What's In a Name?

I don't care what you say about me, 

just be sure to spell my name wrong.

-- Barbra Streisand

Liberal Mormon, Conservative Mormon, Active Mormon, Jack-Mormon, Feminist Mormon, Good Mormon, Intellectual Mormon, Utah Mormon, Sunstone Mormon, Molly Mormon…did I miss any? I'm sure I did. But oh, how we love putting people in tidy categories! It keeps things neat. 

When we can slap a label on someone, we can know what to expect from them. The problem is, a label on a person doesn't tell us a single thing about what's on the inside. And people are not about their packaging. People are only about their contents, and may surprise us if we'll allow them to step away from the label we've created and show us something more detailed and accurate. 

It's unfortunate that, unlike products, we're not required to wear any info about our insides on our outsides.

I'm amazed at the problems the word "feminist" seems to be causing in Mormon circles these days. I've considered myself a feminist since as early as I can remember considering myself at all. My dad once told me that he thought it would be confusing to be one of my children, because you would never be sure whether Santa Claus was a man or a woman. I took it as a compliment (not intended as one) and an indication that I was doing my job right. 

But I don't consider myself a Mormon Feminist. Just a Mormon. Who's also a feminist. Is there a difference? Well, who gets to say? 

I feel like if I popped up here and said, "I'm a Mormon Feminist" half the Mormons I know might stop reading. 

If you didn't just stop reading, let's think a little about this. It seems that, especially with the approach of General Conference and the Ordain Women movement planning to show up at the priesthood session again, Mormon Feminist is suddenly synonymous with wants the priesthood. And I sorta wish people hadn't hijacked my label.

Not that I have a thing in the world against OW. I sympathize with anyone whose church experience has caused them pain. I want to see everyone succeed on their journey of faith. And I believe the 9th Article of Faith to be a clear statement that the church as an organization will remain fluid, because that's a good part of the point of having a living prophet. So He can keep revealing great and important things. 

Search, ponder and pray is more than just a catchy song, it's supposed to be our entire approach to living the gospel. It's where this whole thing started, and we should expect to continue to see it in action.

But I don't want the priesthood. Actually, it would be more accurate to say I don't really care about that at all. I'm more of the mindset that we should just continue to let the men think they're in charge. Because that's much easier (*wink). 

And that probably tells you everything about what kind of feminist I am. I do believe we have some serious gender equality issues in the world, with some that are unfortunately unique to the church. Also marginalization, some serious mixed-messaging, some double standards...and we need to fix those things. And talk much more about them. But personally, I feel I have all the priesthood I need. 

As a Relief Society president, my grandmother used to go around giving blessings to the pregnant sisters before they would deliver. That was part of her job. It's a well-documented fact that women used to do things like that. Surprised? I was. Why we've tried to obscure that history a bit, I'm not sure, but I hope we're going to see that change. Until then, I guess I'll keep reminding people. I brought it up once while teaching Relief Society some years back and watched a roomful of eyebrows shoot up. I half expected to end up in the principal's office. 

But why not be reminded that our culture could always use a little tweaking? That our women may currently be under-utilized in getting the work done? In the world of the church, there's often a lot more in the culture than in the explicit doctrine. The culture isn't always true. And we can improve it.

Anyway, the Church seems to have put both feet in it with their official response letter to the leaders of Ordain Women. If you haven't been following the fight, it's probably a good thing. Because the back-and-forth between supporters on both sides won't make you feel better about...well...anything to do with either side.

My problem with the letter was that I felt it could have been written by, if I had to create a label, Sister Robot. That disappointed me. What I wanted to see was a real response from a real person with a real voice talking to real people about real things. Because to the women who have raised this issue, everything about it is real.

Why wouldn't our leadership sit down with those who are asking and have an actual conversation? Not through Church Public Relations, but in a private forum? The public response came across as a bit shaming, and unfortunately that seemed to throw a spark on the kindling for those who were already suggesting that perhaps the Church and these faithful feminist members should part ways.

And I KNOW that's not right. What we have here must be a failure to communicate. If we could rewind and rewrite the whole scene, I feel sure we could eventually get it right.

