notes on religion and health

I was updating my list of "Further Reading" books, and realized a couple books I had on there previously were dropped when I switched from the old blogger. (Some of my blogroll was also lost; my apologies if your blog is not on my list--just let me know!)

The two books I recognized as lost were God, Faith, and Health: Exploring the Spirituality-Healing Connection, by Jeffrey Levin, and Blind Faith: The Unholy Alliance of Medicine and Religion, by Richard P. Sloan. I read them both for a class I took, and looking through my classwork, I found some of my notes about the books.

Koenig [who he is, I can't for the life of me remember] argues that health benefits might only come to those who are intrinsically religious; this leads me to wonder about all those people who are extrinsically religious, but belong to religions that do not let them admit that. Are they not only getting no benefits, but are they also harmed by religion? Even Levin acknowledges that such people exist in his comment about “the exceptions, such as people whose emotional well-being is harmed by religion” (Levin, p. 8). It is easy for Levin to say, “If we find that how we worship is only making us more miserable, then it may be time to find a new way to pray” (p. 92). However, for people in conservative religions especially, Levin has a frustratingly simple view of people’s ability to switch religions or styles of worship. If religion is paid better attention to in public health and medical practice, it should be to find those people for whom religion causes negative health outcomes, particularly with regards to mental health. Much more research needs to be done to even tease out these effects and to determine how widespread they are. Unfortunately, at this stage most studies on religion and health are financially supported by religious funders; it is in their interest to ignore religion and negative health outcomes.

The application of findings of religious studies to medical or public health practice should only be done only with great caution. The studies are indeterminate enough that medicine cannot go beyond saying religiousness/spirituality may have benefits for prevention of chronic disease in general, particularly with regards to providing social support, reducing rates of high-risk behaviors, and providing time to relieve stress. But this ignores the cases in religious communities where social support morphs to coercive demands for social conformity; where youth are ignorant about how to protect themselves from STDs because of demands for absolute abstinence; and where participation causes stress. These cannot be simply ignored.

If findings were to be used in practice, it would best be secularized first. For example, doctors and public health interventions could recommend people find social groups, reduce risk-behaviors, and take time out of each day to relieve stress. The recommendation could then list possible forms of social groups, with church groups as one example of many, and possible forms of stress-relief, such as yoga, breathing, prayer, meditation, etc. Religion should not be ignored, but it also should not be trumpeted as a panacea, especially given that membership in a religious community stems from many reasons, not limited to an actual desire to be a member.

Mormonism and the Bible

I realized that in my last post about the Bible, I forgot to write some things I wanted to say. Like how Mormonism has a strange relationship with the Bible. Because of the 8th Article of Faith, "We believe the Bible to be the word of God as far as it is translated correctly; we also believe the Book of Mormon to be the word of God" (I typed that from memory; I think I got it right), Mormons are kind off the hook in some respects. For example, you could take a passage in the Bible you don't like or agree with (hmm, like slaughtering every man, women, child, and animal; or sacrificing daughters; or destroying gay people) and throw it out with a "it must not have been translated correctly."

Joseph Smith seemed to have done this with the crazy story of Lot offering up his daughters to the Sodomites in place of the male visitors (as if it's better to rape women than men?). "Behold now, I have two daughters which have not known man; let me, I pray you, bring them out unto you, and do ye to them as is good in your eyes: only unto these men do nothing; for therefore came they under the shadow of my roof" (KJV Genesis 19:8). In the Smith translation, the scripture reads "And Lot said, Behold now, I have two daughters which have not known man; let me, I pray you, plead with my brethren that I may not bring them out unto you; and ye shall not do unto them as seemeth good in your eyes;" (JST Genesis 19:13). Smith's version certainly makes Lot sound like a nicer dad (we'll not get into what happens later).

I've seen Mormons discount stories with other morally questionable passages, like the story of youth getting eaten by bears because they teased Elisha about being bald (see 2 Kings 2: 23-24). When you believe the Bible is true only insofar as it was translated correctly, it's easy to decide that the whole bear story was a fairy tale, or at least told incorrectly. God wouldn't do that. And yet I've seen even worse stories held up as absolutely factual, like God telling the Hebrews to slaughter every living thing in wherever-it-was (see, I really need to improve my Bible literacy). I mean, why not give God the benefit of the doubt that He (ahem) really is benevolent and decide that particular passage was an after-the-fact justification for massacre, or that the incident didn't even happen at all?

I would expect some Mormons to also take the as-far-as-it-was-translated-correctly clause as an easy way to reconcile modern science with the early stories of the Bible. You know, like the 7-day creation, Noah's flood, the parting of the Red Sea, 900-year lifespans, the Tower of Babel as the origin of diversity of languages, etc. It'd be pretty easy to dismiss these as mythology if you don't have to believe every word of the Bible as Truth. And yet the party line is that these things did literally happen (I'm sure there are many Mormons who don't believe these literally, and many are able to handle the cognitive dissonance of believing both evolution and creation, for example).

I suspect that one of the reasons Mormons generally don't dismiss those stories as mythology is Joseph Smith's literal belief in them--and his placing of mythological characters and events in prominent, literal events. Noah's flood must be literal, for example, because prophets said the flood was the baptism of the earth (for example Smith, Joseph Fielding, Jr., Doctrines of Salvation (Salt Lake City: BookCraft, 1955), Vol.2, p.320.). And if the Tower of Babel is just mythology, then the story of the Jaredites in the Book of Mormon would have to be mythology too--so if you believe the Book of Mormon is true, you must believe the Tower of Babel is literal. Then there's Joseph's assertion that Abraham was a real person who wrote a real book and hid it among Egyptian papyri while he was really in Egypt. And while I've on the rare occasion heard Mormons refer to the temple version of the creation as symbolic, it's safe to bet that a large proportion take Adam and Eve's existence as quite literal. Joseph certainly did--he reportedly spoke to not only Adam (aka Michael), but also Gabriel (aka Noah), Raphael (D&C 128:20-21), Seth, Enoch, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (Journal of Discources 17:374; 18:325-26; 21:65, 94, 161; 23:48). So it's safe to say that Mormons are supposed to take those men's respective Bible stories as real.

Which is unfortunate.

the spirit and transcendence

I recently had a faithful Mormon friend ask me, "Okay, so you left the church. But what about your spiritual experiences? Didn't you have any? What did you 'do' with them since leaving?"

In reply, I sent here edited versions of two previous posts, the spirit and exorcising the spirit. On reading those posts, I realized I've thought more about the issues, and added the following to my reply.

