Exponent II's Blog, page 246

13 Lessons Learned as an Organizer of Ordain Women during its Infancy

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April Young Bennett (center in red, facing forward) speaks to LDS Spokesperson Ruth Todd (also in red, facing away from the camera) during Ordain Women’s first attempt to attend the Priesthood Session of General Conference, October 2013. Photo by Rick Egan, Salt Lake Tribune.

The Ordain Women movement is celebrating its fifth anniversary, and asked me, as one of its original organizers, to share some thoughts about its early days at the recent Sunstone Symposium. Here are some things I learned while helping to start this activist organization.

1. The only avenue to communicate with the Brethren is through the media.

When I served on the Ordain Women board, we actively sought to initiate discussions with Latter-day Saint (LDS) leaders, including five written requests to LDS Church headquarters for a brief, private meeting with any General Authority available and willing. These requests were ignored. A source at church headquarters later informed me that a General Authority had implemented a silent treatment policy against any Ordain Women leader, which began almost at its inception. As such, we found that the best way to communicate with church leaders was through the media and our only way of knowing their response was through PR statements.

2. A long-term movement must find a sustainable pace.

During those first few years, we communicated daily via Facebook, in addition to regular conference calls, videoconferences and in-person actions. Everyone had an idea for action; we seriously explored most ideas and implemented many of them.  It was exciting and exhausting and completely unsustainable. No one can volunteer full-time indefinitely for a cause while maintaining their full-time day job and personal life. Movements need to find a sustainable pace to stay alive when the initial adrenaline rush comes to an end.

3. The face of a movement should not be one face.

In the beginning, too many media interactions were delegated to one person, Kate Kelly, because she was charismatic and willing. We quickly realized that this strategy was backfiring. Kate had a target on her back and the focus on her was giving the wrong impression—that Ordain Women was the pet project of one person instead of a movement with broad and diverse support among Mormons. We quickly pivoted and expanded the number of spokespeople. I took on one of these spokesperson roles long before our first public action. But the damage had already been done. Even now, many people assume that the Ordain Women movement is over because Kate Kelly is no longer on its board.

4. A big ask makes incremental change more palatable.

In an organization so conservative that a rebranding of the home teaching program is seen as historic, even the smallest request for progressive change shocks the system. Asking for the real, global change we actually wanted put those baby steps into perspective. Since Ordain Women launched, the Church has changed long-standing, seemingly permanent policies that discriminated against women, adding women to policymaking councils that used to be male-only and ending discriminatory policies targeting female Seminary and Institute teachers.

5. Taboos can be broken.

Before Ordain Women, even talking about whether Mormon women want the priesthood was taboo. Almost instantly after Ordain Women’s launch, conversations about women and priesthood became commonplace. Church leaders have adapted and changed their focus from priesthood as a manifestation of masculinity to preaching about a more expansive, less gendered view of the priesthood, accessible to women through callings.

6. The internet doesn’t protect us.

When Ordain Women launched, we hedged our bets on the belief that the internet had some sort of magical power to prevent the kinds of purges of Mormon feminists that the Church had orchestrated in the past. In the internet age, we thought, there were too many venues where we could raise our voices and too many of us to excommunicate. We didn’t think the church would risk the bad PR that would result from silencing us. We were wrong. The church doesn’t need to punish every activist; going after just a few public faces is enough to scare most people into submission. Censorship and coercion do bring bad publicity to the church, but the church appears to welcome this kind of publicity. Instead of using the media to spread the gospel to the whole world, the church appears to be targeting a certain socially conservative segment of the population, as well as using the media as a tool to keep current members in line. Publicity about censorship and coercion is actually conducive to these goals.

7. Obeying the rules doesn’t protect us.

Although we were expressing unorthodox opinions, we were careful to follow church rules. We believed that if we followed the rules we could evade church discipline. In fact, church policy gives ecclesiastical leaders a wide range of power to punish parishioners simply for not following their counsel, even if they don’t break any written rules.

8. Women are more expendable to the Church than men.

While Ordain Women had both male and female supporters, most of the supporters who were informally disciplined by their local ecclesiastical leaders were female. When the Church disciplines a man, they risk losing a priesthood holder. Since women are already banned from the priesthood, losing one is no big deal. Additionally, cultural expectations about feminine behavior may make female dissent more shocking to male ecclesiastical leaders than the same behavior by men like themselves. Formal discipline policies codify women’s expendability. It takes a regional council of 15 men to excommunicate a Mormon man, but a woman may be excommunicated locally by only four men. At a man’s excommunication trial, six men are assigned to advocate for the accused.  No one advocates for a woman who is excommunicated by her local bishop.

