questioning and ultimately divorcing the words "common sense" from each other.

Second, it means that I'm not going to be very trusting of anyone, myself included. This doesn't mean I don't believe your testimony or your new truth. It just means that I'm still getting my sea legs. So be patient when I turn into a 3-year-old with my constant "Why?"s.

Finally, it means that this is going to take a long time. I will beg, borrow, and steal enough lives to keep the game going for as long as it takes to rebuild or find recourse in another system of beliefs.

So, fair warning. When I click "Start New Game" we're going to be playing for a while. If you want to play along, get your snacks. Take your bathroom breaks.

Call and tell your mother you're going to be late for dinner. 

How ? a Foundation - Why "The Policy" is a Tipping Point for Me

I've been circling around this post for several weeks. How to write it? When to post it?

I should begin with something of a warning. I'm dealing with significant doubt in this post. The specifics will be few, and their subject matter will likely not surprise individuals familiar with Mormon apologetics and internet forums. But for those uninitiated into the fascinating word of the bloggernacle, FAIR, and all their varied accoutrements, be warned that 10 years ago I would have said this post dealt with "anti-Mormon" ideas. Read forward if you choose, but do so under your own agency. A good rule of thumb to determine whether reading further is a good idea would be to imagine us having a conversation. If I were to say, "I've lost a significant amount of faith in the church," would your response be "Why?" or something else? If it's something else, you might not wish to read. Because I'm about to tell you the why.

Since November, my testimony has crumbled. In most cases, that drastic deterioration has bewildered people I'm closest with. Sure, they say, disagree with it, but why are you back to square one? How does a policy about homosexuality have you asking basic questions about the existence and nature of God, Jesus Christ, and religion?

So today, I'll try to start an answer to that question by telling my story from the past 10 years.

A Firm Foundation

If I were asked to describe the foundation of my faith a decade ago, I would have probably come up with the following metaphor: My faith is like a building supported by six pillars. The six pillars of my belief would be:

• The Bible
• The Book of Mormon
• Joseph Smith and Early Revelations
• Modern Prophets
• My own spiritual experiences
• My conscience and rational mind 

Pretty solid group of ideas. Growing up in the church, I learned to associate a certain indelible righteousness, even perfection, with each of these pillars. The Bible was sometimes an exception in its perfection, but since the only caveat was that it was true "as far as it is translated correctly" and we had the right translation (shout out to King James!), there wasn't really an issue. 

I need to underscore this part because it's important for everything that happens after. These foundations, especially the first four, were presented as essentially perfect. They were bright, unadulterated sources of Truth (capital T!). This was emphasized by teachers and leaders throughout my life, from the baptismal font to the mission field. Some examples:

• The Bible could be tough (you know, all those meddling Medieval scribes either too evil or too clumsy to get the translation right), but true disciples of Christ would learn how to unlock the biblical Rubik's cube and let the true light within shine through.
• People who questioned the Book of Mormon ignored important warnings at the beginning and end of the book. On the title page: "And now, if there are faults they are the mistakes of men; wherefore, condemn not the things of God, that ye may be found spotless at the judgment-seat of Christ." At the end, in the Book of Ether, Moroni writes: "...I fear lest the Gentiles shall mock at our words. And when I had said this, the Lord spake unto me, saying: Fools mock, but they shall mourn; and my grace is sufficient for the meek, that they shall take no advantage of your weakness;" It's pretty clear that those who find fault with this book are making a mistake and excluding themselves from Christ's mercy.
• Worries about Joseph Smith were swiftly met with the gravitas of John Taylor's canonized eulogy: "Joseph Smith, the Prophet and Seer of the Lord, has done more, save Jesus only, for the salvation of men in this world, than any other man that ever lived in it."
• Faith in modern prophets' infallibility was cemented by Wilford Woodruff's teaching (interestingly enough, given in the aftermath of the church-shaking manifesto ending polygamy): "The Lord will never permit me or any other man who stands as President of this Church to lead you astray. It is not in the programme. It is not in the mind of God. If I were to attempt that, the Lord would remove me out of my place, and so He will any other man who attempts to lead the children of men astray from the oracles of God and from their duty." This mantra has been repeated over and over again. President Lee said it. President Hinckley, President Monson.

And so on. The Bible is accessible to those who read it with the Spirit. The Book of Mormon ("the most correct of any book") has no mistakes, only fools who miss the point. The prophetic mantle should not be steadied by unworthy hands nor should you risk a path that might lead you towards "stoning the [living] prophets" while holding on to teachings from the past. 

The Church set these foundations up as infallible sources of truth or, if they were fallible, beyond the understanding of the individual member of the Church. Intentions aside, this was the effect of  25+ years of correlated instruction.

Foundation Compromised

When I returned home from my mission, I felt I had a calling to be a defender of the faith. My testimony shone brightly, and I wanted to prepare myself to defend the church against the falsehoods enemies of the church might spread. Luckily, I happened to have just transferred to BYU which boasted an enormous collection of books about Mormonism, both for and against. 

