Open Letter to Trump

Mr. Trump,

It's the morning after you were elected president of the United States.  Just before I started writing this, NPR was reporting that Secretary Clinton had conceded.

I have deep respect for people who exemplify the spirit of uppercase-C Conservatism.  These are people who are deeply rooted in the lessons of the past.  They are very effective at recognizing and continuing (conserving) what worked before.  They also repair or replace practices, policies, and ideas that did not work in the past.  They look outside of their immediate sphere of influence to learn from others' histories.  They look ahead and move towards something, always remembering where they started and how they have progressed so far.

I identify myself as a capital-L Liberal.  That word comes from a Latin word meaning free man.  Over time, Liberal has come to mean giving generously or free from restraint.  I hold all of those definitions as meaningful and true.  True Liberals are free from restraint, free to share money, goods, attention or the benefit of the doubt.  They associate with free people, so they treat everyone as free people who deserve basic human dignity and respect.

From my perspective, it is possible to be a Conservative Liberal--someone who gives liberally to others and assumes the best, while looking to the past to learn the best way to share what they have.  Our president needs to have both characteristics, at least to some degree.  Some may be stricter in their giving and some may be more future-oriented, but without some measure of Conservatism and Liberalism, our elected officials cannot do what is best for their constituents.  I am a little sad that we as a nation have lost sight of that fact.

I am also very worried and more than a little sad about your victory in the presidential race.  Based on your behavior in the campaign season and prior, I see almost no evidence that you are either Conservative or Liberal.  On the contrary, most of the evidence I see shows that you make the same mistakes over and over again, without learning from them, and you do not learn from others' examples or advice.  It shows that your attempts at expressions of charity and human service are ultimately--and often directly--aimed at increasing your own profits, not at improving the quality of human life.

I recognize that Secretary Clinton did some things--okay, a lot of things--that were ethically and morally questionable.  She still needs to answer for those.  But her behavior has shown at least a little of both true Conservatism and true Liberalism.  She has publicly reflected on the past and its lessons.  She has shared plans to give, even if that is just giving consideration and attention without any material gifts.

You accused a whole country--and our neighbors at that--of being drug dealers and rapists.  You continually pandered to the man who seems to want to bring back Soviet imperialism and oppression.  You encouraged violence at your campaign events (double meaning!  At your events you encouraged your supporters to go forth and be violent, and you told them to act violently during the events).  You cheered when your supporters assaulted and literally took the coat from the back of a peaceful dissenter.  You encouraged large-scale religious discrimination because of a handful of terrorists who really haven't done anything to us, and whose main mission does not directly involve us.  You put down the parents of a war hero who died to protect his friends.  You said "coward" of an older man who was a combat veteran, POW, and elected official (whose morals and experiences I respect, even while I strongly disagree with his politics).  You bragged about getting away with sexual assault and relationship infidelity.  When your accusers came forward, your (non-)defense was to insult them based on their looks.  You bragged about cheating on your taxes.  You threatened multiple times to flout our traditions of graceful democratic sportsmanship, either by refusing to accept defeat or by incarcerating your opponent without criminal charges.

That's not to mention the many, many specific policies that you proposed that have great potential to harm our nation's people.

I respect the democratic process that puts you in office.  I will abide by its results.  I respect the voice of the people, and I will honor it.  I respect the office that you will assume in January.  I will try my best to show my respect for it.

POTUS is always one of the most powerful people in the world, and in January you will be especially powerful, even for POTUS.  You have a legislature united, at least in name, behind you and your party.  You also have the power to appoint jurists who share your views to the Supreme Court and other federal courts.  Use that power to bring us back together.  Do right by your people, not just your party--or, worse, your profits.

Please prove me wrong.  Show us, your country, that you have an ounce of Liberalism in you, or even the faintest glimpse of true Conservative perspective.  Please, please walk back the rhetoric of exclusion and fear.  Those messages will not make us great.  Make it easier for everyone to afford healthcare for physical and mental problems.  Make it easier for skilled, intelligent people from all over the world to come to the US legally and share their gifts.  Work on increasing access to high-quality education, whether that is basic skills in grade school, research at a university, or a practical, specialized vocational program in the field.  Help neighbors of all religious traditions, nationalities, and races to be just that--neighbors.

If you do that, then we'll be on the road to greatness.

That's a big if.  For now, I'll have to sit with my fear and wait.

Reluctantly,
Erik

Stay Safe, BYU

It's a new school year, and the kids are off to college. Well, not mine, but somebody's kids somewhere are off to college. Time for them to face new challenges and learn to take care of themselves.

