Fighting Evil with Evil

George and I watched the movie Doubt on DVD this week and a line from the Meryl Streep character remains with me. Sister Aloysius (Streep), a nun who runs a parochial school with an iron fist, opposes the compassionate new priest who befriends the children. Although she has no evidence, she has a feeling the priest has made sexual advances to some of the boys and enlists a young novitiate to help her spy on the priest. When the young nun objects to her methods, Sister Aloysius tells her, “Sometimes we have to step away from God in order to fight evil.” The film never answers the question of the priest’s innocence, but it shows Sister Aloysius brutally unconcerned about harming others as she pursues her self-imposed duty to find the priest guilty. The young teacher adopts her mentor’s methods—stepping away from God to discipline her students—and ruins her relationship with her own students.

 I’m certainly not suggesting that allegations of child abuse should not be investigated, but I question using unscrupulous means to obtain righteous ends. In recent years some worthy goals have been sabotaged by overzealous advocates using dishonest means to promote their cause. The gun control group lost credibility when they enhanced statistics about gun-related deaths. Much of the American public lost confidence in all global warming evidence when a small group of English scientists attempted to suppress non-supportive evidence.

Hugh Nibley made a statement that the purpose of the many detailed war scenes in the Book of Mormon is to show us how awful war is. He also claimed that both sides in a war are serving Satan. I have thought about his words many times in the past several years as our country has launched two wars—bombing an already devastated country into further rubble and attacking a country which had not attacked us. Then our government justified using torture to obtain information from suspected combatants. The photos from Abu Ghraib and other prisons where American soldiers tortured prisoners prove we have stepped away from God.

Ignoring right values in an effort to preserve them defeats our purpose–no matter how noble our intention.

American Decadence

We’re boarding our dog at a dog park this week while we take a short trip. Although she’s an outside dog and our daughter, Aroo, would come over and feed her every day, we can no longer leave Pita. She has become terrified of fireworks and thunder. If we’re not home to let her in the house when she hears a boom, she goes nuts and will do anything to get through our four-foot picket fence. George strung chicken wire alongside the plastic pickets so she couldn’t push them aside and get through. The next day, a peal of thunder caused Pita to tear the wire out with her teeth and escape. George replaced the chicken wire with sturdier 4 inch square wire. That night a neighbor kid lit a string of firecrackers and Pita used the wire for a ladder to climb up and over the top of the pickets. George put plastic lattice work up, and she chewed through that during the next storm. No, this dog cannot be left alone.

We’ve tried boarding her in a traditional kennel with a 3 by 7 cage and dozens of unhappy dogs barking all the time and find Pita gets so nervous that she chews patches of fur off her legs. For this trip, we checked out a new dog park. And this place is posh. The playground features plastic slides, blocks, tunnels, and a wading pool. The lounge sports leather furniture, mounds of cushions and pillows, and a large-screen TV playing doggy films. I only wish we were staying in a motel as nice as Pita’s.

I told our son, Techie, about the luxury Pita will enjoy and he said, “You know, I think Osama bin Laden had a point.”

Church Attendance for an LDS President

Rumor has it that President Obama does not attend church regularly, his reason being that his presence is too disruptive. What a great excuse for getting out of going to church. I will certainly use that one in the unlikely event that I become president.

A blogger has speculated about Mitt Romney’s dilemma of trying to attend his LDS ward in the also unlikely event that he becomes president. Since Mitt is a devout Mormon, he does not have the option of staying home and reading the newspaper in his pajamas on Sundays. But his home ward would certainly have to make accommodations. And so would the government. I imagine all his Secret Service bodyguards would have to be LDS. No non-Mormon would sit through three hours of our meetings every Sunday for any amount of pay. Would the Secret Service would also have to prepare the sacrament bread and water and pass it to the First Family? Or would it be safe enough if they provided the bread and water and supervised the teachers’ and priests’ preparations?

Would metal detectors be installed at the entry to the President’s ward building? And what about Home Teaching? I suppose the Pres would be excused from serving as a HT, but how would the HTs assigned to his family ever schedule their visits? Maybe on Air Force One?

