Abstract
The use of metaphors in religious rhetoric can be persuasive, inclusive, and edifying. They can also be belligerent, harmful, and divisive. This paper investigates the backlash against the use of a “muskets” metaphor in a recent speech by a prominent Mormon leader which targeted LGBTQ+ members, in the wider context of a traditionally fraught relationship between the Church and its LGBTQ+ membership. This paper argues that the speech represents an act of authoritarianism, reliant upon the institutionally-situated power of a Church leader. Critics have interpreted the speech’s use of violent metaphor as an unwarranted attack on some of the most vulnerable members of the Mormon community, paradoxically at a time when the Church was seen as moving towards a more inclusive position in doctrine and policy.
Introduction
This paper analyses the negative reaction to a speech given by a senior Mormon leader, to understand why the metaphors used in this speech offended so many LGBTQ+ Mormons and ex-Mormons. In August 2021, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, a senior Church leader, in a speech at a Church university event, quoted from previous leaders’ usage of the metaphor of “muskets” in defence of the Church against outside criticism. He explicitly endorsed the usage of this metaphor, saying, “Musket fire? Yes, we will always need defenders of the faith… My Brethren have made the case for the metaphor of musket fire, which I have endorsed yet again today” (Newsroom 2021a). Critics identified the speech’s use of a violent “muskets” metaphor targeting LGBTQ+ activists as inappropriate—reinforcing their belief that the Church suffers from an intractable institutional bias against its own LGBTQ+ members. Although some prominent LGBTQ+ members regarded the speech as merely a regrettable misstep by a leader who they believed was sympathetic to their community, many others saw the speech as an act of betrayal from a Church which had been moving to a more inclusive position in doctrine and policy. For these people, the speech revived feelings of alienation and fear, which they believed—or perhaps hoped—were a thing of the past. 1
This article will contextualize the use of belligerent metaphors in Holland’s speech as a logical outcome of the Church’s historically fraught relationship with its LGBQT+ community. It will then evaluate the various reactions to the speech by ex-Mormon critics and LGBQT+ members of the Church, to support the conclusion that the speech created a “firestorm” which was, perhaps, inevitable (Faith Matters 2021).
The Church: Hierarchy, Heteronormativity and Persecution Narrative
Established in 1830 in upstate New York, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from its inception suffered enormous persecution, including an extermination order issued by the Governor of Missouri in 1838, with much of the conflict triggered by distinctive Mormon beliefs such as polygamy and an anti-slavery political stance (Hartley 2001; Givens 2013). The Church claims to be a restored version of Christ’s original church, with prophets and apostles receiving revelation from God—including new scripture, such as The Book of Mormon, from which the Church and its members are nicknamed (Articles of Faith n.d.). Its leadership comprises a “Q15” (Hall 2021): a First Presidency—the prophet and two counsellors—and a Quorum of Twelve Apostles, with all Church doctrine and policy decisions made by this leadership group (Quorum of the Twelve Apostles 2021). This hierarchical structure ties religious conviction to “a highly centralized organization that emphasizes uniformity of doctrine and policies worldwide” (Simmons 2017, 4).
Mormon doctrine combines Christian conservatism—with its strong emphasis on “traditional values” such as the nuclear family, heterosexual marriage, and chastity—with radical theology, e.g., rejecting the traditional Christian Trinitarian doctrine, claiming to have modern prophets, revelation, and being the only literally “restored Church of Jesus Christ” (Are Mormons Christian? n.d.). Not surprisingly, these beliefs, its communal practices, and the rapid growth of the Church served to threaten more established churches in the US. After its prophet was murdered by a mob in 1844, the Church relocated in 1847 to what was then Mexico—territory that later became the state of Utah (Arrington and Bitton 1992; MacKinnon 2003). This formative experience of persecution—and ridicule—contributed to its uneasy location today in US society, where the Church seeks to preserve many of its distinctive beliefs and practices, while also seeking social acceptance. For instance, by 1890, the Church officially abandoned the practice of polygamy—although it continued informally for at least another decade—and some commentators have traced the Church’s desire for mainstream acceptance from this date (Flake 2004; Feldman 2008; Coleman 2012; Haws 2013).
Nevertheless, their distinctive social-moral doctrines and religious practices continue to locate Mormons as a religious minority within US society (Jennings 2016; Nielson 2016; Hale 2021). This marginalization is exemplified by the strong historical satirical tradition directed against the Church in the US, and it is still “ridiculed…in the media” today (Arrington and Bitton 1992, 69). The most recent, high-profile example was the internationally successful musical comedy The Book of Mormon, from the creators of South Park—which continued the 190 year + tradition of mainstream US media lampooning the Church (Walker 2017; Hale 2021).
While the Church typically avoids overt retaliation against the satire and persecution directed against it, it has nevertheless built up a type of “persecution narrative” which positions itself as being threatened by outside forces, including shifting moral norms (Largey 2006; Givens 2013). Today, this “persecution narrative” continues, as the Church negotiates its relationship with the wider US community. This “continuing disjunct…between mainstream US society and the Mormon Church [is] the legacy of historical persecution, media portrayals and social-geographical isolation” (Hale 2021, 5). Indeed, the New Testament metaphors “in the world but not of the world” (Nelson 2019), and “overcoming the world” (Andersen 2017), appear commonly in Church sermons, as a way of framing this “threat” from the secular “world”.
