For believers of many faiths, salvation is a word of most supreme importance.  For others, however, I’ve learned that the word “salvation” connotes something foreign and off-putting at best, and offensive or threatening at worst (reflecting, as it often does, an implicit sense of eternal judgment on the non-saved).

In other moments, however, when I have witnessed suffering in people of all backgrounds, I have found myself wondering, “whatever term we happen to call it, don’t all human beings seek some sort of reprieve, relief and release from suffering?”

While Christians might call it “salvation” and envision additional meanings beyond the here-and-now, don’t we all seek the very abatement of suffering that many great religious and philosophical teachers have sought in various traditions?

Beyond the exclusively Christian definition, the dictionary defines salvation as “a source or means of being saved from harm, ruin, or loss” or “preservation from destruction or failure…deliverance from danger or difficulty” or “liberation from ignorance or illusion.”

This starts to get at a sense of salvation that everyone – no matter their conceptual differences – might resonate with…due to the simple fact of universal human pain.

It was this insight that became the First Noble Truth in the Buddhist tradition – namely, “There is suffering, dukkha. Dukkha should be understood. Dukkha has been understood.”

This insight, one teacher elaborates, “applies to everything that you can possibly experience or do or think concerning the past, the present or the future. Suffering or dukkha is the common bond we all share.”

For me, at least, that insight potentially helps move the conversation about salvation itself beyond the wearisome “saved or not” debate (only feeling relevant to Christians) – towards something much more juicy:  opening up a fascinating inquiry into the various kinds of “salvation” we seek from pain and suffering (clearly relevant to anyone that is alive).

Just look around! Go ahead and google “statistics” and any one of the following:  “pornography” or “hours watching television/playing video games” or “gambling” or “prescription painkillers” or “anti-depressants” for starters…

Don’t get me wrong…with some exceptions, many of these can be healthy parts of life when used in sensible, balanced ways.  Every one of them, however, without exception, can and does become for many people a kind of domineering influence that controls many people’s lives – and multiplies suffering.

Among other things, it seems to me that these various attempts to “save” people from discomfort and woe share a similar characteristic – especially when compared to what the Christian or Buddhists might portray as “liberation” or “salvation.”

In each instance – drugs, alcohol, sex, television, gambling, shopping, food – there is a substance or behavior encouraging and permitting us to step away from what is hard and what is painful.  Each allows us to “leave behind” the pain (at least temporarily, at least on the surface) as we occupy and preoccupy ourselves in one or another form of stimulation.  

Whatever exactly stimulation it is matters less than that you are distracted, and taken away from the moment.

In that moment – no matter what lies ahead, no matter the side-effects or long-term consequences – in that moment we are “saved” from whatever discomfort may be bothering us.

In this way, we can come to cling to some kind of pleasant sensation as our primary relief, comfort and joy.  Even if not calling it “salvation,” isn’t this relief something all human beings seek?

If the interest is there, we might fill entire days with Netflix alone – or porn or food binging.  In the modern world, the distraction is potentially never ending.

Over months and years, individuals can be reduced to nursing their pain through the daily injection of some kind of numbing/stimulating agent.

Little wonder, then, that the Buddha taught that this kind of grasping or avoiding was itself a primary cause of suffering (rather than the “liberation” these things seem to promise).

Other kinds of salvation, by contrast, including Buddhist liberation and Christian salvation, always involves some degree of turning towards what is hard and what is painful.  In bending of the knee, the opening of a communion with God, the confession of a sin, or the partaking of the sacrament (similar to the sitting on a meditation cushion), the mind and heart are turned more directly and attentively towards one’s circumstances and condition first of all.

Out of that, of course, the Christian plea then turns towards God – not necessarily to distract from or take away all the pain magically (although this is how we all pray sometimes), but to ultimately and fundamentally to seek a relationship that promises redemption from it.

Although this path often involves letting go of some immediate forms of pleasure and stimulation, there is conviction that “as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him” (1 Corinthians 2:9).

Of course, from an outside perspective, these religious attempts at “salvation” seem like dressed-up attempts to take away all fun, pleasure, stimulation, satisfaction and positive sensations in life (!!)

Contrasting narratives aside, the point here is more simple. Whatever exactly call it, and whatever we decide it is, isn’t “salvation” something we are all seeking on some level?  SOMETHING for the pain…?

If so, then maybe the fundamental question becomes simply:  where will we turn?  Where will we seek our salvation?

Elsewhere, I’ve written about this query in other contexts – including Pornography as a quasi-religion and Satan’s plan of salvation.

Needless to say, the Christian answer starts with an insistence that “man cannot live by Netflix alone…or porn alone…or anti-depressants alone.”

Far more than saying “these other salvation’s are not enough,” however, our message as Christians goes one step further.  As King Benjamin put it, “There shall be no other name given nor any other way nor means whereby salvation can come unto the children of men, only in and through the name of Christ, the Lord Omnipotent.”  He then encourages all men and women to “humble themselves and become as little children, and believe that salvation was, and is, and is to come, in and through the atoning blood of Christ, the Lord Omnipotent” (Mosiah 3:17-18).

