Both of us cried, when I told my Bishop

Click image to see original
Steve Walker painting.

The latest blog from Invictus inspired me to write about my experience coming out to my Bishop, my former Bishop that is. He’s served his time and we now have a new young pup learning the ropes. Do puppies learn ropes? Oh the problems of mixed metaphors. Maybe I will also tell the pup someday, but right now I kind of doubt it. (The other week when he told me with a twinkle in his eye that I looked very handsome and happy, I thought for just a moment he could be a member of the fam. Wishful thinking, I guess, but that's the subject of a different post.)

The Bishop I did tell immediately treated me differently after our first of many discussions. He had always been kind, but his kindness increased. He went out of his way to ask me how I was doing. As one of his clerks, if he knew I was in the building, he would ask me to join the Bishopric for an opening or closing prayer. Many times, but not always, he would ask me to say the prayer. In so many ways he said to me, not in words, but in his actions, “I respect you. I love you as a brother and friend and as your bishop.”

I’ve read here of other experiences with Bishops that were not as positive. With 28,424 wards and branches throughout the world, there are bound to be many differing approaches of Bishops and Branch Presidents. In a worldwide religion with 13,824,854 members there are 138,245 of us personally dealing with homosexuality given a very conservative 1% “gay rate”. I would like to hear the stories of others who have had positive and not-so-positive dealings with their Bishops and other leaders.

One GBLT, white or wheat?

I'm standing in line for a sandwich and talking on my cell. As the call ends, the guy in front of me says, "You're into the GBLT community? Wow I like guacamole BLTs too, but I didn't know there was a community."

"Actually it's not GBLT as but GLBT as in gay, lesbian, bisexual and transexual," I tell him.

"Those gays in California, they already have rights. I just don't want them to call it marriage," says the stranger.

I flash on the MLK's quotation that 'Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere," but I say nothing. We have a few seconds of welcome silence and then he says, "So you got a gay kid?"

"No, my kids are straight. I'm the one who's gay."

Again a few moments of silence as I open my wallet. "But that's your wife's photo, isn't it? And your wearing our underwear."

"Excuse me?"

"The garments, the white shirt, the Mr. Mac suit. Does your Bishop know about this?"

"He sure does. I'm his first counselor."

This conversation didn't really take place, but it would make a good urban legend.