Kim's Story

On Sunday, March 25^th, 2012, Kim was excommunicated from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for being in a same-gender relationship with her partner, Lyn.

When one among our MoHo community is excommunicated from the faith, it’s easy for them (and those who love them) to want to go to a place of negativity, and hurl back the same kind of insensitivity and lack of compassion that we feel has been directed at us. And, at the same time, it’s in these moments when we must exercise the most caution to ensure we don’t respond in that fashion—we must, more than ever, respond with the same kind of peace, compassion, and love our Savior would grant to His accusers. After all, we in the MoHo community can’t ask for compassion, equality, and understanding from our leaders if we’re not among the first to grant those same qualities to others.

Kim has a keen understanding of this principle. Even though she was excommunicated just days ago, the love and compassion she holds for the Church and her leaders is evident. She has walked through this with dignity and strength—she stood for herself, but not against her fellows. And most important, she has walked through this with her Savior by her side, her testimony of Him unwavering.  After all, her relationship with her Savior belongs only to her—no one, independent of title, can strip her of that.

Here is Kim’s story. 

Me: How long have you been Mormon?

Kim: My family was baptized into the church when I was six. They were converts to the church, and I was baptized when I was eight—I’ve been a member all my life. I wanted very much to serve a mission for the Church, and in the late 1980’s when I was 21 I was called to the Ohio Cleveland Mission. When I arrived, I shared with the Missionary Training Center (MTC) President that I’d recently had a gay experience. The MTC president didn’t really know what to do, so he contacted the General Authorities (GAs) to ask what to do with me. The GAs decided I was to be sent home—to my parents’ home in South Dakota—where I was subsequently disfellowshipped at the age of 21.

As a backdrop, my oldest son is 21 now, and when I think about that kind of event happening to someone that young, I’m horrified that we would respond that way to someone of that age.

A year after I returned to South Dakota, I’d gone through what was required of me and was returned to full membership status. I tried a second time to go on a mission, and during the interview process the Stake President advised me that I should bypass serving a mission, and instead focus my energies on pursuing marriage and a family. At the time, I happened to be writing to a young man who was serving a mission (which is traditional for many young women), so I genuinely believed that getting married at 23 and starting a family would be the right thing for me to do.

I was married for 10 years…it didn’t go very well. I was gay, not straight, and being married didn’t make me any more straight. It made it difficult for my husband and I to have a close intimate relationship in a way that was rewarding for both of us. I had three children whom I love deeply, and am still very close with.

Me: When did you know you were gay?

Kim: Even though I had my first gay experience at 19, I assumed it was a phase—in large part because I knew how badly my Mom wanted it to be. My Mom’s mother was a lesbian, and at that time she viewed my grandmother’s life as very sad and difficult, and I think my Mom wanted to save me (and in some ways, herself) from having that kind of difficult existence. So, I went along with the idea that it was simply a phase and believed that it was something that I could—and should—overcome.

When I was 27, I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. For the first time, my own mortality stared me in the face and I wondered what it would be like to meet my Savior, and it occurred to me that even though I was living my life externally perfectly—living the law of chastity, going to church, being a wife and mother—I felt unworthy to face my Savior. When I did the introspection to uncover why that was, I realized that I was still intimately attracted to women, not men—I felt as though I hadn’t worked hard enough to overcome this challenge. I wasn’t “cured.”

When I recovered from cancer, I underwent deep therapy to help me overcome being gay. None of it worked—I’d have moments where I felt I could do it, but it was an unchangeable part of who I was.

Me: How does your family view you?

Kim: That has changed over time. I just told my Dad I’d been excommunicated. He was sad, and disappointed that he was just now finding out about it—he loves me, and always will, and I know that. At the same time, he still views acting on my orientation as a sin—but as my Father, is supportive of what I do even though it might not be the choice he’d like me to make.

My siblings are mixed—for the most part they are kind, but with the exception of my brother (who is also gay) most of them don’t understand. It’s difficult to watch my brother struggle with his own orientation inside the church—he wont’ accept the Melchezedik Priesthood because he feels like he will eventually fail, and then will be in the same position as me.

