On Tenderness
Being male has brought many gifts and challenges to my life, often counterbalanced by the gifts and challenges of being LGBT. Masculinity, on one hand, is the very thing that is the center of my attractions; I love men. I love maleness and masculinity. I love the raw power of masculinity, manifested in complex and multifaceted ways by good men of all stripes. It’s such a beautiful thing, and I am so glad my biology has equipped me to love it in the way that I can, and do.
On the other hand, masculinity (and being, or at least presenting as masculine) is the core of many of my challenges. My own masculinity is interwoven with a deep, uncompromising femininity unusual for a male that prevents me from embracing many masculine stereotypes, with both good and bad consequences: I don’t feel I have to be ashamed of my tenderness as it manifests in things such as long hugs or the love of flowers, for example, while on the other hand I am not fit for most of the expectations that come with being male, along with the rewards society generally bestows on the stereotypically masculine, and withholds from those not deemed masculine enough. Such as me. Go figure.
But one of the many things that living as an LGBT man in a modern masculine context has taught me is that being one of those stereotypically masculine men is a double edged sword. Certainly society rewards such, but it also withholds a lot of beautiful and wonderful things in order to reinforce those masculine stereotypes. Chief among those? Tenderness. And especially, tenderness towards other men.
I was raised Christian (Latter-day Saint) and still identify somewhat as such, and I find that the scriptural Christ and many other male scriptural figures I was taught to look up to do not match these stereotypes, sometimes in startling ways. The apostle John, for instance, is titled “the Beloved,” because Christ Himself referred to John as “my beloved.” In a passage of unusually striking tenderness, the New Testament says “Now there was leaning on Jesus’ bosom one of his disciples, whom Jesus loved.” The tenderness that they felt for each other found extended physical expression as described in this passage.
Additionally, we have the incredible friendship of David and Jonathon. David’s tenderness in relation to Jonathon comes out strongly in his funeral lament, stating “I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thou been unto me: thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.”
Lastly there is a passage in the Book of Mormon, often overlooked, that describes the deep, affectionate tenderness felt between two of the great figures of Book of Mormon stories, namely Ammon and Alma: “16 And it came to pass that as Ammon was going forth into the land, that he and his brethren met Alma, over in the place of which has been spoken; and behold, this was a joyful meeting. 17 Now the joy of Ammon was so great even that he was full; yea, he was swallowed up in the joy of his God, even to the exhausting of his strength; and he fell again to the earth.”
Now tell me, ladies and gentlemen: when was the last time you ever heard your husbands, fathers, brothers, male friends, or any other men you know refer to another man as “his beloved?” When have you ever heard them lamenting a friend’s loss by referring to his love as wonderful? Have you ever heard any other man meet an old male friend unexpectedly and feel so much joy it exhausted his strength?
Let me answer that for you and say that probably 99% of you have never even come close to witnessing this between men. And if you did, you would probably feel intensely uncomfortable with it. Don’t pretend to me otherwise; I remember clearly and distinctly a Facebook post I witnessed as a young man, where a BYU student dared to publicly show affection to another man during a meeting and his “friends” took a picture of said act of kindness and took to social media to mock him for it. Are any of you different from them? I mean, really? Even if you wouldn’t take to social media to mock anybody for it, you would almost certainly feel the same level of discomfort.
Consider. Christ says “As I have loved you, so also ought ye to love one another.” He has provided an example and a template in his tenderness and affection toward John. So, where is it? Where are you, Christian men? What are you doing? Where is your tenderness, your affection, your love for one another? For me?
In so many ways I feel pushed out of masculinity in general and Christian masculinity specifically because my desire for tenderness goes unanswered at best, and is openly mocked or met with discomfort at worst. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame anybody for my current choices but myself, but at the same time I faced institutional and cultural pressures that have led me to realize that acting on my sexuality is really the only choice I have if I want to receive and give the tenderness, affection and love that I crave from other men on a regular basis. I have found Christian men are utterly unable to give and receive that tenderness. What else could I possibly do?
Now don’t get me wrong, I appreciate and love many men, and they appreciate and love me, even if it doesn’t have the tenderness and loving-kindness that I crave. I appreciate that love for what it is. But at the same time, isn’t there something to shift the needle, something to increase tenderness and affection among men? I cannot tell you how soul-shattering the moments of receiving such have been for me. It fill sme up from head to toe, to know that another man welcomes me into his embrace with full presence and gratitude, and I him. There are few things more filling and fulfilling than love between men; and few things more damaging than the lack of it. In the words of Robert Bly: “Having no soul union with other men can be the most damaging wound of all.”
