Exponent II's Blog, page 148

Let Them Worship

It was pre-pandemic, back when Activity Days happened in-person. My dear friend is the other leader, and we loved having time to chat and be together. Sometimes I’d be wrangling my toddler. Sometimes there was a bit of time beforehand for me to listen to her process a crazy day of work. Sometimes there was lots of “music” being played on the Primary room’s piano. It was generally happy chaos.

Probably it was November. My friend was helping the girls go through our welcome ritual. We recited the 11th Article of Faith:

“We claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship how, where, or what they may.”

She asked the girls what that meant. There was a pause while they considered the multisyllabic vocabulary. My daughter piped up: “I think it means that women can worship God too.”

All the wiggly shoes and fidgety fingers got quiet and still. Every girl was listening attentively. My heart ached with how earnestly my little girl was writing herself into the text and looking for validation that it was okay to do so. My friend confirmed that yes, it means women can worship god too. She paused, as a new realization washed over her. “You know,” she continued, “usually we say the 11th Article of Faith is telling us that we should respect the different ways people worship in other churches. But it’s also talking about people in our church. It is okay if people in our church don’t worship the exact same way that you do.”

This struck me as a profound and important truth. This interpretation is inclusive. It creates space for people on the margins. I love that this reading honors the conscience of individuals, no matter what the shape of their belief looks like. It recognizes people who are still seeking for further light and knowledge. It invites sharing, listening, and learning from each other. It says “We’re glad you’re here. We don’t have to be exactly the same for you and me to both be part of us.” Learning to work with people who think or act differently from oneself is a process, whether those people are in your own family, your ward family, or the whole-world family. I love that this framing gives me language directly from the LDS cannon that is able to advocate for diversity within the church, without being challenging or confrontational.

I love that my friend taught this lesson to my daughters. Her words came from her heart: there can be a lot of pain in making personal decisions that don’t align perfectly with church cultural norms. I love that this framing helps make it easier to recognize that not all worship and devotion to deity occurs in a church context. A person’s relationship with the church does not necessarily reflect their relationship with the divine. It reminds me that Jesus’ worship did not follow all the rules of Jewish law. I love that this Article of Faith reminds me to honor each person’s individual relationship with deity. I want to make space at church. To offer grace. To share what feeds my soul. To be willing to taste what others have to offer. I think we will have a feast.

 

Michelle Wright Amos, #NASA engineer & current Latter-day Saint missionary, was on the team that developed #Perseverance rover, which recently arrived on Mars. #WomenInSTEM #Mormon #LDS

Read the article here: Ex-NASA engineer watches her project land on Mars while serving Latter-day Saint mission

Michelle Wright Amos

Guest Post: I Love You, So I Say This, parts 9-11

Guest post by Anonymous. This Mama got a gay kid for Christmas in 2019. In March 2020 BYU signaled LGBTQ acceptance in an update to the Honor Code, and hastily retracted it. Feeling protective, this Mama wrote what she wished she could say to her Mormon family members. A week later, the first major COVID lockdowns started, and the BYU incident was pushed to the background. A year later, this personal appeal to the better angels is a plea in remembrance of that horrible week. There are 19 short pieces. This post is parts 9-11 of 19. The others will be linked here when they are published.

Parts 1-4
Parts 5-8

I love you. So I say this. Part 9

“So how are you guys feeling about the Church?”

Election Day 2008 – It was thrilling and groundbreaking and I was on a high. I let the kids stay home from school and took them with me to vote – all four on a cold day in November, stroller and toddlers in tow across campus.

There were 4-5 good, amazing hours that day.

When the sun set the earth shattered. I learned of the passage of Prop 8, watched the videos that the Church leaders had sent the Saints in California to mobilize them, and uncovered the stories of leaders asking wealthy Mormons to contribute money to Prop 8 political efforts.

I chased down the rabbit hole for years. I learned all I could about LDS doctrine on sex, gender, and marriage.

There is one takeaway you may consider.

The Proclamation on the Family was not revelation. It uses the langauge of think tank talking points for use in political efforts against abortion, divorce, birth control, and gay marriage. It was written so that, if the Church wanted to weigh in on legal cases concerning these issues, it could prove that these teachings were an essential part of the gospel, and they could act against legislative protections under the guise of religious freedom. Why couldn’t the Church just point to existing revelations and scriptures to establish their position?

Because there weren’t any.

There. Weren’t. Any.

So they wrote the Proclamation.

Packer called it a revelation once, and that statement was then very publically retracted. Despite the fact it’s been publically classified as “not revelation,” it’s well on its way to being canonized. The changes in temple language In January 2019 indicate this all too clearly.

This Proclamation, a legal policy document and non-revelation, is the most-oft quoted justification for the Church’s actions against LGBTQ people. Do you have a copy of it in your scriptures? Did you ever stop to ask why?

We saw it just this week in the letter from CES sent to clarify updates to the Honor Code at BYU, a debacle that leaves yet more LGBTQ young people exposed and injured. The letter quotes a Proclamation statement as a foundational doctrine of the restored gospel, despite the fact there is no such revelation. You’d have a much stronger case proving polygamy to be the foundational principle of Mormon marriage than heterosexuality.

Policy language is being normalized as an authoritative source of doctrine. Soon, when it is canonized, this unrevealed bias will be said to be from God. And we all know that when God speaks, people can justify anything they do, as we discover in the early chapters of the Book of Mormon.

