I don't really know what or where I'm going anymore. Deep down there's a conviction that burns, but not hot enough, to bring me a sense of purpose. I realized the other day that I'm afraid and angry with God.
Why? In part because I know what I am doing is wrong, but I feel no power to stop. I'm angry because I can't sense His power in helping me stop. I'm angry with Him, because I feel abandoned by God. I can't seem to align my will with His. Yet, I continually try to find relief and respite in the haven of theorizing and thought experiments, as if intellectualizing the foundational elements of the ontology of Heaven I can tell God how to make room for His gay children in the Heavenly order. What presumption! What arrogance! What fear of surrender!
I decided I would re-start a practice I have since long abandoned. When I was missionary I picked up a habit that persisted for several years after the mission, despite the turmoil I went through. I read the Book of Mormon 12 times as a missionary, in my study, I would ask myself, "How does this bring me closer to the Savior?" after each verse. I would ponder on that question until I could make the connection between each verse or passage. Somehow this brought me intellectually to the knees of my Creator.
I continue to resist surrender. But I hope this small steps signify at least willingness to be a part of the economy of heaven.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Reflexive Thinking
So I've taken to thinking deeply about why homosexuality itself is sinful. It seems that much of the discourse pivots and rests on the one-dimensional issue of sex. As I've thought about how mortality is to (some measure) reflect the eternities, it seems to me that homosexuality is sinful not because of the act of sex, but rather because that type of relationship deviates from the assumption that celestial marriage and deification rests on a norm of heterosexuality. If that is the case, then we must assume that Heavenly Father and Mother are in a heterosexual marriage and further that they must procreate in the same manner as mortals do. While this is certainly pure speculation, it does beg a number of questions. Perhaps one day when I'm not terribly busy writing my dissertation I can attempt to address them in some meaningful way.
I met a guy the other day. He's religious gay Jew - incredibly bright, kind and articulate. We talked about G-d and the foundational commandments in Genesis and he shared with me the midrash or technique of studying the Torah (or the first five books of Moses). It's amazing how much talking with people in similar crisis of identity and faith brings one a sense of hope! He recommended a book, so I'm now reading "Wrestling with God and Men" by Steven Greenberg - so far I'm digging it. More so for helping me to expand my lexicon for talking about homosexuality and more importantly for helping to quell the internal burning questions, or at least put them at ease.
I've been sober now for several weeks. And I feel great. I hope it continues. The guy I met, while attractive and bright, is merely a friend. It's nice being able to talk with people not in the church at deep and meaningful levels where conversation is not bounded by normative injunctions of appropriateness. Being able to explore the spectrum of a single question is wonderful.
Reading this literature and having conversations is a way for me "study it out in my mind..." In all of this I am simply humbled by the expressions of God's love. I read in the Book of Mormon daily, and today I read of how Nephi "persuades the Lord" to cause a famine in the land. The famine came but affected the righteous and "wicked," yet that famine was also a mechanism or expression of God's love. The famine was to persuade those to see God, or rather to see how hopeless their lives were and to seek a Higher Power that could save them physically and spiritually.
The more I read in the discourse on sexuality and religion and talk with gifted friends (like my gay Jewish friend), the more I realize how little I know. He is coming to sense the same, as a result we come to find ourselves stretched in prayer seeking guidance to make sense of our lives and live in way that comports with Heaven.
I met a guy the other day. He's religious gay Jew - incredibly bright, kind and articulate. We talked about G-d and the foundational commandments in Genesis and he shared with me the midrash or technique of studying the Torah (or the first five books of Moses). It's amazing how much talking with people in similar crisis of identity and faith brings one a sense of hope! He recommended a book, so I'm now reading "Wrestling with God and Men" by Steven Greenberg - so far I'm digging it. More so for helping me to expand my lexicon for talking about homosexuality and more importantly for helping to quell the internal burning questions, or at least put them at ease.
I've been sober now for several weeks. And I feel great. I hope it continues. The guy I met, while attractive and bright, is merely a friend. It's nice being able to talk with people not in the church at deep and meaningful levels where conversation is not bounded by normative injunctions of appropriateness. Being able to explore the spectrum of a single question is wonderful.
