I missed my meeting with my Bishop on Sunday evening, on purpose. We were supposed to talk about the Disciplinary Council. It has been nearly nine months since I first entertained an anonymous visitor. The last one being a little over a week ago. After I missed the meeting I told the Bishop that there was some trepidation around the Disciplinary Council, in part because I was coming to realize that the platitudes I rattled off about God, were not substantive; that in reality, while I caught a glimpse of God, I still did not know Him, thus it was hard for me to trust him and the proceedings of the Council.
I received an email back from him telling me that when I'm more consistent with my view, then I'll be ready for the Council. On my way home from work I was filled with anger. I felt that the longer I'm in limbo, that provides the license I need to continue with my behavior, but more importantly with my line of thinking of leaving the church. I felt that if I had a Disciplinary Council back in August, as was first intimated, then I may have been saved from the grief of my other behavior. I wanted to blame someone. I wanted to blame my Bishop for not being sensitive to me.
But then there was a part of me that simply wanted the Council to be over and to have a verdict so I can start my life. I was angry. I felt patronized, as if my faith was so fragile that I could not handle the discipline. I felt anger towards my Bishop for thinking I was not ready because I confessed that I did not know God, and subsequently I did not know myself. In that lingering moment of anger, I thought of walking away from church altogether.
However, while that line of reasoning was appealing, I felt a stirring, an ever so small stirring in the recesses of my soul. I pulled out my phone and opened the scriptures and started to read. My body was trembling because of how angry I was; everything in my mind told me that reading scriptures was the last thing to do. But I did, I was still breathing angry breaths. Yet, as I read the scriptures I was calmed down sufficiently. I got home and the anger welled up again. I got to my knees and, I'm embarrassed to admit, I was yelling at God. I was angry, not with Him, but with myself for allowing myself to be so angry and for allowing my pride to take the lead. I prayed not for a softening of heart, but for gratitude for feeling anger, for feeling the reality of my situation. I prayed then that I might come to know the God of my intellectual understanding, that, as one amazing person put it, my heart knowledge would include the knowledge of God.
Will my attractions to men ever leave, most likely not. But I am coming to realize the difference between being free from the secrets of sin and the freedom from sin itself. For so long, I associated the lifting of the burden of sin (through confession) as a form of forgiveness: it's not. While it's an important part, the forgiveness comes from critically examining my life, from pulling out all the errors of judgement, of thinking, of all things that distort my relationship to God, and turning toward Him, however hard and painful it is.
While I don't recognize God's sustaining power or His unconditional love in my life, I have to believe it's there. I hope to be able to one day stand before God and have Him peer deep into the chambers of my soul and see nothing but purity and goodness. But for now, cleaning out those chambers is painful.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Fleeting Moments
Life is frustrating. At least mine is. I have come to realize as I have slowly peeled back all the "primary answers" to gospel questions, which I relied on with ever increasing sophistication, that I had a completely distorted view of God and of myself.
In the last post, I noted that when I finally got rid of all the intellectualizing of the primary answers, as safe answers, I uncovered my real beliefs in God. This is painful and hard to accept. Coming to accept that I never knew God is disturbing to me on many levels.
Being that I am not white, and sensitive to institutional racism, mechanisms of marginalization, and how the excluded often internalize the values of the oppressor to legitimate themselves, to allow themselves to fit in. My notion of God was subject to the internalization process. It turns out that no matter how hard I tried, I could never fit the ideal image of worthiness in the church: a white middle-class conservative heterosexual male. Because I'm not white, the images of worthiness on the cover of church publications associated with worthiness are all of this white male. No wonder, I always felt I never belonged. No matter how hard I tried to be worthy, I continually fell short. I tried to bury that notion of God deep under the platitudes, that I often rattled off with ease: God is love, He is kind, benevolent, patient; through the atonement of Jesus Christ, we can receive the enduring power to overcome and so forth. While the platitudes came off as simply overly-sophisticated primary answers, they did not convince me of the reality: the church is filled with white people, the institutions that structure the interactions of the church are derived primarily from the value set of the white middle class conservatives. Thus, their views tend to interpret what worthiness is, who God is, and because I desperately want to be in the church, because it's God's Kingdom on Earth, I easily succumbed to internalizing their vision of worthiness.
As a result, my vision of God was consumed by the pursuit of worthiness. As some level I probably always knew this, yet, I covered this by intellectualizing the primary answers, attempting to show members I was worthy. Since I could never become white, I had to demonstrate I was equal to them, through mastering the scriptures, distilling the theology in compelling ways, and I think I did. Yet, this did not mean I knew God.
God was a construct of mine that was derived from a mixture of societal norms and my own presuppositions. I could not live up to that conception of God.
Yesterday I read of how after King Benjamin's subjects "viewed themselves in their own carnal state..." they "cried aloud" for the atoning blood of Jesus Christ. Coming to know that my messed up view of God has hindered me, has enabled my mistrust of God, my progression in repentance, and any hope of the future, is coming to view myself in my own carnal state. My carnal state is a state of allowing the world to shape who I am and to structure my relationship with God. While I have not reached the second part of crying aloud, I am certainly at a point of viewing myself in my carnal state. I am seeing myself, for the first time with clarity. It's frustrating, angering, and painful. Yet, I force myself to be grateful for it, nonetheless.
