Exponent II's Blog, page 68

10 not-to-miss responses to the “glitch” deleting Mormon women’s comments about priesthood power and authority

First, there was the IG post, quoting Sister Dennis from the Worldwide Relief Society Broadcast. Then over 8,000 comments, mostly by women, flooded the post. When the comments disappeared, many believed the comments were deleted. Hours later, the comments were restored. By that time, the conversation had spread far beyond the comment section of that post. The debacle brought up a lot for Mormon women and gender minorities and they have been speaking to national news outlets, on podcasts, and writing across social media, blogs, and substacks. Here is a roundup of some highlights from the larger conversation. Think this list is missing something? Add it in the comments!

First, don’t miss the excellent coverage in the Salt Lake Tribune by Tamarra Kemsley:

“What LDS women are saying about priesthood—and how they supposedly have it—after a controversial sermon”

“LDS Church responds to firestorm over speech about women, points to a glitch for vanishing social media comments”

Also, this article in the New York Times by Ruth Graham challenges the church’s claim that it was a glitch that caused the comments to disappear (though I’ll add, many Instagram users report experiencing similar glitches on other pages): “Does the Mormon Church Empower Women? A Social Media Storm Answers”

Want to listen to women presiding over these conversations? Mormon stories had two excellent panels discussing the issue.

In the first, Julia Sanders converses with Celeste M. Davis, Samantha Shelley, and Alyssa Witbeck. They discuss the RS Broadcast, the IG firestorm, and much more around their experiences and research related to women’s power and authority in the LDS Church.

In the second, Amy McPhie Allebest leads a conversation with Chelsea Homer and Mindy Gledhill. I may have cried more than once listening to this one. They discuss their experiences and how patriarchy and misogyny are embedded in the structure of church.

In another meaningful discussion, At Last She Said It hosts Cynthia and Susan discuss the messages shared in the broadcast and the responses to those messages.

On RadioWest, Doug Fabrizio talks with Celeste M. Davis, Neylan McBain, and Jana Reiss. When McBain first heard the quote, she thought it was a joke because it was so out of line with her personal experience.

Want to see more on Instagram?

Check out Kate Toronto’s slides on “The Power & Authority I have.” Women are not part of essential decision-making bodies of the church and can’t control what the church does. What can they control?

Kate Mower at latterdaylez calls out the blind spots of Mormon feminism in this conversation. How can Mormon feminists learn from past waves of feminism and be more sensitive to race and gender?

Of course, don’t miss the excellent posts and guest posts on Exponent II’s Deleted Comments Department series page. We have had several posts from bloggers and guest writers.

Don’t see your favorite? Add it to the comments!

This post is part of a series related to the March 2024 debacle where 8,000+ comments, largely by women, responding to the LDS Church’s Instagram post quoting Sister J. Anette Dennis appeared to have been deleted for several hours. Though the comments were restored, Sister Dennis’ talk and the Instagram post have inspired significant thought and conversation.

Would the LDS church allow 15,000+ rebuttals to a statement by a male leader? I doubt it.

When Sister J. Annette Dennis, First Counselor in the General Relief Society Presidency,  said “no other religious organization in the world …has so broadly given power and authority to women” as the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS), thousands of LDS women disagreed in the comment section of the church’s Instagram account. (Worldwide Relief Society Devotional and Testimony Meeting, Instagram)

When those comments vanished from Instagram, many people were angry but few were surprised. Suppressing criticism of church leaders is a longstanding tradition in our church.

But in this instance, a technical glitch, not censorship, appears to be to blame for this temporary disappearance. The comment section reappeared and quickly grew to over 15,000 mostly critical comments.

I watched in awe. I could hardly believe that the church hadn’t intervened and shut this down.

But then I remembered, the person being criticized wasn’t a priesthood leader. She was a woman. Sustaining a male General Authority is mandatory in our church; sustaining a woman leader is more of a grey area.

To participate in temple worship, we are required to sustain a long list of male priesthood leaders, including:

The Church PresidentThe First PresidencyThe Twelve ApostlesGeneral Authorities (Temple Recommend Questions)

The term General Authority includes the men already listed here plus the First and Second Quorums of the Seventy and Presiding Bishopric, which are also male-only units. The women of the General Relief Society, Young Women and Primary Presidencies are not considered General Authorities. (Topic: General Authority) Whatever authority women are now said to have, it is inadequate to earn them the title of General Authority.

There is one final category of leader the temple recommend interview requires us to sustain: local leaders. In theory, that last category could be interpreted to include local Relief Society, Young Women and Primary leaders, but the only local leaders who have power to enforce this requirement are Stake Presidencies and Bishoprics. Whatever authority women are now said to have, it is inadequate to revoke temple recommends or staff disciplinary councils—now rebranded as membership councils, but still authorized to invalidate baptisms and temple sealings at the discretion of their all-male judges and juries.

“When you sustain someone, you obey them. What does sustaining mean to you?” a local priesthood leader asked me once. It was a pointed question; we were having this conversation because he had called me in to chastise me for not sustaining/obeying male leaders.