Perhaps you think I’m over-reacting…

No, I most definitely am not.

I love you. So I say this. Part 10

“So how are you guys feeling about the Church?”

The Sunday after Prop 8 was a fast Sunday. I was devastated and could not make myself go to Church…but I heard what happened.

Scores of people in our ward wore rainbow ribbons to church. Many went up to bear their testimony of their gay loved one or their own queer identity.

For days afterward, some ward members said it was the most spiritual testimony meeting they’d ever attended…and others said it was the most offensive.

One ward member called her General Authority connection in Salt Lake, who then called our Stake President.

The next Sunday, on November 16, 2008, the Stake President crashed sacrament meeting unannounced and gave a talk about following the prophet. He called us all to fall in line (and take off those rainbow ribbons).

Immediately after sacrament meeting, people indeed stood in line…to hand him their temple recommends. The stake president, shocked at our ward’s reaction to the talk, refused to take them.

The third Sunday, November 23, 2008, was the last Sunday of the month before students would be sent home from the university wards for Thanksgiving break. The Stake President announced a fireside that evening, and the room was packed. He explained he had given the talk the week before because he didn’t want us going home from our university ward and telling our families that our stake supported gay marriage. He didn’t want us wearing our rainbow ribbons to the home wards. The Church had sent a representative from Public Relations to back him up, and he sat at the front of the room.

They conducted a Q&A. Some people asked questions, some spoke to the wrongness of Prop 8, and some spoke to the wrongness of how we in the room were treating our Stake President. The schism in the ward would last for years thereafter.

That schism extended to my Mormon identity, and my split spirit has never been the same. I cried that night.

In some ways I never stopped crying.

I love you. So I say this. Part 11

“So how are you guys feeling about the Church?”

I sat in a classroom at Harvard at an event organized by the LDSSA. Prop 8 had passed and the LDS Harvard students invited the Church PR representative from the prior day’s fireside to represent the Church in a discussion of gay marriage legalization that would be presented by their Harvard Law professors. Oh sweet summer LDS law students…

The queer Harvard Law professor stood at the podium. She sighed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to march out the arguments surrounding the legalization of gay marriage. It’s strange to me to be doing so – again – in 2008. We’ve already won this right in Massachusetts and every calamity that religious organizations promised would accompany legalization have not come to pass. But here we go.”

Thus followed 90 minutes of the law professors making their arguments, articulating the positions of those who opposed gay marriage, and responding to those articulations. The Church PR guy was able to interject after each exchange.

It quickly became clear that his only argument was his appeal to authority – follow the prophet. He would not acknowledge the pain surrounding the Church’s actions and the heartbreak of those of us in the room. He sat in the presence of these queer professors, and they knew he disapproved of who they were and how they lived.

We in the audience had attended to hear him explain what we’d been missing. What did we not understand about this issue that was so readily apparent to our leaders? How did Prop 8 make sense in the light of our callings to follow Christ, love one another, and champion families?

We weren’t missing anything.

 

Guest Post: I Love You, So I Say This, parts 5-8

Guest post by Anonymous. This Mama got a gay kid for Christmas in 2019. In March 2020 BYU signaled LGBTQ acceptance in an update to the Honor Code, and hastily retracted it. Feeling protective, this Mama wrote what she wished she could say to her Mormon family members. A week later, the first major COVID lockdowns started, and the BYU incident was pushed to the background. A year later, this personal appeal to the better angels is a plea in remembrance of that horrible week. There are 19 short pieces. This post is parts 5-8 of 19. The others will be linked here when they are published.

Parts 1-4

I love you. So I say this. Part 5

“So how are you guys feeling about the Church?”

You may think I’m over-reacting. You’d like to believe that, wouldn’t you?

You raised your family, and my mom raised mine, in Wyoming. Your son and I met at Dean Morgan Junior High in 8th grade. We attended Natrona County High School. We had scholarships to the University of Wyoming. Why does that matter?

We knew Matthew Shepard. Do you recognize the name? If not, you need to learn it.

Today.

He was a year behind us. I remember having him in a few classes. I remember him being the quiet kid. I remember him wearing a signature grey sweatshirt. I remember a day in class when someone commented on how he wore that grey sweatshirt every day. I remember all of the kids – us – laughing. That’s my strongest memory of him. I never remember him smiling, but actually, I wasn’t really paying attention.

I was part of his childhood by being on the periphery and not being there at all.

That is a thing I live with.

Right now, there is a play running in our town, called, “Considering Matthew Shepard.” There is a PBS documentary series. There is a law.

Perhaps you think I am over-reacting.

No, I am not.

I love you. So I say this. Part 6

“So how are you guys feeling about the Church?”

I have read a few books on supporting your LGBTQ teen since your grandchild came out. All the books talk about trauma, safety, counseling. All the books encourage the parent to support their teen. All the books implore unconditional love. All the books suggest you find resources before you ever think you’ll need them.

Can you guess why?

The books also say that, when your kid comes out, you may experience a period of mourning for what may have been, or dreams for them that you must now leave behind in order to embrace the new reality. I don’t mourn my child’s queerness. When it comes to mourning, what I mourn is that her geography has constricted. There are places where she may literally be unsafe to exist. Wyoming will always be one of them for me. Utah too. Kids die in these places.

