Schuyler Bailar reads the invitation glowing from his iPhone and tries to tamp down the nerves already rising like water. His racing mind spirals around the question sent to him in a text. It’s the last week of October, and Bailar is in Provo, Utah, attending a conference at Brigham Young University. With his Harvard swimming season opener just nine days away, Bailar had inquired about accessing BYU’s pool, so he could squeeze in a workout. He expected to receive a window of hours the pool would be open. He did not expect to receive this: a personal message from a BYU swim coach with not only the pool’s hours, but also an invitation to join the team’s practice. The kind gesture is loaded with complexity for Bailar, a transgender swimmer who was recruited to the Harvard women’s swim team before beginning his transition in 2014 and joining the men’s. He was wary to step onto the campus of BYU, the flagship university of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He is here because, for the first time, BYU is hosting Common Ground, a program sponsored by the NCAA that brings together people in sports from the LGBTQ community and the religious community for deep conversations — the kind that are rare in a polarized country where the two seldom intersect, much less interact. Bailar knows about BYU’s stringent honor code, which forbids “homosexual behavior” and has been criticized by many in the LGBTQ community and beyond. So when the 22-year-old packed a couple of business casual outfits and his Speedo to board a plane for Utah, he also carried with him a web of preconceptions. Those notions compound an already nerve-inducing experience for Bailar. Before diving into any new pool, he can’t help but worry: Will someone recognize him? Will they stare at his exposed body? Will they spew harsh words his way? Now Bailar is faced with a choice. Will he swim alone, choosing to train at a time when the pool will be empty? Or will he join the BYU swim team during its practice? Clutching his phone, he opens a new text message and starts to type. The Common Ground participants are about to embark on a daunting task. Seated at round tables in a BYU ballroom, they are athletics directors from public and private schools, conference commissioners, student-athletes, lawyers, professors, inclusion experts and religious leaders. About 60 in all, roughly half of them identify as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender or questioning. About half also practice a religion — including five people from BYU who are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Some are both LGBTQ and religious; some are neither. The eclectic group has gathered for the fourth iteration of a think tank the NCAA started in 2014 — one designed as a platform for uncomfortable but needed discussion about deeply personal questions. Differences abound, but participants hope to remain focused on the one important thing they have in common: A shared goal to make college athletics a place where all student-athletes, regardless of their sexual orientation, gender identity or faith, can thrive. Together, they are undertaking this pursuit in an unexpected place. BYU is one of several NCAA faith-based schools that grapple with LGBTQ issues. Ninety-nine percent of the university’s students are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which places a heavy emphasis on the role of family built upon the marriage of a man and a woman. The church teaches that feelings of same-sex attraction are not a sin, but acting on them is. All students and faculty are required to follow the BYU honor code. BYU’s involvement in this conversation almost certainly will invite conflict and more criticism — from people who think they are going too far and from others who think they aren’t going far enough. But hosting Common Ground here brings this crucial national dialogue to a campus at the heart of the struggle, and to students and staff who are actively seeking common ground of their own. “Sports can be and historically has been something that brings us together,” says BYU President Kevin Worthen, welcoming the group to campus. “But there is now skepticism about sports and particularly about college athletics that didn’t exist 20 years ago. … There are people who are skeptical about the role of college athletics in higher education and its ability to do anything meaningful, let alone topics like this.” As the sun shines through the ballroom windows and the Wasatch Mountains tower in the distance, Worthen explains that a core principle at BYU is that every individual is “created in the image of God” and that “each is a beloved spirit son or daughter of heavenly parents, and, as such, each has a divine nature and destiny.” He is not trying to proselytize, he clarifies, but instead seeks the participants’ assistance. “Please help us,” he says. “Remind us of that truth that we believe in.” For this group, there will be moments in the coming days when differences feel insurmountable. But in this room, for now at least, there’s hope.

Liz Darger, senior associate athletics director at BYU, speaks to a crowd of BYU students, faculty, staff and community members at a public panel about the Common Ground initiative.

