I am Mitch Mayne. I am an openly gay, active Latter-day Saint.

Upon the shoulders of a giant: Bill Bradshaw

2012-02-24T21:01:00.001-08:00

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

2012-02-12T23:21:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

The God Box

I have a confession.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remarks to the San Francisco Interfaith Council (SFIC)

2012-01-12T23:29:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy.

Faith Journey

San Francisco Interfaith Council

Mitch Mayne

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here are my words from that day:

"I am a gay Latter-day Saint.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mitch Mayne with Michael Pappas

My point, and my message that day, is that it’s our similarities that bind us—not our differences that separate us. Life is a journey, with our fellows as peers, each of us pressing onward on our prescribed paths, to learn the lessons that life is intended to teach us.

None of us is ahead of the other, so there is no need for envy. None of us is behind another, so there is no need for judgment and scorn. True, each path is unique to every traveler—some may appear easier than others, and others, conversely, seem more arduous and difficult. Regardless, each path is geared to teach each of us what we individually need to know to come to rely upon our Savior, and eventually, return to our Father.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friends at the SFIC

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

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

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

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

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

Absolutely!

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

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

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

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

And here is what I want you to tell them.

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

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

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

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

What do you say to them?

2011-12-18T13:05:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which do I choose?

How do I choose?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Want to learn more about helping LGBT youth stay safe?

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

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

Spirituality and Social Justice; Remarks to SFSU

2011-12-07T18:52:00.000-08:00

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

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

I focused primarily on three points:

1: A brief introduction to Mormon history

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

3: The unique challenges we have as LGBT Mormons

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

Enjoy.

SFSU School of Social Work Remarks

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

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

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

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

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

About Mormonism

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

Here are some quick statistics about the church:

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

A few other statistics of note; as of 2010:

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

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

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

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

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

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

First and foremost, it’s a numbers issue.

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s just based on numbers today.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But a second key reason is this.

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

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

Let me give you some examples:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Mitch:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Absolutely!

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

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

A bit about me…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you.

The Thanksgiving Alphabet Game

2011-11-23T17:43:00.000-08:00

One of the gifts I try to give myself is regular doses of gratitude. I find that when I cultivate this kind of mindset, life becomes richer—I see hidden blessings all around me, and I’m much less inclined to focus on what I don’t have when I look at what I do have.

In the moments when I feel most defeated, I try to make time to play a game I call “The Thanksgiving Alphabet.” The rules are simple: For each letter of the alphabet, name something you’re grateful for. To go a step further (and to make it a little more interesting), it helps to provide a brief statement of why you’re grateful—like I’ve done below. It’s silly, childlike, spiritual and amusing—all things that bring me back to my center.

The great thing about this game is you can play it wherever you are: In the office, in the car, at night in bed before you fall asleep. Or, you can play it with someone you love—each of you taking a letter and stating something you’re grateful for. It can inspire some great conversations, and heartfelt intimate moments.

This Thanksgiving, I’m sharing this game—and my list—with you. I hope it sparks in you some ideas of things you’re grateful for that you may have overlooked, and maybe even gives you a useful tool to break out of your own defeated moments. At the very least, I hope you’ll find a chuckle or two.

My list is by no means comprehensive—just because you don’t see something on this list today, doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for it. It just means I’m saving it for the next round.

Enjoy—and Happy Thanksgiving.

A. Acceptance. Recognizing that there are things in this world that I am powerless over—but that being powerless doesn’t mean being helpless. I can accept things the way they are because I know I have the opportunity to respond to them in a way that makes me happy, and keeps me close to the kind of person I (and my Savior) want me to be. And with that, I am a little more free to be me.

B. Bishop Don Fletcher—my Bishop here in San Francisco. Seldom have I met someone who was so deeply spiritual, kind, and thoughtful, yet held onto a great sense of humor through both the good times and the challenges. By having the opportunity to work with him, I learn how to be a better leader and a better human. Through me, he learns all he can handle about MoHos and TMZ. A fair trade? You decide.

C. Cats: Or more specifically, Roscoe. This little four-legged ball of allergens worked his way into my heart within the first 90 seconds of knowing him. He slept by my side every night, laid on my desk during the work day, and was the champion king of head-butts. He may no longer be mine, but the home he built in my heart still remains.

Erika and Jensen: Mormon teeth.

D. Dentists. A gratitude list for 2011 just wouldn’t be complete without a tip of my virtual hat to my Bay Ward peeps, which is chock-full of dental students. Of course, that just supports my other theory about “Mormon Teeth,” so take a quick read of that post for an additional holiday chuckle. And then don’t forget to floss after dinner.

E. Exercise and weight lifting. These are my sanity breaks—my opportunity to turn off my head and simply “be” in my body. When I take time to clear out the mental cobwebs through exercise, I am more centered, think more clearly, and am better able to handle whatever life brings me. Plus I just plain feel better!

F. Feminist Mormon Housewives. You know who you are, and you know why you’re on this list. ‘Nuff said.

G. Being born gay. Being gay hasn’t always been an easy road, but I suspect it wasn’t supposed to be. But I have learned that those of us who are gay are made that way for a reason—and that reason isn’t just about us. I’ve learned deeper levels of compassion, forgiveness, and patience than I ever would have otherwise. And I’ve see those around me develop unconditional love in a way they probably never would have otherwise. If we so choose, every one of us in the human family can see this opportunity as the gift it genuinely is.

H. Humility. The ability to recognize that humility is not about humiliation is priceless. Humiliation is a position of weakness, of victimhood. And I choose to be no one’s victim. Humility, on the other hand, is a source of strength. It’s simply recognizing my rightful place as my Father’s son, with my fellow humans as my peers, right beside me.

I. IHOP. (Closely related to the letter “W” below). Nothing says “angioplasty on a plate” like Cinnabon™ deep fried rolls smothered in butter and syrup, an omelet, and side of bacon. I think my affinity for this place stems from childhood, since among my favorite memories as a kid were meeting my grandfather on Saturday mornings to feed the horses—and he’d steal me a away to IHOP for a big plate of chocolate chip pancakes. Thanks, Grandpa!

J. Jeanne, my sister. She’s walked this path with me throughout my entire life, and never have I genuinely doubted that she is my ally, confidante, and friend. Siblings by chance, perhaps. But most certainly friends by choice.

K. Kirk—Captain Kirk, that is! James Tiberius Kirk was my very first TV crush, and I loved running home after school in the first grade to catch reruns of the original Star Trek series. And at that age, the b-rated special effects still looked pretty good—so it appealed to my inner budding sci-fi nerd as well as my budding MoHo!

L. Living in the present. One thing that I’ve learned in spades over the past few months is how important today is. Planning for tomorrow is great, and looking back at and learning from the past is often helpful. But the key to a happy life is to not let yesterday (or tomorrow!) take up too much of today.

M. My Mom: Proof that hearts can change—and minds follow. This remarkable woman went from blaming everyone around her for me being gay, to being a staunch ally and supporter—and one of my best friends. A few years before she died, we sat on her patio and talked—and she admitted to me what a great blessing she thought it was that I—her gay son—had been brought into her life. She loved me for who I was, not who she wanted me to be. And like my Father in Heaven, viewed me as a whole person, designed by the master builder himself. I miss you, Mom.

With forearms like that, who wouldn't listen?

N. Nehpi. Well, I wouldn’t be a very good Mormon if I wasn’t grateful for this guy. I think what I admire most about him was his ability to be in a family where his brothers constantly sought to tear him down. And while he admitted that it broke his heart, he still prevailed and was true to both himself and his Savior. I don’t think we could ask for a better role model for self-honesty. Oh, plus I had a non-Mormon friend refer to him as “Neffy,” once, and ever since then I’ve vowed to give that name to my next dog or cat. Classic.

O. Other people’s cooking skills. I was not blessed with the ability to learn my way around the kitchen. Fortunately for me, I have friends who were. A few years back, I tried to make a cake for our Fourth of July party—my Aunt’s famous chocolate cake. Instead of 3 tablespoons of baking soda, I used 3 cups. It tasted like salty sweat socks covered in chocolate frosting. For the sake of all involved, I avoid anything that requires a stove.

P. Pops: My dad. We spent the better part of our relationship resenting one another, since I was not the son he seemed to want, making him the father that I didn’t want. But as we grew older, we both began to realize that what made us the same was far more important than what made us different. During his last days, I was working with him on some legal documents, and I felt compelled to stop and tell him how much I loved him, even though I hadn’t been the best in terms of showing it. He looked at me over the top of his glasses and said, “Well, I love you, too, son. You’re my boy!” Thanks, Dad. A son is never too old to hear those words from his father.

Q. Questioning ideas and critical thinking. Each of us is blessed with intellect and mental faculties to guide our decisions in this life. When we toss those gifts aside, I think we offend our Father. Truth does not discourage honest, thoughtful questions—it welcomes them. After all, it is through questioning what we think we’re hearing that the veracity of any position becomes clear.

R. My relationship with my Savior. What a great thing it is to understand that I own this relationship, that it belongs solely to me and my Lord. It is as unique as I am. No intermediary is needed to build and maintain this relationship—it is as deep and as powerful as I choose to make it. My Savior stands ready to be by my side—I only need reach out for Him. No one can—or should—do that for me. Knowing this inspires a powerful feeling of independence and confidence.

Phantom of the bathroom?

S. Skin care. Fifty gay points for this one. One of the great things about having a beautiful older sister is learning all the techniques she uses to stay that way. One thing I’ve loved is Kiehl’s Rare Earth Masque. Not only does it give me that April-fresh glow, but it allows me to make ridiculous faces for the camera like this one—and sometimes instills in me the compulsion to scour my home to make sure there are no wire hangers anywhere to be found. (Thank you, Joan Crawford).

T. Meditation time. Another self-care practice that I give myself. I’ve often thought of prayer as asking for guidance—and mediation as time to listen and receive it. This is a cornerstone of my spiritual practice, and when I make time to do it I have a level of serenity and confidence that I can get no other way.

U. Underwear. Well, Mormon underwear, more accurately. I just find the attention that the general population places on what we may or may not be wearing under our clothes rather amusing (and, admittedly, slightly disturbing!). Laugh away, folks. I feel good all under!

V. Vocabulary words. I’ll freely admit it—I am a word-nerd. I love finding the perfect word for something, or learning of a new word that’s created to describe something else. My favorites from this year include “MoHo” (Mormon Homos!) and “Modar” (gaydar for Mormons). Urban dictionary, here we come!

W. My White Trash roots. Without them, I’d have no affinity toward Shake-n-Bake, Johnny Cash, and a secret desire to vacation at Dollywood. And no way to explain my seriously unsophisticated palate that to this day craves anything made by Hostess. Ahh, the sugary sponge-cake goodness of anything crème filled, made with vowel-laden multi-syllable unpronounceable words, and wrapped in a cellophane seal—certain to withstand a nuclear blast.

Solving mysteries and looking good doing it.

X. The X-Files. When I was at Stanford, there was almost nothing better than taking a study break on Friday night to indulge in some sci-fi at its finest. Aliens, conspiracy theories, and humans that can shape-shift and crawl through twelve-inch heating ducts. Add in a dose of Scully and Mulder, and what’s not to love?

Y. Yesterday. I don’t have to live there, but I can recognize how all my yesterdays combined to bring me to this exact place in my life, and have molded me into the person I am today. And I have to admit, I like where I am and I like who I’m becoming.

Z. Zygosity. Yeah, okay, so it’s not a real word. But I once won a game of Scrabble by using it, so don’t tell anyone. And I think it was the only game I’ve ever won, so don’t take this away from me, dangit!

Now it’s your turn. What are you grateful for today?

"The Cultural Hall Podcast" Interview

2011-11-19T19:42:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, I spent a few hours with Richie Steadman and Lauren Johnson of The Cultural Hall Podcast.

The Cultural Hall is the brainchild of Richie and Lauren, who both worked independently of one another in the radio and television business, but combined forces to form this unique venue to share Mormon related stories, history, and perspectives.

I will openly admit this was probably close to the most fun I’ve had with any interview. Both Richie and Lauren are witty, bright critical thinkers—and I enjoyed myself thoroughly. We ended up talking for so long, in fact, that we split the podcast into two parts. I’ve shared the links below.

And as is almost always true, it was the reaction of the listeners that was perhaps the most interesting. I think Lauren said it best on her blog, and I’m sharing her words directly with you here:

The amount of feedback and listeners we’ve received since posting Episodes 13 and 14 with Mitch Mayne show me just how many people are searching for answers when it comes to understanding our homosexual brothers and sisters. And Richie and I are among you—also searching and trying to understand. Brother Mayne has been a bridge, so it seems, to bring light to the world of being both Mormon and gay. I think that soon we’ll have many more members who act as bridges, but Brother Mayne will always be remembered as one of the originals. One who was willing to share his experience, his testimony, his hope for the future, and most of all—his deep and personal relationship with the Savior. And for that, I thank him.

I received a letter from a friend, who spoke about how Mayne’s interview moved him. He requested to remain anonymous, but said I could share his words.

“I was touched and enlightened by Mitch Mayne’s thoughts on “owning your relationship with the Savior.” This struck me powerfully. No one can dictate or control or even fully understand your relationship to God. And you alone have that unique relationship and can choose how you participate in it whether you are gay, straight, married, divorced, single, old, young, active, inactive, etc., etc., etc. I enjoy your light approach to our Mormon culture, but I was surprised how your guest started me–a straight, middle-aged, rather cynical LDS guy– thinking. This intelligent gay man inspired me and I felt moved to take some steps to alter my relationship with the Savior. Mayne taught me something about spiritual yearning and reminded me how powerful the spirit moves in each of us. This seemed all the more profound for me because he is gay. Thank you for this interview.”

Some people expressed disagreement in Mayne’s sexuality, strongly believing it was a choice. Some thanked him, because they too were gay and Mormon, and were attempting to collide these worlds in the way that Mayne had. But no matter the view, I don’t believe anyone can deny the spirit, or the strength that Brother Mayne carried as he spoke of his relationship with the Savior and his love of the gospel. Whatever we each brought away from this interview with our Brother Mitch Mayne, I hope that the one thing we can all agree on is a loving God, and that we truly are all brothers and sisters—here to care for each other and lift one another up. Mayne has lifted me with his sincere testimony.

I also know many more are talking, sharing, and many continue to listen. Please share your thoughts. Share what you have taken from this podcast, and let us know. No matter your view, it is worth sharing as we are all brothers and sisters. And we are all in this thing called life, together.

-Lauren

Listen in as we chat. Regardless of where you are on the issue of gay Mormons, you’re sure to learn something new. I know I did. Enjoy.

The Cultural Hall Podcast: Part One

The Cultural Hall Podcast: Part Two

Leave it better than you found it

2011-11-06T20:04:00.000-08:00

When I was a boy, my Father used to take me camping in the mountains of Idaho and Oregon. As kind of an awkward little kid, I genuinely enjoyed the outdoors, animals, and nature in general—they were much less quick to judge than it seemed my human fellows were. It was one of the few places I felt genuinely free to be myself.

My Father was a tried-and-true outdoorsman. I think what I liked best about his perspective was that in many ways, he regarded himself as a guest in the wilderness: there was no sense of entitlement, there was no sense of needing to master his universe. Nature was to be admired for it’s awe-inspiring beauty and enjoyed—and when we left, our responsibility was to leave it a little bit better than when we arrived.

In the moment, it was frequently difficult for me to appreciate this principle, because for me it often meant picking up not only my garbage, but sometimes the waste others had left behind before me. But in retrospect, it was a great lesson and an even better example—a goal to leave a place improved as a result of having been there.

As I grew and developed my own sense of this principle, I began to realize that it not only applies to nature, but to our fellow humans. When looked at through this lens, we begin to realize that, with every soul we touch, we have the opportunity to leave it a little happier, a little lighter, and a little bit better off. Likewise, if we fail to recognize this possibility, we can leave behind emotional litter, spiritual baggage, hurt and pain.

I like to think of the souls of those around me like a covering of freshly fallen snow on a hillside. When I walk through the snow, each action I take leaves an impression, a footprint—even the gentlest press of my hand leaves a mark in the blanket of white. If I run wildly and carelessly, I can kick up dirt beneath the surface, and smear the pure snow into an ugly brown slush. Or, I can tread gently, and leave behind a set of soft footprints that mark where I’ve been. And if I so choose, I can lay down, spread my arms and legs, and even make a snow angel in my wake—leaving behind an impression that will often make others smile.

Likewise, each interaction I have with others leaves an impression or a mark; and it’s largely up to me to define whether that impression will leave them impaired—or leave them better than I found them.

It’s easy to understand the impact this principle when we think of the large, life changing circumstances we watch those around us face, and we reach out to offer our support and love: a death in the family, a lost job or financial misfortune, a divorce or painful loss of someone loved. A more challenging—but perhaps even more worthwhile—application is in the small, every day interactions we have with others that, to us, seem insignificant or even meaningless.

A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to see this in action. A friend of mine was having a particularly difficult day. It was, indeed, a day that would try the most patient of souls: On her way to take her daughter to school, the tire on her car went flat, and she had to call for roadside support. Her daughter was late, and my friend frenzied from the very beginning of her day. Later, on her way back from dropping off her daughter, she inadvertently ran a stop sign and received a traffic citation from a police officer. Then, as if that weren’t bad enough, when she stopped for lunch at a small local deli, she realized that she had no cash or credit cards in her wallet when she went to pay for her lunch.