Matthew Shepherd died in Wyoming when you were living there. I hope that matters to you. It happened to a soul in my life. Among my people. Among you. Among us. I was there, and I wasn’t.

Perhaps you think I am over-reacting.

No, I am not.

I love you. So I say this. Part 7

“So how are you guys feeling about the Church?”

As a young child I wanted to marry my cousin Curtis, who was about 10 years older than me.

As a young teen, I visited my extended family and met Curts and his roommate Dave. They invited my grandparents and I over for dinner. The day before we were to go, Curtis took me aside and explained that, when I came over for dinner, I would see only one bedroom. He told me that he and Dave considered themselves to be married, even though they didn’t have a license. He walked me over to Dave and took his hand. They invited me to look.

I still remember my right hand holding Curtis’s wrist, and my left hand holding Dave’s, as I inspected their matching rings.

I told Dave that I liked him and that if I couldn’t marry Curtis, I’m glad he did. I told Dave to treat him right.

Years later, Curtis died of AIDS much too young.

Perhaps you think I’m over-reacting.

No, I am not.

I love you. So I say this. Part 8

“So how are you guys feeling about the Church?”

You know I was a convert, the only one in my family. You saw it happen. As an older teen, I found Mormon friends. I could stay for sleepovers on Saturday nights if I went to Church the next day. I went to dances, activities, and was baptized the week after I got my driver’s license and could drive myself to sacrament meeting. I think you may have even been there at my baptism.

I encountered teachings on LGBTQ people in the context of “For the Strength of Youth” and of worthiness interviews.

Yes, even I, for awhile, entertained the notion that AIDS was a plague sent by God for the sin of homosexuality. Writing that makes me throw up in my mouth. I outgrew such notions.

But I thought it, for awhile. It was ugly, it was wrong, it was real. It made sense in the context of the gospel. Good people can get trapped by bad ideas. This is why good people need repentance. And that is why there is a Savior for good people. Cuz we’re all bad too.

I want a bracelet saying “What Would an Ally Do?” I am learning, on a journey, making mistakes.

I told my bebe, “I’m not perfect. I’ll mess up. I’m sure I already have.”

Your gay grandchild told me, “I expect this to be a process.”

A blessing to call you back to life

Peas sprouts poking through the dirt in my garden.

Almost a year ago now, we held what we would later discover would be our last day of in person church meetings. Fortunately, we had a lot of fun things going on that day. In the early afternoon, we had a party in my backyard for our children’s program. There were 15 kids running around, searching for hidden treats, and playing. Later that day, we had been invited over to the house of one of our congregants for an activity called puppy church. One of our congregant’s dog had given birth to eight puppies and the puppies were now old enough to play outside. Our families gathered at our friend’s house and we all played with puppies. The puppies tired themselves out within about 15 minutes of our arrival and it was not long before each kid had a sleeping puppy in their lap. We spent quite a while petting sleeping puppies. It was a Sunday full of joy, connection, celebration, and a deep appreciation of life and rest.

In the week that followed, we all gave up more than we had ever thought we could for Lent. We gave up meeting in person. We gave up seeing our friends and family. We gave up sending our children to school. We gave up a sense of safety. We gave up going to the supermarket and assuming that the shelves would be full of the food that we needed. We gave up going places. We lost loved ones and watched others lose their loved ones. Perhaps we gave up the myth that racism isn’t present in our communities. Perhaps we gave up the myth that we are all committed to democracy. We gave up so much and all of it was painful.

Last year, Easter came and went and we have all remained in this Lent-like state of giving things up, and making sacrifices for our own individual safety and for our community’s safety. As we begin Lent in 2021, many of us might be feeling like it never ended and we’ve been doing this for a whole year now.

We might typically begin Lent by talking about beginning a journey into the wilderness, but I want to acknowledge that the wilderness is the place where already are. We will probably bear the scars of this extended wilderness journey for a while.

The lectionary text for this week references the story of Noah (Genesis 9:8-17), not the building of the ark, or being on the ark, but the end of that whole terrible ordeal, where the floodwaters recede and the land dries up and the people on the boat begin to rebuild their lives after the trauma of isolation and the deaths of so many. As our local areas work to get the pandemic under control, as we see many receive the vaccine, as many children go back to school, as we see our communities and our nation struggle to create justice for those who have been marginalized, we might be finally seeing the waters of various disasters recede, we may be experiencing a new hope. 

I am wondering how, after so much loss, after so much has been given up, where do we begin to sense an invitation to new life?

A blessing to call you back to life

We have been in this holding pattern
For a year now.
There is the waking and the eating
The dishes and the chores
The caring for others
Mostly from a distance
The washing of hands and hair.
We are perpetuating life
While hovering in the dead space
Between the end of the world
And life going on.
The life we are living in this moment
Is filled with a threatening isolation
An intensification
Of every existing problem.
And now we are at a strange and delicate moment
Where it feels almost safe to start hoping again.

May we remember
That the Divine Spark of Living
Does not require grand gestures
Fancy rituals
Or expensive technology.
She only needs an idea,
Something about kindness
Something about love
The love of family
The love of friends close and distant
The love of community
To hold you in your gloom
A bit of playfulness
To counter the moments of danger
The warmth of memories
In the night.
The Divine Spark knows you
Loves you
Wraps you into Her soft-smelling self
And will not let go
As She calls you 
Out of the wilderness
Back to life
Not the same one that was lived before
But a new life
With new wisdom 
About family and community
And our responsibilities to each other.
Amen.

