About the New "Mormon and Gay" Website

There's a new website for and about LGBTQ (okay, actually just LGBQ) Mormons. Reactions range from "Let's celebrate incremental change!" to "If you're not going to do the right thing, go to hell!" I'm sympathetic to both perspectives; here's my own reaction.

Here's what the new website isn't: a meaningful reversal of major LDS teachings or policies. To the extent that I had any hope of that happening, of course it's a huge disappointment. On the one hand, people are literally killing themselves out here. On the other hand, I guess it's not terribly surprising to find out that the Pope is still Catholic, bears still poop in the woods, and Mormon leaders still have the same opinions.

There are a few smaller changes that are worth noticing, I think.

First off, "Mormon and gay" (adjectives) is an improvement on "Mormons and gays" (nouns). It's the difference between saying "Jewish people" versus "the Jews." It's not that the noun form is technically inaccurate, but somehow, it's too often used in a derogatory or at least marginalizing context.

Also, it's significant that it's hosted on lds.org. People who really should have known better thought the old website was produced by enemies of the LDS Church. Having lds.org in the address makes the site more accessible and more credible.

Moving to trans issues: on the one hand, the intentional and explicitly stated failure to address trans issues may be another huge disappointment. On the other hand, the explicit recognition that being Mormon and trans is difficult in ways that a discussion about attraction and orientation won't adequately address is a big step, possibly in the right direction.

I am glad to see resources for people who are depressed or contemplating suicide. Of course, I'd prefer doing something about the teachings and practices that lead people to feel like they just can't go on living, but preventing people who feel like that from actually taking their lives is an important part of what needs to happen.

It's good to see increasing acceptance of terms like "gay," "lesbian," and "bisexual" instead of insistence that those labels are incorrect or damaging. And yeah, there seem to be more letters in LGBT+ every year, so maybe just describing "any people who are attracted to other people of the same sex" might allow you to find a useful blanket term that includes people who don't prefer to use the most prevalent labels. In my view, though, the term "same-sex attracted" fits like a burqa: it seems to create unnecessary restrictions on how you view the world, but if that's something you want for yourself, I support whatever you choose, while still being deeply suspicious of the people or teachings that might have influenced or coerced that choice. Maybe the guy who calls himself "same-sex attracted" would prefer that term in different circumstances too. But also, maybe he's worked at the Church Office Building for a while, and hasn't exactly been free to use any other term without risking his job. I can't tell, and I support the choice, but I maintain my skepticism of the factors involved.

The biggest thing, in my view, is that telling real people's stories matters. There's a part of me that feels a little guilty just saying that, that knows that data are supposed to be superior to anecdotes. Of course, there are times when you need good data. "Look, I'm a gay man but I got married to a woman and we make it work" is a downright dangerous story if you don't understand how infrequently that sort of arrangement really thrives. However, I'm also convinced that telling true stories about ourselves is the only way we ever understand each other -- hearing a good, true story is the best way to understand someone else's heart, or change your own.

In some respects, the stories are messy. They are about people's real lives, and they might not conform to anyone's preferred narrative. Of the five or six gay, lesbian, bisexual, or "same-sex attracted" people whose stories are featured, two were sexually abused as children. I might leave that detail out -- people might infer something about causation or "conversion therapy" -- but they're not my stories to tell. I might want to edit the stories so that the people who are married and attracted to an opposite-sex partner are understood to be at least a teensy bit bisexual, but that's not how they see themselves, and I have no standing to impose a label they don't want. Conversely, I'm sure the people who insist that it's harmful to see yourself as "gay" or "lesbian" and that you should only ever identify as "same-sex attracted" would like to edit some of the stories to use different terminology. To be clear, having stories that aren't distorted to fit the narrative someone else wants is a good thing. We all need to understand what people's lives are really like.

I'm also glad to see true stories where people weren't demonized for dating, where church leaders preferred gentleness and love to authoritarianism, where family members love each other unconditionally, and where people wrestling with their sexuality and religion had sacred experiences with God's love. The stories also don't shy away from the pain and difficulty of being Mormon and gay. These are conversations that need to be had.

There are other stories that need to be heard, though, and there are godly ways of life that you'll never find recommended on lds.org. After reading all the stories on the official LDS website, I saw this one, elsewhere: "A Name and a Blessing – A Timeline." You won't find it on lds.org: the author -- a woman -- leaves the LDS church, marries the woman she loves in the Unitarian Universalist Church, and it ends thus:

Someday, in the near future – our first child will be born, and that child will receive a blessing and a name in the church where the woman with the Biblical name and I got married. Our child will never be sent a letter saying that those blessings have been cancelled. They won’t know blessings can be cancelled. They will grow up in a church where they learn their family is normal and whole. I hope they grow up knowing, believing, deep in their hearts, that they belong to us, and to God. I hope they grow up knowing that when they call us, we will always answer; we will always bless them; we will speak their name tenderly.

