Mormonism was my religion-- so I soldiered on.
My first experiences with the Divine began, not during Church services or programs which I faithfully endured without much enthusiasm, but in my bedroom alone, listening to sacred music.
And they continued, with sporadic reinforcement from church but mostly in choir-- again, with music. Making it with others revealed communal facets to spirituality that I hadn’t clearly understood despite faithful involvement with the Church. I have a clear memory of standing in class singing with this group of people I loved as my own soul, and thinking “This is my religion.” I batted that thought away-- Mormonism was my religion.
Then I went on my mission. I had mixed motivations as most do, but went out of belief that faithful service would result in closer connection with divinity. In some ways, it did-- usually when I ignored pressures from leaders and other missionaries and engaged in acts of service for their own sake. Usually the mission was just difficult without being rewarding. That was at the best of times; a few months before I went home, I experienced emotional and spiritual trauma that scarred my mind. The resulting wound will hurt for the rest of my life.
As difficult and awful as the mission ended up being, returning home was worse. BYUI offered no respite from the suffering. The church sets a clear path for its men: obtain the priesthood, go on a mission, get married, (hopefully while pursuing education) have a family, endure to the end. I had done the first two steps, but now I was supposed to do the third, and I knew in my heart that marriage with a woman would never work. Not only was I suffering alone from the effects of my mission service, my life had gone completely off the rails with little hope of restoration. But Mormonism was my religion, so I soldiered on.
Two years after returning home I initiated through the ManKind Project. This extraordinary experience was second only to choir in its power to connect me with divine things. I found a group of men who loved and appreciated me for who I am, not just for who I am supposed to be. I also found for the first time since choir that I wasn’t alone. The contrast between the openness, honesty and love I found through the ManKind Project and the weekly experience at church could not have been more stark-- but Mormonism was my religion, so I soldiered on.
I found North Star, a group of LGBTQ people supporting each other in faithfulness to Church teachings. What solidarity! What relief! I had no idea what that felt like to be understood. Once I did there was no turning back. At this point it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore or explain away the widening gap between divine experience and Church involvement, but still-- Mormonism was my religion, so I soldiered on.
Let’s make a long story short. There’s only so far one can go soldiering on by themselves. The path to the divine is not a road that can be taken alone. And it wasn’t my fault I was going it alone-- I tried for years to find the support I needed, especially to make a sacrifice as big as the one the Church expected me to make. At last I realized I couldn’t find it because it just wasn’t there. Mormonism was no longer my religion-- I was done soldiering on.
Don’t get me wrong, losing the Church was one of the most painful experiences of my life, and for good reason. Even though I’m no longer a believer and dislike the institutional church, I recognize its contributions to my strengths-- especially those I found participating in its rituals and in opportunities for communal service.
However, they were not everything to me. This is perhaps where my story diverges from that of many ex-Mormons whose stories I’ve encountered-- their entire identity revolved around the Church, and once they lost the Church they lost themselves. This is one chief example of how the Church dominates people. It, however, was not true of me. As important as the Church was, it was not everything.
What did I love about the Church, in the end? I loved it because I thought it was my channel to experiencing the divine. In some ways, I was correct. I still wrestle with how meaningful my experiences with ordinances were. Taking the sacrament, for example, was a visceral experience.
But what I did not realize was that the Divine I sought was not in the Church-- it was in me. That the divine things I experienced were not because of what the Church is, but because of who I am. The Church attempted to take credit for these experiences, but ultimately it isn’t responsible for them. That space is, and always has been, between me and God, as I first experienced it in my bedroom two and a half decades ago.
I loved that divine influence when I knew it as Jesus. I love it now, even though I know it by a different name. What endures is not churches, not dogmas, not doctrines, not principalities or powers or any other such thing. What endures is that we are all children of the divine. Encounters with Spirit are not the purview of a church, any church! They are our birthright as human beings. We can all experience Spirit if we seek to do good, to be better, to treat others graciously, to live in integrity. This is true no matter our background or belonging.
And I am returning to my roots. As I realized in choir those many years ago, connection, community, the beautiful, virtuous, good and true: These are my religion. My trust is not in Mormonism, but in God-- not in church, but in virtue. What is beautiful and true-- all these I love, regardless of what religion in which they are housed.
