Exponent II's Blog, page 100

Blood

Blood leaked onto my clothes on the first day of our family vacation in North Carolina. As always, I was melancholy, annoyed, and even surprised that blood gushed from my vagina without permission, my butt and legs cramped, my head and abdomen ached, and my pelvic area swelled. Years ago, each month of blood meant an empty womb but now I have a family and the blood still torments me.

As usual, I was unprepared for this unwanted monthly event and forgot my cup at home in Utah. I was bleeding into my underwear (the rolled-up toilet paper I placed there was stuck between my butt cheeks, doing nothing but making me more uncomfortable) as I told my kids why we were inconveniently going to the store. But then my sweet twelve-year-old daughter happily exclaimed that she had packed tampons in her luggage, “we are here for a month, mom,” she said wisely. She didn’t forget. She hasn’t learned to hate it yet.

Still, after 23 years of monthly menstruation, I hate it and I forget it. I ignore my body and its cycles. My body routinely sloughs my uterine lining, letting the past go literally and figuratively, and I never listen. Cyclical bleeding is powerful imagery, and yet, I have never thought about my period as anything other than a marker of fertility and a painful inconvenience.

My newly menstruating daughter shows me that menstruation can be layered with meaning, rich with potential rituals of beginnings and endings, of change and acceptance, of bleeding and suffering, of thresholds and new life. If I pay attention, menstruation is a natural, feminine ritual.

“For the life of the flesh is in the blood” (Leviticus 17:11). How have I never connected my blood with the blood and life of theology? How have I never related my cyclical suffering and bleeding with the suffering and bleeding of scripture? “For it is the blood that maketh an atonement for the soul” (Leviticus 17:11) and women know blood. The female body is Jesus’s body with its waters rushing out, its shedding of blood and holes, its death and life, its birth and cycles, its suffering and knowing. Women’s bodies are rich with neglected meaning.

Menses has not fit into my life because I have designed my life not to fit it in. Patriarchy with its male pronouns and its lines of succession through sons has left no room for female symbolism in my mind. No room for me. I have lived a patriarchal life and celebrate patriarchal rituals and forget who I am; I forget that I witness blood, touch blood, and bleed for “the life of the flesh” for days every lunar month. I learn to hate my body. However, next month, like my daughter, I will be prepared – conscious of my body’s monthly bleed.

Because, joyously, my body’s bloody ritual is not controlled or created or given to me by ancient men – it happens without obedience, without choice, without words or permission or privileges or money or ceremony or worthiness. It is wild and untamed and mine. I have been aching for feminine rituals and here they are in my divine body performing without me. Why haven’t I ever made them symbolic? Important? Meaningful?

Maybe because I do not know the traditions of my mothers. My little twelve-year-old self kept my maturation a secret from my own mother. A secret from myself. If we ever knew the traditions of our mothers, they have been hidden, ignored, hated, and shamed away into the darkest corners of history.

Consequently, I know and study the traditions of our fathers. These traditions and stories and symbols are practiced and performed in temples and churches and homes and governments and everywhere from the beginning of written history. Traditions of blood have been turned into water, traditions of childbirth have been erased into lists of men begetting sons, and traditions of menopause, life after blood, have been eradicated.

In the primary song “Follow the Prophet,” a song celebrating the traditions of our fathers, verse four exuberantly preaches about bringing life and children into the world; however, somehow it does not mention a single woman. It does not mention her body or her prayers or her blood or cycles or sacrifices. It doesn’t even allude to them. It literally says that “Isaac begat Jacob.” Our songs and scriptures and ceremonies forget the women whose wombs are full and especially the women whose wombs are emptied. “So the Bible tells” (or doesn’t tell) our Christian traditions. The visceral is cleaned up, sanitized. And I am left confused and forgetting with blood on my fingers.

But no more excuses. I am not limited to the English bible rituals and stories. As a woman, I already have my own rituals within my body. Women’s periods represent death and birth, earth and science, mystery and magic, suffering and rhythms; and then they drip away and menopause crawls into our bodies giving us more symbolic rituals. The ritual of blood and body is fluid and changing. It is feminine. And I want to cry in relief and wonder for women’s changing bodies. Perhaps, the traditions of our mothers are written: they are written inside of us.

Tragically, I forget my period but remember to attend the clean, white temple. Unfortunately, I hate my blood dripping down my legs but drink the clear sacrament water every week. Painfully, I sing about fathers begetting sons and ignore the women who bled and pushed and carried them in their wombs. Devastatingly, we pray to a father and not a mother: “so the bible tells.” These are the traditions of our fathers, clean and white. But the traditions of our mothers and aunts and friends are here too, bloody and dark and rhythmic. No one can stop them. And they are not hidden; they are made manifest every month when I symbolically bleed onto the fabric of my no longer white garments.

Of Porn Shoulders and Other Nasty Behavior

I know what they say in ward council. I know what they say because I, too, used to sit there and say that. When my name comes up, they shake their heads and ask if anyone’s had contact. “Yes,” someone will reply. “I texted her. She seems fine.” They probably lament that even the very elect are misled when we aren’t vigilant and hold to every word that proceeds from the mouth of God, or God’s prophet. The best way to know if you’re one of the elect is to stop going to church. Then, leaders and friends are ready to give you the “fallen elect” title, and that’s how you know for sure you’re one of the elect. Or, at least, you were. These things are fungible.