Does the White House have adequate space for the Romney’s food storage? And would they have to employ temple recommend holders to do the family laundry?

These are quite fascinating questions, but before I sign up to work for the Romney campaign (I just know one is coming), I need an answer to this question: Would a Romney presidency impact the church positively or negatively?

The Kingdom Within

A speaker at this year’s Sunstone Symposium opined that the natural man cannot be perfected by keeping commandments. He offered as evidence the fact that Mormons attend church for three hours every Sunday where we are exhorted to keep the commandments, but we don’t see a general increase in righteousness and perfection among the members. I’ve blamed our general lack of improvement on the fact that repetition isn’t the best teacher, but I think this good brother hit on something more profound.

Tackling a list of commandments is external and often leads to external measurements of improvement such as numbers of meetings attended, amounts of money donated, substances not ingested. Changing the natural man or woman—the one the Book of Mormon tells us is an enemy to God—requires going within—getting acquainted with the ego that runs our show—the deceptions it practices and the illusions it maintains. This requires personal time for prayer, meditation, contemplation—quiet time—time not often found in our group religious practice.

A person who understands herself is far less likely to harm others either physically or emotionally and can function with far fewer rules than a person whose behavior is extrinsically motivated. My dad insisted that anyone who didn’t believe in God would be a total degenerate with no fear of hell or hope of heaven to keep him in line.  But my circle of friends and acquaintances includes many non-believers who not only refrain from crime, but show compassion in individual and community service to others.

And we all know, via the news if not personally, regular church attendees who bilk their neighbors, abuse family members, and cause enough misery to justify  a lightning bolt frying them to an unhallowed crisp. When I taught at Utah State Prison, I found a high degree of religious belief in the inmates—but they weren’t able to translate their belief in God into living a crime-free life.

Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is within you.” Maybe we need to spend more time seeking for the kingdom within.

Worthiness

I asked my Relief Society visiting teachers not to present the lesson while they visited this week. I explained that I had read it and not found it relevant. The “senior companion” proceeded to give the lesson regardless. I do admire her dedication. And I did find one point of the August lesson with which I agree. I think we should all live worthy of worshipping and being in God’s presence—however we define God.

Of course, my definition of worthiness differs from the standard Mormon temple recommend interview.  While I believe that God cares that we are honest in our dealings with our fellow human beings and have good relationships with family members, I’m not so sure He cares much about some of the other items on the checklist. In fact, since we’re all so different—and so good at rationalizing—I’m pretty sure the same list doesn’t work for everyone on a meaningful level.

What works for me is to examine my own mind through meditation. To check out my real, sometimes hidden, reasons for my beliefs and actions. To see if my ego is on a rampage. I really like the Big Mind philosophy taught by Genpo Roshi at the Salt Lake Zen Center. I have also found practicing with Michael Mugaku Zimmerman Sensei rewarding.

I don’t maintain a personal checklist of things I should and should not be doing because that technique—like New Year’s Resolutions—has never worked for me. But when something bothers me, I find peace through meditation. Although I’m not particularly good at meditating, sometimes I’m able to address an emotion such as fear or anger—acknowledge and accept it—then find a way to deal with it constructively.

 My method does not provide me with a card proving my worthiness. And it doesn’t convince my visiting teacher that I don’t need her instruction. But that may be my ego talking.

Saved by Grace–Not Such a Bad Idea

Mormons’ favorite scripture about salvation contains a caveat to the traditional Christian doctrine that we are saved by grace. For Mormons, “it is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do (2Ne 25:23). Since nobody does all they can do, this phrase places Mormons in a precarious position—salvation-wise. While it is relatively easy to believe that deceased loved ones inherit the celestial kingdom, doubt exists about oneself. Have I researched all the genealogy, done all the temple work, read all the scriptures, served in all the callings I could have? Possibly my elderly family members are more neurotic than others, but I haven’t noticed that their faith has contributed to peace of mind at the end.