In order to understand each other, they must speak the same language. That’s why the Common Ground facilitator has taped three dozen terms on one wall of the ballroom and asked participants to match them with a series of definitions. One half of the wall features terms related to faith. “Sacred.” “Evangelical.” “Spirituality.” The other half features terms related to sexual orientation and gender identity. “Misgendering.” “Allyship.” “Cisgender.” A volunteer reads each definition aloud. “Any adds?” The facilitator asks the group. “Any clarifications?” Steve Sandberg, BYU’s general counsel, grows anxious as the group inches closer to the paper on the wall labeled “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” That morning, Common Ground leaders asked Sandberg to review the definition that had been pulled off the internet for this activity. He felt an unexpected rush of pressure at the request. How could he, in just four or five sentences, encapsulate his church’s identity? How could he succinctly explain the beliefs that guide every aspect of his life? Sandberg listens as a volunteer reads the definition he wrote aloud: “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints teaches that Jesus Christ is the Son of God and that He was born of Mary, lived a perfect life, performed miracles, bled from every pore in the Garden of Gethsemane, died on the cross, rose on the third day, appeared again to His disciples, and lives and guides His restored church through living apostles and prophets. The Church also teaches that all human beings are beloved spirit sons or daughters of heavenly parents, and that the family is central to His plan for us. Sacred ordinances performed by priesthood authority, such as baptism by immersion, the laying on of hands for the Gift of the Holy Ghost, and family sealings in temples, provide for all of God’s children to return to live in His presence.” Sandberg understands some people outside the church hold critical views of his faith. In his legal role with the university, he was involved in discussions in 2016 about the possibility of BYU joining the Big 12 Conference. In response to the school’s candidacy for the conference’s expansion, LGBTQ groups spoke out, urging the conference to remove BYU from consideration because of what they viewed as discriminatory policies. Around that time, Sandberg spoke with BYU Athletics Director Tom Holmoe about becoming more involved in the LGBTQ conversation that was happening elsewhere. Silence could no longer suffice, particularly when Sandberg knew of LGBTQ students on campus who were struggling. Holmoe, in turn, asked Liz Darger, the senior woman administrator in BYU athletics, to look into an NCAA inclusion initiative he had heard about. When Darger inquired, the NCAA invited her to attend Common Ground. The program was just weeks away, but if Darger would accept, the leadership team would create a spot for her to represent BYU. Darger was terrified. Before she stepped into Common Ground for the first time, she started the morning at a temple in Indianapolis. She had come to worship, to pray for understanding among the strangers she would soon meet. She texted Sandberg upon exiting the temple; he was praying, too. Two years later, Darger and Sandberg marvel at their Common Ground journey, which has brought them to this room on their own campus, with people they both now call friends. Nerves persist, but in this group, they can talk openly about their faith and their challenges. They are among people who want to understand, and that makes all the difference. Darger now serves on the 13-person Common Ground leadership team and spends a lot of time considering the complicated questions at the crux of the program. Is it possible to protect the rights of private, faith-based schools to set policy in alignment with their faith tenets while ensuring LGBTQ students are treated with respect, compassion and fairness? And is it possible to protect the beliefs and rights of people of faith in public schools while protecting the rights of LGBTQ students and staff on these campuses? Darger prays for a win-win solution. She is a devout member of the church, and she also is charged with helping the university’s student-athletes reach their potential. A former basketball coach with long brown hair and a sincere smile, she knows of the pain of LGBTQ students on campus and longs to ease it in whatever way she can. But clarity can be elusive. Outside the ballroom, darkness has cloaked the mountains that earlier dominated the view from the windows. The group has made it through half of the definitions, with nearly two dozen more to go. “How many folks feel like they’ve learned something?” the facilitator asks. Every participant raises a hand. It’s 6 a.m. at the Richards Building pool, where about 20 men and women on the BYU swim team have gathered for a morning workout. Bailar has decided to join them. “Hey, everybody. This is Schuyler,” the coach says to the swimmers gathered on deck. “He’s here from Harvard. Everybody say hi.” Another coach tells Bailar he is welcome to follow his own workout or train with the team. “I heard about your story three years ago,” the coach adds. “Do whatever you need to do.” Bailar can’t help but think back to the last time he was at this pool, when his brother competed at the Utah state meet during Bailar’s gap year after high school. At that time, Bailar was still presenting himself as female and was grappling with his identity. He was deep in an eating disorder and battled suicidal thoughts. He felt isolated in this state his family had just moved to. Years later, the memories still burn. But this morning, before he rejoins his Common Ground cohort for a second day of dialogue, Bailar is ready for a new experience at the pool. It’s clear the BYU team knows Bailar’s story — one that has been shared everywhere from “60 Minutes” to “The Ellen DeGeneres Show” — and they have welcomed him. That hospitality already has washed away any remaining nerves. He dives in and goes on to swim for an hour and a half. It’s the best workout he’s had in weeks. Afterward, he stands for a photo between two BYU swimmers. On both sides of him, the swimmers drape their arms around Bailar’s shoulders and smile comfortably like new friends. Bailar, who has become a leader in transgender advocacy and is a three-year veteran of Common Ground, pulls up the photo on Instagram and begins a caption: “A reminder that belonging is two-sided: you must be welcomed by others, but you also must welcome yourself. And a reminder that people surprise you.” Then he presses “share,” sending the post into the feeds of his nearly 70,000 followers around the world.

The Common Ground participants study terms related to sexual orientation, gender identity and religion that have been taped to the back wall of a ballroom in the BYU alumni center. The activity is intended to increase understanding within the diverse group. Rachel Stark-Mason / NCAA