Sexism and Ordination Discussion

Truth will prevail?  Not in this instance, it seems.  Perhaps political correctness is what serves now in the Times and Seasons blog, just as it seems to dominate in so many other forums.

Well, once again I failed to restrain myself from arguing in a more public forum.  The context was regarding the "Ordain Women" issue, which strikes a touchy nerve for me in the first place.  I am prompted to recall from my most basic biology instruction in college, where we learned that irritability is one of the primary factors that characterize life. I know that irritability is certainly one of the primary characteristics of my life.

The post was basically soliciting information about Gospel Doctrine teachers in the Church, in the context of some sort of panel discussion about the "Ordain Women" group.  The author maintained that women get short shrift in "more important" teaching jobs in the ward, and more men tend to fill these sorts of "more important" jobs.

The author asked,

Why are so many Gospel Doctrine teachers men, when it appears that they should, in a random universe, be almost all women?

Of course, the correct answer would have to be that no part of this assumption is accurate.  No other numbers were offered to support the broad assertions inferred in the question.  The premise appears derivative from class-envy arguments that are so integral to Marxist/Socialist philosophy and assumptions.

There was no clear consensus in the responses.  Some were as apt to say that their Gospel Doctrine teacher was a woman as a man.  Many responded that it is a "team teaching" arrangement, some with husband/wife teams trading off for different weeks.  I did not notice any that appeared to assert that they had never seen women teaching Gospel Doctrine.

The premise seems to be that women always get the lesser jobs, like Primary teachers and Nursery helpers, that tend to be associated with lesser status.  This as apparent justification for jealousy and envy over who gets what calling.

I bristled at the suggestion, because I for one have never been particularly inclined to track specific numbers for such callings.  And I quoted from Dallin Oaks in the recent Conference.

At this conference we have seen the release of some faithful brothers, and we have sustained the callings of others. In this rotation—so familiar in the Church—we do not “step down” when we are released, and we do not “step up” when we are called. There is no “up or down” in the service of the Lord. There is only “forward or backward,” and that difference depends on how we accept and act upon our releases and our callings. I once presided at the release of a young stake president who had given fine service for nine years and was now rejoicing in his release and in the new calling he and his wife had just received. They were called to be the nursery leaders in their ward. Only in this Church would that be seen as equally honorable!  (Elder Dallin H. Oaks, The Keys and Authority of the Priesthood)

From my perspective the idea that Church callings represent a level of importance or status in the Church community is a shallow and superficial premise that effectively serves to denigrate some types of service while elevating others.  While it may be true that such misplaced ideals can be found in LDS groups, it clearly violates the teachings of Church leaders, as the Oaks quote indicates.

Another misperception that was voiced was regarding the role of inspiration in the callings extended to ward members.  The inference was made that bishops tend to approve callings subject to some degree of their own personal bias, and not are not particularly moved by inspiration from God.  In response, and in the context of this discussion, I wondered if the author of the post could estimate a performance rating that measures the relative level of inspiration a typical bishop might be receiving.

My concern at that point was that I regard inspired acts to be the sine qua non of Church leadership, and it is not possible to grade any particular performance level.  Nobody in Church service has ever been regarded as functioning perfectly.  I quoted from Elder Holland on this issue.

Except in the case of His only perfect Begotten Son, imperfect people are all God has ever had to work with. That must be terribly frustrating to Him, but He deals with it. So should we. And when you see imperfection, remember that the limitation is not in the divinity of the work.  (Elder Jeffery R. Holland, "Lord, I Believe")

Exactly how those who complain that bishops do not always receive a full measure of divine inspiration would propose to measure such things was not explained.  Nor is it readily apparent how such issues are related to whether it happens to be a man or a woman.  Does the imperfection of Church members limit the power of God to fulfill His purposes?  If it does, there is no need for further discussion, since the Church amounts to little more than a social club anyway.

One other point that raised my eyebrows was in reference to the ideal of love and compassion.  In the words of one commenter,

Ideally, when someone says “I hurt,” the response would be along the lines of “how can I help?” rather than “oh, it’s not that bad…”

Not at all.

Many times, with my own children, "Oh, it's not that bad" was exactly the comfort we offered.  When a child falls and skins his knees and elbows, what he needs is assurance that such hurting is limited, and that they are not permanently injured.  Offering a temporary distraction from the hurt is prudent.  Asking a fretting child, "How can I help" in such an instance would be inappropriate to the point of ludicrous. And of course, in the instance where a compound fracture has been sustained, the "How can I help" response would be equally ludicrous.