As far as I’m concerned, when it comes to long-term relief and reprieve, there is only One fundamental salvation.In the communion of prayer, the remission of sacrament and even the stillness of meditation, it is Christ whose light is “in all and through all things” and “which giveth life to all things” (D&C 88:6 & 13).  As King Benjamin added, it is He who “is preserving you from day to day, by lending you breath, that ye may live and move and do according to your own will, and even supporting you from one moment to another” (Mosiah 2:21).

Moment by moment, then, this becomes our choice:  Do we run after some kind of stimulation – anything – to not feel this!  Or do we take whatever we are feeling to Him –  the One who has the authority and power (and empathy) to reveal the unique lessons this moment offers and to ultimately “wipe away our tears” in a redemption unmatched by all the other wanna-bees…

I’ve had a couple of friends recently tell me that they just don’t feel “comfortable” at Church. For each of them, that means something slightly different…but it’s got me thinking.

As the world continues to speed up and digitize all around us, any of one of us can start wondering about spiritual and religious stuff:  “why would you ever want to spend your time doing that?!!”

Especially when faced with conflict or contradiction within the community, the one option that seems to make sense to many is giving up on them entirely: Why would I continue to do this if I’m not completely comfortable there? 

The Christian writer John Backman, a member of our dialogue group and a man who identifies as queer, offers some interesting thoughts in this regard.  After making the case for personal worship – scriptures, prayer – as a way to expand the mind, Backman concludes these individual practices are still insufficient:  “It is possible to read Genesis to Revelation and still live inside our own heads, because we draw only from our own encounters.  Hence the practice of community.  In the interchange with a group of people, we are confronted with worldviews and frames of reference that we never could have imagined ourselves. We find entirely new ways of viewing old truths.  We open up still further to the possibilities of truth and the value of ‘I could be wrong.'”

He goes on to describe how even after spending decades studying and exploring his faith, the people of his own Episcopal parish have “introduced me to approaches that never would have crossed my mind.” After giving several examples, he says, “some of these encounters upset my theological applecart from time to time, and I did not feel a need to accept any of the approaches wholesale.  Ultimately, though, they have led me to a richer, more complex understanding of my faith – and a respect for an even broader range of opinions.”

Any group of people could potentially work in this way, he admits:  “Community, however – the dedication to a specific group of people, come what may – provides a safe place for the virtues to blossom in our soul.  By nurturing that safety, we facilitate the willingness to risk.  By persisting with people we may not even like, so as to cultivate their growth and our own, we foster our ability to love.  By conflicting with others, then working out our differences, we come to see ourselves as one person in a group, and so we grow in humility.  At the most basic level, our living in community is simply our commitment to love fleshed out in a specific time and place.”[1]

In other words, we go to Church to do something more than “feel comfortable.”  We go to be stretched, challenged and pressed in ways we may not otherwise be.  In the LDS context, Eugene England put it this way:

In the life of the true Church, there are constant opportunities for all to serve, especially to learn to serve people we would not normally choose to serve—or possibly even associate with—and thus opportunities to learn to love unconditionally. There is constant encouragement, even pressure, to be “active”: to have a calling” and thus to have to grapple with relationships and management, with other people’s ideas and wishes, their feelings and failures; to attend classes and meetings and to have to listen to other people’s sometimes misinformed or prejudiced notions and to have to make some constructive response; to have leaders and occasionally to be hurt by their weakness and blindness, even unrighteous dominion; and then to be made a leader and find that you, too, with all the best intentions, can be weak and blind and unrighteous. Church involvement teaches us compassion and patience as well as courage and discipline. It makes us responsible for the personal and marital, physical, and spiritual welfare of people we may not already love (or may even heartily dislike), and thus we learn to love them. It stretches and challenges us, though disappointed and exasperated, in ways we would not otherwise choose to be— and thus gives us a chance to be made better than we might choose to be, but ultimately need and want to be.

In an age when we can tailor-make our news to confirm everything we really believe, maybe we need to remind ourselves that real community isn’t (and shouldn’t) be like that.  Rather than clean-cut, airbrushed experiences, communal worship can be welcomed in its challenging, stretching, messyness.

And maybe that’s what it takes to really prepare us for what lies ahead.  Maybe that’s what these bodies and minds need in order to “crucify” the parts of us that are ungodly and allow ourselves to experience what C.S. Lewis describes as God’s deeply uncomfortable renovation process:

Speaking of this life, Joseph Smith was quoted as saying, “You will have all kinds of trials to pass through. And it is quite as necessary for you to be tried as it was for Abraham and other men of God… God will feel after you, and He will take hold of you and wrench your very heart strings and if you cannot stand it you will not be fit for an inheritance in the Celestial kingdom of God.”[2]

So what do you think?  Are there legitimate reasons to stick with something that feels uncomfortable now – a marriage, a Church, a job?

I promise to post every comment that comes in.

