My mind has been whirling with thoughts about my faith journey that I haven't been able to form them into cohesive sentences about one subject in particular. But today, I watched a video of a woman who extended her heart to those watching about how it pains her to see horrible comments made by church members about marginalized people who are just trying to find room at the table. The very people for whom Jesus would have been fighting to save a seat.
The video sent me back to last year when BYU changed its honor code policy surrounding gay and lesbian relationships, sparking joy and celebration from the LGBTQ+ community on campus. I scrolled through Facebook that day stopping on an article from Deseret News. The report itself wasn't hateful, but I'd made the mistake of letting my eyes linger on the comment section. I couldn't believe what I was reading. It was as if the keyboard warriors forgot that people exist behind the label. Worse than that, they utterly disregarded the gospel of Jesus Christ, the very name they took upon themselves when they were baptized, a name they weaponized to justify their bigotry. After all, didn't Jesus tell the sinners to go and sin no more? Only, that was Jesus, the lone man who claimed to be even remotely capable of keeping hypocrisy at bay because he was supposedly, divinely perfect.
I remember sifting through the hate wondering how I could reconcile staying in a church I wasn't even sure held the absolute truth when this rhetoric was literally hurting people through violence and even suicide. I could continue to put a band-aid over my doubts about Deity and continue to foster community within the church, but knowing the people who sat next to me in the Relief Society room felt this way about other human beings made me feel physically ill. Community wasn't worth it for the fruit that came of it: hypocrisy and hate.
Anyone who tells their family that they can't stomach being active in a church that makes members feel comfortable reciting words of a document to people who live differently will likely be met with the sentiment: "The church is perfect. The people are not."
If only that were true.
When someone says this, they treat the subject as if there's this chasm between gospel and culture. But the two are undoubtedly connected. The culture is the fruit of the church. There is a reason members believe and say certain things because they were taught it from the pulpit. The bigotry we see on social media from devout members who faithfully attend the temple every month, pay a full tithe, sign up to feed the missionaries religiously is the fruit of a church that says evil is running rampant throughout the world and it's up to the righteous to shine their light, only it's far from pure. There are particles of judgment floating aimlessly in their path. Judgment wholly justified by what leaders have taught them.
I know what it's like. I was there. I would shine my light against bigotry and then turn around and sneer at the person who just got a new tattoo or posed with a cup of coffee in their hand while showing their shoulders on Instagram when I knew they were endowed and were meant to be wearing garments. But they were apostatizing. I was within my right as a righteous member of God's chosen church to be worried for their salvation. Fruit of the church.
I considered leaving, but I wasn't sure if I should. I was still holding on to that sense of self. This was my whole life. I toyed with the idea of maybe paying my tithes not to the church but to other charities since the church would get involved in things I wholeheartedly denounce. I thought about never going to church and only doing Come, Follow Me. Only, that solidified in me what I didn't believe for myself.
It got to be unbearable, the hypocrisy within myself and which other members exuded. I realized it wasn't worth it to continue faking my belief in deity to be this person: one who fights for one group who just wants to live their truth while sentencing another to a cage when all they want to do is live their truth. It just didn't make sense, and it wasn't healthy for me to continue living that way. It certainly wasn't fair for the people I was judging (and secretly jealous of if we're being honest). It was time to find a new path, a rockier, harder one. But the one worth the heartache.
It was time to leave The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. So I did.
I don't wish ill will on the church. I really don't. In fact, I hope it changes. I hope that one day, there will be leaders high in the ranks that will shift the culture of the church to be one of true, unconditional love, one that will welcome every single person and family with open arms, lacking in checklist items to be met in order to find full fellowship and charity within their walls. While I do not believe in the divine foundation of the church, I do believe in love, and I hope one day the church will find it to extend to others.
