“You are forgetting one thing,” I pause and stare directly into the eyes of the man sitting across from me, “I do not need your approval or validation.”

This sentence is a feature of many of my daydreams. I have never actually said it out loud but it is my secret fantasy (or not so secret anymore) to be able to say this phrase and mean it. In my daydream I am strong and competent, self-assured and bold. I do not worry about what people think about me. I trust myself more than those around me. I do scary things. I do not care about being liked as much as I care about being right. In my daydreams the only approval and validation I need is from me. “So….” you might ask, “why are these daydreams and not reality?”

Over the course of the last decade I have made a conscious effort to distinguish between the thoughts and behaviors I actually desire and those I have acquired via enculturation in the Mormon culture. There are silly things like discovering that I do not actually like to wear dresses and skirts even though they have made up my “nice” wardrobe for the past thirty years. Likewise, I have discovered that I do not mind disagreeing with those around me. I’m comfortable with pluralism. I have learned that we don’t all have to think alike despite thirty-plus years of Sunday School enculturation instructing me otherwise. I have also made more serious discoveries. I have learned that I have a deep rooted instinct to acquiesce to male authority figures. I think this stems from our all-male church hierarchy where men will always have more power and authority over me. I did not realize I had internalized these thoughts until I witnessed my non-Mormon colleagues talking back to an academic leader and my first thought was “You can’t do that.” Since then I have paid closer attention to how I interact with males in power. I’ve discovered that my behavior completely changes in front of church leaders. I am quiet and deferential. I hold in my thoughts and opinions. Because I have no social capital or source of collegiality without their endorsement, I am reliant on their approval and validation for my sense of worth.

I am convinced that LDS culture produces women who are constantly seeking the approval and validation of others to justify and legitimize their own thoughts, beliefs, appearance and worth.

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I’ve been thinking about revelation a lot lately, largely because we recently had two Sunday School lessons in a row on this topic – one of which I actually got my act together and read the assigned scriptures for because I was preparing to participate in  a Gospel Doctrine podcast.  And I’m realizing that in addition to needing feminism (see Part I), I also need the concept of revelation to help me be a Mormon.  (As an aside, you should check out the wonderful work Jared Anderson is doing to create Gospel Doctrine podcasts as resources for teachers and learners!)

Why do I need revelation?  A friend’s Catholic mother once said, “Who is the Pope to tell me what it means to be Catholic?”  Meaning, the church’s body of doctrine and tradition is bigger than one person, and she felt free to claim Catholicism on her own terms.  And I say, “What is patriarchy to tell me what it means to be Mormon?”  In some sense if I leave the Church just because it is patriarchal, I’m allowing sexist tradition to separate me from a religion that I would otherwise choose to affiliate myself with.  Patriarchy already puts enough constraints on the spiritual lives of women; I don’t want to let it determine my religious affiliation, too.  Patriarchy doesn’t own my church.  And ultimately, the concept of personal revelation requires me to embrace truth wherever I find it, so I feel free to claim Mormonism on my own terms.

But revelation is about more than just my personal search for truth.  The concept of continuing prophetic revelation also means current doctrine and practices can and do change.  With continuing revelation we will some day have prophecies given by women, blessings given by women, authoritative scriptural exegesis by women, and miracles worked through women.  No spiritual gift (see D&C 46:17-26) will be withheld.*  These are more than pie-in-the-sky hopes.  They are possible given the limitless nature of continuing revelation.  I see Mormonism’s open canon and belief in prophecy as having both the mechanism and the potential energy needed for change through revelation.

I realize it’s ironic to wait for this kind of revelation to come through channels of male-only priesthood bearers.  But the fact that Mormons expect prophetic revelation gives me hope, particularly when faithful people, following the example of Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah, continue to ask questions that provoke a prophetic response.  These women were Zelophehad’s daughters – his only progeny since he had no sons.  It was against Jewish law for them to inherit land after Zelophehad’s death, but they appealed to Moses for new revelation on the matter.  Moses brought their case before the Lord, and not only were the daughters able to inherit, but a detailed revelation on inheritance practices also resulted from the question.  I believe this kind of change through revelation is still possible.

What things do you hope for that continuing revelation could bring to pass?

 

*Section 46 of the Doctrine & Covenants lists prophecy, healing, miracles, wisdom, and other spiritual gifts.  The section does not link any of these gifts with priesthood, but in the modern Church most of them are thought of and practiced as priesthood privileges.  It wasn’t always so.  Our gospel foremothers had many of these gifts.  I think ordaining women would erase the gendered limitations on these gifts, and I hope to see it in my lifetime.

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I have been thinking a lot about power, empowerment, and disempowerment recently. For me, the root of religious empowerment is access to decision making power. As such, I feel that the structure of the church disempowers women. There are many things we can do to empower women in the church (as has been discussed often on this blog). While these things are helpful, true empowerment needs to come in the form of actual decision making power on all levels of church hierarchy. This raises the question: without this major step what access to other forms of power do women have?

