The Authority of Peace

I'm a nuanced, or non-traditional Mormon. No secrets there. (No secrets, because I religiously blog post my spiritual impressions and beliefs, so that I don't feel so guilty about never journaling. Ooops.)

Last Sunday was a regular Sunday for me. Sacrament Meeting consisted of entertaining two toddlers. I believe the theme, last week, was train stickers, if I'm recalling correctly. Train stickers, returning crayons to their rightful owners, going potty a couple times, you know the drill. Toddlers - the reason young mothers are spiritually starved for a good quiet, sit down, learn something moment to themselves.

After dropping children off in nursery and Sunbeams - they both went happily! - my husband and I parted ways for our respective classes.

And I struggled. To the outside observer, I probably looked like I deserved to struggle. I was on my phone - watercolor painting, Pokemon Go, surfing Facebook? All of the above? I don't remember. I probably looked, and you could accuse, like I wasn't getting anything out of the lesson, because I wasn't bringing anything either. But for me, it wasn't that simple.

I'd just sat through a Ward Conference where the only female on the stand was the woman who gave the closing prayer. A baby was blessed, and her mother wasn't mentioned. I was covered in train sticker remnants, and I just wasn't feeling it. I was tired, I desperately wanted some life, laughter, or even rejoicing in the room, and I already knew it wasn't going to happen. Yes, again, you can accuse that I didn't bring that to the table, so why would I expect to get it in return, but I didn't have it in me. My qualms with equality in the church were weighing heavily on my mind from the previous week, and they were cemented in during Sacrament Meeting, and I felt no bold, strong women standing and asserting their absolute right to be there and "play with the big boys," or even, merely, to be happy.

So I sat on my phone.

The lesson was on becoming more holy. The tears were flowing. The confessions of our own fallen, sinful natures were borne, again and again, as sisters put pencils to paper to write out their lists on what personal holiness looked like, and then verbally drew conclusions on how they didn't match up.

God loves me, so he sent me my son, Julian. He needed to go potty again. I shrugged my apologetic, "Oh, toddlers," gathered up all of my belongings and left. After taking Julian to the bathroom and returning him to Sunbeams, I began my search for a comfortable couch in the lobby. The first one was taken. I walked around the church to the other lobby, and found that couch unoccupied.

I listened in on the Sacrament Meeting which was being broadcasted through the speakers. Someone was giving a traditional "on my mission" story. I sat, water-coloring this time, for about five minutes, enjoying the quiet. (I'm a mom. That quiet is not to be underestimated, sacred space.)

The bishop passed through the lobby, not seeing me, and poked his head into a classroom to talk to one of the primary teachers in there. Now, I know this probably says loads about me, but I didn't want the bishop catching me looking only too happy to be sluffing class there, on the comfy couch. I didn't want that conversation, where I knew I would probably say something inappropriate, like, "Seen more life at a funeral!" when he asked how Relief Society was.

So I quickly stood up and darted out of the lobby, making my way towards nursery. Five minutes until the top of the hour, and church would be done. I figured I could bum out in nursery for the last five minutes without making a scene. (I didn't make a scene. Dexter was happy to have his mom with him, and a little girl there was very happy to have another adult to fawn over her coloring.)

It's been eating me up all week, that Sunday has.

I've been beating myself up about what I could have done differently. Should I have tried harder to engage in Relief Society? Could anything I could have said even have helped?

I listened to a podcast, The Third Hour, my cousin is a part of, this week, and he'd said something in the podcast that stuck out to me. I'm too lazy to look up the direct quote, but he'd said something along the lines of: There are two lessons we can take from the Fall. (Adam and Eve.) The first, is that we are fallen and sinful. The second, is that we are capable.

That Relief Society lesson on Sunday was a little too "fallen and sinful" takeaway message, and not enough "capable" message. I could have said something like that. I could have tried to turn the direction of the lesson from more tears and talk of how we can be more holy, how we can do better, and all the dwelling on weaknesses into something a little more positive and affirming. I could have commented that reminder that we are extremely capable, and God knew better than we do that we wouldn't be perfect in this life, and that that, in fact, was never the goal. That, in fact, the goal is that "they might have joy."

Could I have been that strong woman with the happier, more positive comment in the classroom that I was looking for? Not really, no. I'm a nuanced Mormon, so everything I say has to be taken with a grain of salt. I had the audacity to be wearing pants as well, which would have turned off a large percentage of the room from listening to anything I had to say in the first place anyway.

But then I started thinking. What if I hadn't run away from the Bishop in the lobby. What if I had been willing to engage in a conversation in which I reported my dislike for Relief Society and the general attitude of helpless, never-good-enough weeping that goes on in there, and how soul crushing that is for this little feminist, wishing she had a place to worship her God in Happy Heaven.

If the Bishop had been in Relief Society, if the Bishop had stated my comment, would they have listened? Would they have taken it seriously? Would they have been a little more optimistic? Naturally, this resulted in my grumping about the fact that women's voices aren't taken as seriously as men's voices, but then I realized... perhaps it's not men versus women. Perhaps it's just the fact that I don't have a calling worth listening to, like the Bishop does.

Because authority. Mormons love it. We love to listen to people in authority. There are plenty of prophets' quotes encouraging us to find truth wherever it is to be found, but I know from personal experience that teaching the principles of Zoroastrianism will never get you quite as far as a prophet quote saying the same thing would in a Mormon congregation. Mormons hunger for men in suits and ties to teach them what to think, say, and do.

That's a broad stereotype. I'm aware. But it also makes sense. The Church teaches the value placed on authority - priesthood authorities passed down in unbroken chains linked back up with Christ Himself, through the Restoration. Other apostles making statements such as, "When the prophet speaks, the debate is over." Or "It is my province to teach to the Church what the doctrine is. It is your province to echo what I say or to remain silent.”

I, personally, disagree with these statements, but the cultural attitudes are still ingrained there for many. Most have not deliberately thought about it, to be honest. They reside in a culture that works well for them. The authority teaches something that makes sense and is comfortable for them, and so they continue their appeals to authority, and they are happy, not having to do the uncomfortable emotional work of digging into what they actually believe, and acting on it, even if it rubs some the wrong way.

Surely, however, I didn't just describe you. No, never. Right?

That's what they all say.

Stanley Milgram conducted an experiment in 1961, studying obedience to authority. With the Holocaust on his mind, he wanted to know if it could reasonably be said that the Nazis of Germany were simply following orders. Could people genuinely harm and kill others, simply because they were following the orders of authority? Or rather, should they all be deemed to be accomplices?

