Sermons and lessons in the LDS church (and other churches too) utilize stories that condition us to accept a Monster God.

What I am thinking of here is the numerous talks, lessons, etc that use as their object lessons examples of extreme human suffering to teach about God.

A few examples:

1) From Elder Monson’s conference talk from last year (ironically entitled “Be Of Good Cheer”) in which he talked about the German Mother in war-torn Prussia and how she had to bury her children one by one, having only a spoon to dig their graves with, until the very last child died, and at that point, she had even lost her spoon and so used her bare fingers against frozen ground to bury her baby.

2) From a local Stake Conference a few years back; the Stake President, as part of his talk described in great detail, how at a family cookout, the young toddler pulled the charcoal grill full of red-hot briquettes over on top of himself. The Stake President went on in great detail about the extent of the irreparable damage done to the toddler’s body. I don’t remember exactly what the SP’s point was (probably prayer, or faith, or something) because I had to leave the meeting (leave my toddler sitting in the pew with his father) so I could go throw up.

3) The Mormon Message film  My New Life about Stephanie Nielson who was horribly burned in an accident.  Her story is a powerful tribute to the human will to survive (and thrive), to the healing power of a supportive community, and to the amazing technological advances that saved her life.  However Elder Holland’s voice over at the end gave me a sick feeling: “When suffering we may in fact be closer to God than we have ever been in our entire lives….”

I believe these stories and elements are included in our gospel teaching elements as coping mechanisms; a way to preemptively curtail questions about the atrocities that occur and how an All powerful All loving God fits into this world of carnage. Perhaps, they are included to be intentionally numbing? (Activism is frequently downplayed to make place for faith/acceptance.)

We are taught to Pray to the Monster God for protection (for he is mighty to save) while simultaneously being taught to accept that He may chose not to save you.  Instructed that we cannot understand the mind of God, we are taught to accept that in spite of unwavering devotion, and his unconditional love and omnipotent power, you and your loved ones may die in a multitude of agonizing ways. Or live in a multitude of agonizing ways. And lesson after lesson in church is constructed to condition you to that fact.

So pray for patience.
For faith.
For understanding.
Or at least for acceptance.

But it seems a bit like rolling dice to pray for protection.

It is storytelling.
Turning tragedy into faith promoting stories.

My own thought is that reality isn’t very faith-promoting.

Two related segues:

~After the Earthquakes in Haiti earlier this year, JohnR wrote this post about suffering, and storytelling, and how we can cope with tragedy without trying to piece an all Powerful all Loving God into the story.

~From the movie Constantine, Gabriel’s monologue on  why a reign of terror was in God’s best interest: “If sweet, sweet God loves you so, then I will make you worthy of His love. I’ve been watching for a long time. It’s only in the face of horror that you truly find your nobler selves. And you can be so noble. So, I’ll bring you pain, I’ll bring you horror, so that you may rise above it. So that those of you who survive this reign of hell on earth will be worthy of God’s love.” (It turned out, btw, that this idea hadn’t been vetted by God)

To end with, a little sacrilege.
Have you seen the painting “One Nation Under God” by Jon McNaughton?
In thinking about The Monster God, it occurred to me that the anonymous artist who did this parody (WARNING, it’s a bit disturbing)  might have been on to something.

******
I used to be the sort of suspicious individual who would see all sorts of signs and messages from the universe in this sort of thing.

Now a days, I just think I need to start paying more attention while I’m driving. Leave off pondering for when I am not behind the wheel.

by mraynes

I was introduced recently to the work of up-and-coming Tel Aviv street artist, Know Hope. I don’t know that much about street art but I was deeply touched by his simple and profound messages of hope and love, especially in a city that knows so little of both. But it was his name that stopped me short; know and hope are two words that don’t naturally fit together for me.

The verb “know” means to be certain of the truth or factuality of a subject. “Hope” means to desire with anticipation. Perhaps it is because of my Mormon education that I see these two words as a contradiction.