Each day is frustrating, as each day uncovers more evidence of my carnal state, more things for me to view. But then, each day brings with it gratitude to turn the carnal into the wholesome.
In the last post, I noted that when I finally got rid of all the intellectualizing of the primary answers, as safe answers, I uncovered my real beliefs in God. This is painful and hard to accept. Coming to accept that I never knew God is disturbing to me on many levels.
Being that I am not white, and sensitive to institutional racism, mechanisms of marginalization, and how the excluded often internalize the values of the oppressor to legitimate themselves, to allow themselves to fit in. My notion of God was subject to the internalization process. It turns out that no matter how hard I tried, I could never fit the ideal image of worthiness in the church: a white middle-class conservative heterosexual male. Because I'm not white, the images of worthiness on the cover of church publications associated with worthiness are all of this white male. No wonder, I always felt I never belonged. No matter how hard I tried to be worthy, I continually fell short. I tried to bury that notion of God deep under the platitudes, that I often rattled off with ease: God is love, He is kind, benevolent, patient; through the atonement of Jesus Christ, we can receive the enduring power to overcome and so forth. While the platitudes came off as simply overly-sophisticated primary answers, they did not convince me of the reality: the church is filled with white people, the institutions that structure the interactions of the church are derived primarily from the value set of the white middle class conservatives. Thus, their views tend to interpret what worthiness is, who God is, and because I desperately want to be in the church, because it's God's Kingdom on Earth, I easily succumbed to internalizing their vision of worthiness.
As a result, my vision of God was consumed by the pursuit of worthiness. As some level I probably always knew this, yet, I covered this by intellectualizing the primary answers, attempting to show members I was worthy. Since I could never become white, I had to demonstrate I was equal to them, through mastering the scriptures, distilling the theology in compelling ways, and I think I did. Yet, this did not mean I knew God.
God was a construct of mine that was derived from a mixture of societal norms and my own presuppositions. I could not live up to that conception of God.
Yesterday I read of how after King Benjamin's subjects "viewed themselves in their own carnal state..." they "cried aloud" for the atoning blood of Jesus Christ. Coming to know that my messed up view of God has hindered me, has enabled my mistrust of God, my progression in repentance, and any hope of the future, is coming to view myself in my own carnal state. My carnal state is a state of allowing the world to shape who I am and to structure my relationship with God. While I have not reached the second part of crying aloud, I am certainly at a point of viewing myself in my carnal state. I am seeing myself, for the first time with clarity. It's frustrating, angering, and painful. Yet, I force myself to be grateful for it, nonetheless.
Each day is frustrating, as each day uncovers more evidence of my carnal state, more things for me to view. But then, each day brings with it gratitude to turn the carnal into the wholesome.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Authentic Being
A wise Maori Scholar observed, "A truly educated person is not one who knows a bit about everything, or everything about something, but one who is truly in touch with his centre. He will be in no doubt about his convictions, about his view on the meaning and purpose of life, and his own life will show a sureness of touch that stems from inner clarity. This is true wisdom." This constitutes the "authentic being."
I have come to realize lately that I have lost touch with my center. As a matter of fact, I don't think I ever was in touch with it. As a result, my life has been one of in-authenticity; I am in inauthentic being.
Recent events in my life have suggested to me how helpless I really am. The prophet Mormon notes, "O how great is the nothingness of the children of men; yea, even they are less than the dust of the earth." (Helaman 12:7) It turns out for me to be authentic, to be on touch with my center, I had to be humbled; such that I had to see that I am nothing - and in that state of nothingness, I am completely powerless without God.
I had been working on curbing my sexual desires; yet, the deeper yearnings of fulfillment and need called loudly. I struggled with allowing the feelings to pass. Yet, how do you allow a deep natural feeling to be intimately connected with a man pass? This deep need for fulfillment called loudly. Naturally, my brain assumed I could find that connection in random hook-ups. I gave in to two things on Saturday: 1) I gave in to my deep need for emotional connection (yet I looked for it in unholy places), 2) I gave into the carnal desires. The satiation of my carnality, I told myself, would bring the fulfillment I longed for. That experience was empty.
After that experience I talked with my Bishop and he explained to me that it changes how he will approach me. But he also told me to build up my defenses. The strange thing is, I did not feel the remorse, shame, or pain. I knew that I intellectually violated an eternal law, but I did not feel the weight of that violation on my moral senses. I struggled with church on Sunday, but I adopted a happy and cheery demeanor; I tried to be happy I was in church - truth is, it was torturous. But I endured. My body desired again to feel the warm of man's touch, the safety of his arms. After all, the spiritual arms of Heaven are so fleeting and in my state not comforting, as least to my physical senses.