Metaphors from this “persecution narrative” have been revived in recent decades, as the Church has become increasingly isolated from progressive social developments in wider US society (Brandley 2020)—especially because of the Church’s unusually strong doctrinal emphasis on heterosexual marriage: “Mormonism has a strong heteronormative element [and its] scriptures teach that the highest level of spiritual salvation is reserved for those who [marry] within a[n] LDS temple [where heterosexual] couples and families are… ‘sealed’ throughout eternity” (Simmons 2017, 9). The growing ideological gap between Church doctrine—especially regarding gender, sexual orientation, and marriage—and secular attitudes is predictable because “as society becomes increasingly secular, certain beliefs or doctrines of conservative religions may conflict with society’s preferred secular cultural norms and or values” (Nielson 2016, 752). In recent years, the Church has been particularly criticized as being out of step with wider social attitudes and secular laws (Brandley 2020; Chakravarty and English 2021). Additionally, some of this criticism has come from within the Church itself. There is increasing pressure from within the Church’s leadership (Hall 2021), and from the Church’s general membership and some BYU scholars, for reform of discriminatory policy against LGBTQ+ members (Brandley 2020; Brunson 2021; Kaplan 2021).
This increased pressure helps to explain Holland’s motivation for delivering this speech, and the Church’s “persecution narrative” furnished a violent metaphor which he chose to use, to push back against criticism of Church policy—framing his speech as a defensive gesture. However, he may have underestimated the negative reaction to his violent metaphor from some of his audience, especially the Church’s LGBTQ+ community. To understand why, it is necessary to understand the functionality of metaphors in general and the utility of metaphors in Church scripture and sermons, in particular.
Religious Metaphors and a Metaphorical Problem with “Muskets”
Metaphor is traditionally understood as a figurative, non-literal use of language, intended and interpreted as such. This view distinguishes metaphors from the domain of “ordinary everyday language,” seeing them as “novel or poetic linguistic expression[s]” (Lakoff 1993, 202), used “to achieve some artistic and rhetorical effect…to communicate eloquently” (Kovecses 2010, vii). However, linguists have demonstrated that metaphors—also known as “idiomatic expressions”—dominate the English language, to the point where much of what we say in conversation is, metaphorically, “invisible” (Lakoff 1993; Lakoff and Johnson 2008). That is, “metaphor is used effortlessly in everyday life by ordinary people…metaphor is pervasive both in thought and everyday language” (Kovecses 2010, viii).
Metaphors are common in different uses of English, including in academic English, where the following expressions might be found (adapted from Lakoff 1993; Gibbs 2011; Miller 2020. Italics indicate the metaphor/s): We just published a paper. The meeting is running overtime. This agenda speaks to our concerns. Let’s dive right in and get started. Indigenous voices are not being heard. At the end of the day, we need to find a way forward.
Indeed, metaphors are indispensable to meaning in everyday conversation, because, even if the metaphor is violent, or otherwise offensive (e.g., killing time, a slave to habit, deadly earnest, to cut off your nose to spite your face), they tend to be subordinate to overall meaning, and conventionally understood as non-literal (Gibbs 2011).
There are contexts where a metaphor can create problems. It can embody prejudicial meaning—e.g., racism, sexism—but once social consensus supports its excision from usage, the metaphor will disappear (Weber 2015). Also, “social force” can stress the literal referent to negatively target someone (Rodriguez 2009, 80). For example, “You’re a goose” can be used in a genial, teasing way to promote rapport, but when used with a loud voice, a menacing look or close proximity, the same expression can convey a message of hate and implicit violence. Therefore, when intentionality informs context, the social force of an utterance can vary widely (Gibbs, Lima, and Francuzo 2004).
The question, then, is where Holland’s “muskets” metaphor fits into this equation of metaphor, context, and intent. It is important to consider the religious context—i.e., Christian/Mormon—metaphorical usage. While “Mormon theology fits into traditional Christian theology in some ways, and deviates in others” (Chakravarty and English 2021, 238), Mormon theology integrates the Bible and many Biblical scriptural metaphors appear in Mormon usage. While the “muskets” metaphor is not scriptural, Holland’s speech employs many recognizable Biblical metaphors/references, including: “Ancient of Days,” “legions,” “outward signs,” “inward grace,” “kingdom,” “celestial,” “consecrated heart,” “sacred tithes,” “gospel,” “in that spirit,” “anointed,” “brothers and sisters,” “defend the faith,” and “Zion.”
The deliberate use of Biblical metaphors lends Holland’s speech authority by tapping into the background knowledge of the participants, thus invoking a shared religious belief. While general metaphorical usage is mundane and locates imagined concepts in an observable reality, religious metaphors serve an important rhetorical-didactic function by creating an imagined space for linking the familiar-mundane and the other-worldly. This lexical ambiguity, however, can be interpreted differently by people according to context, and their reliance on deep feelings of religiosity and sentiment is subject to change and scrutiny in an increasingly secular world. Religious metaphors, therefore, have high emotive/spiritual associations for the people who use and interpret their meanings for themselves as a member of a religious community. They are “hatched in the unconscious, accru[ing] their rich and fruitful meaning there,” before being employed in actual social practice (Ellens 2004, 44). When they are used in positive associations, to persuade, to include, and to edify, “wholesome metaphors [are used to] create aesthetic and humane civilization” (Ellens 2004, 45). By contrast, when they are used to divide, or target individuals or groups, they serve a powerful negative association and social outcome—e.g., in “othering” the “infidel” or “apostate.” This “in-group” and “out-group” religious nomenclature can be powerful and permanent—including for minorities—because they invoke and enforce “divine truth,” by authority figures (Simmons 2017). By referencing God’s “will,” they can be especially powerful when targeting a group that is already suffering disproportionately from shame, marginalization, or guilt. In such cases, religious metaphors can “kill” by inciting hatred and violence (Ellens 2004).