If "wickedness never was happiness" because being "without God" is contrary to the nature of happiness (as the Book of Mormon asserts, in Alma 41), then finding God and happiness could never be wicked. That, too, is best understood by hearing stories like the one above.

About the BYU honor code

BYU is a strange place. It's wonderful in many ways, and peculiar in many others. The BYU Honor Code gets credit (correctly or not) for a lot of the good things about BYU. I really appreciate that my college years weren't filled with binge drinking and casual hookups. BYU is justifiably proud of it's "stone cold sober" reputation -- 19 years running! (Still, "Milktoberfest" may be taking things too far.) I appreciate that I had take home final exams, with professors who trusted that none of us would try to obtain an unfair advantage by going over time. I consider myself fortunate to have attended a school that takes scholarship and faith seriously, and where students and faculty aspire to live as disciple-scholars.

Unfortunately, one aspect of the Honor Code goes beyond peculiar to downright bad: by creating a system that discourages victims from reporting rape, it creates an environment where rapists thrive (Obvious content warning). There ought to be no question that this needs to change. In fact, BYU's Honor Code has been tweaked recently, but the changes have to do with a petition process for students who lose their required yearly endorsement from an ecclesiastical leader. That might help, but the cases in the news recently involve investigations by the university's own Honor Code Office, not withdrawn ecclesiastical endorsements.

How We Got Here

I think it's helpful to understand a few aspects of BYU culture that made the Honor Code what it is. First, BYU can't be seen as the place LDS students go to become less faithful or less observant. This means that the most stringent interpretation of what it means to live the LDS religion is particularly favored.

For example, there is (or at least was, when I was younger) disagreement over whether the LDS doctrine prohibiting coffee and tea extends to prohibit other caffeinated beverages. Within the last few years, the LDS Church officially clarified that caffeine, apart from coffee and tea, is not prohibited (and in fact, just last weekend, a top LDS official described the help he had with a steep learning curve, including "many liters of a diet soda that shall remain nameless.") Still, the only sodas you can buy at BYU are caffeine free, which university spokeswoman Carri Jenkins attributes to a lack of demand.

As you might be able to tell from that article, I'm not sure anybody believes that. I can tell you that everyone at the law school knew the nearest off-campus source for Diet Coke. It's not remotely accurate to say that there is no demand for caffeinated beverages. What seems more likely is that there is significant demand, from those who believe caffeine to be sinful, for there to be no caffeinated beverages.

Now, what sodas you can get at on-campus vending machines and restaurants isn't actually an honor code matter. However, I perceive similar pressures to be ultra-observant as a major factor in the honor code. I recall when an LDS prophet suggested, in a "your body is a temple and ought not to be disfigured" sort of context, that one pair of modest earrings was sufficient adornment for a young woman. LDS temples are not so modestly adorned, but it didn't take long for the BYU honor code to turn that suggestion of what was sufficient into a mandatory requirement that women have no more than one ear piercing per ear. (If that seems poorly worded, like someone didn't consider that preexisting piercings don't instantaneously heal even if you obediently take the second pair of earrings out, you're right -- welcome to the infuriating lack of thought that goes into the BYU honor code!)

The second issue is that BYU can no longer take every capable LDS student, so everyone there is taking a spot that could have gone to someone else. It's not like BYU is as hard to get into as the Ivy League, but there was a time in living memory when any LDS student who could get into some university somewhere could probably get into BYU. However, BYU has a considerably better academic reputation than several decades ago, and the LDS church is considerably larger, so the pool of applicants is significantly expanded compared to the university's ability to accept them. With LDS church members funding education at a university where many can't send their own children, it's appropriate that the University is mainly for faithful LDS students. However, there isn't just a pressure to be above reproach, or this wouldn't be a second point; it'd be the same as the first. There's also significant pressure to appear above reproach.

This pressure leads to things like the infamous bathroom ban. All single undergraduates not living with their parents are required to live in sex-segregated housing (even off-campus), and the Honor Code indicates that "The use of the bathroom areas by members of the opposite sex is not appropriate...." When I first moved into a student apartment, that sentence ended there, and it eventually became clear that if we ever had women over who weren't aware of the ban, it was incredibly rude to say "no, you can't use the bathroom." I imagine that letting someone use your toilet is not a slippery slope to fornication for most people, but the mere appearance of anyone in that general area, out of the living room and back toward the bedrooms, was suspect.

