Salt Lake City - CTW Conference

I'm in Salt Lake City getting ready to attend the Circling the Wagons conference that begins later today. The conference is at the center of a great deal of controversy, and we'll see how that plays out as the weekend unfolds.

At the center of the controversy are questions of authenticity, identity, and life journeys that certain presenters at the conference have claimed and experienced. Much has already been written in blogs, and in online groups and forums. The tone has been strident and vituperative. I found the lack of dialogue, the anger, the personal attacks, and the bitterness of the exchanges to be uncharitable, uncomprehending, stigmatizing, and generally not useful to examine and explore perspectives and understanding that people coming from different backgrounds might have for the issues confronting Mormons grappling with gender, sexual orientation and attraction, and institutional stigmatization. And all of this happened before the conference even began!

This is what I hope happens here: I hope all of us can open our ears so that our heads and hearts can hear what is spoken. I hope we can ascribe all presenters good intentions, and proceed from that foundation. I hope we can be humble, be open to questions rather than answers, be satisfied with a carefully studied ambivalence, be able to bridge a wide gulf that in the past has been full of bitterness, hurt, despair, and loss.

Authenticity

Authenticity refers to our credibility, our truthfulness, our commitments, and our intentions. In short, it examines whether our conscious life choices are congruent with our values and beliefs. Gauging another person's authenticity is a difficult task because no empirical method exists to determine a person's values and beliefs other than that person's assertions. Consequently, we often use a person's behavior as a surrogate measure of his or her values and beliefs, without having a reliable understanding of that person's motivations that give rise to the observed behavior. Human beings attribute behavior to motivation, and almost always get the motivation wrong. We simply cannot look at behavior and claim it is based on a specific motivation. Because we cannot clearly explain another person's behavior, our comprehension of another person's authenticity is often incomplete.

Rather than search for authenticity in others, I hope that each of us look for our own authentic expression, and in the process, that we ascribe best intentions to others. I believe that will bring us closer to an honest and engaging dialogue with each other.

Identity

Identity names us, tells us who we are. It labels personal, social, and cultural characteristics with which a person describes him or herself. Struggles about identity chiefly affect members of subcultural groups. Members of a dominant culture don't, for the most part, struggle with issues of identity, except as identity affects people who they care about in a subculture. Identity serves a couple of purposes: it defines who is part of a subculture, and it serves as a brake against assimilation in the larger culture. Identity is not only what a subculture names itself, but it is also what the dominant culture labels the subculture.

Problems of identity arise out of stigmatization. A dominant culture almost always stigmatizes the subcultures within it. Subcultures are viewed by their dominant culture as problems, "other," mentally ill, dangerous, and immoral. Identity becomes an issue for members in a subculture when they internalize these kinds of stigmatizations.

Subcultures also identify themselves, and stigmatize and separate out their own subgroups. For example, within group of Mormons characterized by the larger Mormon society as having "homosexual inclinations," a rainbow of subgroups exist that don't identify with each other, but are grouped together by the Mormon society from which they spring. A lot of name-calling ensues, and I believe that identity issues lay at the root of the current controversy.

I offer a thought experiment: rather than making specific claims of identity, recast those claims such that they do not rest on attribution of being. For example, instead of saying, "I am a gay man," you could reformulate that as, "I prefer to have intimate relationships with other men." Identity that isn't rooted in physical characteristics is often culturally driven. Maybe we should practice some studied ambivalence about our orientation/attraction until we have heard what other stigmatized Mormons with "homosexual inclinations" might have to say about their individual situations. I believe their stories are important and that they should be heard.

Life Journeys

We are all on life journeys. No journey is identical to another. Every one of them is unique. I hope we can approach other peoples' journeys with a humility and respect for the sacredness of a path that ultimately is one's own. We are all broken. We have all stumbled. We are all bloodied. Let's not compound the injury and the pain that we have felt. We are taught in church to love, not judge. He who has ears, let him hear.

Pilgrim's Progress

In a comment to one of my recent Facebook posts a person asked me, "In light of the fact that you are 'an excommunicated homosexual apostate secular humanist' what is it that you gain from being at church in general?" I promised the person who made the comment an answer, and this post is an attempt at starting to answer her questions.

About Being a Secular Humanist

I'm a person whose heart wants to believe but whose head will have none of it. Up until my mid-thirties I tried to believe, but finally concluded that I didn't have that gene. That's my head talking, but I have a whole irrational part of my personality that hopes and prays. My rational side kicks in, then, and points out to my heart that I haven't the slightest idea what I'm praying to or to what end that prayer effects.

This is what I gain from being at church: I get to experience a faith community sharing its beliefs. Most of what is said I find incredible, but I feel the underlying spiritual longing, and I really understand that, because I've spent much of my adult life having that longing. Even though I know that what I am hearing is irrational according to my perspective, I hear another unconscious spiritual message of longing, hurt, burden, and suffering that is so deep that the speaker can't even recognize it in his or her own soul.

Some Sundays, I also hear messages of profound joy. I recognize that joy, too, because I have felt that, and I often experience it in my life. In the LDS church, members' beliefs are expressed publicly within the setting of the community. I'm attracted to that. I know that other faith communities can share in similar ways, but the Mormons do this very directly and effectively. The community sharing of sacrament talks and testimonies deeply touches me, even if the literal content of the messages contradict my own knowledge and experience or spring from a different "truth" paradigm.

About Being Excommunicated and an Apostate

This is what I gain from being at church: I get to be restored to a body from which I was cut off. I was cut off on the LDS church's terms, but because of the unique nature of excommunication, I can come back solely on my terms. The LDS church really can do nothing to prevent me from being in the pew on Sundays. Now it is true that I am not really LDS, because I am not an LDS church member, but I am a Mormon and that Mormonness springs from my days as a Saint when I shared the sacrament and when I attended the temple. Indeed, the LDS church cannot take that shared experience from me, no matter how final the excommunication or how cruel the shunning and the stigma. I remain Mormon, and I claim that. At church on Sunday I share my own Mormon experience with all the other Mormons. It's a regular lovefest. Really.

I still am apostate. I really don't believe the truth or literalness of the Book of Mormon the way LDS members believe it. I can posit all kinds of explanations, but none of them would hold any water in Sunday School class. I will admit it, Sunday School is a trial for me. The God in Whom I Don't Believe (GiWIDB) has a wicked sense of humor, and her cosmic joke is this week's Sunday School lesson, whichever one it happens to be. Which brings me to some reasons I'm an apostate attending Sunday School.

Sunday School teachers in my ward don't ask thoughtful, intellectual questions. Instead they ask questions inspired by the lesson manuals. Teachers, as a rule, don't ask questions that reflect an understanding of scriptural criticism, never use any sources that are not blessed by LDS church authorities. I think the biggest reason I'm apostate is because I've never been asked to think, only to parrot back groupthink answers to questions that only reinforce the LDS church's role as the sole arbiter of what is correct. I simply can't do that. I trust my own experience too much. The world I know outside the chapel or the classroom is not at all what our church leaders claim it to be.

Being apostate keeps me sane in Sunday School. I'm not sure that I'm gaining anything from being in Sunday School (which usually triggers my apostate self), but it's a growth experience offered me by the GiWIDB. She really is watching my back. I accept her gift. She's my Mother in Heaven.

About Being a Homosexual

This is what I gain from being in church: members have to deal with me as another Mormon in the pew. I'm there worshiping with them. The subject of my homosexuality has never come up directly, but it has come up many times when LDS members ask me if I'm married. I always reply, "No, but I have a husband at home." Some members quickly change the subject. Others follow up with, "Is he a member, too?" No one has been unkind or fled in haste. I have disclosed to perhaps two dozen or more members at this point. I am sure other members know, as well.

So the most important reason I go to church on Sunday is so that my sisters and brothers can know somebody like me. If I were not in the pew, their worship experience would be less than what it is. Every Sunday that I go to church someone comes up to, I think prompted by the GiWIDB, and tells me things like, "My sister is a lesbian. I want to love her, but she won't let me." "You're gay? I have a gay cousin. He left the church because of it." I begin to hear new stories, a different narrative, a reaching outside to bring me in.

As a people, we Mormons believe in revelation, and we believe in prophecy. The God in Which I Don't Believe called me to be in a place to which I didn't want to go. So I ended up in church. I was surprised by that deeply spiritual call to such a worldly person as I. I'm still that worldly person, but I go to church. Because God called me, She gave me a prophetic mission in my own little part of Her Vineyard. I intend to be faithful to her call, because she's quite a Mother, and I feel quite blessed to be an excommunicated homosexual secular humanist in the Kensington Ward.

Carefully Picking my Way

This weekend, I was on a panel discussion of the topic, "Navigating the Issues of Homosexuality and Same-Sex Attraction While Going to Church." The panel was held at the Circling the Wagons conference in Washington, DC. A couple dozen people attended the session, asked questions, and shared stories. Randall and Tristan were also on the panel, and each of us had unique perspectives on threading the eye of the LDS needle.

