By now, I’d guess most readers of this blog have seen the Salt Lake Tribune story, but in case you haven’t a quick summary: for at least the last decade, some Bay Area wards had members of the ward Relief Society presidencies sit on the stand. Then last month, the North America West Area President (Mark Bragg, according to the church’s Area Leadership chart) told them to stop it. Why? It seems to be entirely based on unwritten tradition, since scripture doesn’t include seating charts and the church’s spokesperson didn’t cite scripture or the church’s handbook.

I’ve spent the last couple days thinking about how to address this. And I’m going to do it in as measured and productive manner as I can, but I need to lead with this: it’s a terrible move, an unforced error that not only hurts real people, but hurts people who are already sacrificing significantly for the church. There is no reason that the President Bragg should have done this, and no reason that the church should have defended his actions.

That said, this move illustrates at least three things, things that I think need to be said and that church leadership needs to hear:

The Church Is Not, and Should Not Be, the Same Everywhere

Do Relief Society leaders regularly sit on the stand in your ward? I suspect that, unless you were in the Bay Area, the answer is generally no.

And you know what? That’s fine. Because the church really isn’t the same everywhere you go. And that’s also fine!

See, there are at least two connotations when we say “the church.” One is the corporate entity.[fn1] But there’s another one, one far more salient to most members most of the time. When Paul talks about the church, he’s talking about the ekklesia, basically, the assembly of believers who join together for worship.

And every ward is going to have a different assembly of believers, who bring different experiences and challenges and strengths. And yes, I get the the whole point of, say, chain stores and restaurants is so that you get the same experience whether you’re in Utah or Florida. But that experience is, as often as not, mediocre. And also, it’s not the same experience. Even chains take into account local tastes and hire local workers.

Yes, we want some kind of consistency. As an institution founded on revelation, the church faces the risk of schism if there’s no quality control, if there’s no consistency. And big-C Correlation allowed the rapid expansion of the church without facing that schism.

But it’s worth measuring the benefits of sameness against the benefits of individualism. We all need the Atonement, but the emphasis on the Atonement, and everything that swirls around it, may differ from place to place. Which is to say, maybe the RS presidency on the stand in your ward or in mine doesn’t work. But maybe in San Francisco or Boise it does. And, since church seating charts aren’t addressed in scripture, maybe that’s the kind of space where we can allow for variation and innovation.

Which leads us to:

Patriarchal Traditions

Under President Nelson, the church has shed a number of traditions, ranging from the 3-hour block to the names of home and visiting teaching. In fact, in Conference last year, Elder Pino offered a framework for dealing with tradition. Traditions can be helpful in helping us follow God’s plan, he said, but “we ought to reject” those traditions that get in our way.

But the church seems remarkably uninterested in shedding those traditions that give women a little more visibility and recognition. (The notable exception: allowing women and girls to be witnesses for baptisms. But that also extended to allowing boys to do the same thing.)

I’ve blogged several times about the church’s refusal to allow girls to pass the sacrament, a tradition similarly ungrounded in (and honestly, antithetical to) scripture. Why doesn’t the church allow women and girls to pass and prepare the sacrament? Tradition, I guess. Why can’t women sit on the stand when they’re not actively participating in the sacrament meeting? According to the church spokesperson, because the church “has a long-established practice when it comes to worship services,” and that long-established practice is that only the bishopric is up there unless the person is actively participating in that meeting.

Another word for “long-established practice”? Tradition.

I said I was going to try to be measured, but for just a minute I want to be frank: nobody is going to mistake our church for one that provides women with broad authority, even if they see women sitting on the stand and girls passing the sacrament. And it is great to hear church leaders say that Mormon women are incredible and that they have key roles in the church.

But that rhetoric can be drowned out by denying them the opportunity to be treated as though they are incredible and key to the progress and success of the church.

Should the church extend the priesthood to women? Whatever I think about that, it’s an important enough issue that it probably calls for revelation to church leaders (and I sincerely hope that they’re asking for that revelation).

But should the church allow women to pass the sacrament? or to sit on the stand in sacrament meeting? I see no doctrinal reason to prevent it, and there are plenty of benefits.

Which leads me to my final takeaway:

What’s the Deal With Area Presidencies, Anyway?

Seriously. Maybe they do good and productive things—I suspect, honestly, that they do important managerial things. But between this and the Utah Area Presidency’s recommending weird ahistorical right-wing propaganda for Utah’s American Founders Month, this hasn’t been a great year for big pronouncements by Area Presidencies.[fn2]

And honestly, they’re in a strange position: they can announce policy (I guess?) within a particular area, and maybe they have some autonomy (or maybe a lot?), but most members don’t really know who they are or what they do or why they even are.

The solution? Honestly, I don’t know. Again, in a large world-wide church, it makes sense for the church leadership to have more-local intermediaries who can respond more quickly to local questions and, where they don’t know the response, can elevate questions and issues. But I’m not sure that they’re the right people to make big policy pronouncements.

Now, should Relief Society presidencies sit on the stand? In my personal opinion, no. But also, bishoprics shouldn’t sit on the stand. The only people on the stand any given Sunday should be the person conducting the meeting, maybe the organist and the conductor, and, if they don’t have small children (or they want to escape their small children), the people speaking.

But that’s not how we do it anywhere that I’m aware of. And putting more people on the stand isn’t inherently worse than my preference of putting fewer. We have no divinely-appointed seating chart, and pretending otherwise here sends a message that’s not consonant with the church’s claims about the place of women in its ranks.

[fn1] And before anyone gets worked up about the church being a corporation, let me interrupt: the legal personhood of a church (generally as a nonprofit corporation) is critical if it wants to, among other things, own property, enter into contracts, or employ people. I’m sure there are exceptions, but every religious body I’m familiar with has some sort of legal personhood, again, generally as a nonprofit corporation. And, as Nate Oman has exhaustively shown, the church has been interested in its corporate status basically since its formation.

[fn2] I should point out that I don’t think for a second that Area Presidencies are filled with bad people. One of the members of the North America West presidency was a member of my ward growing up. I like him, and think he’s both a good and a capable person.

Images affect the way scripture passages are understood. Latter-day Saint images of the New Testament sisters Mary and Martha, for example, although varied in style, almost universally show Mary as passive and heroic and Martha as active and foolish. This pattern maintains a traditional interpretation that began with Catholic thinkers and artists. Yet, there may be alternative interpretations to this scripture, perhaps even uniquely Latter-day Saint understandings that could be visualized.

—Jennifer Champoux, “The Thing Which I Have Seen: A History of Lehi’s Dream in Visual Art,” Approaching the Tree, p. 64

Art shapes religious belief. It always has. Most Westerners think that Jesus was a six-foot caucasian with Nordic features and flowing brown hair because that is how Western artists have portrayed him for the last 600 years. And no matter how much I think about it, I will always believe that all Nephites looked like Arnold Schwarzenegger in Conan the Barbarian and all Laminites looked like Jay Silverheels on the Lone Ranger set. Because that is how Arnold Friberg painted them in the editions of the Book of Mormon that I grew up with. These images shape how we think of scriptural narratives, and how we think of scriptural narratives shapes what we believe about them.

Art also has a primary interpretive function that is every bit as powerful as written commentary (and then some). Rembrandt tells one story with his Sacrifice of Isaac painting, which shows the Patriarch with his left hand entirely covering his son’s face while an angel knocks a knife out of his right hand. William Blake’s painting of Abraham tenderly embracing Isaac while preparing for the sacrifice tells a very different version of the same story. The artists offer shades of primary interpretations that would be virtually impossible to capture in mere words.

And yet, for most of the history of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, art has had, at best, a secondary function. In all of our official and most of our unofficial publications, art illustrates the margins. All of the commentary, interpretation, speculation, and announcements of doctrine happen in the text.

Until now.

Approaching the Tree: Interpreting 1 Nephi 8, the most recent book from the Maxwell Institute, turns the art-as-illustration model on its head. In a good way. The editors have crafted the volume in a way that gives the nine original works of art equal billing with the nine original essays—eighteen new works of interpretation that are in constant dialogue with each other and that, together, bring new and often astounding richness to one of the Book of Mormon’s most evocative passages.

The collection starts with introductory remarks from Benjamin Keogh, one of the editors, and from Kirk Richards, whose painting Pulling Up the Iron Rod provides the volume’s cover. These introductions are followed by two historical surveys by the volume’s other editors. Joseph Spencer examines the history of scholarly interpretation of 1 Nephi 8, moving in roughly chronological from historical, to literary, and finally to theological readings of the text.

The second survey essay by Jennifer Champoux examines the history of Lehi’s dream as the subject of visual art. As the director of the Book of Mormon Art Catalog, Champoux has a comprehensive view of art inspired by the Book of Mormon and is able to speak authoritatively about the subject. She tells us that there are “over 250 known Lehi’s dream images today,” which account for “about 7 percent of all visual art based on the Book of Mormon.” (28). Champoux traces this art both historically and topically, dividing it into four broad categories: panoramic, symbolic, universal, and Lehi-focused. And the essay includes generous samples in the form of beautiful color plates displaying the art discussed.

After presenting these substantial surveys, the volume gets down to the business of presenting its original work. This includes eight more original works of art drawn from a surprisingly diverse group of Latter-day Saint artists, including the Portuguese painter José de Faria, the Angolan artist Hildebrando de Melo, Filipina-American figurative painter Rose Datoc Dall, and well-known American artists Megan Knobloch Geilman, Sarah Winegar, Caitlin Connolly, Annie Poon, and Kathleen Peterson.

The seven topical essays focus on close readings of the text. Contributors include Benjamin Keogh, Rosalynde Frandsen Welch, the Reverend Doctor Andrew R. Teal, Kimberly Mattheson, Kylie Nielson Turley, Timothy Farrant, and Teryl Givens. Though not as broad culturally or geographically as the artwork—four of the seven authors are affiliated with the Maxwell Institute and contributed volumes to the Book of Mormon Brief Theological Essays series in 2020—these essays are methodologically and theologically varied and often quite brilliant.

The really remarkable thing about Approaching the Tree—the thing that makes it unlike any book about the Book of Mormon that currently exists—is that the essays and the artwork are in constant conversation with each other as primary interpretive texts. The artwork that begins the section is  Rose Datoc Dall’s A Father’s Plea, which depicts Lehi’s anguish at Laman and Lemuel declining the fruit. It is followed by Benjamin Keogh’s essay, “Lehi and His Dream: A Relational Reading,” which frames the dream as a symbolic representation of a family’s struggle for wholeness. Similarly, Annie Poon’s somber photographic print, The Dark and Dreary Waste, which depicts Lehi’s sojourn through the darkness before seeing the tree (1 Nephi 8:7-8), precedes Terryl Givens’ essay, “The Tree of Life: Cacophony, Risk, and Discernment,” which examines the psychic peril of precisely this liminal space in a symbolic reading of the dream.

