Upon the shoulders of a giant: Bill Bradshaw

Dr. William Bradshaw

True compassion is a rare quality. I like to think that it exists in all of us, but for most of us in this human condition, it’s not something that’s accessed as readily or as often as I think our Savior would like. Sometimes, though, there are those among us who possess this quality with such richness, such depth of character that it often leaves the rest of us in quiet awe.

Such is the case with Bill Bradshaw.

Bill is a former mission president, former member of a stake presidency—and is also the father of a gay son. I had occasion to meet Bill some time ago, and in recent months we’ve reconnected. This week he shared a speech with me that he delivered a few years back as part of a memorial service honoring LGBT suicide victims—and it is one that needs to be read by every human, and most certainly every Latter-day Saint. The message, like that of our Savior, is simple: Love with abundance, and judge not.  

I want to add my voice to the thousands (if not millions) who owe Bill a debt of gratitude. I suspect I would not be in my calling within the church if not for the compassion and conviction to understanding displayed by Bill and people like him—and therefore I would be unable to reach out to others in my situation. It is, indeed, humbling to be standing on the shoulders of this brave, compassionate giant.

I think I can safely say that Bill is most certainly the kind of Dad all of us wish we had as LGBT Mormons. Our paths might have been very different, indeed.

On behalf of all of us, thank you, Bill.

Talk given by Bill Bradshaw as part of the program “Bring them in from the plains.  From despair to hope,” a Memorial Service honoring LGBT suicide victims held at the First Unitarian Church, Salt Lake City, UT, Sunday, October 4, 2009 at 7:00 p.m.

I’m here tonight because I love my gay and lesbian brothers and sisters, both in and outside of Mormondom, and feel a very deep sorrow at the loss of any of them.  It occurs to me that I am blessed in this regard, and that blessing takes the form of the exceptional human being who is our gay son, Brett.  Were it not for Brett I would not have become acquainted with other homosexual people, their parents and extended families, and friends.  And without the set of experiences and education that have followed, I would have remained uninformed and misguided and burdened by ignorance and bigotry.  There but for the grace of my son go I.

As a small group of people we’ve come tonight carrying a complex set of emotions and expectations, born of different backgrounds and experiences.  Some of us out of loyalty to a cause, some with a sense of sadness with the names and faces of specific individuals in mind, some seeking support and consolation, some to renew contact with others whose friendships continue to give our lives greater meaning.  It occurs to me that we might benefit in three ways from our attendance here.  One would come in the form of a very solemn spirit, a reminder of a profound sense of loss, a deep sadness with what we believe were the needless deaths of competent, gifted, genuinely good young men and women with the potential for satisfying and contributing futures.  A second might be greater understanding, an increased insight into the nature of homosexuality as experienced by our LGBT brothers and sisters, an enlarged awareness leading to empathy.  Finally, we might hope to leave with a renewed commitment, a dedication to finding ways to be better at overturning misconceptions and misinformation and standing up for love and equality.

Let me suggest that our best hope of realizing these positive outcomes may lie in the human capacity for imagination.  The gifted scientist Jacob Bronowski has suggested that this ability of the mind and spirit separates us from all the other creatures (1).  “It becomes plain,” he asserts, “that imagination is a specifically human gift.  To imagine is the characteristic act, not of the poet’s mind, or the painter’s or the scientist’s, but of the mind of man.”  “To imagine,“ he continues, “means to make images and to move them about inside one’s head in new arrangements. The images play out for us events which are not present to our senses, and thereby guard the past and create the future – a future that does not yet exist, and may never come to exist in that form.”  Perhaps in its most refined form, imagination is that capacity of deity that permitted Christ to “descend below all things” (D&C 88:6) in his effort to understand and have compassion for the full range of human experiences.

A major problem, however, for us in the insensitive heterosexual majority, is our inability to imagine being otherwise.  Our orientation is the orientation, to persons of the opposite sex, and to conceive of erotic feeling for someone of our same gender is – well, unimaginable.  And ironically, our own sexual perspective is one we would defy any program of therapy to change.

Thus it becomes useful for us to listen.  Listen with me now to the words of one man, Andrew Sullivan, in his attempt to articulate his private early encounter with his gay sexuality (2).  “My feelings were too strong and too terrifying to do anything but submerge them completely.  Gay adolescents are offered what every heterosexual teenager longs for: to be invisible in the girl’s locker room.  But you are invisible in the boy’s locker room, your desire as unavoidable as its object.  In that moment, you learn the first homosexual lesson:  that your survival depends upon self-concealment.  The gay teenager learns a form of control and sublimation, of deception and self-contempt, that never leaves his consciousness.  He learns that that which would most give him meaning is most likely to destroy him in the eyes of others; that the condition of his friendship is the subjugation of himself.”  And why, we ask?  It is hard not to imagine that the answer is a terrible sense of not belonging.  Thus the contradiction: “Know the truth – know the truth about your homosexual self – that truth may not make you free.”  All of this inner anguish because you are different.

There seems to be an unfortunate human inclination such that when you look across at another person who is different from yourself, you make the decision that that person is not as good as you are.  If that person is black, you must be superior.  If that individual speaks Chinese, well, of course, English is better, never mind more than a fourth of earth’s population.  If that person is a woman whom you could best in a fist fight, well, men are incomparable.  This in spite of who was responsible for managing the family on that meager income in the early years, who remembers when the anniversary is, and finds the car keys you’ve misplaced when they are in plain sight.  Is it possible that this capacity for unrighteous judgment was the one trait that God most hoped would disappear from his spirit children during their mortal sojourn?  If so, and based on the historical record, He must be terribly disappointed.

It is suggested that no other human can imagine the depth of Christ’s agony in the Garden, not withstanding the graphic imagery of “bleeding at every pore.”  But I can imagine that the heavy weight of sins not His own was made endurable, at least in part, by the knowledge that His sacrificial atonement was made in behalf of billions; it was for a very good cause.  I am less able to imagine a counter-balancing feeling of comfort, when at the low point of his experience, He would utter His anguished cry, “My God, Why hast Thou forsaken me?”  Forsaken.  Is that ultimately the perception of those of our homosexual brothers and sisters who take their own lives?  Forsaken by man, by God, by family, by friends?  Bereft of optimism for this life, of trying any longer, believing sadly that the only hope for peace lies across the threshold of death?