Notes:  

[1] I highly recommend John’s book here or on Amazon:  Backman, J. (2013). Why Can’t We Talk?  Christian Wisdom on Dialogue as a Habit of the Heart. Skylight Paths Publishing: Woodstock, Vermont.  (p. 55-56)

[2] John Taylor recalls the words of Joseph Smith to the Twelve. JS manual page 231

Subtitle:  So What Would this Third Space Look Like?  

So if we’re going to build some kind of infrastructure within which people of widely variant views on Mormonism might actually enjoy each other (see Mark’s pitch here too), what would that take? Here are a few of my own ideas – putting out some specifics for Mark’s response (and anyone else).

1. Come as you are. One of the core agreements, it seems to me, would have to be that no matter what you feel about Mormonism: anger, ambivalence, fear, resentment, sorrow (or joy and love)…ALL experiences are welcome. No matter what you are feeling, you are welcome to continue feeling that – and to bring that into the Third Space.

I can imagine some ways we’ll try to work with different feelings in this space together – but our request would (and should) never be that you stop feeling what you are feeling. On the contrary, I see this space as radically inviting of all kinds of experience – much like a mindfulness retreat: “No matter what you feel, allowing things to be exactly as you find them. Without trying to force or fix or control them…”

2. Stand where you are. On both a personal and an interpersonal level, I propose the Third Space as a place to practice deep acceptance of wherever people are. This isn’t the same thing, of course, of agreeing with where they are (or wanting them to be there)…Rather, it is an allowing people to be in their own experience – and showing basic respect for their own choice to stand exactly there.

One of Jacob’s dear friends described beginning to have serious questions about the church. He recounted how everywhere he turned – first to his wife, then to his extended family, then to church members, he experienced the same thing: resistance and fear.  Wouldn’t it be cool to insist on a space where we practiced non-resistance with each other – and with any concern or question brought to the space?  (without an agenda – not in this space – to make it go away, or to act on it, or to not act on it)

In my own time with Mark, I’ve appreciated ways he has stretched to make sure I personally feel space to stand where I am in relation to his own deep convictions. For instance, I began to notice more and more he would say things like, “I realize you will have another take on this…” (and then he would say something I definitely don’t see the same way).

It’s something I took a lot of notice of – since the only discernible reason why Mark would make these additions is to ensure that I was feeling comfortable in the space between this.  And it worked!…making me feel safe, loved (and even more curious and interested at what he was saying).

3. Understanding as priority. On the foundation of deep acceptance and safety – however you are, wherever you are – I would also suggest that we prioritize understanding first (above other legitimate interests). That means the primary goal entering this space is not to persuade or convince (or proselyte or convert) someone else to think or feel like you do. That can be a legitimate hope and desire (see #4) – but for the purposes of this space, I propose a collective agreement that this shouldn’t dominate.

My own experience has been that when we place a desire to understand first, something magical begins to happen. As we all let go of the “need” for another person to see things like me, the dynamic changes in the space between us.  Call it curiosity or inquiry or exploration…it’s a powerful thing to witness when we move from “working on each other” to instead “learning from each other” and deeply hearing each other out.

4. Conviction is welcome. Of course this doesn’t mean that we somehow shouldn’t want others to understand us and even to see things like we do.  One pervasive stereotype of a dialogue space like we’re describing is that people must ‘check’ their passion and conviction at the door – as if we’re all agreeing to dwell in some kind of mushy middle ground where “everyone’s ideas are equally true and valuable.”

If a place like this actually existed, I can assure you that neither Mark nor myself would want to live there – even temporarily. One reason I keep coming back to dialogue is because it’s consistently the MOST passionate conversation I’ve ever been a part of – and WITH people who don’t just confirm my own biases!

Want to be able to share your own convictions and concerns in a space insisting on joint exploration of what we all most deeply believe?  That’s what I’m imagining…

5. Uncertainty and struggle are welcome too. It’s common for people considering dialogue to think they need to “go and research” a lot – so they have firm answers they can advocate for.  For me, this represents a profound misunderstanding of what dialogue aims to be – namely, a place deeply welcoming of uncertainty. In such a place, seductive level of curiosity that can emerge: think of all the things you’d like to know and understand? Now imagine actually being able to ask those questions?

Along the same lines, I also envision Third Space as a place to experiment and explore together – ‘what the heck is possible between us?’  Rather than modeling some kind of “perfect” relationship – I see this as a place we can struggle together – making mistakes and learning from our interactions – cemented by the larger commitment to sticking with it and trusting each others’ intentions.

So there you have it!  Do these feel valuable, over-stated, under-stated?  Any elaborations?  Revisions?  Rejections?  I’m imagining 10-15 people who meet up monthly in a Google-hangout agreeing on conditions (and others) – whatever we decide!

 If there was a way to discover (or regain) a vibrant, affectionate relationship with someone who disagrees with you about Mormonism, would you be interested?

Mark and I have been musing about this for quite awhile – experimenting with the possibility in our own relationship. As I’ve mentioned before, Mark is a former Mormon who I met in the MTC years ago, with whom I recently re-connected over common professional interests. Usually the tacit agreement with friends not involved in the Church is to ‘not go there.’  Mark and I decided to do the opposite – turning towards the thorny things that often caused such resentment…with some fresh curiosity.

