An ally in our midst: Elder Marlin K. Jensen

In September of last year, Elder Marlin K. Jensen of the Quorum of the Seventy (the third tier of church leadership) was assigned to speak to the Oakland Stake during our stake conference. At the request of my Stake President, Elder Jensen agreed to meet with a few us to talk about the topic of homosexuality, and more specifically, about the Church’s involvement in Proposition 8. I also had the opportunity to speak with Elder Jensen privately.

Elder Jensen is well known in both Mormon and political circles as an outspoken liberal, encouraging the church membership on all areas of diversity—political, ethnic, and cultural. It was, of course, no small coincidence that Elder Jensen was the one assigned to speak at the Oakland conference—and no coincidence that he was asked (and agreed) to meet with me and others on this topic. 

Elder Jensen is a kind, amazing man full of love and energy of spirit. As we spoke privately, I told him of my personal struggle—that being gay and being Mormon are both entwined in my soul, and I could not remove one or the other without destroying who I am. I have developed a deep, soul stretching relationship with my Savior here, and while I might be able to build that same relationship in another church, Mormonism is now (and will always be) my first language and native tongue when it comes to communicating with and understanding my God.  

I went on to explain that often, I feel like a man with a foot in two worlds that belongs in neither. But as I have grown in my testimony and my understanding of myself, I have come to realize that I am indeed a man with a foot in two worlds—and I belong in both. 

I am needed in this church, and I am exactly where my Savior wants me to be. While it might be an easier path to turn my back on the Mormon Church, I shall not do so. If change is to occur—and it must—it has to happen from the inside. I will not to come to the end of my life and meet my Savior with cowardice on my conscience. I will not look at Him at the end of my journey and shrug my shoulders and say, “Sorry, it just got too hard.”  While my work and my honesty may cost me my church membership, it is something that will have to be forced upon me, and I believe, answered for eventually.

Upon sharing this with Elder Jensen, I noticed his eyes had welled up with tears. He shook his head vigorously, indicating his distaste at the idea of someone revoking my church membership based on my sexual orientation. It was remarkable to have a man with this authority display such emotional gratitude for my honesty and testimony—and, at the same time, be humble enough to never interrupt me verbally. I felt heard, I felt validated, and I felt respected by this man. 

 At the end of the larger group session, Elder Jensen committed to sharing what he learned with the remainder of senior church leadership. He reiterated that there are many in our senior ranks who care deeply about this topic—and are genuinely concerned that there are gay people among our flanks who feel that they have no place in the Mormon Church. Our allies in the church leadership feel broken hearted that there are so many souls who feel they have no home here.

He spoke of personally knowing and loving many gay and lesbian individuals, and remarked how he always marvels at the talent, abilities, kindness, and depth of soul of those he considers to be in his inner circle. He then tearfully wondered aloud if we, in fact, might all just simply be God’s special and unique creations, with a path to walk different from the rest, whose purpose may yet be undiscovered.

He stopped short of doing an about face on the formal position of the church on the issue of homosexuality—and I expected nothing less. However, toward the end of our meeting, he offered—within his power to grant—a heartfelt and teary eyed apology on behalf of the Church for all the pain and divisiveness caused by this position and the work around Proposition 8. 

He ended with this: “I am committed to going back to Salt Lake and sharing what I now know and what I have learned today, and I will influence to the best of my abilities. Through meeting with you today, my aversion to homophobia has grown, and that needs to happen in the lives and hearts of every single Mormon.”

From my side, I left spiritually elevated and enthusiastic—and feel the same in sharing this now. The kindness, love, and honesty with which this topic was addressed was heartening—and an incredible step in the right direction. I don’t know when change will happen, or if I will see in my lifetime the kind of change I want to occur. Yet, my feet (and the feet of others) are pointed in the right direction. And, I firmly believe that it matters less how fast you travel, and more in what direction you are headed.


We are indeed headed in the right direction.

Humility vs. Humiliation

I have a friend I watched rise from underprivileged and abusive roots to achieve much of what the world would call success: He secured a good education, found a job that paid handsomely, married and had a healthy son, and bought a beautiful home and expensive cars.  Through it all, though, he carried with him a small, almost indiscernible sense of entitlement and victimhood—as if his thorny past entitled him to these things.