I worked hard to maintain balance in my reading. I began working through my understanding of ancient holy writ, specifically the Bible and the Book of Mormon. I read everything from approved doctrinal commentary to independently published accounts attempting to discredit scripture's divine origin. I continued to read the scriptures themselves, concentrating on having an answer for each nuance in the scriptures that might prompt doubt or questions. 

By the end of my undergraduate years, I had a number of apologetic answers developed to undermine claims against the Book of Mormon's divine origin. I won't detail them here, but you may want to read the (in)famous CES Letter that describes some of them. To give you an idea of scope, I had intricate explanations for each of the objections voiced in that letter for the Book of Mormon. But these explanations took their toll on my absolute confidence in the narrative. My apologetic acrobatics meant a few strategic retreats from the indelible narratives of my youth. The Book of Mormon was not perfect in the way I had preached it to be when I walked the streets of Italy as a missionary. 

If I could say that my faith in the church's narrative about the Book of Mormon's origins and historicity was shaken, my faith in the Bible was completely shattered. My studies here were able to draw upon a much longer and more sophisticated research vein. I learned about the Documentary Hypothesis, the history of both testaments, and their likely authorship and composition. By the end, I was able to think about the Bible as nothing more than politically motivated fables meant to institutionalize power structures in both ancient Israel and early Christianity (perhaps in direct opposition to the wish of the historical Jesus of Nazareth). The real Jesus, the real Moses, and really anyone in the scriptures was the fabrication or embellishment of later followers, descendants, priests, and rulers. Though I was comforted with the fact that the ancient Israelites had not, in fact, committed cold-blooded genocide, that comfort came with a steep price as I lost my confidence in the book that had so shaped my interpretive paradigm. From creation to apocalypse, I lost hundreds of reference points for my faith.

I disengaged from my studies out of fear for my testimony. I was often despondent at church, and I struggled with how to teach gospel doctrine ethically. I fell into depression when called as a ward mission leader because I felt that I could not, in good conscience, use the scriptures to convince others to join the church. 

As time went on, I tried to remember my explanations and forget my doubts. The result was a web of shifting justifications that I could use to plug a hole in the metaphorical roof but that I couldn't quite commandeer to fix the source of the trouble.

But at that point, only two pillars of my testimony were compromised. Perhaps, I thought, if I shifted my weight a little more towards Joseph Smith and the teachings of modern prophets, I could maintain my faith in the LDS church.

Tipping Point

In graduate school and beyond, I returned to the BYU library with renewed zeal. I felt that I had to bolster my faith by learning more about Joseph Smith and studying more closely the words of modern prophets to compensate for my waning faith in the divinity of ancient scripture. 

Starting with Bushman's Rough Stone Rolling, the story of Joseph Smith began to be much more complicated. As I read many books and primary sources, the rumors and conflicts that had flitted on the outskirts of my previous studies were now front and center. From the many conflicting versions of the First Vision to the lies and manipulations surrounding the practice of polygamy, my unquestioning confidence in the Prophet Joseph was compromised. Just like the Book of Mormon and Bible, I created elaborate explanations to smooth the edges of my cognitive dissonance. I suspended ultimate judgment, choosing to focus on the good things Joseph and his early community of saints accomplished. But just like my experience with scripture, these explanations required strategic retreats from the sunny narratives of my youth.

At the same time, I dug into church history. Perhaps most bothered by the racial segregation of the priesthood and temple access, I focused on the shift between Joseph Smith and Brigham Young on race (initially, I used that difference to bolster my faith in Joseph's divine guidance). Of course, bringing in Brother Brigham amounted to pulling on a rope connected to a lot more baggage than I anticipated. Blood atonement, Mountain Meadows Massacre, bullying and public shaming of both family and followers. Through the generations of the church I jumped, from polygamy, to treatment of Native Americans, women, LGBT people, and of course, all the way up to 1978 and the retraction of the priesthood ban. 

One might think that all this would have compromised my faith in modern leaders, but somehow I managed to erect a division between past and current leaders. I clung to a faith that although leaders in the past had made terrible mistakes, the current leaders would not. They would not lead me astray. It's illogical in hindsight. It's incredible to think of the mental gymnastics required to maintain such a distinction. But I held on, refusing to allow a fourth pillar to be compromised. 

Then November happened. All around me, I saw history repeating itself. And a few weeks ago, I heard Elder Nelson enshrine these actions in the pomp and circumstance of prophetic revelation. I saw firsthand the foundations of a mistake that will take generations to heal. My fourth pillar, and the final pillar based on sources outside of my own mind, was now compromised. 

Falling

What do you do when you find out the perfect faith narratives of your youth aren't true? That the Bible isn't the writings of prophets, but rather those of powerful individuals during what the LDS church calls periods of apostasy? That the Book of Mormon, if translated at all by Joseph Smith, was done so through the medium of a seer stone in a hat while the golden plates lay buried in secret places? That there are strong evidences that Joseph Smith and his friends adapted and/or copied whole portions of the book from other texts? That Joseph pressured and manipulated young women into rapidly consummated marriages that should be kept secret from their parents (and his own wife)? That prophets are just as prone to cultural blinders as the rest of us but that, unlike the rest of us, their blinders are supposed to come from God?