Even though we both had plenty of stories in our heads about the ‘other side,’ part of our success, I think, arose from a shared willingness to hold these stories gently enough to make space for the lived experience of the other to surprise us.  (The Buddhists call this “beginner’s mind” – encountering something or someone fresh – as if for the first time).

What didn’t I understand about Mark’s experience? What more was there to see?

Quite a bit, it turns out.  As our conversation matured and progressed, powerful realizations and ‘breakthrough’ moments happened for both of us. Along the way, we’ve also had to face and metabolize some of the same tension and misunderstanding that characterizes the Mormon/former Mormon interface.  But rather than allowing that to push us away from each other, we’ve held onto our friendship – trusting both the sincerity of our desire to better understand and the authenticity of each other’s personal care.

This wasn’t hard for me to believe. I’ll never forget calling up Doc Foster late one evening when our baby had the croup (the kind of cough where you think your child is going to suffocate!) In 10 minutes, Mark helped us walk through the symptoms and triage our options – quickly allaying both our fears and the severity of Sammy’s cough.

That’s pretty much how our relationship has gone too.  Rather than ‘freaking’ out about the frustrations, we’ve made space for them – ‘cradling’ them with some tenderness. And sure enough, the ‘symptoms’ of alienation have passed in a remarkable way…It’s been a long time since I felt deep tension or frustration with Mark. I now experience our relationship as powerful and enjoyable – even more so than other relationships, frankly, because of the unique way that we can press each other openly (about big questions), exploring without all the fears-of-fragility and offense.

So how much of the Mormon/former Mormon conflict is related to deeper dynamics of resistance and resentments, versus the actual substance of our disagreements?  Clearly, those differences are significant – but even so, is it possible for others to find the space that Mark and I had? Were he and I just a strange anomaly to be explained away, or was it possible for other people (many other people) to have vociferous disagreements about the fundamental nature of reality, while deeply respecting (and enjoying) each other?

At this point in the discussion, the idea of a ‘shared space’ emerged as a broader metaphor for us both:  what would it look like to have a ‘third space’  – separate from our usual home turf as Mormons or former-Mormons?  What kind of qualities and characteristics would that Third Space require for both sides to feel not only safe and comfortable, but to actually be able to enjoy each other again? Is that even possible?

That’s our question for you today! (check out Mark’s parallel post here). If you feel some skepticism about the prospect, we welcome your hesitancy!  After all, we might be dead wrong.  But we’ve seen so many stories of heart-breaking, chronically-awful tension, that we can’t help asking the question!

In proposing a Third Space, by the way, we’re not trying to propose some grand new schema where everyone lives together happy ever after.  People on both sides will continue occupying their home-turf on a day-to-day basis – and we’re fine with that.  Rather than focusing on changing those spaces, we’re inviting people to consider “visiting” this Third Space with us – seeing it more like an exotic vacation spot where we get out of our normal patterns and let ourselves try an adventure together: ‘come check it out…we think you’ll like it.’

And if you don’t, that’s okay too. After all, sometimes dialogue may not be appropriate.  Sometimes space apart from ‘those people’ is crucial.

And other times, that yearning for deeper connection comes right back:  So what would it take to make that happen?

 In the weeks ahead, we’ll be going back and forth on some ideas that have emerged from past conversations – aiming together for some kind of joint construction and integrated Third Space infrastructure.  If you’d like to help that happen, we welcome your input and suggestions along the way.

Who knows whether this will lead anywhere.  But we think it’s worth a try.  How many other beautiful relationships are currently diluted or paralyzed by the warring stories and expectations along the Mormon/Former Mormon divide?  If there was a way to move beyond that, wouldn’t it be worth a shot?

The importance of human agency and personal responsibility within Latter-day Saint discourse is not something anyone can miss.  From missionary discussions, to Sunday School classes, to Sacrament meeting talks, to General Conference, the emphasis on personal choice and freedom as central to God’s plan is clear and unmistakable.

And rightly so!  Humankind’s ability and privilege to choose and to act for themselves is a central and beautiful feature of our mortal lives.  It’s something to celebrate!

This agency is mentioned in scripture as bestowed as part of mortality – even a gift from God (Moses 7:32; D&C 101:78). This most often seems interpreted to mean that freedom of choice is an innate and stable life feature that can and should continue with us at a constant level throughout our lives – no matter what happens, and with no interruptions.

Even in painful situations involving trauma, physical/mental illness or addiction, we still typically uphold freedom of choice as front and center.  Against a backdrop of this doctrine of agency, our first impulse in these exceptional situations is to underscore the power of choice that people ‘still have to make the right choice, take responsibility,’ etc.

And in a world that where increasingly large swaths of human experience are narrated as figments of social structures and power dynamics (on the outside) or brain chemicals and genetics (on the inside), this Mormon impulse to push back and remind Victimized America of the centrality of human freedom is understandable and probably necessary.

Can it be overdone, however – this emphasis on agency?

The Willpower Manifesto. By the time our first born son William turned 2, he began to randomly say this ‘cute phrase’ all the time:  “I not need help.  I not need help.  I not need help.” Soon, this turned into:  “I can do this all by myself!” 