Since January, 2016, there have been a few high-profile cases of sexual assault at LDS-run Brigham Young University (BYU). The Salt Lake Tribune has reported on these cases fairly comprehensively.  (There have been more Tribune articles, though I think these ones are a good representation.  Feel free to look for more.)  The reason these cases have been high-profile is that they have all been mishandled (from my perspective) by local congregational leaders, BYU administrators, and government officials. I won't retell any specific stories here. Instead, I'll point out ways that the process stops protecting the BYU public, starts blaming assault survivors and protects rapists.

To be fair, I am a BYU graduate. For the most part, I enjoyed my experience there. I got a high quality education, and I built relationships with people who are very important to me. I always felt safe, and thought I could get help easily if something was dangerous. That may have something to do with the fact that I was a young white Mormon man, though, as I see now that Privilege was practically my middle name. Those are questions for another time, though... for now I want to focus on breakdowns that left others vulnerable or hurt.

Title IX (I'll call it TIX) is a US federal law establishing a system to prevent discrimination in education based on protected factors like race, religion, and sex, among others. Colleges (including BYU) have TIX offices, with trained investigators who report and resolve cases of discrimination. Student reports to TIX officers are confidential. So it's hardly surprising that there was an uproar when BYU's TIX office was found to have shared info about a case with the school's Honor Code Office (HCO).

Many schools have codes of conduct these days. They're reasonable measures to promote public safety and academic integrity. BYU's honor code is much more strict than most. It covers academic integrity/plagiarism and criminal activity, like most codes. It also enforces behavioral standards embraced by Mormons, meaning no drugs, coffee, alcohol, or tobacco; no sexual activity (including porn consumption) outside of marriage; no acting on romantic, physical, or sexual impulses in gay or lesbian relationships; and a very strict dress code to keep everyone "modest" and "well groomed," which really means covered up and clean shaven. HCO and other BYU staff are often seen as very, very strict in the way they enforce the rules. There's also something of a tattle-tale culture, with students and even visitors shaming or reporting their peers for debatable "violations." If you know someone else who attended BYU, ask for their thoughts on HCO enforcement. There's a decent chance they've been investigated and they knew about it. I have my opinions about the BYU honor code. If they're not obvious yet, I'm willing to share them in a different setting. Regardless, BYU students promise to live by the rules while they're at school, so critiquing the honor code is beside the point right now.

In recently reported cases, sexual assault survivors made TIX claims. After all, sexual assault is a form of discrimination based on sex or sexual orientation. And like I mentioned, TIX officers shared information with Honor Code administrators. In at least one case, the information reached the HCO through a police officer involved in the case who decided the survivor "wants to screw up [the suspect's] life" with "bull crap" accusations (real quotes from the officer involved). In all of the reported cases, the survivors were then punished for violating dress code, drinking, breaking curfew, or sexual activity outside of marriage. Sometimes that extramarital sex refers to a past encounter that comes to light.  Sometimes it's about the assault itself. Yes, you read that right: the HCO historically has referred to being raped as "sexual activity." In some of these cases, it is well-documented that the survivor said no and physically resisted sexual contact during the assault. And they were still punished. This makes it seem that BYU leadership is more concerned about punishing young people for... um... well, whatever reason they can find... than about promoting public safety.

BYU has student congregations, called wards, set up so Mormon students can worship with their neighbors (oh yeah, the Honor Code also requires regular participation in religious services and an endorsement from a religious leader). Each ward has a middle-aged or older adult volunteer pastor, called the bishop, assigned by higher-ups in the church. Student ward bishops are almost always locals--it would be impractical to ask someone who lives in, say, Virginia to leave behind his career and family to get involved in the spiritual life of 100 or so twenty-somethings in Utah.

I believe these bishops are mostly honest people who care deeply about their wards. I also know that they have very little training in the intersection of religion, counseling, and the law. Three of my bishops at BYU were businessmen or salesmen, and one was a professor. I look up to all of them personally as honest, moral people.  And I recognize that their background does not include that kind of preparation.

Some LDS bishops at BYU are amazing. They're warm, genuine people who know when something is outside of their training. They know when to involve experts like law enforcement, therapists, or others. They know how to protect the very sensitive information that their young, vulnerable parishioners share with them.

Despite their best intentions, some LDS bishops sometimes work against the best interests of their ward members.