9. Censorship backfires.

At one point, my stake president used my brother’s temple wedding as leverage to coerce me to censor my writing about the need to ordain women. This act of censorship brought so many views to the Exponent, where I blog,  that the website crashed, leading to coverage in national news. Readers almost immediately found copies of my censored blog posts on internet archives and shared them. Most of these were old posts that weren’t getting a lot of traffic anymore, so censorship probably put my writing in front of more eyes than would have been the case otherwise. Church leaders beware; censoring women may not have the effect you are going for.

10. Formal recruitment efforts aren’t necessary.

Church leaders seem to believe that feminist ideals spread like a contagion from one woman to another, and can be blotted out by silencing or casting out the original vector. In my observation, Mormon feminists usually do not learn their ideals from other Mormon feminists. Instead, the need for equality is innate; it springs up seemingly from nowhere without outside influences. We found that supporters of women’s ordination existed throughout the LDS Church. Any publicity at all, whether good or bad, led to influxes of new people supporting the cause, not because we persuaded them, but simply because they had found other people who believed what they already believed. That said…

11. Diversity requires effort.

The lowest hanging fruit within a Mormon movement are people like me: white, middle class, multi-generation Mormons living in Mormon-dense areas of the Intermountain West. To build a more global movement, informed by more diverse perspectives, we had to reach out and adapt to accommodate diversity. Without an intentional and sustained effort, the movement would have stayed homogenous.

12. For most Mormon feminists, activism is a short-term gig.

Simply being Mormon and coping with Mormon patriarchy is more than many women can put up with over the long-term. Add to that the exhausting work of activism and coercive pressure from ecclesiastical leaders and the Mormon community, and it is not surprising that most people do not stay involved in Mormon feminist movements for many years. Continual turnover brings with it the need to relearn the same lessons over and over because few role models are still around to train up new activists.

13. There is a lot of support for the Ordain Women movement.

But it’s harder to see within the walls of our own churches, where oppressive church discipline policies force many people to hide their opinions. As an Ordain Women spokesperson, people reached out to me everywhere (in airplanes, bus stops, grocery stores, etc.) to express support, and these supporters were both Mormon and non-Mormon.  Sexism doesn’t only affect members of our church. People working to combat sexism In the wider community need the help of religious feminists because one of their greatest barriers is the sexism people learn to tolerate at their places of worship. Since participating in Ordain Women, I have begun the Religious Feminism Podcast to support interfaith dialogue among people working to combat sexism in many faith communities. We can do more to work with our allies across faiths.

This post is cross-posted at Ordain Women.

Age of women most likely to abort pregnancy? Not what you think.

Spoiler: women in their 30’s and 40’s.  At least in Australia. And they already have children. And they are in faithful marriages. Read by clicking here.

 

The Tampon Tax (aka the Pink Tax)

The taxation on women’s health aids such as breast pumps and tampons shows yet again how women are taxed just for being women. Comparatively, GST (Goods and services tax in Australia) is not applied to condoms. Read more here. (And more on the Pink Tax here.)

Spot the Arab #spotthearab

A few months ago, my daughters and I visited an art gallery that had an exhibit titled “Spot the Arab.”[image error] This exhibit had quite a few gorgeous –nay, exquisite—photographs of people who live in or are from Arab countries. Most important was the “selfie stand.” The artist was a photographer who visited Israel and Palestine to take a collection of breath-taking desert landscape photographs. The selfie stand had huge backdrops of these landscapes, plus a selection of Arab headgear for visitors to wear and take selfies, with the further invitation to share the selfies with the hashtag #spotthearab. In addition to baring the beauty of the landscapes and artistry of the Arabian portrait photography, the selfie stand was intended to help dissuade anti-Arab sentiment.

 

My daughters happily allowed me to dress them in a variety of scarves, often with help from the photographer as I wasn’t familiar with the ways in which the fabrics needed to be placed and wrapped in order to stay put. We took dozens of photos—I felt a little selfish with the amount of time we were taking—yet there were but a handful of others in the gallery at that moment, none of whom paused for more than a breath at the selfies stand.

 

My daughters looked gorgeous. As always.

 

“Why do they wear these, mummy?” they asked.

 

“Because these scarves are beautiful!” I said. I was being honest, as well as hiding my own ignorance. I knew different style scarves were used by different religious groups, but I did not know which ones were reflective of which religion.