INFORMAL POWER: One of the most common reasons I hear from women of why they “do not feel unequal in the church” is because they have access to the formal structure of decision making through their callings and husbands. They feel like their voice is heard and considered to their satisfaction by the males in their lives. While this is a positive thing and something that is obviously “lovely, of good report, and sought after,” it still places the apex of power singularly in the hands of males and women’s access to it dependent on their good will. Unfortunately  not all men are interested in women’s contributions and there are no formal structures to ensure this. The other difficulty with informal power is that it is not something that is granted or assumed. Unlike the priesthood responsibilities which all members are taught about regularly, informal power is not discussed, taught, or even regularly encouraged– so that empowered women tend to find a niche where they are happy with their informal power and disempowered women do not even realize informal power exists or how to access it. How can we better empower women to utilize informal power? 

FINANCIAL POWER: Many of the women mentioned in the New Testament after Christ’s resurrection were benefactors who housed, fed, and financially supported Paul and his missionary efforts. For the most part, rich women are mentioned at a higher rate in religious texts than poor women. This tells us something about the power of financial wealth. I have a handful of very very wealthy friends and they have access to church leaders on a level that I will never have. If there is a tabernacle, a BYU project, a temple, a mall, or a cause that the church does not want to spend tithing money on, they reach out to their wealthiest members and ask for donations. This is no different than any other organization on the planet. Money gives you access to leadership. Whether or not those leaders listen to you is another matter.

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It’s 9pm and one of my favorite 14-year-olds just walked out the door. I’m her (unpaid) math tutor and she has a geometry test tomorrow. We spent about 45 minutes on triangles: altitudes, medians, perpendicular bisectors, how long the third side of a triangle can be given the length of the other two sides, a proof. Just in case you haven’t figured it out already, I’ll out myself now: I am a geek. I get a huge kick out of math. I realize most people don’t have this reaction to numbers and shapes and algorithms, and that’s the reason I tutor some of the neighborhood kids for free: it’s something their parents can’t do, either because they’ve mentally painted over what they learned in high school or because they’re too busy/tired/at odds with their teenagers for such a relationship to work. I can, and it’s delightful.

A year ago my friend Jaimee taught my kids to jump rope. It was something that had never crossed my mind to teach them — odd because I spent a whole lot of time jumping rope as a kid. I went over one day to pick up the girls and they were in the middle of the driveway with a long rope and Sarah was jumping. With this enormous grin on her face. She’d accomplished something pretty big for a four-year-old, and she’d learned it from someone outside of her family. I was amazed. And proud. And grateful.

On another note, my oldest daughter was sick last week with a stomach bug, which started the night before school started up again after the winter break. The thought of loading her into the car so I could drive her sister to school and dealing with the upchuck aftermath was more than I could handle. So I called my next-door neighbor and explained. Could Sarah go to school with her kids?

Oh, absolutely, she said. Send her over.

I have this intense need (and intense gratitude) for community. It’s one of the very best things about being Mormon, this knowing that you’ll have peeps wherever you land. But I’m especially grateful for what I have in my neighborhood, where a handful of families who live near each other look out for one another. Some of them happen to be LDS, which always feels safe, but the best part is that many of them aren’t. I’m really digging the community right now. I have teenagers around the corner and across the street who are responsible, caring, low-priced babysitters. I have the swing set that we built with two other families a few years back in the only yard that was big enough for it, specifically because the family who lives there wants the neighborhood kids to have someplace they can all play together. My girls went through a cooperative preschool where they learned that if you’re goofing around too much, and your friend’s dad tells you to knock it off, your own parents will tell you exactly the same thing.

I’ve also been really struggling with some of the more dogmatic Mormon practices: boys having to wear white shirts to pass the sacrament, women having no formal influence in Church affairs, the simpering tone of the only female voices we hear in general conference, requiring Primary classes to have two teachers just in case.

And I’m reminded of something a Buddhist friend told me about a year ago. Her prayer bracelet has three strands, each representing one of the Three Refuges: Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha — which can be translated as the Prophet, the Message, and the People. It’s important, she said, because each of the three refuges connects the other two: the Message connects the Prophet to the People (and vice versa), the Prophet connects the People and the Message, et cetera. They’re called refuges because you can spiritually take refuge in each. If the people drive you crazy, you can take refuge in the message; if you can’t believe in the message you can see the people living the prophet’s words and find your solace in the prophet.