My Mom passed away in 2010. When she first learned of me being gay, she was very homophobic especially in light of the difficult life her own Mom had as a lesbian. My Mom believed she had been, at some point, molested by one of her Mother’s partners, so she had a pretty horrified view of homosexuality. When I came out, she was very upset and just couldn’t be affirming or supportive. Later, when my brother also came out, I think my Mom viewed this as a ‘second chance’ to understand this issue, like it was no mistake that so many people she loved were gay. Over time, she grew from being someone who disliked this part of me intently, to being one of my biggest champions. When she died, she was starting to question what she thought she understood about LGBT issues that she had learned from the Church, and a big part of her growth in this area was spurred by watching how the church treated me and my brother because we’re gay.

As for my children, my oldest hates the fact that I’m gay; my middle daughter thinks we should all be allowed to choose, while at the same time thinks that being in a gay relationship is an immoral choice; and my youngest thinks that while it’s not wrong to be gay, it is wrong to act on it. All of them understand that being gay is not a choice—yet think that acting on it is a choice, and also a sin.

Me: What are the events that led to your disciplinary council?

Kim: When my Mom died in July, 2010, I started shifting spiritually. Actually, I had started shifting a little before that. I had been living under the doctrine as we understand it today—conforming to the law of chastity, and as such, living a celibate life. But I couldn’t live like that anymore—I don’t know how closely related it was to losing my Mom, but I began to be honest with myself and realize I needed more intimacy as a human that what I was allowed to have under our policy.

A few months later, I had a girlfriend. At the time, I held a current temple recommend and taught Relief Society, and I knew my Bishop would probably not want me to do or have those things if I were in a gay relationship—so I met with him and told him where I was.  He took my temple recommend from me, and released me from my calling. Then he would ask to meet with me every few months to see where I was.

That relationship lasted about a year, and then I met Lyn. When my Bishop asked to meet with me again a month ago, I was honest once more about my life. When I told him about Lyn, the first question he asked me was, “Is she married?” Even though Lyn is separated and their relationship has been platonic for close to a decade, my Bishop was really stuck on the idea that she was, by law, still married—and in fact, called me an adulterer in the meeting. When I tried to explain the details of her situation with her soon to be ex-husband, those didn’t matter to him—what mattered is that, in his view, I was an adulterer.

In this same meeting I also explained some of the deeply spiritual experiences Lyn and I had shared as a couple, and he seemed confused—as if we were not entitled to feel the spirit or to have companionship of the spirit because of what he viewed as the sinful nature of our relationship. “You’re telling me, that as an adulterer, you’re still having spiritual experiences?” he asked. I maintained that we did—and that we do—but he acted as if that wasn’t possible.

He told me then that we’d need to have a disciplinary council to determine my membership status.

Me: How did that make you feel?

Kim: Unlike many MoHos, I didn’t feel singled out. There had been a man in my ward about a year ago who’d had an affair, and he was excommunicated. But, he was able to get married again and return to church with his new wife. But I don’t feel persecuted as a MoHo—in fact, if I hadn’t taken the initiative to tell him personally, he probably would have taken no action. But I wanted to live authentically, and I think it was the right thing to do.

Me: One of the things we tell ourselves is that these disciplinary trials are designed to bring people closer to the Savior. Do you feel that was the case for you?

Kim: I don’t at all see how the council or the process would bring anyone closer to their Savior; it just doesn’t make sense to me. And I think that’s a statement we can make for anyone who undergoes church discipline, gay or straight. Excommunication isn’t the answer—in many ways I feel it nullifies every other part of my life, and I think that’s true for straight people as well. When I have the courage and fortitude to come forth and say, “This is who I am—I am gay and I can’t change,” I don’t think we should be excommunicated for that. It doesn’t feel like the right answer.

That said, I will also say that even though the design of the process can’t bring someone closer to the Savior, I definitely felt His comforting presence—but believe it is because of the difficulty I was going through. He loves me, and He wants to support me through this. When the decision came in that I was stripped of my membership, I felt very at peace—and still do. I did not feel an abundance of the spirit because of the process; I felt an abundance of the spirit because of what the process put me through emotionally. My Savior loves me, and He wants to help. He’s been at my side this whole time—but it’s because that is who He is, not because the process is an effective way to bring people closer to the Lord.

