When I went to my high priests’ group a few weeks ago to discuss Elder Hales’ talk on Agency and Bishop Edgely’s talk on Faith (both from the October 2010 conference), I did not expect we’d also be talking about dinosaurs and cavemen.
I love my high priests’ group. I have lots of friends there who truly are my brothers. We laugh together, we help each other, we mourn together and comfort one another. Our gospel discussions tend to stay in the middle of the road; it’s a “stick to the manual” group for sure.
So this week, our instructor (who really does a great job with the Teaching For Our Times lessons -- he prepares carefully, asks thought provoking questions, and leads good discussions), wandered into a discussion of dinosaurs and cavemen and their relationship to gospel teaching. His point was delivered by a bishop of his years ago: This is something you don’t need to worry about as it’s not essential to your salvation.
Then I stuck my foot in it. I commented that my fourteen year old son was wrestling with the perceived battle between religion and science and that we talked about it often. It was not something he was willing to put on the shelf or stop worrying about. I had hoped to hear helpful suggestions and ideas about how to teach faith to a teenager, and I did get some of that. But I also heard:
1. Various theories of how dinosaur bones came to the earth (including cosmic dump trucks bringing in material from other worlds and that Adam may have been an alien)
2. That Science was written in today’s world by atheists specifically to exclude God, and if one carefully reviewed the facts, he would see that the scientists are manipulating data to their own ends
Fascinating (and just a little disturbing). What I realized is that we come to these questions with our own level of knowledge and our own experience. No one in my group meeting that day is a scientist; most are folks with business or engingeering degrees, though one is a medical technician and another a social worker. I was, therefore, not terribly surprised that we didn’t have any serious students of geology or biology or zoology among us (at least none who were willing to speak up). And most are around 50 years old or more, like me, so unless they’ve made a specific effort, their impression of church teachings is likely based on 30+-year old seminary lessons.
One group member suggested (as he always does; his faith is rock-solid, and well protected by his particular approach) that we need to teach our kids to remember what they know when they find questions they can’t answer right away.
I agree with that idea. But I also agree that there’s value in understanding what my church teaches and what the scriptures teach. (I’ve mentioned to my son half-jokingly that if he’s going to leave the church, he ought to be sure he’s leaving the right one, and not leave his church because he disagrees with what some other church teaches.)
We also came around to the idea that there are many in the church who have carefully studied the science and continue to be faithful latter-day saints. There’s value in learning how they’ve done it.
In the end, not every issue is important to every person. And what’s important to me now is different from what was important when I was younger. But the things that are important are important. It’s ok to ask questions, and to seek answers. And, as my friend said, it’s good to remember what we already know in the face of what we don’t.
Showing posts with label Question. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Question. Show all posts
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
"Cleave Unto God"
Recently I came across this phrase in Jacob: “…and cleave unto God as he cleaveth unto you” (Jacob 6:5).
Jacob has already delivered his I-wish-I-didn’t-have-to-talk-about-this speech, and he already shared Zenock’s allegory of the olive trees.
His whole book seems to be about returning. Return from sin. Return from the diaspora. Come home to God.
In this verse, he reminds us that God already cleaves unto us. In the next sentence in this verse, he reminds us that God’s arm of mercy is extended toward us. (And all this prophetically spoken since the Atonement is still to come.)
How do I cleave unto God? Well, studying his word is a great place to start. I had gotten out of the habit of daily personal scripture study and a few weeks ago, egged on (inadvertently, I’m sure) by my teenaged son, I set about to re-read the Book of Mormon again. (I have no idea how many times I’ve read it, but this time is a “fast” read where I’m trying to read multiple chapters a day in order to get connections I don’t get when I go slowly.)
Daily prayer also helps. But real prayer – real communication, including listening for impressions that come in those quiet moments during and after prayer.
Obedience to the next commandment is important to me. Yes, I need to obey all the commandments, but I know that my spirit gets nudged from time to time about what I need to do next (like improving my scripture study a few weeks ago). It’s not so much keeping up the status quo (I haven’t been translated yet, so there’s got to be more I could do), but sorting out what should be next to do.
Living a life of love is probably related to obedience, and could nearly always be the next commandment for me. But it deserves particular mention. Loving my fellow man is Commandment #2, and King Benjamin and the Savior (among others) teach me that as I love my fellow man, I show my love to God. And that love, of course, is not reserved for strangers, but also for those closest to me.
I could go on all day, I suppose. But what I’d like to get to is this question: How do you cleave unto God?
Jacob has already delivered his I-wish-I-didn’t-have-to-talk-about-this speech, and he already shared Zenock’s allegory of the olive trees.
His whole book seems to be about returning. Return from sin. Return from the diaspora. Come home to God.
In this verse, he reminds us that God already cleaves unto us. In the next sentence in this verse, he reminds us that God’s arm of mercy is extended toward us. (And all this prophetically spoken since the Atonement is still to come.)
How do I cleave unto God? Well, studying his word is a great place to start. I had gotten out of the habit of daily personal scripture study and a few weeks ago, egged on (inadvertently, I’m sure) by my teenaged son, I set about to re-read the Book of Mormon again. (I have no idea how many times I’ve read it, but this time is a “fast” read where I’m trying to read multiple chapters a day in order to get connections I don’t get when I go slowly.)
Daily prayer also helps. But real prayer – real communication, including listening for impressions that come in those quiet moments during and after prayer.
Obedience to the next commandment is important to me. Yes, I need to obey all the commandments, but I know that my spirit gets nudged from time to time about what I need to do next (like improving my scripture study a few weeks ago). It’s not so much keeping up the status quo (I haven’t been translated yet, so there’s got to be more I could do), but sorting out what should be next to do.
Living a life of love is probably related to obedience, and could nearly always be the next commandment for me. But it deserves particular mention. Loving my fellow man is Commandment #2, and King Benjamin and the Savior (among others) teach me that as I love my fellow man, I show my love to God. And that love, of course, is not reserved for strangers, but also for those closest to me.
I could go on all day, I suppose. But what I’d like to get to is this question: How do you cleave unto God?
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
"As the gospel requires"
On the way to seminary each morning, we listen to scripture mastery songs to help my high school freshman memorize them. This week’s scripture is D&C 88:123-124. Verse 124 (“Cease to be idle; cease to be unclean; cease to sleep longer than is needful…”) is well known to me as it was the subject of my very first talk in church, a “concert recitation” in Sunday School on a Fast Sunday several months after our family’s baptism back when I was about nine.
But what has caught my ear this week came from verse 123: “learn to impart one to another as the gospel requires.”
What does the gospel require us to impart one to another?
The injunction follows the charge to cease to be covetous, which also intrigues me. Does that suggest that when I fail to share my substance with another that I am coveting? I believe so. And do I relieve my responsibility to impart one to another by paying my fast offerings and tithing? I believe I do not.
To be sure there is one element of sharing which includes putting my surplus in the storehouse (like fast offerings). The welfare principles of the church teach that the storehouse from which the bishop may draw includes the Bishop’s Storehouse where food orders may be filled, but it also includes the pool of talents and resources available in the ward. My contribution to that storehouse may include my time to help unload the moving van for a single mom or it may include counseling with a widow about options for dealing with her home she can no longer afford.
Another welfare principle of the church is to help our families before they go to the church for help. Some years ago, my wife’s family established a family emergency fund to which family members contribute. Over time this money has been used to help specific family members in times of need.
King Benjamin’s great speech about retaining a remission of our sins reminds us that the gospel also requires us to help the poor when they ask, if we are able (see Mosiah 4:14-20).
I’m encouraged by the injunction in D&C 88:123, however. I am to learn to impart one to another. It has taken me quite some time in my life to learn the principles I have, and I continue to refine their application to my life.
How about you? What have you learned about imparting one to another as the gospel requires?
But what has caught my ear this week came from verse 123: “learn to impart one to another as the gospel requires.”
What does the gospel require us to impart one to another?
The injunction follows the charge to cease to be covetous, which also intrigues me. Does that suggest that when I fail to share my substance with another that I am coveting? I believe so. And do I relieve my responsibility to impart one to another by paying my fast offerings and tithing? I believe I do not.
To be sure there is one element of sharing which includes putting my surplus in the storehouse (like fast offerings). The welfare principles of the church teach that the storehouse from which the bishop may draw includes the Bishop’s Storehouse where food orders may be filled, but it also includes the pool of talents and resources available in the ward. My contribution to that storehouse may include my time to help unload the moving van for a single mom or it may include counseling with a widow about options for dealing with her home she can no longer afford.
Another welfare principle of the church is to help our families before they go to the church for help. Some years ago, my wife’s family established a family emergency fund to which family members contribute. Over time this money has been used to help specific family members in times of need.
King Benjamin’s great speech about retaining a remission of our sins reminds us that the gospel also requires us to help the poor when they ask, if we are able (see Mosiah 4:14-20).
I’m encouraged by the injunction in D&C 88:123, however. I am to learn to impart one to another. It has taken me quite some time in my life to learn the principles I have, and I continue to refine their application to my life.
How about you? What have you learned about imparting one to another as the gospel requires?
Monday, February 28, 2011
On writing to missionaries
We have two nephews and a niece on missions now, and I try to write to them once a month or so. We also have family friends who have sons on missions, and I try to write to them.
I write to missionaries mostly because almost no one beside my family wrote to me when I was a missionary. As I was leaving on my mission, my folks moved out of the ward of my youth because of an overseas assignment for my father’s work. They lived in Nigeria, away from any unit of the church, so in my home ward I was literally out of sight and out of mind.
I received letters regularly from my mother, somewhat less regularly from my siblings and from my girlfriend (who is now my wife). I received one letter from a member of my home ward. (He was a family friend and also had been called as elders quorum president.)
When I served as bishop I wrote a letter to missionaries serving from our ward once a month. They all got the same letter, but it came regularly.
I have no idea how these letters are received. For all I know these missionaries I write glance at the letters and toss them aside. They almost never respond (I tell them not to – they have more important people to write than me), though most write at least one or two letters back during their missions. And I typically get plenty of news from their missions through their parents who often share selected letters on their own blogs or emails or family letters.
I have one young friend who is serving in Brazil – coming home very soon. His father and I are good friends, though I haven’t spent any time with this missionary since he was about four. It has been awesome to read his letters (forwarded by his dad) and see how his mission has affected him. He expressed to his dad that he was surprised that someone who did not know him would write to him.