If you're not familiar with the experiment, it's quite intense. Summarized: 

"At the beginning of the experiment, they were introduced to another participant, who was a confederate of the experimenter (Milgram). 

They drew straws to determine their roles – learner or teacher – although this was fixed and the confederate was always the learner. There was also an “experimenter” dressed in a gray lab coat, played by an actor (not Milgram).

Two rooms in the Yale Interaction Laboratory were used - one for the learner (with an electric chair) and another for the teacher and experimenter with an electric shock generator.

The “learner” (Mr. Wallace) was strapped to a chair with electrodes. After he has learned a list of word pairs given him to learn, the "teacher" tests him by naming a word and asking the learner to recall its partner/pair from a list of four possible choices.

The teacher is told to administer an electric shock every time the learner makes a mistake, increasing the level of shock each time. There were 30 switches on the shock generator marked from 15 volts (slight shock) to 450 (danger – severe shock).

The learner gave mainly wrong answers (on purpose), and for each of these, the teacher gave him an electric shock. When the teacher refused to administer a shock, the experimenter was to give a series of orders/prods to ensure they continued.

There were four prods and if one was not obeyed, then the experimenter (Mr. Williams) read out the next prod, and so on.

Prod 1: Please continue.

Prod 2: The experiment requires you to continue.

Prod 3: It is absolutely essential that you continue.

Prod 4: You have no other choice but to continue."

So what happened?

It was predicted that no more than 3 out of every 100 participants would deliver the maximum shock. 

In reality, 65% of participants in Milgram's study delivered the maximum shock. 

Milgrim summed up the findings in a wonderful way:

'The legal and philosophic aspects of obedience are of enormous import, but they say very little about how most people behave in concrete situations. 

I set up a simple experiment at Yale University to test how much pain an ordinary citizen would inflict on another person simply because he was ordered to by an experimental scientist.

Stark authority was pitted against the subjects’ [participants’] strongest moral imperatives against hurting others, and, with the subjects’ [participants’] ears ringing with the screams of the victims, authority won more often than not.

The extreme willingness of adults to go to almost any lengths on the command of an authority constitutes the chief finding of the study and the fact most urgently demanding explanation.'

That is terrifying, and not something I would say happens in Relief Society on a regular basis. That is not at all what I am trying to get at. 

What I want to get at is peace. What kind of authority figure does it take for someone to allow themselves to be at peace? 

I inserted several pictures of one of the participants of Milgram's study. He was someone who was obviously VERY uncomfortable with what he was being asked to do. But he did it anyway. The videos made of this study are painful to watch. I'd highly recommend them! Men squirming in their seats. Turning around, begging the authority to listen to the screams of the man in the next room. Then, when simply told, "The experiment requires you to continue." they did. Because the man sitting at the table behind them was wearing a white lab coat, and looked like he knew what he was talking about.

What do we know about God? We know that God loves us, and wants us to return. We know that God loves everyone else, too. We know that God knows us better than we know ourselves. We know that God created a plan, a plan that would help us progress through mortality, using our imperfections to learn how to better ourselves and make ourselves into holier people. But mostly, we should trust on God's love.

I would postulate, for our purposes, that the man in the chair being shocked, and the man in the chair doing the shocking, could be the exact same person.

What kind of authority does it take for us to allow ourselves to be at peace? 

"Be still and know that I am God." is a powerful Bible verse. It's the Bible verse that encouraged my mother to finally get baptized. But "be still" doesn't mean "be quiet." It means "let go." Let go of your pain, let go of your self-flagellation, let go of your fretting about your imperfections, and know that God is God, and God knows what to do with you. Every little thing you screw up, God's got a plan for it, and it's okay to let go, have a little faith, and find peace.

Too often, in our church, it's easier to consult the suits and ties, and see them as our authorities. We listen to them, because it's easier than listening to a still small voice. I'm not saying our church leaders are bad. Not at all. But God is far more timely, and knows what you need to know in that moment, whereas the assigned talk for RS that week doesn't know what you need like you and God do. 

Too often I see women beating themselves up over their imperfections, because that's what they think the authorities want them to do - constant vigilance and perfectionism - because some scriptures and some talks say that's what you're supposed to do. But those scriptures and those talks directly contradict the talks that tell us to find joy, to be still, to have faith and hope. How are we to know what is truth?

They both are. They're both true. You're supposed to try harder to be a kind person, and ALSO, you're supposed to calm down and recognize your own nothingness, and isn't that grand?! Don't just listen to the authority that tells you to have a hard time. You have to listen to the authority that also tells you to rejoice and have peace.

I'll never be an authority. First off, I'm a woman. Second off, I'm a sinner. Third off, I'll never have plastic surgery. (Don't tell the general church ladies I said that!!) Fourth off, I make judgmental comments like that to make sure I'll never get in. But I'll never be in a position of authority in this Church, which is fine with me. I don't want that kind of responsibility. 

But even though I'm not an authority figure, I hope someone is willing to listen to me say, anyway, that the authority figure who knows you best, who you should always listen to first, is God. 

And that's why I skipped Relief Society on Sunday. Sorry Bishop.

The Rich Young Ruler

I've found myself pondering on the story from the Bible, of the Rich Young Ruler. It's possible that my son and I had a conversation in which the body language looked very much like the famous artwork depicting the Bible story. ("Do you see that your brother is crying? Do you think you should ask him if he's okay?")

At any rate, it got me thinking about it.

The story of the Rich Young Ruler is found in three of the four gospels, as well as the apocryphal text "Gospel of Hebrews." It was apparently an important enough incident to reference multiple times. Each of the traditional three tellings are also extremely similar - a few changes in words, a few details added here and there, but overall, the message is the same.

The rich young ruler approaches Christ, and asks what he must do to inherit eternal life. Christ reviews the commandments with him. This rich young ruler states that he has done those things. He has kept the commandments. The Gospel of Mark, at this point, adds a detail the others do not. Verse 21 reads, "Jesus, looking at him, loved him..."

Here we have a young man who has kept the commandments. Rather than a "rich young man," could we not call him a "righteous" young man? (We obviously don't, cause the Bible's full of those, and it would be hard to know what righteous man people were talking about.) But for the sake of my telling, I'm going to call him the righteous young man, because it makes him real. It helps us see why Jesus loved him.

