Heavenly Father, Heavenly Mother—
You have said that it is not good for human beings to be alone.
You have encouraged us to lay before you the desires of our hearts.
You have promised that when your children ask for bread, you will not give us stones.
You have promised to pour out new light and knowledge on your people—to reveal things that have never been known since the creation of the world.
You have given me the grace to find joy in a same-sex partnership.
I am both grateful and uneasy about the California ruling on behalf of same-sex marriage.
I remember how frightened I was a few years ago when San Francisco began performing marriages for same-sex couples—afraid that it would prompt an overwhelming political backlash.
At the same time, I remember the sheer joy I felt every time I looked at photos of those marriages.
I give thanks for the nations that protect sexual orientation as a question of human rights and that have given legal recognition to same-sex partnerships.
I give thanks for an increased willingness on the part of the American courts and in public opinion to recognize same-sex relationships as morally equivalent to heterosexual relationships.
I believe that is your will; I believe it is the working of your Spirit blowing across the face of history.
I hope that, anyway. I place my hope in you.
I pray that the step forward which has been made in California will not be undone.
I pray that I will live long enough to be able to marry my partner in a federally recognized union.
I pray for new understanding among Latter-day Saints about this issue.
I pray for gay/lesbian people living in places where religious opposition to same-sex relationships is even more repressive and violent.
In Christ's name, amen.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Priesthood restoration
Today is May 15, the anniversary of the restoration of the priesthood. More precisely, it's the anniverary of Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery's vision of John the Baptist. That was followed, over the years, by visions of visits from other biblical figures: Peter, James, and John; Moses, Elias, and Elijah; as well as Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, and "divers angels, from Michael or Adam down to the present time . . . ; giving line upon line, precept upon precept; here a little, and there a little; giving us consolation by holding forth that which is to come, confirming our hope!" (D&C 128:21).
A few potentially distracting statements for clarification's sake: I don't believe that the LDS Church has a unique, exclusive dispensation of divine authority, which is the point of these visions from the perspective of LDS orthodoxy. I don't believe these angelic visits were objectively real, meaning that if they happened, they happened inside the heads of the people having these visions. I say "if they happened" because I find it plausible that the priesthood restoration accounts were fabricated a few years after they were supposed to have occurred as a way to bolster Smith's authority. (Grant Palmer reviews the evidence for this in An Insider's View of Mormon Origins.)
But that's not the main point I want to make today. However they came about, these visions have become part of the Mormon tradition—an important part of the Mormon tradition. These visions have come to play an important role in telling Latter-day Saints who we are and what our mission is. The Spirit speaks through these visions—I bear testimony of that. In fact, I'll indulge in a moment of supercillious spiritual rank-pulling at the risk of inviting critical reactions in kind (and sad eyes from Jesus later): If you're someone who can't understand how these visions could have any religious significance apart from questions about their literal reality and the Church's authority, then you haven't felt the Spirit speaking to you through these visions and you therefore don't have a testimony of them. That's true whether you come down on the side of saying, "The visions have to be literally real because the Church can't be true otherwise" (testimony by syllogism, I call that) or whether you come down on the side of saying, "The visions aren't literally real, so Mormonism's a crock."
What I hear these visions telling me—what I hear the Spirit telling me through them—is this: that Latter-day Saints, as a people, are commissioned and empowered to carry out, in the modern world, the work of the God of the Bible. The work of the ancient prophets is our work: to be a voice crying repentance to wayward societies, especially to people in power; a voice calling for justice for the poor; a voice of consolation and hope reiterating God's millennial promises. Our work is the work of Jesus' apostles: to share with others the hope and joy that we have found in Christ and to continue the ministry of Jesus—a ministry of healing and teaching; of helping people in spiritual and physical need; of forging a community that cuts across cultural, economic, and ethnic divides. Our work is to build up Zion, a community one in heart and mind and where there are no poor. Our work is to prepare the way for Christ's millennial reign, to pave the way for the coming of the world envisioned by prophets—a world where swords are beaten into plowshares, where the poor will eat their fill at God's feast, where God will wipe away all tears. Our work is to gather exiles (D&C 110:11); to bless all the families of the earth (D&C 110:12; Abr. 2:9-11); to turn the hearts of the parents to their children and the hearts of the children to their parents (D&C 110:13-16; D&C 2:2).
The visions of the restoration of the priesthood tell me that this is the work I am called to do as someone who is committed to the practice of Mormon spirituality. And these visions give me the "consolation" and "hope" (D&C 128:21) that this work can be accomplished. I struggle, frankly, to maintain that hope because the obstacles are so huge. And it's because of that struggle that I embrace these visions: because I believe that they are God's way of telling me: I am with you, my power is upon you, you can make a difference.