Of course, Mormons don’t have to wait for the approach of death to begin scourging themselves for unworthiness. Yesterday my visiting teacher, a young single mom who divorced her husband because his mental illness made him abusive to her and their small children, testified of the benefits of temple attendance. With tears in her eyes, she wished she and her husband had attended the temple together. She thought it could have made their marriage better.

Now I’ve never heard anyone suggest that temple worship can cure mental illness and abusive relationships, but this young woman was convinced she hadn’t done all she could do. In her mind, attending the temple with her husband might have qualified her for the miracle that could have saved her marriage.

Wouldn’t it be healthier for her to believe that the grace to cope with the trials of mortal life comes to good people of faith from a benevolent heaven rather than to beat herself up for not keeping every commandment perfectly enough to merit God’s favor?

Believing that grace is a gift to those who believe and demonstrate their faith by living lives of loving kindness might calm frazzled Mormon nerves better than a dose of Zoloft .

Why Don’t They Like Us?

A speaker at a FAIR (Forum for Apologetic Information and Research) conference last week created a stir by revealing a survey showing that Mormons are unfavorably viewed by non-Mormons. And I mean really unfavorably—5 to 1. Apparently this news shocks Mormons who seldom associate with non-members. But, if it’s any consolation, Jews and Catholics didn’t fare very well in this survey, either. The unfavorable ratio for Jews was 7 to 2 and for Catholics 2 to 1. Had Muslims been added to the survey, I suspect Mormons would not have been at the bottom.

What this survey does prove is the simple truth that human beings dislike other humans with differing beliefs.  I’ve been engaged in a few discussions with persons who ignore my (of course) well-reasoned comments and try to put words in my mouth—“then you think . . .”  Not respecting my opinions enrages me, so I find myself responding with snide rather than wise, analytical remarks. Unless I’m itching for a fight, I tend to limit conversations with many people to the weather and food.

Disliking or even fearing those who think differently leads Americans to segregating ourselves into red and blue neighborhoods and to restricting friendships within our own church or other group. If you live and work in Utah, you’ve probably experienced situations at work where the church group stops talking abruptly when a non-member appears. No doubt, this occurs in other majority/minority situations.

In The Great Divorce, C.S. Lewis creates an afterlife where everyone goes to heaven. The catch is that only those willing to give up their sins can stay. Most wannabe angels forego heaven for a hell where nobody hassles them to give up their favorite sins. But there’s another catch. These non-heavenly beings continually fight with each other. And each time they engage in conflict, they are moved farther away from others. Seriously aggressive beings end up isolated in outer space.

Of course, Lewis’s book is listed as fiction. But I don’t know. Based on my limited experience, outer space may be the best place for those of us who can’t appreciate differences of belief.

Lost Loves

Don, a member of my writing group, has been dredging up memories of unrequited love for the girl he adored throughout adolescence. Now, Don’s writings about Cheryl wouldn’t be painful to read once or even more than once if Don viewed his lost love with a degree of humor. Unfortunately for our group, the object of Don’s affection went on to a relatively glamorous career in New York and died in her thirties. Unlike his wife, the elusive Cheryl remains forever young and desirable. And Don writes and writes and writes about Cheryl—their every conversation, every glance, what might have been.

I suppose everyone stores memories of old flames in some remote chip in the nervous system. And occasionally these memories, activated by a song, a scent, a movie, or even a bout of insomnia or indigestion, push into consciousness.

Don’s decade-long crush on Cheryl makes my own school girl crushes pale in comparison. I could never manage to stay in love much longer than a year. I fell madly in love with Richard when they vaccinated all the school kids for typhoid fever during a water pollution scare. We were in second grade, and after getting his shot, Richard hid in the coat room and cried. I wanted to cry too, but hadn’t the courage to leave class, stick my head under my coat, and sob. Richard had integrity.

My next crush was on tall, blonde, not-too-smart LaMont. He was handsome—until his sister permed his beautiful, blonde hair turning him into a frizzy-haired geek. By junior high, I was ready to act upon my crushes. When tall, dark Chuck moved to town, I walked a mile out of my way to pass his house on my way home from school. Chuck never noticed me, but I benefited from the exercise.

