Thanks to a few people for asking me the hard questions that helped me gather my thoughts for this entry. Spencer, Erik, Isaac, I'm proud to call y'all my friends. Some of this might look familiar to you...
I'm not going to paste the text of the new policy here again. You can find it in my last two entries (links above).
When I read the new policy, my immediate response was to feel angry. The next day I felt sad. Very sad. More sad than I had felt in a long, long time.
I grew up in a devout Mormon family in Raleigh, NC. Being Mormon in the South is tough. It means having to define and defend your faith to well meaning neighbors who see your church as a cult that you need to be rescued from. For me, it meant taking pride in the rituals that are supposed to connect us to God and prepare us for salvation. I served a two-year mission in Colorado after my first year of college, and then went to stay with my parents in California until the semester started. Within days of arriving in California, I was recruited to campaign in favor of Prop 8. And who better? I was an energetic young man who had just returned from campaigning full time for Prop 8's biggest supporter. What were a few hours doing what I had already been doing?
Over time, some of my opinions have diverged from mainstream Mormon thought. For example, I believe it's not my place to tell a woman she shouldn't have an abortion. I believe that people who experiment with drugs, alcohol, or coffee can still be moral, respectable people. And I believe that if I had the chance to publicly support Prop 8 again, I'd say "no thanks."
Deep down, I still hold a lot of the values that ostensibly guide Mormon practice. Values like compassion, loving kindness, family unity, patience, acceptance of all people, no matter who they are or where they come from. These values are in practically everything I do. I work as a therapist for people who can't afford to pay the bills themselves, even though it means a much smaller salary than many therapists in my area. I like to think that my actions at home make me a good, gentle, loving dad to my daughter, as well as a faithful, caring husband to my wife. When I'm out and about, I make a point to smile and treat the people around me with dignity.
I have my doubts about a lot of Mormon doctrine. Deep down I still believe in its central message: God came to earth, taught us how to find divinity within ourselves, and promised that not even God's own death would keep God from helping us. God willingly went to be tortured and executed in order to suffer all pain, and thus help us through anything. And then God sent helpers who were to bring God's blessings to everyone--everyone. No matter what color their skin was. No matter what language they spoke. No matter what their parents believed or did. No matter how or whom they loved.
For a while, I've been content to quietly disagree with some official LDS policies, along with a host of unofficial LDS cultural phenomena. I've been quiet when I've heard the First Presidency and the Twelve (see part 1) call for unquestioning obedience to the First Presidency and the Twelve. I've been quiet when I've heard peers justify sexism and racism based on the words of Mormon leaders and scriptures. I've been quiet when members and leaders alike dehumanized significant groups of people by calling them "the blacks" and "the gays," instead of referring to them as people.
Now I can't be quiet anymore. I won't sit by and watch while my Church tells children that they're protecting them by excluding them. I won't watch while my community condemns gay people who are honest and loyal to their families as worse than murderers or straight people who are unfaithful. I won't hold my tongue now that I see actions out of line with my neighbors' and my values.
The Second Article of Faith of the LDS church says that man won't be punished for Adam's transgression. Practically every Mormon I've ever met understands that to mean more than just Adam, but other ancestors too, including parents. I believe this new policy punishes some children for their parents' actions. It has the potential to make some children second-class citizens by making them wait. And I believe it has played a part (not necessarily the only factor, but a part) in the increase in suicidal crisis calls in the Mormon belt in the last week. How are we protecting people when we deny them (even temporarily) the rituals we say will save them? How are we promoting family unity when we ask children to disavow a key part of their parents' identity? (And yes, I understand we are not asking them do disavow their parents as people.)
Matthew 19 quotes Jesus as saying "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." The new policy seems to amend that, so that now it would read "Let the little children come to me, unless their parents are gay, in which case tell them to wait ten years or so." One author made the poignant argument that some children don't live that long. I'm sure some other children would get tired of waiting when they're allowed to go through the motions without doing the part that is supposed to make it all count.