Me: So what has been the impact on your testimony of your Savior?

Kim: My testimony of my Savior certainly hasn’t been negatively impacted. Being out and open about who I am has been very freeing. I love my Savior as much as I did yesterday or at any time before this took place. My testimony of Him was there before, it was there during the process, and it’s there now. It is never going to change, despite what might befall me here.

Me: One of the things I admire about you is how you’re able to go through this with such dignity. How does this process affect your understanding of the church?

Kim: I don’t feel like anyone, at any time in this process, had ill-intent. I don’t feel like they were out to get me. When I was in the room with them, I felt that these men genuinely did love me and that this was a difficult decision for them to make.  Yet, I felt like my Bishop was really hooked on the idea that Lyn was married, and he felt compelled to follow our social norms, and therefore pressure to excommunicate me.

He did get frustrated with me a few times during the process. Once, he asked for Lyn’s full name, address, and the name of her Bishop, and I refused to share those details with him. Then, he asked what I felt when I read the scriptural accounts about adultery, to which I responded, “You mean the ones where the crowds wanted to stone the adulteress, and Christ withheld judgment and encouraged humans to do the same?” “No,” he responded exasperatedly. “The ones where say we’re not supposed to do it.” I didn’t answer him, and he just moved on.

Me: How has this impacted the testimonies of those you love?

Kim: My roommate is very active in the church. She has been a leader in Young Womens, served a mission, and a life-long Mormon and has never questioned her testimony. She shared with me that watching this process, though, has brought her to the point of questioning it. She asked me how I keep from becoming bitter and angry, and I said I really don’t know—I think it’s because my Savior is drawing so close to me through this because He loves me, and He knows I need Him right now.

I tell people who are hurt by this that this isn’t a personal attack on me, but that the church leaders feel compelled to excommunicate us simply because they don’t know what to do with us. It’s like we’re stuck inside this broken machine, and our souls are the pieces that get pulled into the gears. They didn’t come to get Kim—it was pretty clearly something they felt they must do.

My Son asked me if I was going to return to church someday—I told him I never left. Just because my name is not the formal record book doesn’t mean I’m not part of it. I can and will still share my testimony with my friends, my family, and those in my life. I don’t want MoHos to be or feel abused and compelled to leave—I don’t think we should. I think those of us who want to come back should do so, and do so publicly. I want us to show up in droves, because I think our Savior wants us to demonstrate that we all belong here, even gays and lesbians—whether or not we’re acting on our feelings. I’m not about to let a group of imperfect humans in an imperfect process tell me I can’t have the sources of comfort, love, and peace in my life that come through having a relationship with my Savior and a relationship with my partner.

Me: What’s next for you spiritually?

Kim: I plan to keep going to church and doing what I can there. I will continue my relationship with Lyn. Lyn, her soon to be ex-husband and I, will be speaking at groups and events about the challenges of mixed-orientation marriages and dealing with homosexuality inside the church. I want to tell my story—I know it can help. And that’s where I want to focus now, on helping others. I love this church, and the reality is MoHos are traditionally treated poorly and it affects us deeply—we need to change that. Spiritually, there isn’t much change for me. I have always lived my life in accordance to what I understand my Savior’s will to be—and I plan to keep doing just that.

As I closed out this interview, I realized something: I had come into this conversation afraid. Not fearful of my own fate, but fearful for Kim’s. I see so much angst, heartache, and grief when it comes to the issue of how my gay and lesbian brothers and sisters struggle to find their place within our faith, and I have moments where I feel like I can’t bear another story that tugs on my heart, or pulls my soul into the painful reality of how we grapple with this issue.

I think Kim’s story also highlights an important point—the cultural aspect of excommunication. Nowhere, in our doctrine, does it say that homosexuality (or adultery, or anything else we determine as a sin of a sexual nature) automatically qualifies for excommunication. There is no doctrine or law that mandates that outcome. Instead, there is a great deal of latitude granted to local leaders to determine the fate of those they serve. Being excommunicated for being gay (or being in a gay relationship) is not doctrine; it has simply become something that we culturally do as a faith—perhaps, as Kim says, it is because our leaders simply don’t know what else to do with us.   

