Ward boundaries: thinking beyond geography

Recently the Manhattan stake where I live has undergone a surge of growth. In response to the influx of new members, new wards have been created, buildings have been erected, and there is every appearance that the stake will soon divide.

The surge of members in New York City is undoubtedly exciting. But these members are also shaping a Mormon community that looks scarcely like the one I grew up in. The majority of these members are, like me, young singles, newly weds, or parents of young children who come to the city to pursue school or professional goals. They are also unlikely to settle in NYC permanently. Even those who do stay in the city for several years often switch apartments frequently and thus migrate from one ward to another. If NYC wards are anything, they are resoundingly transitory phenomenons, with congregations whose faces change almost monthly as huge intern populations come and go.

It is a truly remarkable experience to be part of such a vital community that is home to so many intelligent, motivated members. But until I became a Young Women’s leader in one of the newly created wards, I did not notice that this growth has some decided downsides when in comes to nurturing today’s young adults.

Because the majority of the growth comes from a young, transitory population, the new wards that spring up have very few long-term residents in them. As wards divide, those few permanent families with young adults become spread through the wards so that each ward has extremely few young men and women. Consequently, it is very difficult to actually maintain functioning youth programs or even to fellowship the youth with other members. It is not uncommon for there to be just a single young women every Sunday, and it is also not uncommon for the youth leaders to constantly change.

Reflecting upon the fact that NYC’s wonderful growth is also inadvertently causing large problems for permanent residents and the youth, I wonder if it is not time to consider dividing wards with some attention to needs in addition to geography. Already, the church has singles wards - and people might certainly debate their usefulness - and perhaps we should also consider assigning families to wards in part based on their family’s status in places that face such rapid development. Perhaps, for example, families with youth could go to designated wards so that there are enough youth to run a steady program. In NYC, paying attention to facts other than geography when creating wards makes additional sense if the goal is to foster wards stable enough to function, because renters tend to move apartments, and hence wards, so frequently.

Although making geography only one consideration when assigning wards would undoubtedly have issues, perhaps it is time to consider some more innovative ways to draw our boundaries so as to promote communities where change rapidly occurs. Until then, however, we will just have to find ways to thrive within the current system.

Speaking from experience: a technique that often limits me

For a long time I have struggled to figure out how to frame the comments I make within and about the church so that they seem supportive but might also lead to what I would deem as positive changes in our church culture. For a while now, I have operated on the model that couching my comments in terms of personal experience works best using the logic that while it is easy to argue with a person’s philosophical stance, it is hard to argue with how they feel about an issue or perceive an event they experience. For example, when I wished to explain to someone why I felt that the church could use more revelation on gender, I would explain to him/her how I felt great pain when I realized that I would not receive the priesthood, when I watched the young men receive much more attention than the young women, or when I could not learn about what the General Authorities told my Stake President about the state of the stake, since only the priesthood was invited to hear the news.

In general, I still believe that speaking about specific experiences rather than in terms of “truths” or philosophies leads to more effective communication between people and better testimonies, especially when we bear them to non-members (or, as a friend of mine deems them “friends of other faiths.”) I would direct you to my blog for a fuller discussion of my rationales. However, I have also found that speaking from experience can isolate and dis-empower me as a speaker when the occasion requires me to draw upon experiences when I felt hurt.

Although it is likely that many people share one’s experiences and views, to argue a point by citing how one experienced pain in a situation makes me bring up how I formerly felt powerless. This moves risks recasting me in a powerless position once again. It is very difficult to make an argument that draws pity to one’s self without sketching one’s self as in need of help and thus not a proper leader. In the particular case of when I have tried to mention to people how certain stances that the church has on gender make me feel excluded from leadership opportunities, I find this move especially problematic because it makes me feel more dependent on others than ever.

Speaking from experience can also make me feel extremely isolated, because when I speak from experience I choose not to speak about the systems that make me feel disempowered or the other people who might share my feelings. Speaking from experience demands that I put my life and consciousness on the line, and sometimes it causes me to feel battered down when I cannot draw on others for support or speak about systemic structures that contribute to my pain. To constantly use my (less positive) experiences as an example for why we should reform a policy emotionally wears me down. Admittedly, it is much easier to speak from personal experience when I am drawing on past successes.