Christian metaphors which express notions of violence are not uncommon: the “two-edged sword,” for instance, appears in both the Old Testament and the New Testament (e.g., Psalms 149:6, Hebrews 4:12). It was once exclusively a religious reference, passing into the mundane lexicon by the sixteenth century, but it may be reverting to religious usage predominantly. Perhaps this is because, as a reference to a weapon, “adapted for cutting and thrusting” (OED 2021), it is seen as inappropriate for general conversational usage, in the same way that other violent, sexist, or racist metaphors have been abandoned in recent decades. It continues to be used as a non-literal reference, bolstered by the fact that a sword is anachronistic as a weapon, thus referencing a historical artefact. Originally, the “two-edged sword” metaphor served as a powerful reference linking the “earthly” weapon with the divine. Representing the “Word of God,” it could “cut through culture, habits, biases, preconceptions, and doubts;” but it could also “separate truth from error…for our blessing or condemnation, our edification, inspiration, instruction, or chastisement” (Ensign 2017). As such, the metaphor, by being restricted to the very clearly figurative religious context, has lost much of its literal violent connotation.
While metaphors are highly contingent for their power on their historical and social contexts, they can lose or gain connotative power, according to usage, and they can be dropped altogether, or become restricted in their usage. The question then, is why Holland’s use of a “muskets” metaphor provoked such a negative response. The weapon itself, like a sword, is anachronistic, and it was used in a religious context, so it should have been understood as non-literal. The problem was its inappropriateness, and this relates, not so much to its literalness or non-literalness, but to its context, precedents, and intended meaning.
To understand its inappropriateness, we should note that it explicitly targeted BYU scholars and LGBTQ+ allies calling for policy change, who were framed as being “enemies” of the Church and the call for metaphorical “musket fire” by “defenders of the faith” against them was invoked by Holland’s authority as an Apostle. These critics, who share the same background knowledge, would have understood the speech’s metaphor as an act of “muzzling.” We can understand this context more fully, by examining the decades-long uncomfortable relationship that the Church has had with its own LGBTQ+ members.
The Traditionally Fraught Relationship between the Church and its LGBTQ+ Membership
In April 2019, a valedictorian BYU student made international headlines, when in his officially-approved graduation speech, he said: “I stand before my family, friends, and graduating class today to say that I am proud to be a gay son of God” (CBS 2019). The newsworthiness of the event was related to its setting—the conservative Church’s university, named after its second prophet, Brigham Young, closely aligns with Church policy. BYU’s moral code is especially conservative in relation to staff and students who are LGBTQ+, as noted by the student himself, Matt Easton, who commented on his speech’s wider meaning: “This was especially significant because I attended Brigham Young University, a conservative Mormon-owned college known for its strict code of conduct that forbids any form of romantic homosexual expression” (Easton 2020). The event was widely reported across international media (Foxnews 2019; Truu 2019; Whitehurst 2019; Wong 2019), and the original video of the event was uploaded by Easton himself, where, as of September 2021, it had received 241,487 views (Easton 2019).
The speech occurred at a time when Church policy was perceived as softening in regard to its LGBTQ+ members (Riess 2019; Stack 2019; Brandley 2020; Chakravarty and English 2021), and so Easton felt emboldened to speak out for himself and for many others in the Church. This position was validated by the subsequent support he received (Easton 2021): Within days…I received hundreds of letters and private messages from members across the globe who were feeling lost and afraid… I chose to acknowledge my sexual orientation in my graduation speech because I wanted other LGBTQ+ students to know they are not alone…and can be proud of who they are.
The Church did not officially respond to the speech, and this was interpreted by many as tacit approval (Andrew 2020), especially because Easton had actually been in conformity with contemporary Church policy, being entitled to assert his rights to full status as a gay, worthy member in the Church—as explicitly stated in current Church policy (Newsroom 2021a): “Feelings of same-sex attraction are not a sin…Those who experience same-sex attraction or identify as gay can fully participate in the Church [while remaining celibate]”.
While cautiously optimistic, Easton noted the condition of celibacy for LGBTQ+ members, when saying, “Less than a decade ago, a student couldn't even be openly out as LGBTQ+ and remain at [BYU, but] discrimination against non-heterosexual students remains today” (Easton 2020). Historically, persecution of BYU LGBTQ+ students was far worse—it included the official 1962 banning of gays from enrolling, policies and practices involving covert surveillance of suspected gay students and even experimentation with electro-shock and gay-conversion “therapies” (Nielson 2017; Chakravarty and English 2021).
While these policies and practices have been abandoned, there are still “mixed messages” which BYU students receive. For example, while the BYU “Honor Code”—which staff and students must obey—was amended in 2007 to allow students to publicly identify as LGBTQ+ (Walch 2022), LGBTQ+ students must remain celibate, even abstaining from dating, holding hands, kissing, or any other display of “romantic behaviour” (Radnofsky 2020; Walch 2022)—a prohibition that does not apply to heterosexual staff or students. Many LGBTQ+ students felt betrayed in 2020 when the Honor Code clause prohibiting LGBTQ+ students from being able to “openly date and show affection” was removed—only to be reinstated two weeks later. BYU’s justification was that “same-sex romantic behavior is a violation of the principles of the Honor Code”—because such “behavior” cannot lead to heterosexual marriage (Radnofsky 2020). Thus, the discrimination which Easton refers to includes the inability for LGBTQ+ students to fully express their identity (Chakravarty and English 2021, 246): one powerful identity negotiation technique is to not engage in romantic-sexual behaviors at all, or openly. The closet [seems] to be a safer place for many in order to not be socially ostracized, excommunicated by the church, or expelled from church-run educational or professional organizations.
This situation seems unlikely to change. A recent BYU student-led complaint to the US federal Department of Education’s Office of Civil Rights (OCR) was unsuccessful, because BYU is exempt from allegations of discrimination under the “religious tenets of its controlling religious organization that pertain to sexual orientation and gender identity” (Walch 2022). Unsurprisingly, the perception amongst both LGBTQ+ members and critics of the Church, is that “total equality of opportunity to non-heterosexual” members is not yet a reality (Griffin 2021, 6).