When I think of the word “know”, I think of fast and testimony meeting: “I know the church is true…with every fiber of my being…without a shadow of a doubt.”

When I think of “hope”, I think of Alma 32:21: “And now as I said concerning faith–faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things; therefore if ye have faith ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true.”

The distinction is important to me. I have always been a little embarrassed of my lack of knowledge. In a church that places so much importance on personal revelation and truth, my seeming inability to get either has been deeply troubling. Despite my sincere efforts, the hours of fasting and scripture study, the strict obedience and the tearful pleadings with the Lord, I have never received a personal witness of the truthfulness of the gospel, or of Joseph Smith or of the Book of Mormon. I never even got an answer to whether mr. mraynes was the right man to marry. (I hope I made the right choice.)

Instead, my mind is often drawn to D&C 46: 13-14: “To some it is given by the Holy Ghost to know that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and that he was crucified for the sins of the world. To others it is given to believe on their words, that they also might have eternal life if they continue faithful.”

I do know that Jesus Christ is my Savior so I extend these verses to the answers I don’t have. I have accepted that for the time being, it is not for me to know. I believe that my belief is a spiritual gift. In fact, I believe that the with-holding of answers has been a tender mercy. My heavenly parents know me well enough to know that I could not and can not understand a dogmatic god and so I have not been allowed to be dogmatic myself. I am comfortable in Mormonism and if I knew, really knew, that the church was true I’m not sure that my eyes would be open to the things that could make it better. Not knowing has allowed me to be more charitable with those who struggle with their faith…to see shades of grey and interpret the gospel in a way that strengthens my relationship with God.

In not taking for granted that all choices by fallible men are divinely inspired, I have been allowed to ask questions that are scary and painful and viewed by some as “not useful.” I have asked why God allows horrible things to happen to innocent people. Why do the strong prey upon the weak? I have asked why God allows half of humanity to be routinely oppressed, violated and silenced. If women are equal to men, why can’t they have the priesthood or preside?  I ask why God would allow His church to sanction polygamy, racism and homophobia. And seriously, God, who’s idea was it to make the entrance age for nursery 18 months?

…I haven’t received any answers. But I continue to keep my covenants, fulfill my callings, attend church every week and go to the temple. I teach my children about God and maintain my relationship with my heavenly parents. I try not to let the wound of unanswered questions fester. I do all of this because I love God, because I am stubborn and because I have theories and ideas that work for me. That I can believe in. That I can hope for.

All of this is a long way of saying that just because some of us have questions it doesn’t mean that we are hostile to the church…or to the prophet…or to those who are generally satisfied and know that all of it is true. We just haven’t received the same answers. And that can be a blessing in and of itself. It can be the way that each of us knows hope.

By G

“If you could take the skewers of religion, those that riddle your frame, make you aware every time you move- if you could withdraw the scimitars of religion from your mental and moral systems- could you even stand?”
-Elphaba, The Witch of the West
Wicked. pg 387

“And there was nothing save it was exceeding harshness, preaching and prophesying of wars, and contentions, and destructions, and continually reminding them of death, and the duration of eternity, and the judgments and the power of God, and all these things—stirring them up continually to keep them in the fear of the Lord. I say there was nothing short of these things, and exceedingly great plainness of speech, would keep them from going down speedily to destruction.”
Enos 1:23

As I sit here writing this I am sipping a cup of green tea. Clear in my mind is the very first time I went to the store to buy a box of green tea. I was an adult; a wife and a mother. Standing in the grocery aisle, appraising the vast selection of teas, I literally was shaking in my boots. Every time someone walked by the aisle I jumped guiltily (caught in the act!!) As I put my box of tea on the belt at the check-out line I half way expected the cashier to card me (with a disapproving look upon her face no less) and when I finally got home and made that first cup of tea, fight or flight neurons where firing off in my brain. Big time.

Seriously.

