Conference Controversy Follow-up

A more thoughtful consideration of the matter at hand.  Still a bit rough as I’m under the weather:

I've been considering for some time the best angle to examine the Boyd K. Packer talk.  As I don't see much change around the corner, it's convenient to just play it off as same ol', same ol'.  I only hope to offer some commentary and context that might otherwise go unnoticed.

First of all, the majority of us can agree that Elder Packer's comments were anything but unexpected.  For years, his three main threats to faith have been presented as: the gay rights movement, feminism, and "so-called intellectuals."  In each case, an aspect of individualism somehow threatens the doctrine.  In the case of intellectualism, dependence on scientific evidence threatens the leaps of faith made by members.  Feminism and homosexuality, however, threaten the patriarchal male-female role definitions fused into the Church’s doctrine.  For instance, a man can be sealed (married for time and all eternity through LDS religious authority) to several women, whereas a woman can only be sealed to one man.  Women who challenge these ideas such as Sonia Johnson find themselves excommunicated along with proponents of same-sex marriage.

An profile at  The Mormon Curtain examines Packer's conservative record.  Those of you outside of the LDS Church or relatively younger are likely less familiar with some of the history associated with all of this.  In 1976, Packer oversaw the publication of the anti-masturbation pamphlet “To Young Men Only.”  In 1977, he counseled members to only marry their own race, emphasizing that differences in race threaten success.  Issues of race and sexuality aside, I take issue with the emphasis on “pure faith.”

In this, Packer's brand of Mormonism is Pharisaical.  One of his more cited quotes, esp. in regard to 19 year-old missionaries, is that “a testimony is found in the bearing of it.”  The implication here is subtle, though worrisome. 

In my own journey, I’ve found that this philosophy (I hesitate terming it doctrine) has strengthened many people in following what they believe.  Herein lays the hostility toward intellectualism.  One is supposed to rely more upon what one is told than experienced via reason and in some cases one’s own five senses.  As a missionary, I taught people to depend upon both and find a balance.  “Read the Book of Mormon.  See what it makes you feel.  Don’t act upon convenience.” 

I find myself in a similar position as those I taught.  I look for the good in people and ideas.  I have a testimony of equality, that the love of two people who can procreate is no greater than that of two people who cannot, and that the happiness and righteousness of one person should not be the destruction of another.  My testimony of these things comes from probing these ideas and living them rather than having them fed to me. 

At least within the Mormon tradition, Pharisees have been characterized as those following the Law of Moses to an excessive degree and emphasizing the outward aspects of worship such as being publicly perceived as obedient.  They also attempted to legislate morality, bringing laws from the Torah (and in many cases from tradition associated with scripture) into everyday life.  The most obvious and problematic correlation here is the Proposition 8/Gay Marriage debate. 

As some of the more hopeful gay Mormon bloggers have brought up, the question of “Why would our Heavenly Father make someone gay?” is the antecedent to the entire gay marriage debate and a question which has not been addressed in the past.  Regardless of the theological implications of the responses to that particular question, another supersedes it:

36 Master, which is the great commandment in the law?
37 Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt ^alove the Lord thy God with all thy ^bheart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy ^cmind. 
38 This is the first and great ^acommandment.
39 And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt ^alove thy neighbour as thyself.
40 On these two commandments hang all the ^alaw and the prophets (Matthew 22).

Unfortunately, this passage exemplifies the doctrinal ambiguity LGBT Mormons face on a daily basis.  On the one hand, our brothers and sisters are to devote their love to the Lord and on the other to their neighbors (A of F 1, 11). 

So it seems that these two commandments stand in conflict with one another.  If homosexuality is a trait acquired through a sinful life and that one is able to overcome such as Packer clearly states, then protecting gays and lesbians from themselves through legislation on the morality of consenting adults fits.  This stance, however, hangs on these last strings of doctrine. 

As science continues to prove homosexuality an innate trait in humans and as mothers and fathers raise their children under optimum spiritual conditions only to come to terms with their children’s homosexuality later in life, the intellectual, experiential evidence, again, stands to threaten Elder Packer’s worldview. 

As his health declines and the old guard is replaced by the new, I tend to think that the rhetoric will be more measured and that the good done by so many different LGBT groups will even be recognized here in Utah—work to help the homeless, work to prevent discrimination, and work to treat all men and women as equals. 

For now, though, Elder Packer’s rhetoric should be treated as what it is: a hostile remnant of a bygone era similar to calls for racial purity and superiority that slowed to a trickle a generation ago.  These attitudes are a generational watershed of hate that trickle down to our youth.  As we cling to the idea that homosexuality can be cured, we teach a new generation not to love one another, but rather to hate ourselves—hate ourselves for being weak, for letting ourselves be influenced by Satan, for not being good enough parents, for letting our children slip away, and for letting ourselves accept our feelings and what our experiences tell us.  These attitudes result in the trauma that has fallen so many.  

Should this continue, the leap of faith that so many youth will take will be nothing more than a fall into depression and suicide.  Take a moment now to remember that everyone is valued and that happiness comes from valuing others regardless of their beliefs and allowing them to find peace with themselves. 

A Series of Sundays

November 9, 2008

Mapping out a sky.
What you feel like, planning a sky.
What you feel when voices that come
Through the window
Go
Until they distance and die,
Until there's nothing but sky
And how you're always turning back too late

 

“….This week, we saw the majesty of the democratic system in action…”

I perked up for a moment, setting aside my scrawled lines of prose on the back of the program.  Did he believe what he was saying. 

“….The scriptures teach us:

“Therefore, choose you by the voice of this people, judges, that ye may be judged according to the laws which have been given you by our fathers, which are correct, and which were given them by the hand of the Lord. [Mosiah 29:25]

“It is our role as God’s chosen people to take be actively engaged in the election process.  We do not take sides in the red and blue, Democrat and Republican debate, but we do stand for what is good and right in this world,” the speaker declared from the pulpit.

My mind returned to the events of the preceding Tuesday.  Following a year of debate and drama, the country's  political endgame was finally coming to pass.  The campus election party—a night of fun, games, and food muting the hostile overtones of the parties attending—was a mixed night for all. 

The liberals (gathered in their corner and outnumbered ten to one) celebrated the statements from McCain and Obama over the election outcome as the conservatives trickled out (with the exception of a self-proclaimed white supremecist who made it his mission to snuff out a smile left on anyone’s face that night).  A small group remained, aware and preoccupied with the state of California.  The passage of Proposition 8 shocked some and angered others.

