Courteous Heresies vs. Tactless Truth

Why I'd choose tactless gospel sharing over gospel mistruths any day of the week

During my time being open about my mixed orientation marriage, I’ve had many people try to convince me I’m a victim of an evil, patriarchal, religious institution. I’m naturally averse to victimhood, so it never has any effect besides making me chuckle to myself.

Self victimization is a double edged sword. On the one hand, it’s poisonous to the individual. It convinces you into a coercive cycle of self pity. On the other hand, it serves as an alluring temptation for control. Taking offense is an effective club to bash your ideological opponents. The more I can convince you of the unbearable plight I carry, the more you’ll listen. More cynically—but no less prevalent—the more I can convince you of my plight, the more I can guilt you into furthering my agenda. And of course, as with many values, the message our culture teaches is the exact opposite of what God teaches.

In listing the attributes of charity, Moroni in the Book of Mormon includes the phrase “...is not easily provoked…” In the next verse, he defines charity as “the pure love of Christ.” In other words, in order to mirror the perfect love our Savior has for all of us, we must work to avoid taking offense.

It is important to point out that Moroni says we shouldn’t be easily provoked. There are plenty of things in life that will inevitably provoke us for legitimate reasons. I’m provoked—or offended—when I witness disrespect toward my family, injustice of the innocent, or gospel mistruths. It’s that last one I want to take a moment to explore. 

Tactless Advocacy vs. Heresy

I was in Elder’s quorum the other Sunday when the topics of gender and sexual morality were brought up. Initially, I was pleasantly surprised with the level of boldness the presenter used to unequivocally declare the eternal nature of gender and traditional marriage. As he continued, however, it was clear that some were starting to get uncomfortable with his sermon. Nothing he said was untrue, it wasn’t irrelevant to the lesson, and I admired his fearlessness; however, his message was notably lacking in compassion. I wasn’t personally offended by what he was saying, but I could tell others were.

A few brothers raised their hands and offered comments trying to strike more of a balance, and then finally, my neighbor raised his hands and firmly stated how we need to include in our condemnation of sinful behavior a measure of compassion toward those for whom the temptations lie.

Throughout the meeting, I had the nagging feeling to say something. I’m not shy about my sexuality, but I’m not particularly open about it either—especially in church settings. Only a handful of ward members know I’m gay, mostly because of the podcast I do. As things were winding down, and the presenter was looking to close, I shot my hand up. My comment was brief, and something like, “Not to make this about me, but as someone for whom this conversation is especially relevant, I wanted to say I appreciate the level of balance between grace and truth we’ve been able to strike here. We so often seem to abandon grace in the pursuit of truth or discard truth for the sake of compassion, but I think we were able to toe the line quite well today.” After the meeting, I had a handful of brothers approach me to offer hugs and words of appreciation.

On other occasions, I’ve been in church settings where gospel truths were twisted or completely undermined for the sake of a misplaced sort of compassion. Comparing these scenarios with the Elder’s quorum lesson, there is no contest—I am much more uncomfortable listening to mistruth than truth taught clumsily. It isn’t because I like tactless gospel advocacy; it’s because the consequences of subverting gospel truths are much higher than an indelicate approach to teaching.

Don’t get me wrong, both are destructive. Gospel heresy has the power to convince us we're on the right path when we’re not, and clumsy advocacy can turn people off to Christ’s message altogether. While they’re both a problem—and both require attention—heresy is clearly the worst of the two. Whether intentionally or not, when you echo heresies, you’re aiding others in their voyage away from God. You may have the purest of intentions, but your effect couldn’t be more sinister.

The ideal within our church’s culture mirrors Moroni’s words: we must find a way to not be easily provoked. While maintaining humility and poise, we must promote a culture of resilience and emotional stoicism. We can maintain these two truths at once: first, developing a thick skin is a positive endeavor; and second, we shouldn’t offer unprompted opportunities for others to test their skin’s thickness. There is a time to be bold and a time to listen and show our love.

It’s inevitable that we’re going to encounter abrasive people at church. How can we respond to their lack of tact?

Testing Your Skin’s Thickness

Recently, as I was thinking back to my childhood, it dawned on me how relatively unscathed I came out from a handful of experiences I had of being on the receiving end of gay-related insults. I did have a few moments of feeling hurt and ostracized from my male peers, but nothing of note that negatively impacted me to a significant degree. In fact, the only time I’ve experienced that sort of entitled bully archetype has been from self-ascribed LGBTQ activists for the crime of being open about my beliefs and marriage.

I've written previously about a tweet of mine that got a lot of attention back in 2020. I’ve never experienced more hatred and bigotry than I witnessed during those few weeks after that tweet. I’ve never encountered such an entitled group of people who felt completely justified in their bigotry. Because the bigotry was directed to what they perceived as religious intolerance, nothing was off limits. They insulted my wife, they criticized us for smiling in a picture at our son’s grave, they accused me of manipulating my wife, and they accused my wife of manipulating me. Stumbling on a snippet of my life, they made broad assumptions about my life and my character, and that of my family.

What got me through that virtual mob wasn’t lecturing the bullies to stop bullying. What got me through was the years of advocacy from family, friends, and cultural figures to develop a thick skin. Many wince at the phrase “grow some thick skin”, but not because they believe resilience is bad. The reason this phrase carries a stigma is largely because of the people who tend to advocate for thick skin. In an effort to advocate for resilience, they offer others unsolicited opportunities to test their skin’s thickness. It doesn’t have to be that way, however. We can advocate for thick skin while recognizing human frailty at the same time. Just because we have moments of resilience and moments of weakness, that doesn’t mean “grow a thick skin” is inherently bad advice.

While it isn’t lost on me how unique my marriage is, there’s a wide disconnect between how people perceive our relationship and what it’s actually like. This disconnect gives fertile ground for endless misconceptions and accusations that come our way on social media. Coming across them, we inevitably end up laughing at the absurdity of the claims, the audacity of the writers, and the overall ridiculousness of our situation. As comfortable as we are in our relationship, even we have to stop every now and then and laugh at how strange it is.

Laughing at our situation, and others’ response to it, takes the power out of their hands. Few things take the wind out of hatred’s sails more than laughter.

I’ve received every insult under the sun. Rarely do these childish pejoratives produce anything from me but a chuckle. It’s only when internet trolls misunderstand me or peddle heresies and mistruth that my blood boils. Insults are either the plaything of a psychopath or a cry for help from the emotionally immature. Mistruths have the potential for real harm, especially with the impressionable. 

Conclusion

Tactless people exist everywhere, including church. Given the choice between a tactless teacher and a heretic, I’d pick the tactless one every time. Confronting and correcting a lack of grace in teaching is much easier than refuting incorrect ideas. While both are worthy of condemnation, it’s important to put the two in their proper context.

In all my efforts to share the gospel, I hope to exhibit tact and grace. You can never know the emotional state of your onlookers. Emotional distress paired with abrasive advocacy leaves you with a broken individual even more averse to truth. While you’ll never see me softening or subverting a truth for the sake of sparing feelings, I never disregard the feelings of others when presenting an idea. If there’s a more tactful way to say something, I always hope to find it. Thankfully, we can look to our Savior—the only man to ever perfectly strike this balance—for guidance.