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addresses rape—not broad Gospel principles, but rape itself—and the scriptures present a painful collection of outdated teachings and heartbreaking stories.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.

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.  

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. 

Deborah: Another verse for a primary song.

The Mormon children's song, "Follow the Prophet," has nine verses. There are verses for the prophets Moses, Daniel, and Noah, even one for Jonah. For a long time, I have thought that we should have a verse for Deborah. Here's my attempt to write one:

               Deborah was a prophet; she judged Is-ra-el.

               She went up to battle and Canaan's army fell

               Deborah helped her people by listening to the Lord.

               Israel was delivered from Sisera's sharp sword.


Celebrating Deborah did not come easily for me. I still remember how much the story of this Old Testament prophetess confused me as a young woman. I had heard so many lessons about women's exalted roles as wives and mothers, that Deborah's roles as military adviser, judge, and prophet seemed to be at odds with my understanding of gender in God's plan. Her story didn't fit into what I thought was a clear-cut hierarchy of priesthood authority and stewardship that God had laid out for His people.

I was in my late 20s before I was able to admit to myself that Deborah's story thrilled me. When I first said it out loud (during a conversation with the man who would later become my husband), it felt like a significant moment of self-awareness. Claiming Deborah meant admitting that I wanted to be valued - not only in my secular life, but in my spiritual community as well - for more than my wife/mother potential. It meant admitting that seeing women in strong leadership positions was important to me. It meant acknowledging that I wanted God to use all of me: not just my tenderness and kindness, but also my bravery, my cleverness, my ability to lead. It meant recognizing that my heart leaped for joy at the thought of God speaking to His people through a woman.


When I mentioned Deborah in the young women's class that I taught recently, none of the girls knew anything about her. They were surprised, as I had been when I was their age, that a woman could do the things that Deborah did. So I was particularly pleased when I saw that the March 2014 Ensign includes Deborah in an article by Faith Watson describing exemplary women of the Old Testament. A search of lds.org led me to another Ensign article, this one from 1990, that goes into greater depth about Deborah and mentions other prophetesses of the Bible.

I do not wish to cast a shadow on my sincere appreciation for Faith Watson's work, but there is one sentence in the article that I feel needs careful unpacking:

           In her role as prophetess, Deborah did not hold the priesthood or possess ecclesiastical 
          keys but enjoyed the gift of prophecy in a more general sense (see Revelation 19:10)*.

I read this sentence as a clarification meant to a) distinguish Deborah's role as prophet(ess) from the office of president/prophet of our church today and b) square her prophet status with our current teaching that only men may hold the priesthood. The text of that sentence is fine. My concern is that the subtext might diminish Deborah's prophetic role. What the article fails to point out is that prophecy was not generally associated with priesthood in the Old Testament; Deborah's lack of priesthood authority does not change her status as prophet. Downplaying Deborah's prophetic role might make it easier to maintain traditional, simplistic notions of gender differences and church hierarchy, but it does a disservice both to Deborah and to those who want to learn from her story.


The referenced scripture, Revelations 19:10, teaches us that "the testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy." The idea that every follower of Christ can have the spirit of prophecy, i.e. can receive revelation from God, is powerful and beautiful. But it is important to acknowledge that Deborah's prophetic gifts were unusual and that they reached beyond the stewardships that we normally assign to women in the Church. The divine revelation given to Deborah in Judges 4 was not meant for her personal life, or her family life, or for the women in her congregation. Her revelation led the people of Israel - her people - to deliverance from their oppressor.



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*The author includes a footnote here referencing  James E. Talmage's  The Articles of Faith, 12th ed. (1924), pp. 228-29.

Losing fundamentalism and finding Noah.

                                                                           

Illustration from The Ark, Arthur Geisert, 1988

                                                             

In an earlier post, I wrote briefly about my struggle - and ultimate failure - to accept a literal, historical interpretation of parts of the Bible and the story of Noah in particular. For many years, the story of the flood was a painful blow to my faith. Slowly I learned that I could read that story (and others) as something else -- a parable perhaps, an allegory, or even an incomplete historical account -- while remaining a faithful Mormon. Feeling I had permission to abandon my attempt at Biblical fundamentalism was, not surprisingly, a relief.

But what did surprise me was how rich and meaningful those first stories of the Bible became after I stopped worrying about reconciling them with science and let go of the false dichotomy between literalism and apostasy. In Genesis, God has something to say, and listening with my science-vs.-religion ears, I couldn't hear it. I don't understand everything that God is trying to tell us, but I have come to understand that His message in Genesis is not nearly so much about ancient history as it is about our relationship with Him.

So back to Noah.

When Noah steps off the ark, God tells him to bring the animals out of the ark so that they may, "be fruitful, and multiply upon the earth" (Genesis 8:17). This is rather an odd command, if you think about it. After spending over a hundred years building this enormous ark, and then gathering the animals, and living with them in a boat for more than a year, was Noah considering . . . just leaving the animals in there? I mean, of course he was going to take them out of the ark with him. Why would he need that particular instruction from God? Why would the Bible need to spell out for us that every beast, after their kinds, went forth from the ark? From a literary standpoint, it seems to be an intentional echo of the creation story in Genesis 1, when both the animals and the new humans are given the godly edict to be fruitful and multiply.