Pres. Uchtdorf seems to be the one who has been charged of late with handling border patrol. The kind that keeps people in. And they seem to have picked the right man for the job. I see him quoted so often, I get the sense that there are some members hanging by the thread of his every word. That's a lot of pressure, and yet I have perfect confidence in his ability. Because he seems genuinely interested in using the reach of his calling to promote a feeling of inclusion. In rounding up the ones who are teetering on the edge and gently coaxing them to stay awhile longer and see if we can't work out our differences. 

He's become a human doorstop of sorts, keeping it propped open. And somehow he comes across as having looked at things from both sides of the door.

If all it takes is a few kind, inclusive, inviting lines to keep people hanging in, can't we have more of his kind of talk? I hope we will. Christ said hard things, but consider the part of the audience to whom they were usually addressed. And his message was never, "Don't let the door hit you on your way out." 

I have no idea where it came from, but years ago I read a quote that was something along the lines of, "When those on the perimeter leave, the boundary shrinks toward the middle." It's become one of my favorite churchy ideas. We can't allow that here. Our church is all about growing its boundaries, not shrinking them. If we want to cover the earth, we're never going to make it by circling the wagons. Suggesting that those who are questioning, advocating or even actively agitating for change might be happier if they leave is completely counter to what we are supposed to be about. What's going on?

I'm a perimeter girl. I like the corner and edge pieces of brownies, the outside ring of the cinnamon roll...and I choose my seat based on whatever is closest to the door. That's everywhere, in a movie theater, a concert or a church meeting. I value the quick getaway over the unobstructed view.

I'm not sure that always earns me points in church. I've heard it hinted at more than once that consistently sitting in the overflow may have metaphorical implications. As if where I sit is somehow a reflection of my level of spiritual engagement. I even had a friend who was once told explicitly that her family may be in danger of apostasy because of their constant choice of seats in the back. I said it then (after I laughed), and I'll say it now: Nonsense. But inside, she wasn't laughing. I'm glad she's still sitting anywhere at all.

So when I considered names for my blog, the overflow came immediately to mind. I'm comfortable there, and it's for my own reasons, none of which have anything to do with the reasons that others might assign to my behavior.

Are there people for whom sitting on the edge in the back signifies something more? I have no idea.

But if that were true, we should probably all want to sit back there with them. In case they have questions, or need to talk, or are trying to decide whether to come back again next week. Shouldn't we each be in the business of border patrol?  Every member a border guard...it doesn't have the alliteration that every member a missionary does, but the effect is the same. And so is the responsibility.

A little less name calling, please. And a little more storytelling. I'm Susan, I'm a dyed-in-the-wool Mormon, and the same kind of feminist.

And Santa Claus? Well, have you ever actually seen him? Me neither. So I'd say your guess is as good as mine.

-S.  

Fifty Years...and Shades...of Gray.

my dad and me, ca 1965

"Some things are proof of nothing, 

and some are proof of everything."  

-- Delia Ephron

One of the things I'm figuring out as I round the corner at the half-century mark is that the older I get, the more gray areas there seem to be...and that's not even talking about my hair, which has become an almost completely gray area. I've made the decision to accept that with relative grace and keep going, though these days I notice I am often the grayest person in the room. Even when I'm hanging out with my mother. She doesn't like gray -- not in her laundry, her principles, or her hairdo.

My white-haired father and I are of a more similar philosophical bent (and I'm sure I'll look just like him in another decade or so). He confided to me awhile ago that the older he gets, the less he is sure of. That particular piece of information was a bit of a bombshell, coming from a man who prides himself on knowing most everything, or at least convincing everyone that he does. He read the complete Encyclopedia Britannica as a young boy, and has been talking like one ever since. He also once told his mother, "It's amazing that I'm so smart, seeing as how my parents are not." Something like that. You get the picture.

But now it's as if things at the far end of this long hallway seemed much more clear at the beginning than they do as he's approaching the door. I'd be inclined to think this experience is common to many, but whether it is or not, my dad and I are definitely walking the same hall.

We're learning to accept the gray.

One of the things he said on the subject that has helped me most is that these days, when someone raises an issue or asks a question or says something that makes him raise an eyebrow in a church context, the answer in his head is usually the same: "I don't know...and neither do you."

