Chapter 7
SAMUEL
Maria sat across from us at Granja M. Viader, her coffee steaming between her hands. The café smelled of chocolate and butter, warm and inviting despite the January chill outside. I'd chosen a table near the window, where we could watch pedestrians hurry past on Carrer d'en Xuclà.
"So," Maria said, setting down her cup. "Eternal families. That's what you wanted to discuss?"
"It's one of the most beautiful doctrines of the restored gospel," I said, opening my quad to Doctrine and Covenants.
The words came automatically, rehearsed since the MTC.
"Through temple ordinances, families can be sealed together not just for this life, but for all eternity.
Death doesn't have to separate us from those we love. "
"That does sound beautiful." Maria tilted her head. "But what are the requirements? Who qualifies for this eternal family?"
"A man and woman married in the temple," I said. "Sealed by priesthood authority. Their children are born in the covenant, automatically sealed to them."
"And people who aren't Mormon?"
"Members of the Church," I corrected gently. "And they can still achieve exaltation through proxy work after death, if they accept the gospel in the spirit world."
"So they have to convert. Even after they're dead."
"It's giving them the choice," Vance said quietly. He hadn't contributed much to the lesson so far, just watched with that careful, assessing expression. "The ordinances are performed on their behalf, but their agency remains intact."
"What about people who never marry?" Maria asked.
"They'll have the opportunity in the next life," I said. "If they remain faithful."
"People who can't have children?"
"The same. All blessings will be available to the faithful in the eternities."
Maria took a sip of her coffee, studying me over the rim. "What about people who are gay?"
The question landed like a stone in still water. My prepared answer lodged in my throat.
"The Church teaches that marriage is between a man and a woman," I said. The words felt thick and wrong on my tongue. "It's part of God's eternal plan. Same-sex attraction is... it's a trial. A test of faithfulness."
"A test." Maria's voice remained neutral, but her eyes sharpened. "So being gay is a test from God?"
"Members who experience same-sex attraction are asked to remain celibate," I continued, pulling from the approved language I'd studied in the MTC. "They can still participate fully in the Church. They can hold callings, serve missions, attend the temple. They just can't act on those feelings."
"So they're supposed to be alone forever."
"Not alone. They have the Church family. And if they remain faithful, those attractions will be... corrected in the next life."
The words tasted like ash. Like poison. Each syllable felt like swallowing glass.
"Corrected," Maria repeated. "Like a defect."
"It's not—" I gripped my quad harder. "It's about achieving our divine potential. Becoming like our Heavenly Father."
"Who is apparently straight."
Vance shifted beside me. I could feel his attention like heat against my side.
"The plan of salvation requires certain conditions," I said. My voice sounded wooden even to my own ears. "Exaltation comes through eternal marriage between a man and woman. That's doctrine."
"And if someone is gay and can't change? Can't want what they're supposed to want?" Maria leaned forward. "Are they just damned?"
My throat closed. The café seemed too warm suddenly, too bright. The smell of chocolate turned cloying and sick.
"They can still achieve a degree of glory," I forced out. "The terrestrial kingdom is still beautiful. They just won't have the opportunity for eternal increase. For their own family."
"Because they loved the wrong person."
"Because they couldn't fulfill the commandments necessary for exaltation."
Silence fell. Maria studied me with something that might have been pity.
"That seems cruel," she said finally. "If God made them that way."
"God didn't—" I stopped. Swallowed. Started again. "It's a trial. Like any other trial. We all have our tests."
"Some tests seem harder than others."
"The Lord doesn't give us more than we can bear."
The platitude rang hollow even as I spoke it. How many times had I heard that phrase? How many times had I repeated it to myself, alone in the dark, praying desperately for the feelings to change?
"I think," Vance said quietly, "that might not be the complete picture."
I turned to stare at him. He wasn't looking at me, just at Maria, his expression carefully neutral.
"The Church is still figuring out how to address this," he continued. "The doctrine hasn't changed, but the understanding of it continues to develop. It's... complicated."
"It sounds cruel," Maria said again.
"Yes," Vance agreed. "It does."
The agreement felt like betrayal. Like something cracking open between us.
"The gospel is perfect even if we don't understand every part of it yet," I said. My voice came out sharper than intended. "We trust in God's plan."
"Even when it condemns people for who they love?"