I am a gay man with a lesbian heart, so I brought my own agenda. I had a few specific things I wanted to say, so I made a list of questions, some of which I wanted to answer, and in the course of the discussion, I was focused enough to have the opportunity to say the things that were in my heart and on my mind. In this blog entry, I'm going to repeat my list of questions, and then try to answer them honestly for you. This is my take. I appreciate the journeys that Tristan and Randall are taking. Their insights, and the insights and contributions of the people participating in the discussion added to my own understanding. The panel reinforced my belief that we are all on our own journeys of discovery and understanding.

Briefly, my situation is that I was excommunicated from the LDS church 30 years ago, and I started attending church again in November of 2011. Being excommunicated means that I am not officially a member of the LDS church (although officially an ex-member), I cannot take the sacrament of communion, I cannot hold any church callings or positions, I cannot give prayers in church meetings, I cannot give talks in church meetings (although I can participate in Sunday School and Priesthood discussions), I cannot pay tithes or offerings, and I cannot wear temple garments. The practical effect of these prohibitions is to isolate a person who has been excommunicated.

So in that context, I provide these questions and answers from my own experience in the Kensington Ward. I hope and pray that these will spark some thought and discussion in the hearts and heads of church members and help them remember not to leave behind their lesbian, gay, and transgendered brothers and sisters.

What do you tell members when they ask inevitable personal questions about where you are from and about your family? Mormons like to know all about you. I have yet to introduce myself in Priesthood Meeting. I felt that telling the brothers about myself in any honest way at all in that setting would stigmatize me. So for the first few Sundays, I artfully dodged that introduction. I don't regret that.

When members come up to me and introduce themselves to me one-on-one, I tell them my story. So far, no one has left the room screaming. I tell them that I've been in the Kensington Ward for 22 years, but only started attending in November, that I've returned to the church. When I am asked if I am married or have a family, I reply that I am not married, but that I have a husband at home who is not a member of the church, and that he and I have been together for 29 years. In all my conversations with members (numbering several dozen, by now), responses have always been respectful: they either ask me about Ron and our life, or they say, "That's nice," and they change the subject.

What have you told the bishop and priesthood leaders about your situation? The second Sunday I attended, I went to see the Bishop, and I told him that I was apostate, excommunicated, gay, and atheist, and he smiled and said, "Welcome to the Kensington Ward." And he has made me feel welcome. I have also spoken to the High Priests Group Leader and told him about my circumstances. I felt that I wanted to be as open and honest as possible. I don't want my leaders to find out through some other means and have them feel like I was deceiving them. I know this is a tough decision for some gay Mormons to make. Kensington, Maryland is not Kaysville, Utah. I think how you answer this question may depend on how much you trust your bishop and leaders. Obviously, since I'm excommunicated, there isn't much that my priesthood leadership can do to discipline me if my bishop or stake president felt inclined to do so.

How have ward leaders responded? The ward leadership has responded in a very kind and loving way. The bishopric all know my name and greet me every Sunday. For the first few months, the only real contact I had with ward members was in meetings. I decided that something had to be done, so I contacted the Ward Executive Secretary, and I gave him all of my contact information. In addition, I went to my High Priests Group Leader and requested a home teacher. As soon as I took that initiative, all kinds of things have started to happen. I was immediately assigned a home teacher. The Ward Missionaries came over for a visit. I'm pretty sure I've become a Ward Council project, and I welcome that.

What are the biggest obstacles to re-integration in your ward coming back to church after being away for so many years? Has your homosexuality been an issue? My transition into the ward is very much a work in progress. So far, I think it is going pretty well. One of the biggest obstacles to being part of the ward is not having any official way to be on ward contact lists. Consequently, I didn't hear about activities or really know what was going on in the ward, except what I would hear in meetings. Because I do not have a membership number, nothing happens automatically. So I request that I be added to various lists. I finally added my name to the priesthood roll, as well (that's why those blank lines are printed at the bottom of the page).

Another big obstacle for me is the lonely feeling that I can get when I'm at church. So I now always sit in the center of the chapel so that families can fill in around me. After meeting, I can then introduce myself to the people around me. I joined the choir, not because I have a great voice, but because it's a great way to get to know other people in a happy, social space. I try to attend some of the ward socials and other events.

Not having callings also keeps me out of the mainstream where I might be meeting other members. So I really try to attend my meetings when I am in town. My home teacher suggested I take a notebook with me, so that I can jot down names of members, and begin to know who people are. I'm happy to meet with the ward missionaries, because it helps me learn a lot about the ward and its people, and because they need to hear my story, too.

My homosexuality has not been an issue. It's never come up. In fact, on at least two occasions, I was told that Ron would be welcome, too. On the other hand, it is not widely known among ward members that I am gay. But among the leadership, my personal life has never been an issue. Check back in six months.

Why did you decide to go back to church? Someone at the panel discussion actually asked me this question. It's the only question here that is really difficult for me to answer, because some days, I really don't know except that I have felt strongly moved to be back in the pew. I love these people. I want to be in a faith community, and this is the place. The God that I do not believe in has called me to a place I did not want to be in, and I accept that. God is remodeling my heart. Church is not an easy place for me to be, but I'm grateful that I'm here. I feel this place, right now, is where I'm supposed to be. Okay, this is a meandering answer, but it's the best I can do right now.

How do you handle instances of homophobia, misunderstanding, or discrimination? So far, I haven't experienced any. I think I've probably forestalled some of it by pre-emptively telling my story as I meet members. Having said that, if I do run into problems, I will attempt to talk with the person involved in a loving, caring way. If problems can't be resolved, I will talk with the bishop or my priesthood leader. If I run into misconceptions or mischaracterizations during lessons, I will add my two bits to the lesson discussion. If a letter is read over the pulpit in sacrament meeting, or if a sacrament meeting talk is given that is offensive, I will talk with the bishop.

How can you be of service to ward members if you can't hold a calling? Virtually every week in priesthood meeting there are announcements for various work projects. Now I've only been on one or two, but I know I can get involved in many others. What I mean to say is, I have lots of opportunities that don't require a calling at all. I think the greatest service I can be to ward members, though, is to be consistently present, to listen to them, to love them. I am hearing some of their stories. I really try to be open to their experiences.

Any thoughts about what will happen in your ward when people come to the realization that you aren't going to "repent?" What does the long slog look like? How will you navigate that? Of course, I have doubts and awful imaginings. Maybe by my presence, the members will realize that I don't need to repent of homosexuality or repent of the love I share with my husband. I'm sure, though, that some members of the ward will be troubled by my living and social situation.

The long slog looks hopeful. At my current rate of meeting ward members, I will have worked my way through the roster sometime in 2017. The long slog requires patience on my part. That isn't one of my strong suits, but so far, it's working. And I'll navigate through all of this by continuing. I just walk up to the church's front door and open it.

If the LDS church's stance on homosexuality doesn't become more reasoned and nuanced, will you continue to stay or will you eventually feel you have to move on? I honestly don't know the answer to this question. Ultimately, I'm hopeful, although I'm sure that the LDS church will never move as far as I would want it to. If I were to feel utterly rejected in my ward, I would probably move on. But I don't believe that God has called me to an impossible task or an impossible situation. I need to learn patience. I need to be my authentically gay, skeptical self. I need to continue loving a community from which I was absent. Maybe a reconciliation of our hearts can be effected. I'm waiting on and trusting in God. I don't have to believe, but I do have to be there.

What Would Jesus Do?

Jonathan Dudley says it much better than I ever could. He wrote an interesting piece on CNN's Belief Blog about the Bible and Gay Marriage. Historical context is everything, and our collective memory is very short when it comes to "traditional values."

Sometimes on this blog, it's just so much easier, and better, to let someone else do the writing.

Osama, We Hardly Knew You

Osama bin Laden was a person who is hard not to demonize. He may well have deserved to die the way he did. He started a terrorist enterprise that has killed thousands of people, most of them Muslim. For him, the ends always justified the means. He's a great example of the danger of religious belief running amok.

But we hardly knew this man, and we shall never know any more of his story, because he can't tell it. While President Obama can claim that justice has been done, I'm not so sure, because the case has not been proven for this "justice" killing. I hope that the case is made, a speaker for the dead, for bin Laden and the people his actions killed. The pre-meditated killing of Osama bin Laden appears a lot like murder, even though he pretty much deserved what he got.

Rejoicing? Dancing in the streets? Jubilation? I am troubled by that reaction to his death. Bin Laden's death brings none of his victims back to life. It fills no empty space at the dinner table. It fills no lonely arms. His death is not something to celebrate, maybe something to thoughtfully consider, to mull, to tease out details of a life we hardly knew, and the lives of those who are lost to us now. But please, no rejoicing.

Civil Marriage Protection Act

It's not gay marriage or same-sex marriage. It's marriage. It's not a different kind of marriage. It's not about being lesbian or gay or straight. It's simply about marriage. That's all that it's about. Marriage.

I'm deeply disappointed that the House of Delegates did not pass the Civil Marriage Protection Act, but instead sent the bill back to committee. The delegates took their action because of the religious prejudice of some of the delegates, and because of the religious prejudice that many constituents have about homosexuality. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, "Religious bigotry makes bad public policy."

I resent that this whole topic is even up for discussion. Marriage is a basic human right - a right to form and nurture a family. I am angry that legislators, responding to a religious proscription that is 5,000 years old, would deny me my civil right to marriage. These same legislators wear linen/wool blends, but they certainly don't act on that ancient religious proscription.

