Exponent II's Blog, page 110

Guest Post: Come Follow Me: Deuteronomy 6–8; 15; 18; 29–30; 34 “Beware Lest Thou Forget the Lord”

By Miriam

Miriam is finishing her PhD at the University of Oregon and en route to begin a career at the University of Memphis as a professor of Criminology. She has 3 daughters, one of whom complains regularly that they have to constantly read scriptures written by men and quotes from General Conference by men. She made these little lesson plans for that daughter – hoping her daughter knows that women’s voices matter. They’ll be reading these excerpts over the dinner table this week and discussing as a family how they feel:

Excerpt 1: Let’s talk about our relationship with God:

We are commanded to love God:

Deuteronomy 6:

5 And thou shalt love the LORD thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might.

7 And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up.

God loves us completely:

Sister Susan H. Porter First Counselor in the Primary General Presidency said, “Brothers and sisters, do you know how completely God, our Heavenly Father, loves you? Have you felt His love deep in your soul? When you know and understand how completely you are loved as a child of God, it changes everything. It changes the way you feel about yourself when you make mistakes. It changes how you feel when difficult things happen. It changes your view of God’s commandments. It changes your view of others and of your capacity to make a difference.”

Questions to ponder/discuss:

1. What are some possible reasons God commands us to love Him?

2. How does knowing that God loves us completely impact our lives? 

3. When have you felt God’s love? 

Excerpt 2: Let’s talk about perseverance:

The Israelites persevered, learned, and progressed during their 40 years in the wilderness:

Deuteronomy 8:

2 And thou shalt remember all the way which the LORD thy God led thee these forty years in the wilderness, to humble thee, and to prove thee, to know what was in thine heart, whether thou wouldest keep his commandments, or no.

3 And he humbled thee, and suffered thee to hunger, and fed thee with manna, which thou knewest not, neither did thy fathers know; that he might make thee know that man doth not live by bread only, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of the LORD doth man live.

4 Thy raiment waxed not old upon thee, neither did thy foot swell, these forty years.

Sister Elaine S. Dalton, Former Young Women General President, said, “Several years ago now, I went running with my husband. Toward the end of our run, we reached a long, steep hill. As we started up the hill, I watched as my husband sprinted ahead. Halfway up the hill, I was exhausted and I knew I couldn’t go any further. So I called to him and said that I was going to turn around and run back to the car and wait for him there. I hadn’t gone very far when I felt my husband’s hand on my shoulder. He stopped me and said, “Elaine, don’t you know that you never make a decision to turn around or give up when you are in the middle of a hill?” Then he took my hand, and we ran together to the top. Once there, I realized that I would have missed the beautiful view of the city below and the stunning sunrise to the east had I turned around. I would have missed the feeling of elation and accomplishment that comes from doing hard things. I learned a great lesson that day from my husband in the middle of a very steep hill: Never make a decision to turn around or give up when you are in the middle of a hill. Great things await those who endure.”

Questions to ponder/discuss:

1. When have you been blessed through perseverance?

2. What are you currently persevering through and what are you learning?

Excerpt 3: Let’s talk about remembering our blessings: A place where I always remember God’s blessings to me

The Israelites were commanded to remember the time they’d persevered and relied on God, even after they were through the harship things were going better:

Deuteronomy 8:

11 Beware that thou forget not the LORD thy God, in not keeping his commandments, and his judgments, and his statutes, which I command thee this day:

12 Lest when thou hast eaten and art full, and hast built goodly houses, and dwelt therein;

13 And when thy herds and thy flocks multiply, and thy silver and thy gold is multiplied, and all that thou hast is multiplied;

14 Then thine heart be lifted up, and thou forget the LORD thy God, which brought thee forth out of the land of Egypt, from the house of bondage;

15 Who led thee through that great and terrible wilderness, wherein were fiery serpents, and scorpions, and drought, where there was no water; who brought thee forth water out of the rock of flint;

16 Who fed thee in the wilderness with manna, which thy fathers knew not, that he might humble thee, and that he might prove thee, to do thee good at thy latter end;

17 And thou say in thine heart, My power and the might of mine hand hath gotten me this wealth.

Sister Sharon Eubank, first counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency, said in a social media post, “As the Lamb of God, Jesus was about to fulfill the meaning of Passover by giving His body to be broken and His blood to be shed in sacrifice so that with His stripes, we would be healed. Luke says of Jesus Christ’s agony in the Garden of Gethsemane that night that His sweat became like “great drops of blood falling down to the ground” (Luke 22:44). Most of the realizations in my life don’t come until after the fact and I am looking back, fitting the pieces together. Thinking back now on the events that happened more than 2,000 years ago, my witness is that nothing ever was the same again. Jesus Christ forever changes all mankind in all ages, He has forever changed me, and He will gladly receive anyone who comes to Him with a willingness to change.”

Questions to ponder/discuss:

1. What blessings have you seen when looking back at your life?

2. In what ways has God changed who you are?

3. In what ways does God continue to change who you are?

Excerpt 4: Let’s talk about obedience:

The Israelites were commanded to turn to the Lord with all their hearts and souls:

Deuteronomy 30:

9 … for the LORD will again rejoice over thee for good, as he rejoiced over thy fathers:

10 If thou shalt hearken unto the voice of the LORD thy God, to keep his commandments and his statutes which are written in this book of the law, and if thou turn unto the LORD thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul.

What might turning to the Lord with all our heart and soul mean?

Reverend Dr. Jacqui Lewis said, “You and I know that almost every world religion has a call to love your neighbor as yourself. Jesus picks up the Jewish mandate to love neighbors and to love strangers. Love God with everything. Don’t leave anybody behind. Don’t do anyone harm. Don’t withhold that which you need for yourself from someone else.”

