mythologicalmormon

[mythologicalmormon]

Shoutout to the relief society for always having the most scrumptious food ever at funerals while simultaneously being the sweetest people ever

[mythologicalmormon]

"Transvestigating?" Nah dude I am mormonvestigating. I am Facebook stalking that random internet guy to see if he is One of Us

[mythologicalmormon]

It’s been almost a decade and I’m STILL bitter over the fact that when my stake last redrew the boundaries I got stuck being the only one left in my primary class while everyone else I grew up with moved to a new ward together leaving me in a small ward where I had no friends. I was at a dance just now and I saw them all having fun together in their little group and it’s just frustrating that I’m the only one who didn’t get to be apart of that

And don’t get me wrong, I love my ward so freaking much. I love the two girls who moved into my ward when the wards changed who became my best friends until both of them moved. I love the people in my ward who are now some of my close friends. I love the people in the other wards who I’m friends with. But I just wish I had been able to stay close to the ones who moved wards. I only really say hi to one of them anymore and I feel bad about that, honestly. I’ll walk by the others and not say a word even though I know I probably should (and it’s made harder because two of them are identical twins and I have no idea who is who)

[mythologicalmormon]

Should have listened to the Holy Ghost when he said to tell my mom that the guy I was with (I was doing a kind of job thing) would wanna talk to her when he dropped me off because my poor mother ended up opening the door for me to get in wearing a sleep shirt and her garment bottoms

[mythologicalmormon]

I know that "of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only"... but can it be like. Next week please? I think I'm ready for the Second Coming. I've had enough wars and rumors of wars and bloodshed and violence, please and thank you

[mythologicalmormon]

me? a good person? perhaps

I’ve been silent for too long and can no longer bear to keep this inside: @mythologicalmormon is a good person and deserves many good things.

[mythologicalmormon]

Sunday Doodles 1/19/25

A returned missionary giving a talk over the pulpit of the Night Vale First Ward

He had to be physically restrained from bearing his testimony in the language of the people he served.

[mythologicalmormon]

Ben Schilaty, who has done so much good through his book, his podcast, and being a visible gay man in the church and at BYU, shares about the change in climate at BYU over the past few years. Many LDS members consider him "safe" and "a good one," but even he was not spared. The current retrenchment can be seen as beginning in 2020 when the Honor Code changed to remove prohibitions on same-sex dating or displays of affection. That caused a backlash amongst conservative donors and some LDS General Authorities who have since worked to restrict queer visibility and silence queer authenticity.

I'm sharing Ben's entire post below

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I Worked at BYU as an Openly Gay Administrator

I have three degrees from BYU (which I lovingly refer to as my “three degrees of glory”) and I worked there as an Honor Code administrator from 2019-2023. I spent 12 years of my adult life on that campus. So I say this with no hyperbole and a bit of embarrassment–Brigham Young University is my favorite place on the planet. 

It’s been almost a year and a half since I left my job at BYU and I feel it’s time to share some stories about what it was like to be an openly gay employee. BYU employs over 6,000 people so there is a wide range of experiences and I only speak for myself. I hope anyone who reads this will understand how incredibly wonderful it was to work at BYU, while also painful and difficult at times. 

When I applied to work in the Honor Code Office I shared in my cover letter that I was gay. I did not want to work anywhere that I couldn’t be open about my orientation. I literally jumped for joy when I was offered the job. Just a few weeks later the Chairman of the Board of Trustees gave a devotional at BYU where he spoke extensively about the LGBTQ community. After the devotional I was working in my office when one of my new colleagues popped in to ask how I was doing. We didn’t know each other well, but he thought I might have some feelings about the devotional. I told him everything, absolutely everything I was feeling. To his credit, this near stranger listened with curiosity and compassion and asked a lot of great questions. I’m sure he didn’t agree with everything I said, and I didn’t need him to. I was just grateful that he cared to ask. This coworker would become a dear friend. 

I was invited to a few meetings to discuss how the campus could move forward after this sudden pendulum swing. No one in any of those meetings could dictate what the Honor Code included, that was a Board of Trustees level decision, but I was invited to share my perspectives. I repeatedly asserted my belief that same-sex dating should be allowed at BYU. I was never reprimanded or disciplined for holding and sharing that position (the same was also true when I shared that I thought beards should be allowed). While my view did not prevail, I felt genuinely respected by everyone in those meetings. As I left one meeting, a high level administrator shook my hand and said, “We are so blessed to have you here at BYU.” I felt like I was the lucky one. 

