Why We Commemorate Stuart Matis

"Good morning," said the silver-haired gentleman with a smile as we shook hands while walking through the parking lot of the Los Altos Mormon chapel just after dawn today. "Why are the parking lot entrances coned off?" I asked. "We're expecting demonstrators," he replied. "And President Monson [president of the Mormon Church, like the pope for Catholics] instructed our stake president [like a Catholic archbishop] to have someone here throughout the day to keep an eye on the Lord's property just in case things get out of hand. We don't want to come here tomorrow and find that everything's been spray-painted."

Forced, secret electroshock therapy in BYU basements to "cure" homosexuality. Excommunications for simply saying you were gay. Then a shift to "as long as you don't act on it, you can go forward as all other worthy members of the church" because the church "loves and honors [you] as sons and daughters of God." Then a swing back again to massive organizational and financial muscle by America's original proponent of "alternative marriage models" to legally withhold from everyone regardless of religious belief any form of marriage which Mormon theology doesn't approve. Then back the other way, with publicly stated support for Salt Lake City ordinances that banned discrimination based on sexual orientation. Then back again, with speeches by prominent leaders claiming that marriage equality threatened religious freedom. And now instruction directly from the top in Salt Lake that the Los Altos chapel, where Stuart Matis took his own life ten years ago in despair over the Mormon Church's aggressive fight against marriage equality, should be safeguarded by "the priesthood" because the Church expected confrontation and vandalism from perhaps two dozen somber friends who gathered on the sidewalk to quietly remember Stuart.

This see-sawing presents the picture of a church that has no idea how to explain or what to do with homosexuality, after decades of wrestling with it. Theologically the Mormons have no more basis to denounce the gays than any other Christian denomination that relies solely on the Bible, because the uniquely LDS scriptures never mention the subject. Every statement by LDS leaders on the topic ultimately rests on the Bible, which ultimately rests on a single verse in Leviticus. In sum, the Mormon Church, whose bid for legitimacy resides entirely in its claim of new and continuing revelation for our day, fights furiously against acceptance of homosexuality based solely on a 4000 year old verse from a time when as far as we know, even the concept of homosexuality was unknown. This is like pointing to an ox-driven waterwheel in the Holy Land as evidence that God hates the Hubble Telescope.

More disappointing, though, was the smile and gentle manner with which my friend in the parking lot showed his no doubt innocent ignorance of what those shortly to arrive at the chapel to commemorate Stuart's passing were all about. Overt confrontation and shouted hostility are one thing. But how do you get inside and defuse the bigotry of someone so apparently well-intentioned and kindly, when they obviously don't even recognize it in themselves?

When I greeted those who'd walked quietly from a nearby park with flowers and candles in memory of Stuart, I told them of my conversation with the chapel sentinel. They smiled but were a bit incredulous, and understandably so. What threat could this couple of dozen people possibly present, with roses and candles in their hands? No cans of spray paint, no big signs with hateful slogans, nothing but reverence, smiles, hugs, solemn and quiet pondering over the tragedy that occurred on this day ten years ago. A table was set up to display a mounted photo of Stuart's gravestone, and behind it was a larger trade show type display with photos and biographies of other gay children of God who'd taken their own lives in despair that they could never reconcile what their Church taught them with what they knew themselves to be. There were flowers, notes of remembrance quietly placed on the table before Stuart's headstone. The group stood on the sidewalk (never venturing onto Church property) and visited quietly. The display remained throughout the day with someone there to watch it and answer questions from any passers by. I renewed acquaintances with some of the group, but couldn't stay as long as I wanted; office responsibilities wouldn't wait, and I was catching an earlier flight than usual that afternoon.

But I thought as I drove away about the silver-haired gentleman in the parking lot who believed himself to be God's sentinel, protecting the Lord's property against threatened vandalism. I thought of Stuart's parents, whom I've never met, and whose pain I can't imagine, publicly asking that nobody mark their son's death with any kind of public display or remembrance, that he not be made a "political cause," and stating that they firmly believe the Church to be correct on all counts as regards God's gay children.

And with all due respect, and no rancor, I completely disagreed with them both. I disagreed with the silver-haired gentleman's assumption that anybody who was going to publicly differ with the Church was likely to be a vandal bent on destruction of property. Once reality stared him in the face, I would hope he'd see those who were remembering Stuart on the sidewalk were anything but threatening, and he'd learn that maybe he didn't need to be frightened. And at the risk of offending the Matises (which I sincerely don't wish to do), I disagree with anyone who urges that Stuart not be remembered publicly or that his death not be the catalyst for the kind of change he himself urged us to pursue. I think the note he left behind pushes us to do just what was done today: speak truth to power, point out that the emperor has no clothes, inspire younger ones to be more confident, assertive, secure and proud of the way God made them. They--we--aren't broken and don't need fixing.


What needs fixing is the fear, the misunderstanding, the myths clung to like barnacles because they're familiar. What needs fixing is the innocent ignorance that keeps spreading the bigotry, the kind that my nephew apologized to me for helping perpetuate after I came out to him when on reflection he saw for the first time just how steeped in homophobia Mormon culture is. Stuart made himself a public figure for a reason. He didn't want us to be silent anymore. Squeaky wheels get grease. I believe we do his memory a disservice if we don't speak out. If we don't try to shove the Church out of its 4000 year old rut and forward to a point where it can stop see-sawing, learn something new about God's gay children, and find a consistent place for them at the table without driving them to suicide.

So on this 10th anniversary of the death of Henry Stuart Matis, I'm renewing my resolve to do what he asked. So that maybe next time a memorial is set up outside the Los Altos Mormon chapel, the sentinels will not stay barricaded inside, fearing violence, but will come out and talk, smile, join in the remembrance, and really walk the Church's talk of love and acceptance. And if I have to wear out the rest of my life fighting to get us all there, then so be it. Bring it on.