Rape in our Church curriculum

Rape of Dinah, Giuliano Bugiardini

In my last post, I wrote, "I am frustrated that, as Mormons, we aren't doing a better job of teaching young men and women about rape: what it is, what it isn't, what to do if it happens, that being raped doesn't make you dirty or worthless, that rape is fully the responsibility of the rapist and not the victim." In this post, I expand that idea.

Julie Smith recently wrote an excellent post for Times and Seasons titled, "Rape Culture in the Gospels." She brings our attention to specific teachings of Jesus that are profoundly opposed to rape culture. It is important to recognize what the New Testament has to say about respecting women, helping victims, and holding criminals responsible for their crimes.

But try looking for material that specifically addresses rape—not broad Gospel principles, but rape itself—and the scriptures present a painful collection of outdated teachings and heartbreaking stories. Here is a non-exhaustive list:

• Moroni 9:9. The soldiers in Moriantum rape the Lamanite women that they are holding captive. This is described as "depriving them of that which was most dear and precious above all things, which is chastity and virtue." 

• Genesis 19:4-11. The men of Sodom surround Lot's house and demand to be allowed to rape his two guests, who are visiting angels. Lot offers his virginal daughters instead.

• Genesis 34. Shechem "defiles" Dinah, a daughter of Jacob. Modern translations such as the New International Version and the New Revised Standard Version use the word "rape." Dinah's brothers retaliate by killing Shechemite males and enslaving their wives. 

• Numbers 31:15-18.  Moses instructs the army to destroy the Midianites, saving only the young female virgins. Those, he says, you may "keep alive for yourselves."

• 2 Samuel 13. Amnon rapes his half-sister Tamar and is killed by Absalom.

• Deuteronomy 22:22-27. The law says that a woman should not be punished for being raped, as long as the rape occurred in a field, where no one would have heard her if she screamed.

It is hard to imagine a less helpful set of scriptural passages. But the real shame is that our manuals, in some cases, do further harm:

• Commenting on the story of Shechem and Dinah, the Gospel Doctrine teacher's manual says, "If Shechem had truly loved Dinah, he would not have defiled her." That is indeed an important principle. But while the word "defile" may have been appropriate in Elizabethan English, it is no longer appropriate today. To "defile" is to sully or to spoil. Words matter. 

• And here's how the Gospel Doctrine manual describes 2 Samuel 13:15: "Amnon was attracted to Tamar and forced her to commit fornication with him." The manual goes on to give us this contextually inappropriate quote from Elder Gordon B. Hinckley: "I heard Elder John A. Widtsoe . . . say, 'It is my observation that a young man and a young woman who violate the principles of morality soon end up hating each other.' I have observed the same thing. There may be words of love now, but there will be words of hatred and bitterness later." As commentary on the story of a man raping his sister, this is breathtakingly awful. No, Amnon did not force Tamar to "commit fornication." No, they are not examples of young people who violated the principles of morality. 

• Moroni 9:9 is in the Personal Progress manual as part of the first required value experience for Virtue. Young women are instructed to use this verse to "[s]tudy the meaning and importance of chastity and virtue." To be clear, they are to study a passage of scripture that seems to teach that one's chastity and virtue can be taken away by another person. From a more mature perspective, it is apparent this verse is presenting us with a euphemism: "Chastity and virtue" most likely stand in for virginity in this verse. But if we don't really mean "chastity and virtue" here, then why are we using this verse to teach young women about chastity and virtue? At best, it's confusing. At worst, it teaches girls damaging lessons about sexuality.

We can do better than this. We can be careful to use words that are consistent with our 21st-century beliefs about sexual assault. We can more clearly teach the difference between rape and consensual sex, and the difference between virginity and virtue. It is irresponsible—dangerously so—to emphasize sexual purity without teaching those lessons.

We don't need to throw out the scriptures, but we do need to provide guidance on language and cultural context for teachers and learners. And we must stop making excuses for any artifacts of rape culture that we find in the scriptures. As a Church, we must prioritize standing up for what's right over defending everything that we read in the scriptures. We are not fundamentalists. We can say, "Not everything in the Bible is of God." That will do far less harm to the faith than trying to reconcile sexual enslavement with the loving God that we know.

And while we're disavowing errors of the past, it is high time that we disavow the devastating statements about rape in Spencer W. Kimball's 1969 book, The Miracle of Forgiveness. We can love and honor President Kimball without condoning the teaching that, "It is better to die in defending one's virtue than to live having lost it without a struggle."

I have great hope that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints will more fully engage in the work of educating its members about rape and sexual assault. Rape happens to our brothers and sisters. When we teach chastity without also teaching the concepts of rape, assault, and consent, we are setting up victims for enormous amounts of shame and confusion. We must do better.

I recently wrote about my experience of rape as a BYU student here and here.

Sexual assault: Further thoughts

This is a follow-up to the post that I wrote three weeks ago. I realized that I had more to say: questions that I had left unanswered, pieces of the story that I wanted to fill in, and additional thoughts on sexual assault that I wanted to share. 

The question-and-answer format is for my own convenience. These aren't questions that people have actually asked me (people are generally reluctant to ask about what happened), but questions that I wanted to answer nonetheless.

Whatever happened to the rapist?

He made an unsuccessful attempt at a second rape, running away when the victim screamed. Later, someone called the police when they saw him behaving suspiciously in a dark parking lot and noticed his resemblance to the composite sketch that was in the papers. With a mountain of evidence against him, he confessed and received a prison sentence. I don't remember how long the sentence was, but it was certainly years, not months.

He was not a BYU student, though he was apparently an active Mormon. He was also a father and a husband.

Did I ever heal from the rape?

Yes, completely.

It was hard. But in many ways, I was fortunate: I was believed and supported. My attacker went to jail. I was an adult, not a child. The rape was a single incident, not an ongoing pattern of abuse. I sustained no permanent physical injuries. Had any of that been different, my path to recovery would undoubtedly have been harder.

Was I able to forgive the rapist? 

Anger is a healthy, normal part of the grieving process for survivors of rape, or any kind of abuse. I expected anger. I even wanted to feel angry. But the anger toward my rapist never came. It felt like my brain was refusing to engage in any emotion directed toward him, not even anger. I must have made a subconscious—and totally involuntary—decision that getting mad at my attacker would be humanizing him in a way that I wasn't prepared to handle.

