But now, after 36 years of practice, I’m rethinking prayer.  In the interest of full disclosure, let me say that I’m not a “lose the keys, pray for keys, find the keys” sort of guy by nature.  When I hear those sorts of stories, I am more likely to roll my eyes than dab with a Kleenex.  Nevertheless, I have a confession to make:  I suffer from Enos Envy (E.E., for short).

You all know the story:  Enos was a young man who, while raised with a knowledge of the truth, found himself having strayed from it.  Then, while out hunting, he had epiphany of sorts, which left him with a heart full of joy and a soul that “hungered.”  Overwhelmed with these rushing emotions, Enos prayed.  And prayed.  And prayed.

The zenith of this day-long supplication was a conversation with God, in which God basically agreed to a long list of requests presented by Enos.  Not only did God forgive Enos’s sins, he agreed to, among other things:  (i) visit the Lamanites according to their faith, and (ii) preserve the records that would eventually become the Book of Mormon.  Pretty good for a day’s work, right?

We use this scriptural account to teach one another about the power of prayer.   In most recountings, however, Enos’s powerful experience is reduced down to a simple formula to be followed (the Enos Equation):

Earnest Prayer = Tangible Results (i.e., blessings)

This is the model of prayer I hear lauded consistently as the ideal.   A quick example:  Just this past Sunday, our EQ lesson dealt with temple worship.  The instructor spoke at great length about the revelations that await us in the Celestial Room.  His lesson culminated with his promise that if we want those revelations and/or spiritual manifestations, “all we need to do is pray.”  Citing Christ’s words in Matthew 7:7, he said:  “‘Ask, and it shall be given you.’  That’s the promise; it’s a guarantee from God.”

This used to be a great source of consternation for me.  So often I felt as if my prayers simply went unheard — I did poorly on tests, both my sisters ended up with MS, and I often was plagued with doubt.  That’s where the Enos Envy kicked in.  I was praying with real intent:  why wasn’t I getting the same results?

As I have thought about prayer, I have come to see the Enos Equation as missing the point of the story.  It has all of the right elements — faith, prayer and blessings certainly are wonderful things and belong together in the same sentence — but the emphasis is wrong.  In the traditional telling, the Enos Equation focuses on ends of prayer, rather than the means by which we communicate our desires to God.  In my example above, the well-intentioned EQ teacher taught prayer as the direct method to by which to obtain revelation, with nary a word about how we should approach God with our requests.

Taken to its extreme, this view of prayer smacks of the Prosperity Theology (or “Health and Wealth Gospel”) preached in Evangelical mega-churches.  In a nutshell, these churches teach that God wants us to be financially prosperous; if we want a new Mercedes, all we need do is ask for it and, if God deems us “godly” enough, we’ll get it.  And the secular version of this approach is wildly popular, as well.  After reading “The Secret,” some folks I know have taken to “sending” their requests “out to the Universe.”  Want a new a new and bigger home, get the Universe on the horn and you’ll moving in sooner than you think.

In short, the Enos Equation reduces God (or the Universe, for you atheists out there) into a spectral Santa Claus, just waiting to grant even the most materialistic wishes of our hearts.  To be clear, I am not suggesting that those who adopt this approach pray only with selfish intent.  But focus on self is inherent in the model.

This strikes me as backwards.  For me, the important part of Enos’s account is his “wrestle” with God which preceded his experience.  To that end, I propose a Revised Enos Equation:

Faith + Humility + Prayer = Communion w/God

In this formulation, the emphasis is on our relationship with God, not on what he can do for us.  Said another way, the point of prayer is put ourselves on a spiritual and emotional plane (i.e., the “wrestle”) where we can communicate openly with God.  This “wrestle” is no easy feat — it requires faith, humility, patience, sacrifice, etc. — characteristics Enos had in spades.  For example, think about how we teach our kids to pray:  kneeling with eyes closed, arms folded, and head bowed.  Simple gestures, but they bespeak a reverence for the act of communicating with God.   I don’t imagine God cares one whit about the position of limbs during prayer, or that he conditions his blessings on our ability to pray in ritualistic form.  But these gestures can help us to focus ourselves such that we God can speak with us.  The means by we speak with God matter far more than whether we obtain the end we seek.

Even with this new perspective, I still suffer from occasional bouts of Enos Envy.  But now, I’m less concerned about my abilities to call forth the tangible blessings of heaven, than I am jealous of Enos’s ability to find peace with God, to reach a state of mind where God can communicate with him directly.  So what if I haven’t moved a mountain or cured anyone’s cancer?  If I can, even on an occasional basis, reach that state of Enos-like zen, then I consider my prayer a success.  Blessings will follow according to God’s will.  I  no longer feel I have the authority/right to demand such blessings at will.  God is God, and that’s good enough for me.

So, do you suffer from Enos Envy?  What are your thoughts on, and expectations regarding, prayer?  (I would have created a poll, but I am far too lazy for such an endeavor.  Perhaps I should throw that out to the Universe — check back in a day or two to see if my wish has been granted )

*Anyone who served a mission South of the border offered this prayer more than once, guaranteed! Unfortunately for some, God is sometimes cruel, even to his beloved servants.

But then, quite unexpectedly, the lesson took a decidedly more interesting turn. The instructor focused on one seemingly minor detail of Joseph’s account that, despite having read it dozens of times, came as a surprise to me: “He again forbade me to join with any of them; and many other things did he say unto me, which I cannot write at this time.”  (JS-H 1:20).

To be honest, I had totally forgotten about Joseph’s private conversation with God. Of course, the notion of God forbidding his prophets from writing down something he has told or shown them is not new. But what makes this 15-word passage (which is not mentioned again in the History) particularly interesting is that Joseph never was shy about sharing what he felt had been revealed to him. Furthermore, as far as I know, he never revealed what “other things” God had told him during that experience.

The teacher then posed a question, which I now present for your consideration: what unwritten things do you think God said to Joseph at that moment?

Since that lesson, I have given quite a bit of thought to what God might have told the 14-year old Joseph. As far as I know, Joseph never clarified this ambiguity.  In the absence of such an explanation, here is the best I can do:

For us looking back, the purpose of the First Vision was the restoration of the Gospel — the re-opening of the heavens, the beginning of the last dispensation, the kingdom of God once again on the Earth, etc.  But for Joseph, all of that was well in the future. For him, the experience was of a much more narrow and personal scope — God forgave his sins and answered his prayer (a point made even more prominently in the earliest versions of the experience). What was to come in subsequent years likely was far beyond even his wildest dreams at the time. God, on the other hand, knew what was in the cards for his chosen Prophet. With that in mind, I like to imagine that this “off-the-record” time was a moment when God stepped out of his role of “Restorer” and into his role as “Father.”

I have three daughters and, many times, I can see danger ahead long before they do. Countless times I have pulled their bikes out of the path of approaching cars, yanked their hands out of doorjambs, and scooped them up before they left the sidewalk. I’m no superhero, that’s just part of the job of being a father. Perhaps in that moment, as Joseph stood on the precipice of a brand new life as God’s “chosen one” — a life filled with suffering, loss, and persecution culminating in his murder — God took a brief sidebar to warn his child of the dangers ahead, to express his appreciation for him, and to tell him, “I love you.” Speaking as a father, that makes a lot of sense to me. Speaking as a fellow child of God, that brings me peace.

Your speculation, of course, is as good as mine. What do you think?

In our current callings, my wife and I spend a lot of time digging through Church instruction manuals.  I teach both the 12/13 year old Sunday School class (weekly) as well as Elders’ Quorum (once a month).  My wife serves as the Laurels adviser, and is responsible for teaching at least a couple of lessons per month.  Nearly everybody who has served in a teaching capacity can point to some instance in which they have viewed the correlated manual as lacking in some respect, be it too bland, too overly positive in its historical view, or just plain out of date (ever try getting kids to relate to John Taylor’s days as a woodcrafter?)

Last week, my wife ran across something in the Young Women manual that really caused us both to pause.  The lesson, entitled “Growing and Maturing In Self-Reliance (Part 1),” is centered around the notion that we, as Latter Day Saints, have a responsibility to become independent human beings.  That’s all well and good, but buried in the discussion points is the following “Note to teacher”:

Be sure that the young women understand clearly that assuming responsibility and becoming self-reliant is desirable and is what our Father in Heaven hopes for and expects.  But this does not mean that we become independent of his direction in our lives or the sound counsel of parents or priesthood leaders.

(Source)

Can you figure out the source of our consternation?  Go back and read that second sentence again, and remember that this is a lesson being taught by a YW leader to a group of young women.  Who is left out as a potential source of direction and “sound counsel?”  The YW leader herself!

To be clear, the purpose of this thread is not to bash priesthood leaders or ring the “do/should women have the priesthood” bell again.  Rather, I want to raise for discussion two issues I see resulting from this teaching:

• First, this notion undermines the ability of our YW leaders to help guide the lives of those young girls for whom they are called to be stewards.  YW is one the few places where women are given the opportunity to occupy a prominent leadership role.  Just like in any other calling, those who put in the time and effort can have a major impact on the lives of those they lead.  But if we tell our YW leaders that their counsel is always (and necessarily) secondary to that of any random priesthood leader, we are cutting their legs out from under them.   Simply put, a leader cannot lead without authority.  And if we leave our YW leaders powerless, they will devolve into nothing more than figureheads.

• Second, and more troubling for me, a diminished role for YW leaders sends (reinforces?) the message to our girls that they will always play a backseat role in the Church affairs.  I have served in Ward Council-type positions myself and, thus, I am aware of the wide scope of authority Relief Society presidents often have and wield.  But the MIA Maids, for example, aren’t privy to that example, leaving their YW adviser as the foremost non-parent example of how women can and do lead in the Church.

You may be thinking to yourself, “geez, Larsen is making too much out of this.”  You may be right, but here’s why it gets under my skin.  I am not one who believes the Church is a patriarchal system designed to keep women down. Indeed, I have written elsewhere about my wife having the opportunity to counsel a grieving friend in tandem with the Bishop.  But I am the father of three young daughters, all of whom will be entering the Young Women’s program in the next few years.  I want the Church to be a part of their life that brings them happiness and compels them to be better people.  I want them to have strong female role models within the Church, so that they know their voice matters, too.  Setting up a puppet YW leadership, for my money, sends the exact opposite message.

So tell me, am I reading too much into this? Are our YW leaders, in practice, made to play secondary roles?  Are we sending our girls the message that the only Church authorities from whom they can and should receive ‘sound counsel’ wear suits and ties?  How do we correct the problem (or is not a problem at all?)

