Jordan’s Story

In January of 2012, Jordan (not his real name, changed at his request to protect his identity) was excommunicated from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for two charges:

1: An inappropriate sexual relationship with someone of his own gender

2: An act of aggression against the church, stemming from his response to questions from investigators from his former mission about the church’s involvement in Prop 8

I would like to note from the start that the first charge—an inappropriate sexual relationship—occurred in 2010, and Jordan had previously gone through a disciplinary council and had resumed full fellowship after following the guidelines set forth at that council—and since then has been living within the confines of the policy as we understand it today.

It’s also important to understand that the allegations surrounding the acts of aggression stemming from Prop 8 occurred in 2008, when Jordan had just returned to California after faithfully serving his mission in another state.

This is Jordan’s story.

Me: How long have you been a Mormon? Tell me about your mission.

Jordan: I have been a member for 18 years—I’m 27 now. My family joined the church when I was nine, and I was baptized into the faith along with my whole family. For my mission, I was originally called to serve in the Philippines, but at the last minute was reassigned to a state here in the US, where I served a faithful, honorable mission.

When I returned from my mission to my home ward in California, I was asked to serve as a missionary there—and was set apart, which is traditional for missionaries. In my home ward, one of the current missionaries had been sent home by emergency transport, and the local mission president knew I’d just returned, so he asked me to step in and cover until a replacement could be formally assigned to my home ward. I did so happily—I loved being on a mission—and served about an additional two months as a missionary in my home ward and the adjacent ward.

Me: When did you know you were gay?

Jordan: I’ve known since I was about eight, I think. I knew that I was different than the other boys I had as friends, but I didn’t have the vocabulary to be able to define what that difference was. As a kid, I just got a long better with girls and had much more in common with them. It wasn’t until later that I realized that the ‘difference’ I felt between me and other boys was actually my sexual orientation—that I was gay.

Me: Does your family know? What has been their response?

Jordan: Yes, my family knows. At first, it was really difficult—they didn’t speak to me for two years. But since then, they’ve softened a lot and have come to understand this is how I am—that I can’t and don’t want to change—and they want to be in my life. If you looked at my family life now, you’d never even guess there had been such a big divide for so long, so things are good now. And, in fact, I think being gay has been a blessing—it’s allowed me to have some really meaningful conversations with my Dad about things that happened in my childhood, and has opened up a window of communication we didn’t have before. It’s actually strengthened my family ties in that way.

Me: What were the events that led to your excommunication?

Jordan: On my formal church record, there is a notation of my disciplinary council that was held back in 2010 for having sexual contact with my boyfriend 9 months previous to the council. My then current Stake President knew about it, and everything was fine—I thought it was a closed issue.

I think I need to talk about my past council to give this some context. I went to my previous Stake President and told him I’d had sex with my boyfriend a few months earlier. I wasn’t compelled to go, no one forced me, but I felt like it was the right thing for me to do. My Stake President then—he was really kind. His response to my admission was to say that he felt that pushing me away from the church—expelling me—would increase my spiritual danger, so he wanted to keep me closer. He told me that under the conditions of the informal probation, I was to attend the temple twice a week and meet with my bishop twice a week. His philosophy was that I was in spiritual jeopardy—and that being punitive—punishing me by pushing me from the church would increase that jeopardy. At the time, I felt like it was a slap on the wrist—but in retrospect, really appreciate his compassion and feel like that was the correct way to handle it. I felt like I grew closer to my Savior through that process.

Well, my new Stake President—he had other ideas. Something prompted him to look through my records and call me in, I’m not sure exactly what it was, but I think that some of my friends who knew about my past council approached him and said they didn’t think it had been handled correctly—that I should have been dealt with more harshly.

When he called me into his office, he told me that this had been completely mishandled, that I should have been excommunicated from the get-go, and that following that there would be a mandatory year waiting period before I could even consider being re-baptized.

