Boilerplate Husband

DW saw a number on her caller ID this morning that she thinks is the local LDS bishop's cell number. The LDS Church has policy requiring the permission of a husband for his wife to accept any significant church assignment. IIRC, this is set out in the Church Handbook of Instructions, but it's been a while since I had a copy of that publication, so I could be wrong. Anyhow, I drafted this to take care of any possible consent issues in advance:

I, R, do not accept the premise that my consent or permission is necessary for my spouse, C, to accept any calling or assignment, or to do any action that is not illegal or, though perhaps technically legal, is an action that would shock the conscience of a reasonable citizen of those states of the United States whose public policies are in agreement with my own policy preferences. In the event of any action that is illegal or that would shock the conscience of a reasonable citizen of those states of the United States chosen by me, I disclaim in advance any knowledge of, or consent to, any such action, unless such action would further my own personal interests.

However, in accordance with the policies of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I hereby declare that I agree to C holding any calling in the Slidell Ward of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints that she chooses to accept. Should C does not wish to accept a calling but does not wish to declare this wish, then I do not agree to her accepting any such calling. I hereby consent to C invoking this species of non-agreement at her discretion.

I declare under penalty of perjury under the laws of the United States of America that the foregoing is true and correct. Executed on 29 March 2009.

She laughed, then folded it up and put it in her purse. Of course she won't use this document, but maybe she'll show it to some of the women of the ward who possess a sense of humor.

Zen Mormons?

Friend of the blog ScottyDoo has posted a PDF link to an article from Sunstone about the potential mixing of yogic mantra meditation and Mormonism. I couldn't help but notice a few statements heard from more orthodox LDS members on the author's "bad religion" list. Gotta love liberal Mormons, going through life with one foot in the chapel and the other on a banana peel. Seriously, though, as a Zen type and a Westerner, I've occasionally toyed with the notion that Western faith traditions could benefit from adopting Eastern meditative practices. I really don't see the LDS Church officially adopting meditation as one of its practices, but this author seems to have integrated it into his own life without ditching his religious beliefs.

The Baptism Scene, 2008

Knock, knock, knockin

Last night's excellent "Big Love" episode ("Kingdom Come") ended with two characters knockin' on heaven's door to Bob Dylan's song. Polygamist prophet Roman Grant, who had been shot by followers of a rival polygamist sect, was lying on the sidewalk, full of blood. Meanwhile, teenager Ben Henrickson was receiving his family's version of the Aaronic Priesthood from his father. The backstories to those little Dylanesque dramas constituted the main plotlines of the episode.

Ben's mother, Barb, who grew up in the regular LDS Church, was manipulated into accepting polygamy by her husband Bill; would in her own heart want to drop polygamy and return to the LDS Church; but remains loyal to her family, including her sister-wives, both of whom make their own side arrangements with Bill. Ben, meanwhile, has been having sex with his secular temptress girlfriend on a regular basis. After the parents get him to 'fess up, he proposes marriage to his girlfriend so he can "make it moral" in his parents' eyes. Back at home, Bill asks whether this girlfriend is "the one." Ben looks at Barb and coldly replies that he doesn't know; she's the one for now, and if that changes, he can always marry a second wife. Writer Lance Black explains that this conversation is really a conversation between Bill and Barb, about Barb's own choices and about whether the kids should be encouraged to be polygamists. Barb, aghast at the words that have come out of her son's mouth, cleverly convinces the girlfriend to break up. Evidently without Barb's knowledge, Bill ordains Ben to the priesthood and suggests that the son's life as a plyg will be easier than his has been. I'm guessing Barb is going to find out.

Meanwhile, Bill plays Roman Grant against a rival plyg group, evidently without realizing that the other group has turned to murder, or, as they call it, blood atonement. Bill wants to buy a video poker company out from under both groups and walk away unscathed. Bill's mother reveals that some of the money her brother invested in Bill's project was stolen. Bill griped at his mother and brother, but I noticed that he did nothing about giving up that money. Oh, and Roman got shot. I'm guessing someone is going to find out that Bill is indirectly responsible.