From my perspective, I can still see the pure doctrine of God's love through the opaque shell of policy. I see policy as a modern-day "hedge around the law." We Mormons generally use that phrase to describe the Pharisees' rules during Jesus' time. The rules were designed to help people live by the pure doctrine, but people got so caught up with the rules that they forgot the doctrine was there. I see modern Mormonism doing the same thing.
It's like trying to take a black and white picture of a rainbow. Sometimes, we can add the right color in just the right spot and it shows a glimpse of the reality. Other times, we miss, or we decide not to add any color. Then it's an imperfect man-made reflection of something perfect that we can't obtain by ourselves. That happened when Mormons officially encouraged polygamy, and again when we officially banned it (and when it continued unofficially for a while after the ban). It happened in the middle of the 20th century, when black people were not allowed to enter Mormon temples. We added color in just the right spot when that policy was rescinded and skin color was removed as a criterion. (I recognize that black people and the priesthood/temple is not a perfect parallel. I believe it fits with this theme, though.) And now we took another black and white picture of a rainbow and chose not to add color.
The new policy does not destroy my faith. I will not leave my God or my people over this, no matter how distant I have been or will be, and no matter how much this hurts us. What I will do is try to bear my neighbor's burden, that it may be light. I will mourn with those that mourn. I will do my best to comfort those that stand in need of comfort. I'll remind my community that there should be no division in the body, and that we shouldn't cut of our right arm because of a mosquito bite to our right pinky. I'll be sad. I might be angry. I'll definitely be anxious about voicing an opinion that's at odds with many in my community.
And above all, I'll listen. Whether you agree with me or not, I'll listen. If you've been vindicated, tell me about it. If you've been hurt, tell me about that, too. One of my music teachers told me to listen louder than I sing. I try to make a point of listening louder than I talk, even now that I feel compelled to speak up.
"Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen."
I grew up in a devout Mormon family in Raleigh, NC. Being Mormon in the South is tough. It means having to define and defend your faith to well meaning neighbors who see your church as a cult that you need to be rescued from. For me, it meant taking pride in the rituals that are supposed to connect us to God and prepare us for salvation. I served a two-year mission in Colorado after my first year of college, and then went to stay with my parents in California until the semester started. Within days of arriving in California, I was recruited to campaign in favor of Prop 8. And who better? I was an energetic young man who had just returned from campaigning full time for Prop 8's biggest supporter. What were a few hours doing what I had already been doing?
Over time, some of my opinions have diverged from mainstream Mormon thought. For example, I believe it's not my place to tell a woman she shouldn't have an abortion. I believe that people who experiment with drugs, alcohol, or coffee can still be moral, respectable people. And I believe that if I had the chance to publicly support Prop 8 again, I'd say "no thanks."
Deep down, I still hold a lot of the values that ostensibly guide Mormon practice. Values like compassion, loving kindness, family unity, patience, acceptance of all people, no matter who they are or where they come from. These values are in practically everything I do. I work as a therapist for people who can't afford to pay the bills themselves, even though it means a much smaller salary than many therapists in my area. I like to think that my actions at home make me a good, gentle, loving dad to my daughter, as well as a faithful, caring husband to my wife. When I'm out and about, I make a point to smile and treat the people around me with dignity.
I have my doubts about a lot of Mormon doctrine. Deep down I still believe in its central message: God came to earth, taught us how to find divinity within ourselves, and promised that not even God's own death would keep God from helping us. God willingly went to be tortured and executed in order to suffer all pain, and thus help us through anything. And then God sent helpers who were to bring God's blessings to everyone--everyone. No matter what color their skin was. No matter what language they spoke. No matter what their parents believed or did. No matter how or whom they loved.
For a while, I've been content to quietly disagree with some official LDS policies, along with a host of unofficial LDS cultural phenomena. I've been quiet when I've heard the First Presidency and the Twelve (see part 1) call for unquestioning obedience to the First Presidency and the Twelve. I've been quiet when I've heard peers justify sexism and racism based on the words of Mormon leaders and scriptures. I've been quiet when members and leaders alike dehumanized significant groups of people by calling them "the blacks" and "the gays," instead of referring to them as people.