Of all the people to seek out to ask a question of the soul to, this young man finds Christ. Mark additionally adds the detail that the young man "ran up and knelt before Him." This young man knows who has the words of eternal life. He is going to the correct source to find knowledge and an answer to the question that matters the absolute most. "What must I do to inherit eternal life?" This is a RIGHTEOUS, discerning man, who genuinely cares about doing what is right.

It's easy to love him. Jesus loved him. Something in this righteous young man's eyes when he reported that he had kept all the commandments since his youth, and still wanted to know what more he could do, made him lovable. Perhaps it was his sincerity.

Christ's answer to this young man was not what he expected, however. "You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me."

The young man goes away grieving, and Christ's disciples are a little freaked out. "Greatly astounded," would be the translation the Bible likes, but my interpretation is "freaked out." This righteous young man who has kept the commandments all of his life walks away, obviously bummed. Something about the way he walked away likely made it clear that he had no intention of following Christ's suggestion. Did he let out an almighty "Pffff!" and roll his eyes? Or was it an "Ugh..." with a casual shoulder shrug and slinking away embarrassed that he'd even asked? Something about his walking away made the disciples who watched become "astounded."

Christ speaks, telling His disciples that it is "easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God." Perhaps he mutters this, still watching this righteous young man trudging away, kicking the dirt up at his feet.

The astounded disciples ask Christ, "Then who can be saved?" If a righteous young man who has kept the commandments his entire life is not on the "saved" boat, how does a former tax collector for the Romans stand a chance, they wondered. Is ANYONE going to be saved, if not this righteous kid?

Verse 26 reads, "But Jesus looked at them and said, "For mortals it is impossible, but for God all things are possible."

The disciples, ever worried about their own standing in heaven, begin to worry about their own treasures and repayment for their worldly sacrifices in the eternities, but you can pretty much end the story here. The rest of Christ's words are for the disciples. This is the end of the story for the Righteous Young Man, however.

Often, when we talk about this story, we like to focus on the camel bit - the riches bit. It is difficult for rich people to make it to Heaven, we tell each other. Perhaps to fit the camel through the needle, you discuss the need to unburden the camel of its load, so it can kneel and fit through the needle - which is, in fact, a door. You talk about this at length - the symbolism of unloading money off your back so you can be humble enough to get to heaven, despite being rich.

But I think we focus on this one righteous young man's weakness so much that we fail to recognize that the one thing this young man lacked might not be the thing that we lack. We might, in fact, lack something else. Focusing on the difficulties of riches, we have missed a very important message.

Christ's ultimate suggestion, for this young man, was to "come, follow me." Getting rid of his riches was just the one thing that would have prevented him from following Christ. This man was righteous. Money (and likely position) was the only thing stopping him from fully committing his life to following Christ. But his trials do not represent all of our trials?

I've been asking myself what it is that stops me from committing my life, wholly, to following Christ, and being a true disciple of Him. I don't think I'm doing half bad, to be honest. I don't have major sins, and like the righteous young man, I think, with a little pondering, I could answer that I have kept the commandments. (I might say, "And repented when I haven't," but God's already forgiven those.) For a lot of us, we're really not doing half bad, if you look at it sincerely.

I mentioned that this account is also given in the apocryphal Gospel of Hebrews. It's pretty much the same, with some more specific chastisement about the man not using his riches to help those dying of hunger. The question that the righteous young man asks of the Savior is different, however, and I love it. He doesn't ask what he must do to have eternal life. In the Gospel of Hebrews he asks, "What good thing must I do really to live?"

What stops ME from living? What stops ME from experiencing the freedom, peace, and power that comes from truly living in Christ? What lack I yet?

Loving to Death

With the April General Conference fast approaching, the Mormons are in a fervor. The prophet announced in October that this would be a special General Conference, commemorating the 200th anniversary of Joseph Smith Jr's First Vision. He said this upcoming conference would be "different from any previous conference." It won't even be at the Conference Center. In a recent email to leaders, the prophet explained, "This is a hinge point in the history of the Church, and your part is vital."

What is up with all of the climactic expressions? The speculations are killing some of us. And not in a good way.

I'm super grumpy about all of it. I'm grumpy about all the hype. There's nothing wrong with being excited about General Conference. Truly, being excited to learn more about Jesus is a great thing. But I don't believe this hype is exclusively about Jesus. This hype doesn't feel like it's about God.

This hype feels like it's about Joseph Smith Jr and his personal First Vision experience. This hype is Church-focused - a hype exclusively to our "religion." It's excitement, bearing testimony about a man and his journey. It's hype about history, instead of the present. I still hold out hope that they might be able to redeem this - that they might be able to turn this around and focus on personal revelation, but with the setting, timing, and previous statements, there's gonna be a lot of hype about Joseph Smith Jr before we get to the more pertinent message of personal revelation, and personal communication with God, for ourselves.

Why does this offend? Why does this make me grumpy? Because I don't worship men.

Now, this isn't a feminist, gendered statement. It's a statement about mortality versus immortality, and I think that I'm in good company with my concern. The Church website, itself, has a section of scriptural references on the subject of "Trust Not in the Arm of Flesh."

"Cease ye from man, whose breath is in his nostrils."

"Cursed be the man that trusteth in man, and maketh flesh his arm"

"have no confidence in the flesh,"

"I will not put my trust in the arm of flesh"

"Cursed is he that putteth his trust in man,"

Et cetera. 

I love the Bible. I love scriptures. So you can see why I have a hard time with prophet worship. Because that's what this is. All the hype about the Sacred Grove, Joseph Smith Jr, even the Church's purchasing and offering tours of the original Smith farm as they do, that is what this is. It's prophet worship. Joseph was a man, like you or me. (Well, not me. I am, in fact, a lady.) 

Joseph Smith Jr was a human. He was a deeply flawed human being, and my recognition, understanding, and forgiveness of that very mortality is one of the key reasons I am able to remain an active member of this Church. Because if Joseph Smith Jr truly is someone we worship, while at the same time not worshiping ALL of God's children for their divine potentials, we have a serious problem. We have raised Joseph Smith, a man, to the level of being, somehow, divine. 

I know. He said he'd done more for mankind than anyone other than Jesus. He said a lot of things. He said a lot of "never to be humble" things. And frankly, he was wrong about a lot of them. It's history. Study it. It's a novel concept, I know. Joseph Smith Jr had his own personality, weaknesses, and not everything he said or did was perfect. (Don't let that destroy your faith now.)