I also think that transcendent moments (e.g. spiritual experiences) happen across religions, and to the non-religious, and people interpret them according to how they were taught to interpret them, or according to their personality. A Baptist takes it as confirmation that her church is the true one; a Mormon takes it as confirmation that her church is true; an agnostic takes it as a beautiful moment of feeling a connection with the community or the cosmos; one boy decides his experience means he should become a priest; another boy sees his as a great love for science and the natural world. It doesn't mean none of it is sacred or important. A good quote for this is "I now believe that whether or not there's a God, there is such a thing as sacredness. Life is sacred. The Sabbath can be a sacred day. Prayer can be a sacred ritual. There is something transcendent, beyond the everyday. It's possible that humans created this sacredness ourselves, but that doesn't take away from its power or importance."

spirituality

Since leaving the church, I've learned to differentiate spiritual from religious, and feel that one can nourish one's spirituality without organized religion or even religion at all. (One can also be religious without being spiritual.) But the actual definition of spiritual is elusive, maybe because it is intensely personal.

I think of it as a selfhood, a soulfulness (though I don't think there is a "soul" per se), paying attention to that part of the world that is me and only me. I also see it as a feeling of connection to others, to the world, the cosmos, the sublime. A feeling of peace, or joy, or love. A contentedness. It can be found anywhere, and it's different for everyone. A book, a movie, some music, dance, or art. In a walk through the forest or on the beach, or even in the neighborhood. Creating, building , destroying. Meditation, prayer, recitation, exercise, thrill-seeking.

Why do we seek it? I believe it has something to do with the fact that human brains have evolved to the point that we are conscious of our consciousness. We are animals smart enough to ask, "Why?" Smart enough to realize we are one tiny bit of one great whole, and we seek significance and connection within that.

I've been pretty non-spiritual and secular the past couple years, for the most part. Don't have god, don't need sublimeness or religion. But every once in a while, I feel like I'm in the mood for something spiritual. I miss it and crave it. I wonder, am I missing out on something by being secular? Is there really something special about religion that I can't achieve without it?

These questions were brought on this last week by a book I'm reading, The Year of Living Biblically: One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible. I thought it would be terribly funny and irreverent, the whole book aimed at poking fun at all the wacko things in the Bible. It is quite funny, but the author really, truly tried to find god by following the rules in the Bible (wacko rules and all). It's written by a secular New Yorker who wondered if he was missing something by being secular. He wanted to give the Bible an honest try. Half way through his year, he found himself praying to god when his son was hurt. Spontaneously praying, and actually believing it might help (for a few seconds anyway).

And I realized something. I miss that. I used to structure my world view around a benevolent god watching over me. Me personally. I used to pray. Now? I've not once prayed that my current illness would go away. Most of the time, I am perfectly reconciled to the idea that I'm an outcome of evolution, that there is no ultimate purpose, no afterlife of reward. But sometimes, sometimes, I miss how it was.

adam and eve

It was my turn to put Little FTA to bed, Adam and Eve somehow came up. Little FTA, never having heard the Adam and Eve story, asked for an explanation. So I told him how in the stories about the origin of the earth, the first man and woman were called Adam and Eve. He asked incredulously, "So they think that there was the Big Bang, and then poof, Adam and Eve?" I explained how the Big Bang isn't part of those stories. The Big Bang is such a given for him, so he demanded more explanation.

I went on about how before science figured out the Big Bang and the first life on earth and evolution, people didn't know how all that happened. So in each culture, they made up stories to explain how it all started; they are called creation myths. I then went on to tell him that the Adam and Eve story is the creation myth of one people, the Hebrews, and it's written in a book called the Hebrew Bible. There are lots of different creation myths from all over the world, and this is one of them.

He was cool with that; I loved the freedom he had to just accept that. So I told him how god created the earth in seven days, etc. I feminized the story, having god create Adam and Eve together, and together they named the animals, etc. When I was done, he looked at me and said, "Boring! Tell me a different creation story." I couldn't remember any. To try to spice the Hebrew one up for him, I continued on with the story of the forbidden fruit, the serpent, and the kicking out from the garden. I tried to explain how it was a metaphor for growing up and discovering sexuality, and having to work hard as adults. But I realized I didn't know the Bible version well, and was telling him the Mormon Pearl of Great Price/temple version. Oh well. I gotta get more Bible literate myself, I guess.

And more cross-culturally literate, as well. Since that little chat with Little FTA, I looked up alternative creation myths. Here are some for your perusal.

crazy stuff (Mormon) kids say

"Do you know who saved Baby Sister's life?  Me.  'Cause I was the one who prayed when Mom was bleeding when Baby Sister was in her tummy.  I said a prayer, and she was fine.  I saved her life."

Never mind the doctors.  Never mind biology.  Never mind that there were only two possible outcomes, and had it been the other one, they wouldn't have blamed him for saying the prayer that didn't save the fetus.  Never mind that if god really did intervene, it would have been god who saved the life, not the prayer-giver.

"There was a hurricane, but we said a prayer and it turned the other way and missed us."

And would the hurricane have turned away anyway?  What about all the people who prayed for the hurricane to miss them, too, but it flattened their houses anyway?  Are they not good prayer-givers?  Did they lack the faith it required?

"Jesus said tattoos are bad.  You shouldn't get tattoos."

Really?  I don't remember reading that anywhere in the scriptures.  

And the craziest thing?  They're saying this shit in front of my son.  

Like this little gem he reported to us:

"They said, 'We felt an earthquake, but we said a prayer, so the earthquake stopped.'"

We turned that into a skeptics' teaching moment.  "Well, let's think about that," I said.  "If they had not said a prayer, would that earthquake ended in a few seconds anyway?"

"Yes."  

"Earthquakes are about geology, about the shape of the earth, the earth moving.  How is a prayer going to change that?"

"It's not.  And besides, if god is way up in space," he wondered, "how is he supposed to stop the earth from shaking?"  He's really been into this idea that heaven is up in space somewhere.

"Know what I think?  I think saying a prayer during an earthquake or a hurricane helps them feel not scared.  There are a lot of things in the world we can't control, and saying prayers and thinking that god is helping them out makes them feel safer and more in control."

Sigh.  I guess my son has to learn to negotiate through this kind of thing, and on his own, too, since I won't be there every time someone brings up something believing.  So far, he's been polite enough to not say, "But god is just pretend!" when god is mentioned in conversation.  Today, though, I saw his face when someone recited a poem about god making this and that.  Oh, his face was precious.  Disbelieving and sassy, as if he was thinking, "Oh, these people!  How silly of them!"   But he held his tongue.

That made me smile, but really, I don't want him to be condescending to believers.  I want him to be sympathetic, polite, and respectful.  Which is why I explained that praying makes people feel safer in scary situations, instead of just leaving it at "Yup, aren't they silly for thinking a few words to a pretend friend in the sky will change the nature of the earth?"

transitions and non-religious upbringing

This is from a email I sent recently to a Mormon friend who asked how I was handling things with Little FTA, and how he transitioned out of the church.

