Intentionally engaged

A person I love recently texted that they are “in the process of deconstructing [their] relationship with the church and finding the parts that work for [them].”  I’m glad to see that this person is doing so.  There is a kind of self-empowering that takes place when we take responsibility for our relationship with God and intentionally decide how we will relate to the Divine.  In the church we seem to accept an equivalent relationship between the institution and God, an equivalence that I think can be fairly problematic.

Once a father and son sat beside a lake at night.  The boy, looking at the moon’s reflection in the lake, said, “Look how pretty the moon is.”  The father, looking up, agreed.  The boy, still looking at the reflection, saw how the wavelets danced with the light and wanted to hold it so he jumped into the water.  Not knowing how to swim, he nearly drowned.  The father rescued him and reminded him that to really appreciate the moon’s beauty, we need to look at the moon itself. (1)

Image by Paolo Gadler from, freeimages licence

For all we may appreciate and like about the church, we need to remember that it is not, itself, God.  It is a reflection.  Unfortunately, it seems that the institution itself and many members don’t understand this and insist on an equivalency.  What’s wrong with that?  This can create a kind of devotion that can cause blindness(es) that bring harm others.  We can get so attached to patterns that have been given to us that anything else seems blasphemous even while those patterns are themselves problematic.  Let me give a couple of examples.

First, while I was at BYU, a coworker of mine, a fellow Southern California native, told me about a horrendous experience a friend of his had in the dorms.  Rich’s friend was a convert.  She had joined the church a year and a half or so before entering BYU.  She was the only member of her family to join and that had caused a lot of strife in her home when she was baptised.  “I swear, she’s got so much faith to go through what she did,” Rich said.  After the first Sunday at BYU, though, this young woman went back to her dorm room and changed into more comfortable clothes and all proverbial hell broke loose on the floor.  The other young women, many of whom had grown up in Utah, tore into her, condemning her for not staying in her “church clothes” and berating her for not “keeping the Sabbath Day holy.”  Rich said she broke into tears, ran out of the building, found him, and told him she might have made a mistake choosing BYU.  This young woman, whose joining the church had required more “costly grace” (to use Bonhoeffer’s term) than the other young women who had been raised in the church and had become accustomed to “cheap grace,” had been punished for not being devoted to a proverbial reflection of the moon when she had chosen to embrace the moon itself.

On a deeper, more serious level, there are some in the American church who cling to the racism that was codified in the church’s policy of banning  people of African descent from the priesthood.  I participate in a Facebook group whose common point of interest is racial justice in the church.  As a white person, I must confess that this has been a productively discomforting experience because it has allowed me the opportunity to see just how frequently members of color must deal with various levels of racism, from overtly racist comments and questions to social isolation to microaggressions.  It is uncomfortable because I feel anguish for the targets of these actions and because it reminds me of the implicit bias I have been socialized to have towards people of color and how I need to constantly be “on myself” to combat it.

In a related vein, there is a distinct anti-Arab vein at least in the American church.  Growing up, I do not remember hearing a single positive comment or story told about Arabs.  I was imbued with the ambient Islamophobia of 1970s and 80s America.  I was told, for example, stories that illustrated an Arab will to violence, stories that were told in such a way that they reflected on Arabs as a class of people, rather than on individuals.  I was taught (effectually) that Arabs were “lesser” children of Abraham, unless, of course, they embraced the church.  I was not taught to understand and appreciate the diversity of the Muslim world.  It was not until later in life that I learned how richly the entire world has been blessed by the Arabic and Muslim worlds, how science, mathematics, art, architecture, and music have been influenced by these traditions.  I think this distinct anti-Arab bias has played into many American church members’ uncritical support of the modern state of Israel in the Palestinian question, giving uncritical and unwavering support for gross treaty and human rights violations.  The kind of treatment of the Other that prophets railed against ancient Israel for in the Old Testament.  I believe that racism and discrimination have no place in the Gospel of Christ; yet, there are too many in the church who hold these kinds of attitudes because they believe it to be consonant with church doctrine and policy.

Arabesque ornamentation on the Cathedral of Monreale in Italy; image by Bjs from Wikimedia Commons, public domain

Some time after Rabbi Shalom had died, two of his disciples came to Lublin to study with Rabbi Jacob Yitzhak, called “the Seer.”  They found him out in the open, saying the blessing of the New Moon.  Now, because he did this a little differently in some details from what their teacher had accustomed them to, they did not promise themselves much from Lublin and decided to leave the town the very next day.  When they entered the rabbi’s house, shortly after, he spoke words of greeting to them and immediately added: “A God whom one could serve only in one set way—what kind of God would that be!” (2)

These examples show how we can be encouraged to dive into the water after a reflection of the moon rather than gaze on the moon itself.  I think that those who are choosing what to embrace in the church are taking a responsible approach to their relationship with God, deciding how they will relate with God rather than have that dictated to them.  I think the Lord would rather have someone intentionally engaged with him than someone going through prescribed motions of engagement on autopilot.  So, to this person, whom I love, I say go with strength and courage.  Find that path with God that suits you.

(1) This is a folk tale I have heard in several different forms.

(2) from Kurtz, E & Ketcham, K. (2002).  The spirituality of imperfection: Storytelling and the search for meaning. New York: Bantam. p. 201.


A Reason I Stay: Feminine Divine

I am grateful that the church acknowledges the Feminine Divine.  It bothers me that there is such a dearth of information on our Heavenly Mother, but I am glad that we at least recognize her, as opposed other Christian denominations.  To be honest, this is not something I have spent a lot of time on so I cannot comment on this too extensively.   I suppose I am sympathetic to the argument that I have heard in Mormonism that God has not revealed much about her because of how his son had been brutalized.  Still, I believe we have suffered because of not knowing about the Feminine Divine in both larger life patterns and in our every-day interactions.

Symbols of divine feminine
Symbols of the Feminine Divine; Not used with permission

My thoughts on this came to mind recently as I read Yakama Rising: Indigenous Cultural Revitalization, Activism, and Healing by Michelle M. Jacob in which she writes about revitalizing and decolonial practices on the Yakama Reservation in south eastern Washington.  A particularly crucial aspect of their recovery is the recovery of balanced gender roles.  Many Western feminists would oppose these efforts because much of this involves women reframing domestic duties is a traditional way.  These feminists would simply say that the efforts are simply re-inscribing women in patriarchal binds, but such a critique would miss the point because it is rooted in the every-day attempted erasure of women in the MALE/female of Western cosmology.

Among the Yakama, however, even just a few generations back in social memory, men and women had a more balanced relationship.  Both male and female roles were invested in the sacred landscape together.  Native feminists (and this is a very new concept to me) say that this breakdown of complementary gender roles and connection with the Earth is the result of heteropatriarchy, which differentiates itself from the more standard version of patriarchy primarily through the imposition of heterosexual norms where they had not existed before (and here I’m paraphrasing Kyle White and Sheli Meissner’s paper, “Theorizing Indigeneity, Gender, and Settler Colonialism.”  In the case of the Yakama, before white contact, women took the lead in many agricultural pursuits.