I was recently listening to the First Vision podcast put out by the Church. (I appreciate the frankness that this podcast has shown, and their willingness to look at the different accounts of the vision.) One thing, in the 6th part of the podcast, stuck out to me. They were talking about how the Sacred Grove came to be a tourist attraction, frankly. They talked about how they nourished that grove. If limbs fell from the trees, they cleaned them up. They kept things tidy, manicured and cared for as well as any park. However, in the 1990's they had to hire a forester for advice on how to help the struggling vegetation. 

The forester's report was simple. "You are loving this place to death."

The podcast continued: "Let nature take its course in the grove. All those dead limbs, and all those leaves remain in place where they fall. They will, in turn, return nutrients to the ground, which will then support the trees in their growth."

The concept of loving the Sacred Grove to death whispered some truth to me. To me, it summed up perfectly what I see happening in the Church's worship of their history. The Church holds up its past like a holy relic - all of it divine, pure, and inspired. Their white-washed teachings and worship of their history and historical leaders will, inevitably, be proven wrong. (Because people, even prophets, will never be perfect.) 

That sort of worship becomes quite rigid, quite black and white. It is truth or it is false. You see this in the culture of the Church today. Disagreements will damn you with the harshest of judgments. History books are literally labeled as "anti-Mormon literature." So when these historical oppositions come, rigid things break. Your prophet made mistakes you didn't know about? NOTHING you thought can be true. Joseph Smith Jr was not actually 100% divine? Then everything he touched becomes tainted by his mortality, and all of it is false. 

This is often why people leave the Church. Seriously. This is it. People discover some true aspect of history about a prophet or an event. It's usually something that was never talked about, which may have even been labeled as "anti-Mormon." When they discover these ugly, mortal parts of our history, it shatters their perfect illusions of every aspect of the Restoration, ESPECIALLY when the Church or its leaders turns around and pretends that they'd been teaching these things all along, or continues to teach these mortal errors as divine or inspired, the imperfect implications about eternity and God be damned. 

Time and time again, in my faith journey, God has whispered to me that, "The truth is in the middle." Not everything about the Church and its narrative is good. But not everything is bad, either. God may be black and white, but mortals are not. Mortals are very very grey - both good and evil in one. Because our past, because our Church, because our lives are made up of mortals, all of it will be grey. The truth of our history is grey. It is in the middle. Joseph Smith Jr was not perfect, because he was human. But that doesn't mean he was evil, either. He was as human as you or me - as prone to sin and mistakes, and as prone to desires to do good as us. He was a generous disciple who helped people, and wanted to know God. He was also a little conceited and full of himself, God bless him. 

Because Joseph was a mortal and because we have different First Vision accounts, my feelings about the First Vision are mixed. I believe many of the things that Joseph Smith taught. I truly do believe that Joseph had some kind of experience with divinity in that grove. I do. But I also understand why that might be hard for others to believe, again, because Joseph was mortal and prone to exaggeration at times in his life. 

The current Church narrative about the First Vision comes from his third telling of his vision, which Joseph gave at a very frustrating, angry time in his history. (You can hear this in the podcast I mentioned earlier. You don't have to dig into the "anti-Mormon" history books. Church approved!) The intro to this third telling describes that Joseph was giving this particular account because he had something to prove. Not exactly my preferred telling. I prefer his first account of the vision, written very introspectively, in his own hand, in his own diary, with a lot of thought. It is the most personal account, and the account that I find myself believing in the most. You can argue all of them are true. Certainly you can. But you can also argue the opposite, that none of them were. This is, what we call, a grey area. Because Joseph was only human.

But does the fact that I believe in the first First Vision account, and you believe in the third First Vision account mean that we are irreparably different? Not at all. You will find that we both believe in Christ. We both believe in the Plan of Salvation. We both believe in the GOSPEL.

Which is why the Church's decision to focus on the First Vision, with its traditional, unchanging, always inspired and authoritative narrative this upcoming Conference is, by its very nature, so dividing. A friend put it very well:

"Is there room for those of us who aren't overwhelmed by this story? Is there any level of acceptance for even a bit of skepticism? Honestly, do you really want ME? Not just my butt in a pew on Sunday and a vacuum in my hand on Saturday, but do you want me, my skepticism, my hope, my doubts, and my convictions?"

Hype about the First Vision naturally excludes those who doubt, are skeptical, or have questions. I'm grumpy about the hype for this upcoming General Conference because I see it as creating further unnecessary rifts and divides between those who question - who have beliefs and unbeliefs - and those who happily embrace the Church's narrative.

Recognizing that Joseph Smith was human and may have made mistakes requires some religious humility. But humility makes you flexible. It might not look as pretty or authoritative as a black and white picture, or a manicured grove, but the humility required to be honest and vulnerable, the willingness to humbly see the uncertainties, with all their fallen branches and leaves, will help foster true, honest growth. In trees and people. 

Us Versus Them

The last few days have had turmoil. Brother set against brother, kind of turmoil. Bible versus flung back and forth, justifications and accusations, with rebuttals and more justifications. It's the news that broke as a whistleblower reported that the Church has $100 Billion dollars it's been sitting on, either legally or illegally un-taxed is still up for debate. It's been a grand old time for a fence sitter.

Why do I call myself a fence sitter? Because I am. On most issues, generally, I am. This happens because I believe that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is the church that God is choosing to work with at this time, in restoring doctrines and principles to bring souls back to God. I believe this because of spiritual direction. No facts or figures to prove it. Just feelings.

But I'm also well-versed in those facts and figures. I know the darkest pits of our Church's history and present. I've made it a point to know, again, because I have felt those spiritual promptings and direction TO know. Learn everything I can. There have been moments where I have fallen to my knees in tears and pleaded with the Lord to help me. "God, I feel like I know too much to ever be happy again! Am I wrong? What can I do to feel peace about this?" God quietly, lovingly directed me to stand back up, pick up that history book, and keep reading. Because what God wants me to do isn't slide happily through life. What God wants me to do is have knowledge. God wants me to know the good from the evil, with all the joy and pain and grey area that accompanies it.

So here I am, playing referee to both sides, trying to take a stand for truth where I see it.

It's messy. It's super, super messy. Made messier by the fact that I'm not supremely eloquent. Made messier by the fact that I am a red personality type who doesn't run from fights, and can often let my emotions and anger get the better of me. I speak when, as Christ taught, sometime's it's smarter to say nothing and doodle on the ground instead. I'm still trying to figure out that lesson. So I'm sorry. And forgive me. Chances are, you're a red personality type too, and we're both trying to figure out this "peacemaker" quality together, am I right? Friends?