My letters aren’t great epistles. I write briefly about my own mission experiences, usually trying to match roughly the recipient’s mission timeline. I share my testimony, and maybe a thought about something I’d recently read in the scriptures or heard in church.
I send almost all my letters using dearelder.com. Super easy for me. A brother-in-law recommended it to me when I asked the easiest way to write to his son and I've been hooked ever since. I have also emailed missionaries directly, though I hear they often prefer to get paper letters and save their screen time for more important letters than mine.
What’s your experience? Do you write to missionaries? Did you receive random letters on your mission? How did you respond?
I write to missionaries mostly because almost no one beside my family wrote to me when I was a missionary. As I was leaving on my mission, my folks moved out of the ward of my youth because of an overseas assignment for my father’s work. They lived in Nigeria, away from any unit of the church, so in my home ward I was literally out of sight and out of mind.
I received letters regularly from my mother, somewhat less regularly from my siblings and from my girlfriend (who is now my wife). I received one letter from a member of my home ward. (He was a family friend and also had been called as elders quorum president.)
When I served as bishop I wrote a letter to missionaries serving from our ward once a month. They all got the same letter, but it came regularly.
I have no idea how these letters are received. For all I know these missionaries I write glance at the letters and toss them aside. They almost never respond (I tell them not to – they have more important people to write than me), though most write at least one or two letters back during their missions. And I typically get plenty of news from their missions through their parents who often share selected letters on their own blogs or emails or family letters.
I have one young friend who is serving in Brazil – coming home very soon. His father and I are good friends, though I haven’t spent any time with this missionary since he was about four. It has been awesome to read his letters (forwarded by his dad) and see how his mission has affected him. He expressed to his dad that he was surprised that someone who did not know him would write to him.
My letters aren’t great epistles. I write briefly about my own mission experiences, usually trying to match roughly the recipient’s mission timeline. I share my testimony, and maybe a thought about something I’d recently read in the scriptures or heard in church.
I send almost all my letters using dearelder.com. Super easy for me. A brother-in-law recommended it to me when I asked the easiest way to write to his son and I've been hooked ever since. I have also emailed missionaries directly, though I hear they often prefer to get paper letters and save their screen time for more important letters than mine.
What’s your experience? Do you write to missionaries? Did you receive random letters on your mission? How did you respond?
Monday, February 21, 2011
"I do not know the meaning of all things."
So said Nephi to the spirit during his vision of the Tree of Life (and more; see 1 Nephi 11). I’ve never been asked anything in a vision, but I certainly could regularly say, “I do not know the meaning of all things.” And I must confess, I’m a little leery of those who seem to (know the meaning of all things, I mean).
I appreciate the humility inherent in Nephi’s statement. I mean, here he’s having a vision, conversing with “the spirit of the Lord”, and it’s not just a run of the mill vision, but it’s about to be one of those broadly scoped visions of epic proportions. It’s pretty easy to imagine that Nephi post-vision was more confident in what he knew than pre-vision, anyway.
I think about times that I have behaved as if I knew more than I did. I suspect there were times on my mission that I was that way. And I don’t mean saying “I know” when I really believed, but I mean falsely believing I had a greater grasp of scripture and culture and language than I did – believing I was more capable than a companion, or capable (on my own) to convince an investigator.
There have been times as a dad when I have assumed I knew more than my kids and didn’t. I regularly demonstrate that I have forgotten much of what I learned in grades 5-9 when approached by my children of those ages through the years. I had a 14-year old son who loved to argue with me and would regularly challenge me to bet him something was true. I always lost. Always. Clearly, I did not know the meaning of all things. (Now, with my present 14-year old, I do not bet. I have come to understand myself far better, at least.)
As I’ve taught seminary and institute sporadically over the years I’ve encouraged my students to ask questions – any questions they may have. And I’ve freely admitted to them that I do not know the meaning of all things. But I’ve invited them to join me on a journey of discovery to find answers if we can. Sometimes they were easy to find, and sometimes we didn’t find the answers we looked for. But hopefully those students will continue on their quest for understanding and meaning.
I do not find weakness in Nephi’s statement, particularly given that he says it to the spirit of the Lord, who probably knew the answer before Nephi said it. Nephi had already demonstrated desire and faith (he called on the Lord for understanding, and he admitted to the spirit that he did believe all that his father had taught). If he knew the meaning of all things, it would hardly have been necessary to seek more.
I further have appreciated when church leaders or teachers I’ve known locally have admitted that they don’t instantly have an answer to a question I pose, but that they will research it and come back to me. There is comfort to me in knowing that these faithful and righteous servants also recognize their limitations. And it’s ok not to know everything.
Similarly, it’s ok for me not to have every private question I carry to the Lord in prayer be resolved instantly. Part of the test of faithfulness is (for me) learning to walk quietly in the darkness, trusting that more will be revealed as I need it. I am ok knitting together a hypothesis when I do not understand. I can say to myself, “I have experienced that X is true. Y is related to X and I don’t fully understand Y, but for now, since I accept X as true, I can also live with Y. I believe in time, the significance of Y will also be revealed.”
I appreciate the humility inherent in Nephi’s statement. I mean, here he’s having a vision, conversing with “the spirit of the Lord”, and it’s not just a run of the mill vision, but it’s about to be one of those broadly scoped visions of epic proportions. It’s pretty easy to imagine that Nephi post-vision was more confident in what he knew than pre-vision, anyway.
I think about times that I have behaved as if I knew more than I did. I suspect there were times on my mission that I was that way. And I don’t mean saying “I know” when I really believed, but I mean falsely believing I had a greater grasp of scripture and culture and language than I did – believing I was more capable than a companion, or capable (on my own) to convince an investigator.
There have been times as a dad when I have assumed I knew more than my kids and didn’t. I regularly demonstrate that I have forgotten much of what I learned in grades 5-9 when approached by my children of those ages through the years. I had a 14-year old son who loved to argue with me and would regularly challenge me to bet him something was true. I always lost. Always. Clearly, I did not know the meaning of all things. (Now, with my present 14-year old, I do not bet. I have come to understand myself far better, at least.)
As I’ve taught seminary and institute sporadically over the years I’ve encouraged my students to ask questions – any questions they may have. And I’ve freely admitted to them that I do not know the meaning of all things. But I’ve invited them to join me on a journey of discovery to find answers if we can. Sometimes they were easy to find, and sometimes we didn’t find the answers we looked for. But hopefully those students will continue on their quest for understanding and meaning.
I do not find weakness in Nephi’s statement, particularly given that he says it to the spirit of the Lord, who probably knew the answer before Nephi said it. Nephi had already demonstrated desire and faith (he called on the Lord for understanding, and he admitted to the spirit that he did believe all that his father had taught). If he knew the meaning of all things, it would hardly have been necessary to seek more.
I further have appreciated when church leaders or teachers I’ve known locally have admitted that they don’t instantly have an answer to a question I pose, but that they will research it and come back to me. There is comfort to me in knowing that these faithful and righteous servants also recognize their limitations. And it’s ok not to know everything.
Similarly, it’s ok for me not to have every private question I carry to the Lord in prayer be resolved instantly. Part of the test of faithfulness is (for me) learning to walk quietly in the darkness, trusting that more will be revealed as I need it. I am ok knitting together a hypothesis when I do not understand. I can say to myself, “I have experienced that X is true. Y is related to X and I don’t fully understand Y, but for now, since I accept X as true, I can also live with Y. I believe in time, the significance of Y will also be revealed.”
Friday, February 18, 2011
On personal history
In 2009, one of my Christmas gifts to my children was my personal history. Mine was modeled after my mother's which she gave us as gifts, too. Both my mother and I wrote our histories when we were each about 50, though mine took a couple of years for editing before I finally gave it away.
When I was much younger, I assumed personal history writing was for the "old" folks. (Of course when I was much younger, I thought 30-year olds were old!) But I'm glad that I wrote my first volume at 50. I was old enough to have made significant choices in my life and seen the impact of those choices, and young enough to remember them!
I'm thinking about this, because I recently re-read my history. As I began, I was struck with a horrible thought, that the whole project had been a little presumptuous in the first place. After all, who was I to think that someone would actually want to read it? And yet I did (and do) enjoy reading my mother's history. And my children and wife have been kind enough to be complimentary of mine.
My process of writing took me quite some time. When I began to write, I went chronologically, and began writing what I could remember. I found the more I wrote, the more came back to me, and often I'd go back and add another story to what I had already written. I also used family letters (which we've written since we were married) as source material, but I really focused on what came to mind while writing. My intent was not to tell every detail of every story, but to get the broad arc of the story of my life with enough details to reveal who I was at various life stages.
In my earliest draft I wrote everything – the good, the bad and the ugly. And that process was highly therapeutic. But as I edited, I made a conscious choice to let this be my story, and not someone else's. So no airing of anyone else's dirty laundry – or clean laundry, for that matter. Where I included others in my narrative I tried to focus on my interaction with them. Of course there are many actors in my life, and I tried to include them fairly and in a way that would not cause them embarrassment of any kind. This is particularly true for my children (and I hope I succeeded; that none of them has resigned from the family is a good sign).
Someday I hope to write a second volume. My mother never did, and I wish she had. But the good news is that when she published her first volume, I was an adult, old enough to know her and have solid memories of her. My youngest children may not be there yet for me. So I suppose I'll have to think about the right timing for Volume Two.
Have your written your own history? Have enjoyed reading others’ personal histories?
When I was much younger, I assumed personal history writing was for the "old" folks. (Of course when I was much younger, I thought 30-year olds were old!) But I'm glad that I wrote my first volume at 50. I was old enough to have made significant choices in my life and seen the impact of those choices, and young enough to remember them!
I'm thinking about this, because I recently re-read my history. As I began, I was struck with a horrible thought, that the whole project had been a little presumptuous in the first place. After all, who was I to think that someone would actually want to read it? And yet I did (and do) enjoy reading my mother's history. And my children and wife have been kind enough to be complimentary of mine.
My process of writing took me quite some time. When I began to write, I went chronologically, and began writing what I could remember. I found the more I wrote, the more came back to me, and often I'd go back and add another story to what I had already written. I also used family letters (which we've written since we were married) as source material, but I really focused on what came to mind while writing. My intent was not to tell every detail of every story, but to get the broad arc of the story of my life with enough details to reveal who I was at various life stages.