While she stood at the cash register on the brink of tears, from behind her she heard a calm, kind voice: “It’s okay, I’ll cover it. Let me do this for you.”

And with that, a day of frustration turned into a day my friend would quite possibly remember for the rest of her life. But instead of recalling the painful difficulties of her day, she’ll look back in gratitude at how another was willing to leave her a little better than they had found her.

The eight dollars or so spent by the stranger behind my friend was a relatively small gesture on behalf of the benefactor. The stranger had no idea of the kind of day my friend had faced, but simply saw a fellow in need—and stepped in to do something about it. Indeed, the eight dollars was a fairly small amount of money—but the impact felt by my friend was priceless.

Our gestures to leave someone better than we found them need not be grandiose; it is often in the little interactions where impact is felt most deeply. And those opportunities are all around us, each and every day—it doesn’t take a flat tire, a traffic ticket, or an empty wallet to leave someone better off.

All it takes is the willingness to pay a small kindness to another—a smile, a compliment, or simply holding the door open for the person behind you. And, when we focus on what we can give vs. what we can get, our whole perspective on life changes, and we become more grateful and generous—breaking free of the natural human inclination of doing kind and generous things in order to get something back. When we perform a loving act with no expectations—when we seek to leave someone better than we found them—we begin to reap the true reward of giving.

Today, I will put unconditional love into action, and seek to leave someone better than I found them. When I give freely, and expect nothing in return, I always receive more than I give. Every good and loving gesture I manifest soothes my soul, and contributes to a healthier human family.

And then, things get better for all of us.

Will you leave someone better than you found them today?

The illusion of 'aloneness'

2011-10-22T21:11:00.000-07:00

I am launching a new book project, and I want you to participate.

Over the past few years--and few weeks, especially--I've gotten literally thousands of emails and messages from people around the globe that share their personal struggles and triumphs as LGBT Mormons, family members, and allies. While I knew what we're undertaking here in the bay area--and the LGBT issue in particular--was of passionate interest to many, I didn't expect the volume of personal accounts and narratives.

A common thread that runs through each of these (independent of the author's orientation), is a sense of "aloneness:" the fear (or reality) of being ostracized by our brothers and sisters in the gospel for being gay or otherwise different--or for caring about someone who is.

A second—and equally important—common thread is a renewed or continuing sense of hopefulness that is attained simply from realizing we are not alone, and the comfort and increased testimony we have in our Savior and in the human family when we realize there are those out there who feel just like we do and share our burdens with us.

I've found that sharing stories--sharing experience, strength, and hope--helps erode this sense of aloneness. For it is simply that: an illusion. As we raise our own voices, we find we are joined by others, and our collective strength grows as children of our Father, and as disciples of our Savior.

I'd like to undertake a project that gives voice to those individual stories of challenge and optimism, and I need your help. Share your story with me--and allow me to give voice to them collectively.

Send me a postcard (of any design), or short letter with your story of struggle and hope. Ideally, they would fit in the page of a book if photographed--but some may be longer, others will be shorter.

I will not share your name, your location, or your ward--there will be no identifiers, so everyone can speak freely and from the heart. You can be LGBT, straight, Mormon, or of no particular faith at all--what counts is your story. Your letter can address any or all of the following, or contain something you'd like to share of your own choosing:

-What you felt when you learned about the cultural shift we're trying to make in our faith in San Francisco
-How you've struggled to find your 'fit' within our Mormon culture
-How people within our faith have responded to you about your status as an LGBT individual or ally, or as someone who is perceived as different
-How someone or something has helped you or given you hope—and how that has increased your faith

You have the capacity to change lives.

You have the capacity to help someone feel a little less alone.

You have the capacity to shoulder the burden of others--for we are surely commanded to do so.

I put my hand in yours, and together we can do what we could never do alone.

"In the meridian of time, among other things, the Savior gave a touch here, a kind word there, food (both real and spiritual) to the hungry, advice and counsel to those in need. He gave prayers with the frightened, kindness to the passed-over, respect and affection for the children, loving care for those who are burdened. "And thus we see that by small means the Lord can bring about great things."
--Stephen A. West, "Out of Small Things", Ensign, May 1999, 28

Mail your cards and letters by November 30th to:

Mitch Mayne

1450 Sutter Street

PMB #506

San Francisco, CA 94109
USA

Questions?
Email me at mitchmayne@gmail.com

What you didn’t see

2011-10-10T22:07:00.000-07:00

When you asked me to help you, to listen to you, you saw my smile. You heard the warmth in my voice. You saw my countenance of good cheer. You saw my emotions as you shared your triumphs—and your sorrow.

But here is what you didn’t see.

You didn’t see how I cried silently for your pain.

You didn’t see how those tears changed from tears of anguish to tears of humility when I realized that, in some small way, I get to help someone like you—someone I love.

You didn’t see how my gratitude for you increased.

You didn’t see how much closer you brought me to my Savior.

You didn’t hear the quiet prayer I whispered: “Thank you, my Savior, for a chance to make another's journey lighter. Thank you for a chance to grow. Thank you for a chance to be an instrument in your hand.”

For you gave me the opportunity to serve. And while you might recognize how I have served you in some small way, it is really you who have served me. You reminded me what this life is all about: The chance to stand beside you as you travel this path with me, and the chance to lend a hand when you stumble.

So after you thank me, I will thank you. You have, after all, given me the better gift.

Those Mormon Teeth

2011-10-09T12:45:00.000-07:00

On a lighter note...

A few days ago, I was having a rather lively conversation with a few friends about ways we can pick out Mormons in a crowd—for lack of a better term, mo-dar (think ‘gaydar’ for Mormons). One of the things that was brought up was the fact that in addition to many of the stereotypical things we get teased about (like mini-vans, large families, and Jello-molds), many Mormons have big, square, white teeth—or what we called Mormon Teeth.

Mormon teeth are kind of like Chiclets™ gum. Chiclets™ are squared off, pieces of gum wrapped in a white, hard-shelled candy casing (with a refreshing minty burst!). In fact, good examples of Mormon teeth are often so perfect they remind me of the shiny, perfectly square, blinding-white tiles in my bathroom. And hey, who could ask for a better smile than that?

Of course, we all know Donny and Marie are the vanguard of the phenomenon known as Mormon teeth, but as I got to thinking about it, it’s actually a pretty common occurrence among the Mormon population.

So, I decided to do my own (very unscientific) field research to see whether or not Mormon teeth are a real phenomenon or just another urban legend, like the Yeti or Marcus Bachman’s heterosexuality.

A quick scan of the web revealed little about Mormon teeth, other than a few websites that poked fun at Donny and Marie for their shimmering, optic choppers. One website went so far as to ask the question: “What’s the secret of ‘Mormon teeth?’ Bleaching? Caps? Good dental plan? Please tell us, after all, it is a matter of public health!”


My own Mormon teeth

Then, I realized I actually have my own test subjects: My ward. So, Blackberry in hand, I chased a few of my Mormon fellows down the hallway this Sunday and asked if I could take snapshots—of their teeth. Ironically, given how public I am with pretty much everything about myself these days, these were among the least-awkward conversations I’ve had with these great folks. And to make things easier, they’re smiling pretty much most of the time anyway, so why not stick those grins in front of the camera?

Corin: Mormon teeth.

As the photographic evidence here indicates, the Mormons in my ward really do tend to have large, square, and very white teeth. Then, it also occurred to me that the wards that attend the Pacific Heights Chapel have an unusually high concentration of—gasp—dental students.

Coincidence? You decide.

Dan: Mormon teeth.

I think the truth of the matter is most Mormons probably do have better teeth than the rest of the population. If you think about it, it kind of makes sense: We generally don’t drink or smoke, both of which take a toll on your smile. And, save for a few of us with secret Diet Coke habits (no names mentioned, mind you) we also tend to stay away from soft drinks, which are proven to erode enamel and over time, diminish that oh-so-Mormon sheen.

Erika and Jensen: Mormon teeth.

(I will admit here, since I’m out in pretty much every other way, I am a bit of a Diet Coke junkie. But, I’ve been advised by my dentist—who has an amazing set of pearly-whites herself—to always use a straw to prevent acid erosion and maintain my Osmond-like grin. Not that I advocate in any way that you follow suit, but if you find yourself indulging in the occasional soft-drink—invest in a straw. Your enamel will thank you.)

Abe: Mormon teeth.

So yes, I do think Mormon teeth exist—unlike the Yeti whose existence has yet to be proven (and as for Mr. Bachman, well, I think those youtube videos speak all we need to hear on that subject).

And let’s face it, we are kind of a peculiar religion, so if the rest of the world wants to poke a little fun at us for our astral-gleaming, square, white teeth, we’ll just grin—and bare them!

Bling!

Let it begin with me

2011-10-01T19:01:00.000-07:00

I spent some time today with an old friend of mine—she’s currently having challenges in her relationship with her brother, a man who’s struggled with addiction throughout his entire life.

In his worst moments, he’s verbally abusive to my friend and interacting with him is painful and leaves her feeling deeply wounded. Yet, through it all, she still sees the good in him when she looks beyond his disease, and she longs for a relationship.

What, she asked me, is her appropriate action for his upcoming birthday? He didn’t acknowledge hers until 10 days later, and only then with a text. There was no card, there was no phone call—just a brief message on her phone with the words, “Happy Birthday.”

I shared this story with my friend.

Growing up, my own relationship with my father mirrored that of my friend and her brother. My father was volatile—I seldom knew one moment from the next what to expect from him. In one moment, I would be a great son, his pride and joy—in the next, a complete abject failure, who could do no right in his eyes. His consistent inconsistency grew to even more wild extremes once he learned I was gay. And, in reaction, I let his attitudes toward me color mine toward him. I was not the son he wanted; and in turn, I believed he was not the father I wanted.

Age, experience, and time didn’t soften him much; I never knew when I would displease him. There was, it seemed, no correlation between my behavior and his response. Consequently, I spent much of my time locked in my head, frozen between action and inaction—wondering what the consequence of my actions would be from a man I loved despite his hardness, but who did not ever seem to love me in return.

I spent years yearning for the attention and approval of someone who was unwilling and unable to grant me those things. In my head, the list of qualities I was missing was seemingly endless; so I decided to sit down and itemize what I wasn’t getting, to get a better perspective on my own unhappiness in my relationship with my father. Respect, love, attention, affection, courtesy—the list was long, but once down on paper, it seemed almost manageable, almost recoverable.

I shared my list of qualities I longed for with a wise and trusted friend. While he commended my courage and thoroughness, at the same time he told me I could bring all those things into my life, should I so choose. But there was a catch: I had to be willing to give it first, and become that which I wished to attract. For instance, was I good representation of respect, love, and the other qualities? Well, he suggested, if not, I certainly had a good list of goals already down on paper.

And he was right. I took his advice, and I let it begin with me. As I grew more kind, more compassionate, more loving, other people responded to the change. While I may never have gotten all the things I wanted from my father in the perfect order and way, our relationship, too, improved. Today, I can honestly say that all those qualities on my list exist in my life at some depth or another—and I can honestly say that as I improve, they also improve.

We’ve long heard the analogy that tells us that our own attitudes often bounce back and return to us like a basketball rebounding off a backboard, and I know that to be true. And while I’m not the epitome of perfection in any regard, through staying close to my Savior, striving always to do what I understand His will for me to be, and living a genuine and honest life, I am becoming someone I would like to have in my life.

Through my own personal journey as an openly gay Mormon, I've had experiences that also mirror my relationship with my father--actions and words that cut, wound, and leave me and those like me, injured. But now, I look at it this way. I can't, in sincerity, ask the Mormon community to lend Christ-like compassion and kindness to the LGBTQ community without granting them that same degree of compassion--first. And as I do so, as I let it begin with me, I find softer hearts than I ever would otherwise.

So, to my friend, my counsel was simple: Let it begin with me. Reach out in kindness, compassion, and respect. Many of us have found that as we do so, we in turn become magnets for these qualities ourselves—and like tipping the first domino, a chain reaction is set into motion where our lives—and the lives of those around us—become more richly blessed with the compassion our Savior would have us demonstrate. By overlooking the differences, the pain, and the wounds of the past and connecting with her brother in an honest, loving, and safe way, she would attract that which she sought.

And so can you.

Will it begin with you today?

“I remind you … that regardless of your present age, you are building your life; … it can be full of joy and happiness, or it can be full of misery. It all depends upon you and your attitudes, for your altitude, or the height you climb, is dependent upon your attitude or your response to situations” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1974, 112–13; or Ensign, Nov. 1974, 80).

On Change

2011-09-12T23:36:00.000-07:00

I’ve talked before about the great and inspiring leadership team I have the opportunity to serve with here in San Francisco. This talk was delivered on Saturday, September 10^th here in the Bay Area. The speaker—and the author—were Matt Mosman of the San Francisco Stake High Council (shared with his permission, of course). I am pleased to call him a member of my leadership team, but, I think, more pleased to call him a friend. And while I could *tell* you how amazing and inspiring I find him, I think it would be more effective to *show* you. His words do his spirit and testimony a justice mine never could.

Enjoy.

On Change

Matt Mosman

I want to thank you for this opportunity to speak. As I’ve mentioned several times before, I really don’t get any great joy from giving a talk, but I really do love preparing them. It gives me a chance to put some thoughts down in a more organized way than they tend to be naturally in my mind, and so I tend to learn something every time I prepare something.

So, thanks.

Just so we don't dive right in without you knowing anything at all about me: I grew up in the northern Idaho panhandle, but I’ve lived now for over 15 years in San Mateo and am a member of the Crystal Springs 2nd ward. I went to BYU for both undergraduate and grad school. My current church responsibility is as a high councilor in the San Francisco Stake, and my particular responsibility there is for the Bay Ward. I am the father of four sons, two of whom are married, and stepfather of two more, and I am a grandfather of three, with the family’s first girl arriving only a few weeks ago. I work in high tech. Like some of you, I am a divorcee; I remarried not quite three years ago. I was a terrible bachelor. The fact that I’m alive today is attributable primarily to General Mills. Thank heaven they vitamin-fortify Cocoa Puffs.

Now I said that I like writing talks, but I have to admit that I’m still puzzled every time anyone asks me to share some thoughts with them. I mean, I’m going to end up giving six or seven talks every year as a high councilor, and that’s fine; but to actually request some of my thoughts, when you actually had the opportunity for it to be someone else...that doesn’t make any sense to me.

I was telling that to my mother, and she suggested that the reason someone might ask to hear my thoughts is because I tend to view almost everything from an off angle: My first-grade teacher told her that “Matt is either going to be brilliant or weird, or maybe both.”

But my tendency to view things a little askew, while it may lead to an occasional insight, is also precisely the reason that it puzzles me when someone voluntarily wants to hear what is inside of my head. Because...let me give you an example:

Thursday morning I woke up to take my son Riley to seminary. It was well before 6am, the house was dark, and as I was putting some shoes on I was looking at our dog, Barry, who was sleeping in a dog crate next to me.

(As an aside, that might tell you everything you need to know: I’m the kind of guy who names his dog Barry. And if I get another, I plan to name him either Phil or Brad.)

Anyway, I’m looking at Barry, and this is the thought that enters my head: “I wonder if Barry takes a moment when he wakes up in the morning to gather his thoughts, or if he just commences with being a dog?”

I’m not stupid. I understand that there’s something...well, off...about thinking that. But I share it to help you understand why I’m puzzled whenever someone wants me to actually reach inside of my head and pull something out. I mean, I don’t even want to hear half the stuff that goes on in there. I can’t imagine why anyone else would.

In any case, it’s a tremendous honor to share this day with Sister Carter and Elder Carmack. I’ll say this about Sister Carter: If I were to rank-order all the people I know just based on how awesome I think they are, she would be the first person on my list that’s not a member of my family.

The topic of the conference is “Change, Achieve, Become,” and I want to focus on just one aspect of that: Change. If you’re anything like me, you need to change, so let’s spend half an hour talking about that.

For the purpose of this little discussion, I want to separate the ways that we change into three parts: First, I want to talk about what I’ll call “adjustment.” Next, we’ll discuss wholesale change, the kind that comes all at once. And finally, we’ll talk about miracles.

Adjustment is probably the most common way that we move through life, and it’s actually one of the most important. This is how we mostly become kinder, more compassionate people, and better disciples of Christ.

But while it’s common, I don’t think it’s easy. We have to be ready to adjust, open to some newness, prepared to hear when a call for adjustment enters our ears.

In a really fundamental way, the scriptures are the story, over and over again, of people who don’t really want to change but find that they must: Peter would rather not fully accept Gentiles into the new church, but God shows him in a dream that he needs to do just that. When young Alma heard Abinadi speak with power, he didn’t immediately effect wholesale change; instead, he just asked the king to let Abinadi leave in peace. And on and on. The scriptures are the story of us, and they underscore the fact that we don’t like to change, or even to adjust.

But we can’t be afraid of newness in this life: it’s probably good to remember that amateurs built the Ark, and professionals built the Titanic. We don’t adjust because we’re afraid of being hurt, but you can’t protect yourself from sadness without insulating yourself from happiness. We have to be open to the kind of small, bit-by-bit adjustments that will make us who we are supposed to be.