Yes, I just revealed just how sheltered and naive (and goody goody?) I was. But that memory is a vivid one for me and it was simply one of many terrifying steps that was the process of asking questions I had never let myself ask before.

That terror is what I want to talk about. Doesn’t that seem just wrong to anyone else??

I just found out about these Hell Houses that certain fundamentalist christian church’s use to scare 12 yr olds into obeying God. Now, LDS versions are much more benign (and a lot less theatrical) but I do remember YM/YW activities where rooms in the church were set up to show the various Degrees of Glory and we were shown after-life scenarios based on hypothetical life-styles choices (“Here’s what the Telestial Kingdom looks and feels like… The Celestial… The Terrestial… Outer Darkness…” etc.)

On the one hand, there is the pull between denominations as to exactly WHAT will bring salvation/damnation: (ie; my cup of green tea keeps me out of LDS heaven and my temple endowments keep me out of fundy christian heaven) and fear is used by many faiths to both control and grow the membership (anyone else get sappy scare-stories about friends in the here-after who are angry/sad that the gospel was not shared with them?). On a more general scale, the idea is put forth (ad nauseum) that without religion (and it’s punishment/reward system) we’d all be running around killing each other (or some similar variant on that theme).

I’m fuzzy on the details, but I know there are belief systems that are NOT based on principles of divine reward and retribution with long lists of do-s and don’t-s. And their participants seem to be pretty peaceful fulfilled individuals in spite of the lack.

Hypothetically, what do you think The Church would lose if it lost it’s rhetoric of fear?  What would it gain?

(Also, because it’s sort of related and very funny: a Sugar Beet article about the Man Who Finished Repenting 13 months Ahead of Schedule. Awesome!)

Atheism- the absence of belief in the existence of deities.

At a large family dinner a few years ago, the conversation turned to the topic of one of my cousins (not present at this gathering). It had been discovered that this cousin no longer believed in the church (!!) which revelation brought about a general round of disappointed head-shaking. But that was not all, the informant continued, “he told me he no longer believes in God!” Gone was the disappointed head-shaking, in it’s place was a profound sense of horror.

In my heart (a heart already secretly dealing with questions about the church) I also felt that sense of horror, my own hidden fears that I might lose God.

As manifest by the reactions of my family, the label “Atheist” is a slur, a tragedy, an almost incomprehensible failing, a fate worse than death (well, okay, maybe that’s going a bit far, but you get the idea, right?)

[My trusty Webster's dictionary at home has as it's first definition of Atheism; UNGODLINESS, WICKEDNESS. ]

It always intrigues me when I see an individual address a predominately believing audience and refer to their own atheism. It doesn’t happen very often. When it does, I try to speak to them about it afterward. Frequently they share the small reservation they feel about stating such a thing out loud in such a setting, there being such a negative stigma attached to the label amongst believers, but that they felt it should be included in their remarks anyways.

I, for one, am always glad they do.
Because, you see, I don’t really believe in God anymore, and I’m having to confront my own reservations about admitting this to myself and my peers. (I was recently asked to give a lesson in relief society and was strongly tempted to say “Sure! But I’m atheist, do you still want me to teach the lesson?” But I didn’t. I just graciously declined the invitation. Maybe someday.)

I have been delighted to discover the non-theist community is extremely diverse, full of good works, purpose, hope and joy. To discover, as Phil Zuckerman puts it, “Lack of theism does not render this world any less wondrous, lush, mystifying, or amazing.”

I have an absence of belief in the existence God.

Which is very ironic because I have always been and still am a spiritual person. But it’s not tragic and that’s the point I’m trying to get across. There is incredible room for personal growth, for wonder and awe and profundity and mystery within the realms of non-theism. There are amazing people in this world, contributing members of society, friends, spouses, parents etc who do so much good even though they don’t believe in God.  (Funny isn’t it, the impulse to add a caveat about how a person can be good without believing in God.)

