Episode 74: Catching stones, not throwing them with Jeff Andersen Part 2

You mentioned that when you started your Instagram account, you were not as outspoken of an ally in the beginning, and that it was even an anonymous account at first. But then you became more vocal, and when ward members found you, it was no longer anonymous. I’ve noticed in your posts that you’re such a fierce ally. I’d love to hear more about that evolution—where that journey came from for you.

Thank you. I remember the first time I really began to think about this deeply. Growing up, I felt like my family and I fit in the box, fit the mold. How my LGBTQ+ siblings or fellow congregants felt was not something I had given much thought to for a large part of my life. That breaks my heart now because I know there were people, not in my immediate circle but in my extended community, who came out later, and I wish I’d been more aware so I could have shown up for them.

When we were living in Utah, I met a wonderful person in my ward. We moved there after he and his wife had divorced, and it was because he was gay. I remember sitting in Sunday School, hearing him share heartfelt thoughts, and I thought, we should invite him over for dinner. That was unusual for us—we’re not the type to invite people over often—but we did. During that dinner, we learned he was gay. He was out but not very publicly, and he told us how much it meant that we’d invited him over after everything that had happened.

He was—and is—one of the most Christlike people I know: kind, humble, deeply spiritual. That was the first time I really felt the pull between “this person is gay” and “this person is Christlike.” I had been taught those two things couldn’t coexist. But that isn’t true. Not at all. He wanted desperately to belong in the church, and I remember thinking, Who’s going to do something about this?

We moved soon after that, and then the pandemic hit, but I kept thinking about it. I realized there had to be so many more people who wanted to be at church but didn’t feel welcome. That should never be the case. Yet I also knew that our church, at least in the way teachings are presented, doesn’t always help people feel safe or included.

When I started teaching seminary, that reality hit even harder. I knew statistically that in a class of 20 students, probably four or five identified as LGBTQ+. My goal was to help every student know they were loved, that they were welcome, that they could have a relationship with their Heavenly Parents, and that being LGBTQ+ is not wrong—it’s beautiful.

After class, a few students would come up and share how much it meant to them when we talked about God’s infinite love. One student said, “I’ve never understood God’s love like this before—how big and perfect it is, no matter who you are.” And I thought, What a tragedy that someone could go to church every week for 15 years and never feel that.

That realization kept me up at night. I had to do something. I couldn’t just reach the 20 kids in my class; there were thousands out there feeling the same pain. That’s why I started the Instagram account—to tell them they are loved. Since then, I’ve had so many beautiful conversations with LGBTQ+ individuals who’ve shared experiences where they felt their Heavenly Parents’ love exactly as they are. It’s amazing.

You’re such an ally. You’re speaking words these kids may be hearing for the very first time. God bless you—we need more people like you, more Stone Catchers.

Yes! The “Stone Catchers” name actually came from that quote by Elder Renlund. I wanted the account to be recognizable to members of my church but also clearly about inclusion and compassion. My sister came up with it—she remembered the quote, and it just fit perfectly.

We are communal people; we long for true connection. But we can’t connect authentically unless we’re being our true selves. To do that, we need safety—safe spaces, open dialogue, permission to question and doubt. What can congregations do to create more of that openness?

For me, it starts with realizing that my relationship with my Heavenly Parents is what matters most. If that’s in a good place, everything else falls into perspective. I don’t need to pretend to be something I’m not or believe things I don’t in order to have that relationship.

The truth is, everyone in church believes a little differently. Some differences are big, some small, but we all interpret faith uniquely. Unfortunately, we get hung up on those differences. The people most open-minded often end up feeling pushed out because their perspectives aren’t in line with the majority. That’s tragic.

We need to learn to listen instead of defend. It’s human nature—and common in religion—to react by protecting what we think is right. But that instinct shuts down understanding. Changing that habit, choosing to listen first, could change everything.

You’re right. We all believe a little differently. Some call that nuance—it’s really just awareness.

Exactly. And some differences are culturally accepted while others aren’t. It varies so much by congregation. But this isn’t new. Even in the New Testament, Paul addressed it in Romans: some people followed dietary laws, some didn’t; some worshiped on one day, others another. He told them to knock it off—believe what you believe, but don’t condemn others for seeing it differently.