These kinds of correspondences occur throughout the volume in both large and small varieties. Amazing things happen when we start treating art as a form of primary scriptural interpretation. It brings depth and dimension to the interpretive process that can increase our understanding and enrich our experience. Approaching the Tree is a proof-of-concept for a paradigm shift in the way that we study scripture. We hope that it will be the first in a long line of scriptural commentary that takes visual art and creative work seriously.

Approaching the Tree: Interpreting 1 Nephi 8 is currently available for pre-order through Amazon and other outlets and will be released on December 12, 2023.

Ebook $5.99
Paperback $12.95
Hardcover $29.95

It’s here. And by “it,” we mean the third volume of The Book of Mormon for the Least of These, the epic book of Mormon commentary series by Margaret Olsen Hemming and Fatimah Salleh. The first volume set a BCC sales record in 2020, and the second volume redefined Book of Mormon commentary in the modern world. And we think that the third volume is the best one of all.

As Joseph Spencer says in his endorsement of the book, When different questions are posed to the text of the Book of Mormon, it gives very different answers.” This is the defining theme of the Book of Mormon for the Least of These series. The authors start with the question, “what does the Book of Mormon have to say about issues like poverty, racism, war, refugees, and class distinctions? It asks the text to yield up answers to some of the most important questions we face today.

And the text responds brilliantly. Hemming and Salleh have mined the text for a wealth of answers that, together revolutionize our understanding of Mormonism’s signature scripture. And, as an added bonus, Volume 3 contains a new index to the entire series, combining the author’s insightful analysis on a host of social justice topics into a single, easy-to-use topical guide.

And here is the really exciting thing. With the release of the third volume of The Book of Mormon for the Least of These, BCC Press is offering deep discounts on the first two volumes AND on all of the other Book of Mormon titles from our amazing backlist. If, for some odd reason, you haven’t purchased Bob Rees’s excellent collection of essays on the Book of Mormon, or Mette Harrison’s novelizations of key Book of Mormon stories, or Michael Austin’s AML award-winning book of brief exegetical tidbits, now is your chance. They are basically free.

And, speaking of free, we are giving away Hemming and Salleh’s commentary on Helaman 13-16, or the story and teachings of Samuel the Lamanite. Here you will see their brilliant commentary on full display as you try, and ultimately fail, to buy copies of the book for everybody you know this Christmas. Go ahead. We approve. You won’t regret it.

And while you are at it, now would be the perfect time to sign up with BCC Press’s new release newsletter. You know, so you never miss an exciting announcement ever again. You can do that right here

On Sale from November 25-December 31

In the Come, Follow Me study guide we have transitioned out of the writings of Paul.[1] And, as much as I am looking forward to delving into the Catholic Epistles over the next few weeks, I will miss exploring Paul’s approach to faith in Jesus at my weekly worship services. However, in our shared voyage through the scriptures, each of us has the opportunity to better understand, or pick up new, treasures of faith that we can continue to carry with us. For me, there are three things that really struck me as I studied Paul’s letters this time (alone and with my fellow congregants) that I will carry forward.

First, for a while now I have valued the fact that members of the church are all, in meaningful ways, very different. I embraced Lavina Fielding Anderson’s expression that there is a “fundamental holiness [in] diversity.”[2]  But re-reading Paul this year really brought this home in a new and powerful way. Diversity isn’t just nice, Paul teaches it is absolutely fundamental to a functioning and faithful Christian community (1 Corinthians 12:12-27). We need people to be different: we need eyes to be eyes, and toes to be toes, and hands to be hands, and feet to be feet, and noses to be noses, and eyebrows to be eyebrows, and colons to be colons, and fingernails to be fingernails, and ulnas to be ulnas, and kidneys to be kidneys…. You get the point. Just like a body has and benefits from its many (and very, very different) members, so, also, does the church. We need different spiritual gifts, different experiences, different ideas, different approaches, different ways of being, etc. Our strength as a community is not in spite of our differences, but rather it is inextricably connected with our differences. Said another way, to the extent that we encourage sameness among our members we weaken our community; to the extent that we embrace and make room for diversity among our members, we make our community more powerful.[3]

Second, as a naturally shy and fairly reserved person, I have always had a tenuous link to the community. I’m mostly content to be alone or with a few close friends. That said, intellectually I understood that a Christian life included interactions with others. I generally viewed this community focus “one part of” living as a Christian life… which meant (in my mind) that there were other things that were also “part of” the Christian life, like studying the scriptures, on which I could place significantly more focus (in private!), thus allowing others to focus on community-stuff. But Paul helped me see it differently. For Paul, community isn’t “part of” Christian life, rather to be Christian is to be in community with others. From his ethical exhortations (e.g., Rom 12, 1 Cor 8, Gal 6, Phil 4) to his attempts to heal divisions among believers (e.g., 1 Cor 1, 2 Cor 2), Paul is explicit that community care and concern is the defining characteristic of what it looks like to have life “in Christ.” This is not because being in community is some sort of commandment—a box that needs to be checked—for Paul this is because when we are finally “in Christ” can “discern” that “the Lord’s body” is the community (1 Cor 11:29) and that, as we are in community, we “are the body of Christ” (1 Cor 12:27). Community is the essence of Christian life for Paul.[4] This is a powerful (and for me, very difficult) vision for Christian life.[5]

Third, for a long time, especially as a younger man, I considered being Christian to be a grand, cosmic exam; my job was to get a passing score. As I got a little older, I saw it as a journey from “here” to “there”; my job was to ensure that I didn’t “wonder off” and get lost before I arrived at my destination. And while both of these analogies have scriptural support, I found great value and spiritual maturity in how Paul described this. For him, being Christian was about change; I am to become a new creature (some translations render this “new creation,” 2 Cor 5:17). And how do I become a new creature? By being “in Christ.” Like Saul who became Paul, Paul describes faith in Jesus as transformational; Jesus turns our “old” turns into something “new” and we are remade into someone with the “mind of Christ” (1 Cor 2:16). Further, Paul suggests our personal transformation is part God’s larger effort of transforming all of creation—what Paul calls a “ministry of reconciliation.” Anything less than full transformation is insufficient, according to Paul. And yet, according to Paul this full transformation is also a gift freely given to those whose faith is “in Christ” (Romans 1:16-17) and the ultimate trajectory of all creation (2 Cor 5:18-19, Rom 8:19-21). In one sense, this is a message I had heard before[6]—for example, Elder Oaks described the purpose of repentance as “change,”^[7] Elder Hafen described a “developmental process that, with the Savior’s help, leads us along the path to a saintly character”^[8]—however, it was Paul’s unerring and unrelenting commitment to this teaching that really struck me as I re-read his epistles this time.

My sense is that these messages—which seem deeply interconnected—can be equally applied to the modern church in our modern time. We live in a world that is increasingly interconnected and are part of a church that is increasingly global. The reality of diversity is ever-present. Whether we move toward increased local autonomy or allow for changes in ecclesiastical practices and policies (just two of a multitude of options), we will need to continually and intentionally account for and foster diversity within our ranks if we are to truly be Christ’s Body. Relatedly, recognition that a Christian life is a life in community, places upon us a duty, individually and institutionally, to bring to fruition the vision that Paul articulates: one in which everyone takes care of and looks out for everyone else. This is no easy task; but it is what it means to be “in Christ.” Finally, Paul’s discussion of personal and worldly transformation reminds us, again, of the charge we have being given to build Zion. Achieving this goal will require transformation on individual and institutional levels. Perhaps we are not quite there yet, but cannot lose sight of this objective; we must keep trying.

To be sure, Paul’s approach to faith in Jesus is not the only one. And, if I’m being honest, there were also parts of Paul’s letters[9] which were challenging. Yet, there is something about Paul that spoke to me in new and exciting ways as I studied his teachings anew. His commitment to his spiritual vocation reflected his conversion, and conversely his conversion into a new creature spilled into every area of his life and teachings. “Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will affliction or distress or persecution or famine or nakedness or peril or sword?” Paul asks. “No,” Paul affirms, “in all these things we are more than victorious through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Roman 8:35, 38-39, NRSVUE). Like him or not, no one can question his zeal.

[1] For simplicity’s sake I am not addressing the fact that many Pauline texts are disputed.

[2] Lavina Fielding Anderson, Mercy without End: Toward a More Inclusive Church, (Signature Books, Salt Lake City, UT, 2020): 186.

[3] I am using “diversity” here in the broadest possible way: I am pointing to any kind of intellectual, spiritual, physical, or other sort of diversity.

[4] Again, I use this “community” in the broadest possible way. Though much of Paul’s community-focused teachings are about intra-church issues, there is also a clear sense that Paul believes the Christian community should impact positively the larger community of which it is part.

[5] It is worth observing that this vision is fully consistent with discussions of “Zion” in other LDS scriptures, as is noted later.

[6] Additionally, in his 2007 General Conference talk “Clean Hands and Pure Heart,” Eldar Bednar explained, “The gospel of Jesus Christ encompasses much more than avoiding, overcoming, and being cleansed from sin and the bad influences in our lives; it also essentially entails doing good, being good, and becoming better. Repenting of our sins and seeking forgiveness are spiritually necessary, and we must always do so. But remission of sin is not the only or even the ultimate purpose of the gospel. To have our hearts changed by the Holy Spirit such that ‘we have no more disposition to do evil, but to do good continually’ (Mosiah 5:2), as did King Benjamin’s people, is the covenant responsibility we have accepted.”

[7] Elder Dallin H. Oaks.  The Lord’s Way, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1991 (223).

[8] Elder Bruce D. Hafen: The Broken Heart: Applying the Atonement to Life’s Experiences.  Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1989 (149).

[9] Most often, the scriptures with which I struggled were in disputed epistles.

How quickly the Christmas season comes upon us, and we scramble after gifts for our nerdy friends. Here is my 2023 gift book guide. Go visit Benchmark if you are in the SLC.

 
Reeve, Let’s Talk About Race and Priesthood, (Deseret Book) $14
Jensen and Bybee, Let’s Talk about Science and Religion, (Deseret Book) $13
Priced in sort of the stocking-stuffer tier, the Let’s Talk about series has been somewhat uneven, but has also had some true homeruns. The Science volume is fantastic and meets a critical need. It is also hard to oversell Paul Reeve’s Race volume. It is one of the most import popular works in a generation, with an auspicious confluence of author, source material, and publisher that yields power. I believe every Church member should read it.