In my earliest draft I wrote everything – the good, the bad and the ugly. And that process was highly therapeutic. But as I edited, I made a conscious choice to let this be my story, and not someone else's. So no airing of anyone else's dirty laundry – or clean laundry, for that matter. Where I included others in my narrative I tried to focus on my interaction with them. Of course there are many actors in my life, and I tried to include them fairly and in a way that would not cause them embarrassment of any kind. This is particularly true for my children (and I hope I succeeded; that none of them has resigned from the family is a good sign).
Someday I hope to write a second volume. My mother never did, and I wish she had. But the good news is that when she published her first volume, I was an adult, old enough to know her and have solid memories of her. My youngest children may not be there yet for me. So I suppose I'll have to think about the right timing for Volume Two.
Have your written your own history? Have enjoyed reading others’ personal histories?
Thursday, January 27, 2011
I know you have a problem
You've got a problem. I know you have a problem. Your family knows you've got a problem. Everyone seems to know you've got a problem. Everyone, that is, but you.
What does one do in such a situation? How do we help someone who does not want to be helped? In Mosiah we learn that we are to mourn with those that mourn and bear one another's burdens. How do we live that teaching, especially when the person who needs help won't get it?
The issue is that you are likely to come to me for help. But it will be help for problems that you could solve if you'd solve your core problem. But you don't see the core problem. Or you see it and won't do anything about it.
King Benjamin teaches we ought to offer help whenever it is requested without judgment of the person seeking help. Does that mean I give the help I'm asked to give, or I try to solve the root problem?
At least one of the reasons King Benjamin gives for his direction to help everyone without judgment is that we're all beggars. We're all in the same boat (or at least similar boats) and we all need help. And that means I probably have a bigger root problem that someone else sees better than I do, too. Related to that reality is that I may not be in the best position to judge what your real problem is. I can't see into your heart. I'm not a trained professional counselor. I'm not your religious leader. I'm just a parent or a friend, or even just a guy you ask for help.
When we do things for people that they could and should be doing for themselves, we are at risk of enabling behaviors that are not healthy in the long run. People in "Anon" program like Al-Anon or Families Anonymous or the church's Family Support Groups (a companion program to the Addiction Recovery Program, but not yet available everywhere) learn the dangers of enabling alcoholics or addicts, since enabling typically does nothing to encourage change in the addict. (Stopping the enabling is also no guarantee that an addict will seek change, by the way. But, as the slogan goes: If nothing changes, nothing changes.)
Enabling goes beyond cases of addiction. Enabling behaviors could also slow the preparation of young people to enter the adult world. They can hide the true effects of abuse in a family. They can allow a co-worker to work less than he's paid to. And more.
So, how do I decide how to help?
What does one do in such a situation? How do we help someone who does not want to be helped? In Mosiah we learn that we are to mourn with those that mourn and bear one another's burdens. How do we live that teaching, especially when the person who needs help won't get it?
The issue is that you are likely to come to me for help. But it will be help for problems that you could solve if you'd solve your core problem. But you don't see the core problem. Or you see it and won't do anything about it.
King Benjamin teaches we ought to offer help whenever it is requested without judgment of the person seeking help. Does that mean I give the help I'm asked to give, or I try to solve the root problem?
At least one of the reasons King Benjamin gives for his direction to help everyone without judgment is that we're all beggars. We're all in the same boat (or at least similar boats) and we all need help. And that means I probably have a bigger root problem that someone else sees better than I do, too. Related to that reality is that I may not be in the best position to judge what your real problem is. I can't see into your heart. I'm not a trained professional counselor. I'm not your religious leader. I'm just a parent or a friend, or even just a guy you ask for help.
When we do things for people that they could and should be doing for themselves, we are at risk of enabling behaviors that are not healthy in the long run. People in "Anon" program like Al-Anon or Families Anonymous or the church's Family Support Groups (a companion program to the Addiction Recovery Program, but not yet available everywhere) learn the dangers of enabling alcoholics or addicts, since enabling typically does nothing to encourage change in the addict. (Stopping the enabling is also no guarantee that an addict will seek change, by the way. But, as the slogan goes: If nothing changes, nothing changes.)
Enabling goes beyond cases of addiction. Enabling behaviors could also slow the preparation of young people to enter the adult world. They can hide the true effects of abuse in a family. They can allow a co-worker to work less than he's paid to. And more.
So, how do I decide how to help?
Friday, December 10, 2010
On turning one
I posted my first entry on this blog a year ago today. I had no idea what to expect. I started my blog for a number of reasons. First, I was driven to write, and blogging allows me to do that. Second, in an article in the October 2009 issue of the Ensign encouraged us to participate in the online dialog about the church.
I said I would blog about my own experience in and with the church, and I've tried to stay true to that mission. A few of my posts have strayed slightly, but in most of them I try to look at my own experiences and what they have taught me.
I've been surprised at the response. Since I started blogging, there have been well over 5,000 views of my blog. My most-viewed entry was coincidentally posted on my birthday, October 4, 2010, about my experience receiving my endowment in the Provo temple before my mission. I think that one got so many views because it was cited in a Mormon Times review of recent blog posts.
I've been recently surprised when people I know tell me they've been reading my blog. It pleases me to know that someone finds it interesting. I suppose if I were more controversial or hit more "hot" topics I might generate more comments, but for now I'm ok with where we are.
Looking back, here are a five of my favorite entries:
Face to Face With Apostles in which I talk about three very brief personal interactions I've had with members of the Quorum of the Twelve
Salt Lake Sealing in which I talk about my experience as a child being sealed to my parents
A Memory of Yom Kippur in which I chronicle a vivid memory of the atonement's becoming real for me
Might I Be Wrong? in which I share a question that is one of the most helpful in my relationships with others
Adam and Eve As Co-Parents in which I discuss the value of moms and dads working together as parents
Thanks for reading!
I said I would blog about my own experience in and with the church, and I've tried to stay true to that mission. A few of my posts have strayed slightly, but in most of them I try to look at my own experiences and what they have taught me.
I've been surprised at the response. Since I started blogging, there have been well over 5,000 views of my blog. My most-viewed entry was coincidentally posted on my birthday, October 4, 2010, about my experience receiving my endowment in the Provo temple before my mission. I think that one got so many views because it was cited in a Mormon Times review of recent blog posts.
I've been recently surprised when people I know tell me they've been reading my blog. It pleases me to know that someone finds it interesting. I suppose if I were more controversial or hit more "hot" topics I might generate more comments, but for now I'm ok with where we are.
Looking back, here are a five of my favorite entries:
Face to Face With Apostles in which I talk about three very brief personal interactions I've had with members of the Quorum of the Twelve
Salt Lake Sealing in which I talk about my experience as a child being sealed to my parents
A Memory of Yom Kippur in which I chronicle a vivid memory of the atonement's becoming real for me
Might I Be Wrong? in which I share a question that is one of the most helpful in my relationships with others
Adam and Eve As Co-Parents in which I discuss the value of moms and dads working together as parents
Thanks for reading!
Thursday, December 2, 2010
What Counts?
Sister Beck, in the recent Worldwide Leadership Training, said:
As I've thought about this comment, I've reflected on the role of statistics – or the role of what I keep track of -- in my church life. On my mission, statistics were a big deal – how many proselyting hours, how many discussions – though they were less of an issue to my mission president than to his predecessor, who reportedly regularly made transfer decisions based on statistical performance.
An as a leader in the ward, I've often focused on statistics – home teaching, attendance figures, and other measures of activity.
That said, I am not a 100% person. I'm not a 100% home teacher. I'm not sure I've ever been. But I do know and see the families assigned to me who will let me come. I could probably see them more often; I certainly could minister better.
I'm not 100% at scripture reading, meaning I don't read every day. But we read most days in a week as a family (it was much easier during our seminary sabbatical last year when we could read in the mornings; now that I have another child in early morning seminary we're back to reading before bed, which is always more challenging). And I do know the scriptures, and I am in them often, and learning them more.
I can track my tithing faithfulness; I can measure my performance against the key worthiness elements of the Word of Wisdom. But more importantly, I can see blessings for paying tithing and I feel the nudge toward (and the blessings of) the non-worthiness elements of the Word of Wisdom.
I'm glad we no longer collect statistics on temple attendance. I can remember we used to do it in all sorts of ways. The temple has always seemed to me the ultimate in private worship and service. Nevertheless I do have a goal for my own temple attendance, and, more importantly, I can feel when I haven't been in while – I can tell that something is missing in my life.
Bishop Edgley visited our stake quite a number of years ago. In a priesthood leadership session, he put up some statistics on two stakes – one with a very high activity rate as measured by sacrament meeting attendance, temple worthiness (number of endowed members who held recommends), percent of age-appropriate Melchizedek priesthood holders, and so on, and one that was far less active. He then asked us to guess where these stakes were. As it happens, they were both our stake, split statistically between active and less active members. He taught us about the need to minister to the active and less active. He then taught us something that has stuck with me: The Lord does not use statistics since he can read our hearts. But we use them as indicators of where we might look for improvement in ourselves.
I doubt – Sister Beck's comment notwithstanding – that there will be a retreat from the collecting and reporting of statistics, nor do I believe there needs to be. But I hope Sister Beck's comment, like Bishop Edgley's from years ago, will remind us of the proper perspective: in the end, each of us needs to do the best we can. Each of us needs to take the next step, whatever it is. And to the extent we can minister to one another and help one another to take those steps, that's a good thing.
"What counts for the Lord? Is it going to be the meetings? Is it going to be the numbers? […] Or is it going to be the caring?"
As I've thought about this comment, I've reflected on the role of statistics – or the role of what I keep track of -- in my church life. On my mission, statistics were a big deal – how many proselyting hours, how many discussions – though they were less of an issue to my mission president than to his predecessor, who reportedly regularly made transfer decisions based on statistical performance.
An as a leader in the ward, I've often focused on statistics – home teaching, attendance figures, and other measures of activity.
That said, I am not a 100% person. I'm not a 100% home teacher. I'm not sure I've ever been. But I do know and see the families assigned to me who will let me come. I could probably see them more often; I certainly could minister better.