A few potentially distracting statements for clarification's sake: I don't believe that the LDS Church has a unique, exclusive dispensation of divine authority, which is the point of these visions from the perspective of LDS orthodoxy. I don't believe these angelic visits were objectively real, meaning that if they happened, they happened inside the heads of the people having these visions. I say "if they happened" because I find it plausible that the priesthood restoration accounts were fabricated a few years after they were supposed to have occurred as a way to bolster Smith's authority. (Grant Palmer reviews the evidence for this in An Insider's View of Mormon Origins.)
But that's not the main point I want to make today. However they came about, these visions have become part of the Mormon tradition—an important part of the Mormon tradition. These visions have come to play an important role in telling Latter-day Saints who we are and what our mission is. The Spirit speaks through these visions—I bear testimony of that. In fact, I'll indulge in a moment of supercillious spiritual rank-pulling at the risk of inviting critical reactions in kind (and sad eyes from Jesus later): If you're someone who can't understand how these visions could have any religious significance apart from questions about their literal reality and the Church's authority, then you haven't felt the Spirit speaking to you through these visions and you therefore don't have a testimony of them. That's true whether you come down on the side of saying, "The visions have to be literally real because the Church can't be true otherwise" (testimony by syllogism, I call that) or whether you come down on the side of saying, "The visions aren't literally real, so Mormonism's a crock."
What I hear these visions telling me—what I hear the Spirit telling me through them—is this: that Latter-day Saints, as a people, are commissioned and empowered to carry out, in the modern world, the work of the God of the Bible. The work of the ancient prophets is our work: to be a voice crying repentance to wayward societies, especially to people in power; a voice calling for justice for the poor; a voice of consolation and hope reiterating God's millennial promises. Our work is the work of Jesus' apostles: to share with others the hope and joy that we have found in Christ and to continue the ministry of Jesus—a ministry of healing and teaching; of helping people in spiritual and physical need; of forging a community that cuts across cultural, economic, and ethnic divides. Our work is to build up Zion, a community one in heart and mind and where there are no poor. Our work is to prepare the way for Christ's millennial reign, to pave the way for the coming of the world envisioned by prophets—a world where swords are beaten into plowshares, where the poor will eat their fill at God's feast, where God will wipe away all tears. Our work is to gather exiles (D&C 110:11); to bless all the families of the earth (D&C 110:12; Abr. 2:9-11); to turn the hearts of the parents to their children and the hearts of the children to their parents (D&C 110:13-16; D&C 2:2).
The visions of the restoration of the priesthood tell me that this is the work I am called to do as someone who is committed to the practice of Mormon spirituality. And these visions give me the "consolation" and "hope" (D&C 128:21) that this work can be accomplished. I struggle, frankly, to maintain that hope because the obstacles are so huge. And it's because of that struggle that I embrace these visions: because I believe that they are God's way of telling me: I am with you, my power is upon you, you can make a difference.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Pentecost and Mosiah 18
Today is Pentecost. Some Christians describe this as the "birthday" of the church, meaning that they see Pentecost as the beginning of the community of Spirit-filled disciples. So it seems an especially appropriate day for me to reflect on the formation of a Christian community as described in Mosiah 18.
The "church of God," or the "church of Christ," are the assembly of the baptized (v. 17). They are also called the "fold of God" or "[God's] people" (v. 8). I will therefore be talking throughout this post as if the word "church" were plural—"the church do such-and-such," rather than "the church does such-and-such" (just as if I were saying "the baptized do such-and-such," or "God's people do such-and-such"). I think that's important as a way to underscore that the church are first and foremost an assembly, a community, not an institution.
The church are united by their baptism: what makes them one body is that they all share that rite. Baptism is a witness that we are willing to bear one another's burdens, to mourn with those who mourn, to comfort those who stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God in all things throughout our lives. Baptism betokens that we have entered into a covenant with God, to serve him and keep his commandments (which Jesus tells us, in the Gospels, are first and foremost to love God and to love our neighbor). By entering this covenant, we make it possible for God to pour out his Spirit more abundantly upon us (vv. 8-10). One of the purposes of having the Spirit poured out upon us, we learn in v. 12, is so that we can do God's work with holiness of heart—that is, the Spirit equips us for service, to do the things we have covenanted to do.
Later in the chapter, we are told how this community, at least, organized their common life. They are divided into groups of fifty (v. 18)—small compared to the size that LDS wards are allowed to reach today, but larger than, say, the college courses I've taught. I'm trying to think if I've ever belonged to a group of fifty: I'm trying to imagine what that would feel like in terms of bonding as a small group versus being able to maintain a measure of anonymity. Each group of fifty is assigned a priest, who is charged to preach nothing but repentance and faith in the Redeemer (vv. 18-20). The idea, I suppose, is that the priests are to confine themselves to basic Christian doctrines and practical life application rather than sophisticated theology or exegesis.