Tuesday afternoon, I struggled again. I yearned deeply for that connection. I went back and gave in the carnal touch of man. Again, it was not fulfilling. Somehow, I tell myself I can find that connection in my behavior. I can't. It wasn't until then, that I came to realize how deeply and utterly powerless I am over my own carnal lust (in all its forms). It was then that I realized how distant I was from God.
Today, as I reflected on where I'm at, I had to be honest with myself and admit that I may not really know who God is. I have to face the painful reality that my struggled has hindered my ability to come to know God. I asked myself who do I think God wants me to be, this is opposed to who God wants me to be. In this exercise I discovered I have a very unhealthy relationships with God:
I think God wants me to be perfect. God wants me to have this experience so I can tell others about it. But He wants me perfect, to be successful, to be wealthy, to be kind, to be giving. He wants me to completely overcome my addictions and my attractions to men – He doesn’t expect me to be healed, but He expects me to become rigidly obedient and completely submissive to His will. He expects me to sacrifice everything to Him. He expects me to blindly follow the guidance of my church leaders, even when I feel they are clueless. He wants me to conform to the societal norm prevalent in the church. God wants me stop being me and become Him.
It’s hard for me to stop being me, first because I don’t even really know who I am, and then he wants me to give that up? I suppose in this I’ve been harboring resentment toward God. I’ve been resenting this for so long. Why would God create me as I am then never allow me to experience the real me and then tell me to give that up and become Him? I don’t even know who I am. I never experienced me, so how am I even give that up? I want to experience me. I want to know me. Yet he’s asking me to be Him. He’s asking me to stop being gay, to stop having these feelings of attractions, He’s asking me to stop acting out, He’s asking me to start loving, to start serving. He sees my flaws and insists on pointing them out to me. God wants me to be like Him because he’s flawless, and I am flawed. But He continually reminds me that I’m flawed. God tells me that I’m flawed everyday. God wants me to be like the Elder's Quorum President,to be like my Bishop, to be like the successful guys my age, with families, faith, and success. But I look to these men and constantly falling short. As a result, I feel God continually asks me to be someone I’m not.
But I’m coming to realize I don’t even know who I am. I feel God is distant from me, that He’s not interested in my life. That He’s taken a back seat to watch the “Enduring Show.” I think God wants me to someone I’m not, I think he wants me to be like Bishop, the other guys in the Elder's Quorum with families and kids, the Stake President. I feel like God wants me to be them and not me. Perhaps God wants me to be white middle-class, conservative, and pro-capitalist.
I am coming to realize I don’t know what God wants of me, I don’t know what God wants me to be. I suppose I think God wants me to be like the other guys, He wants me to be married and accept that my life is awful, but be happy about it. He wants me to accept the fact that I’m gay, but live like I’m not. He wants me to deny my experience and cultural background and be like a white-middle class Utah guy. He wants me to be smart but not too smart, He wants me to be happy, but His idea of happiness is the Utah notion of happiness. I suppose in the end, I really don’t know what God wants me to be. This is what I think He wants me to be. Because I can’t be the Elder's Quorum President or the Bishop, I feel like a failure. Because I’m attracted to the same sex and do not have children and am not married, I feel like I’ve failed God. I feel like I have not lived up to what He thinks I should be. This is making me forlorn, bereft, helpless really. What have I done to myself. All my life I’ve compared myself to others, holding others up as what God wants me to be.
I carry the shame of not living up to what I think God wants me to be. How do I heal this shame. Perhaps part of it is adopting a correct view of God. I continue acting out because I have a false relationship with God. When I do not live up to those expectations I feel shame, and thus I want to act out to cover that shame and not feel the pain that comes from that shame. I don’t want to tell people that this is how I see God, because it’s shameful.
These are my thoughts of God. It was sobering to realize how bereft of God I really am, how I have this intellectual and theological understanding of who God is, as kind, loving, patient, compassionate. Yet, the real notion of God is what I've described. I do not know God. In my knowledge of God I am helpless, no wonder it took so long for me know how to admit my powerlessness and my own nothingness. Because admitting I am nothing presumes that I have faith in God. I am beginning to develop faith, this faith comes from a correct view of God, not only in my mind, but in my core. Understanding and knowing God in my core produces an authentic life, the authentic being. I have distanced myself from my center. Now comes the hard work of realigning my center to God.
I have come to realize lately that I have lost touch with my center. As a matter of fact, I don't think I ever was in touch with it. As a result, my life has been one of in-authenticity; I am in inauthentic being.
Recent events in my life have suggested to me how helpless I really am. The prophet Mormon notes, "O how great is the nothingness of the children of men; yea, even they are less than the dust of the earth." (Helaman 12:7) It turns out for me to be authentic, to be on touch with my center, I had to be humbled; such that I had to see that I am nothing - and in that state of nothingness, I am completely powerless without God.