So, I challenge you, reader, to change a little. To welcome soul-union between your husbands, fathers, brothers, sons and the men in their lives, rather than fearing or mocking it. To recognize that masculine tenderness is a gift, not a weakness, to the repairing and healing of so much that is wrong with this world.
Thank you for listening, and I bless you. I hope you go from reading this post in peace.
On the other hand, masculinity (and being, or at least presenting as masculine) is the core of many of my challenges. My own masculinity is interwoven with a deep, uncompromising femininity unusual for a male that prevents me from embracing many masculine stereotypes, with both good and bad consequences: I don’t feel I have to be ashamed of my tenderness as it manifests in things such as long hugs or the love of flowers, for example, while on the other hand I am not fit for most of the expectations that come with being male, along with the rewards society generally bestows on the stereotypically masculine, and withholds from those not deemed masculine enough. Such as me. Go figure.
But one of the many things that living as an LGBT man in a modern masculine context has taught me is that being one of those stereotypically masculine men is a double edged sword. Certainly society rewards such, but it also withholds a lot of beautiful and wonderful things in order to reinforce those masculine stereotypes. Chief among those? Tenderness. And especially, tenderness towards other men.
I was raised Christian (Latter-day Saint) and still identify somewhat as such, and I find that the scriptural Christ and many other male scriptural figures I was taught to look up to do not match these stereotypes, sometimes in startling ways. The apostle John, for instance, is titled “the Beloved,” because Christ Himself referred to John as “my beloved.” In a passage of unusually striking tenderness, the New Testament says “Now there was leaning on Jesus’ bosom one of his disciples, whom Jesus loved.” The tenderness that they felt for each other found extended physical expression as described in this passage.
Additionally, we have the incredible friendship of David and Jonathon. David’s tenderness in relation to Jonathon comes out strongly in his funeral lament, stating “I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thou been unto me: thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.”
Lastly there is a passage in the Book of Mormon, often overlooked, that describes the deep, affectionate tenderness felt between two of the great figures of Book of Mormon stories, namely Ammon and Alma: “16 And it came to pass that as Ammon was going forth into the land, that he and his brethren met Alma, over in the place of which has been spoken; and behold, this was a joyful meeting. 17 Now the joy of Ammon was so great even that he was full; yea, he was swallowed up in the joy of his God, even to the exhausting of his strength; and he fell again to the earth.”
Let me answer that for you and say that probably 99% of you have never even come close to witnessing this between men. And if you did, you would probably feel intensely uncomfortable with it. Don’t pretend to me otherwise; I remember clearly and distinctly a Facebook post I witnessed as a young man, where a BYU student dared to publicly show affection to another man during a meeting and his “friends” took a picture of said act of kindness and took to social media to mock him for it. Are any of you different from them? I mean, really? Even if you wouldn’t take to social media to mock anybody for it, you would almost certainly feel the same level of discomfort.
Consider. Christ says “As I have loved you, so also ought ye to love one another.” He has provided an example and a template in his tenderness and affection toward John. So, where is it? Where are you, Christian men? What are you doing? Where is your tenderness, your affection, your love for one another? For me?
In so many ways I feel pushed out of masculinity in general and Christian masculinity specifically because my desire for tenderness goes unanswered at best, and is openly mocked or met with discomfort at worst. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame anybody for my current choices but myself, but at the same time I faced institutional and cultural pressures that have led me to realize that acting on my sexuality is really the only choice I have if I want to receive and give the tenderness, affection and love that I crave from other men on a regular basis. I have found Christian men are utterly unable to give and receive that tenderness. What else could I possibly do?
Now don’t get me wrong, I appreciate and love many men, and they appreciate and love me, even if it doesn’t have the tenderness and loving-kindness that I crave. I appreciate that love for what it is. But at the same time, isn’t there something to shift the needle, something to increase tenderness and affection among men? I cannot tell you how soul-shattering the moments of receiving such have been for me. It fill sme up from head to toe, to know that another man welcomes me into his embrace with full presence and gratitude, and I him. There are few things more filling and fulfilling than love between men; and few things more damaging than the lack of it. In the words of Robert Bly: “Having no soul union with other men can be the most damaging wound of all.”
Thank you for listening, and I bless you. I hope you go from reading this post in peace.
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