Settler colonists brought with them a whole set of doxa (belief), episteme (knowledge), and techne (techniques and technology) that disrupted the Yakama culture, one of the most troublesome of which was Western agriculture.  Settlers, with their chain-of-being thinking, found it offensive that women played such a large role in agricultural pursuits so they tried to force men to become farmers. In addition to patriarchal division of labor, they introduced deep cutting horse-drawn ploughs, and they tried to introduce the ideology that regards the Earth as mere real estate.  In many Indigenous groups, elders claim that there was no domestic violence before contact with white society and the introduction of heteropatriarchy.  War with the Earth and the “battle of the sexes.”  It seems that there is a connection between violence towards women and towards the Earth.  Native feminists would say that these are both natural effects of heteropatriarchy.

Yakama and Colville children at a pow wow; from, not used with permission

It is significant that the Yakama are starting their recovery process by addressing the deep lying wound of heteropatriarchy.  Many of the tribal elders leading recovery praxis are women leading cultural and language recovery efforts.  Women and men work together in preparing salmon.  What they are doing is recognizing complementary gender roles in the maintenance of the tribe and resisting the West’s MALE/female binary.  Many of the social problems that fell on the Yakama like stones have been ameliorated through the process(es) of revitalization: less gang activity, less drug use, etc.

I can’t help but wonder if making a better effort to acknowledge the Feminine Divine and more learning about Heavenly Mother, might not help heal some of the wounds of patriarchy.  But I am grateful that there is a space for the Faminine Divine in Mormonism, even if it is a neglected space on the institutional level.

Thoughts on Postmodernism and Mormonism, pt. 2

To illuminate what I have characterized as a distinctive anti-postmodern stance in the church, let me quickly cite a couple of short pieces from Elder Jeffery R. Holland.  In a 2013 published address to the J. Reuben Clark Law Society conference, he commented on

Image by Ben P L from Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA

a diminution of professed faith in the United States; quoting several authors, he observed that that increased secularization has been “given other labels—post-Christian and postmodern to name two” (Holland, 2013b, p. 22).  In this section of his commentary, he lamented the decrease of active participation in religion and a concomitant rise of atheism, agnosticism, and in the number of people “who profess some kind of devotion to things spiritual but ‘say they have no particular religious affiliation’ with an institutional church,” a position claimed by an estimated 30% of Americans under the age of 30, according to a Pew Research finding at the time (Holland, 2013b, p. 23).  To a leader of a large institutional church, this would naturally be a point of concern.  Thankfully, he also acknowledged that there may be something to this position when he noted that approximately 70% of persons who classified themselves as non-institutionally religious said they believe churches “are too concerned with money…and too deeply entangled in politics,” calling  this a “word to the wise for all churches” (Holland, 2013b, p. 23).  In this observation, I cannot help but hear echoes of Mormon’s observation in Alma 4:10 that “the wickedness of the church was a great stumbling-block to those who did not belong to the church,” which hindered the institution’s “progress.”   On the whole, however, Elder Holland’s remarks cast a grim eye on postmodernism without actually engaging specific aspects of the position.

A year earlier, Elder Holland (2013a) voiced a similar kind of dismissal of the postmodern perspective at a BYU devotional when he made the case that sometimes we have to render judgments in our lives and noted that an “unacceptable alternative [from the perspective of the Gospel] is to surrender to postmodern moral relativism, which, pushed far enough, declares that ultimately nothing is eternally true or especially sacred and, therefore, no one position on any given issue matters more than any other.”  In both of these situations, very emblematic of other pronouncements by general authorities and members of the church, postmodernism is set up in a dialectical relationship with the faith; it is cast as a kind of hopeless or sinful inaction or refusal to take right action.  It seems to offer nothing positive.  These statements are  representative of other statements I have heard from Evangelical Protestants and conservative Catholics alike, so it is not unique to our faith community.

I think it is important to ask, however, whether such characterizations are sufficient or even accurate.  I believe they are not.  In fact, because such characterizations seem to vilify “questioning,” they may actually advocate blind obedience, which has also been condemned by general authorities.  Certainly, that was the tenor of the priesthood meeting that I alluded to in part 1 and that meeting was by no means unique.  I would like to propose a different question:

How can postmodernism and Mormonism work together?

As I address this question, I will not even try to be exhaustive in considering postmodernism and the literature that considers the question of how postmodernism and Mormonism are/can be related (and there are a number of Mormons writing on this).  I am not a scholar of postmodernist philosophy or theology.  I am a student of postmodernism and claim only a working knowledge of it, but I find it can be a helpful set of tools that can help our faith from becoming rote and empty (which the Savior himself warned against).

I will offer some “philosophical” considerations and some personal examples.  As I do so, however, let me be clear that I do understand that adopting a postmodern perspective can have negative spiritual effects.  It can lend itself to paralyzing moral relativism that holds all perspectives as equal, leading to the belief that no choice is more valid than any other.  The problem is, however, that any worldly perspective taken to an extreme can

DCF 1.0
Image by lienyuan lee from Wikimedia Commons, CC BY

be spiritually damaging.  Overweening trust in capitalism, for example, can lead to a pursuit of profit and gain that can nullify the voice of the Spirit and turn mammon into a person’s god.  Have some of us not met Mormons who were more wedded to their business ventures than to their brothers and sisters in their communities, their wards, or even to their own families?  Many of us have encountered Mormons who justify wearing “two different hats, one on Sunday and the other during the week,” as did a counselor of the bishopric in a ward I belonged to.  This particular brother was an interesting case; he was a attorney who had a reputation around town of being shady and unethical and who actively avoided other members of the church when he was at work, including not taking cases from members if he judged that they would not approve of his methods.  I personally overheard him tell another ward member at church that he could help them beat a deserved traffic ticket, but then told them to call him at work because he could not talk about it in the building…wink, wink.  I would argue that his drive for temporal success may have been out of balance.  Again, any worldly perspective can effectively become a “stumbling-block” to the Spirit.

Before going on to specific points in future columns, I would like to make a few general points about postmodernism.  To do this, I would like to consider a column by Mark C. Taylor (2004), a professor or religious philosophy, who became friends with Jacques Derrida, the philosopher who coined the term “postmodernism.”  The column, entitled What Derrida Really Meant, was about his relationship with the French philosopher and an appraisal of his work that addressed some aspects of postmodernism that many, including other postmodernists, misunderstand about Derrida’s work.

Jacques Derrida, image from The New Republic, not used with permission

Taylor admitted that Derrida’s writing is notoriously difficult to understand and “cannot be easily summarized or reduced to one-liners.”  Taylor spent most of the column writing about how many have misunderstood his work, but what I found most interesting about it was the end where he wrote about Derrida as a person.  Many religious opponents of postmodernism that I have encountered have characterized Derrida and other postmodernists as angry, bitter people with no hope; “To his critics, Mr. Derrida appeared to be a pernicious nihilist who threatened the very foundation of Western society and culture.”  Certainly, that describes some subscribers to postmodernism, but Taylor wrote of a man he knew for two decades, a man who listened earnestly to others, a man who thoughtfully responded to questions from both colleagues and students.  He personalized this claim by relating some bits of his relationship with the man.  I want to let Taylor speak for himself on this point:

But small things are the measure of the man. In 1986, my family and I were in Paris and Mr. Derrida invited us to dinner at his house in the suburbs 20 miles away. He insisted on picking us up at our hotel, and when we arrived at his home he presented our children with carnival masks. At 2 a.m., he drove us back to the city. In later years, when my son and daughter were writing college papers on his work, he sent them letters and postcards of encouragement as well as signed copies of several of his books.

