Why do some Mormons who've experienced a shift in their theologocial or cosmological paradigm stick with the LDS church? And why do some leave?
It's obviously a subjective question, and the reasons will vary with each case. And responses to it tend to be a Rorschach test. Ask this question in Elders' Quorum or at the Ex-Mormon Conference, and your bound to hear many of the reasons that active members stay (or why they'd never leave) or why Ex-Mormons have left (and why they could never stay).
Some faithful Mormons would explain leavers as people who'd lost their testimony, wanted to engage in sinful behavior, or were took offense at some slight.
Ex-Mormons aside, it seems that Leavers are slightly more generous in ascribing motives to stayers: the personal costs of leaving may be high with devout family members, they fear disappointing family and friends, etc.
Both explanations have a some truth to them, though I find the average faithful Mormon explanation simplistic and accusatory. But, saying that someone "lost their testimony" is a pretty tidy, if jargony way of saying that their theological, historical, and/or cosmological paradigm shifted and was no longer congruent with the paradigm promoted by church leadership. That's true enough in my case. (Of course, the other two "explanations" - desiring to sin and being offended - are, in the vast majority of cases of which I'm aware, hogwash.)
But I wonder if there's something else separating the damaged wheat from the tares?
I was raised in a devout, though by no means dogmatic, LDS home. Though I don't recall my parents teaching me that the church was infallible, they did nothing to disabuse me of that notion when it was taught in church and seminary curricula, or declared from official pulpits. We didn't draw a distinction between the "gospel" and "the Church." Both were true and were treated as though they were merely synonyms.
It would be unfair to blame my parents for not making such an esoteric distinction. They were part of a culture that had married the two concepts long before I gained awareness.
But I wonder how different my reaction to actual church history, and more recently, the difference between my views on politics and Christian truth and those of official Mormondom, would have been had I been taught that Church is merely the delivery mechanism for the gospel; that it is no more fallible than any organization on earth, as it is made up of and led by human beings (ok, perhaps a more realistic expectation would be that the church is less fallible than other organizations, but, as an organization run by humans, it can foul things up).
In my experience, "stayers" are generally people who grew up in a less dogmatic, less devout household, and/or grew up in a less authoritarian church era - say the pre-Harold B. Lee years. Conversely, "leavers" seem to have had a more fundamentalist (in the non-polygamist sort of way), dogmatic upbringing, and/or grew up in an era in which the church and the gospel were conflated; in which there was an emphasis on "Following the Prophet." Though I'm not familiar with all the names in this volume, those I do recognize suggests that most stayers are considerably older than me.
I did a quick search on lds.org for "Follow the Prophet." This is by no means conclusive, but most of the hits are from General Conference talks and church magazine articles of the past thirty years. I think the earliest hit was a talk from 1979 - just a year before such expressions of blind obedience to authority reached their zenith in Ezra Taft Benson's "Fourteen Fundamentals on Following the Prophet."
It's difficult to make broad generalizations or to draw theories when looking at two relatively small samples. But I can't help but think that the era in which Mormons who've experienced a paradigm shift plays some part in their decision to stay or leave.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
The Old Rugged Cross
A simple wooden cross is hanging around my neck.
Today is the first time I've ever worn the symbol of Christianity.
Though I've long since abandoned some of the superstitiousness ingrained in my upbringing, the Mormon aversion to the cross stayed with me. It seemed to symbolize violence, suffering, and cruelty.
And of course, it does. I liked that Mormonism focused on the Living Christ rather than the tortured, dying Christ. I still like that about the LDS church, in spite of my complaints about it.
But its symbolism is far richer, and worthier of more thought and respect than it is given by the glib, "we-prefer-to-focus-on-Christ's-resurrection" response.
Over several days, I've been working my way (slowly, for it is dense with ideas) through theologian Jurgen Moltmann's The Crucified God: The Cross of Christ as the Foundation and Criticism of Christian Theology. Here's a decent summary of the book.
The cross is the symbol of faith not merely because we worship Jesus, but it is the crucial link between Jesus' mortal life and his resurrection and immortality. On the cross, the radical Jewish teacher who taught love at the expense of strict adherence to religious custom and the primacy of God's kingdom over all earthly kingdoms, was tortured, suffered, and died, leading to his resurrection, our reconciliation with God, and our salvation from death.