The example of BYU is significant, in that it is a site where younger members are more likely to question Church authority, especially in relation to LGBTQ+ issues (Kaplan 2021; Riess 2019, 2022). It thus exemplifies the wider “fraught space” (Green 2019) between the Church and its own LGBTQ+ members, as they question the pattern of inconsistency in recent decades between Church rhetoric of inclusion of its LGBTQ+ members and actual exclusion found in individual leaders’ sermons and official Church policy and doctrine.
Perhaps surprisingly, the Church’s focus on LGBTQ+ issues is relatively recent. Historically, the Church, in its geographical and social marginalization from mainstream US society, was more concerned, at least into the early 20th Century, with existential survival and foundational doctrines such as heterosexual marriage—including polygamy—than with LGBTQ+ issues. Early leaders did not view “homosexual [issues] as a pressing and immediate problem, since such [issues] were virtually unknown among them” (Mitton and James 1998, 178). Whether the Church’s historic inattention to LGBTQ+ issues was due to active suppression (Quinn 2001), or as is more likely, simply synthesizing wider socio-cultural attitudes with its own conservative religious outlook (Mitton and James 1998), the Church did not actively engage with LGBTQ+ issues until the 1960s (Simmons 2017, 10): Prior to the 1960s [it] was relatively silent on the issue of homosexuality, with the topic appearing infrequently through the 19th and early 20th centuries. However, as the Gay Rights Movement (1969-1974) brought the issue to national attention, LDS leaders started…condemning homosexuality.”
Thus, “some of the [Church’s] first official statements on homosexuality” came from the prophet Spencer W. Kimball in the 1970s, e.g., “homosexuality [is] an ugly sin, repugnant…unnatural, wrong, and [deviant] from normal, proper heterosexual relationships” (Simmons 2017, 10). This rhetoric continued until the late 1980s, when a “softening in…attitudes became visible. Rather than categorizing homosexuality as a “perversion,” leaders were more likely to describe it as a serious or “grievous sin’” (11).
However, from the 1990s until the present, a curious disjunct has appeared in Church policy, with some leaders advocating for greater acceptance, while others have led a more regressive campaign targeting LGBTQ+ issues. As one excommunicated transgender member—previously a senior Church employee—and still loyal to the Church, has noted, there is little unity in the current leadership when it comes to LGBTQ+ issues (Hall 2021). According to another Church LGBTQ+ historian, contestation over policy and doctrine has always been a feature of the Church’s leadership, constituting “a constant tension between strong-willed individuals within the Quorum and the Church’s hierarchy and the need to present a united front to the Church and to the World” (Quinn 1997, 226).
This disjunct is apparent in contradictory statements and policies—many of which appear successively, and even synchronously. So, for instance, Gordon B. Hinckley (prophet from 1995-2008) explicitly counselled members and leaders “to respond with kindness, compassion, and love to homosexuals and lesbians as fellow children of God” (Simmons 2017,11). In 2012, the Church produced a stand-alone website, “Mormons and Gays,” which was established “to help everyone better understand same-sex attraction from a gospel perspective.” In 2016, the site was renamed “Mormon and Gay,” to reflect “the reality that a person doesn’t need to choose between these two identities — one can, in fact, be gay and live faithful to the teachings of Christ” (Nielson 2016).From 2016 onwards, official Church instructional manuals softened the language used (Vance 2015) and training was instituted for “its congregational lay-ministers…on the issues faced by Gay Mormons and how to address those challenges with sensitivity and compassion” (Nielson 2016, 759).
The Church’s first-ever donation to an LGBTQ+ organization occurred in 2015—reportedly a total of $2,500 (LGBTQNation 2015). Another donation of $25,000 was made to a LGBTQ+ support group—Affirmation—in 2018, for suicide prevention (Bradshaw et al. 2021, 343). Other gestures of support for LGBTQ+ groups have followed; most significantly the political support the Church offered for legislation in 2015 (The Utah Compromise) and in 2022 for “the federal Fairness for All Act before Congress” and the Arizona “non-discrimination bill aimed at protecting the LGBTQ+ community” (Gilger 2022). The Church’s motivation for this political involvement, according to the Apostle Dallin H. Oaks, is to avoid extremism and litigation, and to “seek peaceful resolution of painful conflicts between religious freedom and non-discrimination” (Newsroom 2021c).
There are various ways to interpret these political gestures: they may indicate a sincere move to inclusion, or they may be preemptive methods to avoid litigation, or they may signal overt, and belated, attempts to repair the Church’s public image, or they may be moves consistent with the Church’s traditional, explicit support of established political systems (Articles of Faith n.d.). Time will tell if any or all of these interpretations are accurate.
Nevertheless, while these recent measures may have somewhat ameliorated the discrimination felt by LGBTQ+ members, there are other, contradictory messages that the Church has been issuing during the same period. For instance, many prominent Church leaders delivered speeches targeting same-sex marriage and gay rights during the 1990s, as epitomized by a speech in 1993 by the Apostle Boyd K. Packer—who had for many years explicitly targeted homosexuality as a “dangerous lifestyle” (Simmons 2017, 11)—in which he equated homosexuality with “feminism” and “so-called scholars or intellectuals,” as constituting the three major “invasions into the membership of the Church” (Packer 1993). Following Packer’s talk, six BYU scholars were publicly “disciplined by the Church for ‘apostasy,’” and these “purges” continue as a disciplinary measure against Mormon scholars, “if their analysis is deemed overly critical by church leaders or BYU administrators” (Baer 1996, 359). The contract of employment at BYU is conditional upon a formal interview “by Church General Authorities” and living “lives of loyalty to the restored gospel” (Bean and Wilson 2019, 475)—and this explicitly requires allegiance to Church doctrine and policy.