So right now, because I’m having a hard time with some parts of the message, I’m taking refuge in the community: the people around me who, whatever their beliefs or troubles or tolerance for crazy, consider me and my family to be part of their lives. I know I’m lucky to have this — blessed, even — and there’s something that seems to whisper into one corner of my mind, “This is the message. The fact that these people love you and treat you as one of their own is proof of God. How else could such a community exist?” Somehow there is something inherently godlike about caring for other people, claiming them as your own, making sure they don’t fail. And things that make me hope (Wear Pants to Church Day! The bishop in my friend’s ward talking about using the young women as ushers during the sacrament! Women speaking up at ward council!) also make me think that there is more wisdom in the Three Refuges: sometimes the community is itself the message. And sometimes, when we are of one heart and one mind, the people speak prophetically, and the message changes.

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The publicity around the wear pants to church day hit its zenith yesterday: it got covered by the New York Times.  I don’t think anyone anticipated the media interest in this, but then I think the vitriolic response to it on Facebook was equally surprising.  At least I was surprised.

The NYT article is brief, lightly touching on both the reasons for the pants day and the negative responses to it.  It’s not unfairly negative toward the LDS Church, but I don’t think Church members will find it flattering, either.  The fact that women wearing pants to church in 2012 is an issue that provokes venom is enough of a rebuke on the overall membership, even without editorial commentary by the Times.

The Church cares about its public image.  A lot.  But no amount of “I’m a Mormon” ads on busses or the internet, no YouTube video, no Church-sponsored website, can get rid of the impact of articles in major newspapers that spotlight the darker sides of Mormonism.  I think the only way for the Church to avoid looking like a throwback is for its leadership to start rebuking the intolerance behind those nasty comments on Facebook.

And I don’t mean in a general, non-specific way.  Obviously the Church already teaches about charity and kindness.  I mean in way that puts tolerance, self-restraint, and kindness in the context of the diverse, modern world and Church we inhabit.  I do believe that the majority of the membership would never say the bilious things that got said about pants day, but the fact that lots of them did is a problem.  Just the fact that so many people felt threatened by pants is a problem.

We need cultural change.

And of course this is about more than a tiff on Facebook.  I’ve been bemused by the “I’m a Mormon” ads since they came out because while they do show a cross-section of members, they seem slanted toward those members that are actually rather rare in real life: the mixed-race family, the career woman, the man of color who makes his living as a musician.  Perhaps I misunderstand the intended audience, and the “I’m a Mormon” ads are as directed at the members as the general public.  If that’s the case then I’m happy the Church is doing something to engender tolerance.  But given the general MO of the Church – which is to put its best resources toward outreach – I think the “I’m a Mormon” campaign is made to make the world think Mormons aren’t weird.

But we are.  And one thing the pants day did is to bring some of that weirdness, the ickiest, usually hidden even from ourselves weirdness, to the fore.

Mormon feminism is not going away.  I don’t know what the next move for All Enlisted will be.  I don’t know if it will be them or another group that plans the next move that might get media attention, but when it happens, if the response to it is as weird and ugly as it was to pants day, the Church is going to continue to have a PR problem.

So this raises the important question of how much power to effect cultural change the leadership has?  Nate Oman’s post at Times & Seasons recently sparked a wide discussion on the bloggernacle about this very issue.  The discussion is too long and nuanced for me to summarize here (there are responses to Nate here, here, and here, and his own responses to those can be found here and here), but what it all boils down to is who is wagging whom?  I think the leadership does have the power to influence the things the membership thinks about, and how they think about them.  And if they want real influence in how the world thinks about Mormonism, they’ve got to try.  People can tell the difference between advertising and actual content, as Neylan McBain has pointed out.  And I hope when they do try, it will be because it’s the right thing to do, and not just because they’ve been embarrassed.

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It’s summer, which in my Boston-area ward means that on any given Sunday about a third of the ward is on vacation. The handful of families who were moving out have already left, and their replacements are trickling in. We don’t know yet how many new families we’ll have by September, but I’m betting on at least two young couples showing up unannounced over Labor Day weekend (hey, it’s a big college town). It’s an exciting time, the only period of transition we really get in my super-stable, super-active, super-smart congregation, and I’m relishing it.

I’m also scheming, because I’m in the Relief Society presidency and we just lost a teacher.

A month ago we were having a presidency meeting around my dining room table (which also serves as my desk, the table where I lay out quilts, my children’s repository for all things needing to be mended, and the general mail inbox), and we had a collective spiritual experience. We’d been tossing out names for a replacement teacher, and none of them felt right. Then I mentioned a name. One by one the other women said, “Yeah. Yeah. She’d be great.” We all looked at each other. This was the best we’d ever felt about a calling. The president said, “I’ll call the bishop tonight. This is perfect.”

The answer was no. (Feel free to add an “of course” here if you deem it appropriate.) We eventually asked for someone else who’s going to be just as awesome, and the bishop said fine, and he’ll get around to extending the call when he’s back from vacation and things have settled down somewhat. But the thing is, I’ve been stewing about it.