As for Little FTA...He was almost 3 when we stopped attending church. So he'd been to nursery, but never primary. In nursery, he didn't get much religious-training, since the nursery in our ward was more about making sure the wilder kids weren't beating up the others. But other than that, we prayed with him before meals, showed him pictures of Jesus, I told him "remember Jesus" during the sacrament, we celebrated Christmas as the birth of Jesus, etc.

As we left, it never, ever occurred to me that we would stop being religious or stop being Christians. So as we stopped attending the LDS ward, we started shopping around to other churches, and we took Little FTA with us. We went to Catholic, Islamic, Episcopalian, Quaker, Unitarian Universalist, and Congregationalist churches. The UU was easily the most comfortable for me, so that's where we went most often the summer after leaving (the last time we went to the ward was April, '05). Little FTA being still quite young, he was more interested in how fun the playtime was at church. Most churches either don't have children's classes during the main meeting at all, or had a separate nursery during the main meeting. So he preferred the places he could play with toys, of course, which meant the UU and the Quaker. He loved it also when the UU meeting had a special Children's Sermon at the beginning; it made him feel special to go up front and have the pastor speak directly to the children. But for some reason, he hated the UU nursery teachers, and started to protest about going. By the end of the summer, it also became apparent to me that my husband was more fond of staying home on Sundays than going to meetings, so I started to go alone. Not every week, just every once in a while when I felt like it. Once grad school started, though, I found I was too busy most of the time, and preferred to spend my time on fun outings with my husband and son. A walk in the woods on a Sunday became just as satisfying to me as a church meeting. Since then, whenever I ask Little FTA if he wants to come to UU with me, he says no, and I don't push it. I did take him to a Christmas Eve service last year, at the congregationalist church where our exmo friends have attended. He enjoyed seeing his friends in the nativity play, and the dog and goat that were part of the production. But the rest was lost on him, and I'm okay with that.

At first, I was really concerned about finding a replacement church and a religious community in which to raise my son. I couldn't conceive of a moral upbringing without religion. I mentioned this to a Mormon friend of mine who is married to a man who was raised atheist (and still is). It made sense to her, but then she brought it up once when we were all together, her husband included. As she said it, it struck me that here this man was, a great person, a wonderful husband, a perfectly moral, ethical man, who had been raised without religion. And I knew it was possible, and that religion was not necessary to being good.

Little FTA hasn't missed church, though there have been a couple moments where I could see he was making the transition. Once, a few weeks after we stopped attending, when we were walking around a Divinity School lawn, I told him what people there do (learn about Jesus, etc). He said, "I don't know who Jesus is." It struck me profoundly, certainly more profoundly than he meant it, and I answered simply, "I don't either, Little FTA. I don't know either." I was having major doubts about the divinity of Jesus at the time.

I want Little FTA to be aware of religion and religious traditions, though, and he's freely asked questions about his Jewish/Christian/Muslim friends, and understands that some people do this or that because of their different religions. I tell him Greek myths, Bible stories, etc., all with the same attitude: they are old stories that try to teach us something. Holidays are the same; Christians do this, Jews do that, there's also Yule and Kwanzaa, etc., and isn't it fun?

He's still a little confused about some details, but he's young yet. For example, he thinks "grandma and grandpa don't drink coffee because they believe in God." I correct him on such things, but don't push it. I have no problem with his religious education coming later rather than sooner. We will not allow him to be baptized into any religion until he's an adult and can make his own decision if he likes. We will make him aware why we've chosen not to be Mormon, but that he also needs to be respectful to his relatives who are. For example, we tell him he need not participate in relatives' meal prayers, but he does need to be quiet during them.

He's really, really into science, and questions about where he came from and what happens when he dies come up--and he's perfectly at ease with the scientific answers, at least so far. He thinks it's great, for example, that the hydrogen molecules in his body were present 14 billion years ago at the Big Bang ("I'm 14 billion and 5 years old!") and that when things die, their bodies "return to the earth and fall apart into lit bits" and those molecules will be around in the universe until the end of the universe. When I read him children's stories that imply a heaven or afterlife, and he asks, "What does that mean?" I explain how we always remember people who die, in our heads and in our hearts, so in those moments, it's like they are with us again, and how some people call that heaven, and some people think that there is a heaven, too, where people really are when they die. Currently, he doesn't believe in God, and I'm okay with that for now, but when he's older, I'd like to him really explore the options. I could see myself taking him to UU services, for example, because I really like their youth program. For one year, when they are teenagers, they learn about a bunch of other religions and take the youth to those churches so they really know their options. I like that a lot. UU is also really good about helping people find their own spiritual path rather than defining the right one for them, and people in the congregation range from atheists to theists, Jewish, Christian, pagan.

Whoa, I've gone on for a while, haven't I? I guess I needed the chance to clarify these things in my own head, so thanks for asking the question! We've been making it up as we go along, really, as I think most parents handle a lot of things.

my version, at least

I recently had an old Mormon friend ask my what humanism was, as I'd listed it as my "religious views" on a networking site. Humanists define their own meaning, and I am still in the process of defining my version. This is what I answered.

Humanism. Hmm. I'm probably not the best person to ask, I haven't studied it that much. But since leaving the church, I found my approach to life and beliefs are pretty much in line with humanism--that there is no god, that humans are responsible for improving the world with an emphasis on using reason, improving knowledge, fighting for social justice, and environmentalism; that bad stuff happens because of human foibles and natural workings of the earth. I don't know that that would be the definition you'd find on a humanism website, but that's sort of how I put it in a nutshell. It's humanist as opposed to theist. I realize that to some theists humanist thinking seems pompous or conceited, in a "relying on the arm of flesh" kind of way, but when approached from the idea that there is no god, it's what makes the most sense to me right now.

For a while after leaving, I still held onto Christian thinking, as many people do, without believing in the actual divinity of Jesus. But I'm not too keen on the basic paradigm that Christianity espouses: that humans are "fallen" and in need of redemption, and that people have a savior to solve their problems. I prefer the more humanist approach, that people have it in our power to improve our world. I know Christians are perfectly capable of taking it in their own hands to improve the world--many, many have--I just mean that for me, it's been healthier to approach life from a different paradigm. I care more about the world and doing something about it, doing my part, than I did before. Make sense?

And in a old post, I wrote this in response to a comment. Since hardly anyone will go back and read it, and since it fits this post, too, I'm bringing it up here.

I agree that humans _can be_ stupid, greedy, and immoral. Hence many of the world's problems (eg, not Satan). Humans _can_ also be unselfish, hard-working, and good. I don't believe humans are either inherently good or bad; they are inherently very intelligent animals with the capibility to ask themselves "Am I good? Is this action moral? Why do I exist? What is my purpose in life?"