Perhaps most significantly, I find that speaking from experiences sometimes introduces a situation in which only those who have had the experience feel authorized to speak. When the listener has not shared the experience, I suspect s/he is often overwhelmed by the speaker’s emotions and does not know how to proceed. For example, far too often, I find that men will not speak up in support of needed reforms on how we view gender, because gender has been improperly conceived as a category that only bears upon women and that only women can speak about. I feel that this situation is deeply unfortunate, because until gender becomes an issue that people of all sexes feel able to ask critical questions about, I cannot foresee our leaders seeking more revelation about such basic concepts as a heavenly mother and places for women within church leadership.

So, yes, there is a place for speaking for experience, but I wish sometimes that others would speak for and in support of me a bit more. I do not wish to be defined by and limited to my experiences when I interact with the world and shape my life within the gospel.

If I can only take my knowledge with me, then can I take Google?

Normally, I'm not one for speculating about the afterlife. Clearly, how we think about it informs the decisions we make here - in fact, what we think about the afterlife most likely reflects what principles we most value - but I often find discussions about it a little futile. However, I find one phrase frequently repeated and agreed upon: "You can't take your property with you, only your knowledge and talents."

On the face of things, this statement seems straightforward. But, I feel that we increasingly live in an age in which the line between my knowledge, not to mention my very human identity, and the objects I own or the systems I function within is blurry. For example, I outsource a lot of my memory to my computer, just as my husband does to his Palm Pilot. Rather than teaching my students to memorize facts, I teach them the process through which they can research information. Or, interestingly, conversations with friends about my last blog post revealed that while many of us expect our pets in heaven, we are not so sure about wild, un-charismatic animals (despite the fact that 90% of the cells in our bodies are bacteria). In other words, we expect in heaven those things we have made extensions of ourselves and thus part human.

Rather than filling myself with facts and memories, I tend to function more like a search engine that knows how to retrieve facts that I have stored in other places. This point might seem a bit simplistic, but the technologies that we live with fundamentally change how we process and conceive of knowledge. Consequently, it seems to me worth speculating about what conception of knowledge the idea of an afterlife might demand. Could it be that one reason we place so much emphasis on redeeming everyone is that we would need the entire network of people on the earth to really be able to transport our knowledge to a hereafter? And, would our "knowledge" equip us to function in whatever world we expect?

Animals among us: including animals in our narratives of eternal progression

Last month my dog, Blitzen, passed away. To lose a beloved pet – and to recognize in its absence how deeply its life was intertwined with one’s daily routine – is to realize that it is possible to have a more intimate relationship with an animal than I will ever have with the majority of people I meet.

Given the central position that animals occupy within our lives in an age when articles about pets routinely make it to the top of The New York Times most emailed articles (to be beaten out only by articles like “what a whale taught me about marriage” that combine animals and families into one article), I find myself wondering why the animal’s place remains so under-theorized within LDS theology. In an effort to begin to think about the animal’s place within the gospel, I want to look at what just a few of the fragments our scriptures say about the beasts. Although I will only look here at two moments in Genesis, I hope that other people might bring to light more passages that might help us understand the roles animals might play within our theology.

In the Middle Ages, animals had a far more central place in Christian theology than we currently recognize. Medieval bestiaries, books that compiled the histories of animals and fantastical beasts alike, allowing for a slippage between the real and the imaginary, flourished within monastic, civic, and religious life. These books often painted particular beasts with symbolic and instructional value. Dogs, for example, were often a symbol of Christian virtues, since they tended sheep, and their licks purportedly carried healing power. But by far the most central scene that these books depicted is the moment in Genesis where Adam names the animals.

“And out of the ground the Lord God formed every beast of the field, and every fowl of the air; and brought them unto Adam to see what he would name them: whatsoever Adam called every living creature, that was the name thereof” (Genesis 2:19).

Medieval bestiaries always depicted this short passage, and scholars used this moment in part to generate a complex theological understanding about man’s relationship to God. Although certainly the passage positioned man as a steward over God’s creations, many interpreted the passage to mean that man approximated God in his capacity to reason, because he demonstrated an ability to properly use language that elevated him above other life forms.

However, it seems to me that we should not overlook the fact that in this passage Adam’s birth into language and reason also establishes a hierarchal world in which his ability to use language justifies his dominion over animal life. More troublingly, in the next passage Adam names Eve, thus establishing his power of her. I question the ability of the mentality authorized here – one that empowers the human over the animal, the man over the woman, and those who speak over those who listen – to promote humble stewardship over God’s creations. The prevalence of hunting stories within LDS lore makes it seem all too likely that we have often grafted the (sometimes necessary, but often not) slaughtering of animals unto our stories about maturation and independence.

