Logs:Testimony

Testimony
Dramatis Personae Dawson, Polaris	2020-09-17 "Do you really believe all this?"
Location <PRV> VL 403 {Geekhaus} - East Village
This is a small, two-bedroom apartment, the living room semi-open to the kitchen and dining area, a single bathroom situated between the doors to the bedrooms. The common areas are beautifully appointed with solid, matching handmade wooden furniture in intricate geometric mosaics. The kitchen table is ringed with coordinated but not identical chairs, two of them modular with low scooped backs, designed with winged bodies in mind. The wide, low coffee table fits neatly into the corner of a modular sectional couch, and the immense television is enthroned in an entertainment center that also houses various consoles and video games. The walls are lined with bookshelves laden with comics, roleplaying supplements, board games, speculative fiction, and a grab-bag of technical texts. The walls in between are adorned with some framed posters of classical science fiction and fantasy media along with a few pieces of gorgeous if unusual original art. Polaris is looking a bit like a ren faire runaway today, a purple satin corset cinched over a gauzy black cotton blouse and fluffy, layered green and black skirts, her tall black boots shed by the front door to reveal purple-and-black striped hose. Her eyeshadow is a mesmerizing smokey purple, lined in metallic green, and her lipstick a soft sparkly mauve. The bounty of food she has brought with her is somewhat less anachronistic than her garb: shepherdess pie, brussels sprout mac and cheese, and cinnamon noodle kugel. "I don't have a wide range with desserts," she's not quite apologizing as she sets the oven to warm the cavalcade of casseroles, "and I had a three-pack of those casserole pans, so...uh, point is I might have gone a bit overboard?" She smiles sheepishly, brushing back a tress of green hair while her other hand plucks nervously at a tassel on her purse, decorated with celtic knotwork in green, black, and silver. "Overboard is a common theme around here. I'm sure it'll be delicious." Dawson just looks -- like Dawson, khakis and a green-trimmed grey polo shirt, his arm in its most common flicker-patterned design. He's returning a pitcher of lemonade to the fridge after pouring two glasses full. "And having leftovers is a pretty excellent problem to have." He offers one to Polaris, checking the timer on the oven before slipping back to the couch to settle onto one side of it. "I learned to cook from the school of Food Not Bombs," Polaris says, then adds, hastily, "with spices, too. I promise. Thank you." She accepts the lemonade and gratefully follows Dawson to the couch. "They're all foods that reheat well, at least." Realizing she's fidgeting with the glass, she sets it down on the coffee table, centering it carefully on its coaster. "So...I finished reading the Book of Mormon. Took way longer than expected because I ended up having to read--most of the Bible, too. Never actually did that, before." She smooths her skirts down nervously. "I was wondering if...I mean, I'd like to talk about it with you. If you don't mind? It doesn't have to happen right now, I just--" Her brows furrow. "--had some questions." "An important clarification." The smile that flits briefly across Dawson's face is amused. He curls one leg up beneath himself, turning to face Polaris; his other bounces restlessly in place. His brows lift at Polaris's halting overtures, a slower and smaller smile returning. "Yeah, I get that a lot." His fingers drum lightly at the side of his glass. "Maybe not a lot. Most people have plenty of questions without reading it. But yeah, shoot." Polaris doesn't look particularly relieved at being given leave the continue. "I'll try not to be too offensive, but--" She cuts herself off, her teeth grinding together quietly. "I haven't thought seriously about religion in like, a decade probably? And like, you're so amazing, and so religious, that I thought...yours must be kind of extraordinary. But." She finally stops fidgeting with the purse and just opens it, drawing out a Book of Mormon with a forest of colorful note-tabs protruding from its fore-edge. "Do you really believe all this? I don't mean whether you're a literalist about the ancient Jewish submarines and all, although I guess I'm also kinda curious about that." She licks her lips carefully. "I mean more like--this book is three-quarters antisemitism by volume. You don't believe that, do you?" Dawson's brows hitch up slightly, a faint widening to his eyes and a very slight flush of pink tinting his cheeks. "It's funny, people ask me all kinds of questions but it's -- not usually that one." The tap of his finger and bounce of his leg both quiet, his head dipping. "Even though that does seem like a pretty important place to start." He takes a sip of his lemonade, setting the glass aside on its own coaster after. "It feels like a bit of a copout to just say no, I don't, and leave it there. It's pretty ingrained in the culture I was raised in. There's -- a lot of things I had to work at unlearning." "Oh, okay." Polaris's