Someone must have warned the new Bishop not to contact me. “She’s serious about not being contacted. If you show up at her door, she’ll probably swear at you. Remember what happened to the missionaries.” Those who remember will look at each other, sad eyebrows raised. Those who don’t remember, or who are new, will have the story repeated in whispered tones with the expletives redacted. You also know you’re one of the fallen elect if you begin swearing. In fact, really good members don’t even say swear-adjacent words, like “fetch.” That’s how you know they avoid the very appearance of evil, unlike me. I swear. Not just baby words like “shoot” but real big-kid words.

And that whole “is she serious about not being contacted” thing is another curious ward council topic. I’ve heard plenty of council conversations that gauge a person’s “seriousness” about not being contacted. Ways to tell if you are “serious” include:

1. Length of time since going inactive. If it’s been a long time, ward council may re-contact you, just to make sure you’re still serious about not being contacted; if it hasn’t been very long, they’ll feel free to contact you because surely You’re Not That Serious and We Love and Miss and Need You;

2. Degree of dedication to the church prior to falling into inactivity. If you were super-duper active before mysteriously ending your church activity, you probably aren’t super-serious about not being contacted;

3. Form of greeting when unexpected church visitors show up at your door. I don’t care if your mama raised you to smile at guests, even uninvited ones. If you smile, they will know you aren’t serious, and no matter what words come out of your mouth, you will be contacted. And if you offer them water, milk, juice or cookies, forget about it. You are on the Permanently Contact list;

4. A calling/assignment/favor to ask. For some reason, even if you’ve made it clear you do not want any contact no matter what, there will be that one person who thinks they are exempt because they aren’t asking you to come to church per se. They just want you to Be Involved in Another Thing. This frequently happened with Super Saturday assignments back when we inflicted those (“everyone is just dying to know how to tole paint/arrange flowers/make jam and you’re the best at it”). I understand it also happens whenever a musical number is desperately needed. People with musical talents do not simply go inactive. They are given many many chances to repent and share their talents;

5. Inspiration. Sigh. This one gets us every time. Inspiration can often look like General Conference (best not to answer your phone or door in October or April), an article in one of the church publications (ward councils everywhere love the story about the home teacher who waited on the doorstep/on the beach/by the car until the person gave in and went to church), a dream, a chance encounter at the store, a task list to show they’re engaged in all aspects of salvation, including perfecting the saints and preaching the gospel–we inactives are a two-for-one deal.

The truth is, I don’t hunger for communion with the saints the way I thought I would. Maybe it’s the freedom to, finally, wear weather-appropriate clothing now that my state routinely sets record-breaking temperatures. Bare shoulders soaking in the sun can make up for a lot of potlucks, if I’m honest, even potlucks with funeral potatoes. Full disclosure: I wrote this while wearing a bikini.

And I don’t miss Sunday School at all. In fact, I can go entire weeks without being priesthood-splained to (except on Facebook, where I blockety-block-block them as soon as they first say ‘Well, actually, Sister…’). For some reason, my life hasn’t fallen apart. No one will be creepy to me on Sunday for my patterned tights (true story), and they’re probably relieved not to have to navigate my evil spirit now that I’ve turned to the dark side, as evidenced by my porn shoulders and, gasp, bikini-lines. 

The last time I went to church, it was for a missionary farewell. I hadn’t been in months. A friend who had conveniently stopped texting me after she hadn’t seen me at church for several weeks (out of sight, out of mind), approached me after Sacrament. “I’m in charge of the ward party next week. Will you do a booth and feed 40-50 people bite-sized food from Jerusalem?” I didn’t say what I was thinking, which was a mixture of loud laughter and taking the name of the Lord in vain. But I did turn her down and I didn’t offer excuses, nor was I particularly polite. Feed 40-50 people who feel coerced into being there, just like I did, and who would then start contacting me whenever the inspiration, or sign up sheet, hit them? I’ll take my chances with too much UV radiation, thank you.

Still. There are some things I miss. I miss feeling like I have all the answers. I miss trusting that if I pay my tithing, the promise made to my ancestor Guisseppe Toronto would be honored, “Thy children shall never want for bread.” I miss having people who have to pretend to like me, at least on Sundays, even if I wear a rainbow pin, even if I make more than 3 comments in Sunday School, even if I teach their children that God doesn’t like it when we ignore boundaries.

One time in ward council, we were discussing how to convince a family to return to activity. “Why don’t we become the kind of people they want to hang out with?” I suggested. 

Why indeed.

Instead of church, my youngest and I went on a Sunday morning bike ride, Vail to Frisco. We connected, laughed, and felt the breeze on our glorious bodies.

 

Why you should read The Song of Solomon

Ostrakon with Text from Song of Songs

I wasn’t asked to give a talk on “Why church members should read The Song of Solomon”, so here it goes. The Song of Solomon is also known as Canticles or The Song of Songs. Most of the poem is a dialogue between two lovers, a woman and a man. A third speaking part belongs to the “daughters of Jerusalem” who are witnesses to the lovers relationship. Sexual desire is a central theme in The Song of Solomon. So why am I here today to tell you to read this book? First of all, God’s very first commandment to humankind was to “be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth.” (Side note: I don’t think fulfilling this commandment requires parenthood, although parenthood can be a part of of fulfilling this commandment.) We also believe that “[humans] are that they might have joy.” I don’t understand why we are so inclined to remove a story about people following God’s commandment and joyously acting in unity. Secondly, let’s have some plain talk: The Song of Solomon could be played uncensored on the radio. Sure, there’s an awful lot of sexual innuendo in it, but it would go over the kid’s heads. And unlike many of the other songs on the radio, The Song of Solomon does a pretty good job of modeling ethical behavior in a romantic relationship. Joseph Smith said that the book is not inspired, but that does not mean it is not worthwhile. There are many things that are virtuous, lovely, of good report, and praiseworthy in The Song of Solomon.

