Religion, Gays, Suicide

Lights come up. A cemetery. An unfilled grave. A Mormon mother who is relieved that her gay son who killed himself is now free from sin and safe with God. A father who realizes that he never knew his son and insists on conducting another funeral, “here, where there are trees, random, struggling, maybe some imperfection—not in a cookie cutter brick chapel.” The partner of their son, whom they chose not to meet and who unexpectedly shows up at the gravesite.

What would they say to each other? Would there be any surprises, any insights into this awful event—for them?—for us? As a playwright and a person deeply committed to these issues, I wanted to know. I listened. Soon the three characters began to speak to me. And before long they had a story in “Facing East.”

The story consumed me. I had a unique platform from which to speak. My Mormon temple marriage to a gay man, and the many experiences that came from publishing a book on our life together and his death from AIDS (“Goodbye, I Love You”), had filled me with a realization of how badly we—society and especially religious communities such as mine—deal with homosexuality, and how condemnation and hopelessness too often drive gay people to suicide.

The suicide attempt of a gay man who had become a dear friend still haunted me. And I knew that Utah’s statistics on suicide—now placing the state first in the nation for suicides of men 15–24 (probably close to a third of those gay men)—was itself a cry for help. I knew too that all conservative religions share the same guilt, doing incredible violence to our gay people and their families when we speak so glibly of how God views homosexuals.

WHAT IS BETTER EQUIPPED to examine our guilt and point to a better way than drama? Nothing else I know of has the immediate magic that invites one person into the heart of another, the magic to shine that much-needed light through the darkness. Surprisingly, Brigham Young, soon after arriving with his pioneers in the Utah territory, said, “If I were placed on a cannibal island and given the task of educating that people, I would straightway build a theater for the purpose.” That the theater can educate, as well as entertain is, I think, why I love it. The lights on a stage—illuminating story, character, idea, failure, tragedy, triumph—can brighten the darker corners of our own minds and hearts.

“Facing East” premiered in November of 2006 in Salt Lake City with Plan-B Theatre and ran for three weeks to sold-out audiences. The Church-owned Deseret Morning News gave the play its award for the year’s “best drama.” It is scheduled now for an off-Broadway run in May/June of ’07 and a San Francisco run in August (see planbtheatre.org).

Toward the end of the play we see that the characters have learned something.

ALEX: We stand guilty, Ruth. I was the priest and you were the Levite, and we came upon the Jewish man who had been beaten and left by the side of the road. Our son.

RUTH: No!

ALEX: We were the thieves too, that stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead…The only binder of wounds I see standing here...is this despicable....outcast....unclean.... homosexual Samaritan....friend, who saw nothing but God in our son! We crossed the road and let him suffer. And the awful thing....the truly awful thing is....we are better than that!

I love that line. “We are better than that!” In the darkness of a theater that ray of light enters our minds and invites us to behave better—Mormons, Catholics, Evangelicals, Jews, people of all religions and of no religion. The conflict many families face over religion and homosexuality makes great stuff for drama. And hopefully drama can help solve those conflicts for the individuals and the families whose suffering is all too real.