   
Inouye, Sacred Struggle: Seeking Christ on the Path of Most Resistance, (Deseret Book), $18
Inouye and Holbrook, eds., Every Needful Thing: Essays on the Life of the Mind and the Heart, (MI/Deseret Book) $20
Holbrook, Both Things Are True, (MI/Deseret Book) $13
Quite frankly, the quality of this cohort of books is a remarkable testament to Deseret Book. Melissa Inouye and Kate Holbrook give us a smart, pastoral, and challenging trio. Sacred Struggle and Both Things Are True share fundamental harmonics that offer what I called “strikingly self-aware” ruminations on the problem of evil and call to build Zion. Every Needful Thing is a series of essays by Latter-day Saint women who have worked to balance faith, service, and professional life. It is applicable and valuable for all readers—male or female.

 
Taysom, Like a Fiery Meteor: The Life of Joseph F. Smith, (UU Press) $30/$95
Cannon, George Q. Cannon: Politician, Publisher, Apostle of Polygamy, (Signature) $15
Taysom’s biography of JFS is a triumph. It is long and dense, but the insights are clarifying and brilliant, illuminating far more than the individual. Simply extraordinary. I haven’t read the Cannon bio yet, but the author has been working on the family for a long time (at least as long as I’ve known him) and has published good work.

 
Turley and Brown, Vengeance Is Mine: The Mountain Meadows Massacre and Its Aftermath, (Oxford UP) $30
Johnson, Convicting the Mormons: The Mountain Meadows Massacre in American Culture, (UNC Press) $30/$42
Back in 2008, when Massacre at Mountain Meadows came out, the authors announced that a sequel tracing the aftermath of the massacre was forthcoming. Here it is. And frankly. it is hard to read. That is a good thing. Johnson has been working on the topic the same amount of time, sometimes with Turley on adjacent projects. Her volume is the story of the story, and how it persisted in the media and American mind. Really top-notch scholarship.

 
Green and Huntsman, eds., Latter-day Saint Perspectives on Atonement, (Illinois UP) $25/$88 [with code: F23UIP]
Petrey, Crawford, and Eliason, eds., The Bible and the Latter-day Saint Tradition, (UU Press) $45/$105
This atonement volume is only shipping from the press right now (not amazon), but you can get 30% off if you use the code F23UIP. It looks like a really strong volume and I’m excited about reading it.* The chapters in the Bible volume function as accessible introductions for Latter-day Saints to biblical scholarship. As such, it is an urgent and needed resource. Check out the TOC here. I’m a little worried that it won’t get the attention it deserves because we are moving onto the Book of Mormon.

     
Hardy, ed., The Annotated Book of Mormon (Oxford UP) $38
Bushman, Joseph Smith’s Gold Plates: A Cultural History (Oxford UP) $35
Austin, The Testimony of Two Nations: How the Book of Mormon Reads, and Rereads, the Bible, (Illinois UP) $25/$110
Spencer. A Word in Season: Isaiah’s Reception in the Book of Mormon (Illinois UP) $30/$125
Aaaaand it is Book of Mormon in Sunday School for 2024. Hardy’s study edition is the first non-Bible to be produced by Oxford’s bible division. It is formatted nicely with an abundance of annotation and some really surprising introductory essays that are worth the price of the whole. Austin and Spencer do some heavy lifting that performatively demonstrates what happens when you take the Book of Mormon seriously. I haven’t read either yet, but I understand that this is the culminating project of Spencer’s work on the topic. And Bushman has similarly been working on his book for like a decade in between other projects.

Patterson, The September Six and the Struggle for the Soul of Mormonism, (Signature) $35
Here is another one I haven’t read, but I understand that it is a good treatment of the early 1990s excommunications that rattled Latter-day Saint scholars of the era.

____________________________
FINAL THOUGHTS
The last published volumes of the Joseph Smith papers were released this year—Documents 14 and 15 and they are perennial favorites of the nerdcore. Park’s American Zion is also available for preorder in January. Take care, and enjoy the rest of the year!

* The TOC isn’t available online, but the contributors are listed as Nicholas J. Frederick, Fiona Givens, Deidre Nicole Green, Sharon J. Harris, J.B. Haws, Eric D. Huntsman, Benjamin Keogh, Ariel Bybee Laughton, Adam S. Miller, Jenny Reeder, T. Benjamin Spackman, and Joseph M. Spencer.

As I was glancing at the New York Times home page today, an article caught my eye: “The ‘Georgists’ Are Out There, and They Want to Tax Your Land.” It should be plain to anybody familiar with my writing what part of the article drew me in, but as I started reading, I realized that I was slightly familiar with Georgism.[fn1]

The short version of Georgism is this: in the late 19th century, Progressive Era political economist and journalist Henry George wrote Progress and Poverty. In his book, George tried to figure out why, with the economic and technological boom of the Gilded Age, income and wealth inequality were expanding, and how to solve the problem of inequality. As part of his solution, he proposed a land value tax (also known as the “single tax,” a name that will, for our purposes, become important shortly).

The land value tax isn’t a property tax as we know it; rather, it’s a tax based on the value of the underlying land, without taking into account any improvements (like buildings) on the land. It’s known as the “single tax” because George and strict Georgists believe that the land value tax could replace all other taxes as the single source of government revenue and that this single tax would not only be the most equitable—strict Georgists believe that the single tax would eliminate both poverty and recessions.

To be clear: this is crazy. It wouldn’t work for a ton of reasons, ranging from the constitutional[fn1] to the amount of revenue the modern welfare state needs to issues of valuation and liquidity. (In fact, the Times article refers to strict Georgists as the “tinfoil-hat-wearers of economics.”)

In the context of the Georgist Progressive Era, it’s not quite as insane an idea. The federal government was mostly funded through tariffs and excise taxes (and I’m not sure even in a Georgist world whether they would have considered the land value tax as a replacement for those). States, meanwhile, leaned heavily on property taxes, but the 19th century saw a huge shift in property taxes. At the beginning, there was little theory or consistency. By the end of the the century, there was a focus on the professionalization and standardization of property taxes, and Georgism would have been one way to do that.

The neo-Georgists the Times is writing about aren’t looking to replace all government revenue with land value taxes (or, at least, most of them aren’t). Rather, they’re looking at land value taxes as a way to drive down the cost of housing; basically, if you’re taxed on the value of land but not on the value of improvements on that land, you’re not going to let land sit vacant. Rather, you’ll build something on the land that provides a stream of income (housing or shops or whatever), since you’re paying the same amount of taxes with or without the building.

So what does this have to do with Mormonism? Well, we get that connection through Emmeline B. Wells. Among the many, many things she did, in 1891 she helped found that Utah Women’s Press Club. The Press Club was meant to encourage and support women writers and journalists in Utah. At their meetings, they (at least sometimes) had people come in to lecture.

As I was writing my forthcoming[fn3] book on Mormonism and taxation, I read through some of Wells’s diaries.[fn4] And in three entries she mentions the “single tax.” Those entries:

June 30, 1895: “did not reach home until the last car but one. how exhausted I was– I read to the Club– Autumnal Musings Dr. Ferguson looked daggers at me– she is unscrupulous. the ladies did remarkably well in the discussion. We are to have the single tax next time.”

February 27, 1896: “Press Club to night single tax continued”

March 31, 1896 (the most extensive and, frankly, interesting of her entries): “Today we are struggling to prepare for the Press Club. I realize it is a busy time but as we have some new members we should take some pains to appear well. The single tax question is very fascinating and the papers presented by Dr. Pratt have certainly been excellent and as citizens we should try to comprehend all these intricate problems and questions that are agitating the public mind and become able to talk of them in a way to help others. Miss Munroe [Sarah L. Monroe] and Dr. [Orielle] Curtis came in time only a few members came and the subjects were not given as satisfactorily as they ought to have been still one must submit to these disappointments. Dr. Curtis poem to the Club11 was very fine–”[fn5]

So what do we take from this? At the very least, that Emmeline B. Wells and the women in Salt Lake were participants in Progressive Era ideas. They were talking about very contemporary economic issues and appear to have hungered for the intellectual and social stimulation that those ideas provided.

And the ideas that animated Emmeline B. Wells are again in the spotlight.

[fn1] Chances are that you’re at least a little familiar with Georgisim, too, even if you don’t know the term; Monopoly‘s roots are in the explicitly Georgist The Landlord’s Game.

[fn2] The U.S. Constitution requires the federal government to apportion any direct tax according to states’ populations. We don’t know exactly what constitutes a “direct tax,” but the two kinds of taxes that are consistently seen as direct taxes are capitation taxes and taxes on real property.

[fn3] It will probably be released next year; watch this space for an announcement at some point!

[fn4] Well, “read through” might be a little strong. I searched for “tax” and read those entries.

[fn5] I assume that “Dr. Pratt” is Parley P. And honestly, if anybody knows how to find the single tax papers he delivered to the Utah Women’s Press Club, I would love to get my hands on those (even if they are too late for my book)!

Photo by Nick-philly. CC BY-SA 4.0 DEED

 A medieval nun, sometimes called the Sibyl of the Rhine, Hildegard captured her mystical experiences in things like challenging and insightful writings, thoughtful illustrations, and hauntingly beautiful music (which I am enjoying as I type this). It is unfortunate, in my view, that she is not more widely known or appreciated by the LDS folks with whom I interact—though I understand why that is likely case. In some LDS circles, even believing that someone like Hildegard was inspired can be viewed as (mildly) subversive. That acknowledged, I still think modern LDS members can learn a lot from her. Let me give you a few examples.

Lesson #1: Speak your experience, nothing more and nothing less

According to Hildegard, her divine encounters started when she was three, but she waited until she was forty-two to begin recording them. When Hildegard finally decided to record her mystical experiences, she struck out in distinctive new creative directions for her time and place which, at times, was a source of tension. Yet, she was true to her experiences, even if they were not in-line with contemporaneous God-talk. She did not pull any punches in expressing what she had experienced and she did not turn these experiences into something they were not. She shared her experiences without fear and without embellishment. Hildegard’s willingness to give voice to her divine encounters as she experienced them—no more and no less—provides a model for how to give voice to our experience with the divine.

In a church that emphasizes personal revelation, Hildegard reminds us that our experiences are our own. Our encounters with the divine are as unique to us as we are unique in the universe. To do our experiences the dishonor of not representing them truthfully—either through self-editing because they run against existing cultural currents, or through embellishment in an attempt to gain social status or meet some external “standard”—is to snub the God who gave us that experience in the first place. When we are not true and faithful to our encounters with God, our singular insights and contributions are diluted. When we learn to express our experiences without fear and without embellishment, we tap into a source of divine power that can be lifechanging for ourselves and others.

