Yesterday, Bhodges had a beautiful post offering a few confessions to people who had left the church. I want to start by reiterating that I do find the post helpful and beautiful and authentic and sincere — it’s definitely a good reflection.
So, my one regret with publishing this post is that it’s prove the adage that perfect is the enemy of good — because although I certainly prefer bhodges’s perspective over how some people think of and treat inactive, disaffected, lapsed, or former Mormons (see the picture later in this article), there was definitely a line I found troubling.
In this post, bhodges notes his anxieties and worries when thinking about and dealing with those he knows who have left the church. He clearly states that his anxiety is not that their lives will be worse, but instead, as he writes:
…I worry that they’ll believe I pity them as lost souls who must be making sinful choices and disconnecting themselves from God. In fact, I don’t pity them for that. My belief that God’s mercy is deep and abiding and that eternity is a very long time suggests they’ll ultimately be fine and, more importantly, that their current experiences have value whether they unite with the church or not. So I grieve with hope.
Emphasis added. His worry is more that people who leave will assume that he, as a Mormon, thinks worse of them.
…But Since b doesn’t actually pity those who leave as sinners disconnecting them from God, then what’s the problem? Again, I will say: I think bhodges’s has a very thoughtful, nuanced, respectful perspective on this. The problem comes in that he still grieves, and he still finds sadness. As he writes later:
…Any pity on my part can feel judgmental and misplaced—especially considering the fact that someone who leaves the church can still live a good and happy life.
The truth is, I do feel sorrow when people I know leave the church. But expressions of this grief can be taken in a number of ways leading to negative side-effects. These include alienating people who choose to leave, as well as reinforcing a sense of superiority on the part of people who stay. At the most basic level, the idea is that a person who leaves is being defined according to a perceived lack on their part. Sorrowing for them makes sense according to the assumption that staying is the absolute right decision. In sorrowing, I impose my own standard on them even though I do it as an act of love. But my love is thereby revealed to be conditional. Instead of relating to a former member as still being a sister or brother in Christ, a dear friend or family member, I define myself over and against them—even if I admit that the fact that I’m still here and they aren’t seems ultimately mysterious.
I should put my sorrow in perspective. I sorrow for people stricken with cancer. I sorrow for parents who lose a child. I sorrow for suffering. In expressing sorrow for people who leave, I express judgment about their actions and the quality of their life. I categorize them with other sufferers in ways that may be untrue to their own experiences. I risk making a judgment about the likely state of their soul eternally, a judgment only God can really make and which I’ve been cautioned against making (Matthew 7:2). I cast them in the role of sufferer whether they feel like they suffer, or whether their actual suffering differs much from my own resulting from the vicissitudes of life that impact anyone (Matthew 5:45). Yes, there are some people who leave the church and who shift their values in sometimes-destructive ways, but there are church members who suffer from the same things, and there are people who leave but who maintain good values and live healthy—even Christlike—lives.
(Emphasis from original.)
I have quoted this much because b is, in my opinion, so very close, and yet there is still room to go. He notes that “someone who leaves the church can still live a good and happy life” (yes!) and that by categorizing people who leave as suffers, he is casting them in that role “whether they feel like they suffer” (or whether leaving the church caused their suffering). These are commendable statements.
But beyond that, I just want to say this:
bhodges,
Thanks for writing this post and putting these feelings. I can tell that you have really thought about it. And again, I think if more people in the church got to this point, maybe a lot more people could stay, or, even if they still left, they could leave on much better terms.
But please, don’t sorrow for me or other exmormons simply for having left the church. Especially don’t use the same kind of emotion for exmormons as you would for someone stricken with cancer or for a parent who has lost his or her child.
If you want to sorrow, please save sorrow for people’s actual suffering (like aforementioned cancer or aforementioned loss of family member). And chances are, your friends, family — whoever has left or even people who stay– they may suffer in some way. But think about the actual reasons they suffer. Maybe the people you know who left suffered because of the church, and leaving was their way to stop some form of suffering. In this case, why not rejoice that they left the church and rejoice that they stopped that suffering?
(For whatever its worth, I know that part of your post points out that part of your grieving and sorrow is for the church. As you say:
I grieve that I’ll miss out on their ongoing contributions to the body of Christ. I sorrow that the church can’t live up to the divine potential it seeks to achieve.
I get that. And commend it.)
And maybe some people who have left do suffer because of the church…because of what other members in the church do or say after people leave. Daniel at Good Reason blog drew it out like so:
Let’s sorrow for the fact that this happens, and work (together?) to make it less likely.
But generally, people — whether inside the church or outside the church — suffer for reasons completely different from standard seminary answers of magnifying callings and attending meetings. Maybe they have, as you put it, suffering “resulting from the vicissitudes of life that impact anyone.” Maybe these are the same things you would already provide assistance for a ward member — like helping someone move or providing a care package for someone who is sick — but here’s the thing: you can still provide to someone not in the ward, and even more, you can do so without any strings attached.
Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with (and not for) those who mourn.
At church on Sunday, people will often mention a friend or family member that has left the church and the promptly place 100% of the blame on that individual. Additionally, I have also heard many speak for the person who has left saying “He/She knows it’s all true”. Really? How do we know what they really believe or feel deep down?
I talked with a friend recently who left the church about 2 years ago. His self esteem has greatly improved and he found a wonderful (non-member) woman that he is so happily engaged to and excited to start a new life with. I’m genuinely happy for him. Everybody’s path is different. Just because we are walking on ours doesn’t mean it’s the only way.