Because they have been joined into one shared faith and one baptism, the church are instructed not to contend with another, but to have their hearts knit together in unity and love for one another. This, they are told, is what will make them truly "the children of God" (vv. 21-22). Their worship consists of daily thanksgiving, a weekly Sabbath observance, and other assemblies as occasion permits (vv. 23, 25). The point is that they're encouraged to engage often in the practice of community, in the practice of being together.
About their finances: The priests are not full-time religious specialists: they work for their support like everybody else (v. 24). However, as need requires, they may be supported by the community just like other needy individuals (v. 28). The community described here doesn't seem to be organized like the Christian communities described in Acts or 4 Nephi, who held all things in common. But there is an expectation that people should impart to one another according to their means and their needs (v. 27-29).
Oh, one more thing: Authority in the community is centralized. Alma is at the center—or, to use a different model, at the top of a hierarchy. He is apparently the only one with authority to baptize and to ordain priests; certainly, at least, he is the source of that authority, even if it ends up being delegated (vv. 16-18). He is also, apparently, the only living, or at least present, source of authorized teaching, i.e., the priests repeat his teachings, which are supposed to be the teachings of Abinadi (v. 1; cf. 16:4). The priests can also teach what has been "spoken by the mouth of the holy prophets" (v. 19), which I presume refers to older written scriptures.
Note, then, that though this community's history begins with a charismatic prophet who comes out of nowhere and speaks a message given to him directly by God (Abinadi), things quickly get routinized, as the sociologists say: prophetic utterance in the present gives way to a written record of teachings past, and charismatic authority gives way to hierarchical authority. It's not clear what the basis of Alma's exclusive claim to supreme authority is. Because the community recognizes his ordination as a priest of Noah's regime? Because the community believes he has received authority by an outpouring of the Spirit (vv. 12-13)? There's no clear indication, in this chapter, that Alma is receiving his own revelations, though that will happen later (24:17). I'm seeing a rough parallel here to how authority will get worked out in the fledgling LDS community, where Joseph's charisma as seer and prophet quickly becomes routinized into an exclusive claim to supreme hierarchical authority to fend off competing charismas (like Hiram Page's seerstone).
What does all this say to me? The baptized life is a life in community—I've commented before on the problem that poses to me now that I don't have formal membership in a religious community. The baptismal covenant is centrally about mutual support: about sharing others' burdens and griefs, being there for them when they need comfort, and, in a perfectly tangible way, sharing our substance with people in need. A central challenge of the church is knitting our hearts together in love—a vivid metaphor. Teaching among the church should be simple, focused on real-life application of gospel principles.
The fact that teaching in the "Waters of Mormon" community is so hierarchical—the impression, at least, is that of a priest sermonizing to a passive audience—feels wrong to me. Passages in the D&C about teaching one another ring more true. The ideal of the community's religious leaders working for their own support rings true; but as many a religious group has discovered, the ideal quickly runs up against practical difficulties, and sooner or later the leadership at certain levels end up being compensated for full-time religious work (as happens in the LDS Church today). I do believe, though, that it's important to carefully cultivate the spirit of volunteerism as much as possible, and the LDS Church does a remarkably good job at that. (Though there is a down side to that as well, i.e., people's energies get pulled so much into keeping the Church running that it becomes harder to engage with the larger community. LDS volunteerism thus facilitates parochialism. It's a thorny catch-22.)
I feel like there's something more I ought to say here . . . something more that the Spirit is nudging me to articulate. But it's not coming now. Perhaps later as I continue to meditate on this passage.
************
Holy Spirit—
On this day of Pentecost, I remember the spiritual outpouring that fell on Jesus's disciples after he had ascended into heaven.
I remember the "Pentecost" of the Kirtland Temple dedication, when new visions confirmed to the Latter-day Saints that they had been called to the work of preparing Christ's millennial reign.
I remember the "Pentecost" that moved the hearts of LDS leaders in 1978 and finally brought an end to the black priesthood ban.
I give thanks for the many ways the Spirit has been poured out upon me in the course of my life.
I give thanks for the occasions when I have felt inspired in what to say or write.
I give thanks for moments of epiphany.
I give thanks for moments of comfort.
I give thanks for being gradually guided in ways I only recognized after the fact.
I give thanks for being touched through scripture, music, literature, and film.
I give thanks for feelings of having my understanding enlightened and my soul enlarged.
Help me know how to more fully participate in a baptized community.
Help me be more loving, more open, more tightly knit to others; more willing to share my substance, my time, my energies, my empathy, my support.