Even when faced with clearly impossible tasks like climbing a steep ladder at the playground, this became something of a mantra:  “No, Daddy – I can do it .. all by myself!”

Isn’t that sometimes how we adults sound as well?…casting our own personal power as almost preeminent in its influence: “Anything you set your mind to can happen”…”Willpower is the key to success” (Dan Millman)…”People can do all things if they will” (Leon Batista Alberti)

It seems to me that we absolutely love to hear people tell us that we can DO IT – or as Obama would say, “yes, we can!” 

So zealously does this testimony ring in the American mind, that it’s taken for granted by many that with enough hard work, grit and willpower, indeed – anything is possible.

Embedded as many of us are within Western society, that’s kind of how we sometimes talk as Mormons too.  On a fairly regular basis, I’ve heard members of the Church teach and testify of agency with such forcefulness that you couldn’t blame anyone walking away from thinking, ‘as long as I try hard enough…and keep working hard – anything is possible!’ (translation:  I can do this all by myself!)

But is that true?

Super-sizing the Gospel. It’s true that Jesus did teach “all things are possible to him that believeth” (Mark 9:23).

That’s a little different than saying, ‘all things are possible to those who exert themselves,’ right?

In the era of The Secret, however, these two message have blended together in some kind of super-sized gospel message:  “You can do it…whatever you dream…whatever you want…a good God would want nothing less!”

Powerless: ‘No I can’t!’  I used to believe this too – more or less.  Then something else came into my life:  bondage.  A legitimate slavery – where I a degree of my agency felt unquestionably lost….to feelings, thoughts, actions that I didn’t want.

Initially, however, I was sure that if I just worked hard enough, I would eventually beat what I faced…until I didn’t.

Years of trying hard(er) and working hard(er) convinced me of something that felt profoundly un-American:  No, I can’t!  

Something in me fought against that – and didn’t want to believe it…holding out hope that with a little more effort, I would push through this. During this period, I came across a t-shirt with a picture of a jeep dangling over a ravine, with the caption: “Self-Confidence is what you feel before you realize what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Following the tradition of Bill, Bob and millions of others in the 12-step tradition, a clear turning-point for me came in realizing that my life had truly become “unmanageable” and that I was literally, practically “powerless” of myself – to free myself.

On first glance, this can feel like a resignation.  ‘Hold on, now’ – we want to ask:  ‘You’re an agent to yourself!  Don’t make yourself out to be a victim!’  Might this be a dangerous ‘giving up’ – a kind of contradiction to the gospel itself?  One woman told me she could never take that step because it would take away her motivation to act at all. A bishop told me that the 12-steps were harmful because it “taught people they didn’t have freedom.”

Within the contemplative community, the same fascinating debate is happening, by the way.  On one hand, some insist that talk of powerlessness is antithetical to mindfulness; on the other, are those who highlight strong common ground between the 12-step and mindfulness traditions (see here and here).

In both Mormon and mindfulness communities, those holding these concerns about the 12-steps seem to see freedom as a simple dichotomy – ‘we have freedom’ or ‘we don’t.’

What if, however, freedom and agency turns out to be more of a continuum on which I could grow or ebb, depending on my moment by moment choices?

Freedom as Spectrum. That, at least, has been my own experience.  If I chose some quiet time to feast on His words first thing in the morning, for instance, that seemed to consistently open up greater freedom that day.  To the degree I yielded to immediate gratification during the day as the source of my well-being – whether from food, media or sleep – that seemed to always move me in the reverse direction.

While I can’t seem to choose not to feel something or even to not struggle with certain things, I can choose to do other things that would move me in another direction.

Rather than teaching me ‘I don’t have freedom,’ the 12-steps insight is that I don’t have total freedom.  What I found in my own situation is that by acknowledging that (and only after acknowledging that), was I able to pivot towards the Savior in a way that introduced me to real redemption.

Jesus as Superhero.  Instead of seeing him only as a side-line coach, a cheerleader or a role model, you see, this compelled me to see Christ in ‘whole new’ light…which turns out to be not-all-that new in the scriptures:

• Abinidi:   “Thus all mankind were lost; and behold, they would have been endlessly lost were it not that God redeemed his people from their lost and fallen state” (Mosiah 16:14)
• Amulek:”According to the great plan of the Eternal God there must be an atonement made, or else all mankind must unavoidably perish; yea, all are hardened; yea, all are fallen and are lost, and must perish except it be through the atonement which it is expedient should be made” (Alma 34:9)
• Jacob: “O how great the goodness of our God, who prepareth a way for our escape from the grasp of this awful monster” (2 Nephi 9:10)

Maybe all that talk of Deliverer and Redeemer was not hyperbole after all?

This is precisely the ‘other doctrine’ that we seem to miss or overshadow when agency is over-stated. The connection between these two concepts is taught most beautifully by Lehi:  “The Messiah cometh in the fullness of time, that he may redeem the children of men from the fall.  And because that they are redeemed from the fall, they have become free…” (2 Nephi 2:26)

In other words, our freedom comes not just ‘because’ (because we exist, because we are born, because we are mortal).  It comes from Jesus.