An evergreen subject here in the Bloggernacle, it seems, is the outing of “bad Bishops.”  I cannot begin to count the number of posts and comments I have read over the past few years in which people have complained about all forms of mistreatment at the hands of a Bishop.  These purported “bad Bishops” come in all forms, e.g., the ones who ask too many personal questions, the ones who don’t take time to get to know their members, the ones who visit too often, and the ones who don’t visit enough.  Boiled down to their essence, these complaints amount to a disappointment that the mere mortal serving in one’s local ward does not meet the member’s idealized version of what a Bishop should be.  When confronted with this dissonance, otherwise sensible bloggers across the ideological spectrum can whip themselves into a virtual lynch mob.

The purpose of this post is to bring a bit of balance to the discussion.  To be clear, I believe that real ecclesiastical abuse can and does occur  But I also wholeheartedly believe that truly “bad Bishops” are tiny minority.  By contrast, I think most Bishops are regular guys, trying their hardest to make the best of what everyone admits is just about the toughest calling around.  That has been my consistent observation throughout my 36 years as a proud wearer of the worker’s seal.  It’s time we give these guys their due.

Quantifying all of a Bishop’s responsibilities is much more than compiling the number of hours spent in the church building.  As an EQP, I attended hours upon hours of (at times, pointless) meetings.  Not only did my Bishop attend all of the same meetings, he went to dozens of others which I had the fortune of missing.

But even worse than the sheer boredom, Bishops carry a heavy emotional burden.  They are called upon to deal with every conceivable tragedy — ranging from flooded basements (which, in truth, constitute a “tragedy” only to the family under water) to job loss to death — that may befall any of the hundreds of families within their jurisdiction.  During my EQP service, my Bishops made time to visit patients wasting away from cancer in the hospital, struggling teenagers serving time in prison, and parents crying inconsolably in a nursery over the unexpected passing of a newborn.

In addition, they alone bear the burden of listening to their friends, family members and associates confess their most secret thoughts and desires.  Just imagine the toll that would take on your physical, emotional and spiritual well-being!  At the same time, Bishops, like any other father, must juggle the needs of their own families.   I’ve written elsewhere about my current Bishop, whose 4 year-old was killed in a sledding accident. Even while mourning, he kept about his ecclesiastical duties.

Perhaps the worst part is, no matter what is thrown at them, Bishops are expected to take it in stride, and come back ready for more the next day.  One Bishop I knew often joked, “other ward leaders aren’t allowed to have a bad Sunday; Bishops aren’t allowed to have a bad day, period.”

So, with all of that in mind, I think its high time to carve out some space to recognize the good work Bishops do.  Let me give you two short examples:

• My brother has been inactive for nearly two decades.  A few years ago, he married a wonderful woman who, on her initiative, joined the Church.  She and my family have been gently nudging my brother in this direction ever since.  While he has warmed to the Church, he hasn’t quite jumped back in.  A new Bishop was called in their ward the week my sister-in-law was baptized.  Since then, this young Bishop (who has 5 little kids of his own) has gone out of his way to befriend my brother and keep watch over his family.  While reactivation certainly may be an ulterior motive (it hasn’t happened yet), that does not change the fact that, for the first time, my brother feels loved and valued by a Priesthood leader.  It was been a wonderful experience due this Bishop’s selfless service.

• On a lighter note:  just this afternoon, my family’s brand new dog ran away for a few hours.  The Bishop, who lives relatively close, heard the news and drive by to see what was going on.  He was one his way out the door, but he volunteered his two oldest children to come help in the search.  (FYI — the stupid dog showed up on her own after we all spent hours combing the brush yelling her name)

These are just the first two that popped to mind — with a bit more reflection, I could rattle off dozens of instances in which a Bishop proved himself to be a truly inspired and inspiring leader.  At the same time, I would be hard pressed to come up with a personal “bad Bishop” experience.

Now it’s your turn.  Let’s hear your “good Bishop” stories.  I’ll bet you can come up with one much easier than you can a “bad Bishop” tale.

On days when she is happy with everyone, she’ll say, “thank you for our family.”  More often than not, however, she’s still stinging from some perceived wrong against her earlier in the day.  Prayer time is her way of unleashing the ultimate weapon — enlisting God as her ally in the fight against the bad guy.  For example, if she’s mad at me (this is the case 99% of the time), she’ll say, “please bless Mommy, Tess and Jane.”  Notice anyone missing from that list?  If she’s mad at her sister, I’ll make the cut, but little sis will not.  In that case, when it is little sister’s turn, you can imagine who will be omitted from her prayer.

After years on the front lines, this intra-family cosmic warfare doesn’t provoke much reaction from me anymore (the same can’t be said, unfortunately, for the unlucky sister on the outs that night).  But something I heard last week brought it to mind and has me thinking about the ways in which we use prayer as a weapon against others.

Acting on Clay’s advice, I’ve been working my way through several years worth of Sunstone’s “Pillars of Faith” sessions.  He’s right, they are a great listen. The other night, I came upon a session (SLC 1994, to be exact) that opens with a prayer, which includes the following passage:

“We ask a special blessing on our Church. We ask a blessing of healing, that those who have seen fit to discipline those among us who have been denied their membership in this Church, that they may rethink these things and that in time our Church may be healed and that we may enjoy the love of Christ among all members and that we’ll be able to enjoy diversity and grow.”

On its face, this prayer may seem like nothing out of the ordinary.  I do not doubt that it is sincere, it does not single anyone out as an evildoer or call anybody to repentance, and when heard as whole, it is couched in familiar Mormon-speak (“We thank thee for . . .”)   Nevertheless, this wording, albeit in a subtle manner, definitely pushes a specific agenda:  “I’m right.  You’re wrong.  God, make my foe see the light.  Amen.”  In other words, the member offering the prayer is invoking God’s power not to seek assistance for another, but rather to push that other person to see things her way.  Use of the phrase “special blessing” alone does not alter or mask the prayer’s intent.  That’s a play straight out of my daughters’ handbook.

Lest I be accused of bias, let me make clear that this tactic is not deployed exclusively by the Sunstone crowd or others who lean a bit left of center, Church-wise.  Let me give you an example that I see nearly every single week.  Here in Southern California, we’re being inundated with Prop. 8 electioneering both in and out of the chapel on Sunday morning.  I often hear prayers offered in which the member thanks God for “having the understanding” that this particular piece of legislation is “Your plan,” “Your Gospel,” or “the manner by which Your purposes may be achieved.”  (No, I’m not making this up.)  Regardless of how of you (and the prayer-giver) feel about Prop. 8, this prayer inarguably serves the same persuasive end as the Sunstone prayer above.  It’s the equivalent of saying:  “God, please bless all of us here who think Prop. 8 is divinely-inspired, and help those who don’t to get with the program.  Amen.”

This “prayer as a weapon” approach certainly does not jibe with the example Christ set.  Quite to the contrary, it radically distorts it.  The thrust of the Lord’s Prayer is an expression of gratitude to God (“Hallowed be thy name”).  Others are mentioned only in the context of our obligation to “forgive our debtors.” Similarly, in the Garden of Gethsemane, the focus of Christ’s supplication was inward:  “Let this cup pass from me.”  In both cases, Christ did not seek to use his communication with God as a means to force others to accept his message, despite the foreknowledge of what lay ahead for him.

All of this has me asking, is seeking divine assistance in persuading others to come around to one’s particular point of view inappropriate?  I have to believe that the answer, as a general matter, is “no.”    We offer these sorts of prayers all of the time.  Heck, that’s the only kind of prayer missionaries know how to give:  “Please bless Hermano Ortiz to understand that this is the true Church.” But, in my mind, there is a line beyond which our prayers transform into attempts at celestial manipulation, rather than sincere requests on behalf of our fellow man.  Pinpointing exactly where that line lies, however, is tricky.  Perhaps, like obscenity, it is a “I know it when I hear it” standard.  What do you think?

In any event, these thoughts have led me to re-evaluate how I pray.  So often, I rely on the rote recitations learned through 36 years as a Mormon, with little thought given to the true intent behind my words.  Do I want Brother Jones to receive a blessing for his own good or for mine?  What do I have to gain from such a request, and is that the determining factor in how I frame my prayer?  This is a new experience for me and, I’ll admit, I don’t always like my answers to these questions.  But it is worth the effort. Otherwise, how am I ever going to be able to teach my daughters what prayer is really all about — sincere, humble and selfless communication with the Almighty.

For me, what sets “Saturday’s Warrior” apart from other Mormon entertainment is that, for better or worse, it has spawned several quasi-doctrinal ideas that still hold sway today.  “Johnny Lingo,” “My Turn on Earth,” “It’s A Miracle” — they all preached generalized Christian messages, such as treat others kindly, don’t judge a book by its cover, etc.  Only “Warrior” had the chutzpah to craft its own unique theology, courtesy of the Flinders clan.

Before getting to the nitty-gritty, I feel compelled to demonstrate my bona fides on this subject.  When I was a teenager, my father, along with a couple of like-minded friends, started a small community theater company, dedicated to the idea of presenting wholesome family fare.  Given that the founders were all active LDS and hoped to tap into the large Mormon community in Las Vegas, they spent the first several years of the company’s existence staging LDS-themed plays.  Part of my duties as the oldest son included spending nearly every weekend night for the next 2 years running a spotlight, manning a soundboard or selling frozen yogurt at the playhouse (yeah, I was really popular with the ladies back then).  As a result, I have seen “Saturday’s Warrior” more times than I care to count.  (I was also subjected to dozens of performances of “Starchild” (the sequel) and “My Turn on Earth,” neither of which have any redeeming value whatsoever and are best forgotten altogether).  All these years later, if you were to put the music on, I could probably belt out 95% of the lyrics before collapsing into the fetal position.

Here are four doctrinal/cultural issues that, by my reckoning, were spawned by “Saturday’s Warrior”:

1.   My Wife, My Soulmate:  At the beginning of the show, set in the pre-mortal plane of existence, a young couple in love promises to find one another in the next (Earth) life no matter what it takes. SPOILER ALERT — by the close of Act II, they run into one another in a park, feel an instant (eternal?) connection, and fall madly in love.  The message, sounded loud and clear, is that righteous couples who marry in the Temple are living up to promises made prior to birth, i.e., they are soulmates.  I still hear talk of soulmates all the time in Church settings.  Romantic, right?  Well, the problem is, Pres. Kimball debunked this notion over 30 years ago:

“Soul mates” are a fiction and an illusion; and while every young man and young woman will seek with all diligence and prayerfulness to find a mate with whom life can be most compatible and beautiful, yet it is certain that almost any good man and any good woman can have happiness and a successful marriage if both are willing to pay the price.