Reading this literature and having conversations is a way for me "study it out in my mind..." In all of this I am simply humbled by the expressions of God's love. I read in the Book of Mormon daily, and today I read of how Nephi "persuades the Lord" to cause a famine in the land. The famine came but affected the righteous and "wicked," yet that famine was also a mechanism or expression of God's love. The famine was to persuade those to see God, or rather to see how hopeless their lives were and to seek a Higher Power that could save them physically and spiritually.
The more I read in the discourse on sexuality and religion and talk with gifted friends (like my gay Jewish friend), the more I realize how little I know. He is coming to sense the same, as a result we come to find ourselves stretched in prayer seeking guidance to make sense of our lives and live in way that comports with Heaven.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Becoming my father
I received an email from my dad the other day. It is clearly evident he loves me. I have kept him apprised of my situation and progress (or lack thereof). His note was compassionate and caring, but also firm. I think for the first time I am having a real conversation with my dad about me, speaking undiluted truth from me to him - it's a little scary, but it feels good. I implicitly trust him; he is careful in what he says. He measures his words, thinks before he speaks, and speaks truth sharply but with great love. I've seen that repeated over and over with my brothers and sisters, with extended family who come to him for counsel and with others who approach him for advice.
I love my father and hope one day to be like him. He is intelligent, hard working, kind, loving, compassionate, creative, tender, gentle, firm, faithful, a sharp critical thinker, and empathetic. When I think of a person who is righteous, I think of my father. He has trials but pushes through them with a remarkable child-like faith in God, while still maintaining a critical eye of the institutions that shape human behavior. I admire him, love him, and miss him. I feel like I'm coming to know him (like my Father in Heaven) for the first time. For years, while I repressed my feelings and tried to live up to the normative expectations (including the heterosexual injunctions), I failed to connect to my father on a deeply personal level.
Now that I've been able to be open with him and show complete vulnerability. I am able to share with him my deficits in faith and my myopia in seeing own eternal worth and value. While he aches for me in the pain I feel, he desires that I be happy in the eternal sense of the term, though he does understand that at times getting at that perspective often requires some to wade through the mud before they realize it only makes them dirty.
He was incredibly sensitive to the extreme difficulty in the de facto path for me to remain in the church: celibacy. He simply observed that it's a difficult path for anyone to be called to live, that it takes more than simple prayer, scripture study and attending church and a superficial connection to the Atonement. Rather he noted that doing so would be an incredibly difficult daily experience knowing that I could never have what my heart desires, and knowing how difficult it is to maintain that hope in the resurrection, but that each day will be difficult, but that through consistent sincere fasting and surrender to God daily, enabled by kind people of faith who empathize with that difficulty, then perhaps I might be able to honor my covenants.
I love my father, even more now than I ever have. When I grow up I would like to be like him.
I love my father and hope one day to be like him. He is intelligent, hard working, kind, loving, compassionate, creative, tender, gentle, firm, faithful, a sharp critical thinker, and empathetic. When I think of a person who is righteous, I think of my father. He has trials but pushes through them with a remarkable child-like faith in God, while still maintaining a critical eye of the institutions that shape human behavior. I admire him, love him, and miss him. I feel like I'm coming to know him (like my Father in Heaven) for the first time. For years, while I repressed my feelings and tried to live up to the normative expectations (including the heterosexual injunctions), I failed to connect to my father on a deeply personal level.
Now that I've been able to be open with him and show complete vulnerability. I am able to share with him my deficits in faith and my myopia in seeing own eternal worth and value. While he aches for me in the pain I feel, he desires that I be happy in the eternal sense of the term, though he does understand that at times getting at that perspective often requires some to wade through the mud before they realize it only makes them dirty.
He was incredibly sensitive to the extreme difficulty in the de facto path for me to remain in the church: celibacy. He simply observed that it's a difficult path for anyone to be called to live, that it takes more than simple prayer, scripture study and attending church and a superficial connection to the Atonement. Rather he noted that doing so would be an incredibly difficult daily experience knowing that I could never have what my heart desires, and knowing how difficult it is to maintain that hope in the resurrection, but that each day will be difficult, but that through consistent sincere fasting and surrender to God daily, enabled by kind people of faith who empathize with that difficulty, then perhaps I might be able to honor my covenants.
