Exponent II's Blog, page 213

Spring Cleaning is a Radical Feminist Act

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Sweep the corners

Put that aside

Wash the windows

Look outside

It’s brave to imagine

Summer warmth in soggy Spring

Strip all the linens

Rock out. Sing.

Open the windows,

Clear the old air

Knock dirt from the rugs

Wage wrathful in warfare

Straighten the books

Joy is your guide

Re-order the realm

Make space inside

Order the memories

Air out musty dreams

Brush off the table

Let the wood gleam

Visit the garden

Set out the stakes

Break up the soil

The world is awake

Clear out the pantry

Inhale, breathe, sigh

Take out the garbage

Give thanks, say goodbye

Joy cometh in the morning

Goddess, I hope so

For now it’s my business

To make room to grow

Guest Post: Re-defining My Relationship with the Temple Garment

[image error]by Anonymous

Annoying. Frustrating. Un-sexy. Unprofessional. In the way. Old-fashioned. Heat Rash. Awkward. Forced.

These are the words I would use to describe my garments. I was endowed at the age of 21, right before my wedding. My sister told me exactly which fabric to buy and what size, warning me that the ladies at Distribution would try to get me to buy larger sizes, but that I would just regret it. She knows I’m 5’8”, but told me to buy petites. I felt guilty buying a different size just so it would be shorter, so I bought regular length. I regretted it. My mom gave me a couple rolls of double-stick tape, because “garments never stay where you want them to.” My grandma saw me pulling out a pair of bottoms where one leg was obviously longer than the other and said, “I used to alter my garments all the time before they announced you’re not supposed to. Better send that pair back.”

Such is life as an endowed Latter-day Saint. You sacrifice your comfort and the autonomy of choosing undergarments that best fit and flatter your body in order to receive blessings that only come from constantly wearing an undergarment which you are told to purchase from a specific vendor without seeing, without trying on and for which sizes do not match any convention or norm. I was told to never let my garments touch the floor. I was told not to take them off for anything except the three S’s: “shower, swimming, sex.” I was told never to alter my garments. But I was never told WHY.

I’ve heard others talk about what a blessing garments are and how honored they felt to wear them. How they felt closer to the Spirit when they wore them. How they felt spiritually protected against temptation. How they considered this a privilege. In the six years following my endowment, I never felt this way. I felt forced. I felt burdened. I felt controlled.

One day, I was folding laundry and noticed that one of the screen-printed marks on my fairly new cotton stretch garments was gone. For some reason, this simple observation sent my brain spinning. What did this mean? What should I do? Were they still “holy”? Should I keep wearing them without the mark? Throw away a barely-worn garment? Use a fabric marker to draw a new one? Could I do that? Do they do some kind of special blessing on garments when they make them? I’m not supposed to alter my garments. But a garment isn’t a garment without the mark. …Right?

I realized how little I knew about the temple garment – so I started researching. I learned:

• That garment styles and functions have changed considerably over time.

• That members were previously allowed to sew their own garments.

• That there is no special blessing or consecration on the garments before they are sold. The only thing that distinguishes the piece of clothing is the marks.

• That military and other police and emergency personnel are both able to purchase tan garments with marks or purchase their own undergarments, of whatever color or brand is needed for their unit, and pay to ship them to Church HQ to have marks sewn or printed on.

I felt angry. There was no doctrinal instruction to base most of what I had been taught about temple garments, except:

1) God desires to bless us with spiritual protection

2) The marks serve as a reminder of sacred covenants

I was driving to work one morning, stewing on what I had learned, and had an idea. What if I make my own garments? It had been done before. There was no doctrinal reason I shouldn’t. Surely, as a Daughter of God endowed with power from on high, I had enough authority to make my own garments. I was tickled by the idea, but also nervous. Was I taking a dangerous step? Was I just doing this to “stick it to the man”? No. I’ve never been the type to be rebellious just to see how something feels. I’ve always been overly cautious and rule-abiding. This was about my personal covenants with God. Nothing else.

That weekend, I went to a department store and browsed. I bought a couple long, white, seamless camisoles and some white seamless shaper-shorts and white boy-short styles. I went to a craft store and bought a white fabric marker.

Before I added the marks, I tried them for two days, just to see how they felt. Wonderful. They felt wonderful. I kept turning to my husband: “Feel these! Aren’t they so soft?” “Oh my word, these are so comfortable.” “Look! No muffin top!” “No extra layers and no lines!!” “See, no big deal if a camisole pops out the top! I’ll just put the marks on the inside!”