I had been working on curbing my sexual desires; yet, the deeper yearnings of fulfillment and need called loudly. I struggled with allowing the feelings to pass. Yet, how do you allow a deep natural feeling to be intimately connected with a man pass? This deep need for fulfillment called loudly. Naturally, my brain assumed I could find that connection in random hook-ups. I gave in to two things on Saturday: 1) I gave in to my deep need for emotional connection (yet I looked for it in unholy places), 2) I gave into the carnal desires. The satiation of my carnality, I told myself, would bring the fulfillment I longed for. That experience was empty.
After that experience I talked with my Bishop and he explained to me that it changes how he will approach me. But he also told me to build up my defenses. The strange thing is, I did not feel the remorse, shame, or pain. I knew that I intellectually violated an eternal law, but I did not feel the weight of that violation on my moral senses. I struggled with church on Sunday, but I adopted a happy and cheery demeanor; I tried to be happy I was in church - truth is, it was torturous. But I endured. My body desired again to feel the warm of man's touch, the safety of his arms. After all, the spiritual arms of Heaven are so fleeting and in my state not comforting, as least to my physical senses.
Tuesday afternoon, I struggled again. I yearned deeply for that connection. I went back and gave in the carnal touch of man. Again, it was not fulfilling. Somehow, I tell myself I can find that connection in my behavior. I can't. It wasn't until then, that I came to realize how deeply and utterly powerless I am over my own carnal lust (in all its forms). It was then that I realized how distant I was from God.
Today, as I reflected on where I'm at, I had to be honest with myself and admit that I may not really know who God is. I have to face the painful reality that my struggled has hindered my ability to come to know God. I asked myself who do I think God wants me to be, this is opposed to who God wants me to be. In this exercise I discovered I have a very unhealthy relationships with God:
I think God wants me to be perfect. God wants me to have this experience so I can tell others about it. But He wants me perfect, to be successful, to be wealthy, to be kind, to be giving. He wants me to completely overcome my addictions and my attractions to men – He doesn’t expect me to be healed, but He expects me to become rigidly obedient and completely submissive to His will. He expects me to sacrifice everything to Him. He expects me to blindly follow the guidance of my church leaders, even when I feel they are clueless. He wants me to conform to the societal norm prevalent in the church. God wants me stop being me and become Him.
It’s hard for me to stop being me, first because I don’t even really know who I am, and then he wants me to give that up? I suppose in this I’ve been harboring resentment toward God. I’ve been resenting this for so long. Why would God create me as I am then never allow me to experience the real me and then tell me to give that up and become Him? I don’t even know who I am. I never experienced me, so how am I even give that up? I want to experience me. I want to know me. Yet he’s asking me to be Him. He’s asking me to stop being gay, to stop having these feelings of attractions, He’s asking me to stop acting out, He’s asking me to start loving, to start serving. He sees my flaws and insists on pointing them out to me. God wants me to be like Him because he’s flawless, and I am flawed. But He continually reminds me that I’m flawed. God tells me that I’m flawed everyday. God wants me to be like the Elder's Quorum President,to be like my Bishop, to be like the successful guys my age, with families, faith, and success. But I look to these men and constantly falling short. As a result, I feel God continually asks me to be someone I’m not.
But I’m coming to realize I don’t even know who I am. I feel God is distant from me, that He’s not interested in my life. That He’s taken a back seat to watch the “Enduring Show.” I think God wants me to someone I’m not, I think he wants me to be like Bishop, the other guys in the Elder's Quorum with families and kids, the Stake President. I feel like God wants me to be them and not me. Perhaps God wants me to be white middle-class, conservative, and pro-capitalist.
I am coming to realize I don’t know what God wants of me, I don’t know what God wants me to be. I suppose I think God wants me to be like the other guys, He wants me to be married and accept that my life is awful, but be happy about it. He wants me to accept the fact that I’m gay, but live like I’m not. He wants me to deny my experience and cultural background and be like a white-middle class Utah guy. He wants me to be smart but not too smart, He wants me to be happy, but His idea of happiness is the Utah notion of happiness. I suppose in the end, I really don’t know what God wants me to be. This is what I think He wants me to be. Because I can’t be the Elder's Quorum President or the Bishop, I feel like a failure. Because I’m attracted to the same sex and do not have children and am not married, I feel like I’ve failed God. I feel like I have not lived up to what He thinks I should be. This is making me forlorn, bereft, helpless really. What have I done to myself. All my life I’ve compared myself to others, holding others up as what God wants me to be.
I carry the shame of not living up to what I think God wants me to be. How do I heal this shame. Perhaps part of it is adopting a correct view of God. I continue acting out because I have a false relationship with God. When I do not live up to those expectations I feel shame, and thus I want to act out to cover that shame and not feel the pain that comes from that shame. I don’t want to tell people that this is how I see God, because it’s shameful.
