Who are you talking to?--Fixing the problem with the way Mormons teach.

For 30 years now I have been participating in lessons taught in our churches. For the last seven years since returning from my mission I've been called as a teacher, almost without exception. I am being honest when I say there are few things I love more than teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ. These years of lesson plans and Sunday sermons have lead me to a lot of thinking about one question:

Why are many of the lessons taught in our church so awful? 

When I say awful, what I mean is--difficult to engage with and ineffective in producing spiritual growth. The contrast these decades of lessons strike with the mind bogglingly gorgeous, inspirational, moving, powerful principles of Christ's gospel is befuddling to me to say the least. We show up weekly to these meetings, sit through three hours of talking, then go home, unchanged. Meanwhile the miracles of Christianity remain before us, untouched. The resources and remedies for our problems go unused. The opportunities we have to connect with others in our community in meaningful and strengthening ways are missed--not always, but often enough. That, to me, is awful.

Today, after a decade of seriously turning this question over in my mind, I had an epiphany in my sacrament meeting--or rather, in the foyer where I was sitting for the last half of sacrament meeting. But before the epiphany, a couple things about me.

I hate Mother's Day. More accurately put, I hate attending church on mother's day. Every year I seem to forget what a terrible idea it is for me to participate in services that day, and every year I go to church and listen to talks about the healthy homes my fellow Mormons grew up in, their attentive mothers, the importance of being a good homemaker, how exciting it is to look forward to marriage and the crowning glory that one day I too will achieve of becoming a mother. I'm even given gifts to preemptively honor my dedication to hearth and home. Every year I go home after these lessons and cry.

This year I was half way though the first hour when I realized that I needed to just leave for the day, but I was asked to participate in a musical number, then give the closing prayer to our last meeting. I ended up staying, gritting my teeth through the entire experience. When I left church, I didn't make it home before the tears came. I pulled over and sat alone, staring into the ocean a while to process some thoughts. Why am I so upset? I asked myself. No one else seemed upset. After a few minutes of reflection I formulated the sentence. Well, I grew up in a home with very distracted or absent divorced parents, then I married a man who guilted me into becoming pregnant, treated me terribly while I was experiencing the miscarriage of his baby, then left me. 

Yeah, that would do it. 

I'm an artist. I'm a writer. I'm a teacher, a designer, a poet, a lover of the ocean, and a really good friend. I'm also the product of a dysfunctional marriage, the only child in my large family that still attends church, the mother of a miscarried child and a 30 year old divorcee attending a singles ward. This piece isn't about the good things or the hard things in my personal life, though there are plenty of both. It's about a problem that I often experience in church as a byproduct of some of my life experiences. This problem was perfectly illustrated by the experience I had in church today.

I don't really need to explain the details of the talk I walked out of today. We've all had the - I'm getting married in two days so I have incredibly helpful things to say about the institution of marriage- talk (which, when you think about it, is a lot like asking a chicken to explain what it's like to be in tortilla soup or a senior in college to give a seminar on what it's like to live in the real world, but I digress). I want to pause here for a moment to say--it's not that girl's fault. She was excited and happy and in love and stressed out of her mind with wedding plans, I'm sure. More significantly, she was following a clearly established trail blazed by hundreds of thousands before her in terms of acceptable behavior for that moment in time.

I believe that she is happy. I believe that she is in love, that she doesn't understand why people would choose not to experience this journey that she is embarking upon. I believe her when she says that she believes the risk, the pain, the sacrifice is all worth it, and I am happy for her. She is in a beautiful, sacred, special time in her life. That being said, I walked out of the meeting half way through her talk for a reason. That reason is the pain of staying exceeded my nourishment. Also, I felt like I did not belong, and I am tired of feeling like I don't belong. When she was preparing her remarks on marriage, she did not have me in mind. Not all talks can be written for me. That's fair and I can deal, but let me ask you this: who was that talk written for? Who did it help? And (here's the one we never ask) who did it hurt? This is the epiphany I had.