 Lesson #2: God is revealed in, and divine encounters can be described in, many ways

Hildegard’s encounters with the divine came through, and were described in, many different methods. Hildegard was open to receive God’s instruction in whatever way God chose to provide it, and she endeavored to express what she learned in whatever way made the most sense for a given experience. The result is an amazing corpus of work that is as varied as it is consistent: Varied in the sense God’s communication to her was recorded in everything from scriptural exegesis, to letters, to morality plays, to music, to art; and consistent in the sense that Hildegard did not see these as disjointed forms of communication, rather they were just different aspects of the same Revelatory experience.

As long as there has been organized religion, individuals (usually those in positions of social, economic, political, or ecclesiastical power) have sought to impose limits on (a) the way that God communicates, (b) with whom God communicates, and/or (c) how one shares individual divine communication with others.[1] Hildegard helps us remember, first, that God’s revelation can come to each of us in a multitude of ways, and that these are not different revelations but rather different dimensions of the same Revelation. And, second, Hildegard reminds us that the way we share these experiences can be as varied as the experiences themselves. Again, in a church which emphasizes both having individual spiritual encounters and then sharing details about those spiritual encounters (e.g., think of your last fast and testimony meeting), Hildegard helps us keep front-of-mind the importance of being open to receiving divine communication however it may come and then sharing that experience in whatever way feels right.[2]

Lesson #3: Love is the “base matter”

Though her body of work is impressive, Hildegard never lost sight of what mattered most. In fact, she was explicit about it. She explains, “For when God wanted to create the world, he inclined himself in the sweetest affection…[and] ordered all his works in a great burning fire of love. Then every creature in every species and form acknowledged its creator; for in the beginning Love was the base matter from which all creatures came.”[3] In the end, Hildegard’s revelatory experiences can be boiled down to communicating God’s love to and for humankind.  

This has been the message of sages and prophets for millennia and has been repeated many times in our modern times through modern-day prophets and other inspired leaders. Love is at the center of God’s work. In meaningful ways, our world is more loving than it has ever been; good people are doing good things and loving their neighbors in ways that are more impactful than at any time in history. Yet in meaningful ways, our world is also more fear-filled than it has ever been; indifference, justification, or applause are often among the first reactions to seeing other humans suffer.[4] Hildegard’s call to remember that “the right hand of God embraces all creatures” is something that must continually ground all we do.[5]

Lesson #4: We all have remarkable potential

Hildegard was a person through whom God did extraordinary things. What distinguishes Hildegard from others may only be that she was willing to let God work through her. She was open to receiving divine communication and then committed her life to bringing those encounters into the world all around her. To be clear, this does not mean that we we all need to be mystics if we want to have an impact; in fact, if Hildegard has shown us anything it is that God is revealed in myriad ways, many of which may be different than those that Hildegard experienced. We all have the potential to do extraordinary things in our time, place, and circumstances.

This charge—to encounter the divine and then take the divine into the world—is the centerpiece of what it means to be Christian generally and LDS specifically. How this happens will vary from person to person.  For Hildegard, her encounters with the divine led to creating songs and art (for instance) that attempted to bring those experiences into the world. For others, their encounters with the divine may lead to making pies for their neighbors, sitting with someone who needs a friend, or allowing someone else to take your carefully selected seat on public transportation. The point is that we can all be Hildegard-esque: we can all be open, we can all receive God’s word in whatever way God communicates that to us, and by communicating what we have come to know to others, we can all make a difference in our day and time and in the lives of those with whom we are taking this mortal journey.

So those are four lessons I think we can take from Hildegard.[6] Having said all this, I realize that there is always a danger that in reflecting on an ancient author, text, or idea that the modern observer will look down the long well of history and see his/her reflection (as the saying goes). Indeed, these brief thoughts likely reveal as much about me as they do about Hildegard. But, at the core of her work, I get the sense that she is stretching to describe an experience with God that is “more” or “deeper” than words, colors, or musical notes can actually express—something just beyond the reach of her (considerable!) ability to articulate. I find I am drawn to this kind of stretching and searching for the divine; I want to emulate it in whatever way makes sense for me. So, perhaps there is as much of me in this brief post as there is of Hildegard…. I would love for that to be true.

[1] For a book length discussion on this topic see, Walter Brueggemann’s The Prophetic Imagination. In this book he traces this impulse back to King Solomon and contrasts Solomon’s centralization of Israel’s religious practice in Jerusalem with the openness of Israel’s wilderness and Sinai experiences. Brueggemann offers “prophetic imagination” as the counterbalance to the perpetuation of “royal consciousness.”

[2] This approach, however, can never be used to justify any sort of oppressive, violent, demeaning, etc behavior. Such actions are not God-like and anyone claiming that their revelations require such actions warrant the greatest degree of skepticism and resistance.  As is noted in #3, love is the center of God’s work.

[3] Atherton, Mark, ed. Hildegard of Bingen: Selected Writings. New York: Penguin Classics, 2001. Pg. 167.

[4] Here I Intentionally contrast love with fear (not with hate). 2 Timothy 1:7 suggests that the opposite of love is fear. My sense is that fear is the thing that leads to hate, hence the formulation above.

[5] Atherton, Mark, ed. Hildegard of Bingen: Selected Writings, Pg. 167.

[6] To be clear, I think there are many other interesting aspects of Hildegard that could also be explored. Other examples include: (1) Hildegard documenting her divine experiences challenged institutional power structures. (2) Hildegard’s work assumes a connection between God, humankind, and the world around us that is deeply incarnational and ecologically aware. And (3) Hildegard’s voice resonated with authority and was taken seriously by her contemporary (male) counterparts.

I am becoming less and less committed to the idea that “separating” ourselves from “the world” should be understood as equivalent to living a privately pietistic life (e.g. avoiding certain kinds of entertainment, social media, certain activities, or even certain people, while focusing on things like personal prayer, scriptures study, tithing, and temple attendance). I understand that there are a number of scriptural citations (parts of the intercessory prayer, Ephesians, and Colossians are just a few examples) which are regularly interpreted to support this view. However, this interpretive approach requires defining “the world” with broad-brush strokes that effectively equates “the world” with anything that is not church approved or immediately church-adjacent. “The world” becomes the embodiment of everything that is contrary to spoken and unspoken LDS standards, from short hemlines on dresses, to violating the Word of Wisdom, to sexual immorality, to inappropriate Sunday activities. “The world” is the ultimate (and easiest) foil for religious instruction: “while we know we are supposed to do xxx, the world entices us to do yyy.” It has been my experience that most often “the world” is used as a counterexample when the instructional goal is to reinforce personal orthodoxy. But I think that interpretation is really problematic.

First, I think this way of seeing “the world” is damaging because it creates opposition where it doesn’t actually exist. It creates an “us” and a “them.” It suggests that if you’re not with us, you’re against us. It makes clear that if you’re not in, you’re out. My experience is that people are far more complicated than this kind of dichotomous thinking suggests. But to the extent that we see “them” as “the world” (and thus “not us” and therefore “opposed to the church”) we inhibit our own ability to see others for who they really are. And, conversely, to the extent we self-identify as “us,” we may not see the ways in which we are falling short individually or collectively. In fact, the Zoramites use of the Rameumption was premised on exactly this kind of dichotomous us/them with-us/against-us in/out thinking (“Holy God, we believe that thou hast separated us from our brethren…we believe that thou hast elected us to be thy holy children”).[1] God does not foster division, God fosters one-ness. To the extent that our religious language serves to build walls between people, such language should be immediately discarded.

Second, the world is filled with wonder. From birds and bees, to snakes and snails; from waterfalls and forests, to summer storms and galaxies; from poetry and paintings, to the diversity of languages and cultures… the world is very good (Genesis 1:31). Really, it’s more than that. It’s breathtaking. Utterly marvelous. Reading about Barbara Brown Taylor’s faith journey and how she learned to see altars in the world helped me to remove blinders I did not even know I was wearing. Every day, I am awestruck by the many ways that, and the many people through which, God is revealed to me (Alma 30:44, Genesis 33:10). The world is holy in every sense of the word, but to the extent that we equate “the world” with a post-fall existence, we implicitly impugn creation and limit our ability to see the divine all around us.

Third, this framing is contrary to our vocation as followers of God. Since the beginning, those who follow God have been charged with being God’s partner in bringing God’s presence into the world. Abraham Heschel explains that in “carrying out a sacred task we disclose a divine intention… in a sacred deed, we echo God’s suppressed chant; in loving we intone God’s unfinished song… Life consists of endless opportunities to sanctify the profane, [and] opportunities to redeem the power of God from the chain of possibilities.”[2] Jesus did not tell us to hide away from the world by fostering an insular social ethos focused on individual worship. He challenged us to be the salt of the earth and a light on a hill (Matt 5:13-16). Indeed, far from avoiding the world, we are to be enmeshed in it so that we can impact it for good—that is to say, we need to bring God with us as we venture into the world, rather than never going outside (metaphorically speaking).

How might we interpret scriptures that suggest we should be separated from “the world”? I think that interpretive keys are found in Ephesians and Isaiah (and these scriptures echo sentiments that are throughout the standard works). In Ephesians we are reminded, “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places” (Ephesians 6:12). And Isaiah God counsels Israel: “Wash you, make you clean; put away the evil of your doings from before mine eyes; cease to do evil; Learn to do well; seek judgment, relieve the oppressed, judge the fatherless, plead for the widow” (Isaiah 1:16-17). In these scriptures, we are taught that we must recognize and actively resist the “rulers of darkness” and the “wickedness in high places” which are present all around us. And that the way we “put away evil” and “cease to do evil” is by bringing justice to those who are disadvantaged, relieving oppression, protecting the fatherless, and standing up for those who lack social power.  

So, in my view—and premised on the strong belief that “the earth is full, and there is enough and to spare” (D&C 104: 17)—these scriptures suggest to me that we should understand “the world” as suffering that we allow to persist, most especially suffering caused by systems of power that cultivate of oppression.  To the extent that we, in any way, are party to perpetuating suffering of any kind—through willful ignorance, intentional inaction, or participation—we stand doubly convicted.  This is the evil against which I feel we have been called to wrestle; and I believe the path to accomplish this goal is actively partnering with God by learning “to do good” in the world.

Yes, I am to separate myself from “the world” (i.e., the powers of oppression). But I don’t do that through personal piety (though personal piety may recharge my batteries), I separate myself from “the world” by actively struggling against unfairness, injustice, oppression, cruelty, tyranny, prejudice, and inequity; or said differently, I fight evil as I help to help bring God into the world. And I bring God into the world by working to realize a Zion society in which “Every [person]… deal[s] justly one with another. And [have] all things common among them; [where] there [is] not rich and poor, bond and free, but they [are] all made free, and partakers of the heavenly gift” (4 Nephi 1: 2-3)…and where “[all are] of one heart and one mind” (Moses 7:18).