Another “mixed message” appears in BYU’s mission statement—unchanged since 1981—which, “encourages the pursuit of all truth [and] a broad university education [where] Scholarly research [is] essential and will be encouraged” (BYU 2019), and yet scholars’ employment is subject to “discipline” if, as part of their teaching and research, they offer criticisms of Church doctrine or policy. Holland, interviewed on this topic, argued that “Every institution has to define itself somehow,” and that “for those that want the blessing of the church, there's a… big price in terms of sacrifice and loyalty…chief among these is…advocating against the church [and] the institution cannot retain its identity and still allow that” (PBS 2011).
Notable in Holland’s definition of loyalty to the Church is the implied requirement to accede to Church policy. This is a position which has strong political implications—even though Holland did not explicitly make the connection to any specific political campaign, members are well aware of the Church’s recent involvement in specific social-political campaigns, including the anti-same-sex marriage campaign which occurred in 2008. During that campaign, senior Church leaders united with other conservative religious organizations, opposing—ultimately unsuccessfully, since it was legalized in 2013—same-sex marriage in California. It was revealed that the Church donated around twenty-five million dollars—lobbying individual members for matching funding—fighting “Proposition 8” in California during 2008 (Karger 2009). Interestingly, the Church had been preparing for this campaign since 1994-5, and its legal draft-summary, or “amicus brief” was formalized in 1995 as an official statement, known as “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” (Hall 2021). This statement, defining what the Church regards as immutable doctrine relating to family, gender, and marriage, still enjoys semi-canonical status for many leaders and members, even though it is not officially regarded as scripture (Oaks 2017).
Another controversial policy event occurred in 2015 when the Church officially instituted its “Policy of Exclusion, banning children of same-sex couples from receiving saving ordinances” (Hall 2021), and “automatically [labelling] Mormons in same-sex marriages [as] apostates” (Green 2019). Four years later, the policy was reversed. While both the original policy and its reversal were presented as “revelation” (Green 2019): The Church acknowledged the widespread pain caused by the former policy…For many current and former Mormons, however, the consequences of the 2015 policy cannot be undone. Their relationships—with the Church, with their families, and with God—have been irreparably damaged.
Indeed, this claim of irreparable relationship “damage” experienced by many LGBTQ+ members particularly during the period when the Policy of Exclusion was in force, is supported by research which found that the policy did contribute to overall feelings of alienation and dissatisfaction with the Church (Bradshaw et al. 2021). Although the Church has clearly made an effort in recent years to redress the fraught relationship it has with its own LGBTQ+ community—some of whom remain loyal to it, even when they have been excommunicated (Nielson 2016; Hall 2021) —it could be argued that the amount of time, effort, sermons, policy and money levied against its LGBTQ+ community over decades outweighs the Church’s efforts to be inclusive. This sentiment featured in a very public resignation from the Church by the tech billionaire Jeff Green in December 2021, who, when donating $600,000 to “the LGBTQ+-rights group Equality Utah,” declared, “I believe the church is actively and currently doing harm in the world…I believe the Mormon church has hindered global progress in [various areas, including] LGBTQ+ rights” (The Guardian 2021).
Green’s sentiment is shared by many LGBTQ+ Mormons who have left the Church. Others remain loyal—whether excommunicated or still current members—but all are hopeful for a change in Church policy. Nielson (2016, 761) refers to this conflicted loyalty amongst gay Mormons as a spectrum, and it is applicable to LGBTQ+ Mormons in general: On one end of that spectrum are exclusion and marginalisation. On the other are acceptance and inclusion. Clearly, some Gay Mormons find being a member of the Church intolerable, even emotionally violent and damaging to their overall mental and physical health. At the same time, other Gay Mormons find satisfaction, belonging, and great peace through their Church membership.
So, for instance, John Gustav-Wrathall, a same-sex-married Mormon, is active in his welcoming local congregation—even though he has been excommunicated. As a leader in Affirmation—an organization dedicated to supporting LGBTQ+ Mormons and building bridges between them and the Church—he is hopeful of policy change: “At some point, God is going to resolve this difference for us. And…whatever scales there are on any of our eyes will fall away” (Green 2019). This cautious optimism is shared by many others in the Church’s LGBTQ+ community who remain loyal to their religion and who feel that some progress in inclusion is being made (Human Rights Campaign n.d.; LGBTQNation 2015; Green 2019; Browning 2021; Chakravarty and English 2021; Kaplan 2021; Riess 2022). As Calvin Burke, “who is gay and a student at Brigham Young University,” put it: “That is how LGBTQ+ Equality will work in the church; nothing, a glimmer, and then all at once the sun will be up & we will wonder how on Earth we ever saw anything different” (Wamsley 2019).
This optimism is generated by two main factors: the Church’s belief in ongoing revelation, and the deep religious commitment/loyalty which many LGBTQ+ members retain for their Church. For example, the current prophet of the Church, Russell M. Nelson, has unequivocally stated that ongoing doctrinal change is expected and essential (e.g., Nelson 2019, 2021). He cites the principle of ongoing revelation—a core tenet of the Church—saying that it is God’s prerogative to change doctrine: “Nobody changes the principles and [doctrine] of the Church except the Lord by revelation… Current adjustments…and others that will follow, are continuing evidence that the Lord is actively directing His Church” (Nelson 2021).