I'm not 100% at scripture reading, meaning I don't read every day. But we read most days in a week as a family (it was much easier during our seminary sabbatical last year when we could read in the mornings; now that I have another child in early morning seminary we're back to reading before bed, which is always more challenging). And I do know the scriptures, and I am in them often, and learning them more.
I can track my tithing faithfulness; I can measure my performance against the key worthiness elements of the Word of Wisdom. But more importantly, I can see blessings for paying tithing and I feel the nudge toward (and the blessings of) the non-worthiness elements of the Word of Wisdom.
I'm glad we no longer collect statistics on temple attendance. I can remember we used to do it in all sorts of ways. The temple has always seemed to me the ultimate in private worship and service. Nevertheless I do have a goal for my own temple attendance, and, more importantly, I can feel when I haven't been in while – I can tell that something is missing in my life.
Bishop Edgley visited our stake quite a number of years ago. In a priesthood leadership session, he put up some statistics on two stakes – one with a very high activity rate as measured by sacrament meeting attendance, temple worthiness (number of endowed members who held recommends), percent of age-appropriate Melchizedek priesthood holders, and so on, and one that was far less active. He then asked us to guess where these stakes were. As it happens, they were both our stake, split statistically between active and less active members. He taught us about the need to minister to the active and less active. He then taught us something that has stuck with me: The Lord does not use statistics since he can read our hearts. But we use them as indicators of where we might look for improvement in ourselves.
I doubt – Sister Beck's comment notwithstanding – that there will be a retreat from the collecting and reporting of statistics, nor do I believe there needs to be. But I hope Sister Beck's comment, like Bishop Edgley's from years ago, will remind us of the proper perspective: in the end, each of us needs to do the best we can. Each of us needs to take the next step, whatever it is. And to the extent we can minister to one another and help one another to take those steps, that's a good thing.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Why was it such a great sacrament meeting?
Two Sundays ago we had an awesome sacrament meeting, and I've been trying to figure out what made it so good. I recall I did stay awake for the whole meeting – not sure of the cause and effect there (did I stay awake because it was a great meeting or was it a great meeting because I stayed awake?). All I know is 1 pm sacrament meeting is really tough on me; I never ever took 1 pm classes in college for the same reason.
In any case, going into the meeting I don't remember anything significantly different from other normal weeks. My wife was away doing stake visits associated with her calling, which is not unusual these days. Reverence in the chapel was about normal – a low moan before the meeting, except at the deacons' bench where the chatter is near constant. The hymns were ok; I enjoy singing the hymns and our chorister has a great sense of tempo. My wife is my favorite of our ward's organists, though her new stake calling keeps her away from playing more than we'd both like. But the organist who played is also excellent.
The sacrament itself was not especially different. Our young men generally do a nice job with the sacrament: prayers are understandable when spoken by the priests, and the young men who pass do so with care. They're about as neat and orderly as 12-15 year boys can be.
Our youth speaker was particularly good. Our ward's priests and Laurels, as a rule, do a great job with talks in sacrament meeting. They are typically closer to ten minutes than five, and are carefully prepared and presented. This one, by one of our priests, was on the blessings of the atonement aside from repentance, and it was really quite a nice talk. It displayed a maturing view of the atonement and careful reading of appropriate scriptures and background material. I remember thinking what a great job the young man had done (and I told him so later).
But the talk that really got to me was our second speaker, who happens to be the wife of our bishop's second counselor. She is a young mom, and I don't know her well. Her talk was on the resurrection, and she spoke from the heart using many personal examples of loved ones she has lost and how her testimony of the Savior's resurrection has informed her view of those events at various times in her life.
I think it was the personal nature of her talk that was compelling to me. It caused me to reflect on my own loss of my grandparents in my youth, and my loss of my parents as an adult, and to think about what comfort the Savior's resurrection offered me (more as an adult than as a youth).
But I think the thing that must have made the greatest impact on me was her repeatedly and convincingly bearing testimony of the resurrection of Jesus Christ and what that means in our lives – that we will be resurrected, that we have hope of seeing our deceased loved ones again, that we can become free from the physical pains of this world. As she bore testimony (and she did it throughout her talk in a number of different ways), the spirit washed like waves over me. About two thirds of the way through her talk she quoted Joseph Smith on the truth that mothers would again see their babies that had died. (This topic was a tender one for Joseph and Emma as so many of their children died so young.) I could not stop the tears from flowing, nor did I want to.
(Although my tears were unstoppable, they were not emotional tears. I know myself well enough now to know the difference in me between emotion-driven tears (I cry at Hallmark commercials, for goodness' sake) and what, for me, are spiritual tears.)
She was followed by a soloist who sang "I Know That My Redeemer Lives." The soloist is a friend of mine, and I know that he does know that, as well as any of us can, anyway. After the wonderful talk, I could not look directly at the soloist as he sang, or those emotional tears would have gotten to me.
The final talk was not so special to me; one of our full time missionaries was assigned to speak on family history work (it seemed an odd choice of assignments to me), but that was ok. I was still in the glow of the second talk; I felt like I'd had my spiritual main course already and the young elder's talk was just the dessert. When the ward choir finished with one of my favorite hymns, "Thy Spirit Lord Hath Stirred Our Souls," I agreed that indeed it had.
In any case, going into the meeting I don't remember anything significantly different from other normal weeks. My wife was away doing stake visits associated with her calling, which is not unusual these days. Reverence in the chapel was about normal – a low moan before the meeting, except at the deacons' bench where the chatter is near constant. The hymns were ok; I enjoy singing the hymns and our chorister has a great sense of tempo. My wife is my favorite of our ward's organists, though her new stake calling keeps her away from playing more than we'd both like. But the organist who played is also excellent.
The sacrament itself was not especially different. Our young men generally do a nice job with the sacrament: prayers are understandable when spoken by the priests, and the young men who pass do so with care. They're about as neat and orderly as 12-15 year boys can be.
Our youth speaker was particularly good. Our ward's priests and Laurels, as a rule, do a great job with talks in sacrament meeting. They are typically closer to ten minutes than five, and are carefully prepared and presented. This one, by one of our priests, was on the blessings of the atonement aside from repentance, and it was really quite a nice talk. It displayed a maturing view of the atonement and careful reading of appropriate scriptures and background material. I remember thinking what a great job the young man had done (and I told him so later).
But the talk that really got to me was our second speaker, who happens to be the wife of our bishop's second counselor. She is a young mom, and I don't know her well. Her talk was on the resurrection, and she spoke from the heart using many personal examples of loved ones she has lost and how her testimony of the Savior's resurrection has informed her view of those events at various times in her life.
I think it was the personal nature of her talk that was compelling to me. It caused me to reflect on my own loss of my grandparents in my youth, and my loss of my parents as an adult, and to think about what comfort the Savior's resurrection offered me (more as an adult than as a youth).
But I think the thing that must have made the greatest impact on me was her repeatedly and convincingly bearing testimony of the resurrection of Jesus Christ and what that means in our lives – that we will be resurrected, that we have hope of seeing our deceased loved ones again, that we can become free from the physical pains of this world. As she bore testimony (and she did it throughout her talk in a number of different ways), the spirit washed like waves over me. About two thirds of the way through her talk she quoted Joseph Smith on the truth that mothers would again see their babies that had died. (This topic was a tender one for Joseph and Emma as so many of their children died so young.) I could not stop the tears from flowing, nor did I want to.
(Although my tears were unstoppable, they were not emotional tears. I know myself well enough now to know the difference in me between emotion-driven tears (I cry at Hallmark commercials, for goodness' sake) and what, for me, are spiritual tears.)
She was followed by a soloist who sang "I Know That My Redeemer Lives." The soloist is a friend of mine, and I know that he does know that, as well as any of us can, anyway. After the wonderful talk, I could not look directly at the soloist as he sang, or those emotional tears would have gotten to me.
The final talk was not so special to me; one of our full time missionaries was assigned to speak on family history work (it seemed an odd choice of assignments to me), but that was ok. I was still in the glow of the second talk; I felt like I'd had my spiritual main course already and the young elder's talk was just the dessert. When the ward choir finished with one of my favorite hymns, "Thy Spirit Lord Hath Stirred Our Souls," I agreed that indeed it had.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Reaction to the Labels Iron Rod and Liahona
In 1967 (the year I was baptized), Richard D. Poll delivered a sermon in the Palo Alto ward in which he coined the terms Iron Rod Saint and Liahona Saint. The sermon was reprinted in Dialogue and the Saints' Herald, and was also later published in the essay anthology A Thoughtful Faith (1986, Philip Barlow, ed.). What follows is the last of a four entries on the iron rod, the liahona, and impressions about Brother Poll's essay.
Brother Poll's response to his own 1967 article was published in Dialogue in 1983. Brother Poll summarizes one result of his original article, "The article did little, I confess, to make Mormons of the two tendencies feel more accepting of each other. Its most significant contribution. . . was to help make the Liahonas more accepting of themselves" (1983, p. 70).
Poll summarizes some responses he received, including defensive ones from self-declared Iron Rods and sympathetic ones from self-declared Liahonas. He then maintains his characterization and provides more texture to the differences between the two.
In a subsequent article, "Explorations in Mormon Social Character: Beyond the Liahona and Iron Rod", Jeffery Jacob (June 1989) attempts to categorize the social structure of the church even more by expanding on Poll's binary model. And I'm sure that others have also tried to characterize members of the church. (Frankly, I didn't get Jacob's article; it was far more technical that I was ready to try to comprehend.)
The key premise – and to me one of great value -- of Poll's analysis, however, was the faithfulness of both of his groups. They did not differ so much in the what but the how as it related to gospel living. He contends that both groups attend the temple, serve in the church in various positions, and attempt to lead honorable lives. He also notes that members of both groups also fall away.
In the end, if the symbols are to be helpful to us, I believe they are so personally. I can judge where I am on the spectrum, but I need not judge where someone else is. Recognizing that faithful members can be at either end or somewhere in between suggests to me that I can also be accepting of others as they are. It is not mine to judge someone's motives or even his or her actions. Even those called to judge do so within a relatively limited set of circumstances.
As a comment to my first post on this subject, one respondent said, "Creating dichotomies … seems to me more divisive than unifying, which kind of hurts the purpose of the Church." I agree that concentrating on differences is not always helpful, especially when we are trying to be "many members, yet but one body" (1 Corinthians 12:20).