"It doesn't condemn—" I stopped. My hands were shaking. I pressed them flat against my quad. "The Church teaches that everyone is a child of God. Everyone has worth."
"Just not equal access to salvation."
"We should probably continue this another time," Vance said. "When we can all think about it more."
Maria looked between us, then nodded slowly. "Alright. But I want you both to think about what you're really teaching. What you're really asking people to believe about God's love."
She gathered her bag and stood. "Thank you for your time, Elders."
We watched her leave, the bell above the door chiming as she stepped into the cold afternoon.
I didn't move. Couldn't move. The words I'd spoken sat heavy in my chest, each one a weight pressing down.
Those attractions will be corrected in the next life.
They just can't act on those feelings.
Can't want what they're supposed to want.
"We should go," Vance said.
I stood mechanically, followed him out onto the street. We walked in silence toward the metro, maintaining the proper distance. Two missionaries in white shirts and ties, indistinguishable from thousands of others.
The apartment felt too small when we returned. I went straight to my desk, opened my scriptures, stared at the pages without seeing them.
"That was rough," Vance said behind me.
I didn't respond.
"Price."
"We taught the doctrine," I said flatly. "We did what we were supposed to do."
"You gave her the party line."
"It's not a party line. It's doctrine."
"It's cruel." His voice had an edge now. "You heard yourself. 'Those attractions will be corrected in the next life.' Like being gay is a disease."
"I didn't say disease."
"You might as well have."
I spun to face him. "What did you want me to say? We're missionaries. We teach Church doctrine."
"You could have shown some compassion."
"I did! I said they're children of God. I said they have worth."
"Right up until you told her they're broken and need to be fixed."
The words hit like a fist to the chest. "That's not what I said."
"It's exactly what you said." Vance crossed his arms. "You told her gay people have to be alone their entire lives, that their feelings are a trial from God, and if they're good enough, maybe they'll be corrected after they die. How is that not calling them broken?"
"Because it's doctrine!" My voice rose. "It's what the prophet teaches. What the scriptures say."
"The scriptures also condone slavery and polygamy."
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because—" I stopped. My hands were shaking again. "Because the living prophet receives continuing revelation. The doctrine on marriage between a man and woman is clear."
"So was the doctrine on Black people and the priesthood. Until it wasn't."
"Don't." The word came out sharp. "Don't compare this."
"Why not? Maybe the Church is wrong about this too."
The blasphemy of it stole my breath. "The Church can't be wrong. If the Church is wrong about this, then everything is wrong. The entire plan of salvation falls apart."
"Or maybe," Vance said quietly, "the plan is bigger than we understand. Maybe God's love doesn't have the conditions we've put on it."
"That's not faith. That's wishful thinking."
"And what you're doing is faith? Telling people they're fundamentally incompatible with God's plan unless they deny who they are?"
"They're not denying who they are. They're overcoming man's natural tendencies. We all have to do that."
"Natural tendencies." Vance's laugh was bitter. "That's what you're calling it."
"It's scriptural language!"
"It's dehumanizing language."
I turned away from him, gripping the edge of my desk. The wood bit into my palms. "Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"Attacking the doctrine. Attacking me."
"I'm not attacking you."
"You are! You're making me the villain for teaching what I've been sent here to teach."
"I'm trying to get you to think about what you're actually saying."
"I know what I'm saying!" The shout burst out of me. "I know exactly what I'm saying and it's killing me!"
The silence that followed was absolute.
I stood frozen, horror washing through me in cold waves. The words hung in the air between us, impossible to take back.
"Price," Vance said softly.
"Forget it." I grabbed my scriptures, my journal, anything within reach. "I'm going to study in the other room."
"Samuel."
The use of my first name stopped me. He never called me Samuel. Always Price, always the formal distance of companionship.
I didn't turn around. Couldn't look at him.
"What Maria asked," he said quietly. "About people who can't want what they're supposed to want. You were talking about yourself, weren't you?"
My throat closed completely.
"I need to study," I managed.
"Samuel—"
"Don't." My voice broke. "Please don't."
I walked into the bedroom and closed the door. Leaned against it, scriptures clutched to my chest, and tried to remember how to breathe.
Through the door, I heard nothing. No footsteps. No movement.
Just silence, heavy and damning as any testimony I'd ever borne.