The bathroom ban was later amended to include an exception where "emergency or civility dictates otherwise" (here's a tip: civility always dictates that if you have a working bathroom, guests are allowed to use it), but I see it now includes an exception to the exception, allowing bathroom use "only if the safety, privacy, and sensitivity of other residents are not jeopardized." So, I guess, don't try and use the bathroom if someone else is already in there? -- and that's not just common sense, it's a rule, because of keeping up appearances.

What the Honor Code Is

As a result of the above pressures, the Honor Code becomes overly proscriptive. You don't have to take my word for it; you can look at the whole thing yourself: BYU Honor Code.

There are some weird things. It's very far reaching. Observance of at least the general principles and standards of conduct are a condition of admission and employment, for students, faculty, administration, and staff, whether LDS or not (except that the requirement to attend church regularly doesn't apply if you're not LDS), and it applies on and off campus. That's great as far as the parts about actually being honorable go, and it's understandable that we care about impressionable LDS students living LDS standards wherever they go. However, it's pretty weird that a non-LDS electrician could be fired for drinking coffee at home.

Academic honesty seems to be an afterthought. You can see that the specific "policies embodied in the Honor Code include ... the Academic Honesty Policy," which is in a separate document. So, it's not forgotten, and plagiarism is as serious at BYU as anywhere else, but the sort of academic misconduct that you might expect to be the focus of a university honor code is barely mentioned. When people talk about "observing the Honor Code," they mean "living right," including observing all LDS standards. Right living naturally includes being an honest student, but is considerably broader in scope.

"Good Honor Code standing" is required for admission, enrollment, and graduation, and may be lost based on the Honor Code Office receiving reports of misconduct, an ecclesiastical endorsement (from your LDS bishop, if you are an LDS student) lapsing or being withdrawn, or for excommunication, disfellowshipment, or disaffiliation from the LDS church. University enforcement, through the Honor Code Office, has a reputation for harshness. I don't know if it's deserved, but they aren't called the Honor Code Gestapo for no reason. The approach, at least when athletes' Honor Code violations are made public, seems to be that we apply the same (harsh) standards to everyone, evenly. Maybe there is more room for mercy when it's not in the news, but I don't know. It seems best to avoid entanglement with the Honor Code office if at all possible.

Conversely, ecclesiastical enforcement, by requiring a yearly endorsement (from the bishop of your assigned LDS congregation, if LDS, otherwise from another ecclesiastical leader applying BYU's standards) is a notorious crapshoot. Some bishops may understand individual circumstances, but other bishops may not let you miss church more than twice in a semester without a doctor's note. One bishop may impose disfellowship (with automatic loss of good Honor Code standing) for a problem that another bishop would helpfully counsel you through. There is, as noted above, an appeals process for denied endorsements, but not for excommunication or disfellowshipment, and the appeal is based on having actually observed the standards of the Honor Code, or demonstrating other "sufficiently compelling grounds to warrant an exception."

The effect of harsh and/or unpredictable enforcement is that sin is as inevitable as ever, but confession is discouraged. If you commit some serious violation of LDS standards, the Church will tell you it's best to repent with the help of your bishop, but the Honor Code makes it more practical to keep it to yourself. It seems a terrible burden on the soul, especially if you believe that such worldly concerns show a lack of true contrition, indicating that you are unrepentant after all

Enforcement might be less of a problem if the standards of conduct were less strict, or more well-defined, but they are both overly strict and nebulous. (In fact, my experience is that a lot of people think there are things in the Honor Code that aren't actually there, like keeping at least one foot on the floor when you and your date are sitting on the couch -- I'm sure that's someone's parents' rule, but it's not in the Honor Code).

There are specific prohibitions you might expect from an LDS university (alcohol, tobacco, gambling, etc.), but other prohibitions that are far more vague. When I was there, the "use" of "substances" was forbidden, and even the most observant LDS students are not so ascetic as to fully abstain from food and water. Now it's the "intentional misuse or abuse of any substance" that is forbidden, which I'm sure is meant as a prohibition on huffing paint or abusing legal drugs, but it still sounds an awful lot like students could be expelled for intentionally misusing a stapler -- "you know it's not made for that many sheets!"

More seriously, there is a catch-all prohibition for "any other conduct or action inconsistent with the principles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and the Honor Code." "[A]nd the Honor Code" is largely superfluous, since the Honor Code is explicitly based on a "commitment to conduct that reflects" the "ideals and principles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints." But who in the world has never acted in a manner "inconsistent with the principles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and the Honor Code"?! Have your actions ever been motivated by pride? Lust? (I'm fairly sure passionate kissing before marriage is both inconsistent with published LDS principles, and not unusual at BYU.) Have you ever listened to music at an unreasonable volume? If the Honor Code incorporates every principle of the LDS church, it becomes like having a 10 mph speed limit everywhere: everyone is going to break it, and enforcement can only be arbitrary. At church, you can at least repent and aspire to be better, but the Honor Code has no provision for repentance.

