The Pastor’s Pen,

Dear Steven

Last Sunday I preached a sermon entitled, “Living Positively”. In it, I challenged us all to live from the positive place and to “test God in all things”, knowing that changing our attitude can change our lives.

This week I met with a man who has been struggling with this very concept. He shared with me that he comes from a faith that was more fundamentalist. His family lived in fear of God and because of this he has grown up believing in a God who is “out to get him!”

He told me that, as an adult, as a gay man, he continues to hear the voices from his past and, even when his rational voice is telling him that God is all loving, he continues to hear the voice of his childhood telling him that God is not pleased with him.

I think that many of us can identify with him. Many of us have heard the voices that tell us we are unworthy, unloved, undeserving. We hear the rhetoric that has polluted and distorted the image of God that Jesus came to remind us of. We have bought into the image of God that has been taught us by our churches or by our parents.

In my conversation with this man I told him that the image of God portrayed by our institutions is not, necessarily the image given to us in the Bible. I told him that God is inviting us into an adult relationship with God – not a relationship through someone else, through our church, our pastor or indeed through our parents. God is inviting us as an adult, and as such it is vital that we meet God in this adult place. It is vital that we develop our own relationship with God. This is what Jesus invites us into.

Today, Anne Rice, author of “Interview with a Vampire and “Called Out of Darkness: A Spiritual Confession”, announced that she is quitting Christianity, refusing to be “anti-gay, anti-feminist, anti-science and anti-Democrat”. In a later statement she said, “My faith in Christ is central to my life. My conversion from a pessimistic atheist lost in a world I didn’t understand, to an optimistic believer in a universe created and sustained by a loving God is crucial to me.” She continued, “But following Christ does not mean following His followers. Christ is infinitely more important than Christianity and always will be, no matter what Christianity is, has been or might become.”

She echoes so many of my own sentiments. In becoming an adult believer and having an adult relationship with God, I no longer have to agree with everything that the church says, or a pastor says. I no longer have to believe in the God of my parents, or my childhood and I get to follow Jesus who, if you get to know Him personally, welcomes us all to love God, love self and love others.

I am grateful that here at MCCLA we are a diverse, radically inclusive community of faith and believe that Anne would feel more than welcome here. I intent to reach out to her and invite her to come visit!

Today, I invite you to come and welcome the visitor who comes to MCCLA this Sunday to explore the possibility that the God that they have known through a previous experience is a God who is inviting them to take a fresh look, a mature look, a questioning look, an adult look at the God who is found in Jesus.

And who know…. perhaps one day we might just see Anne in our midst, or someone just like her!

I look forward to welcoming you too!

See you Sunday, Steven

Sincerely, in Christ

The Reverend Dr. Neil G. Thomas
Senior Pastor

So I did the reading for a select and varied group and I learned much more about my piece. I slashed a scene in the middle that I’ll just put in the book. But I think I have the tone right. So after edits this morning, I have a new script to take with me to NYC. I have two weeks to memorize and stage this Fringe version. I can’t forget that the reason for all the new artwork and press is to share a message. This message is about accepting the past and about re-claiming spirituality in the face of spiritual abuse. And it is also to amaze and dazzle and inform and educate and infuriate and illuminate.

We all have a coming-of-age story. I feel grateful I get to share it with audiences in New York. My fear is that no one will come. But I will have to put that aside. You do the best you can and then turn it over to the theatre gods. They have never let me down before. It’s a good thing there are many gods so I don’t have to rely on the Mormon gods. Although sometimes the Mormon gods were there for me, too. I know that isn’t politically correct to say. But they were.

Smiles.

I thought the Mormon Church was going to sponsor my show at the Fringe Festival but they pulled their funding!

So in order to pull the MISSIONARY POSITION off, I need help. Once you buy a ticket to the FringeNYC production, won’t you please go to www.mormonboy.com/store and find the Paypal button for “make a payment” at the bottom of the page. A donation of any amount will assist the Mormon Boy Movement and keep it rolling forth “boldly, nobly and independent.”

Thank you for assuming the MISSIONARY POSITION with me.

Smiles forever,

Steven

When I was preforming Mormon American Princess last summer in Provincetown, I attended a special service at the historic Unitarian Universalist Meeting House (which looks quite a lot like the inside of the old Mormon Temple in Kirkland, Ohio built about the same time!). It was the Blessing of the Performers led by Rev. Alison Hyder. The theatre downstairs below the sanctuary has launched Margaret Cho, Hedda Lettuce . . . and gosh, didn’t that Mormon Boy play there once?