This excerpt and blessing are from my work today with the Pacific Southwest International Mission Center for Community of Christ. I initially wrote the blessing for a friend and adapted it here for Lent and our community.

Guest Post: I Love You, So I Say This, parts 1-4

Guest post by Anonymous. This Mama got a gay kid for Christmas in 2019. In March 2020 BYU signaled LGBTQ acceptance in an update to the Honor Code, and hastily retracted it. Feeling protective, this Mama wrote what she wished she could say to her Mormon family members. A week later, the first major COVID lockdowns started, and the BYU incident was pushed to the background. A year later, this personal appeal to the better angels is a plea in remembrance of that horrible week. There are 19 short pieces. This post is parts 1-4 of 19. The others will be linked here when they are published.

I love you. So I say this. In 19 Parts. I love you. So I say this. Part 1

“So how are you guys feeling about the Church?”

Your son and I met in middle school. We did homework in high school, practicing our dialogues in Russian and surviving Calculus 2. We debated together, did theater, wrote papers. He went on a mission, came back, and we got married in the temple, attended BYU, had lots of kids, had it all.

When we left the Church, you sat us down for a one-off conversation, after which you did not want to discuss Church issues again. You believed we were deceived, led astray, that you were most bothered that we disrespected Church leaders and that our boys wouldn’t be able to practice their priesthood. We had one day of open conversation in October 2014 where we took turns sharing our realities, and then buttoned that up. Okay, on with life.

You broke your rule. You sent us Church articles, Church talks, and Church books every holiday. I took these as overtures of love. Though these gifts were invasive and lacked respect for our boundaries, I understood them to be expressions of you keeping your hope alive that we would return to the fold. I did not break your rule. I did not respond with my feelings or my perspectives. Do not imagine for one second that I didn’t have them.

Our boys continued in Scouts voluntarily, and our oldest girl remained friends with her church buddies, attending Young Women’s sometimes.

She came out as gay. She wanted to tell you, a desire she expressed in our first conversations.

She told you. You expressed your love to her. Thank You.

I love you. So I say this. Part 2

“So how are you guys feeling about the Church?”

You called and asked how I was handling the news that my daughter is gay. You asked if I thought she was “really” gay. Yes, she is. I celebrate her.

“Could that change?” Yes – but not in the way you probably hope. She’s figuring it out. She may be pan, bi, or trans, and doesn’t know it yet.

I signaled that she wanted you to know, that she knew it was a risk to tell you, that she was prepared for heartbreak, that she had made the choice to tell you anyway. Can you imagine the courage?!? I handed you a lot to live up to.

A week later, you sent her a talk you gave in Church.

A month later, you called your son:

“So how are you guys feeling about the Church? Are you attending? Will you go back? What about the kids?”

You asked this on a bruising day. March 6, 2020. BYU just abused the trust and spirits of LGBTQ students and their families. Again. The bad timing wasn’t your fault.

But let’s talk.

I love you. So I say this. Part 3

“So how are you guys feeling about the Church?”

I always wondered if you wondered why, after leaving the Church, we always knew what was going on in Church news before you did? We knew about handbook changes, the gospel topic essays, policy updates, current events, quotes and teachings from leaders, etc. before you did most of the time.

There’s a reason for that.

The reason is NOT “People who leave the Church can’t leave it alone.”

You are comfortable in the chapel, the genealogy library, the temple. You are on a cruise ship to paradise. You obviously think about Church a lot, you inhabit it, and it inhabits you. You see the good the Church does and how your life is better because of it.

I will tell you a thing you won’t hear the first time, or the second, or maybe the 20th time you read this. But it’s true. I bear my testimony:

The Church leaves in its wake a flotsam of broken lives. It does unspeakable damage. Those of use who have been crushed by it only survive because we find ways, and often that involves helping each other survive it.

So, in short, your son and I know what’s happening in the Church, even though we haven’t walked through chapel doors for years, because we still, daily, inhabit the space of trying to be healed from it. We still, daily, inhabit the space of trying to help others heal from it. We witness, daily, the trauma it continues to cause. We know the people whose children have committed suicide, those who write books and make podcasts and hold events, those who have been excommunicated, those who still are helping polygamous wives escape abuse, those who run for office, those who provide counseling. We are in the thick of those brave, duct-taped souls picking up the ongoing mess made whenever a leader speaks of things he does not understand.

You cannot, in any way, convince me that these issues and these people do not exist. I also do not think that I can convince you that they do exist, or that the extent of the problem is huge.

But let me say this.

These people exist. Perhaps I have done my Mormon wounded a disservice for not witnessing of them to you sooner. But I say it now: there are thousands of us in pain, and the cause of this pain is the Church and the policies created by its leaders, especially toward marginalized groups.

If you are ready to peek a little into the wake of that steamship to Heaven, I am here to hold your hand. You’ll want to look away.

I love you. So I say this. Part 4

“So how are you guys feeling about the Church?”

Why would I break the silence we’ve had in place for almost 6 years? Why speak to you of this now?