In this view of “separation” from “the world,” I find divine power in the world all around as I stand up for all those who are oppressed, whether or not they are part of my faith tradition. And as I partner with God, I stand alongside those who may not espouse my faith practices but who are equally committed to “Learn[ing] to do well; seek[ing] judgment, reliev[ing] the oppressed, judg[ing] the fatherless, [and] plead[ing] for the widow.” Certainly, my personal religious devotion gives me strength, but my goal is much loftier than piety. My goal is one-ness. And in that endeavor, I am aligned with God.

[1] I recognize that according to the text the Zoramites had adopted unorthodox beliefs–but what is more salient is the fact that they interpreted their environment through an “us” vs “them” lens. This lens was, in large part, at the center of what they needed to change and the source of the societal inequity which had been allowed to grow (see Alma 31).

[2] Abraham Joshua Heschel, God in Search of Man, 1976 (Farrar, Straus and Giroux: New York): pg. 290, 291.

An unspoken but very real undercurrent in recent discussions about the importance of adhering to certain standards of behavior/covenant keeping seems to be the strong belief that there is no upward movement among Terrestrial, Telestial, and Celestial Kingdoms. The taken-for-granted assumption seems to be that once an individual is assigned to a certain kingdom at the final judgement… that’s it. Separated families stay separated forever (for instance). Maybe that’s true, maybe that isn’t true. I honestly do not know. But I do know this: the LDS church has not taken an official position on this issue. And that matters.

In fact, the only official church position that exists is this fairly brief statement that says expressly it is not taking a position: “…the Church has never announced a definite doctrine upon this point. Some of the brethren have held the view that it was possible in the course of progression to advance from one glory to another, invoking the principle of eternal progression; others of the brethren have taken the opposite view. But as stated, the Church has never announced a definite doctrine on this point.”[1]

As this point, it’s tempting for me to quote different General Authorities (including past prophets, seers, and revelators) who offer differing perspectives. Some church leaders suggest (and I’m summarizing/ paraphrasing here), “Sinners are sinners and saints are saints; God is a God of justice and so there must be consequences—good and bad—for our choices.” However, it is also true that other church leaders suggest the exact opposite is true, saying something like (again a summary/paraphrase), “eternal progression means eternal progression—even if it takes a long time—and that includes progressing from kingdom to kingdom.” But I do not want to pit the different statements against each other. They are out there and easy enough to find for those who are interested. Suffice it to say, this is not a case of different General Authorities saying the same things differently (as if the difference is cosmetic). Rather, different General Authorities (including past prophets, seers, and revelators) simply believe differently and have expressed different perspectives. This remains an unsettled question.

I have my own view on this matter, but my view is no more or less valuable than everyone else’s (yet the fact that I’m writing this probably tips my hand a little). So, I only want to say two things about this:

First, though we each may have strong feelings about whether we can progress between kingdoms or whether we cannot, we should recognize that there are others in the pews who believe differently. No one should presume or expect unanimity on the subject, nor should one assume that whatever position we individually hold is inherently and unquestionably correct. The fact is, no matter what position you take, there are General Authority quotes and scriptural citations that will both support and refute your position. As Terryl Givens put it, “Faithful Latter-day Saints can believe in the possibility of progression for all or believe the door is shut once assignment to a kingdom is made. We cannot, however, proclaim with any validity that one or the other belief is official Church teaching.”[2] So, a little epistemological humility is in order.

Second (and building of the first), we should not use either position as a bludgeon to try to compel a particular action or set of actions. Whether it is threats of empty chairs/a sad heaven or intimidation associated with missing out on something, weaponizing religion and religious instruction—most especially on issue that are not settled—is never a good choice.

Will there ever be a firm answer to this? In some ways, I hope not. It is one of those question (of which there are a handful) that serve to reveal to us what we really believe about God—they force us to stare at our beliefs head on: Who, really, is the God I have come to know? And we need these kinds of questions if we are to continually grow and learn.

[1] Joseph L. Anderson, Letter from the Office of The First Presidency, March 5, 1952. Quoted in Terryl Givens, “How Limited is Postmortal Progression” BYU Studies Quarterly, Vol 60, no 3 (2021): 130.

[2] Joseph L. Anderson, Letter from the Office of The First Presidency, March 5, 1952. Quoted in Terryl Givens, “How Limited is Postmortal Progression” BYU Studies Quarterly, Vol 60, no 3 (2021):138.

As I was scrolling through Bluesky this afternoon, I learned that yesterday was World Mental Health Day. And learning that helped my crystalize some thoughts I had about one paragraph of Pres. Nelson’s talk from General Conference.

And this is important: I have a substantive objection to it. It’s not an aesthetic one (though I also have aesthetic objections to the cutesy catchphrases that seem to be popping up more and more). And it’s not condemnatory. In fact, I’m trying to approach it with charity and empathy.

But even with charity and empathy, it’s a conversation that I believe is important, and it’s a conversation that I believe Pres. Nelson mishandled.

And I think I understand (some of, at least) why he mishandled it, which is why I’m trying to be charitable here. Part of it is, he’s in pain. He said that in his talk—he injured his back. And, while I’m not 99, I’ve also, on occasion, injured myself. And to be blunt: pain hurts. It physically hurts, but it also hurts our ability to be kind. I’ve said and done things that I regret when in pain.

Should he be better than that? No. That’s the cool thing about our view of prophets: they’re humans, subject to the same sensations and experiences as the rest of us. They’re not superhuman, they haven’t risen above the travails and concerns of mortality. They see through the same glass, darkly, as the rest of us.

Which means we need to be able to grant them charity. But we also need to recognize where they’re wrong, or where their rhetoric could cause harm. And one paragraph particularly of his talk, I believe, has the potential to cause significant harm. And it’s this one:

“As you think celestial, you will find yourself avoiding anything that robs you of your agency. Any addiction—be it gaming, gambling, debt, drugs, alcohol, anger, pornography, sex, or even food—offends God. Why? Because your obsession becomes your god. You look to it rather than to Him for solace. If you struggle with an addiction, seek the spiritual and professional help you need. Please do not let an obsession rob you of your freedom to follow God’s fabulous plan.”

And I’m going to raise one micro (but important!) problem with this and one macro (and also important!) problem. The micro first:

I don’t understand why he listed food as an addiction here. Yes, WebMD reports that there may be such a thing as food addiction. And maybe there is. But there’s no maybe about the fact that there is such a thing as disordered eating. In fact, according to research published in JAMA, by age 40, about one in seven males and one in five females will have experienced an eating disorder. Are Mormons particularly susceptible to eating disorders? Honestly, I don’t see any reason to think we are. But I also don’t see any reason to believe that eating disorders are less prevalent among us than among the broader society.

And clearly, Pres. Nelson wasn’t thinking about eating disorders as he throw in “or even food” as the tag of his addictive list. But disordered eating involves one’s brain telling them lies. And it’s easy enough to see how that lying brain could leap from “too much food is an addiction” to “God wants me to eat less.”

That’s not a rational leap. And I’m not saying it’s a rational leap. But it’s an understandable leap, especially in the throes of a disease that has your brain lying to you.

Honestly, I suspect you have similar potential results from the prophet calling out other addictive behaviors too. Because it turns out that many of these things aren’t deliberate choices people make; they derive from our bodies or brains, already in a fallen and imperfect world, lying to us. (I’ll note that I didn’t notice “debt” in that list until just now; if I had, that may have been the direction I went, but I’m going to leave it for today.)

Which takes us to my macro point: I don’t believe, for a single second, that our suffering from addiction offends God. And this is where I suspect back pain had something to do with word choice.

But addiction is part of the fallen and imperfect world that we live in. And not only that we live in—that we chose to live in. At God’s behest. This is His plan.

I don’t think that means that God wants us to be stuck in self-destructive behavior. I don’t believe that He rejoices when we suffer from addiction, when debt limits our choices, when we’re angry. But I don’t believe either that He’s offended.

Rather, I believe that our pain and frailties make God sad. He is, according to Terryl and Fiona Givens, the God who weeps. He is, we believe, our loving Father, who sent Jesus to earth to atone for us.

And I think that’s a critical thing to keep in mind. A God who gets offended at the weaknesses and failures of His children, when he specifically designed a world where we would be weak and fail, is not a perfect loving God.

And I would be surprised if Pres. Nelson didn’t agree with that. I’d be surprised if, had the fog of pain been lifted, he would have used the same word choice. So let me rewrite that paragraph in a way that I think better reflects what Pres. Nelson meant to say, and better represents the God my Mormonism has taught me to believe in (and I’m going to keep his “think celestial” even though it really rubs me the wrong way):

“As you think celestial, you will find yourself trying to avoid anything that robs you of your agency. Any addiction saddens God. Why? Because your obsession and self-harming behavior hurts you. His plan allows for us to make mistakes, and make wrong choices. But He wants you to turn to Him for solace. That’s why he sent Jesus to earth to atone for us. If you struggle with an addiction, seek the spiritual and professional help you need. Please do not let fear that you might disappoint your Heavenly Father rob you of your freedom to follow God’s fabulous plan.”

Around this time of year, discussions about the legacy of Christopher Columbus tend to come up (including on this blog; see here, here and here for past posts as an example). I think that is an important conversation and should continue. But rather than taking a position about Columbus in this post, I simply want to suggest that it’s one of many difficult discussions we should be having in church. I think there are at least four reasons for this:

First, we need to acknowledge the wrongs of the past — Like him or hate him, I think it’s fair to say that some of Columbus’ actions were wrong. But, one of the for “r”s of repentance is “recognition” (this notion is also step 5 in the twelve step program).[1] Moving forward as a person or as a community requires acknowledging the wrongs of the past. Until we can get to the point where we can say in church, “yup, that thing was wrong… let’s explore why it was wrong, who it hurt, and what can be done differently going forward” we have no hope of moving into a new space and making different choices.  To be clear, I’m not advocating for anachronistic moralizing; in my view that is neither productive nor helpful. Rather I’m suggesting that we gain the strength to look at the past and admit something should not have happened as a foundation for doing things better in the future.