The Honor Code also includes some further prohibitions that aren't vague, but that are problematic in other ways. It contains the most detailed proscription of "homosexual behavior" I am aware of an any LDS context: what the university calls "same-gender attraction" isn't an honor code issue, but "all forms of physical intimacy that give expression to homosexual feelings" are forbidden. You can't so much as hold hands or hug if it might be an expression of "homosexual feelings." Honestly, even church on Sunday morning is less homophobic than that!

Lastly, and more trivially, dress and grooming standards don't belong in an honor code. I don't see anything wrong with a university having dress standards -- it can require that everyone wear funny hats, for all I care. What I object to is the implication that facial hair or earrings are dishonorable, or that brightly colored hair does not reflect personal dignity and integrity.

The "You Signed It" Argument

A frequent counterargument to any criticism of the Honor Code at BYU was the "you signed it" argument. It goes like this: you agreed to the Honor Code, and if you don't like it you should go somewhere else. This is an extension of factor #2 above: everyone is taking a spot that could have been someone else's, and if you don't want to be here as things are, somebody else does.

However, I'm not at BYU anymore, and I can say whatever I want about the Honor Code. Also, maybe all the reports of minor Honor Code infractions being used to pressure people into sex acts might be a hint that even the people who signed it are in need of something better.

What the Honor Code Should Be

Paradoxically, after all these rules, the culture surrounding the Honor Code at BYU contains this gem, from Karl G. Maeser, the founder of the Brigham Young Academy that preceded BYU:

"I have been asked what I mean by 'word of honor.' I will tell you. Place me behind prison walls--walls of stone ever so high, ever so thick, reaching ever so far into the ground--there is a possibility that in some way or another I may escape; but stand me on the floor and draw a chalk line around me and have me give my word of honor never to cross it. Can I get out of the circle? No. Never! I'd die first!"

This is all over the walls in the testing center, and on just about every piece of paper you'll ever see from the Honor Code Office. Every so often, someone will draw a chalk circle around the statue of Karl G. Maeser. It's a permanent fixture of BYU culture. And it's directly opposed to the way the Honor Code currently is. The thing about honor is that it implies non-enforcement, and trust. With only a chalk circle, a simple promise not to cross a line is more powerful than walls of stone. With the walls of stone, though, it is not honor that is at stake, but practicality -- either you can escape or not.

Okay, it's a bit of a silly example. I wouldn't give my word of honor to stay in a chalk circle in the first place, and I certainly wouldn't choose death before dishonor if, for example, there wasn't any food in the circle. I see honor as a sort of credit that you have with other people who trust you, and it does you little good if you're dead. Educators are fond of contrived hypotheticals, though, and the point stands -- being a person who can be trusted may be worth self-imposing some restrictions on your own freedom.

Similarly, Joseph Smith, when asked how he governed so many people, claimed that it was very easy: "I teach them correct principles, and they govern themselves."

So, here's what I'd like to see in an Honor Code: A recognition that any code will eventually create a mechanism for enforcement. Sensible decisions about what must be enforced. For the rest, trust, self-governance, and teaching correct principles. This means that students may come home drinking Diet Coke. It means that students who didn't get in might appear to be more faithful than some BYU students. It means that BYU students could have crises of faith (that already happens, of course), but could also talk to someone about it. It means that we'd have to put up with the fact that BYU students are dumb kids who do dumb things. But BYU students are also among the best and brightest young minds in the LDS church, and can, for the most part, be trusted to do what's right, with encouragement instead of threats. It'd also mean that there wouldn't be a long list of easily-committed infractions that rapists and abusers could use to push people around.

About that tune

Today at St. Mark's, we sang "God the Omnipotent." Each stanza ends "Give to us peace in our time, O Lord," a phrase which may be marred by Chamberlain's ephemeral "peace for our time," but which echos an age-old prayer for a long-expected peace.  "Da pacem, Domine, in diebus nostris" was chanted in the middle ages, was made "Verleih uns Frieden" by Martin Luther (with settings by Schütz, Bach, Mendelssohn...), and became part of the Book of Common Prayer as "Give peace in our time, O Lord."