Such statements—and recent policy changes—offer hope to LGBTQ+ Mormons loyal to the Church, for several reasons. Firstly, because Nelson has premier authority in the hierarchy of the Church (LDS 2020). Secondly, they suggest an open dialogue leading to change (Easton 2020). Thirdly, the core doctrines—to which they are loyal—remain unchanged, but other policies and doctrines which target them are “negotiable” (Andrew 2020; Brunson 2021).
Indeed, the policies and doctrines targeting LGBTQ+ Mormons often employ language which is hurtful, framing this community as being party to persecution against the Church, and positioning LGBTQ+ Mormons as “aggressors” working in concert with “Satan” when calling for policy changes (Burns 2022). Ironically, while the Church employs the narrative of persecution for itself in this context, there are members of the Mormon LGBTQ+ community who have levelled a similar accusation against their own Church (Nielson 2017; Sumerau et al. 2018; Young 2020; Post-Mormon Parenting 2021). For instance, transgender Mormons have described a “cisnormative patriarchy” in their Church which on a daily basis excludes and harms them, “explicitly [defining] existing gender norms in Mormonism as discrimination” (Sumerau et al. 2018, 437). These claims are supported by a substantial body of research which demonstrates that low self-esteem, depression, bullying, and suicidal ideation are common amongst LGBTQ+ Mormons, because they feel excluded from their own religious community (Nielson 2017; Sumerau et al 2018; Young 2020; Monet 2021). While these experiences can be ameliorated by support from family, friends, and sympathetic Church leaders (Nielson 2017; Joseph and Cranney 2017), LGBTQ+ Mormons “frequently sacrifice some or a lot of their authenticity, gender expression, and/or well-being in order to maintain their religious identity” (Monet 2021, 32).
Indeed, this predisposition to sensitivity and vulnerability helps explain why Holland’s speech had such an impact. While the rate of physical violence against LGBTQ+ Mormons from other Mormons is lower than it is for members of the LGBTQ+ community in wider US society, the effects of persecution, social alienation and spiritual conflict are more keenly felt by LGBTQ+ Mormons than by members of the wider US LGBTQ+ community (Simmons 2017; Monet 2021). This is because they experience conflict generated by their profound loyalty to a belief system which tells them that their gender-orientation places them in opposition to God: “The Mormon system is deeply rooted in promoting feelings of guilt or shame” (Brandley 2020, 96).
Holland’s Speech and a “Firestorm” of Reaction
Such feelings of guilt and shame were exacerbated when a senior leader of the Church, the Apostle Jeffrey R. Holland, addressed BYU staff on August 23, 2021, delivering what has been termed “Holland’s Homophobic Speech” (Post-Mormon Parenting 2021). Without specifically naming Easton, Holland criticized him as “a student [who] commandeers a graduation podium…to announce his personal sexual orientation” (Newsroom 2021b). He denounced Easton’s speech as being connected to recent BYU LGBTQ+ students’ celebrations of identity through “flag-waving and parade-holding” (Newsroom 2021b). While not explicitly naming the rainbow flag (Andrew 2020; Faith Matters 2021), Holland directed “defenders of the faith” to use “muskets” against “the whole same-sex topic on campus” (Newsroom 2021b). It was this “disturbing” metaphor being employed by one of “the Lord’s anointed” against peaceful “rainbow” symbols (Post-Mormon Parenting 2021), which generated a “firestorm” from critics (Faith Matters 2021).
Holland employed the “muskets” metaphor six times in a speech of 3,696 words. While a numerically minor usage, it is the most commonly-used metaphor, and it occurs in the middle part of the speech. The speech comprises three parts: the preamble, which occupies 1,049 words; the middle section—which focuses on LGBTQ+ topics, where the 6 occurrences of the “muskets” metaphor, including the variants “musket” and “musket fire” are located, and which spans 1,594 words; and the final, concluding section, which occupies 1,053 words. At around 43% of the total speech, the “muskets” section dominates, both for length and for theme. Towards the end of the “muskets” section, Holland explicitly states that his deliberate intention was to “…have made the case for the metaphor of musket fire, which I have endorsed yet again today” (Newsroom 2021b).
Holland then completes the “muskets” section by saying (Newsroom 2021b): I have focused on this same-sex topic this morning more than I would have liked, I pray you will see it as emblematic of a lot of issues our students and community face in this complex, contemporary world of ours. But I digress! Back to the blessings of a school in Zion!
Holland’s professed “reluctance” implies that he was forced/obliged to address a topic clearly “offensive” to him. By categorizing it as a moral threat, Holland invokes a persecution trope, “justifying” the hyperbolic “muskets” metaphor; thus, the metaphor was deliberately chosen for effect—to command attention to his argument. Having established that the metaphor was deliberately chosen, and used repeatedly, it is important to consider why Holland chose to use this particular metaphor in the context of “ongoing persecution.”
Holland deliberately selected the metaphor to argue a parallel with a specific event from the Church’s history. In the 1840s, when the Church was building its temple in Nauvoo, Illinois, amid violent persecution, workers used both “trowel and musket” to defend themselves and the work of building (Newsroom 2021b). He then makes the metaphorical case for more “musket fire” in apologetics in defense of the Church today. The targets of this “musket fire” are the critics within and without the Church who agitate for greater reform of doctrine and policy relating to LGBTQ+ members. Explicitly invoking his Apostolic authority, Holland called for an end to this pressure/criticism, and he reproved dissenting BYU scholars for “friendly fire,” adding that “a house divided against itself . . . cannot stand,” and arguing they must offer loyalty to the “institution” and be “unquestionably committed to…the Church that sponsors it.” The threat from “those who oppose our teachings [occasions] the need to…defend the faith” (Newsroom 2021b). However, while the call for “musket fire” against dissenting BYU scholars and external critics is objectionable enough, the strongest reaction to the speech’s metaphors was triggered by Holland’s targeting of LGBTQ+ students, including the deliberately un-named, and thus depersonalized, “student,” i.e., Easton.