And because he was a stranger to me, I had that option. I didn't have to think about him as a person, as one of the characters in my life. He wasn't part of my circle of friends. He wasn't in any of my classes at school. He wasn't sitting across the dinner table at family gatherings. I was lucky.

I am horrified that most rapists attack their own friends, acquaintances, and family members: people that they know, people that they're supposed to care about.

But rape is rare, especially in the LDS community, right?

Because most rapes go unreported, and most survivors don't talk about their experiences publicly, we are able to live with the comfortable illusion that rape is rare. It's not. 

In the last several weeks, six of my friends (five of them LDS) have told me that they are survivors of rape or sexual assault. I had already known of a small number of friends who were survivors, and somehow—somehow—I wasn't expecting six more. On an intellectual level, I knew the statistics on rape and sexual assault. But emotionally, it is difficult to believe that this happens so frequently, that it's happening to my friends, to people I worship with, to neighbors, colleagues, and associates.

I have to confront the likelihood that I know many other survivors: friends and acquaintances who carry stories they haven't shared with me. Worse, I must confront the likelihood that many more in my acquaintance will be raped or sexually assaulted in their lifetime. 

I'm angry about it. I'm angry that sexual assault is so common. I'm angry that it keeps happening. I'm angry that some in our midst still don't understand what consent is. I'm angry that so many human beings are willing to exploit their relationships for sexual violence.  

And I am frustrated that, as Mormons, we aren't doing a better job of teaching young men and women about rape: what it is, what it isn't, what to do if it happens, that being raped doesn't make you dirty or worthless, that rape is fully the responsibility of the rapist and not the victim. 

Talking about rape is embarrassing and uncomfortable; it defies deeply entrenched taboos, especially within our church community. But it is essential work.

Let's go back to talking about anger. Was anger an issue at all after the rape?

Yes, but not in the way I would have expected. 

The psychological effects from the rape didn't come to me all at once. They accumulated over time, as if I were piece-by-piece building some sort of horrifying collection of brokenness. My mind did strange things, things that I hated, things that made me ashamed. 

Eventually, there was anger. But I didn't direct my anger toward the rapist. Instead, my mind linked anger—ordinary, everyday frustrations—with rape. They were in the same box in my brain, and they came out of the box together. Quick flashes of anger over, say, someone's rudeness at the supermarket were often accompanied by terrifying thoughts of rape. This lasted for many years. I wondered what kind of person I had become, and I wondered if this would ever pass. 

It did pass, but only after I stopped feeling ashamed of what I was experiencing. I had to stop seeing this distressing thought pattern as a moral failing, and start seeing it for what it was: a psychological injury resulting from a crime committed against me.

Finally, one more detail for the record: Did the rapist have a knife?

He said that he had a knife, but I never saw it or felt the blade. The realization that he probably had not had a knife became one more weapon in my arsenal of self-blame. I had fallen for an empty threat, and it took me a long time to forgive myself for that. But in the end I did.

I learned to replace self-shaming with self-compassion and, finally, with peace.

Perhaps our collective outrage toward rape and rapists, our compassion toward survivors, and our adamant refusal to excuse sexual assault or to tolerate victim-blaming will help those who have not yet found peace.

A respectful parody of the BYU-Idaho president's dress code letter.

With apologies to President Kim B. Clark, president of Brigham Young University, Idaho, who wrote the letter that inspired this one.  

Find the link to the story that Fox News did on President Clark's letter and the ensuing reaction here, or scroll to the bottom of this post to read the complete text of President Clark's letter. 
 
Good Afternoon! I had the opportunity yesterday to put childcare and housework aside and get caught up on reading several back issues of the Ensign. It was inspiring to read the words of the prophets and the personal experiences of ordinary Latter-day Saints. I am grateful for all the people who make this publication possible.

While perusing the art and photographs in the magazine I noticed that all of the contemporary Latter-day Saint men depicted (and it was all) were following a set of narrowly defined grooming standards. The things that caught my eye were that all were clean-shaven (with the exception of a few mustaches) and all had short hair cut above the collar. Moreover, I understand that those same grooming standards are enforced on the campuses of Church schools such as BYU. Men must be beardless and clean-shaven; modesty, cleanliness, and a neat and tidy appearance are not sufficient.

You may wonder why a busy mother of young children with a demanding church calling would spend time on these small things. Here is the reason: This is one of those small things on which big things depend. The images we see in Church publications, along with the dress and grooming standards of Church-owned schools, send a powerful message about who we are as a people. A false impression has been created that the Church and, by extension, God approve of only a very narrow range of personal style choices in dress and grooming. More fully embracing diversity of culture, style, and appearance can bind us together as a people and deepen our understanding of the Savior's Gospel. Discipleship of our Lord Jesus Christ has always demanded our very hearts, minds, and souls. But the rigors of discipleship have never included conforming to norms of corporate culture in our dress and grooming. Broadening our understanding of what it means to be a good Latter-day Saint will bring the blessings of heaven to us as individuals and as a community of saints. I hope we will help each other to be inclusive in even these small, but important, things. I send my love and hope you will share this message with family and friends.

Genevieve Kelley

Here is the complete text of President Clark's message:

"Good Afternoon! I had the opportunity yesterday to get out of my office to visit the Constitution Day display in the McKay quad. It was inspiring to see the flags and read the words of the prophets about the U.S. constitution. I am grateful for all the people who made the display possible.

"While out and about yesterday I noticed that a few of you (and it was a few) may need a refresher or perhaps an introduction to three items in the dress and grooming standards. The three things that caught my eye yesterday were pants that did not make it down to the ankle (some hemmed off 4-8 inches above the ankle, some pants rolled up that far); faces of young men not clean-shaven; and shorts on campus (mostly BYU-I shorts – just remember to wear warm-ups).

"You may wonder why the president of BYU-Idaho would spend time on these small things. Here is the reason: The dress and grooming standards are one of those small things on which big things depend. Obedience in the small things creates a spirit of obedience in all things. And obedience brings the blessings of heaven, to you individually and to the whole campus community. I hope you will help each other to be obedient in even these small, but important, things. I send my love and hope you will share this message with roommates and friends.”

Mormons, we need more kindness.

If you're a Mormon, your Facebook feed has probably seen a flurry of activity regarding the news of disciplinary councils to take place in the near future for several high-profile members of the Church, including Kate Kelly, the founder of Ordain Women.