I am a mama. My bebe is gay, and she has told you. You must live up to a high standard. You must be Safe for my bebe. If you are not Safe, I will shield her from you.

When we left the Church, you indicated your distress that we spoke of Church leaders disrespectfully. This seemed to be one of the most difficult aspects of our apostasy for you. I will tell you now what I did not tell you then.

I experience distress when you speak of the leaders, quote them, defend them, defer to them, mirror them, buy their books and send them to me for Christmas. I left these Church leaders long ago and dusted them off my feet. They have tarnished their mantle through abusive practices and betrayed the gospel they should represent. I cannot worship their portrayal of God or support their institution. I unburdened myself of the hypnotic hold they had on my life. They are no longer my responsibility.

But if you choose to follow them, quote them, defend them, defer to them, mirror them, buy their books and send them to me for Christmas – if this is how you use your agency, be aware that these men become your responsibility. You represent their words and actions in the relationship you have with your gay granddaughter. What comes out of their mouths, to me, comes out of yours.

This makes you Less Safe.

This puts me on vigilance. This is not about disrespecting you, the church, the leaders. This is not about everyone having their agency or about religious freedom.

This is about my bebe.

So now you know. Please choose to be Safe.

Embracing My Own Spiritual Authority

September 2014. I am 8 months pregnant and feeling simultaneously vulnerable and brave. Kate Kelly’s words after her excommunication in June keep coming to me: “Don’t leave. Stay, and make things better.” (Reaction to Kate Kelly’s Excommunication ~ Ordain Women). I’m tired and discouraged, but emboldened to find a compromise within my church. I decide to discuss holding my baby during his blessing in October with my Bishop, feeling that this request falls short of my desire to bless my son, but still allows me to participate in a meaningful way. 

While some friends advised we simply “bless him at home” without permission or that I just walk up with my baby the day of the blessing, these options were not right for me or my family at the time. Simply demanding that I hold my baby was not something that felt right for my marriage or my goal of encouraging gradual, positive change; of staying and making things better. Knowing this, other friends encouraged me to speak with my Bishop, one of the “good ones,” and trust the process. So, I turned to my Bishop, who had always treated me with kindness and respect, to renew my temple recommend. I brought up my desire to hold my baby during the blessing in this meeting

When I reflect on this exchange, I only see pain, misunderstanding, and fear. I entered the conversation knowing the power dynamic between us. He viewed his role as spiritual advisor and as an authority figure with a responsibility toward the well-being of the ward. I viewed his role as potential ally and someone who could confirm that God’s representatives could and would care for me. So, I was vulnerable, honest, and most likely defensive.

He questioned my motives because he viewed my request as a public display of defiance, rather than a personal act of faith, and I felt misunderstood and judged. He shared his own past vulnerabilities of faith and how he overcame them by letting them go. I only heard that I should push aside questions and concerns and be a good girl. He cautioned me about the danger I put my marriage and family in with my doubts, questions, and pride. I wondered how my heart could be so misunderstood by God’s representative and it devastated me to be reminded that my faithlessness let so many I loved down. He was trying to save and encourage me the best he knew how in a patriarchal system. My faith in that system was crumbling, so this exchange served only to confirm my greatest fears about God.

Despite our disagreement over the baby blessing, I received the Bishop’s signature on my recommend. The next step meant meeting with a member of the Stake Presidency and I was not sure I even wanted to go through another interview. Thankfully, a counselor in the presidency whom I trusted offered to meet with me in my home. We sat at my kitchen table and I could have simply answered the list of recommend questions. Instead, me being me, I shared my heartbreak, anger, discouragement, frustration, and hopes with him. While much of me resisted outside spiritual authority, the LDS girl in me still craved it and wanted it to solve and soothe my doubts and fears.

He listened in a way no male leader in the LDS church ever had. He acknowledged my pain and did not make the ordinary excuses. He resisted the urge to fix and explain away my feelings or my spiritual confirmations. In fact, he shared the feminism that ran deep in his family and his own belief that change was possible within the church. This leader also said he saw no issue with me holding my son and promised to double check with the Stake President. I did not feel unworthy, unrighteous, or suspect in his kind, thoughtful presence and felt a tiny shard of renewed hope.

This counselor said one additional thing in the meeting that I’ve rolled around, up and down, inside and out in my mind for the past six years. He told me, “I believe God gives everyone a challenge. Perhaps yours is to see inequality for women in the church.” The implication, of course, was to see this inequality and remain faithful no matter how the people within and the leaders of the LDS church responded. This seemed an impossible task, but I grasped onto the thread of hope he gave me for my son’s blessing.

A week or two later, this counselor approached me in the hallway near the Bishop’s office on Sunday afternoon. I saw the apologetic expression on his face and fought the desire to flee. He took me aside and explained that “the handbook” made it clear that only priesthood-holding men could participate in the blessing circle. I could barely respond as that shard of hope shattered, imploded, and nearly crushed me.

I could hardly breathe and needed to escape, but I did not have car or house keys. So, I found my husband in the chapel where they held Elder’s Quorum and quietly asked him for the house key, so I could walk home. He wanted to talk and to comfort, but I couldn’t do more than tell him the news and say that I needed to go home now. I left the car keys, so he could finish his meeting, then gather the kids and bring them home at the end of services.