I sustain my priesthood leaders by helping them with their responsibilities. I do my part, contributing my time and talents to my local ward and the worldwide church. An important way I contribute is by offering feedback. I have ideas about improving church policies and practices, and I don’t think I would be doing my part if I passively stepped aside and ignored harmful problems when I could make myself useful by suggesting solutions.

There are scriptural examples of people who sustained leaders in this way. Aaron and Hur literally sustained Moses by holding up his arms, helping him when he was becoming weak. (Exodus 17:8-13) Jethro sustained Moses by sharing constructive feedback about Moses’s leadership style and suggesting better ways to administer the church. (Exodus 18:13-27)

Even so, priesthood leaders often disagree with my definition. “That’s not how the brethren define sustaining,” another local priesthood leader told me at another chastisement session. He shared his brethren-approved definition of sustaining, which was something along the lines of agreeing with the leader and not criticizing him.

Jesus Christ demonstrated a tolerance for rebuttal that I rarely see among modern LDS priesthood leaders. When he rejected a Canaanite woman’s request, she persistently disagreed with him and he listened, eventually changing his position. (Matthew 15:22-28)

Jesus reprimanded religious leaders who prioritized their own needs over the needs of women in vulnerable circumstances, so it’s concerning that modern temple recommend criteria mandate loyalty to so many men with power in the church while not asking a single question about our treatment of more vulnerable people, with the exception of our own family unit. (Matthew 23:14, Temple Recommend Questions) Systematic efforts to protect male priesthood leaders from the discomfort of hearing criticism demonstrate that our church prioritizes the preferences of men with power over the needs of women in their stewardship. The church cannot meet the needs of women as long as its leaders refuse to hear them.

I don’t know if whatever authority women are now said to have includes the authority to delete comments from social media posts. Nevertheless, I suspect the church’s social media team would have erased criticism of Sister Dennis’s talk if she had asked them to. Instead of trying to silence the feedback, Camille N. Johnson, General Relief Society President, said, “We are collecting and reading the comments on all the posts and appreciate knowing these heartfelt messages, concerns, thoughts and experiences.” (Does the Mormon Church Empower Women? A Social Media Storm Answers. New York Times 3/22/24)

I believe her. I hope male priesthood leaders will follow the example of Sister Dennis and President Johnson and work toward developing a Christ-like tolerance for unpleasant feedback.

Georgia O’Keeffe—Hands and Thimble by Alfred Stieglitz, 1919 Courtesy of Art Institute of Chicago

This post is part of a series related to the March 2024 debacle where 8,000+ comments, largely by women, responding to the LDS Church’s Instagram post quoting Sister J. Anette Dennis appeared to have been deleted for several hours. Though the comments were restored, Sister Dennis’ talk and the Instagram post have inspired significant thought and conversation.

Guest Post: Who Has the Power in 2024?

by Megan Buhler

This year–
in the year 2024–
my bishop asked my husband
First
Before extending a calling to me.

They sat in his office.
Not that long, my husband defended later
But long enough to talk about how the calling
would impact my family.
I wasn’t there for that conversation.

When they came out,
the bishop invited me in.
My husband and both
of the bishop’s counselors followed.
Four men looking at me.
All knowing why we were there.
But not me.

Your husband said it won’t be a problem
for you to serve in this calling
Despite him also serving in a calling that will
require you to both be in a lot of meetings
Sometimes at the same time.
Is he right?

I can see why he would say that
because our children are teens and tweens
and don’t need a babysitter
or to come along.
Like when I took two kids under two to ward council
Because we both needed to be there.
But I was the one that got them up early,
dressed them, fed them, packed a bag,
and left when they cried.

The bishop changed the subject quickly,
and didn’t
ask me
how this calling would impact
my family.
Asking if my husband is right
isn’t the same as
asking me.

My voice is not normally silenced
but that day,
with four men looking at me,
who all knew before me
why we were there,
I couldn’t find my words to say
Ask me.
Include me
in the conversation.

Later, as our callings collided with the needs
of our family,
I raged at my husband.
Why didn’t you speak up? he asked.
Why didn’t you? I shouted.
You were the one included in the conversation.
The one that was asked first.

I sought solace in women
A friend. My mom.
My grandma. My book club.
They gasped in shock that this happened
this year
in 2024.

At a Relief Society presidency meeting
I tentatively told my story
and got whispered responses.
Our husbands were also
asked first.

I made an appointment to meet with my bishop.
I sat in the celestial room at the temple
for a long time
trying to sort out my feelings.
I wrote out what I wanted to say.
I took a copy of the handbook section
on extending callings.

I tried to stay curious,
because angry women aren’t heard.
I explained how it felt to me.

Why are you telling me this?
he asked.

Because if someone felt the way
I do.
I would want them to tell me.
Because I don’t want any other women
to feel this way.

Are you saying I did it wrong?
he asked.
Yes, I said, showing him the handbook.
He waved it away.
Maybe not in that section
but somewhere
in the handbook
it says that I should ask a husband
before calling a woman.

No, it doesn’t, I said.
It hasn’t for a very long time.
I’m in my forties and
have never
had someone ask my husband first.
Those other wards and stakes
followed the handbook.