The most striking difference between The Song and other Old Testament books is that over half of the poem is coming from a female voice.* The woman feels free to express her desires, and does so exuberantly and without shame. In this, her character feels not only modern, but progressive. Getting this sense of radical freedom from a woman in such an ancient text is both thrilling (because, yeah! You go girl!) and heartbreaking (because so many women in the present day do not feel free to express their desires, sexual or otherwise).

Another lovely thing about this text: it is clear that there is mutual love and adoration between the man and the woman. They both want to be together, and that is vital for a healthy relationship.

This poem is lush with fertility imagery. What I find particularly praiseworthy is that the woman’s worth is not tied to her potential future motherhood. The couple’s love is still fruitful and valuable without children in the picture.

Initially, I thought it was a little strange that the woman addresses the daughters of Jerusalem and allows them to witness and rejoice in her intimate relationship. Then I realized that these female friends created a safety net for the woman. Because she discusses the relationship with others, they can protect her if they see a need to intervene. That is not needed here: they can see that the woman is happy and can support her in finding her love. Isolation can be a component of abuse. I find it to be of good report that this book normalizes maintaining a support network while in a romantic relationship.

This theme of protection between the woman and the daughters of Jerusalem goes both ways. The woman gives a warning to the daughters of Jerusalem three times (in 2:7, 3:5, and 8:4). In the KJV translation, the warning reads “I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, until he please”. To me, this sounds like the male lover isn’t supposed to be woken up by others until he wants that to happen. This doesn’t make a lot of sense to me in the context of the exclusive romantic relationship depicted in the rest of the poem. Other translations personify “love” as the thing that is not to be woken. In the NRSVs translation “do not stir up or awaken love until it is ready”, there is a sense that the woman is teaching the daughters of Jerusalem that women are in control of their sexuality. She is warning that it is unwise for a woman to pursue a sexual relationship before that woman is fully ready. What a virtuous thing to teach! Furthermore, the woman mentions being instructed by her mother. I love that the woman has learned healthy sexuality and relationship boundaries from her mom.

The relationship depicted in The Song of Solomon is certainly idealized. The poem starts with the relationship already established and ends with the relationship still in progress, suggesting a sense of eternity to their love. This mirrors the church’s teachings of celestial marriage. While we talk about the importance of temple marriage all the time, the thing that isn’t discussed as often is what a loving marriage looks like. The Old Testament provides plenty of counterexamples:

Abraham used Sarah’s good looks to enrich himselfJacob married Rachel’s sister and didn’t even realize it until the next morningEsther couldn’t go and talk to her husband without risking deathAbigail had to smooth out the dumb things her drunk husband did

I could list more, but I think you get the idea. When I read bible stories, I generally don’t think “Wow! I wish my marriage was more like that!” As far as marital relations goes, the Bible is very similar to modern times: Domestic abuse statistics are alarming. How to have good (or at least non-abusive) marriages and partnerships is something that humans are still figuring out how to do and teach. I want to behave kindly and ethically to my spouse. Even more than that, I want to feel love and be loved in return. I want to want to be with my husband, and I want him to want to be with me. This is part of why The Song of Solomon is so radically different than most of the rest of the bible: it gives voice to the goodness of that mutual wanting. The poem seems to depict a young love. Of course it will last forever. Right? Well, I know that within any kind of long term relationship, romantic or otherwise, each partner’s needs and wants will change. I know that sometimes adjusting to those changes can be hard. I also know that working on a common goal that all parties mutually desire can help strengthen a relationship. I hope that we can recognize the pleasure of wanting to love and live and work with others. Amen.

*Two things: 1) Even in modern times, books about women tend not to win big awards. Having a woman represented in such a large percentage of an ancient text (even if the text was written by a man) is a big deal. 2) It is easier to see how much the woman speaks when the different voices of the dialogue are separated out. I used Nathan Richardson’s files to easily put the text into the format I wanted to read the text in. Click here for my file.

Acknowledging Institutional Mistakes is a Strength Not a Weakness: Wisdom from Oral Histories with Mormon Women of Color

I was elated to interview Nadine in 2015 for my dissertation on Mormon women of color navigating issues of race and gender (now a book). As an older professional Southern Black woman and somewhat recent convert, Nadine gave me a window into what attracted her to the church—clarity on religious questions, community, and opportunities for involvement. She also showed me a powerful strategy for dealing with some of Mormonism’s thorniest problems like polygamy and the priesthood-temple ban: prayerfully reject them.

What I eventually used was the principle of personal revelation, which I had believed as a Baptist and which was key to me in looking at the LDS faith. I prayed and the answer I received was that neither the priesthood ban and the temple ban nor polygamy had been of God. . . . [Joseph Smith] said that the key part of our religion is the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ. And that everything else—everything else—was all just appendages to that key tenet. And I was like, I can go for that. And you know, all these other things, they are appendages, so I don’t really have to worry my head about that. I had already received clear revelation that the priesthood ban and the temple ban and polygamy were not of God—so I could join the church.

Interesting, right? By rejecting these practices and teachings that were confirmed to her through personal revelation as not being authored by God, she was able to embrace the church. She was able to choose baptism. She was able to participate and love all the good things the church did offer.

