By Common Consent, a Mormon Blog

I think that Mother’s Day is one of the hardest Sunday meetings to “get right.”[1]  Though there are occasional gems, too often the sacrament talks are little more than syrupy pedestalizing that reinforces a certain stereotype of LDS motherhood (usually grounded in statements made by male leaders) and which can be difficult for those women who—for whatever reason—don’t meet that stereotype. And during the second hour, the trend has been to invite the young women to join the Relief Society. I’ve heard that, sometimes, these gatherings really create a sense of sisterhood. But I have also seen this become an opportunity to deliver the subtle message “you’re not mothers yet, but you should want to be.” Again, this subtext can be challenging for many who might be in attendance.

*Updated*

Music weaves its way through scriptures and is an important part of Christianity generally and LDS worship and culture specifically. Music is something that is made, as we see in references to heavenly choirs,[1] to Earthly singing,[2] or to instrument playing (e.g. David and his harp, Miriam and her timbrel, or late-night violin sessions in the Nauvoo Temple).[3] Music is a means of worship, as we see in the creation of structured, melodic prayers like we find in the Psalter, in the LDS Hymnal, or in the compositions Georg Frederic Handel and Thomas Tallis. And we experience music as central parts of our weekly church services (e.g. Sam Brunson’s recent post about musical numbers). Music is both ubiquitous in and an integral part of LDS expressions of belief, weekly liturgy, and formal worship practices (consider General Conference, for instance).[4]

When you boil it down, music is a collection of single expressions—individual notes, moments of rest, etc. These individual elements, arranged in certain ways, and piled upon each other have the power to invoke remarkable power. But—and this is still amazing to me—in Western music there are only twelve notes.[5] That’s it: 12. Yet, there is a seemingly infinite variety of music that can be played using them.

There were three phases to my ward’s experience with the Covid Pandemic: (1) a remote phase that I think lasted from early 2020 to the fall, (2) a hybrid phase that I think lasted for about a year, where some were remote and some were in person, and (3) a business as usual phase that continues to today. During the remote phase Church services and classes were remote via Zoom, during the hybrid phase some remained remote but others attended in person subject to safety protocols, and upon the last phase the only difference from before the pandemic was that a zoom broaddcast of sacrement meeining continued to be available, but that was the only remnant of the pandemic.

Alma 34:17-24 is a surprising set of scriptures. Recall that in this part of the Book of Mormon narrative, Alma and Amulek are teaching those who had been excluded from their worship community. The individuals who were excluded believed (and I suppose had been taught) that the only proper way to worship was within the walls of the buildings they had helped erect but which they were not allowed to enter (and the text doesn’t say this but it seems reasonable to assume given the well-developed liturgy and practices that existed among the Zoramites that a centralized priestly authority that oversaw this worship and served as boundary wardens of orthodoxy).

In response to the outcast’s concern, “but how can we worship when we’re not allowed to go to the place where worship happens?”, Alma responds with another question: “why do you think you can only worship in these places?” (Alma 32:5, 10). In Alma 34, Amulek picks up this thread.

My wife Sandy was born and raised on the south side of DeKalb, Il, two hours due west of Chicago. My family moved to the north side of DeKalb in the mid-60s. We didn’t now each other existed until high school, because the grammar and middle schools were separated by north and south, but there was only one high school, which all students attended. So in high school I knew who Sandy was, but I had no personal interactions with her. I only had one oblique interaction with her. One day I walked into the school library and there was a display of the winning entries to an art contest. Most of those winning entries were Sandy’s. I was shocked by her artistic talent. I particularly recall a pointelist drawing of a horse’s face, whicb was exquisite. Her dad was a farmer so she lived every girl’s dream of owning her own horse.

Adapted from a sacrament meeting talk given in Elk Grove, California on 4/22/23

Once upon a time, I built my faith – and my relationships – on the expectation that certain things were fixed and permanent, even though I couldn’t prove them. In the ocean of life, my expectations were like a raft of ice. No matter what else happened, I could expect that my next step or two could be safe and secure from the waves on my little raft of faith. 

Speaking of walking through the ocean of life, let’s read the story of Peter walking on water from Matthew 14.

I had a conflict and so was unable to watch Saturday Conference, but I was able to tune in for the Sunday sessions. To catch up I read some of Peggy’s commentary on the Saturday sessions. The first several paragraphs were focused on the ages of the 1P. Now, I knew RMN was deep into his 90s, but I was not aware that RMN will turn 100 in August, and DHO is 91 and President Eyring is 90. I guess I just hadn’t been paying attetention, but I was shocked by how old they all were. And so I sent the captioned title to the BCC backlist.