The tune we sang, referred to as "Russia" in The Hymnal 1982 (the Episcopal hymnal), and "Russian Hymn" in Methodist and Presbyterian hymnals, was familiar.  As a boy of 12 or 13, I joined the Order of the Arrow in the Boy Scouts (I was unfamiliar with the concept of cultural appropriation at the time).  I learned the official song about brotherhood and service, set to that tune, which I expect E. Urner Goodman, who founded the order, lifted from a Presbyterian hymnal.  The tune was new to me at the time, but I soon noticed bits of it in the 1812 Overture, and later noticed the whole thing in the Slavonic March.  (I cued those up to the relevant bits, in case you don't want to listen to the whole thing).  Not knowing about the Protestant hymn "God the Omnipotent," I just figured that Goodman had borrowed a favorite melody that Tchaikovsky wrote and reused.

Not exactly.  The final piece of the puzzle clicked today when I saw the name of the composer in the hymnal. Alexei Fyodorovich Lvov -- not from Lvov, but from Tallinn, but who nevertheless counts as a Russian composer for reasons I don't fully understand, having little background in Russian Imperial history -- wrote this tune for "God Save the Tsar" in 1833, and it was the Russian national anthem until the revolution in 1917.  Tchaikovsky used the melody in the Marche Slave to represent the Russians marching to assist the Serbs, and the Russian anthem triumphs over the French "La Marseillaise" in the 1812 Overture as the Russians turn Napoleon away.  Of course the Soviets wouldn't be caught performing "God Save the Tsar," so Soviet-era performances substituted some other patriotic Russian melody.  (Now, "God Save the Tsar" didn't exist in 1812, and in fact Napoleon banned "La Marseillaise" -- so I hope I can be forgiven for not noticing until today that "La Marseillaise" represents the bad guys.  Bloody as it is, the good guys had the tune in Casablanca, and I forgot all about Napoleon.)

So, today, on the 15th anniversary of the terrorist attacks that plunged us into continual war, we sung an old imperialist hymn that connected to a long history of war.  I have been unable to discover how or when the tune for "God Save the Tsar" was joined with the text of "God the Omnipotent," but I kind of like that the old imperialist anthem is now a hymn for peace -- it seems to echo Christ turning the world upside down.  Lvov's tune is stirring and straightforward.  It makes the text seem to say "Give us peace Lord, and we expect it soon when you come in glory."  We started there, but let's end with Arvo Pärt's setting of the old Latin text, which seems to echo best the longing for peace that we are connected to by centuries of prayer.




From Russia with Lvov,

Mike

About Reality Distortion

Sometimes I can't live with the reality distortion field Mormonism produces. In particular, I'm tired of being told that gay people aren't gay.

Nomenclature

Mitch Hedberg, a master of awkwardly delivered one-liner comedy, once said "I don't have a girlfriend, I just know a girl who would get really mad if she heard me say that." David Bednar, an LDS apostle, now says "There are no homosexual members of the [LDS] Church," -- and I have to add "I just know some gay and lesbian Mormons who would get really mad if they heard me say that."

Seriously, "you're saying I'm not your girlfriend?!" has to be less of a rude awakening than "you're saying I'm not gay?!" I didn't miss the point: we're all children of God, and that fundamental truth is not affected by the variety of challenges we face. But is using an adjective to describe a person therefore anathema?

In this particular case, the question was "How can homosexual members of the church live and remain steadfast in the gospel." It's a useful question. The LDS church insists that only heterosexual marriage or celibacy are acceptable, and celibacy is definitely a lesser state -- even heaven isn't as good if you're not married. It's bad enough if you have no marriage prospects for whatever reason, but it can only be exponentially worse if what you really want, and might have prospects of, is a loving, satisfying relationship with a partner of the same sex.

So, a question about meeting the needs of gay and lesbian Mormons is particularly relevant. On the other hand, picking on the language to insist that there are no homosexual Mormons, that we need to avoid being misled by the World, and that a better understanding of God's plan would clarify why heterosexual marriage is so dang important, is remarkably unresponsive to the question.

In fact, it's an incredibly bad answer. I know nothing more about how to help gay and lesbian Mormons with an incredibly difficult situation than I did before. (Incidentally, I don't mean to be exclusive by saying "gay and lesbian"; I just don't think the question, let alone the answer, even begins to address the needs of bisexual, trans, or other marginalized people.) At any rate, I don't think many gay or lesbian people who struggle to "live and remain steadfast in the gospel" taught by the LDS Church have failed to understand what the LDS Church teaches about the importance of opposite-sex marriage in God's plan. It's more likely that they do understand it, and that that's part of why the whole situation is so difficult in the first place.