Brother Poll's response to his own 1967 article was published in Dialogue in 1983. Brother Poll summarizes one result of his original article, "The article did little, I confess, to make Mormons of the two tendencies feel more accepting of each other. Its most significant contribution. . . was to help make the Liahonas more accepting of themselves" (1983, p. 70).
Poll summarizes some responses he received, including defensive ones from self-declared Iron Rods and sympathetic ones from self-declared Liahonas. He then maintains his characterization and provides more texture to the differences between the two.
In a subsequent article, "Explorations in Mormon Social Character: Beyond the Liahona and Iron Rod", Jeffery Jacob (June 1989) attempts to categorize the social structure of the church even more by expanding on Poll's binary model. And I'm sure that others have also tried to characterize members of the church. (Frankly, I didn't get Jacob's article; it was far more technical that I was ready to try to comprehend.)
The key premise – and to me one of great value -- of Poll's analysis, however, was the faithfulness of both of his groups. They did not differ so much in the what but the how as it related to gospel living. He contends that both groups attend the temple, serve in the church in various positions, and attempt to lead honorable lives. He also notes that members of both groups also fall away.
In the end, if the symbols are to be helpful to us, I believe they are so personally. I can judge where I am on the spectrum, but I need not judge where someone else is. Recognizing that faithful members can be at either end or somewhere in between suggests to me that I can also be accepting of others as they are. It is not mine to judge someone's motives or even his or her actions. Even those called to judge do so within a relatively limited set of circumstances.
As a comment to my first post on this subject, one respondent said, "Creating dichotomies … seems to me more divisive than unifying, which kind of hurts the purpose of the Church." I agree that concentrating on differences is not always helpful, especially when we are trying to be "many members, yet but one body" (1 Corinthians 12:20).
Friday, June 11, 2010
Why do we obey? Another view...
I used to drive over the speed limit almost everywhere I went. An occasional speeding ticket was the price I paid for being able to drive as fast as I wanted. A few years ago, though, I got a couple of speeding tickets on local roads in my community within a week. The fines were not small, and points were tallying up against my license. I decided I needed to slow down. I obeyed the speed limits out of fear.
Now that I'm older (and perhaps even wiser) I also obey the speed limits in my town out of concern for my neighbors. I don't want someone racing down my residential street so fast that a child is hurt, and I certainly don't want to be the speeder who hurts someone.
What about the laws of God? Are we obedient to commandments because we fear punishment, or because we seek blessings? Or because we love God?
The Savior taught that there are really two Big Commandments:
1. Love God.
2. Love your fellowman.
All the other commandments ("the law and the prophets") hang on these two. Even the Ten Commandments can be easily fit into these two broad heading as can other things we're asked to do by the Lord.
Outsiders observe that Mormons have a lot of rules to keep. We often don't talk about it that way inside the church, instead suggesting that the commandments that seem restrictive free us to take advantage of spiritual (and sometimes physical) blessings as a result.
But do we keep those commandments so we can enjoy the blessings? Is that the right motivation? Do we keep them because we fear being without the blessings? Or are we trying to fit in to our Mormon culture?
My own experience is that my obedience is along a continuum. I may start obeying because I want to test a principle, or because I trust the person who teaches me (like my parents). As I obey, I see the blessings for doing so, and I want those blessings to continue. And over time, my love for God increases as I obey Him. And as my love increases, I want to obey Him more.
Conversely, when I'm tempted to do something I shouldn't I may reflect first on the possible lost blessings that would result from disobedience. But my example should be the Savior who resisted temptation out of devotion to His father (see Matthew 4).
In the end, the New Testament reminds us we are not saved by the law. At least as important as strict adherence is our attitude when we obey.
Now that I'm older (and perhaps even wiser) I also obey the speed limits in my town out of concern for my neighbors. I don't want someone racing down my residential street so fast that a child is hurt, and I certainly don't want to be the speeder who hurts someone.
What about the laws of God? Are we obedient to commandments because we fear punishment, or because we seek blessings? Or because we love God?
The Savior taught that there are really two Big Commandments:
1. Love God.
2. Love your fellowman.
All the other commandments ("the law and the prophets") hang on these two. Even the Ten Commandments can be easily fit into these two broad heading as can other things we're asked to do by the Lord.
Outsiders observe that Mormons have a lot of rules to keep. We often don't talk about it that way inside the church, instead suggesting that the commandments that seem restrictive free us to take advantage of spiritual (and sometimes physical) blessings as a result.
But do we keep those commandments so we can enjoy the blessings? Is that the right motivation? Do we keep them because we fear being without the blessings? Or are we trying to fit in to our Mormon culture?
My own experience is that my obedience is along a continuum. I may start obeying because I want to test a principle, or because I trust the person who teaches me (like my parents). As I obey, I see the blessings for doing so, and I want those blessings to continue. And over time, my love for God increases as I obey Him. And as my love increases, I want to obey Him more.
Conversely, when I'm tempted to do something I shouldn't I may reflect first on the possible lost blessings that would result from disobedience. But my example should be the Savior who resisted temptation out of devotion to His father (see Matthew 4).
In the end, the New Testament reminds us we are not saved by the law. At least as important as strict adherence is our attitude when we obey.
Monday, June 7, 2010
On Repenting
The second principle of the gospel, according to the Articles of Faith, is repentance.
Why does repentance naturally follow faith, and particularly, faith in Jesus Christ?
For me it is because as my faith in Christ grows, the more I realize I am not like Him, and the more I want to be like him. If you hold up your right hand, fingers up and palm out, then you can match your left hand to your left, palm to palm. They fit pretty well.
If your right hand represents the Savior and the left hand represents you, then what we hope for is that our right and left hands are together. But in reality, the more I learn about the Savior and about myself, the more I realize there is a distance between my hands. Repentance allows me to close that distance, even if in small increments.
Of course, the whole process of repentance is only possible through the grace and mercy of Jesus Christ. Without His atoning sacrifice, it would be impossible.
Another example: the Book of Mormon includes Lehi's vision of the the Tree of Life, in which people can grasp the iron rod and follow it through the mist of darkness toward the tree whose fruit represents the love of God. If we are walking along that path, holding on to the rod, and we let go of the rod in the mist of darkness, we may stray from the path.
Upon finding ourselves away from where we want to be, what are our options? First, we might stop. We might call out for help. In the end, we will try to turn around and return to the rod. Repentance allows us a similar chance, to turn around and return to Christ's path in our lives. When we feel that we've strayed from the path we ought to be on, we stop what we're doing long enough to sort out where we are.
We may look for help – from a loved one, a home teacher, a friend or a bishop, and certainly from the Lord. But in the end, we need to turn ourselves around and return to the Savior's path, where we find comfort, peace and safety.
The Lord taught that He requires of us a broken heart and a contrite spirit. It is when our hearts are broken and our spirits are contrite that we are receptive to those promptings to move from where we are to where He wants us to be. It is when we are best able to hear the whisperings of the spirit coaxing us to draw nearer to Him, and confirming to us when we do so. It is when we want to draw near to Him, not just so we can tick off another box on our list of spiritual "to-do's," but because we want to be near Him.
Why does repentance naturally follow faith, and particularly, faith in Jesus Christ?
For me it is because as my faith in Christ grows, the more I realize I am not like Him, and the more I want to be like him. If you hold up your right hand, fingers up and palm out, then you can match your left hand to your left, palm to palm. They fit pretty well.
If your right hand represents the Savior and the left hand represents you, then what we hope for is that our right and left hands are together. But in reality, the more I learn about the Savior and about myself, the more I realize there is a distance between my hands. Repentance allows me to close that distance, even if in small increments.
Of course, the whole process of repentance is only possible through the grace and mercy of Jesus Christ. Without His atoning sacrifice, it would be impossible.
Another example: the Book of Mormon includes Lehi's vision of the the Tree of Life, in which people can grasp the iron rod and follow it through the mist of darkness toward the tree whose fruit represents the love of God. If we are walking along that path, holding on to the rod, and we let go of the rod in the mist of darkness, we may stray from the path.
Upon finding ourselves away from where we want to be, what are our options? First, we might stop. We might call out for help. In the end, we will try to turn around and return to the rod. Repentance allows us a similar chance, to turn around and return to Christ's path in our lives. When we feel that we've strayed from the path we ought to be on, we stop what we're doing long enough to sort out where we are.
We may look for help – from a loved one, a home teacher, a friend or a bishop, and certainly from the Lord. But in the end, we need to turn ourselves around and return to the Savior's path, where we find comfort, peace and safety.
The Lord taught that He requires of us a broken heart and a contrite spirit. It is when our hearts are broken and our spirits are contrite that we are receptive to those promptings to move from where we are to where He wants us to be. It is when we are best able to hear the whisperings of the spirit coaxing us to draw nearer to Him, and confirming to us when we do so. It is when we want to draw near to Him, not just so we can tick off another box on our list of spiritual "to-do's," but because we want to be near Him.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Taking Inventory
When I came home from my mission years ago, my first Sunday was ward conference, and my dad, who was on the high council, was one of the speakers. Dad had served on the high council for years and, frankly, as a youth I found his talks rather boring. But having experienced the same transformation that Mark Twain did, I was pleasantly surprised to see how much my dad had learned while I was away on my mission.
It was the late 1970's, and my folks had lived in Lagos, Nigeria during my mission in Germany; Dad's employment took him there, and they were able to witness the opening of West Africa to missionary work after the 1978 revelation on the priesthood.
My folks had joined the church in the late 1960's – I was nearly nine and was the youngest of four kids. My dad saw the church, among other things, as a means of protecting us kids against the changing mores in American society at the time. He and mom served faithfully in a series of callings since joining the church, and Dad landed on the high council within a few years of baptism, soon after our stake was formed.
In his talk in ward conference, my dad spoke about personal inventories. The topic was interesting to me as I was quite familiar with companionship inventories from my mission. During their time in Africa, my parents were the church. There was one other brother who would join them for a small sacrament meeting in their home a couple of times a month, but mostly it was Mom and Dad, holding a tiny worship service in their home in Lagos. After the two senior missionary couples came (after the 1978 revelation) to begin missionary work in West Africe, my parents had occasion visits from them, though the couples' primary work was outside Lagos in other parts of Nigeria and in Ghana. Mom and Dad were part of the International Mission at the time. And apparently, the time away from church structure gave them plenty of time to think about their membership, their commitment, their testimonies, and how they chose to live the gospel.