It was decided. I went into our bedroom and pulled out all my new garments. I set beside me one of my old garments and carefully used a fabric marker to add matching marks to my new garments. I gently used an iron to heat-set each mark, and then folded it neatly into a basket. When I finished, I brought my basket into my closet and knelt down to pray. I wanted to make sure that what I had done was acceptable to God. I felt warmth. I felt light and goodness and love and joy.

Now, when I put on my garments, I look at each mark that I have carefully added and remember what they mean to me. I’m reminded of the love and acceptance I felt during my prayer. I handle them reverently and with joy. I feel confident and loved and empowered as a Daughter of God. I feel blessed to wear the garments of the Holy Temple of God.

Anonymous describes herself as “a typical, American, female, Latter-day Saint.”

Sources:

Female Garments: The Underwear Business

https://www.lds.org/bc/content/shared...

Garments are Symbols of the Atonement

The Great Divorce

My parents are divorced.

They have been for a long time.

I spend weekends with my father

But all through the week I am cared for by my mom.

When I was younger I used to go to my dad’s house

Every morning too.

He taught me how to be kind,

How to love others, and he reminded me

Over and over again how much he loves me.

But there were lies too.

Isn’t that how divorce works sometimes?

My brothers told me not to talk about mom.

Every time I was at dad’s house

Mom got the silent treatment.

As I get older my relationship with my mom gets better.

I talk to her every day

And she leaves little notes for me hidden all over

Reminding me how much she loves me too.

We go for walks in the woods

And just like that song I learned so long ago at dad’s

“All flowers remind me of her.”

My sisters are teaching me more

About mom’s side of the family,

How she was once held in great esteem.

They taught me about her persecution

And how my siblings who stood up for her

Were silenced.

Why does divorce have to be so messy?

What drove my parents apart?

Is healing possible for my family?

When I go visit my dad

He assures me of mother’s place.

He says he loves her,

But he doesn’t seem to make the effort to get to know her.

He promised me this year

That he would support me more

That the things I learned at mom’s each week

Were central

And my weekend visit

Would strengthen my weekday life.

But I feel so betrayed.

The promise feels hollow.

He still will not speak of her.

Mom gives me hope.

She reminds me that

Love is a powerful source and can heal all wounds.

She assures me that this separation imposed on her

Will not last forever.

I realize I don’t have to choose

Between one parent or the other.

And I don’t have to apologize for or hide

The relationships I build.

I will take what’s good from my dad

And let it join my mother’s unconditional love.

Limitless, boundless, inclusive love.

Guest Post: The Power and Authority of a Driver’s License

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By Felicia Ellis

Okay, ladies, you want to drive? I hear you saying it would be wonderful to be able to drive your children to their activities, or to participate in more roles that require driving! Of course, no problem, here is your driver’s license. In fact you’ve always had it, since you went to the DMV for the first time. I know you weren’t aware that you got a license—you did (don’t worry about us claiming otherwise before, we make changes all the time so business as usual). Enjoy that power of the license!

But here’s the thing: you can’t use a car. Your husband can, and he can drive other folks around with it. As a woman, though, we can’t have you driving. You’re definitely not allowed to hold the keys to the car! Really, we can’t even let you sit in the driver’s seat, and forget about holding on to your kids or witnessing when their dad drives them somewhere. Don’t worry, you can ask your husband or your male neighbors for rides. What a wonderful service they can provide! Your husband will likely be asked to drive your neighbors around too, so we hope you don’t need his car too often. But not to worry, ladies. There are some buses you can take. You could get one of those sweet pink scooters with the streamers, or walking is an option too. Those are the perfect, feminine modes of transportation. And really, anytime you’re going anywhere you are actually using the power of your driver’s license; transportation everywhere is powered by those licenses. You don’t need the authority to actually DRIVE to use your license! How silly that you think so.

Now, when you watch all the men around you drive and make the rules about how you can be transported, there are a few things to remember. It’s absolutely vital to a functional roadway that you not actually drive. After all, women are inherently better drivers than those men who drive terribly and selfishly. If women drove, when would men get the chance to practice? Women driving places would also keep them too busy to take care of all those children—our future driver-license holders. And hey, moms of boys! We’ll even let your 11-year-old sons drive you on short trips, isn’t that great? It’s so amazing that the authority of driving will be granted to young boys so they can get involved in that service. Your girls won’t need to learn though; they’ll grow up to be just like you!