I think of my father in this context. He was a big, gruff man, and one who grew up under truly awful circumstances: his stepfather, whose name was never spoken in my home, mercilessly beat him and his mother, once nearly killing her. He lived for part of high school out of the back of a car, too ashamed, afraid and embarrassed to go home. He was a street tough, and most people who knew him as a kid envisioned him spending his adult life in jail.

But a football coach at Boise State gave him a previously unheard-of path to college, and then he met my elegant mother when he transferred to the University of Idaho, and change began to happen. He graduated from the University of Idaho, then Virginia Medical College, and finally the University of Oregon Law School. Around the time I was born, he joined the church.

He was still a pretty rough-edged dude when I was young -- my friends were petrified of him, and you for sure didn’t want to leave your coat draped over the banister if he had a bad day at work. He was a big man, but left a bigger impression. One of my high school friends remarked that you could be alone in a very large room with him, and yet you would feel as though there were no space left. He is the only person ever inducted into the state of Idaho’s Hall of Fame purely for his skill as an attorney, and that doesn’t happen unless there is quite a bit of fight in you.

But time, my mother, and the Holy Spirit worked on him over a lifetime: A person who crossed him when I was young would be called an unrepeatable name. Over time, I think hilariously, that person would be called a “son of a pup.” And then they were called nothing at all, because he just wasn’t mad anymore. He became bishop of a student ward at the University of Idaho. He later became a stake president. He became, by degrees, softer. By the time he passed away a few years ago, you would have called him sweet.

That description would have been unimaginable only a few years before, and yet there it is: My dad was a sweet man.

He became that, not because he made sweeping wholesale change in his life, but just because he kept himself open to the kinds of adjustments that the Lord asks of us all the time. He learned new things, and he was open to truth. Sometimes he needed to change his mind, but more often he needed to open his heart just a little bit wider. And that’s what made the change.

I want to take just a minute and talk for a second about a recent event here in the San Francisco stake, and how it presents us with an opportunity to adjust.

A few Sundays ago Bishop Fletcher (formerly President Fletcher) called a gay man, Mitch Mayne, to be his executive secretary in the Bay Ward. This decision has gotten news coverage nationwide.

I want to first talk about what this calling is not: this is not a change of any kind in church policy. At least as early as 2007, Elder Holland explicitly stated that a person who is attracted to members of the same sex, but who is not acting on that attraction, should enjoy every benefit of church membership, including temple activity. It would be easy to argue, in fact, that this is a policy that has been in place since the church’s inception: any person, no matter what their tendencies, who is living a life in accordance with the gospel’s teachings has always been considered worthy.

It is also not new: gay men are serving elsewhere in positions of more responsibility than Mitch is, and there is at least one gay man serving as a worker in the Oakland temple.

What may be new, in fact, is only this: Mitch is pretty open about it. He has written a blog for years about what it is like to be Mormon and gay, and he is about as direct and plain-spoken about his life as anyone you’re likely to meet. It’s worth noting here, by the way: he is also a wonderful, highly spiritual guy, and I’m almost certain that you’d like him very much.

So it’s not a change. But while it’s not a change, it may in fact be an adjustment.

The fight over Proposition 8 definitely hurt our standing with the gay community, but what is more sad (and unthinkable) is that I think it very quietly might also have hurt their standing with us. For a while there, they were on the opposite side. They were the enemy.

And I’ve listened over the years to folks in our wards who seem to have forgotten, first, that if Prop 8 was a war, it was a Civil War, pitting brother against brother; and second, that it was a debate over public policy, not over how we treat our gay brothers and sisters.

So how should you adjust? By opening your arms just a little bit wider, to encircle these brothers and sisters. They are that, you know. They are the son or daughter of some Relief Society President in Tempe, AZ who worries about them and wants very much for you to watch over and care for them. They’ve spent their whole young lives in church; they might have served a mission somewhere, probably honorably. And life’s been no picnic for them, either.

Seek them out. Encourage them to re-join us. Welcome them with open arms. And remember that no matter what their current situation, in any case they’ll join a congregation that consists, the last time I checked, of people just like them, all struggling to figure out God’s plan for them and trying their best to follow it..

For some, that will be an adjustment. But it will be a loving, big-hearted, Christlike adjustment, and those are the best kind.

Next I want to talk about wholesale changes that we sometimes make: those moments when we really see what we are, and we know that we have to just stop. And start being something else.

When I think of making wholesale changes, I think of David.

King David was one of the greatest heroes Israel ever had. He was handsome, the Bible says, with red hair and beautiful eyes. He was fearless: he is the one who stared down Goliath and brought him to the ground with a smooth stone. He was a brilliant strategist and a charismatic leader. Jerusalem was his idea. He is the one who made it the capital of Israel and united the whole kingdom. He was a wonderful poet and a musician.

He was God's anointed one: about David the prophet Samuel told Saul: “the Lord hath sought him a man after his own heart,” and in the first book of Kings you can read how he went down in history:

"David did what was right in the sight of the Lord, and did not turn himself aside from anything that He commanded him all the days of his life, except in the matter of Uriah the Hittite."

Ahh, yes: the soldier Uriah, one of the world’s great examples of loyalty. Unfortunate husband of lovely Bathsheba, whom David happened to see bathing one day while walking on the roof of his palace. He took one look at her and had to have her. He sent messengers to bring her to him, and of course he was the king, and what the king wants, the king gets. Not long afterwards, Bathsheba sent him some hard news: that she was pregnant. So David developed a plan.

The first thing he tried, in the grand tradition of politics everywhere, was a cover-up. If he could get Uriah and Bathsheba to spend a romantic weekend together, then perhaps Uriah would believe that the child was his own. Problem solved. Only Uriah, a little flummoxed at being called back from the front, refused to go in and see Bathsheba, telling David:

"The ark, and Israel, and Judah, abide in tents; and my lord Joab, and the servants of my lord, are encamped in the open fields; shall I then go into mine house, to eat and to drink, and to lie with my wife? as thou livest, and as thy soul liveth, I will not do this thing.

David tried this strategy one more time, eating and drinking with Uriah in the hopes that a drunk Uriah would go and see his wife. But still Uriah refused to go to her.

This messed up David's big idea pretty badly, so he went to Plan B, and believe me when I tell you that Plan B is evidence of just how far and how fast we can fall when our hearts have thoroughly turned from the Lord: He writes to Joab, who was Uriah’s commander, and tells him to put Uriah in the hottest part of the battle, and then withdraw from him so he will be killed. Plan B, unfortunately, worked just fine. Uriah was killed, and when her prescribed mourning period was over David married her.

But David had displeased the Lord and barely days after Bathsheba bore a son, Nathan the prophet was knocking at the front door of the palace, sent by God to confront the King.

The way that Nathan confronts David is one of my favorite stories in all scripture: he traps David with a story. To attack David directly might help the world see what David had done, but to tell him a story might just help David, which is what Nathan wanted. He wanted to save David’s life -- to help the king see what he had done so that his conscience was revived and his sense of justice restored.

Because it was a story about someone else, David's guard was down when Nathan told him about the rich man with many flocks and the poor man with nothing but one little ewe lamb. When he was told that the rich man stole the poor man's little sheep to dress for a fancy dinner, David rushed to the poor man's defense and it was not until he had pronounced a death sentence on the rich man that he found out what he had done.

"Thou art the man," Nathan told him, and it is to David's credit that his heart split in two. "I have sinned against the Lord," he cried -- not because Nathan had told him so but because he had discovered it for himself, and that was the beginning of him coming back to life again.

What Nathan did was just this: he helped David see himself clearly for the first time in a long time. David was actually buying into his own nonsense: it would be comical for David to pronounce a death sentence on an ungrateful rich man, if it weren’t so sad.

But in the grand tradition of applying the scriptures to ourselves, I have to ask: are we so much different? To start with: do you, like David, plan to sin, or are they all accidents?

Let me take this a step further, with an observation: if we polled all of the LDS people who have broken, say, the law of chastity or the Word of Wisdom, and we asked them whether or not the day they first broke it was the first time they ever really thought about it, if they were honest very close to 100% would have to admit that it was not. It was, in fact, a plan that they had made. And the same is true for us: we do what we mean to do. Pretty much period.

If you take nothing else from this talk, let it at least be this: You and I, to a startling degree of precision, are exactly the people we mean to be.

One of my favorite books, and one I highly recommend to you, is called "A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life," by the 18th-century Anglican cleric William Law. You can actually find its full text online for free. In chapter two of that book, he investigates what he calls "why Christians fall so far short of the holiness and devotion of Christianity." He compares us unfavorably to the martyrs and saints of early Christianity, and then he concludes with this stunning statement:

"Now if you will stop here and ask yourself why you are not as pious as the primitive Christians were, your own heart will tell you that it is neither through ignorance nor inability, but purely because you never thoroughly intended it."

Here I’m going to stop for just a second, and I’m going to read that again, because it is the most important statement in this talk, and one of the most important statements I’ve ever read in my whole life:

“Now if you will stop here and ask yourself why you are not as pious as the primitive Christians were, your own heart will tell you that it is neither through ignorance nor inability, but purely because you never thoroughly intended it.”

I wish that were not true, but instead it strikes me as one of the truest things I've ever read. You and I, my brothers and sisters, day in and day out, are precisely what we intend to be. If we seem not to be as good or as righteous as we think we should be, there is only one reason: we do not really mean to be.

Think about that with me, since it applies to everything: I might say that I’d like to weigh thirty pounds less, but the truth is that I don’t. At least I don’t want that as badly as I want to keep eating the way that I do. You might say that you want to stop cursing, but the truth is that you like it. You don’t mean to stop at all, and on the day that you really do, you will.

Wholesale changes come when we either have a Nathan, someone who points out who we really are, or else when we are our own Nathan: when we see on our own how thoroughly we need to change ourselves to line our lives up with what we claim to believe. I’m hoping that just maybe if we take William Law’s comment to heart, we can see for ourselves who we really are, and we can change.

Finally, brothers and sisters, we can change when God simply plants it in our hearts to change. We can change through a miracle.

I like to point out that the disciples changed through a miracle. I think we see the story of their calling wrong: we see Jesus walk up to them and say “Come, follow me,” and they do. We think of what great faith it must have taken for them to simply drop what was in their hands and follow a stranger.

But I don’t think it was that at all. Chances are, if you were able to ask the fisherman brothers a few minutes before they saw Jesus for the first time, they’d have told you that they weren’t particularly religious. They weren’t in Jerusalem, after all, and they were just fishermen. And in any case, their later actions show that they often didn’t seem to be too familiar with Jewish law.

No, the disciples changed because Jesus planted faith in their hearts. He made disciples out of almost thin air. They were the right men, of course, but they were right because they were made right, not because of anything they did.

We can change by miracle, and in fact I think we do, all the time. Testimony is a miracle, isn’t it? And what would you call those moments in your life when clarity comes, when you rather suddenly know exactly what to do? I’d call that a miracle.

What I’d like to make sure that you know about miracles, though, is that sometimes they hide. Miracles can look like the furthest thing from a miracle until you see them from the distance of years.

Not long ago I was driving by Oracle, where I used to work in a job I loved, with my stepson. He looked at those beautiful glass towers and asked me why I didn't work there anymore. I told him a very long story that ended with me having to leave that job and eventually with great sadness end my marriage, and he said, "That's a bummer." But then I said, "If I still worked there I would never have met your mother," and believe me when I tell you that meeting his mother has been a blessing beyond imagining. The path I took toward that blessing is not one I would have chosen, but it is also one I would not trade. I may have been stumbling, but I stumbled directly into happiness.

There were a few years that looked to me in the moment like a total disaster, but you know what they say: if you pray for a Mercedes, and God sends you a donkey...ride it.

Those years now look to me like a tremendous blessing. A miracle. Has it changed me? Tremendously, and all for the good.

Brothers and sisters, being open to change -- and I mean, opening yourself up very wide and practically begging to be changed -- is a critical gospel principle. You simply cannot become the person you need to be by remaining the person you are.

You’ve heard of The Serenity Prayer? My hope for you and I is that we can put it in our hearts with this little adjustment: “God grant me the serenity to accept the people that I cannot change, the courage to change the one that I can, and the wisdom to know that it’s me.”

In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Modern Mormon Men: Interview with Mitch Mayne

2011-09-10T20:46:00.000-07:00

Recently, I was interviewed by a progressive Mormon blog--Modern Mormon Men. I like doing these kinds of interviews in smaller venues best, it gives me a chance to more deeply share what I think is a positive move for our faith, and explain that in a way that the larger press often doesn't allow. Scott Heffernan, the interviewer, asked tough--but fair--questions. I like that. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed being part of it. I've presented it here in its entirety.

Over the last several years, Mitch Mayne has been anxiously engaged in a good cause. He has been helping to build bridges between the LGBTQ community and the LDS church. Visit his very cool blog and website to learn more. Recently Mitch made headlines over his announcement of a new calling he received in San Francisco's Bay Ward. He was called to be the Bishop's Executive Secretary, a highly visible leadership position within the LDS church. Mitch's placement into this role is remarkable because he is "openly and unapologetically" gay. It has been absolutely fascinating to follow the unfolding events. Read the story as covered by Joanna Brooks, Peggy Fletcher Stack, the San Francisco Examiner, and even Robert Kirby. Mitch was nice enough to grant us an interview as well.

ScottHeff: Hi Mitch. I just want to say thanks for being willing to interview with me. From what I understand you have been inundated by the press trying to speak to you. It's an honor to have you here on Modern Mormon Men. Welcome! Can you tell us a little about yourself?

Mitch Mayne: Thank you, Scott. It’s my pleasure—I think it’s pretty apparent that this is a topic about which I am deeply passionate, and have been for some time.

First, I wish to mention a couple of points. I am not a spokesperson for the Mormon church—I speak for me, and as such can share my perspectives, my experience, and my hope. Second, I don’t set doctrine—fortunately, that mantle of responsibility does not fall to me. I do believe our faith is led by kind, inspired men who seek to do the right thing, and that gives me great hope.

As for me personally, I believe every single one of us is equal in the eyes of our Savior, regardless of orientation, ethnicity, gender–or any other marker we use as humans to define differences between ourselves and others. As such, I don't believe it is ever my job to condemn, criticize, or mock another. My job, as my Father’s son, is to walk beside you as you learn the lessons life is intended to teach you; to celebrate your joys with you, and to lend a hand when you stumble. The true spirit of love we have for one another is kind, patient, and doesn’t demand it’s own way. It doesn’t scold, condemn, or criticize. I am most certainly an imperfect human–but this is the spirit I think our Savior wants us to strive to achieve throughout the human family, and it is the spirit that I endeavor to bring to my entire life–and most certainly my faith.

And, it is the spirit I bring to this interview with you today.

Scott: Good to state all that right up front. Let me start by asking why your calling is such a big deal? Why do you think this is getting the attention that it is?

Mitch: I think what’s generating the enthusiasm and attention is the direction we’re taking here in San Francisco, and the opportunity that represents to begin to create more peaceful hearts when it comes to the topic of gays and lesbians within the church.

There are literally hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of LGBTQ people and those who care about them in the membership of the church. In 2010, there were over 14 million people across the globe on the church membership records. Based on an extremely conservative estimate of just 1%, that would mean that there are over 140,000 gay and lesbian individuals within the church. Add to that their families—and that number quickly grows to at least 500,000. Then, add to that their friends, their neighbors, and their priesthood and relief society leaders, those who care about them—that number quickly grows to over a million.

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

Currently, at the local level in San Francisco, we have an opportunity to help begin to build the reconciliation that I believe so many seek. My local leadership is comprised of kind, inspired men who recognize how painful this topic has been in our community, and want to help reach out to those whose souls are hurting. They’ve called me to help, and I’m blessed to be able to play a small role in bringing that to fruition in the San Francisco area. But, I think you can see that this is a topic that dwells in the hearts of many people across the globe—and I think they’re watching with great anticipation, and welcome our efforts. The place of our gay and lesbian brothers and sister isn’t something that just affects those in San Francisco—its impact is felt in every corner of the world.

Scott: One important point of interest is that you self-identify as a “gay Mormon” as opposed to one who “suffers from same sex attraction.” Can you clarify that distinction?

Mitch: I understand my sexual orientation to be a core component of my spiritual identity—not something that has been placed upon me as a burden, test of my faith, or cross I must bear. Orientation encompasses much more than simple attraction; I think to reduce it to that one aspect dismisses how deeply this is embedded in my spiritual DNA.

I am a gay man, just as my Father made me. I am not someone who suffers from same sex attraction. I think the words from one of my first essays on being a gay Mormon called, You know who I am, fit quite well here:

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

Scott: Your story has been met with some skepticism—on both sides of the spectrum. I kept an eye on some of the reactions to the news of your calling and they were interesting, to say the least. I can imagine that you are receiving some criticism as well. Care to share any stories? Would you say the overall feedback you are getting is more negative or more positive?