It is in the cross that these two theologies of Jesus - "Jesusology," the mortal life and teachings, and Christology, the theology of salvation, resurrection, and Christ's Godhood - meet. Focusing solely on the social justice aspect of Christianity is deficient theology, and neglects the crucial other half of Christianity: Christ's Godhood, reconciling power, and salvation; the reverse is also true.
So when I wear the cross, I'm bearing the symbol that reminds me of these two key components of being a Christian. I am reminded of the sufferings that he bore, both as a result of and to make possible the key features of Christianity.
Today is the first time I've ever worn the symbol of Christianity.
Though I've long since abandoned some of the superstitiousness ingrained in my upbringing, the Mormon aversion to the cross stayed with me. It seemed to symbolize violence, suffering, and cruelty.
And of course, it does. I liked that Mormonism focused on the Living Christ rather than the tortured, dying Christ. I still like that about the LDS church, in spite of my complaints about it.
But its symbolism is far richer, and worthier of more thought and respect than it is given by the glib, "we-prefer-to-focus-on-Christ's-resurrection" response.
Over several days, I've been working my way (slowly, for it is dense with ideas) through theologian Jurgen Moltmann's The Crucified God: The Cross of Christ as the Foundation and Criticism of Christian Theology. Here's a decent summary of the book.
The cross is the symbol of faith not merely because we worship Jesus, but it is the crucial link between Jesus' mortal life and his resurrection and immortality. On the cross, the radical Jewish teacher who taught love at the expense of strict adherence to religious custom and the primacy of God's kingdom over all earthly kingdoms, was tortured, suffered, and died, leading to his resurrection, our reconciliation with God, and our salvation from death.
It is in the cross that these two theologies of Jesus - "Jesusology," the mortal life and teachings, and Christology, the theology of salvation, resurrection, and Christ's Godhood - meet. Focusing solely on the social justice aspect of Christianity is deficient theology, and neglects the crucial other half of Christianity: Christ's Godhood, reconciling power, and salvation; the reverse is also true.
So when I wear the cross, I'm bearing the symbol that reminds me of these two key components of being a Christian. I am reminded of the sufferings that he bore, both as a result of and to make possible the key features of Christianity.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Claimed
But now a righteousness from God, apart from law, has been made known, to which the Law and the Prophets testify. This righteousness from God comes through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.
It was 9 pm. My two children were asleep and my wife was at the grocery store.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, with the light from my bedside lamp splashing the walls behind me, I uttered a simple prayer in modern English.
I am now God's, through Christ.
Friday, March 18, 2011
The sad evolution of an institution
One of the ironies of history is the transformation of the LDS church from a non-creedal, non-hierarchical (or at least, minimally hierarchical) religion into a rigidly orthodox, hierarchical and authoritarian religion.
I was re-reading JS-History and was struck by Joseph's characterizations of the churches of the day. Joseph states that the churches "used all the powers of both reason and sophistry to prove their errors, or, at least, to make the people think they were in error" regarding points of doctrine. Joseph's wonder upon reading James 1:5 suggests a culture in which preachers and priests were arbiters between God and man.
Today, though the mainline Protestant sects still disagree on some small points of doctrine, a spirit of ecumenicalism prevails. There is no - or at least very little - bickering about the smaller points of doctrine, e.g., proper mode of baptism, authority, free will vs. predestination. Indeed, there is so little disagreement that many churches often welcome pastors, ministers, and priests from other sects to preach in their services. Just a few months ago the mainline Protestant church I've been visiting had one of these "pulpit exchanges" with a local Catholic church.
Today, it is the Mormons that insist on pointing out the differences in doctrine between their faith and the rest of Christianity. We are the ones using "reason and sophistry to prove their errors."
As a missionary, when we taught about the apostasy, we'd demonstrate by building a small pyramid out of plastic cups. What happens when you remove one (or all) of the cups? The pyramid tumbles. So it was with the early church, we'd teach. Several of the apostles are killed, and the church tumbles.
And of course, this was bush-league persuasion. One only need visit FAIR or any LDS apologist site to witness sophistry in action.
Today, within much of Protestantism, despite the hierarchy within each sect, there is a distinct spirit of democracy. The LDS church, however, has only grown more rigidly hierarchical and authoritarian. Witness the growth of the Church Handbook of Instructions.
