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.

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.

Stuff I've learned watching movies and television.

Stuff I've learned watching movies and television:

1. If you have a natural gift for detective work, be careful. You and your associates will regularly stumble upon dead bodies, and your circle of friends and acquaintances will be rife with murder suspects, witnesses, and victims.

2. If a door is locked, you can easily break it down by heaving your shoulder against it. It will give way. (This works best if you're a man.)

3. Even writers, struggling artists, and bartenders can afford spacious, tastefully decorated loft apartments.

4. If you're in a relationship, lying is the primary method for heading off potential conflict with your significant other. No matter how elaborate the lie becomes and how many of your friends have to cover for you, it is preferable to engaging in direct communication with your partner.

5. If you're not in a relationship, keep in mind that you're most likely to fall in love with whomever you most dislike when you first meet him/her, provided that s/he is ravishingly good looking.

6. Hiring a fake fiance (or spouse, or boyfriend/girlfriend) is a perfectly normal thing to do, with very desirable results. In such situations, you are almost guaranteed to (actually) fall in love with the person pretending to be your romantic partner.

7. For a courtship leading to a committed relationship, three or four days is a reasonable length of time. Don't be afraid to declare your love and/or propose marriage after just a few days, especially if you and your true love have already been through a serious deception or misunderstanding that has devastated the relationship.  

Bonus tip: An airport is a good place to make a romantic entreaty. Try to time it so that you arrive just before the person you love gets on the flight that will separate you forever. If you're a few minutes too late for that, go ahead and get on the plane. You can declare yourself there, and the other passengers will enjoy the inevitable passionate kiss that results.

8. If you're about to give birth, your labor and delivery will involve a lot of screaming but will only take about ten minutes at the most. Don't worry. If the baby arrives before the midwife or doctor, friends or bystanders will do a fine job of helping out.

9. If you're a female, forget being shy or reserved. These days, spunky, strong, and adventurous is the way to go. "Quirky" is trendy too, as long as you have an impeccable sense of style and are drop dead gorgeous.

But the lesson that I have learned most thoroughly is this one:

10a. Women: If you want to have a serious, romantic relationship and be the star of your own life, you must be endowed with stunning physical beauty. Deviate from the highest standards of modern beauty and you are, at best, the comic relief or the supportive friend.

10b. Men: If you're witty and confident, you may be of any age, body shape, or face type and still find the love of your life — who will of course be a young, thin, beautiful woman.

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. 

Part 1 of 3: Imaginary conversations with a conservative Mormon woman about feminism and the Church.

Mary Cassatt, Five O'Clock Tea

                        
I am not a member of Ordain Women. Though I am open to the possibility of women someday receiving the priesthood, I don't see female ordination as the obvious answer to the inequalities  women face in the Church. Moreover, I have serious reservations about some of the tactics used by the Ordain Women organization. Nevertheless, I count myself among those who believe that the roles of women in the Church must continue to evolve in a way that promotes equality. I see real, solvable problems in the institutional church regarding women's authority, autonomy, and leadership.

Over the past several days, I have read many comments from women and men adamantly defending the status quo and criticizing those who advocate change. As I struggle to maintain a sense of unity with members of my church whose views are different than mine, I hear in my mind Christ's admonition, "If ye are not one, ye are not mine." I imagine myself having a conversation over a cup of herbal tea with a conservative Mormon woman, a fictional character representing many of the wonderful women I know. I imagine myself speaking honestly and without fear. Here is what I would say.

I have known you for a long time. You teach my son primary songs, you sing with me in the choir, and you sit next to me in Sunday School. You have reached out with genuine love to my non-member husband. You have been patient with my unanswerable questions. You have mourned with me during the terrible days after my father died.  You have helped sustain my faith with your love and testimony. I have seen your great capacity for empathy and understanding.

The sacrament meetings, visiting teaching appointments, Relief Society lessons, and acts of service that we have participated in side-by-side have bound us together with hundreds of ties. We have sung the same songs, read the same scriptures, and felt the same Spirit telling us that this is where we belong. I hope that we will not let our differences divide us. 

You have told me how happy and fulfilled you are as a woman in the Church. You feel respected, loved, and listened to. Those feelings are real, and I know that you're capable of deciding for yourself what makes you happy. I have heard you express frustration that church members whose views on women and the church are radically different from yours get so much press. That's a fair point, and I hope that your voice is heard. Above all, you have a strong conviction that we have living prophets on the earth today, and you sustain them without reservation. You cherish the belief that they speak for God, and that faith has blessed your life. I honor that.

As I talk about points of disagreement, my purpose is not to persuade you to adopt my paradigm, but rather to explain it clearly. I want you to see my advocacy for women's equality as coming from a place of thoughtfulness, faithfulness, and hope.