In some of the high profile cases of sexual assault at BYU, the survivors turned to their bishops, focusing on the spiritual aspects of their trauma and recovery. In these cases, the bishops have reported to the honor code office or have demanded that the survivors report. And the results have been just like when Title IX reported--survivors got punished and blamed for being raped. On top of that, some Mormon bishops have been known to look the other way instead of turning abusers in to the police--they say that he (rapists are usually he's) needs forgiveness instead of correction, or that reporting would keep him from participating fully and receiving all of God's blessings but he's really a good man who just had a moment of weakness.

Something else that I find particularly scary about all of this: it gives rapists a weapon that they can use to keep their victims quiet.  They can threaten to give the honor code office an anonymous--not self-incriminating--report that their victim was drinking, or breaking curfew, or wearing clothes that are not approved, if anyone starts asking about the assault.  That kind of anonymous report could well lead to expulsion or other disciplinary action.  It is all but guaranteed to lead to humiliation, shame and trauma experienced all over again. No way it doesn't bring up intense anxiety about the safety of reporting.

As if the rest of the reporting process was safer...

If you survived sexual assault or other abuse, remember that it's not your fault. You are not responsible for someone else's choice to commit a crime. Talk to someone. A counselor could be good for that, or someone else who has earned your trust.

If you are an LDS bishop, remember that sexual assault is a crime. Remember that people don't change unless changing feels better than staying the same. Criminal prosecution and prison time are a great way to motivate change. Also remember that the person who was attacked was not asking for it, no matter what they were wearing, or where they were standing, or who they were spending time with. They are not guilty of their own rape. They may be scared or angry or depressed when they come to you. Your job is not to condemn or punish, even if the church calls you a "judge in Israel." Your job is to comfort, protect, and mourn with the person who trusts you.

Title IX officials, remember the trust that people have before you share information.  Remember your legal and moral obligation to protect people and their information.

And BYU honor code officials, learn when to turn it off. Learn to treat people as people, instead of as potential offenders.  If someone didn't consent to sex, then they didn't have sex--they were assaulted. Is it really worth making someone relive a traumatic experience just to make sure they're keeping up appearances?

Remember the story of Jesus and the woman taken in adultery? We assume she consented--we call it adultery and not rape--and thus was guilty according to the law. But Jesus says "neither do I condemn you." Where does it say that we should condemn the innocent victim?

So stay safe, BYU.  I'm really sad to say that if you get assaulted there, it's likely to get a whole lot worse before it gets better.

Welcome to the Party... No, the Other Kind of Party

A thought occurred to me a while ago. I think it first surfaced while I was taking a class on multicultural competency in counseling. It came up again last fall with the LDS church's policy change. And now it's back with the latest news about whether evangelical Christians want to recognize the religious freedom of Muslims.

All churches are political parties. They are groups of people with shared beliefs and values. Their goals are to support believers and spread their shared beliefs. Members of any group are much more powerful collectively than as scattered individuals.

This is not to trample any church's truth-claims or value in society. Say God somehow revealed to all humanity that God only endorses one religion, and told us exactly which one that is. That church would still be a political party, even if it had God's stamp of approval. Even without hard proof of that approval, there are lots of religious groups and religious people that live their values really consistently. I really admire that and I see a kind of truth in it, even when I don't share the values.

Looking at the Old Testament and modern Mormon history, we can see some really cool examples of churches clearly acting as political parties.

I like the stories in Daniel. In one story, the king commands that any time anyone hears music, they must go and worship an image that the king had commissioned (I think of it as some kind of huge idol, the text says about 90 feet tall). Failing to bow down at the sound of music now carries a penalty of death by burning in a crematorium... so, basically being tortured to death. This is clearly a move to consolidate power--they're saying that the king represents god, not just the government, and has authority to dictate worship practices. Instead of obeying, Daniel's friends keep praying to their God, and they refuse to worship the image. The king knows these conscientious objectors personally from past run-ins, so he calls them in and tells them they have one more chance. Instead, they say something like "Go ahead and try to burn us. Our God can save us from your fire. Even if he doesn't, we would rather die on good terms with our God than live worshiping your gods." The king orders them to the furnace, and he orders it heated to seven times the normal heat.

Side note: I think the extra heat is an act of mercy for three people he respects--that much hotter probably means a quicker death. It even kills the soldiers who are waiting outside!

Then the king gets confused upon seeing four people walking around unburned instead of three dying. And the fourth, he says, looks like a god. The fire dies, and three men walk out without even smelling of smoke. So the king decides their god is stronger than his, and he changes his law: anyone who blasphemes the god of these three men will be dismembered alive. (King Nebuchadnezzar--history's first psychopath? I'm just saying.)