shoulders relax visibly and she allows an embarrassed smile. "I mean. It's not like Christianity in general doesn't have a serious antisemitism problem, it's just..." She lays her fingers delicately on the cover of the book. "...written out so plain and thorough in here." She tilts her head. "I'm kind of horrified people don't ask about that, but I guess you're still talking mostly about those who haven't read it. I admit I had some pretty wild ideas about Mor--uh, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, too." She chuckles, blushing faintly. "There's stuff in here that is extraordinary--radical, even. But I still can't quite square it with..." She gestures at all of Dawson. "...you. What made you decide to stick with the Church, despite all you had to unlearn, despite the homophobia--despite everything?" "People mostly ask about underwear and getting a planet after I die. Occasionally the homophobia -- moreso now than before I came out. It's -- actually kind of appalling how few people ask about the white supremacy." Dawson rests one hand on his knee, leg returning to its previous bounce. "But then -- that's kind of the problem, isn't it? The antisemitism, the racism, they're in there because they're so American. Those things are also a really enmeshed part of all American Christianity -- maybe not written out the same way but just as inherent. I feel like a lot of people go -- one of two ways. Like they don't know that much about the Church and the parts they do here just jive with pre-existing Christian ideas so they don't question it much -- or they know more about it and interrogate it in a way they rarely do with, I don't know, Catholics or Baptists where supercessionism or a centuries-long commitment to racial inequity is just as heavy." His eyes lower, head giving a small shake. "As to why I've stayed -- I --" His flush deepens, and there's a softer note to his smile. "How much time do you have?" Polaris blushes deeper. "Special underwear doesn't seem that far out. I was mainly thinking of the planet thing, which--I don't know, seems kinda lonely." She curls both her legs onto the couch, smoothing her skirt down again. "I guess...I'm kind of more in the second camp. I'm not unaware of how other Christian churches are terrible about white supremacy, but I am used to them. Having it laid out like this? In scripture?" She lays her whole palm on the book this time. "I guess it seems like that must make it easier to defend, harder to refute." At his question her eyes widen. "I don't have any plans until work tomorrow. Not--" She adds hastily, "--that I thought you were inviting me to stay the night. I just mean that I'd love to hear, no matter how long it takes." "It's -- not like the musical," Dawson admits with a laugh. "There's nothing lonely about spending eternity with the people you love." His fingers trail against the seam of his pants, rubbing at the stitching there. "I've never been a part of any other Church, so I don't know. In some ways, I think it's easier? Don't -- mistake me, I'm not saying it's a good thing. But a lot of the parts we need to push back on, work through, they're so open. Trying to have conversations with other Christians about the racism or antisemitism in our history, a lot of people just fully deny it's there at all. It's --" He huffs out a quiet breath. "Well, not that no Saints try and deny it in our Church either. But the evidence is a lot plainer." Dawson falls briefly quiet, after this, reaching to pick up his glass again. Take a longer sip; by the time he puts the lemonade back down some of the red has faded from his cheeks. "I mean --" His eyes shift to the book, lingering on its cover. "There's stuff in there that's extraordinary. Radical. I've had a lot of people ask how I turned out like this despite the Church but not that many interested in understanding how foundational it was to who I am. There are so many parts of it that I really do think are worth keeping -- that make this world a kinder place to live in. You know where this misconception about our own planet comes from?" He's sitting up a little straighter, now, fingers tapping an erratic beat against his leg, his words coming just a little faster with a warmer, brighter energy. "That's not, really, what we believe. But the idea that we're all -- truly, actually children of God, that that means something real and present, that every single one of us has the same access to divinity, to the Kingdom of Heaven, to divine revelation, it's -- easier to ridicule that than to reckon with what it means if every single one of us has the potential to --" His eyes dip again, his hand turning up before it falls back to his knee. "To work miracles." Polaris's wide eyes stay fixed on Dawson as he speaks, mesmerized. At some point she has even started leaning in, her arms wrapped around the corset as if she were cold, though the temperature is perfectly pleasant. "Oh," she says softly, at a delay. "Oh. That's--beautiful. Sorry. Um." She looks up, blinks away the unshed tears in her pale hazel eyes. "That doesn't seem like anything to ridicule at all. But..." She