When Church Feels Hard

About six months after my child came out as trans male, I was supposed to be teaching a class for Sunday School, but strangely no one showed up (it was typically a full class.) “No problem,” I thought, “I’ll just attend the adult Sunday School class.” It was like getting a day off, I could just sit and enjoy the lesson without having to facilitate it.

I was a little disappointed when I saw we had a sub—one of those highly intelligent men who likes to play devil’s advocate—not my favorite style of learning. Then he announced the topic, “The Family Proclamation,” and my heart sank. I wondered if I should just get up and leave early—something I had never done in my life. I gave myself a little pep talk. “You’ve got this. You’ve already sat through some painful conference talks on the subject. You’ve thought deeply about the proclamation and have found your own peace. You trust God. You don’t have to be bothered by anything said here today.”

And so, I stayed. But the teacher presented a very hard line, especially when he got to the eternal nature of gender and marriage is between a man and a woman parts. I don’t remember his exact words, but I promise I am not exaggerating the fervor, when I tell you he said, “If we don’t align ourselves exactly with everything in the proclamation, we will be damned.” I could see he was overstepping. I’ve never heard such harsh words from church leaders before, but as he went on, his words pummeling my heart, and after being backed up by a few comments from the class, tears started to flow, and grew until I was sobbing. All my energy was being spent trying to keep quiet, but I was pretty sure everyone in the room knew I was crying hard.

I know I’m not alone in this. If you’ve got trans kids, I know I’m speaking your story. This month’s topic is “When church feels hard” and we’ll be sharing stories about how people of faith navigate the painful spots with their faith communities. We invite anyone who would like, to share their story with us. All stories are important.

In the end, I felt I was supposed to be there—a clear reminder that these discussions have very personal repercussions. I appreciated the person who spoke up and said, that it’s important how we talk about the proclamation—that it shouldn't be approached in a harsh or judgmental way. Several people reached out to me. They were angry about the class and wanted to make sure I was okay, including the bishop. Even the teacher emailed me. I don’t think he really wanted to hear about my experience, but since he asked if I was okay, I gave him a gracious, but honest answer. We never know what seeds we plant just by showing up.

I literally could not speak for myself that day. I was crying too hard to have a voice, but I’d like to speak up now. This is what I would have liked to have said five years ago:

“The proclamation has many beautiful ideals in it, it can give us something to strive for, but we live in a fallen world and few of our families actually look like that. While I appreciate the truths in the proclamation, none of us know how these truths will actually play out. My family certainly does not measure up to its ideals, and yet I have been assured by the Lord that we are all in his hands and I trust him.

If Jesus was on the earth today, he would not be found in our class. He more likely would be visiting the encampment outside of Logan Utah where LGBTQ kids live because their church-going families have kicked them out the house. When we can discuss the proclamation with that kind of compassion, that is a lesson I would love to attend.”

Wendy Folsom