This one definitely deserves a little air time. Enjoy it...I sure did.
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Where two or three are gathered: Can your LDS ward be an engine for change?
Erika P. Munson
November, 2012
At it's best
and it's worst, an LDS ward is like a small town. Everyone can really know
everyone. The sheer number of hours we spend together gives us the opportunity
to know each other's back story. The ethic of service runs deep. There can be
the unpleasant baggage that goes along with small town life too: suffocating
conformity, judgement, grudges held for years. But I remain a huge fan of this
imperfect yet oftentimes very effective way of building a Christian community.
I am indeed an unlikely defender of our congregations. Though I am devoted to
the Gospel of Jesus Christ I have never in any other aspect of my life been a
joiner. I am shy, I relish solitude, I hate meetings, I often feel closer to
God while walking in the mountains than I do on a Sunday in a windowless chapel
designed to withstand earthquakes. I am suspicious of hierarchy and patriarchy.
But there is something deeper at work in our congregations that keeps me coming
back. I've lived in twelve wards in my life. What each experience has in common
is that I arrive as a stranger, am embraced by people with whom I only share a
geographical boundary and a commitment to the Gospel, and immediately take up
the job of working out my salvation with them. This is powerful stuff. I have
seen it break down class and racial boundaries I have seen it soften hearts. I
have seen it bring about A Mighty Change in myself. People I have judged and
disliked have become my friends, not because they changed but because I did. So
my message today is that it seems to me we---and by we I mean straight allies
and gay members alike--can harness the institution of the LDS ward to make our
congregations safe and welcoming for LGBT people.
Last spring,
as I was deciding what exactly it was I wanted to march for in the Utah Pride
Parade, I was teaching To Kill A Mockingbird to seventh-graders. This book is
such a classic, it has gained such world-wide popularity that it runs the risk
of becoming cliché. But I saw it anew, through the fresh eyes of kids on the
cusp of adolescence reading it for the first time. It had a profound impact on
me.
For those of
you who managed to get through middle school without reading Mockingbird or who
haven't seen the magnificent film from 1962, I'll give you the Wikipedia
summary: set in a small southern town during the Depression, the feisty
ten-year-old tomboy Scout Finch narrates the story of how her father, a white
country lawyer, teaches her and her brother acceptance and empathy as he a
defends a black man unjustly accused of raping a white woman. Not only is
Atticus Finch courageous in following his conscience when he knows it will lead
to public criticism and personal danger, at the same time he is deeply
respectful of his neighbors―even the ones who hate him.
As the weeks
progressed I identified three aspects of Atticus's character that inspired me.
First,
Atticus practices empathy.
Early in the
book Scout comes to her father for consolation after a disastrous first day of
school. She's smarter than everyone, including her teacher, and doesn't conform
to the culture's definition of what a girl should be. His advice?
If you can learn a simple trick, Scout you'll get along a lot
better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you
consider things from their point of view―until you climb into his skin and walk
around in it.
Notice he's
not telling her to hide her intelligence or act like a lady. He's telling her
to put herself in the shoes of the person she thinks is her adversary, to try
to appreciate the perspective of the “other”.
Second,
Atticus has a deep loyalty to his community even though his moral compass
sometimes puts him at odds with it.
When he
takes on the case of defending a black man who has already been convicted in
the town's court of public opinion, he prepares his daughter for the turmoil
ahead without demonizing his opponents.
Come here Scout. Remember this, no matter how bitter things
get, they're still our friends and this is still our home.
Third,
Atticus measures progress in baby steps.
It is
interesting to note that although his moral choice is extraordinarily
significant within the context of his small town, it is very small in scope
when you look at the human rights situation in the 1930's American South. He's
not making any attempt to take down Jim Crow, the much larger, prevailing evil.
His goal is well-defined: to get an all-white jury to acquit an innocent black
man. Even in this effort, he fails, and his client ultimately dies violently.
Yet, amidst this tragedy Atticus is able to find small reasons to hope. He
explains to his children:
There was one thing that made me think, well, this may be the
shadow of a beginning. That jury took a few hours. An inevitable verdict,
maybe, but it usually takes'em just a few minutes. This time there was one
fellow who took considerable wearing down―in the beginning he was rarin' for an
outright acquittal.
One juror challenging
the culture's racist ideology for just four hours, was, Atticus felt, something
worth noting.
Empathy,
Loyalty, Hope. Those are the essential qualities of Atticus Finch. Those are
the values I wanted to march for. Empathy for LGBT people. Loyalty to the LDS
church, Hope for the Future.
That would
be the mission of Mormons Building Bridges.
Now I'd like
to share a true story of small-town love. If any of you out there are
Radiolab fans this may be familiar to you.
In November
2008 while the world was marking the election of America's
first African American president there was a little story out of Oregon that may have
represented a milestone just as significant. The town of Silverton,
a conservative community of nine thousand many of whom proudly described
themselves as redneck, farther from progressive Portland
than the actual fifty miles would suggest, in 2008 this town elected America's
first transgendered mayor.
Stu Rassmussen
has an interesting story to tell. He grew up in Silverton, his dad owned the
local movie theatre. He was an alter boy, a technology geek and one night when
he was 27 while running the projection booth for the Rocky Horror Picture show
he began to sense another aspect of his identity. He continued to pour his life
into the town becoming the local cable operator, an electrician, a firmware
engineer , and took over the theatre when his dad retired, but very gradually
he began to make some personal changes. At 37 he started having his nails done.