(Note: According to the 2010 ‘Handbook 1: Stake Presidents and Bishops’ there is no policy in the LDS church that mandates excommunication for sexual transgression, homosexual or heterosexual. There is no place in the handbook or anywhere in LDS policy or doctrine that makes an ‘if/then’ statement when it comes to church discipline. Each case is taken on its own merits, and as such, is complicated—like life itself. The decision to excommunicate or disfellowship a member is always left to the discretion of the presiding local authorities. Excommunicating and disfellowshipping LGBT members has, however, become something we culturally do as a faith. But it is a choice local leaders make; it is not a mandated outcome.)

I do know that he never talked to my former Stake President to understand his reasoning for the decision he made. And even though my previous Stake President was okay with how I’d done, my new one viewed it as a problem.  At first, I agreed with him, because he indicated there was mandatory excommunication and then this year waiting period to return. I didn’t know until I talked to you that’s not the case—there is no policy that states that.

At first I think he genuinely wanted to understand what had happened. But once he realized that I wouldn’t apologize for being gay nor would I apologize for the manner in which I broke my covenant, the whole spirit had changed from understanding to discipline.

At the same time, we had a missionary in our ward that I fell in love with. I’d told a few of my friends about it and one of them must have communicated that to the Stake President. In one of my meetings with him he spent 30 minutes berating me—with his voice raised so loud that people outside his office could hear—about my personal conduct and making sure I have respect for other people’s boundaries, under the wrong assumption that I had acted on my feelings about this missionary. And I had not! I tried to tell my Stake President that all I said to the missionary was this: “I hope that when I find that someone special in my life that he possesses all the great qualities you have.”

Whatever the Stake President had been told—what he was accusing me of—it wasn’t the truth! He said I made an inappropriate sexual advance on a full-time missionary that was unwanted and unwarranted. I tried to tell him what had really happened—that this wasn’t the truth—and he just kept interrupting me and telling me that he did not want to hear of this behavior anymore.

In fact, at one time he actually said to me, “I do not care to understand.”

Never, in my almost 20 years of service to this church, have I had a priesthood leader raise his voice and scold me in this fashion. Finally, I’d had enough. After 30 minutes of this, I stood up and said, “This interview is over. You’re so concerned about validating the misperceptions of a missionary and other people in this ward that you have absolutely no concern for hearing the truth, or even hearing my side. There is nothing more for me to say.” And I left.

Me: So this all happened even before your disciplinary trial? What was that experience like for you?

Jordan: During the council…the questions they asked me…oh my gosh. When the council concluded immediately upon arriving home I threw up, curled into the fetal position and cried the entire day. It was the worst thing I think I’ve ever experienced.

They were hurling questions at me about the events of 2010:

• “What was the extent of your sexual interaction?”
• “Who was the act committed with and is he a member as well?”
• “Do you feel that your sexual tendencies have hindered your ability to have faith in Christ?”
• “Have you ever been sexually abused as a child by anyone, family or non-family?”
• “When you had sexual contact with this other man, did you fully recognize the repercussions of your actions and how it would affect his salvation?”

This council was no longer about the act itself, this was way bigger than I realized. This meeting was not about how to help me, it was to gather information. There was no opportunity for me to actually talk, to tell my side of things—and the repeated questions about my childhood, it felt so…dirty. It made me feel dirty and really uncomfortable. And some of these questions were coming from the Stake representatives that had been assigned to speak in my defense—but they were all in the same boat. It was so obvious to me there wasn’t a single person in that room that had my best interest at heart—no one wanted to listen, no one wanted to hear—they had their minds made up before this even began. It didn’t feel like a trial to me, it felt like an arraignment and sentencing.

One of the things that bothers me the most is I had a former Bishop in attendance I’d asked to be there—so I could at least have some emotional support, someone in my camp. But even he wouldn’t support me. When they asked me if I knew how my actions affected me and the man I broke my covenant with, my Bishop’s response (before I could respond myself) was: “Well, Brother Jordan had a learning disability in high school, so he probably didn’t understand the full repercussions of his actions.” So not only was he not on my side, I feel like he used confidential information about me to make me sound mentally incapacitated. I am certainly not mentally nor am I spiritually incapacitated!

