I have three degrees from BYU (which I lovingly refer to as my “three degrees of glory”) and I worked there as an Honor Code administrator from 2019-2023. I spent 12 years of my adult life on that campus. So I say this with no hyperbole and a bit of embarrassment–Brigham Young University is my favorite place on the planet.
It’s been almost a year and a half since I left my job at BYU and I feel it’s time to share some stories about what it was like to be an openly gay employee. BYU employs over 6,000 people so there is a wide range of experiences and I only speak for myself. I hope anyone who reads this will understand how incredibly wonderful it was to work at BYU, while also painful and difficult at times.
When I applied to work in the Honor Code Office I shared in my cover letter that I was gay. I did not want to work anywhere that I couldn’t be open about my orientation. I literally jumped for joy when I was offered the job. Just a few weeks later the Chairman of the Board of Trustees gave a devotional at BYU where he spoke extensively about the LGBTQ community. After the devotional I was working in my office when one of my new colleagues popped in to ask how I was doing. We didn’t know each other well, but he thought I might have some feelings about the devotional. I told him everything, absolutely everything I was feeling. To his credit, this near stranger listened with curiosity and compassion and asked a lot of great questions. I’m sure he didn’t agree with everything I said, and I didn’t need him to. I was just grateful that he cared to ask. This coworker would become a dear friend.
I found this same pattern repeated with all my colleagues. I was genuinely cared for, listened to, and valued. When the Honor Code changed abruptly in 2020 and we were told that BYU no longer prohibited same-sex romantic behavior, I was stunned. I was less stunned (but completely devastated) when clarification came days later that same-sex romantic behavior was actually still against the rules. Many LGBTQ students felt hurt and betrayed. Students who had stopped by my office crying tears of joy days before returned after the announcement crying tears of anger and fear.
I was invited to a few meetings to discuss how the campus could move forward after this sudden pendulum swing. No one in any of those meetings could dictate what the Honor Code included, that was a Board of Trustees level decision, but I was invited to share my perspectives. I repeatedly asserted my belief that same-sex dating should be allowed at BYU. I was never reprimanded or disciplined for holding and sharing that position (the same was also true when I shared that I thought beards should be allowed). While my view did not prevail, I felt genuinely respected by everyone in those meetings. As I left one meeting, a high level administrator shook my hand and said, “We are so blessed to have you here at BYU.” I felt like I was the lucky one.
A year and a half later in the summer of 2021, a two page typed letter arrived in my office mailbox. The author had read an article I’d written in Y Magazine and was deeply concerned that BYU would employ someone like me (you can read the offending article here). In the letter (that was longer than my article) he complained about me and stated that he was a longtime donor and would no longer be giving money to BYU because of me. At the end of the letter he listed all the people who he was sending this same letter to. I was by far the least important person on that list. I was hurt and confused, but I wasn’t scared. My colleagues at BYU knew me and they trusted me and I knew they had my back.
A month later a member of the Board of Trustees gave an address at BYU where he quoted a letter from a concerned parent. I thought of the letter I had recently received. He spoke with concern about a student who had commandeered a graduation speech by coming out in the middle of it. He also spoke of divisive symbols and flag waving. He didn’t specify what symbols he was referring to, but given the LGBTQ context of his remarks I assumed he was talking about rainbows and pride flags.
It felt like the world shifted underneath me that day. I was no longer sure what I was allowed to say about my orientation at work. Had I commandeered the BYU TEDx event when I came out in my talk? Was my rainbow ring divisive? Was I allowed to say I was gay when I guest lectured in classes? I was the same, but the university environment suddenly felt different.
I felt a weight bearing down on me in the days after the talk. My boss’s boss sat with me on a bench as I shared my fears, hurt, and confusion. As I cried he just listened. I only ever felt love and care from the people at BYU who knew me. It was the people who didn’t know me that scared me.