We lived only a few blocks from the church and I sobbed as I lumbered home, my belly slowing me down. Where did I go from here? I’d always been told that “inspiration comes with information,” but this was just the end of a series of experiences where information, personal circumstances, and righteous desires made no difference. The handbook and male leadership always overruled. And in that moment, only two things seemed possible: either God did not hear me or God did not care.

Why share this story? Why pull out old wounds? What purpose does it serve?

I carried the anger, the hurt, the self-loathing of that experience with me for a very long time. Church felt like a trap meant to expose my weaknesses, unrighteousness, and failures. It appeared that the time I spent on my knees or in the temple—the times where I felt peace, exhilaration, and joy at the thought of women’s ordination—must be flawed by my pride and unrighteousness or a misunderstanding on my part. Perhaps it was my burden to be a feminist. Maybe I was meant to learn to endure God’s will for women and make it supersede my own? Was this what God meant for me, despite the confirmations I’d felt repeatedly that God’s plan for women is so much richer, deeper, and wider than what is currently practiced by the LDS church?

Deference to male authority was so deeply engrained in me, I wrestled continually with “what he meant” when pondering the counselor’s advice. Because he treated me kindly and represented how I hoped priesthood-holding men would behave, I wanted his words to guide me. When even he succumbed to the handbook, it all felt hopeless. I felt unanchored, even unable to glean useful guidance from the “good ones.” Where did this leave me if I could not rely on church leaders or trust my own revelation?

Six years later, I have no definitive answers. But if I could, I would gather 2014 me in my arms and tell her that she was not unworthy, or broken, or led astray. She is not required to stay until it empties her of hope, self-worth, and confidence in her own spiritual gifts. She can define what it means to stay. She can trust her communings with God. Her faith path can zig-zag, swirl, and take detours from LDS definitions of authority and revelation. It can also lean on them when—and if—they resonate with her. And, if God gave her the gift of deep empathy and care for equality and women, then she could—and would—learn to embrace it.

 It’s most important to understand that simply demanding I hold my baby was not something that felt right for my marriage or my goal of encouraging gradual, positive change. So, I turned to my Bishop who had always treated me with kindness and respect, to renew my temple recommend. I brought up my desire to hold my baby during the blessing in this meeting and, hearing his negative, stern, sometimes accusatory, response cracked the tiny, delicate shard of hope within me. 

Despite my unrighteous request to hold my baby during his blessing, I received the Bishop’s signature on my recommend. The next step meant meeting with a member of the Stake Presidency and I was not sure I even wanted to go through another interview. Thankfully, a counselor in the presidency whom I trusted offered to meet with me in my home. We sat at my kitchen table and I surprised even myself by honestly sharing my heartbreak, anger, discouragement, frustration, and hopes with him. 

He listened in a way no male leader in the LDS church ever had. He acknowledged my pain and did not make the ordinary excuses. He resisted the urge to fix and explain away my feelings or my spiritual confirmations. In fact, he shared the feminism that ran deep in his family and his own belief that change was possible within the church. This leader also said he saw no issue with me holding my son and even appeared pleased by the prospect. He promised to double check with the Stake President before saying more. For the first time in awhile, I did not feel unworthy, unrighteous, or suspect in an LDS male leader’s presence and that tiny crack filled with a renewed hope. 

This counselor said one additional thing in the meeting that I’ve rolled around, up and down, inside and out in my mind for the past six years. He told me, “I believe God gives everyone a challenge. Perhaps yours is to see inequality for women in the church.” The implication, of course, was to see this inequality and remain faithful no matter how the people within and the leaders of the LDS church responded. This seemed an impossible, even cruel, task, but I grasped onto the thread of hope he gave me for my son’s blessing. 

A week or two later, this counselor approached me in the church hallway on Sunday afternoon. I immediately saw the apologetic expression on his face and fought the desire to flee. He took me aside and explained that “the handbook” made it clear that only priesthood-holding men could participate in the blessing circle. I could barely respond as that shard of hope shattered, imploded, and nearly crushed me. 

I could hardly breathe and needed to escape, but I did not have car or house keys. So, I found my husband in the chapel where they held Elder’s Quorum and quietly asked him for the house key, so I could walk home. He wanted to talk and to comfort, but I couldn’t do more than tell him the news and say that I needed to go home now. I left the car keys, so he could gather the kids and bring them home at the end of services. 

We lived only a few blocks from the church and I sobbed as I lumbered home, my belly slowing me down. Where did I go from here? I’d always been told that “inspiration comes with information,” but this was just the culmination of a series of experiences where information, personal circumstances, and righteous desires made no difference. The handbook and male leadership always overruled. And in that moment, only two things seemed possible: either God did not hear me or God did not care. 

Why share this story? Why pull out old wounds? What purpose does it serve? 

I carried the anger, the hurt, the self-loathing of that experience with me for a very long time. Church felt like a trap meant to expose my weaknesses, unrighteousness, and failure. It appeared that the time I spent on my knees or in the temple—the times where I felt peace, exhilaration, and joy at the thought of women’s ordination—must be flawed by my pride and unrighteousness or a misunderstanding on my part. Perhaps it was my burden to be a feminist. Maybe I was meant to learn to endure God’s will for women and make it supersede my own? Was this what God meant for me, despite the confirmations I’ve felt repeatedly that God’s plan for women is so much richer, deeper, and wider than what is currently practiced by the LDS church? 