I said I have anger. Why is that? Because I have a fundamental human need to feel like I belong, and it's not being met. At church on Sunday, someone made a comment along the lines of feeling so sorry for those who question the church, because they don't know anything, and they've lost everything. It's very lonely to have someone say that.

Why? Because the implication is that I am dumber then them. The implication is that I am pitiful, someone to be felt sorry for, and potentially, that I have no reason to live. Frankly, I didn't feel like I deserved any of that. I think I'm pretty smart, I think I have a pretty great life, and I think that God and I are both pretty proud of me for being a good listener to divine instruction, and for doing what I feel is right. Again, I can't prove that to you, it's just the spiritual directions and feelings I've been given.

I cannot prove to you that God loves me. I cannot prove to you what God tells me. I cannot pull out a whiteboard and sketch out a lifetime's worth of promptings and directions, and present a numerical value or percentage on just how "right" I am, or how "on the path" I am. My salvation is between me and God. But I know where I am, and I know how I feel. And right now, I'm in the right place and doing well. (Still working on that anger thing, and speaking without thinking, along with pride and a couple other sins like sugar, eye-rolling, and catastrophizing.)

I know I'm not the only person who has felt this way. I know I'm not the only person who has felt lonely this way because I talk to a lot of people in a lot of different places inside of the Church. Because, contrary to popular belief, the Church is not a "You're in or you're out," kind of place. That's black and white thinking, and is not actually how God works. God doesn't consider us as boxes to be checked, dates to be entered for a particular ordinance, etc. It's not so simple. (Unless you're dead, in which case, it is that simple in the temple. Though I'm certain it's not so black and white on the other side of the veil.)

There are so many places a person can be, in the Church. You can be a TBM - or Traditional Believing Mormon - someone who accepts everything: history, doctrine and all. A TBM strives to check all the worthiness boxes, and meet and follow all the outlined goals. You can be a Questioner, like myself - someone who looks at what is taught and has questions through all of it, judging the fallibility of doctrines, histories, and practices.  A Questioner strives to find and act on the truth, even if it disagrees with the authority. You can be a Doubter - someone who doesn't believe in the history of the Church, or any of it's authoritative claims.

Any given Sunday, all three types of Mormons are present in your meetings. (Yes, I said "Mormons." How very Questioner of me.) I would argue there are a TON of them present, mostly Questioners. Questioners are the ones who keep saying "Mormon." They're the ones that don't believe Polygamy was ever divinely inspired, for whatever reason. They're the ones who argue and debate that science has found nothing wrong with tea, or that a glass of wine has been proven to assist in heart health. They're THAT guy. Yep, sometimes they're annoying. But most of the time they look just like the rest of you, and the only difference is what's in their head.

Are there really Doubters at church, you might ask? Absolutely. They're the people that attend church with their families because "that's what you do," or because they or someone else in the family has a calling, and they don't want to be an embarrassment to themselves or others. They attend because they like the social aspects, basic morality, and have friends. They attend because they are afraid that if they leave, somehow their lives will suffer or fall apart, and their kids will turn into prostitutes and drug dealers. Because that's what happens when you leave the church. That's just a fact. Or perhaps they are afraid of what others will think, and how others will treat them.

Surely Mormons wouldn't treat them differently! Right? Surely Mormons wouldn't think ill of people who choose not to belong to the church anymore, right?

Wrong. Dead wrong.

I'm a Questioner and a fence-sitter by definition because of it, and I have friends in both worlds. Saying there is pain is an understatement. As one friend put it:

"I think leaving the church there’s a lot of grief and hurt involved. On the one hand you’re dealing with the grief of losing your faith, or feeling conned, or feeling like your life’s been a lie, and that comes with a lot of hurt. But then there’s the secondary aspect of how people are treating you, and misunderstanding you, and judging you. And it can be really really upsetting, and cause a lot of anger to come out. I think that’s why you see some of that from the ex-Mormon community. It’s because they’re hurting. I think both sides are hurting."

This friend told me that I was the only person that reached out to them after they left the church. I was the only one willing to sit down with them and listen to their story, their experience, and what they went through to get where they are today.

Perhaps because we're afraid. It's very easy to imagine that people who leave the church leave because they learned "the secret," that, if spoken, would wipe out all of Mormon civilization. Members would drop like flies into the void and abyss called "Faithless." We'd all die. The end. Chaotic, existential nihilism. We talked about it like that on my mission. "They got 'anti-ed.'"

It's not so simple. From the many people I know who have left the church, their experiences are all different. Some have felt God direct them in it, giving them promptings that they would learn more about God and be happier if they left. Others leave because they hear nothing - no revelation or answers from God at all about any of it.

Certainly there are those who leave because of history. That does happen. I know those people too. But there are plenty more who stay despite knowing the history, myself included. 

Why do we treat those who don't believe like us differently? Why do we judge them? How do we misunderstand them? What is the solution to this? How can we help everyone feel that they belong?

Friends that I have talked to have different opinions, and I have my own. My opinion as that Mormons tend to see themselves as "Us," and those who don't believe in the Church as "Them."

It's very easy to do. Sometimes broad stereotypes like this are very helpful. Team sports? Definitely helpful to have an "us" vs "them," mentality, if the objective of the game is to win. I fear, however, that the Church has created a culture that has this same perspective. For us, winning is having the "true doctrines," or the "authority." In our minds, these things are necessary to get back to heaven through that straight and narrow way, without falling into the darkness or Great and Spacious building.

I argue, that the rod in our imagery is The Word of God. It's the Scriptures. It's revelation. It's what leads us to Christ. That was the missionary objective - Invite others to come unto Christ. I have at least two friends who have left the church who speak fondly of memories of their mission - not because of bringing people into the church, but because of the experiences they had of bringing others closer to God, and Christ. They still feel the truth and goodness of that experience, as not believing in the authority of the Church has done nothing to their relationship and faith in God.

I know. I can feel it. You're raising that index finger and pointedly trying to find the right opening in which you can remind me that we DO believe in authority. Can I address this concern? That finger? Yes, that index finger and the attitude of raising it in correction before I've even finished what I'm saying is the concern, and is often the concern of those who Question or Doubt.

In college the book The Lost Art of Listening was a required text for us social workers. Listening is vital, if you're going to be in a helping profession. It's something most people don't know how to do. We listen until we hear the bit that speaks to us, or that we want to respond to, and we start trying to fix the problem, without hearing the end of it.