So much of my testimony was connected to the sanitized but untrue church narratives of my youth that I began to doubt all of my testimony. I couldn't figure out which parts came from bits I could still regard as truth and which parts came while pondering and consuming falsehood. As a result, I began to also doubt my personal spiritual experiences and found many of them suspect of emotional confirmation bias. Down went the fifth column.

The safety nets of scripture, doctrine, theology, and modern teachings were already compromised and could not catch me as they should have. I fell into a deep confusion and subsequent despair. 

Landing

So here I am now. I have one pillar left. My own conscience. Perhaps it too will crack under the pressure of increased scrutiny. 

I hope to rebuild my house of faith, but it will take a long time, and I will demand much more evidence in return for faith. (In fact, I will have to redefine the idea of faith by determining whether I accept the definition of faith found in the Pauline epistles which were considered heretical by the original 12 apostles but were embraced after those apostles were largely killed in the Roman destruction of Jerusalem and Christianity shifted to gain apolitical acceptance within the Roman Empire.)

Part of me wants to return to the church's teachings for this foundation, but it is hard to trust someone when you feel like they have lied to you. It's harder still when you realize that you knew you were being lied to for at least a third of your life, but that a combination of fear and hope constrained you into willful ignorance and inaction. 

The most immediate casualty of this process has been exclusivity. I no longer believe in exclusivity of truth claims. Of a one true and living church. I also no longer believe in the exclusiveness of the "believers" to some great insight into life's purpose and practice. Of course, I also no longer believe in the infallibility of my own extrapolations, so I welcome being proven wrong on this score.

Instead of digging a defensive moat around exclusive institutional truth claims, I have begun as an investigator again. Not just of the church, but of God himself (herself? itself?), Jesus Christ, and the concept of prophets. I question religion. I question everything. It is a daunting position from which to begin, but it is also an exciting one. What has my exclusivity blinded me from? How can I become a better person by rejecting false premises?

President J. Reuben Clark, a church leader in the early 20th century, is quoted as saying: "If we have the truth, it cannot be harmed by investigation. If we have not the truth, it ought to be harmed." That statement used to give me great confidence that my testimony would be vindicated. It still gives me confidence, but that confidence is no longer in myself. It is in value of skepticism and doubt to guide me to some new foundation of truth. 

I hope there is a God. I hope there is a Savior. I hope there is truth. I look forward to finding it. 

FAQs: Why dissent? Why blog? Why so angry?

Over the past few weeks, I've had dozens of conversations over meals, over the phone, via email, Facebook, etc. In many of these dialogues, there are very frequent questions that pop up. I thought I'd take a few moments to answer some of them.

Why dissent? Why not follow the prophet?

This is a big one. The vast majority of the conversations I've had over the past few weeks have been with faithful members of the LDS church. This question comes up just about every time, phrased in one of a dozen different ways.

What I have experienced, and what other folks who question and doubt have had to deal with, is that this question is often not the real question. There seems to be an inability on the part of many Mormons to believe that any member of the church who is keeping the commandments could question the word of a prophet. So they use this question to really probe for something else.

What that means is that when many (though not all) people ask me, "Why question? Why doubt?" what they're really asking is:

• "What sins are keeping you from getting the right answer? Pride? Gambling? Word of Wisdom issues? Sloth?"
• "What important activity (fasting, reading scriptures, attending church, praying) are you not doing hard enough, long enough, correctly?"

I think it's important to state that most people who doubt are not looking for a convenient way to hit the bar with a clean conscience. They're not making a big stink because they can't wait to break the law of chastity. They haven't forgotten that the Book of Mormon exists or how to study it. Rather, these doubts are personally shattering and have been the subject of countless hours of thought, prayer, and study. This doubt isn't something doubters wanted to happen. They would have loved to continue to be an orthodox believer with the comfort, certainty, and lack of complications that entails. 

Because this isn't the real question being asked, this moment in the conversation is also often the defining moment. It goes a little something like this:

• Friend or family member: "Why are talking about this? Worrying about it?"
• Doubter: Explanation (often a very personal and vulnerable experience).
• ForFM: Silence. Launch into testimony. 

I can't tell you how many times I've had this exact discussion in my life and especially in the last few weeks. I think that period of silence after the explanation is telling. What friends and family members of doubters often expect with the question "Why dissent?" is a variation of the answer: "Shoot. Now that you ask me that, I guess there's no reason!" In the friend's mind, there is no good reason to dissent or question or doubt. Thus, when the doubter begins the long list or emotional response that characterizes this answer, the friend or family member is a little stunned. Unable or unwilling to actually engage (or even acknowledge) the issues the doubter has brought up, they shift to the autopilot they have been taught can solve everything.

The only problem is, it doesn't. 