Religious bigotry is insidious for several reasons. First of all, it's a useful cover in the United States, because our society has an extremely high regard for "Judeo-Christian" beliefs and practices. Secondly, this kind of bigotry is highly selective in the kinds of proscriptions it professes to be God's will. It used to be that slavery was God's will. Today, it is God's will that gay and lesbian people cannot marry. In America, if you can wrap your rhetoric in the Bible, then wrap it in the flag, you're well on your way.

Okay, I'll calm down some. But I ask the members in the House of Delegates, how would my marriage undermine marriage? If any of those delegates who voted to recommit the bill are divorced, or have committed adultery, I submit they are truly undermining marriage, and maybe they should re-examine their stance on the Civil Marriage Protection Act.

Stanley Kurtz Is Dead

I'll miss Stanley. Oh, he wasn't a close friend, or anything like that, but I'll miss him, nevertheless, much as God misses any of His Creation. I mean, I don't have to know his intimate life (although I do) to appreciate the fact that Stanley, well, Stanley was quite a piece of work, and a hard worker, too.

I've got to keep better track of things. I didn't see it coming, and I should have, because that's my job. I suppose I could have prevented his death, it was untimely. According to my charts, Stanley was supposed to clock in another twenty-two years, four months, and eighteen days. I did not anticipate that flying lunch box. Normally, air resistance would have slowed it down so that it would have dented Stanley's head, but it wouldn't have been fatal. Alas, it contained one too many cans of sardines, and it fell, unimpeded down those eighty-seven stories.

No, I don't take the blame for Stanley's passing. I don't engineer events. I just let them happen. I'm not a personal God, because that would make me a personal servant. I don't make coffee for anyone else. And Stanley was walking when the lunch box impacted his cranium. He was one of my best thinkers: clear sighted, energetic, calling out Obama and the homosexual agenda, defending my values. I adored what he did, although I thought he was a bit stuffy and overly combative.

Stanley was right about one thing. Homosexuals getting married is really going to upset the applecart. It's so sad that he stepped in front of that bus trying to avoid that gay skateboarder bearing down on him. I mean, I knew that the skateboarder was packing fudge, but Stanley only knew that theoretically. Stanley was plastered up against the windshield like a giant locust from Utah. His colleagues at the Hudson Institute (of which Dr. Kurtz was an associate fellow) will miss him terribly. The skateboarder was unhurt, but ticketed for feckless behavior.

If I had hands, I would wring them. I once had hands, and I did wring them, and it caused lots of problems. To put it simply, the unexpected expansion of the universe shortly after The Big Bang was caused by a lot of my hand wringing. Or maybe it was the blink of an eye. I forget. Fifteen billion years doesn't seem like a lot of time, but there is so much to remember, and frankly my memory is not that good. I would wring my hands over the demise of Stanley Kurtz. He was that good.

Yes, he was walking his dog, Swoosie (that was his little joke for being saddled with his last name: he really didn't like it that much), when the dachshund leaped after a squirrel, and Stanley slipped on a banana peel. How life mimics art! His left leg came up over his chest and wrenched his buttocks into an airborne state. The cheery whistle on his lips morphed into a rictus grin of prescient doom. Clearly, Stanley knew that his number was up. Felled by a banana peel. This is an end of Biblical proportions. I didn't plan it this way at all. Stanley crumpled on the street, only to be run over by a charging garbage truck. Because I'm God, I don't believe in luck. Fate is another, different thing, though.

Like Stanley, I don't particularly like homosexuals mocking me. They pretend that when they marry each other, it's all going to settle the matter. I sent them Fred Phelps. I sent them Pat Robertson. I sent them Stanley Kurtz. I even sent them Jesus Christ and Joseph Smith, Jr. I stripped them of their dignity. I had thugs beat and murder them. I turned my back on them, even the ones I loved (Caravaggio's angels come to mind). And what do they do? They want to get married. Can you imagine that? They want to get married!

Stanley would have none of it. He was a great statistician, which is to say, he was no statistician at all. He knew how to make numbers lie so that hateful pols and smarmy media commentators could make blood libel (truly, those Americans really do like to kill homosexuals) about part of my imperfect creation, something that I was a little disturbed about, too. Stanley knew, and I fully agree, because I am God, that homosexuals threaten marriage. I'm not sure why they threaten marriage, that was up to Stanley to figure out. So he lied about it.

My creation started out better than this, and the six thousand years or so (yeah, I know I cooked the fossil record, too) turned out pretty well. The earth had a certain bloody order (if not the universe). But it's gotten out of whack. The Madonna isn't a virgin anymore. Jesus is a Mexican baseball player. And Modern Family is the most popular television show in America. I gave them Sarah Palin, but they are watching Glee. And now, Stanley is gone. I weep, but enough of that. You don't want to see me weep. It messes up the atmosphere.

So Stanley died at his desk. He was reading M.V. Lee Badgett's book, When Gay People Get Married. His hippocampus suffered a proto-molecular quantum wave collapse. He never recovered. Dead as a door nail. Stanley Kurtz is dead.

Unsaved at any Speed

I don't know how to approach this subject delicately, but I was reading an article in the Economist about religious defamation - in some countries this is a crime punishable by death and imprisonment - and the whole concept just seems like an oxymoron. The nature of belief, and the attendant behaviors that spontaneously occur among the faithful, well, they demand scrutiny, which immediately is seized upon by the believers as defamation, a completely closed loop of internally consistent logic based on unsupportable assumptions, because they are, after all, assumptions, and assumptions require neither evidence or factual basis, merely a fatuous, "I think...."

I got off track in that last paragraph. Today as I was driving down Viers Mill Road, I saw a car moving erratically. The car initially was moving much slower than the flow of traffic. It wandered about a bit. I noticed that the driver was staring at the seat. I was finally able to pull around the car, and I noticed a cell phone stuck in the driver's ear. An opened Bible was spread out above the dashboard, the gold leaf providing a halo effect in the auto's interior. The rear-view mirror was festooned with white and purple garlands. When the traffic stopped at a light, the driver picked up a book to read, and when the light changed she continued to read the book while she continued to drive. Obviously, God was her co-pilot. I got out of there as fast as I could.

In this instance, a little religion seems to be a dangerous thing.

The Mormon Thing

Strange doings are happening in the Mormon kingdom. I remain fascinated by the Mormon tradition, and am still part of it. I belong to a gay Mormon group, Affirmation, and I recently joined a Yahoo group, Reform Mormonism Discussion Group (see their web site). None of this is to say that I want to go back to church, but I'm very curious about some winds that are sweeping the Mormon landscape.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has policies that limit the participation of members who are attracted to the same gender or are gender variant. Affirmation was formed to help lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender members of the LDS Church resolve the spiritual conflict that many such members felt in the church. The group offers support, fellowship, education, and sanity in the midst of personal crises created by a church and its teachings that demand individual perfection and strict adherence to church teachings.

Reform Mormonism began in 2002 to reform the LDS and FLDS (fundamentalist) branches of Mormonism. The reformers appear to be reacting to the increasingly patriarchal line of the other two churches, and the reformers are also going back to many of the early teaching of the founding prophet, Joseph Smith. The Reform Mormons are a home church. They are also a creedless church, and cast an exceedingly wide doctrinal net, hewing to the traditions and teachings, but radically reinterpreting the teachings, structure, and prophetic teachings of Joseph Smith.

Finally, the other major strand of Mormon thought is the Community of Christ. The Community of Christ was formerly called the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (RLDS). Like the LDS and FLDS churches, the C of C, has prophets, apostles, seventies - a priesthood structure. Unlike the other churches, the priesthood is open to women. Also, the church is governed as much by consensus as it is by direct revelation from the prophet.

The Community of Christ is undergoing a deep doctrinal rethinking in light of its revelation, the Doctrine and Covenants, section 163. The revelation was received in 2007 by President Veazey, and is beginning to have a large impact in the thinking of the church. The church's world conference in April of this year is expected to provide consensus and guidance on a number of social issues including same-sex marriage, and acceptance into membership without a C of C baptism.

You may wonder why I am interested in any of this. Although I do not follow the Mormon faith, it has a deep hold on my culturally. My own spiritual life is a little vague, and reading and discovering these changes within the Mormon tradition is heartening. I have hope for my brothers and sisters in the faith. I have hope that their leaders will find the means to heal the deep wounds that various churches within the Mormon tradition have inflicted on women, on lesbian and gay people, and on gender variant people.

The LDS church continues to turn a blind eye to its members' needs. The suicides among lesbian and gay members in that church are blood that stains the doctrines, practices, and attitudes of many members of that church. Affirmation will continue to bear witness to the plight of LDS church members in need. I don't believe in God, but I do believe in hope. I believe in thoughtful reflection, in prayerful communication, in witness for change and truth.

I've said many times in the past that you can kick the boy out of the church, but you can't kick the church out of the boy. And that's about as spiritual as I can get.

Gays and Lesbians Getting Married? Haven't They Suffered Enough?

Michael Shaw really hit the nail on the head with his March 1, 2004 New Yorker Cartoon. The cartoon captures all of my ambivalence, confusion, fear, and outrage about gay marriage. Marriage hasn't worked all that well for straight couples, how will it work for the rest of us?