Questions to discuss/ponder:

1. What does it mean to love God with everything?

2. What might this mean on an individual basis? What might this mean politically?

Don’t Tell Me the Church is True; I’ve Heard That Line Before

What I Feel Like Realizing I Need More

La lune, la lune, some rhyming lines about the moon is what I remember most vividly from watching Gérard Depardieu in Cyrano de Bergerac in high school French class. The story captivated me; the poetry was beautiful and it was the first movie I watched in French that I could mostly understand. Because of this experience, a few months ago I eagerly bought tickets for a new version of Cyrano. Exquisite costumes, fluid choreography, music by members of the band The National, and powerful acting made this movie delightful to watch.

At one point, Christian, played by Kelvin Harrison Jr., decides he no longer needs the assistance of Cyrano, played by Peter Dinklage, to talk to Roxanne, played by Haley Bennett. True to his character who can’t find the words to express himself, Christian manages to blurt out “I love you” to Roxanne. She waits for more. She wants to hear Christian speak in person the words he wrote in letters. He can’t; the letters she thinks he wrote were actually written by Cyrano. And so Christian bumbles on. I love you. I loooove you. I LOVE YOU! Roxanne remains unimpressed and leaves the room breaking into the song “I Need More.”

While Roxanne sings about what more she needs Christian to say (it’s worth listening to the song here), I couldn’t help but think about how the words ‘I need more’ are surprisingly applicable to my experience with church. I have heard the church is true so many times. And yet, I need more. 

I need more female leaders.

I need women sung about in hymns. I need to sing about the Queen in addition to the King.

I need an opportunity to at least prepare the sacrament, if not to also bless it. 

I need a Relief Society that is actually an organization for women, run by women, without men selecting when to call/release leaders, determine the curriculum, and otherwise oversee the organization.

I need leaders to stop making racist, sexist, homophoic, and other harmful remarks.

I need leaders to hear LDS women. 

I need the Divine Feminine. 

I need mine and my daughter’s bodies to not be policed and objectified. 

I need encouragement to connect directly with God to make choices best for me instead of leaders teaching that there is only one acceptable path, marriage and stay-at-home motherhood, that may or may not fit me or that I may or may not even have an opportunity to fill. 

I need personal and leadership development opportunities. 

I need a church that focuses on transformation in Christ. 

I need everyone to be welcome at church. 

I need leaders who acknowledge that the current church structure can cause trauma and that people who no longer attend often bear deep wounds inflicted by the institution or by people who abuse power on behalf of the institution. 

I need consent during a blessing or setting apart; to be asked if I want hands on my head, shoulders, arms, or no hands on me at all. 

I need an option to meet with a female leader if I choose to renew a temple recommendation. 

I need more than what currently exists. 

Just over five years ago I dreamed I was encased in a dusty old banana. Picture a giant Bananagrams bag. I unzipped it from the inside and stepped out of this dusty bag. I took a few steps and stepped into a column of light. In the years since that dream I have come to fully occupy that column of light and to embrace my own power.

I grieve that the church is not what I wish it was; not what it has the potential to be. I found leadership opportunities as the president of a professional organization. I found meaningful service opportunities volunteering for a Title 1 school. I established boundaries regarding under what circumstances my body can be touched in a church setting. I found my voice to speak out against comments that are harmful to me and other people. I established my own relationship with Divine Feminine. I spend time in nature to have the spiritual experiences I crave of connecting with something larger than myself. It’s an ongoing process of asking what my soul needs from week to week. It’s satisfying to claim the power to meet my own needs and monitor my own engagement with church based on what I can handle. There is still sadness and anger that this church falls so incredibly short. At the same time, I revel in the freedom to find ways to meet my spiritual needs.

What do you need? 

These Guys Are Just Men

These guys are just men. Give them a break.

In 2004, I lived in South Carolina for a few months while my military husband attended training at Fort Jackson. I’d just graduated from BYU and moved away from Utah with him for this temporary assignment. While there, I met a very friendly woman who was part of the housekeeping staff where we lived. She’d had a rough life and I came to love her very quickly after she helped me use my room to conceal a starving, lost kitten I found in the parking lot for several months. I adopted that cat and he was with me until he passed away in 2019. She brought all kinds of goodness to my life.

At the same time, I attended the local institute class with a very engaging teacher. A regional conference was planned while I was there for the members in South Carolina and Georgia, and the teacher told us, “President Hinckley decided this past year to hold all regional conferences over satellite broadcast systems – but as he sat down to go over the list of locations he said, “All of them will be broadcasts except for South Carolina. The Lord has told us we must go in person to that one.” The class was abuzz with excitement that the prophet (accompanied by the apostle Elder Russell M. Ballard and then seventy member Elder Todd Christofferson) was directed by heaven to physically travel to our location, and I was more enthusiastic about this news than anyone.

I wanted to invite my housekeeping friend to the regional conference. I just knew that Heavenly Father sent that kitten to bring us together so I could share the gospel with her. And now the opportunity arose to bring her not just to a regular church meeting, but a meeting in-person with the prophet, an apostle, and a seventy?! There was no way she wouldn’t feel the Spirit and know the church was true and join.

This is a very young me in South Carolina with my newly adopted kitty Romeo (RIP, 2004-2019), right around the time I went to this regional conference meeting.

I invited her, and at first she agreed to come – but then she changed her mind and said she couldn’t. I don’t remember exactly why she backed out, but I remember it was with a questionable excuse when I reminded her about it the week before (like a family member might be coming by for lunch that day), and I couldn’t believe she was going to miss a once in a lifetime experience for something so meaningless! I was bummed, but I knew God had a plan and trusted she’d still hear the gospel another way.