Romans 14 is one of my favorite chapters for that reason. Paul writes, “Destroy not with meat one for whom Christ died.” I think about that verse constantly. We’re still doing the same thing—condemning others for living or believing differently—when Christ and Paul both taught us not to. It’s not a new problem. Two thousand years later, we still haven’t figured it out.

It’s fascinating, the parallels.

It really is. I feel like if Paul wrote us a letter today, it would sound a lot like Romans.

You talk a lot about grace. I know we touched on that earlier, but I’d love to hear more.

I love that question. When I first saw the title of your podcast, I misread it as Beyond the Shadow of a Doubt. But that little “a” makes all the difference. Beyond the Shadow of Doubt is such a powerful phrase. Doubt does cast a shadow, and we’re often told that if we have doubts, something’s wrong with us—that we’re not faithful enough, not praying enough, not doing enough. I used to think that way.

But for me, living beyond the shadow of doubt means shifting from faith as obligation to faith as trust. I’ve started replacing the word “faith” in scripture with “trust.” Faith often comes with baggage—rules, expectations, performance. But trust? Trust is relational.

I no longer doubt whether my life—or anyone else’s—is lining up with what God wants. I trust that each person has their own path back to their Heavenly Parents, and that God knows what each of us needs. My path will look different than yours, and that’s okay. Trusting that truth removes the shadow of doubt. I don’t need to worry about what others think my journey should be. I only need to walk mine.

That’s beautiful. Faith and doubt really are two sides of the same coin—you can’t have one without the other. Moving forward in trust feels like the natural evolution of faith.

You’ve shared so many profound insights today. Before we wrap up, a few quick questions to help listeners get to know you.

Favorite book?

The New Kind of Christianity by Brian McLaren. It completely changed how I see faith—opened a whole new world for me.

Introvert or extrovert?

Introvert, for sure. I’ve learned to fake extroversion when needed, but I recharge alone.

Favorite artist?

Tara and Sage. I have two of her pieces behind me—For God Is Love and Love at Home with a big rainbow. Her work is inclusive and powerful. One of her paintings shows Jesus with His arms around two children in rainbow clothing. I displayed it every day during my first semester teaching seminary. For Christmas, we gave each student a print of one of her pieces. Several chose that one. It meant a lot to them—and to me.

Night owl or morning person?

Depends on the season. I follow the sun—night owl in winter, morning person in summer.

Still or sparkling water?

Diet soda. Diet Mountain Dew, to be exact.

Celebrity crush?

Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. My wife teases me, but I’ll own it.

Furthest place traveled?

Indonesia. It was incredible—Eastern culture, rituals, sacred places.

If listeners want to connect, where can they find you?

Instagram: @latter.day.stonecatchers. That’s where I’m most active. I also co-host The Latter-Day Stone Catchers Podcast, where we follow the Come, Follow Me curriculum through a loving, inclusive lens—creating a safe space for those who don’t always feel welcome in traditional church settings.

Thank you so much for being here and sharing your heart.

Actually, can I tell one more story?

A former seminary student of mine recently spoke in church. She told a story from class where we’d talked about the woman taken in adultery—how the people condemned her and Jesus said, “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.” We discussed what it means to be “stone catchers.”

She remembered asking, “If Jesus didn’t want people to do that, why would He have given that law in the first place?” I didn’t have a perfect answer. I said, “I don’t know. Maybe it was misunderstood. Maybe that wasn’t the original intention.”

She later told me that my saying, “I don’t know,” was one of the most powerful things she’d ever heard from a teacher. It made her realize she didn’t have to have all the answers all the time. That moment reminded me how freeing it is to admit uncertainty. It invites connection. It normalizes doubt. Sometimes the holiest words we can say are, “I don’t know.”

You’re right—there’s so much more we don’t know than we do. And maybe that’s the point—to talk about it honestly, as the finite beings we are, and to keep learning together.

Absolutely. I know a lot less now than I did ten years ago—but what I do know is this: we should love our neighbors. That, I know for sure.