Dear Elder Oaks,
You don’t know me. We’ve never met, but I’ve listened to you speak from
the pulpit since I was a child. You’ll likely never read this, but I feel
compelled to express myself anyway. You see, something sad happened a couple
months ago.
I was in the car with my husband, Drew, when he reluctantly handed me a
manila envelope. He had it in his possession for a few days and wrestled with
whether or not to give it to me. He knew what was inside and I know his intentions
to withhold the contents were coming from a place of love and paternalism. Even
so, he eventually gave me the envelope.
I opened the envelope and pulled out the contents that were carefully
enclosed by a family member from another state. The top page was a brief letter
expressing their disapproval of my queerness and orthopraxy of Mormonism. They
said they have “a better understanding of [my] viewpoints” after reading one of
your Ensign articles on homosexuality. It baffled me how a person could think
they understand me better by reading your words, as if you had some hidden
insight into how I experience queerness and Mormonism. It hurt that they gave
you authority over my experience. They can’t end a
letter with “we have great love for you” and expect those words to have any significant
meaning when an expression of their “great love” feels like a dagger to the
chest. If that’s love, I don’t want it. I cannot believe that is what an
expression of “great love” should feel like. I recalled the times I spent with them
as a child, and wondered if this could really be happening.
I was crying by the time I finished reading the letter. I wanted nothing more than to run to the
mountains to be alone. Anymore “expressions of love” would surely be the death
of me. Unfortunately,
the safety of solitude would have to wait.
Nothing prepared me for what came next. I removed the letter from the
top on the stack and there was a printed copy of your October 1995 Ensign article, “Same-Gender
Attraction.” I looked at my husband and broke down in uncontrollable sobs.
This was not the first time I was sent a copy of your talk. Over a decade ago,
my husband—and best friend—gave this talk to me with a note expressing the
necessity for me to gain a testimony of the prophets’ counsel concerning matters
of homosexuality. This talk kept finding its way back to me. I remembered when
my husband asked me to read “Born
that Way? A True Story of Overcoming Same-Sex Attraction,” which, sadly is
still being sold at Deseret Book. I remembered the arguments we had over Prop
8, but mostly, I recalled the pain. It was clear, even a decade later, that the
people I loved were still giving authority to your words—that somehow what you
were saying about my experiences as a queer woman were more valid than my
actual experience. Somehow it was unquestionably understood to them that your perceptions
of God’s will were more valid than mine. It’s as if their belief in you somehow
absolves them of accountability for their actions.
Thankfully, my husband feels differently
now, which gives me hope that someday my other family members might feel
differently in the future, but in that moment all I could feel was the
overwhelming pain of having to legitimize my existence to my family for the
last 15 years.
There was no distinction between the sadness, pain, grief, sorrow, and
anger. The passions came rushing to the surface without consent. My face grew
hot as I screamed my frustrations at my husband. I yelled, “I wish Elder Oaks
would just die already, so he would stop spreading these false, hurtful
messages!” I rationalized that “It
is better that one man should perish than that a nation should
dwindle and perish in unbelief.” Drew kindly gave me the space I needed to express myself. I’m not proud of what I said. Unfortunately,
a patriarchal gerontocracy makes death a gateway to progress by way of structural
deficiencies, which is a truly horrid thought.
Whether people want to recognize it or not, LDS policies on marriage
have changed, including polygamy and interracial marriage. Lest we forget
interracial marriage in the United States has only been fully legal since 1967.
About a decade later in 1978, black men were ordained to the LDS priesthood,
and black men and women were allowed to enter the temple. Until that point an
interracial couple was denied the blessings of an eternal temple sealing. In
the U.S., gay marriage became legal a little over two years ago. I wonder if it
will take a decade for the LDS Church to adapt policies again? How many more people
must die before we overcome these senseless oppressions?
While listening to your
most recent talk, I can’t help but question if you know what you’re doing? Are
you aware of the rifts you are provoking? Do you know the harm you are causing?
I want to believe that you love the members of this Church, but I don’t hear or feel love from you. When you paint a picture of heaven, salvation, and
exaltation that doesn’t include the people we love, your heaven starts to look
like hell. Too many of my queer siblings have given credence to your depictions
of heaven to the point where they feel like death is the only way out. I wish
they would take upon them the empowerment of personal revelation. I wish they
believed “we ought to obey
God rather than men,” and realize that the men who lead this organization
are, indeed, men. I wish they believed Joseph Smith when he said, “a prophet
[is] a prophet only when he [is] acting as such.” I wish they could see the
radical beauty of Mormon theology, eternal progression, and life beyond the
oppressions of patriarchy.
Aren’t you tired of this yet? I am.
With all the horrors in the world—with all the pain, injustice,
suffering, sin, and death, why do you still choose to give talks that unnecessarily
divide families? We have members all over the world struggling with poverty,
war, and disease, and you choose to speak about same-sex marriage? What a waste
of time and resources.
Like I said, I don’t know you. You don’t know me. We’ve never met, and
likely never will. However, if you do read this, I want you to know that I
disagree with your interpretation of doctrine concerning eternal families and
gender. I disagree with this distribution of resources. I disagree with the
message you are attempting to justify in the name of God. Mormonism is bigger
than you or me. Mormonism is more than its policies on marriage. Mormonism is
the radical idea that the love and life of the body of Christ will lead us to
godhood in an ongoing process of eternal progression. I believe in Mormonism,
and I’m not going to sit by idly and let this issue separate me from my family
and faith.
I also want you to know I would like to reconcile these differences. My
door is open to you, it’s a standing offer. You are welcome into my home to
break bread. From one Mormon to another, atonement means that nothing is beyond
reconciliation, and I believe in the power of atonement. Mormonism is more than
its worst moments. Just as you are more than your worst moments, I am more than
my worst moments. I still believe in forgiveness. Come, break bread with me.
I’ll have a fresh loaf waiting.
Sincerely, a Queer Mormon Sister
*Published at Rational Faiths on Monday, October 2, 2017