But Genesis also drops some hints that paint the Garden of Eden as a space of far more harmonious relationships between man and beast than my previous comment might suggest. Not only does the above passage allow for the alternative interpretation that Adam’s ability to be like God is founded on his ability to recognize, connect with, and care for animals, but other passages seem to suggest that Eden had a taboo on eating meat. After the flood, God tells Noah, “Every moving thing that liveth shall be meat for you; even as the green herb have I given you all things” (Genesis 9:3). If we overlook how distasteful it must have been for Noah to receive authority to eat the creatures he tended on his ark, does this passage that equates animals with herbs suggest a new dietary law for a more fallen age?

I’m not entirely sure what to make of these fragmentary and contradictory glimpses of animal life within the Bible. And, certainly, I haven’t begun to cover all of the passages. The violence that I see sometimes within them undoubtedly stems from the fact that I relate to animals as pets rather than as food for survival – a luxury that surely few people have. But, I do find that these passages raise some questions.

Why do we continue to privilege the ability to speak so much over other abilities, such as the ability to listen and to hear the word, which, after all, is the quality of humbleness that saints must cultivate? Why do we not take more seriously – as seriously as we take taboos on tobacco and alcohol – the injunction in the Word of Wisdom to eat meat sparingly and to eat locally? In a moment of environmental awareness in which we increasingly understand the importance of eating local products and are witnessing the most rapid depletion of the world’s animal species to date such neglect seems inexcusable. I find myself wishing that we as church members would begin to take far more seriously our duties to be stewards over the earth and its animals and to recognize the centrality of preserving this earth to our narratives of eternal progression.

Modern scripture: exploring our relationships to holy works

Although I believe that the single most powerful concept in the LDS faith is the principle of continuing revelation, I have lately begun to wonder why we have ceased to be a scripture creating people. Certainly, I have heard the argument that we should treat the apostles’ words as scripture, but these words do not appear to me to be granted the same weight within our church as our canonical texts – The Bible, The Book of Mormon, The Doctrine and Covenants, and The Pearl of Great Price.

Yet I feel that before we can explore this question in depth, we need to develop a much richer historical understanding of how Mormons (and other religious groups) have understood their relationships to their holy works. To ask a question about why we do not write scripture now means to first understand both what type of documents the scriptures are and how people have historically written and read them. In other words, we need to ask under what conditions people write and have written scripture in order to better understand whether it is possible to write scripture today.

It appears to me that it would be extremely fruitful to begin an exploration of how the early saints understood their relationship to the evolving canon of scripture and, consequently their own positions in history and to God. Not only did these saints live in a time of immense volumes of revelation, but, because of their historical situation, they also faced the tasks of refining and defining the systems and mechanisms that would authorize some texts and other bits of revelation as truth. Hopefully, if we were to understand the systems through which texts became evidence of truth (rather than taking the text’s content as our starting point), we would understand more clearly what beliefs and principles motivate our faith and govern its daily practices.

Of course, this question presumes a stance that sees our relationship to texts and to scripture as historically evolving and multifaceted. This assumption leads me to wonder if we are not, in fact, writing scriptures in new form today. Although we no longer appear to make canonical books of scriptures, are our own scribbling in our journals, blogs, and magazines that distinct from the histories found in our older scriptures, even if most of those who write are not prophets?

Perhaps there is so much writing today as compared to the church’s origins that it would be impossible and limiting to include all writing within a single volume of scripture – much like it was impossible to include all work within The Bible. Then again, perhaps the point of canonical scriptures is to regulate the sheer volume of writing in order to create uniform and authoritative teachings that give the church a common foundation. Be that as it may, as a blogger, I find the idea that we are writing new scripture today quite appealing. But even if we are not writing scripture, I would appeal to my fellow bloggers to help me identify sources that discuss how Mormons relate to the scriptures so that I can shape this question into a larger project.

Fashion statements: dress as communication

Quite recently, Levi Peterson wrote a post entitled “Don’t Come to my House in a Shirt and Tie.” This provocative post and the fascinating comments about it clearly signaled how standards for dress remain one of the most contested spaces as we attempt to negotiate our identities as church members. Struggles over what constitutes respectful and modest clothing, and the related struggles over whether the paradigm of “modesty” dis-empowers more than empowers women and is culturally relative or not, continually surface as sites for everything from adolescent rebelliousness, to deep explorations of our spirituality, to humanitarian causes. What each person who cares about dress and considers the choices they make (or evaluates those others make) about where they shop and what they wear seems to clearly understand is that dress constitutes one of our simultaneously most visible and understated ways of communicating our identities, our values, and our affiliations. I suspect it is this fact that makes the rigid rules for dress that Peterson diagnosis often so frustrating. Or, in an alternative situation, what made the schoolgirl in me rejoice that I had a uniform that freed me from having to make fashion statements.