A few weeks later I spoke at an event on campus centered on belonging. I asked if it would be okay for me to come out in my remarks. One of the organizers said, “I think it’s better you don’t.” So I didn’t. As I got ready to walk onto the stage I slipped my rainbow ring off my finger and stashed it in my pocket, not wanting to be accused of displaying a divisive symbol. Later during the event, a musical performer came out as LGBTQ in between songs. Right after this disclosure I overheard one administrator say to another, “They won’t be performing here again.” Coming out had just gotten them cancelled.
A few months later I was called into a meeting with a high level administrator. At the beginning of the meeting I was assured that I wasn’t in trouble. I was then told that I had said something that needed to be addressed. I had recently spoken at a fireside that wasn’t affiliated with BYU about how to minister to LGBTQ Latter-day Saints. A concerned attendee wrote a letter to the Commissioner of Church Education which was then forwarded to the president of BYU who asked this administrator to speak with me. The concern was that I had said that prophets aren’t fax machines for God. I explained that He doesn’t just put words into their minds that then came out exactly as they were communicated, but that divine inspiration was filtered through the prophet’s own words and life experiences. I had taken this idea from an article written by a BYU religion professor that was published by BYU. “You need to be more careful to not say anything that could be interpreted as you not sustaining the Brethren,” I was advised. I accepted the counsel and stopped using that analogy, with a new understanding that concerned letters would be read and acted on. And that a straight religion professor could say things that I couldn’t.
On another occasion my bishop told me that the Ecclesiastical Clearance Office had recently called him three times to ask about me. After the third call he told them not to call back, that he had already told them I was worthy to work at BYU and he didn’t need to tell them again. A few days later I started sobbing uncontrollably in my car. I was overwhelmed with panic that someone was trying to get me fired. My reaction was so strong and unexpected that I made an appointment with a therapist to talk through what I was experiencing. I reached out to a therapist who also worked at BYU so he would understand the context of my situation. I told him about my sobbing episode and he said it was a stress response to months of fear and hypervigilance. In our second meeting he bluntly told me, “Ben, the truth is that you might get fired. That could actually happen, and the sooner you accept that reality the better you’ll feel.” I nodded my head. He was right. Simply acknowledging that reality did make me feel better, like I had a little bit of control. He also encouraged me to get more information about the calls from the Ecclesiastical Clearance Office. So I did some digging and learned that since I had recently applied for three jobs at BYU, the ECO had called my bishop after each application. The bonfire of terror I had felt was immediately reduced to the low simmer of fear I was growing accustomed to.
Two months before I left BYU, I was called into a meeting with a VP that I had only talked to in passing. This meeting haunted me for months after it happened so I just reread my journal entry about it to make sure I was remembering it correctly. The VP told me that he hadn’t read my book or listened to my podcast and that all he knew about me was what other people had told him. He then went into lecture mode explaining the importance of being committed to Jesus Christ, focusing on Him in all we do at BYU, and that our job was to strengthen students’ testimonies. It felt like I was being reprimanded and corrected. I was really confused about why I was being lectured by someone who didn’t even know me about the importance of doing things I already did. After what felt like a very long time, I interrupted him and said, “I don’t know why we’re having this conversation. I am deeply committed to the gospel of Jesus Christ and the mission of BYU. I don’t know where you are on Thursday evenings, but I’m working in the temple every week.” I shared that I had four pictures in my office that represented the Mission and Aims of BYU and that I used them as conversation starters to talk with every student I met with about the university’s mission.
He then explained that the Commissioner of Church Education had reached out to the BYU president to express concern about something I had said in my presentation at the BYU Religious Freedom Annual Review. The president then asked this VP to address the concern with me. He reminded me that during the Q&A portion I was asked why so many LGBTQ people leave the Church. As part of my answer I said that some members are excommunicated for marrying same-sex partners. This VP then instructed me not to share this anymore. I said, “But it’s true. The Church does excommunicate some people in same-sex marriages.” He replied, “It might be true, but it's not helpful.”
