A modern orthodox Jewish acquaintance of mine recently said he realizes the world is really complicated and that no one faith tradition can really make sense of it all. But he still wears a kippah everyday. Studying the Torah, praying, and keeping a kosher kitchen are important to him. These things are not convenient to do, but he finds them worthwhile. And while he has more progressive views than most people at his synagogue, he still values connecting with his community. Despite all its clumsiness, one of the strengths of religious life is how it can provide structure, form, and meaning to life.
It is easy to overlook what religious practices can contribute to our lives. In recent months, I questioned whether I wanted to continue some of my personal faith-based habits. Like so many other women, I’ve been uncomfortable with messaging from leaders about the temple garment. Leaders’ words led me to feel like they intended for my wearing the garment to become about me submitting to their authority and adhering to their interpretations. I have also felt ill at ease realizing how a large segment of tithing money is going to pay for things like temple chandeliers that cost the same as a large, nice house. And my chronic boredom and dissonance during messages at church has made me lose much of my motivation to attend.
It seems giving up these things could be a healthy way for me to differentiate and detach myself from leaders whose words have left me feeling unseen, infantilized, and unsupported. But another part of me would feel grief. In my case, abandoning these practices would prevent me from living the kind of principled life I have always planned and still want to live.
In his book Comfort Crisis, health journalist Michael Easter writes about how one of the obstacles to well-being today is the “comfort crisis.” He explains that our ancestors spent most of their time laboring hard to obtain basic necessities like food and shelter. They lived highly social and physically active lives out of necessity. In a mostly uncomfortable world, humans developed instincts to opt out of non-essential efforts so they could rest and recuperate.
But today when much of what we need is one click away, the human impulse to opt out of discomfort can harm our well-being. One of the examples Easter uses is that while many people don’t get enough physical exercise, only 2% of people opt into taking the stairs when they have the option. His website “Two Percent” encourages individuals to intentionally seek out uncomfortable things, including opportunities to move, to interact socially, to go deceive-free, or to expose yourself to the natural elements.
It’s not intuitive to seek out the path that takes more effort, especially in a society that is increasingly individualistic and capitalistic. But if we get more steps in and choose to do things we value despite whatever the extra exertion, we can become healthier and happier.
Dissonance or fatigue at church can easily activate impulses to quit religious practices. Yet might opting into them contribute to my well-being?
If I stopped attending church, this would lead to a yet more socially isolated, challenge-free, and digitally-centered life. In my case, I don’t need more of this. With my streaming services, online shopping, food deliveries, and hours alone in a chill office full of plants I don’t even have to take care of, I already have too much ease. In fact, the lack of physical and social effort required to keep the basics of my life running sometimes contributes to depression. Spending time in my crowded church building where people speak 60 native languages and there are 100 visitors each week demands endurance in a way few things do. The benefits of getting out of my comfort zone only increase when I do things like leave my phone at home. Church is also the only regular opportunity I have to dress up or to take part in a big group of people trying to form a community. My life has been largely emptied of formal occasions and rituals outside the Sunday block. And church gives me the chance to meet people across socio-economic groups and cultural backgrounds that I simply can’t access through other parts of my life.
If I stopped paying tithing, I foresee that my intentions about my own money would become more about my own ego and wants such as travel and other personal purchases and less about my faith-based values. Even if it meant giving a tithe to charities instead of a church, I want this practice in my life. My sense with the garment is comparable– giving it up feels like giving up a part of my identity and sense of shared familial and communal meaning that I still value, even in the face of all my dissatisfaction with current Church policies, leadership structures, and assertions of power and authority at Church.
In “Anthem,” Leonard Cohen sings,
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
These practices aren’t perfect, they are cracked and flawed. Sometimes their meanings are faint. But since they can still ring with meanings that are in line with my values, they can still be worth doing. I’m choosing to treat them as things that empower me to resist individualism, social dissolution, consumerism, and body objectification in my life. They help me assert to myself that my life is about much more than personal wants, ego, or needs for money, pleasure, or status. They help me stay connected with values and hopes I have upheld throughout my entire lifetime as a Mormon.
In short, I’m intentionally, independently opting into some of the discomforts of religious life. Another facet of this is that I don’t want my relationship with my faith tradition to be dictated by my reactivity and anger at the follies of mortal, temporary leaders, such as their ongoing failures to support adults in an age-appropriate manner in their spiritual and moral growth and development. I don’t have to consent to the relationship they want me to have with them. If I continue practicing something that they happen to act anxious and controlling about, this does not have to be treated as a signal of my submission to their terms. What really matters is my personal intention. My religious life is not about them. It’s about my connection with God and the principles I want to live by. Much of my choices are based simply on the recognition that I seem to best tolerate being human and living on this earth when I cultivate faith and hope that the world can become a better place and that there is more to life than what we can see. Religion is a backbone that gives me strength to cultivate better mental health.