Rather than prescribing rules for dress or bemoaning those we do not like, perhaps we should begin focusing more on what people communicate through their fashion statements and how people perceive our own. In other words, we need to focus more on the principles and consequences of our fashion choices so that we can better understand which messages we wish to send.

For example, in the specific case of whether or not to home teach in a white shirt and tie, we need to pay attention to the consequences that follow from wearing a suit. On the one hand, the suit does show respect, but it also creates a distance between people that blocks intimacy from developing. In another example, the fact that missionaries always wear suits most likely contributes to one New York Times writer’s recent claim that people perceive the LDS church as having the soul of a corporation. Or, finally, when we consider what constitutes appropriate dress for Sunday worship, we probably should consider whether our goals include creating a uniform for expressing reverence or encouraging people to attend church. Recently, I asked the mother of one of my young women what we could do to help her come to church, and I learned that this young women would not attend, despite the fact that she enjoyed church, because she was anxious about her body and did not feel comfortable in a dress.

The decisions we make about how to dress will inevitably impact what type of conversations we can have, to whom we can speak, and the power dynamics of any given situation. If we better understood the messages people communicate through their dress we would undoubtedly learn quite a bit more about the needs and hopes of members within the church. And, if we began focusing on what we wish to communicate through dress – a task that would require defining precisely what we hoped to accomplish in situations like home teaching – we would be better able to decide what specifically would constitute being well-dressed for a given situation. I would love to hear more about precisely what principles, commitments, and goals underwrite the fashion statements that we make as church members.

Beyond peace and calm: daring to experience the spirit in novel ways

A remarkable thing occurred in my Sunday school class this week: we reached consensus. While we all acknowledge that there is no right way to feel the spirit, we all concurred that the spirit was accompanied by peace, calmness, and quiet.

Peace, calm, and quiet are the characteristics by which I most frequently recognize the spirit in my life, but perhaps there is a decided danger in my propensity to think that peace, calm, and quiet must accompany the spirit. Our Western world tends to value undemonstrative interiority, quiet rationality, and pleasure within bounds, and our church with its construction of temples and meeting houses as quiet spaces certainly partakes of these values.

However, we need only perform a passing study of the scriptures to see that the spirit has not always been so reserved. The scriptures feature converts collapsing in fits under the influence of the spirit, great festivals full of rejoicing, burning bushes, tablets cracking, and angles appearing. The spirit in these instances is colorful, lively, and anything but quiet and peaceful. Similarly, in the cities where I have attended church not a few recent converts have brought parts of their own religious traditions with them that include more demonstrative spiritual observation. One of my friends, a former Southern Baptist, bemoaned the fact that our singing and worship was not as warm as in the church she grew up within, saying that the rituals within the Southern Baptist church increased her appreciation of the spirit.

Although I value the calm and peace that I feel the spirit brings to me, I worry that my insistence on feeling the spirit as calm has made me less than receptive to those who experience the spirit in other terms. I am ashamed to admit that I sometimes dismiss more spiritually demonstrative members or accounts in the scriptures as a type of spiritual hysteria or mental unbalance, failing to consider how these members interact with the spirit and their community in legitimate, intelligent ways. And, as a consequence, I have significantly limited my capacity to experience the spirit in all areas of my life and to extend fellowship to people from other backgrounds.

But there is an aspect of my insistence on the spirit filling me with peace and calm that concerns me even more. Namely, do I insist on the spirit being peaceful and calming, because deep down I don’t have enough faith that God is capable of the huge spiritual outpourings that we read about in the scriptures? Surely, even in my style of writing about religion I equivocate and try to acknowledge multiple points of view, in part because I cannot yet bring myself to risk fully committing to any one belief. Do I not wish to risk the faith I do have by allowing myself to believe that God could really perform a miracle that no one could deny was one?

I’m comfortable with allowing God to fill me with peace, but by insisting that peace is all the spirit can bring, perhaps I have excluded myself from truly allowing God to work miracles within my life. I think it is time for me to consider the possibility that God can bring us much, much more than peace and take seriously the proposition that he really can bring us eternal life in the world to come and marvelous blessings here on earth. Because if I truly believed in his power, then I know that the choices I make everyday would be more daring and more directed towards bringing the world more peace.

Guest blogger on By Common Consent

Note: For the next two weeks I will be a guest blogger on By Common Consent. During these weeks, I will copy my posts here, but I encourage readers to check out the lively Mormon community of By Common Consent.