That freedom we do exercise, Lehi continues to clarify, comes as a mediated gift:  “Wherefore, men are free according to the flesh; and all things are given them which are expedient unto man. And they are free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil; for he seeketh that all men might be miserable like unto himself” (2 Ne. 2:27)

Rather than freedom existing simply due to Christ’s coming into the world generally, I now understand that freedom exists because of Christ came into my world (and life), specifically.  All power and freedom is mediated through Him.

My life has slowly been teaching me this…When a friend was depressed (in part due to some life decisions), I wrote a letter pleading with him to “turn to God!”

After reading my note, another friend cautioned me:  “He can’t just do this right now, Jacob!”

I wrestled against her comment – thinking of verses like this:  “And now remember, remember, my brethren, that whosoever perisheth, perisheth unto himself; and whosoever doeth iniquity, doeth it unto himself; for behold, ye are free; ye are permitted to act for yourselves; for behold, God hath given unto you a knowledge and he hath made you free” (Helaman 14:30)

Doesn’t that mean my friend (and all of us) are 100% responsible for our situations?

As I wrestled with these competing ideas, these words of the Lord came to mind: “No man can come to me, except the Father which hath sent me draw him” (John 6:44)

Could it be that if we’re in a dark enough place, even the choice to come to Jesus is something that needs to be prompted, supported and mediated?

[Another LDS author recently documented the historical shift away from the use of “free agency” as a term in LDS discourse – citing Elder Packer’s explanation: “Agency has its price. You have to pay the consequences of your choices.”  While that is obviously true, I would also add that HE pays the consequences of our choices if we accept Him – thus introducing a freedom which is ‘purchased by his blood’ – and thus, clearly not ‘free’].

This realization and insight has made all the difference in the world for me.  What happens, however, when we insist and teach and emphasize as first priority that ‘we always have a choice’ and ‘there is always something you can do’?  How does that make someone facing depression or severe anxiety or an eating disorder feel?  How about a couple facing crippling marriage problems?

Pushing Away the Stuck. I’ll tell you how it makes them feel:  uninspired, at best – and unattached and distant, at worst.  After all, ‘how does this message even apply to me – seeing that I’m stuck…maybe the gospel doesn’t work for me’?

Take those same people, however, facing the same stuckness – and share with them a message that acknowledges the stuckness – and invites them to move from that starting place towards Christ in a new way…and guess what happens?

People light up!

The 12-steps, you see, don’t end with a personal declaration of powerlessness.  They only begin there. After acknowledging I CANNOT… in almost the same breath (the next breathe, more precisely), comes the second step:  Someone else CAN help us…and we CAN do this with Him!

That level of confidence and power was something I never found on my own (no matter how many self-affirmations or motivational videos I watched!)  The freedom began flowing and multiplying in my life only, ironically, after acknowledging that I wasn’t free in some significant ways.

This stands in sharp contrast to all the years of emphasizing harder work and greater effort  – which often led to frustration (and ongoing stuckness).

Are there consequences to over-stating agency and over-emphasizing the power of personal freedom?

I say YES!  I think we’re losing people when we talk this way…especially those who feel the most hopeless.

The tragedy, of course, is that the gospel message is precisely for that person the most – something totally missed when the Good News is reduced to the Willpower Manifesto.

Resisting this Conclusion.  For those who have lived some kind of mental, emotional or physical bondage in their own life, this realization can feel liberating.  For those who have yet to recognize anything like this, it still feels a bit unsettling.

If you haven’t discovered this in your own life, keep watching. If you want a short-cut to this realization, find something in your life that you really want to change – even something simple.

My wife and I recently sensed that getting up earlier would make a difference for our emotional and spiritual well-being.

“Okay, let’s do this!” we initially thought.  After having worked at it for a month, and still finding ourselves groggy in the morning and unable to get up – we realized the changing Circadian Rhythms (especially with 3 little boys in the mix) is no simple ‘choice.’

Like other things, we came to realize how much we need His deliverance – even when it came to sleep cycles.

Unfortunately, the 12-Steps continue to be seen by many as a program for ‘those drunks’ or ‘those druggies’ or ‘those into porn.’  Consistently, however, those ‘normal’ people who venture into the 12-steps discover a profound influence and power to find changes they had never imagined possible.

After seeing it’s power in my own life, my wife began to apply the 12-steps to some emotional difficulties she had never been able to overcome (See EA).

There were also some dynamics and tensions between us as a couple that we had never found a way to overcome.  After a boatload of other failed efforts, we discovered a 12-step program for couples that became a remarkable turning point for us (see RCA).

Bottom line:  Maybe it’s time for all of us to let go of the 2 year old mantra – “I can do all things by myself” – and relish far more the rock-bottom core of the gospel message: “I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me” (Phillipians 4:13).

Moving beyond “You have a Choice” as somehow representing the hope of the gospel, how about simply declaring to the world, “You have a Redeemer!” (and yes, he will give you all the choice, power and freedom you need and dream of!!!)