I love my father, even more now than I ever have. When I grow up I would like to be like him.
Monday, November 28, 2011
13.1 miles of bliss
I ran my third half marathon yesterday. It was cold, wet, windy, painful, and absolutely satisfying and amazing! I started off at a decent pace, but eventually came to some hills, then more hills and then more. During the race, I had plenty of time to try to draw connection between the race, my preparation for it and life. Alas, I could not find anything. The only thing that I took from that, was that I can do hard things, that somewhere inside of me is the courage to endure. I can muster it when called upon. Thing is I usually don't. Why? I'm not sure.
I had an interaction with my Bishop this past week. It was both petrifying and disconcerting. I received an email from him, he wanted to say he was sorry for anything he said that may have been hurtful. Certainly I appreciated the sentiment of that email, but at the same time I was filled with a sense of guilt and shame and fear. I talked with my Therapist about what I should do.
As I talked with my therapist I recounted to him what was most painful to me, it was not the simple mechanistic approach, nor was it lack of understanding about same-sex attraction and in-experienced advice on the matter, while that is frustrating it does not pain or hurt me. I told my therapist that what pained me the most was the association my Bishop has with homosexuality - that be implicitly linked homosexuality with beastiality and called me perverted (both in our conversations and while He gave me blessing). Above all else this is what stings and hurts the most, this is what causes me to fear for own emotional well-being. As I recounted this to my therapist the pain came back, it still hurts. I trusted the Bishop with my emotional, spiritual and intellectual well-being, and part of me felt violated.
My therapist explained that Bishops are not trained in these matters, to which I agree and have never expected perfection from any Bishop, simply compassion and understanding, however imperfect those expressions maybe, they should make me feel safe, not unsafe. But my therapist did stop short of saying that I should simply not be offended, but that I should speak the truth to help the Bishop also own the consequences of his actions (however, misguided they were). My therapist wondered out loud if those accusations or associations would have been made with a "straight" brother. I wonder the same thing, but for my own sanity and well-being my therapist asked me to simply state how I feel and ask for more space and time away. And I did.
My Bishop is a good man. He is. Certainly there is much for me to learn from him, as there is much for all of us to learn from each other. I hope that one day I can stand on solid ground and not fear for my emotional well-being when I enter a Priesthood leaders office. I hope one day to be able to stand before God with a pure heart and clean hands. While that may be simple for many people, the reality is it's more complicated than that.
I talked a dear friend (my roommate from undergraduate days) and his wife over lunch today. They asked about my struggle and we explored at some length the problematical issues of homosexuality and the church, their relation to covenant making and keeping, and the ultimate plan of God. It was a nice reprieve and edifying discussion. I was hoping to ask him for a blessing, but it was a little difficult given our location. Perhaps when I see him next.
I had an interaction with my Bishop this past week. It was both petrifying and disconcerting. I received an email from him, he wanted to say he was sorry for anything he said that may have been hurtful. Certainly I appreciated the sentiment of that email, but at the same time I was filled with a sense of guilt and shame and fear. I talked with my Therapist about what I should do.
As I talked with my therapist I recounted to him what was most painful to me, it was not the simple mechanistic approach, nor was it lack of understanding about same-sex attraction and in-experienced advice on the matter, while that is frustrating it does not pain or hurt me. I told my therapist that what pained me the most was the association my Bishop has with homosexuality - that be implicitly linked homosexuality with beastiality and called me perverted (both in our conversations and while He gave me blessing). Above all else this is what stings and hurts the most, this is what causes me to fear for own emotional well-being. As I recounted this to my therapist the pain came back, it still hurts. I trusted the Bishop with my emotional, spiritual and intellectual well-being, and part of me felt violated.
My therapist explained that Bishops are not trained in these matters, to which I agree and have never expected perfection from any Bishop, simply compassion and understanding, however imperfect those expressions maybe, they should make me feel safe, not unsafe. But my therapist did stop short of saying that I should simply not be offended, but that I should speak the truth to help the Bishop also own the consequences of his actions (however, misguided they were). My therapist wondered out loud if those accusations or associations would have been made with a "straight" brother. I wonder the same thing, but for my own sanity and well-being my therapist asked me to simply state how I feel and ask for more space and time away. And I did.
