When asked to characterize Mormons, the top four responses by non-LDS focus group members were, in no specific order: polygamous, sexist, racist, and exclusionary, according to Scott Swofford who observed these discussions as part of his work as director of content for BYU broadcasting. In an insightful and engaging speech given in 2014, Brother Swofford explained that these responses weren’t given by critics of the church but by people who had been carefully selected “because their beliefs and actions demonstrated that they were likely to respond positively to the message of the Restoration.”
The first three descriptors—polygamous, sexist, racist— might be the easier ones for members to defend. While admitting to problems in these areas in the past, we can use the gospel topics essays, statements of the present church leaders, and current practices to show that the church is moving forward. It is the fourth label that concerns me. Are Mormons exclusionary? Do we push people away, rather than make them feel needed, appreciated, and valued?
My recent deep dive into theology and religion generally—and all things Mormon in particular—has convinced me that LDS doctrine, which I am defining very narrowly as described in an earlier post, is exceptionally beautiful and inclusive. If we are exclusionary, I believe it may have much more to do with our culture. I don’t wish to be too critical of the culture, which seems to work wonderfully in many ways and for many people. I have generally been one of those who fit comfortably into the culture, and because of this, I have been fairly oblivious of any need to change it until recently. I’d like to mention four areas of LDS culture that are worth considering.
The first observation I have is that often we get so busy with our families and callings that we simply don’t have much time or energy left for reaching out to anyone else. We don’t mean to be exclusionary; we are just stretched thin.
The second might be our interpretation of the belief that the LDS church is “the only true church”. I am concerned that:
- We may feel superior in some way to those not of our faith.
- We may fail to appreciate the truth in the religion of others.
- We may forget that, as humans, none of us are actually living up to all the truth we have been given.
I remember moving to Utah and starting kindergarten in the middle of the school year. I was fearful and didn’t know anyone at my new school, but on the very first day, I was befriended by Joni, the sweetest little red-haired girl you can imagine. I instantly felt safe and relaxed and admired Joni’s ability to inspire those feelings. We were fast friends for about a year until my family moved across town, after which we only saw each other only on special occasions. On one particular weekend, I had been invited to spend the night at Joni’s house. Her parents were exceptionally gracious, and even her older brother made me feel welcome. While getting ready for bed, Joni pointed out a nightlight in the shape of a cross on her dresser and told me how it made her feel better if she ever felt frightened in the dark. She fell asleep quickly, but I couldn’t get to sleep. I was so afraid of that glowing cross that I developed a stomach ache, and my mom had to come and pick me up.
I know this is a rather silly example and it’s easy to forgive someone who couldn’t have been more than seven, but I also recognize it as the beginning of an unhealthy attitude. I know that as a by-product of feeling that my church was “true”, I saw other churches as false and was suspicious and wary of other faiths. I had the belief that as a member of the “true” church, others had more to learn from me than I had to learn from them.
I have been slow to learn that while I have lived my whole life as a Mormon, and had the opportunity to learn of and emulate Christ, others have taken better advantage of whatever experiences they’ve had to actually become like him—more humble, empathetic, and charitable. I was never very comfortable talking about my beliefs, but I was even less inclined to really listen and learn from those who held different beliefs.
The third area of concern with our culture is the tendency to judge people based on their callings, family connections, or position in the church, and I wonder if this can also feel exclusionary. In some church units, members do what humans tend to do, and become cliquey. Social groups are formed that elevate people for reasons such as last name, education, calling, or wealth and leave many feeling unaccepted or unappreciated. This seems contrary to the purposes of the gospel.
I am grateful to those who accept callings that put them in leadership positions, require a large time commitment, and make them responsible for the needs of others. I admire those who then exemplify Christ- like love and service. But a prominent calling doesn’t change the fact that these are ordinary men and women, who bring their own personalities, ideas, and faults to their responsibilities. When we act as if our local leaders are all-knowing or can do no wrong, we set up unreasonable standards. I believe that sustaining our local leaders means to support them in strengthening our wards and stakes, not blindly agreeing with everything they do or say. We have the ability to receive personal revelation concerning our own lives and are encouraged to seek for answers from the spirit. We might be wise to consider the opinions of everyone regardless of their callings.