Mitch: Positive, hands down. The outpouring of support has been humbling, to say the least. Not a day goes by now that I don’t get a couple hundred emails from people around the world expressing how happy they are to see this happening. For example, I got a note from a straight, married Mormon man who told me that he and his wife had been praying for years now for some kind of movement toward reconciliation on the topic of gays and lesbians and the church—that they had experienced much spiritual discord over the topic. The news of my calling—and the direction I’m following from my Bishop and Stake President to outreach to the gay community—strengthened their testimonies of both the church and our Savior. The volume of email and messages are astounding—it tells me people genuinely want heartfelt reconciliation on this challenge. Our faith community is not only ready for this, they’re desirous of it.

I am seeing it locally as well. My first Sunday in the Bay Ward, where I’m serving my new calling, I was approached after speaking in Sacrament Meeting by several straight members with similar stories. And, I was approached by at least three gay men—some of them new to the ward—who are also happy to see movement in this direction. In the Oakland stake, an investigator heard me speak about this work and called the Bishop and said he was ready to move forward into full fellowship—that the gay and lesbian issue had been a sticking point with him.

It’s been overwhelming, but in a very good way.

Scott: People are having very public conversations speculating about the details of your private life. That has to be fun. Some of the flak you have been given is because you haven’t committed to a life of celibacy, which some people interpret as you "planning to sin" and are therefore unrepentant and unworthy. Could you explain this?

Mitch: There’s been a lot of attention on what my romantic future may or may not hold, and I understand that.

First, my commitment is to uphold the identical standards we ask of any single male in a priesthood leadership role while I have this calling; that is fair, and I do so with full purpose of heart. I was interviewed, deemed worthy, and sustained in the identical fashion as any other single male would have been. That is also fair.

Beyond that, I simply don’t know. I don’t have any increased psychic abilities as a result of taking this position. I don’t get to know what life will bring me—romantically, professionally, or otherwise. I am a gay man, and gay men are emotionally and intimately attracted to other men. That hasn’t changed. And, I have always strived to live my life in accordance with what I understand my Savior’s will for me to be. That hasn’t changed, either. Both of these qualities are part and parcel of my DNA as a gay Mormon.

I think we, as humans, tend to get ourselves in trouble when we use the terms “always” and “never.” As far as I know, there has been only one unchangeable, perfect human who always made the right choices. The rest of us aren’t perfect, and life comes to us in ways we often don’t expect. I think the best any of us can do is hold good intentions, stay close to our Savior, and do our level best. And if I haven’t misread my scriptures entirely, I think that’s all He asks us to do.

Scott: I understand you were called because you are gay, not in spite of it. Is that accurate? What unique qualities do you plan to bring to your calling as a gay Mormon? What do you view as the mission of your calling?

Mitch: My mission in my calling is to follow the orders of my Stake Presidency and my Bishop, Don Fletcher. Within the ward boundaries of the San Francisco Bay Ward alone, we have 2500 members; only 500 members actively attend. Many of those who are inactive are single men and women—some of whom have served missions, and honorably so. Their families are still members. And many of these are our LGBTQ brothers and sisters, who feel like they have no place among our flanks. I’ve been asked to help build a bridge between these two communities, and it is my pleasure to do so.

My Bishop’s direction is this: The doors of the church in San Francisco are open to any and all, regardless of where people are in their lives; partnered, single, monogamous, dating, celibate—there’s room for everyone in our congregation. Bishop Fletcher said the other day that he wants our biggest problem to be lack of seating in the chapel on Sunday, and a challenge in keeping people from talking to one another during Sacrament Meeting because they are so darned glad to see one another. What a great goal! How could I not want to be part of a team like that?

Yes, I was called in part because I am gay. I have a foot in both worlds, Scott. I’m a gay Mormon, and one who is comfortable living with what so many see as two irreconcilable perspectives. And that gives me the unique ability to help my leadership understand what we go through as gay Mormons, and also speak to the gay community about our faith. That’s a great thing, and a pretty impressive blessing I’ve been given. I’m grateful for it.

My mission is simple: Follow the guidance set forth by my leadership. They’re the coaches. They write the plays. They direct the game. I’m just the quarterback who executes.

Scott: Wow. Your leaders sound amazing.

You've been fairly public about announcing your calling. Even before your calling you have been a very vocal gay Mormon. How does that play into your goals for this calling?

Mitch: One of my goals has always been to help people understand that it’s our similarities that bind us—not our differences that separate us. We’re all children of our Father. He loves us for exactly where we are, and exactly who we are.

Yes, I have been very public about being a gay Mormon for a long time—talking about not only the struggles we face, but also the joy we get from the gospel. That won’t change with this new calling. But the great thing now, is I get to be able to be part of a team of kind, compassionate and inspired men who want to do the right thing. And I get to leverage my history as a gay Mormon to do it—to hopefully create a better future for all of us.

But this really isn’t about me—it’s about the opportunity for all of us within our faith to come a little bit closer to demonstrating the kind of unconditional love our Savior has asked us to emulate. True, I am more open than many others feel comfortable being. In the end, we all need to stop declaring our individual identities over the pulpit and just focus on being disciples to our Savior. But until the invisible among us are recognized and respected, I think it’s incumbent upon me to do a little more identity sharing.

Scott: What is a straight ally? Why should we be one? And what should we do? Can one be a straight ally and still sustain the leaders of the church?

Mitch:This is a great set of questions—so many people have asked me what it is and how they can become one. I think in most ways they already are by virtue of simply asking the question, quite frankly. A straight ally is someone who recognizes exactly what we’re trying to accomplish here in San Francisco: that we’re all children of our Father, and there’s room for every one of us at His table. And someone whose actions and words speak that vision of equality among our brothers and sisters. The great news is so many people are asking the question—and how amazing that is!

I’m teaming up with Caitlin Ryan of the Family Acceptance Project in the next few weeks to begin to put together a package for those who are interested in learning more. It will cover things like how parents can talk to LGBTQ children, how Bishops and leaders in the church can support LGBTQ folks, and what the role of the congregation is—all in ways that are in keeping with the guidance our faith provides. So stay tuned, there is much more to come on this topic as well.

And can you be an ally and still sustain the leaders of the church? Absolutely! Our faith is built on the gospel of our Savior, and one of the cornerstones of His gospel is the commandment to love one another. I think this direction goes hand in hand with His mandate to us.

Scott: Homosexuality is a very controversial/sensitive subject within the LDS church. Being gay, has it been difficult to maintain activity in and a testimony of the church?

Mitch: I think one of the best things that’s happened since this announcement is the volume of people who’ve begun to ask questions like this: How does it work for you? Is it challenging? How can you be both gay AND Mormon? Maybe, for the first time, people are beginning to understand what it is like to hold two seemingly irreconcilable perspectives in their heads and hearts. To them I say, “Welcome to a small glimpse of what it’s like to be a gay Mormon—we have to grapple with this every day.”

It’s not an easy task, being a gay Mormon. And, I don't think it's supposed to be easy...our Savior sent us here to grapple with difficult choices, seemingly competing perspectives, and challenging situations. That's part of the plan. But He also blessed us with the spirit, the ability to communicate with Him (and Him with us), and critical thinking skills. I think we offend Him when we don't bring those gifts to bear on every matter, not just the rough ones. That's also part of the plan—and what a great one it is!

I’ve been blessed with a unique faith community here in the bay area. I could live a quiet, healthy, happy life as a member of my church here—fully accepted for exactly who I am. But, I think my Savior had a different plan in store. He blessed me with some marginal communication skills (which He augments every time I speak or write!), and gave me a pathway to share what I have—by helping create it in other wards. True, I could have declined and probably had a much more peaceful life than I’ll have now, but to decline it would be toss back into my Savior’s face all the blessings and opportunities He has given me. And given how much I owe Him, I can’t possibly refuse.

Scott: Earlier you mentioned that in your area, "the doors of the church are open." What exactly does this mean? What is different in your ward and stake?

Mitch: “The doors are open.” This is a quote from my leadership. It means that everyone—independent of where they are in their lives—is welcome in the Bay Ward. There is no authorization interview to sit in our chapel on Sunday. There is no test to take to qualify for our love, support, and kindness.

True, doctrine as we understand it today has not changed; but no one will ask you to give up your partner or change your life to attend. Is it a doctrinal change? No. Is it a great and wonderful softening of the perception of all of our Savior’s children as our brothers and sisters? Will it help mend families? Will it help people who want the feeling of being part of a community of faith? Absolutely!

Scott: What an inspiring message you bring with you today, Mitch—a message I think we can all benefit from. I hope we can all grow in unconditional love and empathy for our fellow brothers and sisters. I’m excited to see such a big step in this direction, and I know a lot of my fellow Mormons feel the same way. Thanks so much for stopping by!

One last question: The goatee—did you have to shave or did they let you keep it?

Mitch: Hahaha! I love this question! No, no one has asked me to shave it. In fact, in one of my lighter moments a few months back I put up a before/after photo of me with and without the goatee on Facebook, and opened it up to a poll to help determine whether or not I should keep it. I think there was only one vote to shave it off. I suspect it hides some of my face, so I can understand the requests, and shall follow suit. I am, after all, here to serve my fellows—facial hair and all.

PRIDE in Utah Interview

2011-09-03T22:18:00.000-07:00

On Thursday, September 1st, I was interviewed by PRIDE in Utah's Eric Ethington. For those of you who missed the interview, I've provided it below.

I've known of Eric and his efforts for some time; and now I know him to be a good man, with a good heart--and one that I am honored to call a friend. He is a professional and asked tough questions, and I'm glad he did. The interview was honest, informative, optimistic, and speaks of good things to come for all of us. Enjoy.

San Francisco – This past week, I read an article in the Salt Lake Tribune about an openly-gay man in San Francisco who has just been named as a member of the Bishopric in his local Mormon congregation. Needless to say, I immediately tracked him down for an interview.

Most of our readers know that I have a complicated past with the Mormon, or LDS, Church. I was raised as a member in Utah but was thrown from my house when I came out at 17 by an intolerant and bigoted Father who believed that I was an embarrassment because I wasn’t following the Mormon doctrine. I eventually rejoined the Church and went back into the closet (long story) and was married to a woman in the Mormon temple in SLC. Obviously, that didn’t last long. Since then, I have been an outspoken critic of the Mormon Church and their policies and attitudes towards the LGBT community. This does not mean that I am anti-Mormon, I do not wish to see them disbanded nor do I want to see the government ever force them to change. What I want is them to change themselves. Protest after protest, I’ve called for them to change their own attitudes so that no child ever has to go through the trauma and horror that I did just to stay alive.

So when I heard about Mitch Mayne, an openly-gay man who was called to the Bishopric of this local Mormon Ward (aka congregation), I was intrigued. How does someone who’s being open and honest with and about themselves still find happiness being part of a religion who’s doctrine tells you that you cannot be who you are?

I thought about editorializing my interview with Mitch. But the more we talked, the more I’ve decided that I’m just going to give it to you raw, and without any additional commentary.

PRIDE in Utah Interview of Mitch Mayne

Eric: Mitch I very much appreciate you taking the time to speak with me, I have many questions for you and I want to try and understand more about your situation. So question 1: When did you receive your calling as Executive Secretary. And what does that position entail?

Mitch: I officially received the calling during the second week of August. Don Fletcher–now the Bishop–was serving in the San Francisco Stake Presidency. He was called to be the bishop of the Bay Ward, and then he and the stake president called me to serve as Don’s executive secretary. And I wish I had a detailed job description to provide you, it would be helpful to me, as well. I will be the interface between our congregation and Don–so anytime anyone wants to meet with him, I’ll be the point of contact. In our ward, the executive secretary and the ward clerk are viewed as an integral part of the bishopric. And as such, I’ll also continue to participate in ward callings for other service positions, setting those individuals apart, and participate in congregational executive-level decision-making.

Eric: How did you come to belong to the LDS faith? Were you raised as such? Have you always been Mormon?

Mitch: I was baptized when I was eight, but fell away from the church shortly thereafter, due in large part to my parents’ rather acrimonious divorce. I reconverted when I was in my mid 20s, knowing full well I was gay, and knowing I would have to somehow find a way to integrate my faith with my sexual orientation.

Eric: I read that you only received this calling once you and your partner had been separated for a year, did the Church have something to do with your break-up?

Mitch: Out of respect, I’d rather not go into details of the past. My former partner is a man with many amazing and wonderful qualities. I still deeply care for him, and he will always hold a special place in my heart. Suffice it to say, it ended due to no direct pressure from the church; no one asked me to leave to remain part of the Mormon faith.

Eric: So as an openly gay man who is also an active member of the Mormon faith, how did Prop 8 effect you? How did it make you feel to watch your church be involved the way they were?

Mitch: Prop 8 was probably among the most challenging times in my Mormon faith. I felt first-hand the sorrow this caused. And, I felt it from within my very own spiritual family. Watching my Mormon brothers and sisters advocate for an issue that would keep me from marrying the man I loved tore at my heart. It was difficult to maintain my personal integrity and, at the same time, stay close to the home where I found my Savior.

Eric: Were those feelings aggravated again when the Mormon 2nd-in-command, Boyd K Packer, made his now infamous statements last fall claiming that anyone can change their sexual orientation?

Mitch: What Packer said hurt a lot of people, and yes, I was included in that group. I have a lot of respect for that man, I’ve read a lot of his work–some of his writings and talks are spiritually amazing. I think that maybe made this hurt even more.

Eric: But is it hard to believe in anyone who makes statements like his? Not just from last October, but his earlier writings advocating violence against LGBT people?

Mitch: I think that’s a very fair question. I look at it this way: I can’t very well go around and ask the Mormon community to lend compassion and kindness to the LGBTQ community without granting others that same degree of compassion. We’re all three dimensional mortals, every single one of us. And as such, we each have strengths–and flaws. There is not a human on this Earth that is exempt from that, it’s simply our human state.

Eric: Do you ever find people who feel that they have to end relationships if they wish to be fully embraced by the church. What do you tell people who feel that a life without the love of someone is at odds with the doctrine of the Mormon faith?

Mitch: If I am to follow my Bishop’s example and directions–and I shall do so with absolute pleasure–I welcome them into the congregation, just as they are. That’s the thing that’s really great here–the direction we’re taking. Everyone is welcome, regardless of where they are in their personal lives!

Eric: But what about people who are in relationships with their partners and don’t want to give them up? Doesn’t LDS doctrine say that they cannot be full-members (meaning no temple ordinances or callings)?

Mitch: No, doctrine has not changed. But no one will ask you to give up your partner to attend. That means anyone can come to our congregation and be part of the ward family. There are a lot of things that hold straight people back from getting temple recommends and holding callings as well, and they’ve always been welcome in our flanks. That same welcome is extended to everyone here. Is it a doctrinal change? No. Is it a great and wonderful softening of the perception of all of our Savior’s children as our brothers and sisters? Will it help mend families? Will it help people who want the feeling of being in a community of faith? Absolutely! I met three gay men last week alone who came to church because they were starting to feel welcome. Each of them is in a different spot in terms of how deeply he wants to develop his relationship with the church. And each one is welcome! I got told today of a straight investigator in the Oakland Stake who heard my talk–the gay and lesbian issue was a sticking point for him–and now he feels more comfortable moving into full fellowship.

Eric: You seem to be in a unique position there in San Francisco. Being openly gay, and yet still fully-accepted into the church as long as you do not have a relationship with another man. There are many stories of people however, in other wards across the country who were immediately excommunicated from the Mormon Church when they came out, even if they intended to remain celibate. There are even reports of straight Mormons who were kicked out just because they opposed Prop 8. What is it about your ward that makes it so unique and accepting?

Mitch: I’ve heard these stories as well, some of them first-hand. They also pull at my heart. In my farewell speech to my home ward in Oakland, I shared the story of a man who I called Cliff, who experienced this exact thing. The goal was to help others understand how truly difficult it can be for gay and lesbian Mormons, and the challenges we encounter. And yes, you’re right: I am a blessed man to have what I have, and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t hear a story that reminds me that I am. I want to bring that to others. Prop 8 was a divisive time in our history; true, it affected people everywhere, but I think the bay area was hit especially hard. For example, within the ward boundaries of the Bay Ward alone, there are hundreds of endowed, single members on the record books who don’t attend church. Many of these members are our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters. I am being led by a local leadership of kind, wise men–who understand how important this topic is to our local community. I am following their instructions when it comes to opening the doors and reaching out–I am part of a team, not an individual long-distance runner on this one. I think because of their kind hearts, and the recognition that this topic is especially important locally is one thing might make things a little different here. It’s not just me doing this; my leadership wants this as well, and from the feedback I’m getting from the ward membership, they’re elated and stand ready with open arms! It’s a great time to be a Mormon, and I am humbled to be part of this!

Eric: As you know, there are also thousands, if not hundreds of thousands (myself included), of LGBT children who have been thrown from their homes by Mormon parents. Many of them end up homeless or in suicidal situations, and all of them end up feeling scarred physically or mentally. What do you say to those who have been put in those situations?