I want to offer Kim my own gratitude—I felt the spirit as strongly speaking with her tonight as I have in any church meeting I’ve attended. It simply emanates from her—the kindness, the compassion, the long-suffering—all of these are Christlike qualities that Kim demonstrates in the face of what would make many of us buckle. There is no anger, no resentment, no hostility. Kim has, in fact, done what our Savior would do: Find a way to stand for herself—but not against her fellows.

We are our Father’s children—exactly the way we are. And He loves us for exactly who we are.

Of that, I have no doubt.

You can learn more about Kim and Lyn and their journeys by following these links. 

Kim's blog:  www.how-i-deal.blogspot.com

Lyn's blog:  www.findingmygaymormonway.blogspot.com

Testimony through Personal Revelation

Last week, friend and member of the San Francisco Stake High Council, Matt Mosman, delivered a great talk to the Golden Gate Ward here in San Francisco. With his permission, I share it with you here.

Brother Mosman’s assignment was to talk about testimony—how we share what we know to be true about the nature of our Savior. What I found intriguing was the way Brother Mosman approached the topic of testimony—through personal revelation.

Personal revelation, for Mormons, is a cornerstone tenet in our faith. After all, it is the primary way our Savior makes His will known unto each of us individually. And more importantly, it is incumbent upon us to seek that knowledge of His will for us--not from other humans, but directly from our Savior himself.

As an openly gay Mormon, this facet of our faith has become the foundation of developing a healthy, integrated view of myself as my Father’s son—I am whole, exactly as He made me. I am not “afflicted” or “suffering” or “struggling.” I do not have an illness that requires my soul be mended.

I have, over the years, encountered those who have been convinced otherwise—and tried to convince me otherwise, as well. But when it comes right down to it, living my life by what I understand my Savior’s will for me to be just makes more sense to me than letting someone else’s will run it.

Kudos to Brother Mosman for encouraging all of us within the Mormon faith to understand that seeking our Savior’s will is an individual process, unique to each of us. And for encouraging us to remember that we, as Mormons, don’t hold the market on communication with the divine: “God is no respecter of persons, and loves all His children equally well. He is not a Father who would give a stone to any of His children who ask for bread.”

Enjoy. 

Testimony

Matt Mosman

March 18, 2012

Good morning, brothers and sisters.  I'm delighted to be asked to speak in the Golden Gate Ward, which is now my assignment on the high council.

I had the chance to speak with you for a fifth Sunday combined Priesthood and Relief Society a couple of months ago, but it’s actually been quite a long time since I’ve spoken here as a regular part of my high council speaking assignment rotation.  For some reason, I seem to keep drawing the Spanish units in our stake.  I don’t speak Spanish, so that seems a little odd to me since we probably have six or seven high councilors who do.  I asked Bishop Moran about that a few months ago, and he told me that it is in part because I speak slowly, so I’m easy to translate for.  To be honest, when he told me that it made me feel a little like some kind of a slow-talking yokel.  I think maybe I’m hypersensitive to that, since I grew up in northern Idaho, where you’re always just a little worried that people will find out that deep down you’re a dueling-banjos, Deliverance-type backwoods hick.  I think the full name of my high school is something like “The Moscow Idaho Center for Larnin’ Them What Don’t Read Good,” so you can see where my sensitivity comes from.

We've been assigned to speak today about testimony, a topic which could hardly be more important.  It may be that the single most important challenge in coming to Christ and being perfected in Him is learning to hear, recognize and follow the voice of the Lord.  The ability of individual members of the church to receive instruction and testimony directly from heaven for their lives is central to the gospel plan, and was one of the critical insights to emerge from the Sacred Grove.

I'd like to discuss testimony by talking at some length about personal revelation, which is a core part of testimony, and specifically I’d like to go over some of the basic tenets of our belief in it.  I'm trying to sort of get us all on the same page with respect to this important topic.  To that end, I'd like to talk briefly about who can obtain revelation, then about the principle of stewardship in revelation, and then I'd like to spend a little more time on just how personal revelation and testimony are received.

To whom can God reveal His truth?  We should never delude ourselves into thinking that the members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints are the only people on earth to whom God communicates.  It is in fact central to the growth of the kingdom of God on earth to allow for anyone to receive guidance from the Lord -- else how does anyone join this church?  Don't they need revelation?  Of course they do.