Now I can't be quiet anymore. I won't sit by and watch while my Church tells children that they're protecting them by excluding them. I won't watch while my community condemns gay people who are honest and loyal to their families as worse than murderers or straight people who are unfaithful. I won't hold my tongue now that I see actions out of line with my neighbors' and my values.
The Second Article of Faith of the LDS church says that man won't be punished for Adam's transgression. Practically every Mormon I've ever met understands that to mean more than just Adam, but other ancestors too, including parents. I believe this new policy punishes some children for their parents' actions. It has the potential to make some children second-class citizens by making them wait. And I believe it has played a part (not necessarily the only factor, but a part) in the increase in suicidal crisis calls in the Mormon belt in the last week. How are we protecting people when we deny them (even temporarily) the rituals we say will save them? How are we promoting family unity when we ask children to disavow a key part of their parents' identity? (And yes, I understand we are not asking them do disavow their parents as people.)
Matthew 19 quotes Jesus as saying "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." The new policy seems to amend that, so that now it would read "Let the little children come to me, unless their parents are gay, in which case tell them to wait ten years or so." One author made the poignant argument that some children don't live that long. I'm sure some other children would get tired of waiting when they're allowed to go through the motions without doing the part that is supposed to make it all count.
From my perspective, I can still see the pure doctrine of God's love through the opaque shell of policy. I see policy as a modern-day "hedge around the law." We Mormons generally use that phrase to describe the Pharisees' rules during Jesus' time. The rules were designed to help people live by the pure doctrine, but people got so caught up with the rules that they forgot the doctrine was there. I see modern Mormonism doing the same thing.
It's like trying to take a black and white picture of a rainbow. Sometimes, we can add the right color in just the right spot and it shows a glimpse of the reality. Other times, we miss, or we decide not to add any color. Then it's an imperfect man-made reflection of something perfect that we can't obtain by ourselves. That happened when Mormons officially encouraged polygamy, and again when we officially banned it (and when it continued unofficially for a while after the ban). It happened in the middle of the 20th century, when black people were not allowed to enter Mormon temples. We added color in just the right spot when that policy was rescinded and skin color was removed as a criterion. (I recognize that black people and the priesthood/temple is not a perfect parallel. I believe it fits with this theme, though.) And now we took another black and white picture of a rainbow and chose not to add color.
The new policy does not destroy my faith. I will not leave my God or my people over this, no matter how distant I have been or will be, and no matter how much this hurts us. What I will do is try to bear my neighbor's burden, that it may be light. I will mourn with those that mourn. I will do my best to comfort those that stand in need of comfort. I'll remind my community that there should be no division in the body, and that we shouldn't cut of our right arm because of a mosquito bite to our right pinky. I'll be sad. I might be angry. I'll definitely be anxious about voicing an opinion that's at odds with many in my community.
And above all, I'll listen. Whether you agree with me or not, I'll listen. If you've been vindicated, tell me about it. If you've been hurt, tell me about that, too. One of my music teachers told me to listen louder than I sing. I try to make a point of listening louder than I talk, even now that I feel compelled to speak up.
"Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen."
In my quest to justify the policy change, because I am too scared to even think about what if the change is wrong, I have tried to tie in scripture to the argument for the change. While it doesn't necessarily justify the change, D+C 68:25 is an interesting scripture that came to my mind. I read it with the thought that if parents do not teach their children correct principles then, in some sense, the sin of their children is on the heads of the parents. That is to a certain degree, if correct principles were known. So, even if children of LGBT parents aren't baptized, I would think that they can receive the blessings that they would have received if they strive to live up to the correct principles that they are taught when going to church. I don't know if that makes sense, and I don't think I have been able to nail it down but it's a thought. I don't think Heavenly Father would not allow for blessings to flow to a child of LGBT parents who truly wants to follow his will. Just because they aren't baptized doesn't mean they can't receive the blessings from living righteously. Especially when they have examples of living unrighteously. Anyway, it's so important though, like you stated, that we love all people and continue to invite all to come to Christ. Just because you've been excommunicated, or can't be baptized doesn't mean you can't come to church or start repenting now.
ReplyDelete