sniffles, searching his face for a moment. "But, if we're--truly, actually, all of us--children of God, then why is it so urgent to get people to convert? I can't see a good, loving father caring less for the children who believe different things from Him." Dawson's eyes open a little wider, his head shaking. "Caring less? No, that's not -- there isn't a single person on earth who our Heavenly Parents care less about. I'm not more loved because I'm faithful, I'm faithful because I love Them. And I --" A small frown crosses his face, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek momentarily. "I have my own feelings about conversion. Different, now, than when I was on mission." His fingers curl down harder against his knee, then relax again. "The Church, the support of the community, knowing that our Heavenly Parents are there and love me -- it isn't an urgency in the sense that I think something bad will happen to people who don't know. It's just -- if you knew something wonderful, something uplifting, something that helps get you through the times that everything else seems bleak -- I don't want to keep that to myself." One of his shoulders lifts, just a small hitch. "I know it isn't that straightforward. I don't try to convert people any more, I don't want to -- to push something where it's unneeded or unwanted. But people who want to know, who want to talk about this, I'm never -- not going to be happy to share the joy and the comfort that faith has brought me." "Parents?" Polaris cocks her head. "Is this like a...Trinity situation?" She bows her head. "I don't think I would have gotten all that just reading the book, to be honest. God -- Heavenly Parents? -- seems very...I don't know. Wrathful. I mean that's not...I also felt like that back when I was Catholic. I never felt loved. I felt judged." She's tearing up again. "Sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me. I just...actually want to have faith now, but I don't think I've ever had it. Not really." The tears finally do break loose, two shining trails down her pale cheeks. She covers her mouth with her hand. "But. You can--decide to love, right?" Dawson shifts a little closer, only now reaching to rest his hand over her free one. "There's nothing wrong with you. It's not always easy to --" He hesitates, biting down at his lip. "I love my God. And I love my community. They bring a richness to my life that I wouldn't trade for anything. But the Church, all churches, they're made up of people -- who can be loving and welcoming, can be flawed and angry, and what we see here on Earth, a lot of times it's going to be filtered through the lens of the people who are sharing it." His cheeks darken again, and he starts to lift his hand toward Polaris's face. He doesn't quite complete the gesture -- drops his hand back to the couch, and in the next moment there's a small flutter-flash of motion; there and gone so quickly it hardly seems he left. A box of tissues is, now, sitting on the table by Polaris's glass. "I don't want that to sound like it's always a bad thing. It just means it's our job to model what God's love looks like, what it can be like in someone's life. A lot of times we fall short, do things that make God's love seem inaccessible or unwelcoming. Love is -- always a decision, I think. It just -- shouldn't have to be a painful one." "That's not a bad thing," Polaris agrees, her voice breaking. She tugs a tissue loose from free the box that Dawson brought and presses carefully at the dampness on her cheeks, though the tears keep trickling, slow but steady. "If more Christians were like you--maybe I'd have never left my own church, who knows. I had all these questions because I wanted to understand your faith--because I wanted to understand you. But I think I was missing the point. It's not just about you. Or me." She shifts closer, blushing, stops short of touching Dawson. "I wasn't really thinking about God as if He--They?--were an active participant. Now. Still." She lets out a long, shaky breath. "Shouldn't have to be," she echoes. Her arms coil around her torso tighter. When she speaks again, her voice is very soft, "I used to do a lot of praying." Her eyes are wide and bloodshot. "How do you know if He answers?" "I don't -- always know. Sometimes that's a conversation that feels very opaque. But sometimes --" Dawson bows his head, his left hand moving to trace over the painted designs on his right. "We're here, now, right? Sometimes it's a lot clearer." Polaris sucks in a quick breath, looking up at Dawson with a kind of quiet awe. "You prayed for me? Or, for me to...like, see the light?" She blushes again, chuckles breathily. "I dunno if I'm actually seeing any light, but I do feel. Light." Her brows furrow. "I also don't actually know how any of this works, but. Will you pray with me?" Dawson does reach again, now, to take Polaris's hand in his. His eyes widen just slightly before he says anything, though, and what comes out is: "Oh that's probably hypoglycemia. We should get those casseroles." His smile is brighter than before, and he squeezes Polaris's hand lightly. "And then pray."