For me, the announcement was like anodyne.  It left me numb all over.  I didn’t know how to feel, but felt prepared to endure great pain.  The idea of equality made sense but so did the Church in most ways. 

Absorbing the rest of the talk—calls for righteous living in difficult times, warnings against democracy making the wrong decision and the Lord smiting them down for their pride, cautions of hero worship pointed at the new President elect—I puzzled over the clear reservations held over the democratic process.  The speaker believed in a good form of democracy and a bad form of democracy.  Was I to feel inferior (despite having devoted a year of my life to studying the constitution)? Angry that he was twisting around beliefs I held close to my heart? 

I didn’t know.

So much beauty lay in the doctrines of salvation that I’d grown up with and that I’d taught and of which I’d testified.  The God of my religion seemed superior.  He was truly omnipotent because he could create other Gods.  He was truly all-knowing because he used the laws of science from physics to evolution to bend all of creation to his will.  He was truly loving because he knew me among billions of other souls and cared about my happiness.

I wasn’t all that certain about that anymore.  As I attempted to return to the moment and listen to the speaker’s conclusion, my body was a sheet of static—numb and uncharged. 

The Return, Collision of Proposition 8 and Mormon Faith

I’ve been putting off discussing the Prop. 8 leg of my story for a while.  I feel I can finally (almost) do it justice and talk about some very difficult issues for me. 

The next series, “A Series of Sundays,” will get at some of the issues of belief I’ve been a bit more guarded about over the past year and take the blog in a different direction if only temporarily.

…How fitting the timing as we gear up for season premiers this week….

Food for Thought #10

My missionary trainer often spoke of other denominations picking and choosing which biblical doctrines they followed while we had a living prophet to provide revelation for us as needed. I flashed back when I saw this tweet on JoeMyGod:

I tend to believe that MoHos (Mormon Homosexuals) are in a similar situation. There comes a point for many in which we begin picking and choosing what principles from the religion we’ll live and which are too contrary to our happiness.

I tend to think the best option is to make choices with purpose and integrity.

Hold, Part 3

Forked Path

“One, two, three, one, two, three.  Turn, turn and promenade,” the choreographer ordered as the soloist belted out:

I have found her, she's an angel
With the dust of the stars in her eyes.
We are dancing, We are flying,
And she's bringing me back to the skies.

“Turn, turn, and spin… lift!”

With that, I grabbed my hoop-skirted partner by  the waste and moved her from one side to the other—only a mere two inches off the ground.

“Okay everybody, back to your places.  We’re going to try this again full speed after I give everybody their notes.”

I turned to Hailey and blushed, “At least we were on tempo this time.” 

As always, she made no big deal out of my inexperience.  “We’ll get it.  Last time, I was a half bar behind.”

Meaghan, the choreographer approached with a smile on her face—the types suggesting she knew I’d take whatever she had to say very seriously.  “GMB, do I really need to show you how to hold a girl again?” she teased.

“Get in position…. Good.  Now grasp those hips.” 

I took moved my hands, took hold, and flexed preparing to lift.

“Hold it there.  GMB, lower and firmer.  Hailey, bounce a little right before that lift, the inertia will help him and look more graceful.” 

The unstructured, freeing experience of the previous night of clubbing inevitably came to mind.  Practically speaking, holding and dancing with another man simply felt natural. 

After rehearsal, I rushed up to my secluded corner of the library for some cram time—but only after doing a pair of quick searches online.  With a name like Mickey, being gay, and living in Utah, the mysterious boy across the dance floor was not difficult to encounter online.  So, to ease my curiosity, I sent a quick message his way before delving into the world of imperialism in music history. 

***

In due time, Mickey responded positively and we found ourselves on a date at IKEA (aka Homo Depot), thus ending my dating moratorium.  As it turns out, it was eye-opening in all sorts of ways I hadn’t intended. 

After a couple of hours of playing house and talking house wares, it was really evident that Mickey was really satisfied with life, so I asked him outright: “Where do you see yourself in a few years.  For a guy growing up gay and Mormon, you’re really more put together than most, and believe me I’ve dated enough to be able to make that call.”

He chortled.  “You know that’s not exactly true.  My grandparents weren’t exactly happy to find out and even though I haven’t really done anything a mission doesn’t feel right (even though admitting I’m gay is the only possible barrier there) and neither does school.  Following the gospel feels right and there’s no questioning that, right?”

“I like to think everyone’s commission in life is finding their own peace, so that works,” I said as we made our way to the exit purchaseless.  “Want a cinnamon roll?  I’ve been meaning to try them”

“Sure, but this is my treat.  Two cinnamon rolls and two lemonades, please,” he said turning to the uniformed likely-grandmother across the counter.”

“So… What about you?” he turned to me stirring the ice in his lemonade with straw moments later at a table in the corner. 

“Me?” I said, sighing a little.  “You noticed I tend to avoid that topic?”

“I noticed you tend to avoid that topic,” he echoed with a smirk across his face.

“The short answer is I don’t know.  It is reassuring to meet guys like you who are satisfied and very happy in the Church.  I just feel like it’s a lot to ask for us to be alone and celibate our entire lives.  I don’t see myself happy when I’ve met a special guy and then my life has to hit a brick wall.  That’s where I get stuck.  Am I weird?”

“Not at all,” he said rubbing his chin introspectively.  “You just let yourself think farther and get farther than I do.” 

“I guess that’s what I do,” I said proudly.  “I think.” 

***

Returning to the club the next weekend, I revisited that moment we’d spotted each other.  What was that draw?  Coincidence?  Attraction?  Mutual curiosity?  If anything, we were kindred spirits and not soul mates as a romantic might want to exaggerate the situation. 

Midway through another night of dancing with friends, someone tapped me on the shoulder.  “Huh?” I said in reflex as I turned around.  Looking down, my eyes unexpectedly came upon a Latina.

“Hi there,” she said with the slightest accent.  “My friend’s been staring at you the whole night.  Do you mind if I introduce the two of you?”

I blushed and looked towards Lila and Ezra for their reactions. “Why not?”

Slightly awkwardly, she grabbed my hand and pulled me across the dance floor.   Dragged in her wake, I clumsily stepped on feet and bumped into couple after couple, superficially caught up in each others contours.  Finally, we came to a lone man in the crowd.  His expression read nothing but what spewed from his mouth a second later “I can’t believe you’re doing this, Carla.”

“Man up.   Helaman, this is the guy, right?”