Now, if you want to personally describe yourself as a "person with same-sex attraction," you have my full support. You're choosing what I think (not that my opinion matters) is an incredibly difficult way to see the world and your place in it, and I don't want my attitude to make it any worse. But don't try to tell me that a gay person, who identifies as gay, isn't. Especially if you're not the person dealing with those challenges, don't tell me that the people who are have got it wrong. "In Christ there is no gay or straight" has the potential to be a beautiful answer, but only if we build Zion, or the body of Christ (or whatever metaphor you prefer), so that those differences truly don't divide us. That's not accomplished by insisting that God's plan is for straightness, and you just need to understand it better.

Dealing with Challenges

Bednar also had some things to say about how the Gospel and the Church exist to give us strength to deal with our challenges. That's true, and in general, I believe in the power of Christ to help us in our difficulties -- and sometimes, out of them. When it comes to the particular challenges gay people face, though, I think "God can help you deal with challenges" is dangerously ambiguous.

"God can help you deal with challenges" is just too easily interpreted to mean "you can pray the gay away," and leads to despair, depression, and sometimes suicide, when God doesn't grant that prayer. Now, I'm not saying that God lacks the power to do it -- but it would be a miracle on par with the miracles in the Bible, and those are rare by definition. Jesus made a lot of people walk, and maybe he still does, but it's only charlatans who promise that that'll happen to you. We don't lead Christians in wheelchairs to expect a miraculous change, and we shouldn't be leading LGBT Christians to expect a miraculous change, either.

On the other hand, clearly saying "we all live with challenges, and gay people can live with the challenges of being gay" avoids one form of ambiguity, but there are still some crucial details missing. Also, maybe some of the challenges are really things that a person can live without. Maybe, for example, the challenge of dealing with people who insist that there are no homosexual Mormons isn't something you're meant to live with, but something we're meant to change.

Discrimination

Lastly, even without the initial insistence that there are no homosexual Mormons, there'd still be a remarkable reality distortion in Bednar's recent remarks. The assertion is that, because the Church exists to help people deal with their challenges, "we do not discriminate, and we are not bigots."

We do not discriminate? I'm sorry, but we do -- it's not up for debate. We say that we discriminate on the basis of behavior, not orientation, but behavior generally follows orientation. I suspect there aren't a lot of completely straight students getting kicked out of BYU for "homosexual behavior." Also, remember when the church supported the policy of the Boy Scouts to kick out gay scoutmasters on the basis of their stated orientation (even if their behavior met with all LDS or BSA standards)? Yeah, we discriminate.

We aren't bigots? If the shoe fits.... I mean, I don't think it's all that useful to go around saying who is a bigot and who isn't. We all have a little intolerance in us, and room to improve. Insisting that our particular lack of tolerance is divinely mandated, though, is particularly the sort of thing that should not precede "and we are not bigots." Hey, maybe we just have "challenges" that are frequently associated with bigotry.

On Politically Involved Churches

As it happens, both the churches I attend are in the news for political reasons. The LDS Church is still most politically notable for its support of Proposition 8 (i.e., opposition to same-sex marriage) in California. More recently in Utah, the LDS Church has publicly opposed a medical marijuana bill and a hate crimes bill. The Episcopal Diocese of Utah (or its Bishop, not sure of the formalities here) supports the hate crimes bill in question, and is also notable recently for support of Medicaid expansion in Utah, and opposition to gun violence. (To be clear, I do not represent either organization, and if I have misstated anyone's position, that's my mistake.)

Recently, I've seen a lot of complaints about the LDS influence in politics, with suggestions that the LDS church should stay out of politics entirely, or should lose its tax-exempt status for its political involvement. I don't see the same complaints about Episcopalians in politics, but maybe there's a different crowd of people complaining about that.

What Should a Church Do?

My view is this: I think it's wholly appropriate for a church to be politically involved. It's a pretty poor church that concerns itself only with the next world; it's better to do some good in this world. Whatever good your church wants to do may well involve lobbying legislators or encouraging voters. A church can do a lot of good on its own (e.g., by feeding the poor), and can also magnify that good by political involvement (e.g., by supporting state programs to feed the poor). I appreciate churches' neutrality as to parties or candidates, so as not to exert undue influence on voters, but I'm glad to see churches get involved in political issues like caring for the sick, feeding the hungry, or protecting the vulnerable.

What I don't like is the oversized influence of the LDS Church on Utah politics. I don't think condoms or birth control pills should be illegal in any predominantly Catholic country, just on the Catholic church's say-so, and I don't think certain hate crimes should be legal in Utah just on the LDS Church's say-so. I'm a lot more comfortable with the merits of the latest Episcopal positions than the latest LDS positions, but in a free country, some churches are going to support things I don't. However, I'm also more comfortable with recent Episcopal political efforts than with LDS efforts, because I hope that the Episcopal positions will be carefully considered, but I fear that the LDS positions will be uncritically obeyed.

