The Good Samaritan (see http://www.art4god.com/store/the-good-samaritan for more info on this awesome painting)
It's always weird sitting down to write. I wonder who I am writing to. I wonder why I am writing. I sometimes wonder if anyone is really listening. I guess I find myself called to write because I want to continue to stand as a voice for others who feel outside or different.
Currently, I find myself in kind of a weird place. Moving into a new ward means playing through the same dance, slowly having different people in the congregation find out that I'm trans, and then watching people come to terms with that (or not coming to terms with it) in different ways. For many people, the mere revelation of my differences is enough to make them uncomfortable. My willingness to admit an identity that some see as contrary to God's plan creates some degree of friction. Frankly, going to church is the hardest thing I do every week. I'm afraid and tired of the inevitable comments condemning LGBT individuals. I'm tired of just feeling different. Too often those comments feel like they strike at me and my feelings. It really is an exhausting experience.
As I was pondering the reasons for some my current fears and anxieties, I realized that almost all of these uncertainties and tensions revolve around a fear of being different, fear of sticking out, or a fear of being the other. I am still coming to grips with how much trauma not feeling male caused me as an LDS teenager. I tried so hard, for so many years to merely belong and I often feel like I failed at even that.
I certainly don't claim that a fear of being different is in any way unique to me. In fact, this fear of being different surrounds all of us. These differences can be big or small, but regardless they isolate us and make us feel alone. I remember having one of my brothers tell me about how out of place he and his roommate felt because they didn't want to attend church activities that focused on going boating, or playing basketball. What happens to men not interested in the scouting program, or women who find homemaking activities boring? What happens to all of these people who don't fit into the standard Mormon mold? I think that all too often, they leave. It's hard to stay in a place where you feel like the other and aren't sure you belong.
There are a great many people within the church who feel like the 'other.' Just a quick look through the recent news cycle gives us a glimpse of some of these people. We live in a culture that still seems to privilege white caucasian members (https://medium.com/@VoteDarlene/racism-in-utah-b85710fd00a6). We live in a culture that so strictly enforces gender roles that Mormon women often feel they need to meet crazy ideals (https://www.allure.com/story/why-so-many-beauty-bloggers-are-mormon). We live in a church accused of causing youth LGBT suicide's (https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/is-the-mormon-church-to-blame-for-utahs-increase-in-lgbtq-youth-suicides_us_59e7ddbbe4b0d3554d20fbdd). I'm guessing if you took a minute to look through those articles, they made you uncomfortable to varying degrees. It's easy to feel defensive when discomfort arises, but I hope we can learn to sit with that discomfort and instead ask ourselves, "There are some members of my church who feel this way. What can I, personally, do to help them feel more welcome?" In the end, this isn't anything profound but rather a simple extension of the questions, "What would Jesus do?"
We, as human beings, are deeply uncomfortable confronting ideas or thoughts that make us shift our paradigms and confront the 'other.' It's a really hard thing, and it's far easier to ignore differences. No matter where I go, I hear the idea expressed that it is better to isolate ourselves and our children from a wicked world. It's a common talking point both online and in Elder's Quorum. For me, statements like these seem to say that protection of our values up to the point of isolation is much important than ministry or reaching out to others.
Yet, ministry is the reason for the church. Reaching out to those different than ourselves is why we have a community, not to bring together like individuals, but to force us to confront people with different lives, experiences, challenges or views than our own. Opening up ourselves to confront and see differences is hard, and causes discomfort. But discomfort has never been a bad thing. Rather, we need to learn to sit with our discomfort.
I see examples all around of people failing to minister. The #metoo campaign which has been going around social media is a perfect example of how this opportunity can be completely missed. I see too many men making it about themselves, saying "I don't do this. Why should I feel guilty?" But that is beside the point. It was never about how you feel, but rather an opportunity to listen to others. We can't minister, we can't befriend, and we can't help individuals whom we refuse to listen to.
I see the exact same response to the LGBT youth suicide debate. It doesn't matter if you think statistics are being misused, or if you think sources blaming the Church for suicides are wrong, or if you think that suicides are only the responsbility of those who commit them. Do some teens feel like they are evil because of feelings they have? Do some LDS families horribly mistreat their LGBT children? Is LGBT youth homelessness a problem in Utah? If you even think the answer might be a yes to any of those questions then all the previous concerns are moot. Instead the only questions that matter are: What am I doing to help these youth? How can I help them feel loved? How can I minister to people different from myself? Answering these questions doesn't require you to change any of your beliefs or views, merely to consider someone else for a moment. And I am certainly not going to tell you how to answer these questions, merely asking you to consider and to find an answer that works for you.
It's easy to forget that Jesus himself spent his ministry working with samaritans, publicans, prostitutes, and other marginalized populations. I imagine that if Jesus were here on earth today continuing his ministry he would continue this trend. The greatest part of this work is that each of us have our differences our moments of otherness however brief or massive they might be. There is no person on this earth who doesn't need a good Samaritan to come and lift them up when they have been beaten down.
It's easy to look at our congregations and only see sameness, so in some ways being different has become symbolic for me. By being one of the 'others' I can help stand for all 'others' within and without our community. I've been reading a lot of queer theory lately, and realizing that this 'otherness' I have been so afraid of is not neccessarily a bad thing. Perhaps, feeling marginalized is a calling to this work of lifting others up, since we know what it is like to be passed by on the road. So I am working to claim my own otherness, my own "queerness."
I am the other. And I will own these feelings of ugliness, of not belonging, and of feeling different. Every day I stay is another day of triumph, where I can stand and say, "I am here, I am different, and I belong!" I will constantly strive to remember how alone I felt as a teen, how ostracized I was, thinking that everyone was the same because all too often we pretend to be. I can't let that happen to anyone else. So, as far as I am able, I stand as different. And by standing as different, hopefully many others can find the courage to stand in their own differences as well. We are not a homogenous church, so let's stop pretending that we are.
It's easy to see such a declaration as a shot at the church, or as a way of undermining doctrine or theology that you hold dear. I'm not. I'm not demanding that you suddenly change; I'm not advocating for change. I'm just encouraging you to spend a moment considering something different. All I ask is that you leave a place for me and anyone else who feels like they have been pushed to the furthest most edges of belonging. This for me is how I build Zion, God's kingdom on earth, by holding open the gates for so very many people who at one time or another felt left behind or abandoned.