And then, in the middle of my stewing, I got inundated with links to Neylan McBaine’s talk from last week’s FAIR conference. (If you haven’t read it yet, trust me, you really really want to.) It’s a smart, thoughtful talk from a woman who spends a significant percentage of her time around the general Church leadership, and though I’d love to sit down with her and argue some points, I think she really gets it. Plus, she speaks the same marketing/PR language that I do, so I think she’s awesome. Among other things, she points out that the Church’s leadership model isn’t actually hierarchical, even though we often see it that way. Instead, it’s a cooperative model where leaders are really servants, and we all have different stewardship, and everyone ends up taking a turn. (See? I said you really want to read it.)

I’ve been mulling this talk over for about a week now, and I woke up this morning thinking, “What would our process of calling women to serve in Relief Society callings, or Young Women callings, or Primary callings—what would that look like if we were really practicing cooperative leadership?”

It seems to me that part of that would mean giving auxiliary and quorum leaders full responsibilities over their own staffing. Instead of creating more work for the bishopric, our Relief Society presidency (made up of four capable adult women) should be able to call teachers, assign women to committees, and ask someone to play the piano for our meetings. And that the same should go for the Elders Quorum, and the Primary, and the Young Men…you get the idea.

It used to be that way, of course. My mother is in possession of a letter that her great-great-aunt received from a Relief Society leader of the time, thanking her for accepting a call to serve in one of the society’s large-scale humanitarian projects. It’s clear to me that this calling didn’t go through a bishop or a stake president—the scale is too large, and the spheres of influence at the time too separate. (Also, the thank-you is a bit too personal for something mediated by an outside authority.) But somewhere along the line, local bishops became responsible for extending every calling made in each ward, on top of everything else they were doing: looking out for families who needed help, counseling with members who were having a hard time, interviewing everyone for temple recommends, ensuring that the financial and membership records were all shipshape, and wearing the Santa Claus suit at the ward Christmas party.

I see many good things in the correlation process that dominated the mid-twentieth century. They’re chiefly things that have allowed the Church to grow internationally: mitigating the most expensive building projects by sharing the load for them throughout the Church; allowing rapid, high-quality translation of written materials; forcing us economically into a we’re-all-in-this-together Zion mentality that we’re loath to take upon ourselves as individuals or small groups. But as organizations within the Church have lost their autonomy to call their own teachers and committees, the effect of the good we’re doing gets diluted. If it takes three months to call a Sunbeam teacher because it’s gotten stuck in the middle of the bishop’s already long to-do list, don’t we already have built into our religious structure a way to streamline that process?

There are a few reasons to run callings by the bishop before they’re extended, and they’re good ones. First, he may know something about someone’s ability to fill a certain role that the rest of us don’t. That’s valid. (Of course, there are cases where the presidency of the auxiliary knows details that the bishop doesn’t know, and that’s valid too.) Second, the bishop is responsible for the whole ward, and he may have multiple organizations asking for the same person. But these are reasons to do a courtesy heads-up, not to pass the buck. In fact, I think it’s a great agenda item for ward council—it makes a lot of sense to talk about how to staff an entire ward with, well, all of the leaders in the ward.

So here’s my question. What would it look like in the Church if callings came from the president of an auxiliary or a quorum instead of going through the bishop? Would it carry less weight? Would we feel that our service was less acceptable?

My best guess is that we’d be fine. We might even trust our auxiliary and quorum leaders a little more, as we get used to acknowledging that quorum and auxiliary leaders receive revelation for the organizations that are in their care and stewardship. Handing the power to make callings back to the leaders of the organizations that need to be staffed shows that we trust those leaders and that we are okay with them having authority. We’d be more nimble as an organization—faster to respond to crises, more effective at filling empty holes, maybe even better at applying the gospel to the specific needs in our wards. As Joseph Smith instructed the founding members of the Nauvoo Relief Society, “If any Officers are wanted to carry out the designs of the Institution, let them be appointed and set apart, as Deacons, Teachers &c. are among us.” That’s almost a heady amount of responsibility in the Church as it is today, but this is God’s work. It’s a huge, important, daunting, humbling, critical responsibility.

And if there’s a mistake somewhere? If someone gets asked to do more than one thing? We’re grown-ups. What’s so wrong with someone accepting a calling and then having to tell subsequent people, “I’m sorry, I can’t teach Sunday School this year. I’ve already been asked to play piano for the Primary”? It seems to me that the “I should never turn down a calling” mantra is setting good people up for some significant temporal and spiritual burnout. What if we trusted them instead to ask God and to say yes to the callings that had been spiritually confirmed in their hearts? What if we empowered them to say no to the ones that simply make them feel panicked, confused, and overburdened?

What do you think about a cooperative leadership model? And specifically, should auxiliaries and quorums be able to extend callings, as long as they’re coordinated with the ward council and the bishop approves?

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