Let me be up front about my biases. I am a liberal-leaning Mormon. I am a feminist. Many church members do not see things my way, and I accept that. Disagree with me? I'm cool with that. Disagree with Ordain Women? I'm okay with that too. In fact, though I share the broader goal of greater opportunities and authority for women, I'm not part of the Ordain Women movement, and I am uncomfortable with some of their tactics.

But I have been wringing my hands over some of the blog posts, Facebook posts and other comments that members of my church are writing. I'm generally in favor of clear, reasonable dialogue between people with different viewpoints — dialogue that includes disagreement. But so much of what I see is not dialogue. It's as if we've forgotten the ground rules for discussing a disagreement: Attempt to understand what the other person is saying. Lay out your arguments cleanly. Look for common ground. Respectfully state your convictions. Don't misrepresent the viewpoints of those you disagree with.

Some writers are mixing their well-thought-out positions and heartfelt expressions of faith with totally inappropriate misrepresentations and exaggerations of the viewpoints with which they disagree. The author of one popular blog post beautifully describes her faith in God, her testimony that He has a plan for her, and her belief that God's plan does not include priesthood for women at the present time. She is able to articulate her views on the complementary roles of women and men in a way that resonates with a lot of people. I respect that. I think that feminists need to listen more closely to people like her and try to empathize with feelings like hers, even when we don't agree on every point. But in the same post, she claims that those who seek female ordination are accusing God of oppressing women (they're not), and she uses the word "whining" to describe what I believe are sincere expressions of real feelings held by real people. By obscuring what Mormon feminists actually believe, she misses an opportunity for real conversation. Instead, she paints a caricature of those she disagrees with, using her words to further polarize the members of the Church.

Divisive words are not, of course, the exclusive domain of conservative Mormon bloggers: I see them coming from liberal feminists as much as from anyone else. But I also see members of the Church who come from various perspectives writing thoughtful pieces that attempt to move us toward healing and understanding. We need more of that. As a people, we are prolific bloggers, and we can use our talents to write for peace.

And peace is sorely needed. Many of the feminists who have been described as "whining" are, in fact, heartbroken over recent events. People close to me are wondering whether there is a place for them in the Church anymore. People who have been clinging to thin testimonies are losing their last little bit of will to hang on. People feel alienated and afraid. Some of these men and women are "less active," and some are very active. Most have donated tithing money and countless service hours to the Church, many have gone on missions, held demanding callings, and raised faithful families. They are hurting right now. And even if you think they're dead wrong, even if you think they're sinners, even if you don't want to empathize with them or try to understand their point of view, now is not the time to use language as a weapon or a wedge.

I don't know how we are going to bridge the divide between Mormons who are "conservative" and those who are "liberal," between orthodox and heterodox, or feminist and traditionalist. I am worried that the feeling of "us vs. them" is growing, when we so desperately need to be unified in love and faith. Perhaps church spokeswoman Ally Isom's words are appropriate here:

The church is a family made up of millions of individuals with diverse backgrounds and opinions. There is room for questions and we welcome sincere conversations.

If we are really going to have sincere conversations with each other, we have to do better. We must say, "Enough," to the sarcasm, smugness, and meanness that we see in all ideological corners of our community. We can be bold about stating our beliefs, but we can do so with respect. We can pray for inspiration and for charity. We can approach each topic with humility; we can be open to new insights. We can frankly disagree with each other, but in so doing we can attempt to see all sides of the issue more clearly. Rather than repeating the sentiment, "I just don't see how anyone can think that [fill in the blank]," we can try to understand the reasons why someone might hold that view.

We can be instruments of peace by seeking first to understand, then to be understood. At the very least, we have to try.

The General Conference talk I want to hear.

                     

I don't often repeat clichéd Mormon expressions of unabashed, enthusiastic, faith, but here goes:

General Conference is a spiritual feast.

It is not an impeccable feast. There are always a few talks that don't interest me, and to be honest, there's usually at least one talk that offends me. Some of the talks are eloquent, some appeal to my intellect, and some of the speakers are able to stir my soul. Before I had kids, I dozed off during the Sunday afternoon session. Now, I'm too busy feeding people and monitoring the chaos that's happening in my house to fall asleep. Of course, that means that I also miss some of the content. So General Conference is not a perfect experience, but it leaves me feeling nourished and refreshed. By the end of the weekend, a very deep place in my heart has been filled.

There is one talk that I have not yet heard, but very much long to hear from that pulpit: an honest, thorough, nuanced description of what it means to be a Prophet in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I want to hear the themes of prophetic fallibility that President Uchtdorf touched on in 2013 more fully articulated by our leaders.

Because there is one polarizing argument that crops up every time a controversy breaks over a church-related issue. I've probably heard it — or read it — expressed by church members hundreds of times, over the pulpit, on blogs, on Facebook. Here's my paraphrase:

Either the Church is led by God, or it's led by man. Either our leaders are Prophets of God teaching correct doctrines, or they are false Prophets.

In this dichotomy, the question of whether the Church is "true" is an all or nothing proposition, and there are only two possibilities for the President of the Church: Either he's a false Prophet, or he's a completely-correct-in-every-doctrine-Prophet.

But with even a little bit of research into the history of the Church, we find that Prophets of the past have, on occasion, taught doctrines that turned out to be incorrect. Not true for their time, not true for any time. Completely, totally false.

The most obvious example is probably the Church's past teachings on race. We may rejoice that those teachings have now been disavowed. But though the article on lds.org uses the word "theories" to describe the teachings, suggesting that they were perhaps not doctrinal, it is clear from primary source documents that these ideas were taught as doctrine by the First Presidency. Here is a link to a First Presidency letter written in 1949, found at the pro-Mormon website, FAIR. Here is a link to a correspondence between Lowry Nelson, a member troubled by the Church's racial policies, and the First Presidency. 

In their letters to Nelson, the First Presidency reiterates the doctrines of racial inferiority that we find so repugnant today. And they include these statements:

We feel very sure that you understand well the doctrines of the church. They are either true or not true. It is our testimony that they are true.  Nov. 12, 1947

As a Latter-day Saint living in 2014, as a member of a Church that has disavowed the very doctrines of which the First Presidency bore testimony, the irony of those words is almost too much to bear.