Much of the growth of this authoritarinism, at least over the past generation, stems from a talk then-apostle Ezra Taft Benson delivered at a BYU devotional in 1981, entitled "The Fourteen Fundamentals in Following the Prophet."
It has become such a part of LDS church culture that last October, in the church's semi-annual General Conference, not one, but two (!) different speakers quoted heavily from this non-doctrinal, non-canonical talk.
Of course, the worst thing about Benson's message is not that it's non-canonical and non-doctrinal; it's not even that it's utter nonsense and relies heavily on circular logic; no, the worst part is the sort of uncritical, unthinking obedience to authority it demands of the LDS membership.
If it weren't for the very real spiritual toll it has exacted, the transformation of the LDS church from a democratic, anti-dogmatic institution to it's mirror image would be amusing.
I was re-reading JS-History and was struck by Joseph's characterizations of the churches of the day. Joseph states that the churches "used all the powers of both reason and sophistry to prove their errors, or, at least, to make the people think they were in error" regarding points of doctrine. Joseph's wonder upon reading James 1:5 suggests a culture in which preachers and priests were arbiters between God and man.
Today, though the mainline Protestant sects still disagree on some small points of doctrine, a spirit of ecumenicalism prevails. There is no - or at least very little - bickering about the smaller points of doctrine, e.g., proper mode of baptism, authority, free will vs. predestination. Indeed, there is so little disagreement that many churches often welcome pastors, ministers, and priests from other sects to preach in their services. Just a few months ago the mainline Protestant church I've been visiting had one of these "pulpit exchanges" with a local Catholic church.
Today, it is the Mormons that insist on pointing out the differences in doctrine between their faith and the rest of Christianity. We are the ones using "reason and sophistry to prove their errors."
As a missionary, when we taught about the apostasy, we'd demonstrate by building a small pyramid out of plastic cups. What happens when you remove one (or all) of the cups? The pyramid tumbles. So it was with the early church, we'd teach. Several of the apostles are killed, and the church tumbles.
And of course, this was bush-league persuasion. One only need visit FAIR or any LDS apologist site to witness sophistry in action.
Today, within much of Protestantism, despite the hierarchy within each sect, there is a distinct spirit of democracy. The LDS church, however, has only grown more rigidly hierarchical and authoritarian. Witness the growth of the Church Handbook of Instructions.
Much of the growth of this authoritarinism, at least over the past generation, stems from a talk then-apostle Ezra Taft Benson delivered at a BYU devotional in 1981, entitled "The Fourteen Fundamentals in Following the Prophet."
It has become such a part of LDS church culture that last October, in the church's semi-annual General Conference, not one, but two (!) different speakers quoted heavily from this non-doctrinal, non-canonical talk.
Of course, the worst thing about Benson's message is not that it's non-canonical and non-doctrinal; it's not even that it's utter nonsense and relies heavily on circular logic; no, the worst part is the sort of uncritical, unthinking obedience to authority it demands of the LDS membership.
If it weren't for the very real spiritual toll it has exacted, the transformation of the LDS church from a democratic, anti-dogmatic institution to it's mirror image would be amusing.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
The Journey Thus Far, Part II
(Part I available here)
My relationship to the church never fully recovered from Prop 8. It was already fairly tattered, makeshift stitchings keeping it whole.
Last summer, on a whim, I picked up a book by a former Evangelical pastor, Brian McLaren. In it, he argues that so much of contemporary Christianity's approach to the Bible and theology is distorted through the cultural baggage we've accumulated over the past 2,000 years. Our view of Jesus is filtered by the view of say, John Wesley, whose view is filtered through Martin Luther, whose view is filtered through Thomas Aquinas, whose view is filtered through Augustine, whose view is filtered through Paul. McLaren calls for a fresh approach, an approach that tries to read the Bible for what it actually says; not what our leaders, teachers, and mentors, say it means.
McLaren's vision resonated with me. It had the ring of truth to it. I began reading many of the books cited in his book, including revisiting the Bible.
I felt God's hand tugging me along, slowly, gently. I felt that God was speaking to me for the first time in, well, ever.
And as I began to hear God's voice in my studies, it was deafeningly silent in LDS meetings.