Not so many years later, I also watched as he was, one by one, stripped of each of these things. The job was lost in a shameful scandal, the marriage ended acrimoniously and custody of his son was granted to his ex wife, and the home and the cars were all eventually repossessed.  The previous sense of entitlement and victimhood now pressed to the forefront of his character. Bitterness, blame, and resentment became hallmarks of his personality. One day, he remarked to me sullenly, “Why is this all of this happening to me? Now, I have truly been humbled.”

“No,” I thought to myself. “You have not been humbled. You have allowed yourself to be humiliated.”

Growing up as a gay Mormon, I—like many of you—experienced probably more than my fair share of humiliating situations. From this, and from watching the rise and subsequent fall of my friend, I began to wonder about the nature of humility versus humiliation for all of us. What, really, is the difference between these two words which sound so much alike to the causal listener—and arguably, have definitions that somewhat overlap?

Humiliation is something that shames; it heaps a burden of disgrace, dishonor, and embarrassment upon its subject. It is a condition of pessimism, of victimhood, and more importantly—of weakness. Humility, by contrast, is a position of strength. Humility is gratefully recognizing our complete dependence upon our Savior—through the good times, and the bad. It means we know our strength actually resides within our dependence—and helps us know that we are never alone, despite how we may feel or how our circumstances may appear.

Humiliation breeds fear; humility instills courage. 

When we feel humiliated, I think it is a sign that something is spiritually out of balance—that somehow, in some small way, we’ve lost sight of our rightful place with our Savior and with our fellow humans. Instead of recognizing our dependence—and gaining the courage to be found there—we’ve placed our own pride and self-will in its stead, and resultingly, the potential for shame that it brings.

Such was the case for my friend. To him, the journey of life was akin to climbing a ladder. Everyone was either above him—to be admired, awed, and envied—or below him, to be scorned and judged. When we hold this view, our thoughts, words, and deeds become driven by actions that will move us higher up the ladder—we lose focus on our dependence on our Savior, esteem secular achievement over spiritual growth, and often end up knocking other people off the ladder—or being knocked off ourselves.

A healthier view for me is to view life as a journey with my fellows as peers, each of us pressing onward on our prescribed paths, to learn the lessons that life is intended to teach us. None of us is ahead of another—so there is no need for envy. None of us is behind another—so there is no need for judgment and scorn. True, each path is unique to every traveler—some may appear easier than others, and others, conversely, seem more arduous and demanding. But if viewed through the lens of humility, it becomes clear that each path is geared to teach each of us what we individually need to know to come to rely upon our Savior, and, eventually, return to our Father.

 

Today, when my life’s journey brings me to a situation that feels humiliating, I will choose to view it through the lens of humility. This will lend me a peaceful heart, and a courageous spirit. It will help me see myself, my situation, and others in true perspective, and keep my mind open to the truth.

How will you choose to view your journey today?

Choosing words carefully

“Many have fallen by the edge of sword; but more have fallen by the tongue.”

In the past several months, I’ve had the opportunity to witness the power of words—both for good, and for bad. Growing up as a gay Mormon, I learned early on to choose my words carefully—to protect myself and hide who I really am, to not draw attention to myself, and having been hurt by the words of others, to ensure I didn’t do to others what had been done to me.

When I was a young boy, I had a dog that I loved with all my heart. She was my gentle, loving, unconditional companion. I remember one day distinctly, playing in the back yard with my GI Joe, and my pup grabbed Joe out of my hand and ran through the yard, me clumsily chasing after her and growing angrier by the second.

Eventually I caught up with her, pulled Joe from her grip, and in my anger unleashed a torrent of harsh, scolding words that fell like sharp knives. What pulls painfully at my heart about that day is the hurt look in my beloved companion’s gentle eyes at the sudden, violent change in me.

This life lesson taught me that words are a powerful gift, and we must choose them wisely. After all, if my little pup could be wounded by words, what do angry outbursts do to the people in our lives who understand every nasty word?

Obviously how we choose our words impacts our relationships. “Saying what we mean in the moment” versus “saying what we really mean” can, over time, erode the core of trust in a relationship and eventually destroy it altogether. Equally important, is how our words affect our own spiritual well being—for I believe we cannot willfully harm others repeatedly without suffering some internal damage of our own, which will eventually move us away from being our best and most genuine selves.