 

“You’re a good mum,” said the artist. He said it several times to me, but I was speechless. Isn’t this what good parents do? Especially Mormon parents? Teach children to love and respect other cultures and religions?  I just smiled back. I was sincerely enjoying myself!

 

After the exhibit, I learned that less than 10% of the participants who took selfies shared them on social media. That means that less than 10% of those who took photos were comfortable in sharing them. More alarming were the comments I had from friends on my own social media pages. “Have you changed your religion?” asked one. “WHY are they dressed like that?” wrote another, as if mocking was more acceptable than enjoying the cultural experience. I responded with “Why not?”

 

To be fair, the “likes” I had outnumbered the questioning, negative-feel responses. But the negative responses still surprised me. They were reflective of the moral judgements they made of me as a parent, as well as judging my daughters for looking so happy to be wrapped in gorgeous scarves. As if this was not okay! At the end of the day, we placed the scarves back in the share baskets, and we left the exhibit the same people we were before, during and after the photo shoot.

 

However.

 

I was different after I shared the images on social media. I was made more aware of the biases held against those who dress differently. I was made more aware of religious biases of those who I thought were Christian and Mormon, and therefore, loving and tolerant. That part stung. And hurt.

 

I was also made more aware of my own biases and snap judgments that I sometimes can make on social media, and I determined to become better, kinder, more tolerant and loving. But mostly, I was glad to protect my children from such divisive thoughts and intolerant convictions—at least for the moment—as they remained blissfully unaware that others were judging the way in which I was teaching them tolerance.

 

So what about you, dear readers? Can you spot the Arab? And if you can, what are your presumptions?

So You Think You Might Be a Mormon Feminist

[image error]Hey there. It sounds like maybe you’ve discovered that the church you love and the people in it are a little bit sexist.

Maybe you noticed that a woman’s voice carries less weight.

Maybe you have been a victim of public shaming over accidental “immodesty”.

Maybe you have been asked one many times why you haven’t gotten married yet (as though that’s something you can easily control).

Maybe you went to the temple and came away with an icky feeling.

Maybe you have failed to start a family, and have thus found yourself in the midst of a personal crisis.

Maybe you’re a little bit lesbian (or trans or queer or something other than the cis-het woman you were expected to be).

Maybe you’re trying to figure out how to get by on a smaller income than your male peers.

Maybe you’re struggling to get garments that fit right, that don’t give you infections, that make sense with the shape of your body.

Maybe you are trying to exercise your spiritual gifts, but they don’t match up with the gender role you have been assigned.

Maybe you have spent a small fortune on beauty products because part of you knows that your youth and attractiveness are your most valuable (and fickle) assets.

Maybe you are getting a divorce.

Maybe you have been personally harmed by members of your community who care too much about protecting a man’s reputation.

Maybe you have been assaulted by a priesthood leader.

Maybe you struggle under the weight of the unrealistic standards that all women are held to.

Maybe you just had a baby, and she’s a girl, and you wonder how to raise her in a church that is unlikely to embrace her full potential.

Maybe you just had a baby, and he’s a boy, and you are broken hearted to find that the church loves him more because he will grow up to be one of them.

Maybe you long to lay your hands on someone’s head and speak comfort to them from the Holy Ghost.

Maybe Heavenly Mother has moved in you, and now you can’t pray to the Father alone.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

However you got here, welcome. We’re happy to have you.

Mistaking Scaffolding for the Soul

I ran into a friend recently whom I hadn’t seen in months. She told me she was stepping back from the Church for a while. There were a number of factors, but the biggest was her commitment to care for her mentally ill son in a way that best served his needs. It had become difficult when our ward switched to a Sunday afternoon start time. She was frustrated that her leaders didn’t seem to believe her when she tried to explain how difficult this task was. She was frustrated when her son told her after a ward member had visited him, “Mom, I don’t want to be the reason you don’t go to church.” She was angry that her son would ever get the idea he wasn’t her number one priority.

Elder Ballard once said, “Sometimes we get so focused on bringing people to the meetinghouse that we forget we are supposed to be bringing them to Christ.” If the role of the Church is to bring people to Christ, how can we assure that we are serving the needs of the people and not the needs of the Church? Is it possible that for some people, in some situations, being on the “old ship Zion” is not the best place to nurture their relationship with Divinity? For many people the Church is a place of refuge and respite. It is a place of community and of communion. But what if it isn’t? Can we engage in the difficult work of examining how policies, practices and attitudes might need to shift? Can we allow people space and freedom from guilt trips and shame if their spirituality resides outside of organized religion?