Mitch: Oh, man…I know so well those stories. Mine wasn’t terribly dissimilar. I think what troubles me the most about these stories is they really seem to be so counter what I understand we want our faith to be about: the family. One of the things I want to focus on here (with the support of my leadership) is working to develop supportive, healthy, nurturing ways that parents and loved ones can help LGBTQ youth. Caitlin Ryan, the Director of Family Acceptance Project, has just done some powerful research and actually has a toolkit for parents of these youth that they can use, and do so in keeping with our Mormon faith. I’ve posted about this in my blog before, and I’m working with Caitlin to speak at a meeting of our local bishopric and stake leadership where we can share that with them–and they, in turn, can share it with parents. Here’s a great quote from one Mormon mother had when she discovered this information: “The Church teaches us that no success can compensate for failure in the home, and when we realized that included our relationship with our gay son, we knew that, with God’s help, we could do whatever was necessary to make our home a safe and loving one.” What an amazing opportunity we have, Eric, to keep what happened to us and so many others from continuing to happen. Our LGBTQ youth–and their families–need our support, our help, and our outreach. We can’t unring the bell on what happened to us; but we can help keep it from happening to others. And to those who’ve experienced that trauma, you, too–and perhaps most especially–are welcome among our flanks.

Eric: Do you yourself support full equal rights for LGBT people, up to and including marriage?

Mitch: I believe every single one of us is equal in the eyes of our Savior, regardless of orientation, ethnicity, gender–or any other marker we use as humans to define differences between ourselves and others. I don’t speak for the church here. But I don’t believe it is ever my job to condemn, criticize, or mock another. My job, as my Father’s son, is to walk beside you as you learn the lessons life is intended to teach you; to celebrate your joys with you, and to lend a hand when you stumble. The true spirit of love we have for one another is kind, patient, and doesn’t demand it’s own way. it doesn’t scold, condemn, or criticize. I am most certainly an imperfect human–but this is the spirit I think our Savior wants us to strive to achieve throughout the human family, and it is the spirit that I endeavor to bring to my entire life–and most certainly my faith.

Eric: That doesn’t really answer the question though. Do you personally support equal rights, not under the LDS church but under civil law, for LGBT people? And for that matter, do you also believe that your (and every other person’s) sexual orientation and gender identity are innate and cannot be changed.

Mitch: Absolutely. As Mitch Mayne, absolutely and without question.

Eric: Glad to hear it. You know, the longer we’ve continued our questions. There’s still something that is sticking in my head. I believe that to be happy in this life, you need to fully embrace yourself for who you are. That includes finding someone you love to spend the rest of your life with. How can one do that and still be a member of the LDS Faith. According to Mormon Doctrine, every member needs to work to be “temple worthy,” and for LGBT people that means not being with the people they love.

Mitch: I understand that question. I live that question, just like you and so many of us. I don’t get the ability to write doctrine, I don’t have that blessing nor that responsibility–it’s a daunting job, and I’m grateful that mantle does not fall to me. I do know, though, that our gospel is very much alive–and as such, will continue to grow and expand. In fact, our 9th article of faith tells us that God will “yet reveal many great and important things pertaining to the Kingdom of God.” Is this something that will fall into the category of more revelation? I don’t know. I’m not blessed with any more psychic abilities than any other average mortal. What I do know is what feels right in my heart. And what we’re hoping to accomplish in the San Francisco Bay Area–and the Bay Ward specifically, feels *right.* Bringing families and those who share our faith a little closer together feels right. Opening the doors and allowing everyone to come in feels right. Building strength in unity and in faith feels right. Is it perfect for everyone? Perhaps not. But it sure feels like the right direction to me. What has worked for me–and again, this is sharing my own personal experience–is staying close to my Savior and striving to do what I understand His will for me to be. I think that’s the best any of us really can do–and if I don’t misunderstand my scriptures entirely, I think that’s all He asks us to do.

Eric: It’s well documented that when equal rights are finally achieved, that has no bearing on what any religion is required to teach or the ordinances they perform. Why do you think it’s so hard for many members of the LDS Church to understand the difference between equal civil rights, and their religion being FORCED to change their doctrine?

Mitch: I can only speculate here, but I think what we’re seeing is a human characteristic, not a Mormon one. I think being a human is an exhilarating and simultaneously scary thing. There are a lot of unknowns. I think we find safety in categorizing and labeling things: good, bad, black, white, gay, straight. Change of any kind requires we think differently, and that’s tough for many of us–and sometimes it’s frightening. The great thing is at least in the San Francisco area, people now have permission to begin to see things a little differently, to think a little differently, to be a little more open. And I think that is a tremendous blessing! God gave us critical thinking skills to use, it’s part of the plan! I think we offend Him when we don’t use them. Here’s a chance to open hearts and minds and understand things in a new way–as a closer human family. That’s a good thing for every single one of us!

Eric: Do you view yourself and your new position as a bridge between the two communities? There’s a long and extremely painful relationship between the LGBTQ community and the Mormon Church. Do you think you can use your position to try to heal the wounds?

Mitch: I sure hope so. I think I have a unique opportunity, Eric. I’m a man with a foot in two worlds that most people don’t think intersect–but they do. There are hundreds of thousands if not millions of LGBTQ Mormons and those who love them. I’m just a single individual–but I am maybe one who is comfortable being more open than many others feel comfortable with. I understand full well the difficulties between the two communities; I have experienced many of those first-hand. But, I also think there is an amazing opportunity here, to stand up as an openly gay man, recognizing that is how my Father made me, and let my personal story speak for many who have felt silenced. And, I think there is even a greater opportunity for me to play a part–however small–in reconciliation between these two groups. What makes this truly astounding is I am following the direction of my Bishop and Stake President: They are the ones who are opening the doors here. How great it is to be part of a team like that!

Eric: You say you’re following the directions from your Bishop and Stake President. How so? What type of outreach have they asked you to attempt?

Mitch: I’ve been pretty heavily involved in a series of outreach programs and events we’ve run in the Oakland Stake with the goal of healing the wounds from Prop 8. Those have been very well received. And while we’re still in the formative stages of figuring out specifically what we’re going to do on this side of the bay, I do want to replicate the success we’ve had in the Oakland Stake. I think this quote from my Bishop Don Fletcher states our end goal pretty clearly: “I want to reach out to gays and let them know that they are welcome in the ward, wherever they’re at,” Fletcher said. “If they are, like Mitch, living the commandments, they’ll be put to work. But everyone can get spiritual recharging and feel the savior’s love by worshiping with us.” To me, that means the doors are open!

Eric: Any final thoughts?

Mitch: Ha! That’s a dangerous question, my friend! Millions of final thoughts! But I’ll limit it to this: I know who I am. I know I am my Father’s son, and I am just as He made me. And I know he wants me to be here doing this right now, in the company of a ward and stake leadership that I am honored to serve with. He loves each of us for exactly where we are, and exactly who we are. I’ve said this to a few friends, but think it bears repeating here. It takes a strong spirit to be gay in this world; it takes a remarkable one to be a gay Mormon. To my brothers and sisters out there, don’t ever doubt that you are, in fact, remarkable.

This was no small interview for me, it dug into some very personal and painful memories that I’ve tried to forget. I can’t say that I agree with everything that Mitch says and believes, but I think it reflects change, change in the Mormon Church. And although it’s moving ever-so-slowly (and you know how glacial-paces thrill me), any change is positive.

I don’t know if the Mormon Church will ever change their doctrine, but I think that it’s individuals like Mitch Mayne who make those small differences within their own circles – attitudes begin to soften, hearts open, and perhaps someday we can hold up these Mormon families as models of how good parents should treat their LGBT children.

Embarking on a new journey: My farewell remarks to my home ward

2011-08-22T16:27:00.000-07:00

On Sunday, August 21st, 2011, I bid my home ward (Oakland First Ward) of more than a decade a bittersweet farewell. Below are my remarks.

It is difficult to leave behind so many experiences, but even more difficult to say "so long" to friends who have grown as close to me as family. Yet, I do so with an eye toward the next chapter in my journey as my Father's son.

Enjoy.

Good morning, brothers and sisters.

It is genuinely, with a good deal of mixed emotion that I stand before you today. I’m sad, quite frankly, in many ways. For more than a decade, this ward has been my home. I’ve served in callings here and grown to love this place and each of you, far beyond my expectations. On the other hand, I’m embarking on the next step of my journey as my Father’s Son, and I know He has work for me on the other side of the bay. As tough as it is to leave you, I will heed that call.

In 2009, President Criddle of the Oakland Stake launched a series of 5th Sunday meetings throughout the stake. The aim? Help unite our church family once again after the difficulties we faced personally and faith-wise after Proposition 8. In the Oakland session, Judy Finch of the Oakland First Ward, read a short writing by an anonymous member of our ward—a gay member. The author talked about the pains, sorrows, spiritual discord, but ultimately the joy that he felt as a fellow among our flanks.

What Judy read that day reflected the righteous desires of the author’s heart. And, I believe, they are desires that each and every one of us long for, independent of orientation, gender, ethnicity, or any other “marker” that we use to define differences between ourselves and others. They are, I believe, universal desires felt by each of us within the human family.

The author’s words:

"I am a gay Latter-day Saint.

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

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

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

I think what the author captures here is the idea that life is a journey, with our fellows as peers, each of us pressing onward on our prescribed paths, to learn the lessons that life is intended to teach us. None of us is ahead of the other, so there is no need for envy. None of us is behind another, so there is no need for judgment and scorn. True, each path is unique to every traveler—some may appear easier than others, and others, conversely, seem more arduous and difficult. Regardless, each path is geared to teach each of us what we individually need to know to come to rely upon our Savior, and eventually, return to our Father.

Brothers and sisters, I am the author of those words. I am an openly gay Latter-day Saint.

It’s a tough charge to come out openly as a gay Mormon, on the pulpit, in front of my entire ward family. But, I think it is important that I do so, especially now.

I was under the assumption that pretty much everyone in this ward knew I was gay—that is, until I was gently reminded by more than a few people that was not the case. In either case, it has pretty exciting potential for the next part of my adventure in our faith, and I want to share that with you today.

Last Saturday, I was confirmed as a member of the Bishopric as the executive secretary in the San Francisco Stake Bay Ward. And while that’s not a big accomplishment in and of itself, it is a remarkable accomplishment for the simple fact that maybe for the first time, a man was called to a priesthood leadership position not in spite of the fact that he is gay, but partly because he is gay.

San Francisco is perhaps a bit of a microcosm of gay culture and population, and within the ward districts there are a disproportionate amount of single, endowed, individuals who do not attend church. Many of them honorably served missions. Their families are members. Many of these members identify as gay or lesbian, and as such struggle to find their place within our faith.

One of the charges that I will take on, is to help reach out to these members. In addition to the other duties of my calling, I want to help these brothers and sisters understand that there is a home for them within our flanks, if they so choose.

And, given that I am a member of the Bishopric, my example demonstrates to them that not only do they have a home here, but that they have a path.

Reaching out to those members who choose not to associate with us every week is not just a responsibility for those in a leadership capacity. It’s a role shared by each and every one of us, regardless of our calling within the church—or none at all.

I genuinely can’t think of an activity that has as broad a spectrum of mutual benefits as reactivating members of our faith. For our ward, there is an influx of new energy, spirit, and talent. For us as individuals, we gain new friends and new fellows on our spiritual path, and we have the opportunity to broaden our own spiritual horizons through the testimony of others. For those who return, there is often renewed spiritual growth. I’m hard pressed to think of a downside of reactivation for anyone involved.

I want to share the story of one of my gay fellows—a man we’ll call Cliff. Cliff loved being Mormon. He was active within his ward, and a member in good standing. He taught Sunday School, and was a member of his ward choir.

A few years ago, Cliff made the decision to be honest about his sexual orientation with his bishop and stake president. When he shared this information—and even though he was single and living within the guidelines of the gospel—Cliff was removed from his calling. He was subject to a disciplinary trial, and it was determined that Cliff held ‘apostate views,’ and he was soon disfellowshipped, and eventually fell away from the church entirely.

As if that weren’t bad enough, the deeper effect felt by Cliff was the loss of his ward family. He was no longer invited over to friends’ homes. He was no longer included in personal activities with his ward associates. Cliff not only lost his church membership, but he also lost a critical cornerstone to his identity—his Mormon family.

Here is a comment that was shared with me about Cliff’s situation: "The Amish have an actual policy about shunning, which they refer to as ‘Meidung’ (the German word for avoidance), but a person leaving the Mormons is no less rejected than they would be if they left the Amish."

And while this story makes me deeply sad for Cliff, it’s even more distressing when I think about the loss of his testimony to the collective strength of his ward. His fellows lost a chance to learn and grow from the testimony of someone who displayed a deep, abiding faith to stay within the confines of the church even though there was no prescribed path for him. And, I think, it is often from the testimony of others that our own is nurtured.

In fact, let’s think about that for a moment. I know from personal experience when I hear stories from my fellow Mormons about their own struggles in life—whether those be with addiction issues, infidelity, word of wisdom issues—more often than not, my own testimony and commitment to my faith is strengthened. And since I seem to be opening the curtain into who I really am today, I’ll share something else with you: Those stories of struggle, triumph, and struggle again are the ones I love the best. There’s something so uniquely powerful in them, and seldom do I get the chance to see the hand of my Savior in the lives of others than through the challenges and trials of my fellows. Those are the testimonies that keep me coming back every Sunday, for they feed my own. So yes, indeed my heart does groan when I think about what Cliff suffered. But I’m even more sorrowful about the opportunities for spiritual growth that others will miss as a result of what Cliff experienced.

In the past few years, I have become intimately familiar with the stories of those within the gay Mormon community. I am sorry to say that Cliff’s experiences are not unique, and this is, really, more the norm than the exception.

In addition to my sorrow for Cliff and others within his circle, stories like these make me so deeply grateful for my own recent experiences within the church—and specifically, within this ward. And I can’t, in clean conscience, share Cliff’s story without sharing some positive experiences as well.

Last November, I was standing in the chapel foyer on my way to teach my Sunday School class. I ran into Harry Johnson, who at the time was the Second Counselor in our Bishopric.

Harry greeted me with his usual warm smile, and his eyes had an unusual sparkle that morning, and his handshake was even more vigorous and enthusiastic than normal. “Mitch! How good it is to see you!” I couldn’t help but return that kind of smile and enthusiasm, and responded with “Harry, it’s great to see you, too.”

“Do you have a moment to chat?” he asked. “Of course,” I responded, “as long as you’re not going to ask me to teach another class,” I said in jest. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well,” he said in a more solemn tone, “I’d like to speak to you outside.”

We walked onto the flagstone patio outside the chapel foyer together. Once outside, I turned again to look at him, and noticed that behind his glasses, his eyes had begun to fill with tears.

“I’ve just learned the truth about who you are,” he said, and his voice cracked with emotion. I couldn’t help but smile a bit when he spoke—knowing exactly what he meant—that I am a gay Mormon. “I want to let you know that I love you,” he continued. “I am so proud that you come here week after week and fulfill your callings in good cheer. It makes no difference to me whether or not you are gay--I want you here, and I want you to know that I love you for who you are.”

By this point, we were both tearful. I said nothing at first, and even with my hands full of materials for my Sunday School class, threw my arms around him and gave him a big, heartfelt hug. He returned my hug with the same enthusiasm with which he had originally approached me.

Here was Harry, a white, heterosexual and multi-generational Mormon, from a small town in Idaho—offering me his unconditional support and love. In that moment I was reminded again that I am exactly where I am supposed to be, and exactly where my Father in Heaven wants me to be. I was reminded that I belong, I have something important to contribute to this church, and I that I am loved.

How grateful I am that Harry was humble enough to be an instrument in the hands of my Father, to deliver the message that I am on the right track. We spoke for a few moments more, and while it never became clear how Harry knew—some of my published writing, word of mouth—it matters not. What does matter is that he took the time to reach out and let me know how much he valued me—not for who he thought I was, but for who I actually am.

I ended the conversation by thanking him, and asked him as he considers who I “really am,” to be careful to never consider me a victim—because I am not. I am exactly as my Father in Heaven made me, and exactly where he wants me to be.

Rather, I asked him to consider me a unique and valuable asset available to him in his leadership role within the Bishopric—because that is what I am: An ordinary man, blessed to be in an extraordinary circumstance. And, a man who is willing to bring that experience to bear to help others in my situation as they strive to figure out their place within the gospel, and within the Mormon Church.

I think we could all do with a few more Harry Johnson’s in our wards. I believe that as children of our Father, and righteous disciples of our Savior, that our cry to our fellows should be this:

"We would love to see you in church, no matter what the current condition of your life. If worshiping with us can help you in any way, please come. We will ignore the jacket that smells of smoke, if only it contains a heart that wants to be with us. Of course we hope that, IF there are changes that you need to make, you will make them. But if you can't or won't, please come back each week and bless us with your presence."

In fact, Elder Maxwell, in a 1980 talk in General Conference, noted pointedly that those who come back to us should "expect instant community but not instant sainthood." Our job is to provide that community, and to provide the unconditional acceptance such a community requires. Doctrine and Covenants 81:5 asks us to succor the weak, not hinder them.

If what we truly want is for people to join with us in fellowship and worship, we would do well to remember that there is no recommend interview for sitting in these pews, and no test to take to be the recipient of our love and concern.

As always, our Savior provided perhaps the best example of this kind of unconditional love.

When Christ was on an urgent rescue mission for the daughter of one of the Jewish synagogue leaders, he was followed by a large crowd of people. Among the throngs of individuals, there was a "certain woman," who pressed through the crowd to touch His robe in an act of faith--that by doing so, she might be healed. We are told that for twelve years she suffered a vaginal flow of blood, an almost constant hemorrhage. But worse than her physical illness was the suffering she had to endure at the hands of her brothers and sisters--because of mental and emotional shame inflicted upon her by her fellows.