Some of my dear friends and family members – people I respect and continue to respect – have decided to step away from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Because these are people I care about and love, I’ve wanted to better understand their experiences leading to this decision.

These conversations have been important to me, and I’m grateful for the trust and vulnerability shown by several people who have shared their experiences.  In more than one instance, I’ve heard concerns from these loved ones that the Church had deceived them by withholding information about certain things in the historical record.  The shock and pain they spoke of experiencing upon learning some additional details from Mormon history was real and intense.

An accusation of dishonesty is a sobering claim and has given me pause.  As a serious contention, it is one that I think deserves equally serious attention and exploration. With one friend in particular, Mark, I’ve appreciated a chance to begin doing just this.  He is a thoughtful professional, a father and a husband – and now finds himself hurt and saddened in relation to the same institution he used to love dearly. As we explored some specific historical questions he had about the Church, I asked him one day, “so can you help me better understand what exactly you mean when you say that the Church wasn’t honest with you?”

This question isn’t a semantic one or an attempt to mince words. It’s a legitimate curiosity. We all know that how history is approached has changed dramatically over the last couple of decades – both within the Church and across secular scholarship such as American history.  And yet, in all the discussion about dishonesty and deception in relation to certain historical questions, there has been much less attention to what exactly we mean by these hot-button terms being used. Almost always, one primary view seems to be taken for granted:

Deliberate, self-preserving deception. In most cases, the conversations about neglected historical areas seems to take for granted that those involved in producing prior histories were deliberately lying in what was omitted – especially from popular accounts.  These leaders and historians do so, from this perspective, to maintain more control and power that they might not otherwise have.

More generally, people thus talk of efforts to “whitewash” or “sanitize” history – making it seem cleaner or simpler (or more liberal or more conservative or more Christian or less Christian) than it was.  For example, voices on the political left raise concerns with conservative efforts to portray American history as exceptional. And on the other side, individuals on the political right have raised concerns at another kind of re-visioning that supports the larger progressive story – e.g., the “suppression of any information about racism towards white people” and framing history in a way that makes all white Europeans look bad. Diverging accounts of Columbus are a particular illustration, with ongoing efforts to point out unsettling elements of his story, alongside others that emphasize positive interpretations of what unfolded.  Socio-political contests aside, even the history of baseball has been critiqued for its attempt to “sanitize” its history from the indiscretions of athletes like Barry Bonds.  Says one author, “A national baseball museum that fails to adequately confront the messy nature of the past…does its sport (and the pursuit of history) a grave disservice.”

Across society, then, it’s not uncommon to hear concerns about skewing or slanting or over-emphasizing or under-emphasizing certain aspects of history in some way.  The degree to which others involved in the organization (political, business or religious) are seen as being involved in this perceived deception varies widely.  In some cases, a whole network of leading individuals are seen as working together to withhold details that would undermine power, influence or wealth.  This is sometimes how large industries such as Pharma are accused of acting – and certainly how some talk about the Church.

Most often, accusations are directed towards a select few involved in the deception.  From this perspective, most people in the organization were not party to decisions of what to emphasize (or omit) – and maintained sincerely-held, positive intentions for their work. This is how I personally view Pharma these days – namely, that it operates with less self-consciousness than it needs, with a few (and only a few) appreciating the full extent of the institutional and public deception that is occurring.

Others see the Church this same way – as having consciously and deliberately omitted certain things and emphasized others in order to maintain certain kinds of power, control and authority.  To these individuals, the Church’s new efforts to make explicit certain historical questions are inadequate – representing “tortured” attempts to wiggle away from past deceptions.

I disagree. But I write not to deconstruct and disparage this position, but instead, to point out (and flesh out) what seems to me to represent another viable understanding of why the Church has previously not talked as directly about certain aspects of its history.

Unconscious, positive-intentioned framing. From another perspective, not giving attention to certain areas of history was never a deliberate or conscious attempt to misinform or deceive or “cover up” things.  Instead, editorial choices were arguably a byproduct of a widely-accepted (almost universal) approach to difficult matters among the previous generation. Whether it was domestic violence in a community or war stories from veterans, we’ve all observed how some difficult things for the older generation were assumed best to not talk about (or to only selectively speak of them). At least for painful issues, this seems to have been taken for granted as the easiest way forward.

That didn’t make that approach right or healthy – and we tend to think differently nowadays.  But the point here is, they did not.  That’s why my wife’s grandfather never spoke of his war-time experiences, and why family abuse was often simply unacknowledged.  The problems of these omissions are obvious, especially in the case of abuse.  But when it comes to dealing with painful personal questions generally, we may be too quick to judge.

From the vantage point of our modern therapeutic share-all culture, it’s all just too easy to scold those our senior for not being more ‘open’ like we are!  It sometimes escapes us how interesting it might be simply to acknowledge the intense and interesting generational differences at hand – including others:  As with classic literature, it used to be common to try and use history to inspire people by teaching lessons, virtues, character, etc.  Obviously, this intention is increasingly foreign to modern historiography, in its attempt to paint nuanced (and objective) pictures of morally complex people and situations. With the technological advances of the last decade, we also have an access to historical details that is unprecedented in any previous generation.