“Right,” he said curtly. 

“I’m GMB,” I said chuckling.  “Would you like to dance.”

What followed was an echo of my experience with Mickey: an incredible time dancing, rushed goodbyes, and a follow up date a matter of days later. 

***

We sat there resting from the action aftermath of Star Trek.  As the credits zoomed by and the rest of the audience trickled out we sat in wonder of the fate that had brought us together.  “Carla’s the fearless Latina every boy needs,” he told me as the last patrons trickled out. 

“Does she do that often?” I teased.

“Well, her motherly instincts have kicked in lately,” he said pulling up the armrest and grabbing his jacket.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said as he put his arm around me and revealed a grin.  We sat motionless looking into each other’s eyes for a split second. 

Then, with a motion of his arm, he pulled my lips to his for a single kiss. 

As we left the theater and the lights went out, he explained, “Carla’s been looking out for me since the breakup.  Adam just got bored one day and he was done.  He needed somebody else, but he didn’t have the common courtesy to let me know.”

“I bet that must have been though,” I said not offering much to the conversation.

“Well, that left me reconsidering a lot of things.  I mean, I hadn’t thought about the Church for a long time, but after leaving a decade ago when it felt so right, I began to wonder again if I’d gone down a path I’d regret.”

“And?”

“Regret’s a strong word.  I felt bad but the difference between before and after leaving the Church, before being myself was the difference between breathing air and breathing water.  I really am satisfied with life.”

In a way, that revelation was not what I was prepared for.  If Helaman could be as happy as Mickey having followed a completely different path, what did that mean for me.  Maybe it was time to rethink what would make me happy. 

End, Part 3.

Hold, Part 2

Three Weeks

With Andre, I’d figured out my unintentional and unnoticed pattern. It was a three-week rut from falling for a guy to things not working out three weeks later in a manifold of ways—disillusionment or disinterest, instability or insensitivity, or simply by kismet.

It was time for life to take a different course, if only temporarily—time to focus more on my schoolwork and meditate on the last year of my life. Having made it through auditions, rehearsals and homework dominated my life. I wasn’t about to abandon boys entirely, however. On weekends, I generally found time for my friends—the occasional party with high school friends, an intensely fun study session or two, and almost every week I set aside some time for my gay friends. Friday nights became an outlet for me as I put things on hold to not feel alone in my sexuality.

Rehearsals took emotional their toll as I was surrounded by teens making homophobic jokes and men who had likely repressed their own sexuality in one way or another to “keep the commandments” or fit in in some other way. Almost ceremoniously I’d arrive at The Wood House and carpool to the club in Salt Lake with Ezra and Alberto. There, I wasn’t alone. There, I could get away from the acting—of the theatrical as well as the real-life varieties.

Though the club is for many a hedonistic experience, for many it is a communion with the self. Eighteen, nineteen and even twenty-four year olds find themselves able to share their most guarded secret with an entire community. For me, the elements of fear and enigma were temporarily pulled away as I stood in solidarity knowing that many of those guys were in the same place: out only to our friends and doing our best to follow the standards of the LDS church. For us, it wasn’t all about sex; it was about not feeling alone (as many as many of us did at church every Sunday).

It was revitalizing to get out like that. Life seemed to be full and balanced. My final semester of college was pushing me intellectually as I went through the arduous process of revising my thesis. Socially, I managed to share my time with friends of all kinds. Emotionally, though, I found myself healing—not through my continued, faithful church attendance, but by the music that filled every me. It was as if music were the mortar holding together the bricks of my life.

It managed to keep the excitement in and the anxiety out of my life for a few weeks. Studying with some Philip Glass in the background pushed me through the most difficult work. Contemplating and understanding the words coming through my mouth at rehearsals—even in the case of characters I didn’t particularly identify with such as Lloyd-Webber’s Close Every Door. The hymns at church were its saving grace. Rhyme and rhythm provided a framework for the meter and melody I puzzled over and relished even with minimal understanding of the confluence of chords.

Even the music of the club—the thump of Lady Gaga remixes, the pulse of techno beats, the phonetically kinky lyrics of Britney Spears—provided a comfort in their own way. For years, it wasn’t cool to like the things that might possibly insinuate homosexuality. That was no longer a concern once I allowed myself to indulge in what made me happy instead of conforming to prescribed desires alongside Ezra and Alberto and others at the club.

Three weeks into this ritual of clubbing the world slowed for a moment. One of the most vivid moments of that time in my life, I remember looking across the dance floor into the eyes of another man as the lyrics surfaced through the techno beat:

I feel the adrenaline moving through my veins
Spotlight on me and ready to break.
I’m like a performer, the dancefloor is my stage.
Better be ready. Hope that you feel the same.

We moved towards each other fixed on the other’s expression, our silhouettes suspended by strobe lights as we negotiated a path towards one another.

After what had seemed like ten minutes, we met in the middle of the dancefloor. Silenced by the blare of the music, we communicated only through dance and waited for silence to peel away the layers between us. It was extraordinary knowing the gap between his teeth, the way we fit in each others’ arms, and his heartbeat before sharing a word between us.

We only had time to utter our names before our friends pulled us apart:

“Mickey, Tim’s parents say he has to be home now,” one of his friends called as Alberto demanded, “We’re supposed to meet Kait for breakfast in five minutes.”

We hugged and passed frequent glances until we were out of each others sight when I suddenly realized it was too late. We didn’t exchange numbers.

 

 

End, Part 2.

Fireside Flak

Quickly, I thought I’d weigh in on the Fireside issue before I finish my Missionary Monday post.

Let’s take this from a different perspective for a moment: needs. First, Who is the audience of the fireside and how will its content serve them? It’s clearly an outreach effort to gay members, their friends, and family members. Ultimately, as Beck points out, this boils down to a damned if you do/don’t scenario as one attempts to address the needs of this group.

1st, let this group of people know they are not alone. This is where the fireside will succeed. The higher the attendance, the more productive the emotional outcome in this sense.

2nd, provide a dialogue regarding these issues. In order to address concerns of this group, it is necessary for these men and women to feel they are able to vocalize their concerns to one another. Being heard is one of the most important aspects to emotional suffering. I believe this can succeed to a very limited degree. As Rob put it, “homosexuality should not exist” the way it is currently treated, and it’s very difficult to approach a problem that should not exist within the gospel. Fireside goers will be able to discuss their feelings, but this discussion will be constructed around a framework of shame in the sense that homosexual feelings cannot be discussed positively.