Bingo. He's just summed up the way I feel about a whole lot of things. But the curious thing about that is, it doesn't really matter to me. As long as everyone's willing to admit that we don't know, I can exist in that place pretty happily and with my faith in good condition.

It's only when people start acting like I should know (like they do) that my faith gets tried.

Faith is, after all, not about knowing, right? By it's very nature. So the words so common in our Mormon experience, "I know this church is true", would really be more accurate if they were "I believe this church is true. I hope this church is true." When I sit in a testimony meeting and hear the words "I know" over and over, I sometimes feel like an outsider. Like I was absent the day they handed out the Facts. Even though I'm feeling the spirit right along with the rest of them. Even though I know it's really just a matter of semantics.

"We believe all things. We hope all things. We have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things." So far that describes my church experience quite well.

But none of the Articles of Faith begins with the words "We Know..."

A testimony is definitely an ebb and flow thing. There are good years, and not so good, an experience I am convinced is common to us all. Within that bigger cycle, I find there are smaller ups and downs. There are times when I go to church and I think, "Not a great episode today. Tune in next week." And then Sunday comes around again so I do tune in, and lo and behold it's the kind of episode that leaves me with a warm, peaceful feeling and the theme song stuck in my head for days.

I think we all start out parroting the things our parents and teachers believe until at some point we begin to understand the workings of the spirit a bit and those feelings start the development of our personal faith. It's an individual thing...some of us are 7, some are 47. It would be nice if we were all on the same timetable, but alas. We grow, we test the limits, and we have some more spiritual experiences. We gain a testimony of a few foundational truths. 

If we decide to stick around, it's because eventually our faith has taken enough steps forward that steps back don't impact the overall trajectory of our journey. 

Once we've made the choice to believe, perhaps the eyebrow-raising things that get said or done at church don't need to matter because we're comfortable enough with where we're going to keep walking and figure it out along the way. Or with some things, not at all...we'll figure those out when we get there. 

So in a curious twist, my steps into the gray are feeling more confident and more comfortable than those of my younger years when I seemed to know so many answers. I'm perfectly happy to admit that no one really knows most of it, because we simply can't. 

When we finally do know, we'll already be there.

Until then, will you mind if I'm usually thinking that I don't know and neither do you? I mean no disrespect, it's just the way that clears a path for me through life's gray middle. It's the way that I continue to believe.

But we can share our faith. Our belief and our hope. And for now, that's enough. Which is perfect, really, because that's the only "proof of everything" we have.

-S.

And now, a word from our sponsor.

Since we're going to be talking about some difficult and potentially divisive church topics, I think we should tackle one of the elephants in the room right up front.

Yes, I'm talking about Jell-O.

Did you think it was going to be women and the priesthood? That's what all the other Mormon blogs are talking about, so I decided to provide a little break. Don't worry, we've got time. I'm pretty sure we'll get to it before it gets resolved...just a hunch.

As a kid growing up Mormon, I was a victim of Jell-O terrorism. I think we all were. Don't get me wrong -- it's not that I don't like Jell-O. I mean, it is basically a dessert that you get to eat right along with your meatloaf. And then you still get to have real dessert after! What's not to like about that? In fact, at my house Sunday dinner preparation always included making enough whipped cream for the main course (Jell-O + whatever-else-it-was) and the dessert. Incidentally, we whipped our cream with an old rotary egg beater. It's not as if electric hand-mixers hadn't been invented, it was the 1970's! I think my parents were probably trying to teach us to work, which was admirable, right? Or maybe they were just resistant to new-fangled technology -- sort of like the way I kept my flip-phone for about 6 years after it became a relic (while my kids rolled their eyes...well, partly just to make them). Anyway, I don't think any of my friends even owned a rotary beater, so there was a little resentment. Not the only thing that made me feel like an outsider, by the way. Most of them probably didn't eat Jell-O six days a week either, but I digress.

The problem with Jell-O was that people could do terrible things to it. People you otherwise love and trust. And sometimes they would then abuse their position of authority and make you take 3 more bites before you could go play. And Jell-O-gone-wrong can make you gag.