These are my thoughts of God. It was sobering to realize how bereft of God I really am, how I have this intellectual and theological understanding of who God is, as kind, loving, patient, compassionate. Yet, the real notion of God is what I've described. I do not know God. In my knowledge of God I am helpless, no wonder it took so long for me know how to admit my powerlessness and my own nothingness. Because admitting I am nothing presumes that I have faith in God. I am beginning to develop faith, this faith comes from a correct view of God, not only in my mind, but in my core. Understanding and knowing God in my core produces an authentic life, the authentic being. I have distanced myself from my center. Now comes the hard work of realigning my center to God.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Submission
I'm at a point where I'm willing to sacrifice everything, at least for today. By that I mean, I am willing to sacrifice all my desires, all my wants, all my perceived needs, all my dreams, my identity even if it means that for a moment I can taste the peace that passeth all understanding. Yet that is strangely not comforting. Perhaps that's a "no duh!" response - it is. But that does not diminish its reality, at least for me...
This realization is incredibly depressing, but the choice I have is either be tormented by the knowledge I have of God by walking away, or be tormented by the very desires and wants (that'll never be fulfilled) by staying in the church. So I figure why not sacrifice these desires. I can live today with the misery that attends not having these things fulfilled. I can live today being single. I can live today without having to have a family. I can survive today giving up my will. Perhaps in so doing God (in His infinite mercy) will give back what he chooses. I am really at His mercy. Knowing that sucks. Where's the joy that attends sacrifice?
About two weeks ago, I met with my Bishop and he quoted to me Matthew 19 about eunuchs in connection with me being gay. I have no clue where he was going with it. It made no sense. It still makes no sense. What that interaction indicated to me was that my Bishop is even more clueless than me. That's comforting.
But something interesting happened that night, we talked for several hours and he asked if I wanted a blessing. I replied, "Yeah...sure, if you think it'll help." He then asked if I wanted him to do the blessing. I told him I didn't care. He then asked if the second counselor could give the blessing. He told me that he was too close to the issue and me that he felt he could not effectively communicate the will of God. I respected that and my admiration for him deepened. With that the second counselor came in (he did not have any background on me or the issue). The Bishop invited him in and told him nothing. He put his hands on my head and I thought it was going to be one of those generic blessings: God loves you, read your scriptures, bless you with strength, etc...It started off that way. But midway, the blessing became very specific to my concerns. A concern I thought I had resolved years ago. In that blessing, I heard "some affliction and trials are caused by people, while some afflictions like yours are caused by nature..." I have reflected on that now for several weeks. If I heard and understood right, the Lord told me "I indeed was born that way..." but that does not give me the license to act on what I feel is natural. It is comforting to know that God has confirmed my own suspicions, but at the same time discomforting to know that I must come to sacrifice these natural desires and yearnings to draw close to Him. Why? I don't know. I don't think I'll ever know. Right now what is needed on my part is complete mortal submission.
This submission is daunting. It means that I effectively choose daily to forgo the desires and thoughts of being in committed relationship with either a man or woman. It means I commit to remaining a second class citizen in the church (being single). It means I commit to life of being alone. It means I commit to a life without my dreams. But I can do this today. Tomorrow will be tomorrow. Thinking about tomorrow is too daunting, and the weight of the task bears down on me and makes me think I can't do it. Honestly, I don't know I can. But I know I can at least get through today.
The fact that others tell me that I will be fulfilled by Christ and by service is not comforting. But I choose to believe that may be the case, but the comfort does not necessarily follow the belief (at least it hasn't in the last week I've committed). Perhaps my Mt Moriah is to see if I can faithful while knowing I have to deny everything about who I feel I naturally am. Right now, I am a nobody. It doesn't feel good, but it keeps me from fawning over a life that could've been, it keeps me from turning to unhealthy behaviors, it keeps me safe. Sometimes being safe is boring and miserable, but it's safe and the sun will rise in the morning.
Church is not fulfilling. But I go because I believe it will help. Writing this post makes me incredibly sad to know that I am sacrificing. But I can get through the day, it will be alright. I can be sad today. I can. Perhaps tomorrow I will decide something else, but today, I can be faithful (even if being faithful today means I feel sad).
This realization is incredibly depressing, but the choice I have is either be tormented by the knowledge I have of God by walking away, or be tormented by the very desires and wants (that'll never be fulfilled) by staying in the church. So I figure why not sacrifice these desires. I can live today with the misery that attends not having these things fulfilled. I can live today being single. I can live today without having to have a family. I can survive today giving up my will. Perhaps in so doing God (in His infinite mercy) will give back what he chooses. I am really at His mercy. Knowing that sucks. Where's the joy that attends sacrifice?
About two weeks ago, I met with my Bishop and he quoted to me Matthew 19 about eunuchs in connection with me being gay. I have no clue where he was going with it. It made no sense. It still makes no sense. What that interaction indicated to me was that my Bishop is even more clueless than me. That's comforting.