To ignore these kinds of cohort differences in the judgments we make of the previous generation would be to foist our own generation’s narrative on their own – reflecting what seems a patent ethnocentrism in its own right (‘judging another culture solely by the values and standards of one’s own culture’).

This all becomes another way to understand why much historical work of previous generations can tend to over-emphasize the positive, character-building elements – without always giving equal attention to the messy, complex aspects of stories.  This is true in depictions of early founding fathers and of Church leaders as well. I’ve noticed how my own 22 year old brother, who passed away a decade ago, has already come to be talked about in our family with a sort of saintly glow (never mind that he was sometimes a little cocky, and rarely  called his fouls in basketball!) (:

Should it surprise us that this same selective framing shows up in previous histories of Joseph Smith or Thomas Jefferson?  Could it be that some kind of editorial framing is inevitable, depending on the standpoint of the authors?  My friend Jay pointed out that narrative studies have even “demonstrated that we all rewrite our history daily. Each new experience causes us to reframe our past experience and therefore see, understand, and describe it a little different.”

Given the rich unfolding of events across each era, shouldn’t we expect significant differences in the histories each generation produces? If so, could it be that not hearing in U.S. history class about America assassinating foreign leaders was a function of something other than being “lied to” by our American history teachers or the U.S. government?  Might we at least agree that the standards of acceptable history have changed significantly over time – and appreciate the benefits that brings?

University of Utah historian Paul Reeve argues that “The rising generation craves a more complicated narrative. Their lives are complicated; they are dealing with real struggles and real sins and a whitewashed version of the past with pioneers who only sang as they walked and walked and walked gives them nothing to identify with and sometimes even feels alienating. We can do better. We must do better.”

As quoted in a fascinating article by Peggy Fletcher Stack, a Salt Lake Tribune columnist, Terryl Givens, co-author of “The Crucible of Doubt” and “The God Who Weeps” acknowledges that some Mormons may want to hear and tell stories about “exceptionally godly individuals … to make God real in their lives.”  But he added, “Many of us aren’t built that way. Many of us feel more disappointment, perceive more acutely human failings, feel more skeptical about claims to human godliness. … Such stories don’t seem real to those listeners, they seem misleading or made up.”

Melissa Inouye, history professor at the University of Auckland in New Zealand, is likewise quoted as encouraging movement beyond a “heavy oversimplification” that portrayals of individuals as “nearly perfect” (Think Nephi or President Monson!)  In contrast to what the columnist calls ‘excessive veneration,’ Inouye points out that “Even in small, episodic doses, ‘messy’ history is so interesting because it involves real people and real problems, with which everyone can identify. What we see when we learn all of our history is, as in the scriptures, a narrative of God’s dealings with real people as they make mistakes and try again.”

Could these historical improvements be something to be celebrated and relished?  And at the same time, might we show a little generosity with the editorial decisions of previous generations?

In summary, rather than being malicious, I would argue that certain emphases in previous histories (of the Church and elsewhere), reflect what scholars and leaders understood at the time as historical “best practice” in terms of its legitimate purpose and scope.  Rather than power-hungry men trying to white-wash things out of fear, this raises the possibility of white-haired men simply being a product of their age, and doing the best they could to guide the Church forward – this, despite some difficult things in its history.

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It’s at this point in an essay that I’m supposed to make it clear how all the rational, faithful and good-hearted people will surely see this question the way things I have!

But, of course, I can’t say this.  And I won’t – even if I may have wanted to do so in the past….

The reason for this is simple:  It’s because of Mark.  And Lisa. And Matt.  And Anna.  And Scott.  Friends who I find deeply sensitive and thoughtful – who have had differently life experiences and have come to see this same question quite differently.

Significant disagreement with reasonable people is now something I’ve come to expect. It doesn’t surprise me anymore.

In relation to these friends, my primary aim is not to have some kind of contest to ‘win.’  Even while still caring a great deal about the truth of the matter (and having my own convictions), I write here with a primary aim of contributing to a more thoughtful discussion about how we talk about these historical questions.

As that happens, both the understanding and intimacy between these groups of beautiful, thoughtful people (Mormons and former Mormons) can, I hope, continue to grow.

And that goes both ways.  I would hope my active Mormon friends will pause the next time they have a chance to talk with someone who has stepped away from the Church.  Before trying to respond with our own thoughts and feelings, maybe experiment with making lots of space to hear out the other person’s experience on a deeper level.

That’s something I’ve felt from these friends and family members who have stepped away from the Church as well.  To them, I would ask: Does this (above) seem like a fair distinction to make? Is it fair to make more space for the acknowledgment that our grandparents’ generation thought about history in a way very different way than our own?

If nothing else, perhaps we can agree that if we’re making serious accusations, we better have a serious conversation about the details of these claims. Unlike the political sphere, where accusations of deceptions fly right and left, perhaps we can be measured and attentive to what precisely we mean by our words.  And who knows, we might even start listening to each other in these conversations!

You gotta dream!