I'm not sure how Mormons and Jell-O became so entangled. I've spent a lot of time perusing magazines from the 1930's-1950's, so I know that it became popular as a thrifty dessert with show-off potential. A package of Jell-O and the right mold can give you something pretty eye-catching for the ward dinner buffet table, and if you have a can of fruit cocktail in your pantry, you can even make it on Sunday without having to go to the store. I can see how it got started. I'm just not sure why it was allowed to thrive.

My mother's relationship with Jell-O is particularly troubling. It remains a beloved dinnertime staple in her home, yet she lacks the patience to make it correctly. You know, you have to stir it for awhile...until your spoon no longer crunches when you scrape the side of the bowl. Otherwise, the undissolved gelatin collects along the bottom and becomes a substance very much like the sole of a giant red clown-shoe. You can't see it but when you put it in your mouth, you know it's there immediately. You just don't know what to do with it. It's hard to spit out Jell-O discreetly. But it's also scientifically impossible to gag and swallow at the same time. A table-manners conundrum. The kind that can get you sent to your room.

Unfortunately, her misunderstanding of the mechanics of Jell-O is not limited to its production. My brother missed dinner plenty of times when we were young as a result of ball practice of one kind or another, so my mother would put a plate in the oven for him on warm. With the Jell-O on it. We laughed together over many late servings of casserole adrift in a sea of sweet red syrup. Well, to be honest, he didn't always laugh. Because you might think that kind of thing would be a one-time mistake. But then that would be assuming it was a mistake.

My mom's a highly accomplished woman. But I have a theory that people didn't evolve to grow tastebuds until the 1960's and even then some never managed to get fully retrofitted. A lot of people of her generation didn't really understand Jell-O. For instance, they were confused by its colors and its association with other foods. The fact that a thing is green (celery, onions, olives, etc.) does not mean that it "matches" green Jell-O. Jell-O is not wallpaper. No matter how pretty it looks on the table, it is still required to earn its place in the meal by being edible. I know some otherwise sane people who don't mind carrots in their orange Jell-O, and I don't mean to insult them. But I just don't think vegetables belong in dessert. Would you put whipped cream and sprinkles on your green beans? Of course not.

And meat in Jell-O? Some things are too difficult to talk about at all. Even here.

In the interest of full disclosure, I will admit that I do make one Jell-O dish per year. You can take the girl out of Utah, but you can't take the Jell-O out of her recipe file. Something like that. I make a cinnamon applesauce Jell-O that is the guest of honor at my Thanksgiving table. Except to the 2/3 of my children who hate it. To them it is a jiggly insult of a guest who can't seem to get the hint and just keeps showing up. They won't touch the stuff. And as an enlightened, 21st century parent, I don't make them. More for me. It has red hots and lemon juice in it and is the texture of...well, I can see how the texture could be a little troubling. But somehow the way the spicy/tangy intersects with the whipped cream is just...wait...am I one of them? I left Utah decades ago! Look -- I don't use a mold. I swear, I don't even own one. I'm a feminist! (Pssst...let me know if you want the recipe.)

The first time I met my husband's extended family, it was at a dinner party hosted by his grandmother. She served a lime Jell-O concoction with all kinds of crunchy vegetables in it, and a dollop of Miracle Whip on top. I posit that Miracle Whip should by law be limited to sandwich use. I survived, but only because I had worked hard all my life to develop a resistance to the weapons of stealth Jell-O warfare. Not long after, I was invited to dinner at her home again. (Let me pause here to say that despite a few cooking crimes against humanity, she was an amazing woman and I have a great story to tell you about her in a future post.) This time she served a tomato-raspberry Jell-O salad with avocado dressing. It was Christmas, so I understood the green/red thing. She meant well. It was cut into generous squares, each arranged on a pretty plate atop a lettuce leaf. It looked lovely, but I could see I was in deep trouble before I even got to my seat. This grandma had a rule that she wouldn't clear your plate until you cleaned your plate. It was the ultimate test. It was a make-or-break situation, and I've never forgotten it. If I close my eyes, I can conjure the taste to this day. Raspberry...but with the hidden surprise of...canned tomatoes?!