Nadine didn’t need the historical church to be perfect. She was a child of the South, raised in a context of overt racism. Historical racism from white-led institutions did not surprise her. She could accept that reality. What she couldn’t accept was the idea that racist practices—and practices which she found harmful to women and families—were authored by God.

Nadine’s experience of finding space to choose the church—through rejecting church practices she knew in her bones to be harmful and ungodly—has made me consider a) why more Mormons don’t do this and b) how the church might create space for members to do this and thus retain and gain more members.

Why don’t more Mormons who see troubling and hurtful teachings feel free to reject them and embrace the good in the church, like Nadine did?  I think this is due to both Mormon culture and institutional church emphases. Mormon culture too often advocates a black or white, all or nothing, it’s all true or it’s all false mindset when it comes to church truth claims. It’s a very rare Sunday at church when I hear someone acknowledge something they find problematic or don’t accept regarding church teachings or practices. Rather, there are strong cultural norms to not dissent or challenge basically any teaching. Faith in Mormonland is generally characterized by agreement with institutional discourse—not by doing the hard work of sorting out what is godly and what isn’t in our culture and institution.

Institutional church discourse has certainly helped contribute to the above cultural phenomenon. Repeated emphases on prophetic authority and God/Jesus directing the church imply that basically all church policies and teachings are authored by God. There is some lip service to the idea that church leaders are fallible, but as the old joke about Catholics and Mormons goes, Mormons don’t tend to believe it.*

But what if church leaders could shift their discourse by offering more institutional humility? I for one would be a far more comfortable member if I saw church leaders acknowledging and yes, apologizing, for mistakes and harmful practices. I’d feel comforted if my leaders were people who were willing to admit to institutional shortcomings. That would build my confidence in my leaders and in this institution far more than repeated assertions of prophetic authority and God directing the church. The unwillingness to acknowledge shortcomings (so evident in the defensive tone of the church’s PR response to the recent horrific AP story on sexual abuse) indicates a serious weakness to me. Robustness, strength, and maturity entail recognizing humanity, acknowledging missteps, and committing to do better.

One of the most impactful articles I read as a young Mormon feminist is “Lusterware” by Laurel Thatcher Ulrich (summarized in this post). She makes the excellent point that too often we church members mistake things in the church that are earthly, weak, and fault-ridden for things that are godly, perfect, and just as they should be. This can lead to disillusionment and the questioning of one’s membership when those things (or people) we held up as godly turn out to be fallible.

Like the essay indicates, members need to be more judicious about the things they pedestalize. But church leaders could certainly help members do this if they opened up more space for them to develop discernment in church contexts. Opening up space could entail introducing discourses that acknowledge institutional fallibility; that talk about how the institutional church is on a journey of progression; that its leadership is listening, learning, and making mistakes, but committed to doing better.

I’ve thought a lot about Nadine’s oral history, and I think she was really onto something. The freedom she felt to privilege her personal revelation and reject unjust and hurtful church practices ultimately enabled her to embrace the church. I wish more people could self-authorize and find that freedom. I’d like more people to feel free to stay or join, if that’s what they would like to do. I wish the institutional church would help create room for that through discourses of humility and progression.

*The joke is along the lines that Catholic doctrine states that the pope is infallible, but Catholics don’t believe it; Mormon doctrine states that the prophet is fallible, but Mormons don’t believe it.

As Regards Touching—An Essay by Kate Holbrook

As our community mourns the death of Kate Holbrook, we look to her words for comfort. Her essay “As Regard Touching” is a beautiful tribute to the grandmother who helped raise her. It was published in the Fall 2002 Exponent II magazine, where Kate served as an associate editor.

This sketch by Lena Anne Dibble accompanied Kate Holbrook’s essay in the Fall 2002 Exponent II.

My grandma’s skin was cool and dry, her joints surprisingly supple as we pulled white clothing over her heavy limbs, stroking her arms and legs. I tried to be meticulous in the execution of my service. My grandma had firm opinions about clothing, appearance, funerals, and I didn’t want to shame her. But despite our intentions, my aunts and I were awkward—I suspect the mortician tidied our work once we had finished. I stared and touched and smelled, trying to fill the giant void of her absence. But her physical presence only accentuated the impact of her spiritual absence, and the void engulfed my thoughts and speech. Only my emotions survived the vacuum of grief; they were screaming.

I remembered sitting on my grandma’s lap as she told me the story of Billy Goats Gruff in our oversized orange chair. She had French-braided my hair with these still hands and taught me to knead fudge, to test for the soft ball stage. She had put sample pieces in my eager mouth. I mourned my absence at her deathbed and wished that I knew more clearly where she had gone and how she was responding to the transition. I prayed that she would not find it difficult. I understood for the first time why Chinese tradition includes prayers to ancestors; I didn’t ask for blessings, but forgiveness.

I first attended to my grandma’s physical needs during kindergarten. My mother and I had recently moved from California to live with Grandma in Utah, and Grandma had slipped on some twigs on a path in the Uintah woods, breaking her ankle.

I spent each school morning feeling misunderstood by my little peers and teacher as I focused on how I might present convincing symptoms of illness and return home early. It did not help that I had tried and failed to do so two days prior.

After those few unpleasant school hours each day, I was free to return home and make peanut butter sandwiches for grandma and me (with too much jam and, she thought, too little peanut butter). In first grade, a potential friend made me a peanut butter, butter, and honey sandwich on store-bought white bread, which delighted my young palette. But I was not allowed to introduce this discovery into our family’s culinary repertoire as 1) we ate homemade bread, but what we then thought more important, 2) two butters was simply too decadent for three women with figures to maintain.