Saying all of this, I do not judge those who have decided to drop or set boundaries with religious practices. People have different needs, experiences and situations, and there are many good reasons to drop and adapt practices. Different “bells” ring for different people at different times. My intention in sharing all this is only to strengthen others who value their personal practices and who are also seeking ways to assert greater personal authority and self-determination in their religious lives.
18 Responses
Maybe I should look at participating in difficult conversations with people who think differently than I do as the equivalent to parking in the back of the parking lot or taking the stairs instead of the elevator (two things I regularly do on purpose). This is a very good perspective to have. Thank you for sharing! ❤️
Thanks for reading and responding, Abby! Connecting with people who are very different form us is so tough but sometimes it is heart-warming or thrilling to cross a cultural or ideological divide. I go to church with African immigrants and refugees– they make up most of my congregation. They are good, earnest people. We talk about life and faith differently and it can be hard to connect. But the other day I shared something honest about the challenges of being religious and attempting raising religious kids in very a secular city. A man from Ghana resonated with my tone and feelings. He took time to talk to me for a while about experiences immigrating and trying to integrate. I felt joy that we could connect.
You have such diversity in your ward! I live in Utah with like 90 percent super white people who all pronounce “mountain” the same weird way I do (without the “t” in the middle).
In some ways that makes it super convenient and easy to be a white lady where everyone looks just like me and I’m part of the majority. In the long run though, it’s detrimental to everyone.
I’m mad at Brigham Young for purposefully making Utah a a slave state to discourage black people from ever moving here. I wish we had more diversity! I also wish my community didn’t make it so hard to be a person of color here.
Abby, I think I have some similar roots to you. My grandpa taught history at Clearfield HS for decades. My dad graduated there. They live in Syracuse. I was born in Layton. But raised in Western WA. I never thought I’d end up moving east or out of the country, but I happened to marry an academic and became a nomad! My ward has a very weak sense of community. A family that just moved here from NC noticed how they are not going to get that tight knit church community experience at all here. I’ve heard many people in the ward are pretty unhappy with their community experience. They don’t feel seen or connected. It doesn’t help that fun and socially focused activities we once had have been replaced with temple trip and events geared to entice people to attend the temple. Our bbq was procrastinated, then cancelled this summer. Social life is not treated as a priority in my ward at all right now, just covenants.
Trying to explain to my non-Mo friends why I still engage with facets of Mormonism while trying to explain to my Mo-people why I don’t engage in some facets of Mormonism feels exactly like this. I’m always trying to communicate that I have made my choices with intention, a value on spirituality and ritual, and a willingness to be uncomfortable (in a sustainable kind of way – hence going to church just twice a month).
I’m grateful for my Mo-fem friends who are the most well placed to just get all the dissonances. Too often, I feel pulled to extremes when I really do feel my faith fits best in a messy middle.
Yes, I like this description of your experience Beelee. Part of what I go through is kind of a swinging back and forth between being pulled more toward more doubt and spiritual autonomy, and then having spiritual experiences that ground me again in faith and a sense of God having a purpose for me to help people in the Church. I’m in between. I appreciate agnostic and secular humanist views; they teach me a lot and connect with with a sense of not knowing that helps me grow. But I also find vision, wisdom and hope in faith and building community.
I relate to your comment Beelee, and think you make great points Candice. I find that for myself, the more whole and sure of my position I am, the more capable I am of listening and socializing with others who think differently. COVID was a Godsend when I was not strong enough mentally/emotionally to face diverging opinions. Trying not to be reactive when you know someone doesn’t see a point that you do, can be hard. Valerie Hammaker in her Latter Day Struggles podcast points all this out well in her discussion on Socrates allegory of the cave.
I should also say…the more sure I am of not having an exact answer. My position now doesn’t claim to be THE right one or the CORRECT one. I am satisfied with not knowing something as well.
This is a good point and a good listening idea! I I still need to work on this. One if the obstacles for me is trying to raise teens in the church. The mentoring in the Church/my ward has been a mismatch for my kids and has sometimes done emotional harm. Part of me still wants to “fix” local leaders and educate them so that they’ll stop taking approaches that come across as controlling, high-pressure and insensitive!
I really appreciate this post and definitely can relate. Going to church and being part of a community is not always easy, but I also see that it pushes me to be creative and figure out how to relate to that community in a way that feels meaningful and authentic. As a teenager, church was hard because I was an introvert dealing with all the extroverted activities and expectations. I’m better for figuring out how to put up with all that, even if I generally didn’t love it.
