I recently had a conversation with an amazing woman, a mother of a transgender child, who was willing to share her story and perspective with me. In the course of our conversation, I asked for her thoughts on the possibility of a genuine friendship between her and someone who adheres completely to the Family Proclamation. Her reply was thoughtful and heartfelt. With her permission, I’m sharing a part of it here:
“Can I have a genuine relationship with someone who clings to the tenets, and the beliefs, and the beauty - there is some beauty - of the Proclamation? Let me try to back into this answer. I have a friend, someone whom I’ve known for about 20 years. She’s an amazing woman, a strong mother, a member of the church. As we were out walking one day, we started talking about some of the things I’d been reading. I had just finished listening to the 1619 project and reading Ida B.Wells and Frederick Douglass. She turned to me and said, “Well, there isn’t such a thing as systematic racism.”
I personally believe this isn’t a question up for debate; my reading, my studies, what I see, know, believe... I feel like it’s a slam dunk thing. So we were in the middle of this walk and I was so distressed, I almost started crying. If we had been closer to the house, I might’ve just turned around and not been able to finish the walk with her. Instead, we talked about it a little bit more. We were heading up the hill when she turned to me and said, “Do you think I’m a racist?” I was able to say “no,” to get it away from her and say, “I think we’re all racist and I’m working to be an antiracist, and that is not an antiracist sentiment, not recognizing your privilege.” So we kinda got past that sticky point, which is always hard. I mean, you can’t really be friends with someone when one person thinks the other person is racist. But then she said, “Do you think we can be friends?” And I don’t know what I said. I said something polite, and then I thought about it and thought about it and thought about it... and I really couldn’t come up with an answer.
The truth of the matter was, she had shown me something about her soul, about the way she looked at equity and justice and her place in the world. It wasn’t that I couldn’t be her friend anymore, but the way I saw her, the respect I had for her... I can’t say that we were really close, but we were friends, and it’s always nice to have someone that understands your shared history in the gospel... but I saw something that pained me deeply, and it repelled me, quite frankly. I certainly understand that if I leave this relationship, we won’t be able to have more conversations. I won’t be able to share with her what I’m reading or knowing or what my friends of color are telling me, what they have been telling me my whole life. I will never have any impact on her, on the way she views the world, or maybe the way that she looks at, or accepts, or understands, people that are different than herself. It’s this funny place, right? Do I leave the relationship? Do I stay in? Do I feel this lack of intimacy? Ironically, not long after this happened, I had a new neighbor move in, a black family with three amazing kids. The mother has a PHD in engineering and she’s just so interesting—she’s reading what I’m reading, thinking what I’m thinking, laughing, sharing, growing with me, stretching me etc. I’ve reached out to my old friend a couple times and will still see her, but it’s almost like my space, where my growth is going, has now been filled by this new friend who, ironically, is a woman of color, but is bringing so much that is new and fresh into my life. So it’s not that I’m not going to be friends with this woman, my sister in the gospel, but the episode has just made me look at the relationship with a new critical eye.
So, knowing that about myself and how I am, how would I feel about being close friends with someone who looks at the Proclamation differently than I do? I guess it’s the same answer. If that individual, whoever it is - my bishop, my home teacher, my neighbor, my friend - sees my child as aberrant, perhaps sinning... my child didn’t ask for any of this. Obviously life would’ve been much easier if this had never happened. This isn’t a choice. Let’s say my child was gay, for example; I guess it’s just more pronounced because I have a child who’s transgender. A faith that cannot love and fully accept and help support my child to live to their fullest capacity—I don’t know that I can claim that as my faith or belief system.
So I’m working that out, probably an elegant exit from the church. But as for my friends in the church, if they cling to that, I don’t see... for true intimacy there has to be, you have to be safe, you have to trust, and I just, I just don’t know how that happens. Which is a big problem in the church. Families like mine—where do you go? The church’s position, love the sinner hate the sin... I think it’s kind of cowardly. They’re trying to have it both ways, but I don’t know that you really can. It’s really sad. It’s a dilemma, and it’s just the path we’re on. But I don’t, I just don’t.... this is hard! How about I say this: I don’t think there’s room for my personal growth, or really, the capacity for the church to be what it can be, as long as the Proclamation is in place. It just seems archaic, and not current with what we know about science, and very un-Christlike. I’ve heard the message that the church is listening to us, it is hearing us, we just need to have faith, and we have no room to make an impact if we leave the church. But I also think that leaving, to really admit where I stand on this issue... I have a child who is perfect!... and is God’s child and my child, I love this child, and I cannot tolerate, anymore than I should’ve tolerated the church saying that black men couldn’t have the priesthood, or that it was ok for Joseph Smith to lay down with a 14 year old girl—I can’t accept it, I never should’ve accepted it, I’m a little embarrassed that it had to get personal for me to see the problem here. I respect what the church has done, I love many people in the church, including almost my entire family of origin. It will break my mother’s heart if she ever finds out that I’m exiting, but it’s just sad that I think the church has made its decision, and perhaps I have too.”