When you bear your testimony to us in this moment and end it with a period and a expectant pause, don't be surprised by a non-response. Don't expect a "Oh, snap, praying about? I hadn't thought about that! Thanks!" That's a little sarcastic, but think about how you would respond if, after a probing conversation, you were asked to share a very emotional and difficult group of ideas, only to be responded to with, what seems to you, a non sequitur and automated response. What if after you shared struggles with health or addiction or abuse, your listener responded with, "Well, do you think it's going to snow?" Switching to small talk is meant to disguise discomfort or diffuse a charged situation, but it also signals that you're done with that topic. Similarly, bearing your testimony is likely meant to "bring the Spirit" to solve all this mess, but what it really signals to your listener is "I don't think this is a conversation I want to have after all. I'm going to let God take over here and slowly back away."

So, instead of asking "Why dissent?" you may want to ask yourself "Am I listening?" And if you're not ready to listen, don't put yourself in a situation where you demonstrate the opposite desire.

Two really helpful links I recommend before speaking to friends and family who doubt:

• A master class on listening taught by Feminist Mormon Housewives' inimitable fmhLisa: http://www.feministmormonhousewives.org/2014/03/leave-the-door-to-the-gospel-wide-open-when-a-loved-one-doubts/
• A fascinating recent reddit exchange in which an orthodox Mormon woman asks the exmormon subreddit for perspective in engaging with a sister she loves who is leaving the church: https://www.reddit.com/r/exmormon/comments/40y0w3/im_mormon_i_believe_and_i_dont_want_to_debate_im/

Why blog about this? 

This is a fair question that I get regularly. Basically, these individuals are asking why I am choosing to be so public and so permanent with my questions.

The answer here is two-fold. On the one hand, what other space is there? We are discouraged from doubting publicly and privately. We cannot speak about it in church, and there is no safe place outside of church to do so in a "sanctioned" way because doubt is viewed as a viral disability with pandemic potential among the purified flock of a ward or stake.

Similarly, many of us who doubt have no one to turn to privately. Our family and friends, even those with the best intentions, are unprepared, unwilling, or unequipped to engage with us. Additionally, we harbor our own self-doubts that we might "infect them" or "hurt them" with our pain and hurt. The result is a terrible loneliness, one that has driven far too many of my fellow doubters to extreme (and sadly, sometimes final) solutions.

Thus, the internet is a huge blessing. It is a way to connect with a huge number of other human beings with a vast array of opinion and experience. I have several Facebook groups where I gather strength and learn that I am not alone. I don't know where I would be without them (shout out especially to fellow ATFers!). But FB posts are not the place for long-form thought. Thus, a blog. A blog that continues the many connections made possible by the marvelous interwebs and allows me to express and put my thoughts into (semi-) coherent streams.

This blog has been everything I hoped for. It has sparked conversations, both reactive and supportive. It has given hope to some who were hopeless. It has pushed me to be honest and vulnerable in my perspective. Because a real struggle and part of my journey, I have no qualms with it being permanently etched into the internet databanks. Which leads to another very common question...

Why are you so angry in these posts?

This is a question that surprises me. I get it in about half the conversations I have. What's surprising is that the other half often ask the exact opposite: "How do you maintain a steady tone when talking about your personal struggles with doubt?"

I'm not scientist, but I'm going to extrapolate from the data that the issue here might not be my tone. It might be my readers.

On the one had, writing is notorious for being a minefield for authorial intention. Tone is perhaps the most difficult aspect of verbal conversation to convey. In the 18th century, Jonathan Swift wrote a little piece called "A Modest Proposal" in which he advocated the consumption of Irish babies as a means to steady the population growth and modulate famine in Swift's native Ireland. As a result, Swift was nearly pushed from the emerald shores of his homeland in a fit of spontaneous public outrage. Only problem was, "A Modest Proposal" was actually a biting satire aimed at shaming Britain's nonchalant attitude to Irish sufferings. Whoops.

If a writer as supremely talented as Swift could be misinterpreted, it's little wonder it happens in this blog. I am not angry. But I am anguished. I am hurt and emotional. I take great pains to eliminate irrational attacks or misguided diction from my posts. That doesn't mean I pretend to completely succeed in that endeavor, but I am trying.

So, instead, my question to you might be: What strikes you as angry? Does the truth as I perceive it not jive with the truth you see? Do you see anger as the tone that must necessarily drive such a divergent opinion?

Before you blame the blog writing (which of course, you can do shortly thereafter) is to question your interpretation and see if it could be interpreted in a different light. I think that's good advice for all written communication.

You may have noticed that I didn't do a whole like to answering these FAQs. At least, not as much as you might expect in a post entitled "FAQs". That's kind of on purpose, because in my next post, I plan to share more details of my personal journey to give context to my doubt. It's in the coming weeks' posts that I'll be able to share more specifically why I doubt and dissent and why, on occasion, I really am angry.