So Bill continues along the road to hell that is paved with good intentions, a road that may lead to him becoming the next incarnation of Roman, the man he has vowed to crush.

One thing that strikes me as mildly interesting is that these polygamist groups are organized, for the most part, as relatively small groups following a strong and/or charismatic, dictatorial figure, who may or may not be benevolent. In one of these groups, they actually refer to a principle of "one-man rule." The LDS Church, from which these groups split, has evolved into an organization with a bureaucratic structure and, essentially, a collective leadership at the top. The understood rules of decisionmaking are such that the organization is institutionally conservative; the structure, collective leadership, and decisionmaking rules--and, contrasted with these other groups, a very large membership base--are such that it seems highly unlikely that the main church will march off the proverbial cliff at the behest of one individual.

Dharma Warrior and "The Mormons"

I actually found myself watching most of PBS's "The Mormons." On Monday, we were channel-surfing, and I put it on an A&E rerun of "The Sopranos." However, it wasn't one of the better epsiodes, and DW turned it to PBS. Last night, I got back from the Zen center and found DW watching part deaux. She commented about how she had forgotten much of the early history of the LDS Church. She is a multigenerational Mormon, so that history is her history. I'm a second-generation Mormon, so I can't personally lay claim to that history. Moreover, it's a fascinating history, the bad along with the good, and it's a shame more people don't know much about it.

The post I originally drafted about part one used a comment by feminist Mormon Margaret Toscano as a jumping-off point to discuss how, since my early teens, I've been tied up in knots over specific personal issues that somehow got whooshed up with the Church in my mind. On the drive home last night, I remember that a Zen author--I think it was Kosho Uchiyama--described zazen as a sword that cuts through the knots in one's mind. I was pleased by the image of myself as a dharma warrior, chopping away at my own mental knots.

Not even part two of "The Mormons" could mess with that image, and a number of the issues that have bothered me about the Church were discussed during the segments I saw. That's not to say I've changed my mind about any of these things; I guess I've just gained enough distance from them that I can look at them without investing much emotion into them. I suppose it helps that I never experienced first-hand the pain of people like Trevor Southey and Margaret Toscano, who were formally expelled from the LDS Church and were rejected by their loved ones, while I just slowly drifted away. Were I in the position of people who had been kicked to the curb on the basis of my scholarship (Toscano) or my sexuality (Southey), I'm sure I would still feel very hurt by it. Come to think of it, I'm still a little stung by the way my family was rejected by the local congregation. So, with the metaphorical sword of zen in my right hand, I walk the path of the dharma warrior, chopping away at those metaphorical knots. Now, the thought of me carrying a sword of any kind is pretty damn ridiculous; it's just one of those zen paradoxes.

ETA: The photo of Kosho Uchiyama I originally posted here disappeared, so I replaced it with the hand of Uma Thurman.

Unanswered prayers

"More tears are shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones."
--St. Teresa of Avila

As some of my gentle readers are aware, LDS Church Public Affairs Director Michael Otterson has a blog on the Washington Post website. I actually think this is a good thing, though he tends to be very general and noncontroversial in his comments. This week, Brother Otterson wrote about the lessons he has gleaned from his regular practice of prayer. One of his lessons in particular caught my eye:

That prayer may never be more meaningful than when the life or health of our own child is in the balance.

Your humble host commented:

All due respect, what would you say to a father who prayed frequently, sincerely, and desperately, begging his Heavenly Father for improvement in his chldrens' health, received nothing at all by way of an answer, and saw the situation continuing to deteriorate around him? Shouldn't that father have received something--anything--in response to his frequently tearful, sometimes angry entreaties? I felt like I was banging my head against a brick wall by offering unanswered prayers, and that pain went away only when I gave up on that practice.