In my opinion and experience any such tentative approach tends to be superficial and hypocritical, and generally issues from those who are mostly fulfilling their own need to satisfy doubt about  regard for themselves.

Most often in my own case, the expression of compassion is reflected when people just pitched in and helped.  I have been in such circumstances many times, of late.  In my experience, those in great need seldom understand fully why they are hurting or how they need help.

Responding to a complaint from Ardis Parshall that my comments constitute "trolling", and that I ought to just shut up and go lurk under a bridge somewhere, I commented,

The emphasis in this discussion seems to be on numbers and percentages. I’m wondering how that translates into questioning the bias of my bishop, and ultimately, the power of God. The tone of rhetoric does not appear to reconcile with Elder Holland’s admonition to Church members. That’s all.

Am I trolling, because I am so impertinent to presume to ask such questions?

I realized during the 2012 political campaign that Ardis would prefer not to hear from people like me. Nor is she alone. I have not ventured to comment on her space since then.

Yes, I am just another imperfect being. But I can still talk somewhere, can’t I? Should I just withdraw from public presence, because my backward foolish and unpopular ideals are such an embarrassment? I do write things on my blog, but intend this more as a personal journal. Does this forum not more represent the public square?

FWIW, perhaps it would be instructive to review the etymology of “trolling”. I think perhaps it does not mean what you think it means. :-)

Miracles VI: Friends, Doctors, and Sharks

Rehab in Provo was fairly routine. It is the exceptional things that are worth mentioning.

First is that I came there with a renewed sense of purpose. I met repeatedly with my son Robert and his wife Stacy. I was obsessed, perhaps, with a sense of urgency that my life had been spared for a purpose. A short mission, so to speak, to serve so cause for good. I was not aware of the mission yet, Robert and I discussed some possible actions we might take toward directing the lives of his brothers, because I expressed some remorse as an absent father of so many years that I had failed my family and not trained my sons well. Anyway, we discussed many subjects with tentative feelers along those lines.

I also met my friend Michael Golden, several times. In fact, he came with me the one Sunday to the abbreviated Sacrament meeting they held in the little chapel at the hospital. It was a special, spiritual moment for me, and kind of ministering of a special friend that I will try to always remember in my heart. I can never repay Michael for his kindness, but I hope to try to do things half as thoughtful for others, and am hoping to try to instil in my own sons such a sense of selfless charity and friendship. I hope the seed is already there, and it is not too late for them. I hope...

Another thing that happened while I was in the Provo Rehab was that I had a series of "shark attacks" under clinical observation. This is important because the incident was documented by trained medical observers. First at Mountainview, then in the Provo Rehab ward, and finally at the U Neurology Unit, doctors and nurses have seen these attacks, and know that I am not making up the stories. In fact, one man of the psychiatric practice at the U hospital witnessed a "shark attack" while there was quite a crowd of onlookers. I was somewhat absent myself for most of the incident, since they tend to affect me that way, but my dad told me later in rather a bemused demeanor that the doctor seemed rather horrified by the incident. I hope he was not permanently traumatized. When we find some understanding, I want to share it with him personally, just to offer my personal reassurance.

Again, this clinical observation is notable because my doctors stand outside the room and whisper and shake their heads, "somatoform", "deeply psychotic!", "borderline shizofrenic behavior!", and other two- dollar words from the DSM, I've heard them all before. But the blood pressures continue to go higher than ever, and the nurses were alarmed to the point that they were going to call a "code blue", because they had seen nothing like this before, and my respirations were down to almost nil, and blood pressure levels were so too high to be even believed. Later, I heard the nurse describing the incident to the next on duty, in the handing-off briefing. He used the term "freaky!" emphatic and numerous times. I say this not to his discredit, because I think he responded well to the incident. We have found subsequently that the "shark attacks", although alarming, do not seem to produce any serious life-threatening effects beyond the extreme pain. Best to just stand back, and maybe don't watch, if that is your preference, and wait until it passes.

My point is, these attacks are very real, to me. They are happening to me. I don't give a damn if the doctors call the "psychotic complexes" or "somatoform" or "silly putty"! I want to know reasons and explanation this is happening to me, because IT IS! It has happened before, and I know it will happen again! It cannot just go away for no reason. The first attack was obviously associated with the first stroke incident in July. They started then. Why? Why are they continuing? I want to know, even more than reasons for how to stop them from happening, but UNDERSTANDING what is happening to me!   If I had better understanding, even if I could not stop or control these things, at least I could know WHY they are happening to me. As it is, one of the best explanations seems to be to simply shrug your shoulders and turn away and mutter, "he's obviously mad as a hatter!", and dismiss the whole affair.

