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Thomas J. Mathews as a missionary

Thomas J. Mathews

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When I turned 19, I went on a mission. That had always been in the plan and I would have gone no matter what. When I left though, I only hoped for one thing. I wanted God to make me normal. I wanted to develop the feelings I was supposed to have, and if I couldn't, I wanted the Lord to take me while I was there, and not make me come home. I know this sounds rather melodramatic, but I would rather have died on my mission than come home gay. I would have been a martyr. My parents would have been sad, but proud, and I would have gone to heaven. During the last half of my mission I realized that neither thing was going to happen.

My mission was a generally good experience. I was able to teach the Gospel with some conviction, so long as I didn't try to figure out how it all applied to me and my life. If I kept my testimony in the abstract, speaking of principles and eternal truths, I had no problem, but when I tried to imagine my own life in an eternal scheme, it made no sense at all. I held tight to the scripture that reads: "To some it is given by the Holy Ghost to know that Jesus Christ is the Son of God. . . . To others it is given to believe on their words. . ." I could only be a believer, but people that I respected knew it was true. These were intelligent and wonderful people: my father, my mission president, even my companions. If they knew the Gospel was true, then I could believe. In essence, however, what I found myself doing was wearing a mask. In fact I had two: an old one, to hide my shameful attractions and affections; and this new one to conceal my doubts about God and the Church.

This life, I was taught, is a probation and a time for me to prove myself. My mission, by analogy was a smaller probation, a shorter time of testing. In the mission field I was reminded that we would be made stronger through our trials. "The fire devoureth the stubble, and the flame consumeth the chaff;" "For he is like a refiner's fire, and he shall purify the sons of Levi." I was unconvinced. I often felt like I was walking along the edge of a great cliff, struggling against unpredictable winds and blinding rain. It was only a matter of time before I would be blown over the edge or sucked away by the wind. I feared that at any moment I would do or say something that would allow someone to see what I really was. I was afraid that I would not survive the test, that my masks would be ripped off, and that I would fall and shatter.

"I shall dash you to pieces like a potter's vessel."

I felt fragile and weak.

There were times on my mission when I thought of jumping in front of a car or a truck, or throwing myself down in front of a subway train. It was the first time in my life when I consistently wanted to die.

The first knot binding me into the closet was a knot of secrecy tied up in fear.