So here was a man, considered by many such a “threat” to the world and whose name has become “a hiss and a byword” (to use a Book of Mormon phrase) to some, but who was generous, attentive, and warm.  Postmodernism,it seems, does not necessarily create nihilism where it did not already exist.

Taylor observed that Derrida is perhaps most widely known for the idea of “deconstruction,” which some supporters and critics alike seem to not grasp fully:

When responsibly understood, the implications of deconstruction are quite different from the misleading clichés often used to describe a process of dismantling or taking things apart.  The guiding insight of deconstruction is that every structure — be it literary, psychological, social, economic, political or religious — that organizes our experience is constituted and maintained through acts of exclusion. In the process of creating something, something else inevitably gets left out.

The exclusionary nature of these structures is where oppression and violence are fostered.  Taylor noted that in the last years of his life, Derrida became very concerned with religion, especially the way that religion can be used as a punishing tool even when it claims to be way of peace and reconciliation.  Although I do not know whether Neil Peart (2007), the lyricist and drummer for the band Rush, has read Derrida (and I rather suspect he has), he captured Derrida’s concern in the song “Armor and Sword.” I am going to jumble the lyrics a bit here to present the gist clearly without having to quote the entire song:

We hold beliefs as a consolation
A way to take us out of ourselves
Meditation or medication
A comfort or a promised reward…

We build our defenses, a place of safety
And leave the darker places unexplored…

[But] Sometimes the fortress is too strong
Or the love is too weak
What should have been our armor…
Becomes a keen and bloody sword

Contrary to how many characterized Derrida’s work, Taylor observed that it could lead to a rather moral perspective:

As an Algerian Jew writing in France during the postwar years in the wake of totalitarianism on the right (fascism) as well as the left (Stalinism), Mr. Derrida understood all too well the danger of beliefs and ideologies that divide the world into diametrical opposites: right or left, red or blue, good or evil, for us or against us…By struggling to find ways to overcome patterns that exclude the differences that make life worth living, he developed a vision that is consistently ethical.

By looking at how linguistic, cultural, political, ideological, and even religious structures necessarily construct exclusion, Derrida’s notion of deconstruction can actually open us up to the possibility of thinking about relationships that can be less oppressive and violent, a way to find love for others who are different from us without feeling the need to make them into our own image.

More on this in my next post.




Holland, J. R. (2013a).  Conviction with compassion.  Liahona.  Retrieved from

—.  (2013b).  Faith, family, and religious freedom.  Clark Memorandum.  Retrieved from

Peart, N.  (2007).  Armor and sword [Recorded by Rush].  On Snakes and arrows.  Atlantic Records.  Retrieved from:

Taylor, M.C.  (14 Oct. 2004)  What Derrida really meant.  New York Times.  Retrieved from




A Way of Thinking about Postmodernism: Thoughts on Mormonism and Postmodernism, pt. 1

There has been a turn in the church that I and others have felt/observed and I would like to take several posts to directly reflect on this turn and try to work out what it means and how it has affected my worship. Actually, all of my previous posts on Left of Mormon have really addressed this in several ways, but I think I ought to be more explicit about my concerns.


What triggered my present concern was a recent priesthood lesson in which “postmodernism” was put forward as a kind of universal bogeyman and was explicitly called a “tool of the devil” by one of the priesthood brothers. This brother and others in the room began to offer critiques of the perspective that were, frankly, one-sided, simplistic, and rooted in ignorance (for a general introduction to postmodernism, see this entry from the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy: The gist of this critique was that postmodernism says that there is no truth, whatsoever. While I will not deny that many people with a postmodern perspective have reached this particular conclusion, to say that the perspective itself demands that conclusion is to misunderstand it in a facile way.

I made a comment to that end, telling the group that one way to understand postmodernism is as an injunction to mindfully and intentionally engage with the narratives that shape our lives and our interactions with the world and its inhabitants (“metanarratives” in postmodernist parlance). It invites us to deeply engage with what we have previously accepted without question. I claimed postmodernism has lead me to actually become more compassionate and more aware of the Other than I had previously been—in philosophy and the social sciences, the terms “Self” and “Other” are often capitalized, signifying that they refer to people who are “like me” on the one hand and persons who are “not like me” on the other. For example, I believe that a postmodern perspective has allowed me to become more Christlike towards persons who do not see themselves as falling into the strict, binary Male/female gender construct that is traditional in Western (European/American) society and that is being rather forcefully reasserted in Mormonism. Whereas before I simply dismissed gays, lesbians, and people experiencing gender dysphoria (for a good, quick discussion on this concept, see this post from the American Psychological Association: outright because of the metanarrative I had been taught since my birth which told me they were “wrong” and “evil,” I will now engage with such persons and feel my life has been richly blessed because of that engagement. As a matter


of fact, being the father of a child who is asexual and thus falls outside of that strict binary, that willingness to engage with other perspectives has helped me become (I hope) a better father (for more on asexuality, please see Additionally, I have found my willingness to engage with persons who fall outside of non-binary gender norms has helped me in my work life and my creative life. More on this in a later post.

Towards a Description of Postmodernism

I initially encountered the term “postmodern” as an undergraduate at BYU in my ENGL 250 class, a gateway course for English majors that introduces genre studies and major literary theories.

Historically, postmodernism emerged as a reaction to structuralism, a perspective that started out in anthropology and came to influence many other philosophical perspectives. Typically associated with Claude Levi Strauss,

Claude Levi Strauss

structuralism purported to concern itself with how meaning came to be constructed through the resources available to cultures. Structuralists, for example, looked at a particular rite in a society and asked how do the elements of this rite— music, costumes, physical movements, food, etc.—work together to create meaning within the culture. (Actually, using the past tense in this statement is a bit misleading because anthropologists still use structural perspectives…however, I’m using the past tense to distinguish a more “pure” form of structuralism from its use as a tool of analysis combined with other tools.) Structuralism, then, allowed a form of analysis that looked at the relationship of the parts to the whole in ways that had not been considered before. Very quickly, though, structuralism began to affect other disciplines including political science, literary studies, sociology, organizational behavior, economics, and even psychology.

However, critics of structuralism pointed out that the perspective made assertions about “ultimate meaning” that were problematic because, for all its novelty and usefulness, the perspective still privileged the foundational beliefs of the analyst, shaping (“overdetermining” in post-structuralist parlance) the analysis itself in ways that simply reflected the biases of the analyst and their cultural perspectives/ideals. A classic case in point is Margaret Meade’s famous Coming of Age in Samoa; to put it concisely, Meade’s work tried to give a structuralist account of sexuality, gender, and adolescence in Samoa, asserting that Samoan culture nurtures its young in ways that are extraordinarily different than Euro-American culture. She got a lot of things wrong! It turns out that Samoan culture was much more rigid than she portrayed and it was later found that some of Meade’s sources lied to her when she asked them about their culture. (Here’s a link to a Psychology Today piece on the controversy of this work: Thus, Meade’s work was ultimately more of a reflection on her own assumptions and cultural background than it was on Samoa. Post-structuralism, a reaction against structuralism and an early iteration of postmodernism, began as an interrogation of the assumptions of structuralism; very quickly the basic stance was adopted by other perspectives. Admittedly, I’m passing over many other aspects of post-structural critiques, but this gives a general idea.