3rd, offer solutions/coping strategies so that one can lead a happy life. This is the presumably the primary reason Ty Mansfield has been invited as keynote speaker. I take issue with this for the same reason as Rob and MoHoHawaii, but would like to extend it one step. There is an unspoken endorsement of Mixed-Orientation Marriages, which—perhaps—can work for some, but I have seen multiple cases in which that goal has only led to heartbreak for the men and women involved (including my own best friend Cole). That said, I feel many other solutions emphasized above that outcome including celibacy.

Put simply, hands are tied and mouths stifled because of the larger discussion (or lack thereof). Celibacy and Marriage seem to be the only endorsable outcomes for gay members of the church. While I tend to think that the fireside will be successful in providing a sense of community, I tend to think that the only way for the meeting to have any further success (and avert unintended damage) is for the program to include success stories of celibate saints AND accounts of unsuccessful mixed-orientation marriages, so as to not elevate Ty’s circumstances as the only or best possible outcome for gay saints. It’s very possible that the program does take this into account and if it does, it would be the best possible program given the current atmosphere of fear and silence.

Sonriso, Part 4

A Flashback

Keep smiling - it makes people wonder what you've been up to.

—Unknown

I’d been anticipating this day for a week now. I was going to see an old friend in a very different context—so different it was weird to consider calling him by his first name. To me, Erik was always (and perhaps always will be) Elder Davis. We were missionaries together in Brazil. We were never paired up as missionary companions, but arriving at roughly the same time, we quickly developed a bond.

My earliest memories of him come from my first missionary conference in which we gathered (as missionaries regularly do) for training sessions and a nice dinner. He welcomed me, provided some advice (having 3 more months of experience), and wasn’t afraid to talk about pre-missionary life back in the states. We later ended up living together as missionaries and developed an even closer relationship.

Our reunion revolved quite a bit around the gossip we shared and inside jokes we had. He would call me a communist (in part because of my political views and in part because of a communist musical I’d started writing with my friend Serenity in high school) and I would tease him about looking like a twelve year-old.

Not much had changed when he made that trip up to visit me and his brother. I was more liberal than ever (going so far as to attend a College Democrat meeting or two) and he could pass for fifteen now—maybe. The day was perfect. The closest you could get to a brilliant Brazilian day. As I approached him from across the quad, the intermittent cool from the bright green grass and the radiant heat from the chalky pavement brought me back—fleetingly—to the urban and rural tropics I’d known in Brazil. My past had met my present briefly in this one moment. Little did I know that a tiny piece of my future would enter into that moment as well.

“GMB! It’s been like six months and a continent!” he called to me from across a band of sunbathers.

“Davis! What have you been up to? Still getting asked out by girls in middle school?” I teased.

“Quit that. I’m just starting back up at the U again.”

“Aren’t you loving school?”

“Blah,” he responded complacently. “Sometimes I’d just like to go back to Brazil.”

“Are you kidding me? All you did was complain about the heat. It’s always something, isn’t it?”

“Hey,” he said in his most nasal voice. “Let me introduce you to my brother,” he said motioning towards the sunbathers. “Evan,” he called.

With that his brother got up to introduce himself.

Immediately, my eyes were drawn to the brightest smile I’d encountered in my life. “Nice to meet you. I’m GMB,” I said.

“I’m Evan,” he said, still smiling as he extended a hand and secured the sunglasses mounted in his short faux hawk with the other. Even then, in the days when I thought I was straight did I note that he was attractive. As my eyes drifted from his face downward, I noted the perfectly toned abs, the stylish board shorts, and that his perfectly-tanned complexion continued from his smile down to his toes.

“He’s gay,” Erik told me a few moments later (once we were alone). I hadn’t really known about his gay brother. I’m sure he mentioned him in passing not as his gay brother but simply as “Evan.” It kind of surprised me because I’d wondered about Erik’s sexuality, but left those questions in the air.

Apparently, it was a big issue for their family.

“My mom wasn’t too happy about the trip up here,” he explained. “She didn’t think it would be a good idea to stay the night at Evan’s since he lives with his boyfriend, Mark.” I didn’t pry into the situation, but it was in the back of my head.

I had met gay men before. There was Ianto and a couple of guys I taught on my mission, but somehow this seemed more immediate and close because a good friend’s perfect Mormon family was impacted. I found our political divergences particularly interesting at this point. I didn’t claim to understand the movement for GLBT rights or the people it represented, but the notion that love could be conditional based on something so personal didn’t really settle right.

As I showed Erik around campus—my office, my favorite spot in the library, the campus café—our conversation seemed to be halted by our differences and Evan’s homosexuality. We remained in the neutral territory of discussing school and reminiscing about the mission. Still, it was as happy a reunion as one could hope for or expect. Intrigued by this earliest glimpse into the true lives of gay Mormon boys, question came to mind that would not be answered for another two years when Evan and I met again.

End, Part 4

The Silence that Kills from Within

In commemoration of Day of Silence

A while back, I heard one of the most unnerving and upsetting things I’ve ever heard in regards to my best friend. Discussing his homosexuality once with his Bishop, Cole was told that he was “beyond feeling.”

This really blew me away. Beyond happiness? Beyond pain? Beyond love? Beyond being loved? I still don’t know if that’s even possible—to be completely ruled by a numb sense of ambivalence. Why would anyone try to convince someone that he’s broken on the inside? Especially someone who does so much for those around him. Someone who helps so many people emotionally access unknown parts of themselves through music.

There was no rational explanation or emotional outlet. This man was wrong and he was doing harm to my dearest friend. I did all that I could to reassure Cole that he was at a much better place than in the months following his broken engagement to a girl. Just as he was healing from that tragedy and on the precipice of coming of age in a musical sense, another part of his world began tearing him down.

All of this left me feeling angry but incapacitated because that’s the last thing I wanted to feel towards a leader in The Church. For so long, I’d managed to walk the slack tightrope straddling the boundaries between a gay life and a life in The Church. I placed one foot in front of the other on a daily basis, limiting myself only to kissing and make outs, but nothing more. There were of course challenges to all of this—currents of wind pushing against my solemn, deliberate steps—but nothing seemed to frustrate me more than those coming from my LDS Brothers and Sisters (terms of affection and equality for other members within the Mormon Church). Cole wasn’t the only one who felt as if he was being torn down.