I have no doubt, nor did my post assert that, Christians are bad people. Christianity creates one way of many of approaching the world and the questions above. It's simply not for me. I became a better person outside of Christianity; I did not say that would be true of everyone or that everyone should abandon it. And I do not fault my friends who decide to accept that paradigm.

[The commenter asked me if I was prepared to give up my possessions]: As for possessions and the rest of the world: I am not ignorant of the world. I have lived abroad in one of the poorest countries in the world, lived very simply (and live more simply than the average American), and saw poverty, malnutrition, and other deprivations at every turn. I just don't think that's because the Fall or Satan's temptations, etc. It's more about environment, politics, economics, social problems (including parts of religion), human foibles, etc. In this way, I am a humanist and not a Christian. I will not attribute social ills to the supernatural, nor will I hope that a supernatural being will fix them all. Humans are responsible both for the problems and the solutions.

baggage

The other day I turned on the TV to find an afternoon cartoon for my son. The TV was tuned to some random channel, and a woman was on telling the story of Samuel from the Hebrew Bible to a group of children. "And Samuel said, 'Here I am, Lord'."

I immediately tensed up. I bristled at the thought of my son hearing that story about god talking to a boy. It could have been any Bible, story, though, and I still would have gone on the defensive. I turned the channel as quickly as possible. To me, that TV show represented the literalist religious tradition I have rejected, as well as the figurative or mythological tradition I have rejected as the standard and origin for morals. To me, the Bible is baggage.

I realized a second later that had it been a religious story from anything outside of Judeo-Christian tradition, I wouldn't have cared. Because to him, the Bible could just be another old book, a collection of stories and sayings about a people and how they see themselves relating to god. I shouldn't keep him from it any more than I should keep him from Hindu scripture or the Koran or Greek stories or Confucian writings. It could have been any Bible story, Celtic myth, fairy tale, Rwandan origin myth, etc. To him, it's all the same. Stories about gods, origins, history, and pre-scientific ways, and oftentimes just fun ways, of explaining the world and human interactions. None more correct or privileged than the next.

What freedom.

on parenting and religion

I frequently think about how to raise my son, since I was raised believing Mormon things and want him to have a broader, more critical and open mindset than I did. I recently had an email exchange with a fellow ex-Mormon mother about how we handle teaching our kids about religion. The following is from my emails:

"With regards to kids, it's difficult, isn't it? We want our son to be aware why we left Mormonism, but we also want him to be kind and respectful to our families. So far, we've done the bare minimum, like ask him to be quiet while family says dinner prayers. We've also explained why the family prays, and why we think that's, frankly, silly. Why say thank you to an invisible "god" when you know perfectly well that it was the earth, the sun, the water, the farmers, pickers, truckers, and grocers that brought us the food? Isn't it rude to forget them? He's also been really into science, which we encourage, because of the critical thinking it requires. He knows about Big Bang and evolution, so if he hears the Bible creation story, he'll recognize it as just a story. I think literature and art could have a similar effect, of broadening kids' mind to the varieties of human experience.

In all, we rarely talk to our son about religion, and we never take him to any church at all. We think he's just too young, and he doesn't like it anyway. We've never let family take him to church or activities, either, and we've asked them to avoid religious talk around him. If religion is idiotic and harmful--and I think it is, in many ways--I have no problem letting my son see that. I don't think religion and beliefs automatically deserve our respect and deference simply because they are religion and beliefs.

I didn't mean to say we protect him from religion, we just haven't had any interest in going to church right now, and he hates going, so we haven't bothered. He's had a lot of exposure to Islam abroad, the call the prayer, etc., and having friends who are Muslim, secular Jewish, devout Catholic, Mormon, etc. So religion does come up, and we discuss it with him. We talk about different people doing different things because of religions tradition--fasting at Ramadan, lighting candles at Hanukkah, wearing head scarves, etc. I also tell him stories from the Bible, so he'll be "Bible literate," but I tell them like they are mythology, just like Greek myths, African myths, Chinese myths, etc. I think it's very valuable to have that exposure. As he gets older, it will come up more, too, I'm sure."

I also want my son to be respectful of people, whether religious or not, and while he doesn't have to agree with their beliefs, he should be sympathetic to people. I'm still figuring out how to teach that--being both critical and sympathetic. Hell, I'm still trying to figure out how to achieve that myself.

another take on Mormonism

I've been reading god is not great by Christopher Hitchens. Hitchens doesn't even give god the respect of capitalizing the word god. And that is perfectly fine by me, since the monotheistic God is not any more convincing or real than all those other gods whom God-believing people don't give the dignity of a capital letter. But that's not the point of this post. The point of this post is to delight in Hitchens's take on Mormonism.

First of all, take note of the chapter in which Hitchens discusses Mormonism.

Chapter 11: "The Lowly Stamp of Their Origin": Religion's Corrupt Beginnings

This is the chapter in which he discusses the formation of modern religions, what he calls "openly manufactured sausage religions." This particular metaphor comes from the idea that if you want to continue to enjoy eating sausages, "take care not to be present when [they] are being manufactured" (p. 155). In other words, these are the easily-debunked, obviously-false religions. Mormonism is grouped here with Melanesian cargo cults and a Pentecostal preacher Marjoe, who was trained from a too-young age to awe and fool audiences. If I hadn't left Mormonism, I would have been appalled by the author's grouping. But now, I can only see too well why Hitchens would make the association.

He refers to Joseph as a "gifted opportunist" who "openly plagiarized Christian terms" and had a thing for Muhammed (p. 161). After that quick introduction, he moves on to Joseph's court appearance for peep-stoning, his residence in the Burned-Over District, and the local fascination with Native American burial grounds in the area. Joseph managed to combine interest in the treasure of the mounds with interest in their origins. It was a popular idea at the time that the Native Americans were really descendants of Hebrews, a lost tribe.

This sets the stage for "the imposture [that] is almost embarrassing to read" (p. 162).

And how was this same story rendered in Sunday School?

Joseph, age 14, wasn't sure which church to join, so he prayed and was told to join none of them, but to start his own.

It's flabbergasting to see that juxtaposition, isn't it?

Hitchens also calls Joseph's story "almost embarrassingly easy to uncover" (p. 162.) I had mixed feelings about that statement. He is so flippant when he points out the fact that Mormon origins are so obviously fraudulent, and that they are so easily uncovered to be embarrassing. And yet I, along with millions of others, were duped. And to uncover that truth? Embarrassingly easy? Hardly. Perhaps the process of finding the information was relatively easy--once I got past the cultural block that all that information is just a pack of lies I shouldn't touch with a 10-foot pole. Really, the information to show that Mormonism isn't all it claims to be is legion and, since the advent of the Internet, easy to find. But actually disbelieving it? Actually letting my brain put the pieces of the puzzle together, against all socialization and family support? That, my dear Hitchens, was agonizingly hard. Nevertheless, I forgive Hitchens this slight, because, you know what? It is embarrassingly easy to uncover, when viewed from the outside.