The morning of the big meeting finally came, and I showed up very early to get a good seat – only to realize that President Hinckley wasn’t at the building I was in. He was at another one, and they were broadcasting it to a screen where I was. (I thought, “How is this different for the majority of us than a satellite broadcast from Salt Lake City?”) Then the speakers all spoke, and it was…underwhelming. It had a very heavy focus on missionary work, and I was suddenly relieved that my friend wasn’t there. It would’ve felt awkward to hear my leaders talking about recruiting new members as I was trying to recruit her as a new member. I had told her it was going to be an amazing message from God’s mouthpiece on earth, and they were saying less than groundbreaking things like, “New members of the church need a friend and a calling or they’ll stop coming after they’re baptized.” Elder Ballard talked about the new Preach My Gospel manual and emphasized needing more missionaries to go out and preparing the young men better. It wasn’t anything new or revelatory, and it would likely have been very boring to an outsider. Because I’d been trying to bring my friend along I imagined viewing the meeting through her eyes, and what I saw was a very slow moving and not particularly interesting meeting presented by really old men. I read a glowing report afterwards in the church news where a young woman said she’d never felt the spirit so strongly, and I wondered what meeting she had attended. (HERE is the church news report where I read that in back in 2004.)

Another close encounter with an apostle came in late 2010 when I was invited to attend a special fireside with Elder Dieter Uchtdorf for military families right as my husband was about to deploy for a year to Iraq. I was going to be right in the actual chapel with an apostle this time (not broadcasted!), and he had a message crafted specifically for someone like me. I couldn’t wait.

I’m on the left, waiting excitedly for the fireside to start next to two of my military wife friends.

But as Elder Uchtdorf began to speak, I immediately felt confused and weird. He told airplane stories and I sat there kind of stunned that I was sitting in a chapel within baseball toss distance of an apostle, and I felt… nothing. No big spiritual confirmation or anything. Just… oh look, there’s a guy up there talking.

My enthusiasm for his apostolic message waned even more as (against my will) the thought “He’s just a man – just a totally ordinary man” intruded into my mind. By the time he said “amen”, I was overwhelmed with (and hiding) my alarm that I’d felt zero inspiration from his perfectly acceptable talk and was instead inundated with feelings of his humanity and ordinary-ness.

A press photo of Elder Uchtdorf at this meeting.

I covered my feelings and joined those around me oohing and awwwing over the experience as we got up to leave, and by chance walked out at exactly the same time as Elder and Sister Uchtdorf themselves. I quickly took the opportunity to shake their hands and requested a photo so I could show my primary class the next week that I MET AN APOSTLE! I smiled but felt inwardly tormented that meeting an apostle had been so unexciting.

I noticed on the digital camera screen that my photo with Elder Uchtdorf was blurry and for a split second considered asking him for a second one, but decided not to because I was sure he wanted to head home.

My friend and I with the very sweet Harriet Uchtdorf.

If you are interested in the Deseret News coverage of this military-only fireside, you can see it HERE.

A couple years later in March of 2013, another general authority spoke at my stake conference when my husband was out of town. (Try as I might, I can’t remember who the speaker was, but my memory tells me it was an apostle.) I asked around for a babysitter for my young kids during the adult session, and was surprised when a friend offered to watch my kids for me since she wasn’t attending the session anyway (only her husband was, and she was staying home with their kids). She didn’t seem bothered by this situation, and just shrugged and said, “Eh, at least one of us gets to go.” I was bothered though – how could she so nonchalantly just skip a meeting with such an important church leader coming right to her stake? He was coming to speak God’s will directly to us!

But the meeting came, and I had a similar experience as in the past. I don’t remember much of what this general authority said when he spoke, but I remember how I felt about it. He didn’t seem to have anything prepared or particularly important to say and seemed almost irritated to be there. He said something like, “People always expect me to come and have some great answers, but…”, and then his words trailed off and he just shrugged his shoulders without finishing the sentence. It was so out of character from every talk I’d ever heard from a general authority that I was confused and disappointed. He did not seem interested in being there and did not have anything particularly special to tell us. He kept pausing and sighing, and his remarks seemed flippant. It was a huge letdown. (Afterwards, I heard people fawning over how great it was to have him speak unscripted and unfiltered – that he’d brought no notes whatsoever and just talked off the cuff to us. Again I thought, “What meeting did you go to that you thought was so great?”)

The only reason I know the date of that conference was because I found the online post I used that day to find a babysitter. I just wish I’d written down who the general authority was that I was going to hear!

These and other experiences with general authorities eventually led me to stop seeing apostles and prophets as perfect all-knowing beings who spoke only the words of God. I know not everyone learned they were flawless growing up, but I did. It took many years to see them as human leaders, who (just like the rest of us) were trying their best to figure things out as they go. They are tasked with running the church, but there’s nothing that necessarily makes them any better at it than any other church members, male or female, anywhere else in the church.

I believe church leaders should be allowed to make big mistakes, say the wrong thing, be in a bad mood the night they have to speak at a stake conference, say things they later regret over the pulpit, ask for forgiveness without being criticized for it, and get embarrassed or hurt feelings over the way they are talked about and responded to. I think most of them would appreciate everyone else ending the unnecessary pressure to be perfect and always have the perfect answers. One of the most freeing things in my own life is my ability to say, “I’m so sorry. I was wrong. Can I try again to do better?”

Last month Elder Renlund gave his widely discussed talk about Heavenly Mother in Women’s Session right HERE. As I listened to him deliver this talk, I felt the exact same disappointment I’ve felt in the past. His reasoning didn’t make sense to me when he said we should never demand revelation but instead must wait for it to come on Heavenly Father’s timeline. (His exact words were, “Demanding revelation is both arrogant and unproductive. Instead, we wait on the Lord and his timetable…”.) I mean, I understand he believes we can’t demand it, but can’t we at least *ask* for it? What about “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God”? Why does he think the only options are to arrogantly demand it or sit on our hands and do nothing? It honestly seemed like such a dumb thing to say when I heard it. But hey, that’s what humans do – they say dumb things.

I’ve been disappointed by the talks of many general authorities in the past, but the difference now is that I no longer expect to hear anything life changing from these men’s talks. I assume I’ll hear their opinions on a topic, and whether I decide it’s good advice for my own situation or sparks some heavenly inspiration is up to me. All of the leaders will make mistakes – and I believe forbidding Latter-day Saint women to ask for revelation about their own eternal destiny as mothers in heaven is a HUGE mistake.