I sort of wish I could go back in time to that family dinner and respond to the pronouncement that this cousin was atheist with something like “you say that like it’s a BAD thing” and try to get a discussion going that perhaps distilled some of the negative associations with the label.
Maybe next time.
Meanwhile, I’ll take this opportunity here, on this blog, to get a discussion going.

This is not a post to promote atheism and I want to avoid here any bashing or proselytizing of either theism or non-theism. I’m just curious what your own experiences with the label have been.

Mary and Eve

Originally uploaded by Hi, I’m G

by mraynes

About a month ago I had the opportunity to attend an all day conference about the dynamics of gender violence in the South Asian community. The conference was put on by a wonderful South Asian feminist non-profit organization in Phoenix that I work with and was one of the best conferences I have ever attended.

Among the excellent speakers was a representative of the Peaceful Families Project which is a national organization devoted to ending domestic violence in Muslim families. I was impressed with the mission and the action of this particular organization but I found myself becoming more and more frustrated with the speaker as she progressed through her presentation. Although very knowledgeable about the Quran and the culture of Islam, the speaker seemed unable to acknowledge the problematic aspects of her religion. My frustration came to a climax when the speaker used the Quran’s Sura (chapter) four, verse thirty-four as proof of the progressive nature of Islam. Here is a translation of that scripture:

Husbands should take full care of their wives, with [the bounties] God has given to some more than others and with what they spend out of their own money. Righteous wives are devout and guard what God would have them guard in the husbands’ absence. If you fear high-handedness from your wives, remind them [of the teaching of God], then ignore them when you go to bed, then hit them. If they obey you, you have no right to act against them. God is most high and great. (Haleem, 2004).

If you are wondering what is progressive in this, men are commanded to provide for their wives and if there are problems, they are told to first separate and only hit their wives if the separation doesn’t work. (In other translations, men are told to lightly beat their wives which I suppose is better than savagely beating your wife. Go here for further translations and explanations.) I was perfectly willing to suspend my disbelief and categorize this scripture as a product of its time but to be told that it was a good thing for women was more than I could take. It was at this moment that I realized that for the first time in my life, I was on the opposite side of the double-bind.

The double-bind is a dilemma that many feminists find themselves in when they participate in a patriarchal religion or cultural tradition. Feminists of faith who identify with religions where women are not equal in either the theology or the institution find themselves caught between the two worlds they love, risking the reputation as a dissidents by fellow believers and as pawns of the patriarchy by secular feminists.

As a Mormon feminist I often find myself in the middle of this double-bind. I have been told on more than one occasion by fellow brothers and sisters in Christ that I don’t have a testimony of the restored gospel and that my heart is hard, that I have been deluded by Satan and that I should just leave the church. I have also been pitied, ridiculed and dismissed by feminists who say they care about women. The tension of being stuck between these two worlds is often overwhelming and painful and yet I find that there is very little compassion for women like me. So when I found myself in the role of the skeptical feminist, judging another woman for her faith in and apology for parts of a religion I find offensive, I was so ashamed of myself. That Muslim woman and I are in the same position; we are both believers of a religion that is undeniably problematic for women but nevertheless brings happiness, peace and meaning to our lives.

In the time since the conference, I have thought a lot about how to integrate my feminism and my faith and how to thrive within the double-bind. In order to make it as a faithful feminist you have to accept the double-bind as inevitable; secular feminists will never fully accept you and neither will members of the church. The trick is not to care; live in a way that is authentic to yourself and the God you love. The Muslim woman I spoke of earlier might have frustrated both the traditional believer of Islam and the outsider but nobody could accuse her of not believing in the God she wanted to believe in. There is nothing inauthentic about that.

I worry that the Mormon Church is losing amazing feminist women and men in the search for authenticity. I certainly do not mean to offend those of you who have chosen to leave, obviously the individual must do what is best for themselves and their family. But for those who are in the process of choosing or have already chosen to stay please don’t believe that it is impossible to live authentically as an active Mormon feminist. The truth is our lives are only as authentic as we make them. You don’t have to believe in or make apologies for doctrines and practices you find offensive. I have found that the more honest I am with believers, non-believers and myself, the less I feel pulled between the worlds of feminism and the gospel that I care so deeply about.