My Bishop is a good man. He is. Certainly there is much for me to learn from him, as there is much for all of us to learn from each other. I hope that one day I can stand on solid ground and not fear for my emotional well-being when I enter a Priesthood leaders office. I hope one day to be able to stand before God with a pure heart and clean hands. While that may be simple for many people, the reality is it's more complicated than that.
I talked a dear friend (my roommate from undergraduate days) and his wife over lunch today. They asked about my struggle and we explored at some length the problematical issues of homosexuality and the church, their relation to covenant making and keeping, and the ultimate plan of God. It was a nice reprieve and edifying discussion. I was hoping to ask him for a blessing, but it was a little difficult given our location. Perhaps when I see him next.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Seeing
The past few days have been good. Recently, I've been feeling like there is a connection to the Savior; this is new for me. Being a very prideful man, I have refused to fully allow my will to be swallowed up, I may have thought it was a good idea, but have never really tried to let it happen.
While I still don't know what it means for me to be gay and in the household of God, I'm willing to let go. Before I acknowledged the uncertainty and attempted to convince myself I was OK with not knowing. Recently, however, I've simply stopped fighting - mentally, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. Doing so has provided me a fleeting glimpse of "things as they really are."
I used to think that once I got to a point of seeing "things as they really are" it would mean all would make sense, that I would see my sexual attractions as an aberation, or consequence of the Fall and would find great peaceful answers or I would think when I saw "things as they really are," I would recognize the Church would change its ontologic position.
This addiction has kicked my ass, it has beaten me into submission, and beaten me into seeing with new eyes (at least momentarily). I'm coming to sense that seeing things as they really are is simply about seeing uncertainty and moving forward in faith and placing my hope in the Savior to provide me the strength to endure all things. That enabling strength is the healing. The outcome of that enabling strength is not my focus; the process is the end. That is coming to see things as they really are - becoming present and accepting reality.
I'm a son of God and I'm gay. I don't know how these two coexist, nor do I understand the depths of what either mean. What I do know is they shape my understanding of each other. The doctrine of the church will not change, I accept that as a given. Any intelligent person can see the ontological differences between blacks and the priesthood and homosexuality. While the resources of support may not exist, it does not mean that God does not want me to endure (even that I'm not sure what it means).
All of this to say that seeing things as they really are is about me seeing myself for the first time in a true and intimate relationship with the Savior. I'm coming to (and hope to continue) walking with Him.
Yet that does not mean that I do not search the deep things for answers to these things that plague us, nor does it mean that I give up on creating a forum to instruct others what is most good for them. I don't know what I have to give, but I'm coming to sense that I really have nothing to give without God. And that is not scary or threatening anymore.
While I still don't know what it means for me to be gay and in the household of God, I'm willing to let go. Before I acknowledged the uncertainty and attempted to convince myself I was OK with not knowing. Recently, however, I've simply stopped fighting - mentally, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. Doing so has provided me a fleeting glimpse of "things as they really are."
I used to think that once I got to a point of seeing "things as they really are" it would mean all would make sense, that I would see my sexual attractions as an aberation, or consequence of the Fall and would find great peaceful answers or I would think when I saw "things as they really are," I would recognize the Church would change its ontologic position.
This addiction has kicked my ass, it has beaten me into submission, and beaten me into seeing with new eyes (at least momentarily). I'm coming to sense that seeing things as they really are is simply about seeing uncertainty and moving forward in faith and placing my hope in the Savior to provide me the strength to endure all things. That enabling strength is the healing. The outcome of that enabling strength is not my focus; the process is the end. That is coming to see things as they really are - becoming present and accepting reality.
I'm a son of God and I'm gay. I don't know how these two coexist, nor do I understand the depths of what either mean. What I do know is they shape my understanding of each other. The doctrine of the church will not change, I accept that as a given. Any intelligent person can see the ontological differences between blacks and the priesthood and homosexuality. While the resources of support may not exist, it does not mean that God does not want me to endure (even that I'm not sure what it means).
All of this to say that seeing things as they really are is about me seeing myself for the first time in a true and intimate relationship with the Savior. I'm coming to (and hope to continue) walking with Him.