Please don’t get any ideas about agitating to actually USE the driver’s license. Questioning the driver authority department will get your license taken away faster than you can say “go,” and we won’t let you come back inside the DMV. Most of your female neighbors don’t even WANT to drive, and you should be more like them. They understand their purpose and role on the road. I feel sorry that you lack a testimony of men and women’s roles in driving. It’s really a blessing that you don’t have to drive places and worry about all that responsibility! Imagine being asked to learn the rules of the road. That would be far too much to ask of our already busy women!

The next time you’re walking somewhere, or watching your 11-year-old drive for some bread, or helping your husband as he presides over your family transportation, don’t forget to be grateful for the power of the driver’s license you have!

 

Felicia is a teacher, a learner, a reader, an advocate, a friend, a wife of one and a mother of two. She loves learning about the ways people connect to the divine, and is still working out a better connection for herself.

Feminist Islamic Troublemakers of North America with Shehnaz Haqqani and Zahra Khan

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Founders of FITNA: Zahra Khan, Shehnaz Haqqani (middle), and Saadia Yacoob

In this episode of the Religious Feminism interview series, Shehnaz Haqqani, Assistant Professor of Religion at Mercer University, and Zahra Khan, an activist and engineer, talk to us about the online feminist community they founded for Islamic feminists. We discuss how the inclusive theology of Islam differs from patriarchal cultural practices and about feminist initiatives within their Islamic community such as their efforts to combat all male panels. You can find episode notes for the Religious Feminism Podcast here at the Exponent website: http://www.the-exponent.com/tag/religious-feminism-podcast/

Links to Connect and Learn More:
FITNA on facebook
Shehnaz’s blog: http://orbala.net
Shehnaz on twitter: @qrratugai
Additional Resources Discussed in the Podcast:

Side Entrance blog

Listen and subscribe for free below:

With other feminists of faith, the Exponent II community mourns the death of Rachel Held Evans.

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Rachel Held Evans

A New York Times obituary about her life is available here: https://www.nytimes.com/2019/05/04/us/rachel-held-evans.html

Her books are available here:

 

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Outside

By Jenny

It was a beautiful spring morning. The daffodils were glowing in the sunlight as I took pictures of my daughters in their dresses. I walked among the familiar pathways colored with an array of flowers. Temple square, the sacred place of my youth was alive with spring. A quiet hum hung in the air as we waited anxiously for our loved ones to come out of the doors. The beauty that surrounded me almost mocked what I felt in my heart. It was what I had been dreading for months, what I had avoided my whole life. I was on the outside.

My family was inside at my brother’s wedding and I was waiting outside with my camera to take the first wedding picture. It’s hard to say at that point whether it was a choice to remain outside or not. I could have gone through the motions to get a temple recommend and attend. I could have checked off the steps to worthiness. I thought about it. I wanted to be inside. But I was different, and even inside I didn’t belong. So many emotions ran through me that beautiful spring morning on temple square. I felt the shame of being excluded, the sorrow of all the people I finally understood who had been abused by and cast out of an indomitable institution. I felt freedom and joy out in the gorgeous sunshine, not stifled by the exacting thumb of a god who had been quite abusive in my life.

As I waited outside the temple doors with all the other families anticipating the appearance of their bride and groom, I thought about twelve years earlier when I had emerged from behind those doors, a new young bride. Large white snowflakes flew in our faces as my fiancé and I entered the white building that spired toward heaven. In a brilliant room full of mirrors I dressed in white. I entered another pristine room where I saw a small cohort of family members gathered to celebrate the new life I was starting. Everything symbolized my worthiness. I was worthy to be inside, to belong. I felt that worthiness with a mix of self-loathing and apprehension. Over the months since my engagement, I had felt the beauty of community surrounding me, celebrating me, congratulating me for my choice and my worthiness to be married in the temple. I had made it, I had arrived.