Like many people, my dad liked to create a mental picture of a gospel concept. One of his lessons I remember best is when he taught us about the Kingdom of God and the role of the Church. He likened the Church to scaffolding. Scaffolding can be really useful, but isn’t meant to be permanent and definitely isn’t pretty. It also evolves as work on the true building progresses. More scaffolding is added and parts are taken away when they are no longer needed. Harold B. Lee said, “Much of what we do organizationally… is scaffolding, as we seek to build the individual, and we must not mistake the scaffolding for the soul.”

As I reflect on my own journey within the Church, I’m grateful for overwhelmingly positive experiences with members and leaders. I’m grateful for my mom who stuck by me when I decided to attend a different ward after being bullied in my Mia Maid class, despite a lot of push back from our bishop (he reminded my mom I wouldn’t be able to hold a calling if I went to another ward). I eventually returned to my home ward after graduating high school at age 16 and had to endure comments from a few young adults who made fun of me for wanting to go to Relief Society with a bunch of “old ladies.” (Fortunately the “old ladies” were very welcoming.)

And yet it is difficult to reconcile my feelings when I hear stories where the well being of the support system seems to take precedence to the well being of individuals. It is hard to think about how women are treated in the Church, and gays and minorities and sexual assault victims and “doubters” and divorcees and on and on. It is hard for me to reconcile my frustration when people are silenced, ignored or devalued while also reflecting on my own blind spots, privileges and times when I just feel too tired to engage in the difficult work of understanding and loving another human being. I am grateful to be part of a congregation of people working to be more Christlike and also grateful to be part of communities that challenge how religion is implementing Christ’s teachings.

I like how Reverend Deborah L. Johnson articulates the role of religion. “The purpose of religion should simply be to help people integrate the truth of their spiritual nature within the context of the cultures in which they live. Religion should always turn people back to the truth of themselves.” She goes on to describe a growing awareness among people of who they are in Spirit and with that growing understanding, a sense that some of the religious practices and institutional policies that have been around for centuries are based upon false notions and false ideas. In effect, she is saying that as people have come to see and focus on the beauty of the soul, they also see how some of the institutional scaffolding is not helpful. I love her positive outlook on the evolving consciousness of humanity, which is in contrast to many of the doomsday reports on the wickedness of the world and hemorrhaging churches. Yes, there is still so much to improve in the world and within churches, but those gloomy reports don’t reflect the kindness and love I see everyday as people work together to build each other up.

My dad left the Church when I was 15. For a long time I missed the beauty of his soul because I was looking for all that scaffolding which was no longer there. He wasn’t attending church, giving me father’s blessings or going to service activities. It took me a long time to see him for who he was and see the ways in which his kindness and love brightened the world. It took me a long time to see the crooked walls and misplaced windows as part of the beauty of his building.

Hindu Feminism in America with Saumya Arya Haas

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Saumya Arya Haas

In this episode of the Religious Feminism interview series, Hindu Priestess Saumya Arya Haas discusses feminism in American Hindu communities, the intersections of caste and gender in Hindu culture, that first blog post she poured her heart into that no one read (at first) and how she stays safe online (despite the death threats). 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:

Saumya on Huffington Post

Saumya on Facebook

Saumya on Twitter

Listen and subscribe for free below:

Yes, I am angry

Someone messaged me the other day and asked me why I’m so angry. I’m here to explain why and argue that being angry is often necessary. (They were being homophobic, but that’s a story for another time.)

The term “angry feminist” is used to turn the conversation, to distract from any valued point by setting the feminist commentator as someone not even worth listening to. It doesn’t matter how rude, or emotional the accuser is, his point is always the valid, reasonable one.

Let me start with a story. In my old branch, there was a woman I often found difficult. She even made me cry once. However, I soon learnt to stop judging the package and listen to the gift. She had many good points, but no one gave her a chance. She was written off and pigeon-holed. People told me that they just “didn’t bother with her anymore.” One day in class she made an excellent, thought-provoking point, dripping in emotion. One man (on the district presidency) told her not to bring her personal life into the meeting. Another man told her that her problems (the home teachers not visiting their home) were a direct result of her being too difficult. “They don’t WANT to visit your home,” he said. She left the meeting in tears, and I had to chastise someone on my way out after her for telling me not to follow her. I hugged her for twenty minutes and felt Gods love for her. It was one of the most spiritual experiences of my life. I’m long gone from that branch, but I still remember that hug. I still remember the feeling of her tears mingling with mine.