The meeting lasted for an hour and a half and the VP spoke about 80% of the time. I walked out of his office confused about why I had been reprimanded. This meeting was so different from the thousands of other conversations I had had with colleagues at the university. I walked out of the building feeling like I was a problem that needed to be managed.
Two months later I quit.
A year later I stood in a hallway wearing a brand new Utah Valley University t-shirt. As a newly minted UVU professor I had been asked to help out at new student orientation. A sea of freshmen passed by me as I stood in the hallway. One of them walked up to me and asked, “Are you Ben Schilaty?” “Indeed I am,” I replied. He then said, “I’m bi and just got home from my mission. Your podcast changed my life. Can I give you a hug?” We hugged and I told him to swing by my office some time and I’d take him to lunch. I didn’t think much of it.
The next day my new supervisor approached me. “Ben, we need to talk about what happened yesterday when you hugged that student. Someone from the dean’s office saw that interaction and heard what you said.” My heart sank as I remembered a time at BYU when I was accused of flirting with a male student (which I had not done) and a formal complaint had been written about me. I had just started this job at UVU and it seemed I was already getting in trouble. Then she continued, “The administrator got emotional as she told me about seeing you talk with that student. She told me to thank you for already serving our students, and to let you know that we are so lucky to have you here at UVU.”
I was shocked. This is the story I tell when friends ask me how working at UVU is different than working at BYU. I had been primed to be afraid at BYU and now I didn't have to be afraid.
The truth is that I miss BYU. Working there was my dream come true. It was my home for many years and I thrived there for a long time. My day-to-day life there was wonderful, but it was accompanied by a fear that if I didn’t talk about being gay in the “right” way, I’d get in trouble. And this fear was not irrational.
As I’ve shared these stories with friends, a common response has been, “Well, things were so stressful because you’re a public figure. Being so open in your book, podcast, and presentations brings added scrutiny that wouldn’t have existed if you didn’t share so much.” I think this is true. If I had just not talked about my orientation or shared my lived experiences many of these painful moments would not have happened. But I would have felt a worse kind of pain.
The deeper pain of hiding.
Five months after I was hired at BYU I was invited to participate on a campus wide panel called “Reconciling Faith and Sexuality.” There were only a handful of openly gay employees so I was the only gay person on the panel. The JSB auditorium was filled to capacity as the moderator started the event by reading my bio, including the fun fact I’d included: “Ben still wears his retainers every night.” Not realizing that our mics were already on, I leaned over to my colleague and joked, “Gotta keep something straight.” The whole auditorium heard my comment and laughed. The audience then noticed the startled look of horror on my face, and a second wave of louder laughter filled the room. Many of the faces I saw in the audience had looked tense, unsure, and nervous. Then that moment of levity shifted the feeling in the room. This wasn’t going to be a depressing or prescriptive conversation, but one filled with joy, hope, and authenticity.
During the panel discussion I was asked how I move forward in the Church as a single gay man. I shared Paul’s analogy of the Body of Christ and how we are all given different gifts, talents, and experiences on purpose, and that our uniqueness has a divine origin. “What if,” I said, “our sexuality isn’t a trial or temptation, but a God given gift?” And then I paused for a moment. A thought had just popped into my head that hadn’t occurred to me until that precise moment. “There are things in this Church and at this university that a single gay man can do that a married straight man can’t. And I’m going to strive to do those things.”
The questions from this panel discussion inspired me to start the podcast “Questions from the Closet.” The very podcast that the freshman at UVU later told me changed his life. This moment of openness and story sharing at BYU wasn’t just a moment, but a catalyst that led to more good.
Paul taught that “those members of the body, which seem to be more feeble, are necessary. And those members of the body, which we think to be less honourable, upon these we bestow more abundant honour…” (1 Cor 12:22-23).
The Body of Christ is only complete when every member is included. And BYU was a place where I always felt valued and included by those who knew me, and sometimes treated with fear and suspicion by those who didn’t.