I was encircled in a warm blanket of communal love and support that was married to my own depression and self-deprecation. It was a beautifully tragic time of my life marked by community and love juxtaposed against my own internal battle. I wasn’t worthy. I could never be worthy. The expectations were too high for a perfectionist like me. The Mormon God had become my abuser over the last few years because of the way the church teachings collided with my perfectionism, my overly empathetic nature, and my introversion. I had spent years in a deep trench of depression, thinking that if I could just stop sinning and always be worthy of Heavenly Father’s spirit in my life that I could climb my way out of it. What I didn’t realize was that my abusive god was the one holding me down, telling me that I wasn’t good enough for him, telling me that everything I was and everything I wanted in life was evil.

I was torn apart by sexual shame. It had nearly killed my introverted self to confess my sins to a bishop at BYU, but the pain of being unworthy and left outside was worse than death by confession. And when I left the bishop’s office that grey rainy day, I thought death was truly my only option. The next time I confessed to a bishop just before I got engaged, my experience was far different. He gave me a hug and a blessing. He told me I was okay. But my abusive god didn’t agree and my sins didn’t go away. The only option I had was to take my stained worthiness with me into the temple so that I could belong.

I went like a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter that day in my white dress. It’s hard to describe how something so beautiful and wonderful as my wedding day when I was happy and in love could also be marred with pain and sorrow. The best comparison I have is the image of me sitting among the flowers on a gorgeous spring day for a momentous occasion for my family. How could a moment so bright and beautiful be clouded with darkness and despair? I sat there because I was an outcast. I sat there, feeling all the pain that I didn’t even understand as a young bride. I sat there, finally understanding the great and terrible history that culminated in a ritual that united my husband and me. I know now that the rituals I participated in were stained with the residue of blood atonement and plural marriage. I know now that I covenanted to give myself to my husband, the original meaning of which was literal. Women were men’s property.

This is what it meant for me to be on the inside that day, and what brought me there was a battle with perfectionism that I couldn’t win. What allowed me to be on the inside of my culture was the very thing that had racked my body, mind, and heart with guilt, shame, and anguish. Years of wrestling with…no, not my demons. The demons were the ones trying to rescue me from the abuse that my god heaped on my shoulders. Years of wrestling with God, failing college classes, struggling to get out of bed, and fighting my desire to end my life. That’s what it meant for me to be inside. And this day, my wedding day, I was sacrificing the very essence of who I was. I was covenanting myself away to someone else. The years that would follow continued to be a struggle of sacrificing myself and misunderstanding the cause of my instability and struggle, until my journey led me to see it more clearly for what it really was.

I was worthy all along. It was not about my obedience or lack of sin. It wasn’t about repentance or wearing white or confessing and talking about my sexuality with someone who wasn’t even trained to deal with that. It wasn’t about a check list and answering all the questions right. I am worthy simply because I am. I am worthy because any god who expects me to be a certain way or do certain things to be worthy of his love is not worthy of mine. I am worthy whether I am on the outside or on the inside. That day as I knelt across from my now husband at the alter, I saw the faces of people I loved, but I didn’t think about those who were waiting anxiously in the freezing January weather for us to come out of the temple doors. I didn’t think about the struggle that left them outside. I was trying so hard myself to be inside that I wasn’t thinking about the pain of being outside.

Twelve years later I finally understood the pain and the cost of remaining outside. Waiting outside those doors for my family to come out helped me to see from a new perspective. Now that I understand my own worthiness outside of what the church teaches and expects, I am able to make a clear choice about where I want to be. I experienced beautiful and good things during my time inside. I was part of a community that was amazing and sustaining when did what I needed to do to belong. I gained knowledge and growth in the only way I knew how, with a language and imagery that was familiar to me. And I learned what it means to be a Mormon woman. I still feel that every day of my life, body, mind, and heart. Outside or in, I will always be a Mormon woman. It is deeply imprinted in my mind and senses, and in every tissue of my body.

On the outside I have gained even greater growth. I can see more clearly the trench of depression that I spent most of my twenties in, and I can see more clearly the true nature of that crevice and the reason I fell into it in the first place. I see the church’s role in it, and I have quit struggling fruitlessly to climb out with the very doctrines and beliefs that were holding me down. On the outside I have found other outcasts. I have seen their wounds, heard their stories, and learned to mourn with those who mourn in a way that I never knew was possible when I was inside. I am free to love more abundantly, not bound by my desire to follow the rules that keep me safely inside.