A year and a half later in the summer of 2021, a two page typed letter arrived in my office mailbox. The author had read an article I’d written in Y Magazine and was deeply concerned that BYU would employ someone like me (you can read the offending article here). In the letter (that was longer than my article) he complained about me and stated that he was a longtime donor and would no longer be giving money to BYU because of me. At the end of the letter he listed all the people who he was sending this same letter to. I was by far the least important person on that list. I was hurt and confused, but I wasn’t scared. My colleagues at BYU knew me and they trusted me and I knew they had my back. 

A month later a member of the Board of Trustees gave an address at BYU where he quoted a letter from a concerned parent. I thought of the letter I had recently received. He spoke with concern about a student who had commandeered a graduation speech by coming out in the middle of it. He also spoke of divisive symbols and flag waving. He didn’t specify what symbols he was referring to, but given the LGBTQ context of his remarks I assumed he was talking about rainbows and pride flags. 

It felt like the world shifted underneath me that day. I was no longer sure what I was allowed to say about my orientation at work. Had I commandeered the BYU TEDx event when I came out in my talk? Was my rainbow ring divisive? Was I allowed to say I was gay when I guest lectured in classes? I was the same, but the university environment suddenly felt different. 

I felt a weight bearing down on me in the days after the talk. My boss’s boss sat with me on a bench as I shared my fears, hurt, and confusion. As I cried he just listened. I only ever felt love and care from the people at BYU who knew me. It was the people who didn’t know me that scared me. 

A few weeks later I spoke at an event on campus centered on belonging. I asked if it would be okay for me to come out in my remarks. One of the organizers said, “I think it’s better you don’t.” So I didn’t. As I got ready to walk onto the stage I slipped my rainbow ring off my finger and stashed it in my pocket, not wanting to be accused of displaying a divisive symbol. Later during the event, a musical performer came out as LGBTQ in between songs. Right after this disclosure I overheard one administrator say to another, “They won’t be performing here again.” Coming out had just gotten them cancelled. 

A few months later I was called into a meeting with a high level administrator. At the beginning of the meeting I was assured that I wasn’t in trouble. I was then told that I had said something that needed to be addressed. I had recently spoken at a fireside that wasn’t affiliated with BYU about how to minister to LGBTQ Latter-day Saints. A concerned attendee wrote a letter to the Commissioner of Church Education which was then forwarded to the president of BYU who asked this administrator to speak with me. The concern was that I had said that prophets aren’t fax machines for God. I explained that He doesn’t just put words into their minds that then came out exactly as they were communicated, but that divine inspiration was filtered through the prophet’s own words and life experiences. I had taken this idea from an article written by a BYU religion professor that was published by BYU. “You need to be more careful to not say anything that could be interpreted as you not sustaining the Brethren,” I was advised. I accepted the counsel and stopped using that analogy, with a new understanding that concerned letters would be read and acted on. And that a straight religion professor could say things that I couldn’t. 

On another occasion my bishop told me that the Ecclesiastical Clearance Office had recently called him three times to ask about me. After the third call he told them not to call back, that he had already told them I was worthy to work at BYU and he didn’t need to tell them again. A few days later I started sobbing uncontrollably in my car. I was overwhelmed with panic that someone was trying to get me fired. My reaction was so strong and unexpected that I made an appointment with a therapist to talk through what I was experiencing. I reached out to a therapist who also worked at BYU so he would understand the context of my situation. I told him about my sobbing episode and he said it was a stress response to months of fear and hypervigilance. In our second meeting he bluntly told me, “Ben, the truth is that you might get fired. That could actually happen, and the sooner you accept that reality the better you’ll feel.” I nodded my head. He was right. Simply acknowledging that reality did make me feel better, like I had a little bit of control. He also encouraged me to get more information about the calls from the Ecclesiastical Clearance Office. So I did some digging and learned that since I had recently applied for three jobs at BYU, the ECO had called my bishop after each application. The bonfire of terror I had felt was immediately reduced to the low simmer of fear I was growing accustomed to. 

He then explained that the Commissioner of Church Education had reached out to the BYU president to express concern about something I had said in my presentation at the BYU Religious Freedom Annual Review. The president then asked this VP to address the concern with me. He reminded me that during the Q&A portion I was asked why so many LGBTQ people leave the Church. As part of my answer I said that some members are excommunicated for marrying same-sex partners. This VP then instructed me not to share this anymore. I said, “But it’s true. The Church does excommunicate some people in same-sex marriages.” He replied, “It might be true, but it's not helpful.” 