What do we, as members of the Church, do with painful revelations like these about the mistakes in our past? In my view, holding on to the dichotomy of infallible Prophet vs. false Prophet forces us to conclude that past Presidents of the Church were indeed false prophets. This dichotomy weakens faith and leads some of us out of the Church. Some stay, but are left with troubling doubts that they are afraid to talk about. Others seem to hold onto the all-or-nothing mentality by ignoring or rejecting any evidence that Prophets made doctrinal mistakes. 

But it does not need to be this way. I believe that as a Church, we are mature enough for a more nuanced understanding of Prophets and revelation. We're ready. And we need to talk about this. Not just on the bloggernacle, not just on Facebook, not just in private conversations. We need the General Authorities whom we sustain as our leaders to help us navigate the complexities of hearing from God through a living Prophet — an imperfect, fallible, inspired, living Prophet of God. 

I appreciate the sensitive nature of this topic, and I can only imagine the difficulty in writing a General Conference talk addressing the issue. Such a talk would no doubt fail to satisfy every member of the Church. It would not answer every question nor clear up all confusion. It would probably leave some members disappointed or troubled. But we're used to that. We can handle it. For some members, the recent talk by Elder Oaks in the April Priesthood session of conference was a powerful clarification of women's roles in the priesthood. For others, it raised more questions than it answered. That's okay. We don't need all of the answers yet. But we need to at least grapple with the questions.
 
What does it mean to be led by God? What does it mean to sustain Prophets? What does it mean to trust them? How are we to reconcile ourselves to the fact that some of the "revealed doctrines" of the past are now recognized as incorrect and, in some cases, morally objectionable? And what are the implications for the revealed doctrines that we receive today? 

"For we know in part, and we prophesy in part."  It is my prayer that our leaders will be increasingly open about the issue of prophetic fallibility. I hope that this will be a great blessing to the Church, as we wait for that which is perfect to come.

Mothers in the scriptures: Looking beyond the stripling warriors.

Eve Naming the Birds (detail), William Blake

        
For Mormons, the classic Mother's Day scripture is Alma 56:47-48. These verses praise the mothers of the stripling warriors, an example of successful motherhood that has been referenced in countless sacrament meetings, lessons, and church publications.

If you're not familiar with the story, here's the background: In the Book of Mormon, a group of people found God and became pacifists, taking a solemn oath against violence. Years later, those men would have rather died than defend themselves against the invading army. But their young teenaged sons had never taken the oath of non-violence and so they went to battle to protect their families, trusting God to deliver them.

The young men believed that God would protect them because of the faith of their mothers, saying, "We do not doubt our mothers knew it."

Why does this particular passage of scripture get so much attention? These nameless women seem to represent our Mormon ideal of motherhood: As the behind-the-scenes force for good, they are powerful in their faith and beloved by their children. They inspire their sons to be courageous and righteous, and they inspire us to create a legacy of faith for our own families.

But what can we learn from other mothers in the scriptures? We have many stories in the scriptures of women bearing, raising, and influencing their children. Some are substantial narratives, and some are only brief glimpses.

In the New Testament, Timothy was influenced by his mother Eunice and grandmother Lois, both Christian converts praised by Paul for their "unfeigned faith."

In the Old Testament, Naomi, bereft of children and husband, had such a close bond with her daughter-in-law Ruth that their relationship was immortalized in these poetic words, from Ruth 1:16.

Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.

Eunice, Lois, Naomi, and the mothers of the stripling warriors are inspiring examples of successful mothers. But we also find women in the scriptures whose experiences with motherhood were complicated, painful, even tragic.

There is Sariah, the first woman mentioned in the Book of Mormon. Sariah, who was overwhelmed with anxiety for her sons when their return from Jerusalem was delayed. Sariah, whose older sons repeatedly tried to kill their brother. She had two more children in the wilderness when she was old enough to be a grandmother. Later, she was so devestated by her sons' abuse of their brother that she fell ill and was not able to care for her youngest children.

There is Eve, the "mother of all living." At her first son's birth, her words expressed the universal sense of awe at holding a new child, a new person: "I have gotten a man from the Lord." As an adult, that son murdered his brother.

There's Rebecca, whose twin boys were rivals, even in the womb. Rebecca, who was inspired to help her younger son trick his father and cheat his older brother out of the birthright that would have been his.

There's Hagar, Abraham's concubine, who was banished from the home with her child after Sarah (Abraham's first wife) bore a son in her old age. Hagar, who wandered in the desert with her son until they ran out of food and water. She could not bear to watch her son die and left him to take his last breaths alone, or so she thought, before an angel saved them both.

There's Leah, married to a man who loved her sister Rachel, whose saving grace was that she was able to bear children, even when her sister was barren. But her sons sold their half-brother into slavery, and lived lives full of moral and sexual scandal.

There's Rachel, who was able to have two children after years of infertility, but died giving birth to her second son. There's Bilhah, Rachel's handmaid, who was given to Jacob as a concubine in order to bear children upon Rachel's knees, children that Rachel would count as her own.

There's Hannah, who brought her son to serve at the temple as soon as he was weaned. There's Jochebed, who put her son Moses in a basket into the river to save his life. There's Elizabeth, who gave birth to John the Baptist in her old age and then had to raise her son as a widow after her husband was murdered.

There is Mary, mother of the Lord. We read about the annunciation, her pregnancy, and the miraculous virgin birth. We see her again as Jesus turned the water into wine at Cana, and later at the crucifixion. But the only glimpse we have into Mary's experience actually parenting her son in his boyhood is the story of Mary and her husband mistakenly leaving him behind at Jerusalem.

The family had gone to Jerusalem for the Passover feast. When they started home, Mary and Joseph did not realize that their son had stayed behind until they had already traveled a day's journey. It took them three days to find him. He was "in the temple, sitting in the midst of the doctors, both hearing them, and asking them questions."

And when they saw him, they were amazed: and his mother said unto him, Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us? behold, thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing.

And he said unto them, How is it that ye sought me? wist ye not that I must be about my Father’s business? 

And they understood not the saying which he spake unto them. Luke 2:48-50

This passage contains the only words of the young Jesus recorded in the Bible. And in this moment, mother and son seemed to be talking past each other. Mary had seen an angel, she was raising the Son of God, and yet she did not fully understand her child or his remarkable mission. As a mother myself, having experienced the miracle of giving birth and the frustrating realities of parenthood, this story is particularly poignant for me.