Four years ago as I sat outside the temple soaking up the beautiful sunlight, I was only just beginning to understand that I could make the choice myself. Today I choose wholeheartedly to be on the outside. That doesn’t mean I’m leaving it all behind. I choose to sit outside those doors and wait. I’ll wait outside to celebrate with those who come outside to joyfully tell me about the things that uplift them inside. I know that just because Mormonism created an abusive god for me because of the way I experienced it, that not everyone will experience it that way. I will wait outside and celebrate when changes come that make the church experience more joyful or less burdensome for those who love it. I celebrate the recent change of temple policy to abandon the year wait to enter the temple after a civil marriage because I think it’s a step toward tearing down the wall that divides the outside from the inside. I celebrate the change of language in the temple that brings women one step closer to equal standing with men. That might have gone a long way in lessening my suffering over the last few decades of my life, and I hope that it will prevent some of that suffering for other women.

I also stand outside and wait to mourn with those who come out with experiences of pain, loss, and suffering. I stand outside in solidarity with all those who have for some reason or another not been allowed inside. As long as there is an inside, there will always be an outside. And I will be there, simply because that is where my experience has brought me. That’s where I find my work and my calling. That’s where I find the most beautiful, peaceful freedom and worthiness that I have ever experienced in my life. Just outside is where I can live in freedom to simultaneously mourn with and celebrate with all my sisters and brothers inside or out.

I Never Knew My Grandma Because of the Old Temple Sealing Policy

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The Ogden Temple in the 1970s, before its modern makeover.

Hooray for positive changes!

I was married in the Bountiful Temple 16 ½ years ago, and it was a relatively small event as far as weddings go. Only my mom, sister and sister in law attended from our families, plus a handful of friends who were not necessarily our closest friends, but our closest friends who held temple recommends. No extended family of mine traveled to be there, and I didn’t think much of it as we had never been particularly close to either of my parent’s families, since my mom and dad were converts to the church and had moved to Utah from out of state.

This didn’t bother me much at the time, but my grandparents are all gone now. My mom’s mom was the last to go, and she passed away last summer in her mid-90s. We had a small family get together here in Utah (my grandma was buried in North Carolina), where my mom told my kids about her life and growing up. They’d never met her. I myself had only met her on a couple occasions and mostly knew about her only from stories. I’d never felt comfortable calling to talk to her on the phone because I didn’t know how to identify myself. I couldn’t just say, “Hey, it’s Abby! You know, your grandchild? I live in Utah. We’ve met.” I didn’t know what we would talk about, and I didn’t know what we had in common. She was a person I barely knew, and as she got older and her mental awareness dwindled, it seemed even more impossible to start a relationship from across the country. I never did. All I have are pictures and stories of her, and that’s all there ever will be.

My relationships with my aunt, uncle and cousin on that side (which is everybody, I have a very small extended family) have been equally distant, and we aren’t even Facebook friends. I only have one cousin in the entire world, and I think I’ve met him twice. I used to think this was cool when I was growing up in Utah. Everyone else had these huge Mormon families, but my parents were converts, and we had nobody in the entire state. We were pioneers! We were “geographic orphans”. We’d sacrificed for our faith. Rather than being born into it, my parents joined the church from opposite ends of the country and met in Utah, forming a newer, better family than what they’d left behind. At least, that’s what I thought when I was kid.

Now as an adult, I see it in a different way. My mom joined the church and left her devoted Methodist family to move to Utah all alone. When she met my dad, they were married in the Ogden Temple in 1977 with no one there but their bishop, and they had no reception after. Who would they have invited? Nobody could come in their families, so they just “eloped”. There’s one photo of them smiling in front of the temple from all those years ago, with no family surrounding them and no parents flanking either side. I used to think this was romantic and brave. Now that I’m a parent, I see it differently. I don’t see my mom breaking ties with her family so dramatically through the rose colored glasses I did when I was younger. Instead I think about how hard that was for her parents and sister left behind. As an adult, I understand much better why there was a distance between my family of birth in Utah, and my extended family across the country. It wasn’t just geography. It was also the church and church policies – including the one that kept them from inviting their families to Utah for the biggest day of their lives.

I learned in recent years that my aunt (my mom’s only sibling) is actually pretty spiritual, moral, beautiful, and hilarious. I think about how much I missed out on by not having her as part of my life growing up. My grandma was a spitfire from what I can understand, and I wish I could have known her to compare my own personality traits to hers. My cousin seems cool. It would have been fun to known him, too.

