A few months
ago President Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the First Presidency in the LDS church
threw out the first pitch in a Los Angeles Dodgers baseball game marking a high
point in what has been called the “Mormon Moment” as well as a 25 year
tradition of having “Mormon Night” at the ball field. It was a happy moment for LDS families to
watch a familiar summer sporting event and at the same time also seeing a
beloved leader of the church engage with the crowd and throw out the ceremonial
first pitch. As Mormons continue to make
their way into mainstream America we can look back and recognize that we have
come a long way. But what would have
happened that night if President Uchtdorf and the Mormon families looked up
into the sky and saw a plane with a message trailing behind it saying in big
bright red letters: WARNING MORMON NIGHT. What might have been the reaction? Would President Uchtdorf’s face have been as
jovial? What would LDS children think as
they looked up at the plane and the message?
What would their parents have told them?
Would we as Mormons have objected to it privately or would we have
objected to it publically? Would we
believe that those who hired the plane had our best interest at heart? Would we consider it hateful, ignorant, or
just misguided? Would it have received
news coverage and made the headlines?
A few weeks
before this Mormon Night at Dodger Stadium my family and I had the opportunity
to go to Disney World and Universal Studios in Orlando Florida. It was a great time for our family and we had
so much fun. We were all surprised to
find out that we were there at the same time that it was “Gay Days” at the
Orlando parks. What I saw was probably
very similar to what was seen at Dodger Stadium, happy individuals, couples and
families having a good time. Those who
were LGBT wore red shirts to be recognized.
When we found out that it was Gay Days I was excited because I had come out as an LGBT ally last November in Salt Lake
City while serving as a bishop. My excitement
changed to indignation as I looked up in the sky and saw a plane flying
overhead with a clear message in red saying:
WARNING
GAY DAYS. I wondered to
myself how things could have become so extreme that some individual or group
would hire a plane to send this hateful message. Was there no sense of decency any
longer? Was there no sense of civility
or goodwill? Though it was the summer, I
heard the lament of Henry W. Longfellow in my mind:
And
in despair I bow'd my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong, and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong, and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."
Regaining my
composure and knowing the remaining lyrics to the song I took courage and
smiled at the individuals, couples, and families seeing them and their families
as my equals and knowing that I had made the right choice to come out as an
ally. I was practicing the Golden Rule
because I knew what it was like to be a minority and to be persecuted and for
myths to be created about me and about my family and friends.
I also
remembered the words of Michael Otterson, official spokesperson for the LDS
church when he said this in October 2010:
We join our voice with others in unreserved
condemnation of acts of cruelty or attempts to belittle or mock any group or
individual that is different – whether those differences arise from race,
religion, mental challenges, social status, sexual orientation or for any other
reason. Such actions simply have no place in our society.
This Church has felt the bitter sting of
persecution and marginalization early in our history, when we were too few in
numbers to adequately protect ourselves and when society’s leaders often seemed
disinclined to help. Our parents, young adults, teens and children should
therefore, of all people, be
especially sensitive to the vulnerable in society and be willing to speak out
against bullying or intimidation whenever it occurs. …Each Latter-day Saint
family and individual should carefully consider whether their attitudes and
actions toward others properly reflect Jesus Christ’s second great commandment
- to love one another.
As we made
our way through the parks that day, I took comfort from the Spirit knowing all
would be well and that love would conquer hate, goodwill would dissolve rancor,
and decency would neutralize this poisonous venom. I knew in my heart that more and more Mormons
would stand against this hate and walk away from it as they would a plague. I felt a peace come over me and as Henry D.
Longfellow said “the world revolved from night to day”. I once again had confidence in the vision and
the dream that so many others have had before me of peace on earth and goodwill
to all of humanity.
Kevin
Kloosterman, LMFT is a mental health professional who has worked in a hospital
setting for over 15 years. He has been an LDS bishop and is an
advocate for LGBT individuals in and outside of the LDS church.
Out of the Blue
The phone rang the other day. The area code was a bit curious and when he
answered it, my husband had a puzzled look on his face. We were in the car an hour from home. He stopped, parked on the side of the road,
and chatted with a young LDS missionary for several minutes.
I wondered a few times over the past four years if this was
ever going to happen. In the beginning
of my journey out of the Church, I thought a lot about it. What would I say if someone tried to reconvert
me, or one of mine, to Mormonism? In the
beginning, I would have been snarky. I would have been angry. I had a list in my head of the things I would
bring up, problems with the doctrine, historical issues, and challenges to the glistening
white Seminary version of the history.
Since then my anger has been ruined, spoiled for lack of a
better word. All of the frustration
toward a representative of the Church (anyone will do, even a starry-eyed kid
from Provo) simply melted away like a chocolate ice cream cone in July. Oh, curses!
When my husband turned the phone over to me (he was actually
working and required to get out of the car) nothing snarky found its way into
my brain. No harsh words for Joseph
Smith and his practices in polyandry, nothing even from Brother Brigham and Mountain
Meadows Massacre.
All I could think about was the young woman, sitting on the
phone with her name tag glowing in the light of her enthusiasm. I thought of the person who put our names in
for the referral, and, as hard as I tried, I was not even able to conjure up
harsh feelings toward him.
As I spoke with the young missionary, warm words came out of
my mouth. I recalled many of the good
things that come with being a Mormon. I
thought about the sense of community, the service-ready hearts that come at the
first word of a need or a tragedy. I
thought of the quiet stillness in the Celestial Room, and the hush that falls
over the chapel during the passing of the Sacrament.
I didn’t set an appointment to meet with the
missionaries. I’m not reconverting to
the Church. My worries and issues with
history, homophobia, and misogyny didn’t disappear in a single phone call.
I thought back to the 2011 Mormon Stories Conference, to
Joanna Brooks talk. I am a former member
of the Church. I resigned my membership
in 2008. But still, parts of my Mormon
upbringing and heritage go beyond a name on a database. Like she said, you can’t wash that out.
Like Joanna, and John Dehlin, and Mitch Mayne, and people
who continue to talk about bridge building, and finding a place for
everyone have made their mark on my heart and mind. Sitting in the car with the
phone up to my ear, I heard the earnest sincerity in the young sister’s voice;
her beautiful testimony passed through my ears and curled up in a warm place
inside my heart.
After the call ended, I looked up another number. The missionary gave me the name of the person
who had referred us to the missionaries.
As I dialed that number, I pictured heads bowed around a dinner table
asking for the spirit to bless my family, to open our hearts to the truth once
more. I expected to feel irritation,
insult, and annoyance. But I came up
with nothing. Except that I was touched,
greatly moved by the love that accompanied the thought. I called the person, and I thanked him for
his love and thoughtfulness, and I told him that I know where the desire had
come from.
The interesting thing is that I would have traded anything
for someone to have tried to reach out when as my testimony died a slow and
painful death. In those days I was met
with disdain, misunderstanding, even bitterness from people who used to have me
over for dinner. It might sound
counterintuitive, but I prefer this. I
prefer the olive branch. Anger is
overrated.
I am for peace. I am
for those in The Middle Way.
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