Easton himself clearly understood and responded: “I am the only BYU valedictorian to come out as gay during commencement, so I think it’s safe to say you were referring to me” (Easton 2021). In a rather unfortunate example of—to use Holland’s own expression—“friendly fire,” Holland, in trying to claim persecution status for his Church, managed to direct “musket fire” in a persecutory manner against a member conforming to Church policy i.e., being “worthy and qualified in every…way” (Newsroom 2021a). Easton was simply declaring that he was “proud to be a gay son of God” (CBS 2019). Ironically also, Holland was failing in his own responsibility as a leader of the Church, since Church policy explicitly directs “leaders [to] support and encourage [those] who experience same-sex attraction or identify as gay [since these members] can fully participate in the Church” (Newsroom 2021a, italics added). Easton (2021) responded: “…acknowledging [your identity] as a straight son or daughter of God…is the same principle. My sexuality is not antithetical to my divine identity — in fact, it is an essential characteristic of it.”
It could be argued that the “muskets” metaphor should be interpreted as non-threatening, since, like a sword, the weapon itself is anachronistic and typically understood as such. However, if a “two-edged-sword” was used in the speech instead of “muskets,” it is hard to see how this could be any less inappropriate. Both are weapons used to take life, and in this instance, a vulnerable minority within the Church is always going to be sensitive to any suggestion of violence, because the fear of ostracism and violence is an everyday reality. Indeed, Easton reported widespread LGBTQ+ Mormons’ fear in the wake of Holland’s speech (Easton 2021): I received hundreds of letters and private messages from members across the globe who were feeling lost and afraid. One came from a young gay student at BYU-Idaho…he was terrified of his roommates finding out about his sexual orientation and facing possible retaliation, ridicule, and even violence from them…three current BYU students expressed to me how unsafe and scared they felt knowing that church leaders instructed the university’s faculty to use metaphorical “musket fire” to defend the “doctrine of the family” and push back against LGBTQ+ inclusion.
Clearly, then, the literalness of the “muskets” metaphor is not the core of the problem—it is a “trigger” for a much greater issue. Historically associated with violence, it is compounded by its connotations of rejection—and the powerful pre-existing narrative of hostility towards anyone who does not conform to the dominant heteronormative Mormon familial tradition. So powerful is this tradition that, as Easton says, it leads to ideation of, and actual, self-harm and suicide: “It’s hard to reconcile feeling like the only place for you in the world is one in which you no longer exist” (Easton 2021).
Easton’s reaction was echoed by responses from other LGBTQ+ Mormons, who regarded Holland’s speech as an act of heteronormative hostility amplified by violent metaphor. Some, however, remain optimistic. Laurie Hall (2021), the prominent, excommunicated transgender Mormon, regarded Holland’s speech as a regrettable setback in the overall progressive trend of Church policy: “Events occur, but the arc of the history of this painful intersection between the LDS church and their LGBTQ+ members is bending towards eventual fellowship and perhaps even equity.” Nevertheless, Hall (2021) states that the speech revived deep feelings of hurt from her own experience of being targeted as an “apostate,” and she empathized with the emotional trauma Holland’s speech caused the Mormon LGBTQ+ community: My terrible pain with the institutional church…is the tremendous toll these toxic events take on the faith and hope of innumerable innocent people… many are irrevocably harmed…many lives are needlessly lost.
Other members were not as optimistic. Two prominent examples are Patrick Mason, a Utah State University academic, and Tom Christofferson, a noted commentator from the Mormon LGBTQ+ community, who also happens to be the gay brother of the Apostle D. Todd Christofferson—Holland’s peer in the leadership of the Church (Mormon Stories 2017). Tom Christofferson cited his friendship with, and regard for, Holland, but condemned Holland’s misuse of power in singling out Easton (Faith Matters 2021): …Obviously, that’s a pretty painful example of one with authority calling out or demeaning one without [power, creating a] power differential…perhaps because the remarks were delivered by [an apostle], it came across in a way that [was] felt even more painfully.
Mason challenged the use of violent metaphors in religious contexts (Faith Matters 2021): To use the language of violence, even if it’s metaphoric, in connection with this message about the LGBTQ+ community, I think it was…inartful, at the very least…the language we use matters… We know that most of that is metaphorical, but we also know that it contributed to real violence throughout history… I think we can choose language that is full of life [and] non-violent.
These commentators accepted that Holland’s intention was not to instigate violence (Faith Matters 2021): [we] want to be very clear and disabuse anyone of the notion that we think that Elder Holland was actually calling for violence of any kind… [we’re sure he] would be…horrified if anybody used his language to justify any kind of violence against any of our brothers and sisters.
However, they also agreed that the “muskets” metaphor was inappropriate as an evocative reminder of daily peril for many LGBTQ+ members (Faith Matters 2021): …for a lot of our LGBTQ+ sisters and brothers, that was extremely hard because…many individuals within it…have been victims of very real violence. Certainly, rhetorical violence…and homophobic slurs and so forth…still happens, but there’s actual violence. There are gay and lesbian and transgender and bisexual children and adults who are victimized by real violence in this country.
Other critics expressed their offence in much more direct terms. Many had experienced first-hand the historically “fraught relationship” between the Church and its LGBTQ+ community, and they associated Holland’s speech and its metaphors with actual violence and persecution. One external observer (Cooper 2021) commented: the remarks by Holland [are] “antagonistic” and “warlike”…Every student should have the freedom to be honest and open about who they are, without being subjected to dangerous rhetoric that puts them in harm’s way…Being LGBTQ+ is not a “challenge” and Holland's statement and overall speech demonstrates the “unkindness” and “crushing cruel[ty]” that he claims to condemn.