I will never say that life in the double-bind is easy or even desirable. I cannot promise an existence of peace and acceptance. I can say that the double-bind is a very brave life; it is not easy to live with that amount of complexity for a prolonged period of time. But there are rewards; there is something in losing yourself in a cause that seems impossible. There is something in the humility that comes from being dismissed on all sides. There is something in those quiet moments where God whispers to your heart “keep going” and gives you that one last breath to make it through Relief Society. There is something in shaking your fist at God and asking why until you feel like your soul will explode and then taking that energy and being the change you think God would want.

They are simple gifts…but who needs more than passion and God?

by G

When I stopped attending the LDS church last year I started visiting  other local worship services and I found myself in the embarrassing situation of weeping in public.  (Two Sundays in a row!)   It started at the Episcopalian church.  The building was extraordinary, a mini cathedral (to my eyes at least.) The sermon was inspiring, a delightful interpretation of the scriptures and I felt that clear burning sensation that I associate with feeling the spirit. Then it came time for partaking of the Eucharist.   Now I had been looking forward to this part (especially since reading Take This Bread),  curious and hoping it would be acceptable for a visitor to participate (sort of like trying some new foreign food). I was relieved when it was made very clear that this Eucharist was open to anyone who wanted it… and then became completely baffled when I began to weep as I stood to walk to the front (I was just one in a crowd of people moving up to the alter.)  I was doing my best to be discreet, but still.   Up at the front, we knelt on a padded bench and a priest came and put a small thin round wafer in each of our hands and said “body of Christ” (or something like that) and at this point I am trying really to hard to keep it under control, but my weeping is obvious to anyone who looks at my face. Then the priest comes around with a cup of wine for us to dip the wafer in. “Blood of Christ”.  And I ate it and wept. Back at my pew it took me a good while to stem the flood and the whole time I am thinking “Get a Grip!!!” What was that?

Then the next week  I visited a United Congregational Church. Totally different feel from the Episcopalians, no vaulted ceilings, no crosses, no biblically themed stained-glass, no elegant pews with special padded benches for kneeling. It was rather plain with folding chairs, some stylized “unify-the-world” type paintings and a rock band set up at the front. The service had lots of music, a reading from the Book of Acts and a sermon by the pastor (a friendly funny woman) about leaving the Comfortable in order to follow God. Still Christian themed, but much looser than the Episcopalian sermon. It was all actually very inspiring and I felt the spirit strongly again. At this church a big loaf of crusty french bread was used instead of a wafer, and it was dipped in grape juice instead of wine, and there was none of the pomp and ceremony of the Eucharist ritual. But once again I found myself getting a tiny bit teary-eyed as I waited with the other parishioners for my bit of “Jesus snack”. Not much, nothing like last week, just a little wet around the eyes. “Cool” I though, “I got this under control”. Until it was my turn and this friendly funny young woman tore off a piece of bread, put it in my hand looked in my eyes and said “even for you”. And I sort of crumpled, and tears started pouring out.  What was that?

I have revisited these churches (and others) several times and no longer weep when it comes time for the sacrament ritual.  But I have wondered what was it that affected me like that initially.  Maybe it was the active participation required; the need to stand up and go get it which heightens the emotional vulnerability for a newcomer.   But in addition, I think it also has a lot to do with my craving for sacred ceremony and spiritual ritual. I was always very aware that the sacrament was supposed to be that, but even when I was trying really hard to focus and ponder the atonement it seemed the bread and water would come and go in a haze of a routine rendered invisible because of it’s familiarity. And more recently it had merely become an uncomfortable moment: should I take it?   If I do, will the bishop try to intervene?