We sang hymns like “There’s No Business Like Show Business” and “Everything’s Coming Up Roses”. We read the invocation from The Frogs by Stephen Sondheim. But what I was impressed with was the “Performers’ Litany of Gratitude”. I have adapted it from the program I kept!

PERFORMERS’ LITANY OF GRATITUDE

Leader: Let us come together as performers and producers, as stage crew and writers who love our craft. As we would gain the applause and thanks of those who watch us sing and act, dance and play, so we too, express our gratitude for all that sustains us in our struggles to excel:

Leader: For the great performers whose work first inspired and sparked our dreams:
Performers: We give applause and thanks.

For the composers, classical, layered and profound, who move us with passions beyond words:
We give applause and thanks.

And for the great songwriters: Porter, Sondheim, Cahn and Carmichael, George M. Cohan, Dorothy Fields, and all the lyricists and tunesmiths whose songs create the soundtracks of our lives:
We give applause and thanks.

For teachers and directors, who shape and improve our skills:
We give applause and thanks.

For buskers, mimes, and street musicians, who bring their art to the subways and sidewalks:
We give applause and thanks.

For the diversity of performing art, for dancers, poets, drag artists and comics, for singer-songwriters and classical actors, for musicians, lip-syncers, illusionists and accompanists, emcees, djs, singers and bands:
We give applause and thanks.

And for theaters and performance halls that frame and illuminate our art:
We give applause and thanks.

And for theaters and performance halls that frame and illuminate our art:
We give applause and thanks.

For well-made musical instruments that let us express ourselves:
We give applause and thanks.

For the set and costume creators, lighting technicians, sound engineers, and all the backstage crew: unsung, hardworking, and dedicated to their craft:
We give applause and thanks.

For producers, agents and publicists, for patrons, poster-makers and street hawkers, who get the word out for us:
We give applause and thanks.

For the sunny days when we can flier, and rains that bring the people from the beach:
We give applause and thanks.

For our voices and bodies and creative minds that channel our deepest hopes, for talent and the gifts of persistence, courage, and hope:
We give applause and thanks.

For the sore throats, broken loops and other mishaps that keep us on our toes, for exhaustion and blank minds, and for the adrenaline that give us drive.
We give applause and thanks.

For our comrades and colleagues on stage and off, who support and challenge us to greater heights:
We give applause and thanks.

For Provincetown (or New York City) audiences who come back year after year, and the fans who remember us from “Way back when” and all the fans that spread the word and lift us with their love.
We give applause and thanks.

For being able to communicate the truth through music or motion that we can’t put into words, and express the pain and joy of human life:
We give applause and thanks.

For the opportunity to be our fullest selves, and our great good fortune in the life that we share as Provincetown’s (New York City’s)
performance community, loved and admired, and encouraged for ourselves:
We give applause and thanks.

And always, especially, for the love that flows through us and into the world, and that returns to us in so many ways:
We give applause and thanks.

I have received some lovely emails telling me that they enjoyed the show. And that folks cried at several moments, especially when I say they songs about my kids. “Breeze off the River/If She Walked Into My Life.”

So if you didn’t see the show last night, we will be doing it again on Monday, September 13th at 7:00 pm.

Now it’s time to focus 100% on Missionary Position at the New York International Fringe Festival. I’m behind. But catching up. Just did an interview with Next Magazine this morning. So press is starting to get wind. Also Gay City News. I have very little advertising budget beyond posters and post cards, so I’m very grateful for the press.

I had the most magnificent time hiking last Sunday. Being 10,000 feet above sea level amongst the snow-capped granite peaks with meadows of wild flowers in full summer splendor and the all those reassuring pine trees. I know I’m in the right place. The streams and the glacier lake were so delightful, too. And I was there with good people. So I feel like my soul was nourished in the middle of this chaos. And I’m reminded that I am a Mountain Boy! (Scatter my ashes on a Western Mountain meadow when I die. This is where I came from. And this is where I will return to. No matter where in the world my travels take me.)

But I need a break. So I’m going hiking with other gay Mormon dads (who don’t get to see their children), up in the mountains. I’m going up to Alta where I used to take my young kids on mini-hikes. It’s so beautiful up there. And I hear the snow has melted enough to finally have the gorgeous flowers in bloom.