In the scriptures, we see mothers suffering through infertility, mothers who are widowed or abandoned, mothers who witness rivalry and violence between their sons, mothers who lose their children through death or separation. Mothers in the scriptures were sometimes confused, they were sometimes depressed, they sometimes feared for their children's lives. They inspired their children, but they also failed them. They raised prophets, but they also raised scoundrels and murderers.

This is the complicated picture of motherhood that I see in the scriptures. This is what helps me get past the idealized expectations that we mothers in Zion sometimes have for ourselves. Motherhood is glorious, but it is also painful. Success in the home is mixed with failure; joy is mixed with sorrow.

Abraham, Hagar, and the God who sees me.

Il Guercino, Abraham casting out Hagar and Ishmael

Few stories in the Old Testament are as dramatic as Abraham's sacrifice of his son Isaac. The story is troubling, moving, confusing, and compelling. We can't help but imagine ourselves in Abraham's place — or in Isaac's. We can't help wondering how God could require such a thing, and how Abraham could dare to tie his son to the altar and raise the knife. We feel immense relief and release when the ram in the thicket takes Isaac's place. And the sense of relief is real: we too have been spared by a Lamb that God has provided.

When that lesson comes up every four years in the curriculum cycle, it makes for a rich discussion in Sunday School. Some class members are genuinely inspired by Abraham's faith and subsequent deliverance; some draw from Abraham's example the courage they need for their own tests of faith. I appreciate hearing how others find meaning, but I always seem to come to the story in a state of emotional conflict, a state of protest. I am reluctant to celebrate it as a great example of obedience and sacrifice. It's just too disturbing. Does God really test people by telling them to murder their own children? That question looms large for me, and pretending that everything makes perfect sense is not helpful. In fact, it's impossible. Hearing from other members of my faith, those with different viewpoints, gives me balance. Our collective grappling with the story adds depth and perspective to my private struggles.

As showstopping as the near-sacrifice of Isaac is, this time through I found myself focusing on a part of the lesson that is usually not given much attention: the story of Hagar and Ishmael. Maybe it's because I have two boys of my own now, maybe it's because oppression is on my mind, or maybe it's just that I'm paying closer attention this year. Whatever the reason, Hagar's and Ishmael's story wrapped itself around my mind.

Hagar is Sarah's Egyptian bondwoman. She is owned by Sarah¹, and when Sarah can't conceive, she gives Hagar to Abraham as a second wife or concubine. When Hagar gets pregnant, "her mistress [is] despised in her eyes." Sarah, blistering at Hagar's disrespect, responds so harshly that the pregnant Hagar runs away. But Hagar sees an angel who tells her to turn back and reassures her that she will have many descendants through the son that she is carrying.

Years later, when Ishmael is probably in his teens, Sarah bears Isaac, the promised child of the covenant. And then comes the abandonment. This is the first time I've pondered the story of Ishmael since having children of my own, and I almost can't bear the sadness of it. Sarah sees Ishmael "mocking²." She tells Abraham to banish his own child, saying, "the son of this bondwoman will not be heir with my son." Incredibly, God commands Abraham to go along with it. Hagar has to leave her home. Ishmael has to leave his father. Abraham loses his son.

With all of the drama of the sacrifice of Isaac, this earlier sacrifice of Ishmael is understandably overshadowed. But this time, Abraham and Ishmael are not spared. There is no ram in the thicket. Ishmael is gone.

We know that Abraham loves Ishmael. After God tells Abraham that Sarah will bear a son and become the mother of nations, his joy is mixed with concern for his first son. He cries, "Oh, that Ishmael might live before thee!" I imagine that Abraham is saying, "But what about Ishmael? Can't he be a covenant child too?" Indeed, it is a mystery to me why Ishmael and Isaac can't both be part of the covenant. Maybe Ishmael and Hagar are not willing to follow God's laws. They are both depicted in the Biblical account as lacking respect, at least on occasion, either for Sarah or for her son. We might describe them today as having "bad attitudes." Given the family structure that they are part of, I can hardly blame them.

So Ishmael and Hagar are cast out from the household and left to wander in the desert with bread and a bottle of water. When the supplies run out, they almost die, but Hagar again sees an angel, and this one saves her life. He shows her a well of water and tells her that Ishmael will become a great nation. We can take some solace in the statement that God is with the lad as he grows up, and perhaps in the fact that much later, when Abraham dies, he is buried by both Isaac and Ishmael. (I wish we knew more about what must have been a poignant burial and family reunion of sorts.)

In this deeply disturbing story of family dysfunction and cultural oppression, there is one passage that particularly touches me and offers a glimmer of hope. When Hagar runs away from Sarah, the angel of the Lord appears to her in the desert. Before giving her instruction about her future, the angel address her: "Hagar, Sarai’s maid, whence camest thou? and whither wilt thou go?" I find it significant that Abraham and Sarah refer to Hagar as "my maid," or "thy maid," or "this bondwoman," but that the angel of the Lord calls her by name³.

Hagar is evidently moved by this encounter, and I am moved by her words:

And she called the name of the Lord that spake unto her, Thou God seest me: for she said, Have I also here looked after him that seeth me? Genesis 3:16

I find it striking that Hagar calls the name of the Lord, "Thou God seest me." Other translations give her these words: "You are the God who sees me."

You are the God who sees me.

The concubine, the runaway bondwoman, the person with the least social standing in the family, living under the weight of oppressive cultural traditions that rob her of her dignity, is twice visited by an angel.

She is seen by God. And in the end it is God who saves her.




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¹For simplicity, I am using the names Sarah and Abraham here even though at this point in the story, their names are actually Sarai and Abram.
²An interesting detail of this story is that the name Hagar means "flight," giving rise to speculation that this was not her personal name, but a descriptive name used later when the story was recorded. Read more about the name here.
³The word "mocking" is loaded with connotation, including possible sexual overtones. Click here and scroll down to the comments to read my questions and discussion about the word with the author of the blog Benjamin the Scribe.