Then we began the questions about Prop 8. In 2008, when I was serving my mission in Pennsylvania (not the actual state where he served; changed to protect his identity), I had some investigators that I’d stayed in contact with. They were great people, and they kind of had a challenge with the church’s stand on gays and lesbians, but were moving forward anyway.

When I left my mission and returned to California, several of them called me and asked me if it was true—if the church was backing Prop 8. I really didn’t know, and I told them that. A few days later, I attended a broadcast from Salt Lake that included the church’s stand on Prop 8, so then I knew it was true. When the investigators from Pennsylvania called me the next time, I was honest with them—I told them the truth. They asked me if I supported the church’s involvement, and I was honest with them again—I did not support it. I told them that it felt wrong to me for the church to get involved in a public policy issue—that the God I knew and loved would probably be embarrassed at the way this campaign preyed on people’s fear, paranoia, and ignorance.

I guess that my honesty was viewed as an act of aggression against the church. The questions they asked me about this didn’t feel like they came from a good place, either. One of the most troubling was when they asked me, “When you were asked questions about the church’s involvement by these investigators, did you receive a prompting from the Spirit to ignore the question?” I felt like what they were asking me is if Satan was enticing me to tell the truth!

When this whole thing started, I genuinely felt like it was approached with a spirit of friendship and support. But as time progressed, and more faulty information was fed to my Stake President, the entire process changed to what really felt like an attempt to protect this missionary from a predator—and that they viewed me as that predator. It also became clear that over time, this became less about the fact that I broke my covenants by having sex, and more about the fact that I broke my covenants by having sex with another man.

All told, the council lasted about two hours. At the end of it, I was excommunicated. I went home alone.

Jordan: Can we take a break?  I want to tell you something. Something I’ve never told anyone.

Me: Of course. What is it?

Jordan: I’m afraid….I’m afraid of telling this story.

Me: Why, Jordan?

Jordan: Well, in my last meeting with the Stake President, he gave me a strong…warning, I guess. He told me that I should refrain from talking to anyone about this, even my family. He told me I should keep this to myself, and if I did talk about it—and he found out—that there would be repercussions.

Me: I think it’s important for you to be honest, Jordan, and share your perspective. Why do you fear him? You’ve already been excommunicated.

Jordan: I am fearful of this man, Mitch. I am scared of him, plain and simple. It’s like—it’s like he’s bullied me—I don’t know what he can do to me, but I’m afraid to test him. One of the things I dreaded most about this whole council and trial is that I’m terrified of this man.

Me: Do you feel safe continuing? We’ll only continue if you feel okay with it.

Jordan: Yes…yes, I think it’s the right thing to do. I’m not going to cover for this man. I’m done lying for the church and protecting things like this. Let’s move on.

Me: Okay. I’m so sorry, Jordan. How did it make you feel to be expelled from a faith that you’ve considered a home—a sanctuary—your entire life?

Jordan: (sobbing) It hurts so much. In a very real way, it makes me feel like not only have I had family issues, but the one place I’ve always counted on—that I’ve always considered my home—they didn’t even want me. I translated that into God not wanting me anymore…to some extent, I guess, I still believe that’s true.

Me: We say that these councils are designed to help bring you closer to the Savior. That wasn’t the case for you?

Jordan: No! It made me question whether or not the Savior even cared about me! These men are supposed to be representatives of God and that line of questioning—it wasn’t about trying to help me, it was about how best to apply punishment! It was as if they were saying that who I am—a gay man—was responsible for God distancing himself from me so that I’d fail. They made this all my fault! While I accept full responsibility for my actions I also recognize in criminal justice terms, “the punishment didn’t fit the crime.” Though, to them, it seemed enough to condemn me.

Me: Do you think your testimony of our Savior will ever recover? Will it ever be the same?

Jordan: (sobbing) I hope so…I hope so. I really do. I don’t see a way to do that, if anything this has made me feel so distrustful of my Savior and God. I feel abandoned. If God were really in charge of this church, there would be some justice here. The only thing that was served in this process was finding reasons to expel me from the church. That doesn’t feel like the God I once knew.