Let’s all remember that any God worth their salt loves the same-- and if we love God, so must we.
And they continued, with sporadic reinforcement from church but mostly in choir-- again, with music. Making it with others revealed communal facets to spirituality that I hadn’t clearly understood despite faithful involvement with the Church. I have a clear memory of standing in class singing with this group of people I loved as my own soul, and thinking “This is my religion.” I batted that thought away-- Mormonism was my religion.
Then I went on my mission. I had mixed motivations as most do, but went out of belief that faithful service would result in closer connection with divinity. In some ways, it did-- usually when I ignored pressures from leaders and other missionaries and engaged in acts of service for their own sake. Usually the mission was just difficult without being rewarding. That was at the best of times; a few months before I went home, I experienced emotional and spiritual trauma that scarred my mind. The resulting wound will hurt for the rest of my life.
As difficult and awful as the mission ended up being, returning home was worse. BYUI offered no respite from the suffering. The church sets a clear path for its men: obtain the priesthood, go on a mission, get married, (hopefully while pursuing education) have a family, endure to the end. I had done the first two steps, but now I was supposed to do the third, and I knew in my heart that marriage with a woman would never work. Not only was I suffering alone from the effects of my mission service, my life had gone completely off the rails with little hope of restoration. But Mormonism was my religion, so I soldiered on.
Two years after returning home I initiated through the ManKind Project. This extraordinary experience was second only to choir in its power to connect me with divine things. I found a group of men who loved and appreciated me for who I am, not just for who I am supposed to be. I also found for the first time since choir that I wasn’t alone. The contrast between the openness, honesty and love I found through the ManKind Project and the weekly experience at church could not have been more stark-- but Mormonism was my religion, so I soldiered on.
I found North Star, a group of LGBTQ people supporting each other in faithfulness to Church teachings. What solidarity! What relief! I had no idea what that felt like to be understood. Once I did there was no turning back. At this point it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore or explain away the widening gap between divine experience and Church involvement, but still-- Mormonism was my religion, so I soldiered on.
Let’s make a long story short. There’s only so far one can go soldiering on by themselves. The path to the divine is not a road that can be taken alone. And it wasn’t my fault I was going it alone-- I tried for years to find the support I needed, especially to make a sacrifice as big as the one the Church expected me to make. At last I realized I couldn’t find it because it just wasn’t there. Mormonism was no longer my religion-- I was done soldiering on.
Don’t get me wrong, losing the Church was one of the most painful experiences of my life, and for good reason. Even though I’m no longer a believer and dislike the institutional church, I recognize its contributions to my strengths-- especially those I found participating in its rituals and in opportunities for communal service.
However, they were not everything to me. This is perhaps where my story diverges from that of many ex-Mormons whose stories I’ve encountered-- their entire identity revolved around the Church, and once they lost the Church they lost themselves. This is one chief example of how the Church dominates people. It, however, was not true of me. As important as the Church was, it was not everything.
What did I love about the Church, in the end? I loved it because I thought it was my channel to experiencing the divine. In some ways, I was correct. I still wrestle with how meaningful my experiences with ordinances were. Taking the sacrament, for example, was a visceral experience.
But what I did not realize was that the Divine I sought was not in the Church-- it was in me. That the divine things I experienced were not because of what the Church is, but because of who I am. The Church attempted to take credit for these experiences, but ultimately it isn’t responsible for them. That space is, and always has been, between me and God, as I first experienced it in my bedroom two and a half decades ago.
I loved that divine influence when I knew it as Jesus. I love it now, even though I know it by a different name. What endures is not churches, not dogmas, not doctrines, not principalities or powers or any other such thing. What endures is that we are all children of the divine. Encounters with Spirit are not the purview of a church, any church! They are our birthright as human beings. We can all experience Spirit if we seek to do good, to be better, to treat others graciously, to live in integrity. This is true no matter our background or belonging.
And I am returning to my roots. As I realized in choir those many years ago, connection, community, the beautiful, virtuous, good and true: These are my religion. My trust is not in Mormonism, but in God-- not in church, but in virtue. What is beautiful and true-- all these I love, regardless of what religion in which they are housed.
Let’s all remember that any God worth their salt loves the same-- and if we love God, so must we.
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