My ambivalence stems from how I feel about marriage. I firmly believe that if you and your sweetie want to get married that you should do it. I'm not convinced that marriage should be the norm among lesbian and gay couples. Ron and I have had a very settled existence for a couple of decades, but neither he nor I consider us married. Our relationship is not like most married relationships. Our commitment and faithfulness to each other doesn't depend on sexual fidelity. And yet, I'm quite sure that he and I are as settled and rooted in our relationship as any married couple. I believe that our relationship deserves equal respect too in our society. I also believe that Ron's and my relationship is an important part of the social fabric - we care for each other. We watch out for each other and for our chosen families. But I would not want to call us married, because marriage does not fit the kind of family, and the kind of relationships that I have.

Like the couple in the cartoon, I'm confused: why do gay people want to get married? Is it for the benefits? Is it for the respect? Is it for the shower gifts? What's behind the movement for same-sex marriage? Why is it so important that it has taken over the LGBT political agenda? Yes, the Defense of Marriage Act is an odious piece of legislation that needs to be repealed. Beyond that, many of the benefits of marriage can (and will) be granted by the states, and eventually the Federal government and the courts will follow suit. As for respect, you only get it by taking it. Respect is not a compelling reason to get married. That sentimental altar moment is not a compelling reason to get married, either. On the other hand, if the public commitment before the state is what you need to confirm your feelings for another human being, I guess you're going to have to get married.

I have fears about same-sex marriage, too. I think it strikes straight at some of the defining mores of our gay male culture. Will the brave new world of married gay male culture stigmatize men who do not seek out permanent relationships, but are quite happy with their sex buds and a circle of friends? This is a serious question because out gay male culture since Stonewall has celebrated not only gay sex, but a liberating notion about sexuality itself - that sex with others is a virtue, and that sex with many different partners is valuable. Yes, AIDS devastated our community, but we know now how to have sex that doesn't spread HIV or hepatitis or syphilus. We can enjoy sex without the constraints of marriage and outside our relationships - if that's what we want. We can enjoy being who we are and what we feel. I fear that same-sex marriage will so change our views of ourselves and others that we will lose an authentic value of what it means to be a gay male.

Finally, the arguments swirling around same-sex marriage are outrageous. The world as we know it won't end when everyone can tie the knot. Massachusetts hasn't been smitten by the rod of God. At last report, the seven plagues have not leveled the God-fearing people of Iowa or their highest court. Plainly, same-sex marriage has not undermined traditional marriage, no matter what the opponents to same-sex marriage would have you believe. People have legitimate fears about religious practice, and fears about the public sanctioning of homosexuality. But to use those reasons to oppose same-sex marriage is wrong. In the first instance, the First Amendment prohibits the government from forcing religious institutions to perform same-sex marriages, or for that matter, even letting homosexuals in the front doors of their churches. In the second instance, the state does not have a straight version of marriage and a gay version of marriage. It only has marriage.

So, I'll remain ambivalent on this issue.

The Problem of Homosexual Stigma

Yesterday, I was cruising around Facebook, and happened upon a group, Building connections to protect tradition (sic) marriage when the day comes again. Today, I notice when I went back to the group, that the post I was most interested in has been removed. Oh well. This site was started by a Brigham Young University alum, and has many Latter-day Saint members on it. Most of the posters appear to be deeply religious church members.

The removed post was part of a string, where one poster (who was not LDS) mentioned that some of the language and content of the other posters wasn't especially Christian or religious, i.e., the language was intemperate and could be characterized as being either bigoted or hateful. Another poster responded very quickly that the remark was a little hypocritical because, "Gays hate religion."

To be fair, the page creator respectfully requests posters to be mindful of their speech and to be respectful of others. Here's his complete statement:

This group is just to fortify the social networks for when the time comes to do what is necessary in protecting traditional marriage, whether it be to write state officials or rally the vote. We need to be passive to not fuel the anger right now as it is a sensitive issue at this time. Remember we are to love all and respect even when we are not respected.
Thanks!

Just an aside, not all gay people hate religion, but for those who do, they have cause for their feelings. Most religious groups kick out gay people, when the groups find out a member is gay. Religious groups rob gay people of their religious life, the groups hijack gay people's spirituality, and many groups condemn gay people to an unhappy, life (and death) in hell. Furthermore, the speech that many religious groups use is deceptive, if you hate the sin, in the context of homosexuality, you are hating the sinner as well. The speech from the pulpit can be a huge burden to bear. It often incites other members to shun or to even commit spiritual, if not physical, violence on gay people. I know this from my own experience as a gay man. It has happened to me, and to many of my gay friends.

While being gay (or as many straight people say, "homosexual"), can indeed be a problem for gay people, it's also a problem for people who follow any creed that purports to believe "Love your neighbor as yourself." The Christian version of this commandment is

Jesus said unto him Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all they soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets. Matthew 22:37-40, KJV

Most religious faiths have similar formulations of this: Do not do unto others as you would not have them do unto you, or the affirmative of the same.

I invite religious people who disagree with me about the nature of my sexual orientation (I am gay, I am homosexual) to put their feet in my shoes. Believe me, I've already put my feet in your shoes. I really have. How does it feel to have someone say to you that you hate them and what they believe. That's a foul charge smearing all gay people. Honestly, we don't hate religion or religious people. I do, however, get irritated by people who let their sometimes blind belief trump science, common sense, and the Holy Scriptures, and then proceed to carry on with intemperate speech about my sexual orientation.

The problem is stigma. It all started 5,000 years ago with, "If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death. Their blood shall be upon them. Leviticus 20:13 KJV. That scripture and six other "clobber" scriptures pretty much have molded traditional Christian (and Jewish) thinking about homosexuality. These scriptures are almost always ripped out of their historical, religious, and cultural contexts, and applied willy-nilly to gay people. One of the underlying characteristics of bigotry is that the people engaging in it (from its gentlest to its most rabid manifestations) can rattle off justifications for their behavior (clobber verses), but often do not consider the context of the justifications. They do not have a deep understanding of their behavior, and over time, it becomes a part of their irrational belief.

[A personal confession, here - I also have irrational belief and engage in irrational behavior. I have my own prejudices which probably border on bigotry. Just because I disagree with most religions' views of homosexuality in no way exempts me from experiencing the human condition, part of which is to engage in irrational belief and irrational behavior.]

Many religious people let their irrational beliefs about homosexuality color their feelings about gay people. That coloring is called stigma. Your stigmatization of me effectively makes me less a person than you, and by inference less than your humanity. I'm not a real person in your eyes. I know these may be difficult words for you to read. And I know that you may feel offended, disgusted, saddened, or angry. I know that you may not believe my words. I also know, that you have felt stigma because of your religious beliefs and practices. You are marked and mocked by other people (like me) because of what you believe. I know that you have felt emotional pain, ostracism, and conflict with the outside world because of your beliefs. I know how much that hurts.

I invite you to examine some of the stigmatization that I live with, stuff that I hear and experience all the time. What follows isn't pretty, and may seem offensive, but again, I ask you to get into my shoes, and my skin, and be open to that experience. Please.

I am a homosexual who really deserves less than straight people. This stigma is stated in explicit terms with the phrase, Gays want special rights, not human rights. When a person utters this phrase, the first thing it does is rob gay people of their humanity, because the speaker is saying that gay people are not human. It implies that special rights are privileges, and privileges that "normal" (straight) people don't have. Here are the "human rights" that straight people regard as their own (any may not even think about): freedom from bullying and violence, non-discrimination in housing and employment, the freedom to love (and marry) someone, the right to speak out on public issues. Here are the "special privileges" to which homosexuals aspire: freedom from bullying and violence, non-discrimination in housing and employment, the freedom to love (and marry) someone, the right to speak out on public issues. I know this, because I am a gay man who aspires to these human rights.

Why do I feel stigmatized by this attitude of feeling less than straight people? Let me give you a few For Examples from my own life.

• Example 1. I listened to Fag Jokes at work for many years, afraid to speak up, because I felt that my co-workers would think less of me.
• Example 2. I couldn't be open with co-workers about my partner, or about my life outside of work. Where other people would come in and tell me about their weekend, all I could do was to say, "Fascinating!" I was mentally and socially constrained by my stigma.
• Example 3. When I finally did tell a colleague that I was gay, he promptly went to Employee Resources and claimed that I was offending him, and that he no longer wanted to work with me. (When he asked my about my weekend, I got up the courage to say that I had gone to a gay bar. That's it! He was totally disgusted) Needless to say, experiences like this confirmed the stigma.
• Example 4. I was fired from another job because I knew two other gay people at the company, who ratted on me to Human Resources/Legal. The two gay people were afraid that I'd tell other employees that they were gay. See how insidious this stigmatization grows? While I had no intention of telling anybody that anybody else was gay, another gay person ratted on me, and I got fired. That was difficult to take.

This particular stigma has real consequences, affects real people, and stunts the lives of others. It is a very uncomfortable stigma with which to live.

Gay people deserve what happens to them, because they choose to live that way. This is a difficult stigma to shake, because deep down, many religious people appear to feel that homosexuality is such an immoral aberration that gay people couldn't possibly choose to live that way.