I am angry about being written off for being a woman, especially when I express emotion.

I am angry at the patriarchy for having a history of silencing and dominating not only women but minorities.

I am angry that Christians act like they are being persecuted in free, predominantly white cultures that serve their interests, while they systematically deny rights to others.

I am angry that when members of the church do express homophobic, sexist, racist (etc) ideology, they act like they are innocent, and even get offended.

I am angry that people refuse to see their privilege.

I am angry that only some questioning is deemed as “acceptable.”

I am angry that members of the church want people to “fit in” to the church rather than create a culture where all people can belong without changing who they are. (Thank you for this thought, Richard Ostler.)

I am angry that people of colour have the police called on them for no good reason. It’s racism, pure and simple.

I am angry that fairy tales set up a world where “good” women are white, virtuous and economically privileged.

I am angry that so many languages and cultures have been lost through white colonisation.

I am angry that I can’t talk about feminism and the toxicity of the patriarchy without men making it about them.

I am angry that feminism routinely excludes women of colour and female identifying or gender fluid individuals.

I am angry that hate is okay if it doesn’t hurt white, cis men (and women who cling to the power of patriarchy…)

I am angry at wealth inequality, and the pure privilege it takes to tell people to pay their tithing if they want to get out of poverty.

I am angry that the world isn’t catering to disabled individuals enough.

I am angry that there aren’t enough windows and mirrors in literature and other forms of media.

I am angry about a lot more, but I don’t want to keep you here all day. It’s sufficient for me to say that if I didn’t get angry, I would be giving into my privilege. It doesn’t feel like an option anymore to remain silent or react politely.

Thoughts on a Mission – 15 Years Later

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Fifteen years ago today, I entered the MTC. I wrote previously about the 10 year anniversary of returning home, but I still feel like the 15 year anniversary of beginning a mission deserves its own post.

Some things have changed over the years in how I view my missionary service. The memories have dimmed, and while it was still an important time in my life, it has become less ever-present in my thoughts. It’s almost like the hazy memories of summer camp – a place apart from the normal world where things don’t work the same way as at home.

I rarely start off stories with “When I was on my mission…” anymore. I have new stories to tell that happened afterward. I haven’t had a dream about my mission in years. I’ve lost touch with most of the people I met while I was there. Some on purpose, some just to the mists of time. Even the ones I do still keep in touch with are simply acquaintances on my Facebook friend list.

The intersection of my church life and having served a mission is less pronounced now, too. I’m old enough that people rarely ask if I served a mission. They’re more concerned with what I have going on now than what I did a decade and a half ago. Previously, when people found out I served in the United States, I was automatically relegated to the status of second-class RM. There was definitely a hierarchy of missionary service with people who went to Latin America or Asia at the top, Europe and other places in the middle, and the US at the very bottom. It seems to matter less to people now that it was so far in the past. I’m glad for that; I got kind of sick of my missionary service being belittled because of where I was called to serve. (Besides, if we truly believe that everyone deserves to hear the gospel, that includes the people of the US, too.)

When I went on a mission, there was still a stigma against women who served as missionaries. We were the uppity women who couldn’t land a husband. That stigma has abated now that the age for missionary service has been lowered and more women are serving. And some of that reframing has spilled over into women of my era who served, too. I still haven’t married, but people don’t connect that to my missionary service anymore. They’ve come up with a whole new list of reasons.

Even though my mission has faded a bit in my mind, it still gave me some formative experiences. It was the first time I saw poverty up close. It was the first time I saw exactly how essential education and career are for women because I saw women trapped in bad marriages because they were incapable of financially supporting themselves. I vowed to myself that I would never be without means of being able to provide for myself, even if I marry. It was the first time someone told me that I couldn’t do something because of my sex, and it made me angry. How dare they take Bible verses out of their historical context to try to silence me when God Himself called me to preach the word?

My mission gave me life skills that I didn’t know I would need. I had to plan my days with little oversight. I had to select goals, figure out how to accomplish them, and manage my time without a boss hovering over my shoulders to make sure I was doing my work. Now that I’m self-employed, I do all that in my daily life. It also helped me to be able to connect with people from all walks of life, which is a skill I use in my law practice. And while I haven’t needed to ride a bicycle in a skirt since returning home, that lesson taught me to avoid taking myself too seriously. It’s impossible to ride a bike in a skirt without looking at least a little silly.

It will be interesting to see how my thoughts and memories of my mission continue to change and grow over time. I wasn’t fully prepared for the reality of it all. I had only heard missions spoken of in glowing terms about how they were filled with unbridled joy. Nobody talked about the bad parts, at least not the actual bad parts. The worst things I ever heard about were weird food and homesickness. Even now, as I’m writing this paragraph, I’m finding myself unable to describe the parts of a mission that wounded my soul and took years to heal from. The taboo against discussing negative mission experiences is that strong. I hope someday that taboo will be lifted so people can go in with eyes open.

I don’t know if I would have gone if I had known everything that was going to happen, but time heals all wounds, and looking back, I’m glad I went. But if I have another dream where I’m back there, I’ll still be glad to wake up and realize that I’m 30-something with a job, and I don’t have to wear a skirt or stick with another person 24/7.

Why is there no Justice in Mormon Discourse?

[image error]Recently, Gina Colvin shared a video of a choral song that I found deeply moving. “For Everyone Born” completely resonated with me spiritually, and to me, it represented everything good about religion. It represented what I wanted my church to be.

Here’s a sample of some of the lyrics:

For everyone born, a place at the table,

for everyone born, clean water and bread,

a shelter, a space, a safe place for growing,

for everyone born, a star overhead,

and God will delight when we are creators of justice and joy,

compassion and peace:

yes, God will delight when we are creators of justice,

justice and joy!

I loved this for so many reasons. Recently I’ve been thinking a lot about families from other countries coming to the U.S. to ask for asylum because they face death, mutilation, abuse, hunger, etc. from gangs, abusive spouses, or governmental/structural forces in their home countries. This verse made me think of them and how, indeed, working towards godly justice does mean helping people have that safe place, shelter, and bread.

I was also moved by the second verse that talks about gender equality. I’ve spent the last 17 years of my life as a Mormon feminist working for and hoping for more opportunities for women in the LDS church. It nearly caused me to tear up to hear the men of the choir sing this verse:

For woman and man, a place at the table,

revising the roles, deciding the share,

with wisdom and grace, dividing the power,

for woman and man, a system that’s fair,

I listened to this song about ten times. I felt my whole soul craving and yearning for this kind of discourse in my church, the church I attend every week and where I virtually never hear discussion or prayers for all to have places at the table, bread, clean water, safety, and fair systems. As I listened to it, I was utterly compelled by its message, and I could feel my chest get heavy with joy at the knowledge that churches exist that embrace and love this message. At the same time I was sad to know that I would never hear such a song in my LDS congregation.

In the spirit of being more open with my devout intellectual Mormon husband, I shared this video with him. We don’t often talk about spirituality since we experience our spiritual lives so differently. He finds the LDS church satisfies his spiritual needs, whereas I don’t. Often, we have found, it’s easiest to not discuss this gulf in experience. Yet because this song was so powerful to me, I thought I’d take a chance and show it to him.

He politely listened to it. When I asked him what he thought, he diplomatically mentioned that he wasn’t used to “modern” sounding hymns. He said that a lot of the messages were nice. But in the end, it didn’t really resonate with him — perhaps the main reason being the focus on the concept of justice. As a born and bred Mormon, this just wasn’t the way he used the term. For him, the only time justice discourse arises is in discussions of “mercy vs. justice” — a very different sense than the social justice concepts invoked in the song.  So the emphasis on justice just didn’t work for him.

I was disappointed he didn’t have anywhere close to the same reaction I did to the song, but I also found it really interesting that justice discourse was an impediment for him, especially because I know him and his huge heart. I know he’d be the first to give his shirt off his back to someone in need. I know he’d go out of his way to help someone fleeing from domestic or gang violence. I know he’d be the first to feed a hungry person.  So why would working towards systems that ensure safety and food (justice) feel foreign and uncomfortable to him?

We talked about this gulf in our reactions, with me asking what word would better represent this vision of helping those facing intense structural discrimination, violence, etc. In the end, he put his finger on the word that would work for him: Zion. Working towards a Zion community, with no inequity, no poor — that resonated with his Mormon worldview and language.

Zion. Yes, that’s a word that connotes for Mormons much of what “justice” connotes for me. I may not hear many (any) talks or lessons about social justice in my Mormon future, but it seemed to me that “Zion” discourse could accomplish much of what justice discourse does in other churches. I’m going to remember this — Zion may be a bridging discourse that will work for both me and my fellow ward members.