Obviously, our entire church history hinges on the ability of those outside of the church to receive revelation.  Our prophets have honored the hand of the Lord in guiding reformers like Martin Luther, and of course young Joseph Smith’s heart was powerfully touched by the Spirit as he was encouraged to pray in the Sacred Grove.  It's important to note that at that time he was of course not allied with this church, nor with any other.

We shouldn't think, either, that the only time that anyone outside of this church can receive revealed truth from the Lord is when they are investigating the church.  God is no respecter of persons, and loves all His children equally well.  He is not a father who would give a stone to any of His children who ask for bread. 

I am concerned, sometimes, that we put limits on God: “He would never say this,” or “He would never do that.”  As we'll discuss later, it is important to recognize that His ways are not our ways, that He will do whatever "seemeth (Him) good."

It's equally critical to understand that inside of the church, revelation is the province, and even the duty, of all.  It is not the particular duty of church leaders.  We'll talk about stewardship in a minute, but for now we should note that we not only have the right to personal revelation, we actually owe it to ourselves to seek it and receive it from time to time to guide our lives.  

Joseph Smith said: "Reading the experience of others, or the revelations given to them, can never give us a comprehensive view of our condition and true relation to God. Knowledge of these things can only be obtained by experience through the ordinances of God set forth for that purpose. Could you gaze into heaven five minutes, you would know more than you would by reading all that ever was written on the subject."  This sounds to me like we're obligated to seek out revealed truth, in order to understand our condition and true relation to God.

Now: Before we talk of anything else, we should understand what can be called the principle of "stewardship in revelation." Our Heavenly Father's house is a house of order, where his servants are commanded, in D&C 107, to "act in the office in which [they are] appointed." Only the president of the Church receives revelation to guide the entire Church. Only the stake president receives revelation for the special guidance of the stake. The person who receives revelation for the ward is the bishop.

Individuals can and do receive revelation to guide their own lives. But if a revelation is outside the limits of their stewardship, you know at least that you are not bound by it.  Many of us know of cases where a young man told a young woman she should marry him because he had received a “revelation” that she was to be his eternal companion. Elder Dallin Oaks recently pointed out that if this is a true revelation, it will be confirmed directly to the woman if she seeks to know. In the meantime, he says, she is under no obligation to heed it.  She should seek her own guidance and make up her own mind. The man can receive revelation to guide his own actions, but he cannot properly receive revelation to direct hers.  She is outside his stewardship.  Period.

Now let's discuss now how the Lord reveals His will to us.  After the prophet Elijah contended with the priests of Baal, he had to flee for his life from the fury of Jezebel.  He was led to a cave on Mount Horeb, where he learned a great deal about personal revelation in this passage from 1 Kings 19: "And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:  And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice."  Elijah evidently recognized this as the voice of the Lord, since in the next verse it tells us, "And it was so, when Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering of the cave."

Another example from the scriptures will teach us about personal revelation: In the Book of Mormon Laman and Lemuel rebel against their righteous father and brother at almost every turn.  Finally, Nephi is told by the Lord to build a ship, and his brothers not only mocked and ridiculed his efforts, but openly opposed him.  Nephi had finally had enough, and in 1 Nephi chapter 17 he berates them, and in the process says something very interesting about personal revelation: "Ye have seen an angel, and he spake unto you; yea, ye have heard his voice from time to time, and he hath spoken to you in a still small voice, but ye were past feeling, that ye could not feel his words..."

There is an example commonly used in the church about personal revelation that I think has caused us, in some ways at least, more harm than good, and I want to talk about that.  It is the experience of Oliver Cowdery with his efforts to translate the Book of Mormon.  While he was serving as scribe to the prophet Joseph Smith during the translation of the Book of Mormon, Oliver had the desire to also have the gift of translation.  The answer to his request is located in Section 8 of the Doctrine and Covenants, and I'll want to pay attention to that in a minute.  In Section 9, we learn that Oliver had a difficult time with translating, and it is there that we run across the most-used scripture in the church with respect to personal revelation: "But, behold, I say unto you, that you must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right, and if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right.   But if it be not right you shall have no such feelings."