As I took the last class required for me to graduate from Institute (a religious education system serving those 18-30, generally), I became uncomfortable. I’d been uncomfortable before (not knowing how to handle the advances of my female classmates before I knew I was gay) but suddenly, I listened to everything with a new awareness. It was difficult to hear other people talk speak to the “issue” of homosexuality when I’d suddenly become a first-hand authority on the subject.

“It’s unnatural.” “It’s Satan’s influence.” “It’s because they masturbated too much.” All of these comments rattled around my head. No one including the instructor of the course seemed aware that there were people like me. People who had been totally faithful, who had served missions, who had been held up as examples. Now, though, because I’d kissed another guy, because I wanted to be with a guy for the rest of my life, because I didn’t agree on Proposition 8, I was a pariah.

In class, I became silent and anonymous. I would disappear for a week at a time working through the chaos in my head. I could not be at peace with both wholes in that atmosphere—complicit in my silence or outed by my voice. The instructor would occasionally send an email concerned that I’d missed two classes in a row completely unaware that his voice was one of those pushing me away. The one place I was supposed to be “a safe haven from the pressures, trials, and challenges of the world” (see the website) had become the one place I dreaded most because there was no room for my voice or my stories.

I put up with that feeling until the end of the semester, occasionally defiantly opening connexion on my laptop rather than taking notes. When the semester was finally over, though, I rejoiced because the silence could no longer kill me from within. I only had to deal with those feelings in the occasional Sunday School lesson or at the occasional family barbeque.

Conference Memory

For those of you who don’t know. Every first weekend of April and October, a worldwide conference takes place for the members of the LDS Church. It’s broadcast from the Conference Center in downtown Salt Lake City to church buildings around the world in dozens of languages.

Well, when I was 17 and my little brother Darin was twelve, we went to the Priesthood Session in the Conference Center. It was pretty exciting since the building holds 20,000 people. This was the closest experience I’d had to an airport.

We stood in long lines with our father and then made our way through metal detectors as our tickets were scanned. Entering the building put us all in a state of awe. The interior of white walls and pillars and marbled floors was a lot to take in at that age; however, once we got into the open air portion, I was even more astonished.

I was at an age where the craft behind art and architecture was beginning to make sense. It was a lot to take in, but since we had time (a good half hour before the conference was to start), I told my father I was going to look at the rest of the building. My brother came along and we made our way up to the top floor taking in the view, the art hanging on the walls, and the swarm of men in white shirts and ties to which we matched perfectly. We made our way to the elevator to go down a floor.

“This is pretty cool,” I said, pushing the button to go down a floor.

“It’s just different to be here in person,” Darin marveled.

As the doors opened, we didn’t find the marbled floors or the excellent views we’d expected, but rather a monotone gray parking garage. Had we wanted to see the apostles cars, we were probably in the right place; however, it was almost time for us to make our way back.

We hopped back in the elevator and hit the button for our floor. Once it opened up, we realized we were in somewhat of a pickle. We had to go through security again.

“Have your ticket?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“We’re getting in line, then,” I instructed as we stepped in front of two men who could be our grandfathers.

As we approached the checkpoint, I worried about what might happen as we went through a second time. Would our tickets give us away? Would we be turned away?

I did my best to make a good impression with the elderly guard. “How’s the day been?” “You must meet a lot of interesting people.” Etc.

I made it through just fine and as I started walking a little faster, I heard a buzzing sound behind me. A red light flashed in the corner of my eye. Apparently, my brother’s ticket had tripped some check in the system. I couldn’t come back to my dad brotherless, so I asked the guard, “What’s wrong?”

“This stupid machine says your brother’s ticket was already scanned. It keeps misreading. Run on in before it starts.”

And with that we breathlessly made our way back just in time to take our seats.

"Press Forward"

A Gay Mormon Missionary Story: August 2004

To think that in four months, I’d be in another country learning another language was mind boggling. That’s just how those months were spent after receiving a missionary call to spend two years as a Mormon missionary in Brazil.

It wasn’t exactly customary to wait four months to leave for missionary training, but I made the most of that wait. I continued to work full-time as one-by-one I watched my guy friends disappear around me as they went on missions around the world. It was somewhat difficult to watch Cole, Nate, Payton, and Bronson all go off to different corners of the globe and be left behind.

In that time, I spent a bit more time with Emily, Jacqueline, Glenda, and Jeannie. Those days were spent going to the movies, hanging out, playing board games, and living out life as we had in high school. As I look back, it’s apparent we were all bracing ourselves for that leap over that canyon of awkwardness into adult life.

Every interaction with them and with my family was asterisked with the thought I won’t see any of these people for two years. What will time bring to us?

When the day finally came for me to say my goodbyes and address my congregation. Family and friends gathered for this one final and ceremonious pre-mission event. As is customary, I spoke in church about the adventure ahead of me.

“The topic is service,” by Bishop told me over the phone weeks before the big day. “Do you think you’ll have any problem speaking about that?”

“Not at all.” How could you turn down such a benign, agreeable topic?

Looking out from the podium that morning was a survey of my life I’ll never relive. An audience populated with Sunday and elementary school teachers, relatives who have since passed away, and friends who are now thousands of miles away living out their dreams. Whether there out of friendship, love, or familial obligation, their faces all gleamed with support as I went through this rite of passage.

I hesitated for a moment, tapping the microphone and removing my thick glasses smeared and stained by my acned face. In those days (perhaps my shyest and most innocent), it was difficult to look even the people I most cared for in the eyes, so I elected to blur their faces to make the process easier.

“Brothers and Sisters—

“Thank you for your time today. I’ve been asked to speak about service today and I’d like to start with the words of prophet and King Benjamin who offered a sermon to his kingdom in Mosiah Chapter 2:

“ ‘16 Behold, I say unto you that because I said unto you that I had spent my days in your service, I do not desire to boast, for I have only been in the service of God.

“ ‘17 And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.’

“We’ve all heard these words and in some cases memorized them, but really, how do we show love and concern for each other? We must focus on what connects us all. We are all equals—brothers and sisters as I addressed you at the beginning of this talk. Does this not mean that we must treat others as we’d like to be treated?

“For this reason, we must focus on that connection and understand one another as we are all tied together by one creator much as Benjamin bound his people together.

“ ‘18 Behold, ye have called me your king; and if I, whom ye call your king, do labor to serve you, then ought not ye to labor to serve one another?

“ ‘19 And behold also, if I, whom ye call your king, who has spent his days in your service, and yet has been in the service of God, do merit any thanks from you, O how you ought to thank your heavenly King!