But something interesting happened that night, we talked for several hours and he asked if I wanted a blessing. I replied, "Yeah...sure, if you think it'll help." He then asked if I wanted him to do the blessing. I told him I didn't care. He then asked if the second counselor could give the blessing. He told me that he was too close to the issue and me that he felt he could not effectively communicate the will of God. I respected that and my admiration for him deepened. With that the second counselor came in (he did not have any background on me or the issue). The Bishop invited him in and told him nothing. He put his hands on my head and I thought it was going to be one of those generic blessings: God loves you, read your scriptures, bless you with strength, etc...It started off that way. But midway, the blessing became very specific to my concerns. A concern I thought I had resolved years ago. In that blessing, I heard "some affliction and trials are caused by people, while some afflictions like yours are caused by nature..." I have reflected on that now for several weeks. If I heard and understood right, the Lord told me "I indeed was born that way..." but that does not give me the license to act on what I feel is natural. It is comforting to know that God has confirmed my own suspicions, but at the same time discomforting to know that I must come to sacrifice these natural desires and yearnings to draw close to Him. Why? I don't know. I don't think I'll ever know. Right now what is needed on my part is complete mortal submission.
This submission is daunting. It means that I effectively choose daily to forgo the desires and thoughts of being in committed relationship with either a man or woman. It means I commit to remaining a second class citizen in the church (being single). It means I commit to life of being alone. It means I commit to a life without my dreams. But I can do this today. Tomorrow will be tomorrow. Thinking about tomorrow is too daunting, and the weight of the task bears down on me and makes me think I can't do it. Honestly, I don't know I can. But I know I can at least get through today.
The fact that others tell me that I will be fulfilled by Christ and by service is not comforting. But I choose to believe that may be the case, but the comfort does not necessarily follow the belief (at least it hasn't in the last week I've committed). Perhaps my Mt Moriah is to see if I can faithful while knowing I have to deny everything about who I feel I naturally am. Right now, I am a nobody. It doesn't feel good, but it keeps me from fawning over a life that could've been, it keeps me from turning to unhealthy behaviors, it keeps me safe. Sometimes being safe is boring and miserable, but it's safe and the sun will rise in the morning.
Church is not fulfilling. But I go because I believe it will help. Writing this post makes me incredibly sad to know that I am sacrificing. But I can get through the day, it will be alright. I can be sad today. I can. Perhaps tomorrow I will decide something else, but today, I can be faithful (even if being faithful today means I feel sad).
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Resources of Courage
The past few days have been contemplative and moody, to say the least. I have not made an decision on the path of righteousness; I continue to stand at the crossroads. I look down each path. I try to imagine what's at the end of each path: how vexatious each might be; how tormenting each might be; which is the path of least resistance (for mortality and for eternity). I realized that doing so, the questions I ask presumes pain and torment are a given in each path. Perhaps it is, but the reality is I don't know.
Last night I talked with another dear friend of mine. He was my Bishop after I returned from my mission (eleven years ago). I told him about how I was struggling with the greatest question of my life to this point: do I leave the church and find a loving committed relationship with a man?
He was very concerned and empathetic. He listened and then proceeded to tell me that the church is growing; it's dynamic. The position the church, in relation to homosexuality, has changed and will continue to change. He told me the reality was if I were to stay in the church, then that part of me that yearns for a deep and intimate connection will never be fulfilled, rather I will be tormented throughout mortality. If I were to leave the church, then I could experience the happiness that comes from being in a committed and loving relationship, but that my relationship with the church would take on an eternal character. That is, neither God nor intelligent people would condemn me for leaving. That in the eternities, all will be sorted out in relation to homosexuality. In other words, he advocated that I quietly go inactive, if I felt I could not muster the necessary courage to move forward with the inevitable torment connected with being gay in the church.
I listened. This certainly gives me hope, in an odd way. Or rather, let me re-phrase, it provides me an option to believe that I will not be wholly condemned if I decide to leave the church. This line of reasoning is so very tempting, alluring, and persuasive. Yet, my immediate gut reaction was: "What about my covenants? Did I not covenant to obey God's laws as he gives them to His servants? Did I not covenant to sacrifice all things, even my own life, to follow God? Did I not covenant to live the law of the gospel and apply the atonement? Did I not covenant to be chaste in every way, and implicitly covenant and agree that any relationship outside of a man and woman is not of God? Did I not covenant to consecrate everything I have and am to God?" These covenants necessarily bind me to God in so many ways. These covenants bind me to heaven and eternity. The covenants have shaped who I am today, they structure my interactions with people inside and outside of the church, it structures my relationship to God. It is the foundation of my character.
Had I not made these covenants perhaps the option presented to me might be more compelling. Yet, these covenants are my reality. No matter what line of reasoning is presented to me, I would have to stumble and crawl over these covenants on my way out of the church; slipping into inactivity would not be so silent as these covenants are so loud and present. If I were to leave I will have to pretend they are insignificant. If I were to leave or quietly go inactive, then any semblance of integrity I think I have will be gone. I will make a willful mockery of all God's laws. Because of this I will be tormented in one path, as I know what I must to do to "quietly" leave. I'm not sure I have the courage to live with that torment.