I always thought I got what the Bible was saying here: Noah and his wife were the new Adam and Eve. Every human on the earth today is a descendant of not just Adam, but Noah as well. (Old Me: But . . . science! Gaaaahhhh.) But when I read the story again, this time without the old fear of science/religion incompatibility, I got something more. This wasn't a genealogy or a history lesson; this was a lesson about something truer, something better. This was a story about our covenant relationship with God.

"But with thee will I establish my covenant, and thou shalt come into the ark," said God to Noah. So Noah took refuge in this ark that he built but that God shut, took refuge in this covenant that he made with God. And he was not destroyed, and the earth, that fallen, cursed earth was covered with water, and then the waters receded.

And Noah stepped off the ark as the new Adam. He brought forth the animals from the ark so that they could be fruitful and multiply, an echo of the commandment given to Adam and Eve before the fall. As if creation were new again. Not that the fall hadn't happened, but that Noah was protected from the fall, that this covenant that God wrought with him overcame it.

Early Mormon leaders taught that the flood was a kind of baptism of the earth. In the past, whenever I came across that idea, my inner monologue went something like this: Oh, here we go again. How could water really cover the entire earth?And does the earth really have to get baptized like it's a person?And why do Mormons have to be so doctrinally innovative anyway? No wonder people think we're weird.

But now, with non-literal meanings open to me, I love the way the baptismal ordinance ties in with the flood story. I see the story of Noah as a beckoning to the people of the earth, to become the people of God. To take refuge in His covenant, to be baptized and renewed and reborn, as fresh and new as Adam and Eve on the morning of creation. For me, that is as meaningful as just about anything that I read in the scriptures.

And today, after a pretty spectacular parenting failure, which came after a succession of moral and mental failures that goes back as far as I can remember and goes on as far into the future as I can see, that image of Noah stepping off the ark under a rainbow sky onto an earth that had been washed clean was in my mind. And, finally, finally, I was ready to shout, "Hallelujah!" at the thought of it.

Sunday School class and not reading Noah literally.

As a Mormon, I participate each week in a one hour adult Sunday School class. This is pretty much expected of active adult members. Honestly, Sunday School has sometimes felt like a drag, and I have not always been mentally or spiritually engaged in the class.

But something has been happening in our ward, which is Mormon for congregation. I have noticed a growing depth and purpose to our Sunday School classes. Perhaps I am the one who has changed. The current Sunday School teachers are diligent and effective, but no more so than teachers in years past. In the Mormon church, teachers are unpaid amateurs. They usually only hold the position for a year or two, and they aren't selected on the basis of scriptural expertise. They facilitate discussion. They ask questions. They usually aren't Biblical scholars, and they don't have all the answers.

 Whatever the reason, my feeling is that all of us, teacher and students, seem to be reading the scriptures deeply, asking searching questions, and looking for answers with both our hearts and minds, to a greater extent than I have experienced in the past. Class participation is high; a majority of members make substantial contributions to the discussion. Men and women of different ages, races, and backgrounds are sharing insights, speculations, opinions, experiences, and firm convictions. As we express our occasionally divergent views, I feel united with members of the class in our search for a better understanding of God. As we seek God together, I am coming to know my ward members better. This is a new way for me to feel like I am part of a community of saints. For me, this is what Sunday School should be.


It has been years since I have read the lesson (the text to be studied that week) ahead of class. But after a particularly meaty lesson yesterday, I decided to look in the student manual and prepare myself for next week's lesson by reading the text.

And . . . it's a Noah lesson. As in Noah and the Ark.

For years, I agonized over the Noah story. There was just no possible way that I could believe that he managed to collect representatives of every species of animal and put them on his ark. Nor could I believe that the entire planet - up to the mountaintops - was literally covered with water. It seemed to be one of the stories that kept me from being a fully believing Latter-day Saint.

Official church publications talk of a literal, global flood. Here is an article from the Ensign (the monthly magazine for adults that is published by the church) that leaves no room for anything other than a strictly literal interpretation of the Genesis account. That issue of the Ensign was published when I was a student at Brigham Young University. I distinctly remember reading the article with a sinking feeling. I even wrote a short paper for one of my university classes on my inability to reconcile the scriptural account of the flood with my understanding of science.

Noah and his ark have bothered me so much that for a long time I avoided Noah's ark themed books, toys, and puzzles for my children. It always amazed me when parents would blithely teach their children the story of the animals boarding the ark two-by-two. Inside I was screaming, "But there are tens of thousands of animal species on Earth. And that's not counting the invertebrates!"

Gradually, I have moved on from my all-or-nothing fundamentalism. I never could believe in the "all," and I didn't want to be left with nothing. I gave myself permission to believe in a local flood and in the incompleteness, fallibility, and sometimes figurative nature of scripture (including the account in Moses), and still be a good Mormon. This approach, of course, has implications beyond Noah and the ark. Some Mormons would probably consider my views on scripture to be unorthodox at best and heretical at worst. But for now, this is where I am, and I don't know where else to be.

If you're interested, here is a collection of statements made by church leaders about the flood. Included are references to the theory, which I do not discuss here, that the flood was a kind of baptism of the earth.

UPDATE: This post from Times and Seasons discusses ways in which the Biblical text itself might prefer a non-literal reading and cautions against arguing from a scientific standpoint. I got there by following a link I found on this interesting blog which is devoted to commentary on the Gospel Doctrine Old Testament lessons.