This craving I felt for a sacred ceremony closely aligns with what I sought in the temple. In fact, the last time I remember weeping in church like this was when I was sitting in Sunday School  and had the strong impression that I should give up my temple recommend. When I had that thought and knew it was a true one, I began to cry hard and beat a hasty exist from the class.  Yet, at that point attending the temple had been mentally arduous and painful for quite some time, not a place of solace or spirituality for me at all.  However, it was my only available outlet for a spiritual ritual. For a sacred ceremony.  It hurt to lose that, or at least to lose the idea of what I wanted it to be.

I’m still not sure all the reasons my emotions reacted the way they did: Perhaps a bit of pain from the sense of losing my community?  A twinge of guilt for betraying my community? Maybe a sense of relief at finding alternate venues for meaningful ritual?  I’m not sure.  It’s complicated.

Meanwhile, I have begun attending the lds church again but refrain from partaking of the sacrament.    Also I plan is to continue visiting other churches (and partaking of whatever communions they offer).  And in general, to just keep putting one foot in front of the other as I figure this out and find the things that work for me and my little family.

I stepped from Plank to Plank
A slow and cautious way
The Stars about my Head I felt
About my Feet the Sea.

I knew not but the next
Would be my final inch –
This gave me that precarious Gait
Some call Experience.

-Emily Dickinson

What an enigma it is, the Book of Mormon, claiming to be a history of an ancient people on the American continent and also a religious book, containing the teachings of Jesus and his prophets. The account it weaves is extensive giving details of monetary exchange rates, record keeping practices, war strategy, political maneuvering, and the discovery of earlier civilizations; along with prophesies about the birth of Jesus (almost 600 years before his actual birth), accounts of the formation of christian churches, and theological treatises on subjects like faith, baptism, receiving answers to prayers, and the atonement of Christ. It is a tale of epic proportions, produced in a very short amount of time by an ‘uneducated’ man in his early twenties. That, of course is a big arguing point of true believers; Joseph Smith could NEVER had made this all up, never in a million years! On the other hand, the historical and scientific evidence against the Book of Mormon is hard to ignore, like the doubtful DNA link between native Americans and Israelites, and the lack of archeological evidence for the kind of civilization described in the Book of Mormon. (The recent one-word change to the Introduction stirred that controversy anew.)

George Cannon (father of Elder George Q Cannon) said about the Book of Mormon “an evil man could not have written it, and a good man would not have written it unless it were true and he was commanded by God to do so.” [Paraphrased.]

An Anti-Mormon preacher I ran into on my mission  said the Book of Mormon was the most trivial piece of trash he had ever read.

Mark Twain called the Book of Mormon ‘Chloroform in print’ because of it’s ability to cause him to fall asleep.

And personally, the Book of Mormon has put me to sleep quite a few times.

Then again, at other times it has captivated me, caused my soul to burn.

I’ve read the Book of Mormon about eight times. Once or twice before my mission, several times during, and a few more times afterwards. I had hundreds of passages  memorized (including the whole book of Enos.)  I had never doubted it’s authenticity. Ever.

Then,  a while back when President Hinkley issued the challenge for everyone to read the Book of Mormon cover to cover by years end, I found something had changed. Every time I sat down with the book to work on that goal, I found myself increasingly disturbed and agitated about what I was reading.  Questions of history, of perspective, of doctrinal loop holes and pitfalls jumped out at me from every verse.  Eventually I realized it would just be better if I gave it a rest.  I put the book down indefinitely. Others would talk about how much their testimony had been increased by fulfilling that challenge, and I would just nod and not say anything because for me, it seemed, reading the book was destroying my testimony.

Well, that testimony still got shattered. And I find myself even more conflicted as I try to find a context for this collection of words and stories. What is the answer to the question of the Book of Mormon?

I enjoyed this post over at the Cultural Hall, portions of an interview with Greg Prince in which he puts forth an alternate reading of the Book of Mormon. He posits: “Perhaps the most prevalent viewpoint in the church is either the Book of Mormon is a literal history of the Americas before Columbus or it’s wrong. There is an alternative somewhere between those two.”