First of all, if you read the sacred texts with an open heart and a mind wanting to know the truth, and you study the historical, cultural, and religious context of those texts, you'll find that the assertion of immorality often made by religious people isn't nearly so cut and dried as many of those people assert it. So please, I pray, reread the "clobber verses" and study them with an inquiring mind wanting to know your Creator's will.

Secondly, so what if I did choose to live the homosexual life? Democrats choose to live the "Democrat" life. Baptists choose to live the "Baptist" life. I am guessing that part of the reason the stigma of choice remains so important to religious, straight people is because of their misunderstanding and demonization of gay sexual practices. Admittedly, some of those practices are pretty weird. But, you don't hear gay people talking about straight people choosing to be straight, and you don't usually find gay people critiquing straight sexual practices (Dan Savage, aside). Why? Because sexual practice is in the realm of private conduct, and it should stay there. Frankly, gay sex is very similar to straight sex, more than either gay or straight people want to think. Straight people have straight sex with other straight people all the time, and don't get accused that they are choosing to be straight.

Finally, choice is a curious word. Let's put it in the context of a gay person, "choosing" to be gay. Here's what that person is often choosing: opprobrium from family and former friends, bullying and physical violence, and social ostracism, to name a few things. Think about it: people don't choose to live a life like this. Instead, a life like this often finds gay people because we have an intrinsic and innate need to behave congruently with our feelings and our attractions, just as straight people have an intrinsic and innate need to behave congruently with their feelings and attractions. Gay people don't choose to be gay any more than straight people choose to be straight. Any other conclusion is unsupportable by scientific, cultural, and moral evidence.

Here's a couple of examples of the affect of this stigmatization in my own personal life:

• Example 5. Because I chose to be gay and deserved what I got, a man stopped his car in an intersection, accosted me in the crosswalk, started kicking and beating me, screamed that I was a f**king faggot, told me he was going to kill me, jammed me against the stanchion of a traffic signal, well, you get the point. The only thing that saved me was a straight couple who ran up the sidewalk after my assailant. He jumped in his car, and sped off. I ended up with black eyes, broken ribs, and multiple bruises. I'm convinced my assailant meant to murder me. I deserved all of that because I chose to be gay. And what was my gay choice that day? I was walking down the sidewalk in a gay neighborhood, wearing a leather jacket, on my way to buy a birthday card for my five-year old son.
• Example 6. I was in a Bible study at work. The leader of the Bible study asked me to leave the group, saying that because I was homosexual, it was very disturbing and disruptive to the other members of the group. But if I repented, and chose not to be gay (meaning, I guess, that I was choosing to be straight), that after a period of repentance and forgiveness, I could rejoin the group. The affect of this stigmatization on me was devastating. In effect, God was kicking me out. The leader, a well-meaning Christian was robbing me of a rich spiritual experience, and was trying to extort my soul. He was doing it out of his best intentions because he knew that homosexuality is a choice. Except that it isn't, and his behavior broke my heart.

I ended up with broken bones and a broken heart because I chose to be gay.

God Hates Fags! This particular stigmatization comes out of a certain mean-spirited fundamentalism masquerading as human kindness. Yes, I know that Fred Phelps and his Westboro Baptist Church are extreme caricatures of faith, but I don't see a lot of religious people, like you, protesting their hateful speech and vitriolic phlegm. Go to Fred's web site, and read and see gay stigmatization at its most reprehensible. It's disgusting. It's hateful. It's an Old Testament God (who wrote Leviticus) untempered by the life, acts, and teachings of his Son, Jesus Christ. What Would Jesus Do? It certainly would not be what Fred Phelps does.

One of the reasons I ended up with broken bones and a broken heart, (not to mention fired from my job), is because good religious people believe what Fred Phelps teaches. These good people believed that God Hates Fags, so they could do evil to me. And I believed, at one time in my life, that God Hates Fags, and I hated myself, too. Stigma hurts. It hurts those who practice stigma, and it hurts those who carry its burden. In fact stigma makes religious people less Godly, and it has the power to make gay people afraid, injured, friendless, and unemployed.

Thank you for spending some time in my shoes, well boots, actually. I'm grateful that you gave me the opportunity.

So How Well Do You Know Happy?

So I did this silly quiz on Facebook. How well do you know me?

1. What is Happy's favorite food?
1. Fried Potatoes
2. Potato Salad
3. Mashed Potatoes
4. Baked Potatoes
5. Scalloped Potatoes

Obviously, I like potatoes, but what kind of potatoes. It's actually pretty much a toss-up between Happy's Famous Potato Salad, and Happy's Fried Potatoes, but the potato salad edges out the fried potatoes. The Scalloped Potatoes (March 8, 2009) are pretty wicked, too.

2. What is Happy's favorite activity?
1. Bronc Riding
2. Jello Wrestling
3. Oboe Playing
4. Potato Cooking
5. Square Dancing

Okay, I threw this in as a bonus answer. If you missed this answer (Square Dancing), you really don't know me.

3. Who does Happy most admire?
1. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
2. Abraham Lincoln
3. Mahatma Gandhi
4. Harvey Milk
5. Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.

Truth be known, I admire all of these people. I've read their biographies and was moved by their stories. One of these men aspired to the be very least among all, and lead his nation to independence through his sheer moral authority. Come to think of it, all of these men had tremendous moral authority. My answer is Mahatma Gandhi.

4. Which place does Happy consider his hometown?
1. Normal, IL
2. Moscow, ID
3. Potlatch, ID
4. Kennewick, WA
5. Wheaton, MD

All of these places I would feel privileged to have as my hometown. They all played an important part in my growing up and my life. Moscow, though, is where I grew up and first started exploring my world. My favorite newspaper headline comes from Normal: "Normal Man Marries Oblong Woman." Oblong is a little town in Illinois.

5. What did Happy want to be when he grew up?
1. President of the United States
2. a Medical Missionary
3. a Chef
4. an Astronaut
5. a Lawyer

At one time or another, I wanted to be all of these things (except an astronaut). But the one that really rang my chimes was medical missionary. I read a biography of Dr. Albert Schweitzer when I was eight or so, and I was hooked.

6. What is Happy's secret desire?
1. to dance C3A
2. to visit Thailand
3. to marry Ron
4. to master Portuguese
5. to move to New Mexico

I've discussed all of these with friends and hangers on at one time or another, but the one thing I'd really like to do is to master Portuguese. I guess it's now no longer a secret desire.

7. What most informs Happy's spirituality?
1. Radical Faerieism
2. Mormonism
3. Episcopalianism
4. Buddhism
5. The Big Bang Theory

All of these, with the exception of Buddhism have influenced my spirituality, and I think that all of these have important values, but the one that has mostly affected me is the Big Bang Theory (and not the TV show, although it is great television, and Ron reminds me of Sheldon. I can't wait for the second season to come out on DVD). Belief is an explanation of the inexplicable, and I believe the Big Bang Theory best explains that.

8. Happy considers himself:
1. a Control Queen
2. Machiavellian
3. Laid Back
4. Analytical
5. Cautious

This is a trick question. I'm asking this from my interior perspective. And I really do consider myself "Laid Back" no matter what the objective evidence shows.

9. Which of the following is false?
1. Happy's Mom is his Aunt.
2. Happy's first cousin is his twin brother.
3. Happy's grandpa is his first cousin twice removed.
4. Happy's Father's name is John.
5. Happy's brother's name is John.

This question is really better if you use the name my Mom calls me: John, rather than Happy. I really have a brother named John, which is why I like the name, Happy. And my Mom really is my Aunt, but my Father's name is Vernon.

10. Happy is seen around town driving:
1. a Toyota Prius
2. a Toyota Corolla
3. a Chevrolet Impala
4. a Volkswagen Golf
5. an Infiniti G35

When I got married, we drove around in a Chevy Impala. Since coming to DC, I've driven both a Toyota Corolla, and an Infiniti, but I'm now prowling the streets with a Prius. Get the GPS installled. Ron and I talk to its disembodied voice, "Turn right at next corner then turn right...."

Now you pretty much know everything there is to know about me, and then some. After making up this quiz, then rereading it, I realize that nothing and everything has changed. It was a fun little exercise, and I hope you enjoyed it, too.

An Idaho Gay History

I gave this speech on April 30, 2009 at the University of Idaho's Lavender Graduation. Ten remarkable students were honored at this event. The Coordinator of LGBTQA Programs at the University's Womens' Center, Rebecca Rod, welcomed all of us to the celebration, and the University's President Stephen Daly-Laursen gave heartfelt welcoming remarks. Below is my keynote speech, which was followed by Audrey Ebert's Valedictory, and the presentation of the graduates.

Graduates, friends, members of the University community, and family members, I'm grateful for the invitation to talk with you tonight. I'm touched by it, and deeply appreciative for the University of Idaho, for its Women's Center, and more particularly for the thousands of people like us who have graduated from this school.

When my father, Vernon Burlison, died in 1997, I wanted to remember him. He was an instructor and professor here at the University for three decades. He was also a pastor of a small community church in Juliaetta, Idaho for many years. He was beloved by all who knew him. I wanted to remember his life. I worked with the University of Idaho Foundation to establish a fund in his name at the University to benefit LGBTQA* programming through the Women's Center. I value the Women’s Center and these programs, and I invite you to support them, financially and otherwise. I especially want to thank Rebecca Rod for her fabulous work as coordinator of these programs.