That might resolve the issue just fine for a doctor who gets to move on to the next disease. But I live inside myself.

I remember Dr. Brin, standing in the circle of doctors in neurology rounds, at the foot of my bed one day, pronouncing, "That's NOT OKAY! -- That's NOT OKAY!" And true to her words, she worked until she found something that was NOT okay. I owe her such a debt of gratitude for that! Finally, a doctor who lived up to the IDEAL of HEALING!

But I get ahead of myself..

I went home from Provo Rehab fully prepared to start over again from the July point.

Little did I know what was in the works, and would so shortly come to pass. The biggest series of miracles in all...

Next instalment:  Interacte

Miracles V: Reprise, Me and My Hospital

The second stroke hit in November. Hit me really with a devastating force I do not yet understand. I truly thought the attacks I was having at the same time as the stroke were somehow related. My sister Ruth and I later came to characterize them as "shark attacks" and it turns out, they were occurring somehow independent or triggered by the same events as the stroke, but seemingly independent events. The doctors well understood and diagnosed the stroke events, and were even somewhat sympathetic toward my reported migraine complaints, but they were completely baffled by the "shark attack" stories. They tended to treat them as some kind of psychotic episode generally, although many of the hospital staff showed genuine compassion and concern. They obviously did not know what was wrong.

In the development of the first series of attacks in November, apparently in conjunction with a fairly serious second brain stem stroke, I laid in my bed incapacitated, waiting to die, and hoping I would. My dad and my friend Ricky helped me into the car, and I was too hurting and weak to resist. Dad and mom drove me to a hospital, though I did not want to go into a hospital again, I just wanted to pass away in my own bed at home.

It turned out they were taking me into Payson, Moutainview Hospital, though I was only semi-lucid, and didn't recognize what we were even doing most of the time. I told dad he was going the wrong way at one point, because I was alarmed to see that he was not heading for Provo and the Utah Valley Regional Medical Center that I thought he was taking me to. We arrived at Mountainview Emergency entrance, unloaded me , and things happened for a while that I don't remember too well, except lots of different people asking me to tell them what was wrong. I tried to explain about a hundred times, it seemed like.

Finally, I remember a sort of long drug-induced sleep, interrupted by several nightmarish hiatus breaks with what must have been "shark attacks". I could hear lots of people yelling and seems like running around the bed doing things, and trying to get me to talk, and doing something to try to wake me up, and alarms sounding everywhere -- but all seemed very far away, and I couldn't seem to muster up much concern. I just hurt and felt so tired, and wanted to stop breathing and die. Then someone would inject something else in the IV, and I would fall asleep again until the next attack.

I think at least two of these episode occurred where the medical staff witnessed the attacks and tried to intervene. After that, I think they determined that the attacks were not life-threatening, though they were painful and frightening, so they decided to just stand by and not try to intervene at all. I had several more painful "shark attacks" but they began to subside, and almost ceased by the time I left Mountainview.

One of the first significant miraculous events that took place was that people started to talk to me about my feelings, first my parents, then doctors and nurses, then friends and family, then everyone in general. I am amazed at the sudden outpouring of concern and sympathy I felt, coming from so many sources all at once. Perhaps because I had lived so many years in bitter loneliness and self-enforced monastic isolation, this seeming new found fellowship and brotherhood was almost surreal to me. One of the nursing staff at Mountainview, a young man named Tom, showed particular interest and sensitivity in listening to my story, even though I am sure he was convinced I was suffering from some problems with psychosis.

One great miracle of faith and hope at this time was that my bishop, Marty Hall, came to minister to me. He brought hope and prayer into the midst of great suffering and despair. He is indeed a man who bears the mantle of priesthood authority, and bears it well. He brought other gifts, as well. I give thanks for those too.

Another miracle that was visited on me at this time was the gift of a visit from two of my sons, and a spouse, which was a joy beyond my greatest hope. I was able to talk at length with them, something we had never really done before as peers, and it was sheer pleasure to my soul.

After a stay at Mountainview, the doctors determined they were finished with diagnostic work, and that I would benefit from more comprehensive rehab, so I transferred to Provo's Rehab Center for further inpatient care.

I wasn't prepared to go home yet -- I could not take care of my self independently, and my folks were not up to the task. The Rehab Center seemed like the best choice, though I had bad memories associated with the hospital. It turned out to be excellent care, and I am happy with the way things turned out.

Before I leave the chronicle of Mountainview Hospital, I have to mention again the funniest incident. I have journalled this experience before, but it bears repeating, I think.