One thing that struck me was his sentence about Fawn Brodie and her No Man Knows My History, a biography of Joseph Smith. From a faithful Mormon point of view, this book is positively anti-Mormon (but, then, what isn't, besides syncophancy?). Even I wouldn't touch Brodie's book while I was exploring church history, thinking it was just unfairly harsh. I hadn't read it, of course, which is the way I formed that opinion. When I did read it, I found it to be great, and nothing more anti- than refusing to tell the story as if Joseph actually saw god. Hitchens, interestingly, called it "a good-faith attempt by a professional historian to put the kindest possible interpretation on the relevant 'events' " (p. 162, emphasis added). Isn't it telling that an outsider thinks it good-faith and kind, when Mormons see it as despicably anti-Mormon?

The author goes on to tell the basic story of Smith, with the characteristic unsympathetic voice he employs through the rest of the book. He even makes a couple minor mistakes, saying baptisms for the dead are performed through prayers said in weekly meetings. It couldn't have been that hard to find an insider to confirm the itsy-bitsy details, could it? But then, who cares? Mormonism is, in the grand scheme of things, embarrassingly insignificant.

The way Hitchens tells the history, it is embarrassing that I didn't figure it out before. In my defense, though, I didn't have the information I needed--and I gobbled it up when I found it.

follow-up to turbans

Mai, a blogger who is Sikh, commented on my last post, and wrote her own post about Sikhs and turbans. I realized my post would be controversial, but I hadn't really been thinking about it being rude. Which it was. So I followed Mai's link to her blog, read her post, and left this comment.

I'm actually glad you stumbled across my blog and my unusual (for me) post about security and turbans. It was nice to have a Sikh comment on the issue. I'm sorry to have offended you. Believe it or not, I know a little more about Sikhi that your average American (that doesn't take much). I have also in my life been quite respectful to various religions traditions and practices. It is quite a commitment to wear a turban (or a head scarf, or garments, or whatever) all through one's life, and also difficult, especially when you are in the minority to do so.

As you could see from my post, many of my opinions of religion are changing and up in the air right now. I just blurted out my first thoughts on the matter after reading the article. After reading your comments and post, as well as the comments of a couple of my regular readers, I can step back a little and see a different side. Turbans, as such, are really a harmless side of religion, as opposed to some aspects of religion that can be harmful to some. As, for example, the misogyny and racism in my Mormon heritage.

Asking Sikhs to remove their turbans in security checks likely causes more offense than any good would come of it--I find it extremely hard to believe that a Sikh would hide a composite gun in his turban, for example.

For me, my post was essentially about the deference we give religion just because it's religion, and Sikhs happen to be a starting point because the article made me think of it. Since you came by, it became a personal issue, and I thank you for that. Hearing about your BIL and SIL who have to cross into Canada to fly out--that struck me in a way that the newspaper article did not. The US shouldn't be making it harder and harder for Sikhs (and Muslims) to live here; we should be making it easier.

With regards to the history of the turban, I will defer to your knowledge. My comment about the British came from that book I linked. I went to grab my copy of the book so I could quote the part about Sikhs and the British army, but I don't have it with me. I could be remembering it totally wrong, of course. I'll remove that sentence from my post.

security restrictions and religion

I read an article in the newspaper yesterday about the new TSA regulation that all airplane passengers must remove their head covering, be it baseball cap, head scarf, or turban, during the security screenings at airports. This article emphasized Sikh men, who show devotion and commitment to God by never cutting their hair. Sikh men are best recognized, then, not by long hair and beards, but by turbans which hide their hair.

The new security measure is, then, a problem for Sikhs and others, such as Muslim women, who cover their hair for religious reasons.

One the one hand, I can see the plight of the religious observers. I was, after all, a devout wearer of garments for several years, and can empathize with the indignation and embarrassment people might feel in being required to remove a religious article of clothing. Garments, though, are qualitatively different from head coverings, since garments are easily hidden, and are meant to be hidden, under a layer of clothing. Still, I could see how I would have been upset had I, say, gotten a job that denied me the garments, such as if the uniform didn't cover garments.

The head scarves of Muslim women and the turbans of Sikh men are different in that, when taking them off, they are exposing a part of the body that is rarely exposed. Therefore they feel a bit naked, and that's uncomfortable, to be sure. We all get used to our different levels of modesty. Sleeveless shirts used to feel "naked" to me, for example. I've lived in a Muslim area, and gotten used to always having my head covered to the point that I would panic a little if a man entered my house and my head wasn't covered. I can imagine how much more intense that is for women who have been taught since they were toddlers that uncovered hair around unrelated men is sinfully inappropriate.

Then there's the inconvenience. Those turbans take several minutes to wrap, and to have to redo the turban in the public airport is a pain and probably embarrassing as well. Head scarves are not so labor intensive, but, still, it's probably slightly more hassle than having to remove our shoes, like everyone does now at airports.

On the other hand (and here's where I see my secular side coming out, influenced by Dawkins and Hitchens), why should they be given an exception to the security rule? Because their style of clothing is determined by some religious myth? Because centuries ago, a man was worried about the fidelity of his many (more than four!) wives and asked that they be visited from behind a veil? This is, after all, the justification for veiling women: there's a half a sentence in Muslim scripture that could be interpreted in many ways. And Sikhs. The no-hair cutting thing is old, sure, but still just as arbitrary as any religious proscription.

Why should religious dress be granted an exception, simply because it is religious? Because it's based on beliefs so insupportable that we have to rely on faith, against reason, to believe them?


Feel free to debate with me and with each other, but please keep it civil.

my reply, part 3

from an email I wrote to my sister, continued from my reply and my reply, part 2

I said on the phone that Little FTA’s simple message from the movie was a “pretty good representation of what the movie was trying to say.” You took issue with this, and I can see why this offended you. I’m sorry I said it in such as way that hurt you rather than in such a way where we could have discussed our differences and learned more about each other.

I think my statement was due to two things. One, a short memory with regards to the movie. I haven’t seen the movie in many years. The only thing I remembered was the basic plot of one man’s struggle between the “good side” and the “bad, worldly side,” and his receiving forgiveness through Jesus at the end—while many died in the destruction. I had completely forgotten about many of the plot elements, such as the non-believers conspiracy to kill the believers. I had also forgotten that its main idea was based on a Book of Mormon story; had I remembered that, I could have recalled that conspiracy. Nevertheless, Little FTA’s young mind missed those elements.