To understand a basic tenant/assumption of postmodernism, we can look at “modernist” literature; as an English major at BYU, this is how I was introduced to it and I think it can be a pretty clear way to approach the concept. To put it succinctly, modernism in art and structuralism in the social sciences share an assumption that older, traditional ideals of both society and art (both of which implicate each other in very profound ways) are the optimal ways of engaging with the world. Postmodernism asks profound questions about this assumption. Before I go further, I am admittedly going to speak in pretty general terms here, so “purists” may want to put on a seat belt…I’m writing for a non-specialist readership.

A basic tenant of modernist art/literature could be roughly stated as, “The world really sucks and if we could just get back to the nice lofty ideals ‘we all’ accepted before, the world would be much better.” This sentiment lies at the heart of William Butler Yeats’s classic modernist poem, “The Second Coming.” Below is a video set to a reading of the poem by the former British Poet Laureate, Ted Hughes (if you want to see the text, here is a link to it:

To me, Yeats’s eloquent pessimism is most clearly stated in the lines, “The falcon cannot hear the falconer; / Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; / Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world” (lines 2-4). These lines grow from a very pained sentiment, a desire for an earlier, more widely accepted set of values that no longer hold sway: the falcon used to hear and heed the falconer; things once endured; the center once held firm; there once was order in the world. What was happening in the world that gave rise to this kind of pessimism? Quite a lot, really.

One thing that deeply bothered Yeats was the Irish rebellion. Yates was, to use language that came from South Africa a couple of decades later, a supporter of the English apartheid system in Ireland; he was an ethnic Englishman (a minority) and a Protestant who was part of a violent occupational force. In short, he was a colonist. In the early twentieth-century, the Irish had been colonized for centuries and they mounted an ultimately successful effort to throw off English rule (except for Northern Ireland, of course). Yeats subscribed to the religio-political doctrines that underpinned English colonialism and his pessimism came from his distress over the civil war.

English soldiers inspect a bombed out postal office in Dublin, 1916.

So, to be rather reductionist, Yeats’s pessimism developed from a realization that the Irish were no longer willing to play by the rules of empire that had benefited him and his family, rules that were bound up in religious, political, cultural, and military codes that were really rather one-sided. If you have not read about what life was like for the Irish under English colonial rule, I invite you to read into it. It was brutish, vile, and inhumane, according to the nature of colonialism itself. Like Yeates, other modernist artists and writers were seeing a world in which the underlying assumptions of their ideology were being questioned and attacked and this was the source of their gloom. Their center was falling apart. They had not seemed to consider that the center for the Irish had fallen apart long before and that the dissolution of their center was accompanied by violence, famine, extreme prejudice, forced economic hardship (the potato famine was made all the worse by British economic policy), etc.

The Irish rebels, in this case, were acting out a postmodern critique of colonial politics. They challenged the underlying ideology, in effect asserting that the “modernist” perspective of the English and their “ideal world” relied on a denigration of their culture and history, on the theft of their land, all at the cost of their bodies. The Irish critique of the British system of colonization became a foundation of post-colonialism, a variety of postmodernism that profoundly shaped and continues to shape the world we know. From this example, we can say that one way of thinking about postmodernism is as a philosophical stance that questions how dominant perspectives and their attendant cultural and political structures affect persons who do not benefit from those perspectives and structures, persons who are oppressed because of them, persons whose stories are suppressed and dismissed by them, persons who are the victims of the accompanying cultural, political, and physical violence that seem to inevitably accompany domination.

In the next post, I’ll look a little more closely at postmodernism and start to look at how I believe it can actually work with the gospel of Christ…much to our own discomfort sometimes.

Sunset at Cape Disappointment

Some thoughts on our relationship with indigenous Americans, pt. 1

As we approach America’s national holy-day, the 4th of July, I have been unsettled by and thinking about our country’s interactions with its indigenous peoples. I’m going to try and pull some of these thoughts together, but this will ramble and I will probably need to break it up over several posts.

This last week, we stayed in a cabin at the Cape Disappointment State Park on the southern end of the peninsula on the northern side of the mouth of the Columbia River where it meets the Pacific Ocean.

Map showing location of Cape Disappointment
From Google Maps

The cape was named “Disappointment” by John Meares, a Scottish fur trader and British naval officer who tried to sail up the Columbia River only to be daunted by the powerful forces of one of North America’s most difficult river mouths to navigate. He named it as such because he failed to confirm reports of the river from an earlier Spanish explorer, Bruno Hecta.

Sunset at Cape Disappointment
Sunset at Cape Disappointment

The peninsula was the final westward location of the Lewis and Clark expedition and may have been the final resting place of all of its participants if it were not for the skill and magnanimity of the Chinook bands who lived in the region. The indigenous peoples called the region Kah’eese and the 1858 Coastal Survey report to Congress documents how difficult navigation in the region can be. The Chinook used and still sometimes use wooden canoes to travel the difficult waters of the river they called Wimahl. Below are some historical photographs of the Chinook and their craft.

Images from the Chinook nation website.

Mary Rose, writing for the Confluence Project (a project that uses public art to tell the indigenous stories of Columbia River Basin peoples), pointed out in a post that the name Cape Disappointment refers not to the physical nature of the region (which is by no means disappointing), but to the inaccurate perceptions of the Europeans who “explored” the area. But what about the stories of those who lived and thrived there for many years? Besides the Chinook, the region was significant for the Tillamook peoples. Rose rightly observed that “western explorers often named the landmarks they saw to reflect their nation’s claim over foreign sites.”  Such claims were inextricably tied to all kinds of physical, cultural, and even sexual violence.

In the park, at an old artillery emplacement, is a museum for the Lewis and Clark expedition. Going through the museum was an uncomfortable experience. The exhibits, artifacts, and (obligatory) interpretive film tell a complicated story. To be sure, the expedition took a great amount of courage and grit. Traveling from Saint Louis (what is the indigenous name for that area?) to Kah’eese was tremendously difficult and required strength and fortitude. The film included the language from Thomas Jefferson’s directive to the expedition’s leaders to collect as much information about the peoples and “natural resources” they encountered on their journey to the Pacific Ocean.  In a notebook I had with me, I made a few notes as I watched the film: 1) “I can’t help but think that the details Jefferson asked for were plans for conquest,” 2) “We celebrate their discovery—but for the [Native Americans] it was a death knell,” 3) “a triumphal narrative is a narrative of defeat.”

As a white, middle class American, the Lewis and Clark story I was told is just another episode in a grand origin story that was always already (to use a philosophical term) a story of conquest. Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz, in An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States (which I have just started reading), noted that one of the very first laws enacted after the end of the Revolutionary War was the Northwest Ordinance which announced the new country’s intention to spread to the west, a “blueprint for gobbling up the British-protected Indian Territory” in the Ohio River Valley region. On that same page, she included an 1801 quote from Jefferson in which he declared an intention to dominate “the whole northern, if not the southern continent” and she noted that a “series of late-fifteenth-century papal bulls” gave “European nations…title to the lands they ‘discovered’” and stripped the “Indigenous inhabitants [of] their natural right” to their lands. [1] Thus, the Lewis and Clark story is part of a conscious six-hundred year narrative/war of conquest. Dunbar-Ortiz soberingly observed:

 The history of the United States is a history of settler colonialism—the founding of a state based on the ideology of white supremacy, the widespread practice of African slavery, and a [series of policies] of genocide and land theft. Those who seek history with an upbeat ending, a history of redemption and reconciliation, may look around and observe that such a conclusion is not visible, not even in Utopian dreams of a better society. [2]

What I’m starting to struggle with now is how Mormonism’s story fits into this grand narrative of American settler colonialism. It is a discomforting fit, especially as we consider how we have to “re-read” the Book of Mormon in light of evidence that our received framework about it may be incorrect. In 2004, Sunstone ran a series of pieces under the heading of “Reframing the Book of Mormon.” The introduction to the series noted that our understanding of the book must shift, especially with the finding that the equation of “Lamanite” and indigenous Americans may  more complicated and inaccurate as we may have hoped.

With the recent publicity over DNA studies that have confirmed long-held scientific notions that Amerindians descend from Asian—not Middle Eastern—peoples, those who hadn’t already been thinking about the Book of Mormon’s claim to be a literal history of the indigenous peoples of the Americas have begun to pay attention. The news has spread like wildfire among various Christian groups eager to win the souls of potentially disillusioned Latter-day Saints. More important, perhaps, is the questions produced by these studies have also begun to reach Latter-day Saints in the pews. [3]

As American Mormons, our perception of indigenous Americans has been an uncomfortable blending of what we believe to be scripture and national myth.  As a boy, I remember hearing a number of variations on the theme that indigenous Americans’ abhorrent treatment by colonial powers was a justifiable result of their turning away from Christ.  Thus, like Europeans with the Bible, Mormons with both the Bible and the Book of Mormon have reinforced entwined religious, colonial, and settler colonial narratives.  I agree with those who believe it is time to seriously interrogate and even deconstruct these narratives.



1. Roxanned Dunbar-Ortiz. (2014). An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States. Boston: Beacon Press, p. 3.
2. Ibid, p. 2.
3. Reframing the Book of Mormon. (March 2004). Sunstone, 131, p. 19. Retrieved from

Be not comforted: Some thoughts about Mormonism’s racist past/present

When I was a kid, I remember a primary lesson about repentance that used a central metaphor of sin as stones in our backpacks.  To lessen our burden, we need to empty our packs of stones.

Image from pxhere, public domain

Forty years ago (June 8, 1978), the church dumped a gigantic stone from its backpack: the racial priesthood ban on men of African decent and on temple blessings to both men and women of African decent.  In 2013, the church quietly published “Race and the Priesthood” as part of it’s Gospel Topics essay series, an acknowledgement (as some of us see it) of the profoundly problematic historical narrative(s) the church has come to rely on.  With regards to race, the church has a profoundly racist historical narrative that we have only begun to acknowledge as an institution.  Early on, “Race and the Priesthood” acknowledges

…for much of its history—from the mid-1800s until 1978—the Church did not ordain men of black African descent to its priesthood or allow black men or women to participate in temple endowment or sealing ordinances.

The Church was established in 1830, during an era of great racial division in the United States. At the time, many people of African descent lived in slavery, and racial distinctions and prejudice were not just common but customary among white Americans. Those realities, though unfamiliar and disturbing today, influenced all aspects of people’s lives, including their religion. Many Christian churches of that era, for instance, were segregated along racial lines…

In a very subdued way, the essay acknowledges that there was never any divine sanction for the ban and that it was the result of racism within both the body and the leadership of the church.  Ouch.  Rather than repeat that narrative here, I will refer readers to Shoulder to the Wheel, an organization that was formed to promote a healthier understanding of the church’s messy racist past–in the spirit of openness, I am one of the signatories of the group.  The founders of the group have put together a number of fine resources that address this very painful chapter in our collective history.

This image was created by Ben Crowder and is featured on the Shoulder to the Wheel website.

What I want to talk about here briefly is the concept of institutional racism.  Kaylene A. Richards-Ekeh (2009) in the Encyclopedia of Race and Crime,* pointed out that this form of racism is “embedded in institutional policies and practices [that] operate in such a way that they produce systematic and persistent differences between racial groups that contribute to social inequality…even when no one is consciously or intentionally” advocating openly racist values or actions (p. 392).  For more than 150 years of our institutional existence, we had an openly institutionally racist organization, rewarding some and punishing/limiting others because of racial differences.  While I am grateful that this institutional aspect has been done away with, I cannot be comforted because racism is still a painful and unrighteous fact of existence for many Mormons of color.

Richards-Ekeh (2009) observed that institutional racism is “often the legacy of overt racism, whereby de facto racist practices [and attitudes] are codified by de jure mechanisms” (p. 392).  For those not familiar with the terms “de facto” and “de jure,” they are primarily legal terms from.  “De facto” racism refers cultural or individual attitudes/practices that influence day-to-day life, every-day racism; “de jure” racism, on the other hand, refers attitudes/practices that are “official” and enshrined in the language of law or policy.  For more than a century and a half, Mormonism’s de jure racism was codified in the priesthood and temple ban, which was bolstered by “many theories to explain the priesthood and temple restrictions” (“Race and the Priesthood,” 2013), foremost of which was the “Curse of Cain” or the idea that Cain and his decedents were cursed with dark skin and excluded from the full blessings of the Gospel–a deeply anti-Christian explanation even on the face of it because it maintains that people of color are not worth Christ’s Atonement or are somehow less than human and thus do not qualify for those blessings.

Today, “[n]one of these explanations is accepted…as the official doctrine of the Church” (“Race and the Priesthood,” 2013), but the fallout of the policy, the de facto racism, is still very alive in the church.  In an August 2017 op-ed piece in the Deseret News, entitled “Speaking to the pain of a Black Mormon Woman,” Zandra Vranes wrote about the continuing struggle that Mormons of color face in “Zion”–I put this culturally significant word in quotes to highlight the fact that we are, de facto, a long way off from this ideal.  Vranes wrote about being called the N-word by fellow members of the church; what’s more, she wrote about a young woman of color who was told by a member of the church that “she was black and didn’t deserve to live,” which prompted her to make an unsuccessful attempt on her own life (“Speaking to the Pain…,” 2017).  Don’t pardon my French…but how the hell can a supposed follower of Christ say something like that to a fellow sojourner?  Someone who harbors such thoughts cannot purport to be a follower of Christ.  Vranes pointed out other every-day subtle ways our racist legacy resurfaces:

Sometimes it looks like being quick to blame the Spanish-speaking ward [or branch] every time something comes up missing or breaks in a building that multiple congregations share. It might be a mission president allowing the brown missionary to stand outside at the request of the investigator, while the white missionaries go inside and teach them the gospel, instead of telling them that in order to join this church they’d need to stop harboring prejudice.