We, the teachers of lessons and givers of talks, fail to ask ourselves one critical question: Who am I talking to?

This is basic teaching skills 101. A lesson on long division is pointless when given to a college level calculus class. The most thoughtfully crafted lesson on the art of origami would be lost on a group that showed up for a guitar lesson. For the guy who just sliced his hand while making dinner, the only lesson he could possibly care about is one on stopping blood flow. This problem isn't just with marriage talks. There are more sensitive subjects than those close to home for me. This is a problem we have across the board in our educational practices as a culture.

Who is your audience? What do they need? Do you know?

If I had to describe the audience that the majority of the lessons I have heard in my life are written for, the list would look something like this:

Untouched by any serious sin.
Rock solid in their faith.
Raised in a happy, healthy home.
Part of an active LDS family.
Republican (probably).
Extremely well versed in scripture and church history.
Desirous of marriage and children at Divinity's earliest convenience.
Heterosexual and disgusted by homosexuals and homosexuality.
Incapable of or disinterested in abstract thought or innovative, authentic approaches to discussion of gospel principles.
Content, maybe even happy.

So... maybe there's a ward somewhere that looks like this, but all I can say definitively is that this sure as hell doesn't describe me. Who are these people? Have you ever met them? Can we do some scientific tests on them to see if they are human? Here's a list for you.

Experimenting with sex, alcohol and drugs.
Struggling in school, work and/or personal relationships.
Experiencing depression.
Dealing with eating disorders.
Struggling with health problems.
Devout LDS feminist.
Family member dying of cancer.
Struggles with mental health or loves someone who does.
Touched by divorce.
Victims of domestic abuse--physical, sexual, emotional, mental (the statistic on this is still 25% of women, by the way)
Victims of rape.
Debating whether they should come back to church next week.
Suicidal.
Unfaithful.
Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered or queer.
Bored out of their minds.
Confused.
Lonely.
Closet racist.
Had an abortion.
Addicted.
Gave a child up for adoption.
Childless by choice.
Intensely introverted.
Need I go on?

President Eyring once shared this sentiment. "When you meet someone, treat them as if they were in serious trouble, and you will be right more than half the time." It's not just me. We are a church of sinners, misfits, pain ridden, beautiful, stressed out, jacked up, flawed human beings who have this ridiculous habit of pretending like we have it all together, and it's messing us all up.

The congregation I described above? It's your congregation, and mine. For each point listed above I have a name in mind of a Latter-Day Saint I personally know that correlates. The problem is this: we teach lessons about families and honoring the priesthood to the girl who was raped by her father, the Young Men's President. We teach lessons on the importance of missionary work to the young man who is denied the opportunity, despite his righteous desires, because of a weight condition. We lecture the Elder's Quorum about their priesthood duty of selecting a woman to care for and to help them avoid sexual sin to the man who is as attracted to women as you are to a incontinent geriatric.

Do we need to teach the gospel truth? Of course we do. Is our faith composed of true, solid, worthwhile principles? Yes. I for one believe it is. Do we have to teach them the way we have become accustomed to? As if someone, somewhere may struggle with the lesson topic, but certainly no one we know, no one in the room? If we want anyone to get anything out of it, and if we want anyone to stay, we can't. There is a way to teach truth that doesn't hurt so much and that doesn't do so much damage. There's a way to teach truth so that it heals.

For me, the good of the restored gospel does outweigh the pain that comes with it, but this may not be the case for some. If you find yourself unwilling to explore that reality, ok, but don't you dare act shocked and bewildered when this generation of millennials, raised in and deeply influenced by the latter-days, walks away because the lessons we teach are not written for the challenges, realities struggles and pains they face. And for the love of all that is holy, don't send cookies to try to bring them back. The moment for reconnoissance was years ago.

This is what I ask.

The next time you are called upon to teach a lesson, please, see the people in front of you. Think about your ward or your class, specifically. If you don't know a single one, that's a problem too, and you know where to start. Once you start to really see the people in front of you, pray that you will know how to teach these vital, life sustaining, uplifting, beautiful doctrines in a way that your audience will benefit; in a way that everyone can leave edified.