Help me be a better, more consistent, more conscientious, more completely consecrated witness of God's truth and love.
In Christ's name, amen.
The "church of God," or the "church of Christ," are the assembly of the baptized (v. 17). They are also called the "fold of God" or "[God's] people" (v. 8). I will therefore be talking throughout this post as if the word "church" were plural—"the church do such-and-such," rather than "the church does such-and-such" (just as if I were saying "the baptized do such-and-such," or "God's people do such-and-such"). I think that's important as a way to underscore that the church are first and foremost an assembly, a community, not an institution.
The church are united by their baptism: what makes them one body is that they all share that rite. Baptism is a witness that we are willing to bear one another's burdens, to mourn with those who mourn, to comfort those who stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God in all things throughout our lives. Baptism betokens that we have entered into a covenant with God, to serve him and keep his commandments (which Jesus tells us, in the Gospels, are first and foremost to love God and to love our neighbor). By entering this covenant, we make it possible for God to pour out his Spirit more abundantly upon us (vv. 8-10). One of the purposes of having the Spirit poured out upon us, we learn in v. 12, is so that we can do God's work with holiness of heart—that is, the Spirit equips us for service, to do the things we have covenanted to do.
Later in the chapter, we are told how this community, at least, organized their common life. They are divided into groups of fifty (v. 18)—small compared to the size that LDS wards are allowed to reach today, but larger than, say, the college courses I've taught. I'm trying to think if I've ever belonged to a group of fifty: I'm trying to imagine what that would feel like in terms of bonding as a small group versus being able to maintain a measure of anonymity. Each group of fifty is assigned a priest, who is charged to preach nothing but repentance and faith in the Redeemer (vv. 18-20). The idea, I suppose, is that the priests are to confine themselves to basic Christian doctrines and practical life application rather than sophisticated theology or exegesis.
Because they have been joined into one shared faith and one baptism, the church are instructed not to contend with another, but to have their hearts knit together in unity and love for one another. This, they are told, is what will make them truly "the children of God" (vv. 21-22). Their worship consists of daily thanksgiving, a weekly Sabbath observance, and other assemblies as occasion permits (vv. 23, 25). The point is that they're encouraged to engage often in the practice of community, in the practice of being together.
About their finances: The priests are not full-time religious specialists: they work for their support like everybody else (v. 24). However, as need requires, they may be supported by the community just like other needy individuals (v. 28). The community described here doesn't seem to be organized like the Christian communities described in Acts or 4 Nephi, who held all things in common. But there is an expectation that people should impart to one another according to their means and their needs (v. 27-29).
Oh, one more thing: Authority in the community is centralized. Alma is at the center—or, to use a different model, at the top of a hierarchy. He is apparently the only one with authority to baptize and to ordain priests; certainly, at least, he is the source of that authority, even if it ends up being delegated (vv. 16-18). He is also, apparently, the only living, or at least present, source of authorized teaching, i.e., the priests repeat his teachings, which are supposed to be the teachings of Abinadi (v. 1; cf. 16:4). The priests can also teach what has been "spoken by the mouth of the holy prophets" (v. 19), which I presume refers to older written scriptures.
Note, then, that though this community's history begins with a charismatic prophet who comes out of nowhere and speaks a message given to him directly by God (Abinadi), things quickly get routinized, as the sociologists say: prophetic utterance in the present gives way to a written record of teachings past, and charismatic authority gives way to hierarchical authority. It's not clear what the basis of Alma's exclusive claim to supreme authority is. Because the community recognizes his ordination as a priest of Noah's regime? Because the community believes he has received authority by an outpouring of the Spirit (vv. 12-13)? There's no clear indication, in this chapter, that Alma is receiving his own revelations, though that will happen later (24:17). I'm seeing a rough parallel here to how authority will get worked out in the fledgling LDS community, where Joseph's charisma as seer and prophet quickly becomes routinized into an exclusive claim to supreme hierarchical authority to fend off competing charismas (like Hiram Page's seerstone).
What does all this say to me? The baptized life is a life in community—I've commented before on the problem that poses to me now that I don't have formal membership in a religious community. The baptismal covenant is centrally about mutual support: about sharing others' burdens and griefs, being there for them when they need comfort, and, in a perfectly tangible way, sharing our substance with people in need. A central challenge of the church is knitting our hearts together in love—a vivid metaphor. Teaching among the church should be simple, focused on real-life application of gospel principles.