* * *
I imagine you found that hard to read; it was hard to listen to. I’d like you to pause here and ask yourself,
How would you respond?
I admit I was silent for a long time, I didn’t know what to say. One of my first reactions was gratitude, bordering on awe, for her courage and generosity in sharing such deeply personal thoughts and feelings with me. It is clear that she is a thoughtful, genuine, compassionate person who has really wrestled with these issues, and it is just as clear that there are no easy answers here. I felt her pain - although pain is such a small word for the hours and days and even years of sorrow and struggle faced by her family and the countless others in a similar situation. As I knelt to pray that night, I had an instinctive desire to pray for her, but I found myself unable to say much—I wanted to be careful to respect her beliefs and desires, and wasn’t sure how best to do so in my prayers.
As I pondered her words over the ensuing days, I found that I was also sorrowing over the lost opportunities for those of us in the church, especially those in her ward, to bear her burdens, mourn with her and comfort her, as we have covenanted to do. And the opportunities lost on her end, for her to do the same. I foresee many, many people making the same choices that she is about to make, and for many of the same reasons. I sorrow for the fact that we will not have these chances to learn to love each other more purely, to learn to overcome differences in beliefs and and not let them stand in the way of loving each other.
It took me a long time to articulate some sort of response beyond my first reaction of gratitude and sympathy, but this is some of what I eventually said to her:
“I see where you’re coming from, and none of what I am about to say is meant to contradict or second-guess you. If you think that leaving the church is what you need to do to be true to yourself and protect your family, then that’s what you need to do. But I do have some thoughts on growth, and on how we see into each other’s souls here on earth.
I understand your desire to be with people who can grow with you. But I feel that growth can also happen when we are thrown together with people who really disagree with us and we have to learn how to love them anyway. It struck me recently that the two great commandments—first to love God and second to love your neighbor as yourself—are both about relationships. Our Father’s goal for us is eternal life and exaltation, and Christ has taught that the way to get there is through relationships. And really, what is more Godlike than continuing to love someone who is choosing to believe or do something that you know is wrong?
I feel that this choice to love can happen on both sides. I know there are people in the church who believe that choosing to live a transgender life is wrong, and I think it would be a beautiful thing if you gave them the opportunity to choose to love you and your child anyway, to learn how to do that and be that safe space. Conversely I think it would be a beautiful thing for you and your family to choose to keep loving these people even though you feel that their beliefs and choices are wrong and hurtful. This “turning the other cheek” seems like something that will be required of us all in dealing with LGBTQ issues. Perhaps it will be required most by those who identify as such. It seems an impossibly difficult ask—yet it is in fact what Christ has asked us to do. And the amazing, miraculous, hope-filled thing is, that some people are actually doing it! I think of those I know who identify as LGBTQ, who have deliberately chosen to continue as part of the church community, who attend meetings and serve and share, who are demonstrating such incredible courage and humility and love. Somehow, turning the other cheek is so much more meaningful when the underlying motivation is not merely obedience, but love.
Some of the most stretching experiences I’ve had in the church have been with people who believe quite differently than I do, who say things that I find hurtful or offensive. Continuing to associate with them weekly has allowed me to see them more fully, to appreciate that they are indeed doing their absolute best, and to see their courage and faith in continuing to show up both because of and despite their beliefs. It has given me opportunities to repent and to forgive. It has allowed me glimpses into their souls that I could never have perceived without patience and time and as much humility as I can muster. This growth is often uncomfortable but it is certainly real.
My last thought is, one of the most beautiful things about the gospel is that two people can believe such different things and yet, if they commit to continuing to love each other, they can both become more like their Savior. Obedience to principles, while ultimately essential, is not the only way in which we progress spiritually; we also progress by choosing to love people regardless of how they are living. I realize that you don’t have to do that within the church - you can definitely do it outside of the church - but I do think that being part of a ward forces you to learn to love people whom you might not otherwise choose to associate with. You have in fact covenanted specifically to do so, and this covenantal responsibility does not exist outside of the church. I just love that aspect of the gospel—that there are so many different ways to grow, and even as you grow apart on some things you can nevertheless grow closer together and become more unified.”
Our conversation is ongoing. In the meantime, I'd like to hear this from you:
When it comes to relationships between those in the church who identify as LGBTQ, and those who do not, what gives you hope?
Comentarios