The other path however, is the path of righteousness. As I trudge this path, I will be turning my back on the deep and yearning need to be connected in intimate and profound ways with a man. I will never know what that feels like. I will have to sacrifice that part of me on the alter of God. Yet, I fear, I will not be able to make that sacrifice. I fear, I will be forever tormented with weekly reminders of the things I may never have (a loving relationship that I so desire). I fear I will be condemned to a life of loneliness in the church; granted I acknowledge I may find love, but that love may not be the type of love that I so desire and need. It may be filling, but not fulfilling. Courage and faithfulness to know and accept the unknown...
I talked with a good friend last night and she indicated to me that I have faith; I qualified her observation by noting that while I have faith, it is not sufficient to be faithful to God. As I though on that my mind was drawn to the Doctrine and Covenants.
I'm beginning to appreciate more deeply Joseph Smith's trial with the lost manuscript. In D&C 3, the Prophet petitioned the Lord twice to allow Martin Harris to take the translation of the first part of the Golden Plates. The Lord refused the Prophet's request; however the Prophet approached the Lord a third time and asked. The Lord then allowed the Prophet to let Martin take the manuscript. Martin lost the manuscript, and Joseph exclaimed, "'Martin, have you lost that manuscript? Have you broken your oath, and brought down condemnation upon my head as well as your own?'
"'Yes; it is gone,' replied Martin, 'and I know not where.'
"'Oh, my God!' said Joseph, clenching his hands. 'All is lost! all is lost! What shall I do? I have sinned—it is I who tempted the wrath of God. I should have been satisfied with the first answer which I received from the Lord; for he told me that it was not safe to let the writing go out of my possession.' He wept and groaned, and walked the floor continually.
Once the Prophet returned to the Lord, he was severely chastised:
"Yet you should have been faithful; and he would have extended his arm and supported you against all the fiery darts of the adversary; and he would have been with you in every time of trouble."
Verse 8 caught my attention. It is illustrative and comforting, that despite the Prophet having a theophany he still struggled with faithfulness. He was mortal and weak, as I am. But he struggled with being faithful! He struggled with being faithful! Faithful!
Jonah the ancient Prophet, likewise struggled with faithfulness. He fled from the presence of the Lord.
Thus, as I look down both paths, namely the path of righteousness (i.e. right with God), I know I struggle with being faithful, not with having faith. In other words, I struggle with the courage to act on my faith.
While this certainly does not alleviate the burden of my decision, it does provide something satisfactory and comforting to my soul and mind.
This has provided, at least, a framework to help me see myself in relation to God and to the decision that weighs upon me. I can move forward knowing that I am mortal and that all good people no matter their station or calling struggle with faithfulness.
This is comforting.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Not knowing
The past two weeks have been somewhat of a roller coaster ride. I've gone to the apex and to the nadir in my emotional state, confidence, self-esteem, and knowledge of "truth."
At the moment, I am simply coasting along - a plateau, if you will. I've come to realize that I really don't know what it is I want. People will inevitably tell me: "You're a child of God," "You know what's right, You want heaven," "God loves you," "Just have faith and God will lead you."
The first set of comments presumes they know what I want. It presumes a foundation of faith that I don't think I necessarily have or is woefully weak. I'm not sure what it means to be a child of God. Certainly, I can rattle off the numerous expositions by prophets and apostles both ancient and contemporary. I can explain the theological and ontological significance of it all, I can even cause the hairs on the back of one's neck to stand straight up as I do. All this intellectual knowledge DOES NOT mean I have that experiential knowledge. If I do, it's very weak. I acknowledge this.
Yesterday, the opening hymn in priesthood was "I am a child of God." The third verse of that hymn reads "If I but learn to do his will / I'll live with him someday..."I realized again, that the understanding of truth and application of truth are two different things. And that for progress they must work in tandem. It's not a matter of me not understanding the truth, rather at this moment it's a matter of applying the truth - or in other words "learning to do his will."
I fear I do not have the courage or faith to do his will. I fear I do not have the faith to apply the truth connected to being a child of God. Last night as I talked with a dear friend of mine about my struggle, he noted that I had already made up my mind. He said, "I can hear in your voice. You've already decided to leave." I resisted this, because I could not accept it. He went on and said very boldly, very clearly and with much authority (as he has known me for many many years) "If you walk away, you will never come back. You know this and I know this. If you walk away, no matter what you say or think, you'll never come back." I tried to fight this line of reasoning, but it was to no avail. I accepted it. It is true.
He explained that I knew what the truth was and is. And I do. I understand it, but because of my weakness I do not want to apply the truth. In part, because I know what applying the truth means. It means that I turn completely away from the thoughts of a life with a man. It means that I will never have a part of me fulfilled, that I think needs fulfillment. It means, I sacrifice these things and the desires of my life in a loving relationship (with a man) to God. It means, I sacrifice myself and who I think I am at this moment to God. It means taking that step in the dark. It means becoming someone else. It means changing. This is the reality that surrounds me.
I am at a cross-roads. I know what is right, now I hope I have the courage to take the path of righteousness. That is the path that is right with God.
At the moment, I am simply coasting along - a plateau, if you will. I've come to realize that I really don't know what it is I want. People will inevitably tell me: "You're a child of God," "You know what's right, You want heaven," "God loves you," "Just have faith and God will lead you."