I return again to Andrew Sullivan, who freely acknowledges that his experience may not be the same as that of other gay men, or especially of lesbian women, but who argues as follows.  “It’s possible, I think, that whatever society teaches or doesn’t teach about homosexuality, this fact will always be the case.  No homosexual child, surrounded overwhelmingly by heterosexuals, will feel at home in his sexual and emotional world, even in the most tolerant of cultures.  And every homosexual child will learn the rituals of deceit, impersonation, and appearance.  Anyone who believes political, social, or even cultural revolution will change this fundamentally is denying reality.  This isolation will always hold.  It is definitional of homosexual development.  And children are particularly cruel.  At the age of eleven, no one wants to be the odd one out; and in the arena of dating and hormones, the exclusion is inevitably a traumatic one.” 

While agreeing with Sullivan’s description of the inner turmoil in the souls of at least many gay adolescents and young adults, and acknowledging the reality of the cruelty, I find myself imagining that his assessment about the inevitability of isolation, deceit, and impersonation is too pessimistic.  I imagine myself being part of an effort to change that world, at least my part of that world, at least for one person, or perhaps for five, or maybe for several dozen, at least for those several dozen at an earlier time in their emergence from that terrible closet, in time to point them away from a mind set in which they imagine the possibility of talking their own lives.  And, in fact, more than that, of opening up their imaginations and those of their families and loved ones to lives of possibilities and fulfillment, to lives of goodness, and family, and happiness.

The record states that in ministering to the little children of the Nephite people Jesus spoke words so “great and marvelous” that they could not be verbalized nor written by others, so we are left to our imaginations in fathoming their content.  What happened next, however, suggests that the themes were love, both divine and human, and mercy.  Having wept, “he took their little children, one by one, and blessed them, and prayed unto the Father for them.  And when he had done this he wept again (3 Nephi 17:9-22).”  Knowing what we know today, we have to believe that among those children were a few who later, as young adults, would have to confront and cope with their homosexuality.  I can further imagine that they would not have forgotten that extraordinary experience from their childhood, and that the memory of the Savior’s great love for them would have assuaged their efforts to deal with their recognition of being different, and they would have known that they did belong, to Him and to all the rest of the human family.

Many years ago I made a promise that I was too young to understand.  It was a covenant to be “willing to bear the burdens of other people, to mourn with those that mourn, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort.”  What can we imagine it means to “mourn with those that mourn?”  Surely that vow will not be satisfied by waiting patiently in the line at the viewing until one is able to express a few words of condolence to the bereaved.  Several years ago Marge and I, along with a few other Family Fellowship parents, attended the funeral service of one of the young men we remember tonight.  It was a joyless hour.  None of the members of the family participated on the program, this apparently an accurate reflection of their relationship with their son and brother.  The first talk, given by an ecclesiastical leader was insensitive, actually cruel in its tone and content.  I hope that such services will disappear from our midst.   I mourn for the spirit of that young man, whom I can imagine crying, “Why was I forsaken?”  I mourn for his family.  I mourn for other parents, who learn that a son or daughter is gay, and whose world is unnecessarily turned upside down by that unexpected revelation.  I mourn because of the mistaken notion that one’s sexual orientation is chosen or the insidious assertion that it is the result of imperfect parenting.  I mourn for the failure to consider the strong evidence that one’s sexual orientation is, in fact, in one’s DNA.  I mourn for the existence of public policies that demean and exclude.  I mourn for the existence of private beliefs that provide a rationalization for unchristian treatment of other human beings.  I mourn for the lack of a public acknowledgement of the fundamental goodness, decency, and accomplishments of my LGBT brothers and sisters.

Mourning, then, can take the form of recognition of a need.  It can be an internal activity, accomplished in the privacy of one’s mind and home.  But the “comforting” part of what I promised I would do cannot.  To comfort and bear one another’s burdens we must go outside of those private places; we have to speak, we have to act, we have to stand for something.  A dear friend, Duff Hanks, whose wisdom and example were important guides at needful times in my life, is today unable to speak at any gathering such as this.  I think he would not mind if I were to quote some of his words tonight.  “In the most personal of His parables the Savior identified himself fully with the hungry, the thirsty, the naked, the homeless, the sick, and the imprisoned (see Matthew 25:35-36).  So many are burdened with earthly care, the stain of sin, poverty, pain, disability, loneliness, bereavement, rejection.  The promise of Christ’s mercy is sure and certain to those who find Him and trust Him.  He who stilled the winds and waves can bring peace to the sinner and to the suffering Saint.  And we as His agents are not alone to declare His word but also to represent Him in doing unto the least of His brethren that which He himself would do were He now here (3).”

So what form might our comforting take?  It might be that we refuse to remain silent when in casual conversations or during lessons delivered in church or in any other setting we hear errors in fact or judgment  We will not allow the uninformed to remain ignorant or the unintentionally unkind to remain unaware of the harmful impact of their words and attitudes.  It might be that we pray with greater frequency and greater fervency for God to promote change in the hearts of those with governmental and religious authority.  We might make the phone calls, visit the homes, issue the invitations for lunch, and otherwise make contact with closeted families paralyzed with fear and uncertainty.  We will celebrate the humanity of our homosexual children, friends, and neighbors – honor the goodness of their lives – advertize our pride in their accomplishments.  We will take great care in our efforts with those with whom we disagree not to be guilty of the same hubris, insensitivity, hostility, or lack of compassion that may have been directed at us or at those we love.

It seems to me appropriate that tonight we invoke the spirit of the most famous speech given in our country in tribute to the dead:  “It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they so nobly advanced.  It is rather for us to be dedicated to the great task remaining before us – that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion – that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain.”  Mr. Lincoln spoke these words during a terrible conflict, that divided our young nation and inflicted wounds of all kinds that were very difficult to heal. Although the causes of that tragic war were complex, at its heart was the need to uphold and protect the inalienable rights conferred by God on His children, all of whom He deemed deserving of equal access to all of life’s best possibilities.  At its heart, our cause tonight is the same.  May Heavenly Father grant us the will and the strength to persevere.  In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

Citations

1.         Jacob Bronowski.  1967.  The Reach of Imagination, in The Norton Reader,

10^th Edition, L.H. Peterson, J.C. Brereton, and J.E. Hartman, Eds.  W.W. Norton and Company, New York, NY.  Pages 233-235.

2.         Andrew Sullivan.  1995.  Virtually Normal, Vintage Book, New York, NY.  Pages 12-13.

3.      Marion D. Hanks.  1991.  Bread Upon The Waters, Bookcraft, Salt Lake City, UT.  Page 39.

About Bill Bradshaw

Dr. Bradshaw is a former mission president, former member of a stake presidency, has written about the biology of homosexuality elsewhere, and was covered by BYU’s Daily Universe here.  He is also the host on a short video entitled, “Embracing our Homosexual Children.” He is also one of the founders of Family Fellowship, which offers support and strength for families of LGBT Mormons.

