The Bishop, Religion, and Other Trying Things

Although it hasn't really been that long since my last post, I feel like it has been ages. I'm used to posting about twice a week, but, although there has been a great deal on my mind, I just haven't had the strength to write about any of it.

Part of me wonders, what's the point? Part of me thinks, no one wants or needs to hear about the ridiculousness going on in your head. A voice inside says, stop using your blog as a way to bitch and cry about all the things you don't like. But, I guess I'm not twisting anyone's arm and making him read my blog. If it's not your thing, then stop reading.

So after my last, rather angry, post, a lot has been flooding through my mind, as I'm sure you can imagine. It is as I think back on all those things that I wish I had written at least something down because now it all seems jumbled together, out of order, like a pile of random dirty laundry.

After I wrote my last blog post, I told the bishop that I wanted to meet with him Sunday--last Sunday. I made an appointment with his secretary for 1:30, one hour after church got out. I showed up at 8:30 that morning for choir practice, as usual, but no one else was there yet. There was a hymnal on the piano, so I opened it up to Hymn #219, my favorite hymn of all time, and started playing through it, adding my own little flourishes, changing some octaves, just having fun with it. While I was playing, the choir director showed up. She looked over my shoulder at the music and said with surprise, "All that just from those notes?" I mumbled something sheepish and finished the song.

It was still just the two of us there, so I took a deep breath and decided to let her know that I may not be coming back to church for much longer. I told her, in vague but not so vague terms, why I was feeling this way. I told her about the church's most recent statement, and said, basically, that the church leaders did not want "people like me" in their church. She got a little misty-eyed and told me, with emphasis, that she wanted me there and that she was thankful for the time she has had getting to know me and working with me. Then she told me about her oldest son. He lives in Seattle. He called her one day and said that the bishop had asked him to give a talk in sacrament meeting about inclusiveness. He was really nervous about the content of the talk and went in to show the bishop everything he was going to say, just so he knew  exactly what was coming. He called her again later that day, after he had given the talk, and told her how successful the talk had been. He also came out to her. She told him she already knew, that it was fine, that she loved him still, etc. She told me that she is well acquainted with the struggle that gay Mormons face, knowing one thing in their hearts and hearing something else from The Church.

I told her that there were already so many things in the church that I do not believe in, and that this new "impediment" was just the straw that broke the camel's back. I told her that I would be talking to the bishop later that day and would let her know what we decided.

I slogged through another two hours of playing the piano for primary, feeling anxious and awkward the whole time. I just can't help but hear all the things they teach the children and think of it all as nothing more than conditioning. I see all these kids, who don't know this from that, and who accept whatever an adult tells them, no matter how crazy it is. I also see so much hypocrisy and imagine that hypocrisy in the future. There is one particular boy, a son of the previous bishop, who is eleven years old and is praised on a weekly basis for his spirituality, his reverence, his intelligence, his strength. He gets up in front of the congregation at almost every testimony meeting and delivers some silly talk about some story he heard or some experience he had reading the scriptures. He waxes poetic about his feelings about the gospel and about the Book of Mormon and about the power of prayer. I mean, this kid lays it on thick. Then he goes and sits back down, praised by his parents--his mom usually gets up after him and, in tears, talks about how moved she is by the "immense spiritual power" of today's youth.

But, in primary, sitting in the back row with his class, out of sight of the adults, this kid is, to be frank, a little piece of sh*t. (Actually, there is NO conceivable way that the adults in the room aren't fully aware of what he does. They just don't want to say anything to him.) He is constantly talking. He bothers the kids in front of him and beside him. He steals the shoes of the kid next to him and then makes a show of kicking them when he stands up to come to the front of the room to demonstrate his spirituality for everyone. When a question is asked, he will raise his hand and give some LONG, drawn-out explanation to show off his immense knowledge of all things scriptural, and then go right back to laughing, punching people, and throwing things.

This kid, for me, is a perfect allegory for the public church, the pretty one that they show off to the world whenever a new temple opens up, and the private one, the one that issues arrogant, ignorant, hateful statements and does all it can to hide its dishonest and rather sordid past.

Anyway, I came back after church for my meeting with the bishop. I told him all about the the church's most recent attack on me. I told him about my thoughts about believing versus knowing. I talked about how I've had major disconnects not just with the church, but with religion and that this most recent ignorance finished it for me. I had been planning on just reading him my two previous blog posts to demonstrate my train of thought, but I decided that I would say what was in my heart instead and be as honest as I could be.

He seemed genuinely troubled by my description of the church's statement about marriage. He said that he had not heard of it and wanted to read it for himself. He asked if I would be willing to talk with him again next Sunday--today--once he had had a chance to read it. I agreed.

Then, in response to my comments about considering making an official split with the church, he said he worried about taking rash action. He asked me if I had gotten anything good out of returning to church. I said that I had had some positive experiences and had met some nice people, but on the whole, actually being at church had not had much of an impact on me. He felt that anything that makes us feel good and positive should not be discarded, even if there are things about it that bother us. (I felt like he was starting to get in to "bishop mode" and out of "friend mode" here.) I told him that when I decided to come back to church, it was simply to attend sacrament meeting, to feel the peace of singing hymns, to be a part of a large group of people who are all being reverent and thoughtful. It was never my desire or intent to renew, increase, or deepen my belief in the LDS church, I told him. My "journey" had nothing to do with being more Mormon or reconciling myself to a faith I had lost long ago. I told him that I felt like a lot of people had misunderstood my calling the past nine months a "journey." So many people assumed that since I had decided to go back to sacrament meeting, my journey would result in a spiritual awakening in which all the things I knew were not true would suddenly become true. So, I told him, being asked to read the scriptures, to pray, and being given two callings that forced me to attend three hours of church every single Sunday had served not as a bolster to my faith, but as further deterrents to it.