Two, my humanist, rather than Christian, point of view. When I saw the movie as a Christian, I was touched, and buoyed by the power of forgiveness through Christ. That message of forgiveness is, indeed, quite powerful, whether or not Jesus was actually divine, as you said. This is why I found myself with a continued affinity for Christianity, long after I ceased to believe in his divinity. As time went on, though, I started to consider what I see as the fundamentals of Christianity—the desire or need for forgiveness of sins, the state of humans as fallen and in need of saving, one person as the archetype for living—an undesirable way to approach life. Expanding on the first fundamental, for example, I still see the benefits of forgiveness, surely, but I see the source of forgiveness more appropriately placed in the people who were hurt by the wrongdoing, whether it be self or others. Additionally, I do not see wrongdoing as sin, but as hurting self or others. I think it is fundamentally very close to the same thing, but with different terminology—forgiveness for sin, getting second chances, improving oneself, always trying to do better. I just don’t think we need an ultimate, outside source, a God, to forgive us for being human, for making mistakes, for living life as (very fallible) human beings.

Through Little FTA’s interpretation, I saw the movie as simplifying and vilifying the atheists, the secularists—me and Mr. FTA—as the “worldly, sinful, bad guys,” rather than people who appreciate the capacity and limitations of humankind, and seek to live life to the fullest (since this is the only life we are certain we have), while trying to make the world a better place and refraining from harming others. That is, I saw anti-secularism. From the more complete summary of the movie, I certainly agree that the people who wanted to kill others were in the wrong, the “bad guys,” in child’s terms. But then to have the resurrected Jesus’ kill them through fire and earthquake (for the Jesus of the Book of Mormon does claim these killings as his doing)? Why is his killing others justified? Why is God excused killing those who wanted to kill and those who simply didn’t believe, when he subsequently delivers his sermon of forgiveness and love in Third Nephi? This is like teaching your child to not hit her sibling by hitting her and yelling, “Don’t hit!” then talking about love and goodwill the next moment. While you got particular messages, such as the power of forgiveness, from the movie, I saw, as a humanist, different messages. Or rather, I reinterpreted based on my memory and your summary of the movie. I am curious if I watched the movie in full now, whether I would still make similar comments. I imagine I would, and I imagine I would have many more besides.

science

I was quite mistrustful of science when I was a kid. Actually, until I left the church. I liked science, I was interested in it, and I did really well in science classes. But I never truly trusted science. Why? It didn't mix well with church teachings. And I gave church teachings precedent. If there was a discrepancy, I generally adjusted science to church teachings, rather than the other way around.

The biggest issues were evolution and the age the earth. By ninth grade biology, I was learning evolution (yes, in Utah), but the focus, as I remember it, was on micro-evolution. You know, Darwin's finches and those moths that micro-evolved from mostly white to mostly black during the Industrial Revolution in England. I was cool with micro-evolution; the evidence was right there and quite clear. But the evidence, you see, only showed changes within species, and not changes from one species into new ones. That way, I could still believe the Bible's "each after its own kind."

Eventually, I came to think of evolution as God's way of creating the earth. Seven days didn't really mean seven days. Seven days could really mean billions of years. Or something. But, really, I didn't trust it. Outwardly, I would talk about the age of the earth, about geological time, about dinosaurs, about human activity that occurred long before 6000 years ago. But inwardly, I was confused about how Adam and Eve fit into that. Was the timing just off? If it was, was it just the timing of the Bible that was off, or the timing of carbon dating? The scientists must think things are much older than they really were.

Also, I didn't like science because it made so many mistakes. It seemed like every twenty years, a new theory came out, and they eventually threw out the old theories. Like ether, the four humors theory of health, how the continents move, breast milk is bad for babies, miasma theory of disease transmission, etc. There were so many mistakes! How great could science be if they just keep changing their minds? They could be soooo sure about something, then be sooo sure about something totally different 50 years later. I thought that was just messed up. I thought that in a 100 years, no one would be talking about evolution anymore, except to say how stupid we were back then. Ultimately, this was just a way for me to still believe in church teachings that contradicted science.

At the time of my epiphany, when I stopped believing the Bible was anything but a collection of old stories, when I stopped believing Joseph Smith had no more connection to the supernatural than I do, science suddenly clicked. All the great barriers that kept my religious sanity collapsed, and I had a great "Ah-hah!" moment.

Evolution? It makes sense.

The development of the stars, planets, solar systems over eons? They make sense. And what is more, it is absolutely, astoundingly amazing and beautiful.

And the scientific method, all those changes in theories? That's a good thing. A great thing, in fact. It means that science recognizes its own fallibility, and makes adjustments to old theories when there is new evidence. That, I now see, is what is beautiful about science. It what makes me trust science more than religion now. Religion says Adam and Eve were the first humans and lived about 6000 years ago; Mormonism says that they lived in Missouri. Religion says this despite the fact there is no evidence to support that, and there is plenty of evidence that contradicts it. Science (and Bible scholarship) says Adam and Eve are a creation myth just like any other. Granted, many liberal religious people have adjusted their thinking about the first humans to scientific evidence, but there are many who still insist that the myth is Truth. And that's scary. Especially since I used to think so, too.

visit

Well, my sister was here all weekend, which is partly why I've been neglectful of my blog. She had no idea about my blog, and I still want it to stay that way.

This is the sister I get along with smashingly, and am the closest to. I'm not going to give a play-by-play of the weekend, but I will highlight some of the thoughts and moments where the whole we're-not-believers-anymore thing came up (which was probably 10% of the whole weekend).

The Word of Wisdom

We debated whether or not to hide the coffee pot, tea boxes, and signs that we drink alcohol. I ended up leaving out the coffee pot and the tea, but moving the open bottle of wine and the shot glasses out of the line of sight. I left them in the open, but up on shelves, along with the wine and martini glasses. There was also beer in the fridge. I don't think she noticed them, but that didn't matter much since Mr. FTA openly said he was 29 the first time he tried alcohol, and then had a beer at a dinner party we all went to. At the dinner, the drink options were beer, ice tea, and cherry juice--for the kids. She had a cherry juice, and we smiled at each other about that in a knowing way. She didn't say anything about the alcohol, but I think it was probably a little uncomfortable for her. She has non-Mormon in-laws that drink, so it's not like she's never been exposed to it. Still, I'm sure it's a little weird.

At the same time, though, I think it's made her see us as the Secret Keepers. That is, she can tell us things about "sins" that she wouldn't tell anyone else in the family. She can comfortably "confess" things, because she knows we're non-judgmental and won't spread the gossip. Which is kind of flattering, really.

She was, at least, comfortable enough to bring things up. In the kitchen, she sat on the counter next to the coffee maker and casually said, "So, you drink coffee now, huh?" And we had a conversation about how caffeine affects us, how we like the smell, etc. She was really laid back and cool about it. She just doesn't care, because she recognizes that we don't think the Word of Wisdom came from God. She also confirmed that my mom knows I drink coffee, and that Mom is weirded out by it. "I'm just afraid they started drinking because they left the church." Um, no, Mom, we started because there was no good reason not to, and lots of reasons to start. Oh, and because we like it.