Notwithstanding this counsel, the idea of pre-ordained lovers still gets much lip service in Church meetings.  Perhaps that’s why Kimball’s quote is still the centerpiece of the YM lesson on “Choosing An Eternal Companion.”

2.  Let’s Do The Eternal Time Warp Again: This is my favorite one.  Much of the play’s narration comes through the voice of littlest sister Emily Flinders, who is waiting patiently to be born.  Oddly, when oldest sister Pam Flinders dies, she immediately sidles up to, and strikes up a conversation with, the still-unborn Emily.  Put another way, when we die, we all return to the exact same place we were before we were born.  So much for eternal progression!

3.  My Kid Was A General In Heaven:  The chorus of the title track includes the lyric:  “These are the few/the warriors saved for Saturday/to come the last day of the world/these are they, on Saturday.”  The main plot point is the journey of troubled teen, Jimmy Flinders (he’s the crestfallen swordsman in the picture above), to overcome temptation (“Who can survive? Who can survive?”) and realize his place among the Lord’s chosen in the latter days.  The notion that we are members of the most awesomely righteous generation that has ever lived — in your face, baby boomers! — certainly has its appeal.  Indeed, it is so pervasive that Pres. Packer actually made a public statement against it ont too long ago:

We continue to receive reports of the distribution of a quote attributed to me which begins, “The youth of the Church today were generals in the war in heaven,” and ends with the statement that when they return to heaven “all in attendance will bow in your presence.” I did not make that statement. I do not believe that statement.  The statement, on occasion, has been attributed to others of the First Presidency and the Twelve. None of the Brethren made that statement.

4.  It’s A Bird, It’s A Plane, It’s A Missionary:  OK, this one is not exactly doctrinal, but it certainly is an idea that has become ingrained in Mormon culture.  The comic relief in “Saturday’s Warrior” is provided by Elders Kestler and Green, who are the most pompous asses imaginable.  Working in their own “humble way,” they serve proudly but with few tangible results.  While missionaries have always held a special place in the Church, the last few decades has seen the rise of a sort of hero-worship of those young men (sorry ladies, you don’t seem to get the same respect) who leave house and home for the mission field.  Goofy as it may sound, in my mind, the treatment of Kestler and Green in the play set the stage for this trend.  Granted, they are presented as slightly dimwitted, but the show placed them on the same pedestal we still reserve for elders today (are your chapel walls lined with shiny plaques for the missionaries serving from your ward).

So, 35 years on, at least some of the the “folk doctrine” borne of “Saturday’s Warrior” still holds sway today, despite official repudiation.  For better or worse, that play still has prominent place in popular culture.  Am I the only one with love in my soul for the Flinders family?  Am I overstating the case about their influence on modern Mormon culture?  If forced to choose, would you rather spend eternity listening to “Will Wait For You?” or “Everybody Ought To Have A Body” (from “My Turn on Earth”)?

Before going any further, let me define what I mean by “worthiness.” I’m not necessarily talking just about my personal relationship with God, i.e., freedom from sin. I’m using the term in the more colloquial sense we all use in a ward setting on Sunday mornings, i.e., being “worthy” to hold a calling means not only that I am striving to keep the commandments, but also that I have passed muster in an interview with a leader (“I have interviewed Brother Larsen and found him worthy to clean the restroom floors every third Sunday afternoon”). While the two concepts overlap, they are not the same, in my mind.

Here’s what I see happening with increasing frequency as the Church fully embraces a more corporate model: Priesthood leadership positions being given to those who are financially better off than most of the congregants over whom they preside. On its face, there may be nothing alarming about this phenomenon. Wealth certainly is not a sin (well, except for maybe for that whole “easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle” stuff) and should not be a barrier to an otherwise worthy person’s service in a leadership position. However, when only the wealthy are moved up the ranks, it sends a clear message to others: wealth = worthiness. This is especially pronounced in a lay clergy community such as ours, where every member, at least on paper, has an equal chance at attaining wealth and position.

We’ve all heard stories of General Authorities dispatched to pick a new Stake President, and who, under the influence of the Spirit, and choose a humble (i.e., non-rich) guy who has been reactivated for a few months. That has not been my experience; my last three Stake Presidents have all been very successful (i.e., rich) attorneys. In fact, when I first moved into the area, the entire Stake Presidency, down to the Executive Secretary, were lawyers. Even in the wilds of Guatemala, where no one was rich by any American standard, leadership positions tended to rotate among the those who had more than others. Thinking back, virtually all of my Bishops have been very successful white collar professionals. The same is true of Mission Presidents.

Why is this problematic? Because it can lead to a virulent strain of classism amongst members. Those with more money (and position) begin to believe themselves to be more favored of God than other, less-blessed members. Once these folks get into power, they may come to believe that, as evidenced by their pocketbooks, they are more in touch with God’s will, and thus are entitled to push their interpretation of His will onto those they preside over. Similarly, leaders looking at open ward positions may tend to gravitate to the more affluent, assuming their wealth to be an indicator of their worthiness. At the same time, poorer members believe that their financial situation is a curse from God, leading to lowered self-esteem, lessened spirituality and, potentially, departure from the Church.

Such thinking is not unprecedented. Over the past two decades, a new strain of evangelical Christianity based on the principle that wealth equals worthiness, and vice-versa, has come to prominence. Led by televangelists such Creflo Dollar, Joel Osteen and the Crouchs, this “prosperity theology” (aka the “Health and Wealth” or “Name It and Claim It” Gospel) teaches that religious piety will result in the adherent’s material prosperity. Put another way, the more righteous one is, the more financial success he/she can expect to enjoy. In this view, wealth becomes the measure of one’s devotion to God — the more you have, the more “worthy” you must be in the eyes of God and his church. (Apparently, it doesn’t always work out that way, even for celebrities). Preachers of this doctrine are known for their flashy lifestyles, expensive cars, and big paychecks. For example, the New York Times reported that Rev. Dollar is the proud owner of “Rolls-Royces, private jets, million-dollar Atlanta home and $2.5 million Manhattan apartment” (Perhaps I should say, “was the proud owner” — the Senate, led by Chuck Grassley, has opened a probe into the finances of six “prosperity theology” televangelists, including Dollar).

Perhaps you’re thinking I am overstating the case. “Come on, that sort of thing doesn’t actually happen, right?” Wrong. I live in Orange County, California, one of the most affluent counties in the country. Just think of all the reality shows glamorizing the OC lifestyle (“Laguna Beach” & “The Hills,” just to name two). Heck, the housing community where “The Real Housewives of Orange County” is filmed is in my Stake! While we’re not into Creflo Dollar territory just yet, I have had several friends relay to me their concerns over the seeming connection between wealth and worthiness in their wards. One buddy of mine, who is among the few families not to live in the gated community housing the majority of his ward, has told me several times how out of place he feels sitting in Elders’ Quorum while CEOs use lessons to swap stories of their latest international adventures. For me, I’ll admit its strange to pull into a parking lot full of sports cars for Stake Conference.

At the risk of sending this whole topic down the rabbit hole of yet another SSM debate, let me highlight another way in which wealth and worthiness may be inappropriately linked. Here in California, we are in the throes of a pitched battle over Proposition 8, which would amend the California Constitution to outlaw gay marriage. As part of its effort to ensure passage of Prop 8, local stakes (at least here in the OC) have set/been given member fundraising goals. Bishops are responsible for making sure their ward’s goal is met. To do so, talks are given in Sacrament meeting, and lessons are given in the 2d and 3d hours to encourage donations. To make up any remaining difference, ward leaders may send out a mailer to a select number of ward members and/or call through the ward list to ask for money. At the extreme, I am aware of instances in which Bishops have gone into the homes of members to personally request a donation, down to the exact penny.

Personally, I find this sort of behavior problematic for a number of reasons which go beyond the scope of this post. But as an active member of the ward, I am expecting to get the call to donate any day now, along with many others who may share my point of view. If I refuse to commit to a donation on the spot or if I refuse to disclose (i) whether I have donated/will donate, or (ii) how much I have donated/plan to donate, I foresee the potential for a black mark on my worthiness. While my leaders know and like me and I hope that they will understand/respect my point of view, there is the possibility that could be viewed as me “not being part of the team” and, as a result, not “worthy” of priesthood callings. At the same time, those who have more money to give (the wealthy) and who, as a result, give large donations, are likely to be viewed as more worthy. Again, the underlying message is, wealth = worthiness.

For my money (pardon the pun), I think this is an issue worth examining. The Book of Mormon is rife with examples of harmony within the Nephite community being totally undone by wickedness springing directly from the pride of members as a result of their wealth. The question is, how do we address the problem, apart from advising leaders not to take wealth into account when making callings. What do you think? Am I seeing something that is not there? Also, I’m interested to know if this trend (if you want to call it that in the first place) is unique to the West, where there is a concentration of Mormons (and, hence, more rich Mormons).

Predictably, in my absence (which has been both busy and enjoyable), I have found myself missing our on-line conversation. Not so predictably, however. this feeling has led me to think quite a bit about (1) what keeps me coming back to MM and, more generally, to the Bloggernacle, and (2) what have I gained as a result of my participation. The first question is easy to answer — it’s the intellectual, emotional and, yes, spiritual stimulation I receive from the discussion. The second question, however, stuck in craw my quite some time. But, after much consideration, it boils to a simple, one-word answer . . .

Tolerance.

That’s right — I said that blogging, especially Mormon blogging, has taught me tolerance. I know that, given the heated exchanges seen here from time to time (can you say “same sex marriage”), that idea may sound funny, but let me explain myself.

I was born into the Church, my family was all active, and growing up in Las Vegas, there were plenty of other Mormon kids in my schools. One negative by-product of this otherwise great upbringing is that my exposure to ways of life and thinking other than my own was limited. Sure, like everyone else, I had friends who were not LDS and who engaged all manner of teenage debauchery. But, while many of them were lapsed something-or-other, none of them espoused any sort of cognizable faith or spiritualism. I was an undergraduate at BYU and well, let’s just say that it’s not necessarily the best place for gaining an appreciation of differing points of view. I went to law school in Ohio, but I had my head crammed so far up my torts book that I had no time for spiritual maturation.