I am a participant in a Facebook group that encourages Mormons of color to share their experiences and concerns about the racism they encounter.  Obviously because of trust issues, I won’t quote directly from any of the posts, but I will say that members of color from many places in the country have had similar experiences to the ones Vranes called attention to in her column.  What I have learned from listening to this conversation is that racism is a very real force in the contemporary church and it rears its head in everything from overt words and actions to naive statements about procedure that are rooted more in cultural assumptions than doctrine to mistaking political opinion for revelation, especially when that political opinion is clothed with white supremacist and/or ethnocentric rags.

While institutional racism, as Richards-Ekeh claimed, is a “legacy” of de facto racism, it seems that the experience of many brothers and sisters of color teaches us that de facto racism is also a legacy of institutional racism.  It is a downward spiral and one we must interrupt if we are to achieve the unity we claim to aspire to.

Water circling the drain
From Max Pixel, public domain

As a Mormon, I feel an urge to conclude this post with some kind of “positive” statement, to offer some note of hope.  We are, after all, trained to see the “good” in the world, are we not?  I think, however, that when it comes to racism in church culture, that kind of move can be disingenuous and lead to an “All is well in Zion; yea, Zion prospereth, all is well” (2 Ne. 28:21) mindset.  I think it’s actually better for white Mormons to be dis-comforted by our racist past and present.  All cannot be well as long as we passively accept the legacy of institutional racism, try to defend it, or seek to avoid it.  We have to acknowledge that we still carry stones in our backpack.  It’s time for us to start listening to our our black and brown brothers and sisters and to follow the example of the Apostles and ask, “Lord, is it I?” (Matt. 26:22).


* Richards-Ekeh, K.A. (2009).  Institutional racism.  In Greene, H.T. & Gabbidon, S.L. (eds.) Encyclopedia of race and crime, vol. 1.  Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE, p. 392-393.  Retrieved from Gale Virtual Reference Library.


Use of natural and human resources

SR71 “Blackbird”; image by dannyduncan6ynine on reddit

My wife and I have spent a delightful weekend in McMinnville, OR, an appreciated little getaway for our 25th anniversary–holy cow, has it really been that long?–and one of the things we did was visit the Evergreen Aviation & Space Museum, now the home of the Spruce Goose, among other aircraft.  I’ve always been fascinated by airplanes.  When I was younger, I read a lot about WWII fighters and bombers, along with histories of various battles and even a book about the Luftwaffe, the air force of Nazi Germany; so it was cool to see several planes from that era.

A Focke-Wulf 190, A Messerschmidt BF 109, and Supermarine Spitfire

As I have gotten older, though, and have become a supporter of non-violence, the allure of military aircraft has mystified me.  Why do I find these machines so captivating when they are designed to destroy and kill, to train those who will destroy and kill, and to offer operational support to those who destroy and kill?  I made a comment to my wife about how seeing all the military aircraft made me think of the natural and human resources used to develop and produce these Waffen (weapons).  “What kind of world would this be if we had put those resources to use to solve problems of hunger and suffering?” I asked.

I thought of Pres. Spencer W. Kimball’s “The False Gods We Worship,” of the passage in which he observes:

We are a warlike people, easily distracted from our assignment of preparing for the coming of the Lord. When enemies rise up, we commit vast resources to the fabrication of gods of stone and steel — ships, planes, missiles, fortifications — and depend on them for protection and deliverance. When threatened, we become antienemy instead of pro-kingdom of God; we train a man in the art of war and call him a patriot, thus, in the manner of Satan’s counterfeit of true patriotism, perverting the Savior’s teaching:

“Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;
“That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven.” (Matthew 5:44-45)

The Lord gave us so many resources, why do we use them to destroy and kill?  This, of course, flies in the face of Christ’s admonitions to love all.  Even, maybe especially, our enemies.  Christ taught such a radically different way to relate to one another.  I know there are many who will cite the presence of evil in the world and say that war in a tragic/horrible/necessary result of that evil.  Yes.  I know there is evil and darkness in the world, but there is also goodness and light and light can defeat darkness.

Paul, in the Epistle to the Romans wrote that “If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head. Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12:20-21, NIV).  Aside from the Schadenfreude inherent in heaping burning coals on the heads of our “enemies” (if we show kindness to our enemies for this reason, though, I am sure it would not be counted as righteousness), I love this passage.  It reinforces the notion that good can be stronger than evil, that our “enemies” are human, have human needs, which should remind us that they are also children of God.

In Mormonism, we are fond of the statement from King Benjamin in the Book of Mormon: “For the natural man is an enemy to God” (Mosiah 3:19).  We often times use that scripture in discussions on sexuality and materialism, but President Kimball’s “False Gods” points out that the impulses that lead to war are also part of the natural man that we must learn to put off.  Oh that we would!  Again, what would the world be like if we used those natural and human resources to help famine stricken parts of the world?  If we poured that same energy into extending the benefits of modern medicine to everyone?  If we applied that zeal to help build up infrastructure(s) everywhere?

Quick thought on community

Don’t have much tonight.  I gave a presentation to a psychology of religion class this past week taught by a colleague I get along with very well and respect quite a lot.  I talked a bit about the structure of the church and some of it’s core doctrines and I also talked about my struggles with the organization.  I prefaced it by telling the class that I am a “weird Mormon” and that I decidedly do not represent the mainstream, especially of American Mormons, telling them that I identify democratic socialism as my political home.  One young woman asked my why, if I struggle with the church, do I stay?  I think that’s a fantastic question and one I have to ask myself frequently.  One book that has challenged me and helped me think about the church differently has been Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Life Together; the original German title is Gemeinsames Leben, which suggests to me a bit more connection and interaction than the English title because the word Leben is both a noun (life) and a verb (live).

In his chapter, “Community,” there are a couple of quotes that I really appreciate:

When God was merciful to us, we learned to be merciful with our bretheren.  When we received forgiveness instead of judgment, we, too, were made ready to forgive our bretheren.  What God did to us, we then owed to others…One is a brother to another only through Jesus Christ.  I am a brother to another person through what Jesus Christ did for me and to me; the other person has become a brother to me through what Jesus Christ did to him…Not what a man is in himself as a Christian, his spirituality and piety, constitutes the basis of our community.  What determines our brotherhood is what man is by reason of Christ. (pp. 24-5)

I struggle with keeping this in mind and in heart sometimes…well, often times.  I struggle with being merciful and withholding judgement because of my feelings of isolation, if not alienation when I go to church and am reminded how unlike others I am, who express ideas or attitudes that I find offensive.  Bonhoeffer, seems to have recognized my discomfort.