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Bonus Material:

If you stuck to the assigned reading, you skipped Chapter 20, which wasn't included in the lesson. Here, Abraham's story takes on an almost goofy absurdity. To my weary mind, it was a welcome change from the gravity of the other chapters. Here is a summary:

When they journey to Gerar, Abraham tells everyone that Sarah is his sister so that King Abimelech won't challenge Abraham to a duel (or whatever they did in those days) in order to win Sarah for himself. This is the second time Abraham has pulled that trick (see Genesis 12 where the same thing happens in Egypt), and sure enough, Abimelech takes Sarah into his household. As a punishment, God makes the women of Abimelech's house infertile. Luckily, before Abimelech gets a chance to have his way with Sarah, the Lord explains the situation to him in a dream. So he returns Sarah to Abraham, along with a bunch of extra servants and livestock and stuff, to make up for taking his wife. Abraham explains that he technically wasn't lying, because Sarah actually is his sister — same father, different mother! The story ends happily with Abraham healing Abimelech's household.

If we read these chapters chronologically, this episode happens when Sarah is pretty old. It comes after Ishmael's birth, and after Abraham is promised a son through Sarah and responds, "Shall a child be born unto him that is an hundred years old? and shall Sarah, that is ninety years old, bear?" This is probably a good example of the need to take Bible chronology with a grain of salt. On the other hand, I kind of like the idea of an ancient, white-haired Sarah being totally irresistible to Abimelech, king of Gerar.  

Part 3 of 3: Imaginary conversations with a conservative Mormon woman about feminisn and the Church.

Jules Bastien-Lepage, Harvesting Potatoes in October

In light of recent controversies surrounding women and the priesthood, I have thought about how I might have a conversation with a conservative Mormon woman about issues facing women in the Church. 

This is the second of three parts. In Part 1, I focus on my desire for unity with my conservative friends in the Church despite our disagreements, my belief that the Church is a work in progress, and the possibility that current policy may not fully reflect the will of God. In Part 2, I talk about habits of exclusion and our tendency to allow men to teach women how to be women, without reciprocity. In Part 3 below, I speak about presiding in the home and ordination to the priesthood. Of course, my thoughts are my own, and they do not represent the official positions of my church or any other organization.


Presiding in the Home

One doctrine that I hope is clarified and refined in the near future concerns husbands presiding over their families. In recent years, General Authorities have made it clear that husbands and wives are to make decisions together as equal partners. This has not always been the case. The term "equal partners" carries with it powerful implications. For example, in a business, equal partners may have different responsibilities, but they are equally invested, and they have equal measures of influence and decision-making authority. It makes sense to me that the same principles of equality would apply to a marriage partnership.

But this concept of equality seems to contradict the teaching that men are to preside in the home. According to the dictionary, preside means "to exercise guidance, direction, or control," or "to occupy the place of authority." I have not found a way to reconcile the notion that the husband presides, with the teaching that husbands and wives are equal partners. If women and men are both responsible for leading, teaching, and directing their families, and if they share equally in making important decisions, in what sense does the man preside?

Though men hold the priesthood, women and men both draw on the power and blessings of the priesthood as they make their way back to God¹. Elder M. Russell Ballard taught that the priesthood power in the home is shared by husband and wife.  But if this is true, then surely husbands and wives are are equally entitled to receive revelation for their homes and jointly responsible to guide and direct their families. I cannot think of any meaningful way in which it makes sense for a husband to preside in the home that does not equally apply to his wife. I believe that families cannot reach their full potential for spiritual and temporal strength without both parents leading. To my mind, emphasizing a man's leadership in the home over his wife's leadership diminishes both husband and wife.

Think of the potential to remove cognitive dissonance, increase our understanding, and strengthen our marriages if the language of the Proclamation on the Family were clarified this way:  

By divine design, fathers and mothers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness. 

Think of the increased sense of purpose it would give to our young women as they prepare to becomes wives and mothers. Think of the clarity it would give to young men as they prepare to honor their roles as husbands and fathers.
 

Talking about Women's Ordination

Finally, what about the priesthood? Though I do not personally seek the same kind of priesthood responsibilities that males have, I would argue that no member of the Church should belittle or ridicule the desire that some women have to hold the holy priesthood. Not just because we are commanded to love one another, not just because these women are our sisters and their pain is our pain. But because a close examination of scripture and church history teaches us that this is a complicated issue without clear-cut answers.

When Joseph Smith spoke to the newly organized Relief Society in 1842, he said that he would "make of this Society a kingdom of priests." The word "ordain" was used in setting apart Emma Smith and her counselors. Moreover, it was common in the early days of the Church for women to give healing blessings using the laying on of hands, and Joseph Smith expressly defended the practice saying, "if the sisters should have faith to heal the sick, let all hold  their tongues, and let every thing roll on." I see nothing in the standard works that explicitly bars women from holding the priesthood. I am not trying to make the case for female ordination to the priesthood, but I am trying to make the point that our history is full of ambiguities and unanswered questions. It is natural that we should ask whether women will someday hold the priesthood or even whether we, in some sense, already do. And if God Himself, master of the universe, allows us — no, commands us — to come to Him in prayer with our questions, doubts, and petitions, perhaps we should be less afraid to petition our leaders for greater light and knowledge.

I do not seek ordination to the priesthood (at least not the same priesthood that men hold in its current manifestation), for several reasons, some of which can be rationally explained, some of which are inexpressible in words, and some of which are too delicate or sacred to explain in a public forum. They are not persuasive reasons; they are personal. For now, I will not share them here.

But allow me to point out that my reasons do not include the fact that I am a mother, bearing and raising children. The idea that motherhood is to women what priesthood is to men does not resonate with me. I fear that drawing a false priesthood-motherhood parallel does a disservice to both men and women. Fatherhood, not priesthood, is the analog to motherhood.When we say that women don't have the priesthood because they are mothers, we are implicitly claiming that motherhood is somehow more fulfilling, more important, or more exalted than fatherhood. Given that God himself chooses to be addressed as Father, I cannot believe that the sacred calling of parenthood matters any less to men than it does to women².

Men have fatherhood plus priesthood. Women have motherhood plus . . . what? I long for women to have . . . something, some role in the Kingdom of God that allows us to more fully express our potential as leaders, teachers, and prophets. Whatever doctrinal addendum or change to be wrought would take a revelation from heaven. I have not been given any such revelation, but I hope that the leaders of the Church are earnestly seeking further understanding of the divine roles of women. I only have the vaguest inkling, a hazy vision, of a glorious heavenly council that includes men and women, where women are neither on a pedestal nor subjugated, but equal participants with their hearts, bodies, and minds. Where men were made for women just as surely as women were made for men. Where women speak and lead alongside men. I long for truth to pour out from heaven, until the reality of equality between men and women is made fully manifest.