So I think its truthful to say that it wasn’t until a few years ago, when I first discovered the Bloggernacle, that I began to explore what others mean when they say “I am a Mormon” or “I am a [fill in the blank].” I have to say it was an eye-opening experience. For the noob, the web is chock full of troubling facts about the Church, ranging from Adam-God Theology to Zelph. I’d be lying if I said these bits of information didn’t send my head reeling more than once. For many folks, this is a deal-breaker of an experience; I’ve had friends lose their faith based on what they have learned through blogs, and you probably do to (heck, maybe it happened to you).

Funny enough, I have found my involvement in the Bloggernacle to be an overall faith-promoting, rather than a faith-killing, proposition. Over the years, I have heard from jack Mormons, conservative Mormons, liberal Mormons, Iron Rod Mormons, Liahona Mormons, New Order Mormons, Buddhist-Mormons, social Mormons, cultural Mormons, gay Mormons, anti-Mormons, Sunstone Mormons, Ex-Mos, and TBMs. And while I have not always agreed with their points of view, I feel blessed to have been able to get to know them through their words and to learn from their experiences. Looking at my spiritual life now, I like to think that I am more open to differing points of view that I have been, and that I see Mormonism in particular as a much bigger tent than I ever did in the past. In other words, I feel more Christian in my attitudes towards my fellow man. I credit this new perspective chiefly to the Bloggernacle, and especially to MM. Thanks to you all for your (albeit unwitting) role in this transformation. I’m looking forward to jumping back into the waters with both feet.

To that end, here’s my Friday question for you all: what is the most important thing/lesson you have learned from your participation either here at MM, or in the larger world of the Bloggernacle? On the whole, has it been a positive or a negative experience for your spirituality? How has your involvement altered, if it has, your view of Mormonism and other Mormons.

In all seriousness, let me share with you a recent experience that has had a profound impact on the way I view the concept of Priesthood, and that has convinced me, once and for all, that I am not the sole Priesthood bearer in my family.  I believe it’s high time we recognized the service rendered by faithful LDS women as more than simply the fulfillment of a Relief Society assignment, or being a good visiting teacher.  Such efforts constitute the righteous exercise of Priesthood power.

Over the past year or so, some of our closest friends — Lori (not her real name) and her husband — have been struggling with marital difficulties. Since we live close (and are in the same ward), Lori and my wife talk often. My wife, the daughter of a school psychiatrist, has listened to Lori and, where appropriate, offered advice. The situation, however, continued to deteriorate.

One Sunday afternoon as my family was sitting down to dinner, the phone rang. I just happened to be the one who picked it up and said, “hello.” All I heard in response was a woman’s heavy sobbing, through which I could barely discern fumbling attempts to speak. The caller was hyperventilating, so it took her a few tries to get out my name. “Sh-Shawn, can you come over here now?” It was Lori, and it was obvious she was in distress. So, I did what anyone else would do — I told my wife I would be home soon, then immediately got in the car and drove over. When I arrived, I found Lori and her children huddled together on the living room couch, all in hysterics. I soon discovered that only minutes before I got there (and only seconds before the phone call), Lori and her husband had had a particularly nasty fight that resulted in his packing up, walking out, and saying he was gone for good.

Once inside the house, it was clear that I was I out of my depth. I’m an employment lawyer, not a family counselor. Faced with a room full of crying women and girls, all of whom were suffering real emotional trauma, I had absolutely no idea what to do but give hugs and offer some mewling words of encouragement. Then my instincts kicked in — I called my wife and told her get over there on the double. Of course, she agreed to be there as soon as she could get someone to stay with our daughters.

Immediately after I hung up the phone with her, I called our Bishop. He was there in a matter of minutes (just enough time to put on a tie and drive over, I’ll bet). He’s a great Bishop and had been working with Lori, in particular, for some time on trying to keep her family together through a very rough patch. To my great surprise, however, his reaction to the situation was not much different than mine. He, too, had that “deer in the headlights” look on this face and, while his words of comfort were a bit more eloquent than mine, they didn’ t seem to be having much more impact.

Then my wife walked in and took over. Within seconds, the Bishop and I were relegated to (our rightful place at) the other end of the couch. She gave the kids a squeeze, wrapped Lori in her arms, and proceeded to offer some very wise words based on her ongoing involvement with the situation. I’m not exaggerating when I say that, over the course of the next hour, the mood noticeably changed from despair to hope. My wife identified potential lights at the end of the family’s very dark tunnel, and helped them to find the physical, spiritual and emotional strength to press forward. Before we left, Lori asked that the Bishop and I give her children blessings. We did, while my wife sat silent with her arms neatly folded.  We were stuck.

As I have pondered this experience over the past several months, it has become clear to me that my wife did much more that afternoon than simply offer sisterly counsel to a friend. She was exercising her Preisthood to serve someone desperately in need.   Using that power and her accompanying gift of discernment, she was able to able help a family in ways that I and our ecclesiastical leader simply could not.

Before going any further, let me say that I don’t have the stomach for yet another long-winded (and assuredly acrimonious) debate about whether, and to what extent, LDS women hold the Priesthood, and whether they should be included in ecclesiastical leadership positions.  Such posts are legion on the Bloggernacle, and I have nothing new to add on the subject here.  My opinion, for better or worse, is that by virtue of their temple endowment, women receive at least some modicum of the power we refer to as Priesthood.  It is that Priesthood that my wife and other faithful LDS women exercise on a daily basis through their service.

When we talk about Priesthood, we often place far too much emphasis on the administration of ordinances, such as the blessing of babies, the laying on of hands, etc.  Clearly in today’s Church, women do not “exercise Priesthood” by participating such rituals.  However, I believe the Priesthood to be a much broader, and at the same time a much simpler, concept.  If Priesthood is the power to act in God’s name here on this Earth, as we teach, it cannot be limited to ordinances — God certainly has much more in store for us than going around laying hands on one another.   Instead, as our leaders have instructed, Priesthood power truly manifests itself in the rendering of what Spencer W. Kimball referred to as “selfless service.”   If this is the case, then endowed women have equal claim to Priesthood as their ordained male counterparts.   Godly service is godly service, no matter the sex of the provider.

We often speak of the “compassionate service” offered by women in the Church as something other than the Priesthood, i.e., as an auxiliary of, or support to, the Priesthood held by men. This distinction does not make sense to me.  Why does an afternoon spent by Deacons digging up Old Lady Smith’s weeds qualify as “Priesthood service,” while delivering meals to new mothers does not?  Similarly, for many men, and most certainly for up-and-coming Aaronic Priesthood holders, the very ideal of Priesthood service is honorably serving a full-time mission.  Adding up all of the baptisms, confirmations, blessings and grave dedications I performed, only a fraction of my two years in Guatemala were spent actually administering Priesthood ordinances.  By contrast, the vast majority of my time was spent serving others in all manner of ways, including formal service projects (i.e., hours spent at the hospital), informal service to those in need (i.e., visiting a sick member or investigator), and simply trying to share the Gospel with others, which arguably is the highest act of service possible.  But for the infrequent ordinances, women missionaries render these exact same types of service in exactly the same way; there is no gender differentiation.   If that is the case, why should my mission be deemed ”Priesthood service” status, if the work of valiant female missionaries is relegated to some lesser status?

All of this has opened me up to a new understanding of what it means to hold and use the Priesthood.  To believe that women can be Priesthood bearers, I need not accept the notion that women should be Bishops (that’s a different can of worms).  Rather, I recognize the efforts my wife makes as something more than mere acts of thoughtfulness.  I see them for what they are:  the proper exercise of her Priesthood power.  Put another way, the fact that my wife did not actually lay hands on Lori’s children does not mean that she is without Priesthood.  Rather, working together on an equal plane –with me administering a blessing and her comforting the family — we made a great team (a quorum of two?), using our individual abilities to achieve a common goal.   And isn’t that the ideal for an eternal family (think back to the words used in the Endowment and sealing ceremonies)?

So, with that in mind, let me proudly echo the sentiment I hear expressed in testimony meeting exclusively by wives and mothers:  I am very thankful to be married to a worthy Priesthood holder.

Several weeks ago, during the third-hour meeting on a Ward Conference Sunday, a former counselor in my Stake Presidency spoke to all Elders and High Priests about fatherhood.  He framed his message around an anecdote concerning his own five children, all of whom are out of the house, are active in the Church, and range in age from marrieds with children to a recently returned missionary.  He had asked each of them (for some unexplained reason):  ”Do you think it is more important to me that you be ‘happy’ or that you be ‘good’?”  He did not provide any definition for the operative terms.  Four of the five automatically answered “good,” which apparently was the right answer and pleased the father very much.  The fifth child answered “happy,” which troubled the father, who questioned whether he had done enough to impress upon this boy the importance of the Gospel.  A few days later, much to the father’s relief, the son called back, and said he wanted to change his answer to “good.”  Familial harmony was achieved.  The lesson to we congregants was, teach your children to be “good,” not just “happy.”

As I have mentioned in other posts, I am the father of three (mostly) wonderful daughters, ages 7, 5 and 2, so parenting issues are always on my mind.  This talk, in particular, has been rattling around in my brain for several weeks.  I didn’t think much about it on first listen; I agree with the abiding principle that we fathers need to pull our weight in rearing our children in the Gospel (in other words, quit depending on our wives to prepare FHE lessons all the time).   But something about the question the speaker posed to his children didn’t sit right with me, although I could not quite put my finger on why.  A couple of days later, as I was driving home from work, I heard a story on NPR (read it here) that helped bring things into focus for me.

The story profiled two families here in the US raising young children who are experiencing issues with gender identity confusion.  In each family, a son, under the age of 6 or so, had started exhibiting markedly “feminine” behaviors as early as age two:  they wanted to be called girls, they wanted to be referred to by a girl’s name, they played exclusively with “girl” toys (i.e., Barbies; all of their stuffed animals were girls), they dressed up in their mothers’ clothes to the point of obsession, etc.  Neither of the familiies had any experience with such issues, and hence felt overwhelmed by the situation.  To deal with it, they took contrary paths. 