A little later, a different empire takes over. The new king appoints Daniel as one of three top administrators. Daniel is so good at his job that the king plans to promote him above the other two. Jealous, the other two turn to the church. They convince the king to make a new law: anyone who prays to something other than the king in the next 30 days will be thrown in the lions' den. They know that the king trusts and protects Daniel so much, the only way to get power over Daniel is by criminalizing his spiritual practice. When Daniel survives the lions' den, the king concludes that daniel's god is stronger than his own. So he kills Daniel's accusers and orders that his whole empire "fear and reverence" Daniel's powerful god. 

In both of these stories, we see the church consolidating power and taking political/legal actions. When it becomes clear that the church's power is at risk, the policy changes to mitigate the threat. It just happens that the threat in both stories is a powerful foreign god.

In the late 1970s, the LDS church lifted its long-standing ban keeping black people from participating in certain practices, including being ordained to the priesthood. Remember, Mormons ordain all baptized males who live up to certain standards, and black men were the only ones excluded before the 70s. Church leaders claimed the change was the result of divine revelation. I don't mean to call that part into question--divine revelation could well have been one of the deciding factors. I also think it's worth looking at some other factors.

For example, by the late 1970s, the civil rights movement was well under way. Now it was more politically popular to reach out to racial minorities. The federal government also threatened to revoke the church's tax exemption if they didn't move towards racial equity. So the church did the thing that would help consolidate power and increase popularity. Like I said, even if God inspired the change, the political consequences were favorable.

Fast forward to the early 2000s, when state and federal governments were considering laws that dealt with marriage equality. At that time, conservative Christians had a lot of political power. Think of how many times George W Bush talked about praying for guidance, or about how much power they still have even today. Conservative Christians have long opposed gay marriage, and in the early 2000s, they were very vocal about it. Mormons jumped on the bandwagon. After all, much of Mormon rhetoric lately had focused on The Family (TM), preserving traditional marriage and gender roles against the so-called evils of pornography and divorce ("so-called" because "evil" is a matter of opinion. This post isn't the venue for my opinions on those issues). As public opinion has changed, Mormons' official rhetoric has softened and become more inclusive, at least on the surface. After the policy change in November 2015, church leaders realized they had done something very unpopular, so they immediately softened the official language of the publication with a "clarification." I think these cases are interesting side by side. One shows a slow, barely perceptible slide towards public opinion, and the other is a fast, almost reactive jump.

Again, this does not mean it was necessarily all man-made--it's possible that God directed LDS leaders to oppose marriage equality and to make an unpopular policy. But even then, it's also important to recognize these as political moves.

Why does all of this matter? Churches are still going to preach. They're still going to do things like throw people in lion dens (hopefully less) or say that Muslims don't deserve religious freedom.

And that's the point. These groups exist to get and keep power. If they think someone or something is a threat, they'll try to protect themselves. I'm glad most religious groups in my part of the world don't use fire or lions to get what they want. I'm sad that so many use hate speech and dehumanizations as their weapons still. And recognizing that religions are political parties helps me to roll with their tactics and keep doing what works for me.

And isn't that what we need? To do what works for us?

Abraham, Igor Stravinsky, and Han Solo Walk Into a Blog...

Over the last few months, I've read several well-written pieces on Mormon culture and the Mormon community, mostly by people who identify as Mormons.  There has been a lot of discussion about the Church, its doctrines, and its practices since early November 2015, when a policy change intended to be made quietly was leaked on the internet.

A few of these articles bring up a question that I find difficult, so naturally the thinker/rebel/social scientist (take your pick) in me thinks it would be fun to engage with it.

What if Abraham was wrong?

Just in case you don't know the story, Abraham was one of the first biblical patriarchs.  The bible says that God promised Abraham a son by his wife, Sarah, who was very, very old--we usually assume she was well past typical child-bearing age.  God said that son would be the father of many nations.  When that son, Isaac, was born, Abraham and Sarah took it as a miracle, a blessing.  A few years later, an angel commanded Abraham to kill Isaac in a ritual religious sacrifice that usually would have involved an animal.  Abraham obeyed, and the angel appeared and stopped him at the last second, often depicted with the knife at Isaac's throat.  Usually, Mormons and other Christians celebrate Abraham's willingness to submit to God's commands.