Fallibility of Leaders and Changing Doctrine

Much of our disagreement can be traced to differences in how we see prophets, leaders, and church organization. I believe that leaders of the Church, even members of the first presidency and quorum of the twelve, sometimes make mistakes. I believe that the Church is a work in progress, an imperfect approximation of God's will for His kingdom. Inspired leaders receive revelation and process it through a human filter of cultural baggage, prejudices, and preconceptions. Certain ideas that were once taught as doctrine are now de-emphasized, abandoned, and in some cases refuted.

I want you to make room for members who think like me. No, I need you to do more than that. I plead with you to understand that accepting the reality of prophetic fallibility is the only way I can make peace with church history. Acknowledging that prophets make mistakes is uncomfortable, and it is not something I do carelessly or lightly. But it is the only way that I can see past the mountain of discarded and sometimes disturbing prophetic teachings in our not-so-distant history. Please don't push people like me out of the church or marginalize our voices.

You can imagine how this belief in prophetic fallibility might influence my views on church organization and doctrine. I listen to General Conference, and it nourishes me spiritually. I strive to help and sustain my leaders. I am grateful for their service. But in my worldview, it is possible that a teaching or practice that is in conflict with my own conscience might someday change, because it might not reflect the mind of God.

This belief influences my willingness to speak out about my views, even when I sometimes disagree with church leaders. In a recent response to Ordain Women's request to attend the general priesthood meeting, church spokeswoman Jessica Moody referenced the "wonderful conversations . . . relative to women in the Church," and stated that "recent changes . . . were facilitated by the input of many extraordinary LDS women around the world." If the Church really is sincere about seeking input and encouraging productive conversation, then I want to be a part of that. And I don't see how we can have a conversation that facilitates change without actually talking about the positive changes that we would like to see.

This does not mean that I think all criticism is fair game or that all methods of protest are appropriate. I believe that any discussion of thorny issues must be thoughtful, respectful, and mediated by the Spirit. I hope that every member would follow the dictates of their own conscience in how they advocate for change.

This post is the first of three parts. Parts 2 and 3 will discuss specific issues regarding women in the Church. 

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

No, that sentence about getting the man we dress for is not okay.

This post is a response to one blogger's response to some of the responses to this article by Elder Tad R. Callister, found on p. 45 of the March 2014 Ensign.

Here, I am responding to the blog post referenced above:

Usually I applaud efforts to calm the firestorm after a controversial statement by a political or religious leader. I don't approve of vilifying our leaders - or anyone - over stray remarks, and I welcome interpretations of such statements that keep in mind the benefit of the doubt.

So I appreciate much of what you have written. In particular, I share your concern that overblown "rape culture" accusations distract us from the real rape culture problems in our society.

But I cannot let your defense of the following sentence stand:

        In the end, most women will get the type of man they dress for.

Because it's not true. It's embarrassing, it's offensive, and I'm too troubled by it to make a clever joke showing how ridiculous it is. (If anyone's interested in that sort of witty comment, you can find plenty of them here.)


For the moment, let's set aside the question of whether it's appropriate for a male ecclesiastical leader to counsel women about how to "dress for" men. Let's also set aside the question of whether a woman's clothing really is a reliable predictor of the type of man she "gets." Let's go straight to the implicit victim shaming, the angle that I find most offensive.

I think that I can see what Elder Callister was trying to get at here, and I believe that there is some merit in the concept. He wants to encourage women to dress modestly so that they will attract attention from the good guys, not the shallow, objectifying type.

But, at best, the claim that most women get the type of man they dress for is naively optimistic. At worst, it's a slap in the face to the legions of women who do not end up happily married to a righteous priesthood holder. And that's about half of the Mormon women I know.

Did the women who have been sexually assaulted get the type of man they dressed for? Did the women whose husbands abused or abandoned them get the men they dressed for? Do the accomplished, intelligent single women who have never had the chance to marry fail to dress right? What about the women who date men who manipulate them and mistreat them? None of these circumstances is exceptional. Put together, these groups probably comprise roughly a third to a half of the women in my ward. 

Please don't defend this statement by pointing to the word "most." Even if, hypothetically, his strategy for finding the right guy works more than 50% of the time - technically most of the time - the women for which it fails are too numerous to write off as tragic exceptions. And for the women who do find happiness, it suggests that the relationship is a reward for dressing correctly.

And, yes, we can argue about the best way to interpret the statement. Maybe get the man or dress for or most women mean something different to Elder Callister than they do to me. Certainly, he didn't intend to hurt or demean. But the sentence is vague, and that's part of the problem. It leaves far too much room for interpretations that have no proper place in our teachings about modesty and sexuality. 

Surely, Elder Callister could have dug a little deeper and found a productive way to say what he meant. The sentence that he came up with does not meet what should be basic standards of thoughtfulness and helpfulness. It lowers the level of discourse, and I'm disappointed that it found its way into an official publication of the Church.

Leaders who make careless remarks like this need thoughtful, measured push-back from the church members who sustain them. As I see it, that's one way that the body of the church, lay members and general authorities alike, will learn to reject the harmful words that we can't afford to harbor.

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.