Deference to male authority was so deeply engrained in me, I wrestled continually with “what he meant” when pondering the counselor’s advice. Because he treated me kindly and represented how I hoped priesthood-holding men would behave, I wanted his words to guide me. When even he succumbed to the handbook, it all appeared futile. I felt unanchored, even unable to glean useful guidance from one of the “good ones.” Where did this leave me if I could not rely on church leaders or my own revelation to guide me? 

Six years later, I have no definitive answers. But if I could, I would gather 2014 me in my arms and tell her that she is not unworthy, or broken, or led astray. She is not required to stay until it empties her of hope, self-worth, and confidence in her own spiritual gifts. She can define what it means to stay. She can trust her communing with God. Her faith path can zig-zag, swirl, and take detours from LDS definitions of authority and revelation. It can also lean on them when—and if—they resonate with her. And, if God gave her the gift of deep empathy and care for equality and women, then she could—and would—learn to embrace it.  To embrace her own spiritual authority.

Feminist Nuns Rebel in the 60’s and Come to Sundance in 2021 #RebelHeartsFilm

Still from Rebel Hearts, Courtesy of Merman & Anchor Entertainment

I am always on the lookout for religious feminist role models, so I was thrilled by the opportunity to attend a screening of the new documentary film Rebel Hearts at the Sundance Film Festival, followed by a panel featuring filmmakers Pedro Kos and Shawnee Isaac-Smith and some of the bold women featured in the film: Lenore Navarro Dowling, Ruth Anne Murray and Rosa Manriquez.

During Q&A, I asked the activists on the panel, “What advice do you have for women who want change in their patriarchal religions?”

There was an awkward silence. Then Murray laughed. “What advice to give? For women who want to change the patriarchal system?”

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Learning by Heart: Teachings to Free the Creative Spirit by Corita Kent & Jan Steward

[image error]“Religion, specifically,” said the moderator.

She sighed. She started to reply but quit mid-sentence. “That’s really a tough question,” she said at last.

I fretted. Maybe, after all they had been through, they didn’t believe change was possible.  Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that. Maybe I should have stuck to  questions about filmmaking. Did I break Sundance?

But after a few beats, the advice I craved started coming.

“I think there will be change but I don’t think it’s going to happen soon and I hope that women who want those changes don’t give up,” said Murray. She told me to work outside the hierarchy and “bring the gospel to today.”

Manriquez encouraged soul-searching. She compared taking on religious patriarchy to inviting an elephant trainer into the house; first, make sure you have room for the elephant! Sticking it to the man is not a great motivation, but the need to stop people from being hurt is. “If you’re doing it for recognition you may never get it and if you’re doing it to make change it’ll happen, you just might not see it.”

Dowling emphasized the need to organize. Catholic social justice activists have groups such as Call to Action. “There’s power in numbers. …Find people who share your values who will march with you.”

You can see my awkward question and their complete answers here.

Rebel Hearts chronicles the journey of the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. In the 1960’s, their convent ran a liberal arts college and was home to forward-thinking nuns such as Mother General and civil rights activist Anita Caspary and pop art sensation Corita Kent. Using 60’s era footage and animated imagery inspired by Kent’s art, the film follows frequent clashes between these progressive women and the male priests who tried to reign them in. These conflicts escalated until the nuns had to make a heart-rending choice to submit to patriarchal demands or renounce their vows.

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Witness to Integrity: The Crisis of the Immaculate Heart Community of California by Anita M. Caspary

[image error]Like the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS), the Roman Catholic church is a hierarchical organization with male priesthood leaders and female worker bees. While details differ, as a Mormon feminist, I saw many parallels between their struggle and our own in examples such as these:

The male leaders who set up Catholic schools and assigned female nuns to staff them seemed oblivious to problems that were apparent to the women doing the actual work, such as high student-to-teacher ratios and the fact that many of these nuns had no college education and no desire to be teachers.Male leaders policed nuns’ clothing.The male cardinal, who had no art training, micromanaged and censored Kent’s art.When Caspary, in her role as Mother General, authorized Sister Patrice Underwood to represent them at the 1965 Civil Rights March in Selma, Alabama, the cardinal was upset that the decision hadn’t gone through male leadership.The cardinal justified his oppressive oversight of the nuns by citing anonymous “complaints.”When the women appealed to men further up the chain of command, male leaders backed the cardinal, reinforcing his right to make up his own local rules rather than supporting female autonomy.

Preview of the film Rebel Hearts

The Second Dose and Survivor’s Guilt

Photo by John Cameron on Unsplash

I have severe asthma and since the pandemic started I’ve been playing a game of “beat the clock” with coronavirus. Since no one knows how the virus will affect each individual, I have been terrified that my asthmatic ridden lungs wouldn’t be able to handle it. I’ve been hospitalized for pneumonia before and had walking pneumonia just 5 years ago. Knowing how much my lungs suck at being lungs (thanks John Green for coining that phrase in “Fault in our Stars“) I’ve been playing a game to see if I could get the vaccine before the virus got me. 

I’m so happy to report that because I’m a mental health counselor, the county in which I work vaccinated us, because we serve the direct public. Telehealth has been a great alternative for therapy in person, but it has also been a barrier for some of my clients. I received my first dose of the vaccine at the beginning of January and the second dose 3 weeks later. 

