Exile

            I am in exile. I first became cognizant of the exile when I came to Hawaiʻi in 1988. Later, I realized the exile in reality had begun spiritually and emotionally years earlier as I learned through my reading in LDS Church history that the claims of the church I had grown up believing were not correct, were not literally true.

            As I finally began accepting my being gay and the ramifications of that upon my belief system, I felt myself walking into deepening exile. The promises church leaders so glibly gave—that I would be “cured” or “healed” if I obeyed the commandments, if I continued active, if I fulfilled my priesthood responsibilities, and most importantly if I married a woman without informing her of my attractions—these promises proved facetious. Earlier than my coming out began, one bishop tried to hook me up with a single woman in the ward. She was the dumbest blond I had ever met, and she wasn’t even good looking. I realized he didn’t give a *#@* about me personally—he certainly didn’t know me in any meaningful way.

            When I came out to the Mormon bishop, he told me I was not really gay, but merely lacked faith, that if I would marry a woman without revealing my attractions to other men, the Lord would change me. Months later he told me that I didn’t have to marry in this lifetime, that my heart’s desire would be answered in the resurrection. Immediately after that so called blessing, when I was alone, I said that the desires of my heart were to have a man as my companion, and if I could have that in the eternities, I could have it now, during my lifetime. About fifteen months later, I gave up on the Mormon Church; I resigned from teaching Gospel Doctrine to the adult class in Sunday school, from teaching the high priests group their lessons each Sunday, and from conducting the ward choir. During the eighteen months between first telling the bishop I was gay, and the final resignation Sunday, I received one home teaching visit, by the first counselor in the bishopric and the bishop’s teenage son. I certainly did not talk of my being gay to them; I avoided the risk of being accused of “recruiting” a teenage youth.

            For those eighteen months, from September 1992 to April 1994, I also attended Lutheran Church of Honolulu. Sundays were long, busy days: two hours at LCH followed by the three-hour block plan the Mormon Church used at the time. While I didn’t accept the creed in its entirety, I felt I could honestly say a few lines: “I believe in God, the Father, the creator of heaven and earth;” “I believe in Jesus Christ, the Son of God,…who was conceived by the Holy Spirit;” “I believe in the Holy Spirit.” During most of the remainder of the creed, I stood silent. Though I worried about my not being willing to recite the creed, not believing in much of the doctrine, I found comfort in going to communion; to me, communion at LCH was my thanking God for the members who welcomed and loved me as a gay man. I received reassurance that many members did not accept the creed as literal reality, and I was welcome at communion.

            Part of my coming out process included reading the spiritual journeys of others. This in turn lead me to the writings of Archbishop John Shelby Spong, of the Episcopal Diocese of New Jersey. In Why Christianity Must Change or Die, he discusses the problems that the creeds of Christianity present to twentieth—and twenty-first—century Christians. The creeds were written by men of the first four or five centuries of the Christian Era whose universe envisioned the earth as the center of creation with stars, moon, and sun circling the earth and God in the heavens above and beyond. Scientists and astronauts have shown us a different reality. In the words of Archibald MacLeish, written on Christmas morning, 1968, photographs of the earthrise above the horizon of the moon, taken by astronauts orbiting the moon, show a “small and blue and beautiful” earth, a “bright loveliness in the eternal cold.” (Archibald MacLeish, “A Reflection: Riders on Earth Together, Brothers in Eternal Cold,” New York Times, 25 Dec. 1968, p. 1.)

We now know “dark matter” exists. We know of its presence because it makes up much of the weight of the universe as best as we can calculate it. We call it “dark matter because we cannot see it or, as yet, comprehend much about it. Perhaps “God” lives there, diffuse, amorphous, existing throughout an expanding universe. Such a view of God, however, does not leave much room for the theistic being Christianity, Judaism, Islam, and some other spiritual groups have traditionally worshipped. These reflections have posed the concern I may be exiled from Christianity generally and from LCH as well.

            When Pastor Fritz gave communicants the bread at communion, he sometimes used the phrase, “Become what you hold in your hand, the Son of God given for the world.” That formula overwhelmed me and I wept.

            Archbishop Spong writes of the church in exile, and of the post-exilic church. On Saturday evening, 28 January 2023, Food for Thought met at David Hormann’s as we have done for several years. We had some newcomers to the group: Marsha Schweitzer came after several months without attending; Barry Wenger, Rudy Riingen, and Mark Russel came for the first time. Via zoom, we visited with Roger Reed, now living in Spokane, WA, and with Peter and Jan Flaschbart and Elaine, Jan’s sister.

            Phyllis Hormann offered grace when we gathered around the table spread with the potluck contributions and the main course prepared by David. Then we went out onto the lanai to eat and talk. The next day and on Easter Sunday a month later, I wrote more on what I had felt and learned that Saturday night. Food for Thought is a view of what the post exilic church could be for me. It is a time of bonding with, of listening to, of being strengthened by, my people. In important ways, they are the incarnation of the Spirit, of love, and of creation, helping each of us to become more than we have been.

            Congregation comes from the Latin congregare, meaning, I think, to meet together. When we meet with others we probably seldom agree 100 % with anyone else. Instead, we share our ‘oneness’ as unified in care for, respect for, each other. Paraphrasing a Latin hymn, “Congrega[mus] nos in unum… Deus ibi est.” When we meet in love, Christ is with us; we feel, express, receive, and give love. This occurred that January night. Such union has occurred at other sessions, I just didn’t understand it with such clarity before. I realize we do not need to be in agreement on all concepts. But we do need to respect the differences in beliefs among us. We are one–in love, respect, kindness; the ways that unify us, make us one. Food for Thought mirrors the “house church” of the first century. In it we do the real thing: “love one another; strengthen one another; accept the gifts others give to us, and give to them as well. In a way, our gathering is the actual communion, the reality underlying the metaphor of Christ’s meal provided for us.

Yet this is also the danger. Food for Thought has been successful as a small group. Small groups tend to become exclusive. Exclusivity cannot be the model for the church to follow. The church is called by God to include the world.