Though Mormons insist that they are indeed Christians (and I would agree with that assertion), many LDS meetings, conclude, sadly, with nary a mention of Christ, with the exception of closing prayers, testimonies, and talks in his name.
I began seeing failings in the Mormon approach everywhere (some of these failings were hardly fresh observations; I've always been bothered by the legalistic approach Mormon culture takes to dress and appearance).
I was fairly open with my dear wife about my entire spiritual journey, from my mission until now. She shares many of the concerns and questions about the church that I've long harbored. For her, however, the good she finds in the church outweighs the negative.
We began attending other church services, in addition to continuing our attendance in our LDS ward. Our first experience was in one of the mainline Protestant churches. It was lovely. Though I've visited several other denominations on my own, we've continued to attend services at this particular mainline branch and have never been disappointed. Every time we've gone, I've felt God's presence; what has been taught and sung about rings true.
In these services, the hymns and the sermons have expressed an awe toward God that I've rarely experienced in the LDS church. For some reason or another, God doesn't seem as mysterious and awesome in Mormonism as God does to other Christians.*
So, in the several months since we began attending this mainline church once to twice a month, I've become partial to and felt some desire to be connected with this church. I feel that God is calling me towards this. And moreover, it works for me; Mormonism doesn't.
I recognize that for many Mormons, because it is so self evident that the LDS church is the only true and living church on the face of the Earth, the only explanation for someone like me is to say that I was deeply offended by someone in the church or that I have a desire to sin.
I've been offended by plenty of people in the church, but I'm a big boy. The vast majority of any offenses I've experienced have been small ones that I've long since let go of and forgotten about. And any larger offenses I've experienced simply weren't that big of a deal. They were pretty minor, in the grand scheme of things, that I'd never let detract from where I choose to worship God. I've always tried to "choose not to be offended."
As for a desire to sin...nah. I got most of that out of my system in my post-mission, pre-marriage years. I'm more than happily married, and would never intentionally do anything to harm that relationship, my wife or my children.
I recognize all the good that the LDS church does for individuals and in the world; I know that it works for a great many people. The reality is that it no longer does for me.
I've come to the end of the Mormon sidewalk, and I'm I've got nothing but wide open meadow ahead of me. Now, which direction do I want to go in?
*To be perfectly fair, a number of hymns in the LDS hymnal express awe towards God and Jesus. One of my favorite hymns written by an LDS writer is a favorite because it expresses that awe so beautifully. The problem is that they aren't sung with awe. In most congregations I've been in, hymns aren't sung with much of anything. They often feel like a formality. My sense of a lack of awe toward God within the LDS church/culture probably stems from our confidence in God's plan and his nature. Though that confidence has virtues of its own, a sense of awe does not seem to be one of them.
My relationship to the church never fully recovered from Prop 8. It was already fairly tattered, makeshift stitchings keeping it whole.
Last summer, on a whim, I picked up a book by a former Evangelical pastor, Brian McLaren. In it, he argues that so much of contemporary Christianity's approach to the Bible and theology is distorted through the cultural baggage we've accumulated over the past 2,000 years. Our view of Jesus is filtered by the view of say, John Wesley, whose view is filtered through Martin Luther, whose view is filtered through Thomas Aquinas, whose view is filtered through Augustine, whose view is filtered through Paul. McLaren calls for a fresh approach, an approach that tries to read the Bible for what it actually says; not what our leaders, teachers, and mentors, say it means.
McLaren's vision resonated with me. It had the ring of truth to it. I began reading many of the books cited in his book, including revisiting the Bible.
I felt God's hand tugging me along, slowly, gently. I felt that God was speaking to me for the first time in, well, ever.
And as I began to hear God's voice in my studies, it was deafeningly silent in LDS meetings.
Though Mormons insist that they are indeed Christians (and I would agree with that assertion), many LDS meetings, conclude, sadly, with nary a mention of Christ, with the exception of closing prayers, testimonies, and talks in his name.
I began seeing failings in the Mormon approach everywhere (some of these failings were hardly fresh observations; I've always been bothered by the legalistic approach Mormon culture takes to dress and appearance).
I was fairly open with my dear wife about my entire spiritual journey, from my mission until now. She shares many of the concerns and questions about the church that I've long harbored. For her, however, the good she finds in the church outweighs the negative.