Family #1 decided to raise their son as their daughter; in their words, they had ”come to accept” that their child, unfortunately, had been born into the wrong body.  They acceded to their chid’s requests by, among other things, referring to the child using feminine pronouns, giving “her” a girl’s name, buying “her” little girl clothes, and so on.  The mother spoke passionately about the fear and guilt she felt during her first trip to Target to buy the dress her child had been requesting for weeks.  She kept asking herself, “am I doing the right thing?”   This child’s joy upon receiving the dress (she wore it for weeks until it literally fell of her body) was reassuring.   So, the conclusion they came to was that, if being a girl is what makes this child happy, then they would do everything they could to ensure that happiness, regardless of how odd or strange it may seem to them.  At the same time, these parents were no Pollyannas; they recognized that their decision will have long-term consequences for their child, many of which likely will result in great unhappiness, such as potential social ostracization.  Nevertheless, they were committed to allowing their child to seek “her” own path. 

Family #2, on the other hand, took a very different approach.  Working with a therapist, they sought to curb, and ultimately squelch, their child’s feminine nature.  For example, they replaced the “girl” toys with “boy” toys, they declined requests for girl clothes and feminine haircuts, and they continued to refer to the child using masculine pronouns.  These parents, too, spoke with passion about the pain they felt as they took away their child’s favorite doll, and their feelings of inadequacy as they tried to explain what was happening to their son.  Put away your prejudices — these people were not religious zealots who talked about the issue in terms of sin.  Rather, they felt that gender was fixed by nature, and hence, the best way to raise their child was in the “right” way, as a boy, even if that means denying him things he desires.  The hope is that, while this decision may cause some pain now, it will lead to future happiness through the elimination of gender confusion.  The equated the issues to an African-American child who wanted to be a white.  Allowing the child to “be white” was the wrong answer.

Listening to this story, my heart went out to both sets of parents.  It was obvious from hearing them speak that they both love their sons very much, are not passing judgment on them for their femininity, and are honestly seeking to do make the right choice for their family.  Not being an expert on this issue and having never faced it personally, I am no position to criticize either approach.  Indeed, I think there are equal numbers of advantages and disadvantages to either strategy.  

These parents, and their differing viewpoints helped me see what made me unconfortable about the stake presidency member’s question.  It is premised on the dual notions that (i) true “happiness” can only be achieved through righteousness; put another way, it does not allow for possibility that a person may find joy somewhere outside of the Church and its teachings, and (ii) that “goodness” can be reduced down to full activity in the Church.  Employing these definitions, I understand the speaker’s underlying message to be, so as long as a child is “good,” whether that “goodness” actually brings him or her “happiness” is beside the point.  In the NPR story, I see Family #2, with its emphasis on making the “right” choice in the hope that it will eventually bring “happiness,” as following that model of parenting.  By contrast, Family #1 followed a different model, whereby the child’s “happiness” was the foremost concern, regardless of any relationship to “goodness.” 

All of these muddled thoughts lead me back to the question of what is more important to me, my children’s “goodness” or their “happiness”?  Thankfully, my girls have no interest yet in boys, ditching school or really tough theological questions.  But that time is right around the corner.  Just like every parent, I ask myself how I would react if one of sweet girls came home and told me that (a) she didn’t believe in the Church any more, (b) she was a lesbian, or (c) she and her husband had decided not to have their children baptized.  Of course I would still love her unconditionally, but would I be able to accept these not ”good” choices on the ground that they made by daughter happy?  

This is not an easy question, and my personal experiences lead me all over the map in trying to answer it.    I have several siblings who, over the years, have left the Church for various reasons.  Watching their personal trajectories since then, it is very clear that as they were less “good,” they were markedly less “happy.”  In that same vein, I have watched my new sister-in- law join the Church and drag my backsliding brother into the Church, decisions which have brought them much happiness.  These experience tends to validate my stake presidency member — “goodness” should the utmost priority.  On the other side of the coin, I also know folks who appear to be very happy and fulfilled people outside the Church.  One of my sisters, who left the Church after years of ridicule by her fellow Young Women, has finally reached a state of happiness, but has no intention of returning to the Church.  In this instance, “happiness” wins out over “goodness.”  For me, then, I want my daughters to be “good” — I want to see them married in the Temple and making choices that I agree with, etc.  At the same time, I think it is more imporatnt that they love themselves and find true “happiness.”  If I have a problem with their future choices, I’ll just have to live with it, I guess.

So, I ask you, fellow readers, what matters most to you and your significant other, your child’s “goodness” or his/her “happiness”?  And, if we were to ask your children about your priorities, what would they say?

Years ago, I taught an Elders’ Quorum lesson about our duties as good citizens (of the U.S.; I have no idea whether this lesson was/is taught internationally). One of the main points, reinforced in the manual by several quotes from General Authorities, was that we, as faithful Latter Day Saints, have an obligation to vote our consciences. The lesson was clear that the Church does not endorse any particular candidate, but that we each have a responsibility to do our part by casting a vote on election day. We talked about this idea – using our free agency as part of the election process – at some length. In the course of that discussion, an attendee, a faithful, conservative “Peter Priesthood” type in the ward, made a comment that has always stuck with me. He said, in essence, that active Mormons “have to” vote certain ways on “some specific issues.” Though I prodded, he refused to provide any further clarification. However, given current events, it wasn’t too difficult to figure out what he meant.

This was Southern California, circa 2000, and we were all in the throes of a pitched battle over Proposition 22 (aka the California Defense of Marriage Act) which sought to revise California law, which already explicitly prohibited same-sex marriage, to close a purported loophole which would have required California to recognize such marriages performed in other states (read: Massachusetts). Prop. 22 added the following sentence to the books: “Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California.” Strikingly similar to the political climate of the last few weeks, seemingly every other local news broadcast and L.A. Times article dealt with the potential social and moral implications of allowing homosexuals to marry.

I don’t recall all of the hoopla over the ERA, so the level of Church involvement in this fight was new to me. We regularly heard sermons about the matter from over the pulpit and in classes. Some members of the ward were formally called by the Bishop to play an active role in campaigning for Prop. 22. While I never got such a call, I and many other Priesthood holders were assigned neighborhoods to canvas. We were to pass out literature and gauge public opinion about the Proposition. This was, without question, the most uncomfortable Church assignment I have ever fulfilled (although choking down chicken feet in the wilds of Guatemala comes in a close second). To begin, I am opposed to a too-easy mixture of religion and politics. Even worse, this particular issue put me in league with folks with whom I have very little else in common, politically speaking. For example, we were enthusiastically greeted by one older woman who said she not only supported Prop. 22, but also she always donates money to right-minded politicians such as Bob “B-52” Dornan. I think I physically cringed.

Thanks to the California Supreme Court, Prop. 22 has gone the way of the dodo, and same-sex marriage is set to become a reality here in a matter of weeks. But the fighting has not stopped yet, with opponents hoping to get a proposed constitutional amendment on the ballot in November. I know this because (i) twice in the past several weeks, people have stopped me in the halls at Church to ask that I sign a petition, and (ii) I have received several e-mail blasts from ward members attaching another petition begging me to “help save traditional marriage.” That means that, in all likelihood, I soon will have a chance to “vote my conscience” about this issue in a state-wide election.

All this has me thinking about what role my Mormonism has in determining how I vote. My spirituality necessarily affects my world view and therefore will impact, to some degree, the manner in which I view political issues. That’s not what I’m talking about. The question is, was the class member right all those years ago? To put a finer point on it, does my membership in the Church compel me and every other California Mormon to vote for a constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage, regardless of how we/I personally feel about the issue? My initial reaction is “no” — we all have free agency and my temple recommend has never been conditional upon a favorable review of my voting record. But on the other hand, if my vote is not required/assumed, why does the Church go to such great lengths to get me and other members involved in the political fight?  If I am free to vote contrary to the Church’s position, why do my Priesthood leaders have authority to call me to a position designed specifically to push the official agenda?

Of course, same-sex marriage is just one issue that raises this question. Here are three more where a Mormon’s vote arguably could be determined solely on the basis of his/her faith:

• Medical marijuana: In 1996, California voters passed Proposition 215, known as the Compassionate Use Act, which permits the use of marijuana for medicinal purposes. Since then, other Western states have followed suit.

• Legalization of marijuana: For many folks, this is the logical extension of the medical marijuana debate. California is certainly headed in this direction. In 2000, California voters passed Prop. 36, which changed state law to allow first- and second-time nonviolent, simple drug possession offenders the opportunity to receive substance abuse treatment instead of incarceration. In other words, possession is now treated as a sickness, not a crime.

• Limits on abortion rights: Thankfully, this is not one that I have to vote on, but members in other states have. In the constant back-and-forth since Roe v. Wade, nearly every state in the U.S. has passed restrictions on abortion rights, ranging from bans on partial-birth abortions to parental consent laws. Pro-life camps are constantly pushing for putting further restrictions in place through proposition or referendum. And just as surely, pro-choice advocates are engaged in high-energy opposition to those movements.
  

All of these issues are likely be on your local ballot sooner rather than later.  I am opposed to SSM, but in other instances, I find myself running contrary to the assumed “correct” position for LDS folks. For example, the older I get and the more I read about the increasing levels of incarceration in this country, the more persuaded I am that we should decriminalize possession of small quantities of marijuana (or, at a minimum, drastically reduce the tax money and man hours spent in arresting, prosecuting and detaining small-time users).

At the end of the day, I believe that I can vote however I want on these and any other issue. But, as I was shown in that EQ lesson many years ago, this is not a unanimous opinion. So, what do you think — are faithful Mormons required to vote en masse on certain issues? If so, how does one go about determining which issues those are, and what are/should be the consequences for failing to fall in line? If not, should a pro-SSM member refuse a priesthood canvassing on the ground that he/she is politically opposed to the cause?

As a bearded Mormon history nerd with a head full of non-traditional opinions, I empathize with these feelings. I, too, have stifled comments in Elders’ Quorum for fear of rocking the boat or derailing an otherwise by-the-book lesson. Just like you, I have simmered quietly while others expressed opinions that I found offensive. But, at the risk of biting the digital hand that feeds me, I’m here to say, I’ve grown weary of the complaints. Enough is enough, already. It’s time for us all to put up or shut up!

I have come the conclusion that it is time for we bloggers to quit whining about members and teachers who we believe force us to keep our more controversial, liberal, non-traditional, etc. views to ourselves, and to take action. Here’s why:

First, by keeping quiet, we perpetuate, and become co-conspirators in, the same “unwritten order of things” that is driving us crazy in the first place. Thomas Jefferson once said, “all tyranny needs to gain a foothold is for people of good conscience to remain silent.” Certainly no tyranny is afoot, but the same principle applies to our ward meetings. If we keep our mouths shut, we are actively contributing to the problem.

