I recently revisited the Bright Eyes album Cassadaga - which is a hell of an album - and a line from Classic Cars unexpectedly jumped out kicked me in the face:
“Never trust a heart that’s so bent it can’t break.”
(Conor is our Dylan and I’ll fight anyone who disagrees.)
I was suddenly flooded with memories of my previous life as a Mormon - so many moments spent wrestling with myself, justifying my beliefs, ignoring my conscience, and softening my heart in order to stay on the path at all costs.
We are taught in the church to ‘soften our hearts’ in order to be receptive to the promptings of the spirit, becoming meek and mild, submissive and humble followers of Christ, obedient to the wisdom and guidance of our priesthood leaders.
The problem is that our heart can become too mushy and malleable, as mine did, that it becomes so ‘bent it can’t break’, numbing us from feeling what our hearts are trying to tell us. My softened heart finally did break open and I discovered feelings that I never knew I had and clarity like I’d never experienced. Allow me to explain…
My softened heart happily paid 10% of my income to the church, knowing that it went straight to an investment fund, but trusting that one day the Lord's money would be used for good.
My heart broke open feeling the weight of human suffering and a responsibility to donate to organizations that actually answer Jesus’ call to help the poor. It breaks knowing that deaths are preventable while the church amasses an arsenal that makes Wall Street salivate and Ebenezar Scrooge blush.
My softened heart overflowed with 'tender mercies', knowing that God was on my side, knew me personally, and answered my prayers - no matter how small - anytime I needed help, comfort, or guidance.
My heart broke open as it stared at the horrors of the world, maintaining eye contact, finally appreciating the arrogant delusion required to think that God ignored the Holocaust but helped me find my keys.
My softened heart ‘loved one another’ while not fully embracing those that were LGBTQ+, apostate, or atheist. It spent so much energy softly toeing the line between loving the sinner and ensuring that my love wasn’t mistaken for condoning their sin.
My heart broke open to give all of the love that it has to give, with abundance, and then, like the little stream, it gives oh gives some more. It breaks for those who are taught that they are unworthy simply for being themselves. It screams out in pain knowing that the expression ‘no hate is stronger than Mormon love’ exists for a reason - every time a queer teen or young adult feels so unloved by their peers and family that they choose to end their own life. And it rages in absolute heart-shattering fucking agony when those same people stand up to bear testimony that ‘they’re in a better place.’
My softened heart discounted the bad. It avoided anger because anger is of the devil. It focused on the ‘net positive’ of the church and it reminded me that while others may have had negative experiences with the church, I’ve been fine - it works for me and is really great for my kids.
My heart broke open asking why Christ’s church is so much better for straight white married men. Breaking my heart open allowed me to fully feel my anger - the anger that God gave us to call out abuse of the marginalized - the anger that fueled Anthony, King, Gandhi, Tubman, and Jesus of Nazareth to fight against corruption, fraud, hypocrisy, oppression, and violence. Much like other teachings in the church, categorizing things (such as anger) merely as 'bad' overlooks the potential to cultivate a healthy relationship with what could actually be a powerful instrument for amplifying love in the world.
My softened heart prayed for the victims of sexual abuse by priesthood leaders. It felt discomfort from the unfortunate fact that there are bad apples out there. It wished for a better explanation, but ultimately looked away from a ‘tough situation’ that was too heavy and dark to think much about.
My heart broke open reading court documents of child sex abuse explicitly covered up by church leaders. It wrenched in pain seeing victims shamed and gaslit by church leaders while defending known abusers because of their leadership status, allowing them to continue sexually abusing children. It breaks open every time a lawsuit is settled out of court and the church pays victims for their silence… with sacred tithing funds.
My softened heart excused deception, sexual coercion, fraud, and blood atonement in the early church as prophets ‘acting as men’, almost impressed that God could restore His church through such imperfect people.
My heart broke open when I pulled on the thread to see where this all began, trying to find something real to hang on to. And instead of leading me to the resurrected Savior of the world, it led me to some dude. A super interesting dude, no doubt - a charismatic dreamer with something to prove who combined his curiosity for mysticism and transcendence with his talent for storytelling to create a life filled with adventure, admiration, and scandal worthy of at least a one-season Netflix docuseries - but a dude nonetheless.
My softened heart revered the prophets for their wisdom and guidance, trusting that they had at least some answers.
My heart broke open understanding that the prophets consistently lag moral progress by decades, especially racial, gender, and marriage equality. It asked the earnest question, “What is it then, exactly, that makes you deserving of such an audacious title as ‘prophet of God’?” and the answer came back… “I was next in line.”
My softened heart believed that women were equal in the church. It felt compassion for my wife when she finally found a calling that she loved and felt like she was making a difference, only to promptly be released so that I could serve in the bishopric. I held her as she cried, making space for her loss while understanding the bigger picture, the priority of priesthood duty.
My heart broke open deconstructing patriarchy, understanding that our ‘equal partnership’ was nothing more than a tandem bicycle - her faithful pedaling driving us forward as I steered toward my noble and great destiny, unconcerned about heaven’s policy on monogamy.
My softened heart listened to the men when they told me to stop asking about the Woman.
My heart broke open seeing men stand in the way of women who are desperately seeking connection with their Mother. Women that simply want a name, a picture, a ‘blink twice if you’re being held hostage.’ It breaks every time a woman is silenced and told to respect her priesthood leaders, knowing that she has more spiritual power than any of them will ever possess, and that the reason they won’t say anything isn’t because it’s sacred, or even secret, but because they don’t know anything special about anything and the crack in their facade is showing. It breaks knowing that these faithful women, just like their Heavenly Mother, use love and compassion to heal humanity while these men, just like their idea of a Heavenly Father, use force and coercion like some kind of narcissistic dictator, insecure enough to command that his children bow down and worship him, ‘or else!’.
My softened heart looked in the mirror and asked “I’m one of the good guys… right?”
My heart broke open when I finally had the courage to ‘do what is right, let the consequences follow’ and find out for myself if Joseph was actually right the first time when he realized that all of the religions are wrong, that “they draw near to God with their lips, but their hearts are far from Him.”
My heart breaks open for all kinds of reasons now, both beautiful and, well, heartbreaking reasons - feeling a much wider range of the human emotional spectrum. Because life is wild, reality is messy, and humans can be both lovely and cruel.
But what is particularly heartbreaking is when men in positions of power cause completely avoidable and unnecessary harm that adds nothing beautiful, lovely, or of good report to the world. And my softened hard was well trained to take it, hit after hit, but it finally broke open and felt everything that it had been avoiding.
And it has been the most beautiful experience of my life to be able to connect directly with the god that I know, in the way that my soul craves, with my whole heart and mind. And the middle-men trying to block my path and charge me a toll, warning me of the danger on the other side, mean about as much to me as anyone else’s grandpa that I’ve never met. I realized I could outrun them, so I jumped the fence and blazed my own trail to a beautiful vista made just for me, where god feels more like love than anything I ever felt inside the walls of the most impressively-run heart-softening factory that is the Mormon church.
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