But go easy on them. They’re just men.

We Don’t Know What To Do With Loud, Outspoken Women

I remember the first time I was shushed.

I was in Utah, laughing too hard at some silly joke. It was the first time I had belly-laughed since my grandmother’s passing that March. In a moment, months of shedding tears of soul-crushing grief seemed to evaporate into the air, filling me with a sense that all would be well again.  

Instead of the acceptance of joyfulness, a friend shushed me. The action stung like a slap across the face as I recoiled back into my tormented emotions.

Growing up, I was as quiet as a dormouse. I followed the Barbadian philosophy that children should speak only when spoken to. At school, I kept to an extremely small friend group who shared similar interests. In time, I found solace in the soft tones of our lunchtime conversations, reflecting on our childhood dreams.

In high school, I recognized silence was the ammunition bullies used to overthrow quieter individuals to bend them to their will. For a moment, I followed along because of what was expected by school hierarchy. I had long cashed in my popularity points as I resigned myself to my solitary fate in the shadows.

In time, I soon found my voice grasping at the small moments of courage that allowed me to speak my mind openly. Years upon years of hiding my inner most thoughts had left me with a verbal diarrhea that seemed to spew nonstop. I became more confident in my words, cheered on my mother and grandmother as I charted my own path in the world.

Despite my best efforts, my courage didn’t last long.

Like stacked dominos, my resolve fell leaving a scared, naive soul left behind adapting to a new reality after high school. Still, suppression had done its damage. I left with the negative scar tissue that my passivity had allowed. I discovered that words were dangerous weapons when wielded by unprepared, immature hands as I became a chip to be bartered by friends who threw me to the “hyenas of life” due to my own inability to stick up for myself. I remained wounded by the pain my silence had caused as years of unresolved trauma appeared in the form of self-doubt and crippling depression.

Soon after my eighteen birthday, I sat on a therapist’s couch following the first of many suicidal attempts. The heavy burden of my own silence brought me to my knees as I was forced to reveal the parts of myself that I had selectively kept hidden from others, forcing me to remove the lids off the jars containing my most dangerous demons.

In therapy, I learned the importance of being vocal in a world that sought to silence me. I learned to lean into my emotions whether they were scary or volatile. I was taught the tools to overcome my own fears in ways I had never taught as a child.

In the years that followed, I used these tips as guiding lights as I entered college. With a new fire in my eyes, I championed for myself. I cheered for myself. I put myself first even when the world dictated that I shouldn’t be confidently myself.

I’m not suggesting by any means that I made all the right decisions or said the right things. In my efforts to make amends, I’ve apologized more times for my mouth now that I’m older and more secure in who I am.

So, when I was shushed in that small apartment in Provo, my mind went blank.

Now that I’ve found myself, why does everyone want to tell me how “not normal” I am?

What would I be without being myself? Who would I have to pretend to be to appease the crowds of critics waiting for me to fail?

In the years since that encounter, more times that most I have heard twisted insults as those in my circle force me into the bonds of conformity. I recognize in Latter Day Saint culture, to be myself is to be an outsider. To be acceptable is to be passive and subservient.

To be accepted is to be quiet, still and “perfect”.

I am none of those things. I am loud, sassy with an attitude to last two lifetimes. I may not be the perfect example of what it means to be a Latter-Day Saint woman, but I am myself. I stand by the woman I am now whose journey to discover self no longer has detours, pitstops and sharp s-bend turns.

I stand in my loudness thanking God for the African ancestors who came before me(vocal in their own way and unapologetically themselves), recognizing my voice breaking through the barriers of a soundless world.

 We may not know as a church what to do with loud women. We may hush them, roll our eyes or even bash them with our barbed insults. We may find harsh words about them by the bucketful or cast them aside for being labeled “different”.

I crave the difference thrust onto my emotionally weary shoulders. The rebel lives inside of me. She welcomes the chaos, marching to the beat of her own drum, creating a loudness of her very own.

“But We’re Better Than Them!”

I wasn’t sure what to write this month’s blog post about until I saw a certain comment on my post from last month. My April 2022 post addressed how disappointingly low the bar is for men in the Church, to which someone replied, “I see more men who are strong and organized and compassionate at church than I so [sic] anywhere else in the world. So I don’t get the point here. Just seems like a poorly formed complaint.” Putting aside the merits of the accusation of whether my previous post is a “poorly formed complaint”, I wanted to discuss the Mormon exceptionalism in the comment. Frankly, I think the commenter and those who think like them are wrong when they respond to any criticism this way.

I call this the “But we’re better than them!” defense, and I find it intellectually useless and doctrinally unsound. It is intellectually useless because even if it is true, it prompts the question “so what?” Jenny wrote about this beautifully in a blog post from 2014: “I don’t care if we are better than Muslims or Catholics or anyone else.  I want to be better than we are.” The “But we’re better than them!” line of thinking is more of a deflection tactic than an honest reflection of oneself or one’s group. It is a barrier to our eternal progression when we make excuses and seek to draw attention to other’s faults instead of the ones we have the greatest power to fix: our own. As the Redeemer testified, “Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother’s eye” (Matthew 7:5).

Besides that, I don’t believe it is true anyway that active members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are inherently better people. Rather, we are all imperfect people making our way together through this mortal life, and plenty of good and kind and loving (and strong and organized and compassionate) human beings do not share the same faith. I am married to a wonderful non-member man and grew up in a non-member family, and most of my closest friends and colleagues are not members of my religion (or any religion). My conversion makes me a better person than I used to be, but it does not make me better than everyone else.