Let me give you a very recent example. My best pal is currently serving in our Bishopric (and doing a fantastic job, by the way). At dinner on Saturday night, his wife raised the issue of women being the concluding speaker in Sacrament meeting. She noted that, for as long as she could remember, the last talk had always been given by a man. To be honest, I am usually juggling books, crayons and Cheerios all meeting, so I had not noticed this particular trend. My much more observant wife, on the other hand, had. My pal confirmed that, in fact, the standing rule in our ward is that the concluding speaker must be a Priesthood holder. As a result, for all of the High Council Sundays we endure, we will never have a ladies-only program. As you might imagine, the wives pressed him for the reasoning behind this practice. The answer was simple: that’s the way the Bishop (who is, by all accounts, a great Bishop) wants it because that’s the way it has always been in our ward, period. My friend had never thought to raise the issue with the Bishop or to use his own discretion in scheduling a woman as the final speaker on a week for which he is responsible. And until he (or someone else in a position of power) says something, nothing will change.

Second, if we don’t put our best selves forward in Church, we unilaterally restrict the depth and range of the discussion and, as a result, we potentially stunt our own spiritual growth, as well as the spiritual development of our brothers and sisters. Christ warned against hiding our candles under a bushel, and instead commanded us to “let your light so shine before men.” This mandate applies not only to our dealings with outsiders (i.e., missionary work), but also to the way we interact with one another inside the Church. I am not so narcissistic to believe any of my random Sunday comments are going to change the world. But the ‘Nacle is full of accounts describing everyday members desperately seeking someone, anyone with whom to discuss their thoughts, concerns and questions. As John Nilsson’s excellent “People Who Helped Me Stay Mormon” posts make clear, sometimes the difference between activity and inactivity is finding such a relationship or, at a minimum, knowing that you are not alone in your congregation. We often hide behind the pretense of not wanting to offend. But I believe that well-intentioned comments and interjections are at least as likely to have a profoundly positive effect on listeners. Isn’t it worth the risk?

And as for our own spiritual development, separating ourselves from our community by any degree is bound to be unhealthy. Take my friend with the Noah issue. Staying in the foyer during Sunday School is a short-term fix to his problem: he avoids the cognitive dissonance he feels when attending class. The long-term effects of that decision, however, may be quite negative. As anyone who has ever gone through a spate of inactivity knows, once you start skipping one hour, it’s much easier to find reasons to avoid the other two hours as well.

Third, I personally find the rationale behind this “keep quiet” approach to be as offensive as any “Democrats are of the devil” comment I’ve heard from teachers. No matter how it is couched, this philosophy boils down to the belief that other ward members are (i) too spiritually fragile, (ii) too close-minded, or (iii) too ignorant to comprehend the wisdom that we more-enlightened Mormons possess, but judiciously choose to keep under our hats. Furthermore, such thinking drives (and exacerbates already existing) artificial wedges between us: liberal Mormons vs. conservative Mormons, Iron Rod Mormons vs. Liahona Mormons, etc. Even worse, this attitude is wholly un-Christlike. He taught, “when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren.” I doubt that assuming the worst about our brethren, and then stifling discussion with them based on that prejudice, meets this lofty standard of conduct.

Furthermore, I have come to believe that most (or at least many) Mormons with whom we share the pews on Sunday are open to, if not eager for, the meatier Gospel discussion from which we abstain. Put another way, not only are our prejudices unholy, they are unwarranted. Two recent examples brought this point home to me very clearly:

• In December of last year, I was asked to give an EQ lesson on a recent Conference talk. I spoke with the EQ President and told him that, in light of the fact that we were closing out a year of discussing Spencer W. Kimball, I would rather teach a lesson about the 1978 Priesthood revelation. Being overly cautious, I offered to give him an advance copy of the lesson outline. He agreed, but laughed off the idea of “pre-screening” the lesson. In the preceding days, I was quite nervous about how the Elders would react to what I had to say. Would they shout me down as a liberal? Would they stand on thier own pre-conceived notions about curses and fence-sitting? The lesson was nothing spectacular – in fact, I cribbed most of it from Darius Gray’s Mormon Stories presentation. But I made clear that the justifications concocted to justify the Priesthood ban were not doctrinal and should not be passed on as such. To my great satisfaction, the class was engaged, attentive and involved. Not one of them fought me — we had a fulfilling, informed discussion of the issue. Afterwards, a couple of them took a moment to tell me how much the enjoyed the class. I don’t tell this story to toot my own horn. Far from it. Looking back, I am ashamed to admit that I assumed the worst about my fellow Priesthood holders. Assuming myself to be better informed, I had pre-judged them all as racists, or something close to it. Given the subject matter of my lesson, the irony of such prejudice was especially bitter.
• A few weeks ago, I sent an e-mail to my Bishopric buddy, asking whether anyone would be speaking in Sacrament meeting on 6/8 about the 30th anniversary of the 1978 revelation. I let him know about the Genesis Group’s planned fireside that night in the SLC Tabernacle. I (a lowly Sunday School teacher) then humbly suggested that a few words on this subject would be appropriate and appreciated. He called my bluff, bumped a youth speaker and gave me a 10-12 minute slot on the program. Not quite what I had in mind, but I’ll admit to being impressed with his willingness (i) to take suggestions from the congregation, and (ii) to allow a speaker to address this subject from the pulpit. In my 35 years of Church attendance, I can’t remember ever hearing such a talk so, needless to say, I’m a bit nervous (looks like it’s time for a refresher visit to Mormon Stories — thanks again, John D.).

So, for these reasons, I say it is high time for us to all quit whining about how we can’t speak up in Church. Let’s take charge of our Sunday worship and became active, engaged participants in the discussion. How? Make it a practice to comment in class. Even if your input does not contain some pearl of great intellectual price, get in the habit of conversing with the instructor and the class. That way, you will build up a trust, such that your more potentially controversial or out-of-the-box contributions won’t be viewed as purposefully provocative. If your quorum or RS lessons are boring, volunteer to teach a week or two. In doing so, however, we should heed Armand Mauss’s warning against becoming “intellectual adolescents,” those who “are searching less for understanding than for cheap shots at traditional shibboleths, or for juicy and scandalous tidbits about Church leaders past and present.” I’d be interested to hear approaches folks have taken in this regard.

On the other hand, if you choose to keep your wisdom to yourself, I beg that you quit taking up valuable blog real estate with complaints about how no understands or appreciates you. The choice to get involved is yours alone, my friends: either put up or shut up. If you take the latter option, you have only yourself to blame.

Unless your last name is Van Winkle, you likely already know that, yesterday afternoon, the California Supreme Court concluded that the state’s law prohibiting same-sex marriage (SSM, for short) is unconstitutional. Put more simply, in 30 days, SSM will be a reality in California. For those of us here on the Left Coast, things are about to get very interesting. Within hours of the ruling, Los Angeles Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa, without a hint of irony, told a gathering of reporters: “I plan to marry as many people as I can.”

Like many others, I’m still working my way through the 100+ page opinion. We lawyers sure love our footnotes, and one in particular has got me thinking. To be clear, I am no fundamentalist Mormon, and I certainly am not bucking for the opportunity to bring another set of problems wife into my happy family. But I can’t help but be annoyed by the apparent fact that, over a century later, courts are still content to rely on outdated and prejudicial attitudes towards Mormon polygamy.

The key holding — one that will be contested in the coming months by way of a final ballot initiative — is that the right to marry “guarantees same-sex couples the same substantive constitutional rights as opposite-sex couples to choose one’s life partner and enter with that person into a committed, officially recognized, and protected family relationship that enjoys all of the constitutionally based incidents of marriage.” The Supreme Court dropped the following footnote to this sentence:

We emphasize that our conclusion that the constitutional right to marry properly must be interpreted to apply to gay individuals and gay couples does not mean that this constitutional right similarly must be understood to extend to polygamous or incestuous. Past judicial decisions explain why our nation’s culture has considered the latter types of relationships inimical to the mutually supportive and healthy family relationships promoted by the right to marry. Although the historic disparagement of and discrimination against gay individuals and gay couples clearly is no longer constitutionally permissible, the state continues to have a strong and adequate justification for refusing to officially sanction polygamous or incestuous relationships because of their potentially detrimental effect on a sound family environment. Thus, our conclusion that it is improper to interpret the state constitutional right to marry as inapplicable to gay individuals or couples does not affect the constitutional validity of the existing legal prohibitions against polygamy and the marriage of close relatives. (emphasis added; legal citations deleted).

As I read it, this footnote is the Court’s way of brushing aside fears of a “slippery slope” resulting from their decision. According to this argument, which has featured prominently in both the California and the national debate, SSM should be banned because legalization necessarily will open the door to all manner of heretofore prohibited martial relationships. Inevitably, polygamy is at the top of every list of “loves that dare not speak their name.”

Here’s my question for you: Do you agree with the Court that polygamy between is truly “inimical to the mutually supportive and healthy family relationships promoted by the right to marry?” Is polygamy so nefarious a practice that, by its very nature, it will have a “detrimental effect on a sound family environment?”

This is the same logic the U.S. Supreme Court relied on 120 or so years ago to validate legislative efforts (including the Edmunds-Tucker Act) to stamp out polygamy (in Reynolds v. United States (1879) and Late Corporation of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (1890)). As Sarah Barringer Gordon deftly illustrates in her book, “The Mormon Question,” this analysis was flawed to the extent it relied on a hodge-podge of ill-informed and simply false ideas about Mormons promulgated by the popular (and very loud) anti-polygamy movement, i.e. Utah women were enslaved by the Church, etc.

I see that same sort of stereotypical thinking in yesterday’s ruling. As a starting point, the Court lumps polygamy in with incest without bothering to draw any distinction between the two. From there, the Court treads on shaky legal ground. To wit, the jurisprudence cited by the Court holds that laws restricting certain marital relationships are necessary for reasons such as (i) “protecting persons who may not be in a position to freely consent to sexual relationships”; (ii) “guarding against inbreeding”; and (iii) “promot[ing] and protect[ing] family harmony and protect[ing] children from the abuse of parental authority.” As applied to polygamy, these concerns — just as the notion of white slavery in turn-of-the-century Utah — rely on a profoundly distorted vision of the practice wherein underage girls are forced to marry adults, including their own parents. The message sent is clear — polygamy, just like forced sexual relationships between parent and child, is malum per se (evil in itself).