That reading of the story is certainly valid.  After all, the biblical account says pretty explicitly that it was a test of Abraham's faith and obedience.  If that's what you get from the story, you're not wrong.  I've started to see a different meaning that I believe is just as valid.

A little background: this is coming from the perspective that the Old Testament was the national history of an underdog conqueror.  In other words, when a relatively small group of slaves successfully overthrew their world-superpower masters, they earned the privilege to write their own origin story.  I have no doubt that some of the Genesis account really happened.  I also have no doubt that some of it is an embellishment, a retcon (changing details in an earlier episode so the later ones make more sense), or a fabrication.  I believe this does not detract from the value of the Old Testament--on the contrary, believing that it's not 100% factual allows me to see more layers of meaning in every line on every page.  In this light, I see Abraham's story as a retcon, with the explicitly stated moral added later.

So, like I already mentioned, I've been wondering lately:

What if he missed the point?

What if God wasn't testing Abraham's obedience, but rather his ability to make informed decisions consistent with divinely inspired values and morals?  What if God wanted Abraham to say something like "No, this is my own flesh and blood.  God gave this kid to us when we thought it was impossible.  God told me to raise him, protect him, and get him ready for big things ahead.  That's what I'm going to do"?  If it really was a test of obedience, then Abraham did what I could never do--there are moments when my kid is my reason for living, and then nothing hurts like the thought of losing her, let alone causing her harm myself.  But I think it also could have been a test of conviction and dedication to the job he already had, being Isaac's dad.  If that's the case, then he failed miserably.  And we can learn from his failure.

The God I believe in lets us make our own decisions.  Sometimes our decisions bring our lives into harmony with God's will and plan, and sometimes our decisions bring discord.  Sometimes, it's like listening to Bach or Palestrina, and we can pick up on rhythm, meter, melody, key, and chord even if we haven't studied music.  It just sounds nice, even without knowing why.  Other times, it's like your first listen to Berg's Wozzeck or Stravinsky's Rite of Spring.  (If you don't know those pieces, go look them up.  I mean right now.  I'll wait.). The first time I heard those pieces, I grimaced and thought something like "they call that noise music!?  I could make better music by dropping my banjo into the blender!"  I was brave enough to come back and listen again, so now I'm beginning to understand the order that exists in each of those pieces.  It's still really hard to find the meter and the key, but now at least I can hear that there's a plan, there's meaning to it.  The loud drumbeat in the soft passage is there on purpose.  Even Berg's unsettling sprechstimme vocals are supposed to be there.  I think anyone who is willing to come back will have a similarly enlightening experience.  Sometimes, living a meaningful life means you're willing to take a risk, say no to an angel, or break with tradition.  Not always.  I can think of other instances when saying no to an angel would have been disastrous, and I'm glad John Williams returned to more traditional harmonies when he scored Star Wars (can you imagine Han Solo's lines all delivered in talk-sing?  I can't).  But still... There's a time to say yes and a time to say no.  My music library needs both Bach and Stravinsky in order to be complete.

So maybe Abraham played in the wrong key, and the angel came back at the end to set him straight and prevent murder.

Or maybe it really was a test of his submission to God's messengers.

And maybe, just maybe it's a chapter in a conquering nation's self-revised origin story.  But that's a discussion for another day.  Feel free to ask me about that privately.  

For now, I'm off to listen to some Chopin, another necessary part of my music library.  Look up his Prelude in C-Sharp Minor.  Do it now.  I'll wait.

Blunderbuss Bundy and the Oregonian Outrage

Disclaimer 1: I've made it pretty clear in other posts that I identify myself as a Mormon--a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  I'll point out again that I do not speak for the highest (or any) levels of leadership, and my opinions may not represent the experiences of all Mormons.  However, my values, beliefs, and actions have always been influenced by my connection to the Church.  This post is about those values, beliefs, and actions.

Disclaimer 2: Also, as this is a developing story with lots of possible angles, I welcome friendly discussion and news updates in the comments.  I don't claim to know everything about the events I'm commenting on.  I only claim to have tried to look for and understand multiple perspectives before voicing my own.

I've been trying to pay attention to the news in eastern Oregon the past few days.  When I first heard that the story was developing, my response was something like this:

Wait... What?