One of my blogmates mentioned that there has been a lot of chatter on this subject, and a Google search confirmed. (I would especially recommend Greg Prince’s seminal work published in Dialogue). Another mentioned that a member of the press asked RMN whether Apostles would be allowed to retire any time soon, and his response was words to the effect that the Apostles would just have to suck it up.

When I was young (I’m GenX if that gives you a sense of timing), priesthood was defined as “the power of God delegated to man.” Though I was taught that ‘man’ meant ‘humankind,’ for all practical purposes the ‘priesthood’ resided with the boys and men and was roughly equivalent in my young mind to the authority to administer saving ordinances and oversee (or preside at) church functions.

But, in the last few years, there has been an interesting rhetorical expansion in the way LDS folks use the word ‘priesthood.’ I thought it might be informative to sketch out how I’ve experienced this word used in my church experiences as of late.

First, priesthood as God’s power: This is one that feels fairly esoteric. Does being God mean advancing to the point where the free exercise of this power is possible, or is God’s power just called ‘priesthood’? I’ve heard both positions argued. And, in the end, both arguments sounded like a re-articulation of the question in the form of a statement. Regardless, this is one way that the word is used. Interestingly, despite the place that a feminine divine holds in LDS thinking and the reality of females being initiated into the priesthood in the temple (see immediately below), I’m unaware of any official discussion of Heavenly Mother’s connection to priesthood, and thus discussions about God and priesthood are nearly exclusively gendered male when pronouns are required; e.g. “Through the priesthood He created and governs the heavens and the earth.”)

[It’s been years since I last shared this story; I thought I’d do so again. Happy Easter, everyone.]

Once upon a time, three trees stood in a forest high on a mountain, dreaming of what they might become one day.

We’re coming to a close on Nephi’s words, so it seems like a good time to take a moment and explore the wealth of what he teaches us about moral injury. Originating in studies of combat veterans, moral injury is the damage done to a person’s conscience or moral compass when that person perpetrates, witnesses, or fails to prevent acts that transgress their own moral beliefs, values, or ethical codes of conduct. [1] Think of it like the existential disruption a person faces after a severe moral quandary.

There’s no question Nephi underwent a lot of moral injury in his life. He witnessed or failed to prevent displacement, hunger, loss, and attempted murder, just because he tried to follow the spiritual and moral guidance of his father. He perpetrated murder (of Laban), kidnapping (of Zoram) and harm against his brothers (shocking them so they fell to the earth after he built the boat). And he was transparent throughout both books of Nephi that he shrank and would that [he] might not do them. These actions – particularly the ones he perpetrated – violated his own moral beliefs, values or ethical codes of conduct.

When discussing these actions Nephi took, I’ve often heard people say something along the lines of because God commanded them, those things were all okay. Nephi didn’t have to feel any guilt or shame about them [2]. Based on my understanding of moral injury, though, I’d suggest that because God commanded them, they probably had a bigger impact on Nephi – that he probably felt more guilt and shame – than would have happened otherwise [3].

Recently, I participated in an Episcopal church service. I enjoy the “high church” feel of the Episcopal liturgy; but as I was quietly listening to the music and to the call/response of the service, things took an unexpected turn.

In a moment of quiet the pastor asked whether anyone was celebrating a birthday during the week. One person stood up. She (the pastor is female) acknowledged the person by name and then proceeded to offer a prayer. The prayer she offered is a set prayer found in the Book of Common Prayer:

“Watch over thy child, O Lord, as his days increase; bless and guide him wherever he may be. Strengthen him when he stands; comfort him when discouraged or sorrowful; raise him up if he falls; and in his heart may thy peace which passeth understanding abide all the days of his life; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”[1]

All in all, I’m very grateful I served my mission. While it included substantial struggle, and as I’ve written in Scrupulous: My Obsessive Compulsion to God, deep wrestles with and revelations about my mental health, I’m glad it happened.

I am not going to dive into the details for feeling that way, not right now. But I have been going more and more interested in how mission experiences are remembered, particularly among those in my generational bracket (millennial) and younger. Speaking purely anecdotally, I have observed many more negative memories than positive ones among recent (and recent-ish) returned missionaries.

To that end, I have authored a short survey to help me get a better handle on how returned missionaries feel about their missions. This survey also includes several demographics questions which will help me better understand any worthwhile trends.

Please take a moment to complete the survey. To be clear, I recognize that this is not a scientific endeavor; more than anything, I am just hoping to use the data for a later post (in which I will unpack the responses and discuss my own mission) and add to a larger conversation about missions and our collective experience.

Click here for survey

The theme of the talks was reverence, yet it was among the rowdiest sacrament meetings in recent memory.