Jesus also didn’t make excuses for His followers. Rather, He held them to higher standards and praised examples from groups they did not get along with, looked down on, and even hated. When Jesus meets the Samaritan woman at the well in John 4:4-26, the state of distrust between Jews like Him and Samaritans like her is apparent from the outset when He asks for water and she replies, “How is it that thou, being a Jew, askest drink of me, which am a woman of Samaria? for the Jews have no dealings with the Samaritans.” He ends up not only having a conversation with her but sharing with her eternal truths that she then shares with other Samaritans (John 4:28-42). In no part of the Savior’s teaching to her does He say Jews are superior to Samaritans or defend any bad behavior of His own group by saying others are worse or any of the things we would expect Him to say if He ascribed to the “But we’re better than them!” school of thought. As a result, He is more effective in sharing further light and knowledge and empowering her to do the same.

In a separate instance when disciples James and John suggested to Jesus that they burn a village of Samaritans for not receiving Him, He scolded them by saying, “Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of. For the Son of man is not come to destroy men’s lives, but to save them” (Luke 9:55-56). This applies to any “other” we might be tempted to destroy (or even just mistreat): members of other religions, races, genders, sexual orientations, ability or disability, the list goes on.

In Leviticus 19:18, we are commanded as follows: “Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself: I am the Lord.” I can think of few things less loving towards our neighbors and less exalting for ourselves than the pride that leads us to proclaim, “But we’re better than them!” The fear of others and the desire to seem better than them is natural and reinforced by our competitive society, so we must be proactive in resisting those temptations. When we take the time to see the goodness in those who are different from us and focus on the weaknesses within ourselves and our communities we can improve, then we move a little closer to where I believe God would have us be.

Guest Post: Let it be the Ocean & View From St. Simon’s Island

Guest post by Elise Petersen, a naturalist poet from the East Coast.

Photo taken by the author at Forest Beach on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina

Let it be the Ocean

If I am made in the image of any God,
let it be the Ocean
whose shape is decided, moment to moment
by Her own, unbridled will.

View from St. Simon’s Island

The truth is, I don’t believe in God.
And, yet

I wade far into the ocean, alone
and feel compelled to whisper:
“Mama,

I came to see you. Please hold me for a while.”

***

This post is part of a series, Contemplating Heavenly Mother. Find more from this series here.

Towards an Even More Institutional Church

Not too long ago was my local Stake Conference. Within a couple of talks by male leadership it was quite clear that the there was “Tell Everyone To Do Come Follow Me.” I do not suggest that this is a bad idea, but I am disappointed that from this conference, and General Conference, that Come Follow Me is being added to the grocery list of items that “good” members, or members who are struggling with the spirit must do to access spiritual communion.

 

To be clear, there were a couple of beautiful, humble, heartfelt talks in the Stake Conference that I connected with. These modest talks invoked the spirit, connecting us as mortals and humans, and though they were not connected to the childing Come Follow Me Theme, the spiritual upliftment was distinct and clear.

 

But not the Come Follow Me orations. Though well prepared—they felt prepared for a specific …. Something. It soon came to me. The area authority was speaking, and, like all the other leadership, his talk was also focused on why we all need to do Come Follow Me. First the man was introduced:

Life-long member

Returned Missionary

Missionary service defined his line of study

Employed by the church since he first finished university

List of leadership church callings

 

This already made me twinge. I do not live in North America, so church employees are effectively employed by a US corporation. As per church culture and policy, he was paid well enough that his wife did not “need” to be fiscally employed “outside of the home,” but I was also aware of the disproportionate burden place on local membership to pay this man’s wages.

 

Then he began: A comfortable and well-rehearsed speaker, this area authority stood and delivered the same sermon as he had likely a dozen times before. He started by calling on the organist, and as polite as one can be when standing in authority and presuming the organist can play any hymn in the hymnbook. He asked the woman in her early twenties to play “just a main line” of a specific hymn. She did, with occasional embarrassed error, yet smiling the whole way through. He then asked her to play the entire unrehearsed hymn, which she did, and then we all joined in in singing one verse. A nice time killer, all at the expense of the organist.  

 

Though the area authority seemed very comfortable in speaking, I felt as though he were almost… too comfortable. In a dishonest way. He was clearly presumptive with the organist. And he seemed just fine with that, treating everyone like they were from the same club. So much that he then asked congregation members to stand at the prepared microphones to speak in support of his teachings on the benefice of Come Follow Me. He had yet to bare testimony, share a scripture or share with us his prayerful preparation- which I suspected was lacking. Soon, two people gathered at the microphones to share their positive experiences with Come Follow Me. 

 

This is where I rolled my eyes and nearly threw my hands in the air. You see, the majority of my stake is not white/ethnically Anglo. But the area authority and the stake president are both white men. And each of the congregation members who went to the microphone in support of the Area Authority were also white. Of the two individuals who stood to support the area authority in his “improvised” invitation, both felt a little … planted. And maybe they weren’t. Yet the area authority thanked them by name, joking with the women that he asked her (stake president) husband the same question the night before, and the stake president gave the same answer as she did, so clearly they were a righteous coupling. And after the new-to-the-stake, single, late-teen male spoke,the area authority complimented him and asked the teen to pass on the area authority’s regards to the teen’s parents. The area authoruty knew all of the speaking white people and their families. 

 

Long before this happened, the whole area authority felt like he was running a corporate meeting. I anticipated a testimony on Amway, but that, nor a testimony of Christ came. Instead, the man spoke of how easy it was to include Come Follow Me in families—omitting that families in our area likely were two income, and based on statistical education rates, likely did shift work who might have to juggle shift work. He added no personal references of how Come Follow Me was going in his own family (Does mum make it happen? Does dad?), or anything about his own family. But he did share stories about his church work, and how superior he was in… everything.

 

Then he spoke of how easy it is to talk to strangers on a plane about the church when travelling on church business. Because when you are wearing a church name tag, and only have the flight time to engage with no social repercussions, it is easy to share church discourse. You have no after-effect or exclusion from after-school activities and community BBQs. Thus, you can be as thoroughly disconnected to your seatmate as you are to the members of the church community of which you preside. Well done, Mr. Missionary. I guess. 