Well, he said, even if it doesn’t say it
I’m sure there’s room for me
as bishop to use my discretion.
How could I know if you are worthy to serve
if I don’t ask the priesthood holder
in your home?

This year
in 2024
my worthiness depends
on the judgment of my husband
who was asked first.

So when Sister Dennis said
at the Relief Society broadcast
in March 2024
“There is no other religious organization in the world
that I know of
that has so broadly given power and authority
to women.”
I was angry.

This is gaslighting, I typed on social media.
How can she say that
when my experience
right now
in 2024
is that my husband
was asked first
and I wasn’t included in the conversation
about how a calling would impact my family.

I emailed my stake president
a copy of my Facebook comment
about his dad,
who is my bishop,
asking my husband first.

Would you like to talk about this? I asked.
There’s a social media firestorm because this hit a nerve
and it’s likely you’ll hear about my comment
from someone anyway.

I’d be happy to listen he said
and he did.
You feel unheard he said.
I appreciate that he listened.
I appreciate that he doesn’t extend callings
by asking the husband first.

But there were no gasps
no outrage
no righteous indignation
like when I told women
because he can’t imagine how it would feel
or why it is such a problem.

Help me understand
why this is a problem for you, he said,
and raised his eyebrows
as I tried to explain
that asking my husband first
makes me feel like property.

Bishops are just volunteers, he said.
I can try to do some training
but don’t expect it to change right away.

This is how I know
this year
in 2024
women in my church
have no power
unless given by men
which means we really don’t have
any power
at all.

Megan lives with her husband, 3 kids, and a puppy in Taylorsville, Utah. She loves books, working in the elementary school library, and is a member of too many book clubs.

An Artist Story – How One Person Saved The Minerva Teichert Murals In The Manti Temple

I was worried when the dates of the Manti Temple open house were announced. 

I had been worried since March of 2021, when announcements from the Church Newsroom declared that the Manti Temple would be renovated, and murals would be lost. This included news that live endowment sessions would end, and the historic elements of the temple would not be preserved. 

I, along with countless others, felt ill. There was an immediate and ongoing outcry. Several of us wrote blogs about it here on Exponent 2. I joined others on news podcasts, and interviews for articles. There were letter writing campaigns. Journalists for international media covered this. Art and history organizations contacted Church headquarters, condemning this action. Within weeks, another announcement said the intent was now to remove and preserve the murals, and display them elsewhere. But anyone who knew details about the murals knew that was not possible. And the loss of this incredible historic building was still too much. The outcry continued. 

Then, in May 2021, the decision to preserve the historic temple with the murals intact was announced. A new temple would be built nearby to satisfy the need for accessibility and efficiency. The unique qualities of the Manti Temple would be honored. Many of us were calling each other, crying in relief. It was too late to save the historic interior of the Salt Lake Temple, which had already been gutted. And the live session was to end. But the completely unique work of this building was promised to be safe. 

2 years later, as the open house approached, I was nervous. I was afraid someone had decided not to keep that promise. There had been promises made years ago by President Hinckley that the exquisite interiors and artwork of Manti Temple would always be honored and cared for. But someone with power and influence had looked at those interiors, those murals, those spiral staircases, and they had thought – “We need to make this more efficient”. And the promises made by past prophets were dismissed. What if the promises made in response to the outcry had been dismissed as well, and we wouldn’t find out until the open house that it was too late. 

Then I saw the article from Peggy Fletcher Stack about her preview tour, and it included pictures of the interior. I cried with relief again. I had made reservations for the March 14, the first day of the open house. 

I was with my husband and daughter as we drove toward Manti from the north. I have always loved that approach. I can see the temple up on the hill from a few miles away. It rises up from the surrounding fields, from the level farm valley held between mountain ranges. 

This is a clear depiction of the effort of pioneer ancestors to create a place set apart, a place for the symbolic ritual of the sacred journey towards the divine. This is where they would offer their best work, their most beautiful creations. This is where they would take themselves away from the mundane distractions of regular life, and ascend above it all to a place where they could be in the spiritual theater, acting out the allegory of moving from innocence and ignorance, toward wisdom and complexity, desiring to learn from the teaching ritual. This is what the building was designed to do, create this space of learning as we move forward and upward through the rooms, vicariously moving through the story where all characters depict a part of us, and we seek to learn insight that is individual to each of us. The only journey we can experience is our own. The only truth to find is unique and personal. 

I felt gratitude, again, for the lessons I had learned from my ancestors about the value of this spiritual theater. There is no literal meaning in the ritual. Symbolic learning is meant to be individual, and my experience did not need to match another. 

We parked, and slowly walked up the hill. I approached this building as a friend, a last remnant of original pioneer creation. I think of the journals of generations of women. They wrote of their journeys, their complex faith, connections to Gods that were personal because of this mystical restoration, their fierce commitment to their own power, their spiritual gifts, their heartbreak and loss, their voices speaking up. I thought of an ancestor mother who lived near Manti, and the journal account of when she threw a cup of coffee in Brigham Young’s face, refusing his instruction that she approve of second wife for her husband. I relished that memory as I neared the entrance.