Naked Mole Rats and Aslan: My Response to Elder Nelson's Devotional

To be fair, I wasn't invited to the party. The devotional was for 18-30 y.o. members of the church. I missed the cut, but that's nothing new. I've never been 100% sure what generation I am. So tonight I listened anyway to the recording.

I was, to put it nicely, discouraged by what I heard. But before I get to that, let me talk about bed time.

My oldest daughter's bedtime routine originally came about because we were trying to follow the advice of doctors and the internet to make bedtime a positive experience that she could look forward to. Over the years, the routine has expanded in both length and complexity. Beyond things like bathing and brushing, it consists of:

1. Reading a book together.
2. Turning on/off surrounding lights, lamps, and night lights in a certain order. 
3. Saying prayers. 
4. A "Rose story" in which I borrow, steal, or create one of a series of simple stories about a protagonist named "Rose". Current canonical favorites include "Rose and the Frog," "Rose and Puppies," "Rose and the Beanstalk," and "Rose and the 3 Bears."
5. 2-3 songs, with accompanying elaborate actions.
6. Reading a chapter from a non-picture book. We've been making our way through the Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis.

The other night, in the midst of the pondering and wrestling I've been doing, I had a remarkable experience with the first and final readings of our routine. These experiences clarified the request I have for LDS prophets and the conditions for my full return to belief. 

Our first book (step #1) was a personal favorite: Naked Mole Rat Gets Dressed by the very talented Mo Willems. 

Without too many spoilers (a difficult task when summarizing a 15 page book), one particular naked mole rat decides to wear clothes--a major breach of naked mole rat precedent. After facing persecution and abandonment by his peers, he refuses to change this part of his personality. This prompts his erstwhile comrades to appeal to the authority of, as the book puts it, "Grand-pah, the oldest, greatest, and most naked naked mole rat ever." When pressed, Grand-pah considers thoughtfully his clothed progeny's simple question: Why not? Why not wear clothes? His decree after his thoughtful consideration changes naked mole rat land forever. 

Likewise, this is my plea to the prophets. Answer the question "Why not?" Why not embrace gay marriage? Why not embrace gay members? Why not seal them in temples?

Prophets have answered Why Not questions before. In fact, much of what I would call my testimony of LDS commandments has been driven by great Why Not teachings of the past 20 years. I believed in and followed the law of chastity largely because Elder Holland's masterful "Of Souls, Symbols, and Sacraments" placed sexual fidelity and loyalty in a breathtakingly large tapestry of divine purpose and identity. A reverence for health and the divine gift of my human body helped me draw my own lines in following the Word of Wisdom, lines that were much stronger under pressure than a list of do's and dont's imposed from outside authority. Leaders from my youth broke through to me when they taught that the law of tithing is mostly about seeing whether we're able to part from a small percentage of our earnings to see if charity can overcome selfishness (paying it to the church was just a useful secondary result). 

I could go on. Answering "Why not?" means that we must integrate a principle or teaching at a basic level of theology. It must be simple enough for a young person to understand and resonate enough that it sticks in their developing tapestry of belief. 

It was a rationale, an explanation, that forged true faith in commandments in my life. In contrast, calls to obedience for obedience's sake were tentative and temporary. 

Now, on to the second reading experience from the other night. Right now, my daughter and I are crawling through The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis. I won't pretend that I LOVE the Chronicles of Narnia anymore. They're nicely written allegories, but I respect more than enjoy them. However, we started them together, so we're going to finish them, darn it!

Even with that distant attitude towards our story, I have been moved at least once per book by the simple allegorical climax that teaches some aspect of Christ's nature. Forgiveness, sacrifice, watchfulness, personalized love. In each one, I feel something, if just for that page of the book. You may call it the Spirit testifying to my heart that I've learned something true. I might call it that, too. At the very least, I recognize that feeling as an emotion that comes into my heart when I hear, see, or think something completely good and completely worthy of emulation. I feel it when I see viral videos about helping homeless children. I feel it when I reflect on acts of charity I've seen my siblings, spouse, and children perform as they give to strangers and each other. As Aslan tells Shasta in A Horse and His Boy that he has been pushing and watching over him throughout his long journey, I have an emotional reaction that tells me this is an attitude I can and should emulate. 

The feeling is simple and powerful. Whatever you call it, I'll wager you recognize the emotional, visceral reaction to goodness. 

If/When the prophets explain the "Why not?" behind teachings about homosexuality, that's my standard. And when they do it, I expect it to be simple and to pierce my heart with goodness. If it does not do that, either in the moment or upon reflection, then I won't accept it. 

If they (or you) want me back to my invested, faithful self, this is my single condition. This is what I ask of my ecclesiastical leaders. This is my request for the prophets. Teach me. Show me. Explain to me. I can no longer accept the injunction to embrace cognitively dissonant obedience when that obedience goes against what I feel. Its work was tentative and temporary. It doesn't move me anymore. It's expired. It doesn't pierce my heart with goodness. 