To promote the theatre, he would walk up and down main street dressed as the
female character in whatever movie was opening that weekend. Then he started
wearing a padded bra under his guy clothes and finally had breast augmentation
surgery at age 52―his girlfriend of 30 years sticking by him. Things were tough
for a while. Attendance at the theatre dropped. Trucks filled with boys would
drive by screaming hateful epithets. But the town as whole did not abandon Stu.
The mayoral race was a close one, but when interviewed the conservative Republican
who ran against him did not criticize Stu's dressing as a woman---he just
thought his clothing should be more modest than the low cut sweaters and
miniskirts he was now regularly wearing to City Council meetings. Stu won by a
narrow margin.
On the day
when Stu was ready to be sworn in, representatives from The Westboro Baptist
church in Kansas showed up to protest with signs like God Hates Overton and
Your Mayor's Going to Hell . Stu's inclination was to completely ignore them,
but two or three of the mayor-elect's friends decided they would mount a
counter-demonstration across the street by appearing in drag. Then quite
spontaneously more town members showed up, grandmas, moms with babies in
strollers and more guys in skirts. They had grabbed their old yard signs and on
the back hastily painted slogans like We Love Stu and Hate is Easy Loves Takes
Courage. There were soon 150 people out there supporting their native son,
vastly outnumbering the Westboro group. The swearing-in went off without a hitch.
Stu was re-elected in 2010 and is running again for another term.
This story
was thrilling to me. This is small town life at its best. This is Mockingbird
re-written with a happy ending. The multiple ways people connected in Silverton
facilitated a degree of harmony even for those who couldn't completely
empathize with Stu. Many of his supporters did not try to grasp his gender
identity, they didn't have to because they knew him in so many other
contexts. One friend said: “I grew up with Stu―he was an alter boy at church
with my brother―he is the town computer geek―he' Stu the mayor―and then he's
just Stu”.
The
opportunity that exists in the fictional Maycomb Alabama
and the very real Silverton Oregon
for those formerly marginalized members of the community to be embraced by it,
to in fact lead it-- is one we have in our LDS wards and branches. We
are organized on a small enough scale that it makes meaningful relationships
possible. The fact that we have no paid clergy or staff on the local level and
that those positions are continually rotating is democratizing. Right down to
testimony meeting there is a strong tradition of egalitarianism, an acceptance
of the fact that everyone will take a turn and we will all be patient with one
another. Think of all ways an active members can connect with another: we visit
each other in our homes once a month, we teach and care for each others'
children, we sing in choirs together, we move each other in and out of
apartments, we work in temples together, we bear our testimonies to one
another. I believe the bonds we forge in these activities are strong enough to
withstand the push and pull that will result when we start conversations about
LGBT support.
OK- I hear you saying: what is this Unitarian
Universalist/Quaker-y Mormon experience this woman is describing? Doesn't she
know the LDS church is one of the most top-down centralized churches on the
planet? Has she not seen those fold-out organization charts in the Ensign: a
skyscraper of thumbnail photos, all indistinguishable old white guys? Has she
never heard a bishop preach on unquestioning obedience?
Well, of
course I have, and first I would like to say that I understand that the
grassroots route to change that I am proposing today is not for everybody. For
some who have been deeply wounded, there is no coming back. For those who feel
they are compromising their principles by putting aside laudable lofty goals in
favor of humble ones, I get it, my hat is off to you. But as Mormons Building
Bridges has grown we have discovered that there are thousands of Saints out
there who up to now have remained silent when they have seen the church turn
it's back on LGBT people but are looking for a way to reach out to their gay
brothers and sisters and still remain loyal to, as Atticus Finch would say,
“their friends”.
You know, I
think it is my experience as a woman working within a patriarchy that makes me
oddly optimistic. I've never been to a bishopric meeting or a high council
tribunal, but I see so much good Christian stuff happening outside of these
venues that I can't help but want to use it to make the church more inclusive.
Think about
it. If you are known to your bishop as a faithful home teacher and you ask to
be assigned to an inactive gay couple in your ward, might he be receptive? If
you and the Sunday School teacher were the only ones who showed up to clean the
meetinghouse on Saturday morning, might he in church the next day support you
when you point our how hurtful someone's homophobic remark is? If you wrestle
with a sister's unruly toddler for two hours every Sunday in the nursery, isn't
she likely to listen when you share your experience of being a gay Mormon?
If you share with a visiting teaching companion your experience at an LGBT
support event, might not she be willing to open up about her son coming out to
her?
If we are
model ward members in traditional ways and at the same time are marching in
parades, coming out, bringing our gay brothers and sisters to church, working
on LGBT firesides with our Stake President---In all these small, humble ways
can we not prove the larger point that acceptance of LGBT people is a logical
extension of gospel principles?
Maybe.
I am under
no illusion that at any time fear can win out at the top and result in
suppression at the bottom. Furthermore, I have no clear picture of where this
will lead. The great story that all our individuals stories add up to has not
yet played out. But the daily person-to-person work and heart-to heart
conversations that I so admire in small town stories, are beginning to happen
in our church and they are valuable in their own right. They are the building
blocks of change.
The words to
Lead Kindly Light have always given me great comfort. They describe the lonely
journey of the pilgrim following Christ’s Light through the encircling gloom.
But is there not strength in looking to your right and to your left, realizing
that you are not alone. I hope when we look back at this Mormon Moment we will
not only remember the national spotlight that descended upon us, but we will
mark this as a time we were looking, patiently and carefully, for the light
within each other.
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