A fourth concern I have about our culture is a tendency to judge people based on standards that have more to do with appearance than character. Are we too concerned with how others dress, live the word of wisdom, or observe the Sabbath? Can we become so focused on the practices that we lose sight of the ultimate goal of learning to love as Christ did? As a parent, I have repeatedly had a child going through a difficult time and yearned for a community who would understand rather than criticize. I’ve had a child attend church and hoped that no well-meaning neighbor would make a “helpful” comment about the need to improve their dress or hairstyle. I’ve prayed that instead they would feel loved, valued and welcomed. I wonder if our Heavenly Father also watches his most vulnerable children, hoping that we will reach out with patience and understanding. After all, it seems to me that Christ was always harder on the proud and judgmental than on the sinner.
In a previous post, I recalled my memories of the day that the priesthood ban was lifted. Since writing that post, I have realized that as a teenager, living in a small town, I may have missed much of the bigger picture. I didn’t see the struggle of those who were hurt by the ban or those who were offended when it was lifted. I wasn’t particularly cognizant of the many years or the internal conflict it took for this change to come about. Just recently, I have become more aware of the decades of discord that surrounded the abolishment of plural marriage—the turmoil between those who believed that the practice was being abused and was harmful and those who clung to their old belief that it was God’s law.
It seems that after each of these periods of turbulence the church emerged stronger. I wonder if we are currently experiencing a period of growing pains—a time when we are expected to reexamine who we are, who we have been, and who we should become. I feel a positive shift happening among the leaders at the top, towards a greater openness and compassion. I hope that shift will filter down to the wards and the stakes, into our homes and our hearts. It is easy to criticize the church, its history, and its past and present leaders because that doesn’t require much of us. We can’t control what happens in Salt Lake, but we are responsible for how we live the gospel.
I love the idea of redefining worship as sacrifice—the idea that we don’t attend church to be filled, as much as to learn charity and build up others. The LDS church’s structure—rather than choosing a congregation, we meet in geographical units—gives us an ideal workshop for practicing this kind of worship. Every week is a new opportunity to learn to love as Christ does—to sustain the person who isn’t doing their calling the way we think it should be done, to look for and compliment the good in the boring talk given by that speaker who was so nervous they never looked up as they read, to find ways to contribute positively in a class where you might disagree with the teacher, to reach out to someone who needs a friend, or to attempt to teach an unruly class of children or teens.
I’ve been thinking lately about who Christ would want in our meetings, at our activities and included in our fellowship. I’ve come to the conclusion that He would want a lot of people there that many of us—including me—might not feel comfortable with. Christ loves the sinner, the person who looks out of place, who smells like smoke, who is gay, or who has lost their testimony. He loves the liberal and the conservative. He loves the doubter and the know-it-all, the complainer and the saccharine, the critic and the naive, the tactless, the hypocrite, the slacker and the show-off. Our job then as worshipers is to forget ourselves and find ways to make each person feel loved, valued and happy to join with us. I’m not suggesting that we turn over our classrooms or pulpits to those who would criticize our leaders or teach false doctrine, but, surely Christ would want anyone looking for truth, charity, and grace to find a place with the saints.
I have always thought of the following scripture as being about missionary work or church service, but it works equally well when applied to expanding the room in our hearts and congregations for those who don’t fit the Mormon mold.
Enlarge the place of thy tent, and let them stretch forth the curtains of thy habitations; spare not, lengthen thy cords and strengthen thy stakes;
I tend to be rather socially awkward, and even though I’m really trying to be more gracious and inclusive, I know that I have a long way to go before I stop saying or doing stupid things. I am always hopeful that people will be forgiving of my imperfections because I am trying.
I love the gospel which inspires me to do better, and I love that primary kids learn to sing this simple message:
I’m trying to be like Jesus;
I’m following in his ways.
I’m trying to love as he did, in all that I do and say.
At times I am tempted to make a wrong choice,
But I try to listen as the still small voice whispers,
“Love one another as Jesus loves you.
Try to show kindness in all that you do.
Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought,
For these are the things Jesus taught.”