My spritual practice: The God Box

Our spiritual practice is a unique, often intimate way we strive to feel connected to the divine. It can (and should) encompass several different types of actions all geared toward cultivating a more connected, softer, healthier way of life—for both body and spirit.

In recent months, I’ve had the opportunity to share some of my practices and want to share them again here, in a more public forum. I find it intensely interesting and often helpful to learn how other people cultivate spirituality in their lives, and hope you will find in these something new you can put into practice—or an old practice to renew that perhaps you’ve forgotten.

To that end, I’m dedicating my next few articles to cornerstones of my personal spiritual practice. I don’t do all of these every day—but I find adding a few of these things to my routine each day makes me feel much more centered, able to tackle the challenges that life brings, and enables me to do so with gratitude and joy.

So enjoy the read—and take what you like, and leave the rest. Keep in mind there are as many ways to implement these as there are people—so add your own unique twist where you see fit, and adopt these as your own, if you so choose. And, it would be great if you’d share your experience (or your favorite practice) with me and those who read this—you never know who might be looking for exactly what you have.

And besides, the one sure way I’ve learned to keep my spiritual gifts is to give them away.

The God Box

I have a confession.  

There used to be a time in my life when I would spend countless hours in worry, fear, and dread. It could be about something as simple as a trip to the grocery store, or something as profound as the loss of a loved one.

It’s as if I imagined I had a license to “pre-worry.” For example, when my Father was sick and in declining health, I thought if I obsessed long and hard enough about his impending death I would be better equipped to handle it when that eventuality finally occurred.

But I wasn’t. All I did was rob myself of the opportunity to be present in the moment, and live life to its fullest one day at a time.

I'd always liked the idea of being able to turn over my worries and concerns to my Savior, but I didn't have any idea how to actually to it. Then I discovered a secret weapon to release myself from obsessive thought and worry: The God Box. The premise is simple—write my worry down on a piece of paper, and tuck it into a box, and allow God to take it.

For my first God Box, I chose a box a friend had given me as a gift. It originally contained greeting cards, which made me feel like it was already full of good karma—giving and gratitude. When I first began using it, I felt I needed to write out my worry or concern in detail. I’d then open the box, place the piece of paper inside, close my eyes and utter a quiet prayer to my Savior—detailing my fears, and asking him to take the worry from me. Independent of my concern, my message to my Savior was almost always the same: I can’t handle this. You can. I choose to let you.

And with that, I close the lid of the box and put it back on the shelf in my office, growing more and more content in the knowledge that my worry or my loved one was safely in the hands of a power greater than me—a power that could actually affect the outcome.

It took awhile for this practice to really take hold in my life. At first, I’d fight it—even after I’d dropped my note into the box, I’d find the obsessive worry creeping back into my head, disturbing my peace. When that happened, I’d consciously bring myself into the present moment—the feel of the keyboard under my fingers, the warmth of the shirt on my back, purposefully inhaling and exhaling. Becoming aware of my present surroundings often helped me bring myself back into the present moment. And then, I’d gently remind myself I don’t have to worry about that particular problem today—my Savior was handling it on my behalf.

Over time, I began to understand that I could just write down the general nature of my worry without all the detail—for example, maybe I’d just write “Dad” on a slip of paper and tuck it into the box, instead of outlining all the possible things that may or may not happen. Then, with my box open in my lap, I’d drop “Dad” into the box and verbally share my list of hopes, concerns, and fears with my Savior—again, with the simple message that I was letting my Savior handle the things I could—and should—not.

Many people I’ve talked to who use the God Box as part of their spiritual practice have told me they started with minor worries—a presentation at work, a trip to the dentist—developing the habit of turning over smaller, everyday problems made it easier to turn over life’s more difficult challenges. For me, the opposite was true: I needed to turn over the major troubles first—those were the ones that really robbed me of my sanity. But over time, and with practice, I built enough faith in this process to turn over smaller concerns, as well.

Before I sat down to write this post, I opened my God Box and took a look inside: hundreds of private prayers and a few photos of loved ones from the past greeted me. As I looked through them, I was surprised at how many of my prayers had been answered—maybe not in the way I expected or necessarily even wanted, but they had been answered, just the same.

I think one of the greatest things about the God Box is you can use it independent of your interpretation of God. As a Mormon, I choose to turn my challenges over to my Savior—but you can use it to turn things over to any power greater than yourself: Buddha, the universe, Allah—the name you call it doesn’t matter. What does matter is the act of giving away things that trouble you. And in doing so, you’ll find the peace that comes from experiencing what is, and allowing a power greater than yourself determine what will be.  

Now, it’s your turn. How has the God Box helped you?

Remarks to the San Francisco Interfaith Council (SFIC)

On January 12, 2012, I spoke at the monthly San Francisco Interfaith Council meeting.

The council focuses on bringing together individuals and leaders of different faith traditions to build spiritual understanding and to better coordinate services for the citizens of San Francisco during times of crisis. The Council was founded in 1989 in the aftermath of the Loma Prieta earthquake, and for over two decades has fostered a spirit of cooperation among the diverse population and faith traditions here in the city.  

It was an honor to speak. I have such tremendous respect for the sense of camaraderie and fellowship this council cultivates, and for the work they do in the community. 

 The focus of my talk was my own personal faith journey: How I came to be who and where I am: an openly gay, active Mormon, serving in a priesthood leadership position in the Church in San Francisco.  

I was genuinely startled when I choked up several times during my talk. This is not new territory for me—I speak about my own journey and try to give voice to other LGBT Mormons as well. Nonetheless, three times I had to pause and fight back tears, overwhelmed with emotion and the passion I feel for the challenges we face as gay Mormons. 

 As I closed my talk, I asked those in the room to be ambassadors of my closing message to gay Mormons they may encounter among their own ranks. Many in the room nodded their heads, and I knew these faith leaders have seen first-hand the pain we can carry as LGBT Mormons, and the struggle we have integrating our orientation and the faith we call home.  

 It was a poignant and humbling moment for me. For once again, I was reminded that I am just an ordinary man, placed into extraordinary circumstances—and granted the ability to be of service to a community of my fellows that have, for so long, been neglected. 

 Enjoy.  

Faith Journey

San Francisco Interfaith Council

Mitch Mayne

Good morning, my friends. It’s good to be among you this morning and come together as a faith based community. I’ve been working for some time with our fellows at the Coalition of Welcoming Congregations across the bay in Berkeley—a group of 200 congregations (Jewish, Buddhist and Christian) from throughout the bay area that focus on welcoming LGBT individuals and their families, and through that work have developed a keen appreciation for the sense of teamwork that develops when we unify as a faith based group—independent of who we worship.

I want to take a moment to thank you for the work you do as an organization to foster understanding and unity, as well.   I’m pleased to be here today, and humbled to be able to share some of my story with you.

My name is Mitch Mayne. I currently serve as the executive secretary in the bishopric of the bay ward of the Mormon Church here in San Francisco. I am not a professional church spokesperson; I am simply one man, sharing my own experience, strength, and hope.

Well now…that’s not very interesting, is it? A white male serving in the bishopric of the Mormon Church speaking to a council of faith leaders? That’s actually…well, quite boring. So what do you say we make it a little bit more interesting, shall we?

I’m also an openly gay man. And if that news, combined with the great coffee this morning hasn’t woken you up, let’s add in a few more interesting items.

• I have not denounced my sexual orientation—I make no apologies to anyone for being gay.  
• I have not committed to a lifetime of celibacy. I have committed to uphold the identical standards the church would ask of any heterosexual man in my calling.
• I have been in a monogamous, committed relationship with someone of my own gender.
• I was deemed worthy and sustained in the identical fashion any heterosexual man would have been to serve in this calling.
• And perhaps what makes this most interesting—I was called not in spite of the fact that I am gay, but largely because I am gay.
• And as such, am probably among the most visible openly gay members serving in a priesthood leadership capacity for the church. What we’re doing in San Francisco has garnered international media attention, including a three-day headline story on CNN.com.

So what is it, exactly, that we’re doing differently here in San Francisco to make the world turn it’s head—and to make people potentially re-think the way they understand the relationship between Mormons and the LGBT community? And how did I—of all people—end up as one of the center points of that?

I’m going to start with a bit of my own story—my own journey—and then talk about what we’re doing here in San Francisco.

I was baptized into the Mormon faith when I was eight, which is traditional for Mormons. My parents had converted, but both fell away from the church after their rather difficult divorce. I followed suit, and when I reached my teenage years I also fell away—but a seed had been planted in my heart—even at an early age, Mormonism had already become the home where I had found my Savior, and my first language when it came to communicating with and understanding Him.

I returned to the church of my own volition in my mid-20s, knowing full well I was gay and that I would somehow, at some point in time, have to find a way to integrate my faith with my sexual orientation. For a time, I tried living life as a Mormon without being gay, and I was miserable. I also tried living life as a gay man without the church—and I was equally miserable. I was beginning to feel like I was a man with a foot in two worlds—but I really belonged in neither.

But over time, I have uncovered the truth: I am indeed a man with a foot in two worlds—and I belong in both.

I started to have a “come to Jesus” moment when I was in grad school at Stanford. I had a college boyfriend and found it so difficult to try to be my authentic self—a gay man—and at the same time not feel shamed and condemned by how I understood my faith. While the process began here, it was one that took many years—so I guess you could say what I’ve really had is a “come to Jesus journey”—not a moment.

Let’s fast forward a bit to 2009, when all of this really started to come together for me.

In 2009, I was approached by my stake leadership in Oakland to be part of a series of meetings aimed at mending the fences between the LGBT and Mormon communities after Prop 8. (I attended church in Oakland even though I lived in San Francisco—I had moved to the Oakland Hills area after Stanford and attended church there, and really considered that my home ward). I enthusiastically agreed to be part of these meetings to build bridges between these two communities, and from there really began to write and speak candidly about being an openly gay, active Latter-day Saint.

I want to share with you part of my talk from that very first meeting. It’s become perhaps my most popular essay on my experiences as a gay Mormon. And I think the reason is simply this—it’s a message that everyone can relate to. What I describe in this passage are, quite simply, the righteous desires of my heart. And, I believe, they are desires that each and every one of us long for, independent of orientation, gender, ethnicity, or any other “marker” that we use to define differences between ourselves and others. They are, I believe, universal desires felt by each of us within the human family.

Here are my words from that day:

"I am a gay Latter-day Saint.

I don’t want pity. To pity me is to make me a victim. I want understanding. To understand me, is to love me as an equal.

I don’t want tolerance. If I am tolerated, I am disliked or feared in some way. I want respect as a fellow striving child of God—an equal in His eyes.

I don’t want acceptance. To accept me is to graciously grant me the favor of your company. To accept me is to marginalize me with the assumption that I am less than you. I am your peer. I am neither above you nor below you.

I don’t want judgment. My path may be different than yours, but it is a plan built for me by a power greater than any of us. To judge me is to judge the designer of that path.

I don’t want to be labeled as “afflicted” or “suffering” or “struggling.” I do not have an illness that requires my soul be mended. I want to be recognized, like you, as a whole person, just as my Father made me. I have suffered no affliction by His hand; I have, however, suffered affliction at the hands of others, including my brothers and sisters in my faith.

On a cosmetic level, we are very different, you and I. You have spouses, or the opportunity for spouses, I do not. You have children, or the opportunity for children, I do not. You are attracted to those of the opposite gender, I am attracted to those of my same gender.

What I want most of all is for you to look past the superficial and the cosmetic. I want you to look at what makes us the same: the simple fact that we are all children of our Heavenly Father, and we are striving day to day to understand how to best do His will, and how to return to Him. It is that simple sameness, brothers and sisters, that weighs more than all the differences in His universe."

Mitch Mayne with Michael Pappas

My point, and my message that day, is that it’s our similarities that bind us—not our differences that separate us. Life is a journey, with our 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 the other, 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 difficult. Regardless, 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.

And with the meeting that day in Oakland, my journey as an openly gay Mormon kicked into high gear. Over the course of just a few short years, the east bay stakes—and I—became involved in about a dozen different types of events aimed at increasing the dialogue both about—and with—the gay community.

Which bring us to what’s happening here in San Francisco. Earlier this year, I was asked to be part of a meeting in San Francisco with the stake leadership here in the city.

The focus of that meeting was something like this: “Hey, Oakland, you guys have been doing a really great job of building unity over there in the east bay. We’ve watched what’s happening and we want to be part of that, too.”

At that meeting I met Don Fletcher, who was at that time a member of the San Francisco Stake Presidency. President Fletcher and I became fast friends and stayed in close contact around how to get San Francisco more involved in opening the dialogue between the LGBT and Mormon communities.

President Fletcher understood this to be an important part of his leadership calling within the Mormon Church, due in large part to the vast LGBT population in the city. It also struck a personal chord with him; Don’s brother is also a gay Mormon, and Don has witnessed first-hand how difficult it can be to grapple with questions surrounding faith and sexual orientation—and how challenging it can be for gays and lesbians to remain close to the Mormon church—especially in light of how we sometimes mis-treat them in our faith.

Then, in August of this year, President Fletcher was called as bishop of the bay ward here in San Francisco, and asked me to serve with him as his executive secretary.

As I mentioned earlier, what’s truly unique here is that I was called into this service position not in *spite* of the fact that I was gay, but largely *because* I was gay. My role is not just to serve as Bishop Fletcher’s executive secretary—it is to help begin to rebuild those relationships between the gay and Mormon communities. To open the dialogue, to show my LGBT brothers and sisters—hey, look what our leadership is trying to accomplish here.

What that means specifically is this: The doors of the Mormon Church in San Francisco are open to everyone—especially our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters. If you’re gay and are living the commandments, join us! If you’re gay and in a relationship, join us! If you’re gay and single and in the dating pool—join us!

Friends at the SFIC

To quote my Bishop, Don Fletcher: “I’m just trying to put in place what Jesus Christ would have us do. … everyone is welcome to come to church and be part of our ward family.”

I believe—and the leadership under which I serve believes—that as children of our Father, and righteous disciples of our Savior, that our cry to our fellows should be this: "We would love to see you in church, no matter what the current condition of your life. If worshiping with us can help you in any way, please come. We will ignore the jacket that smells of smoke, if only it contains a heart that wants to be with us. Of course we hope that, IF there are changes that you need to make, you will make them. But if you can't or won't, please come back each week and bless us with your presence."

The message we want to deliver is simply this: Everyone is welcome in the Mormon Church. There is no asterisk on that statement. There is no qualifying interview to sit in the congregation with us on Sunday. There is no test to take to be the recipient of our love, our companionship, or to be part of our community of faith.

I want to underscore the importance of what we’re accomplishing here in the bay area, and what we’re also seeing emerge in other pockets throughout the church, because I think it’s a pretty critical cultural emergence within our faith.

True, policy has not changed. But no one will ask you to give up your partner to attend. That means anyone can come to our congregation and be part of the ward family—and no one will ask you to change who you are to do it.  

Is it a great and wonderful softening of the perception of all of our Savior’s children as our brothers and sisters? Will it help mend families? Will it help keep our LGBT brothers and sisters safer physically, emotionally, and spiritually?

Absolutely!

In fact, in my short time in my calling with the Bay Ward, I’ve now met almost a dozen gay and lesbian fellows who’ve returned to church—including a transgender woman—because they were starting to feel welcome. Each of them is in a different spot in terms of how deeply they want to develop their relationship with the church. And each one is welcome!

What makes me most proud to be part of this, I think, is it is a benchmark example of what we as Mormons really want to be: Disciples of our Savior, and human extensions of His love for all in the human family—regardless of where they are in their personal lives.

It is, indeed, an exciting time to be a gay Mormon.

I wish to close with a special message to my Mormon LGBT brothers and sisters. Since I’ve taken this calling, I’ve had people from across the globe share their intimate stories with me—their pain and their heartbreak. I do all I can to listen, to counsel, and to console. As faith leaders in our community, you may also encounter my gay Mormon brothers and sisters, and I want you to feel empowered to share this message with them on behalf of the Bay Ward of the Mormon Church in San Francisco.

And here is what I want you to tell them.

When people have a problem with you being gay, it's nothing more than that: their problem. Don't make it your own. You have a choice where to focus your mental and spiritual time and energy. Don't waste it on those who don't—or won't—understand you. I am living proof that there's not only a home for you within our faith, but there is a *path* for you.

We don't know all the answers and maybe never will in this existence--but we do know one. And that is that you're loved, that you're valuable, and that you're needed--just the way you are. 

It takes a strong spirit to be gay in this life. It takes a remarkable one to be a gay Mormon. Never doubt for a moment you are anything less than remarkable. For that is how I view you--and most certainly how our Father in Heaven does.

Thank you, for allowing me the opportunity to share my experience, strength, and hope with you today.

I wish to close in the manner that is traditional for my faith, because I know that is honored here. I leave these words with you humbly, in the name of my champion, my ally, my friend, and my Savior, Jesus Christ, Amen.

What do you say to them?

A note to begin: I am not a paid therapist, nor am I a suicide prevention counselor. This post was written to share my own experience, strength, and hope--and what worked for me. If you or someone you love is depressed and considering suicide, there are places to help. Start here--the Trevor Project. 

A few weeks back, a friend reached out to me after hearing of yet another LGBT suicide attempt.

She wrote, “When I read about these suicides and attempts, my heart breaks. I’m at a loss of how to feel and what to think. Reading some of the things you’ve written has already helped me with discussions with my own children and I want us all to understand how to help LGBT kids—who simply want to be loved and recognized as being just the way their Father made them.

If you had the chance to spend time with a kid like the one who died—and I know you do talk to them—what do you say to them?” 

I understand the pain and the feeling of aloneness that drives individuals to want to end their suffering. I’ve walked through my own desperate moments, and shared those close calls openly in some of my interviews.

In my darkest moments, aloneness suffocated me like a heavy blanket. I felt spiritually weary, exhausted from trying to figure out where I fit in, weary of asking others for their help and their understanding, because there really was little to offer—regardless of where I seemed to turn.

I, too, have been at my breaking point: Faced with my own Sophie’s Choice. Do I choose to deny my sexual orientation—how my Father made me—and thereby give up any opportunity to have a loving intimate relationship with someone who loves me for who I really am? And, at the same time, be surrounded by my brothers and sisters in the gospel who have that opportunity—and see their relationships every week, or perhaps even every day—a constant reminder that my sentence is to grow old and leave this world alone?

Or do I walk away from a faith that I love so deeply—and perhaps my eternal family as well—and leave behind not just the religion I called home, but the people I called home as well? Do I leave the home where I found my Savior?

Which do I choose?

How do I choose?

Which path do I select when either choice will split my soul in two, and leave me with only half a life?

For me, the glimmer of hope was this simple realization:  I own my relationship with my Savior. No one, regardless of degree, wealth, or title, has the ability to build, strengthen or deny me that relationship. It is mine for the taking—and my Savior stands ready to meet me where I am. All I need to do is reach out.

For those who feel suffocated by that same blanket of aloneness and despair, I say this.

Don’t allow others to dictate your worth in the eyes of your Father. They cannot. And they should not. You are exactly who you're supposed to be, and you are exactly where you're supposed to be. Your Father loves you just the way you are.

I think LGBT Mormons and those who love us are kind of modern-day pioneers. Being a pioneer is hard work—it’s arduous, painful, and fraught with arrows, traps, and sometimes tragedy. But wrapped inside these difficulties is an amazing gift, if we so choose to see it—and that is the opportunity to build a better world for those who follow in our wake. We need one another, and our Savior needs us. There is not a single one of us who has the luxury of giving others enough power over us to make us give up the fight—independent of who that person is, or how powerful their voice may sound in our head.

When people have a problem with you being gay, it's nothing more than that: their problem. Don't make it your own. You have a choice where to focus your mental and spiritual time and energy. Don't waste it on those who don't—or won't—understand you. I am living proof that there's not only a home for you within our faith, but there is a *path* for you. We don't know all the answers and maybe never will in this existence--but we do know one. And that is that you're loved, that you're valuable, and that you're needed--just the way you are. 

It takes a strong spirit to be gay in this life. It takes a remarkable one to be a gay Mormon. Never doubt for a moment you are anything less than remarkable. For that is how I view you--and most certainly how our Father in Heaven does.

Want to learn more about helping LGBT youth stay safe?

The Family Acceptance Project has created a guidebook for caregivers, parents, clergy, and friends of LGBT youth. This book describes specific actions you can take today that are scientifically proven to reduce drug and alcohol use and abuse, STI risk, and reduce depression and suicide risk.

Download “Supportive Families, Healthy Children,” and learn what you can do as a friend, ally, parent or spiritual leader to help keep our youth safe.

Spirituality and Social Justice; Remarks to SFSU

In September of 2011, I was asked to speak to the graduate school of social work at San Francisco State University. I was joined by my friend Liz, a fellow MoHo, who I’ve grown to know well and respect and love deeply.

The focus of our talk was to help those in the social science and social work fields understand the challenges faced by MoHos—how we struggle to find our place within our faith in a way that doesn’t compromise who we are as individuals.

I focused primarily on three points:

1: A brief introduction to Mormon history

2: Why this issue matters to the Mormon community: The growing number of MoHos

3: The unique challenges we have as LGBT Mormons

Our session was video taped, and I’ll put it up on youtube soon and share a link on this page—my technical challenges are, sadly, great. In the meantime, I wanted to share my remarks with you now.

Enjoy. 

SFSU School of Social Work Remarks

Thanks for giving me and my friend Liz Palmer (who will be speaking in a moment) the opportunity to talk with you here today. For many people, Mormonism is a bit of a mystery and most certainly gay and lesbian Mormons are mysterious—but as you can see, we are not urban legends—we do exist! And we’re going to share our stories with you today.

Before I share my own personal story, I think it’s important to give you a bit of context. So I want to start first by sharing some of the history of the Mormon Church with you. Then, I will talk briefly about our existing policy on the LGBT issue, and also talk to you about our rich culture. I think all of these things will help make my story—and Liz’s—a bit more real to you and help you understand really, what a genuine challenge it is to identify so deeply with the Mormon faith and at the same time, be our genuine selves.

So, onto church history. I wish to note, though, that I am not a church historian but will share what I do know and also some additional information about our faith. I will freely admit that history is not my strong point, and I am eternally grateful for wondrous technology that keeps me from having to become a history expert (which is my packaged way of telling you politely that I borrowed much of this content directly from LDS.org). So if this sparks an interest for you, I’d encourage you to check out our website at lds.org.

I also want to note that I am not an official church spokesperson—I am only one man, albeit with a somewhat unusual history with the church, and as such can share my own experience, strength, and hope.

Mormonism is a faith that’s shrouded in mystery for many. Several rumors exist about the faith—some of them based in fact—but all leading to a genuine confusion in the general population about Mormonism. We are, really, kind of misunderstood. And if you think about it, so is the gay community—it’s also rather misunderstood. So from that standpoint, you can see right from the get-go that there are some pretty striking similarities between the two worlds that a lot of people don’t see as ever having anything in common.

About Mormonism

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (or Mormon Church) was founded in 1830 in New York State by a man named Joseph Smith. It is probably the largest truly “American” religion, having been founded here on our soil and having grown not just here in the states, but across the globe.

Here are some quick statistics about the church:

• Although our faith began in New York, we are headquartered in SLC, UT.
• A local geographic congregation is called a Ward or a branch, and is comprised of several hundred members. For example, there are probably half a dozen wards or so in San Francisco proper. Wards and branches are presided over by a Bishop and his bishopric staff.
• A collection of wards or branches in a geographic area is called a Stake—similar to what a Diocese would be in the Catholic faith. A stake can be a pretty large entity—in San Francisco Stake alone, for example, we have close to 2500 members. Stakes are presided over by Stake Presidents and their Presidency Councilmen.
• During the early years of church history, the Latter-day Saints were a pretty persecuted faith. For those of you who know anything about LDS history, you’ll understand this to be somewhat of an understatement.
• In fact, Mormons were driven from state to state through a series of bloody battles with fellow Americans until they finally reached Utah, in about mid-1800s. The recordings of the battles and the violent persecutions of the church are much documented, and include the murder of our founder, Joseph Smith and his brother in 1844.
• I won’t detail the extent of the persecution here; but I do think it is important for you to understand that this is a faith that has not had it easy—but it is one that inspires soul deep commitment, dedication, and loyalty—even unto death.

A few other statistics of note; as of 2010:

• We have over 14 million members on the official church membership roster
• We are among the fastest—if not the fastest—growing religion in the world today.
• We are, despite what some in the media say today, a Christian religion. We view faith in Jesus Christ and in His atonement as the central tenet of our faith.
• We have four scriptural texts inside the faith: The Bible (both old and new testaments), Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants, and Pearl of Great Price.
• Continuing revelation: We believe that more will be revealed both to our Prophet, to guide us as a collective, as well as individual revelation to help us as we conduct our own lives.
• Because of this fact, I think Mormonism is probably among the more ‘hopeful’ faiths out there today. We don’t focus on the guilt, the martyrdom, or the pain and suffering: We focus on a glorious and grand future for both this life and the one to come.

Our faith is also one that puts profound emphasis on family, and on chastity. From the family side, we view families as the center point of our lives, and value family bonds and relationships as something eternal—meaning, we view them as something week keep when we pass from this sphere into the next. In fact, one of the key teachings of our faith is that nothing in this life—no secular success—can compensate for failure within the home.

Likewise, chastity is a cornerstone of our beliefs: Chastity is sexual purity. Those who are chaste are morally clean in their thoughts, words, and actions. Chastity means not having any sexual relations before marriage. It also means complete fidelity to husband or wife during marriage.

Currently under church policy, marriage is defined as an institution between one man and one woman. When it comes to those within our faith who are gay or lesbian, we encourage them to maintain the law of chastity as well—which translates into the requirement of living a celibate existence in order to maintain a full relationship with the faith.

Why the LGBT issues is of such importance to Mormons: The numbers

So, I want to switch gears here a bit now that you have a little historical  and policy context, and talk about some of the reasons the LGBT issue is of such significance to the Mormon community—and therefore to you, as individuals who may be working with them.