The fact that teaching in the "Waters of Mormon" community is so hierarchical—the impression, at least, is that of a priest sermonizing to a passive audience—feels wrong to me. Passages in the D&C about teaching one another ring more true. The ideal of the community's religious leaders working for their own support rings true; but as many a religious group has discovered, the ideal quickly runs up against practical difficulties, and sooner or later the leadership at certain levels end up being compensated for full-time religious work (as happens in the LDS Church today). I do believe, though, that it's important to carefully cultivate the spirit of volunteerism as much as possible, and the LDS Church does a remarkably good job at that. (Though there is a down side to that as well, i.e., people's energies get pulled so much into keeping the Church running that it becomes harder to engage with the larger community. LDS volunteerism thus facilitates parochialism. It's a thorny catch-22.)
I feel like there's something more I ought to say here . . . something more that the Spirit is nudging me to articulate. But it's not coming now. Perhaps later as I continue to meditate on this passage.
************
Holy Spirit—
On this day of Pentecost, I remember the spiritual outpouring that fell on Jesus's disciples after he had ascended into heaven.
I remember the "Pentecost" of the Kirtland Temple dedication, when new visions confirmed to the Latter-day Saints that they had been called to the work of preparing Christ's millennial reign.
I remember the "Pentecost" that moved the hearts of LDS leaders in 1978 and finally brought an end to the black priesthood ban.
I give thanks for the many ways the Spirit has been poured out upon me in the course of my life.
I give thanks for the occasions when I have felt inspired in what to say or write.
I give thanks for moments of epiphany.
I give thanks for moments of comfort.
I give thanks for being gradually guided in ways I only recognized after the fact.
I give thanks for being touched through scripture, music, literature, and film.
I give thanks for feelings of having my understanding enlightened and my soul enlarged.
Help me know how to more fully participate in a baptized community.
Help me be more loving, more open, more tightly knit to others; more willing to share my substance, my time, my energies, my empathy, my support.
Help me be a better, more consistent, more conscientious, more completely consecrated witness of God's truth and love.
In Christ's name, amen.
Friday, May 9, 2008
When all the records will be opened
Today I watched a German movie, The Lives of Others, about an agent of the Stasi (the East German secret police) who spies on a playwright suspected of being a dissident. After the Wall falls, the playwright visits the former Stasi headquarters, where he is able to read the files that were kept on him—as people can actually do in real life.
LDS scriptures describe the final judgment as a time when records kept on earth and in heaven will be opened (D&C 128:6-7) and "secret acts of men" will be revealed (D&C 88:108-110). Watching The Lives of Others, I thought that I would like to see a day when the records of the Strengthening Church Members Committee are opened to public review. I'd like David Knowlton to be able to see the correspondence between General Authorities and BYU administrators that led to his dismissal from BYU. I'd like Michael Quinn to be able to read transcripts of the phone conversations between Boyd K. Packer and his stake president prior to his disciplinary council. I'd like to have a copy of the letter that Church headquarters sent to the stake president who initiated disciplinary proceedings against me. I'd like to know who sent that letter. I'd like to see the paperwork that was sent to Salt Lake following my disciplinary council; I'd like to know the official reason for my excommunication.
LDS scriptures describe the final judgment as a time when records kept on earth and in heaven will be opened (D&C 128:6-7) and "secret acts of men" will be revealed (D&C 88:108-110). Watching The Lives of Others, I thought that I would like to see a day when the records of the Strengthening Church Members Committee are opened to public review. I'd like David Knowlton to be able to see the correspondence between General Authorities and BYU administrators that led to his dismissal from BYU. I'd like Michael Quinn to be able to read transcripts of the phone conversations between Boyd K. Packer and his stake president prior to his disciplinary council. I'd like to have a copy of the letter that Church headquarters sent to the stake president who initiated disciplinary proceedings against me. I'd like to know who sent that letter. I'd like to see the paperwork that was sent to Salt Lake following my disciplinary council; I'd like to know the official reason for my excommunication.
There is nothing which is secret
save it shall be revealed;
there is no work of darkness
save it shall be made manifest in the light.
(2 Nephi 30:17)
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
One of my students was arrested
I picked up the local independent weekly this evening, and there was a photo of one of my students from this past semester being carried out of the administration building in an office chair. For two weeks she'd been participating in a sit-in to protest the fact that the administration won't sign onto an anti-sweatshop agreement. (That would help explain why she hasn't been in class...) Finally, I guess, the protestors decided to up the ante by moving the sit-in into the chancellor's office, at which point they were arrested.
This all hits close to home for me, both because a student of mine is involved and because I understand, from a conversation I had with her during the anti-war rally back in March, that at least some of the UNC merchandise that's the focus of this protest is manufactured in the Dominican Republic, which is where I served my mission. After I got my mission call, my parents took me to Mr. Mac's to get outfitted, and I thought it was cool that all my white shirts had been manufactured in the Dominican Republic. It became less cool once I got to the DR and began meeting people who worked in the American-run clothing factories where things like my shirts are made, and started hearing them tell me stories about being locked in the building for unpaid overtime if they hadn't met quotas, etc. And people badly wanted these jobs, mind you. It was the beginning of my coming to see how my country and its economy exploit people.