If only my parents had been able to have a wedding where they invited my grandparents and aunts to attend. If they had done that, chances are I would have had one like that too, and my family that I never really got to know would have been excited to come and celebrate with me. The barriers and bitterness put in place when my parents eloped to the temple would never have been there to start with, and would never have extended into my generation.

The change yesterday was a really good one. It’s important, and it was needed. I know the story of my family being fractured is only one of so many others, and the fact that this won’t have to happen to others in the future means everything. It’s important to celebrate good changes, and it’s important to recognize where we went wrong. This was wrong, and now it’s right, and I am so glad to see this day happen.

Guest Post: Separation of Sealings and Marriage

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by Holly Castillo

This morning as I opened Instagram I was immediately shown a picture of a couple in wedding attire published by @churchnewsroom. The caption explained that as of today the policy requiring a legally married couple in the United States to wait one year before being allowed to enter the holy temple and perform the religious ceremony of being sealing is rescinded. The phrase that stood out to me most is this: “Where a licensed marriage is not permitted in the temple, or when a temple marriage would cause parents or immediate family members to feel excluded, a civil ceremony followed by a temple sealing is authorized.” This is important because for the first time, the Church now sees excluding family members from a wedding as a legitimate reason for allowing immediate sealings after weddings, on par with legalities of countries which do not allow legal marriages to be conducted in private.

Growing up in the Church “legal marriage” equaled “temple sealing”; there were no distinctions made. All those lovely Young Women’s lessons which said, “When you get married in the temple” never pointed out that there are actually other options out there, one of which is being married legally first and sealed later on. As much as the Church has wanted marriages and sealings to be one and the same, they are not by definition. A marriage as of the early 1900’s is a legal practice, whereas a sealing in the temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is solely and strictly religious in nature.

Despite the lessons of the Church which seemed to not want to even present “marriage then sealing” as an option, I knew it was from an early age, because that’s what my parents had done. My parents were legally married according to the laws of the land in 1988, but not sealed “for time and all eternity” in the temple until later. However, even though this was an option, a qualifier was still in place. If a couple chose for whatever reason to be married legally outside of the temple in the United States, they would then have to wait one calendar year to enter the temple and perform the sacred ordinance of sealing. Despite knowing this particular fact from a young age, I was still over 18 when I found out that outside of the United States this isn’t even an issue.

Through my internet researching of Latter-day Saint weddings and traditions, I came to learn that in most other countries outside of the United States, due to laws, a legal marriage cannot be performed in private space (like a temple) and must be done in public. Because of that reason, the most common wedding practice for members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is to hold a legal wedding ceremony with all family in attendance, and later that day or week or whenever, head to the temple to be sealed — no year waiting period required.

So why the difference? Why were couples in the United States being punished for choosing to marry legally outside of the temple? I could find no formal or direct reason, other than this implied reason: “If you have the opportunity to be married legally inside the Temple, and choose not to, you are now a sinner.” Since couples outside of the United States didn’t have an option, no sin was possible! But because we were “blessed” in the United States to have the government recognize temple sealings also as legal marriages, then “Why on Earth would you choose differently?!” I, and many others could think of many reasons. The main reason being that to attend a sealing ceremony in the temple, one has to first be a member of the Church, and also a worthy member with an ecclesiastically endorsed “recommend” to prove it. Any family or friends who were not members of the Church, or who were not worthy, and anyone under the age of 18 — siblings, cousins, etc. — could not witness the marriage union inside of the temple, thus being forced to wait outside to greet the couple when they exited.

And despite these very valid reasons for not wanting to exclude family members from their wedding, I’ve still heard every excuse in the book from orthodox Church members trying to explain why a “temple marriage plus sealing” is somehow more righteous than a “legal marriage then sealing.” I’ve heard, “What if your spouse dies in that year before you’re sealed?! Then you’re separated forever!” Except… we have work for the dead for exactly that reason. I’ve heard, “It doesn’t matter if your family will feel excluded, you’re showing them that you put God first and setting a good example- so therefore they will be interested in the Church and join!” Hint: excluding parents from seeing their children married does not make them interested in the Church; it makes them resent it.

I have firsthand knowledge and experience that other than the one-year waiting period, a “legal marriage then sealing” is exactly the same as a “temple marriage plus sealing”. My husband and I were legally married in a wedding ceremony in 2013. We chose to do this for various reasons, but the main one being that because my husband is a convert to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and the only member in his family, we did not even entertain the idea of excluding the entirety of his family from witnessing our wedding. And in fact, our Young Single Adult Ward bishop even officiated our heathen wedding, where my mother walked me down the aisle, we read handwritten vows, and we were pronounced man and wife legally and lawfully.