First and foremost, it’s a numbers issue.

In 2010, as I noted earlier, we reported official church membership to be over 14 million.

Based on that 14 million membership number, we can extrapolate that there are literally hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of LGBTQ people and those who care about them in the membership of the church today.

Let me tell you how I came up with that figure. Given our current church membership number of 14 million, let’s assume a very conservative estimate of 1% LGBT Mormons inside the faith today. That would mean we currently have over 140,000 gay and lesbian Mormons in the faith. (Now, most accepted science will tell you that number is at least 7% or higher—which would be about 980,000 LGBTQ people among our ranks—but for the sake of simplicity, let’s use the 1% estimate).

Now, add families to that 1% estimate of 140,000—keeping in mind that Mormons typically have really large families—and that number quickly grows to at least 500,000. Then, add to that their friends, their neighbors, and their priesthood and relief society leaders, those who care about them—that number quickly grows to over a million—within the faith alone.

Now, let’s factor in those who have left the church over this issue, and those within the LGBTQ and straight communities alike who listen to what our faith has to say on this matter, and we can extrapolate that there are probably tens of millions of people in the world to whom this is an important topic—tens of millions of people who are troubled, pained, and long for some kind of reconciliation on the question of how gays and lesbians fit within our faith.

And that’s just based on numbers today.

So let’s look toward the future. I mentioned to you earlier that Mormonism is one of the fastest—if not the fastest—growing religions in the world today. According to a recent US News and World Report, if the present growth trend within our faith continues, there could easily be 265 million members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints across the globe by 2080. To put that in context for you, the total United States population today stands just over 300 million people—so that number is not insignificant.

If we continue our conservative estimate of 1% LGBTQ population in the Mormon faith, then by 2080 we’re talking about 2.65 million LGBTQ Mormons—not including their families, leadership, friends and others who love them—both within the faith and outside of it.

So from a simple scientific and sheer numbers perspective, you can see that this issue is a pretty significant one for the Mormon population today alone. And, given our growth projections, it’s one that’s going to be of increasing importance, and increasing significance.

Simply put: As we grow as a faith, the significance of the Mormon missionary opportunity to our gay and lesbian fellows will also increase.  

Why the LGBT issue is of such importance to Mormons: The culture

A second key reason the LGBT issue is of such significance to the Mormon community is the depth of our culture, and how intensely it becomes embedded into the lives—and to use my own terminology—into the spiritual DNA of our members.

Let me give you an example. I was having dinner the other night with Dr. Caitlin Ryan of the Family Acceptance Project—I believe you’re all familiar with her amazing research on the LGBT community—and we started talking about the topic of gay and lesbian Mormons.

During Caitlin’s work in Salt Lake, she had the opportunity to work with Mormon gay and lesbian youth who were now homeless, having been cast out of their homes because of their sexual orientation. What she said to me is something that I, as a Mormon, have known all along: The sense of loss these kids experienced, the sense that they had been deprived of something glorious as a result of having lost their families was much more significant in Mormon youth than of those from other faiths. One reason, as I mentioned, is the important emphasis our faith places on our family unit—that these are the most critical relationships of our lives, and indeed beyond.

But a second key reason is this.

Mormonism, unlike almost any other faith, embeds itself deeply into who we are. As I talked about this with Dr. Ryan, it became clear that Mormonism moves well beyond most standard religions, and she actually pointed out that if we want to identify it correctly, we need to think of not as just a faith, not as just a culture, but as an ethnicity.

You see, for Mormons, our faith is not something we practice for a couple of hours on Christmas and Easter. It is not even something we practice for a few hours on Sunday. It is a faith that profoundly affects almost every aspect of our lives, and again, embeds itself into who we are spiritually.

Let me give you some examples:

• It affects how we dress
• It affects what we eat, what we drink, and how we treat our bodies physically
• It affects the schools we choose to attend
• It affects the careers we choose to pursue
• It affects where we live geographically
• It affects how we spend our vacation time and our free time
• It affects the friends we choose
• It affects who we date—and most certainly who we marry
• It affects how we interact with all others and the importance we place on the relationships with those whom we care about and love

I think the best comparison I can make—and again, I’m not a theologian or a historian—is Judaism. Judaism really is both a faith and an ethnicity—and it affects all the same things I mentioned above. Seldom, seldom do we see any other religion so deeply impact the lives of those who are counted among their ranks.

So when an individual begins to realize that another important element of who they are—their sexual orientation—is at odds with their faith, this spiritual and cognitive tug-of-war begins to take place. Many times Mormons are secretive about being gay—having gotten messages and cues from both leadership and in many instances family members—that being gay is not only undesirable, but that it is shameful: that it goes against God and His will for us.

I cannot underscore enough here how bitter—how deeply piercing—the emotional turmoil is that gay and lesbian Mormons experience.  I can’t underscore enough how painful the anguish, the spiritual discord that these individuals face. We are faced, in essence, with a Sophie’s Choice—a paradox in which there is no solution that doesn’t result in an excruciating, heartbreaking loss.

Which do I choose? Do I choose my orientation, how my Father has made me, and lose this other part of myself—my faith, my culture, my spiritual ethnicity—and possibly my eternal family? Or do I choose my faith and deny another critical cornerstone of my identity—one which will mean I will must travel this earthly path alone, surrounded by my brothers and sisters inside my faith who have their life companions and families—knowing I will never have that for myself?

Which do I choose? How do I choose? How do I make the right decision in a way that won’t fracture my soul and leave me with only half a life?

Since I have come out as an openly, unapologetic gay Mormon and accepted a priesthood leadership position within the church, the floodgates have opened. I quite literally receive hundreds of emails a week from people around the world who grapple with the struggle I just described to you. Let me share one with you.

Dear Mitch:

My name is Armando. I have known I was gay since before I was a teenager. I served a mission and came back 3 years ago. I’m from South America and my culture is very violent and hostile to gay people. I've been feeling guilty for a long time and thinking I'm not good enough, only two of my friends know about my ''situation'' and I have no one to talk to. I have felt inadequate at church and think that the Lord hates me for being like this. Most of my friends and my family hate gay and lesbian people and when they make hateful comments about them, I just keep quiet and kinda cry inside.

I struggle so much. I want to serve The Lord and keep his commandments but at the same time I want to have someone to love. I don't date any girls right now because I don't wanna feel like I'm cheating on them whenever a guy passes by and I feel attraction. I can't have the courage you have because the members of the church in South America do not agree with that, they have a very macho culture and well.