The meeting lasted for an hour and a half and the VP spoke about 80% of the time. I walked out of his office confused about why I had been reprimanded. This meeting was so different from the thousands of other conversations I had had with colleagues at the university. I walked out of the building feeling like I was a problem that needed to be managed. 

Two months later I quit. 

The next day my new supervisor approached me. “Ben, we need to talk about what happened yesterday when you hugged that student. Someone from the dean’s office saw that interaction and heard what you said.” My heart sank as I remembered a time at BYU when I was accused of flirting with a male student (which I had not done) and a formal complaint had been written about me. I had just started this job at UVU and it seemed I was already getting in trouble. Then she continued, “The administrator got emotional as she told me about seeing you talk with that student. She told me to thank you for already serving our students, and to let you know that we are so lucky to have you here at UVU.” 

I was shocked. This is the story I tell when friends ask me how working at UVU is different than working at BYU. I had been primed to be afraid at BYU and now I didn't have to be afraid.  

The truth is that I miss BYU. Working there was my dream come true. It was my home for many years and I thrived there for a long time. My day-to-day life there was wonderful, but it was accompanied by a fear that if I didn’t talk about being gay in the “right” way, I’d get in trouble. And this fear was not irrational. 

As I’ve shared these stories with friends, a common response has been, “Well, things were so stressful because you’re a public figure. Being so open in your book, podcast, and presentations brings added scrutiny that wouldn’t have existed if you didn’t share so much.” I think this is true. If I had just not talked about my orientation or shared my lived experiences many of these painful moments would not have happened. But I would have felt a worse kind of pain. 

The deeper pain of hiding. 

Five months after I was hired at BYU I was invited to participate on a campus wide panel called “Reconciling Faith and Sexuality.” There were only a handful of openly gay employees so I was the only gay person on the panel. The JSB auditorium was filled to capacity as the moderator started the event by reading my bio, including the fun fact I’d included: “Ben still wears his retainers every night.” Not realizing that our mics were already on, I leaned over to my colleague and joked, “Gotta keep something straight.” The whole auditorium heard my comment and laughed. The audience then noticed the startled look of horror on my face, and a second wave of louder laughter filled the room. Many of the faces I saw in the audience had looked tense, unsure, and nervous. Then that moment of levity shifted the feeling in the room. This wasn’t going to be a depressing or prescriptive conversation, but one filled with joy, hope, and authenticity. 

The questions from this panel discussion inspired me to start the podcast “Questions from the Closet.” The very podcast that the freshman at UVU later told me changed his life. This moment of openness and story sharing at BYU wasn’t just a moment, but a catalyst that led to more good. 

Paul taught that “those members of the body, which seem to be more feeble, are necessary. And those members of the body, which we think to be less honourable, upon these we bestow more abundant honour…” (1 Cor 12:22-23). 

The Body of Christ is only complete when every member is included. And BYU was a place where I always felt valued and included by those who knew me, and sometimes treated with fear and suspicion by those who didn’t.

[mythologicalmormon]

Stayed up till 1 writing an essay on Zeniff because someone *cough* a member of the bishopric *cough* inexplicably asked me to write him - paper on Zeniff by tomorrow (or, I guess, technically today)

[mythologicalmormon]

she cumom on my curelom til i all manner of livestock

is this anything. she mahonri on my moriancumer til im tight like unto a dish are we allowed to make jokes like this here

[mythologicalmormon]

The prophet Mermon

[mythologicalmormon]

What's your favourite method of praying?

[mythologicalmormon]

I just realized I've never shared my favorite piece of Mormon media.

It's a book published in 1991 called "As the Ward Turns", and it and its following books are hands down the funniest things I have read in my life, no exaggeration. It follows a Relief Society president trying her best in various ridiculous situations she ends up in.

The cover was done by Val Chadwick Bagley, which initially drew me in years ago while purusing DI. I mean, look at it.

Here is the synopsis:

If any of you are even a little interested, I'd highly recommend tracking down a copy.

[mythologicalmormon]

bro tell me why my religion professor is doing crowdwork 😭😭😭

[mythologicalmormon]

today i blessed desserts WITHOUT asking that the sugary very much not nourishing fold will nourish and strengthen us. speech 100 prayer 100

[mythologicalmormon]

Being at BYU after my mission was weird. Like. Bad weird. Everybody was still acting like missionaries but they had nobody to teach so it all turned into the holier-than-thou bs that missions always degenerate into over time. Just the forced establishment of some weird social hierarchy where value is based on how devout you are, with people digging and scratching and clawing their way around humanity in order to become even more devout.