The first set of comments presumes they know what I want. It presumes a foundation of faith that I don't think I necessarily have or is woefully weak. I'm not sure what it means to be a child of God. Certainly, I can rattle off the numerous expositions by prophets and apostles both ancient and contemporary. I can explain the theological and ontological significance of it all, I can even cause the hairs on the back of one's neck to stand straight up as I do. All this intellectual knowledge DOES NOT mean I have that experiential knowledge. If I do, it's very weak. I acknowledge this.
Yesterday, the opening hymn in priesthood was "I am a child of God." The third verse of that hymn reads "If I but learn to do his will / I'll live with him someday..."I realized again, that the understanding of truth and application of truth are two different things. And that for progress they must work in tandem. It's not a matter of me not understanding the truth, rather at this moment it's a matter of applying the truth - or in other words "learning to do his will."
I fear I do not have the courage or faith to do his will. I fear I do not have the faith to apply the truth connected to being a child of God. Last night as I talked with a dear friend of mine about my struggle, he noted that I had already made up my mind. He said, "I can hear in your voice. You've already decided to leave." I resisted this, because I could not accept it. He went on and said very boldly, very clearly and with much authority (as he has known me for many many years) "If you walk away, you will never come back. You know this and I know this. If you walk away, no matter what you say or think, you'll never come back." I tried to fight this line of reasoning, but it was to no avail. I accepted it. It is true.
He explained that I knew what the truth was and is. And I do. I understand it, but because of my weakness I do not want to apply the truth. In part, because I know what applying the truth means. It means that I turn completely away from the thoughts of a life with a man. It means that I will never have a part of me fulfilled, that I think needs fulfillment. It means, I sacrifice these things and the desires of my life in a loving relationship (with a man) to God. It means, I sacrifice myself and who I think I am at this moment to God. It means taking that step in the dark. It means becoming someone else. It means changing. This is the reality that surrounds me.
I am at a cross-roads. I know what is right, now I hope I have the courage to take the path of righteousness. That is the path that is right with God.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
The Brilliance of the Natural Man
I hear others tell me "all you need to do is read your scriptures...all you need to do it prayer...just do God's will and you'll be happy." To them, I graciously say, "thank you!" However, upon further reflection the "all you need to do..." lines do nothing for me. I read my scriptures, daily! I pray, daily - even when I don't want to. Last night, I knelt to prayer. Weighed down by falling yet again with another guy on Sunday, I tried praying, but nothing came for five or so minutes, I ended saying, "Father, I'm not ready to talk." I then crawled into bed and went to sleep. I woke up this morning, knelt again and said, "Father, I'm trying," with that I ended my morning prayer. I sat down for breakfast, read a chapter out of the Book of Alma. This has been my life. I find it hard to connect to God. Yes, I read. Yes, I pray. But at times this is not enough.
The problem is not that I don't know I am a child of God; not that I don't know that God loves me; not that I don't know I can trust God. I know these things, I have evidence of them. Yet,the problem is at the moment, I feel estranged from this. I can't seem to find the comfort in these things. I have hope that I will, else why do I continue to pray, even when I don't want to say anything?
The natural man inside of me is so very strong. Certainly the natural man has his ear bent toward Satan. The natural man knows me oh so well. As a result, it's incredibly difficult to give my will over. That is simply one problematic, the other is that I don't know how. I am sensing, after my acting out with another guy, that I have very little control of myself. I can not do it alone. But my will is hard to bend. The logic and reasoning of the natural man is so very persuasive. I struggle to put off the natural man; consequently, I struggle to submit to the will of God.
I think, in part, it's because I don't know what God's will is. It is easy for me to assume I know what his will is, but the reality is I don't know. There are things people tell me I should do, but they aren't God. I have a very generalized trust in God, yet, I struggle experiencing the belief that He has my interests in mind. I can say it, I can believe it, but my actions and the patterns of my thoughts suggest otherwise.
The problem is not that I don't know I am a child of God; not that I don't know that God loves me; not that I don't know I can trust God. I know these things, I have evidence of them. Yet,the problem is at the moment, I feel estranged from this. I can't seem to find the comfort in these things. I have hope that I will, else why do I continue to pray, even when I don't want to say anything?
The natural man inside of me is so very strong. Certainly the natural man has his ear bent toward Satan. The natural man knows me oh so well. As a result, it's incredibly difficult to give my will over. That is simply one problematic, the other is that I don't know how. I am sensing, after my acting out with another guy, that I have very little control of myself. I can not do it alone. But my will is hard to bend. The logic and reasoning of the natural man is so very persuasive. I struggle to put off the natural man; consequently, I struggle to submit to the will of God.
I think, in part, it's because I don't know what God's will is. It is easy for me to assume I know what his will is, but the reality is I don't know. There are things people tell me I should do, but they aren't God. I have a very generalized trust in God, yet, I struggle experiencing the belief that He has my interests in mind. I can say it, I can believe it, but my actions and the patterns of my thoughts suggest otherwise.
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