A part of me has hope that this will happen. But a big part of me doesn't. That hopeless part only became larger as I listened to Elder Nelson counsel an entire generation of bright, hopeful young people that the policy change was "the mind and the will of the Lord." My LDS community will recognize the powerful connotation of those words. What was a policy yesterday is now revelatory, now doctrinal. What was reported as the preference of a few leaders is now the unanimous counsel of the Church. What was administrative is now part of the ministry. The line is no longer drawn in sand. According to Elder Nelson, my refusal to go against my feelings and knowledge groups me with "the servants of Satan."

I felt no goodness there. No arms outstretched still, beckoning me back with the still, small voice. I felt only closed ranks, impatience to move on and to forget about the whole messy business. 

I will move on too. The direction I move will be up to the Lord's servants. Please, teach me Why Not. 

Letter to a Good Man: Backstory and Wrestling with Self Doubt

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. 

My Path After the Policy, and My Resolution

Boilerplate: I welcome constructive comments. Please point out flaws in my reasoning or understanding. Just do so respectfully. 

"Yet panics, in some cases, have their uses; they produce as much good as hurt. Their duration is always short; the mind soon grows through them, and acquires a firmer habit than before. But their peculiar advantage is, that they are the touchstones of sincerity and hypocrisy, and bring things and men to light, which might otherwise have lain forever undiscovered." - Thomas Paine, Crisis I


This post is about doubt. There is no happy ending at the end of it. No redeeming moral beyond the hope for new discovery that Thomas Paine describes so eloquently above. Rather, this post seeks to chart what I've felt the past few months as my intricately woven beliefs have, despite my best efforts, unwound.

I think it's more than fair to ask: "Why now? Why, after all the many things you've read and thought about from polygamy to Book of Mormon geography, would something as innocuous as a policy that simply clarifies the church's stance against gay marriage cause this little crisis of yours?" Taking a step back, I'll concede that the doubt that follows seems disproportionate to its source.

However, the answer comes down to my relationship to the prophets and apostles who lead the LDS church. This relationships has characterized my religious practice and thought my entire life, and it is this relationship which determines my place in the Mormon community. You might even saw this relationship is what makes me Mormon.

I have long advocated for the attitude supported by many great LDS thinkers, from Terryl Givens to Brigham Young, that prophets are individuals with a special calling to speak in the name of deity. Along with this calling, however, comes the extremely difficult task of guiding a community that craves their guidance in every permutation of the law without wanting to hear or know about the difficulties of erratically timed personal revelation.

A close study of prophetic experiences in Christian scripture does not paint a picture of prophets standing by a dictaphone taking constant notes from heaven. That type of constantly available, waterfall-like revelation seems reserved for two figures well on the margins of that canon--Muhammad and Joseph Smith--and even then, only for short stretches of remarkable theological production.

As for the rest of them? Revelation from God seems to have been about as common as striking a stone to extract water. The spiritual experiences that shaped these prophets were rare and life-changing, but they did not occur often enough for the prophet to always speak confidently with the voice of God.

Unfortunately, precedent and organizational pressures created movements and churches with millions who demanded that very kind of omnipresent prophetic theophany. But much of my reading, especially of the Bible and many parts of the Book of Mormon, reveals tale after tale of prophets using their own best judgment when the heavens remain silent. They issue edicts in the name of Jehovah because that's what the people want. They don't want to hear what Moses or Joshua, Peter or Paul has to say. They want what God has to say about eating shrimp, or fighting the Amalekites, or figuring out when all these people who are mean to us are going to burn in everlasting flames. And the prophets acquiesce. Sometimes it works out. Sometimes it doesn't.

This creates a serious problem of expectations, and this problem is clear throughout LDS history (which I know far better than the histories of other religious traditions). These prophets have the demands of two very different audiences. Those who wish to have the truth handed to them and those who recognize that even a prophet can't always speak divine truth.On the one hand, you have a Brigham Young begging those listening to him to find out for themselves if what he's teaching them comes from God: "The greatest fear I have is that the people of this Church will accept what we say as the will of the Lord without first praying about it and getting the witness within their own hearts that what we say is the word of the Lord." On the other, you have him fiercely defending his teachings on topics like race and blood atonement.

The problem is not that prophets make mistakes. In fact, a prophet with very human struggles is far more faith-affirming to me than a prophet who basks within the clean lines of infallibility.

Instead, the problem comes when prophets forget this dichotomy and their own imperfection. Think of the doctrines mentioned above, taught by President Young and perpetuated, to some degree, by others. Think of the doctrine of polygamy. Think also of great steps forward. President Woodruff taking a step back and realizing that polygamy was putting the entire community at risk or President Kimball having the gumption to look beyond precedent and inherited biases to ask hard questions about race and the plan of salvation. In all cases, all of this, good and bad, was credited God. But I'm beginning to be suspicious of ascribing all of this to divine injunction.