Prince goes on to suggests that perhaps the Book of Mormon is more of a revelation instead of a translation, perhaps a ‘fiction’ inspired by God for the purposes of teaching and helping mankind (“…a metaphorical Book of Mormon, if you will…“) Prince recommends the reader “Get inside of it and grab the truth that’s in there, regardless of the form that it’s in, regardless of how it got to be in [there].”

It’s a thought.
Perhaps someday I’ll take up the book again with this new lens and give it another try.

Just shy of a year ago I stopped attending church. I no longer believed what the church taught and had gotten to the point where sitting through three hours of it was both numbing and excruciating. But I think it’s time to start attending again. Not because my beliefs have changed, but because Sunday has become such a fragmented disjointed day for our family. Something has got to change and I have decided that I will be that something. So a couple Sundays a month I will attend with my husband and child. I will bring books to read and my journal to write in (a friend suggested an iPod, but that’s too obvious for my taste) to help get me through talks and lessons that would otherwise send me over the edge. Also, I think that perhaps I have had enough time and distance that there will not be the same painful cognitive dissonance that I used to experience; maybe I’m in a place now where I can be more generous about the things I disagree with and more open to catching the gems that do resonate. We shall see.

But my question to you has to do with my desire to be honest and open about who I am. Part of the discomfort from before had to do with the double life, the need to hide so much of my thoughts and experience. I’m done with that. But when I think about how that will actually LOOK, me being more open, I have a hard time imagining the line between honesty and disrespect. I don’t want to cross that line, I dislike making people feel uncomfortable.

Here’s me: I’m pretty agnostic with existential leanings, view the scriptures as man-made metaphors, don’t see much difference between the LDS church and other churches out there (i.e. no one true church with exclusive priesthood authority led by a prophet of God etc.). I don’t believe in necessary ordinances, don’t wear garments, don’t live the word of wisdom, etc. etc. etc.
Basically, I am rubbed the wrong way by most of what the church says (though I do believe in food storage).

So… I will just sit in the back and keep my mouth shut and read my book? (Unless talking about food storage?)
Those of you in my position, how do you walk that line?
And those of you who are believers, what are your thoughts about the participation of someone who just doesn’t believe in the church?

by Caroline

While I struggle with a lot of faith issues, I have not – as yet – doubted the existence of God (male and female). Like most Mormons, I am quite happy to believe in God. I also am quite happy to believe in evolution. It makes perfect sense to me that God is the creator of life and set life in motion so that eventually humanoids, then humans, were formed.

The only worrisome moment I ever had on the subject was when I was a young teen and someone – I think it was my brother – pointed out that the Bible dictionary explicitly stated that the earth was only several thousand years old, and that no life existed before the fall. I must have just quickly decided that that was a mistake, since I don’t remember ever doubting evolution or that the earth – and life upon it – were much, much older than that.

Having never had a problem reconciling evolution with God or religion, I was surprised a few weeks ago when someone on an email list I’ve joined pointed us to this Pew Research study. It says that Mormons rank second to the last in the percentage of its members believing in evolution – 22%. This puts Mormons between Evangelical Christians at 24% and Jehovah Witnesses at 8%.

What??? We are behind Evangelicals? 22%? Seriously?

To be fair, our low number may be explained by the phrasing of the question. The chart says “percent who agree that evolution is the best explanation for the origins of human life on earth.” I can imagine a lot of Mormons thinking ‘Well, I don’t know if it’s the BEST explanation – let’s not leave God out of the equation, even if God did use evolution as a tool…’ I suspect that if the question were phrased differently the number of Mormons saying that they believed in evolution would be at least 60%.

In fact, this evolution believing BYU professor, who probably well represents his whole department’s take on evolution, might well have answered no to that question because of its phrasing. 

Would you have said yes to this question as worded? (‘Do you agree that evolution is the best explanation for the origins of human life on earth?’) 

Have you ever had any problems reconciling evolution and our religion?