And this bullshit was actively killing me. The attempts to stay Good Enough were scraping the remnants of my humanity out of my husk like a spoon scraping the last bits of watermelon from a rind - I was doing what I had always done, be Mormon, do what Mormons do, be as good a Mormon as I could be, only it was breaking me. Instead of healing me, making me whole, taking away my burdens, it was pulling the life out of me in exchange for nothing. I was just being squeezed dry of everything I had to offer and being given back shame and isolation and rejection because I didn’t do it first, or fast enough, or with a willing enough heart, or whatever the hell they could come up with.

But despite myself, because most people smarter than me AND dumber than me would have left already, I found myself trying over and over and over again to make it work with no success.

One day, I snap. I’ve had enough. I need answers. I’ve looked everywhere and done everything I could by myself, and nothing had come of it, so I went to talk to a faculty member. A teacher at the school. He taught religion classes and his lessons were powerfully and inspiringly honest, earnest, and filled with raw humanity. I figured if I could get a straight (ha) answer from anyone, it would be that guy. He wasn’t involved in the Mormon rat race. He wasn’t playing the stupid “I’m Worthier Than You” games that were so pernicious on campus. He was being real and open and vulnerable and I needed that from someone.

So I go into his office and I lay my cards on the table. I figure if I’m gonna get helped, I need to be honest. I share with him my weird feelings about dad leaving the church on my mission. About my siblings leaving the church. About my own doubts and hurts. I tell him about how hard it is to be in limbo like this without knowing what to do or where to turn. I tell him I need answers.

And he listens. And then he starts with the usual Mormon apologetics bullshit. And I say “no” because I’m done with that. That doesn’t fly with me anymore. And he sees and hears me say no and he puts a hand on mine, makes direct eye contact, and says,

“You know, you don’t have to go to church, right?”

I, being a person who was hurting, interpreted that as “if you have questions that I can’t answer you should fuck off.” I got defensive immediately and he again listened, put his hand on mine, and said,

“Not what I meant. You can stay if you want, but I want you to know you can leave too. Take a break. Give yourself time to heal. This isn’t supposed to hurt this much, and if it hurts you can take a break and come back when it feels good.”

I’m actually getting choked up just writing that out. Nobody had ever said that to me before. When I talked about my dysphoria to my parents, they said teenagers are supposed to feel like that a little bit. When I talked to people about my difficulties at church they had always told me that it was a sign that church was working. That I was doing it right. That growth was supposed to hurt, that excising the Natural Man from me was supposed to be difficult, that I was supposed to be feeling this anxious and sad and scared. I had never ever ever been told that pain and suffering were signs things were going wrong. I had actually explicitly been told by many many many many many many many many people that it was good, that the hurt and the heartache and the constant feeling of never being good enough and never being able to fit into my own skin or love myself in any meaningful way was desirable. That it was something they envied.

It’s not supposed to hurt. Some things can, and should. My parents were right that some body concerns were normal (although we later found out my specific concerns were more abnormal lmao, I got that tgirl swag). My family and friends were right that challenging myself with difficult assignments and ambitious goals was supposed to feel uncomfortable.

And at the same time, THIS was not supposed to hurt. I was not meant to have this gaping throbbing aching hole in my Me that never let up. It wasn’t supposed to hurt. IT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HURT.

I don’t know when exactly I started crying, but I was crying the whole rest of the day. It was the first time in a while I had to actually take a Valium to clam down. It wasn’t supposed to hurt.

He also told me that if it ever stopped hurting I could always come back.

I think that was the day I really left. Others might say otherwise, I still tried to make it work for a few more months after that, but the idea that it wasn’t supposed to hurt really changed me.

If any of you are reading this - there are things that are supposed to be difficult. Things that are supposed to hurt. But if your faith or your beliefs about the world or yourself leave you feeling like you’ve been hollowed out at a minor mistake or setback, if your failures and setbacks leave you feeling raw and numb frequently, if the company you keep or the places you stay leave you feeling constantly inadequate with out hope or help, then I’ll tell you the same thing that professor told me:

You can go somewhere else. You can do something else. And you can always come back when you want.

But it’s not supposed to hurt.

[mythologicalmormon]

I saw it earlier today and immediately sent it to my cousin

Thinking about the Smith family never fails to crack me up.

Imagine. The year is 1815. You live with your parents, Lucy and Joseph. You don't have a lot, but you have your family, and that's enough. You do farmwork in Palmyra, New York.

You have nine siblings. Your parents named you Joseph Jr., but your brothers are named Alvin, Hyrum, Samuel, William, and, inexplicably, Don Carlos.