I've watched this scripture turn, too often in my mind, into something akin to sign-seeking.  I want to make sure you understand me correctly: I'm not finding fault with the scripture, I'm saying that our almost obsessive interpretation, or maybe our application,  of that scripture doesn't work well.  The "burning bosom" becomes for too many members of this church the singular way in which the Lord speaks. 

We should make this clear: the Lord will speak whenever He wants, to whom He pleases, He will say whatever fits His purposes, and He will do it in whatever way suits Him.  He will speak sometimes in the whirlwind, in the earthquake, in the fire, in the still, small voice, or in the burning bosom. 

But, as Elder Boyd K. Packer in particular has been pointing out lately, mostly He will speak to us in promptings.  In thoughts and in feelings.

Going back to the Oliver Cowdery story, we learn that he was told this from the beginning: In D&C Section 8, when he asked to be allowed to translate, the Lord gave him this instruction: "Yea, behold, I will tell you in your mind and in your heart, by the Holy Ghost, which shall come upon you and which shall dwell in your heart.   Now, behold, this is the spirit of revelation."  And even in the "burning bosom" section, remember that Oliver was told what the result would be of that manifestation: "therefore, you shall feel that it is right."

Why am I focusing on thoughts and feelings, on the still small voice of revelation?  First, I do it because this is by far the most common form of revelation, the way that the Lord mostly speaks to us.  Second, I do it because a singular focus on less subtle, more grand manifestations can harm us.  I taught Sunday School for high-school-aged kids for a number of years, and one of the most common issues they faced was simply, "Do I have a testimony?"  I've known a number of kids whose entire lives are a testament to their belief, whose every thought and feeling tells them that the church is true, who still wonder... because angels have not been gathering outside their bedroom windows.  Let me be clear here with especially the young people of this ward, but really with anyone who wonders about their own testimony: what you have become over time, and what you have come to believe in your heart, are a powerful testimony.  You know what they say: you don’t think your way into right living; you live your way into right thinking.

Remember what Oliver was told: "I will tell you in your mind and in your heart...this is the spirit of revelation." We learn this very powerfully in D&C 121, which tells us: "Let thy bowels also be full of charity towards all men, and to the household of faith, and let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God; and the doctrine of the priesthood shall distil upon thy soul as the dews from heaven."  Dews do not appear suddenly; they form in the right conditions over time.  Charity and virtue create the conditions for testimony.  The rest is just the passage of time.

As it is in the physical and mental realms, where we simply cannot wake up one morning and run a marathon or turn in a finished PhD thesis, so it is in the spiritual realm: One prayer does not typically bring us spirituality, one grand act of charity does not make us a saint, and one morning of scripture reading does not bring us scripture mastery.  But long hours of prayer, coupled with the kind of actions that bring us closer to God, produce over time a deep knowledge that really does "distill upon (our) souls."  This knowledge is revelation, just as surely as a visit from a heavenly messenger is.

How could that be, though?  How could it be that our missionaries can go out and have with their investigators tangible and sometimes spectacular spiritual experiences, while good young men and young women have the same doctrines “distill on their souls” in less obvious ways?  I think there may be a lot of explanations, but I'd like to point out just one with some history:

When the glorious vision of D&C 76 was given, which is the amazing vision of the three degrees of glory, it happens that several men, perhaps as many as a dozen, were present in the room at the time.  Sidney Rigdon, the prophet's counselor, actually saw the vision at the same time.  Joseph Smith's close friend Philo Dibble recounts the scene as follows:  

"Joseph would, at intervals, say: "What do I see?" as one might say while looking out the window and beholding what all in the room could not see. Then he would relate what he had seen or what he was looking at. Then Sidney replied, "I see the same." Presently Sidney would say "what do I see?" and would repeat what he had seen or was seeing, and Joseph would reply, "I see the same."

This manner of conversation was repeated at short intervals to the end of the vision, and during the whole time not a word was spoken by any other person. Not a sound nor motion made by anyone but Joseph and Sidney, and it seemed to me that they never moved a joint or limb during the time I was there, which I think was over an hour, and to the end of the vision.