Sadly, this was how I felt a few years ago, as I sought a solace that I never received. My family situation was a disaster--two children with severe developmental disabilities, a deeply depressed spouse, and no support system to speak of. I, too, was diagnosed with depression. Up until this time, I had prayed mostly out of habit, but when the crap hit the fan, I spent hours on my knees. Alas, nothing came of it. Eventually, I began finding a measure of relief in a meditation practice that allowed the pain, fear, anger, and sadness to float around inside my mind, and that somehow made me feel connected to everybody and everything else in the cosmos. I know that others achieve something like this through traditional prayers, and, in theory, I think that it is life-affirming to be able to communicate intimately and familiarly with an omniscient God, and I'm happy for those who accomplish that, but it just didn't work for me. OTOH, perhaps St. Teresa was right about answered prayers and unanswered prayers. As the maxim says, be careful about what you ask for, because you might just get it. But I don't know how having my kids' conditions healed--or at least my own white-hot pain lessened--could ever be considered a bad thing.

Under the Banner of Heaven

Which comes first? The chicken or the egg? More to the point in Jon Krakeauer's "Under the Banner of Heaven," does harsh, fundamentalist religion create sociopathic killers or conditions in which they may arise, or do sociopaths merely use bits and pieces of doctrine and scripture to justify their criminal behaviors? Krakauer's book appears to move in the first direction, then seemingly makes a turn in the other direction just at the very end.

Krakauer tells the sordid tale of Ron and Dan Lafferty of Utah Valley, who murdered their sister-in-law and infant niece because Ron had received a revelation telling to commit the murders. The Laffertys were self-styled "funadamenatlist Mormons" (FunMos, thanks Todd!) who believed in polygamy and that the main LDS Church marched into damnation when it discontinued the practice of "the Principle." The Laffertys also fancied themselves--or at least Ron--as prophets ("The One Mighty and Strong" foretold in the "Doctrine and Covenants," a holy book of all Mormon-oriented groups).

They also became obsessive about the doctrine of Blood Atonement, which was preached by Brigham Young. Brigham's record regarding that doctrine was tainted by the 1857 Mountain Meadows Massacre, an incident for which the LDS Church disclaims responsibility, but about which the critics of the Church will not shut up. Recent publications make Brigham appear quite complicit, though most of the evidence is circumstantial. The massacre is recounted in great detail, and blame is placed squarely on Brigham. The MMM is a sort of smoking gun for Krakauer's thesis that extreme faith may lead people to extreme acts of violence. It could be, however, that the massacre is more in line with the notion that people are smart but groups of people are mean and stupid, or however that goes, especially when they are led by individual zealots. By the way, the LDS Church recently officially renounced Blood Atonement as a doctrine in order for the Utah Legislature to abolish the firing squad.

Krakauer's narrative consists of alternating chapters about the Laffertys and about the history of Mormon and FunMo polygamy. Some FunMo groups still talk about Blood Atonement, and all adherents of the religions that call themselves Mormon believe in prophets--though, obviously, the institutional churches can have only one active prophet at a time, or they would disintegrate into tiny groups, each following its own guru. Ron Lafferty, who evidently was not a member of ANY of the generally recognized Mormon churches (though he had been excommunicated from the LDS Church) received a hit list in the form of a revelation. Coincidentally, the people named on the divine hit list just happened to be the people Ron blamed for the collapse of his marriage and for his excommunication. That little coincidence suggests to me that Lafferty was simply a sociopathic nut who would have latched onto some oddball interpretation of the doctrines of, say, the Southern Baptist Convention, were he raised in a Southern Baptist environment, in order to justify his murders.

Krakauer's argument gets a little wobbly here, and, to his credit, he also discusses Ron's retrial, at which the defense argued that Ron's religious beliefs rendered him insane. Various mental health professionals--some Mormon, some not--testified convincingly that intelligent, rational people can hold beliefs that are non-rational, or even extreme, without being clinically insane.

Krakauer closes the paperback edition of his book with the entirety of the official LDS Church response to his book (guess what? They didn't like it.) He replies to the response, which mostly critique nitpicky little details and Krakauer's interpretive spin on facts that aren't really disputed. Krakauer, who is not LDS, closes with a plea for a more open examination of LDS history.

Bet he watches "Big Love."