We began attending other church services, in addition to continuing our attendance in our LDS ward. Our first experience was in one of the mainline Protestant churches. It was lovely. Though I've visited several other denominations on my own, we've continued to attend services at this particular mainline branch and have never been disappointed. Every time we've gone, I've felt God's presence; what has been taught and sung about rings true.
In these services, the hymns and the sermons have expressed an awe toward God that I've rarely experienced in the LDS church. For some reason or another, God doesn't seem as mysterious and awesome in Mormonism as God does to other Christians.*
So, in the several months since we began attending this mainline church once to twice a month, I've become partial to and felt some desire to be connected with this church. I feel that God is calling me towards this. And moreover, it works for me; Mormonism doesn't.
I recognize that for many Mormons, because it is so self evident that the LDS church is the only true and living church on the face of the Earth, the only explanation for someone like me is to say that I was deeply offended by someone in the church or that I have a desire to sin.
I've been offended by plenty of people in the church, but I'm a big boy. The vast majority of any offenses I've experienced have been small ones that I've long since let go of and forgotten about. And any larger offenses I've experienced simply weren't that big of a deal. They were pretty minor, in the grand scheme of things, that I'd never let detract from where I choose to worship God. I've always tried to "choose not to be offended."
As for a desire to sin...nah. I got most of that out of my system in my post-mission, pre-marriage years. I'm more than happily married, and would never intentionally do anything to harm that relationship, my wife or my children.
I recognize all the good that the LDS church does for individuals and in the world; I know that it works for a great many people. The reality is that it no longer does for me.
I've come to the end of the Mormon sidewalk, and I'm I've got nothing but wide open meadow ahead of me. Now, which direction do I want to go in?
*To be perfectly fair, a number of hymns in the LDS hymnal express awe towards God and Jesus. One of my favorite hymns written by an LDS writer is a favorite because it expresses that awe so beautifully. The problem is that they aren't sung with awe. In most congregations I've been in, hymns aren't sung with much of anything. They often feel like a formality. My sense of a lack of awe toward God within the LDS church/culture probably stems from our confidence in God's plan and his nature. Though that confidence has virtues of its own, a sense of awe does not seem to be one of them.
The Journey Thus Far, Part I
Feeling spiritually unmoored* is nothing new to me. A decade ago, just after returning from my mission, I began seeking answers to questions that had been raised on my mission.
Investigators and people we approached raised some of these questions, most of which were standard anti-Mormon fare: Quakers on the moon, Adam-God theory, other fun off-handed comments by past prophets from the Journal of Discourses.
But by far the most troubling revelations were that the narrative of church history I'd grown up with and had been teaching was not the full story. as a product of polygamy, I'd been well-aware of the practice, but only learned about the polyandrous practices in Nauvoo while a missionary. I learned for the first time about the Mountain Meadows Massacre. And though I'd been aware of and troubled by the church's history with racial issues before my mission, teaching the gospel to people of African descent highlighted how problematic this practice had been.
Other questions had arisen through my own personal study: the question that arose after reading Doctrine and Covenants 110 was perhaps the most troubling. Following the appearance of Jesus Christ to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery, some of the great Hebrew Bible prophets appear and grant Joseph and Oliver certain blessings. Moses blesses Joseph and Oliver the keys of the gathering of the tribes of Israel; Elijah informs them that Malachi 4:5-6 was about to be fulfilled.
But another prophet appears and "committed the dispensation of the gospel of Abraham." I decided to learn about this prophet, Elias, about whom I'd never heard. I looked him up in the Bible Dictionary.
The entry opens by stating, "[Elias] is the N.T. (Greek) form of Elijah (Hebrew), as in Luke 4:25–26, James 5:17, and Matt. 17:1–4. Elias in these instances can only be the ancient prophet Elijah whose ministry is recorded in 1 and 2 Kings." It concludes by stating that there must be two Eliases. It struck me as a stretch.
The thought, "He made it all up!" flashed through my mind. I immediately tried to bury that notion. "He couldn't have," I thought. There was just too much for a New York farm boy to make up.
But that tick-like didn't go away. It bored into my mind; usually just benignly present, but every now and then causing an infection of doubt.
So, I came home. I read all I could find about the historical questions that had troubled me and all that I could about Joseph Smith.