This isn’t easy: we’re all human and fallible, and I am, most certainly, among the least of these. When attacked, I want to return a hurl of verbal assaults—the allure of scoring a momentary hit is a strong one, indeed. Yet, more often than not, I am able to pause when I’ve been hurt. And in that pause, I’m able to think more clearly about what I truly want to say in response, rather than speaking words out of anger that I might regret later. Often, I feel prompted to keep the focus on myself, and am able to be honest about how the remark made me feel, rather than toss another insult back and have the anger spiral into a full blown argument—from which recovery might be long, painful or impossible.

It is not my responsibility to list the shortcomings of my partner or friend, even if I am angry. While I may disagree with some of your choices, it is my responsibility to speak up about that in a gentle way and let my feelings be known through kindness. It is never, though, my responsibility to judge you, to condemn you, to tell you what to do and demand that my solution is the only acceptable one to what I see as your shortcoming or challenge. My job, as your partner or friend, is to walk beside you as you learn the lessons life has to teach you—and to lend you a hand up when you stumble. The true spirit of love we have for one another is kind, patient, and doesn’t demand its own way. It doesn’t scold, condemn, or criticize.

The next time someone hurls a verbal insult at you, I encourage you to pause for a moment. Bring the focus back to you, and how it makes you feel. Give yourself a choice before you respond. You may choose to insult back, you may choose to speak your pain, or you may choose to walk away. But recognize you have a choice. You do not have to perpetuate a hurtful situation by causing wounds yourself. You have the opportunity to realize and understand that how we speak to others tells the world much more about us, than it does about the person to whom we’re speaking.

What do you want your words to tell the world about you?

To whose voice will you listen?

Over the holidays, I had the chance to visit with an old chum from high school. Like me, she grew up in a tumultuous household, and walked out of such carrying old wounds with which she will likely grapple for her entire time on this earth. One of the outcomes of her childhood dysfunction is struggling with addiction (yes, it happens to Mormons, too!).

She bared her soul to me and shared that as of late, she’d been slipping some, despite what seemed to be her best efforts to maintain her course. Granted, here we were some years older, this woman now with a family, children, a beautiful home, and a husband who loves her very much—yet still bedeviled by a past where unsettling voices never cease to quiet.

I can’t cure my friend, but I can offer her a compassionate ear. I can speak to her kindly, give her gentle encouragement, and help her focus on the things she has succeeded in—like the mere fact that she has recovery is a gift from our Savior, and nothing will take away those years of sobriety. The key, for my friend, was willingness to go back to the very first step, and—like a child leaning on a parent, allow our Savior to guide her easily and carefully back to where she needs—and wants—to be.

As I walked away from that conversation, I began to think about the nature of compassion. Why does it seem relatively easy to be compassionate with someone we care about, yet when we find fault in ourselves, and notice ourselves slipping back into patterns we thought we’d eradicated, we’re the loudest critics in the room?

I was able to experience this first hand upon my trip home. A long forgotten character defect began to rear its ugly head again in my life. At first I ignored it, denied it, and pretended it wasn’t as serious as it was. Soon, my Savior granted me an opportunity to see not only how this behavior was harming me and was leading me where I didn’t want to go, but also showed me how this defect hurt other people—especially those I care about.

Fortunately, I was quick enough in my spiritual soundness to recognize this as a “God Moment:” a turning point, where my Savior knows me well and loves me enough to keep me on a short leash in some areas, and give me opportunities to correct myself. For that, I was grateful.

Yet, despite my gratitude, I launched into a silent campaign of self-criticism, self-condemnation, and self-hatred. How could I have been so stupid to not see this? How could I be so arrogant to think that I could engage in something that was so clearly a problem for me in the past—and get away with it? Moreover, who could possibly love me—my list of human frailties is lengthy on my best day, and I’ve chosen to add to them with poor choices. Who would ever want that as a partner, a friend, or a companion?

Then it dawned on me: I had become my friend back home, who’d reached out her hand to me for a realistic viewpoint on herself. And I, in turn, reached out my hand to another trusted friend. Consequently, I wound up with a more sensible view of myself—a struggling, striving child of a merciful Father who wants me to return to him, and loves me enough to present me with opportunities to do just that. What a great blessing it is to know He loves me enough—and knows me well enough—to have a plan just for me.