I, for one, am not persuaded that this is the case. I believe that consenting adults could create polygamous relationships in which there is no coercion and certainly no inbreeding. If polygamy were to be legalized, would society run the risk of such untoward practices? Of course — if reports are to be believed, the FLDS practice polygamy in a similar fashion. But the more important question is whether that risk is so great that polygamy should be outlawed entirely. Inherent in any marital relationship — be it a monogamous heterosexual couple, a monogamous homosexual couple, or a polygamous arrangement between 3 people — is the risk that one partner will force his/her will upon the other(s). As of today, we permit the first categories of marriages; why not polygamy?

You may be asking yourself, why should I care, since polygamy in the LDS church has gone the way of the dodo? Here’s why: despite the best efforts of the men in the big buildings on Temple Square, we will always be associated with polygamy. That’s just a fact. And that’s OK by me, as long as folks take the time to disabuse themselves of the same sort of prejudicial notions lurking behind the Court’s formal language. My progenitors, while they may have been many things, were not involved in relationships equatable with incest. So, when I see discussions of polygamy that require that conclusion (i.e., polygamy = incest), I cannot help but think it sets us all back a few steps. That’s why this little footnote, buried amidst hundreds of pages of legalese, is stuck in my craw.

As I recall it from years past, the statement will encourage members to vote their consciences, while emphasizing that the Church does not, and will not, endorse any particular candidate. Going one step further, Church leaders have gone out of their way lately to make clear that members in the U.S. may be active participants in any of the major political parties (video of Elder Ballard making this point). But in stark contrast to its reticence to campaign for individuals, the Church currently is involved in a number of political movements. The most prominent example is the fight against homosexual marriage (aka the movement to preserve the sanctity of marriage). Of course, this is not a new development; for nearly 40 years, the Church was fully engaged in legal and political wrangling in a failed bid to preserve plural marriage.*

Over the past few decades, the Church has developed an interesting formula for justifying its involvement in such movements: “Strictly political matters should be left in the field of politics where they belong. However, on moral issues, the Church and its members take a positive stand.” (1962 First Presidency Statement; emphasis added). As a life-long member, I have heard this “moral vs. political” dichotomy repeated numerous times in talks and lessons, without much thought or guidance being given to as to how differentiate between the two. The entire line of reasoning raises two as-yet-unanswered questions: (i) how does the Church determine whether a political question is sufficiently “moral” to warrant the Church’s full attention and involvement, and (ii) what, if any, application does the “political vs. moral” discussion have to Saints outside the United States?

Question #1: Where is the dividing line between “political” and “moral”?

In my mind, this is a particularly gray area. The current official statement from the Church attempts to answer the question as follows: “The Church does . . . [r]eserve the right as an institution to address, in a nonpartisan way, issues that it believes have significant community or moral consequences or that directly affect the interests of the Church.” (emphasis added.) Unfortunately, this statement only raises more questions. By their very nature, all political decisions — from which potholes get filled to whether abortion is legalized — have an effect on the surrounding community. When are those consequences “significant” and/or “moral” and what factors are to be examined in making this determination? In the absence of a definitive answer, all we can do is look to past examples of Church activism. In my lifetime, the Church has been involved in all manner of seemingly political fights, such as:

• Equal Rights Amendment: This is well-trod ground, so I won’t say much here, other than that the Church was one of the main opponents of the ERA, with many crediting the Church’s involvement with its ultimate defeat. The Church justified this protracted fight on the ground that the ERA presented a “moral issue with many disturbing ramifications for women and for the family as individual members and as a whole,” including “encouragement of those who seek a unisex society, an increase in the practice of homosexual and lesbian activities, and other concepts which could alter the natural, God-given relationship of men and women.”

• MX Missile base: In 1978-79, President Carter & the Department of Defense announced Utah as the site for a system of thousand of intercontinental ballistic missiles (known as “MX Missiles”), with the stated goal of serving as deterrent against a first-strike attack by the then-menacing USSR (doesn’t the Cold War seem a bit quaint now?). After initially remaining silent, the Church (in 1981) issued a strong statement objecting to the proposal on the ground that it implicated “the pressing moral question of possible nuclear conflict.”

• Legalized Gambling: In 1992, the First Presidency issued a statement condemning “renewed and vigorous attempts to legalize gambling, including a state-operated lottery, charitable gambling and pari-mutuel betting.” The Church regarded this as “a moral issue and unalterably oppose[s] such proposals on grounds of private and public morality, as well as a threat to the cultivation and maintenance of strong family and community values.”

• Flat Tax in UT: In 2005, the Church (through its phalanx of lawyers) lobbied in favor of maintaining Utah’s state tax exemptions for charitable donations. The issue arose in the context of the long-since-abandoned “flat tax proposal.” Again, public statements did not frame the issue as “moral,” but arguments were founded in scripture mandates to care for their poor” (e.g., Moroni 4:26).

• Sale of Alcohol in Utah Convenience Stores: In January of this year, the Church issued a statement condemning the sale of distilled spirits (aka alcopops) in grocery and convenience stores. While not specifically defining the issue as a “moral” one, the statement took the position that the sale of alcopops anywhere other than liquor stores “promotes underage drinking and undermines the state system of alcohol control.”

Quite frankly, it is difficult to cull out any guiding principles from these examples. I can see the “moral” underpinnings to the marriage and gambling issues, but for the life of me, I cannot argue the “moral” implications of selling booze at Smith’s Food King or adopting a flat tax with a straight face. It seems that issues that directly impact traditional notions of the family, or that deal with potentially dangerous addictions cross the line. But if this is true, why don’t we take these principles to their logical end? If the Church is worried about the detrimental effects of intoxicants such as alcohol, shouldn’t it also have taken steps to oppose local initiatives (like those in California and Oregon) to legalize medical marijuana?

Question #2: How does this discussion apply outside the U.S.?

Thinking about the “moral vs. political” dilemma, I came to a eye-opening realization: all of my discussions, and all of the materials I have read, on this subject relate exclusively to U.S.-based issues (and, more often than not, local Utah politics). This strikes me as an extremely myopic focus. Certainly the Church cannot get involved in every potential “moral” issue across the globe. But if we are to become a truly international church, shouldn’t we be at least as involved in foreign “moral” issues as we are in local ones? Put another way, why are our problems so much more important than those of our brothers and sisters in other countries? Here’s just one example: the Church has spent millions of dollars spearheading anti-gay-marriage initiatives across the country. At the same time, however, as I understand it, the Church didn’t lay out one thin dime to fight against the ultimately successful gay marriage movements in countries like Canada and Spain, countries with active LDS populations and temples. Don’t families there merit the same “protection” as American families?

In a 1979 statement, the First Presidency indirectly addressed this issue, saying (in pertinent part): “The many and varied circumstances in which our Church members live … make it inadvisable for the Church to involve itself institutionally in every local community issue. These challenges are best responded to by members as they meet their obligations as citizens—preferably in concert with other like-minded individuals.” That’s an understandable sentiment, but in light of the Church’s efforts on behalf of its American members, is it fair to push the full burden of political activism back onto non-U.S. members? Speaking for myself, I’d rather see the money being spent to thwart the evils of “alcopops” in Utah County 7-11′s directed to rebuild the infrastructure of Central American countries (like Guatemala where I served my mission) ravaged by decades of civil war.

* * *

Thinking about all of this, I’m really torn. One thing I appreciate about the Church is that no one (in an official capacity, at least) tells me how to vote. I am free to pick the candidate I deem to be the best choice (Obama ’08, baby!), and feel no obligation to vote in a way pleasing unto the Church or my local leaders. So, I am very much in favor of neutrality. Similarly, some of the stances the Church has taken in the past make me uncomfortable. I find our opposition to the ERA to have been short-sighted and, ultimately, ill-directed. If we spread our political influence to a broader array of problems, the likelihood that we will “get it wrong” statistically increases, which makes me want to simply drop the whole endeavor out of fear. At the same time, I would like to see the Church get more involved in global issues that I think may rightly be classified as “moral.” If we are truly Christians, why aren’t we denouncing this God-forsaken war in a much more direct manner? Why don’t we lend our voice to the chorus of organizations fighting to stop genocide in Africa? Sending humanitarian packages is a good start, but there is so much more we could do. And what better way is there for us to truly adopt the mantle of an international church? We have so much to offer; it would be shame if we were to simply hide our collective light under a bushel. Focusing exclusively on issues affecting only the few (percentage-wise) Mormons in Utah seems so 19th century to me.

What do you think about this? Where should we draw the line between “political” and “moral” issues? Is attempting to do so a worthwhile exercise at all? Does this discussion have any applicability outside the U.S., or am I totally missing the boat?

*For a great treatment of this subject, I highly recommend “The Mormon Question,” by Sarah Barringer Gordon.

A bit of background: I’m a relative late comer to England’s work. He was still teaching at BYU when I was there (’90-’91, ’94-’96), but I never took a class from him. All I heard was that he was “one of those Sunstone-type liberal Mormons.” Given my limited world-view at the time, I paid him little mind, assuming that he would talk himself out of the Church sooner or later. It was only a few years ago that I found a collection of his essays on-line via Signature Books. After that, I couldn’t get enough, and have spent many hours since curled up with an essay or symposium recording.

For me, England sits apart from other big names in the Mormon Studies world. I see folks like Michael Quinn and Todd Compton as the “head” of that particular body — they are fact gatherers, interested in overturning every possible stone in hopes of unearthing new facts shedding light on Obscure Historical Issue #467 (What phase was the moon in on the day of the First Vision?; What did he eat for lunch in Liberty jail?). Don’t get me wrong, these are worthwhile endeavors, but can leave one lacking spiritually. England, by contrast, is the “heart” of the movement. He rarely focused on historical minutia. Rather, he dealt with big-picture questions: what does it mean to be a Christian? What does it mean to become “like God” in the hereafter and how do we prepare ourselves now for that state? How will men and women be united in the afterlife?

Heady stuff. As I’ve been re-reading some of my favorite essays, it has come to mind that, while we often pay homage to England, we’re more reticent to actually incorporate the lessons he taught into our worship. That’s a shame, in my book. In hopes of remedying the situation, I offer below two main themes of England’s work which, I believe, have the potential to aid us in our journey toward perfection, both as individuals and as a Church.

[A quick disclaimer: this post does not aspire to be a comprehensive survey of England's body of work. Feel free to let me know in the comments if you think I've mischaracterized him or his writing in any way.]