I tell myself that tactics like the sit-in that got my student arrested aren't effective. And I believe that. Not in that time and in that way, at least. At the same time, I also know that I wouldn't have the courage to do what she did. She stood up—or more appropriately, sat down—for what she believes in. She went out on a limb on behalf of people in another country whose working conditions scandalize her. I'm scandalized, too. But you don't see me making sacrifices because of it.
So—my hat is off to her. She's being a prophetic voice, not just with words but with deeds; not just with her lips, but with her whole body.
************
God of power—
In the scriptures I read about prophets who made trouble, who did "street theater" to get attention for their message.
I read about the invasive, destructive protest your Son staged against moneychangers in the temple.
I'm mindful (albeit with mixed feelings) of the civil disobedience practiced by polygamous Mormons in the nineteenth century.
I pray for my student and those arrested with her.
I pray that university administrators will be moved to use the university's purchasing power to do whatever lies in its capacity—I should say, our capacity—to struggle against sweatshop labor.
I pray for the individuals I met in the Dominican Republic who work in exploitative conditions—I don't remember all their names, I don't remember all their faces, but you know them.
I pray for economic justice.
May the kingdom of God roll forth.
In Christ's name, amen.
This all hits close to home for me, both because a student of mine is involved and because I understand, from a conversation I had with her during the anti-war rally back in March, that at least some of the UNC merchandise that's the focus of this protest is manufactured in the Dominican Republic, which is where I served my mission. After I got my mission call, my parents took me to Mr. Mac's to get outfitted, and I thought it was cool that all my white shirts had been manufactured in the Dominican Republic. It became less cool once I got to the DR and began meeting people who worked in the American-run clothing factories where things like my shirts are made, and started hearing them tell me stories about being locked in the building for unpaid overtime if they hadn't met quotas, etc. And people badly wanted these jobs, mind you. It was the beginning of my coming to see how my country and its economy exploit people.
I tell myself that tactics like the sit-in that got my student arrested aren't effective. And I believe that. Not in that time and in that way, at least. At the same time, I also know that I wouldn't have the courage to do what she did. She stood up—or more appropriately, sat down—for what she believes in. She went out on a limb on behalf of people in another country whose working conditions scandalize her. I'm scandalized, too. But you don't see me making sacrifices because of it.
So—my hat is off to her. She's being a prophetic voice, not just with words but with deeds; not just with her lips, but with her whole body.
************
God of power—
In the scriptures I read about prophets who made trouble, who did "street theater" to get attention for their message.
I read about the invasive, destructive protest your Son staged against moneychangers in the temple.
I'm mindful (albeit with mixed feelings) of the civil disobedience practiced by polygamous Mormons in the nineteenth century.
I pray for my student and those arrested with her.
I pray that university administrators will be moved to use the university's purchasing power to do whatever lies in its capacity—I should say, our capacity—to struggle against sweatshop labor.
I pray for the individuals I met in the Dominican Republic who work in exploitative conditions—I don't remember all their names, I don't remember all their faces, but you know them.
I pray for economic justice.
May the kingdom of God roll forth.
In Christ's name, amen.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
The NC primary
I voted today in the North Carolina primary. A minimal gesture toward fulfilling my stewardship as a citizen. I have definite ideas about who needs to win the November elections, but whatever the results, I pray for a government that will administer justice and equity.
************
God of justice—
I give thanks for being able to vote—to have that voice in how my community, state, and nation are governed.
I give thanks that suffrage in the United States has extended as far as it has. I give thanks for the sacrifices and struggles that made that possible.
I give thanks that democratic government has become the norm—in theory, at the very least—in so many parts of the world. I give thanks for the sacrifices and struggles that have made that possible, and that continue to make it possible.
Through the scriptures, you have taught me that righteous government is a government that administers justice and equity.
You have challenged me to plead the cause of the poor and needy.
You have challenged me to lift up an ensign of peace—to sue for peace to all people.
I pray that elected officials in this country will stand for justice, equality, peace, the fight against poverty, and wise stewardship of the environment.
I pray for the election of a government dedicated to ending the war in Iraq in the context of promoting a more peace-minded and collaborative foreign policy.
In Christ's name, amen.
************
God of justice—
I give thanks for being able to vote—to have that voice in how my community, state, and nation are governed.
I give thanks that suffrage in the United States has extended as far as it has. I give thanks for the sacrifices and struggles that made that possible.