He writes about the danger of “wish dreams” that can encroach on Christian communities and that “God desires to lead us to a knowledge of genuine Christian fellowship, so surely must we be overwhelmed by a great disillusionment with others, with Christians in general, and, if we are fortunate, with ourselves” (pp. 26-7).  Furthermore, he observes:

Only that fellowship which faces such disillusionment, with all its unhappy and ugly aspects, begins to be what it should be in God’s sight, begins to grasp in faith the promise that is given to it.  The sooner this shock of disillusionment comes to an individual and to a community the better for both.  A community which cannot bear and cannot survive such a crisis, which insists upon keeping its illusion when it should be shattered, permanently loses in that moment the promise of Christian community.  Sooner or later it will collapse. (p. 27)

I think what I struggle with is that many church members have not or cannot face their disillusionment, the “unhappy and ugly aspects” of our past and our present.  Many Mormons have become enamored with their riches and so entrenched in their political views that they seem to have lost sight of the fact that the poor are our brothers and sisters, that people on the LBGT+ spectrum are our brothers and sisters, that we have bought into some pretty racially and biased and sexist narratives and explanations of the world.  We seem to want things to be “nice” and “harmonious” so much that we do not face what is unhappy and ugly, that we do not begin to get at the deep love of Christ, the love of the Other who is not like us.  Yet, that is exactly what Christ did when he was on the Earth.  “God hates a visionary dreaming; it makes the dreamer proud and pretentious,” Bonhoeffer posits.  While I heartily disagree with the word “hates” in this context (after all God is love), I agree with the observation that if we refuse to grapple with the unhappy and ugly aspects of our selves and our history, we dream and in that dream we can become proud and pretentious, alienating brothers and sisters who Christ wants back.


Portrait of Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Crisis of my faith community? part 3

Portrait of Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Today, I woke up with a very stiff neck and back and a headache so I did not go to church.  On such days, I try to get some “church” anyway and today I decided to watch a documentary on one of my heroes: Dietrich Bonhoeffer.  Bonhoeffer was a German pastor and theologian who was executed just before the end of WWII for his participation in several plots to assassinate Adolf Hitler.  I  have come to admire his central belief that Christ is found through interactions with others, that we are, in his words, “called to this world,” meaning that our commitment to the Gospel is manifest in how we interact with those around us, that the will of God for us is rooted in those we interact with or may interact with.  What I have encountered of his thinking has deeply impacted how I have come to think about service and my relationship to the Other (to use Emmanuel Levinas’s term).  As I watched, the documentary, I was struck by some very discomforting similarities I saw in clips the film included that showed Hitler’s use of Christian/religious rhetoric and the rhetoric of Christian nationalism I have seen in the last several decades.

The film showed clips from Hitler speeches in which he spoke of God’s will being his guiding principle and claiming that God’s will was for Germany to rise from the post-WWI ashes to lead the world.  Many scholars now agree that when Hitler used such language, he was not expressing a deeply held belief of his own, but rather one that either he judged his audiences to hold or that he knew that he could win them over with.  In his book Holy Hatred: Christianity, Anti-Semitism, and the Holocaust, Robert Michael uses the following quote from der Fuehrer as an epigram for a chapter:

In boundless love, as a Christian and a human being, I read through the passage that tells us how the Lord arose at last in His might and seized the scourge to drive out of the Temple the brood of vipers and adders. How terrific was His fight against the Jewish poison. Today, after two thousand years, with deepest emotion I realize more profoundly than ever before the fact that it was for this that He had to shed His blood upon the Cross. (1)

This quote is remarkable for a couple of reasons.  First, he actively constructs himself as not only a nominal Christian, but as a an emotionally engages and pondering Christian.  Second, it creates a seamless link between his Christianity and “divinely sanctioned” Anti-Semitism; Christ himself was a participant in the struggle against the Jews.  This charade also became part of the visual culture of Nazi-ism.  Richard Weikart pointed out the following photograph from Heinrich Hoffman’s collection Hitler wie ihn keiner kennt (Hitler as Nobody Knows Him): (2)

Image from

This image shows Hitler leaving a well-known church, die Marienkierche in Wilhelmshafen.  The above image was published in the first edition of the collection, but in the next edition, published in 1938, the image was altered.


Weikart’s point is that in the first image, taken in 1932, it was important to the Hitler machine that he be painted with a pious brush, but by 1938, when he had solidified his power, he no longer needed those trappings and was happy to have the same image represent him as a visitor to a historically significant site.  Weikart presents evidence that Hitler held basically anti-Christian attitudes from the beginning of his political career, but that he recognized the value of hiding his true feelings.  Michael ecoes this claim when he points out that the Nazi party’s ability to create sympathy with many levels of German society “was made possible by a shared Christian antisemitism” and that the violence towards Jews “did nothing to diminish the enthusiasm of those Germans who supported the regime and therefore the Final Solution….” (2)

The problem here, though, is that the same thing seems to be happening, hopefully to a less murderous extent with Donald Trump.  As a showman, he knows the value of appearances and he seems to have no problem playing that card whenever he needs to.  The Religion News Service, in a story on our current President’s (OCP) 2017 message to the Values Voter Summit, noted his “evolution from twice-divorced casino owner viewed warily by Christian conservatives to evangelical favorite defending religious liberty.”

Sean Illing, inVox piece entitled “Why Christian Conservatives Supported Trump–And Why They Might Regret It.” pointed out that OCP’s career is contradictory to the public ideology of the religious right, being a “a vulgar, thrice-married real estate tycoon whose brand is built on money, women, and debauchery.”  Illing’s piece is an interview with Stephen Mansfield, a conservative Christian writer who did not support OCP and wrote Choosing Donald Trump, a book trying to come to grips with why members of the religious right supported someone who’s life embodies many things they publicly (at least) profess to hate.  Mansfield theorizes that the religious right  felt they were under attack by the Obama Administration and believed that attack would continue under a Clinton Presidency.  He claims:

By the time it got past the primaries, what they wanted was somebody who could just win. And he was as angry as they were. They channeled his anger. They thought they had someone who was with them on the main issues, who was tough and could win, and who was as angry as they were. All of that worked into the witches’ brew that swept him into office.

Thus, he seems to concede that the decision to support OCP had less to do with actual religious belief/principle and more to do with a sense of cultural power or perceived lack of it.

Unfortunately, this reasoning for supporting OCP creepily mirrors a conclusion Dr. Robert P. Ericksen reaches in a lecture delivered in 2007 at the US Holocaust Memorial Museum.  In the lecture, Dr. Ericksen shows how historians since the 1980s have systematically and thoroughly deconstructed the myth of the “good [Christian] German,” showing that there was fairly wide-spread support for Nazi-ism among both Protestants and Catholics during WWII.  He sums up their reasoning in supporting Hitler by pointing out that many

…church leaders, pastors,theologians, and lay people who applauded Hitler, who called 1933 a year of rebirth, and, in the words of Paul Althaus, considered Hitler “a gift and miracle from God.” The problem was not that they misunderstood Hitler, but that they so readily reconciled their consciences and their Christian identities to the harshness of the Nazi state.  Why? I have not tried to address that question here, but the short answer is this: They were so hurt by World War I and the national humiliation of the Versailles Treaty, they were so opposed to the open society created by democracy and the Weimar Republic, they were so frightened by the economic crises of hyper inflation and then the Great Depression, and they were so threatened by the sociological changes of the modern world that someone as ideologically aggressive as Adolf Hitler seemed an answer to all their problems. He was the candidate of military strength and national pride; the candidate of family values, promising, among other things, to put women back in the home where they belonged; and the candidate whose antisemitism fit their own preconceptions and concern that Jews did not really belong in an ideal, unified Christian society.  Based upon their hopes and dreams, Christians and other Germans found it easier to march behind Adolf Hitler than we would like to think. An honest assessment of the historical record seems to make that clear. It cannot be the legitimate task of historians to bury, ignore, try to hide or try to ignore that complex reality. (3)

I cannot help but be struck by the similarity in motivation.  German Christians in the 1930s stood behind Hitler because he was angry and spoke to their cultural identity, even though he held their beliefs in contempt (as Weikart shows); American Christians in 2016 stood behind OCP for similar reasons.  It would take a remarkable degree of naivete to believe that the current resident of the White House is a faithful Christian.  He can hardly “speak the language”; remember when, in a speech at Liberty Universtiy, he tried to quote from “two Corinthians“?

