David Archuleta’s new book, Devout, begins as a moving and candid account of overcoming family trauma, toxic relationship dynamics, suicidal ideation, and an overbearing father determined to live vicariously through his talented son.
Which is why its ultimate conclusion is so tragic.
Because his understanding of God was that of a bludgeon instead of a balm, David decided that leaving the safety of the restored gospel was the best route for him and could be for others.
There’s no way for any of us to know what choice we would make in his shoes, so this isn’t about judging his heart. Thankfully, that’s God’s job. But it is about making righteous judgments about the morality of his choices and the impact his advocacy will have on others. As Latter-day Saints, how do we currently respond to stories like David’s, and how could we shift that response toward something more theologically sound and compassionate?
Patterns of Responding
There’s a predictable pattern that emerges whenever a prominent Latter-day Saint comes out as gay. This pattern typically plays out on both extremes of the political divide. One side uses the announcement as an excuse to ignore, belittle, or theologically dunk on anyone battling with LGBT+ concerns and questions. While that’s going on, the other side recognizes the individual’s sincere expression of pain and uses it to discourage faith-affirming, truth-filled ministering.
As a sexual minority myself, I alternate between being engrossed with watching it unfold one day and being completely jaded by the drama the next. While our stories diverge in many ways, I do understand the feeling of watching a Church-wide debate that addresses deeply personal aspects of myself. It can be engaging, but it can also be frustrating.
Both approaches come with a variety of intentions and goals—both good and bad—but both approaches also get us further from reconciliation, community, and truth. Let’s explore these patterns, examine how they fall short of discipleship, and uncover some possible alternatives.
Pattern 1: Apathy and Dismissal
One pattern of responding comes from a subset of Latter-day Saints who are deeply committed to their faith but struggle to embrace any attempts to address morally complex issues, especially LGBT+ issues. Either they take hard conversations about these topics as an attack on faith that requires an aggressive response, or they worry about saying the wrong thing and do not engage at all.
I have great sympathy for both of these worries. After seeing so many examples of church members using LGBT+ issues as a way to shoehorn progressive politics into the gospel, I find myself starting from a place of skepticism whenever I encounter the topic in a faith context. But seeing so many poor examples of addressing a topic doesn’t automatically justify avoiding the topic altogether.
When we encounter approaches like the one in David’s book, it can sometimes feel easy to justify taking a dismissive approach to his story or the story of others like him. Although David’s book begins as a respectful, candid exploration of his trauma and adversity, as it continues, it takes a rather sharp turn toward caricaturizing our beliefs and disparaging church leaders. This might make some inclined to stop considering David’s perspective altogether.
For example, when describing a conversation with Elder M. Russell Ballard where David was asking questions about homosexuality, Elder Ballard admits that we don’t have many revealed answers (a sentiment that other leaders have expressed): “Well, David, to be honest, I don’t know much about any of this. We don’t really have the answers on what to do about LGBT people. We’ve gone as brethren…and prayed about this, but we’ve never received any answers.” David’s conclusion to that answer was that Elder Ballard was admitting they were being dishonest about their role as prophets, seers, and revelators: “I was surprised by what Elder Ballard seemed to be admitting to me—that they didn’t actually know what God wanted or not. They were making guesses. But they were going to tell everyone the message was from God so they would just follow along without questioning them.”
Being a disciple means engaging in these conversations.
David’s characterization of a lack of revelation being the same as prophets misleading people can, understandably, make the deeply committed feel upset. But what are we doing by avoiding these topics? Besides alienating the hurting individual further, we’re leaving a dangerous void to be filled. And those on the other side of this issue are more than happy to fill that void.
The apathetic, dismissive approach falls short of discipleship by leaving a void. The more aggressive approach falls short of discipleship by pushing others away. Christ did neither. He purposefully sought out those who were rejected or engaging in behavior that was considered sinful or outside the norm. He approached the woman at the well, a social taboo given her Samaritan background, to minister to her. Even though he acknowledged she was living with a man who wasn’t her husband, he didn’t condemn her. Instead, he taught truth lovingly. He didn’t show apathy toward her choices, but he didn’t berate her either.
Being a disciple means engaging in these conversations with both courtesy and conviction. It means listening to the experiences of others with an open mind and a receptive heart. And it also means keeping truth tied to our efforts to minister.
Pattern 2: Discouraging True Ministry
Another pattern of response comes from a broad group of Latter-day Saints who graft the modern approach to LGBT+ activism into their ministry. Some are politically involved and actively campaign for doctrine to change, while others take a more pacifist, you-do-you approach. When encountering stories like David’s, they rightly sympathize with the expressed pain, but their actions move beyond sympathy. Instead of anchoring their support in gospel truths, they remove many core components of the gospel from their attempts to connect and comfort. Instead of merely affirming the pain and lending an ear, they join in on disparaging our beliefs, prophets, or modern revelation. In the name of ministering, they share and leave supportive comments on social media posts that undermine doctrine. They discourage gospel discussion on topics like the eternal family and reject parts of the family proclamation.