Being rather shallow, most of my crushes were based on physical appearance. George, however, had a different criterion for falling in love. In high school he was mad about a girl named Janet who worked in a bakery and whose coat smelled like donuts.

No, George and I will not write volumes about our childhood crushes. Unlike Don’s now-mythical Cheryl, our old loves deserve to be lost.

First Child

Our youngest son, Techie, and his wife, Techie II, are expecting their firstborn in two weeks. Techie II is at the waddling elephant stage of pregnancy and barely speaking to the Cause. They are opting for a home delivery—under water. Technie has inflated a wading pool bought for the occasion. I’m grateful my presence is neither expected nor welcomed.

A midwife and her assistant along with a dula and her assistant have been engaged for the occasion. With four women in charge, Techie will probably be banished from the house which is a good thing. Techie’s stint as a standup comic will not allow him to make helpful or even appropriate comments for the occasion.

The Techies decided against learning the baby’s gender before birth. We’re all praying for a girl since they plan to name a boy Genghis. Techie blames me for the name choice. When our first grandchild was gestating, I informed our daughter and son-in-law that it was the grandparents’ right to name the grandchildren, and referred to the baby as Hubris (I was very proud of that first grandchild) for nine months. I named our elder son’s first baby Costco since it was a successful project conceived in Seattle. Techie appreciated my odd sense of humor until his progeny was involved. He said he picked Genghis because I couldn’t come up with a weirder name. He’s right. I couldn’t.

The Techies also plan to home school their children which is probably a good thing. Can you imagine a teacher seeing the name Genghis on her class roster? It could start another teacher shortage.

More Prison Stories–Memorable Staff

Teaching at the prison would have been far less interesting without my colleague, Lark. She was intrigued by the abnormal.  Her quest for the bizarre elicited juicy tidbits about staff as well as inmates. We wondered why one woman was promoted to captain. She was unprofessional enough to get into shouting matches with inmates, yelling things like, “Don’t think you’re so damned hot! I can go home at night and you can’t!” Lark’s questioning of staff elicited the answer:  The new captain was sleeping with one of the wardens. Lark also ferreted out the gossip behind another female officer’s promotion over men with more experience.  A boob job.

Lark and I worked from the school area in the Old Max building. Three male teachers taught classes limited to 15 students each at Old Max. Mike, the officer in charge of the school, referred to us as “those women,” but warmed up when we didn’t cause him any grief with the inmates. Hailing from out of state, Mike frequently pronounced Mormons without the second M.

Winken, Blinken, and Nod, the male teachers, accepted us with less joy. I’d been hired to replace their friend who had been forced out by the principal. My predecessor took clandestine days off believing the principal couldn’t check lockdown buildings and find he hadn’t shown up. His friends suspected Lark and me of being spies and resented sharing their space with women. It took a while for Winken to remember to shut the bathroom door when we might return to the office.

The male teachers despised inmates. They spent their teaching time behind their desks reading LDS theology while inmate tutors helped their students with lesson packets. During prep time, they discussed their reading material. Winken favored material on the far fringes of Mormon thought. One day he told me about a new book that explained that the Lost Ten Tribes are on another planet.

“How did they get on another planet?”

“The Bible says they were carried away to the North. This book explains how they could have traveled to the North Pole and another planet could have touched down there for them to climb on. It’s possible.”

“Winken, do you know what would happen to the earth’s gravitational field if another planet approached that close?”

“God can do anything.” Fortunately, Winken was not the science teacher.

Mostly, the men stayed in their classrooms, and Lark and I stayed in our office when we weren’t teaching. Nod hung around the office more than Winken and Blinken because he liked to discuss Church History with me—I thought. Nod was well read on controversial issues, especially polygamy. He believed this doctrine was only temporarily abandoned by the church and he held out hope for its reinstitution—if not in this life, definitely in the next. Our inmate clerk deflated my ego by informing me that Nod hung around, not for my intellectually stimulating conversation, but for Lark’s good looks.