I can’t wait to get so fresh mountain air!

Scene from MISISONARY POSITION:

One by one I was reunited with my family members as they came through the veil. They embraced and congratulated me with tears of joy and thanksgiving. “Families are Forever.” And the look in their eyes said, “Are you okay? Do you buy this? It’s alright. We don’t get it either. But our pioneer ancestors seemed to. Now let’s get out of these temple duds and go get some grub down in the cafeteria!” As the others went down to partake of the Mormon banquet, I had this overwhelming urge . . . to save myself.
(Lights change for fantasy sequence as he puts takes off his temple clothes and puts on his jeans to Mission Impossible music.)
I raced back in time, and ran through the automatic sliding doors of the Temple in my New Religion jeans. Passing the Mormon Oompa Loompas, I ran through the large and spacious building and up all the escalators, until I found my younger self in the Celestial Room standing like a deer caught in God’s headlights. I started ripping off his temple clothes.
Younger: “Who the heck are you?”
Older: “I’m Steven Fales and I’m here to rescue you.”
Younger: “But I’m Steven Fales.”
Older: “They’re about to make you Elder Fales if you’re not careful. Now take this crap off. This isn’t God. Or true Christianity. It’s all about the ego of Joseph Smith – a bipolar megalomaniac who stole all of this hocus-pocus from the Free Masons. And who got himself shot to death because he wouldn’t stop fucking his followers and calling them his wives. Now let’s get out of here!”
Younger: “But I don’t understand.”
Older: “I’m you, only older. I’ve come to save your nineteen-year-old ass from all this bullshit!”
Younger: “Okay. Fine. But you don’t have to swear!”

Just as we were about to run out the automatic sliding doors of the temple, my younger self stopped me.

Younger: “Wait! I can’t go.”
Older: “What do you mean you can’t go? You saw what’s going on in there. They’re taking you for a ride. It’s dangerous in there. Come on. We’re going back to Boston.”
Younger: “No. It’s safe in here. I don’t trust Boston. I don’t trust you.”
Older: “Look, I’ve been through all this and much more. Those chandeliers and mirrors in there, they’re not God.”
Younger: “And neither is rolling on ecstasy under a mirrored disco ball at seven a.m. I’ve heard about you and your kind–from the prophet. All your drugs. And sex parties. And all the other proclivities and viruses you people have. Your fabulous life’s a mess. You have nothing I want.”
Older: “I don’t do that anymore. (Looks at audience.) Now listen here, Steven. I know what I’m talking about.”
Younger: “Yes. You do like to talk don’t you? They warned me about you. What happens when we forsake the Truth. When we sell our signs and tokens for money! You’re just a fledgling secular humanist playwright desperately trying to make sense out of all the wreckage of your past and pay your child support. You turned your back on God and look what’s become of you. Oh, the show poster of you is so cute. Blasphemer!”
Older: “I didn’t turn my back on God. God turned his back on me!”
Younger: “And you replaced him with the divinity you call yourself! Let me tell you something, Elder Fales. You. Are. Not. God. You’re not God!” (Pause) I’m staying. All our family’s here. Plus I’m hungry.”
Older: “I didn’t leave. They kicked me out.”
Younger: “Oh, be honest. You left long before that. And you left me.”
Older: “I’m sorry. But I’ve come back.”
Younger: “I’m staying. I’m going on a mission. I want the blessings.”
Older: “You’re coming with me. I’m twenty years older than you and I’m the playwright, remember?”
Younger: “I’m not going. I’m not gay like you. I want a family. You know the Church is true, Elder.
Older: “No. It’s not.”
Younger: “Then please leave the temple. Now.”
Older: “That jolly green apron won’t make you straight.”
Younger: “GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!”
I walked out the doors of the temple; and watched myself go back inside . . .
Fuck.

“Could I give up being ‘right’ about my stories about the Church, therapists, the gay scene, Emily, her parents, my mother and especially my dad? Could I stop being a victim? Something deep inside me said ‘Yes!’ And in that moment, I was free. Free to choose. I had millions of choices! I was free to stop looking for my father’s love and money in the penthouses of New York, free to stop self-destructing, and free to start cleaning up my messes . . . ”

Not being a victim is a daily choice. And thank goodness I’m seeing the wisdom in valuing progress over perfection. And thank goodness I have friends who will not allow me to be a victim for long. I cannot do this alone. Asking for help is the first step in not being a victim.