I went to the InstaCare a couple weeks ago. My left arm felt WRONG. It felt tingly, and I was scared, frankly, that I was having a heart attack at the ripe old age of thirty. Yep. Thirty. That was how it was going to end - two small toddlers, and I was gonna die before I even finished potty training. I had some reasonable doubts about this, however, as I'd had a similar feeling in the past, which had gone away eventually, but I still had just enough worry to get it checked out. I went in, and explained my symptoms. My left arm felt WEIRD, and my heart was pounding. (I was nervous.) The assistant was raising a nervous eyebrow as she took my vitals, until finally, she deduced, I likely wasn't having a heart attack. Turns out, I'd slept on a new pillow funny, and was having some compression in my neck on the nerves to my arm. Muscle relaxants and an anti-inflammatory for a week, and I was feeling much better.

I was very grateful that she had listened to me explain, "But I don't think it's a heart attack." She could have simply heard, "Left arm weird." and demand I head to the ER, because they don't take care of heart attacks at the InstaCare. Because she listened to me instead of brushing off my concern as "not her problem," I saved a bunch of money in bills, and got drugs that solved my problem right then and there.

We can do the same for those who differ in their beliefs with the Church. I have heard many, MANY stories by those who, in meetings with leadership or Bishops, express a doubt or a difference of opinion. Without caring to know ANYTHING else about the belief, the situation, the human behind the belief, or the reason, people with differences have been released from callings, threatened with discipline, or outright yelled at.

I posted that article the other day, about the Church and their $100 Billion in savings. In my heart and through my firm belief in Christ and the Bible, I disagree with the Church on this savings, and feel spiritually right in doing so. Frankly, it made me feel some righteous anger, and I posted it without thinking about how it would affect others. (Because I'm brash. Because I'm not perfect. But it's the same weakness ascribed to Joseph Smith Jr, so I'm in good company?)

I was told by many that I couldn't possibly be right for feeling as I do, because, they assured, the answer was found in "trusting the prophet," and "having faith." Another literally just recommended, in harsh terms, "For someone who feels so consistently negative about the church, have you thought about just leaving?"

Does this help me come closer to Christ? No. Does it make me feel like I am welcome at Church? Absolutely no. Because this is what misunderstanding and judging looks like, and it's what those who have different beliefs than Traditional Believing Mormons receive when they state their differences. They have not attempted to listen, or created an environment in which people would even begin to feel comfortable expressing themselves. As a friend with different beliefs in the Church noted:

“People will just tear you apart before they will question the Church, all in the name of love, of course. That's one of the reasons I don't like to say things. Cause people are vicious.

And they’re not going to understand. I don’t expect to be understood.

Mormons expect to be persecuted. They expect people to be constantly searching for corruption, or trying to expose something, and so a lot of times disagreeing plays into the narrative, and only reinforces their beliefs and their sense of “rightness,” because that’s what they expect to happen.

It plays to their expectations, and so they just kind of dismiss you, and write you off as just another grumpy dissenter who lost their way.

It’s just really really hard to get through to people, and help them see outside the box a little bit."

It's important to listen to people. Who are they? Where have they been? Why might they feel the way they feel? Could you ask them about that? Listen, without assuming that what is true or right for you is true or right for everyone. 

Because people disagree. It happens all the time in life, including in the Church. On a LOT of issues. Partly because God works with each of us a little differently, because God knows us! Sometimes because different experiences give different perspectives. Sometimes, people might even disagree on the issue of the Church having authority, which is pretty important for many, and that's okay, BECAUSE JESUS. 

The most beautiful truth I know, not just because I have been told it, but because I have felt it, is that God loves everyone. Everyone. Not just Us. Not NOT Them. Everyone. 

One friend who left the Church told me that after he had made his decision to leave, through much time, prayer, and study, he had a wonderful experience. After making his decision one morning he walked into work, and saw all the people around him. He felt that warm, spiritual confirmation that he and all of his coworkers were the same. All of them. He recognized that while he had been in the Church, he had felt a barrier between him and everyone else. When he left, he realized there had never been a barrier there at all. Because to God, we are all the same.

There's no need to create barriers. In an earlier post I wrote about a dream I was given about a wall, and the interpretation I was given was that as members of the Church we often create a wall between "believers" and everyone else. There is no wall. Our differences are not as big a deal as you feel they might be. The first great commandment is to love God. The second is like unto it. Love your neighbor. All of the law and the prophets hang on these two commandments. If Christ can raise up seed unto Abraham from stones, He can take care of your authority concerns. Have a little faith. You focus on the love bit. 

My wish is that the Church will become a place of love. It's not, for many. For many it's a place of judgement and feeling that they don't belong. There's a reason Alma encouraged his priests to preach nothing save it were repentance and faith on the Lord. (Mosiah 18:20) Because we can all do better, and with Christ, everyone belongs.

We need to watch the judgments we make either out-loud, or privately in our hearts. We need to make sure that we are listening to people that we disagree with, and providing a little room for empathy, love, and understanding, even if you'll never agree. Learn to view yourself as a child of God, literally just like everyone else. Make your love unconditional. Give it freely. 

The Foundational Charge

There's something about knowing - Something about seeing And understanding. You look at a person and you know The past, the effects, the reasons. To study the man in all his result, To view him as bare skin and bone. The study of it sings to you And as with Siren, you are drawn in. Is it to manipulate factors, To teach the studied impulses? These things that come so naturally to some Can be written and dissected, Brought to sheer basics and fact. Man is made man As we teach him the dream of the masses. The broke can be soldered As with heat and with iron. This is the path. This is the way. Your movements bespeak your history And I understand you, Better than even science can know. 

I wrote this poem when I was working out of the Emergency Room as a Patient Advocate for mental health patients. I had been pondering on my job as a social worker, and what it was about my job that I loved so much.

I realized that what I loved was that social work is all about finding what makes people tick. What is it that makes people who they are. What is it that makes people do what they do, and how, as a social worker, you can assist in shaping incorrect assumptions or fears, and redirect people into living happier, more functional lives. But in order to do that, you ask questions. Question after question after question, challenging assertions and digging deeper and deeper until you figure out THE ISSUE. Oftentimes buried deeply beneath poor coping mechanisms and years of baggage, you figure it out.