In his talk, Dad suggested that since God does not change, it's up to us to find Him and to orient our lives around him. This was a theme of Dad's membership. He was never one to place demands on God; he was uncomfortable with verses like D&C 82:10 that suggest that our obedience allows us to lay claim to blessings, and instead favored the King Benjamin view that God blesses us in His own way whenever we do right without our asking for it. In fact, one of Dad's reasons for leaving his protestant faith in the late 1960's was their annual meeting to decide what would be true for the next year.
So Dad's suggestion to do an occasional personal inventory made great sense to me. It's a chance for us to think about where God wants us to be and where we are, and to sort out how to close the gap. It's a chance to identify what we're doing right and wrong. And it's a chance for us to make course corrections where required.
The occasional inventory allows us to grow, too. It recognizes that our understanding of what is required of us may change over time – not that the requirements change, but that a new season in life might allow (or drive) a change in our focus. Dad, for instance, became a much more regular temple attender when a temple was close enough to get to in a day's drive, and when his travel schedule for work allowed him to be in one place for longer than a few weeks.
I'm a fan of the inventory, too. It seems to me that a personal inventory allows us greater access to the blessings of the Atonement, as it presents to us a case for change in our lives. In my mind, a good inventory is not simply a listing of what we perceive to be our deficiencies, but rather an account of strengths and weaknesses – what we'd like to do more of as well as things we see that we must change.
Have you had experience with a personal inventory?
It was the late 1970's, and my folks had lived in Lagos, Nigeria during my mission in Germany; Dad's employment took him there, and they were able to witness the opening of West Africa to missionary work after the 1978 revelation on the priesthood.
My folks had joined the church in the late 1960's – I was nearly nine and was the youngest of four kids. My dad saw the church, among other things, as a means of protecting us kids against the changing mores in American society at the time. He and mom served faithfully in a series of callings since joining the church, and Dad landed on the high council within a few years of baptism, soon after our stake was formed.
In his talk in ward conference, my dad spoke about personal inventories. The topic was interesting to me as I was quite familiar with companionship inventories from my mission. During their time in Africa, my parents were the church. There was one other brother who would join them for a small sacrament meeting in their home a couple of times a month, but mostly it was Mom and Dad, holding a tiny worship service in their home in Lagos. After the two senior missionary couples came (after the 1978 revelation) to begin missionary work in West Africe, my parents had occasion visits from them, though the couples' primary work was outside Lagos in other parts of Nigeria and in Ghana. Mom and Dad were part of the International Mission at the time. And apparently, the time away from church structure gave them plenty of time to think about their membership, their commitment, their testimonies, and how they chose to live the gospel.
In his talk, Dad suggested that since God does not change, it's up to us to find Him and to orient our lives around him. This was a theme of Dad's membership. He was never one to place demands on God; he was uncomfortable with verses like D&C 82:10 that suggest that our obedience allows us to lay claim to blessings, and instead favored the King Benjamin view that God blesses us in His own way whenever we do right without our asking for it. In fact, one of Dad's reasons for leaving his protestant faith in the late 1960's was their annual meeting to decide what would be true for the next year.
So Dad's suggestion to do an occasional personal inventory made great sense to me. It's a chance for us to think about where God wants us to be and where we are, and to sort out how to close the gap. It's a chance to identify what we're doing right and wrong. And it's a chance for us to make course corrections where required.
The occasional inventory allows us to grow, too. It recognizes that our understanding of what is required of us may change over time – not that the requirements change, but that a new season in life might allow (or drive) a change in our focus. Dad, for instance, became a much more regular temple attender when a temple was close enough to get to in a day's drive, and when his travel schedule for work allowed him to be in one place for longer than a few weeks.
I'm a fan of the inventory, too. It seems to me that a personal inventory allows us greater access to the blessings of the Atonement, as it presents to us a case for change in our lives. In my mind, a good inventory is not simply a listing of what we perceive to be our deficiencies, but rather an account of strengths and weaknesses – what we'd like to do more of as well as things we see that we must change.
Have you had experience with a personal inventory?
Thursday, April 29, 2010
How to rear perfect children...
Well, I don't know how to rear perfect children.
Parenting is one of the most daunting responsibilities we'll ever know. I honestly think if we had any idea how hard it would be we wouldn't go there. But parenting can also be a great source of joy and awe. Sometimes we get both ends of the spectrum in the same day.
Just as we have our agency, so do our kids. They will make choices. Period. It's up to us as parents to sort out how to respond. Over time I'm learning (I've been a dad for almost 29 years, and I have seven kids) that the best responses are calm ones that allow consequences (good or bad) for choices our kids make. Parental anger doesn't do anyone any good (especially the angry parent).
My wife and I taught a parenting class at a stake women's conference last weekend. A central part of our discussion was the difference between rules and boundaries.
Rules are there to guide behavior. And they apply to everyone in one way or another. When we drive, we follow the rules – we stop at stop signs; we don't speed; we honor traffic signals. In our homes we follow rules, too. We go to bed on time (though not everyone may have the same bedtime); we treat one another with respect; we don't sing at the dinner table.
If someone breaks a rule, there's a consequence. Some are natural consequences – if you don't take an umbrella and it rains, you get wet; if you tell lies about your friend, she won't want to be your friend for long. Some are imposed consequences – if you come home late with the car, you can't drive for a week; if you play in the street, you have a time out on the step (because as a parent, I don't want you to have the natural consequence of getting hit by a car).
Of course rules need to be pretty simple or Mom and Dad are constantly in Police Mode. But consistency is also important if we want our kids to learn.
That said, sometimes our kids will choose to break the rules. They may want to test us and see if we'll be consistent. And maybe the "price" they pay is worth whatever benefit they get from breaking the rule that day. (How often do you think an occasional speeding ticket is "worth" being able to get there faster?) In fact we want our kids to break some rules so they learn from (or with) us how to overcome the resulting consequences.
As our children get older, their behavior may be more outrageous to us. In middle school kids will begin to be exposed to drinking and drugs, and some may try these. Sometimes our kids will make choices that offend us or may even endanger us. We can try rules, but the kids may ignore them. In that instance, we may also need to establish boundaries.
Boundaries exist to protect us, not to change our kids' behavior. If the always-angry teenage boy constantly yells at his mother, she can impose a boundary of simply not being available to listen to his tirade. (I realize that with very loud teenagers, just leaving the room may not keep us from hearing them, but at least we're not in the same room.) When we set a boundary, the consequence is something the boundary setter can do, not something the offender does. So in the case of the mom and the angry teen, Mom needs to take action – she leaves, she closes the door, she puts on noise cancelling headphones. It's her choice to do something she can control to protect herself.
Another example: If I need a certain number of hours' sleep, and if I need everyone to be home before I can sleep, then I can say to my teenager that I need to be in bed by 11 pm, and I need to have you home by then. If you aren't home by 11, I will lock the doors, and you will have to sleep somewhere else.
(By the way, boundaries work in many situations, not just with surly kids. You might establish a boundary with a co-worker or a spouse, too. Even people who normally have very positive and healthy relationships can have boundaries to keep those relationships positive and healthy.)
There are gospel principles underlying these suggestions. First, when Eve and Adam prayed after they were cast out of the Garden of Eden, God gave them commandments. Those commandments were a sign of His love for them and their children, and provided a structure, a path, back to Him. Similarly, we have rules for our children out of love for them, so we can prepare them to be successful in life and in returning to God.
Second, even when our kids do things we don't like, we can still love them. Our love, however, is (or can be) universal, but not necessarily unconditional. Elder Nelson taught that God's love is not unconditional, because His blessings (a sign of His love) are conditional upon our obedience ("Divine Love," Ensign, Feb 2003). The boundaries help us to establish those conditions in our lives.
Finally, perhaps Mary was the greatest mom in the scriptures, because she allowed her son to reach His full potential. Granted, he had some divine help with that task, but as He was growing in wisdom and stature, it's likely he had some maternal influence, too. Mary trusted Father in Heaven to do His part. We can have the same trust in our lives, to allow our children to walk their own paths home to Heavenly Father. We may not always understand how that path twists and turns. But we can have faith that He understands. He loves our children as much as we do (perhaps even more), and He has just as much at stake in their eternal success. We're wise to let Him help.
Parenting is one of the most daunting responsibilities we'll ever know. I honestly think if we had any idea how hard it would be we wouldn't go there. But parenting can also be a great source of joy and awe. Sometimes we get both ends of the spectrum in the same day.
Just as we have our agency, so do our kids. They will make choices. Period. It's up to us as parents to sort out how to respond. Over time I'm learning (I've been a dad for almost 29 years, and I have seven kids) that the best responses are calm ones that allow consequences (good or bad) for choices our kids make. Parental anger doesn't do anyone any good (especially the angry parent).
My wife and I taught a parenting class at a stake women's conference last weekend. A central part of our discussion was the difference between rules and boundaries.
Rules are there to guide behavior. And they apply to everyone in one way or another. When we drive, we follow the rules – we stop at stop signs; we don't speed; we honor traffic signals. In our homes we follow rules, too. We go to bed on time (though not everyone may have the same bedtime); we treat one another with respect; we don't sing at the dinner table.
If someone breaks a rule, there's a consequence. Some are natural consequences – if you don't take an umbrella and it rains, you get wet; if you tell lies about your friend, she won't want to be your friend for long. Some are imposed consequences – if you come home late with the car, you can't drive for a week; if you play in the street, you have a time out on the step (because as a parent, I don't want you to have the natural consequence of getting hit by a car).
Of course rules need to be pretty simple or Mom and Dad are constantly in Police Mode. But consistency is also important if we want our kids to learn.
That said, sometimes our kids will choose to break the rules. They may want to test us and see if we'll be consistent. And maybe the "price" they pay is worth whatever benefit they get from breaking the rule that day. (How often do you think an occasional speeding ticket is "worth" being able to get there faster?) In fact we want our kids to break some rules so they learn from (or with) us how to overcome the resulting consequences.