Second, we need to become more comfortable holding tensions — Columbus was neither totally bad nor totally good; like all of us he was some mix of both, and a discussion about him will requiring the ability to hold both things as true at the same time.[2] Accepting separate apparently divergent truths can feel a little disorienting when it comes to church discussion. Yet, this is characteristic of faith. In the LDS Church: we are to be both part of and separate from “the world” (Alma 37:34, John 15:19) the way of Jesus is both easy and difficult (Matthew 11:30, John 16:3); scriptures are both the Word of God and the words of humankind (Jeremiah 29: 20ff, Mormon 8:17). When applied to people, this kind of tension might look something like: that person was sometimes inspired and sometimes misguided (consider Balaam); or that person’s actions were sometimes remarkable and sometimes cruel (consider King David). Too often, and most especially with historical figures and contemporary leaders in positions of power, we turn them into caricatures of themselves and they become a one-dimensional angel or a one-dimensional devil—and both views inhibit our ability to learn from the successes and failures of these individuals and grow in our own lives. In my view, the key to a mature life of faith is simply accepting that two things can exist in tension. And accepting these kinds of tension (rather than simply pretending that one side of the tension isn’t there) gives us the strength to acknowledge and discuss the multidimensional reality of most issues or people without having to “resolve” these tensions. It creates space for inspiration and insight into our own decisions.[3]

Third, we need to be better when it comes to talking about difficult topics — Columbus forces us to address really hard issues, and talking about those issues openly and honestly in church can be difficult. When hard topics come up, too many of us just shift in our seats hoping to move through the topic quickly without “that guy” or “that lady” making an issue out of it. Self-censorship of any kind or, even worse, the feeling that it is not safe to broach certain topics or express certain views does not a body of Christ make. Avoiding hard topics because it is easier than talking about them is just a form of silencing the voices of those most impacted whatever discussion we are avoiding; in its starkest form, avoiding hard topics is nothing more than power protecting power. If we are to really be a Zion community, then we need to have the strength to do better. And that sometimes means discussing uncomfortable things and opening the door for (and accepting) diverging views on those issues.[4]

Fourth, we need to be more comfortable with the fact that we may not always agree — As a society, we have yet to resolve Columbus’ legacy, and one discussion in church will not settle the issue for good. When it comes to discussions on difficult topics of any sort what matters most is the ability to have the discussion, and to have it in a way that is civil and respectful. In church, the purpose of such discussions is not to convince your neighbor that you are right and they are wrong, but rather to increase the understanding, empathy, and unity of everyone in the discussion. In fact, D&C 50, which discusses both teaching and receiving with the spirit of truth, suggests that the ultimate outcome of such inspired discussions is not agreement, but that they “understand one another,” and as a result they “both are edified and rejoice together.” (D&C50:22). This kind of understanding, empathy, and unity does not come as a result of complete agreement on all topics but is a natural outcome of really listening to and hearing what someone else is saying. Though our minds may not change completely on the topic, we come to understand our neighbors and their perspectives better; we more clearly see they are good people who just approach the world differently; we see how their view makes our community stronger overall; we learn to be unified because we are different.[5]

An honest discussion about Columbus in church would be a lively conversation that would likely elicit a variety of different perspectives and broach some really difficult issues. And in the end, it is almost certain that people would continue to see the issue differently. And it is one (of many) important conversation to have. But—and I want to be super clear about this—this post is not about Columbus. It is about the ability to have hard discussions in church.[6]

These sorts of conversations are part of our heritage: just look at the difficult and sometimes spirited discussion surrounding how closely Gentile Christians had to hold to Jewish laws and customs (see, Acts 15 and Galatians 2 for instance).  Open discussion about that topic was important for the early Jesus-based community. And I think open conversations in church about the difficult topics of our time and place continue to be important for our faith community. Possible discussion topics could include the three “p”s, polygamy, patriarchy, and priesthood; tithing and church finances; family structures and interpersonal relationship; and race and race relations (by no means a comprehensive list).

The alternatives to having open discussions on difficult topics are problematic: we pretend like there are no difficult issues in our faith community, or implicitly suggest that that certain issues do not matter enough to discuss them in church, or shut down discussion in church by claiming only “one way” to faithfully approach the topic. And all those outcomes (and others I have not named) do a disservice to our faith community as a whole and hurt individuals within it. I believe that a well-moderated discussion held among people filled with a spirit of charity—no matter how difficult the topic—can result in increased understanding and empathy for, and feelings of unity with, those who participated in the discussion. The differing views that will inevitably remain when the discussion concludes would, in my view, be less divisive.

Sure, having discussions about difficult contemporary issues will probably result in us needing to acknowledge that some things should have been done differently. We will have to hold some competing truths in tension. The discussions will be uncomfortable at times and they will not always end with everyone agreeing. But that is OK. Let’s face it: people are having these conversations outside of church anyway. So, an honest, open, and respectful discussions about hard topics in church has the potential to break down some of the unspoken divisions and silencing that currently exists within our worship communities; it will allow individuals to be their whole selves in church. These kinds of discussion have the potential to help us do better as individuals and as a community and to foster greater understanding, empathy, and unity. [7] Perhaps I am too rosy-eyed… but I believe it is possible. 

[1] Neal A. Maxwell, “Repentance,” General Conference, October 1991. Available at: https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/1991/10/repentance?lang=eng#title1

[2] I realize that the degree of goodness vs badness is also part of this conversation—and that is a discussion I am intentionally eliding. I am not asserting either that Columbus was either “more good” or “more bad” only that he was neither completely good nor completely bad.

[3] This probably goes without saying, but this does not mean that all tensions are evenly balanced, or even that all tensions can be maintained. As an extreme example, Hitler’s actions are so egregious that all other truths about him are subsumed in the single reality of this heinous truth.

[4] Obviously, this should be done with wisdom, sensitivity, good judgment, and skill. Explicit discussions of sexual issues in a bishop’s interview with a young woman would be uncomfortable because it’s wrong. That is materially different from a discussion about polygamy when reading from D&C Section 132 which would be uncomfortable but only because it’s a topic we generally avoid.

[5] Though it might go without saying, excluded from this would be anything that approaches hate speech, threats of violence, and bigotry of any sort. Comments of that nature should receive an unequivocal and direct repudiation.

[6] It has been my experience that these sorts of discussions, to the extent that they happen in church at all, are very infrequent. However, it could be that in some areas of the church these sorts of discussions happen regularly.

[7] It is also true that, if not done properly, these kinds of discussion can be damaging. Developing the skills to have appropriate conversations around difficult topics is one argument in favor of significantly increasing the training of LDS ecclesiastical leadership.

This is not going to be a long blog post. I’m going to share with you a fundamental difference between how I and apparently many other members of the church view the celestial kingdom.

In Matthew 7:6-12, we read the following:

7 ¶ ^aAsk, and it shall be ^bgiven you; ^cseek, and ye shall find; ^dknock, and it shall be opened unto you:

8 For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that ^aseeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.

9 Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask ^abread, will he give him a stone?

10 Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent?

11 If ye then, ^abeing evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?

12 Therefore all things ^awhatsoever ye would that ^bmen should ^cdo to you, ^ddo ye even so to them: for this is the ^elaw and the prophets.

Fundamentally, this passage is about generosity, both what God’s is like and what yours should be like. I could go into it more, but I want to focus in particular on verses 11 and 12.

Consider yourself as a parent. A parent who loves their child enough to give them bread instead of stones and fish instead of snakes (a high bar). Would that parent want to create or permit a circumstance where it was impossible for a child to return to them? We are told that God loves us “individually,” the intent being that God knows who you are and wants you, you in particularly, to receive eternal glory with him.

Now, I agree with the passage that any gift you give will only be received by those who want it. Others will stick it on a shelf or regift it or simply throw it away. If your children, bread-giver, did something similar with your bread, you would certainly be disappointed and very likely sad. Would you refuse to allow them another slice of bread later? Would you lock them in a dark cage and deny them bread for all eternity?

I suggest that repentance is the process whereby we learn to trust and accept God’s gifts to us. But some people seem to think that repentance is the process whereby we memorize a series of complex rules and get better at following them over time. That God, our Father, who loves us individually, would cut us off from his presence, because we are bad or uninterested in following rules. Certainly, every family has rules and boundaries. But would you cut off your kids just because they disliked the rules? If they broke a rule, would you forgive them? Only 7 x 70 times?

Consider verse 12. Your actions toward others (in this case, your own child) is meant to model your own desires to be treated. Do you want God to cut you off, frail human, because you have sinned? Because you, it turned out, had a hard time keeping covenant until the end of your days? Is that what you believe God does?

There has been a lot of talk recently about kingdoms and bodies lately, about God and what they may or may not do with you in the afterlife. Here is my testimony today: People are that they might find joy, in this life and the next. Trust in a loving God. Do good to others and repent so his presence can be felt in your life. But do not spend a nanosecond worrying that you, a relative, a child, a friend, or anyone else won’t be saved. If you know enough to give your kid a sandwich, you know enough to see why that sort of thinking is baloney.

Yesterday, the Salt Lake Tribune published a story about rampant, and really disgusting, racism in St. George schools. It follows two Black sisters in the schools and the racism they face. And the racism is utterly unacceptable and thoroughly disgusting: everything from having other students touch their hair without permission to being called the n-word to being told to go back to Africa.

Now, unlike the Davis School District, which faced investigation by the Department of Justice and is party to an agreement to try to remediate widespread systemic and personal issues, the girls and their family say the school district is doing what it can, including a training program for all faculty, staff, and students.

Which is great. But there’s a long way to go.

Is this racism a Mormon problem? Absolutely. I mean, clearly not all Utahns are Mormons, and non-Mormon Utahns are clearly capable of being racists and/or engaging in racist behavior. But a little over 60 percent of the residents of Washington County belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; it is virtually impossible to imagine that none of the hateful vitriol comes from our coreligionists.

Over the last decade or two, church leaders have vocally condemned racism. They’ve made it clear that racism is incompatible with being a member of the church.

But the message doesn’t seem to have stuck, at least not with some subset of members. Why not? I really don’t know. Maybe they didn’t hear the statements. Maybe they don’t believe the things they are doing and saying are racist (though honestly, they’re calling Black girls racial epithets and telling them to go to Africa, so their beliefs are unreasonable). Maybe they don’t think racism—or the church’s statements—are a big deal.

What I do know is, those statements haven’t rooted racism out of the hearts of at least some of our coreligionists.

So what can the church do?

This is an honest question. I have an idea that I’ll propose in a minute, but I’d love to hear your ideas. Because I think this is a pressing problem. We can’t build a Zion community on a foundation of hate and racism. Our hearts won’t be one when we disregard our neighbors’ and sisters’ and brothers’ hearts. We can’t be save, individually or collectively, while indulging in “ugly and unacceptable” sin.

My proposal, which isn’t the only possible solution and will clearly not entirely solve the problem of personal and system racism, is this: devote a year of the “Come Follow Me” curriculum to rooting out racism.

I know, we usually focus on a book of scripture. But even when we focus on a book of scripture, we tend to read topically; the lessons focus on particular verses and stories to pull out a message. And why can’t that message be turning away from racism?