Enter the policy change. Like I mentioned in earlier posts, I do not believe this attitude towards LGBT brothers and sisters comes from God. It is instead an attitude mired in a tradition of fear and misunderstanding. It is hate justified by pseudoscience and tragic precedent. I don't demand that prophets foresee all mistakes and problems. But I do expect them to be responsive (not reactionary) when the outside world leads out in the process of becoming better

But if the prophets contend through both direct statements and tacit maintenance of a hateful status quo that this comes of God, then they are making a willful mistake, and I am left with a difficult choice. Either privilege obedience to these prophets at the cost of my own tacit support of a policy that causes pain to my brothers and sisters or privilege purity of conscience at the cost of the doubt and pain that will undoubtedly occur along that path.

I find myself choosing to walk down the latter path for a piece. I choose to look closely at the intricate justifications and explanations I have crafted to make sense of the good, the bad, and the ugly of Church history, theology, and practice and to see if, to paraphrase Thomas Paine's word, I have been wanting in sincerity, hiding contradictions in the shadows to keep them undiscovered from myself and others.

So I will question it all. From the nature and existence of deity to the organization of the 21st century Church. I relinquish the bulwark of loyalty to see what lies beyond. I may return someday to the relative safety of orthodox obedience, but not until I have journeyed and determined that, after all, its safety is the best place for me to learn and grow and that it is the most ethical, most healing, most productive spiritual place possible in life.

My tools will be many: the thoughts of men and women (both holy and profane), the experiences of my life, and the moments of mystic awe from throughout my life that I will seek to remember and retain.

And you. Your thoughts and your experiences. I am grateful for the thoughtful and personal outpouring of hope, understanding, shared concerns, and rescue. Your love (and concern and outrage and fear and support) means a great deal to me and will shore up the way on this difficult path.

A Letter to a Good Bishop

Below, I've recreated a letter I sent to my excellent bishop in the aftermath of the church's decision to make gay marriage grounds for apostasy. I share this as the starting point of this story, as the moment an my faith began to splinter. I'll describe the ongoing process that followed this moment in a post later this week.

Identifying information has, of course, been redacted. 

______________________________________________________________________________

November 11, 2015

Dear Bishop ________,

In preparation for our appointment and receiving your counsel, I wanted to write down my thoughts and struggles that stem from the recent policy changes in the church handbook. While many aspects of this change are not new for the church, the increased clarity of the church’s direction has helped me clarify my own beliefs and stance. Because of this newly clarified belief, I am not sure if you will want me to continue serving as the Young Men’s organization president. But to begin that conversation, I thought it would be useful for you to understand where I currently stand, so to speak.

Let me begin by saying I believe and follow the Gospel of Jesus Christ. It is beautiful. It is expansive, and it has healed my heart and soul countless times. Despite the difficult doctrinal questions I’ve had throughout my life, the inspiring and magnificent theology restored through the prophet Joseph Smith has held powerful sway over my life. However, these policy changes do not reflect the Gospel of Jesus Christ I know and love.

In the unlikely case you are unaware of these changes, they are two-fold:

1.      Same-gender couples that marry or co-habitate must face church discipline and be classified as apostates.

2.      The children of same-gender couples may not be blessed, baptized, receive the Aaronic Priesthood or be recommended for missionary service until they reach the age of 18 and:

·         Disavow the same-gender relationship.

·         No longer live in the household of the same-gender couple.

·         Receive authorization from the First Presidency to be baptized (admitted to the church).

I will begin with my objections to the second of the two. The policy to create significant barriers to church activity for the children of same-gender couples bewilders me. I believe it is the antithesis of what Christ taught and that it undermines the universal urgency of his Gospel. I have wrestled with this specific change for a week now. It has consumed my thoughts since I learned of it. I have spent much time in study, contemplation, and prayer on it, and I have come to the conclusion that it is not consistent with Christ’s teachings and, therefore, must originate from men. I cannot support it and I do not wish to  give any appearance of my acceptance of it. I see this change as a well-intentioned but ultimately harmful policy based on tradition rather than revelation.

I know of many good LDS men who served faithful missions, attempted to follow the counsel of their leaders to suppress their homosexual feelings, pray to overcome them, marry an unsuspecting woman, start a family and after years of marriage realize they could no longer suppress their true sexual identity. Their families are separated by divorce. These men find they no longer have a place within our Church and are, in effect, exiled. After their exile, they meet someone of the same gender, move in and/or get married. Their children live with both parents due to split custody agreements. This policy adversely affects these children in a very real and tangible way. They will not be able to participate in any of the milestones that are expected in our church: baptism, temple attendance, Aaronic Priesthood participation and advancement, or a mission. When they turn 18, they must disavow a parent’s relationship, state they don’t approve of same-gender marriage, and not live with the homosexual parent.