As our children get older, their behavior may be more outrageous to us. In middle school kids will begin to be exposed to drinking and drugs, and some may try these. Sometimes our kids will make choices that offend us or may even endanger us. We can try rules, but the kids may ignore them. In that instance, we may also need to establish boundaries.
Boundaries exist to protect us, not to change our kids' behavior. If the always-angry teenage boy constantly yells at his mother, she can impose a boundary of simply not being available to listen to his tirade. (I realize that with very loud teenagers, just leaving the room may not keep us from hearing them, but at least we're not in the same room.) When we set a boundary, the consequence is something the boundary setter can do, not something the offender does. So in the case of the mom and the angry teen, Mom needs to take action – she leaves, she closes the door, she puts on noise cancelling headphones. It's her choice to do something she can control to protect herself.
Another example: If I need a certain number of hours' sleep, and if I need everyone to be home before I can sleep, then I can say to my teenager that I need to be in bed by 11 pm, and I need to have you home by then. If you aren't home by 11, I will lock the doors, and you will have to sleep somewhere else.
(By the way, boundaries work in many situations, not just with surly kids. You might establish a boundary with a co-worker or a spouse, too. Even people who normally have very positive and healthy relationships can have boundaries to keep those relationships positive and healthy.)
There are gospel principles underlying these suggestions. First, when Eve and Adam prayed after they were cast out of the Garden of Eden, God gave them commandments. Those commandments were a sign of His love for them and their children, and provided a structure, a path, back to Him. Similarly, we have rules for our children out of love for them, so we can prepare them to be successful in life and in returning to God.
Second, even when our kids do things we don't like, we can still love them. Our love, however, is (or can be) universal, but not necessarily unconditional. Elder Nelson taught that God's love is not unconditional, because His blessings (a sign of His love) are conditional upon our obedience ("Divine Love," Ensign, Feb 2003). The boundaries help us to establish those conditions in our lives.
Finally, perhaps Mary was the greatest mom in the scriptures, because she allowed her son to reach His full potential. Granted, he had some divine help with that task, but as He was growing in wisdom and stature, it's likely he had some maternal influence, too. Mary trusted Father in Heaven to do His part. We can have the same trust in our lives, to allow our children to walk their own paths home to Heavenly Father. We may not always understand how that path twists and turns. But we can have faith that He understands. He loves our children as much as we do (perhaps even more), and He has just as much at stake in their eternal success. We're wise to let Him help.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
The Debate
I have not wanted to use this space to discuss the recent health care debate in the United States, primarily because that conversation is outside the parameters of this blog. But comments on another blog (sorry I can't link to it; I've been unable to find it again) have pushed me over the edge, so here I am. The blog itself discussed questions of the present healthcare debate and the blogger offered his view. I had no issue with that, since that's what we bloggers do.
What got me more troubled was a comment from a reader who suggested those who favored any government involvement in healthcare reform must not be good members of the church. (She asked, "How can you call yourselves good Mormons?") Her argument suggested that government involvement limited our agency because it used tax dollars, "forcing" us to subsidize healthcare for others.
This commenter is not alone. I've read similar comments from other politically conservative church members. Now, I am not intending to discuss the pros and cons of the present health care plan approved by Congress, but rather the notion that there might be a political litmus test of faithfulness.
There is not.
Faithful church members periodically declare their worthiness to their ecclesiastical leaders. This happens as people prepare for specific ordinances, and in bi-annual temple recommend interviews. It's a chance for members to report to their direct ecclesiastical leader their own faithfulness in keeping the covenants they've made as members of the church. The temple recommend interview contains specific questions, and there is no political litmus test as a part of that interview.
Further, there are faithful Latter-day Saints all around the world (more outside the US than in these days), many of whom live happily and faithfully in countries that have some level of socialized medicine (far more socialized than what is presently under debate here). Their faithfulness is not compromised by their living in those countries, or supporting those governments.
If we have strong and opposing political views, that is fine. Let us debate those vigorously, openly and honestly. But let us not suggest that supporting one view or the other is a matter of worthiness in the church. Except for a few notable exceptions, the church remains politically neutral, and faithful church members are on both sides of the political aisle.
What got me more troubled was a comment from a reader who suggested those who favored any government involvement in healthcare reform must not be good members of the church. (She asked, "How can you call yourselves good Mormons?") Her argument suggested that government involvement limited our agency because it used tax dollars, "forcing" us to subsidize healthcare for others.
This commenter is not alone. I've read similar comments from other politically conservative church members. Now, I am not intending to discuss the pros and cons of the present health care plan approved by Congress, but rather the notion that there might be a political litmus test of faithfulness.
There is not.
Faithful church members periodically declare their worthiness to their ecclesiastical leaders. This happens as people prepare for specific ordinances, and in bi-annual temple recommend interviews. It's a chance for members to report to their direct ecclesiastical leader their own faithfulness in keeping the covenants they've made as members of the church. The temple recommend interview contains specific questions, and there is no political litmus test as a part of that interview.
Further, there are faithful Latter-day Saints all around the world (more outside the US than in these days), many of whom live happily and faithfully in countries that have some level of socialized medicine (far more socialized than what is presently under debate here). Their faithfulness is not compromised by their living in those countries, or supporting those governments.
If we have strong and opposing political views, that is fine. Let us debate those vigorously, openly and honestly. But let us not suggest that supporting one view or the other is a matter of worthiness in the church. Except for a few notable exceptions, the church remains politically neutral, and faithful church members are on both sides of the political aisle.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
The Church in Shanghai
I had the opportunity to spend eight of the last ten weeks in China on business (two trips, four weeks each). While there I attended the Shanghai Pudong Branch in the Shanghai China International District. And my last Sunday I was able to attend a district conference of the Shanghai China International District, as well.
The Chinese government allows for religious freedom, but places some restrictions on the church there. Like other denominations, expatriate branches of the church are open only to holders of foreign (non-Peoples Republic of China) passports, or the spouses of holders of such passports. Church members are not to disseminate church literature to Chinese nationals, nor are they to proselyte in any way. In the branch I attended, an announcement in the bulletin and also from the stand at the beginning of sacrament meeting made this policy clear.
Non-LDS friends in China also indicated that their experience is the same at their churches. (They attend different denominations in different languages: English, German, Spanish and Mandarin (Taiwanese).)
I'm impressed (but not surprised) that the church is so cautious. Until sometime last year, the church was recognized by the national government, but not by the local Shanghai government, so they could not rent a public space for meetings. With the official recognition in Shanghai, the church can now rent a beautiful conference center for Sunday services of the two Shanghai branches. There were two other branches represented at the district conference: Nanjing and Suzhou. I didn't count noses, but I'd estimate we had over 500 people there for the Sunday session of conference.
One of the things I noticed early on in my visits to the Pudong Branch was the absence of full time missionaries. When we lived in Taiwan, we met in a stake center next to the temple, and shared our building with five wards, and there were full time missionaries in the building throughout the day on Sunday. Not having missionaries in regular church meetings was strange to me. (The last time I attended a ward without missionaries was in Provo while I was at BYU.)
Of course, lessons and topics are common, though the population of these branches is more diverse than my suburban ward in Southeast Michigan. In the branch I attended, over the course of my visit I heard speakers from the US, Japan, Korea, Australia, the Philippines and Italy. Many (including Americans) have been in China for years. A young man of Korean birth spoke in district conference. He said his family had been in China for ten years which meant he's probably attended all his schooling in China. And others were from close to home. I sat next to someone from my home stake in Michigan during conference.
It's a rich blessing for the saints to be able to meet wherever they find themselves. I know I was glad to have the Pudong Branch to call my own for the weeks I was in Shanghai.
UPDATE: Because this particular post generates a lot of traffic, I'm adding a link to my more recent post on the Church's website on the Church in China. You can read the post here.
The Chinese government allows for religious freedom, but places some restrictions on the church there. Like other denominations, expatriate branches of the church are open only to holders of foreign (non-Peoples Republic of China) passports, or the spouses of holders of such passports. Church members are not to disseminate church literature to Chinese nationals, nor are they to proselyte in any way. In the branch I attended, an announcement in the bulletin and also from the stand at the beginning of sacrament meeting made this policy clear.
Non-LDS friends in China also indicated that their experience is the same at their churches. (They attend different denominations in different languages: English, German, Spanish and Mandarin (Taiwanese).)
I'm impressed (but not surprised) that the church is so cautious. Until sometime last year, the church was recognized by the national government, but not by the local Shanghai government, so they could not rent a public space for meetings. With the official recognition in Shanghai, the church can now rent a beautiful conference center for Sunday services of the two Shanghai branches. There were two other branches represented at the district conference: Nanjing and Suzhou. I didn't count noses, but I'd estimate we had over 500 people there for the Sunday session of conference.
One of the things I noticed early on in my visits to the Pudong Branch was the absence of full time missionaries. When we lived in Taiwan, we met in a stake center next to the temple, and shared our building with five wards, and there were full time missionaries in the building throughout the day on Sunday. Not having missionaries in regular church meetings was strange to me. (The last time I attended a ward without missionaries was in Provo while I was at BYU.)
Of course, lessons and topics are common, though the population of these branches is more diverse than my suburban ward in Southeast Michigan. In the branch I attended, over the course of my visit I heard speakers from the US, Japan, Korea, Australia, the Philippines and Italy. Many (including Americans) have been in China for years. A young man of Korean birth spoke in district conference. He said his family had been in China for ten years which meant he's probably attended all his schooling in China. And others were from close to home. I sat next to someone from my home stake in Michigan during conference.
It's a rich blessing for the saints to be able to meet wherever they find themselves. I know I was glad to have the Pudong Branch to call my own for the weeks I was in Shanghai.
UPDATE: Because this particular post generates a lot of traffic, I'm adding a link to my more recent post on the Church's website on the Church in China. You can read the post here.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
To Life!
There is something about babies that just melts me. I'm the dad of seven. And in our extended family we have within the last few weeks had three more little ones join us, with another two on the way very shortly. Seeing photos of these little ones (all on FB; thanks very much techo-geeks who make all this possible) brings tears to my eyes. It's silly, really. These aren't my kids, or even my grandkids, but they are my niece and children of my nieces and nephews. And they are just amazing.