Joseph sat firmly and calmly all the time in the midst of a magnificent glory, but Sidney sat limp and pale, apparently as limber as a rag, observing which, Joseph remarked, smilingly, "Sidney is not used to it as I am.""

I think it may be like that for those of us who have been long-time members of the church.  Having spent our lives being taught by the Holy Ghost, we are quite used to it.  We are like people who have spent our lives in the sun, so its rays are not blinding to us.  If we had just crawled out of a spiritual cave, our experience with the spirit would be quite different: the same sun that is warm and comforting to a person who has been out in it, is incredibly bright to the cave-dweller.  As it is, though, we recognize the spirit through warmth and comfort and assurance.  Elder Packer says about this whole topic: "this burning in the bosom is not purely a physical sensation.  It is more like a warm light shining within your being."   A "warm light" sounds a lot like how I feel all the time with respect to this church.

But this presents us with a problem: if revelation will typically come to us through thoughts and feelings, how am I to know that what I am thinking and feeling is from the Lord, and not just arising from the storm of thoughts and feelings that comprise every day for me?  Let me suggest a few simple ways:

First, revelation from God will be in harmony with what you know about God and His gospel.  Even when Nephi is compelled to raise Laban's sword against him, it is to support a fundamental gospel principle.  In our more mundane experience, we can simply know that we are receiving God's will when it agrees with what we already know of the gospel.  I suppose it's possible for the Lord to reveal to a young missionary that he should go home a year early to marry his girlfriend -- like I said earlier, God can do whatever He wants --, but the missionary's starting point should probably be that while it’s possible, it’s not likely that God would reveal such a thing to him.

Second: Probably the best test is: Does this edify me?  Am I a better man or woman, girl or boy, because of this?  In D&C Section 50 we are told: "That which doth not edify is not of God, and is darkness."  So it's worth asking: Do these thoughts and feelings lead me to do good, and bring me closer to the Lord?  Do they bring light and truth, enlightenment and understanding to my mind? 

Third, while I suppose it's possible to receive personal revelation that accrues to our personal gain, or glorifies us somehow on this earth, I would wonder about such a thing.  There is a difference between the giddiness of having had a course of action "confirmed", in quotes, that benefits us personally, and the warm and calm assurance that the Lord is well pleased with us. 

Fourth, experience with the Spirit will teach you when God is speaking to you, and the best way to gain experience is to act.  In Exodus 24 when the Israelites get the Ten Commandments and promise to obey God, there is an odd word ordering in their response: “All that you have said we will do and hear.”  Wait: do and hear?  Not hear and do?

Some biblical scholars say that this is just a scribal error, and of course it’s possible that I’m reading more into it than it deserves.  But I prefer the rabbinical explanation: Many rabbis have taught that we can’t really hear what God is saying, or let it sink into our souls and beings, until we have tried to do what God is saying.  The practice precedes the belief, and not the other way around.  Rabbi Joshua Herschel wrote:

We are asked to take a leap of action rather than a leap of thought.  We are asked to surpass our needs, to do more than we now understand in order to understand more than we now do.

Finally, the absolute best advice I can give about distinguishing between our personal thoughts and feelings and the thoughts and feelings prompted by the Spirit is: if you want to hear the still, small voice, turn down the noise.  Spiritual noise can come from sin, disquiet, anger, contention, tiredness, stress, irreverence, or a hundred other things.  All of them get in the way between us and the quiet promptings of the Spirit.  President Eyring accurately suggests: our problem is not to get the Lord to speak to us; our problem is to hear.

We talk often in church of things like reading the scriptures, and having fervent prayer.  We joke with each other about how scripture reading and prayer are the correct answer to almost every question asked in Sunday School.  Why is that, though?  Could it be as simple as this: that doing those things is a critical way to calm our inner noise and put us in a position to listen to the still, small voice?

There is a traditional Christian hymn that summarizes, I think, how we need to feel quiet in order to hear the Lord's voice:

"Drop thy still dews of quietness,

Till all our strivings cease;

Take from our souls the strain and stress,

And let our ordered lives confess

The beauty of thy peace.

Breathe through the heats of our desire

Thy coolness and thy balm;

Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire;

Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire

O still, small voice of calm."

In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

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?