Apparently a peaceful militia, no more like an armed mob, I mean a well-armed white conservative anti-federal government terrorist group has succeeded in a forcible invasion of the headquarters complex at a federal wildlife refuge in Harney County, about 300 miles southeast of where a large portion of the Mikkelsen clan lives.  From what I've read, it seems like their action was intended as a protest to a few issues, mostly boiling down to what they see as federal government interference in the affairs of local government and of individual citizens.  Many of the people in the invading force proudly identify themselves as Mormons, and they claim Mormon doctrine and practice as justification for taking up arms against federal agents (in the broad sense... not just armed federal police officers).  One of the invaders even calls himself Captain Moroni, after a hero from the Book of Mormon who stands for a lot of what this group seems to believe.  Captain Moroni was a leader in government and religious affairs, though he is best known as the highest ranking military officer in his society.  And when you learn about him, it's no wonder the Bundys and friends claim him as part of their inspiration.  After all, when Captain Moroni hears about his central government's failure to keep order and protect individual liberty,

12. And it came to pass that he rent his coat; and he took a piece thereof, and wrote upon it--In memory of our God, our religion, and freedom, and our peace, our wives, and our children--and he fastened it upon the end of a pole.
13. And he fastened it on his head-plate, and his breastplate, and his shields, and girded on his armor about his loins; and he took the pole, which had on the end thereof his rent coat, (and he called it the title of liberty) and he bowed himself to the earth, and he prayed mightily unto his God for the blessings of liberty to rest upon his brethren, so long as there should a band of [believers] remain to possess the land (The Book of Mormon, Alma 46:12-13)

This same Captain Moroni gets angry when the central government drops the ball again (see his entry in the Church's official study materials).  But he doesn't just get angry: he threatens to march on the capital city with his army.  When the president (called the chief judge) gets Moroni's letter, I imagine him saying something like "You and what army?"  And I imagine Moroni pulling an Aragorn:

"This army."

(Sidenote begins: I suppose Moroni's army was maybe a little more corporeal... although I'm not convinced that applies to his right-hand man Teancum.  Read one of his stories to find out why I think Jason Bourne, Egon Spengler, and a whole ghost busting black ops team couldn't take him down.  Sidenote over)

So Captain Moroni is a soldier who stands up when the central government threatens its citizens' wellness.  Just like the Bundys and their pals.  

And I honor the Bundys' right to stand up when the central government threatens its citizens' wellness, just like I honor Moroni's right to do it.

BUT

I can think of few things less in harmony with LDS doctrine as I understand it than what they're doing in Oregon.  Mormons believe in "being subject to kings, presidents, rulers, magistrates, in obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law" (LDS Article of Faith #12... here's all of them if you're interested).  Last I checked, armed takeovers of federal buildings was against the law.

Mormons also tend to believe that the US Constitution was inspired by God, and that the US government is in place because God wants it to be.  We believe the US government can make mistakes, and in those cases, we believe in changing the law through due process (legislation, court rulings, and duly electing officials who will act appropriately).  We do NOT advocate threatening--much less enacting--violence against government workers or property.  At the time of this writing, the terrorist group in Oregon have not hurt anyone (thank God!), and they say they haven't destroyed any property.  But bringing an army and their weapons is a threat.  There's no way around that, no matter how many times you say you don't want to resort to violence.  Bringing an army means you're going to resort to violence.

Say I wake up and open the cupboard to find food for breakfast, but all I find is macaroni with oyster sauce.  It's not what I usually think of for breakfast, and I imagine it's that way for a lot of people.  But I'm hungry, and that's all I can find.  So I'm going to eat macaroni with oyster sauce.  I won't stand there all day saying "Boy, I sure hope I don't have to eat macaroni and oyster sauce for breakfast."  We as humans tend to use the resources that are available to us.  So Bundy & Co. can talk all they want about having a peaceful armed insurrection.  If they keep this up long enough, it will get bloody.

And all over two prison sentences that the defendants didn't even contest?  All over two people who have willingly accepted the legal consequences of their actions?  All over a family that has denounced the actions of the terrorists?

[Sarcastically] Well done, guys.  That's democracy in action.

Update: On 1/4/2015, the LDS Church released an official statement that expresses a stance similar to my own opinions.  Check it out.

Mt Everest, AZ

I see at least two big themes in what I've written here in the past: sadness and miracles.  This time, I think I've found my perfect intersection between those two themes.  This time, I'm writing about my son.

Camille and I are the proud parents of a tall, skinny, precocious two year old girl.  Her life is the miracle that inspired my first piece on this blog, as well as the next one.  I try not to publish too much information about her online, but I haven't kept my family life a secret.