“ ‘20 I say unto you, my brethren, that if you should render all the thanks and praise which your whole soul has power to possess, to that God who has created you, and has kept and preserved you, and has caused that ye should rejoice, and has granted that ye should live in peace one with another—’ ”

I weaved in accounts of service from my friends eagle scout projects, the patient guidance of my parents, and the examples of my ancestors before one last scripture and turning to the future in front of me:

“ ‘21 I say unto you that if ye should serve him who has created you from the beginning, and is preserving you from day to day, by lending you breath, that ye may live and move and do according to your own will, and even supporting you from one moment to another—I say, if ye should serve him with all your whole souls yet ye would be unprofitable servants.’

“Essentially, if we are to serve others, we are to serve God and prepare ourselves,” I said in the most honest and humble, pressing through my insecurities. “I can think of no better way at this point in my life than to serve. There is plenty wrong in the world and I’m certain that I can make a difference in Brazil. That said, I think that I’ll have more to gain and learn from this experience than I could ever comprehend.”

I closed and put my glasses back on to examine those gleaming faces as they offered a reverent, resounding “Amen” in near unison. This was quickly followed by the hymn “Called to Serve”(#249):

Called to serve Him,
Heavenly King of glory,
Chosen e'er to witness for His name.
Far and wide, we tell the Father's story
Far and wide, His love proclaim.

Onward, ever onward, as we glory in His name;
Onward, ever onward, as we glory in His name;
Forward, pressing forward, as a triumph song we sing.
God our strength will be; Press forward ever
Called to serve our King!

Moments later, we gathered at my parents house. Every culture has its feasts and in Mormon culture mission farewells are one of those occasions. Everyone was there—from my grandparents to the newest of my cousins and my dearest female friends—enjoying a picnic in my backyard.

This is how I would leave them and remember them for the next two years—eating, laughing, and reminiscing.

I’m Not That Boy, Part 7

Ostinato

Underneath all of the busyness of my life—composing my thesis, a twenty hours of work a week, eighteen credits, church activities, and volunteer work as an English teacher—a steady and understated rhythm was beginning to surface in my life. As the drama of dating Derek and not dating Anderson panned out (more details in a future installment), my time with Ianto remained constant.

It seemed it was all I really wanted. But being new to dating, I wondered if it was really all that I wanted.

Two or three times a week, we had a standard date. Always dinner and a movie at his place. I found this in no way unimaginative because every time managed to be somehow different and special.

“You’re telling me you’ve never seen Latter Days and you were once a gay Mormon missionary?! We are watching it tonight, then,” he announced over dinner.

“Okay. You’ll have to twist my arm, though.”

In conversation, I’d heard it spoken of in the same terms as God’s Army for pushing the line and seriously addressing questions of faith. This is why I was interested in seeing both films and also why I’d avoided them. Deep down, I didn’t want to be a ‘bad Mormon’ and challenge my faith like that. However, this time the yes side won out.

As we lay on his bed watching the movie in his tiny room, I would occasionally notice him glancing over at my reaction and thinking, That’s what I do. He really cares what I’m thinking and feeling.

Although both of us were almost silent the entire movie, I felt as if he understood exactly what was going on in my head. As the “greenie” missionary arrived in the field, my mind went back to my mission days to meeting my trainer and my other roommates and thinking What have I gotten myself into?

He seemed to show concern when we watched the scenes of anonymous sex. He understood my shock as those things I’d only heard about had suddenly become a visual reality. I was disgusted, but also curious and as the plot unfolded, I began to understand some of the reasons that was a reality.

It wasn’t long before Ianto and I were as close as we could be laying next to each other on his bed. He held me from behind watching the movie practically through my hair or perhaps not watching the movie at all, but feeling my heart beat with his arms wrapped around my chest.

I tend to think it was the latter. He wasn’t Mormon, but he seemed to understand just how I’d processed the movie without talking about it or simply by listening to my heart. In a romantic way, I liked to think that as a musician he could read and interpret rhythms and variations to a degree of intimacy I hadn’t imagined.

“You weren’t prepared for it to get all cosmic like that, were you? Or when his mother slapped him. You didn’t breath for like half a minute,” he posited as he turned me around to face him on his bed.

“All true. The movie’s definitely not perfect. I don’t think it’s totally fair to either side, but I definitely came out of that understanding a lot of what I’ve been through better.”

“What do you mean?”

“I share a lot of my worries about my family and the Church with… what’s the missionary’s name?”

“Aaron.”

“Yeah. I worry that my parents will react the same way. And the sex… they were evil. I don’t know what to think about it. They were really in love and to express that love is sinful? Ianto,” I paused. “I haven’t even discussed this with Cole, but that’s what seems wrong with the Church. Telling each other how or who to love and passing laws to that effect is the one thing that could make it all true or all false for me. It seems almost hypocritical when 150 years ago there were places it was illegal to be Mormon. Being gay is as much a reality as being Mormon.”

“You’re not the only guy I’ve dated who’s been through this. I don’t think any of them have been quite so thoughtful or articulate about it, though, ” he said. In a way, he seemed to think of it as an elegy for the Church’s lost boys. Ianto was never Mormon, but as some of his best friends were, he made a sincere effort to understand and respect their beliefs.

“I don’t know if that makes things easier or harder for you, but I’m here. As much as I’d like to help you, I can’t. Watching the movie and thinking about it will only help you think through this, I think. That’s what art does.”

He looked me in the eyes communicating just how serious he was about what he’d just said before pulling me towards him for a tender kiss.

End, Part 7.

I’m Not That Boy, Part 6

Accelerando

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked. 

I must have looked as if I were shattered into a thousand pieces.  I was caught in a lie—the kind of lie where you withhold some of the details rather than sharing the whole truth. 

“Anderson just texted me.  He’s on his way.” 

“This is hilarious,” he said.  “Don’t sweat it.  You were never exclusive or anything.  Why would he be here in the first place if he wasn’t looking for some action himself.”

“But I was—”

“You had a family thing after your date with him and he didn’t know you just didn’t mention you had a date afterward as well.  Don’t worry.  Anderson’s the forgiving type.  He may be shocked at first, but he’ll still be friends with both of us no matter what.”

Although I knew deep down that this was true, it wasn’t all that comforting.  I hadn’t been who I wanted to be and that’s what mattered in this situation. 

I didn’t know what to text back, so I didn’t. 

“I’m at the door, but I need two bucks to get back in,” he texted moments later. 