Back in 1969, we were mostly homosexuals. Today, we're transgendered, lesbian, bisexual, gay, queer, or questioning, and allies.

Tonight, I want to tell you some Idaho stories, stories of my youth, and of what happened to me at the University of Idaho. It’s important to tell our stories because they weave a history of who we are and give us a perspective on where we might be going.

When I was growing up in Idaho in the 1950s and 60s, I knew I was different from an early age. I learned relatively early that I was a homosexual, but I had no idea what to do with that information. Because of a conservative post-WWII culture, as many of you may have felt at one time or another, I felt invisible.

I found out about myself by reading an article in Life Magazine, which had written about the homosexual lifestyle in San Francisco. The article showed pictures of men dancing with each other. I told my mother about the article, and she told me, "We don't talk about things like that in our home." That was quite all right with me. I was elated, because I knew, finally, who I was. It was a fact, another thing that I knew about myself. I think I was 10 or 11 at the time.

In junior high school and high school, I was the typical dork. My pants were too short. I had a very scary fashion sense. I couldn't throw a baseball or hit a basket. Football terrified me. Does any of this sound familiar? A couple of guys took delight in bullying me, but I was pretty careful to stay out of their way. I had parents who loved me just the way I was, and thankfully, they didn't ask many questions. I was smart, did well in school, and actually enjoyed PE, except for dodge ball.

And the girls, boy did I sell them a bill of goods. I liked girls. I wanted to grow up, get married, have kids, and live happily ever after. And girls liked me. I dated, but rarely kissed. And I didn't even think about sex. My mother told me that the only reason girls went to high school was to find a husband, and if I EVER got a girl pregnant, I'd have to drop out of school and support her, and oh, by the way, I'd be on my own, and how could I support a family? She had a lot less to worry about than she thought at the time.

By the time I got to high school, the family had moved to Potlatch, just up the road from here. I had a crush on one of my male classmates, but the sexual attraction was transmuted into this deep, wonderful friendship of track, hunting, fishing, and playing cards.

I continued to date girls, wondering once or twice what the hullaballoo was all about. I was popular in high school, but socially awkward. I later found out that the girls liked me because I could carry on a conversation, and I didn’t make demands. But word also got out that I didn’t make out or kiss, which probably should have set off a few alarm bells.

In my senior year of high school, I got engaged to Susan. She lived on a neighboring farm. We were in the same 4-H club. She was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints or Mormon, and I was Methodist.

Times were changing across America in 1969. Hundreds of thousands of people were protesting the Vietnam War. Nixon had just been elected President, promising to get us out. We had watched the beating of protesters at the Democratic Convention in Chicago. All of us in Potlatch saw this, but it hadn’t really reached us yet. We were hunkering down preparing for a confrontation between our deeply conservative selves and the Hippie proponents of Peace and Love. It was a visceral conflict, and I thought those Mormons might have some good answers.

So what was my conservative brain thinking? I was thinking that I wanted to be happy. Like some of you, perhaps, I couldn't imagine a world where I didn't have a wife and children. In 1969, there were no places in Potlatch, Idaho that had meaningful information about homosexuality, and my high school Family Living Class certainly didn't cover that topic. It wasn’t something that was on the TV News. I could hum the tunes of the musical, Hair, but I wasn’t about to join the cast. The world 40 years ago was a very different world than today. It punished sexual deviancy. It was a world where homosexuality was completely invisible, even to those of us who were homosexual. There was no gay history in Potlatch, Idaho.

Stonewall changed all of that. Judy Garland, an icon to all of us who are "Friends of Dorothy," died on June 22, 1969. As a result, the queens of Gotham were depressed, and some of them were drinking at the Stonewall Inn when the police raided the bar on the humid, scorching evening of June 28. The New York City Finest handcuffed then beat up a bulldyke with their billy clubs. A large, quiet crowd of homosexuals gathered outside the bar waiting for the paddy wagons. Desperate and angry the bloodied bulldyke cried out to the crowd, "Why don't you guys do something?" In that moment gay consciousness and gay history were born. Her angry and despairing words sparked a three-night riot, which sparked a movement, which fundamentally changed how you and I see ourselves and each other.

I was working at the Potlatch lumber mill that summer. I watched men walk on the moon, and I read about the Stonewall riots in Time Magazine. It was a very short article. I saw myself, again. This time, I was gay, still determined to get married and have kids. Still in love with my fiancée, Susan, but quite sure that I was gay, and totally clueless about what that meant to me and to the ones I loved.

That fall, I entered the University of Idaho. This was a time of personal exploration, looking for moral compass, trying to figure out what was what. One of the student Audio-Visual technicians that I worked with introduced me to pot. I also started drinking heavily, more to enjoy than to escape. My Methodist mother was appalled when she found out. She and Dad cut me off financially, for which I am grateful. They cared about me.

During this time, I also took the investigator lessons from the Mormon missionaries. I was baptized a member of the LDS Church when I was 19, and my fiancée, Susan, was very happy. My Mother was relieved (except for the LDS part), because it appeared that I was turning my life around. Strange as it may sound to you, I saw no contradictions in all of this. Without a history to know and understand, it's extremely difficult to gauge one's behavior. There was no gay past in Idaho from which to learn.

I was also a janitor at the Student Union Building and the University Classroom Center. One of the restrooms that I cleaned at the Classroom Center was notorious. It had lots of phone numbers, and some graphic suggestions about social activities. I knew that other men like me were out there. I had read their phone numbers and their messages. They may have sat next to me in my classes, but we never connected, and it never occurred to me that this could be a community in the making.

I dropped out of school my junior year to save money to go on a mission for the LDS Church. At church, I was a Sunday School teacher and a Priesthood Advisor to some of the men in the congregation.

I moved into the Mormon fraternity, Sigma Gamma Chi, next door to the LDS Institute. One Sunday evening in 1972, my roommate, Kay, a member of my Sunday School class, came into our room quite visibly upset and said he had to talk with me. He told me he had just had a sexual encounter with his zoology professor. In a moment of clarity about who I was, I responded, "Kay, I'm gay, too." He and I had a torrid affair. It was full of sex, danger, intrigue, secrecy, and desperation. We were always hiding out from our fraternity brothers, and yet they knew what was going on. We were a scandal, and we were terrified.

Kay and I loved each other passionately, and I think deeply, and we tried to imagine a world where we could live together. But we couldn’t imagine it. Moscow, Idaho was not San Francisco. We were sandbagged by a repressive religious culture. And in the midst of the biggest social and cultural upheaval of the 20th century, instead of Making Love Not War, we were at war with ourselves. We did not hear stories of other people like us. We had found each other, but could not create a world in which we fit.

We talked to our bishop, our stake presidents, and eventually, I was told to talk to one of the LDS Church authorities about my gay problem. I remember Elder Henry D. Taylor well. He told me, "Brother Burlison, I promise you that if you fast and pray, and get married in the Temple of the Lord, it will take care of your problem." Did he ever get that right! It took care of my problem, and confirmed to me, more than ever that I was gay as a goose.

So in May of 1973, Susan and I finally got married in the LDS Temple at Logan, Utah. I had had a difficult year. Kay had gone on a mission to Brazil, and I missed him a lot. My mother died the previous December after a long illness. Susan and I had broken up, and then had gotten back together only to rush off to Logan to get married, because it would take care of my problem. She thought everything was fixed. I felt like a heel. But I really wanted to marry, have children, and live happily ever after. I just wanted to be happy. I wanted my wife to be happy. Needless to say, Susan and I weren't happy. We loved each other. We tried to ignore the elephant sharing our bedroom. I was gay. Ultimately, our love for each other wasn’t enough.

I continued school here at the University. My academic advisor was my bishop. He was very concerned about me being gay and married, and all that. 1976 was a very scary year for me on campus. But I finally graduated, much to my relief!

So that was growing up gay at the University of Idaho. I discovered that not only was I clueless, but everyone else was, too when it came to homosexuality. Nobody knew what to do about my problem. Everyone, even those who I loved dearly, could only give me really awful advice. The reason for that is because we had no gay history. No one was telling our stories.

Actually, there were two lights in the dark. When my mother was dying, I went to the student counseling center because I needed someone to talk to. The director of the center and I talked my way through the anger and pain of my mother's illness. Then he asked me if there was anything else. I told him I was gay. He told me, "That's okay." During the same time, another janitor came out to me (an incredibly brave thing for him to do). He introduced me to a staff member who took me to his room, and held me one afternoon. That's all he did, but I needed that more than anything else at the time. I was afraid and distraught, and he held me.

I went to graduate school. I got a job. Susan and I had four beautiful children. I was excommunicated from the Mormon Church. Susan and I got divorced. I was fired from my job because I was gay and a security risk. I moved to Washington, DC. I met Ron, the love of my life. I got on with my life.

So what is the object of my story? Gay people have a history. And it's not just a personal history like I've recounted, it's a history in the context of world events.

We now know a lot about sexual orientation. We know a lot about gender identity. And it's my earnest hope that we're learning something useful from our histories. But to learn from those histories, we have to hear the stories and understand their impact.