I give thanks that democratic government has become the norm—in theory, at the very least—in so many parts of the world. I give thanks for the sacrifices and struggles that have made that possible, and that continue to make it possible.
Through the scriptures, you have taught me that righteous government is a government that administers justice and equity.
You have challenged me to plead the cause of the poor and needy.
You have challenged me to lift up an ensign of peace—to sue for peace to all people.
I pray that elected officials in this country will stand for justice, equality, peace, the fight against poverty, and wise stewardship of the environment.
I pray for the election of a government dedicated to ending the war in Iraq in the context of promoting a more peace-minded and collaborative foreign policy.
In Christ's name, amen.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
God come down in human form
Today (May 4) is the anniversary of the first endowment ceremonies, administered on the upper floor of Joseph Smith's store in Nauvoo in 1842. The endowment has been for me, as the name says, a gift. I have a taste for liturgical—by which I mean, ceremonial—worship, and the endowment is the most elaborate liturgy Mormonism offers. I enjoyed the sense of familiarity that came with mastering the text in my head and then reliving that same experience over and over as an opportunity for deeper reflection and new understanding. I'm grateful for the way the endowment taught me to think of myself as a priestly person, consecrated to God's service. I loved wearing the robes—read into that what you will. I loved the play of symbol and allusion and the reworking of scriptural texts. I loved the way the ceremony is left wide open to individual interpretation. I loved the intimacy of the dialogue at the veil. In the end, your whole life comes down to that: a private interview—an embrace—with the One who bears scars on his palms and wrists as the signs and tokens of his love for you.
Which brings us in a way to my Book of Mormon reading this week, Mosiah 12-17. The centerpiece of these chapters is Abinadi's teaching on Christ's incarnation, which he connects to Christ's passion. Abinadi's doctrine can be outlined as follows:
First, I like the fact that Abinadi's explanation of how Christ is both Father and Son does not match the explanations that the First Presidency and the Twelve gave in their 1916 doctrinal exposition, because it doesn't match the LDS understanding of the Father and the Son as separate persons. You have to "wrest" the Abinadi text—you have to wrest it hard—to reconcile it with the vision of the Godhead that has been orthodox among Latter-day Saints since at least the 1840s. I like that because it illustrates that the LDS tradition is not a consistent whole. No religious tradition is. Inevitably, historical accretion and internal diversity produce inconsistencies and contradictions, which theologians (or, in our tradition, scriptorians) later have to try to reconcile or obscure. That's just how things work. So insisting on treating the tradition as a consistent whole is ultimately futile: there will always be cracks and slippages. An alternative—my preference—is to approach the tradition as a toolbox, from which you pick out what's useful for your particular purpose at a given moment. If Abinadi's explanation of the incarnation and the passion doesn't say anything meaningful to you—fine, ignore it, at least for now. But you can't make it go away (not legitimately, anyway) by claiming that it simply preaches the now orthodox LDS doctrine on the Godhead. Our tradition isn't that tidy. And that untidiness, to my mind, becomes an argument in favor of tolerating—if not embracing—greater doctrinal diversity within the Church.
But let me turn to the heart of the matter, which is what Abinadi's teaching means in my spiritual life. The conventional LDS story about the Father and the Son tells of a God who is an exalted man, who begets and rears us as his spirit children, and who in the premortal council calls one of his spirit children—our Elder Brother—to come to earth to become our Savior. I love that story for a number of reasons I can talk about in a later post. At the same time, I love the very different story that Abinadi tells, a story about an incorporeal God who takes on human form, suffers, dies, and rises again so that by experiencing mortality he can take up into himself qualities of merciful compassion and empathy. In a particularly powerful way, that story tells me that God knows in his flesh everything that I suffer. The more conventional LDS story tells me that too, but Abinadi's version is particularly powerful because it emphasizes the equation between the suffering Christ and God (whereas the more common LDS story emphasizes Christ as the Son of God, meaning a distinct being).
One of my means of spiritual reflection and expression is amateur songwriting. A few years back, when I was feeling rather alone, I wrote a song that expressed what it meant to me to think of God as a being who came to earth in human form, as Jesus, and suffered with us to learn empathy. I was thinking primarily at the time of Alma 7:11-12, but Mosiah 15 teaches the same doctrine:
************
One last thought: Today was Ascension Sunday. At the Episcopal church, we sang a hymn that included these words of praise to the risen Christ:
Which brings us in a way to my Book of Mormon reading this week, Mosiah 12-17. The centerpiece of these chapters is Abinadi's teaching on Christ's incarnation, which he connects to Christ's passion. Abinadi's doctrine can be outlined as follows:
- Christ is both the Father and the Son because he is God (the Father) conceived in the flesh (the Son). More simply put, Christ is "God himself . . . come down among the children of men" in "the form of man" (13:34, 15:1-4). The most straightforward reading of these verses is that Abinadi does not understand the Father and the Son, or the Father and Christ, to be different persons. Christ is the one God in mortal flesh. "Son" refers to his flesh, "Father" to his divinity (15:5).