It can be overwhelming, at first, to look on your ward with this new intent. It's hard to see the pain in people's eyes. It's uncomfortable to recognize dysfunction, but (and this part is important) that is what the gospel of Jesus Christ is for. Whatever it takes to access the Atonement, I vote we go with that, and I'm pretty sure alienating those who suffer is not helping in that quest. Step up. Speak up. Wake up, because I'm not the only one. You're not the only one. You're a perfectly flawed human who, like the rest of us, struggles to understand the concept that in Christ's church, nobody belongs more than you.

Modest is Hottest

Last semester in relief society a well meaning senior sister missionary took it upon herself to remind the class of our duty to keep our lovely lady lumps under control for the benefit of our priesthood brethren. She warned us of the dangerous thoughts young men have and described to us our innocence, ending with, “I know you would never mean to do that to the brethren. You don’t even know that it’s happening, really. You’ve just got to be careful.”

Today I want to tell you about why I feel the need to echo the words of Elder Jeffrey R. Holland on the topic of placing the responsibility for sexual purity of young men on the shoulders of young women. “Seldom have I heard any point made about this subject that makes me want to throw up more than that." (True story. Read, "Of Souls, Symbols and Sacraments" for the full account.)

Let’s remove the language we as LDS people so often use to couch these messages. Make no mistake here, what that sister was saying and what has been echoed for decades upon centuries is that it is a woman’s responsibility to control the sexual nature of men’s thoughts, and that the best way for her to do this is to cover her body. This concept is rampantly perpetuated in our culture and so infuriatingly asinine I am nearly at a loss for where to start with its deconstruction.

First, just briefly, let’s get this out of the way. We need to obliterate the notion that we, the young adults of the church are somehow unaware of the sometimes sexual nature of thoughts of men (and women!). We know where babies come from, and most of us are excited to get some first hand practice at that. This whole, “You’re virtuous because you have never been exposed to dark choices,” idea is not an option for our generation. We’ve been exposed. We’ve all been exposed. We are virtuous because we make an informed decision to choose light. I can make you a list of all the people from my home town who have made extremely poor sexual decisions or died of a drug overdose. This whole Mormon thing I’m doing didn’t happen by accident or because I don’t know of any other way to be.

Second, to say the mere presence of the body of a woman has an overwhelming effect on the thoughts of a man so as to render him powerless, regardless of the woman’s intentions, is to reduce men to the status of primal idiots incapable of the most basic elements of self control. Equally as false and disturbing, this sentiment reduces women to nothing more than a few select, isolated parts of her body and throws blame, guilt and shame at her in a situation far beyond her control and rightly outside her responsibility.

Of all people on earth we ought to know better. A unique doctrine to our faith is that we believe men and women to be gods in embryo. We are dynamic, capable, powerful, intelligent beings bursting with potential for growth and starving for opportunities to do what is good and right. When this damaging rhetoric is taught as truth in an environment where we are hoping to be filled with spiritual sustenance, the effect is a perpetuation of the very behavior the rhetoric is intended to prevent. Clearly, reteaching this lie does not change the behavior, it only puts both men and women in an unhealthy position.

Men may feel justified, even encouraged in allowing the natural man to run rampant since it is described as having such fortitude. If it’s not his responsibility to control his thoughts, it’s not his fault when his physiological responses “take over”. It’s the woman--the woman in all her sumptuous glory must be stopped. And this, my friends, is where religion feeds directly into rape culture.