After lunch, I would clear our plates to the kitchen, and my grandma and I would play checkers on a little tray balanced on the arms of our adjacent chairs. We played and talked and she told me how smart, able, and pretty I was (though, as she always reminded me, “pretty is as pretty does”). Home was not always conflict-free—there was piano practice to endure—but I could be sure there that I was loved and had worth. After checkers, my mom, a schoolteacher, returned home and recited the day’s events.

Grandma’s ankle healed, but leg and back problems plagued her remaining decades, and I learned never to leave her when stairs, ice, or a barbed-wire fence stood in our path.

Years of our deliciously inappropriate laughter (during sacrament meeting, at congregants’ hair) intervened. My grandma taught me to measure flour, separate eggs, and disassemble the shower drain. We bought clothes and shoes for every occasion. We ate all kinds of candy. We went to the ballet, where I received a maternal reprimand for making too much noise with my Skittles. I attended BYU, and since my mom and grandma lived in Provo, I occasionally lived at home during college.

During one of those times, my grandma had back surgery in a fruitless attempt to ameliorate her chronic pain. One afternoon, my grandma was giving herself a spongebath and wasn’t able to reach her feet. She called to me and, full of apology, asked whether I could help her to wash her feet. My grandma hated to ask for help, but neither could she abide filth (one of her favorite words), so her loathing for a dirty body must have overwhelmed her reluctance to ask for help.

My memories don’t have corners (even my unconscious revels in female roundness) but consist of portraits replete with smudges, blurs, and points of clarity. I don’t remember the expression on my

grandma’s face or why I was home in the middle of the day. But I remember her calling to me and my entering her bathroom, which is still white and bright with scattered floral kisses of pink and blue. On that day the room was full of sunlight, and she sat at a stool near the sink with an orange plastic hospital tub at her feet. I remember feeling uncertain how I would react to helping her—I took special care of my own feet and harbored no special enthusiasm for encounters with those of others.

But I assured my grandma that I was glad to help and hoped she wouldn’t sense any reluctance. She was probably too acutely aware of her own discomfiture to note any coming from me. As I knelt and placed her foot in the tub of soapy water, my hesitation dissipated and I set about my washing as carefully as I could.

Not long into my task, I was embraced by a feeling of holiness. I felt that God was pleased with my small service and that this washing was, in some sense, outside of time, echoing through the ages. I suddenly, with clarity, understood the many paintings I’d seen of Christ washing his disciples’ feet. I felt poignantly, if infinitesimally, closer to a comprehension of Him. Sadly, foot-washing, however sacred, is a simple task, and I could not linger there for long. I wished for this communion to continue, but my grandma was tired of her stool.

More years passed, and I moved to New England, where I married and began to learn the unusual experience, for me, of living with a man. After six months living in St. Petersburg, Russia, and a first Christmas with in-laws instead of my mothers, I planned a January trip to Utah to compensate for the long separation.

My grandma was not herself. She didn’t approach me with her usual stream of questions and news, and she spent too much time in her bedroom. She had even given up hiding the fact that she lay on the couch to rest in the middle of the day. I saw her longing for past intimacies. She often grew confused in the night and thought she was once again sleeping with her sister, Elithe, who had died several years before. She confessed, and my mother confirmed, that she often called out my name when she heard the house creak at night, thinking it was me returning from a late outing and creeping past her bedroom to the stairs. As she explained this, her eyes filled with tears because I no longer lived with her.

A few nights before returning to Boston, I gave myself a pedicure while watching a video with my mom and grandma. One of my mom’s students had given her a selection of foot scrubs, washes, and lotions. From the initial soaking of my feet to the final waiting for the polish to dry, my conscience burned that | should do the same for my grandma. I recognized a message that I was meant to do so, that a pedicure would be a kind of ordinance, but I could not. The knowledge that my grandma’s desire for life was fading had started to penetrate my staunchest efforts to remain ignorant. I wanted to show her my love, but I could think only of Mary anointing Christ’s feet with spikenard and that Christ died not long afterward. I refused to prepare my grandma for burial.

The weightiest matters are beyond my control, and weeks later there were phone calls, heart attacks, and an agony that consumed me. In desperate attempts to make up for my sins of omission, I composed her long obituary, delivered her eulogy, wept, prayed, and did not sleep. And I dressed her body for burial.

I have a baby daughter, Amelia, now six months old. She has a range of coy, sometimes fetchingly wicked smiles, a few that she’s borrowed from my grandma. Amelia seems to have my grandma’s zeal for social interactions and, like my grandma, to take delight in laughter. When you look at Amelia in her stroller, her grin comes out and her enthusiasm struggles against the restraints of stroller seatbelts.

Three years after my grandma’s death, I sometimes see her in dreams where she is often unwell, a faceless body that needs my care. Awake I still yearn for the vibrant woman I loved. And I care for Amelia. I wash, stroke, and dress her warm limbs. I bathe her little feet—with water and with my kisses.

When Marriage and Motherhood Become Idols

https://www.crossway.org/articles/when-marriage-and-motherhood-become-idols/

Image credit: Ministry-to-Children.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International

Come Follow Me: Daniel 1-6 “There Is No Other God That Can Deliver”

Hebrew Residential School in Babylon

The Book of Daniel begins with the nation of Babylon raiding Jerusalem (Daniel 1:1) and the Babylonian king, Nebuchadnezzar, beginning a new program to educate captured Hebrew children.

3 ¶ And the king spake unto Ashpenaz athe master of his eunuchs, that he should bring certain of the children of Israel, and of the king’s bseed, and of the princes;

4 Children in whom was no blemish, but awell favoured, and skilful in all wisdom, and cunning in knowledge, and understanding science, and such as had ability in them to stand in the king’s palace, and whom they might teach the learning and the tongue of the Chaldeans.

5 And the king appointed them a daily aprovision of the king’s bmeat, and of the wine which he drank: so nourishing them three years, that at the end thereof they might cstand before the king.

Daniel 1:3-5

What do you think of King Nebuchadnezzar’s plan?
What might be the motives behind such a program?

The protagonists in the Book of Daniel are four of these captured Hebrew children.

6 Now among these were of the children of Judah, Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah:
7 Unto whom the prince of the eunuchs gave names: for he gave unto Daniel the name of Belteshazzar; and to Hananiah, of Shadrach; and to Mishael, of Meshach; and to Azariah, of Abed-nego.

Daniel 1:6-7

Modern readers tend to call Daniel by his Hebrew name but call Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah by their Babylonian names. Throughout this lesson plan, I will call all four by their original Hebrew names rather than using names assigned to them by their captors.

Photo by Jean Wimmerlin on Unsplash

While living in captivity, these young men lived in luxury compared to many of their enslaved peers, but they still experienced repeated threats to their lives and ongoing efforts to force them to assimilate to the Babylonian religion and culture.

Invite class members to choose one of these three scripture stories to silently read. As they read, invite them to consider the kinds of challenges Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah experienced and how they responded.

The king requires Hebrew children to consume foods and drinks that are against their dietary codes: Daniel 1:8-15
The king threatens to kill all wise men, including Hebrew wise men, because no one can interpret the dream he has forgotten: Daniel 2:1-5, 12-23
The king bans worship of God for 30 days. The penalty for noncompliance is to be tossed into a lion’s den: Daniel 6:3-23

Invite class members to share what they learned after silent reading time.

Why would it have been hard to be faithful in these situations?
What strategies did they empty to help them cope with these challenges and maintain their Hebrew identities?
What situations do we face that challenge our faith?
How can we follow the examples of Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah?

We see Babylon in our cities; we see Babylon in our communities; we see Babylon everywhere. And with the encroachment of Babylon, we have to create Zion in the midst of it. We should not allow ourselves to be engulfed by the culture which surrounds us. We seldom realize the extent to which we are a product of the culture of our place and time.

…Daniel and his brothers refused to do that which they believed to be wrong, however much the Babylonian culture believed it to be right. And for that fidelity and courage, the Lord blessed them and “gave them knowledge and skill in all learning and wisdom” (Dan. 1:17).

Wherever we are, whatever city we may live in, we can build our own Zion by the principles of the celestial kingdom and ever seek to become the pure in heart. Zion is the beautiful, and the Lord holds it in His own hands. Our homes can be places which are a refuge and protection, as Zion is. We do not need to become as puppets in the hands of the culture of the place and time. We can be courageous and can walk in the Lord’s paths and follow His footsteps. And if we do, we will be called Zion, and we will be the people of the Lord. 

—David R. Stone, Quorum of the Seventy, Zion in the Midst of Babylon, April 2006

What is the danger of becoming a product of the culture that surrounds us?
How can we build our own Zion?

While Babylonian rulers may have believed Hebrew children needed their instruction, the scriptures indicate that the true source of knowledge for these children was God.

17 ¶ As for these four children, God gave them knowledge and skill in all learning and wisdom: and Daniel had understanding in all visions and dreams.

Daniel 1:17

Do we sometimes credit ourselves for God’s work?  How can we develop humility to recognize God’s hand? 
How can we learn to see godliness in other people, including those from different religions and cultures than ourselves?

The dynamics of the story are resonant for women, ethnic minorities, and other outsiders who have ever been invited to enter an institution of power formerly closed to them. Like the exiled Jewish captives, women and ethnic minorities appear in such contexts marked with associations of powerlessness. The institution, whether a church, a corporation, or other such organization, often sees itself simply and wholly as the powerful one, benevolently providing access to power to those previously excluded. It often cannot imagine that those whom it sees as in need of patronage may in fact be the bearers of resources of power that the institution neither creates nor controls, but which it may someday desperately need, as Nebuchadnezzar eventually learns (Dan. 2 and 4).

—Carol A. Newsom, Daniel,  Women’s Bible Commentary by Carol A. Newsom, Sharon H. Ringe and Jacqueline E. Lapsley

Why do we sometimes fail to see what those who are less privileges or empowered have to offer?
How can we be more inclusive?

Indian Residential School in North America

Although the rulers of Babylon are the antagonists in this story and the captured Hebrew children are the heroes, in more recent history, Christians in the United States and Canada have followed the example of Babylon in their treatment of indigenous children. Indian Residential School programs in Canada and the United States removed indigenous children from their homes, sometimes forcibly, in an attempt to assimilate them to Anglo/Christian culture. 

Share one of the following videos to learn more about this history:

Residential Schools, the Canadian Encyclopedia

Tragic Legacy: the Unknown Stories, Indian Residential School Program, WGRZ news

Why would modern Christians create a program so similar to one created by Babylon in the Bible?
How can we guard against such misguided efforts going forward?

Three Young Men and a Fiery Furnace

In Daniel 3, King Nebuchadnezzar builds an idol and commands everyone in his kingdom to worship it on a regular schedule announced by musical instruments (Daniel 3:3-5). The penalty for noncompliance is burning to death (Daniel 3:6). Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah (listed here by their Babylonian names: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego) did not comply (Daniel 3:12).

Can you imagine the courage of these young men? No threats from the king could dissuade them. With faith in their God, they stood together and prayed as they were bound and carried to be burned. …What does it mean to stand as a witness of God? It means we will not bow down or give in or be persuaded to do anything contrary to God’s will. It means we will risk speaking up when our knees are shaking. It means we will listen and follow the still, small voice of the Holy Ghost.

—Sharon G. Larsen, Second Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, Standing with God, March 2000

What are some ways we might be tempted to “bow down”?
How can we stand as a witnesses of God?

Nebuchadnezzar called Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah in for questioning.

14 Nebuchadnezzar spake and said unto them, Is it true, O Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego, do not ye serve my gods, nor worship the golden image which I have set up?

15 Now if ye be ready that at what time ye hear the sound of the cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, and dulcimer, and all kinds of musick, ye fall down and worship the image which I have made; well: but if ye worship not, ye shall be cast the same hour into the midst of a burning fiery furnace; and who is that God that shall deliver you out of my hands?

16 Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego [Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah], answered and said to the king, O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not acareful to answer thee in this matter.

17 If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to adeliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand, O king.

18 But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not aserve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.

Daniel 3:14-18

What stands out to you about how they answered the king?

As a young man, I returned home from an eighth-grade basketball tournament dejected, disappointed, and confused. I blurted out to my mother, “I don’t know why we lost—I had faith we’d win!”

I now realize that I did not then know what faith is. Faith is not bravado, not just a wish, not just a hope. True faith is faith in the Lord Jesus Christ—confidence and trust in Jesus Christ that leads a person to follow Him…

The three young men quickly and confidently responded, “If it be so [if you cast us into the furnace], our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand.” That sounds like my eighth-grade kind of faith. But then they demonstrated that they fully understood what faith is. They continued, “But if not, … we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.” That is a statement of true faith. They knew that they could trust God—even if things didn’t turn out the way they hoped. They knew that faith is more than mental assent, more than an acknowledgment that God lives. Faith is total trust in Him.

—Dennis E. Simmons, Quorum of the Seventy, But If Not… April 2004

How can we progress beyond an “eighth grade kind of faith”?

Upon hearing their response, King Nebuchadnezzar is “full of fury” (Daniel 3:19).

Whether God delivers them or not, they will not worship the golden statue. This is the point at which the king’s rage becomes uncontrollable, because the three young men have just demonstrated the impotence of this seemingly all-powerful king. The king literally has no power to make them do what he wishes. To be sure, he can kill them. But he cannot make them worship the statue. This simple refusal, which also characterizes later Jewish and Christian martyrs, and which is a part of women’s resistance movements in many cultures, is the weapon of the weak. While it can be costly, it exposes the limits of power based on the threat of violence and can sometimes bring an end to regimes of terror.

—Carol A. Newsom, Daniel,  Women’s Bible Commentary by Carol A. Newsom, Sharon H. Ringe and Jacqueline E. Lapsley

Can you think of more modern examples of civil disobedience?

This story has a miraculous ending:

23 And these three men, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego [Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah], fell down bound into the midst of the burning fiery furnace.

24 Then Nebuchadnezzar the king was astonished, and rose up in haste, and spake, and said unto his counsellors, Did not we cast three men bound into the midst of the fire? They answered and said unto the king, True, O king.

25 He answered and said, Lo, I see four men loose, walking in the midst of the fire, and they have no ahurt; and the form of the fourth is like the Son of God.

26 ¶ Then Nebuchadnezzar came near to the mouth of the burning fiery furnace, and spake, and said, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego, ye servants of the most high God, come forth, and come hither. Then Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego, came forth of the midst of the fire.

27 And the princes, governors, and captains, and the king’s counsellors, being gathered together, saw these men, upon whose bodies the afire had no power, nor was an hair of their head singed, neither were their coats bchanged, nor the smell of fire had passed on them.

Daniel 3:23-27

Have you ever felt like the Son of God was with you in a metaphorical fiery furnace? Does anyone want to share an  experience?

King Nebuchadnezzar is so awe-struck that he praises God—so soon after coercing everyone in his kingdom to idolatry—and even praises Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah for choosing to disobey his own order! (Other translations say “rejected the word of the king” or “violated the king’s command” where the King James version uses the less clear phrase, “changed the king’s word.” See BibleHub, Daniel 3:28.) 

28 Then Nebuchadnezzar spake, and said, Blessed be the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego, who hath sent his aangel, and delivered his servants that btrusted in him, and chave changed the king’s word, and yielded their bodies, that they might not serve nor worship any god, except their own God.

Daniel 3:28

What opportunities do we have to influence others?
Discuss examples you have seen of how the faith of other people, including family members, has influenced others for good.

Three Young Women and a Sacrificial Alter

Let’s read another story, from a different time and place.

5 My fathers, having turned from their righteousness, and from the holy commandments which the Lord their God had given unto them, unto the worshiping of the gods of the heathen, utterly refused to hearken to my voice;
6 For their hearts were set to do evil, and were wholly turned to the god of Elkenah, and the god of Libnah, and the god of Mahmackrah, and the god of Korash, and the god of Pharaoh, king of Egypt;
7 Therefore they turned their hearts to the sacrifice of the heathen in offering up their children unto these dumb idols, and hearkened not unto my voice, but endeavored to take away my life by the hand of the priest of Elkenah. The priest of Elkenah was also the priest of Pharaoh…
11 Now, this priest had offered upon this altar three virgins at one time, who were the daughters of Onitah, one of the royal descent directly from the loins of Ham. These virgins were offered up because of their virtue; they would not bow down to worship gods of wood or of stone, therefore they were killed upon this altar, and it was done after the manner of the Egyptians.