I can't tell anybody here--you're only the third person I’ve told. I feel so alone. Write me back soon please. I really need a friend.

At the beginning of this talk, I promised I’d share with you my experience, strength, and my hope. Let’s talk about the hope part.

Mormons in the San Francisco Bay Ward: Making a cultural shift

For those of you following the media about what’s been happening here in San Francisco Bay Area, we are emphasizing another—and perhaps the key cornerstone of our faith:  developing a Christ-like love and acceptance for all individuals traditional Mormons might view as different—single parents, people of color, and most certainly our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters.

And the message we want to deliver is simply this: Everyone is welcome in the Mormon Church. There is no asterisk on that statement. There is no qualifying interview to sit in the congregation with us on Sunday. There is no test to take to be the recipient of our love, our companionship, or to be part of our community of faith.

I want to underscore the importance of what we’re accomplishing here in the bay area, and what we’re also seeing emerge in other pockets throughout the church, because I think it’s a pretty critical cultural emergence within our faith. True, policy has not changed. But no one will ask you to give up your partner to attend. That means anyone can come to our congregation and be part of the ward family—and no one will ask you to change who you are to do it.  

Also true that gays and lesbians who are living outside the bounds of chastity may not be able to hold temple recommends given policy as we understand it today, but let’s be honest here—there are a lot of things that hold straight people back from getting temple recommends and holding callings as well, and they’ve always been welcome in our ranks. Now that same welcome is extended to everyone—regardless of their orientation.

So is it a doctrinal change? No. Is it a great and wonderful softening of the perception of all of our Savior’s children as our brothers and sisters? Will it help mend families? Will it help people like Armando dispel the illusion that God hates him because he is gay? Will it keep him safer physically, emotionally, and spiritually?

Absolutely!

In fact, in my short time in my calling with the Bay Ward, I’ve now met almost a dozen gay and lesbian fellows who’ve returned to church—including a transgender woman—because they were starting to feel welcome. Each of them is in a different spot in terms of how deeply they want to develop their relationship with the church. And each one is welcome!

So while it may not be a policy change, it is certainly an example of what we as Mormons really want to be: Disciples of our Savior, and human extensions of His love for all in the human family—regardless of where they are in their personal lives.

Let me switch gears here once again, and quickly tell you my own story.

A bit about me…

I was baptized into the Mormon faith when I was eight, which is traditional for Mormons. My parents had converted, but both fell away from the church after their rather difficult divorce. My Mom continued her activity for a few years, but when I reached my teenage years I also fell away—but a seed had been planted.

I returned to the church of my own volition in my mid-20s, knowing full well I was gay and that I would somehow, at some point in time, have to find a way to integrate my faith with my sexual orientation. For a time, I tried living life as a Mormon without being gay, and I was miserable. I also tried living life as a gay man without the church—and I was equally miserable. I was beginning to feel like I was a man with a foot in two worlds—but I really belonged in neither. But the truth is, I am a man with a foot in two worlds—and I belong in both.

I started to have a “come to Jesus” moment when I was in school at Stanford. I had a college boyfriend and found it so difficult to try to be my authentic self—a gay man—and at the same time not feel shamed and condemned by my faith. While the process began here, it was one that took many years—so I guess you could say what I’ve really had is a “come to Jesus journey”—not a moment.

In 2009, I was approached by my stake leadership in Oakland to be part of a series of meetings aimed at mending the fences between the LGBT and Mormon communities after Prop 8. (I attended church there even though I lived in San Francisco—I had moved to that area after Stanford, and really consider that my home ward). I enthusiastically agreed, and from there really began to write and speak openly about being an openly gay, active Latter-day Saint.

Over the course of just a few short years, the east bay stakes—and I—became involved in about a dozen different types of events aimed at increasing the dialogue both about—and with—the gay community. Earlier this year, I was asked to be part of a meeting in San Francisco with the stake leadership here. The focus of that meeting was something like this: “Hey, Oakland, you guys have been doing a really great job of building unity over there in the east bay. We’ve watched what’s happening and we want to be part of that, too.”

At that meeting I met then President Don Fletcher. President Fletcher and I became good friends and stayed in close contact around this issue and how to get San Francisco more involved. In August of this year, President Fletcher was called as bishop of the bay ward here in San Francisco, and asked me to serve with him as his executive secretary.

Now, up until about a year prior to this, I’d been in a committed, long-term relationship with my partner of several years. Many people in my Oakland ward—my home ward—knew. I wore a wedding band, and was honest about who I was.

So, I had some serious thinking to do when Bishop Fletcher asked me to serve with him in a relatively high-ranking priesthood leadership role in the bay ward. On the one hand, I could choose to stay in Oakland, get ‘re-married’ for lack of a better term, and live a quiet, peaceful and pretty happy little life, not just accepted by my family of faith, but celebrated for who I was.

On the other hand, I had this opportunity in front of me to help create what I had in Oakland for my LGBT brothers and sisters in other wards families. I had the chance to team up with senior local leadership of inspired, kind men who really wanted to build bridges and begin dialogue and create space for the gay community among our ranks.

Now, how could I possibly be a disciple of my Savior and *not* want to be part of that? I accepted the calling. I went through the identical interview process any straight man would undergo to be placed into this role. I was deemed worthy and confirmed by the membership of the church in the same way any straight man would be for this role. Both of those things are fair and equal—and I did them both with full purpose of heart.

What’s unique here is that I was called into this service position not in *spite* of the fact that I was gay, but largely because I was gay. My additional role is not just to serve as Bishop Fletcher’s executive secretary—it is to help begin to rebuild those relationships between the gay and Mormon communities. To open the dialogue, to show my LGBT brothers and sisters—hey, look what our leadership is trying to accomplish here. For now, not only do you have a home inside the Mormon Church, but you have a path.

I don’t want to leave people with the impression that I am changing my orientation to be Mormon. Or that I am changing my faith to be gay. Neither of those things is true. I am a gay man, and gay men are emotionally and intimately attracted to other men. That has not changed, and it won’t change. And likewise, part and parcel of being Mormon is I’ve always strived to live my life in accordance with what I understand my savior’s will for me to be, and that hasn’t changed either.

Both of these things are just embedded into my spiritual DNA.

So that, my friends, is a portion of my story—and I want to give Liz time to share hers, as well. If I have one final thought I want to leave you with, it is a message of hope. As you encounter gay Mormons out there in the world—and you will—I want you to be ambassadors of the message we want to deliver in the Bay Area. And what we want you to say to them is this:

It takes a strong spirit to be gay in this life. It takes a remarkable one to be a gay Mormon. Never doubt for a moment you are anything less than remarkable. For that is most certainly how our Father in heaven views you.

Thank you.