That still left me with the uncomfortable issue of that condemning voice in my head. It certainly wasn’t the voice of my Savior—He would never talk to me that way. It wasn’t the voice of my friends or family who love and care about me and want me to succeed. Clearly, the author of that voice was someone entirely different—and someone who has a vested interest in seeing me fail—and in seeing every one of us fail.

You, too, will find yourself in a situation in which you’ll hear that voice—such is the nature of our existence here. This voice will condemn you, criticize you, fault-find, and diminish your hope. It will erode your confidence, esteem, and tell you that you cannot succeed.

And here, you will have a choice. You can entertain that voice—or, you can recognize to whom that voice belongs—for it does not belong to any who love you. It does not belong to any who cherish you as the unique and precious individual you are in the eyes of your Savior, and in the eyes of those who love and care about you.

Upon that recognition, you can choose instead to listen to the voices who do love you. They will guide you, encourage you, and lead you to higher levels of spiritual and secular achievement. It is, after all, through listening to these gentler voices that we are brought closer to being the best we can be, made more genuine versions of ourselves, and move more closely to being the kind of sons and daughters our Father knows us to be.

I will spend more time with myself than anyone else on this earth. Let me be the kind of person I would like to have as a friend—let me encourage myself, be patient with myself, and be as gentle with myself as I would with the person I love the most. Today, I will pay special attention to any voice inside me that speaks lovingly. For after all, that is the one that will help me succeed.

To whose voice will you choose to listen today?

Bearing the seemingly unbearable

Each of us, at some point in time in our lives, will bear things that are seemingly unbearable. The reconciliation of our own spiritual truths with our sexual orientation; the loss of someone we love and whose soul has become intertwined with our own; bad news from physicians that predict dire outcomes for us or those we love.

I am no exception. Like you, I have had to endure things that, in the moment, seem unendurable. It is during those times, I believe, that our true character shines through. We have a choice—we can be bitter about our circumstances, make ourselves victims to life itself, or we can choose to be thankful for our trials. The choice is ours.

I wish I could say it’s easy for me to choose gratitude in the face of difficult circumstances. Often, it still is not. But I have found, though, that focusing on the gratitude not only makes the unbearable bearable, but it also helps me to grow in my faith, in my confidence in myself, and most importantly in the assurance that I am—regardless of circumstance—never without my Savior.

Each and every one of us has dealt with suffering. And, we can be sure we will again—such is the nature of this existence. But we have the opportunity to do more than survive difficulties—we have the opportunity to allow them to help us thrive.

For me, the process of coming to terms with being a gay Mormon was one such “moment.” I found myself brought to my knees, both literally and figuratively. It was clear that my circumstances would not change: I would always be gay, that was never a choice. And I would always be a child of my Father in Heaven—that, as well, was never a choice. The one thing that could change, however, was my own attitude about my situation, and how I chose to understand myself and my Savior. For my Savior alone, the author and finisher of my faith, could provide the deliverance I sought. I had no choice but to place my expectations, desires, my despair as well as my joy, in the hands of my Lord.

And do so, I did.

Today, when I am asked to endure the unendurable, I remember that I am more than my problems. I have been brought through many struggles to be exactly where I am today—and I am exactly where I am supposed to be. My challenges have brought me a wealth of experience that I can put to use for myself, and for others who face similar difficulties. I needn’t fear the challenges of the future, because I know that with the guidance of my Savior I am—like you—capable of handling anything life brings me.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of viewing our lives as a tragedy when we’re contending with what seems unbearable. But if we so choose, we can regard anything that happens to us as a gift from which we can learn and grow. I challenge each of you—whether you’re facing the unbearable now, or in the future—to find something positive hidden within a difficult situation, and allow yourself to be grateful. I believe that, like me, you’ll be surprised at how much a little gratitude can help. 

“And I will also be your light in the wilderness.  And I will prepare the way before you if it so be that ye keep my commandments.  And ye shall know that it is by me that ye are lead.” (1 Ne 17).

Prop 8 appeals hearing speech

On December 6, 2010, I had the opportunity to speak at a rally held on the steps of the California 9^th Circuit Court of Appeals, just prior to the arguments being heard on Proposition 8 appeals. I kept my remarks brief, and was joined by many noteworthy activists in the cause: Kate Kendell from NCLR; Ryan Kendall from Marriage Equality Colorado; Jenny Pizer from Lambda Legal; and the Reverend Jesse Jackson.