One of the first problems I encountered with nursing care in the hospital was that I assumed I should do what I wanted, and they assumed I should be asking them for permission first before venturing to do much of anything -- and I mean ANYTHING. They were mad when they found out I had presumed to get out of bed by myself and use the toilet to urinate without using the urinal provided for the purpose of monitoring output and providing lab sample, etc.  I had no clue, and they had not told me, but they were just furious anyway. This went on for more than two days until someone patiently explained to me like I was some kind of stupid moron that I was supposed to be using the urinal, and that I was obviously NOT doing it because I wanted them to get into trouble with the doctors, and it was all my fault for such a backward upbringing, or some such. I apologized most profusely, and feigned complete ignorance, which was easy because I had not a clue what offence they were accusing me of. I started using the urinal as regularly as I could, and thought we were at peace.

Well, another minor skirmish. One day, I decided I wanted to take a shower. I smelled like a horse. Not bad, just too much BO and too long absent soap and water. So, I said to the nurse, in passing, "I think I will shower today. I think my dad can give all the help I need."

The nurse seemed to hear, and did not disagree violently, but passed on rather quickly to other duties, seemingly leaving my dad and I to attempt the shower as we pleased. In reality, the nurse was submitting my request, and it would have been considered, but they would have insisted that two PT guys be standing by, just in case I needed any assistance getting back into bed after the shower.

I got undressed and climbed into the tub shower with the greatest of relief. There is nothing like the blessing of hot soapy water rinsing over a traumatized body. A hot shower can be so relaxing after a week in bed without one.

Problem is, standing up in a shower for too long can also challenge blood circulation for one who has lain flat on his back for a week. Without much warning, I suddenly realized I was going to pass out -- right away. Things were turning gray before I realized it. I called out to my dad, "I'm passing out!" Fortunately, the shower was equipped with an auxiliary stool for just such contingencies. I collapsed on it just as my dad moved it into place. In alarm, he summoned the nurse, who sternly disapproved of the "unauthorized" shower, and immediately summoned various Gestapo and burly PT guys to help me out of the bathtub.

By the time all the troop stopped arriving, I had revived, gotten out of the tub, with a little assistance, and was getting dried and dressed. I was sternly informed that showering requires an attendant, and I was not to do that again, under any circumstances. I tried to act appropriately remorseful, but apparently they were not convinced. After helping me get gowned and safely back in the bed, I was wheeled off for more diagnostics, including an extensive EEG, which involves gluing dozens of electrodes to my hair, and leaves a very big mess of glue and other stuff in the hair and scalp after completion... Oh Oh, I really need another shower! What to do now? I made the request through proper channels this time.

It just turned out by some coincidence that two 15-year-old girls from the local high school were serving as volunteer nurse assistants that morning. They got assigned to monitor me -- while I was taking a shower. I have to say, it is the first time in my life that a couple of young girls have ever watched me taking a shower before. I honestly hope they were not too offended.

Before I peeled off my clothes, I gave them a chance. I said, "If you are offended by the sight of a fat, naked old man in the shower, please turn your head NOW!"

They both claimed to have seen it all before, and even seemed to study with some interest as I soaped up and rinsed.

The shower was quickly completed without further incident, and I returned to my bed for further rest and recuperation.

Next instalment:  Brain Damage

Advocating righteousness: No Apologies Necessary

I have seen a surprising picture developing out of recent controversy regarding LDS Church leaders supporting the proposed constitutional marriage amendment. It would seem that there are a number of people associated with the church, who feel guilty to promote unequivocal opposition to homosexual behavior.

In fact, a whole lot of them seem downright apologetic.

And, in fact, there are a significant number who presume to criticize the church for its continuing opposition to anything resembling approval for or sanction of homosexual "lifestyle".

It is a confusing position to advocate, because many of the proponents feel justified by their understanding of principles of "compassion" or "tolerance". They seem unable to discern how temporary concessions under that "compassion" rationale ultimately compromise the quality of life for everyone involved. Every experience through the history of human existence testifies that it is never compassionate to compromise with evil.

To me this ambivalence is difficult to reconcile. In my experience the church has never offered the slightest concession to those entangled in sexual deviance. Such sinful misconduct has always been unacceptable and condemned in the strongest terms. It is my understanding that church membership is automatically severed for individuals engaged in homosexual behavior. To me, this policy seems unremarkable and consistent.

I don't expect anything to ever change in this respect. But it would seem that quite a number of church members are even hopeful that it will.

Who thinks we owe the sinners an apology for advocating repentance and righteousness?