Later, in 2016 we completed all the steps to go to the temple and perform the sealing ceremony. I wore a wedding dress, I got ready in the bride’s room, and when the officiator began to read, he started to pronounce us legally married — because he had forgotten that we were already legally married, and we had to remind him. This showed me an important fact — that the sealing ceremony is not any different if you do it while already legally married or in conjunction with a legal marriage. The wording and ceremony is exactly the same, other than the officiant pronouncing you legally married and signing the marriage license. Despite what orthodox members, Young Women’s lessons, and social church stigma told me, separating our legal marriage and temple sealing into two events made us no less worthy in God’s eyes. We weren’t “sort of sealed,” or “less than sealed” because we had a legal wedding first.

Unfortunately, our experience is rare. More often than not Latter-day Saint couples in the United States go to the temple to be married and sealed simultaneously, inevitably leaving someone who loves them behind — all because they’ve been told basically since birth that it’s “the right way to do things.” In a Church where family is said to be so important, this practice has led to more heartbreak than I can count. Many couples who have desired a traditional legal wedding where family was included, or where a parent could walk them down the aisle have even been told their desires were evil by church leaders or fellow members.

So, while I breathe a sigh of relief that this policy is no more, I mourn my friends who had their wedding day marred by someone missing, because they were told they were doing “the right thing.” They are mourning, and I mourn with them.

Holly Castillo is a lifelong member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She is a wedding photographer in Southern California, very familiar with various religious and cultural practices regarding weddings.

A Priesthood of Half the Believers

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There are two major
viewpoints in Christianity regarding priesthood. Though it’s a bit
more complex than this, for the sake of simplicity I’ll call them the
Catholic view and the Protestant view. Under the Catholic view,
ordination matters. Priests are priests because they have been
consecrated as priests by someone who has been consecrated by someone
who has been consecrated, etc., and priests have power and authority
to do things that regular people don’t. Under the Protestant view,
ordination isn’t as big of a deal, and many Protestant sects
subscribe to what is referred to as “the priesthood of all
believers”. This means that no human intermediary is necessary
to reach God – all Christians have direct access and are therefore
all priests in a sense.

Traditionally, Mormonism has subscribed to a variation on the Catholic model of priesthood. The Mormon view is more expansive, in that more people are eligible for and expected to seek ordination, but it still relies on ordination. We teach in the missionary discussions that ordination is so important that God had to send angels to ordain Joseph Smith so that he would have the proper priesthood authority. Even today, when a man or boy is ordained to the priesthood, he is given a line of authority showing who ordained him, who ordained the man who ordained him, etc. all the way back to Jesus Christ.

Recently, in response to calls to ordain women to the priesthood, some church leaders, led by President Oaks, are trying to put forth a more Protestant view of priesthood. Tellingly, however, this view of priesthood is only directed at women. Men still get the ordination version – the one with the authority to perform ordinances and sit on decision-making councils in the church. But women are being told that we don’t need the priesthood because we have the priesthood (but not one with any real authority or anything). And this priesthood we supposedly have is indistinguishable from gifts of the Spirit and basic Christian living. In essence, proponents of this viewpoint are creating a “priesthood of half the believers”.

This is problematic
for a couple of reasons. The first is that they’re not acknowledging
that they’re using two different definitions. In informal logic, the
fallacy of equivocation is using the same word to mean two different
things in the same argument while obscuring that definitional change.
When this fallacy is used, the argument appears to be sound but
actually fails.

The second reason
this is problematic is because it undercuts the restoration. If
priesthood is just nice Christian people doing nice Christian things,
then the entire reason for the restoration falls apart. The reason
Joseph Smith needed to start a new church was because none of the
others had the priesthood. But if suddenly everyone who does
righteous deeds has the priesthood, there would be no need for a
restoration. Any Christian church would do.

By trying to have it
both ways, the church is undercutting its entire reason for
existence.

I applaud the idea
of all church members of any sex or gender being counseled and
invited to further develop spiritual gifts, and I applaud the efforts
to seek further information on how women fit into the priesthood, but
the church needs to pick one definition of priesthood and stick with
it. Muddying the waters with logical fallacies won’t help to answer
the burning questions of so many.