The Sabbath Day

We wondered what my sister had planned as far as attending church. Honestly, I would have been a little miffed if she decided to attend 3 hours of church, when she was only visiting me for less than 48 hours in the first place. Sunday was our only full day together. But I also didn't want to get in the way of her religious choices. If I had decided to put my foot down and say, "Family is more important than religion, and you should spend this time with me!" I would have been hypocritical, because I would have been putting religion (non-religion) before family. Demanding her not to go to church would have been as ridiculous and my family demanding I attend with them. So on Saturday night, I asked her what she was thinking about church. She said she'd at least like to go to sacrament meeting, so I told her when and where the LDS ward meets. Then I offered to take her to the UU meeting, which started an hour later. She seriously considered that, but felt enough desire to go to sacrament that she wanted to go to both meetings. The timing wouldn't work out, I explained, and she decided on the LDS services.

Sunday morning, I drove her down and dropped her off. She was going to take her kid too, but since he would have just been restless and wanting to play with his non-church-going cousin (my kid), she let me just take her kid along with mine to the park to play.

Family Relations

After church while we were eating lunch, Mr. FTA asked my sister what the talks were about. She said the missionaries spoke about missionary work. I joked, "So are you going to try to give us a gospel message?" She laughed and made a joke about it. We got into a discussion about how she's the only one comfortable enough to talk to us about the whole church thing, and she expressed how stupid she thinks it is that everyone else is so uncomfortable. She suggested that next time we visit the family, we sit everyone down and acknowledge the 800-pound gorilla. That we say, "Listen, we left. So what? We don't want to tear anyone down. We still want to be your family. We still want good relationships with you. Don't be afraid to ask us questions, or tell us things, or talk about church in front of us. But if you do bear your testimonies, be prepared to hear our opinions too." It's probably a good suggestion. Most people are probably just waiting for us to say something first, worrying that they will offend us or drive us further away if they bring it up. Things are better (less awkward) with everyone we have talked to about it. I don't know what we'll do. I'll think about it some more.

A little awkwardness aside, we had a great weekend.

afterlife

A post over at AgnosticMom's blog got me typing. I wanted to share my answers here.

1) Do you believe the soul continues to exist after death?

I believe consciousness ends with death.

2) Have you found peace with the probability that when it’s over it is really over? Does this fill you with fear and dread? Or are you somewhere in between (please explain).

The idea of no afterlife was very scary to me at first. Here are some ways I have coped with this idea and adjusted from "I've existed forever" to "this is all there is."

I like to think of the idea of leaving a legacy, a mark, a memory on the earth among those that live after me. In this way, I live on.

Beyond just memories and ideas, I am a part of a great system of life that goes back millions of years, and will continue. Not only do I leave my human DNA in my children, and they in their children, but I am also part of a greater tree of life that connects all life on earth to each other. That doesn't end with my death.

I am a part of the cosmos. I have been and always will be a part of the universe (for the whole time the universe exists, anyway). I love to tell my son he is not 4 years old, but 14 billion and 4 years old, because the basic building blocks of his body (hydrogen, etc) have been around since the Big Bang. And our bodies will return to the earth, and be a part of it until it dies. Then be a part of the solar system, and the galaxy, and the universe until it "dies." But by then, we'll be dead, so we won't care. For me, it replaces the comfort I used to have in Mormonism's pre-mortal existence and afterlife. For him, it's just pretty darn cool. He loves outer space, you see.

What do you think?

1) Do you believe the soul continues to exist after death?

2) Have you found peace with the probability that when it’s over it is really over? Does this fill you with fear and dread? Or are you somewhere in between (please explain). Or, as I asked it once, Which is worse to you: forever or nothing?

Parenting Beyond Belief

AgnosticMom clued me in to a new book coming out, Parenting Beyond Belief: on Raising Ethical, Caring Kids without Religion.

The description from Amazon says, "It’s hard enough to live a secular life in a religious world. And bringing up children without religious influence can be even more daunting. Despite the difficulties, a large and growing number of parents are choosing to raise their kids without religion. In Parenting Beyond Belief, Dale McGowan celebrates the freedom that comes with raising kids without formal indoctrination and advises parents on the most effective way to raise freethinking children. With advice from educators, doctors, psychologists, and philosophers as well as wisdom from everyday parents, the book offers tips and insights on a variety of topics, from "mixed marriages" to coping with death and loss, and from morality and ethics to dealing with holidays. Sensitive and timely, Parenting Beyond Belief features reflections from such freethinkers as Mark Twain, Richard Dawkins, Bertrand Russell, and wellness guru Dr. Don Ardell that will empower every parent to raise both caring and independent children without constraints."

I've pre-ordered it, and am looking forward to reading the essays by Richard Dawkins, Penn Jillette, Julia Sweeney, Dr. Donald B. Ardell, Dale McGowan, and our very own ex-mo, Agnostic Mom (Noell).

Since leaving Mormonism, I have found myself gravitating toward secular humanism, atheism, and a perhaps non-religious life, and I've been wondering what that means for raising kids. I've been so focused on my own recovery, that I haven't been able to give it a lot of thought yet. But since the kids are getting older, I need to be thinking now.

Now there's a companion forum, Parenting Beyond Belief Forums, where secular parents can discuss issues. Forums include Personal Reflections, Living with Religion (Mixed Marriage; Engaging Religion; Church/State), Holidays and Celebrations; On Being Good and Doing Good; The Wonder of Science, and even a couple others. It's just starting up.

As if you need to spend even more time online...

facts and faith

From a personal essay I wrote about a year ago. It follows from thoughts I penned in "did you give it a fair chance?":

In some ways, Mormonism is good at helping its members feel peace. For example, the sacrament. For me, it was about reflecting on your week, your life, and finding comfort in the idea that forgiveness could be achieved. That even though you were imperfect, you could do better. Mormons don't worry about the "facts" of the bread and water being Jesus' flesh and blood, but about the comfort of forgiveness and redemption. Whether or not Jesus actually died and was resurrected is of course at the core of Mormonism, but I don't think it needs to be so. For a whole lot of Christians in the world, the point is the ideas of redemption, sacrifice, a personal God, and forgiveness, and not whether it all actually happened. I could even find a place in a Christian church as long as the emphasis is on the ideas, and whether or not Jesus was resurrected is left to faith.

Because we don't have the facts; it must be left to faith. And I think that's fine. I am willing to make a leap of faith for God; I don't think the existence of God can be proven either way, for or against. If I believe in God, it is based on faith, not knowledge. As for Mormonism, there are plenty of facts against the authenticity of the Book of Mormon, the prophethood (and decency) of Joseph Smith, the origin of the Book of Abraham, the restoration of the priesthood, etc. To make a leap of faith against those facts is ridiculous in my mind.