My anxiety was anything but relieved.   “I’m sorry” was all I could think to respond. 

The next half hour was spent intermittently receiving frantic text messages from Anderson and shrugging off Derek’s advances, until the final word came “Gave up on finding an ATM.  I’m going home.” 

After a simple “Good night,” I let loose. 

I danced and even made out with Derek who reminded me, “You’re here to have fun on your 24th, remember?”

The evening was entrancing.  The rumblings of music against the walls and the dancing lights were somehow welcoming.  Everything that became unquestionably forbidden only because it was gay suddenly took on that air of the exotic.  I could like things that were stereotypically gay or associated with pop culture for the sensation of liking them—fashion, art, hairstyles—and it didn’t really matter. 

In that moment, kissing Derek seemed to fit into that category.  He was definitely the most experienced guy I’d kissed, and as I paid attention to the way his lips moved.  I pondered the rhythm and the pressure of each movement and his arms around me helping me complement his every movement.  In one sense it was very gratifying and in another I wondered if that was going too far. 

As the drag show began and we debated staying or leaving to avoid the crowds and the people, I spotted Drake Hatch, who upon noticing my presence gave a friendly nod and smile.  This coincidence led me to wonder once again if that was the future me—at home in the club and enjoying anonymous, suggestive dancing.  Maybe that isn’t such a bad thing?

After a small taste of the drag show (there were a lot of big queens to handle in one night), we drove back to my car.  The discussion centered a lot around where I was in the senses of coming out, especially in regards to the church. 

“Why do you even go?”

“Sometimes I wonder, but I just feel like I need to make it work.”

“Like you owe it to someone?  You don’t owe anybody anything.  Especially if you are uncomfortable.  I know you’re not 100% comfortable.”

“I make it work.  I just have rules.”

“Like what?  I know you’re dying to try coffee.” 

“I keep to the swimsuit rule.  I don’t touch anywhere a swimsuit would cover a guy and vice versa.”

“Wow.  I remember that one from Primary.  You’re really cute that way.”

“Well thanks.”

“I’ll do my best to respect that but no promises.”  He chuckled.

As we said our goodnights, he joined me on my side of his car for one last kiss… which turned into a very long kiss… which turned into something more physical.  He was on top of my.  His large frame was heavy but in a comforting way.  My hands starting in the small of his back ended up in his thick, dark hair—where they’d wanted to travel all night—as his travelled downwards caressing my face and neck, unbuttoning the top button of my shirt, and then coming to a rest above my waist. 

I could barely breath from the exhilaration.

“Come up for air before you pass out,” he teased.

After a brief pause, we continued where we’d left off and he unbuttoned the top button of my jeans. 

“Oops.”

“No.  Not tonight,” I said not nearly as firmly than I’d anticipated. 

He stopped after a playful grind and we sat smiling at each other.  I took a deep breath, said goodnight, and went on my way. 

End, Part 6.

Le Gars de Chocolat Chaud, Part 2

Coffee Break

We found ourselves at Starbucks. It was my first time ever there and one of a handful of times at a café. Toni, on the other hand, had grown up with coffee since before he could remember.

There was always something about cafes that I found alluring. Coffee houses in Utah (even corporate coffee places) have a stigma attached to them of alternative culture mostly because drinking coffee is a form of rebellion within Mormonism. However, my attraction to this atmosphere ran deeper. It encompassed the smells of boiling water, cream, coffee and chocolate; the jazz music humming just under reasoned, polite conversation; the range of possibilities as one noted every flavor of Italian soda, tea, and high-brow desserts; and finally the intellectual air in which one was free to discuss politics in civility or write poetry alone at the table in the corner.

We sat next to each other in two comfy armchairs. They were comfortable enough to know that they weren’t any good for our posture as we enjoyed the drinks I paid for.

“Are you sure you don’t want a taste?” he asked. “It’s the first coffee you’ve ever paid for.”

“Honestly, Toni, I do but I don’t. You know… I love the smell, but I just don’t… I’m fine.”

He giggled at my admission that I was curious about coffee.

“You’ve seriously never had a drop? You’ve been to South America and seen the world’s finest coffee, but still no?”

I lightly shook my head and rolled my eyes, blushing slightly. To diffuse my blushing, I took a sip of my cocoa and returned my attention to Toni as he looked out the window at the falling snow.

“Alright. Someday, though,” he said. He then segued back to a previous discussion on philosophy, his favorite subject, “So you’re still Mormon. How does that work?”

“Sometimes I prefer not to think about it. I’d like to live my life and have everybody else mind their own business.”

I was a little surprised I’d put it quite like that, but it was the truth or the beginnings of it. Yet I was enjoying the evening completely.

“I mean the last guy I dated was Mormon,” he said. “You all deal somehow. It just seems like so much. No coffee, no beer, etc. Even tea and tea is definitely good for you.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“Is it really, GMB? You’re in a position where you can’t have everything you want and be happy.”

He was right. Everything I’d read or felt told me that one day I’d have to choose the gay part or the Mormon part and that it was only a matter of when.

“I’m not really sure what I’ll do.”

“But what happens when you do make a decision and your family tells you its the wrong one? What do you do the-then?” he stuttered slightly. “Will you stick with the decision or go back?”

Under other circumstances, I would have been defensive or felt violated somehow. It was clear that something was wrong. His ex had battled the Gay/Mormon dichotomy and Toni’s heart was the casualty.

“Ash just couldn’t handle it. His family came down on him for everything. For drinking, for having a boyfriend, for not going to church. He still drinks and doesn’t do the church thing, but I got left out of the p-picture,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I stutter sometimes, by the way.”

That moment wasn’t any revelation about the future for me. I’d been through the possibilities hundreds of times in my mind. I hadn’t thought about how that might effect the guy in my life at that point.

“That’s why I don’t date,” he said. “Things aren’t resolved. I’m not ready.”

“Oh,” I said in reflex. “I’m here for you.”

It wasn’t the date I thought it was. (It wasn't a date at all). I guess he wasn’t really interested after all and just needed friends. He wasn’t the prince showing up to sweep me off my feet. I was left to wonder, though if he was the one that needed saving.

End, Part 2.

In Memoriam

Instead of continuing the current series as planned, I’ve elected for a day of silence in memory of Stuart Matis, a gay Mormon who shot himself on the steps of his meetinghouse in Palo Alto, CA ten years ago today (Feb. 25, 2000).