I welcome you to turn this imaginary conversation into a real one by sharing your thoughts in the comments section.
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 ¹My own analogy to illustrate this principle is that my husband might hold a flashlight, but it belongs to both of us, and we both can see the light and use it to make our way along the path.
²Claiming that motherhood is our answer to the priesthood is also problematic in that it excludes (at least in this life) the many women who will never have the opportunity to be mothers and the young women who are still waiting to be mothers, even while their male peers are progressing in the priesthood.

Part 2 of 3: Imaginary conversations with a conservative Mormon woman about feminism and the Church.

Francis Coates Jones, Women in a Rowboat

                                                                                                                                
In light of recent controversies surrounding women and the priesthood, I have thought about how I might have a conversation with a conservative Mormon woman about issues facing women in the Church. 

This is the second of three parts. In Part 1, I focus on my desire for unity with my conservative friends in the Church despite our disagreements, my belief that the Church is a work in progress, and the possibility that current policy may not fully reflect the will of God. In Part 2 below, I will talk more specifically about issues affecting women in the Church. Of course, my thoughts are my own, and they do not represent official positions of my church or of any other organization.

When I attended church yesterday, I was particularly aware of the important ways that women contributed to my Sunday worship. The congregational hymns and choir number were chosen and directed by women. There were two assigned sacrament meeting speakers: a man, followed by a woman. The Gospel Doctrine Sunday School teacher was a woman, and the majority of the comments in the class were made by women. The Young Women's meeting that I attended in my role as adviser was briefly interrupted by the sustaining vote of a new presidency in the Beehives, the class for girls aged 12 and 13. Following the sustaining, the doctrinal lesson was taught by a 17-year-old young woman.

Those of us who seek changes in policy must acknowledge the many opportunities that women of the Church already have to teach, lead, and influence. If there is to be any meaningful conversation, I believe that we must better understand and respect women like you, women who feel empowered in their roles, women who know that they are heard, counted, and valued.

Recently, several changes have brought greater visibility and more opportunities for women: the lower age requirements for missionary service, the new sister training leader missionaries, the women praying in General Conference, the inclusion of a female speaker in the Christmas devotional broadcast, the portraits of women leaders hanging in the Conference Center. In a recent New York Times article, Relief Society General President Sister Linda K. Burton was quoted as saying that the church will benefit as “men’s vision of the capacity of women becomes more complete.” This is an exciting time of progress for women in the Church.

Several times, I have heard you ask, "Why is it important that women pray in General Conference? Does it really matter who says the prayer?" You rightly point out that the efficacy of the prayer is not affected by the gender of the one praying.

Habits of Exclusion and Damaging Messages

But I feel certain that these small things do matter. It matters who says the prayer, it matters whose portraits hang in the Conference Center, it matters who speaks at worldwide broadcasts. It matters because seeing women in positions of worldwide leadership and hearing their inspired words strengthen the Church. It matters because habits of excluding women send unintended messages that have no place in our doctrine or in our community of saints.

Leaders have repeatedly stressed that women are vital in building the Kingdom, that our voices are important, that we are equal in the Church and in the sight of God. Though certain responsibilities in the Church may be differentiated according to gender, praying is not one of them. Prayer is not a function of the priesthood; women and men are equally capable of calling upon God in prayer. Barring women from praying in meetings undermines our efforts to internalize these doctrines and detracts from the main message of our faith.

I am grateful that, as of April 2013, women can pray in General Conference. With this change of policy, the wonderful doctrine of equality is more fully realized. It feels right; it feels comfortable. Of course women should pray in General Conference. What took us so long?

I believe that there are other habits of exclusion that should be carefully examined. Here are three to consider: Church policy does not permit women to be financial clerks or Sunday School presidents. And outside of official Church policy, there is an unwritten rule in some wards that women are rarely, if ever, the concluding speakers in sacrament meeting. It is not obvious to me how holding the priesthood is requisite for fulfilling any of these responsibilities.

Each of these practices has the potential to send subtle, unintended, and damaging messages. Why can't women handle the money? Perhaps women aren't as reliable with records and finances or as sound in their judgment as men are. Why don't women speak last in our worship services? Perhaps a woman's words do not carry the same weight of authority as a man's. Why can't women head the Sunday School? Perhaps women can only lead organizations that administer to women and children. Perhaps the oversight of adult scripture scholarship is outside our domain. These messages are not in harmony with my understanding of women's abilities to organize and responsibilities to testify, teach, and expound the scriptures.

I see no doctrinal reason, no practical reason, and no spiritual benefit to excluding women in these ways. Indeed, some wards have more faithful, capable women than active men. Allowing women to hold more positions of leadership that do not directly relate to functions of the priesthood would allow greater flexibility for wards and branches. Perhaps someday we will say in regards to these, "Of course. What took us so long?"

You and I have often commiserated together about how difficult it is to balance the demands of family, community, and church callings, especially with young children at home. So it is important  to make a distinction between these two sentiments:

    "I personally would like to hold [a particular position in the Church]."
                                                      vs.
    "I don't want to be disqualified from that position because of my gender."

These statements are different. I have no particular desire to be a ward financial clerk (and I dare say I have that in common with most men), or the Sunday School president, and I don't feel personally slighted if I am not the concluding speaker in a meeting. But I would rejoice if women were not barred from these roles, when their circumstances permit them to take on the responsibilities. Similarly, I would be very surprised if the majority of members of Ordain Women actually wanted to hold the demanding calling of bishop or stake president. But I am certain that they would welcome the chance to sustain a female bishop, and they would appreciate knowing that such a thing is a real possibility for the future.

Men Defining Manhood, Men Defining Womanhood

As women in the Church, we are accustomed to men presiding over our meetings, occasionally sitting in on lessons, chaperoning at Young Women's camp, and speaking at the General Women's Meeting. Men regularly instruct groups of women on many topics, including our roles as women in the Church, even though women do not instruct gatherings of men. Women's meetings and events often have one or two men present, even though the reverse is not true. We're used to this, and we don't find it remarkable. Perhaps we need to stop and think about it a bit more carefully.