It's fairly safe to say that it's usually pain. There's been pain somewhere. Pain in the way an authority talked to them, and how they viewed themselves. Pain in the way they were treated. Sometimes false negative assumptions are formed. Sometimes coping mechanisms shut them off from potential relationships, out of fear. It's fear of something. I argue it's usually fear or avoidance of pain, both physical, social, spiritual, mental, etc.

Everyone experiences pain. Everyone. There's the old adage, or meme, that you should be kind to mothers of toddlers because you don't know how many times they've been screamed at already today. I would argue it's safe to remind that we should be kind to EVERYONE, because everyone experiences pain, and you don't know what pain they've experienced already.

In looking at my own life, and at my own day-to-day, I've come to slowly recognize that truth. ANY human behavior has a reason. I'm not so much a cynic that I believe people only do good things to avoid punishment, or pain, in the eternities, but I would argue most negative behaviors are responses to pain. I yell at my children because of my own pain, be it feeling unappreciated, overwhelmed with tasks, or otherwise. My children similarly misbehave due to their own pains, be it feeling powerless, hungry and tired, or pure and simple afraid of something.

You can expand this as far as you'd like. It's what social workers do. But most people, with the exception of the pure and simple sociopaths, have pure intentions, and any harms they commit are usually poor responses to their own deeper pains. (But frankly, even in the case of the fictional sociopath The Joker, we don't know where he got his scars.)

You could argue that if no one ever felt pain ever, humanity would be a different place - a place of kindness and understanding. But it wouldn't be one of growth, because it's through our struggling that we learn. It's through these painful, individual pasts that we are able to teach each other, learn empathy, and become more like God.

There's a reason that the first covenant we make with God is to mourn with those that mourn, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort. Because most of the ills of the world come from places of pain, people will always need comfort, and the empathetic mourning of one who is able to walk in the other's shoes, and experience sorrow as the other experiences it, even if they don't agree. This first, foundational covenant has the ability to remove so much of what is wrong in the world.

We mourn with those that mourn when we listen to their experiences without judgement. We comfort when we are present, accepting the individual themselves, without demanding immediate change in their broken hearts. We mourn when we can set aside our own beliefs and agendas to focus, instead, on another's concern, without daydreaming of correctional statements to respond to them with. We comfort when we are able to see another's suffering and accept that their suffering is real, and we do something to alleviate that real suffering, without judgement.

We covenant to mourn with those that mourn, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort. There is no covenant to mourn with those that follow God and live a lifestyle worthy of God's highest blessings. There is no covenant to comfort only those that have done nothing to bring pain upon themselves. This foundational charge is one that gives no room for individual, mortal judgments. In this covenant of mourning and comforting, the stipulation to "judge not" holds firm. You mourn empathetically. You comfort through pain and sadness. You reach outwards and prioritize the other's pain through THEIR experience.

Even if you think you know better. Even if you think they should do something differently. Even if you think they've done this to themselves. Even if you think they deserve it. Even if you think their pain isn't valid. Take a step back, and ask the questions. Be willing to take the time. Because no one is the antagonist in their own story. Because no one is a fool. Because no one deliberately chooses to hurt. Because people are inherently worth your effort and love.

General Conference for a Grumpy Mormon

When I moved to this new city in which I live, I introduced myself to the Relief Society Presidency as being a "grumpy" Mormon. I hold an active temple recommend. I read and pray and attend church weekly. By all accounts, I'm in line. Yet I'm grumpy. I disagree with policies and culture. None of these things are doctrine, so I'm not going to Hell over this, don't worry. (Trick statement! We don't even believe in Hell, and if we do, it's only reserved for Sons of Perdition. Doctrinally, prophets past have disagreed with each other on if women are even capable of being Sons of Perdition, but at any rate, I don't believe I'm in that kind of danger.)

General Conference has, statistically, been difficult for me. Oh, I watch all five sessions every conference, including Priesthood session. (If Hank Smith can watch the Women's Conference and tweet on it, I can watch his.) But it's difficult for me. There are a lot of cultural things, and though it may make me unpopular to say it, I often come away with a "least favorite talk," where I get to rant about how I disagree with the image the church is trying to portray for itself, and about how we would be better Christians if we cared less about this that or the other, etc, etc.

But I started into it today with an open mind, ready to be enlightened. My spiritual answer to the question in my heart came early - right at the beginning of the first talk. Elder Holland quoted a story from the Bible.

Luke 18:35-42
As He approached Jericho, a blind man was sitting by the roadside begging.
When he heard a crowd going by, he asked what was happening.
The told him, "Jesus of Nazareth is passing by."
Then he shouted, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!"
Those who were in front sternly ordered him to be quiet; but he shouted even more loudly, "Son of David, have mercy on me!"
Jesus stood still and ordered the man to be brought to him; and when he came near, He asked him, "What do you want me to do for you?" He said, "Lord, let me see again."
Jesus said to him, "Receive your sight; your faith has saved you."

Elder Holland took this story, and extrapolated that it was nice the blind man surrounded himself with people who would help him. That was not at all the message I got from the reading, where people were sternly telling this blind man to shut up and stop embarrassing everybody.

No, the answer I got came to me straight in the heart.

God knows that I am a grumpy Mormon. I would argue that He loves me for it, because my grumpiness is the grumpiness of someone wanting to aim higher. God's voice speaks the loudest to me when I'm grumpy - giving me snippets of insight and truth as I struggle with the mortality surrounding me.

Today God whispered to me that I am the blind man. So when I start up my embarrassing yelling - my grumping and disagreements, don't worry about the people shushing all around me. Yell out the louder. Because I want God to work His miracles. I want to see God's truth reflected in this church with these very eyes of my own, not the eyes of my grandchildren, long after I am gone. So God whispered peace to me, a kind assurance of, "Keep grumping. Don't keep quiet. Don't let yourself get pressured into thinking that you can't ask for these miracles. Yell louder."

Time is Running Out

Today's Relief Society lesson was on Sustaining our Faith - including sustaining our leadership. This is something that was hard for me, once upon a time, until I realized that sustaining doesn't mean agreeing with everything 100%. You can sustain them and still imagine what you would do differently. Sustaining means defending, supporting, and helping them continue to carry out their role.

Today was also a hard day for me, though, as yet another friend of mine posted on Facebook their decision to leave the church. It's an odd, complex series of emotions, when someone you love wants to leave the church. There are a lot of complications. First, there's that sadness you feel, because you wish that they were still "with" you, on that same team of belief. There's sadness if you have a testimony of the covenants and authority of the church, because you now have room for worry and concern regarding people's spiritual welfare, eternal progression, their family ties and sealings. (Then guilt at even thinking of expressing these things, because it could be misinterpreted as a prideful 'thinking you know better' than them, and coming off in the wrong way, when all you're feeling is love and concern.)