There are things that any such course of study would have to contend with. For instance, Nephi makes some fairly racist statements. But maybe we could teach ourselves that he’s fallible, that his racism was bad, and, in fact, that it at least in part underlay the collapse of the Nephite civilization.

Also, simply saying, “Racism is bad” isn’t going to be enough. The curriculum would have to teach us how to recognize our racist thoughts and actions, and perhaps how to model inclusivity and anti-racism.

Critically, it can’t be a single fifth-Sunday lesson. If explicit statements from prophets don’t change hearts, a one-off lesson also won’t. But a year dedicated to this study sends a message—one I believe that church leaders believe and care about—that this is an important topic, that racism has no place among us, and that its a topic worthy of intense and extensive teaching and learning.

Photo by Viviana Rishe on Unsplash

When it comes to expressing how we feel, most people just are not very good at it. I think that is why many of us are so attracted to poets, painters, musicians, and dancers who can express how they feel (and by proxy how we feel). Whether it is because we lack the self-awareness to understand what’s going on inside of us, or because we lack the spiritual and emotional vocabulary to express what’s happening to us on the inside, or some combination of the two, the end result is that, sometimes we do not clearly understand, or cannot clearly express, what is happening in our spiritual and emotional lives.[1]

When we do try to understand and express what we feel, it makes sense that we lean on the spiritual and emotional constructs that surround us; we borrow from the spiritual and emotional lexicon of the community(ies) in which we are enmeshed. I think this is true in many different ways, but I want to focus narrowly on how we understand and talk about negative human-human interactions in the LDS church context. In the LDS church, a primary way we understand and talk about human-human interactions that are spiritually and/or emotionally painful is using the language of, and framework associated with, “offense.” One of the clearer and more recent articulations of this framing[2] is found in Elder David A. Bednar’s October 2006 General Conference address “And Nothing Shall Offend Them.” In that talk he states:

“When we believe or say we have been offended, we usually mean we feel insulted, mistreated, snubbed, or disrespected. And certainly clumsy, embarrassing, unprincipled, and mean-spirited things do occur in our interactions with other people that would allow us to take offense. However, it ultimately is impossible for another person to offend you or to offend me. Indeed, believing that another person offended us is fundamentally false. To be offended is a choice we make; it is not a condition inflicted or imposed upon us by someone or something else” (emphasis original).

It has been my personal experience that in the LDS church leaders and laypeople alike regularly lean on this kind of “offense” framework when talking about human-human interactions that are emotionally and/or spiritually harmful (just do a search for the word “offense” in General Conference talks on churchofjesuschrist.org).[3] As is evident in the quote above, the “offense” framing does two things. One, it avers that being offended is a choice. And two, in a remarkably broad way, defines as an “offense” nearly all human-human interactions that are hurtful.

On the one hand, I believe that everyone has some amount of agency when it comes to our spiritual and emotional authority. I think, sometimes, we cede our spiritual and emotional well-being to others believing that we have “no choice” but to be angry or upset (or whatever) because another person, or a given situation, “made us” feel that way. As Lehi explains, we have been made free to act and not be acted upon (2 Nephi 2:26). I think taking charge of our spiritual and emotional lives is important, and that includes not giving away our own personal power to another.

However (and this is a very, very big however), I also believe that, too often, when LDS members talk about they themselves or someone else being “offended” they are simply leaning the spiritual-emotional framing that surrounds them–and I think that framing is imprecise. I think, many times, what they really mean to say is that they have been spiritually or emotionally “injured.” And being injured by someone else has nothing to do with an exercise of agency by the person who was injured.

I find thought experiments help make points clearer, so consider this scenario: You were crossing the road—in the crosswalk, looking both directions first, and while the “walk” sign was lit—when recklessly, and without concern for others, a car careens through the intersection.[4] As a result of this carless action, you were hit by the car and your leg was injured. Now, let us say you were telling a friend about what happened. You might say, “I was walking home today and while I was in the crosswalk I was hit by a car; and now my leg is injured.” Nobody would respond to that statement, “well, that is not exactly right… you made a choice to be injured… the car cannot injure you without our permission… you need to stop being so sensitive.” That is just nonsense. The reality is, sometimes we are injured by others. Sometimes our agency is infringed upon—as in this thought experiment where you were hit by a car. No amount of agency could have made it so that a speeding car that ran into you would not injure your leg; you could not “choose” to be unimpacted, unharmed, or uninjured. That is because being injured by this car has nothing to do with an exercise of your agency.

So, applying this idea to the emotional and spiritual lives of LDS members, when a church leader engages in spiritual abuse, the result is that people are injured—there is no choice involved; it is no different than being hit by a car. When a fellow congregant makes malicious, bigoted, or unkind comments during a lesson, the result is that people are injured—there is no choice involved; it is no different than being hit by a car. When one person exercises dominion over anyone else, the result is that people are injured—there is no choice involved; it is no different than being hit by a car. When someone makes insulting statements, or mistreats or is disrespectful to someone else, or when someone makes mean-spirited remarks, the result is often not “offense” but rather “injury.” Individuals who have suffered through these things are people who have been hit by an emotional or spiritual car. No choice involved. Being injured by someone else has nothing to do with an exercise of agency by the person who was injured.

This is why I am not a fan of using the “offense” framework for describing the spiritual and emotional pain that comes into the lives of LDS members. The “offense” framework, in my view, ends up blaming the victim. It turns the responsibility for spiritual and emotional pain on its head; now the person who was injured is at fault for “allowing” themselves to be injured, while the perpetrator has almost no clear responsibility at all.[5] I simply cannot embrace this logic. Sure, there are times when it really does come down to someone being “offended;” but many times—maybe most of the time—it is probably more accurate to say that someone has been injured. And that is not the fault of the victim.

Yet, as unhealthy (in my view) as this approach is, we have the power to change this framing. Rather than using the “offense” framework to describe spiritual and emotional injury, we can choose to describe these situations for what they seemingly most often are: a case of someone injuring someone else.  And, that simple change in framing changes everything—now, we see the person who has been injured as someone who needs nurturing, not lectures; as someone who needs kindness, not repentance; as someone who needs of time to heal, not condemnation; as someone who needs an advocate, not a judge. Suddenly, the victims of these interactions become the focus of our concern, not because they need to be corrected but because they need to be succored.

So, the next time someone alludes to a painful interaction at church, rather than asking, “were you offended by someone?” try asking, “were you injured by someone?” and see what happens next.

[1] Brené Brown’s most recent book, Atlas of the Heart is, in many ways, premised on this reality.

[2] See also Neal A. Maxwell, “A Brother Offended,” General Conference, April 1984 https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/1982/04/a-brother-offended?lang=eng#title1

[3] I am focusing here on human-human interactions that are harmful emotionally and/or spiritually. The “offense” framing is also used to describe physical and sexual abuse at times (see for instance here, here, and here). In my view, that is a more troubling use of the “offense” framework and worthy of its own, separate discussion.

[4] To be clear, in this scenario the fact that basic pedestrian rules for crossing the road were followed is only to clearly focus the issue at hand (e.g., I want to avoid the response, “well, you should have been in the crosswalk”). That said, I think in any instance there is an interesting discussion to be had about whether crossing a road without following pedestrian rules really changes the obvious outcome of where the fault for injury lies.

[5] See my prior piece talking about the need to develop a more robust victim-centered view of atonement—a topic inextricably connected to this discussion: https://bycommonconsent.com/2023/05/08/relationality-and-reconciliation/

Exactly a month ago, I wrote about James Huntsman’s success at the 9th Circuit. Essentially, the majority of a three-judge panel on the 9th Circuit held that there was an open question of fact in the case (that is, what is the definition of tithing) and, as a result, the case couldn’t be dismissed prior to a jury trial.

I also mentioned that the church could file for rehearing en banc. And yesterday, it did just that. (You can read the petition at the bottom of this post.)

I don’t have a ton of time, today or for the rest of the week, so I’m not going to dive deeply into it, but I skimmed the section where the church argues for the rehearing. Essentially, the church makes three related arguments

There was no fraud.

I’ve written about this before. Substantively, I think that’s right. This is a frivolous lawsuit.

But the prior panel didn’t claim it was a meritorious suit, just that there was an open question of fact that a jury needed to address. So the argument that there was no fraud, even if it’s right, doesn’t get the church a rehearing. And, while the church mentions this in passing, it doesn’t dwell on it.

This is a non-justiciable issue.

The church points out that the Supreme Court has a pretty broad church autonomy doctrine, which basically says that the state (including courts) can’t interpose itself into issues of church governance, doctrine, and faith.

What does the church autonomy doctrine have to do with Huntsman’s suit? The whole thing turns, the church says, on the definition of tithing. The church says tithing means what people gave it; Huntsman, by contrast, says it’s what the church gave it and any earnings on what the church received.

So we have a disagreement! One that is a question of fact! But also, says the church, is a question of church doctrine. Different religious might define “tithing” differently. But a church’s internal definition of tithing is outside the scope of what courts can look into.

(And what about EPA employees calling everything tithing? That leads to my favorite line of the petition: “if the loose usage of portfolio managers differs from the understanding of Church authorities, the answer under binding Supreme Court precedent is clear: Courts must “defer” to ecclesiastical authorities.”)

Whether Huntsman “relied” also would violate the church autonomy doctrine.

Fraud requires not only a misstatement, but reliance on that misstatement. But this case would require a jury to determine how a “reasonable” Mormon would understand the definition of tithing, which is also foreclosed by the church autonomy doctrine.

Like I said, I don’t have a ton of time to dig in, but on my quick skim of the petition, it’s very well-done and compelling. (Assuming, of course, it’s not misrepresenting the cases it cites, and given Paul Clement’s reputation, I’m pretty comfortable assuming he’s not misrepresenting the cases he’s relying on.)

Where do we go from here? Well, eventually the 9th Circuit will decide whether to grant the petition or not. It could do it quickly (ha!), but more likely we’ll be waiting months or years before the next thing happens.

Photo by Tingey Injury Law Firm on Unsplash

(h/t to Marc for the head’s-up about the filing)

I remember a small handful of occasions sitting in sacrament meeting as a teenager and listening to a talk where the speaker mentioned that they had requested that their child be excused from reading some book or another in class. That always struck me as foreign and frankly weird. Throughout my childhood, my parents had literally never prevented me from reading something, whether it was a book I grabbed from the library or a book my English teacher assigned. If I wanted to read it and I could find it at the library (or, as I got a little older, the bookstore), it was mine to read.

