I’m Still A Gay Mormon

My parents display a Pride Flag during June in support of me and the LGBTQIA+ community

I think I can say I turn a lot of heads when I still say that I am part of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Being gay and part of the Church is something not as common. We have Charlie Bird and his friend Ben. We have Tom Christofferson. Some people are gay and still part of the Church.

I’ve debated about leaving. It seems like the easier route, to leave it all behind, all the pain and baggage that seems to go with it. I'd rather throw in the towel and not go another day in my life. But the times I don’t go, a sense of guilt clouds my day, and it’s all I can think about.

This year has been difficult for me and my faith. It’s dwindled, swelled, and extinguished. I never thought I would return to the temple, but as the news of my sister leaving on a mission reached my ears, I knew I would have to go back.

At first, I wasn’t happy about having to go back to the temple. I had purposefully not gotten it renewed because it seemed easier than holding onto a piece of paper that stared daggers at me each time I opened my drawer.

Hearing about my sister submitting her papers brought me back to my mission and how much I loved it. My mission¹ changed me (quite literally), and I came out in March 2021 to my parents, and eventually to the world, a week after I returned home.

Then, I was temple worthy and appreciated going to the temple. I recall returning to the temple with my mother that winter. So, what changed from 2021 until now?

There’s a lot that I want to discuss, much personal to me, and I want to be vulnerable. But, there are sides of me that deserve to stay private, while I can show the hands of other facets of my life. This year alone, shook my faith a ton. In the process of obtaining a new temple recommend², I went through a harrowing experience that made me reconsider everything.

I sat across from him, hands clenched in my lap, trying to keep them from shaking. The office smelled of old books and polished wood, and the air was thick with something I couldn’t name — maybe expectation, judgment, or both. I always hated the bishop’s office…closed off and singular. It isolated you from the rest of the building…as anything said often wasn’t repeated beyond its walls.

His words came carefully, measured, and patient, the way one speaks to ease someone into an inevitable conclusion. I already knew where it was going because I’ve heard it all before.

“How does the Law of Chastity³ apply to you?”

It wasn’t just a question. It was a test.

I swallowed and straightened my spine. “I keep it just how I would if I were heterosexual.”

There. Simple. Truthful. Enough.

But, it wasn’t.

The Bishop shook his head slightly (probably in disbelief), folding his hands on his lap as if he was delivering a difficult truth.

“Well, you have a different set of standards.”

My breath hitched, fingers tightening against my lap. Different? Because I was different? Not in a way that made me feel seen, but in a way that made me feel othered. Separated. A line drawn between what was acceptable and what was…me.

“Are you affectionate towards men?”

He pressed.

“Holding hands? Kissing?”

I knew where this was going, but still, the words stung.

“Do you want to stay in the church or marry a man?”

As if it had to be one or the other. As if I had to carve myself in half to belong. I wanted to tell him that I spent years trying to make these pieces together. I tried to walk a path that felt narrower each time I took a step. I wanted to scream at him that I had wrestled God in silent prayers, in tear-stained pillows, in pages of scripture that had once felt like home but now felt like riddles with no right answer.

I wanted to tell him that love — real love — was not a struggle, nor a trial to endure. I wanted to say I wanted a family, a future, a whole love. I have never seen my love as anything less than a reflection of something divine.

I wanted to ask if he knew what it was like to be afraid of the future , not because of sin but because of how people looked at you when you stopped fitting their mold.

I hate myself. But, instead, I nodded, smiled, and let him pray over me. The words he spoke felt distant, hollow, and when I stepped out of that office, the cool afternoon air brushed against my skin. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I looked up at the sky, searching for something — maybe peace or direction.

I wrote this while sitting in the waiting room of the temple. I didn’t get past the first interview, and my sister was okay with that. She understood how difficult it was for me.

The Bishop didn’t win.

I was choosing myself and my peace.

I waited a month and then decided to go through the second interview. I now hold the piece of paper I was avoiding for so long. I hope to go to the temple with my sister before she leaves.

I’m still a Gay Mormon, and I don’t think that will ever leave me.

1 — Missions in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are when 18–25-year-olds are given assignments around the world to teach the Gospel to others. Missions for males last 2 years, while females go out for 18 months.

2 — Temple Recommends show that a member of the Church is worthy to enter the temple. There are two rounds of interviews that occur, one with your Bishop (a local leader/leader of the congregation or building you attend) and the Stake President (leader of several different buildings). After that, you get a piece of paper that you bring to temples to verify that you are “worthy.”

3 — Members of the Church abstain from pre-marital sex as part of the Law of Chastity. This law extends to actions and other probable media that you may watch that would be breaking this commandment (pornography, explicit photos/videos/etc.) This law also encompasses your thoughts and actions (masturbation/sexting/etc.)