1. A “Theology Of Peace”: I’ve written at length in other places about the travails of being a Mormon Democrat, a role which often puts me at odds politically with almost all of my friends and fellow worshipers on any given Sunday. For the most part, that difference doesn’t bother me; I believe the world is big enough for Mormons from all over the political spectrum. However, what I do find heartbreaking is the lengths to which some of my more conservative-leaning Mormon friends will go to justify the war in Iraq. Armed (pardon the pun) with plenty of scriptures from Alma and Helaman, they prattle on about the need to use force to defeat evil, and speak in platitudes about “modern Gadianton robbers.”

This is not the Christianity I know. England offers a counterpoint to this approach. As he taught it, LDS theology — which he deemed a “theology of peace” — mandates the principle and practice of “effective pacifism,” whereby “we are called to do whatever we can that will genuinely create peace, even sacrifice our own lives.” The central tenet of this philosophy, drawn from the same scriptural basis relied on by Latter-Day hawks, is: “Enemies cannot be defeated, they can only be changed into other than enemies by true principles of love, and God will provide the power to do that if we will trust him and pay the price of trying things his way.” Christ taught that we must “love our enemies”; England believed that if were to take this principle seriously, it would bring peace not only to us individually, but also collectively to the nations of the world. Such a stratagem requires the most difficult of disciplines: knowing and treating your enemies as “humans like ourselves.” England, ever the realist, recognized that this theory would not always work, and he made room for a compromise position analogous to the Catholic notion of “just war.” But, in his eyes, “effective pacifism” is an ideal worth striving for.

Imagine the possibilities were the U.S. to adopt this approach in dealing with the Middle East. Could resisting the temptation to tear down existing political, social and economic structures abroad as a means for “bringing about a government more to our liking” have saved any of the thousands of lives lost? If we come to see the Iranians as children of the same Father in Heaven, rather than as godless heathens, how would that inform our approach towards them in this heated political climate? Thinking closer to home, if I were to recognize my neighbors first as sons and daughters of God, my thoughts and actions towards them necessarily would be lifted by an increase of love. Rather than finding cause for conflict, I would take the opportunity to serve them unconditionally.

2. Being “Mormon”: For my money, this was England’s forté. England was a Mormon, through and through. His essays are brimming with anecdotes from his childhood involving family prayers, conference trips and attending “boring” meetings. England saw everything through the prism of LDS theology. For example, he crafted well-reasoned, but always uniquely Mormon, positions on virtually every major political event from the 1960′s through the 1990′s, from Watergate to the Cold War to the Operation Desert Storm. Regardless of whether you agree(d) with him, England was not afraid to take a stand while flying his Primary-colored flag high (for those of you who have forgotten, our primary colors — sing it with me — are red, yellow and blue.)

But England’s deep and abiding love for Mormonism went well beyond his cultural and political endeavors. He grappled with the issue of what it truly means to be a member of the Church, and how that relates to being a disciple of Christ. England taught that former is a means to achieving the latter. Put another way:

The Church is true in large part because it provides an opportunity, for all who are willing, to endure all these things — and also to be guilty of them — and thus to learn how to be merciful, to be patient and forgiving, to accept forgiveness and help, to love unconditionally so we can accept the unconditional love of the Atonement and be saved.

The key to the Atonement, therefore, is to learn to love those with whom we disagree, or who hold opinions/beliefs that we find repugnant. Mandatory church attendance is a laboratory for developing this Christ-live and charity. It is our responsibility to progress beyond being mere “consumers” of the services offered at Church; we must actively participate in providing those services to others. To do so, we must resist the natural urge to find fault with, or to be offended by even the most genuinely offensive behavior of, our fellow travelers:

The Gospel is so overwhelmingly valuable that it crowds out the temptation to be overwhelmed by the mistakes people make trying to translate its ideals into specific Church expression and action — the real intellectual problems and puzzles that such human expression of the Gospel can get us involved in.

This statement took my breath away the first time I read it and, since then, it has changed (for the better) the way I view my place in the Church. Imagine how such an approach could enrich our everyday Church activity? How effective would your Ward be were it filled with “doers” as opposed to “consumers?”

This point is especially salient for those of us who frequent this insular world we call the Bloggernacle. It often seems we spend most of our time venting frustration that “regular” Mormons are unfairly dismissive of, or openly hostile to, what we perceive as our more enlightened/open-minded views. “I have to keep my mouth shut in Elders’ Quorum” and “nobody in my ward is interested in hearing the truth about Historical Issue X” are all-too-common refrains. We express a longing for unity and more open channels of communications.

At the same time, however, we hypocritically jump at the chance to find fault in those same members, with our most pointed criticism reserved for those in leadership positions. We further set ourselves apart from the pack by affixing labels such as “liberal” or “Liahona” Mormons. Were we to apply England’s vision of the Church, we would see the pettiness of such back and forth. Constructive dialogue and debate are healthy for, and necessary to, the building of a vibrant community. Bickering, however, serves only to divide us, and distance us all from Christ. How much more could we accomplish if our conversation was stripped of this infighting and prejudice?

There’s more to say, and further lessons to be learned, but this post is already too long. I hope that we can all take a second look at Brother England’s work and, as we do, that we dare to grapple with the questions he raised. Brother England, wherever you are, thanks for everything — although we never met, your words have been a ray of hope in my life.

Chapter 1: An Introduction aka Our Hero Explains Himself

Over the years, I have had the opportunity to associate with folks for whom I am one of the only Mormons they know and/or trust. Growing up in Las Vegas, none of my close friends were members of the Church. I went to law school in Ohio and was the only LDS student in my class. I have worked at three different law firms where Mormons are very much in the minority. But given the fact that I love to talk about all things spiritual, am very hard to offend, and actually enjoy discussing some of the more difficult issues relating to Mormonism, I have often played the part of “Mormon Answer Man” for my non-member friends and colleagues. This requires neither super-intelligence nor a fancy cape; my only powers are a listening ear and an open mind.

In this role, I have heard all manner of off-the-wall beliefs about Mormons and their practices. I’m not talking your run-of-the-mill “do you have more than one wife” questions. There have been a few whoppers. Presented below for your enjoyment are my three favorite examples. (And since I’m a comic book geek, in addition to being a Mormon history nerd (watch out, ladies!), I couldn’t help but indulge in a bit of comic-speak.)

Chapter 2: The Mormon Answer Man vs. The Lusty Patriarchs

I once worked with a woman, let’s call her Alice, who repeatedly told me that she was “raised Mormon,” but that she no longer had or wanted anything to do with the Church. I assured Alice that I knew and liked people with all sorts of beliefs, so she need not worry about my judging her in any way. Alice, however, seemed unable to let it go, and made sure to bring up her Jack Mormon status every time we talked.

One day at lunch, Alice told me that she had heard something very disturbing about Mormons and that, while she wanted to verify whether it was true, she could not bring herself to tell me. After a bit of cajoling, I got it out of her. She had heard from who-knows-where that, in order for a bride to be married in the LDS temple, she would be required to have sex with the groom’s father and grandfather right there in the sealing room. As she told the story, she kept asking, “that can’t be true, can it,” which telegraphed that she, despite her background, thought there was at least a possibility it could be true. When she was done, I said, “do you honestly believe that my wife did it with my dad and grandpa on our wedding day?” She sheepishly said, “no, of course not,” and then I, in full “Mormon Answer Man” mode, gave a short primer on the temple. I also invited her to call Mrs. Mormon Answer Man to double-check; she politely declined.

Chapter 3: The Mormon Answer Man Pokes A Hole In The “Marriage Sheet” Myth

I worked for years, and am still good friends, with a woman I’ll call Anne. Anne is a devout Catholic and, despite having grown up in Orange County, California, knew very few Mormons before we met. We spoke often about our beliefs and it was always a positive experience. One afternoon, she came to my office with a bit of information that been passed to her by a friend “who saw it on the Internet.” She wanted to know whether Mormons were required to use a “marriage sheet”? “What on earth is a ‘marriage sheet,’” I asked. “You know, a sheet between you and your wife for your honeymoon. With a hole in it for, you know . . ” Using all my Answer Man powers to stifle a chuckle, I assured her that no such tradition or practice exists, or ever existed, in the Church. She was mightily relieved. She too, declined an invitation to call Mrs. Mormon Answer Man to double source my answer.

Chapter 4: The Case Of “The Mormon Magic Rock”

Every comics reader is familiar with that time-worn favorite, the origin story. These tales give the reader a glimpse into the hero’s pre-powers life. In that vein, I offer the following account:

In the summer before I left for my mission, I lived at home and spent lots of time hanging out with friends from high school. I had received my call and was basically killing time until I left for the wilds of Guatemala. One evening, a friend, who I’ll call Celeste, asked me what I knew about the “Magic Mormon Rock.” Given Celeste’s impaired state of mind at the time, I didn’t pay much attention. But the next day, she asked me again, “what’s the deal with this ‘Magic Mormon Rock’ you guys are always talking about?”

I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, and given that this was long before I came into my Mormon Answer Man powers, I was flummoxed. But that’s not what makes this story interesting (I am flummoxed on a regular basis). I was scheduled to go through the temple in less then 3 weeks and, from the scraps of information I had heard from my parents, I knew that “tokens” were involved. Would I be given a Magic Rock of my own? What on earth is a Magic Rock, and what would I be expected to do with it? What kind of secret (I mean, sacred) powers would my Rock hold? My mind positively reeled at the possibilities! And while I still didn’t know any details about what to expect at the temple, I did know I was supposed to keep my mouth shut about the whole thing. So, when Celeste asked questions (which she continued to do), not only did I have no answer, I was afraid that if I even ventured a guess, I could be drinking eternal damnation to my soul, or something like that. Looking back, I assume she was referring either the Urim & Thumin or peepstones. But at the time, I was utterly clueless. The “Magic Rock” turned out to be my Kryptonite.

Chapter 5: Conclusion aka Seeking Reinforcements From The “Answer Man” Corps

Obviously, I am not the only one with “Answer Man” powers. I’m sure most of you have been in similar situations, where you have been asked to verify the accuracy of a patently ridiculous rumor or to answer an out-of-left-field question. That’s what I want to hear about. We often talk about Mormon folklore, i.e., the stories we tell each other about our beliefs and culture. That’s not what I am getting at here. Tell us about the most interesting questions/rumors/tall tales/superstitions you’ve fielded from those outside the faith regarding those same issues, and how you — the “Mormon Answer Man” — have dealt with them. Excelsior!