Collectively, these responses were categorized as a “firestorm” (Faith Matters 2021), with some bluntly calling the speech, and Holland himself, “homophobic” (Post-Mormon Parenting 2021). Riess (2021), an active Mormon, noted that reactions were fierce: Liberals, burned by the church’s repeated harmful actions toward the LGBTQ+ community — from its extensive politicking in California in 2008 to its terrible, short-lived policy that denied baptism to children of same-sex couples — are not likely to trust the institution or its leaders on LGBTQ+ rights anytime soon.
One critic was even more direct (Post-Mormon Parenting 2021): Jesus maybe flipped tables in the temple, but He didn't shoot anybody…there’s no compassion here…the speech takes on a much darker, much more sinister tone… he wants people to avoid divisive language…the way to deal with divisiveness is not to say shut up and get in line, stop having your opinions. The way to deal with divisiveness and people having different opinions is to preach acceptance and tolerance.
One media article noted that after the speech, “Social media and news sites have been buzzing with commentary,” with many arguing that Holland did not express the love that Christ would have: “the Messiah would stand by what is right, while finding a way to unify his flock with compassion and love” (Hooley 2021). An ex-Mormon commentator spoke of a feeling of betrayal: “his damaging words cut deep…Holland’s words represent a deep betrayal…The toxic culture causing these sentiments is heartbreaking…[they] were a blatant attempt to curb and antagonize LGBTQ+ activism” (Buening 2021). Another, “inactive” bisexual Mormon called the speech “crushingly cruel” in its “violent rhetoric,” arguing that “the cruelty is coming from inside our house” (Swenson 2021).
What seems to unite all of these reactions—although they differ widely in loyalty or negativity—is the feeling that Holland’s speech represented a retrograde step, and that the “muskets” metaphors were inappropriate and hurtful. Most expressed a sense of betrayal and a renewed insecurity about their place in a Church that they love, and hoped was a refuge from “the world.” Easton (2021) addressed this topic of fear, calling for conciliation: Let me be clear—diversity is not the same as divisiveness…While some might fear a future where more valedictorians share things like their sexual identity in their speeches, I think we should instead fear a future in which they don’t.
This message of conciliation stands in stark contrast to Holland’s speech and its deployment of the “muskets” metaphor. The Mormon LGBTQ+ community—as represented by Easton and others—might legitimately be regarded as a persecuted minority within a minority—but many of these individuals seem to be offering an “olive branch” to a Church which continues to offer them “muskets.”
Conclusion
When a senior leader of the Mormon Church delivered a speech in 2021, calling for an increased scholarly and rhetorical campaign against “the whole same-sex marriage topic,” he chose to invoke his institutional authority as an Apostle and to employ “muskets/musket fire” metaphors to reinforce his message. Elder Holland’s use of a militant metaphor provoked a “firestorm” (Faith Matters 2021) of negative reactions from LGBTQ+ Mormons, ex-Mormon critics and other commentators.
To understand the strident response to what was clearly understood as non-literal figure of speech, it was important to consider several contextual factors. Thus, this article considered the nature of metaphors in general, before looking more closely at the use of metaphors in support of the Mormon historical “persecution narrative” employed by the Church in scripture and sermons to frame its relationship with “the world,” when describing a constant, external moral and existential threat. These metaphors are also deployed to target internal dissent from individuals or communities amongst its membership.
Unfortunately, such militant metaphors have also been a feature of policy and sermons directed against the Church’s LGBTQ+ members. Indeed, while there has been some softening in language and policy in recent years, many LGBTQ+ Mormons have experienced this type of language in their Church lives, and they understand the association between hurtful language—including metaphors—and the real experience of persecution involving fear, rejection, low self-esteem, ideation and practice of self-harm and suicide, bullying, and violence.
This paper, therefore, argues that the link between threatening language and actual violence or feelings of persecution is all too real for many LGBTQ+ Mormons, and thus these feelings were triggered by Holland’s speech. It was a forceful reminder that although they have nominal “equal status” in the Church’s congregation, in reality their experience and status is less than equal, with forced celibacy and suppressed identity expression the only practical options in a heteronormative and patriarchal religious institution. In addition, the historically “fraught relationship” between their community and the Church, and the authoritative position of Holland as one of “the Lord’s anointed”—effectively speaking for God—meant that his speech and its metaphors were non-negotiable.
This “equation” of authority and precedent was deliberate; Holland knew exactly what he was doing. By invoking his Apostolic status and using militant metaphors, he was seeking to coerce his listeners into obedience as an equation of faith and membership. However, many LGBTQ+ members and their allies—accustomed to powerlessness and vulnerability in an authoritarian religious institution—rejected this equation. They were effectively asserting that their faith was inseparable from their LGBTQ+ identity. Further, it is possible that Holland’s speech was a high-stakes gamble which might “backfire” on him—by inspiring many LGBTQ+ Mormons and their allies to garner more sympathy amongst the wider membership, to become more organized, and to agitate in the pursuit of true equality.
Interestingly, this speech may represent a watershed moment for the Mormon Church—as it either adapts to the reality of a vocal, increasingly powerful minority and its supporters in its membership, or it risks becoming irrelevant to its own members and to wider society. This paper, therefore, proposes follow-up research which surveys a sizeable sample of the Church’s membership to evaluate reactions to Holland’s speech, their views of LGBTQ+ members, and to current doctrine/policy in this area. This article is limited in its scope because it functions as an exploratory study into the immediate, negative reactions to Holland’s speech, showing how these reactions are explainable by the speech’s metaphors, and historical-religious context. It also functions as an examination of how religious metaphors can be belligerent, harmful, and divisive, triggering frustration and resentment from a persecuted, vulnerable minority within a religious community.