In honor of his parents wishes not to politicize his death on this day, I leave you with links to other posts remembering him and his own words (taken from these sites):

"I implore the students at BYU [Brigham Young University] to re-assess their homophobic feelings. Seek to understand first before you make comments. We have the same needs as you. We desire to love and be loved. We desire to live our lives with happiness. We are not a threat to you or your families. We are your sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, neighbors, co-workers and friends, and most importantly, we are all children of God."

"Perhaps my death … might become the catalyst for much good. I’m sure that you will now be strengthened in your resolve to teach the members and the leaders [of the Church] regarding the true nature of homosexuality." (letter to family, Los Altos Town Crier)

"The church has no idea that as I type this letter, there are surely boys and girls on their calloused knees imploring God to free them from this pain. They hate themselves. They retire to bed with their finger pointed to their head in the form of a gun. The church's involvement in the Knight initiative [prop 22] will only add to the great pain suffered by these young gay Mormons." (letter to cousin weeks before his death)

"Straight members have absolutely no idea what it is like to grow up gay in this church. It is a life of constant torment, self-hatred and internalized homophobia." (same letter to cousin).

Accounts:
Requiem for a Gay Mormon: In memory of Henry Stuart Matis
Henry Stuart Matis (1967-2000)
To Be Gay — And Mormon (Newsweek)

Others’ Reactions:
I Will Remember You
Dear Stuart
Remembering Stuart
When Heavy Wings Grow Lighter
The Matis Statement
No Such Thing as a Coincidence?

A GMB Glossary, Vol. 2

Since the last post had a bit to do with gay lingo, I thought this topic deserved a revisiting before the last two installments of Adventures in Internet Dating. Also, some of you recently posed questions regarding some of these terms.

Today’s post is directed more toward those unfamiliar with terms frequently used by gay and lesbian Mormons. Some of these terms are also used by men and women of other faiths.

Terms

SSA stands for Same Sex Attraction (also referred to as SGA-- Same Gender Attraction).

Within this culture it is often used to distinguish between those who act on homosexual feelings and those who do not. Those pursuing relationships with people of the same sex are more often referred to as gay or lesbian (in my experience) and more frequently refer to themselves this way.

GMB stands for Gay Mormon Boy

I started referring to myself under this term because I felt it embodied three very important, conflictive elements of my identity. 1) Homosexuality, 2) My upbringing in the LDS faith, and 3) My own coming of age—the turn from boy to man.

MoHo stands for Mormon Homosexual. Taken from a central directory for “MoHo” blogs, http://mohodirectory.blogspot.com/, the following are presented as acceptable definitions:

1. A Mormon Homosexual
2. A Gay Mormon
3. A person of homosexual orientation who has some affiliation (either as a current member or a former member) with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints

Organizations

Bloggernacle is a Mormonized version of the word blogosphere. Used in the same contexts.

Evergreen International is an organization dedicated to the treating homosexual tendencies of members of the LDS Church. From their website:

“Evergreen is a nonprofit organization that helps people who want to diminish same-sex attractions and overcome homosexual behavior. It is also a resource to their loved ones, professional counselors, religious leaders, and friends.”

North Star is an organization providing support resources to members of the LDS Church who experience same-sex attraction. From their website:

“North Star is a place of community for Latter-day Saints dealing with issues surrounding homosexual attraction who desire to live in harmony with the teachings of Jesus Christ and the doctrines and values of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

(Interestingly, Northstar is also the name of Marvel’s first openly gay super hero. I’m not sure if there was a connection here).

Affirmation is a LGBT support group for current and former members of the LDS Church. From their website:

“Affirmation: Gay & Lesbian Mormons serves the needs of gay Mormon women and men, as well as bisexual and transgender LDS and their supportive family and friends, through social and educational activities.”

Laws/Doctrines

I’ll close with some definitions from a now-defunct blog called Soy Made Me Gay (with the exception of Word of Wisdom). These definitions are a gay Mormon’s take on certain aspects of church doctrines.

LAW OF CHASTITY

Church rule that prohibits all “below the belt”-type activities between people that aren’t married to each other (same-sex marriages don’t count). You can’t marry yourself, so guess what else is out. Yep. That, too. And don’t even think about porn. Really.

LAW OF TITHING

Ten percent of your income goes (in little gray envelopes) to the Church.

WORD OF WISDOM

A doctrine of the Church which prohibits the consumption of coffee, alcohol, tobacco, certain types of tea, and illegal drugs.

TEMPLE RECOMMEND

A card that shows that the carrier has been interviewed by the Stake President and has been found to meet the minimum requirements of worthiness (Law of Chastity, Law of Tithing, Word of Wisdom, etc.) to enter the temple.

I hope this clears up some things about the issues gay and lesbian Mormons face and some of the vocabulary we use.

Utah Culture 101

The Honor Code

My apologies, readers. I had every intention of writing the next installment of the Internet Dating series, but found myself without time. The weekend was eventful in the best of unexpected ways.

Instead I leave you with something that I ran across this week that I hadn’t examined for myself. It definitely helps understand the Mormon/homosexual dichotomy at least for those attending Brigham Young University and other schools.

BYU’s Honor Code (a contractual code of conduct between school and student) states the following in the section entitled “Homosexual Behavior or Advocacy”:

Brigham Young University will respond to homosexual behavior rather than to feelings or attraction and welcomes as full members of the university community all whose behavior meets university standards. Members of the university community can remain in good Honor Code standing if they conduct their lives in a manner consistent with gospel principles and the Honor Code.

One's stated same-gender attraction is not an Honor Code issue. However, the Honor Code requires all members of the university community to manifest a strict commitment to the law of chastity [A commandment to abstain from sex until marriage]. Homosexual behavior and/or advocacy of homosexual behavior are inappropriate and violate the Honor Code. Homosexual behavior includes not only sexual relations between members of the same sex, but all forms of physical intimacy that give expression to homosexual feelings. Advocacy includes seeking to influence others to engage in homosexual behavior or promoting homosexual relations as being morally acceptable.

For those of you unfamiliar with the LDS faith or culture, I hope that this sheds some light. Those breaking the Honor Code face expulsion from the school as a consequence of their actions. Students of BYU and other church-run schools are aware of these conditions as they enter them.

(Sorry, BYU friends and alumni, I couldn’t help myself with the pic).

To my chagrin, I must admit that I pinched this informational report from a post I came across in Salt Lake’s Gay Gossip Blog, Salty Gossip. (It’s a sort of guilty pleasure…).