Second, in my case, with some of the friends that I have seen leave the church, there's also a confused happiness for them. I trust people's personal experiences, personal revelations, and individual relationships with Deity, because I trust my own. I know several friends who have left the church, and felt divine guidance in doing so - that God leads them, for one reason or another, to leave, ultimately, for their own happiness, which I know is God's goal for each of us. That they have the courage to follow what God has told them, despite fears of judgment and the unknown, is something that makes me incredibly happy for them. A willingness to follow God blindly is extremely commendable.

A loving God, who has all our best interests at heart, can tell one person to stay, like me, and another to leave, like many of my friends. I am sure that this all aligns with the great cosmic plan for each of us - that God knows what will make each of us happy individually on these paths. It reminds me of a story I read regarding David O McKay, who was meeting with an LGBT member. In my own words, but keeping the message, the member was telling the prophet of his struggles, and at the end of their visit, the prophet reminded the member, "Stay close to Jesus." The member insisted, "I am. I'm going to church. I'm going to the temple. I'm..." David O McKay stopped him. "I didn't say stay close to the church. I said stay close to Jesus." Because for some, there is a difference.

We have a very strict, structured church, which doesn't work for some. Being strict and structured is not actually a divine mandate. As all of our earthly children are different, so too are all of us. Some of us buck at structure, hackles raised at lists of "shoulds" and conservative suggestions veiled as doctrine. And when you're bucking with raised hackles, whatever those are, it is very difficult to remember the POINT of all of this - that God loves you, and wants you.

Our church is not perfect. Our history has garbage. Pretty severe garbage, in a lot of instances. Our leaders express opinions about things that are not doctrinal, but because of the title of "Prophet," questioning these opinions can feel like a faith crisis, as you are suddenly shamed into the "disobedient" category of people, gambling with Hell-fire for wearing curlers in public or dancing with bad posture. (See the 1965 For the Strength of the Youth pamplet for those prophetic opinions.) I do, sincerely, believe that some people's road to God, who is, in fact, the point, is best found outside of this complicated church.

Which brings me to my third feeling - a feeling and emotion I've felt, when learning of a friend's departure from the church, and that was my feeling today. Today I was left feeling angry, in a disappointed way. Today I was angry that I belong to a church that makes it so difficult for good people to find peace. I was angry that the church makes it so difficult for good people to stay, or even want to come join us.

I was angry that I belong to a church that doesn't apologize for mistakes of the past. Perhaps God worked through the mistake of denying Africans and African Americans the priesthood, to unknowingly bless more people, but it doesn't change the fact that there were very real victims of a needless policy, who deserve an apology, rather than a formal gas-lighting of their vision of God's love. Don't even get me started on polygamy.

I was angry that I belong to a church that doesn't stop preaching culture from the pulpits - instead streamlining men, women, and children into crisp white shirts, suits, and ties, with Sunday dresses, to create cookie cutter versions of the American 60's conservative ideal. They forget that they are a worldwide church, in a world with many different cultures, with so much to offer. When they say "Come as you are!" they don't always leave room for you to stay that way. And no. (I hear the rebuttal already.) They're NOT always changing you for the better. Sometimes they rob you of that which gives you soul, substance, life, and vibrancy.

I was angry. It was complicated, tear-filled, and enraging. I've been through the ringer with my own relationship with the church. My complaints are very much my own, and could show you my struggles more than anyone else's. I was angry because of that relationship with the church that I have - always feeling like I'm on the outside of a business-modeled machine, rather than in a spiritual, familial one. Always questioning, complaining, and never able to feel the peace of belonging and agreeing wholeheartedly. Instead, through choosing to remain in this church, showing up every Sunday I resign myself ofttimes to the position of either silent disgruntlement, or outspoken "grump," - positions which do not necessarily promote feelings of "fellowship" with the saints. (I'm not grumpy every week. Most weeks are very doctrinal, but on the weeks that aren't? Oy vey. You got the grumbling, mumbling, "THAT'S not doctrine" me, in the back of the room. The self-appointed Doctrine police, slowly driving myself into soul-crushing insanity, for wanting to belong with God.)

I've learned only in recent years to protect my relationship with God from my relationship with His church.

So feeling so angry today made me ponder on that Relief Society lesson - am I sustaining my leadership? I stand that the answer is yes. I don't believe God has called any other prophets. I don't believe God has given authority to any other church. I sustain them every Sunday I show up, angry though I may be, and CONTINUE, because God has told me to, because I have had experiences in the past that have made my love for this gospel and the doctrines, and the restorations of truths rock solid. I know this church, imperfect though it is, because of its mortal membership, is absolutely God's, and He's not giving up on it yet. Like the parable of the Master of the Vineyard, we need more pruning, grafting, and dunging. All is not lost. Not yet.

The question I left with was "How do we sustain each other?" How do we help defend, support, and help each other CONTINUE in this church we believe to be God's own? If the word "sustain" only makes you think of callings, think of membership in the church as a calling. How can we sustain each other as members? What can we do differently, so that we stop losing each other on steep, rough paths of life, and instead help each other feel a little more of God, who is, after all, the entire point of this? That's what I want to see for the church. More God and more peace for the layman, with fewer distractions or obstacles, that make that path so needlessly tough or blinding.

Nathan expressed gratitude for Donald Trump today. Naturally, I nearly died, but listened, intrigued. "I hope that the church is able to see how disgusted young people are becoming with the Republican party - how hypocritical and self-righteous all of it is. I hope the church sees that these "conservative values" are not what we want, and they should stop trying to look like that."

I don't have answers. I have more "Why" questions than I care to admit. We are losing our friends, from this church. They're not leaving for their own gain - so they can have free sex, drink coffee, shop on Sundays, and get tattoos. They're leaving for all the right reasons.

They're leaving  to find peace, to find answers they couldn't find, and to feel God's love. It's not for lack of trying, not for any shortcomings on their parts, or because they didn't do "enough." It's because we're not sustaining THEM. We're not validating their experiences, their relationships with Deity, and their spiritual needs. And yes, they're allowed to have their own spiritual needs, and we need to respond with nothing more complicated than love. Love that they can see and feel, all reasonable obstacles removed. I can only pray that someday we are able to help sustain each other better. Hopefully soon. Because our prophet said it - "Time is Running Out."