On the other end of the spectrum we have men who are not hounded day and night by this obsessive need to breed. This may be because they have become mature, balanced, self possessed individuals. Or, far more common than we ever acknowledge, the spectrum of human sexuality is just that: a spectrum. Some men find that the hyper masculine image portrayed in the media resonates with them. Others are not constantly overtaken by this stereotypical behavior championed in music, locker rooms, TV and movies. I have ground-breaking news: some men, even heterosexual, women loving, motorcycle riding, sports playing men just don’t experience life the way it is far too frequently described. When this end of the spectrum encounters such talk of women’s overpowering lustiness they cannot help but wonder if there is something wrong with them. Maybe I should be feeling that way… Women, on the other hand, are hurt in a whole different way by this concept.

To be a woman in the world today is tenuous enough a situation. We have been fed the lies of what makes a woman worth something from the time we could visually interpret a magazine cover in the grocery store check out line. The microscope a woman’s body lives under is monumentally destructive. This cultural albatross is a driving force for eating disorders, self esteem issues, self loathing, embarrassment, shame, anxiety and fear. This is the legacy every woman inherits by default. Now, take this relentless message of, ”How to get your bikini body by last Thursday”, “If you’ve got it flaunt it,” and, “21 ways to make his head spin”, and layer it with the voice of every respectable, authoritative man this girl has ever known, condemning her for even considering not keeping herself under wraps.

To a woman, the world says, “No matter who you are, you are the wrong shape and must conform and expose to be accepted. You will find your worth in direct correlation with your ability to make men want you.” The distorted message being broadcast from church pulpits and classrooms replies, “No matter who you are or what your shape, your body is dangerous to the minds of men and must be concealed. You will find your worth as you protect your priesthood brethren from the inherent and unavoidable lust inducing essence emanating from your body. Wrap it up in fabric. That ought to do the trick. ”

All of this is to say nothing of the fact that the clothing available to young women today falls in one of two categories: 1. Old McDonald had a farm… with three daughters dressed in homemade curtains, or 2. Is this a shirt or a bra? I can’t tell. Any women tasked with what often feels the impossibility of living “in the world but not of it” ultimately resorts to a daily ritual of layer upon layer upon layer--a tank top to make the shirt long enough, another to make the neckline high enough, a shirt for the sleeves, although it’s nearly see through so maybe a cardigan. The sleeves are a little short anyway. Feeling footloose and fancy free? How about a skirt. Why not? Go crazy! But make sure you don’t forget the leggings underneath, just to be safe. 

I can tell you one thing, modest certainly is hottest, and I live in a tropical jungle called Hawaii. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Now, that being said, I may surprise you when I say that I do believe in dressing modestly. I’m an endowed member of the church and have been for years. For reasons described above I find it exceptionally challenging to live up to the standards of modesty that are, indeed, part of the agreement I made in the temple years ago--but I do it. It may not make a difference to you, but the reason I do it makes all the difference to me. It’s simple, beautiful and has absolutely nothing to do with my lady lumps or weather or not I’m causing my brother to stumble. Logic dictates, if my brother is stumbling he should watch where he’s going.

The reason I dress modestly is because I love God. I love God, and I promised Him I would do it. I don’t know exactly why He asked for it. I don’t know why the way a fabric hits my body makes such a difference to Him. And I have no idea how this idea that men’s thoughts are women’s responsibility got started or how it ever got so completely out of control. I do know He expects a lot more than primal idiots and isolated body parts out of us. I do know he views us each as a whole, not as parts or rudimentary urges, and I do know He loves me no matter what it is I choose.

But have made decisions.

I decided to take upon myself a higher standard of living when I made sacred covenants and accepted generous blessings. I decided to stay strong in those covenants when everyone and everything in my life moved in the opposite direction. I decided to come to BYU Hawaii, and I signed the Honor Code. I am a woman of my word. I don’t give up the freedom of expression that comes through fashion, the ease of comfort that could be found in dressing in a single layer, or the joy of sexy underwear willie nillie. Oh no, this is serious business. I dress modestly, and I will continue to dress modestly. I just want to state for the record that it has less than nothing to do with you, your son, your boyfriend, or mine, the bishop, the Prophet, the super attractive waiter or the nerdy boy in my gym class. It’s about my God, my respect for Him and my decision to be a woman who lives in truth.




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