I struggle with many of the same things you listed here. On a particularly hard day at church, I was shaking from a couple of talks that made me sad and emotional. The things they said were things we’ve heard for years, nothing surprising or outrageous. I knew exactly what kind of short, gentle, mind opening thing I wanted to say to each of the speakers, but I just couldn’t say them that day. As not-fun as that day was, it’s part of the reason I keep going. It’s given me a good puzzle. I need to figure out how to communicate with people (even when it’s not easy). I need to learn how to engage with other perspectives (especially when I disagree with them). Church gives me a place to explore the extent of my power and ability to push against real and artificial limitations.
Kaylee, thanks for sharing. I resonate; I had debilitating social anxiety until I was in my mid-twenties. Church was hard and I avoided a lot of things but it also forced me to learn to speak publicly, which was good. I like how you use the word shaking. Recently my daughter’s YW leaders asked to meet with our family to hear from her what they can do to help her feel comfortable participating again. The mtg. went very badly. Something painful came up that I needed to explain. I sat there and my hands and voice trembled for like 5 minutes. I couldn’t control it. It was one of the most vulnerable, painful I’ve had at church. Even after I opened up, we didn’t feel listened to. She’s not going back to YW still. I have felt inspired that I need to help others learn and grow at church, and I need to be an advocate for today’s youth there. I don’t like this job, and it is not what I wanted, but I’m trying to have faith that it will help others grow and support the youth better, even if I can’t see results.
Yes, the public speaking has been such a useful skill to develop! My younger kids I don’t think ever gave talks in Primary, so I’m a little sad that there isn’t as much pressure to learn. The youngest (who is eight) is excited for the Primary program this year though, so it seems like she’s gotten through whatever mental hurdle it was that had her refusing to go up and sing with other special musical numbers.
I’m sorry you didn’t feel heard in your meeting with the YW leaders. It’s hard to be vulnerable, especially if you don’t feel safe. I know for me, when emotions are high about something, it’s easier to send an email (or even a text) so that I can write out thoughts and give myself time and emotional distance as I formulate what I want to say. But that isn’t always the needed communication medium. Good luck in your journey!
Thanks, Candice for sharing your thoughts and experiences. My father, who loved linguistics, would often say to me–“words don’t have meaning, people have meaning for words.” I think the same can apply to our religious participation. I love that you are holding on to religious rites and participation that although at times challenging is still meaningful to you “Meaningful” certainly doesn’t mean easy or without discomfort. I think the work of finding and making meaning out of our religious experiences is important. It is never-the-less work and I agree with you sometimes requires us to lean into discomfort.
I think I’m at a point where I have realized I need to take care of myself and my family before I give more to the church, and to other community efforts. I am able to do the things that I find meaningful spiritually and I haven’t ever felt that God or the Holy Ghost has been far from me, even if I’m not doing everything the church wants me to do. I don’t necessarily disagree with commandments and things like garments, tithing, etc, but I have come to a place where I have to take care of my own needs- financially, mentally- and I don’t feel there’s anything left to give. I have a desire to do these things, but I can’t neglect my own needs and my family’s needs. I do what I can and I feel it is enough for right now.
Church is hard for me, so one of my biggest reasons for still going is I tell myself that “there is no better place than the lds church for a feminist to learn to love her enemies.” I’m usually not very good at loving the people in my ward, especially when they says things that I feel are hurtful or uninformed, but I do believe in the ideal that Christ taught that we should love our enemies as ourself.
I really like this point. I feel like my perspective is needed at church to help the community become a better and healthier place to be. I’m needed there to challenge and check the community and its assumption and approaches to mentoring the youth., for example. My ward stopped always putting male speakers after female speakers because of my complaints! I also agree that it is a place to love your enemies, those who sees some things like gender roles and differences and human rights in ways you find immoral.
Oops, I meant to just my write comment as a general reply, not a comment on your specific post. I think your comment is beautiful that what you are doing is enough for right now💕
I fully support you in this recognition and self-determination. I have friends whose situations and personal values have meant the best path is not longer paying tithing. Tithing come to means resentment and boundaries being violated. That is completely valid. I personally am really torn about a calling as choir director right now. I don’t feel I have much to give to the calling, it is not one I want. It might turn out to be fulfilling and help me and others have better experiences and a better social life at church, but it might not. Haven’t decided yet. I might try it out I guess. The pandemic has socially depleted us and many of us have never really recovered. Feels like trying to get water out of an empty well.