I hope this mistaking a “strong man” for a chosen vessel of the Lord does not turn out as badly as it did in the last century…and I am going to do my part in trying to make sure that will not be the case.

(1) Michael, Robert. Holy Hatred : Christianity, Antisemitism, and the Holocaust, Palgrave Macmillan, 2006. ProQuest Ebook Central,, p. 153.

(2) Michael, p. 154.

(3) Ericksen, Richard P. “Christian Complicity?: Changing Views on German Churches and the Holocaust.”  United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Center for Advanced Holocaust Studies, 2007. pp. 13-14.

Crisis of my faith community? Why do we support a sexist, narcissistic, power grabber? Part 2

Image from Pintrest

In my last post, I wrote about what I think of as manifestations of what really bothers me about our current President (OCP),* which is that he has an abusive spirit or demeanor.  Last week, I wrote about his crass materialism, sexual profligacy and assault, and about how he exhibits many of the symptoms of  deeply disturbing mental health issues.  I pointed out that his lavishness and licentiousness seem completely at odds with Mormon doctrine and positions.

I’ve included the image above because while many seem to want to compare (OCP) to Hitler, I believe his grandiosity and public persona are more Mussolini-like, as does NYU Italian Studies and History professor, Ruth Ben-Ghiat.  Ivana Trump, the first of his ex-wives, reported that he owned a collection of Hitler’s speeches, from which he would occasionally read–support for the old “garbage in, garbage out” cliche–but Hitler was a little more circumspect regarding his private life and cautious about letting the proverbial cat out of the bag until he was sure the average German would agree.  With Mussolini and OCP there is no bag.  To be sure, OCP is not quite a Fascist, but the parallels between him and Mussolini are unmistakable and his praise of “strong man leaders” like Vladimir Putin, Bashar Al-Assad, Muammar Gaddafi, Sadam Hussein, and Rodrigo Dutarte, as well his recent fawning over Xi Jinping’s successful termination of term limits, hinting that he might like to try and follow suit, shows at least a desire to make himself a dictator.

Italians learned in the 1920s what Americans are learning in 2016: Charismatic authoritarians seeking political office cannot be understood through the framework of traditional politics. They lack interest in, and patience for, established protocols. They often trust few outside of their own families, or those they already control, making collaboration and relationship building difficult. They work from a different playbook, and so must those who intend to confront them.

Ruth Ben-Ghiat

My specific concerns are OCP’s embrace of violent language and violence as a political tool, his racism and Islamophobia, and his abusive attitude towards women and others

Encouraging violence

One trademark of Mussolini’s appeal to supporters was his violent rhetoric and a simplistic worldview.  His most loyal followers, the Blackshirts, took Il Duce’s “rhetoric to heart [and] beat and executed thousands of political opponents–including priests–at rallies and on trains, in shops, schools, and taverns,” Giahat points out.  In 1922 he lead a march on Rome to demand power from the Italian king, even.

While OCP’s followers are not that violent, he does inflame them with bellicose rhetoric, encouraging them to beat protesters and opponents and he presents a very simple, black and white view of the world–one of the key words here being “white.”  As this following video, produced by Vox, points out, he not only encourages violence, he sanctions it.

Racism and antisemitism

An important aspect Mussolini’s “leadership” was antagonism towards other races.  Giahat’s book on the Italian occupation of Ethiopia, discusses the brutality the Italians heaped on the Ethiopians.  In an excerpt, she observes:

As Ethiopian resistance continued after the proclamation of empire, the Italians combined old-fashioned savageries (decapitations, castrations, and burning and razing of civilian quarters) with industrial killing methods (aerial gas bombings and efficient open-grave executions) that are more commonly associated with Hitler’s and Stalin’s soldiers than with Mussolini’s rank and file

Additionally, Italy was complicit with Nazi Germany in the Holocaust, though not on the same scale.

OCP’s history of racism is complicated, as Lisa Desjardins points in a PBS News Hour story.  There have been times when he has taken what could be considered progressive steps at times, but the majority of his public record on race is decidedly negative, from the the Department of Justice lawsuit over racist rental policies and practices, to his activism in the Central Park Five case, to his calling Mexicans rapists and drug dealers, to his comment about “shithole” nations like Haiti and African nations.  OCP’s followers have taken his language go heart as license to act out their own, sometimes violent racism.

And then there is OCP’s open, virulent anti-Muslim words and actions, from suggesting putting a hold on immigration from Muslim countries, to his attempted travel ban, to renaming the Countering Violent Extremism program to Countering Islamic Extremism, to an upsurge in drone strikes in the Muslim world, to dropping the largest conventional bomb in Afghanistan, to announcing massive arms sales to Saudi Arabia to continue to support their vicious war on Yemen–which sends a diabolical message: We don’t care who kills you, just so long as you are killed.  Additionally, there was his retweeting of debunked anti-Islamic videos posted by a far-right British politician.

This of course has emboldened OCP’s followers.  Ibrahim Hooper, an American Islamic activist, who observed:

“It’s worse now than even after 9/11. He has empowered and mainstreamed white supremacy and bigotry,” he said. “After 9/11, bigotry was under the rocks and hidden. Now these bigots are out in the open and saying they are proud of their bigotry.”

Abusive attitude towards women and others

One last aspect of this post is OCP’s heaping abuse on women and others.  His public history of misogyny is only too well documented, from reducing women to their anatomy, to insulting women’s weight, to his pattern of insulting women opponents.  Besides the now infamous “grab ’em by the pussy” tape, OCP has reduced women to their bodies and genitals frequently.  In this same spirit, he mocked Serge Kovaleski, a journalist with a disability that affects his hands.

from: Uncovered Truth

His abusiveness, predictably and infuriatingly, has seemed to encourage a “wave of misogyny.”


With all of this, how can a Mormon in good conscience claim to have followed the counsel in D&C 98: 10 in voting for OCP?

Wherefore, honest men and wise men should be sought for diligently, and good men and wise men ye should observe to uphold…

Can any Mormon in good conscience honestly feel that Christ would approve of this man?



* I honor the capitalization conversion because I have some hope the office can do some good, though I must admit that history does not support this hope.  All of the holders of the office have done some pretty horrendous things in office, though I still have profound respect for Abraham Lincoln for having the cojones to break the cycle of slavery.