What to do, though? If the people primarily believe what one religion tells them, than you might get the same political result without a church's explicit political involvement. Maybe the citizens of a predominantly Catholic country don't want contraception to be legal, even if the Catholic church itself isn't lobbying legislators. I don't honestly have a good solution here, other than to say that maybe the churches that are giants should be particularly careful to tread lightly. Still, if a church considers it a religious duty to exert its influence on a particular matter (e.g., to oppose something regarded as a serious sin), I don't imagine that me saying "please tread lightly" is going to carry much weight -- why would any organization voluntarily surrender its influence on something that really matters? (What we really need to do is convince the LDS Church that Utah's air quality is a serious sin in need of extensive political action.)

One thing I hope we can all agree on, though, is that church is better when all are welcome. Whatever your church does politically, you should be free to disagree like adults, without feeling like you don't belong. I don't know what it's like to be a politically conservative Episcopalian -- I hope they feel welcome. I do know what its like to be a politically liberal Mormon: it frequently feels unsafe to express any opinion to other church members. You may well be accused of being insufficiently faithful, or not actually believing the fundamental tenet of the LDS Church, that God speaks to modern prophets. You may well be accused of being a wolf in sheep's clothing. When Joseph Smith was asked how he governed so many people, his answer was "I teach them correct principles, and they govern themselves." The key part of that, though, is that you have to actually trust people to govern themselves, even when they don't do what you want.

Taxation

A final note on taxation: It turns out I don't actually have a very strong preference when it comes to taxation. It doesn't seem to me like the tax exemption for churches is a fundamental component of religious freedom. I mean, I give money to churches for various purposes, and I'd like to see that money used for those purposes and not for taxation. I've already paid my taxes, so my preference would naturally be for that money not to be taxed again. But taxation isn't the end of the world, as long as it's fairly done.

(Okay, maybe if I itemized deductions, my donations would be deducted from my income, so that the donated money would actually be untaxed. As it happens, the standard deduction has always been larger than what I could itemize, so my donations have never affected my tax liability. Still, the point of making donations tax-deductible is that you can donate more if you're spending untaxed money; there's little point to doing that if the state turns around and taxes the church. I'm not saying that the tax deduction is a fundamental component of religious freedom either, though.)

In the end, legislatures can appropriately judge whether to tax churches, or to tax people on the income they donate to churches. Of course, I'd like my donations to go further by being tax free on both ends, but I really only care that there are fair rules, and that they are fairly applied. If a church complies with the rules, but still engages in some undesirable behavior, maybe start by looking at the rules, not at the church. For example, if the rule is just that a church has to have a primarily non-political purpose, large churches can do more politicking, since they also do more non-political stuff. Maybe that's appropriate, since large churches have more people, but maybe it lets large churches concentrate the effort of worldwide members to affect an issue in a much smaller place. A different rule might be better, depending on whether or not you think it's good for a large church to influence a local issue.

Updates to the Update (or, Say What You Mean)

It turns out (see the linked article, and the First Presidency Letter it refers to) that the new LDS policy doesn't exactly mean what it says. The bit about children only applies to minor children whose primary residence is with a same-sex couple, and if the children are already baptized and actively participating at church, further restrictions aren't required.

This is good. Well, not good, but less bad. (I'm still not a fan of any policy that's going to brand married same-sex couples as apostates and keep the children they are raising out of the church.) (EDIT: on further reflection, I regret even saying this is good.  I feel a sense of relief for the people who are relieved from the policy's effects, but I have to mourn with the people who were told, doubly so today, "We're sorry, we still want all those other people; it's you we really don't want.")

First, it's a little weird that the first thing was a change to the handbook, but this is in a letter. If you give tens of thousands of untrained lay leaders a handbook, they're going to look at the handbook. All those leaders now are getting this letter, but will a new bishop five years from now know it exists? I assume the letter is supposed to be filed away somewhere near the handbook, but it's statistically unlikely that everyone who should do that, will. Since the letter says things like "primary residence" that aren't in the handbook policy at all, I hope the clarification will be added to the actual policy in the book.

Also, I appreciate that the harmful effects of the policy are narrowed, but if it's narrowed on the basis of "primary residence" that's going to make acrimonious custody battles even worse.

Here's something that was weird before, and it's weird now. The formal naming and blessing ceremony is withheld from children of same-sex couples on the basis that it triggers the creation of a formal membership record, with accompanying expectations about the involvement of the church in the child's life. The thing is, a clerk can just create a new membership record without a blessing taking place, and the new policy doesn't say one word about changing that. Either way, the church requires the consent of both parents.