I belonged to a religion that ultimately felt so threatened by my sexuality that it excommunicated me and tried to rob me of my spiritual life. Today, people who are members of sexual minorities are still under grave spiritual assault in most organized religions and denominations because of who we are. The most heartwrenching web page I've ever read is a page listing links to obituary notices of members of the LDS Church who have committed suicide because they were exposed as lesbian or gay, in their local churches, kicked out of their spiritual community, and robbed of their spiritual life. Their blood cries out to us.

Today, even in the smallest hamlet in Idaho, young women and men can find out important information about their sexuality or their gender identity. There is a history out there for them, maybe not in the local library, but it’s on the Internet. It's not a neat history, and not always a truthful story, but the word is out, and for the most part, the word is, it's okay to be gay or queer, or transgendered, or confused for that matter. I invite you to add your voice and your history so that you are heard. Don't be quiet.

I want to say a few words about love. Love is a wonderful expressive, intimate, and creative gift. Be happy with that gift. Be open to its giving and its receiving. There is a joy in love, and for me it comes down to this, I choose to love someone of my own gender. We must be very clear with ourselves: it's okay!

I still sometimes wonder about those men who left their phone numbers in the UCC men’s room. I hope they survived the plague of AIDS, and I hope they have gone on to live lives of purpose and dreams.

I wonder about you. I wonder about other students on this campus outside this room who should be here, listening to your stories, recounting their own. You offer hope, compassion, and strength in what is a chaotic, difficult collegiate world.

Some final advice: find your own family. I have stayed in Washington, DC, not because I like the traffic, or nine million people being in my face every day, but because I love Ron. For twenty-six years, he’s been my man! Twenty years ago, I went to a pool party, and bumped into Brian, and he's with us, as well. Fifteen years ago, I met Perry at a potluck, and he joined our family. Ten years ago, I square danced with Tim, and he became part of our tribe. I love these men dearly and completely. They are my chosen family. My hope is that you will choose your families too.

Take care of yourselves. It's okay to be yourself. It's okay to fight for what you believe in. Don't let anyone rob you of your spiritual birthright. Be playful and silly at least once a in a while. Let the ones you love know how much you love them, every day. Tell your story; please tell your story so that it can become part of a rich rainbow tapestry as beautiful as the Palouse Hills as resilient as the spirit of the people in this room tonight. I hope that each of you has a wonderful life. My life has been wonderful because of the men and women I have loved. I do not want anything less than that for you.

Thank you.

*Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgendered, Queer and Questioning, and Allies

Twenty Five Random Things About Me

1. Harry Hay and John Burnside slept here. They actually slept in our bedroom during the gay March on Washington in 1993. Before the march, a friend of mine called me up and asked if Harry and John could stay with us, along with their minder, Stuart Timmons. My friend warned me that Harry could be a little irritable, and that John could be passive-aggressive. We had a memorable weekend, and my partner and I were honored to have them stay with us. Harry was a little irritable. He had no patience with people (like me) who wanted straight privilege and the gay "lifestyle." He also didn't particularly like lesbians with children. He urged me to wear pearls to work. In retrospect, I should have. John Burnside was a somewhat demanding queen, but fun to talk to about physics and life. Harry was into politics and sex - an excellent choice, and Stuart was into my partner. We had a wonderful weekend, and I got to dance with all the radical faeries on the mall, and had sex in front of the Museum of Natural History with one very hairy, somewhat smelly faerie from Tennessee. Life goes on.

2. I was the only person at a rail crossing in downstate Illinois to wave at Jimmy Carter when he was rolling through in 1976. He waved back at me. I also waved at Jerry Ford at the same rail crossing. He also waved back at me. Ultimately, Jerry got my vote, but thankfully, Jimmy won the election. I was a grad student attending Illinois State University in Normal, IL. Let's hear it for the Redbirds. It was a little weird. I was at a rail crossing just off campus. The crowds were further down the line in Bloomington. I had my own private moment with the candidates.

3. I was born in the only county in the United States that was created by an act of the United States Congress. I'm from Latah County, Idaho. It seems that the northern part of the county didn't like the long ride in a buggy to the county seat. Idaho's delegate in Congress, Willis Sweet, introduced legislation to separate the northern part of the county from the rest, and Latah County came into being. Latah is the dry split pea and lentil capital of the world. I grew up in Moscow, a small university town on a rolling prairie. It was a wonderful place to be a kid. My parents were college professors, and we lived in an old remodeled farmhouse at the (then) edge of town. The old house is still there, much smaller now, than I remember. We had a wood furnace and a woodlot, so I spent part of every summer that I was growing up in the woods, cutting wood for that damn furnace. I hated it. I was not big on physical labor then, and truth be known, not so keen about it now.

4. At any given social gathering, I can usually make a winning bet that I have more grandchildren than all of the other people present put together. Once upon a time, I was married to the neighbor girl just down the road. Although I loved her, and I think she loved me, it was a star-crossed match, but resulted in four children. All of them have provided progeny. I should have seventeen or eighteen grandkids before the end of 2009. They are all good Latter-day Saints, and I'm grateful that my former wife raised them to be good upright men and women. They are treasures, and I'm sure that all of those grandkids are treasures, too. My life is very different than theirs, but I love them dearly, and keep them in my heart.

5. My partner Ron and I have been together far longer than most married couples, but we can't get married. Harry Hay, I know that marriage isn't your gay issue, and it isn't necessarily mine. But this whole backlash against gay relationships is TRULY mean-spirited. Gay marriage is not a threat to marriage. DIVORCE is the threat to marriage DUH! I say that having been through divorce, and it is not pleasant. But if I had lived in a society that valued the happiness of all of its members, I might have married a guy to begin with. Now don't get me wrong, I don't regret marrying and having children, I love them all; I do regret the divorce. It seems to me that people should be free to forge meaningful relationships with other people, regardless of how those relationships fit in with religious doctrine. Furthermore, those relationships should be made by the state, not performed by religious groups as agents of the state. Churches performing acts of marriage really blurs the line between the recognition of the state and the blessings of the church. On the other hand, churches should be free to bless marriage in a manner that sanctifies that relationship for those being married.

6. I make bad, but potent, mixed drinks. A couple of years ago, I picked up a mixology book plus a cocktail shaker. What a potent combination. I'm not an alcoholic, but after 4:30 p.m., it's okay to mix a capairinha or a margarita. The nice thing about drinking at home is that I don't have to drive home, and it's certainly cheaper, and the drinks are stronger. What's not to like?

7. My favorite vegetable is the potato. Idaho is known for its Famous Potatoes. I am Mr. Potato Head's spiritual advisor. Do I have to say anything more about potatoes? I like them just about any way they can be fixed (including Ore-Ida's Tater Tots). My favorite salad is Potato Salad in initial caps. Potatoes, green onions, dill pickle, hard-boiled eggs, vinegar, oil, mustard, mayonnaise. Of course, if you add pickled beets and herring in sour cream, you get extra points. No kidding. I think potatoes are basically the perfect vegetable. I recently acquired a mandoline, and use it to slice and julienne potatoes so that I can fry them. You don't need a lot of grease, just an iron skillet, low-medium heat, salt and pepper, and patience. Mashed potatoes taste better with some garlic. Baked potatoes need sour cream. MacDonald's makes the best french fries. Scalloped potatoes are a great potluck pleaser. I worked on a potato farm in 1972, changing sprinkler pipe, near Ashton, Idaho. It was the summer before my mother died. I had broken up with my girl friend and had a crush on the farmer's son. George McGovern was running for President. I was moving sprinkler pipe in a potato field wondering what life would be like without my mom.

8. I have a twin brother (and lots of other siblings). I grew up a twin. He and I don't look a bit alike, but people always got us confused. He lives in Colorado. When we were in high school and college, we were very close. We've drifted apart, but we try to bridge the gulf of distance and religious belief that separates us. We love each other, but it's a difficult love to endure, sometimes. I've cried for him, because I'm afraid of losing him, and losing half of myself. I think he's afraid I'm going to hell, and he'll lose me, too. It's an uneasy brotherhood, but thankfully, both of us still try to make it work somehow. I have lots of other siblings: all told, two brothers, a step-brother, two step-sisters, and sister. Our family thinks it's close, and I guess perception is everything. I love them all. I worry about them. I wish, sometimes, that I didn't live 2000 or 3000 miles away.

9. I'm growing facial hair to match my religious avocation. When I grow up, I want to be a Pastafarian. Okay, I know, pirates and all that stuff. But it really makes sense, just as much sense as Christianity to Sikhs. To grasp a new faith, you need an open mind. Once you've found that faith, you need to close your mind, like a steel trap. That's why I'm a Pastafarian. Just open that mind of yours, and try it. You'll like it. Beer volcanoes....

10. I was at the organizing meeting for the activist group that began the fight for civil rights for gay citizens in Maryland. I think my efforts helped make a difference. I went to the meeting, because I had a crush on one of the other guys. Sexual opportunity is a great political organizing principle. In fact sexual opportunity is a great principle for just about any human endeavor, indeed, that's why we're all here. I never got in the guy's pants (well, only once), but we did change a lot of minds in Annapolis, Maryland. In the beginning, legislators would not even make appointments with us. Eight years later, they were calling us, asking us to organize fundraisers. I learned this: twelve determined people can make a huge difference. We took on the political establishment of Maryland, and we eventually won our fight. The fight goes on; I'm no longer active in it. But we made a difference.