Within a year of returning from the mission, I had come to the conclusion that the church was not what it claimed to be.
The next several years were not pleasant ones. I went through school, but felt completely alone - alienated by my faithful Mormon friends and unwilling to participate in their church-related activities, but misunderstood by non-Mormons. I didn't do anything drastic like have my name removed from church records, but I wasn't attending church or adhering to many church standards, either. As soon as I was financially independent, my plan was to bolt.
But then I fell in love.
Making some sort of peace with the church was imperative.
I soon came across the blogs and podcasts of a guy who'd had a similar faith crisis. He was on a mission to help those who'd also undergone upendings of their faith realize that there was still a way to make things work in the church.
So, I tried it. Rather than continually scratching the Book of Mormon historicity and genesis scabs, I focused on its message. I could accept that the leaders of the church were truly prophets, seers, and revelators, if I just broadened my definitions a bit. Revelation didn't have to go from Jesus' mouth to the prophet's ear and then over the pulpit. Rather, the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve likely experienced "revelation" as we all do: a still small voice, a feeling, a thought, an impression, that follows deep thought and sincere prayer.
It seemed to work.
I felt at home again in the church, at least far more than I had in years. I soon married this wonderful woman. I was teaching in Elders' Quorum once a month and later, in Sunday School.
I hit a few roadblocks along the way: the occasional General Conference talk that rubbed me the wrong way, didn't ring true, or whatever; the off meeting or thoughtless remark of a Priesthood leader. But generally, I was rolling with the punches. Though well-intentioned, leaders at all levels of the church are imperfect, I told myself. Give them the benefit of the doubt that you'd hope they'd extend to you.
And then, Prop 8 happened. I understood the church's position, but was deeply troubled by its political actions. And though its theological objections to gay marriage made sense, at least within the church's theological framework, they did not, to my mind, translate well into legal arguments.
Would my already weakened relationship to the church survive?
(To be continued...)
Investigators and people we approached raised some of these questions, most of which were standard anti-Mormon fare: Quakers on the moon, Adam-God theory, other fun off-handed comments by past prophets from the Journal of Discourses.
But by far the most troubling revelations were that the narrative of church history I'd grown up with and had been teaching was not the full story. as a product of polygamy, I'd been well-aware of the practice, but only learned about the polyandrous practices in Nauvoo while a missionary. I learned for the first time about the Mountain Meadows Massacre. And though I'd been aware of and troubled by the church's history with racial issues before my mission, teaching the gospel to people of African descent highlighted how problematic this practice had been.
Other questions had arisen through my own personal study: the question that arose after reading Doctrine and Covenants 110 was perhaps the most troubling. Following the appearance of Jesus Christ to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery, some of the great Hebrew Bible prophets appear and grant Joseph and Oliver certain blessings. Moses blesses Joseph and Oliver the keys of the gathering of the tribes of Israel; Elijah informs them that Malachi 4:5-6 was about to be fulfilled.
But another prophet appears and "committed the dispensation of the gospel of Abraham." I decided to learn about this prophet, Elias, about whom I'd never heard. I looked him up in the Bible Dictionary.
The thought, "He made it all up!" flashed through my mind. I immediately tried to bury that notion. "He couldn't have," I thought. There was just too much for a New York farm boy to make up.
But that tick-like didn't go away. It bored into my mind; usually just benignly present, but every now and then causing an infection of doubt.
So, I came home. I read all I could find about the historical questions that had troubled me and all that I could about Joseph Smith.
Within a year of returning from the mission, I had come to the conclusion that the church was not what it claimed to be.
The next several years were not pleasant ones. I went through school, but felt completely alone - alienated by my faithful Mormon friends and unwilling to participate in their church-related activities, but misunderstood by non-Mormons. I didn't do anything drastic like have my name removed from church records, but I wasn't attending church or adhering to many church standards, either. As soon as I was financially independent, my plan was to bolt.
But then I fell in love.
Making some sort of peace with the church was imperative.
I soon came across the blogs and podcasts of a guy who'd had a similar faith crisis. He was on a mission to help those who'd also undergone upendings of their faith realize that there was still a way to make things work in the church.