Like so many, her desire was to be near the Savior, to look into His eyes, to feel His love for her. But this she could not do, because according to Jewish law, she was unclean. She, like so many of of our gay Mormons, was judged unfit to mingle with the community, unfit to worship in the temple. She was an outcast--scorned, and unclean.

Yet, like to many times in His mortal ministry, Christ stopped and healed this woman. True, the physical healing must have lifted a tremendous burden. But the most important aspect of His kindness was healing her aching and broken spirit. For the rest of her life she would know that Christ knew her, that he noticed her, and that he accepted her. What a profound demonstration of our Savior's love, mercy, and kindness. What a tremendous example of reaching out to someone in need, regardless of consequence.

Being born gay is not a plague; but what many of us suffer at the hands of others, is. What an amazing invitation for us within the Mormon Church to reach out to others and emulate our Savior—for as Mormons, there can be no more worthwhile pursuit than becoming like our Savior. And what an equally moving cry for those of other faiths, or none at all—for there is little more virtuous a pursuit than striving for what is right.

When we listen to the sense of responsibility that is whispered to us by our own conscience, and do what is right, we move beyond our individual problems and give unconditionally. Through our words and actions we have the opportunity to lighten the burdens of others, to speak hope to the spirits of those who are heavy laden, and change hearts—and lives.

There is wisdom in knowing what is right; there is virtue in doing it.

Brothers and sisters, it is my prayer that I will serve my new calling with humility and with the close guidance and counsel of my Savior. I will seek to be an instrument of virtue, peace, and of my Savior’s unconditional love. I will act on my conscience, speak for what I know to be right, and welcome any and all who wish to join our flanks. For I know that there is no better gift I can give the world—or myself. It is also my prayer that you will join me.

Last, I wish to close with an email I got from another of my fellow gay Mormons upon hearing the news that I had been called to the Bishopric.

When you are sustained, I hope you will know that there are 141,314 LGBTQ Mormons who are also sustaining you in their hearts throughout the world. Add to that their families, friends, and supporters, and that number would likely be well over 300,000. That's more than twelve LDS Conference Centers full of gay Mormons and those who love them, sustaining you in your new calling.

This estimate is based on a conservative LGBTQ rate of just 1% of the church's claim of 14,131,167 members in 2010, and the capacity of the LDS Conference Center at 21,000.

In addition, there are many culturally gay Mormons who have resigned or who have been excommunicated will be supportive of you as well. And then there are those on the other side of the veil who have not had the opportunities that you now have in front of you.

They will also raise their hands to sustain you, Mitch.

I wish to leave you with my testimony of the love our Savior has for each of us. I have felt it first hand in my life, and in my better moments, I see His hand in almost every moment of my day. He wants to be near to us. He wants to guide us. He wants to help us. Then, when that is accomplished, he wants us to help one another.

Our Savior loves us for exactly where we are, and for exactly who we are.

I say these things in the name of my Lord, my Savior, and my friend, Jesus Christ, Amen.

Creating Healthy LGBT (Mormon) Youth: The Family Acceptance Project

2011-06-01T09:56:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I met Caitlin Ryan, Director of The Family Acceptance Project. Because of my own work within the Mormon community to build the bridge between the LGBT and the LDS communities, I was keenly interested knowing more about her research and work.

I was—in a word—amazed.

Caitlin and her colleagues have proven what many of us as gay Mormons already know: the kind of support (or lack thereof) we experience from our families and church communities has long-term and resounding consequences for our physical and emotional health.

An action plan for parents and church leaders

In this first-of-a-kind study, The Family Acceptance Project not only empirically links unsupportive environments with LGBT suicide, depression, drug/alcohol abuse, and risk for HIV infection—but they also explain to parents and communities actions they can take to reduce these risks—even if they disagree with being gay or transgender.

Download "Supportive Families, Healthy Children" today.

“Many parents believe that the best way to help their gay children thrive…is to help them fit in with their heterosexual (Mormon) peers. Because parents see these behaviors as loving or caring for their gay children, they’re often shocked to learn that gay children experience these behaviors as rejection. Young people feel that by rejecting (or trying to alter) their gay identity—a very core part of who they are—their parents are rejecting all of who they are.”

This is not simply another academic research study: it’s a pragmatic, useful tool kit for parents and communities of our LGBT youth, independent of faith. It crosses socio-economic and religious boundaries, and is a real-world means to help create an environment that nurtures positive, healthy LGBT youth to adulthood.

How I’ll work with Caitlin and The Family Acceptance Project

In the following months, it is my goal to leverage Caitlin’s research as part of the continuing work with the LDS Church. Hearts inside the church have begun to soften on this topic, and many inside the Mormon community stand ready and eager to learn more. Our next logical step after helping achieve awareness within the flanks of the church, is inspiring them to action. Caitlin’s work provides an approach to do so in a way that honors one of the core tenets of the Mormon faith: commitment to our families first.

One Mormon mother said it best: “The Church teaches us that no success can compensate for failure in the home, and when we realized that included our relationship with our gay son, we knew that, with God’s help, we could do whatever was necessary to make our home a safe and loving one.”

What you can do now

Download a copy of "Supportive Families, Healthy Children" today.

· If you’re a gay Mormon, share this with your parents and your family, regardless of your age. Changed attitudes and healthier relationships can begin now.

· If you’re a straight ally, internalize this material and bring what you know to bear in your conversations with those you meet—both in and outside the church. You can help increase awareness and affect change.

· If you’re an LDS church leader, use this information to guide conversations with LGBT youth and their parents in a helpful, loving, Christ-like manner that fosters a nurturing environment for everyone.

· If you’re a parent, use this information to help shape your child’s future and provide a loving, healthy home for your son or daughter.

· Regardless of your individual role, watch the documentary “AlwaysMy Son.” This short film tells a powerful tale of how one family overcame old attitudes and misperceptions to build an inspiring relationship with their gay son.

For more information about The Family Acceptance Project

The nature of forgiveness

2011-05-29T19:52:00.000-07:00

When I was young, I begged my Mom for a pet hamster. Reluctantly, she gave in, and soon on my dresser at home was a modest metal cage lined with sawdust chips, and inside was my furry little companion.

The first night I brought him home I had been cautioned not to take him out of his cage—the excitement of the relocation, I’d been told, could cause him to be a bit more aggressive than normal and I may end up getting bitten. Being a typical boy, I didn’t do particularly well when it came to heeding advice. I sat and stared inside the cage for several hours, mesmerized by this little whiskered thing that scurried from side to side, excitedly investigating his new home and finding something curious in every corner, regardless of how many times he had visited it already.

Eventually, my curiosity got the best of me. I reached in and picked up my new hamster—longing to feel the softness of his fur and hold his little face next to mine.

And then, of course, it happened.

Right when I picked him up, he bit my finger. Alarmed and hurt, I let go of him and withdrew my hand in a flash. The bite was sharp and painful and drew blood almost immediately. I ran to the bathroom and wrapped my finger in a tissue (not daring tell my Mom I’d disobeyed), and returned to sit in front of the cage.

I sat and watched him continue to bustle from side to side—but now, instead of feeling child-like curiosity, I was full of anger, pain, and resentment. Being a tender-hearted boy and an ardent lover of animals even then, though, it was clear I wouldn’t stay angry for long. I remembered the warning—that he would be overly excited with the move—and my heart softened. And then, as if he’d read my mind, he stood on his rear haunches, his front paws bent in front of him like little hands, and looked at me while his whiskers twitched from side to side. My heart melted completely, and in that moment I forgave him. But despite forgiving him in my heart, the bite on my finger remained--stinging, bloody, and painful.

I was reminded of this story when I was preparing a recent lesson for my Sunday School class on the nature of forgiveness. Is it possible, I wondered, to genuinely forgive someone for the hurt they have caused you, yet still feel the pain of their offense?

There are times, as we navigate our course in life, where our paths will cross with those who will hurt us—sometimes they do so inadvertently, with good intent, doing the wrong thing for the right reasons. Other times, though, some will seek to do us deliberate harm, inflicting pain upon us through calculated choices of words, deeds, or direct actions.

When we’re hurt as an adult, our wounds appear so much more complicated than a simple bite on the finger—like the one I suffered from my hamster. This is particularly true when it seems the choice to hurt us is deliberate.

Throughout my path in life—and especially growing up as a gay Mormon—I have encountered both types of people; those who have harmed me unintentionally, and those who have done so deliberately. But the lesson I have come to realize is regardless of the intent of the person who has wounded us, the choice is still ours as to whether or not (and how genuinely) we forgive.

Indeed, we may still feel the pain from their actions, even when we’ve chosen to forgive in our hearts—some wounds simply cut more deeply than others. The bite I suffered from my hamster ultimately took weeks to heal—but heal it did, and the healing process was one that I could not force.

So it is when we suffer deep spiritual wounds. We can forgive in sincerity of heart, but we must also recognize that we can’t force the healing process. That process ultimately belongs to our Savior—once we have done our part by forgiving those who harm us, and placing our pain into His hands.

There are those among us who have adopted the view that forgiveness is a power we have over others—enabling us to demonstrate our own superiority by rising above the offense and magnanimously bestowing our grace and forgiveness to the offender.

But herein lies the danger with this philosophy: It overlooks the simple truth that we are all on equal footing with every other member of our human family. True, some make choices that others would not, but we all do good and righteous acts at times—and at other times, we may offend and hurt. Worse, when we adopt the attitude that forgiveness is power, we tell ourselves and the world around us that we are victims—and thus, we remain victims.

I believe our souls are like the wet sand along the ocean shoreline—soft, pliable, impressionable. When someone walks along the shore, they leave an impression near the water even after their foot has been lifted again to take the next step. Likewise, when we cross paths with those who harm us, their actions leave impressions upon our soul, often long after we’ve granted forgiveness to them in our hearts. But like those same footprints along the shore, over time, the impressions are washed away by the waves of our Savior’s compassion, and once again the surface is smooth and free from scars.

I may never know the circumstances that motivate or cause someone to hurt me—and I don’t really need to. But when I hold on to pain, blame, and resentment, I occupy my soul with bitterness and move myself away from becoming who I truly want to be. Focusing on my part—forgiving in my heart—and then placing the pain into the hands of my Savior, allows me to nurture myself and those around me in a compassionate, kind, and loving way.

And, ultimately, it is the only thing that allows me to heal.

Healing the wounds from Prop 8: My remarks from Sunstone West Symposium

2011-04-24T19:26:00.000-07:00

A few weeks back, I spoke as part of the closing plenary session at the Sunstone West Symposium in Northern California.

It was a moving experience—both to be able to speak openly and honestly about my challenges and triumphs as a gay Mormon, and to hear the heartbreak and victory of others.

Our focus was not only to share our stories, but also to talk about what we’ve done—in the Mormon community and beyond—to heal from the wounds caused by Proposition 8 and this divisive chapter that pitted politics and religion against one another.

I focused specifically on many of the Mormon affiliated LGBT events we’ve accomplished in the Bay Area, but also spoke about the need for our straight allies to continue to be active voices and vigilant advocates. For, if change is to occur, we must have people pushing from the inside as well as those pulling from the outside.

Each day, I'm presented with new opportunities to make the path easier for others--some small and seemingly insignificant, and still others result in great strides forward. Every door that opens reaffirms my conviction that there is a power behind this undertaking much larger than my own feeble capabilities.

It's such an amazing, deeply satisfying level of change that's coming to pass. To witness it alone would be remarkable. To feel I have a part in it, however small or large, genuinely humbles my soul. I am a blessed man, indeed.

Click here to listen to my remarks.

The importance of straight allies

2011-03-29T14:09:00.000-07:00

As I’ve become more vocal about being a gay Mormon—both in and outside the church—I’ve had the opportunity to meet some very remarkable people, some of whom quite clearly fall into the category of “straight allies.” Some have purposefully become an ally; others have simply stumbled there through circumstance. Just the same, the common bond that unites them is a deep and passionate desire to follow their hearts and do what is right.

They are my heroes: dedicated not so much to a cause, but to their own conscience. And through this dedication, lift the often heavy mantle carried by the LGBT community, regardless of faith.

I dedicate this article to them.

Rey is not your usual suspect when it comes to straight allies. Married to his wife Christine for almost 21 years, the father of three boys, an athlete, and a veteran—on paper, he’s almost the kind of person we’d expect to hold a decisively more conservative view. Yet, I’ve been repeatedly humbled as I’ve watched him champion equality through his support of gay marriage the repeal of DADT. He speaks out openly and with courage—even in the face of opposition.

Likewise, Jackie is an equally atypical ally. Jackie is the mother of 4 boys, a wife of almost 10 years, and an active Mormon who serves as a scout leader in the suburbs of Dallas. Recently, Jackie and her husband were drawn into a potentially violent situation when they stood up for the rights and dignity of a gay man. Many would have turned and looked the other way. But Jackie and her husband, driven by the strength that comes from doing what is right, stood their ground.

What makes Rey and Jackie—and other straight allies—unique, is they have cultivated the view (knowingly or unknowingly) that we are all children of our Father, and as such, are equals in His eyes. They don’t ascribe to the concept that gays and lesbians are the other—or any notion that there is anything that separates us as a human family. They do, in fact, view everyone as equals—and more importantly, feel that in their hearts and express it in their actions. They recognize that despite our external differences, our sameness as brothers and sisters unites all of us—and the strength of that commonality weighs more than any individual difference.

I am proud to know them both, and the other many straight allies whom I’ve come to appreciate and respect. And, I think their examples are powerful ones and help underscore the critical role straight allies have in the quest to soften the hearts of others—Mormon and otherwise.

Within the Mormon Church, straight allies are in a unique position to approach church leadership in a way that I, as an openly gay Mormon, am not. They have the added credibility of not being seen as someone with an agenda other than to do what is right. As a straight ally, you have the ability to speak on our behalf and deliver a message as someone who is not viewed as the other—and that will lend you a power and strength beyond what I, or any gay member, could have.

And deliver that message, you must. For if change is to occur, it has to have people pushing from the inside, as well as those pulling from the outside.

As with any challenge, there is also a hidden opportunity for our straight allies—regardless of faith. As a straight ally, you have the chance to be truly Christ-like. In fact, if we think about our Savior’s mortal ministry, it was a ministry largely centered on people society had cast out—that society viewed as the other.

When Christ was on an urgent rescue mission for the daughter of one of the Jewish leaders of the synagogues, there was a woman among the throngs of people that followed him, who reached out to touch his robe in an act of faith—that by doing this, she would be healed. For twelve years she had suffered a vaginal flow of blood, an almost constant hemorrhage. But worse than the physical illness was the suffering she had to endure at the hands of her brothers and sisters in the community—because of the plague of mental and emotional shame inflicted upon her.

She wanted to be near the Savior, to look into His face, to feel of His love. But this she could not do, because according to Jewish law, she was unclean. She, like many gay Mormons, was judged unfit to mingle with the community, unfit to worship in the temple. She was scorned as an outcast—worthless and unclean.

She, too, was the other.

Yet, like so many times in his mortal ministry, Christ stopped and healed the woman of this terrible burden. But the most important aspect of His kindness was the healing of her lonely and aching spirit. What a humble honor it would be for the rest of her life to know that Christ knew her, that Christ noticed her, and that Christ accepted her. What a profound demonstration of our Savior’s love, mercy and kindness. What a tremendous example of reaching out to the other—regardless of consequence.

Being born gay is not a plague; but what many of us suffer at the hands of others is. What an amazing invitation this story is to our straight allies to help their gay brothers and sisters achieve equality in the eyes of all.

What an exciting call to arms for our straight allies within the Mormon Church—for as Mormons, there can be no more worthwhile pursuit than becoming like our Savior. And what an equally moving cry for those of other faiths, or none at all—for there is little more virtuous a pursuit than striving for what is right.

When we listen to the sense of responsibility that is whispered to us by our own conscience, and speak out for what is right, we move beyond our individual problems and give unconditionally. Independent of our faith, through our words and actions we have the opportunity to lighten the burdens of others, to speak hope to the spirits of those who are heavy laden, and change hearts—and lives.

There is wisdom in knowing what is right; there is virtue in doing it.

Today, I will seek to be an instrument of virtue and peace. I will act on my conscience and speak for what I know to be right. For I know that there is no better gift I can give the world—or myself.

Will you speak for what is right today?

Sunstone West Symposium 2011

2011-03-05T19:59:00.000-08:00

On March 19^th, I’ll speak as part of the closing plenary panel at Sunstone West Symposium in Cupertino, California, sponsored by the Sunstone Education Foundation. The panel itself will focus on the aftermath of Proposition 8—and more specifically, on what efforts have been undertaken by individuals of both the Mormon faith and others, to help mend the damage and real human cost of this divisive phase in our history.

Please join me. You can find out more about the Symposium and register here.

My remarks will not seek to disparage the Mormon Church, nor will they seek to disparage the gay community—both have been done, and both accomplish nothing other than making deeper the divide between these two worlds. I will, however, speak openly about my feelings about the Mormon Church’s involvement in Proposition 8—both as a gay Mormon specifically, and as a Mormon in general.

That said, the crux of my focus will be on local Mormon leadership which has sponsored and been involved in multiple LGBT events since 2009. And, the more important issue of the spirit in which my local leadership approaches the issue of homosexuality.