David’s story commands compassion. His dad pushed him to participate in singing competitions, including American Idol, which he was ultimately grateful for, but which weren’t without their scars; he dealt with toxic family dynamics that split his family into factions; his parents divorced after years of turmoil; and, worst of all, he dealt with feelings of despair so deep that he considered taking his life. You’d have to have a heart of stone not to feel for someone who has gone through as much as David.
But what makes situations like this even more tragic is when the conclusion of that pain is to feel ostracized from or to reject the very thing that will help them heal best: namely, Jesus Christ and the understanding of His atonement found in His restored church.
The most challenging dynamic is when church members feel pressured to participate in this type of support because of language or behavior that mirrors manipulation more than advocacy. For example, a common theme in Devout is David’s mention of the effect our beliefs about marriage and family had on him. In referencing a group of people that walked out of his Christmas concert in Delta, UT (where I lived for a couple of years), after he used it as an opportunity for political advocacy, he said, “If that made them uncomfortable, then fine. I want them to think about why it made them uncomfortable. Maybe because sharing their beliefs led someone like me to consider ending my life, and they just wanted me to pretend to be a happy straight Mormon whom they loved watching on Idol?” Hurt by their lack of enthusiasm for his advocacy, he used our beliefs as a bludgeon. He furthered the idea that if we continue to believe and express our beliefs, we’re going to push people to the brink of desperation. A claim that, thankfully, is contradicted by the data.
This same dynamic plays out in David’s account of suicidal ideation. I have no doubt that David’s suicidal ideation was genuine. He explains it in detail, and while I’ve never experienced that myself, I could nearly feel the despair as I listened to the audiobook. What a horrible reality to experience. I’ve seen it firsthand in a close friend who tried multiple times to end his life, thankfully to no avail.
What gets sticky is when those moments of despair are used as a tool of manipulation.
What gets sticky is when those moments of despair are used as a tool of manipulation, whether intentionally or not. Mentioning suicide can be quite the trump card in conversation. While it should always be taken seriously, we can’t allow it to be used to shut down conversation, get someone on our side of an issue, or stop the expression of religious beliefs. He says something similar to his mom after coming out to her, “Mom, I get it. Until a week ago, that’s what I believed, too. But I have to give myself a chance to understand these feelings that almost led me to taking my own life. I was this close, Mom, to thinking I shouldn’t be here anymore because I couldn’t change this, or accept this about myself.” Mom didn’t know this before, and I could tell how troubled she was now.” Again, we see the pattern of expressing real pain, but doing so in a way that could easily be used to manipulate, rather than fostering healthy dialogue. I can’t speak as to whether or not she felt that way, but it is a dynamic that plays out often in this space.
Instead of lacing our support with modern symbols and ideas, we can anchor it in the teachings of Jesus Christ. And not just the parts of His message that, in isolation, could seem to fit in with LGBT+ activism. But the totality of His message—including the sacrifice, responsibility, and love that’s moored to God’s law.
A Christlike Pattern for Responding
Growing up a sexual minority Latter-day Saint was confusing enough for me. I can’t imagine adding to it the type of mixed messaging and morally confused advocacy that’s so common in the way that members of the Church often respond to experiences of same-sex attraction today. I came out of adolescence with plenty of fears and insecurities, but just enough faith to move forward toward the life I wanted. For me, that led to a life in the Church, an amazing wife, and children of our own. I don’t know that I would’ve been so lucky if I grew up in the environment that exists today.
As disciples of Christ and members of His restored church, we have the duty to love David and people like him without reservation. We also have the duty to love those who will be negatively affected by the message he’s promulgating. Are we loving them by cheering David’s choice to leave the path? Are we loving them by insinuating or explicitly stating that the covenant path is oppressive or harmful? Or that modern prophets are standing in the way of God’s true will for gay people?
We can’t let emotion decide what’s true. Suffering and hardship—like the kind he experienced—don’t automatically discredit a path. On the reverse, relief or elation—like what he’s described after removing gospel standards from his life—doesn’t automatically vindicate one.
We are tasked with trying to strike that same sensitive, demanding balance.
All in all, I’m grateful to have read David’s book. It reminded me to consider the human behind the activist. It reminded me to take care in my own advocacy, that I don’t forget the pain that tends to drive unfortunate decisions. After becoming more familiar with the deep wounds his upbringing left him with, I feel for him on a human level. I instinctively hesitate to critique anyone who has endured real suffering. I’m extremely conflict-averse and never wish to add to anyone else’s stress. But what do we do when we’re talking about someone with a lot of influence? What if their words have the capacity to negatively impact millions of people?
I doubt David will ever see this. But if he does, I hope he also considers why his advocacy might not be received well by all, not out of hatred for him, but out of concern for our children and loved ones.
More than any other social debate, LGBT+ issues have challenged the idea that we can love those who share a different perspective. And it’s no wonder, with how high the stakes are viewed on both sides. But I reject the idea that in order to love someone, we must either adopt or cheer on their choices. As the late and missed President Holland put it, “As near as I can tell, Christ never once withheld His love from anyone, but He also never once said to anyone, ‘Because I love you, you are exempt from keeping my commandments.’ We are tasked with trying to strike that same sensitive, demanding balance in our lives.”
My aim is to strike that balance. I hope you’ll join me in that goal.