In a strange way, it was probably exactly the moment at which I knew -- I'd found home.

-S.

Brouhaha

"Leave safety behind. Put your body on the line. Stand before the people you fear and speak your mind - even if your voice shakes. When you least expect it, someone may actually listen to what you have to say." 

-- Maggie Kuhn 

Before we take on anything else, let's talk a bit more about talking. After that first post, my husband said, "We need to talk more?! You're the worst offender. You never say a word in church." He's right of course, which is part of what I'm trying to overcome here. There are a lot of reasons I choose to be mainly an observer. Past experiences, fears (both valid and not), social anxieties and personality defects all play a role. 

Then I go home unhappy because my silence can imply agreement when really there are a few things I'd like to point out or clarify before I sign off. Make no mistake, I usually have an opinion.

So when I say I wish we were better at discussing things collectively as Mormons, I'm certainly talking about myself. If I don't express my position, no one can judge me by it? A silly, selfish, juvenile idea. A behavior which of course contributes nothing, and enriches no one. On the other hand...

When I told my sister I was considering starting a churchy blog, I saw a look flash across her face that validated the entire project. Was it discomfort? Dread? Downright fear? Not sure, but the look itself explained why my finger hesitated over the publish button for days. It made me think of the flailing robot from Lost In Space with his flat warning, "Danger, Will Robinson!" (She claimed she was worried it's another delay tactic to put off working on my book, so she does know me. But I think it was more than that, because I've seen that look before. Anyway, procrastination is what baking cookies is for.)

I don't think I'm alone in this. It can be hard to talk openly about difficult church issues. Our belief creates in us a desire to belong completely. We want to be good, to fit in. And that desire can make us hesitant to speak our truth. 

I think what has pushed me to the keyboard is that there's just so much noise in Mormonville right now. On a wide variety of topics. Thank Mitt Romney for running, thank Al Gore for the internet, thank whatever you like -- it's an exciting time to be us! A lot of what I see and read fascinates me. But a significant chunk truly dismays me, and that's the part that has caused me to step up. 

We're not being very nice to each other. And we know better.

As I've explored Mormon blogworld a bit, I've noticed a curious thing. It seems writers often spend the first few paragraphs assuring their readers that they are active members, with callings and testimonies and recommends and and and...THEN they proceed to raise their issue. Now why would that be necessary? Exactly when did any discussion about the wonderful, peculiar things that bind us together as Latter-day Saints come to require a disclaimer? Exactly what makes one worthy to raise a question?

As for myself, I have no axe to grind. I've had an axe or two in the past, but for the most part I'm in a pretty peaceful place. However, there is a significant amount of axe-grinding going on, and it interests me. Having experienced deep pain inextricably connected to my faith and survived, I sympathize. (But as we've already established, I'm not cut out to be an activist.)

Some people are upset about big issues, and they have unprecedented means to make their voices heard. For those people the stakes are high, and I am very concerned about the outcome. I mean I feel concern about how the experience will turn out for them, personally. Because I want it to end well.

It's interesting to speculate about the outcome of the issues too, of course, but there's not a thing I can do to affect that so it's not my focus. The church as an organization will surely continue to surprise us all. I've no idea who said it, but my dad loves the quote, "If anyone had told me I'd be sitting in sacrament meeting at 9am wearing two-piece garments while a black man passed me the sacrament, I'd have said they were crazy." If you've been a member long enough, you know that he's right. Life on earth is, after all, pretty much all change all the time. And the organized church is part of our earth experience. So don't get too comfortable.

My concern with current issues is that I'm seeing the kind of divisiveness in our Mormon discourse that I'm seeing in politics, and I don't like it. There seems to be an if you're not with us, you're against us mentality, in which one side seems to think they are living a higher law of some kind or arguing from a position of moral superiority. I understand how that happens, because I read a lot of things to which my first reaction is, "I have no patience for your kind of thinking. You. Don't. Get. It." Sometimes I even think words like stupid, moron, idiot, and things not fit to mention on a churchy blog. And I know better.