11. My mother's name is Prudence and my sister's name is Grace. My name is NOT Chastity. Oh, what is in a name? What was my grandmother thinking? Someone once told my sister that my parents had a lot of nerve. My mom calls me John, and so do family members, and friends from work. Everybody else (thousands upon thousands of square dancers) calls me Happy. I've been that since coming to Washington. It's a collision of the worlds when I'm at a function where some of the people are calling me John and some are calling me Happy. I get confused very easily. You decide. Confuse me any way you can.

12. I was a liturgical assistant for five years at an Episcopal parish in downtown DC. I love the Episcopal Church. If I could leap across the chasm of faith I would be an Episcopalian. The liturgy is beautiful, and fills my heart like no other ritual. During the Eucharist, I really do feel the Holy Mystery of the presence of Christ. I just don't believe it, and that has caused a problem for me. I knew how to be a crucifer. I knew how to hold the alms basin, me standing on the chancel steps, flashing the reflected light from the brass basin across the gathering of congregants. The church secretary told me once that when I was accepting the offerings, that people gave more. As liturgical assistant, I was a master of ceremonies and a traffic cop. I took my duties seriously, and seriously loved what I was doing. One of the priests was a "dry" alcoholic, and couldn't help himself and always blessed far more wine than the parish could consume. He hated pouring it down the piscina, and always insisted that I drink the consecrated wine after the service. Maybe that led to my love of mixed drinks. He also had a warm interest in me that went beyond collegial. I kept our relationship professional. Closeted married gay men should not be part of the clergy. It can get in the way of their ministry.

13. Before that, I was a Latter-day Saint. My mom (who is also my aunt, no kidding) still thinks I'm a saint. Shortly after high school, I converted to the Mormon (LDS) church. I was in love with my high school sweetheart, who is Mormon. I took the discussions because of her. But I didn't convert because she wanted me to. I converted because I wanted to. At the time, I was restless with my Methodist upbringing. I wanted some answers, and the Mormon missionaries had the answers. I struggled with it for ten years, eventually leaving that church. All of my children were raised in the Mormon church, and are all active. It's difficult for me to talk with them about my faith or theirs. I would love to have the opportunity to know and hear about their faith.

14. I squeezed into seven years of college what most people expand into four. Okay, it took me a long time to get through college. I started in 1969, and finished in 1976, graduating from the University of Idaho in Moscow. I graduated from the same school as Sarah Palin (the School of Communications), just a few years earlier. I loved my time at the University, and continue to support it and its Women's Center. I worked my way through school as a warehouseman and truckdriver, and later a janitor. I graduated without any debt, and went on to graduate school. While in college, I got married, and by the end of graduate school, we had two kids, and another on the way. Moscow, Idaho is a beautiful college town. It's small, but a great place to live. It's also the most liberal town in Idaho, which may not be saying much if you live in Takoma Park, Maryland. In any case, I have very fond memories of college.

15. I was once a member of Young Americans for Freedom. I'm sorry for that. Oh oh. This happened in college. I don't know what came over me. I was a pretty conservative lad, probably more libertarian than conservative. By 1972, though, I was a George McGovern supporter. So something happened. I do find as I have grown older that I am more conservative, and I'm not sure that I like that. Oh well, the world is going to hell in a handbasket, and always has been. I'm for Young Americans. I'm for freedom. I'm not for Young Americans for Freedom. I should mention here one of my college professors, Tony Skrbek. He was a bird far from home when he flew to Moscow, Idaho. An alleged communist, and definitely of the leftist ilk, he taught American government. This was in 1970, right after the Cambodian incursion, and the whole campus was in uproar. I didn't like Tony's politics, but he forced me to think, and he forced me to question my assumptions and my values. That's the real gift of a college education.

16. I've been to 47 of the 48 contiguous states. Vermont is on my list of places to visit. Maybe this year. When I was a kid, most summers, Dad would load us into the car, and we'd drive somewhere many states away. As an adult, I've had the opportunity to do much more travel. As soon as I visit Vermont, I'll turn my eye to Hawaii. I'm not sure about Alaska. My nemesis, Sarah Palin lives there.... And it's cold, and I'm a wuss. I could always do the cruise thing, I suppose.

17. I love sailing in the Caribbean. I love being on the water. I go nearly every year, and love the water, the wind, the beaches, and my mates. We've had a lot of fun. It's not always the same group of guys, but always includes repeats from previous trips. It's a great way to get over winter's depression. I heartily recommend it. I love St. Vincent and the Grenadines. Climb up the volcano. Stay a few extra days at a cheesy resort. Eat the mussels. Drink the rum.

18. I love square dancing anywhere. I started square dancing in 2000. Since then, I've danced all over the country to some great callers with a lot of wonderful people. I'm not a social square dancer. I'm what's called an aficionado or a fanatic. Coincidentally, I'm having knee surgery on April 23. I could have had it a week earlier, BUT there's square dancing that night, and I wouldn't want to miss that, would I? I don't care how much the damn knee hurts, I'm going to be square dancing. The knee problem has been around just about as long as the square dancing, and they are highly corelated. I would have had the surgery much earlier, but I have too many other things going on, like a square dance weekend and a square dance convention. I just can't take off the month for recuperation. I tell this to my square dance friends, and they understand exactly what I'm talking about. For the record, I don't have a prairie skirt or crinolines, but I can dance either girl or boy. That kind of freaks out some of the guys when I'm dancing with other clubs. In gay vernacular, that's known as being "versatile."

19. I'm a sexual kind of guy. Those of you who really know me figured this out a long time ago. Sex, preparing for it, experiencing it, snoozing afterwards, its hormonal rush, the ecstatic feelings, the power, the lust, the messiness, the physicality of the act, the connection, the carnality, the intimacy, the shallowness and silliness, the reflection of me and the other, and that's just THINKING about it. I value sex. It's very important to me and the quality of my life. Even bad sex has its rewards, and good sex is a consuming, transformative awe full experience. I love my friends. I love having sex with my friends. I don't want to be delicate about it. Our society is squeamish about sex. I'm not interested in disgusting other people with my behavior, but I refuse to concede the moral ground to those who have a different view about it. The act created me, and in the act I have a profound connection with the men that I love.

And for those I don't particularly love, I check them out on SilverDaddies and ManHunt. Oh what the Internet has done for sex.

20. In 1968-69, I was student body president of Potlatch High School. My political career has stumbled badly since then. Being a homo probably won't help your political career. We're making progress, though. I don't think Barney Frank is going to be President in 2016. When I visited legislators in Annapolis, I learned that they are a species wired a little differently than the rest of us. We wonder why our political leaders behave the way they do. They are a self-selecting group of people who like power. And there's nothing wrong with that as long as the people who elect them know that. I discovered that our "public servants" often thought that because they made the rules, they were, somehow, above the rules, or the rules just didn't apply. When the rest of us read next week's scandal, whatever it may be, we will all be thinking "What was that politician thinking?" And the pol will be clueless. Their minds work differently than ours. So I discovered that I was not the political animal I had thought I was. I ended up being a technical writer and an analyst. That seemed to suit me better.

21. Growing up, I wanted to be either a medical missionary doctor or POTUS. This is something of a repeat of the last paragraph. I was really taken up with God when I was a child. I grew up in a religious home, though not onerously religious. My parents believed in service and taught all of us kids the same. Albert Schweitzer was one of my heroes. Or I could be President of the United States. I was not a very sophisticated little gay boy in Idaho. I finally gave up the medical missionary stuff about the seventh grade. POTUS went out the window when I recognized that I was the color purple.

22. I haven't cleaned "my room" since 1994. I've made several attempts. And I'm in the midst of one now. I'm not very proud of this unpleasant little fact. I don't know how to file anything. I'm horizontally organized, which means that I pile things on the floor, on the table, on chairs. It's not pretty. I've carted hundreds of pounds of paper out of my room, and much, much more remains to be done. It kills me.

23. I'm a geek, but not a very good one. I love my computer. I love gadgets. I couldn't program a DVR or run our DVD player without Ron's steady guiding hand. I know quite a bit about business requirements. I know how to design form interfaces. I can program in a couple of languages. I love my Blackberry. I'm just not real good at it.

24. I'm a good cook. My mother wanted my brothers and me to be good husbands, and to know our way around the kitchen. Cooking is a kind of recreation for me, when I'm in the mood to do it. I'm a throw something together, it'll taste good kind of cook. I've been stirring the pot since I was six or seven. I love soups. I love potatoes. I like to experiment. I make a fabulous Pad Thai. I'm pretty good at figuring out a recipe, although I consider recipes merely advisory. After all, it's my kitchen. So far, my cooking hasn't killed anyone, and I'm very happy when I cook.

25. I'm a cityfied Idaho Country Farm Boy. When I fell off the farm truck in downtown DC in 1983, I was one sorry hayseed, a hick from the sticks. I've kept the cowboy boots, but don't feel obliged to be the bumpkin anymore. My friends still think I talk funny after all these years, but I'm a Marylander now, through and through. I love the mountains and prairies of Idaho. I get back there once or twice a year. But my home is definitely on this side of the Mississippi River, and when I'm on the plane home, and am flying down the Chesapeake, I'm happy to be back home.