While I thought poorly of parents who wouldn’t let their kids read things, though, in retrospect, that was a far better move than the trend sweeping some states today: banning books in libraries and at schools. There are parents and legislators making unprecedented moves to block children’s access to titles they deem inappropriate or uncomfortable or, well, for other utterly inscrutable reasons. Rather than protecting their kids from ideas they dislike, this new trend wants to prevent all children from accessing these titles.

And Mormons aren’t immune from the trend. Utah Parents United is working to ensure that children don’t have access to books the organization and its founders and members dislike. In response, others have pushed bans on the Bible and Book of Mormon.

So this is the thing: book bans are deeply un-Mormon. We, as members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints should not only avoid pushing for them, but we should actively fight against them. Why? There are plenty of reasons, but I’m going to highlight three.

(1) People Who Ban Books Are Never Remembered As the Good Guys.

Think through history. What do we think of people and organizations that ban books? At best, we remember them as misguided and absurd. At worst? Fascists and totalitarians. Honestly, I don’t want future generations to remember me, to remember Utah, or to remember the LDS Church as fascists and totalitarians. And I also don’t want any of us to actually be fascists or totalitarians.

It’s also worth noting that the First Amendment protects our right to read. And, to the extent that we in the U.S. profess to value the Constitution and our constitutional rights, this gross imposition strikes me as inappropriate.

(2) We Believe in Moral Agency

In 2010, Elder Hales explained that our agency “was an essential element of [God’s] plan.” He went on to acknowledge that agency is risky—it allows us to make mistakes. It allows us to sin. It potentially allows us to be cut off from God. But this agency was so critical to our development and to God’s plan that instead of eliminating it, God provided an atonement for us to reconcile with HIm.

Do book banners sincerely think the books they are banning are harmful? I mean, some probably do. (Some are just trying to exercise power and eliminate ideas they don’t like.) But even those with sincere objections to books’ content are eliminating others’ agency to choose for themselves. They’re eliminating those students’ access to experience that will allow them to grow, to understand experiences and perspectives other than their own.[fn1]

(3) The Mormon Creed

In 1842, William Smith, editor of the Wasp, published what he termed the “Mormon Creed”: “To mind their own business, and let every body else, do likewise. PUBLISH this, ye Editors, who boast of equal rights and privileges.”

We would do well, in this case of book banning, to follow Smith’s advice. If you don’t want your child reading something, that’s your business. I may well think it’s a terrible idea, but I’m not responsible for parenting your children.

But I didn’t delegate authority to you to decide what my children can read, what they can experience, and how they exercise their agency. Like my parents with me, I’ve never forbidden my children from reading anything. I want them to experience ideas I don’t have; I have my experience and my background to share, but I’m decades older than them and frankly haven’t followed young adult literature that closely. But librarians and teachers have helped them discover books that they truly love, books that have expanded their worldview and their experience, books that I, as their father, couldn’t have introduced them to because I haven’t read them.

So book banners: even if you don’t mind being remembered as the villain in history, even if you don’t take moral agency our our constitutional rights seriously, mind your own business. Let others mind theirs.

[fn1] In fact, one of the powers of books is that they allow us to experience things vicariously. I can learn about the consequences of actions without having to take those actions. I can learn what it is like to be in somebody else’s skin, for good and for bad.

Photo by San José Public Library. CC BY-SA 2.0

A reader emailed me today and asked if I could blog about a question: “Would the Mormon Church lose its tax-exempt status if it reinstituted polygamy?”[fn1]

This is one of the joys of being a law professor—you get to engage with hypotheticals, no matter how unlikely, to tease out subtle legal questions. So the upfront caveat: the church isn’t going to reinstate polygamy. But the question is a fun one.

The short answer, of course, is no. It wouldn’t lose its tax exemption if it reinstate polygamy.

The longer answer is still no, but it’s a little trickier to sus out.

And the question goes, as many of these things do, back to the Supreme Court’s Bob Jones decision. I’ve mentioned Bob Jones a number of times while blogging (including here, here, and here). Essentially, in its opinion, the Supreme Court said that the IRS could deny tax exemption to racially discriminatory schools, even if the school was affiliated with a religion and its racism was religiously-motivated. The Court adopted the IRS’s view that tax-exempt entities couldn’t violate “fundamental public policy.”

When Bob Jones comes up in the context of the church, it’s usually an argument that the church ended its racially exclusionary temple and priesthood ban so that it wouldn’t lose its exemption (which is both wrong and anachronistic) or that it should lose its exemption because of its stance on the LGBTQ community (which won’t happen).

But “fundamental public policy” isn’t the only grounds the Court looks at. What the Court says over is that the “purpose of a charitable trust may not be illegal or violate established public policy” (emphasis added).

Why do I bring up illegality? Because the IRS has addressed the question of polygamous organizations being tax-exempt twice, both times in 2013. It denied both exemptions in private letter rulings,[fn2] but it did an absolutely terrible job of anonymizing the rulings, so we know that one was for the now-defunct Principal Voices of Polygamy,[fn3] and organization set up to educate the public about polygamy, provide aid to polygamous families, and lobby on their behalf. The other was for a communitarian FLDS organization. (For more detail, you can check out my article on taxing communitarian organizations.)

In the Principal Voices of Polygamy ruling, the IRS details that polygamy is illegal both federally and in PVoP’s state. Based on the organization’s statements about its goals and purposes, the IRS determined that “one of your substantial purposes is to support what has heretofore been and continues to be an illegal activity.” Therefore, it denied PVoP a tax exemption.

The FLDS ruling should technically require more unpacking, since it wasn’t applying to be a 501(c)(3). But for these purposes, I’ll leave out the important but confusing details. Essentially, the IRS argued that

“The common law of trusts specifies that a charitable trust cannot be created for an illegal purpose. … In fact, Restatement specifically identifies promotion of polygamy as an illegal purpose in comments to that section. Because you advocate and engage in activities that contravene state laws and state and federal public policy, you cannot be a valid religious trust. Because you are not a valid religious trust, you cannot be recognized as a religious or apostolic association under 501(d) of the Code, notwithstanding that you have a common treasury and engage in business for the common benefit of members.”

So that’s a pretty clear statement that the IRS thinks that polygamy is incompatible with tax exemption. So why do I think reinstating polygamy wouldn’t cause the church to lose its exemptions? Several reasons:

First, I think the IRS was wrong here, at least with respect to the illegality part of things. Yes, PVoP’s principal mission was to advocate on behalf of polygamous families, but it didn’t somehow engage in polygamy and, based on the ruling, it doesn’t seem to have encouraged people to engage in polygamy. Rather, it wanted polygamy accepted and understood. (A second ground the IRS mentioned may have carried more weight: while a 501(c)(3) can lobby, such lobbying has to be an insubstantial part of its activities. PVoP did exempt educational and charitable stuff, and I don’t have a sense for what percentage of its activities included lobbying. But that’s not the main grounds the IRS used.)

Both organizations could have, but chose not to, challenge the IRS’s determination. Why? My guess is that at least PVoP didn’t have the money to hire attorneys to challenge it. (I don’t know much about the FLDS, but it wouldn’t shock me if they don’t have access to super-sophisticated tax counsel.) So this is where difference number one is: the LDS Church has plenty of money to spend on legal representation, and plenty of attorneys who would be willing to represent it. Even if the IRS were to take the view that a polygamy-endorsing church didn’t qualify for tax exemption, it wouldn’t have the last word.

But also, you’ll notice the centrality of polygamy in the IRS’s description of the PVoP. One of PVoP’s “substantial purpose[s],” according to the IRS, was promoting polygamy. Even a 21st-century LDS Church that reinstated polygamy would presumably have a lot more going on than just polygamy. It would, I suppose, depend on precisely how it was reinstated, but I have trouble imagining a world in which a reinstated polygamy was a substantial purpose of the church.

But more critically, these rulings came at an interesting juncture. The following year, the Supreme Court issued its opinion in Hobby Lobby, recognizing a corporation as having religious liberty rights. And it has since expanded both the scope of free exercise and the scope of corporate rights. As unpopular as polygamy remains, I don’t think we’re in the same world as were were in 1879, when the Supreme Court decided Reynolds.

Thus my longer answer: I arrive at the same place, but not without some ambiguity and analysis. It’s not an obvious answer, but I’m pretty confident it’s the correct answer.

[fn1] My interlocutor clearly knows me, because this is precisely the kind of question I can’t resist addressing!

[fn2] A private letter ruling is a nonprecedential ruling made to an individual taxpayer about a specific tax issue. Tax attorneys use them to get a sense of what the IRS’s thinking is

[fn3] Don’t click on the links from this website: the orgs website is defunct and now is owned by someone else.

ChristianSW, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

When the author of the Epistle to the Hebrews presents his litany of the faithful, he naturally dwells on Abraham. Among other things, Abraham “looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God.” But he, like everyone else “died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them.” I look at our shared history in a similar light. It illuminates my own seemingly futile hope for the city of God.

I think I first met Melissa Inouye at a Mormon History Association conference several years ago. As she confesses in her newly released book, it is easy to recognize the bald Asian Mormon woman in the room. I think I knew that she was a Harvard trained professor of Religious History. And I knew that people loved her.  It was several years before she demonstrated her patience and generosity firsthand as she edited one of my manuscripts. If she ever rolled her eyes at me—something I consistently earn—she concealed it well.

Deseret Book released Melissa’s Sacred Struggle this week. It is a faith-inspiring meditation on what it means to be a human being—a deeply Latter-day Saint confrontation with the problems of evil. Her acknowledgement of being a recognizable demographic-of-one comes in her discussion of dealing with gaping fractures in the body of Christ. She writes about being present while a fellow Latter-day Saint woman excoriates principles that Melissa believes are central, beautiful, and necessary. How can we not tear ourselves apart? It is a vital question far beyond our religious community. Melissa’s response is shocking and even disorienting. I don’t know if it is applicable outside of that moment, but she physically performed a remarkable possibility.

The presence of her body is one of the most fundamentally Latter-day Saint aspects of Melissa’s dialogue. There is a conscious physicality in <em>Sacred Struggle</em>. Melissa has cancer and she uses her body to explore ideas. Sometimes this means being present with another human being and weeping.  Sometimes it means reflecting on how a specific incident of pre-surgical nausea relates to the burdens and responsibilities of connecting to our sacred and sometimes problematic past (p. 68).

Through it all, Melissa is a strikingly self-aware narrator.  In this way, the volume has a kinship with Kate Holbrook’s posthumous Both Things Are True. She does not hide the intergenerational work necessary to become both patient and generous. She does not hide from pain or complexity. And she does not hide from faith.

I don’t know if I am any closer to the city whose builder and architect is God. After reading Sacred Struggle, I think that I have a better view that it is possible.