So, I tried it. Rather than continually scratching the Book of Mormon historicity and genesis scabs, I focused on its message. I could accept that the leaders of the church were truly prophets, seers, and revelators, if I just broadened my definitions a bit. Revelation didn't have to go from Jesus' mouth to the prophet's ear and then over the pulpit. Rather, the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve likely experienced "revelation" as we all do: a still small voice, a feeling, a thought, an impression, that follows deep thought and sincere prayer.
It seemed to work.
I felt at home again in the church, at least far more than I had in years. I soon married this wonderful woman. I was teaching in Elders' Quorum once a month and later, in Sunday School.
I hit a few roadblocks along the way: the occasional General Conference talk that rubbed me the wrong way, didn't ring true, or whatever; the off meeting or thoughtless remark of a Priesthood leader. But generally, I was rolling with the punches. Though well-intentioned, leaders at all levels of the church are imperfect, I told myself. Give them the benefit of the doubt that you'd hope they'd extend to you.
And then, Prop 8 happened. I understood the church's position, but was deeply troubled by its political actions. And though its theological objections to gay marriage made sense, at least within the church's theological framework, they did not, to my mind, translate well into legal arguments.
Would my already weakened relationship to the church survive?
(To be continued...)
*Though I feel more moored now than I ever have; it just that my moorings are no longer institutionally-based.
Preface
Yes, I am well aware that appropriating the title of perhaps the most important literary work in the Western tradition smacks of pretension.
But really, is there a better word to describe a journey through Mormonism and possibly out of it?
"Wandering" sounds so directionless. Likewise with "travels." "Journey" is a bit better, but lacks the emotional and intellectual heft that "odyssey" carries.
Further, "odyssey" implies a final destination - a goal. I don't know precisely where my Ithaca is, but I have a decent idea what it is - a spiritual state of feeling peace and harmony with God.
So, I figure I ought to chronicle these travels. Though I don't anticipate my odessey lasting 10 years, it may turn out to be epic, unfortunate contemporary usage of that adjective nothwithstanding.
There will be little here that introduces or discusses Mormonism; I assume that anyone who reads these posts has at least a baseline familiarlity with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; its doctrines and practices; and its culture.
Though I no longer believe many of the tenets of Mormonism, I don't have antagonistic feelings towards Mormons themselves. And while I am unable to believe many of Mormonism's fundamental doctrines, I affirm many of Mormonism's values. The doctrine of Mormonism - and its evolution - are fascinating to me, despite my unbelief.
I admit to retaining some anger or resentment towards the culture of contemporary Mormonism, disappointment in some of the LDS Church's leaders, and dismay at some of the actions and positions held by the institutional church.
Nevertheless, you will find little here in the way of diatribes, rants, or arguments against the LDS church. There are plenty of other websites that can do that for you. Inasmuch as the LDS church intersects with that journey, it will be discussed - warts and all. But my focus here is on my own spiritual odyssey.
So, to Ithaca!
But really, is there a better word to describe a journey through Mormonism and possibly out of it?
"Wandering" sounds so directionless. Likewise with "travels." "Journey" is a bit better, but lacks the emotional and intellectual heft that "odyssey" carries.
Further, "odyssey" implies a final destination - a goal. I don't know precisely where my Ithaca is, but I have a decent idea what it is - a spiritual state of feeling peace and harmony with God.
So, I figure I ought to chronicle these travels. Though I don't anticipate my odessey lasting 10 years, it may turn out to be epic, unfortunate contemporary usage of that adjective nothwithstanding.
There will be little here that introduces or discusses Mormonism; I assume that anyone who reads these posts has at least a baseline familiarlity with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; its doctrines and practices; and its culture.
Though I no longer believe many of the tenets of Mormonism, I don't have antagonistic feelings towards Mormons themselves. And while I am unable to believe many of Mormonism's fundamental doctrines, I affirm many of Mormonism's values. The doctrine of Mormonism - and its evolution - are fascinating to me, despite my unbelief.
I admit to retaining some anger or resentment towards the culture of contemporary Mormonism, disappointment in some of the LDS Church's leaders, and dismay at some of the actions and positions held by the institutional church.
Nevertheless, you will find little here in the way of diatribes, rants, or arguments against the LDS church. There are plenty of other websites that can do that for you. Inasmuch as the LDS church intersects with that journey, it will be discussed - warts and all. But my focus here is on my own spiritual odyssey.
So, to Ithaca!
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