What I haven't told the Internet is that as of October 2015, we have been eagerly planning for her younger sibling's arrival.  The doctors pointed out a few things we needed to watch out for, and they repeatedly reassured us that we could easily deal with these issues--if they even became issues--in their time.  Further reading led me to believe that some of those risk factors were potentially pretty serious, and that many families had all of the risk factors with none of the complications they predict.

Yesterday, I hung up on my brother's phone call abruptly (sorry, Joel!) when I saw Camille in tears, looking terrified.  She had just spoken with her doctor about some of her unexpected symptoms, and the doctor had told her to head straight to the hospital.  We scrambled to make arrangements for our daughter, gratefully accepting her grandma's offer to drive across town, then rushed to the ER.

Writing about this stings... talking about it out loud is hell.  And here goes.

After a few exams including an ultrasound, the PA working with us gave us "some news that's not so good."  Baby's heart had stopped a few days before.  Unlike his big sister, his heart didn't start right back up... it just stopped, and that was that.  We stayed there overnight, waiting for all the things that have to happen after a miscarriage.  It happened fairly fast... we were cleared to leave by this morning.

And that's where the miracles come in.  It's a miracle that they could see all of those potential problems and warn us that there were risks.  It's a miracle that there are machines and instruments and people who know how to use them.  It's a miracle that those highly skilled people are also incredibly compassionate and good at listening.  It's a miracle that we ended up with more than one person on our treatment team who had had a miscarriage, and could relate more completely.  It's a miracle that a drop of Camille's blood could tell us so much about that kid and his life.  It's a miracle that Camille is still alive and well, even with such overwhelming grief.

And that's where the sadness comes in.  I've felt grief before.  I've felt depression before.  And now when I look at those moments and this one, it looks like I've been climbing the hill at the neighborhood park to train, and now I'm climbing Mt Everest.

I take my role as a parent very seriously.  That role is also one of the parts of my life that brings me the most joy, the deepest sense that my life is whole.  The thought of enriching that role with a new relationship was exciting.  It still is, it just seems a lot more remote now.  The realization that that expectation won't become reality as planned, it's... pain.  The kind that won't ever really go away.

And the kind that we can learn to live with.

Which brings me back to the miracles.  Isn't it amazing how we can survive such intense, agonizing pain?  And isn't it amazing how we can feel happy even with all that pain?  It's not an "instead of."  It's a "both," like how climbers who summit Everest feel completely spent and sick from the altitude, even while they feel... whatever kind of satisfaction comes from sitting on top of the world.

Right now, I'm not ready for both.  Right now, everything in me is crying out from the effort of gettin to base camp.  I have a better climbing buddy than I could have asked for.  I have a team of guides and fellow climbers that is all but guaranteed to get me to the top.

So let's keep climbing.  They say the view from up there is miraculous.

We'll miss you, little guy.  I won't forget.

What it Means to Me

This is the final part of a series on the LDS Church policy change of November, 2015.  Part 1 was a basic overview of relevant Mormon beliefs and practices.  Part 2 outlined the arguments for and against the change.

Thanks to a few people for asking me the hard questions that helped me gather my thoughts for this entry.  Spencer, Erik, Isaac, I'm proud to call y'all my friends.  Some of this might look familiar to you...

I'm not going to paste the text of the new policy here again.  You can find it in my last two entries (links above).  

When I read the new policy, my immediate response was to feel angry.  The next day I felt sad.  Very sad.  More sad than I had felt in a long, long time.

I grew up in a devout Mormon family in Raleigh, NC.  Being Mormon in the South is tough.  It means having to define and defend your faith to well meaning neighbors who see your church as a cult that you need to be rescued from.  For me, it meant taking pride in the rituals that are supposed to connect us to God and prepare us for salvation.  I served a two-year mission in Colorado after my first year of college, and then went to stay with my parents in California until the semester started.  Within days of arriving in California, I was recruited to campaign in favor of Prop 8.  And who better?  I was an energetic young man who had just returned from campaigning full time for Prop 8's biggest supporter.  What were a few hours doing what I had already been doing?

Over time, some of my opinions have diverged from mainstream Mormon thought.  For example, I believe it's not my place to tell a woman she shouldn't have an abortion.  I believe that people who experiment with drugs, alcohol, or coffee can still be moral, respectable people.  And I believe that if I had the chance to publicly support Prop 8 again, I'd say "no thanks."