 

This speaker represented institutionalism. And disconnection. But this is what the church looks like from my lowly seat, in the back, sans upper church echelon (church-employed, white, male) connections: rich white men paid well enough by the church to not have to give up dental insurance to pay tithing. White men connecting with each other and their spouses discussing how easy it is to schedule in Come Follow Me and Family Home Evening on a 9-5, M-F work schedule. White men presuming that the (mostly likely) female organist had enough free time to learn every hymn in the church hymnbook so she can play requests as though the church was a piano bar without a tip glass.

 

The speakers I loved were not white. They were not wearing suits. They were not employed by the church. They spoke from the heart with humility—true humility, relating their imperfections, their desire to improve, their longing to be included in Christ’s arms. They did not lecture me about church programs, but bore witness of what spiritually worked for them. These speakers were those who the area authority white man did NOT know by name. These speakers sat with their families because there was no room for them in the inn on the stand. These speakers inspired me, and exited the meeting without fanfare or congratulatory Mormon-guy handshakes.

 

Suffice to say, stake conference left me disappointed. The starkness of the institutionalised leadership in comparison to the average church membership was never so distinct to me previously. But I could not un-see or unhear the corporation of the church, its empirical spirituality, and 2-piece suit/dental insurance income.  To me, the church is feeling less and less like it is being run by lay-members, and more and more like it is thickening the glass ceiling to institutionalised leadership. It was never so apparent before, but it seems only too clear of a foreboding disconnect between the institutionalised leadership and the working-class, saintly membership (which pays for the leadership in tithes).

 

I do not like this institutionalism. It does not reek of nationalism to the community wherein we live, but speaks of a patriotism to a corporate organization. Mostly, it is absent of the spirit. So whilst I support my fellow membership, they are wherein my loyalty lies. But to the white guys on the stand, I feel like I owe nothing. I could and would not voice an “amen.”

 

How institutionalised is the church where you are? Do you feel a divide between leadership?

Guest Post: Meeting Together

By Miriam

Miriam is finishing her PhD at the University of Oregon and is en route to the University of Memphis where she’ll be an Assistant Professor of Criminology starting in August 2022. She lives with her husband and three girls.

It’s been 24 hours since my bishop stood and told our congregation that he has a very strong testimony of the importance of meeting together as a ward.

I don’t share that same testimony. At least not now. At least not yet.

The context of his speech was that the stake has decided to stop Zooming Sacrament meetings and stop authorizing in-home sacrament.

I was in-person watching him talk directly to the camera – reaching the people still at home (which I would likely still be one of them if my 10 year old extroverted kid hadn’t begged us for months to return – to which we finally gave in after the Omicron wave died down). He testified that being together brings all kinds of blessings. I don’t doubt it’s brought blessings for him. His feelings are valid. For me, it’s brought stress…lots of it.

There are the regular/minor stressors common that come along with going to church – trying to get our toddler to be happy while skipping her nap; telling our 8 year old we’d prefer she doesn’t wear sweatpants to church (“You can wear slacks or a skirt, but I’m drawing the line at purple sweats”).

Then there are the stressors of being in a pandemic – we still have an unvaccinated toddler, do we really want to be around so many people indoors?

And then there are the stressors that weigh most heavily on me. Going to the building shows me up close how much inequality there is in the institution of the church. Sometimes I feel I’m uniquely aware of the inequality – I mean, no one else is talking about it at church. But it’s everywhere and it’s obvious and it’s the focus of our attention when we’re there – even to my 8-year-old.

The 8 year old who just wants things to be more fair

Yesterday that 8-year-old kept turning to me throughout Sacrament meeting with loudly whispered comments like, “So, girls really can’t ever pass the Sacrament? That’s totally unfair,” Or “So we can NEVER have a girl bishop? Why, mom? Why?” If my 8-year-old can see it so clearly and it’s the focus of her attention while we’re taking the sacrament, it’s obvious to everyone. Some may have internalized it and gotten used to it. But it’s still there. And it’s still obvious.

When we had home church, we focused on the Savior. We pondered how we can be better disciples of Him and what that might mean in a racist/sexist/classist society. We discussed the role we need to play to help make this world a little bit better. But when we go to church, it’s hard for us to have that focus because the burden of that societal inequality is pushing so hard against us (worse than other institutions we participate in), blocking the view of what we came here to do.

So, what’s the answer? I want to wrap this up and say something sweet like, “We go to church to show love even when we’re feeling so much adversity against us there.” But I’m not sure how long that can be true.

If we have any hope of making church a place where everyone feels that it’s a beautiful place to worship together, we’ve got to confront the inequalities head on. We can’t keep sidestepping the deep seeded racism and sexism that permeates the air we breathe in the church building. Now’s the time.

Introducing The Book of Mormon for the Least of These, Volume 2

Rev. Dr. Fatimah S. Salleh was born in Brooklyn, NY to a Puerto-Rican and Malaysian mother and an African-American father. Dr. Salleh received her PhD in Mass Communication from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. She also earned a master’s degree from Syracuse University in Public Communication and a master’s in Divinity from Duke University. She launched A Certain Work in 2018 in an effort to provide racial equity consultation and training for organizations and churches. In 2021, she launched Salleh Ministries Inc., a religious non-profit, to focus on wellness and well-being for clergy and activists.

Margaret Olsen Hemming is the former editor in chief of Exponent II. She is the art editor of Dialogue: A Journal of Mormon Thought and sits on the advisory board for the Center for Latter-day Saint Arts. She earned a master’s degree in International Peace and Conflict Resolution from American University.

In the introduction to Volume One of this series, we expressed the importance of reading the Book of Mormon through the lens of social justice and liberation theology and described the necessity and value of this type of interpretation. While the Book of Mormon has been analyzed in many different ways—including symbolically, historically, and as a work of literature—never before has it been the subject of a verse-by-verse reading focused on issues of the oppressed. Given that holy text has so frequently been used throughout history to further oppress people who already stand at the margins, the absence of an alternative reading seems striking. Reading scripture with the intent of finding and amplifying messages of liberation and justice offers hope and relief to the least of these.

The response to our first volume using this interpretation of the Book of Mormon was extraordinary. We received messages from readers around the world, particularly from women, BIPOC, and queer folk. Many told us that for the first time in their adult lives, they felt excited by and drawn to the Book of Mormon. In personal conversations, people tearfully told us they had prayed for a book like ours for many years. While we had hoped the book would resonate, we were overwhelmed and humbled by the impact readers described. We struck a chord and identified an urgent gap in the discussion.

At the same time, we felt disappointed, though not surprised, to also hear from those who felt we had no right to publish a study of the Book of Mormon. Those respondents questioned our authority to interpret scripture. These comments strengthened our conviction that not enough commentaries about the Book of Mormon have been written by women and people of color. Our faith community needs to see these populations speaking about scripture. Every person engages with holy text through the filter of their own personal experiences, culture, and family background, whether or not they are conscious of it. Women have distinctive questions and insights to raise about the Book of Mormon. People of color have particular issues that may resonate with their experiences in the world. Knowledge is, in part, a matter of perspective. We hope this book encourages all readers, whatever their background and experiences, to ask and wrestle with questions different from the ones they have previously considered.

***

What does it mean to read the Book of Mormon for the least of these? Liberation theologian Miguel A. De La Torre wrote that, “Reading the Bible from the margins of society is not an exercise that reveals interesting perspectives on how other cultures read and interpret biblical texts. To read the Bible from the margins is to grasp God in the midst of struggle and oppression.”[1] Similarly, the work of reading the Book of Mormon through the lens of social justice can feel heart-rending and disturbing. The Book of Mormon is, fundamentally, a tragedy and a book about loss. It poses big questions about where and how God shows up in periods of terrible violence and heartbreak, particularly in the books of Mosiah and Alma. This text demands that readers not look away from the existence of war, rape, torture, and oppression in our world. The term “bondage” appears 66 times in the Book of Mormon, almost entirely in the books of Mosiah and Alma. This speaks to the horrifying reality of slavery and the damage it inflicts on people’s bodies and souls. The Book of Mormon does not tolerate the excuse of ignorance, asking us to examine the worst parts of human behavior and wrestle with the question, “How does an omniscient and all-loving God allow these things to happen?”

Our approach evaluates status-quo readings of well-trodden stories and interrogates less-typically discussed stories for important truths. We examine leadership models and the idea of prosperity gospel, extrapolating the spiritual definition of what it means to “prosper in the land.” In addition, we show further evidence for the ways Nephites and Lamanites are constructed identities meant to stoke racism and animosity, and not ethnic differences. The books of Mosiah and Alma return again and again to the concept of community: how to build it, how it fractures, and what happens when people choose themselves over others. The people of Zeniff leave and Mosiah welcomes Limhi and Alma’s people to the land of Zarahemla. The sons of Mosiah form loving friendships with people they previously considered enemies. The Zoramites evict a portion of their own people, then declare war on those who offer them sanctuary. The Anti-Nephi-Lehies establish the land of Jershon, which becomes a beautiful place of safety for anyone who needs it, regardless of nationality or background. The Nephites struggle again and again with dissenters who choose their own interests over their people. In these discussions, we often refer to “beloved community,” which references the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King’s phrase for an ideal where everyone strives to benefit the common good, seeks justice for all people, and helps build an integrated society. We could, and sometimes do, also call this Zion. The books of Mosiah and Alma offer beautiful and sometimes tragic collisions of people and how their complicated interactions sometimes come close to, and often fail, to meet this ideal. The tragedy of the Book of Mormon is that ultimately, the people choose their own interests over beloved community. This may also be the tragedy of our modern time.

Story-telling and letters also feature prominently in the books of Mosiah and Alma. Characters frequently separate in these books—Alma the Elder is in Lehi-Nephi while Mosiah is in Zarahemla; Ammon is with the Lamanites while Alma the Younger is in Ammonihah; Moroni and Helaman face different fronts of the war—and story-telling and letters serve to share their experiences with each other (and the reader). Thus, while the record in the first third of the Book of Mormon seems directed toward an unspecified future reader, the text of Mosiah and Alma frequently shows the characters communicating to one another. These sections emphasize the spiritual power of narrative and memory work. The stories preserved in this holy text have equal value to the sermons and doctrinal explanations. When Ammon finds Limhi and when Limhi’s people and Alma’s people return to Zarahemla, one of the first things they do is sit down together and read one another’s records and tell their histories. The preservation of these stories on brass plates—the very existence of the Book of Mormon—speaks to the sacredness of story-telling, particularly as a part of community.

This volume analyzes what get often referred to as “the war chapters” of the Book of Mormon, which some skip over. As we show, passing over these chapters is a lost opportunity.  The frequently violent events of these books and the principal characters often struggle with what role God plays in that violence. When things go well for the Nephites in battle, they see God directing their military strategy. When they fall under siege and slowly starving to death, they wonder if God has abandoned them. When they suffer under the burdens of enslavement, they see God’s punishment. When they walk free into the wilderness, they speak of God’s miracles. In this volume, we have carefully tried to not strip God from other people’s narratives. Particularly in dark times, people must be allowed to interpret divine intervention in their lives in their own way. At the same time, we can recognize it as their truth without accepting their interpretation as universal truth. This is how they experienced God, not necessarily the totality of truth about God. Whether or not we accept how they interpret the events of their lives, the narrators of the Book of Mormon ask us to sit with them in difficult questions about how the divine interacts with a world that includes so much suffering.

As you read Volume Two in this series, we hope you will consider which voices in our society speak with spiritual power but get widely ignored. Frequently, the most important and powerful perspectives come from the margins of society—from brave Lamanite queens to an unnamed maid acting as a spy to the Anti-Nephi-Lehi community modeling how to welcome refugees. We also want you will see how God shows up in the unlikeliest of places and in the most harrowing times. Finally, we hope the world will see the Book of Mormon as a tragic warning of the perils of choosing power and self-interest over humility, compassion, and justice. As Alma discusses, joy and sorrow often coexist. The clarion call of this volume is of the urgent need to dedicate ourselves to building beloved community. We pray that it may offer a word of healing and liberation for a wounded world.