Never, at any time, have I been pitied. Never have I been viewed as suffering, damaged, or afflicted. Instead, I have been blessed to be surrounded by a Mormon community that understands me as their equal—a man with a path somewhat different than their own, but a path designed for me by our Father, just as theirs is. And as such, a path that is respected and honored.

There is much, I believe, to be learned from both my church leadership and my individual experience. And while the jumping off point might be political, the emphasis will be on the spiritual. My focus will be on the compassion, love, understanding and equality granted to me by my Mormon leadership and fellows.

It is my hope that by giving voice to my experience, recognizing my leadership and Mormon fellows, and talking specifically about some of the LGBT events we’ve accomplished, that other communities will follow suit—irrespective of faith.

There has been a remarkable amount of change accomplished in a very short time. And yet, there is much left to accomplish. To play a part in this transformation—however large or small that part may be—is a humbling, soul-stretching honor.

I am both grateful, and blessed.

About the Sunstone Education Foundation

The Sunstone Education Foundation seeks to frankly explore and examine topics of faith as they relate to the complexities of today’s world. While a completely independent organization from the Mormon Church, there is an emphasis on intellectual rigor on LDS theology and doctrine. In their own words: Through its many forums, Sunstone serve…Latter-day Saints and many others for whom life and faith is a wonderful but unique adventure. Sunstone brings together traditional and non-traditional Latter-day Saints, promoting an atmosphere that values faith, intellectual and experiential integrity.

Jordan's Letter

2011-02-27T12:55:00.000-08:00

A common thread that seems to run through the psyche of many gay Mormons is a sense of “aloneness:” the fear (or reality) of being ostracized by our brothers and sisters in the gospel for being gay. And, the anxiety of being criticized and condemned by the larger gay community for our devotion to a church that, admittedly, has caused much strife in the lives and families of gay individuals—irrespective of faith.

Intellectually, I know that I am not alone in my quest to integrate my sexual orientation with my faith. Yet at an emotional level I, too, am haunted at times by this same sense of aloneness, which, over time, leads me to feel defeated in my purpose to create change for what I feel is right.

Typically for me, this happens most frequently when I learn of senior or local church leadership making comments that make my journey more difficult; when I am criticized for speaking out or told that what I’m trying to accomplish is futile; or when another gay Mormon—especially our youth—takes their own life over this very issue.

I am not without my critics, nor did I expect to be when I began to speak openly about the challenges of being a gay Mormon. Still, it stings when I’m told my passion for this work is pointless, that I am nothing more than a modern-day Sisyphus for struggling to create change within the Mormon Church. It stings when the words of my Savior, whom I dearly love, are used against me to try to demonstrate that I—and my work—are reviled in His eyes. It stings to watch other human souls suffer—or die—because of their sense of isolation and hopelessness.

Yet, time and time again, when the feeling of being defeated encroaches on my spiritual peace, I am blessed to touch the life of another, and through this service, renew my commitment to the change I seek. The letter below, from a 14-year old boy whom I will likely never meet, is one such blessing. He expresses gratitude for the courage he sees in me for telling my story; and I wish to express mine for his. Learning that my struggles can ease the adversity of another reignites my passion for this work, and reminds me that my sense of aloneness—my sense of being defeated—is an illusion.

Maybe I won't succeed in softening the hearts of those who fear or misunderstand our LGBT brothers and sisters overnight. But I will succeed in letting people know that they are not alone--and that, in and of itself, is success.

The game belongs to those who remain on the field—and my feet are firmly planted on the field.

And there they shall remain.

Jordan’s Letter

Hello, Mitch.
I am a 14 year old boy who is an active member of the church and has been all of my life. I am very vigilant in keeping up on my scripture study, make sure I’m living righteously and worthily for future temple ordinances, and try to set good examples for my younger siblings.

You’d say that I am living a very good religious lifestyle but I fear that I may have the same problem as you but less severe. I have had homosexual attractions for as long as I can remember and I have been very confused with what I should do.

I have just recently decided to act upon this challenge through fasting by asking what I should do. I have not told anybody about this before and this is the first time I have disclosed this information to anybody. Reading your story has enlightened me with the fact that me having these attractions is not the end of the world. You are a hero in my eyes. Thank you so much for telling your story.

–Jordan

My brother’s keeper

2011-02-19T20:56:00.000-08:00

One of the best parts of doing the kind of writing I do is the opportunity to meet and speak with gay Mormons around the world. Some are firm in both their faith and their sexual orientation; but most struggle with understanding how and where they belong as part of the Mormon Church. When I’m extremely blessed, I get to witness someone take a great leap toward understanding themselves and their place within their faith.

Such is the case with my friend Kevin.

Kevin is a soft-spoken, intelligent 23 year-old gay Mormon. Like many, he grapples with integrating his faith with his sexual orientation. Recently, he hit a period of great depression and doubt—a time when he felt genuinely unwanted, unnoticed, and even resentful toward the faith that he and his family had practiced his entire life. And like many, he struggled largely in silence—not feeling safe enough to share openly with his bishopric, or worse, fearing retribution for his honesty. Nonetheless, despite his challenges, he continued to pray and do what he could to stay close to his Savior.

Then it happened.

One Sunday, after missing about two months of church consecutively, there appeared an anonymous, hand-delivered note in his mailbox. “We missed you again today. We hope you come back soon.” It was a plain, blank note card with nothing remarkable about it—except a powerful message from an unnamed individual who noticed Kevin’s absence, missed him, and most importantly—took the time to let him know.

This remarkable story made me think about all the instances where I’ve noticed someone could use encouragement, and across my mind flashed the idea to do something about it—and I let it pass.

How often have each of us had the prompting to lift up another, but passively dismissed or ignored it because we were pressed with other obligations? How many times have we missed the chance to show a small kindness to another—and thus missed the chance to have a tremendous impact on another’s life—or faith?

As Mormons, one of the covenants we make with our baptism into this church (and renew each Sunday when we take the sacrament), is to take the name of our Savior upon us. And as part of that covenant, we vow to shoulder the burdens of others, using our Savior as our example.

We pledge to be our brother’s keeper.

I would argue that this same principle applies to each of us within the human family as a whole—irrespective of faith. By reaching out to help others in small, even insignificant ways, we move beyond our own problems and learn to give unconditionally. Looked at this way, every moment we spend as part of the human family can be an opportunity to serve, and an opportunity to positively impact our own lives—and perhaps, like Kevin’s anonymous friend, an opportunity to change another’s.

When Kevin returned to church the following Sunday, another note arrived. “Hello, Kevin. We were excited to see you at church today. We’re glad you came!” Subsequent weeks brought more notes, each one an affirmation to Kevin that he was noticed, he was loved, and most importantly that he had something that mattered to his church: his spirit. Because of this simple act—because someone was willing to be an instrument in the hands of our Savior—Kevin was brought through a difficult and dark time.

Toward the end of sharing his story with me, Kevin remarked: “Being a gay Mormon has been rough, even in a ward of 400 people. It’s easy to feel like you don’t matter, like you’re invisible, and like you don’t fit in. I was praying for help and guidance through this whole period, and I sincerely feel like these notes were a big part of my answer. This is my Savior’s handiwork. He answered my prayers through other people—and He does want me here!”

I wish to add my voice of gratitude to Kevin’s. To his anonymous friend, I’d like to say, “thank you.” You may never realize the impact you had on Kevin, on me, or on anyone who reads this. Your singular, simple act has been magnified to touch hundreds of lives. What a blessing you’ve been to people you may never even meet—all because you heeded a prompting to do a small act of kindness…because you were willing to be your brother’s keeper.

Today, I will pay special heed to any voice inside me that prompts me to perform a kind act, regardless of how insignificant it may seem. And in doing so, I will bless my own life through service to another, I will do my part to make the world a more peaceful and loving place, and I will let a fellow traveler on this earthly path know they are loved, they are valued, and that they matter.

Will you be your brother’s keeper today?

An ally in our midst: Elder Marlin K. Jensen

2011-02-05T21:56:00.000-08:00

In September of last year, Elder Marlin K. Jensen of the Quorum of the Seventy (the third tier of church leadership) was assigned to speak to the Oakland Stake during our stake conference. At the request of my Stake President, Elder Jensen agreed to meet with a few us to talk about the topic of homosexuality, and more specifically, about the Church’s involvement in Proposition 8. I also had the opportunity to speak with Elder Jensen privately.

Elder Jensen is well known in both Mormon and political circles as an outspoken liberal, encouraging the church membership on all areas of diversity—political, ethnic, and cultural. It was, of course, no small coincidence that Elder Jensen was the one assigned to speak at the Oakland conference—and no coincidence that he was asked (and agreed) to meet with me and others on this topic.

Elder Jensen is a kind, amazing man full of love and energy of spirit. As we spoke privately, I told him of my personal struggle—that being gay and being Mormon are both entwined in my soul, and I could not remove one or the other without destroying who I am. I have developed a deep, soul stretching relationship with my Savior here, and while I might be able to build that same relationship in another church, Mormonism is now (and will always be) my first language and native tongue when it comes to communicating with and understanding my God.

I went on to explain that often, I feel like a man with a foot in two worlds that belongs in neither. But as I have grown in my testimony and my understanding of myself, I have come to realize that I am indeed a man with a foot in two worlds—and I belong in both.

I am needed in this church, and I am exactly where my Savior wants me to be. While it might be an easier path to turn my back on the Mormon Church, I shall not do so. If change is to occur—and it must—it has to happen from the inside. I will not to come to the end of my life and meet my Savior with cowardice on my conscience. I will not look at Him at the end of my journey and shrug my shoulders and say, “Sorry, it just got too hard.” While my work and my honesty may cost me my church membership, it is something that will have to be forced upon me, and I believe, answered for eventually.

Upon sharing this with Elder Jensen, I noticed his eyes had welled up with tears. He shook his head vigorously, indicating his distaste at the idea of someone revoking my church membership based on my sexual orientation. It was remarkable to have a man with this authority display such emotional gratitude for my honesty and testimony—and, at the same time, be humble enough to never interrupt me verbally. I felt heard, I felt validated, and I felt respected by this man.

At the end of the larger group session, Elder Jensen committed to sharing what he learned with the remainder of senior church leadership. He reiterated that there are many in our senior ranks who care deeply about this topic—and are genuinely concerned that there are gay people among our flanks who feel that they have no place in the Mormon Church. Our allies in the church leadership feel broken hearted that there are so many souls who feel they have no home here.

He spoke of personally knowing and loving many gay and lesbian individuals, and remarked how he always marvels at the talent, abilities, kindness, and depth of soul of those he considers to be in his inner circle. He then tearfully wondered aloud if we, in fact, might all just simply be God’s special and unique creations, with a path to walk different from the rest, whose purpose may yet be undiscovered.

He stopped short of doing an about face on the formal position of the church on the issue of homosexuality—and I expected nothing less. However, toward the end of our meeting, he offered—within his power to grant—a heartfelt and teary eyed apology on behalf of the Church for all the pain and divisiveness caused by this position and the work around Proposition 8.

He ended with this: “I am committed to going back to Salt Lake and sharing what I now know and what I have learned today, and I will influence to the best of my abilities. Through meeting with you today, my aversion to homophobia has grown, and that needs to happen in the lives and hearts of every single Mormon.”

From my side, I left spiritually elevated and enthusiastic—and feel the same in sharing this now. The kindness, love, and honesty with which this topic was addressed was heartening—and an incredible step in the right direction. I don’t know when change will happen, or if I will see in my lifetime the kind of change I want to occur. Yet, my feet (and the feet of others) are pointed in the right direction. And, I firmly believe that it matters less how fast you travel, and more in what direction you are headed.

We are indeed headed in the right direction.

Humility vs. Humiliation

2011-02-05T00:42:00.000-08:00

I have a friend I watched rise from underprivileged and abusive roots to achieve much of what the world would call success: He secured a good education, found a job that paid handsomely, married and had a healthy son, and bought a beautiful home and expensive cars. Through it all, though, he carried with him a small, almost indiscernible sense of entitlement and victimhood—as if his thorny past entitled him to these things.

Not so many years later, I also watched as he was, one by one, stripped of each of these things. The job was lost in a shameful scandal, the marriage ended acrimoniously and custody of his son was granted to his ex wife, and the home and the cars were all eventually repossessed. The previous sense of entitlement and victimhood now pressed to the forefront of his character. Bitterness, blame, and resentment became hallmarks of his personality. One day, he remarked to me sullenly, “Why is this all of this happening to me? Now, I have truly been humbled.”

“No,” I thought to myself. “You have not been humbled. You have allowed yourself to be humiliated.”

Growing up as a gay Mormon, I—like many of you—experienced probably more than my fair share of humiliating situations. From this, and from watching the rise and subsequent fall of my friend, I began to wonder about the nature of humility versus humiliation for all of us. What, really, is the difference between these two words which sound so much alike to the causal listener—and arguably, have definitions that somewhat overlap?

Humiliation is something that shames; it heaps a burden of disgrace, dishonor, and embarrassment upon its subject. It is a condition of pessimism, of victimhood, and more importantly—of weakness. Humility, by contrast, is a position of strength. Humility is gratefully recognizing our complete dependence upon our Savior—through the good times, and the bad. It means we know our strength actually resides within our dependence—and helps us know that we are never alone, despite how we may feel or how our circumstances may appear.

Humiliation breeds fear; humility instills courage.

When we feel humiliated, I think it is a sign that something is spiritually out of balance—that somehow, in some small way, we’ve lost sight of our rightful place with our Savior and with our fellow humans. Instead of recognizing our dependence—and gaining the courage to be found there—we’ve placed our own pride and self-will in its stead, and resultingly, the potential for shame that it brings.

Such was the case for my friend. To him, the journey of life was akin to climbing a ladder. Everyone was either above him—to be admired, awed, and envied—or below him, to be scorned and judged. When we hold this view, our thoughts, words, and deeds become driven by actions that will move us higher up the ladder—we lose focus on our dependence on our Savior, esteem secular achievement over spiritual growth, and often end up knocking other people off the ladder—or being knocked off ourselves.

A healthier view for me is to view life as a journey with my fellows as peers, each of us pressing onward on our prescribed paths, to learn the lessons that life is intended to teach us. None of us is ahead of another—so there is no need for envy. None of us is behind another—so there is no need for judgment and scorn. True, each path is unique to every traveler—some may appear easier than others, and others, conversely, seem more arduous and demanding. But if viewed through the lens of humility, it becomes clear that each path is geared to teach each of us what we individually need to know to come to rely upon our Savior, and, eventually, return to our Father.

Today, when my life’s journey brings me to a situation that feels humiliating, I will choose to view it through the lens of humility. This will lend me a peaceful heart, and a courageous spirit. It will help me see myself, my situation, and others in true perspective, and keep my mind open to the truth.

How will you choose to view your journey today?

Choosing words carefully

2011-01-29T11:51:00.000-08:00

“Many have fallen by the edge of sword; but more have fallen by the tongue.”

In the past several months, I’ve had the opportunity to witness the power of words—both for good, and for bad. Growing up as a gay Mormon, I learned early on to choose my words carefully—to protect myself and hide who I really am, to not draw attention to myself, and having been hurt by the words of others, to ensure I didn’t do to others what had been done to me.

When I was a young boy, I had a dog that I loved with all my heart. She was my gentle, loving, unconditional companion. I remember one day distinctly, playing in the back yard with my GI Joe, and my pup grabbed Joe out of my hand and ran through the yard, me clumsily chasing after her and growing angrier by the second.

Eventually I caught up with her, pulled Joe from her grip, and in my anger unleashed a torrent of harsh, scolding words that fell like sharp knives. What pulls painfully at my heart about that day is the hurt look in my beloved companion’s gentle eyes at the sudden, violent change in me.

This life lesson taught me that words are a powerful gift, and we must choose them wisely. After all, if my little pup could be wounded by words, what do angry outbursts do to the people in our lives who understand every nasty word?

Obviously how we choose our words impacts our relationships. “Saying what we mean in the moment” versus “saying what we really mean” can, over time, erode the core of trust in a relationship and eventually destroy it altogether. Equally important, is how our words affect our own spiritual well being—for I believe we cannot willfully harm others repeatedly without suffering some internal damage of our own, which will eventually move us away from being our best and most genuine selves.

This isn’t easy: we’re all human and fallible, and I am, most certainly, among the least of these. When attacked, I want to return a hurl of verbal assaults—the allure of scoring a momentary hit is a strong one, indeed. Yet, more often than not, I am able to pause when I’ve been hurt. And in that pause, I’m able to think more clearly about what I truly want to say in response, rather than speaking words out of anger that I might regret later. Often, I feel prompted to keep the focus on myself, and am able to be honest about how the remark made me feel, rather than toss another insult back and have the anger spiral into a full blown argument—from which recovery might be long, painful or impossible.

It is not my responsibility to list the shortcomings of my partner or friend, even if I am angry. While I may disagree with some of your choices, it is my responsibility to speak up about that in a gentle way and let my feelings be known through kindness. It is never, though, my responsibility to judge you, to condemn you, to tell you what to do and demand that my solution is the only acceptable one to what I see as your shortcoming or challenge. My job, as your partner or friend, is to walk beside you as you learn the lessons life has to teach you—and to lend you a hand up when you stumble. The true spirit of love we have for one another is kind, patient, and doesn’t demand its own way. It doesn’t scold, condemn, or criticize.