Below are my words from the rally. I’ve attached a brief video of the opening, even though we lost the rest of the speech, it still gives a good flavor of the energy level of the crowd and the passion of the event.

What a great opportunity it was to be part of this event—and, I hope, part of helping shape freedom to marry for everyone. 

My name is Mitch Mayne. I am an openly gay, active Latter-Day Saint. I am a gay Mormon. And I am your ally in our quest for marriage equality.

Like many of you, I felt first-hand the sorrow around Proposition 8. But unlike many of you, I felt it from my very own spiritual family. Watching my Mormon brothers and sisters advocate for an issue that would keep me from marrying the man I loved, tore at my heart and afflicted my conscience. It was difficult to maintain my personal integrity and, at the same time, stay close to the home where I found my Savior.

Often, I feel like a man with a foot in two worlds that belongs in neither. But as I have grown in my testimony and my understanding of myself, I have come to realize that I am indeed a man with a foot in two worlds—and I belong in both.  

Being honest about who I am has seldom led to a positive outcome. Nonetheless, I have reached the point where I can no longer be silent. I have not mastered my fear of what might happen to me as a result—I have just come to believe that something else is more important than my fear—equality.

I now know there are many inside the church like me—both gay and straight—who envision marriage equality for all.  And while I have faced—and will face—some hard-heartedness within the church, I have also been blessed to find much unconditional love and support.

As an openly gay, active Mormon man who is willing to stand up as such, I have the opportunity to give a human face to the issue of marriage equality, both within my church and within my community. Through my continued faithfulness, I have the opportunity to demonstrate that, at our core, we are all very much the same: simply children of our Father, who are striving day to day to understand how to best do his will, and how to return to him. Through my continued faithfulness, I have the opportunity to demonstrate that this sameness weighs more than all the differences in his universe.

Therefore, my strength and my honesty are needed in the Mormon Church. And all of our collective strength and honesty are needed here, today. Each of us has a role to play here, and each of us has work to do on behalf of ourselves and those we love. 

Together we shall persevere as we seek to have the same benefits and recognition in the eyes of the law, that we already know we have in the eyes of our God. 

The "why" of what I do: Sarah's story

I knew this work, and my above all my honesty, would give me more than my share of detractors. I gladly accept that, for I believe it is through them that genuine debate is sparked, and hopefully hearts are softened and spirits become more receptive. Rigorous debate is a good thing, and, I believe, a God-given thing.

There are times, admittedly, where I feel spiritually beaten down as a result of being outspoken about who I am and what I believe. Today was one such moment. Without fail, when those moments occur, I am blessed with a letter or an email from someone who’s thinking differently about the place of gays and lesbians in our Father’s kingdom as a result of something I’ve done. I do, in my heart of hearts, believe this is my Savior’s way of showing me His hand in my life, and His way of lending me courage again when I feel I have none.

These moments are a humble reminder that I am, indeed, only an ordinary man—placed into extraordinary circumstances. And as such, granted the grace to live up to those circumstances.

Below is Sarah’s story. How grateful I am she was willing to be an instrument in the hand of my Savior, and lend me strength when my own was faltering. I hope you find in it the same strength and beauty I did.   

Dear Mitch-

Thank you for your courage in your quest to establish greater understanding within the Mormon community with regard to our gay brothers and sisters.  You inspired me to have a conversation with one of my younger brothers about his being gay.  Joe has always been very private and self protective, and it was difficult for me to gather my own courage, find the right words and setting and give my feelings utterance.  The opportunity came when he stayed at my house for this holiday weekend.  All four of my siblings and their families attended events at my father’s place.  My father has a cancer diagnosis and will probably last a only few more months so people made a concerted effort to be here together.

I thank you for being an inspiration to me.  I have wanted greater closeness and friendship with Joe, but felt awkward in broaching the subject of the “elephant in the room” that my family is uncomfortable with.  I told him it feels strange to have a brother-in-law I have never seen.  He and his partner, Mike, have been together for 30 years.  We agreed that that would change when I stay with them in Portland on a vacation.

-Sarah 

I wish to express my gratitude to my Savior for the opportunity to play a small role to mend a thirty-year separation between a brother and a sister, and bring an entire family closer together once again—right where they belong. 

The blessing of this work, is, indeed mine.