- As Christ, God "is despised and rejected . . . ; a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief" (14:3). He is "stricken," "wounded," "bruised," "oppressed," "afflicted" (14:4-5, 7; also 13:35). He is "mocked, and scourged, and cast out, and disowned by his people" (15:5). Ultimately he is killed. God becomes subject to death so that he can break the bands of death (15:7-8).
- Having risen from death, the Son—that is, God's flesh—ascends "into heaven, having the bowels of mercy; being filled with compassion towards the children of men; standing betwixt them and justice" (15:9). From the empathy born of his own bodily suffering, the Son "make[s] intercession" for us (15:8). Elsewhere, quoting Isaiah, Abinadi describes the atonement in terms of our being "healed" by Christ (14:5). Like Benjamin, Abinadi sees the atonement as making us children of Christ, or as he puts it, Christ's "seed" (15:10-12).
First, I like the fact that Abinadi's explanation of how Christ is both Father and Son does not match the explanations that the First Presidency and the Twelve gave in their 1916 doctrinal exposition, because it doesn't match the LDS understanding of the Father and the Son as separate persons. You have to "wrest" the Abinadi text—you have to wrest it hard—to reconcile it with the vision of the Godhead that has been orthodox among Latter-day Saints since at least the 1840s. I like that because it illustrates that the LDS tradition is not a consistent whole. No religious tradition is. Inevitably, historical accretion and internal diversity produce inconsistencies and contradictions, which theologians (or, in our tradition, scriptorians) later have to try to reconcile or obscure. That's just how things work. So insisting on treating the tradition as a consistent whole is ultimately futile: there will always be cracks and slippages. An alternative—my preference—is to approach the tradition as a toolbox, from which you pick out what's useful for your particular purpose at a given moment. If Abinadi's explanation of the incarnation and the passion doesn't say anything meaningful to you—fine, ignore it, at least for now. But you can't make it go away (not legitimately, anyway) by claiming that it simply preaches the now orthodox LDS doctrine on the Godhead. Our tradition isn't that tidy. And that untidiness, to my mind, becomes an argument in favor of tolerating—if not embracing—greater doctrinal diversity within the Church.
But let me turn to the heart of the matter, which is what Abinadi's teaching means in my spiritual life. The conventional LDS story about the Father and the Son tells of a God who is an exalted man, who begets and rears us as his spirit children, and who in the premortal council calls one of his spirit children—our Elder Brother—to come to earth to become our Savior. I love that story for a number of reasons I can talk about in a later post. At the same time, I love the very different story that Abinadi tells, a story about an incorporeal God who takes on human form, suffers, dies, and rises again so that by experiencing mortality he can take up into himself qualities of merciful compassion and empathy. In a particularly powerful way, that story tells me that God knows in his flesh everything that I suffer. The more conventional LDS story tells me that too, but Abinadi's version is particularly powerful because it emphasizes the equation between the suffering Christ and God (whereas the more common LDS story emphasizes Christ as the Son of God, meaning a distinct being).
One of my means of spiritual reflection and expression is amateur songwriting. A few years back, when I was feeling rather alone, I wrote a song that expressed what it meant to me to think of God as a being who came to earth in human form, as Jesus, and suffered with us to learn empathy. I was thinking primarily at the time of Alma 7:11-12, but Mosiah 15 teaches the same doctrine:
When I feel I am aloneI also learn from Abinadi's teaching—and this next part doesn't have to rely on Abinadi's particular take on the incarnation—that to be Christlike is to experience solidarity with people who are oppressed, afflicted, wounded, despised, rejected, mocked. And I learn that Christ shares my own experiences of being wounded, rejected, "cast out, and disowned by his people." Those last words (from Mosiah 15:5) really struck me this time around, given my excommunication last year.
with my burden, with my pain,
still I know that there is One
who will always understand.
For my God cries, and my God bleeds.
My God knows fear and shame and outrage.
My God's felt helpless, alone, and weary.
Such is the God who walks beside me on my way.
************
One last thought: Today was Ascension Sunday. At the Episcopal church, we sang a hymn that included these words of praise to the risen Christ:
Thou within the veil hast entered,A strikingly apt image both for the day I reflected on Abinadi's teachings about God in human form ascending into heaven with the bowels of mercy to make intercession for us, and for the day I commemorate the anniversary of the endowment.
robed in flesh, our great High Priest . . .
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