Over the years when my own children were born, we went from steel delivery tables to remarkable birthing suites. We watched with awe as the technology of disposable diapers moved from plastic-bag-with-padding-in-it to something that holds more liquid than a small camel. Our car seats evolved from the Bobby-Mac "barrel" design (I felt like I was strapping my child into a space craft) to five-point restraints in seats that doubled as strollers.
But in the end, it's the babies! All the fingers and toes and eyelashes and little pudgy knuckles and poofy hair that would rub off in the first few months. It was apgar scores and calling the help from "our friends in the neo-natal unit" when #2 wasn't breathing right (he did just fine after all) and bilirubin counts (and "the lights" for some). It was giving my wife space to nurse and then sitting with her when she nursed so she wouldn't feel alone. It was my son who didn't want anyone to touch him or my daughter who only wanted her mother to touch her, or others who didn't care who held them. It was anticipation fueled by the picture book A Child Is Born that couldn't even imagine the real thing, and it was the amazement every time that these babies are so small, so new, so fresh, so helpless.
When my first child was born, my mother said to me as she left after spending a week with us (my wife's mom had been there the first week), "Don't worry. You'll do fine. Just follow your instincts." I told her my instinct was to call her!
We stumbled as parents every step of the way. Our children taught us over time as much as we've taught them. And they continue to do so. They are still amazing in so many, many ways, continuing to surprise and delight us, even as many have entered adulthood, and some have chosen paths we would not have imagined for them.
But they all started – we all started – as these little tiny helpless bundles of new life. I consider myself fortunate to get to see it happen over and over again, and to remember what a blessing this life is, and what a blessing these little lives are in our world.
Over the years when my own children were born, we went from steel delivery tables to remarkable birthing suites. We watched with awe as the technology of disposable diapers moved from plastic-bag-with-padding-in-it to something that holds more liquid than a small camel. Our car seats evolved from the Bobby-Mac "barrel" design (I felt like I was strapping my child into a space craft) to five-point restraints in seats that doubled as strollers.
But in the end, it's the babies! All the fingers and toes and eyelashes and little pudgy knuckles and poofy hair that would rub off in the first few months. It was apgar scores and calling the help from "our friends in the neo-natal unit" when #2 wasn't breathing right (he did just fine after all) and bilirubin counts (and "the lights" for some). It was giving my wife space to nurse and then sitting with her when she nursed so she wouldn't feel alone. It was my son who didn't want anyone to touch him or my daughter who only wanted her mother to touch her, or others who didn't care who held them. It was anticipation fueled by the picture book A Child Is Born that couldn't even imagine the real thing, and it was the amazement every time that these babies are so small, so new, so fresh, so helpless.
When my first child was born, my mother said to me as she left after spending a week with us (my wife's mom had been there the first week), "Don't worry. You'll do fine. Just follow your instincts." I told her my instinct was to call her!
We stumbled as parents every step of the way. Our children taught us over time as much as we've taught them. And they continue to do so. They are still amazing in so many, many ways, continuing to surprise and delight us, even as many have entered adulthood, and some have chosen paths we would not have imagined for them.
But they all started – we all started – as these little tiny helpless bundles of new life. I consider myself fortunate to get to see it happen over and over again, and to remember what a blessing this life is, and what a blessing these little lives are in our world.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Do unto others?
An item appeared in yesterday's Detroit Free Press. Headline: "Atheist bus ads are desecrated." It's a story about how ads placed on city buses by a coalition of atheist and agnostic groups have been defaced. There are two things that strike me:
First is the misuse of the word "desecrate" in the headline. Since the whole point of the ads is to proclaim that God does not exist, how can the vandalism of the ads be counted as desecration, which is to make unholy something that is holy? This is not the first time I've been irked at newspaper writers who regularly misuse the English language, and it further reinforces for me the counsel I received from a high school English teacher (back when dirt was new) that if I continued my plan to study journalism, I should do it through an English department and not a communications department. (I ignored that advice and studied journalism in a communications department until I got bored; I eventually found my way to that English department after all).
But the second issue is far more important. Who is defacing the ads purchased by the coalition? One assumes, since they're being "modified" to read "believe in God?" instead of "Don't believe in God?" that it is a group of believers. Now of course maybe it's a group of kids just misbehaving. Or the conspiracy theorist in me might wonder if it's the atheists again, seeking yet another chance to get in the paper (first article was when these ads appeared). But in my gut I worry that it's believers who are taking it upon themselves to modify the message.
I hope it's not the believers. And here's why:
First, we do have freedom of speech and freedom of religion in this country (even the freedom to be absent religion). So trying to stop atheists from spreading their point of view is akin to preventing us from spreading ours. The ads on the buses are purchased. This is not about what happens in school or some government office. This is public discourse, and there should be a place for everyone in that discourse.
Second, religious folks should understand that we don't destroy private property. It's part of the common decency my parents taught me and I have tried to teach my kids. Aside from its being illegal, it's wrong. The Savior taught that we should do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Do we want someone else tearing down our property? Of course not. (Some might argue that others have vandalized our sacred places. The Savior had an answer for that, too: turn the other cheek.)
Finally, what influence would believers have doing such a thing? Is there reason to fear the non-believers among us? Surely the message of the ads comes as no surprise: there are many who do not believe in God. But that does not deter us from our belief, nor does it change the fact that God lives and He loves his children. There have always been non-believers, sometimes more vocal than others. That they exist will not change God, nor will it stop His work from progressing
First is the misuse of the word "desecrate" in the headline. Since the whole point of the ads is to proclaim that God does not exist, how can the vandalism of the ads be counted as desecration, which is to make unholy something that is holy? This is not the first time I've been irked at newspaper writers who regularly misuse the English language, and it further reinforces for me the counsel I received from a high school English teacher (back when dirt was new) that if I continued my plan to study journalism, I should do it through an English department and not a communications department. (I ignored that advice and studied journalism in a communications department until I got bored; I eventually found my way to that English department after all).
But the second issue is far more important. Who is defacing the ads purchased by the coalition? One assumes, since they're being "modified" to read "believe in God?" instead of "Don't believe in God?" that it is a group of believers. Now of course maybe it's a group of kids just misbehaving. Or the conspiracy theorist in me might wonder if it's the atheists again, seeking yet another chance to get in the paper (first article was when these ads appeared). But in my gut I worry that it's believers who are taking it upon themselves to modify the message.
I hope it's not the believers. And here's why:
First, we do have freedom of speech and freedom of religion in this country (even the freedom to be absent religion). So trying to stop atheists from spreading their point of view is akin to preventing us from spreading ours. The ads on the buses are purchased. This is not about what happens in school or some government office. This is public discourse, and there should be a place for everyone in that discourse.
Second, religious folks should understand that we don't destroy private property. It's part of the common decency my parents taught me and I have tried to teach my kids. Aside from its being illegal, it's wrong. The Savior taught that we should do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Do we want someone else tearing down our property? Of course not. (Some might argue that others have vandalized our sacred places. The Savior had an answer for that, too: turn the other cheek.)
Finally, what influence would believers have doing such a thing? Is there reason to fear the non-believers among us? Surely the message of the ads comes as no surprise: there are many who do not believe in God. But that does not deter us from our belief, nor does it change the fact that God lives and He loves his children. There have always been non-believers, sometimes more vocal than others. That they exist will not change God, nor will it stop His work from progressing
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Branding the Church?
I've had a hard time with this piece, because I don't want to criticize someone's heartfelt testimony, but earlier this month in a ward I visited one of those bearing testimony suggested that the church had one of the best and most consistent brands.
I have to say that comparing the greatest gift to mankind, the Good News, the Atonement of Jesus Christ, the organization that embodies the priesthood of God and the ordinances that allow the power of God to be manifest to men and women to a marketing scheme was more than a little disturbing to me.
Yes, I get that we have a consistent message. Yes, I get that our missionaries look the same the world over. Yes, I get that particularly with the present policies of the church there is great homogeneity.
But think of those young missionary elders. Although in silhouette they all look alike (short hair, white shirts and ties), behind each is an individual testimony, and individual set of spiritual experiences that either have matured or are maturing into individual witnesses of the truth of the gospel.
And think of those correlated lessons taught the world over. Each teacher has the right to individual inspiration as she or he teaches those lessons, so Gospel Principles Lesson 5 will be different in each class just because the teachers and members of those classes are in different places in the world and in their eternal walk back to Heavenly Father.
To suggest otherwise cheapens for me the Plan of Salvation and the incredible sacrifice of our elder brother to allow it to happen.
I understand the desire sometimes to equate gospel things to things we know and understand. We liken the scriptures unto ourselves. We take the Savior's parables to heart and tell gospel stories with tools of our day. But to suggest that the Lord's church is somehow the ultimate incarnation of a man-made model misses the mark.
Aristotle suggested that all art imitates an ideal, that anything crafted is an imitation of the ideal. Let us, therefore, not assume the church or the gospel are like creations of men. If any comparison is to be made, it ought to go in the opposite direction.
I have to say that comparing the greatest gift to mankind, the Good News, the Atonement of Jesus Christ, the organization that embodies the priesthood of God and the ordinances that allow the power of God to be manifest to men and women to a marketing scheme was more than a little disturbing to me.
Yes, I get that we have a consistent message. Yes, I get that our missionaries look the same the world over. Yes, I get that particularly with the present policies of the church there is great homogeneity.
But think of those young missionary elders. Although in silhouette they all look alike (short hair, white shirts and ties), behind each is an individual testimony, and individual set of spiritual experiences that either have matured or are maturing into individual witnesses of the truth of the gospel.
And think of those correlated lessons taught the world over. Each teacher has the right to individual inspiration as she or he teaches those lessons, so Gospel Principles Lesson 5 will be different in each class just because the teachers and members of those classes are in different places in the world and in their eternal walk back to Heavenly Father.
To suggest otherwise cheapens for me the Plan of Salvation and the incredible sacrifice of our elder brother to allow it to happen.
I understand the desire sometimes to equate gospel things to things we know and understand. We liken the scriptures unto ourselves. We take the Savior's parables to heart and tell gospel stories with tools of our day. But to suggest that the Lord's church is somehow the ultimate incarnation of a man-made model misses the mark.
Aristotle suggested that all art imitates an ideal, that anything crafted is an imitation of the ideal. Let us, therefore, not assume the church or the gospel are like creations of men. If any comparison is to be made, it ought to go in the opposite direction.
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