The next time someone hurls a verbal insult at you, I encourage you to pause for a moment. Bring the focus back to you, and how it makes you feel. Give yourself a choice before you respond. You may choose to insult back, you may choose to speak your pain, or you may choose to walk away. But recognize you have a choice. You do not have to perpetuate a hurtful situation by causing wounds yourself. You have the opportunity to realize and understand that how we speak to others tells the world much more about us, than it does about the person to whom we’re speaking.

What do you want your words to tell the world about you?

To whose voice will you listen?

2011-01-08T22:31:00.000-08:00

Over the holidays, I had the chance to visit with an old chum from high school. Like me, she grew up in a tumultuous household, and walked out of such carrying old wounds with which she will likely grapple for her entire time on this earth. One of the outcomes of her childhood dysfunction is struggling with addiction (yes, it happens to Mormons, too!).

She bared her soul to me and shared that as of late, she’d been slipping some, despite what seemed to be her best efforts to maintain her course. Granted, here we were some years older, this woman now with a family, children, a beautiful home, and a husband who loves her very much—yet still bedeviled by a past where unsettling voices never cease to quiet.

I can’t cure my friend, but I can offer her a compassionate ear. I can speak to her kindly, give her gentle encouragement, and help her focus on the things she has succeeded in—like the mere fact that she has recovery is a gift from our Savior, and nothing will take away those years of sobriety. The key, for my friend, was willingness to go back to the very first step, and—like a child leaning on a parent, allow our Savior to guide her easily and carefully back to where she needs—and wants—to be.

As I walked away from that conversation, I began to think about the nature of compassion. Why does it seem relatively easy to be compassionate with someone we care about, yet when we find fault in ourselves, and notice ourselves slipping back into patterns we thought we’d eradicated, we’re the loudest critics in the room?

I was able to experience this first hand upon my trip home. A long forgotten character defect began to rear its ugly head again in my life. At first I ignored it, denied it, and pretended it wasn’t as serious as it was. Soon, my Savior granted me an opportunity to see not only how this behavior was harming me and was leading me where I didn’t want to go, but also showed me how this defect hurt other people—especially those I care about.

Fortunately, I was quick enough in my spiritual soundness to recognize this as a “God Moment:” a turning point, where my Savior knows me well and loves me enough to keep me on a short leash in some areas, and give me opportunities to correct myself. For that, I was grateful.

Yet, despite my gratitude, I launched into a silent campaign of self-criticism, self-condemnation, and self-hatred. How could I have been so stupid to not see this? How could I be so arrogant to think that I could engage in something that was so clearly a problem for me in the past—and get away with it? Moreover, who could possibly love me—my list of human frailties is lengthy on my best day, and I’ve chosen to add to them with poor choices. Who would ever want that as a partner, a friend, or a companion?

Then it dawned on me: I had become my friend back home, who’d reached out her hand to me for a realistic viewpoint on herself. And I, in turn, reached out my hand to another trusted friend. Consequently, I wound up with a more sensible view of myself—a struggling, striving child of a merciful Father who wants me to return to him, and loves me enough to present me with opportunities to do just that. What a great blessing it is to know He loves me enough—and knows me well enough—to have a plan just for me.

That still left me with the uncomfortable issue of that condemning voice in my head. It certainly wasn’t the voice of my Savior—He would never talk to me that way. It wasn’t the voice of my friends or family who love and care about me and want me to succeed. Clearly, the author of that voice was someone entirely different—and someone who has a vested interest in seeing me fail—and in seeing every one of us fail.

You, too, will find yourself in a situation in which you’ll hear that voice—such is the nature of our existence here. This voice will condemn you, criticize you, fault-find, and diminish your hope. It will erode your confidence, esteem, and tell you that you cannot succeed.

And here, you will have a choice. You can entertain that voice—or, you can recognize to whom that voice belongs—for it does not belong to any who love you. It does not belong to any who cherish you as the unique and precious individual you are in the eyes of your Savior, and in the eyes of those who love and care about you.

Upon that recognition, you can choose instead to listen to the voices who do love you. They will guide you, encourage you, and lead you to higher levels of spiritual and secular achievement. It is, after all, through listening to these gentler voices that we are brought closer to being the best we can be, made more genuine versions of ourselves, and move more closely to being the kind of sons and daughters our Father knows us to be.

I will spend more time with myself than anyone else on this earth. Let me be the kind of person I would like to have as a friend—let me encourage myself, be patient with myself, and be as gentle with myself as I would with the person I love the most. Today, I will pay special attention to any voice inside me that speaks lovingly. For after all, that is the one that will help me succeed.

To whose voice will you choose to listen today?

Bearing the seemingly unbearable

2010-12-20T11:30:00.000-08:00

Each of us, at some point in time in our lives, will bear things that are seemingly unbearable. The reconciliation of our own spiritual truths with our sexual orientation; the loss of someone we love and whose soul has become intertwined with our own; bad news from physicians that predict dire outcomes for us or those we love.

I am no exception. Like you, I have had to endure things that, in the moment, seem unendurable. It is during those times, I believe, that our true character shines through. We have a choice—we can be bitter about our circumstances, make ourselves victims to life itself, or we can choose to be thankful for our trials. The choice is ours.

I wish I could say it’s easy for me to choose gratitude in the face of difficult circumstances. Often, it still is not. But I have found, though, that focusing on the gratitude not only makes the unbearable bearable, but it also helps me to grow in my faith, in my confidence in myself, and most importantly in the assurance that I am—regardless of circumstance—never without my Savior.

Each and every one of us has dealt with suffering. And, we can be sure we will again—such is the nature of this existence. But we have the opportunity to do more than survive difficulties—we have the opportunity to allow them to help us thrive.

For me, the process of coming to terms with being a gay Mormon was one such “moment.” I found myself brought to my knees, both literally and figuratively. It was clear that my circumstances would not change: I would always be gay, that was never a choice. And I would always be a child of my Father in Heaven—that, as well, was never a choice. The one thing that could change, however, was my own attitude about my situation, and how I chose to understand myself and my Savior. For my Savior alone, the author and finisher of my faith, could provide the deliverance I sought. I had no choice but to place my expectations, desires, my despair as well as my joy, in the hands of my Lord.

And do so, I did.

Today, when I am asked to endure the unendurable, I remember that I am more than my problems. I have been brought through many struggles to be exactly where I am today—and I am exactly where I am supposed to be. My challenges have brought me a wealth of experience that I can put to use for myself, and for others who face similar difficulties. I needn’t fear the challenges of the future, because I know that with the guidance of my Savior I am—like you—capable of handling anything life brings me.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of viewing our lives as a tragedy when we’re contending with what seems unbearable. But if we so choose, we can regard anything that happens to us as a gift from which we can learn and grow. I challenge each of you—whether you’re facing the unbearable now, or in the future—to find something positive hidden within a difficult situation, and allow yourself to be grateful. I believe that, like me, you’ll be surprised at how much a little gratitude can help.

“And I will also be your light in the wilderness. And I will prepare the way before you if it so be that ye keep my commandments. And ye shall know that it is by me that ye are lead.” (1 Ne 17).

Prop 8 appeals hearing speech

2010-12-06T23:25:00.000-08:00

On December 6, 2010, I had the opportunity to speak at a rally held on the steps of the California 9^th Circuit Court of Appeals, just prior to the arguments being heard on Proposition 8 appeals. I kept my remarks brief, and was joined by many noteworthy activists in the cause: Kate Kendell from NCLR; Ryan Kendall from Marriage Equality Colorado; Jenny Pizer from Lambda Legal; and the Reverend Jesse Jackson.

Below are my words from the rally. I’ve attached a brief video of the opening, even though we lost the rest of the speech, it still gives a good flavor of the energy level of the crowd and the passion of the event.

What a great opportunity it was to be part of this event—and, I hope, part of helping shape freedom to marry for everyone.

My name is Mitch Mayne. I am an openly gay, active Latter-Day Saint. I am a gay Mormon. And I am your ally in our quest for marriage equality.

Like many of you, I felt first-hand the sorrow around Proposition 8. But unlike many of you, I felt it from my very own spiritual family. Watching my Mormon brothers and sisters advocate for an issue that would keep me from marrying the man I loved, tore at my heart and afflicted my conscience. It was difficult to maintain my personal integrity and, at the same time, stay close to the home where I found my Savior.

Often, I feel like a man with a foot in two worlds that belongs in neither. But as I have grown in my testimony and my understanding of myself, I have come to realize that I am indeed a man with a foot in two worlds—and I belong in both.

Being honest about who I am has seldom led to a positive outcome. Nonetheless, I have reached the point where I can no longer be silent. I have not mastered my fear of what might happen to me as a result—I have just come to believe that something else is more important than my fear—equality.

I now know there are many inside the church like me—both gay and straight—who envision marriage equality for all. And while I have faced—and will face—some hard-heartedness within the church, I have also been blessed to find much unconditional love and support.

As an openly gay, active Mormon man who is willing to stand up as such, I have the opportunity to give a human face to the issue of marriage equality, both within my church and within my community. Through my continued faithfulness, I have the opportunity to demonstrate that, at our core, we are all very much the same: simply children of our Father, who are striving day to day to understand how to best do his will, and how to return to him. Through my continued faithfulness, I have the opportunity to demonstrate that this sameness weighs more than all the differences in his universe.

Therefore, my strength and my honesty are needed in the Mormon Church. And all of our collective strength and honesty are needed here, today. Each of us has a role to play here, and each of us has work to do on behalf of ourselves and those we love.

Together we shall persevere as we seek to have the same benefits and recognition in the eyes of the law, that we already know we have in the eyes of our God.

The "why" of what I do: Sarah's story

2010-12-05T02:04:00.000-08:00

I knew this work, and my above all my honesty, would give me more than my share of detractors. I gladly accept that, for I believe it is through them that genuine debate is sparked, and hopefully hearts are softened and spirits become more receptive. Rigorous debate is a good thing, and, I believe, a God-given thing.

There are times, admittedly, where I feel spiritually beaten down as a result of being outspoken about who I am and what I believe. Today was one such moment. Without fail, when those moments occur, I am blessed with a letter or an email from someone who’s thinking differently about the place of gays and lesbians in our Father’s kingdom as a result of something I’ve done. I do, in my heart of hearts, believe this is my Savior’s way of showing me His hand in my life, and His way of lending me courage again when I feel I have none.

These moments are a humble reminder that I am, indeed, only an ordinary man—placed into extraordinary circumstances. And as such, granted the grace to live up to those circumstances.

Below is Sarah’s story. How grateful I am she was willing to be an instrument in the hand of my Savior, and lend me strength when my own was faltering. I hope you find in it the same strength and beauty I did.

Dear Mitch-

Thank you for your courage in your quest to establish greater understanding within the Mormon community with regard to our gay brothers and sisters. You inspired me to have a conversation with one of my younger brothers about his being gay. Joe has always been very private and self protective, and it was difficult for me to gather my own courage, find the right words and setting and give my feelings utterance. The opportunity came when he stayed at my house for this holiday weekend. All four of my siblings and their families attended events at my father’s place. My father has a cancer diagnosis and will probably last a only few more months so people made a concerted effort to be here together.

I thank you for being an inspiration to me. I have wanted greater closeness and friendship with Joe, but felt awkward in broaching the subject of the “elephant in the room” that my family is uncomfortable with. I told him it feels strange to have a brother-in-law I have never seen. He and his partner, Mike, have been together for 30 years. We agreed that that would change when I stay with them in Portland on a vacation.

-Sarah

I wish to express my gratitude to my Savior for the opportunity to play a small role to mend a thirty-year separation between a brother and a sister, and bring an entire family closer together once again—right where they belong.

The blessing of this work, is, indeed mine.

Thinking critically--and why we must

2010-11-28T18:47:00.000-08:00

A few weeks back, I made a comment on my Facebook status about how much I enjoyed teaching my Sunday School kids—thus grooming a new generation of Mormons with critical thinking skills, unafraid to ask questions. A good friend of mine (and non-member) sent me a message in private: “Mitch, I think if you teach Mormons to have critical thinking skills, there will be no more Mormons.”

Her message to me was tongue-in-cheek, but she raises a valid—and alarming—point.

As a collective, we Mormons are very good at following: We follow the direction of our church leaders. We follow in the footsteps of our forefathers and ancestors, and go on missions. We follow (or try to) the commandments of God. And all of those things, are, to a point—very good things. But where does following become dangerous, and cross the line from doing what is right to eliminating our free agency?

While following wise counsel is always a good thing, questioning counsel is equally a good thing. After all, our Father gave us intellects to help us discern what is right, and quite frankly, I think we disappoint Him when we fail to use them. Moreover, I don’t think our Father or our Savior are ever offended when we question their counsel to us—whether that counsel comes through the church general authorities, or whether that comes to us individually as personal guidance.

Truth is not offended at scrutiny—truth welcomes scrutiny. Truth welcomes thoughtful, provocative questions that seek to deepen our knowledge and understanding of what we think we’re hearing. For truth has nothing to hide—and it is through scrutiny and questioning that the veracity of any position becomes known to us all.

Conversely, deception loathes scrutiny. Deception discourages intellectual debate, and does its best to quell critical thought and inspire a blind following—through bullying, through threatening, and through group peer pressure. For like truth, it is through scrutiny that fraud is exposed—and its betrayal and dupery become clear.

When we follow blindly, we risk tossing aside our agency entirely—which flies in the face of what Christ’s ministry was all about. If we think about the invitation of Christ, it was just that—an invitation: “Ask it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened unto you.” What Christ’s gospel is not, is a mandate—at no time during Christ’s ministry did he demand we follow him blindly—he offered us a choice.

If we think about our entire mortal existence here, it is a plan based entirely on choice. The Great War in Heaven was fought specifically around this very issue. On the one hand, one plan proposed we have a life of agency, be free to question our direction, and have the freedom to choose whether we wish to follow our Savior, or choose another path.

On the other hand, we had a plan presented that stripped us of our agency—of our ability to question—and compelled us to obey, but promised we would all return to our Father. We, as Mormons, know who proposed that second plan—and we voted before this existence to follow the first plan—Christ’s plan.

I think we need to proceed with extreme caution when we’re faced with any situation—regardless of the source—that discourages us from using the critical thinking skills we’ve each been blessed with. Whenever something changes Christ’s invitation from, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock,” to the mandate, “Behold, I stand at the door with a battering ram, and if you don’t obey you will be castigated and punished,” our guards should be raised. This sounds alarmingly like the plan we rejected so very long ago.

I remember back when the battle for Proposition 8 was waging hard here in California. One of the ads for this campaign told us that President Thomas Monson believed that marriage between those of the same gender was wrong. It showed images of heterosexual families praying together, and playing together. It ended with this question: “Will you stand with the Prophet?”

My response to this question—and any other that seeks to diminish my God-given critical thinking skills is this: I will stand with my Savior.

With whom will you stand?

“I’ve just learned the truth about who you are."

2010-11-21T20:18:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, I was standing in the chapel foyer on my way to teach my Sunday School class. I ran into Harry, the Second Counselor in the Bishopric from the Oakland First Ward. (For those who are non members, a ward is a local congregation from a specific geographic area that meets together. A ward is presided over by a Bishop, the equivalent of a pastor in other religions. Two counselors serve with the bishop to help with administrative duties and also preside in the absence of the bishop.)

Harry greeted me with his usual warm smile—he’s a tall, wiry man who’s built very much like a runner. His eyes had an unusual sparkle that morning, and his handshake was even more vigorous and enthusiastic than normal. “Mitch! How good it is to see you!” I couldn’t help but return that kind of smile and enthusiasm, and responded with “Harry, it’s great to see you, too.”

“Do you have a moment to chat?” he asked. “Of course,” I responded, “as long as you’re not going to ask me to teach another class,” I said in jest. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well,” he said in a more solemn tone, “I’d like to speak to you outside.”

We walked onto the flagstone patio outside the chapel foyer together. Once outside, I turned again to look at him, and noticed that behind his glasses, his eyes had begun to fill with tears.

Here was Harry, a middle aged, white, heterosexual and multi-generational Mormon, from a small town in Idaho—offering me his unconditional support and love. In that moment I was reminded again that I am exactly where I am supposed to be, and exactly where my Father in Heaven wants me to be. I was reminded that I belong, I have something important to contribute to this church, and I that I am loved.

I ended our conversation by thanking him, and asked him as he considers who I “really am,” to be careful to never consider me a victim—because I am not. I am exactly as my Father in Heaven made me, and exactly where he wants me to be. Rather, I asked him to consider me a unique and valuable asset available to him in his leadership role within the Bishopric—because that is what I am: An ordinary man, blessed to be in an extraordinary circumstance. And, a man who is willing to bring that experience to bear to help others in my situation as they strive to figure out their place within the gospel, and within the Mormon Church.

I am a blessed man to be where I am, and to have the kind of support locally that I have—and I know it. Any success I have touching the lives of other gay and lesbian Mormons who feel disconnected from a church—and therefore the God of their understanding—belongs not just to me. My success also belongs to people like Harry, and most of all, to my Savior. How blessed and humbled I am to be an instrument in His hands, and to be surrounded by those who are willing to be the same.