Deep down, I still hold a lot of the values that ostensibly guide Mormon practice.  Values like compassion, loving kindness, family unity, patience, acceptance of all people, no matter who they are or where they come from.  These values are in practically everything I do.  I work as a therapist for people who can't afford to pay the bills themselves, even though it means a much smaller salary than many therapists in my area.  I like to think that my actions at home make me a good, gentle, loving dad to my daughter, as well as a faithful, caring husband to my wife.  When I'm out and about, I make a point to smile and treat the people around me with dignity.

I have my doubts about a lot of Mormon doctrine.  Deep down I still believe in its central message: God came to earth, taught us how to find divinity within ourselves, and promised that not even God's own death would keep God from helping us.  God willingly went to be tortured and executed in order to suffer all pain, and thus help us through anything.  And then God sent helpers who were to bring God's blessings to everyone--everyone.  No matter what color their skin was.  No matter what language they spoke.  No matter what their parents believed or did.  No matter how or whom they loved.

For a while, I've been content to quietly disagree with some official LDS policies, along with a host of unofficial LDS cultural phenomena.  I've been quiet when I've heard the First Presidency and the Twelve (see part 1) call for unquestioning obedience to the First Presidency and the Twelve.  I've been quiet when I've heard peers justify sexism and racism based on the words of Mormon leaders and scriptures.  I've been quiet when members and leaders alike dehumanized significant groups of people by calling them "the blacks" and "the gays," instead of referring to them as people.

Now I can't be quiet anymore.  I won't sit by and watch while my Church tells children that they're protecting them by excluding them.  I won't watch while my community condemns gay people who are honest and loyal to their families as worse than murderers or straight people who are unfaithful.  I won't hold my tongue now that I see actions out of line with my neighbors' and my values.

The Second Article of Faith of the LDS church says that man won't be punished for Adam's transgression.  Practically every Mormon I've ever met understands that to mean more than just Adam, but other ancestors too, including parents.  I believe this new policy punishes some children for their parents' actions.  It has the potential to make some children second-class citizens by making them wait.  And I believe it has played a part (not necessarily the only factor, but a part) in the increase in suicidal crisis calls in the Mormon belt in the last week.  How are we protecting people when we deny them (even temporarily) the rituals we say will save them?  How are we promoting family unity when we ask children to disavow a key part of their parents' identity?  (And yes, I understand we are not asking them do disavow their parents as people.)

Matthew 19 quotes Jesus as saying "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."  The new policy seems to amend that, so that now it would read "Let the little children come to me, unless their parents are gay, in which case tell them to wait ten years or so."  One author made the poignant argument that some children don't live that long.  I'm sure some other children would get tired of waiting when they're allowed to go through the motions without doing the part that is supposed to make it all count.

From my perspective, I can still see the pure doctrine of God's love through the opaque shell of policy.  I see policy as a modern-day "hedge around the law."  We Mormons generally use that phrase to describe the Pharisees' rules during Jesus' time.  The rules were designed to help people live by the pure doctrine, but people got so caught up with the rules that they forgot the doctrine was there.  I see modern Mormonism doing the same thing.

It's like trying to take a black and white picture of a rainbow.  Sometimes, we can add the right color in just the right spot and it shows a glimpse of the reality.  Other times, we miss, or we decide not to add any color.  Then it's an imperfect man-made reflection of something perfect that we can't obtain by ourselves.  That happened when Mormons officially encouraged polygamy, and again when we officially banned it (and when it continued unofficially for a while after the ban).  It happened in the middle of the 20th century, when black people were not allowed to enter Mormon temples.  We added color in just the right spot when that policy was rescinded and skin color was removed as a criterion.  (I recognize that black people and the priesthood/temple is not a perfect parallel.  I believe it fits with this theme, though.)  And now we took another black and white picture of a rainbow and chose not to add color.

The new policy does not destroy my faith.  I will not leave my God or my people over this, no matter how distant I have been or will be, and no matter how much this hurts us.  What I will do is try to bear my neighbor's burden, that it may be light.  I will mourn with those that mourn.  I will do my best to comfort those that stand in need of comfort.  I'll remind my community that there should be no division in the body, and that we shouldn't cut of our right arm because of a mosquito bite to our right pinky.  I'll be sad.  I might be angry.  I'll definitely be anxious about voicing an opinion that's at odds with many in my community.

And above all, I'll listen.  Whether you agree with me or not, I'll listen.  If you've been vindicated, tell me about it.  If you've been hurt, tell me about that, too.  One of my music teachers told me to listen louder than I sing.  I try to make a point of listening louder than I talk, even now that I feel compelled to speak up.

"Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen."