Craig Mangum - Refuge

 

So, I grew up in an Orthodox Mormon family, but I grew up outside of the state of Utah, which means I spent most of my childhood explaining to my friends the rules of being Mormon, like why I couldn't watch an R-rated movie, why I couldn't play sports on Sunday, why I had one mom instead of three. Yeah. But there was an end to this. And that was the day that I would apply to Brigham Young University, which in my mind was this, like, blessed holy land where the best and brightest of my religion would gather together to receive our college educations in a wholesome environment fueled with faith. 

 

And so, when the day arrived for me to fill out my application, thank you, I did so very excitedly. I signed every piece of paper they sent me, including the BYU Honor Code, which is a legal document between the student and the university in which you agree to legally live an Orthodox Mormon lifestyle for the duration of your education.

 

Now, I signed that knowing at the time that I was gay. I signed that knowing that if I were to come out, I could be expelled from the university, lose my education and potentially be excommunicated from the Mormon faith. But I had a lot of hope. I hoped that the stories I had been taught as a child would be strong enough to protect me from a future I had been taught to fear. And so, I went. I was very excited to go.  Now, I could tell you, at this point, horror stories about how mentally and emotionally abusive it was to attend college there. But today, instead, I want to tell you a story of something good that happened. And that was someone I met whose name was Charles Swift. 

 

Now, as The Book of Mormon musical teaches us, [audience laughter] the happiest day of a Mormon boy's life is his mission. This is very true at BYU, where at the end of your freshman year, everyone is pressured and encouraged to serve for two years as a Mormon missionary. You apply, you are sent somewhere in the world, you do not pick and you teach people about Mormonism.

 

Now, in order to qualify to be a missionary, you go through a process called interviewing, in which you meet one-on-one with a Mormon religious leader who ascertains your spiritual preparedness and worthiness to represent the church as a missionary. Now, Charles Swift was the Mormon bishop who I met with as I went through that process. A bishop is a Mormon equivalent of a priest or pastor. 

 

And now, in the context of these interviews, they really can ask you anything about your behavior. There is a set list of questions, but they can go off script. I had heard that they will occasionally ask you if you are gay, or how they put it, if you have homosexual thoughts. So, you can imagine my fear as I went into this interview with Bishop Swift. I had not told anyone I was gay. He did indeed ask me, "Craig, do you have homosexual thoughts?"

 

Now, in this context, I believed this man represented God and I did not want to lie to God. And so, I said, "Yes, I do." Now, in this moment, Charles Swift could have answered as many Mormon kids hear, which is, "It is a sin. You must resist it your entire life or you will go to hell. You will not be with your family in the next life." But to his credit, he didn't say that. He said, "Craig, sexuality exists on a spectrum, and where you fall is something very personal to you. But if you haven't done anything, you are able to be a missionary, do you want to be a missionary?" 

 

And of course, I did. I had been raised to want to be a missionary. And so, I said, "Yes." He said, "Craig, now know this, God is much bigger than the boxes we try to put Him in." I kept that in my mind. I kept that in my mind as I was sent to be a missionary in Bolivia, in Peru. I lived there for two years. And it's a whole other story. Then I came back and I had four of the best months of my life. My family was so proud of me. I had done everything they had ever wanted. I did what all good Mormon boys do, which is date a lot. Try to find someone to marry and start your own happy little Mormon family. 

 

I remember sitting on a date with a beautiful woman and just suddenly becoming so aware of how false it all felt and how fake I felt. I felt I was lying. And in that moment, this world that I had tried to build for myself over 23 years, it just began to fall apart. But I couldn't tell anyone, right? I'm at BYU. I had signed this contract. I couldn't come out. I could lose it all. And so, I went to the one place of refuge I had only known, which was Bishop Swift. So, I scheduled a time with him in his office hours, and we're catching up and he says to me, "Now, Craig, I don't remember everything that people tell me in those interviews. I literally had 300 BYU students confessing that they were addicted to masturbation. I just don't remember it all." [audience laughter] 

 

And he said, "But you, you were my friend. And I remember what we talked about. How are you?" I just started to cry, as I told him what it felt like to lose your identity, your religion, your family. And he just listened. He was just very present with me. He said, "Craig, you're always welcome to come and talk to me about this, but there are people much more qualified to see you through this transition in your life." And with me there, he called a friend of his who was a therapist and set me up with my first appointment. With that therapist, I was able to navigate the coming out process, I was able to lose one identity that was harming me and gain and find one, a new one. 

 

And in that moment, I say, Charles Swift saved my life. In a religion that claimed to be able to save my soul, he saved my life by giving me tools to save myself. In November of 2015, the leadership of the Mormon Church announced a policy in which all LGBT members of the church were labeled apostates. The children of those LGBT members were barred from baptism until they were 18 years old, had left their family's home and forsaken their family's lifestyle. In the wake of that policy, 35 LGBT Mormons, ages 14 to 20, committed suicide. 27 of those were within the state of Utah, and the average age was 17. 

 

So, when I say, "He saved my life," I'm not exaggerating. There are days I am so angry at Mormonism's inability to care for its gay people that I can't. It's hard to get out of bed. And in those moments, I remember Charles Swift. I pause to think that the religion that I am so mad at is the religion that helped him know how to help me in my moment of need. And that is when I remember always what he told me that "God is so much bigger than the boxes we put Him in." And Mormonism was just a box. Thank you.