We entered the foyer, and I remembered coming there with my married student ward, realizing I had forgotten my recommend. My bishop, Dillon Inouye, spoke with the worker at the recommend desk. I will never forget the way he said in such a matter of fact way, “Here is Sister Hansen, worthy in every way to enter this temple”. It was the first time I imagined that God would say this about all of us. They want all of us to learn of our journey in any way we will. That is all the worthiness that matters. All are invited to come to Them.

I stayed calm as we walked through the hallways, and in and out of the side rooms. 

Then I stood at the base of the north spiral staircase and looked up at the most concise symbolic structure of an ascension journey. Painstakingly and beautifully made by many nameless hands. 

We climbed one step at a time, looking out the windows at the valley spread below. 

At the top I walked into the Assembly room, preserved in its original state, the careful work of countless people. There were no curtains covering the many floor-to-ceiling windows, the rippled original glass showing a clear view of the nearby mountains and fields. The snow covered peaks were so close, they almost seemed to be part of the room. This is where people once gathered for meetings and events, even dances and celebrations. A place unlike any other. A place set apart. 

I thought of how close we came to losing all of this. And I sat in a corner and sobbed. 

I try to understand that we will each see things in our own way. I try to consider that we are each doing the best we can with what we have. I try to consider the individual journeys that bring us to this place where some will connect with each hand that created here. And some will see it as a room that is no longer efficient, which is in need of streamlining for sound systems, elevators, screens and projectors. 

I mourn the loss of so much that people in power, or committees have decided to eliminate. The loss of live sessions, the desecration and gutting of the Salt Lake Temple. The loss of women using their spiritual gifts, offered freely in covenants of consecration. The loss of keys of direct power given to women when the Relief Society was born. The loss of the autonomy of the Relief Society. The dismissal of so many promises. 

And I am grateful for every person who spoke up over and over in the face of loss. I thought of all who spoke up to preserve this work here in this building. I have learned that there were many who risked their jobs, and position in the church in order to relentlessly speak up to save the artwork and craftsmanship of this building. It took great courage for many of these people to do so. There were some who never stopped contacting any and all organizations who would recognize the unique value of this temple, and who would do all that could be done to communicate the terrible consequences to the Church if leaders allowed it to be destroyed. Some of these people realized they would never be able to personally see these interiors, but they knew the world would be poorer without them. That was reason enough. 

We gradually made our way to the Teichert murals. I spent the most time there, seeing details that I could not see while attending sessions here. I saw how she had painted “the least of these” in the foreground along one side, at the same level as those in attendance. We are each, all, the least of these. I looked at the Christ figure behind the altar, his arms outstretched. He is the only one of the 120 figures in this mural which is looking at us. His hands gesture. Come. All are welcome.

I had moments of shock and grief at the thought that anyone could consider removing or painting over this. But I did not weep here.

I mostly felt awe and gratitude for the creation of Minerva. She gave all of herself for this. We each bring what we can to the altar, and offer it to the world. When something is given with such love, we need to honor the offering.

Thank you, again, to all who would not stay silent when this was threatened.

In 2005, a few years after my dad(Eugene England) died, I wrote an essay called “A Pope Story: How One Person Brought Down The Berlin Wall.”

https://eugeneengland.org/wp-content/uploads/sbi/articles/2005_e_001.pdf

It recounts some events from 1981, when Dad was one of the leaders of a 6 month BYU Study Abroad group in London. My siblings and I were there with my parents. We traveled around Europe for a few weeks near the end of the term, and we happened to be in Rome on May 13. We gathered in front of the Vatican to watch Pope John Paul II address the crowd before we planned to leave to catch a train to Geneva. I describe in the essay how Dad decided to move through the crowd to get closer to where the Pope was, and I climbed on top of a post to get a better view. I saw the Pope as his jeep drove next to the crowd. He was reaching out to grasp the many hands reaching for him. I heard gunshots ring out, saw the Pope collapse into the jeep as it sped away, and I saw the gunman run away and the crowd chase him. Dad soon joined us, looking shocked. The side of his head was red, and his finger was bleeding. He had been directly in front of the Pope when the bullets went right by his head, one clipping the finger on his outstretched hand before piercing the Pope’s robe.

Dad saw that the Pope was a spiritual leader and inspiration to the Solidarity movement in Poland, which was engaging in non-violent resistance to the Communist regime. He felt this was an attempt to crush that movement by assassinating the Pope. He decided to start a non-profit organization that would collect food and donations to send to the striking workers of the Solidarity movement, to help them continue their resistance. We called it Food For Poland.

The essay describes many things that happened and impacted this. We sent donations for years, joining many others who helped with the movement. The resistance continued. More of the world found ways to support that resistance. 

In November 1989, the Berlin Wall came down. Without guns, without bombs, and with celebrations on both sides. 

Whatever small part Food For Poland had in sustaining this resistance, we might never know. But for Dad to do this took extraordinary courage and effort. I once considered that his ability to make that kind of difference was unique.

A few years after he died, however, I saw that I was using that as an excuse as to why I might not make much of a difference in the world, or community. I just wasn’t born with the right stuff, like Dad was. The problem is, that excuse does not give me the life I want. I saw Dad struggle with circumstances and ignorance and obstacles and failure and weakness. He set out to create himself as someone who makes a difference in the world. What he learned to do, I can learn to do. True, the world will never see another like him, or like Minerva, or any of the people who create extraordinary things. The world will also never see another like me or any of you. We are each unique with what we can offer.

I think of the many ways I have seen walls and barriers and policies and destructive plans and harmful rhetoric and dogma torn down. I think of the many people who went against what was easy, or safe, in order to speak up and show up to make that kind of difference, even though many would say it was too risky, and they had no logical reason to do so.

Here’s something I learned from Dad: You are most powerful when you create reasons to do things, and you know you created the reasons. Dad could have listened to any of the reasons that were given to him to not support non-violent resistance – no time, money, obligations, loyalties, you can’t, it won’t work, it’s not your place, people will be upset. Instead he chose to make up his own, and it was a reason that was bigger than anything he came up against. Let’s call that reason World Peace. The power to create a reason that big is the power to tear down walls.

There were countless people who were involved in saving the Minerva Teichert murals, and they each created reasons that were bigger than the risk, the loss of their job or position, the discomfort of speaking out. 

In both my title here, and the title of my Pope Story essay, it is not countless people who brought down the Berlin Wall. It is not countless people who saved the Teichert Murals.

Here is the last paragraph in the Pope Story essay – 

“Who is the one person who tore down the Berlin Wall? It is Pope John Paul, it is Lech Walesa, it is my dad, my mom, my sisters and brother and me. It is each person in Solidarity, each person who donated, or fasted, or prayed, or took a stand. The wall was not brought down by millions of people. It is brought down by one person, hundreds, thousands, millions of times.”

Who is the one person who saved the murals?

It is everyone who wrote articles, gave interviews, spoke on podcasts, contacted media, alerted organizations, wrote letters, called Church headquarters every single day, everyone who fasted, prayed and took a stand, everyone who risked their jobs to speak up. The Teichert Murals were not saved by countless people. They were saved by one person, hundreds, thousands, millions of times.

Can women do that??

Can women sit on a stand?
Can women hold their babies while they are blessed?
Can women pray in general conference?
Can women be Sunday School presidents?
Can women count tithing?
Can women work in callings with men?
Can women conduct meetings?
Can women choose leaders for their own organizations?
Can women plan lessons for their organizations?
Can women wear pants?
Can women give blessings like early women in the church did?
Can women carry trays of sacrament bread and water to the congregation?
Can women speak about and pray to their Heavenly Mother?
Can women have power and authority in the church?
Are women really misshapen males?
Are women tempting whores who have led men astray since the Garden of Eden?
Are women naturally more spiritual and nurturing than men?
Are women human?

Sarah Bessey writes in Jesus Feminist: An Invitation to Revisit the Bible’s View of Women:

“I’m through wasting my time with debates about women-should-do-this and women-should-not-do-this boundaries. I’m out. What an adventure in missing the point. These are the small, small, arguments about a small, small god.”

Dear Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I hope you can figure out how not to be a church of gender roles. I wish for you to live up to your name and be the Church of Jesus Christ. In the meantime, you can find me doing whatever work God has called me to do because, to use Sarah’s words again, “Our big and good God is at work in the world, and we have been invited to participate fully”

p.s. Please figure this out soon; my teen daughters are hanging on by a thread and I very much wish for them to access the good the church has to offer without the side of sexism, inequality, and gaslighting status that is now packaged alongside that goodness.

Guest Post: I Read the New Policy Today

by Stephanie Sorensen

I read the new policy today.

“Worthy sisters who desire to receive their own endowment may do so if they’re at least eighteen years old, have completed or are no longer attending high school, secondary school, or the equivalent, one full year has passed since their confirmation, and they feel a desire to receive and honor temple covenants throughout their lives.”

How different would things have played out for me had this new policy been in place when I was the too-young woman, just shy of 23, and turned away?

It wasn’t just my age (22 1/2) that disqualified me. It turns out, they didn’t like that my fiance would occasionally look at images of naked women on the internet. They told us his “addiction” made him unworthy to be sealed in the temple. And if we weren’t going to be sealed in the temple, then my endowment was canceled, no longer approved (old policy). A euphemism for: you’re not an autonomous being; you’re an appendage of your future husband; you’re worthiness is his worthiness is your worthiness.

All of this on the week of our wedding. Did I mention that? Announcements already sent, with “SLC Temple” inscribed. Oh, just a quick change of venue. No biggie. Who needs a castle when you have a cultural hall?

I read the new policy today.

How different would things have played out for me had this policy been in place when I was the innocent, trusting girl looking to her Priesthood Leaders to guide and counsel her?

Would my heart have been only half-broken—instead of entirely—if I’d been allowed my endowment? Despite already losing the sealing? And the Mormon fairy tale? The fulfillment of my feminine covenant path, the highest glory a woman can aspire to? Would my shelf have held out that much longer, withstanding the mounting pressure? Would I have been only half-numb at my own thrown-together wedding, instead of mostly-dead?

And if I could go back and start again under this new policy—would I? The me back then wouldn’t have to think about it. A resounding YES! But today me? It would mean prolonging the inevitable. Because if it wasn’t the revoked permission for my endowment, what would have been the next ice pick to my chest?

The inability to baptize or confirm my children.
The treatment of LGBTQ folks.
The historical cover-ups.
The financial scandals.
The sexual abuse.
The mind f*cks.
The shame.
The shame.
The shame.

I read the new policy today.

And I’m putting myself into the Sunday shoes of those women, freshly 18 (or 25, or 42, or 79), sitting across the Bishop’s desk having just been granted permission to be endowed. Feeling their joy. Celebrating their rite of passage. Reveling in their freedom to choose for themselves the timing of their covenant-making, separate from missions, or marriage, or men. (Well, almost, because we can’t forget about the Bishop’s all-powerful, pending stamp of approval. At least I can’t.)

And I’m genuinely happy for them. Profoundly grateful that they’ll never know the kind of heartbreak I experienced. Or the public shaming, loss of respect, or stinging gossip.

Until I remember the all-too-true truth. That heartbreak will find them one way or another. Because no matter where one stands on the spectrum of orthodoxy, you don’t get there by accident. It’s our heartbreak that moves us to advocacy, diplomacy, and sometimes even heresy. It’s the inevitable outcome when you’re a Woman in a Man’s church.

Stephanie is a birth and rebirth mentor who helps women reclaim themselves amidst significant life transitions. She has had various essays and poems published and is currently working on two larger non-fiction works: a spiritual memoir in essay and a birth-preparation book that explores maternal metamorphosis. IG: @sjs_muse (for writing) and @bhava_birth (for birth and rebirth mentoring)

Guest Post: Palm Sunday from the Outside

by Elisa P.

Every other week, I have to work on Sundays. It’s been this way for years, even before I got married, and I have always felt like my spirituality and relationship to church and religion has suffered for it. Well, this year, my workweek fell on Easter. Knowing that Easter and Christmas are my most important spiritual weekends, I reached out to find a Palm Sunday service. Yes, yes, General Conference was on Palm Sunday weekend, but with two kids who can’t sit still for five minutes, let alone ten hours, I knew I wouldn’t be spiritually nourished by General conference talks.

My mother’s cousin’s church had a good Palm Sunday service, so I reached out specifically to him to learn of their meeting time. It was 9 AM in a location half an hour from our house. Tricky with kids who get extra wiggly whenever it’s time to go somewhere, but we could do it.

When we arrived, we were greeted at the door by someone who knew our names. Our children were escorted to the childcare room (which caught us by surprise, as we were not expecting childcare), and my cousin helped us know what we would be doing and where we would be going.

First was the waving of the palms. The pastor started with a call, feeling similar to a hosanna shout, full of triumph and joy. The congregation responded in kind. Then, we all went around the outside of the church (where they have both lawn and drought-resistant landscaping beautifying the land, as well as a dormant community garden). The congregation sung, and I tried to sing along. Unfortunately, I’d lost my voice and could barely croak out the alto part.

First was the waving of the palms. The pastor started with a call, feeling similar to a hosanna shout, full of triumph and joy. The congregation responded in kind. Then, we all went around the outside of the church (where they have both lawn and drought-resistant landscaping beautifying the land, as well as a dormant community garden). The congregation sung, and I tried to sing along. Unfortunately, I’d lost my voice due to a cold and could barely croak out the alto part.

When we went inside is where the real magic happened and the Spirit of the Lord took hold of my heart. Every piece of the Palm Sunday program was centered on Christ. Every song. Every prayer. The Palm Sunday reading started with Jesus entering Jerusalem on a donkey and ended with his Crucifixion. A woman read Jesus’s lines. The congregation read the lines of the crowd wanting to crucify their Lord. A woman blessed the bread and water. A woman gave the sermon afterwards, all focused on the wounded God who Heals. And invited those to become like the wounded God who Heals.

During Communion, I felt the Spirit so strongly as I watched members of the congregation come to the circle to partake of the bread and wine. It was intimate, reverent. Hands gently cupped when waiting for the bread. Arms gently crossed over their chest to signify they’d already received the bread. Those who did not wish to drink wine partook sybolically, bowing their heads as the wine cup was offered. Quiet, gentle whispers of “The Body of Christ,” “The Blood of Christ,” as the pastor and deacons gave them this offering.

I wanted to partake, to run up and join myself in Communion. To be a part of this community, small and intimate and fully immersed in the mission of Christ to mourn with those that mourn and comfort those who stand in need of comfort. But I didn’t. I was not part of this church. I had a cold and was wearing a mask, afraid to spread it to others in the congregation. I sat and cried and felt the Spirit and wanted to become better. My husband looked at me, confused, and I just said I was okay.

At the end of the service, there was coffee hour. We retrieved our kids, and our oldest immediately glommed onto one family sitting at a table and chatted with them. They welcomed him without reservation. After we got our refreshments, we were invited to another table with more available seats. My husband retrieved our oldest, and he immediately started chatting with a kind old woman. She was hard of hearing, and I was hard of speaking, so between the two of us she thought my son was a trans boy and asked him what name he preferred. Just like that. Without reservation. Full of love.

I wish to be part of a church like that. Perhaps our church is like that, or at least is striving to be like that. But when I think of how hard it’s been to become a part of my own ward, with so many people thronging to a meeting where we sit passively, then go to another meeting where a press of students sit passively and try to engage in a lesson that so often focuses on what seems too often to be a topic divorced from the scriptures it contains, and then force my way through a throng to go home, I often wonder if it’s possible the way our church is now. Each week I come, I feel like a stranger. Granted, I have not gone often due to sickness and work, but it’s how I feel.

When I went to my cousin’s church, I never wanted to leave. I felt welcomed from the moment I arrived to the moment we left the building. The Spirit told me of the goodness of the message and the sincerity of the people. Every message spoke to us of Christ, His sacrifice, His succoring of us to come unto Him, and of our duty to reach out to those around us. Every person I interacted with welcomed us as we were, and welcomed those around them as they were. Every interaction was intimate. Every word was spoken in love.

Let us be more like these people, these Followers of Christ. We’ve got quite a ways to go, and it’s going to be an uphill battle. But let us reach out in love to others. Let us remember the Wounded God who Heals. And let us be like Him.

Elisa is a medical laboratory technologist and a mother of two. While she is grateful for a schedule that lets her be a stay-at-home mother every other week, she wishes for a day when she can feel like she’s not split between two worlds.

Sacred Music Sunday: All Glory, Laud, and Honor

Today is Palm Sunday, the beginning of Holy Week, the last week of Christ’s mortal ministry. Palm Sunday commemorates Jesus’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem, where he rode in on a donkey and was greeted with palm fronds and shouts of “Hosanna!”.

I wish we did better as a church in preparing for Easter. I’ve seen an improvement over the past several years (I haven’t heard an Easter talk on food storage in over a decade, for example), but we still have a long way to go.

I’m on my second stint as ward music chair, and I would have selected All Glory, Laud, and Honor for church, but it’s stake conference this week, so I didn’t get the opportunity.

I wasn’t there some 2,000 years ago in the crowd singing praises to Christ, but I can sing those praises now. And I’m going to continue with Holy Week by reading the New Testament account of the week leading up to Easter.

Guest Post: My Neck Hurts

by Anonymous

When I first read the post, I had to do a double take. Were they being serious? It has to be a joke. It has to. I started scrolling through the comments and felt probably every emotion on the emotion wheel. I started to cry, probably out of frustration, but mostly because the feeling of camaraderie was so strong. It also felt like a game of Secret Hitler when all the fascists reveal themselves and you’re like, “Wait, YOU’RE a fascist TOO?!” So many friends and family members were commenting and all I could think of was, “Wait, you see the sexism too?!”

Remember that one General Conference talk where President Monson told the story about the military guy who stood alone while all the other religions were told where to meet for church? The moral of the story being he wasn’t alone. He “stood up” for his religion even when he thought he was the only one. Then he turned around and saw a bunch of other people standing too and everyone in the conference center had goosebumps and was crying from the spirit. That’s the feeling I had reading the comments. 8,000+ comments of women saying the same things I felt. Maybe it was the spirit? Maybe it was relief that I wasn’t alone? Either way, I loved it.

A brief bit of background. I’m a very outspoken feminist, but I also love the core doctrine of the LDS church. I grew up with all brothers, so as soon as I saw them advancing in church, I started asking questions and I haven’t stopped. I want to stay, I really do. But I absolutely will not stop ruffling feathers if I stay. My husband on the other hand sees the inequities (and sketchy financial stuff, etc.) and wants nothing to do with a “corrupt organization run by men instead of God.” We are both respectful of each other’s beliefs and comfort each other when one is frustrated about something. My poor husband probably needs a neck massage from the whiplash he’s experienced in the last 72 hours.

After reading the post I ran to his office and vented. “How could this make it through their PR team?” “You see the issue, right? I’m not being overly sensitive?” “I’m so done with this. I’m leaving.” “No, I can’t leave, I have to stay to make a difference.” “Oh, I have an idea for a comment, I’ll be right back.” After posting my own comment, I got a notification each time someone I followed also commented. I was loving that. I loved seeing all these secret feminists come out of the shadows. I loved what they had to say. Many were so much better at eloquently expressing their (and my) feelings. I felt so much hope for the future of the LDS church. If these are the women staying, speaking up, and teaching the future generations, then I absolutely want to stay.

Fast forward 24 hours and the social media team pinned a comment. They saw our comments. They heard our concerns. They’re going to talk to church leaders about it. “Babe, do you understand how amazing this is? This is the closest they have ever gotten to admitting they messed up. It’s amazing! It’s progress! We did this!!” My husband hugged me and responded, “I’m happy for you, but I’m nervous that they won’t actually do anything.” I responded, “I have hope this time.” I went to bed smiling and dreamt of a future where my daughters could have real power and authority in the LDS Church.

While I was dreaming of women walking together, moving things forward, the church was replacing the ground with a treadmill. We sure feel like we’re moving forward, but we haven’t moved an inch. I woke up to see every comment removed. Every woman who was brave enough to speak up, every woman who so beautifully expressed our collective feelings — silenced. Erased. Hidden. The church says the disappearance of comments was a platform-wide issue, and perhaps it was. But seeing those comments erased was a familiar feeling.

Women aren’t valued in the LDS church as much as men are. We’re baby makers, husband supporters, and if we’re a “strong independent woman” with no husband or kids, we’re still at least monetary fund suppliers. We’re supposed to sit still and look pretty, flirt to convert, and not question anything.

Supposedly, we have the power and authority that no other church has for women. Are the women claiming this sitting in the same sacrament meeting I am? Because when I sit in sacrament, I see an 11-year-old boy pick his nose before passing me the bread tray. I see the man who has been abusing his daughters (but stayed out of jail because the bishop advocated for him) bless the sacrament. I see the 16-year-old bully who secretly smokes weed and not so secretly uses racial and homophobic slurs break the bread. Every Sunday I’m reminded that each one of them is more important than I am in the eyes of the church. Women in the LDS church have more power and authority than other churches … just not enough to pass a sacrament tray around a room. And definitely not enough to have our voices be heard. I have always believed that change will come from within. But it’s days like this when I think that even if I stay, I don’t know if I can make a difference.

Is it true that the comments were down because of a platform-wide issue? Is it an attempt to cover their mistake? I don’t know. And honestly, I don’t know if I have the energy to follow this back-and-forth nonsense. I’m tired. My neck hurts. And I need to go study for a test so I can become a doctor. Someone with actual power and authority to help people.

Guest Post: LDS Women and “Broad Power and Authority”

by Cheryl Preston

It is all in the definitions.

In the last decade, it is said often that endowed LDS women have priesthood power. Our Sister Missionaries are repeatedly told they have been given the power and authority to teach and convert from the apostles, the same missionary power given from Christ to the apostles of old. I believe this.

Moreover, if you believe the only real priesthood keys on the earth are held by President Nelson, then any trickle down from him to women represents more priesthood power than that enjoyed by women in other religions.

I don’t know if this is what Sister Dennis meant, however.

Her statement was a poor choice of words. What does she mean by “power” and “authority”? Women who have never been in a legitimate power or authority position may not understand what those words mean. Being the “boss,” “last word,” or “decider” (one of G.W. Bush’s terms) means power. The right to make decisions that will control the workplace or the lives of many people, including men, is power. Being the top of the pyramid in the leadership chart is power. Being the top of the pyramid of any significant division or sub-group or being on a committee that makes ultimate decisions is power.

Sister Dennis suggests that LDS women have more power and authority than women in other religions, notwithstanding that many ordain women to the priesthood or give women other forms of stewardship over large geographical areas, including men. She refers to the “broad” power of all the women in the Relief Society. Eighty million women each with a hint of power is not meaningful if there is no mechanism to gather the collective power-bits and make them efficacious in changing outcomes. Many women with some spiritual endowment (however derived), but without a vote, amount to very little influence within the religion.

Beyond ordaining women, many religions have women with significant decision-making power at or near the top. Even in small divisions or sub-groups, having a woman with clout makes a difference. The women below her can feed ideas and suggestions to the woman leader who has the power to implement them. Thus, having a female representative who has a legitimate place at the table in administering, managing, and structuring the organization also translates to power. Women without a woman leader in a decision-making position—a leader who honestly seeks to represent other women—do not have power. For representative power to work, in addition to a having a woman in a decision-making position, all women (the leader and the members) need to believe two things: 1. It is not apostasy or “uppity-ness” to suggest women have the right to be heard and treated seriously; and 2. Speaking is not futile.

Local Relief Society presidents have very limited ability to make decisions outside of choosing service projects, parties, and nurturing assignments. All other decisions must be referred to a male member of the bishopric or stake presidency, including the selecting of Relief Society teachers. Stake Relief Society presidents have even less power to make decisions, although they make suggestions. The worldwide Relief Society President is never depicted as making decisions separate from her male priesthood authorities, even in matters purely pertaining to projects involving motherhood, health care, or other humanitarian and “relief” services.

The bottom line is that, unless Sister Dennis’ quote is defined very, very narrowly, it does not ring true. It is no wonder that those words have presented such a disconnect. Common dictionary definitions of “power” and “authority” simply are not exercised by women in the LDS Church.

This fact does not mean women should jump ship. It does not mean that women should decline to be “all in.” Many women fully understand the gender limitations and wish they were fewer, or believe that, in the grand scheme, the dis-junction will be resolved. Nonetheless, these women still have a vibrant testimony and commitment to the church. They do, however, expect words from the pulpit to be more reflective of reality.

Cheryl Preston is an active member who loves the gospel and the church, but is not blind. She is a woman who recognizes real power and authority.