I treasure my association with so many extraordinary men in the Church. I appreciate their inspired words, their sincere praise, and their perspectives on womanhood. Men and women learning from each other, each mutually seeking to please the other in healthy ways, is natural and positive. What concerns me is the abundance of counsel from men directed toward women on what it means to be a woman, with very little reciprocity. Too much emphasis on men teaching women how to be women may foster unhealthy attitudes and subtly encourage women and girls to look to men for approval, guidance, and authority as they form self-conceptions and life goals. We must wholly understand that we are important, not because of how much men value us or what men think of us, but because of who we are as humans on planet earth and daughters of God. I worry about the effect on dating and marriage as two young people enter a relationship, the man having learned from male ecclesiastical leaders how to be a man, and the woman having learned from both women and men. This concern could be addressed with a change in practice, not doctrine¹.

I would like to see something more balanced. Imagine the power that could be unleashed if women, drawing on inspiration from heaven and a wealth of experience, occasionally instructed men on how best to fulfill their roles as husband, fathers, and priesthood holders. I am accustomed to congregations of women learning from words of wisdom and encouragement spoken by a man of God. But I have this other vision in my mind — a vision of a group of men sitting and listening to a woman whom they love and respect, a woman of God, in full acknowledgement of her divine calling and gifts of the Spirit. Maybe she would be teaching them about her experiences in drawing on priesthood power, or how as men, they can better assist the women of the Church, or how better to honor their roles as fathers and husbands². I believe that a woman addressing a priesthood meeting would bring great blessings and a needed balance as men and women strive to work together and understand one another.

In Part 3, I will share my thoughts on presiding in the home and priesthood ordination.

I welcome you to turn this imaginary conversation into a real one by sharing your thoughts in the comments section.

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¹Of course, one can make the valid point that the men who speak to women have priesthood stewardships over their congregations; they communicate messages from God. But is there any doubt that they are speaking as part-prophet, part-man? Else why all the anecdotes about baking pies and so forth?
²When Elaine S. Dalton, General Young Women's President spoke at the October 2011 General Conference, she spent much of her talk specifically addressing fathers of daughters. I had never before heard a woman address the male membership of the Church in that way, and I was deeply moved by the experience. This should not be such a rare occurence.

Paul and Phoebe

This is a guest post by my sister Rosemary. It also appears on her blog dearmessyroom.wordpress.com

I often read the Bible on my morning subway commute. If I can get a seat early on, then I have enough time to read a couple of chapters before I have to worry about transferring trains and getting back into the jostle of hurrying commuters. I've gotten into the habit of bringing my French Bible, partly because it gives me an excuse to practice my French, partly because some of my fellow Crown Heights commuters are Caribbean francophones and I like to feel that we have a point of connection, and partly because my French Bible is lightweight with a sturdy spine—well-suited to being slung into a backpack and carried around all day.

Anyway, the other day I was finishing Paul's Epistle to the Romans, and I came across a mind-opening section: Chapter 16. This chapter doesn't have much doctrine in it; it's instead Paul's sign-off to a long-ish list of Roman church members. Although I had read them in English, the first two verses in French left me amazed. 

"Je vous recommande Phoebé, notre soeur, qui est diaconesse de l'Église de Cenchrées, afin que vous la receviez en notre Seigneur d'une manière digne des saints, et que vous l'assistiez dans les choses où elle aurait besoin de vous, car elle en a donné aide à plusieurs et à moi-même." 

My own translation is this: "I commend to you Phoebe, our sister, who is deacon of the Church in Kekhries, that you receive her in our Lord in a manner worthy of the saints, and that you assist her in the things that she may require of you, for she has helped myself and many." The word "diaconesse" was the bombshell. How had I missed the fact that there was a female deacon in the early church? Was this a priestly calling? I wondered why Phoebe hadn't come up as an example of female leadership before, until I went home and found that the KJV names her as a 'servant' rather than 'deacon,' — a word that disguises the attention Paul gives to her with the same kind of submissive roles that I'm used to seeing assigned to women. Ever the curious etymologist, I looked in my Greek New Testament. The word was 'diakonos', a word that is the root of our present day 'deacon' and can also be translated as 'servant' or 'minister'.

After my re-reading the verse in English and then in Greek, I realized that Phoebe may not have been blessing the holy communion or performing the kind of priesthood ordinances that we moderns might think of as a 'deacon's' job. And while I am excited by the possibility of Phoebe as a priesthood holder, my excitement doesn't depend on that. Maybe to explain it I'll share another story. When I was getting ready to enter the Missionary Training Center, I got a packet in the mail with visa information, including a "minister's license." It was in Italian, and standing in the kitchen my father and I excitedly pieced together a translation of it. This is a vivid memory for me as my first stab at the Italian language, but it was also the first time I realized that in the eyes of the Italian government, I would hold the same title as the young men missionaries. I wasn't just a "sister," I was a minister. 
 
So now let me relate this back to the excitement of Phoebe's role. What is thrilling here is that she seems to have a distinct calling of administration and specific authority that is recognized and relied upon by Paul. So often, I feel that women are left in a mushy area of following their own spiritual promptings for the good of individual people, while their role as church officers (their callings) is downplayed. Thus their capacity to work and receive inspiration on behalf of a group is not given the chance to flourish. Even in callings that require women to work in an organizational and administrative capacity (and that's a lot of callings), I think women often feel like they're coming in the back door on inspiration — that it's not their right and responsibility to be leaders, or that because the buck always stops with the bishop (or EQ president, or stake president), their leadership doesn't really affect men at all (unless they're little boys in Primary, I guess). 

So, to sum up, I love the Phoebe story because it gives two remedies for this obstacle to women's spiritual growth: First, it names Phoebe's calling. Whether we call her a minister or a deacon, she is something. She's not just a nice lady with a soft heart who follows her instincts of goodness; she has an identifiable role. Second, Paul, as a male leader, is pointed in his recognition of her influence on both the group ('plusieurs') and himself ('moi-meme'). She's not his mother or any kind of biological or legal family member. Sometimes I think men in our church are embarrassed or feel that it's not quite proper to praise the capacities of females outside their own families. Paul has no such qualms. Paul is unashamed to point out that the woman Phoebe has succored him — he feels no need to qualify her leadership role.

So, Phoebe's role is what I want for the women of the Church. I want women to know that they have specific and needed roles to fulfill, in addition to their roles within families. I also want them to recognize that they are leaders of men, not just of other women or children (whether in an official capacity in a particular church calling or simply in personal interactions). And finally, I want men to be as clearly supportive as Paul is — giving credit to women as leaders in their words and in practice.