So, if you have a same-sex couple who both want their child to be formally named and blessed, isn't it likely that that's because they want to bring up the child in the LDS church? (And why can't we trust that desire? Why not just have informed consent, instead of an absolute bar?) Isn't it likely that they know about that membership record, know about the tug-of-war of expectations it will produce, and will want the record to be created anyways? Isn't it likely that they will ask the clerk to do exactly that? The thing that is being withheld (unless the policy is changed again) isn't the membership record, it's the formal ceremony where the whole congregation can see that the child is in the fold, now. Was this an oversight, or are church leaders more concerned about the public appearance that the same-sex couple is welcome than about the membership record?

Also, I object to being scolded about the "dangers of drawing conclusions based on incomplete news reports, tweets and Facebook posts without necessary context and accurate information." I was drawing conclusions on the text of the policy itself, that was released to church leaders for immediate effect. Baptisms and ordinations have already been cancelled. If a policy can't be properly understood without "necessary context and accurate information," than that context needs to be in the policy itself, or at least released before the policy takes effect.

In other words, SAY WHAT YOU MEAN THE FIRST TIME. I do appreciate the limits of language, and that words don't convey a meaning with 100% precision. However, if you're creating a policy that marks people as apostates and keeps their children out of the church with immediate effect, it's crucial that the words of that policy are really close to what you mean, the first time. Besides the leaders of congregations to whom the policy is released, missionaries, parents, and leaders of children and youth are going to need to figure out what it means and how to apply it, immediately.  If you don't want to scatter and destroy the Lord's flock, you can't just say something broad, tuck it away in a limited-distribution handbook in case it ever comes up, and trust that anyone discouraged by how bad the words are will call you to see if you really meant something else.  You have to be clear from the start.

In the end, I'm left with two options. First, either church leaders meant what they said the first time, when the literal wording of the policy was much broader than its current interpretation, were shocked by the reaction, and are now backpedaling under the guise of a clarification, to save face. Second, the policy always meant what it means now, and was thoughtlessly released, half-baked, by people who really should have known better, but couldn't or wouldn't take the time to think it through. Neither option makes me feel much better about this whole thing.

About Legal Reasons for the New LDS Policy

I keep seeing speculation about various legal reasons why the LDS church needed to implement its new exclusionary policy. Here's this lawyer's opinion (although I don't practice family law, and this isn't legal advice): THOSE REASONS MAKE NO SENSE.

The rationalization always goes something like this: (1) LGBT people are using (or will soon use) the legal system to attack the church; (2) the church wants to avoid potential legal liability for turning a child against his or her parents; (3) the church can't admit that this is the real reason, because it'd be a PR disaster; (4) but I'm smart enough to have sussed it out; and optionally (5) cut church leaders some slack because you're not a bigot if you're doing what your lawyer said you had to.

Taking these points in order: First, same-sex marriage has been legal in many states and countries for years now -- if the church was worried about attacks based on legal same-sex marriage, it acted very late. Also, the church has a bit of a persecution complex from that time when Joseph Smith was assassinated and we were forced to flee to Utah, but it now enjoys a firm, established, respected, and legally protected position in society. There aren't that many credible threats, and frankly, it demonizes LGBT people more than a little to believe that there are.

Second, the idea is usually that the church would be in some way legally liable if a child is raised as a member of a church that turns the child against at least one of his or her parents by preaching that same-sex cohabitation is wrong, grievously sinful, etc. But anyone who wants to be baptized, confirmed, ordained, or recommended for missionary service is most likely going to church and hearing the same things. How is it any better to tell them, additionally, "oh, you can't even be an official member of the church, and also your mom and her wife are apostates"? How does that turn the child against the parents any less?

(There are other theories about how we have to clarify what we believe for some legal reason, but they similarly fail to explain how the change improves the legal situation. The Family Proclamation might have been drafted 20 years ago for legal reasons, but the church's actions since then have already made its teachings abundantly clear.)

Third, it's hard to imagine a worse PR disaster than now. If the church admitted some sort of legal necessity, it'd probably be more sympathetic, not less.

Fourth, isn't the most straightforward explanation for church leaders calling something "apostasy," rather than just "sin," that they believe it is leading church members away from the truth? I'm not interested in an extraordinary conspiracy theory about the church's secret legal reasons that it can't publicly admit, without extraordinary evidence.

Lastly, I really don't care that much about trying to prove that church leaders had good intentions. I assume that they did; I have every reason to believe they are people of good will. But people of good will can still do things with hateful effects, and it's the effects of this policy that worry me far more than the motives. Also, "we had to do this hurtful, exclusionary thing to protect our right to do this other hurtful, exclusionary thing" isn't really an argument that is going to change my mind about whether your motives are good.