Bearing a Testimony

I can remember my first day of grad school at the United Nations University for Peace in Costa Rica as though it were yesterday (and if that University name doesn't scream 'institute for the liberal hippie', then I don't know what does.) I walked onto campus 7 months pregnant, but it wasn't my giant belly and growing kankles that were weighing me down. I had a burning secret I was hiding as if I were Chris Cornel at a Justin Bieber concert: I was a Mormon. I understand how cowardly this sounds, as I am fully aware of the scripture Romans 1:16 that Christians are supposed to valiantly wear like a badge;

"For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth..."

Believe me, this scripture has haunted me in my everyday interactions with non-Mormon friends, because the truth is that I am often ashamed of my Mormon identity. Before I expound on this, let me give a little context as to why I started grad school as an undercover Mormon.

I entered a Masters program in Media, Peace and Conflict studies in the wake of California's Proposition 8, which deemed only marriage between a man and a woman as constitutional and valid. As I mentioned before, the University for Peace is an extremely progressive school filled with burgeoning world leaders and intellectuals (somehow I slipped in). Everyone knew what Proposition 8 was-and more direly for me-knew which institutions had vehemently supported the constitutional amendment. The LDS church's stance during the Prop 8 campaign has been the single most difficult issue for me to reconcile, and honestly I still can't say that I understand or support it. Being a new student in a liberal University, I didn't want my colleagues to automatically assume that I was prejudiced against the LBGT community upon discovering my Mormon identity, as portrayed by the media. I was indeed ashamed of being a member of an institution that had ardently opposed an issue that was, to me, a question of civil rights. I was even more ashamed to be associated with those few but loud members of the LDS church who misinterpreted an already confusing message to justify harassing the gay community.

Another issue that led me to keep my religious identity under-wraps was the LDS church's reputation for historical racism. I know that the present-day LDS church allows men of every ethnicity to hold equal rank and status, as in 1978 President Kimball of the LDS church finally received revelation that all eligible male Mormons were allowed to hold the priesthood regardless of race, lineage or ethnicity. I also understand that prior to 1978, many church members felt that withholding priesthood power from a specific ethnic group was unjust. Still, this does not negate that without a deep understanding of Gospel Doctrine, the LDS church appears to have been historically discriminatory against black people. The University for Peace had many students from African and Melanesian countries. I didn't want my friends to think that I would discriminate against them once they learned of my religious background.

One of the most heart-wrenching moments of my Mormon existence occurred 5 months into my grad school program when I discovered that I had been both right and wrong to conceal my Mormon identity. I had just recently "come out of the closet" in a class discussion on whether the burqa should be banned in Europe. I stated my opinion on the right to maintain religious tokens, mentioning that I wore sacred undergarments and would zealously defend my right to do so. As the words "I am Mormon and I wear sacred religious underwear" slipped through my lips, pangs of fear and relief washed over me. "Oh my gosh, they're all going to hate me and think I'm a bigoted racist homophobe!", I thought in concurrence with the release that comes after holding your breath through a long tunnel. "I don't have to keep it in anymore".

A few days later, my friend from Ethiopia approached me with tears in her eyes, calmly and sincerely asking whether I thought she was inferior because of her skin color. My friend explained that she knew only a little bit about the LDS religion, but she had learned that Mormons believe that black skin was a curse. With tears in my eyes I told her that I thought she was one of the most intelligent and beautiful people I had ever met, and that her skin color made absolutely no difference to me or the institution I was a part of. Later on, Rivs did his best to rationally explain the historical Judeo-Christian tradition of God consistently bestowing and withholding his authority based on lineage, birthright and promises. But the heart of the conversation was explaining that to be honest, we didn't know why priesthood powers were withheld, but when the 1978 revelation came about, most members of the church wept with joy. The entire discussion ended in tears and the assurance that we don't have all the answers.

After the discussion with my friend, many of my University friends began asking me to clarify their views on Mormonism. Much of what I was asked were the questions I was afraid of ("Do you think I'm going to hell because I'm gay?", "Are you a polygamist?" "Do you think black people are inferior?" "Do you think women are subservient to men?"). In that respect, I was glad that I had formed real relationships with my classmates before revealing my religious identity. That way, I thought, they would feel more comfortable asking me tough questions about my beliefs. Concurrently, I realized that had I come out loud and proud with my Mormon-ness right from the beginning, I would have had the opportunity to clear up some misconceptions about the LDS church long ago.

When it comes down to it, belief in a religion with a somewhat negative reputation can be a burden to bear. This puts a whole new meaning to "bearing a testimony". I often think that this life would be so much easier if I didn't have to bear the weight of religious conviction, if I could just go through life believing what I felt was true without the occasional contradiction of religious creed. I wouldn't have to feel inadequate for being 'ashamed' of my religious culture. I wouldn't have to defend a religion that I often don't understand with the words "I can't really explain it, I just believe it". I wouldn't have to feel doubt and sorrow bubbling inside me when friends ask "how can you support an institution that opposes my right to love and marry who I want?" I wish that the burn of the spirit (as rare as the feeling is for me) didn't cut so deep to my core, making it impossible to shirk the burden of belief.

On the other hand, I wish my belief in the gospel was strong enough to disallow contradicting issues from rocking my testimony. I wish that my faith was so unwavering that I could ask scrupulous questions without the lack of answers causing severe doubt and bouts of unbelief. I wish my faith was strong enough to satiate my quest for truth, because I often feel as though I haven't found it in its wholeness.

If I could fill the holes in my testimony with liberal views, I wouldn't feel so tormented. I would be satiated knowing that both my worlds had been reconciled. But when it comes down to it, some things just don't add up. And I guess that's where my faith comes in, as meager and weak as it is.

Maybe I was wiser than I give myself credit for when I tattooed "Only Faith" to my wrist at age 16.