My father is one of these men. He and my mother divorced during my teenage years for many reasons, but chief among them was that fact that my father is gay and had struggled for years to understand how to deal with that fact within the LDS church and his very conservative family. He came out to me several years after my mission, but I was aware of his sexual orientation prior to entering the MTC. If a few things had gone differently in the eternal scheme, my summers with my father would have led to me being one of the children barred from the Aaronic priesthood and required to disavow my father’s sexual orientation as a prerequisite for the missionary service I rendered. Apart from my doubt that I could have comfortably disavowed an aspect of my father’s God-given identity, I would not have been active in seminary or church meetings without the strong connections to the church generated through “normal” membership. As it was, I struggled sometimes to actively participate in our community, though good leaders and a focus on priesthood responsibility saw me through the already significant barriers of difference that existed because I was both a child of divorce and had much less economic advantage than my peers in the ward. Without thorough gospel preparation and community connection, I would not have served a mission, would never have attended BYU, would not have met and married my incredible wife in the temple, and would not have experienced so many things, from my brilliant daughters to my employment as a visiting professor at BYU, that give such depth and happiness to my life. My life is immeasurably blessed by the gospel, and my experience with the gospel is tightly bound to its influence on me as a youth.

In short, this policy would have damaged my life and spiritual development. It is not difficult for me to imagine it doing the same to many other children, both inside and outside the church.

Now, for the first policy change. My belief about same-sex marriage is contrary to this change. I am not opposed to same-sex marriage; in fact, I fervently support it. I have read comments from Elder D. Todd Christofferson that state I can so believe and still remain a member of the church in good standing. However, it seems clear to me that acting in support of those beliefs now formally constitutes support of apostasy. I am not a member of any specific organization (besides the Democratic Party) that supports this belief, but I may join one. If anyone asks me about my stance, I have and will explain I don’t oppose it.

Further, I will not teach others that same-sex marriage is a sin. I don’t believe that it is (I realize this is contrary to currently accepted church doctrine). However, I firmly believe in the Law of Chastity. I believe that all members of the Church should obey this law. I simply believe that our LGBT brothers and sisters should have a path that allows them to obey this law without being accused of apostasy and subjected to church discipline.

I believe that homosexuality is not a choice (in most situations). I believe people are born with a sexual identity that can’t be altered (not by counseling, fasting, prayer, scripture study, or Priesthood blessings). I have read and listened to the stories of too many faithful members who are gay to believe that it was their choice. I believe that God made them gay, and I believe it is a positive and affirmative part of his plan of salvation, not an inherent trial (though our society has certainly excelled in making it one). I believe that by denying LGBT members the opportunity to marry and remain in good standing, we ask them to deny the full measure of their creation. I don’t believe it is fair (or comes from God) to ask someone who is gay to live a life of celibacy and loneliness in order to comply with the current doctrine taught by our church. I don’t believe that homosexuality is anything like polygamy. And I don’t believe that LGBT couples or their children’s presence in our community would alter other members’ sexuality to entice them towards same-gender marriages.

I don’t believe the church’s stance against homosexuality is based on anything more than tradition and fear. Here, too, I have spent a great deal of time in study, prayer, and reflection. I have studied scriptures both ancient and modern that are thought to concern homosexuality. I find no condemnation nor reasoning behind labeling homosexuality a sin. It is not mentioned in the scriptures of the Restoration. References in the Bible are either nuanced, mistranslated, or traditionally misinterpreted. Modern counsel gives no justification for the ban besides vague explanations that the practice opposes the plan of salvation without ever explaining how in any terms that escape circular reasoning. In contrast, there are multiple passages in the scriptures meant for our dispensation that unequivocally condemn the practice of polygamy and give clear reasoning behind this condemnation (along with the few that explain its purpose among the early saints).

Thus, with no real scriptural basis I can find, and drawing upon a strong belief wrought of long and painful study, I believe the official doctrine that labels homosexuality as inherently sinful (and as a result, "same-gender" marriages as similarly sinful) is, like the policy described above, contrary to Christ’s teachings and, therefore, also from men. I believe these teachings are inflicting great harm upon our LGBT members, their families, and the church as a whole.

I look forward to further discussing my feelings and beliefs with you. I also look forward to your counsel in how I can move forward in the church.

I know that my position as a Young Men’s organization president comes with significant responsibilities, from setting an example for the young men with my own life to the practical and spiritual instruction I’m asked to provide in Sunday meetings, mutual, and scouting activities. I also know that my beliefs may be objectionable to families of some of the boys.

For this reason, I wanted to be completely transparent about my beliefs and give you all the information you need to minister to our ward. I feel that my beliefs correspond with the gospel of Jesus Christ, but I am not naïve enough to think they would not be objectionable to many in our ward. And I do not want to sow chaos in our ward by virtue of my position in it. I seek a path that allows me to both have a clear conscience and continue working alongside my brothers and sisters in the Lord’s vineyard.

Whether I continue in my calling or not, know that I will continue in my active membership in the church I believe in until the day I die or the day (which I hope never comes) when I am asked to leave.

With love,

 (Me)

_____________________________________________________________________________

So there you have it. I should point out that church leadership later clarified its policy to apply only to children who live the majority of their time with parents in a same-sex marriage. While that means my young self would not have been as directly affected by the policy, my objections still stand. Just because I wouldn't be cast off from the church doesn't diminish my distaste for the idea as a whole.