Yet that does not mean that I do not search the deep things for answers to these things that plague us, nor does it mean that I give up on creating a forum to instruct others what is most good for them. I don't know what I have to give, but I'm coming to sense that I really have nothing to give without God. And that is not scary or threatening anymore.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Dialogue
One of my favorite theologians writes about dialogue:
“The dialogical-dialogue is not a simple conversation, not a mere mutual enrichment by the supplementary information that is contributed; it is not exclusively a corrective of misunderstandings … It is the joint search for the shared and the different. It is the mutual fecundation of what each one contributes …It is the implicit and explicit recognition that we are not self-sufficient … God is the one who makes it possible for dialogue to be more than the mere sterile crossing of two monologues."
This is a good idea, especially given that a conference or symposium on homosexuality and the church is being planned for the Pacific Northwest.
I've been asked to help, and so I will. Perhaps this will help me explore more fully the questions that linger in my mind and in my soul.
Today is a good day. I look up and feel a sense of hope!
“The dialogical-dialogue is not a simple conversation, not a mere mutual enrichment by the supplementary information that is contributed; it is not exclusively a corrective of misunderstandings … It is the joint search for the shared and the different. It is the mutual fecundation of what each one contributes …It is the implicit and explicit recognition that we are not self-sufficient … God is the one who makes it possible for dialogue to be more than the mere sterile crossing of two monologues."
This is a good idea, especially given that a conference or symposium on homosexuality and the church is being planned for the Pacific Northwest.
I've been asked to help, and so I will. Perhaps this will help me explore more fully the questions that linger in my mind and in my soul.
Today is a good day. I look up and feel a sense of hope!
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
The logic of truth
This morning as reflected on my life, I came to realize that I've not seen things as they really are. In other words, I'm not in a place where I can anticipate and appraise the effects of my actions. I act compulsively, and as a result, I'm not able to discern the effects of my actions on me and others. This is part of the addiction, and that addiction has certainly agitated my faith.
I realize I'm coming to view my faith in God and the gospel through a lens that insists on me being in control. That is, I want God to justify to me why I should be obedient, I want God to justify to me what I should do what He asks. This insistence on God justifying to me is an element of control that I'm having a hard time letting go.
Recently, I've hit a bottom (not in terms of acting out) but spiritually, emotionally, and mentally. I'm coming to realize that I've got no where else to turn, I've got no where else to look, but up. Looking up is hard: it hurts my neck and it hurts my eyes (as there is light when one looks up). But that pain of adjusting to the light is necessary, it means I must slowly put off the things that pull me down, the things that insist I can find light in the darkness.
I don't know what my future holds. I certainly want a fulfilling relationship, but at what cost? I'm not sure. This morning as I was journaling, I pondered and wrote about my spiritual experiences. When I was 10 I received a strong spiritual communication that the Book of Mormon was true, it has take me nearly 23 years to figure out what that means - it means not only that Joseph Smith was a prophet, but that the contents of that book are true, that the stories therein actually happened. That through Jesus Christ I can find my seat in the Kingdom of God.
Why has it taken so long for that to settle in my heart?
I realize I'm coming to view my faith in God and the gospel through a lens that insists on me being in control. That is, I want God to justify to me why I should be obedient, I want God to justify to me what I should do what He asks. This insistence on God justifying to me is an element of control that I'm having a hard time letting go.
Recently, I've hit a bottom (not in terms of acting out) but spiritually, emotionally, and mentally. I'm coming to realize that I've got no where else to turn, I've got no where else to look, but up. Looking up is hard: it hurts my neck and it hurts my eyes (as there is light when one looks up). But that pain of adjusting to the light is necessary, it means I must slowly put off the things that pull me down, the things that insist I can find light in the darkness.
I don't know what my future holds. I certainly want a fulfilling relationship, but at what cost? I'm not sure. This morning as I was journaling, I pondered and wrote about my spiritual experiences. When I was 10 I received a strong spiritual communication that the Book of Mormon was true, it has take me nearly 23 years to figure out what that means - it means not only that Joseph Smith was a prophet, but that the contents of that book are true, that the stories therein actually happened. That through Jesus Christ I can find my seat in the Kingdom of God.
Why has it taken so long for that to settle in my heart?
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