Volume Two of The Book of Mormon for the Least of These is available today. You can order from your local independent bookstore or here.

[1] Miguel de La Torre. Reading the Bible From the Margins. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2002.

Guest Post: She Never Writes Back

Guest post by Jennie Loomis, who writes letters to Heavenly Mother on her Instagram account. @letterstomygodmother. She never writes back.

Last April, I decided to start writing letters to my Heavenly Mother and post them on Instagram. I figured revelation is often in the reaching. So, I chose to reach. The root of revelation is to reveal or lay bare. I have laid myself bare to the Mother and my fellow saints in some very raw ways. Sometimes, my vulnerability hangover is so strong, it takes days before I can bring myself to check the comments. Revealing yourself is grueling work.

I begin each post with the phrase, “Dear Mother,” because I am speaking directly to Heavenly Mother. I ask her where she’s been. I ask how she feels about our doctrine and culture. I ask if it makes her sad when she thinks about all the women whose stories got left out of our scriptures. I offer up what I am learning about who she must be from my own experiences with grief and mothering and being human. She never writes back.

But my fellow saints do.

Overwhelmingly, I hear from women. These women are thoughtful, vulnerable, faithful, compassionate, funny and–with heartbreaking regularity–in real pain. They reveal themselves to me in their comments and private messages. It is humbling and inspiring. These women are beyond good. They are luminous.

In a compelling essay from Sara Hanks called “Patriarchy’s Goddess” (posted to https://eldersister.substack.com on April 7th) she said, “I’ve come to see Heavenly Mother as a symbol. She is a vessel for whatever Mormons think of women.” She described the limited way in which men are willing to imagine a Heavenly Mother and compared it with the expansive, nuanced version of a Mother many faithful women envision. She described exactly what I have been doing. “When they attribute compassion, rage, playfulness, and wisdom to their Mother in Heaven, I believe it’s because they see those qualities in themselves and recognize them as points of pride.” She is right, of course. We are like adopted children, trying to piece together our parentage by looking in the mirror. Absent any substantive information, what can we do but extrapolate who She is based on what we know of ourselves?

Three of my kids are adopted. All their adoptions are open. I have pictures and information about their parents and grandparents–way more than we have about our Mother–but it is never quite enough. We end up writing letters and asking for more. When he was thirteen, our son went with his dad on a road trip to meet his birth mom and little brother. His curly hair and flecked eyes and shy mannerisms suddenly made perfect sense. He is automatically interested in anything he hears she cares about. He always wants more.

After being dissatisfied with the information I had about her birth parents, my teenage daughter spent hours online sorting through the images and videos of her biological sisters’ Instagram and TikTok accounts. She tried to figure out where she fit–was that her nose, her hair? Did they have her same eyes, inherited from their Persian grandfather? Would she be as tall as that sister or more petite like the other one? It looks like she’s going to land somewhere in the middle. She’s started texting one sister occasionally to ask questions and build some sort of relationship. She knows she will want more information, more connection.

My littlest daughter talks about her birth mom all the time. She sleeps with a doll I made her as a baby. It’s her Mama Rachel doll. It was made to look like her birth mom so she would always have her close by. (It seems comforting to have a totem for her mother. I wish I had one for my Mother.) I grew up with her mom, so I have more to offer her than I do the other kids. I can tell her stories about the times we sang in church together or the funny things she and my sister used to do. She gets to talk to her mom on the phone regularly. We have a visit planned this summer. I know when we’re back, she will want even more.

It won’t be enough because you can never have too much understanding about who you are and where you came from. It isn’t just the root-planting, life-giving sense of belonging we are after. We need to know where we are headed. My family tree is not a mystery because I grew up with them. I have red hair just like my Grandma Pearl. I knew it would turn white, not gray as I got older. There’s an easy sort of comfort in knowing that.

I don’t know who my Heavenly Mother is or in what ways I will grow like She has. Our doctrine is profoundly quiet on this subject. So, I extrapolate. My mind is filled with if/then statements. Some of it is doctrinal logic. If humans are supposed to be equally yoked in marriage, then it makes sense gods would be. If the Father is all-knowing, then so is the Mother. If the Father sent His Son to die for us, then the Mother did as well. If I can tell patriarchy is corrosive and absurd, then surely the Mother would not tolerate it in a perfected sphere. Some of it is purely personal. If I’m Her child, then I must be a little bit like Her. Conversely, She must be at least a little bit like me. If I’m passionate and curious, then how could She not be? Then it goes beyond myself. If the women I hear from are Her daughters, then understanding them tells me even more about Her. If there is tremendous variety in Her creations, then it is clear She delights in diversity. Can there be a more meaningful way to know a creator than by studying their creations?

In Sara Hanks’ essay, she described how her feelings ping-pong back and forth between wishing the women would just walk away from the church she feels is holding them back and admiring the creativity, courage and tenacity with which they approach this patriarchal theology. She said, “It’s really not about Heavenly mother for me. I don’t believe in Heavenly Mother; I believe in Mormon women.” I get it. I truly do. There are times that all this reaching up to Heavenly Mother feels pointless. Like I said, She never writes back.

But the women do.

It may be that the nearest I’ll ever get to knowing the Mother will be through Her children. The thought that I am one of them fills me with gratitude and hope. I have met them and they are miraculous. They are revelations in their own right. For the moment, that is enough. But I know I will keep on wanting more. That is what I mean when I say the revelation is in the reaching. The fact that I feel this pull to lay myself bare–that I feel homesick for a heaven I can’t remember–is evidence enough for me to hope I have a Mother there.

This post is part of a series, Contemplating Heavenly Mother. Find more from this series here.