It's been a rough week for those
associated with the Mormon Church. The Church's decision to exclude children of gay families from church ordinances
caused a lot of deeply felt pain. The policy itself hurt a lot of people
and harsh reactions to it hurt even more.
I haven't been an active Mormon
for the better part of a decade, but I was sick to my stomach over that
decision. I left deliberately because I discovered during the repentance
process I didn't believe in the atonement of Christ, without that nothing in
the church matters. That's a heavy sentence, and it took me months of
crying in the bishop's office to diagnose. I stayed for about two weeks
after that because I had friends at church and thought maybe there was
something to the studies about longevity and church. But here's the
thing, without faith in the parts of the gospel that matter, the 'cultural
Mormon' stuff is insufferable.
Before I figured out what exactly
I didn't believe, church was stressful because of the nagging feeling that I
didn't belong. I was skeptical of orthodox views of sin, I hate the word
obedience, and I felt pressured to sacrifice my life goals so my husband could
do something more kick ass. It's possible get past all of that if the
atonement of Christ brings joy into your life, but I found it doesn't bring me
any joy. Despite having a very clear and nuanced understanding of the
atonement (credentials: I read the Book
of Mormon three times before
I graduated high school, and I read Jesus the Christ, and I
graduated seminary), I didn't feel it. Church is all about the feels and
I wanted to feel it so much. I loved my bishop. He took the time to
talk about faith in a way that meant something to me and I knew that he truly
cared about me. One day he use his hand as a metaphor to explain
repentance to me, with the atonement at the center (the palm), then asked me
pointedly, "Do you believe that Christ atoned for your sins?"
No, I realized then that I don't. I’m happy if the gospel makes you happy, but please
don’t ask me to muscle through issues of faith.
Faith is a complex thing that
requires consistent exercise. If you neglect your faith it will atrophy,
and in my case it died. This fits in well with other metaphors about
faith: it's a seed you need to water, a cup you need to fill, or a mountain you
need to move (do I understand that story right?). I can't identify the
point in time I neglected my faith, I know my family would feel better if I
could, but hindsight is a faulty scope. There are plenty events that led
me to be disillusioned, they’re easy to remember but not actually the
issue. However, at some point between 2002 and 2008 the balance shifted
in favor of disillusionment, church was only stressful, and my life got much
better after I left. The Church’s new policy on gay families is a watershed
event for many; an early frost that killed their seed, their faith glass
shattering, or the mountain to move is actually K2.
Why share this? Feeling
like I didn't belong and then knowing that I had to leave was really painful
and it's just a fraction of what gay members and their families feel right now.
I finally left because I was exhausted by emotionally preparing myself for
church; hearing members discuss homosexuality as "the evil in the world”
destroyed me, and I'm a straight woman. If the teachings of the church
bring enough joy, it's possible to focus on the good parts (i.e.,
acknowledgement that homosexuality is not a choice, any talk by Elder
Uchtdorf, and Elder Oaks’ recent
talk). This new policy on gay parents is bad. I was sick to my
stomach Thursday (Nov 5) night when I read about the decision, knowing how
devastated my gay and progressive Mormon friends felt. No matter where
you are in your faith, being excluded by a group you considered yourself a part
of hurts, it hurts more if you still want in. They've been labeled
apostate and their children's futures in the Church have been sanctioned.
It essentially erases all the good will any other members have worked to
build.
Reactions have been the worst, I
cried all day Friday as they came rolling in. I know not to look at
Facebook to see the good in the world, but it's how I maintain contact with my
Mormon friends and my gay friends. There were a few bright spots, like my
friends who simply said they were going to go pray because they were upset and
confused. But I cried until I was sobbing every time a loved one posted
"Why are you shocked? This is in line with the Church's policy."
"Why do you even care?" "Just be nice and have faith
in our leaders!" I'm shocked because the decision came out of the
blue, on the heels of some conciliatory words from those leaders. I'm
really shocked because it feels so cruel to sanction the children and hope that
someday they will disavow their family. I care because I know there are
people struggling mightily to balance their love of someone gay (or actually
being gay) with their love of the gospel and they just lost that balancing act.
While being in line with church policy and affecting a fraction of the
church's membership, it is such a loud statement, unprecedented in its clarity,
that those people are not wanted in the Church. I empathize a lot with
that fraction of the Church, having struggled with my own faith. I have a
Mormon heritage; growing up in that community shaped who I am and I don't
regret any of it. It's easy to see why gay members would want their
families to grow up with the same things.
It is incredibly dismissive to
tell others to "just be nice" when they've been called apostate and
had their most important relationship placed near murder in a list of sins.
(And they've seen just how many of their Mormon friends still don't like
gay people.) There was a collective howl of pain among my friends still
clinging to the Church somehow, but the pain has been re-labeled as
"meanness." Calling the pain (or doubt) I feel illegitimate is
perhaps the most hurtful because I've heard it so often; it's what I heard
every time I had an issue with a doctrine and praying the doubt away doesn't
work for me. We (progressive Mormons, post-Mormons, ex-Mormons, gay
Mormons) are crying because the decision to exclude gay families fits into a
clear, continuing narrative: we are not welcome. Please let us be sad
about it. I understand the paradox religious leader’s face in trying to
remain steadfast in their faith while also being relevant to evolving societal
needs. But this is cruel.
Few of us know how to talk about
the feels and it seriously impedes conversations about faith. It took me
hours to write this and I've been thinking about it for seven years now.
I've started to write it many times and gone on to write about events
that were hurtful. But I've come up with my own personal strategy for dialogue,
developed from careful observations of my boyfriend’s family (who are seriously
good listeners). Ask real questions, LISTEN to the answer, wait, think,
and then only say something if needs to be said. It's easier to ask
questions poorly, only listen to come up with a counter argument, and then say
something [hurtful/useless] immediately. Good conversations about complex
issues don't happen online and they don't happen fast (maybe the biggest issue
for me and my family of hot-heads). There have been a lot of anecdotes*
slung around that fit well into our confirmation biases, but very little that
actually encourages understanding and empathy. I'm sad for the future of
the Church because so many empathetic members just left, leaving a lot of
voices who will stand up today and say "Good riddance."
I may never stop caring about the
Church because my family is there and I will love them forever. I cried
until I couldn't anymore because I struggle with things that come between me
and the place that holds my family. I know that while they work to
process this terrible decision, they also worry about my salvation. But
the pain and hostility I've felt when members discuss feminism and
homosexuality make me feel like I should distance myself from the Church.
I'm so tired for being rejected.
*I must mention my Internet pet
peeve: "Well said." I won’t read anything on the Internet with
the tagline "Well said". It's probably not well said, just
bolder (read: more rude) than the re-poster dare be or a stupid meme. I
care more about what you think in your own words.
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