Abraham 1:5-7, 11

How is the story of the daughters of Onitah similar to the story of Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah?
How is it different?
What if our faith doesn’t lead to the miracles we seek? How do you think the daughters of Onitah or Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah would have answered this question?
How can their examples affect how you approach your trials of faith?

General Young Women President Susan W. Tanner shared an experience she had while teaching a class of 12-year-old Young Women. She asked them to write answers to the question, “How do you know Heavenly Father loves you?”

I was particularly struck by Jocelyn, who had been in tears through most of the lesson. When I privately read their answers, I knew which crumpled paper was hers. She said simply, “Because He saved my mom.”

Her mother is one of my dear friends, and I too had been fervently praying for her. She had just successfully undergone surgery for a heart condition and was about to be released from the hospital when an artery in her spleen burst. Within minutes she was at death’s door. A team of doctors feverishly worked to revive her enough to prepare her for emergency surgery. Miraculous is the only way to describe her recovery. It was an answer to many prayers, including Jocelyn’s and mine. It was a powerful witness of God’s love.

Yet I also felt chilled by Jocelyn’s answer. What if Heavenly Father hadn’t saved her mother? Would she still know that Heavenly Father loves her? Would she be able to feel the Lord’s love even amid life’s inevitable sorrows and tragedies?

Then I thought of my niece Ashley. She too knows of the love her Father in Heaven has for her, yet her experience was quite the opposite of Jocelyn’s. …Heavenly Father didn’t save Ashley’s dad. Yet Ashley still knows that He loves her. She says: “During that time I felt comfort from the Holy Ghost. I knew I would see my dad again. And I felt the Lord’s love through the kind care of others.”

…Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego [Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah] were spared death by fire; Abinadi was not. Yet all were loved of the Lord, and all knew it. The outcomes of these two stories suggest that the love of God transcends the earthly experiences we have. His love is greater than the good and the bad things that happen to us. Sometimes He blesses us by granting the desires of our hearts, and sometimes He blesses us with comfort and strength to bear the burden of unfulfilled or shattered desires.

—Susan W. Tanner, We Are Daughters of Our Heavenly Father, Who Loves Us, October 2003

How is God’s love “greater than the good and the bad things that happen to us”?
How can we feel God’s love amid sorrows and tragedies?

Elder Dennis E. Simmons suggested we borrow the phrase used by Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, “but if not…” (Daniel 3:18).

Our God will deliver us from ridicule and persecution, but if not. … Our God will deliver us from sickness and disease, but if not. … He will deliver us from loneliness, depression, or fear, but if not. … Our God will deliver us from threats, accusations, and insecurity, but if not. … He will deliver us from death or impairment of loved ones, but if not, … we will trust in the Lord.

Our God will see that we receive justice and fairness, but if not. … He will make sure that we are loved and recognized, but if not. … We will receive a perfect companion and righteous and obedient children, but if not, … we will have faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, knowing that if we do all we can do, we will, in His time and in His way, be delivered and receive all that He has.

—Dennis E. Simmons, Quorum of the Seventy, But If Not… April 2004

Have you ever had to consider “but if not” when praying for something important to you?
How did you come to accept the outcome, whether good or bad?

Excavators, including a team from @BYU, uncover the oldest known images of #Bible heroines Deborah and Jael in a mosaic in Galilee. #WomenoftheBible

Unfortunately, it appears that these images have not been released to the public yet. I am only finding photos of the mural showing Barak, a fox, and an unidentified woman so far, but I look forward to seeings these depictions of Deborah and Jael when they are released!

Read the complete articles:

First known depictions of two biblical heroines uncovered in ancient Jewish synagogue. Christianity Today, July 14, 2022

First known depictions of two biblical heroines uncovered in ancient Jewish synagogue BYU News Christie Allen, August 23, 2022

Barak and a fox portrayed in a mosiac that also features yet-to-be-released images of Jael and Deborah Unidentified woman from the mosaic

Re-reading the books of Kate Holbrook, Latter-day Saint historian #LDS

As our community grieves the passing of Dr. Kate Holbrook, I would recommend revisiting her books about the history of our foremothers.

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Sacred Music Sunday: From Homes of Saints Glad Songs Arise

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I find most of the hymns in the hymnal about home and family to be narrow and reductive – only one kind of home is contemplated, and it isn’t mine. It’s a father employed in a white-collar job, a mother who is not employed, and a house full of smiling children. It’s not a single person who has to bring home the bacon and fry it up. It’s not the teenage convert whose parents don’t attend church. It’s not the part-member family. It’s not the group of roommates. It’s not the widow or the divorcee.

I love the hymn From Homes of Saints Glad Songs Arise because it avoids this trap. The whole song is about what goes on in a righteous home, and not once in the hymn is a reference to the number of people in the home, the relationship of those people, their gender, marital status, professions, or any other irrelevant factor.

Anyone can have a saintly home if they follow the example laid out in the hymn. In the home of a saint:

The Lord is King.Prayers ascend.The scriptures are loved.Hymns of praise are sung.

The smiling nuclear family on the cover of the Ensign can do this. But so can every other conceivable home and family arrangement. Because there’s no one way that the home of a saint looks.