My immune system had a very strong reaction to the second vaccine. Besides the usual sore arm and flu-like symptoms others have experienced, I also had a swollen lymph node in my underarm of the same arm where I received the vaccination. It felt exactly like a clogged milk duct I got when nursing my last baby. My sister-in-law, who is a medical professional in a women’s clinic, said that this is such a common reaction that they have new recommendations delaying mammograms for the recently vaccinated. 

Both times I got my vaccine I had tears of gratitude in my eyes. I thanked the people at the county health department working tirelessly and long hours making sure we all got our vaccines. Mixed with my feelings of gratitude was an overwhelming feeling of survivor’s guilt. I couldn’t help but think of the 486,000 citizens of my country, the United States, and the 2.41 million people worldwide who lost their lives to this wretched disease. During the holidays I thought about all the family tables that had a family member, or many family members, who were missing because of this awful virus. 

My feelings of survivor’s guilt included wondering why am I so special that, so far, I am winning the race against Covid-19 and my beat the clock game.  I haven’t lost anyone close to me from this disease, although my anxiety has been sky high for the health of my father (my only living parent), my husband’s parents, and his grandparents. Although I almost lost a dear friend to Covid-19 on New Year’s Eve, by some miracle his life was spared. The doctors told him that people who come to the hospital with his stats are usually dead. 

Although I’m so incredibly humbled and grateful to get the vaccine, I was happy to wait in line behind healthcare workers, teachers, and the elderly. I had to be reminded several times by friends and family workers that I am a healthcare worker (mental health is health) and my asthma makes me especially high risk. Last week I resumed some in-person therapy and I was reminded about why I love this field and how much easier it is to practice in person than over my laptop. 

As more of the world is getting fully vaccinated, I finally feel a little light at the end of the tunnel. It’s a pin prick of light, but that little pin prick is so much better than the complete darkness I felt from mid-March to December 2020. I will have to work on my survivor’s guilt (and probably process it with my therapist) to know that as a child of God I am worthy of protection and health, and that even though my life is no more important than any others, choosing to be vaccinated and protect myself and others, actually honors the lives of those lost. 

Who knows how many lives this awful pandemic will claim. I know for me that there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of this worldwide and collective trauma and help to mitigate a tiny piece of it in my corner of the world and in my own field of influence.

The Washington Post published a list of names of people in the United States who have lost their live to Covid-19.

Follow the Prophet?

Sacrament meeting in the local Mormon congregation focused on “Following the Prophet” on Sunday, which feels appropriate, as I’ve pondered this concept quite a bit recently. A tension exists in Mormonism between a deep belief in a living Prophet who is the mouth of God on the earth today and a cherished belief that individuals can receive personal revelation directly from God. Discussions abound over when a prophet speaks for God and when we are commanded to follow. Two questions naturally arise, “What happens when your personal revelation conflicts with or deviates from the words of the prophet(s)?” and “What happens when current revelations conflict with the words of previous prophets?”

One obvious direction to head in this discussion is toward branch-offs of Mormonism, where groups of people—like the FLDS—refused to follow Brigham Young or renounce polygamy. It’s always easier to point at “their” flaws and conflicts, but ignore ours. It’s relatively simple to sing “Follow the Prophet” and call doubters to faithfully do the same when you agree and/or when you are comfortable simply following direction.

But what happens when prophets wade into tough issues such as gay marriage, vaccinations, racism, gender, and other politically divisive issues? One solution is to claim that we must differentiate between when a prophet “speaks for the Lord” and “speaks as a man.” Another is to say that you will never go wrong by following, even if God’s word changes (although God is supposedly unchanging). Both leave a great deal up to interpretation—which I actually support.

I’m sure no one is surprised that I am no fan of the phrase “follow the prophet,” nor do I appreciate holding up prophets as some kind of saints/superheroes/celebrities. I prefer “follow God” or “follow the spirit.” Many would argue that “follow the prophet” is synonymous with these phrases, but my personal experiences with revelation contradict this. And focusing on these men can detract from our focus on God and following them can verge too close to worshipping them.

I’ve seen people recently challenging Mormons who criticize the LDS church’s social media posts, believe in conspiracy theories, and are outspoken about their disagreement with the prophet publicly getting the vaccine. They say, “But I thought you followed the prophet?” This taunting phrase makes sense because, frankly, “follow the prophet” is frequently weaponized and used to shame and silence those (often more liberal members) who question, doubt, or disagree.

But I hope that this excruciating moment in the US and Mormonism doesn’t push people to keep promoting the line, “follow the prophet,” but instead builds more empathy for the complexities of revelation. I hope it makes more space to honor personal revelation and changes the way people interact with each other, church leaders, and the religion itself. But I’m not holding my breath.

When I think about revelation, I’m often reminded of this quote from Under the Banner of Heaven, where Jon Krakauer discusses the way Latter-day Saints have wrestled with the tension between a desire to have God speak again in the form of a new Moses and having God speak again directly to one’s heart and soul:

“But perhaps the greatest attraction of Mormonism was the promise that each follower would be granted an extraordinarily intimate relationship with God. Joseph taught and encouraged his adherents to receive personal communiqués straight from the Lord. Divine revelation formed the bedrock of the religion.”

 

– Jon Krakauer, Under the Banner of Heaven