You Are Precisely The Black Sheep God Intended You to Be
A former bishop’s perspective on the pain of fitting in
The following account is based on events that transpired while serving as a bishop for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.
It’s 9:30 PM on a Wednesday night and I’m sitting at my desk in the bishop’s office.
On the wall behind me hangs a vibrant rendition of Jesus cradling the lost black sheep, as captured by Mormon artist, Minerva Teichart.
In front of me, on the other side of my desk, sits Daniel. He’s bent over, head clutched in his hands.
When he finally looks up his expression is sickly, his face drained of any color, except for his big bloodshot eyes.
He begins by apologizing for taking my time.
He’s an addict, he explains. But that’s not what has brought him here tonight. He’s also homosexual, which is a greater perceived crime to Daniel than any dependency to illegal substances.
In this moment of confession his eyes fix on mine, waiting to see how I react; undoubtedly fearful that tonight could be one more blow from a priesthood leader in a lifelong fight with his identity.
I try my best to express the love and acceptance I feel for Daniel, even though we’ve just met.
Thankfully, after a brief silence, he feels he can continue.
Tears begin flowing the moment he begins his story.
He explains that he grew up in a conservative small town in the Midwest, filled past the point of cliché with people knowing everything about everyone.
Daniel knew he was different from a young age; he could feel his divergence from the fold growing wider with each year, but didn’t dare acknowledge it for fear of being cast out.
His growing fear drove him insatiably to succeed. He soon became addicted to extraordinary accomplishments in hopes of receiving everyday acceptance.
His drive to succeed, combined with natural talent and charisma, allowed Daniel to climb with ease to the top of every class in high school, summit the peak of his educational pursuits in college, and then capture his ultimate dream: a highly-coveted internship back East, available to less than a handful of America’s most promising graduates.
Flying high and removed from his conservative surroundings, Daniel desperately hoped his internship might provide a much-needed renaissance.
Instead, he discovered that his sense of not belonging was so deeply embedded that no accomplishment or distance from home could shake loose the demons in his mind.
Drugs and alcohol quickly became a way to self-medicate and drown out the discomfort of treading through life in an unnatural suit of armor.
Then one day it all unraveled.
While still back East, Daniel suffered a major breakdown. He retreated home to the Midwest and spent months, then years cycling through the throws of addiction.
Sitting together in my office, I can see that the toll of not belonging has overtaken Daniel.
His life is now driven entirely by his fears — the fear of forever being homosexual in a family of heterosexuals, a congregation of heterosexuals, a world of heterosexuals that would never understand the overwhelming discomfort that came from feeling differently than they do.
He’s spent a lifetime assuming everyone around him was white and pure while he, unfortunately, was cast as the lone black sheep.
He confesses to hating himself for who he is, considering his life a crime against God while simultaneously questioning why it had to be this way.
Listening to this confession born of self-hate, I prayed to know what I might say to help Daniel see that he was not alone and that, more importantly, he was not worthless in the sight of God.
“Daniel,” I began, “Daniel, can you look at me?”
Daniel looked up once again from his cradled hands.
“Daniel, you’re not a sin,” I continued. “Do you understand that? You’re not a sin.”
Never before had I spoken words with such conviction and desperation.
In that moment, I could detect the faintest spark of hope in Daniel’s bloodshot eyes.
It looked as though he had never considered those words before or, if he had, his self-doubt and self-loathing had long ago carried him lightyears away from any such hope.
He nodded with acknowledgment and a faint smile that added much-needed color to his cheeks.
Unfortunately, no words of mine and no time could heal Daniel’s hurt and loneliness.
He took his life three months later.
You are not alone
One of the most harmful thoughts we can entertain in life is that we alone suffer from internal demons, while the rest of the world passes us by in relative ease.
In a recent talk, Wendy Nelson, wife of the current prophet of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, reminded listeners that we are never alone in our sense of not belonging:
“It’s time to stop comparing ourselves with others. It’s time to put away those erroneous views of ourselves and others. The truth is we are not as hopelessly flawed as we may think. And others are not as perfect as they may appear.”
Whether you’re Christian, Buddhist, Muslim, Atheist, or any other degree of a denomination there’s a common principle that we all can agree on and all manage to forget on a near-daily basis: No one is perfect.
It’s not that we actually believe those around us are actually perfect. We see imperfection all around us, and yet fail to believe that anyone is as imperfect as we.
We become experts at convincing ourselves that A) no one understands our issues and B) no one struggles with it as much as we do, whatever it is.
The reality is we’re all walking messes, victims of years of life experience that have come with a personalized goodie bag of trauma, large and small.
We’ve all experienced hard things and, for the rare few that haven’t, they live in fear of the worst happening.
More importantly, we’re more beautiful because of the hard things in our lives. Hard events, especially highly traumatic events, create diversity and depth in our soul and allow us to develop empathy.
Without the lingering side effects of life experience, or “imperfections” as we see them, we’d never be able to truly understand or help a loved one in need. We’d never care to reach out because we’d have no understanding of what physical or emotional pain felt like.
It’s in our personal struggle and diversity that we find the cords to bind us all closer together.
It’s a shame too many of us don’t take more time to celebrate these parts within us, thus freeing our hearts and minds to love and accept the diversity life has to offer.
Embrace Diversity
It is time for parents to teach young people early on that in diversity there is beauty and there is strength. — Maya Angelou
I think about Daniel often, about how his life experience might have been different if he’d not had to spend so much of his life fighting the demons born out of a lack of acceptance.
He forever felt he was the ugly black sheep: lost, rejected, and diametrically different from the rest of the fold.
There was no joy that came from being different, only pain and self-torture.
What would it have taken to make black both beautiful and universal for Daniel? What could he have accomplished in life, if only he’d been freed from his barbed-wire black-and-white enclosure?
Years have passed since that fateful night with Daniel, but I spent many an evening in that bishop’s office looking up at that Minerva Teichart painting inspired by Christ’s parable:
What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?
And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing.
And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.
I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance. — Luke15:4–7
Notwithstanding the tragic circumstances of Daniel’s, I’m more grateful than ever for our brief time together.
In one exchange, he taught me an invaluable lesson that I hope to pass on to anyone that will listen, especially my children.
That we are each the black sheep, worthy and in desperate need of lovingly being carried home.