I feel so betrayed…I trusted these men. I can understand non-members wanting to rip me apart and tear down my testimony, but this—these men are supposed to be my spiritual leaders! They’re supposed to help make me better. Instead their own biases clouded their judgment. These men only served one purpose that day and I find this most troubling—I feel like these men are doing the will of the adversary.

Me: So this has negatively impacted your view of the church and your leaders?

Jordan: Yes. After going through this, seeing what an unclean and unrighteous process it is—I think the church has lost its way. I’m a returned missionary, I know my church history, and I know my scriptures. When I compare this to the way the church was set up originally, it’s just not the same. I don’t believe Joseph Smith would stand for acts of persecution like this—he himself was persecuted! And the one thing he made so clear is we stand for ourselves but we don’t enforce our will on others—it’s morally irresponsible, but that’s exactly what we did in Prop 8. The church has gotten so involved in such dirty politics in so many ways—I don’t think I would ever go back. It doesn’t feel clean. And more importantly, I don’t think I could ever put myself at spiritual risk of being persecuted by men like this again. I don’t think I could take it.

Me: What are your hopes and dreams when it comes to intimacy, love and relationships? Do you see Mormonism playing any kind of role in your future?

Jordan: I would like to have a healthy relationship with a man I love. Will the church play a part? No. I don’t know what I feel about relationships, really—after spending a lifetime of hearing that being gay is wrong and unfulfilling…I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what to feel. But being stripped of my faith, of such an important part of my identity, in some ways it makes me want to pursue that same level of safety and sanctuary in a committed monogamous relationship with a partner.  

Me: What is your biggest fear?

Jordan: That this is going to affect me for the rest of my life. This trauma…this betrayal—it’s left a huge scar on my soul. When I started meeting with these other missionaries a few weeks ago—just so I could feel the spirit a little bit—they told me they needed to get permission from my former Bishop to even meet with me anymore. I feel completely closed out from the one thing that used to be my bedrock. Even as a non-member, this still haunts me. It’s everywhere I turn. I’m afraid it will never go away, that I will never heal.

For the rest of my life, the 18 years I dedicated to my God through this church—that will haunt me. This…it’s ruined so many of my relationships, destroyed so many of my friendships. My support network is gone. And while it is gone, I fear that I will never be free of this, even when I’ve been presented with the prospect of a healthy relationship with a man, somehow the impression in the back of my mind came to the forefront of my mind telling me that no lasting happiness could be had in a same sex relationship.  

I don’t know what I’ll do now.

Me: So what do you think is next for you?

Jordan: I really don’t know. It’s not that I don’t have a testimony of the gospel, I believe in so much that is right about the gospel. But this has put more questions into my head than I had before, and I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to answer them. God is a God of many things—logic included. Nowhere in the Book of Mormon or in our scriptures do we talk about homosexuality, nowhere do we talk about these kinds of trials and councils—if it were important enough to God, He would have included it.

My relationship with God will never be back to the way it was. I don’t foresee that changing.

I’ve known Jordan now for several months—he was always an upbeat, optimistic young man. But his once cheery countenance has vanished. The smile I am used to hearing in his voice is gone. I had to pause several times in our conversation to allow him to recover. At times, he was sobbing so intensely it was impossible to understand his words. It was clear as we spoke that this process has shattered him.

In the literally thousands of stories I’ve heard from my fellow MoHos, this one left a scar on my soul deeper than most—I can only imagine the wound it left on Jordan’s. I walked away from our conversation feeling full of heartache at the deep level of pain and betrayal my brother feels as a result of a process that we tell ourselves is designed to bring people closer to the Savior.

We failed.

I fully acknowledge how difficult it is to be in a leadership capacity in this church—the demands are relentless, and we as leaders are very human, capable of fallibility. I acknowledge that this story is complex—full of hearsay, rumor, and innuendo. Yes, there may indeed be other sides to this, but this side—Jordan’s side—deserves to be told.

And independent of all those other factors, when someone walks away from a church meeting of any kind and says, “I don’t feel like my relationship with God can ever be repaired,” then something in the system—if not the system itself—has gone very wrong, indeed.

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.