He reiterated what he had said at our previous meeting, that he wanted me to "give it some time" before making a final decision about my callings. He did say, however, that he did not want me to feel like I was being forced or coerced to keep these callings. If I feel like they are not working, if I feel bad being there, if it is not helpful or meaningful to me, then all I had to do was say the word: I would be released immediately and someone else would be called. He said it was totally up to me.

That evening, I went to dinner at the choir director's house. Her husband that morning, after my talk with her, showed up and, after finding out that I used to be a ballet dancer, decided that he would not take no for an answer, that I absolutely had to come to their house for dinner. (He had called and invited me a few nights prior. I had accepted, begrudgingly, and had planned on telling them that I couldn't come.) I went. It was awkward. There were several others from the ward there. They were loud and boisterous, all of them. I knew, when they started talking about how much they love and prize their gun collections, that I was 100% in the wrong place with the wrong people. I excused myself shortly after that, saying that I had to finish doing my lesson plans. (I learned on Friday that this whole dinner invitation was actually orchestrated by a student of mine. She had been worried about me, having seen me in a pretty low place one afternoon after the students had left. Her dad is best friends with the choir director's husband. She had her dad tell the director's husband that I needed someone to reach out to me. It was a sweet thought, but finding that out made me feel even worse about the whole thing.)

My week stayed pretty stress-filled and difficult.

I had a Valentine's Day concert with the choir I sing with. We had our normal rehearsal on Tuesday evening, then an additional rehearsal Thursday evening, then our performance on Friday. The normal stress of having a performance was increased for a couple reasons. First, I was the emcee for the event. (Our Valentines concert is divided into two parts, the first is the entire choir and the second half is done cabaret-style, with individuals and small groups singing songs of their choice.) My job, of course, was to open the show, to introduce each singer and group, and make sure the audience laughed and was entertained. I HATE public speaking. I like to be a clown and make jokes when I'm around my friends, but people wrongly assume that I am also comfortable doing that in front of an audience. And second, I composed a song that was going to be sung by five of my friends in the chorale and me. It has been my dream for my whole life to have something I've composed performed in public, and my dream was finally coming true. It was meant to be sung a cappella but we had piano accompaniment because we had only been able to rehearse twice.

The performance went rather seamlessly. I forgot a few lines I had planned on saying in between acts, but the audience laughed when they were supposed to, and my voice didn't crack or anything. My song was beautiful. I was so proud, I almost cried. I still can't describe what it felt like to be standing in front of a room full of people and being a part of a sextet singing MY song. It was made all the more sweet because I knew that this opportunity would probably never again present itself. It was literally a once in a lifetime event.

My friend recorded the song's performance on his phone and immediately posted it on Facebook. I reposted it so that my friends and family could see it, since I had talked about it so much in previous weeks as we prepared for the show... And this is where I am not sure how to say what I'm feeling. It seems selfish and almost childish, but... The video of my song got a few "likes." But no one (aside from my friend who actually sang the song with me) commented on this moment that, to me, represented so much hard work, that was the culmination of a lifelong dream. And it wasn't even really that my pride was hurt. I mean, I didn't need the world to tell me how pretty my song was. But the fact that it was performed at all was SO HUGE to me. And no one shared in that triumph, that joy, with me. I felt all alone in one of the biggest moments of my life. Maybe others didn't see it as a big deal. Maybe they didn't understand how much it meant to me. Regardless of anyone's reasons, I felt bad.

So that got me even more down, and yesterday was a very hard day for me. I felt very much alone all day long. I felt cut-off, left out, and isolated. This feeling increased as the day dragged on. I tried, later on, to watch a movie, but I just couldn't concentrate on it. I ended up going to bed at about 8:00.

Now it's early in the morning, and I am trying to write out these feelings without sounding like a whiny, needy child. I've been told that one should never apologize for what one feels, regardless of how someone else may react to those feelings. Our feelings are very real to each of us. We are all going through things that others cannot even conceive of. Maybe I'm just tired and worn out from a very stressful week at school and in my personal life. Maybe I'm really missing my family. My little sister just got home from her mission. My brother and sister-in-law are having a baby any day. My other brother and his family are going to be going to Arizona to see the family and celebrate with them. And I am in dark, freezing Wisconsin. (It snowed AGAIN last night.) I'm here, trying to appear to the world like the happy one who is on this amazing journey of self-discovery, like the one who loves to make jokes and make people laugh, the one who is supporting everyone else unconditionally. But sometimes, times like now, being there and supporting others seems like too much to handle. I'm here, all alone, knowing that at the end of this school year, I will be moving back where I'll be close to my family, and, strangely, that knowledge makes me feel, in this moment, even more alone.

I'll be meeting with the bishop later today. I'm sure I'll write something later on. I'm planning on this being the last day I play the piano for primary. I'm not sure if I'll continue playing for choir or not.