So why don't I take the church in the same way I see general Christianity or religion? (i.e., The ideas might be good enough to overrule any uncertainly about the facts.) Why not forget about the truthfulness of the church, and just find what is good about it ("it" now includes the culture, institution, theology, and gospel): emphasis on family, moral anchor, forgiveness, service, community, family heritage, etc.? As far as family goes, that would certainly be the easier route. For one, all that is good about the church can be found elsewhere--in another congregation or even in a secular, non-religious life. And two, besides what I find to be false about the church, there is so much I find to be negative about the church's ideas, attitudes, and way of doing things. Attitudes about race, women, intellectuals, homosexuals and homosexuality, (one example: 1993 speech by Boyd K. Packer said the Church's three main enemies to be intellectuals, feminists, and homosexuals); over-emphasis on one-size-fits-all and obedience; over-emphasis on truth and de-emphasis on other great aspects of religion; attitude of denial or willful ignorance of uncomfortable church history; the church's infiltration into too many aspects of member's lives; hypocrisy in teachings and actions; the lack of focus on Christ-like living, among other things.

"I understand you more than you think"

I recently visited members of my family as well as my husband's family in Utah. I haven't posted much about the visits partly because I'm still processing my interactions with them, and partly because I'm still negotiating with myself what to reveal and what to keep to myself, for the sake of both my anonymity and their privacy. But there is one conversation I know I want to write about, for multiple reasons. It frustrated me; I need to process it and I do that best in writing rather than in my head; and there are things I wish I had said but didn't. I didn't say those things partly because I didn't think of them at the time; I'm not a good spur-of-the-moment speaker, and I do my better thinking when I can go rethink, edit, mull it over and come back. Partly, I didn't say those things because I haven't yet figured out how much I want to say to my Mormon relatives. It's all a process of figuring out when to keep silent, when to speak up, and when to take a stand.

I can't recall the whole conversation or the order of it, but here are the highlights as I remember them. In this conversation with a brother-in-law, he told me I make a bigger deal out of "it" than is warranted. No one thinks about it anymore, or at least not very much, he said, so there's no need for me to make a big deal. I asked him in what way I make a big deal out of it. He claimed that through observation (though I'd spend only about 10 minutes total with him all week) he'd noticed that every time I have a conversation with his wife, the talk steers toward Mormonism, and I'm the one who brings it up. (Note that he brought up Mormonism in this conversation.) Through our talking, I figured out that he and his wife think I bring it up becuase I'm trying to convince them of something, that I think they need to understand me better. Oddly, this is the opposite of why I bring it up: I do because I can with them. They are more understanding already, which is why I feel free to bring it up. I am comfortable with them. Apparently, they are not comfortable with me.

I argued with him that maybe the siblings don't care much, but our mutual parents-in-law do. My mother-in-law couldn't even force herself to bring it up for several months. What is more, when I was TBM, she confided in me her desires and motives regarding her Jack-Mormon son's children--trying to get them blessed as babies, getting them to Cub Scouts at the ward, inviting them to church to get them exposed to the Truth. This was, of course, motivated by the goodness of her heart and genuine concern for the welfare of their souls, but at the same time manipulative, subversive, and religiously arrogant. I told him that, if not in so many words. I assume she has done or will do the same kind of talking and planning behind our backs.

I told him how our father-in-law has never said a word about it, which he explained away as father-in-law's way of dealing with conflict. Hole himself up in his room and ignore it. I hear that he figures he can't convince us to change our minds, so why try?

I told him it is a big deal that our one remaining bachelor brother-in-law will get married in the temple and we will be excluded. "I know 'they' see it differently; 'they' see it as us excluding ourselves," I said, "but we see it as being excluded. It would be a compromise of my integrity and conscience to toe the line and get a temple recommend to go. I can't do that, as bad as I want to be there for the wedding, I can't."

He countered, "So if he wants to get married in the temple, let him. So what? You can't stop him."

"Of course I wouldn't try to stop him. That's his choice. If that's what he wants, so be it. But he should also recognize that none of his brothers or sisters-in-law will be there. That's important. He should do his temple thing, but he should also have a ceremony outside, one that's more than a cursory nod towards his 'non-worthy' friends and family. Make it big, like a real wedding, walking down the aisle, the whole thing." He seemed to see I had a point. But then, I was talking to a guy that cleaned up his act just long enough to get married in the temple, excluding all his siblings from the ceremony, then promptly "lost" his recommend.

After complaining more about my family's reactions, he asked, "So what do you want them to do?" I didn't really know; I couldn't really explain. What is the best route? Who knows? I'm sick of them ignoring it, but at least that's better than them calling me to repentance or banishing me from their houses.

He continued, "Who cares what they think? People don't understand me. I don't care. I don't have to be understood. I'd rather be left alone."

"Then we're very different on that point," I said. "I've always had the desire to be understood, long before this whole thing. I hate that they don't understand me." It's one of the most tragic things of this, that my family doesn't understand me, and likely never will.

"Give them more credit," he said. "I bet they understand more than you give them credit for. I understand you more than you think. You didn't know me in my party days. I drank, I had sex with girls, I did drugs, I didn't have anything to do with the church. So I understand."

At that moment is was clear to me that he did not understand me. "But I never did any of those things!" I protested. "This isn't about practice, this is about belief. I stopped believing. I don't believe it. I can't go back to believing it. It's gone." Practice, as exemplified so easily and readily in beer-drinking and levels of church attendance, is so completely secondary to belief.

While I couldn't express it then, I see a profound difference between him and me. He is comfortable having a beer now and then, doesn't "want a 70-year-old to tell [him] what to do," and only attends church when he feels like it--all the while feeling guilty for it, and figuring that some day he'll repent. He's a soft-believer, a cafeteria Mormon, one who protests that the community judges him for skipping church but still accepts that the bishop holds the power to decide whether or not he'll see his brother-in-law's wedding. Yes, he will also miss the wedding, but it will be because he drinks sometimes and doesn't attend church enough weeks out of the month.

As for me, I won't attend because I cannot believe its origin claims, its claims to divine connection. I won't attend because I cannot give money to an institution that I find more harmful than good. Because I believe two men going down a checklist of do's and don't's have no right to determine my "worthiness" to see a family member's wedding. Because I am vilified by the church as being prideful, misguided, lost, dark, ignorant, sinful, unworthy, apostate. Because the church glosses over and explains away problems, injustices, and downright sickening actions and policies instead of either 1) not making them in the first place (isn't God supposed to be guiding them here?) or 2) acknowledging, apologizing, and correcting.

And while I want very much to be a part of that future wedding, all those future weddings of nieces and nephews, friends and cousins, I cannot. Why? Because I am making a stand for what I believe is right. He just can't give up his beer and get his ass out of bed on Sunday morning.

I'm sorry, man, you don't understand me. And you know what? I don't understand you, either.