In reality, we all made the same covenants at baptism and are all on equal footing before God. We're all sinners. We're all imperfect. We're all entitled to personal revelation. We're all trying to lift where we stand. We all find ourselves somewhere on the spectrum of a relationship with our Savior, but the thing about that is, you don't know where I am on that spectrum and I don't know where you are either. It doesn't matter how well I think I know you, what calling we have, or what my life looks like from where you sit.

Some things remain between you, or me, and Him. All the important things, really. So who can judge?

The unique part about this whole earth/church/life game is that it is definitely NOT every man for himself. We don't get to save ourselves without trying to bring everyone else too. That's just not how it works. It's a team sport and our team is everybody. And if we do manage to "get to heaven", the only way to get anyone else there with us is to love them there. We can't exhort them, preach them, force them, nor shame them there. Example can be a fine place to start, but that doesn't work either if we begin by saying, "Look at ME!" 

Our only play is love, meeting people wherever they are with understanding, kindness and acceptance. We can find out how they got there by listening. And if we walk alongside them for awhile, pretty soon there's bound to be a meaningful conversation. They may even take our hand.

"Speak our love, and speak it again," as Pres. Hunter once said. If we think they're wacky, if we think they're misguided, if we think they're flat-out wrong. It doesn't matter what we think, because we simply can't know their hearts. We can only know our own, and then act accordingly. 

And that's what has me worried in what I'm seeing. If these are our hearts, I think we have a little work to do. And yes, that means me.

- S.

Bring more chairs.

My wise father-in-law used to say, “There’s room for everyone in the church.” His commitment to this belief made him one of my heroes. And I’ve spent my adult church life hoping to prove him right.

I was talking with a new friend the other day, feeling delighted by the fact that we seem to have so much in common, when she announced, “Susan, I don’t think we are good for each other.” It isn’t exactly the kind of thing one wants to hear on the brink of a new friendship, so I lost no time in explaining to her why she had it completely wrong. We are actually very good for each other, and I will tell you why.

We were discussing a sticky church-related topic, an area (and yes, there are quite a few) in which my faith is not perfect. It’s not important what that area is; what is important is that you know I have them, and I know you have them too. We all do. But as I began rather hesitantly voicing my ideas/doubts/whatever, I could see a light go on in her face, and then the light became a nod, and then she was adding her own similar thoughts to mine and we were suddenly sharing a moment of transparency, the truth of which I guess felt somehow uncomfortable to her.

But it felt strengthening to me, because in that moment I was suddenly not the lone square peg in the church’s round hole that I often perceive myself to be.

Sometimes I sit in church and look around when something that strikes me as a bit off-track or even downright wacky pops out and wonder, “Am I the only one in the room who isn’t sure about that?” Even though I know I’m not.

But no one says a thing. Everyone just sits there looking comfortably round, peg-perfect in their white shirts and modest-length skirts. Or maybe that’s just my perception. At any rate, it’s in those moments that my square corners chafe a bit.

The fact is, my friend and I are both at church every Sunday for a reason, because heaven knows no one’s making us attend. So I confided that my reason is a pesky little testimony of the Book of Mormon that I gained as a 14-year-old girl. It brought with it a lifelong responsibility, binding me through association to a whole host of doctrines, some of which I struggle with from time to time. And then she explained a bit about her own reasons, and I think she felt better and we suddenly had that much more in common.

It’s not good to feel alone. In fact, the whole point of the organized church is that we don’t have to be so. I rarely find strength or comfort in another's silence. It’s difficult to learn or grow, to help or understand, from things that remain unsaid.

To be a Mormon is to have a story – of conversion, of doubt, of faith and hope and wending our infinite separate ways. We're on the road to somewhere, and we can and should make the journey easier by sharing our stories as we go. They may not always be faith promoting, but then faith isn’t one-size-fits-all and one man’s questions can lay the groundwork for another man’s testimony. Or for a whole church, now that I think about it.

So when I question, wonder, chafe or complain, be assured that it's not because I'm in the process of leaving. It's because I'm in the process of staying. So sit by me. You probably know a lot of things I don’t, and I may even surprise you with a bit of my own understanding from time to time. We should talk. I think we could all be really good for each other. 

- S.