Just now noticing this. Thanks for the response.
The problem would be a misperception that I feel something toward them that I don’t usually feel. One of the confessions is that I have felt that sort of misplaced pity before, and on occasion it might even crop up in my mind, but that on reflection it evaporates. The thing is, I don’t want people to feel uncomfortable around me based on the fact that I’m still a practicing Mormon whereas they aren’t. I think it’s natural for some people who stop practicing Mormonism to feel like people who still practice are judging them as deficient, defective, unworthy, weak, deluded, misled, or any other number of things. This is largely the result of some Mormons in fact believing such things about people who leave. Or perhaps the person who leaves used to feel that about other Mormons who left, but now that they’ve left too they see the problems with such pity or judgment. If they sense that I as a still-practicing Mormon feels the same way they used to about “apostates” “inactives” and other words we’ve generated, I would regret it because it isn’t actually accurate.
You write: “Especially don’t use the same kind of emotion for exmormons as you would for someone stricken with cancer or for a parent who has lost his or her child.”
Exactly; I wanted this to be clear in my post. I wanted to distinguish between sorrow over matters like that, matters that affect people regardless of religious affiliation, versus sorrow over religious differences. “But think about the actual reasons they suffer.” Yes, yes, yes. You say “Maybe the people you know who left suffered because of the church.” While I hardly know anyone in a very personal way who experienced their leaving this way, I wanted to acknowledge in my post that some people leave because the church is imperfect and created an environment that was unhealthy for them. I expressed in in rather religious terms, nodding to the notion that God’s plan for people is bigger than my vision encompasses, which includes people’s relationship to the church. As for rejoicing for them in such cases, I can certainly imagine a sense of relief, but it wouldn’t be unmixed, it would include grief that the Church experience hurt them. As I said in the post, “I try to worry less about the state of their soul than I do about the fact that something in their experience made the church a non-viable option for them.”
You say “Let’s sorrow for the fact that this happens, and work (together?) to make it less likely.”
Amen. One reason I posted those thoughts was to hopefully connect with other practicing Mormons who feel the way I do and to spread these ideas to church members who don’t, perhaps helping them change their mind. My approach as a believer will differ rhetorically from people who have left. Consider the “Plan of Happiness” picture you posted. That’s one way of interpreting LDS thought, but not the only way. It’s definitely not my Mormonism and I know there are other Mormons who reject it as well. I know images like that are rhetorical devices that aren’t intended as sophisticated analysis. Either way, perhaps for active Mormons that sort of picture can spur deeper thought and change minds about what Mormons think it means to be in or out of the Church, as I hoped to do with my blog post, too. In addition to just exorcising some personal demons.
“you can still provide to someone not in the ward, and even more, you can do so without any strings attached.”
Right. I try to live this way toward people regardless of church affiliation. Mourn with (and not)…
Eli,
Glad to hear about your friend as well! I wish there were a way to change the way that people are discussed at church (like from your first paragraph).
B,
Interestingly, I was having another conversation on this subject on Facebook, and I think I “got it” from hearing the flipside. There was someone who was hurt by the fact that his friend had never told him he was leaving the church (because he thought that they were good enough of friends that the other person would have told him)…and as I thought about possible reasons why someone who was leaving would not tell their member friends or family, I think I got more about what your post was going for — it’s more about the possibility for miscommunication and misunderstanding, isn’t it?
The Savior set an example during his mortal ministry. See John chapter 6 towards the end. Jesus taught hard doctrine, and many of his followers left. Jesus let them go — He didn’t go chasing after them, didn’t beg them to come back, didn’t change the doctrine or his approach to suit them. Rather, He turned to those who were still faithful and focused fellowship on helping them.
Personally, I would like as many cool people IN the church as possible, so if someone I really like doesn’t stay, I consider that a loss for the community. That’s selfish, I’m sure, but I don’t want to be stuck with a bunch of judgmental boring people at church. I want cool people to be the norm. When a cool person leaves, we are all diminished. But that’s often not the “fault” of the cool person. We as a community also bear responsibility if we create an environment in which coolness doesn’t flourish.
As long as Mormonism sees itself as “the only true” way, members can’t help but relate to unbelievers with condescension: “God is merciful and He allows people to go down different paths, but one day in the eternities you will come back to the truth (which I have).”
Unbelievers can only return condescension with their own condescension. Good hearted pluralists view Mormons with the same condescension. “Those Mormons do a lot of good, and they have good intentions, but they are blind (whereas we see.)
But there IS a better way. That is for a Mormon to be a pluralist, and for a ex-Mormon to accept exclusive LDS views as a valuable dimension of their celebration of pluralism. From the ex-Mormon: “The exclusivity of LDS beliefs helps engender a strong sense of faith and community. While I don’t share their beliefs, I value their contribution as members of a diverse society.” And from the Mormon: “I believe that God has different paths for different people. I was spiritually led to this path, but I judge no man for taking a different path. As Joseph Smith said, ‘I blame no man for not believing my history, if I had not experienced it myself, I would not have believed.'”
Condescension is modeled directly from the top. Think of Elder Ballard’s recent “Stay in the Boat” talk, where those who leave are characterized by irrational, self-destructive behavior and “drown.”
Elder Oaks spoke at my stake conference last year about someone who’d left the church because it “wasn’t meeting his needs.” He compared this to people who followed Jesus just because he fed them bread and fishes (as if the guy was panhandling for more Relief Society dinners). Oaks mocked the selfishness of those who attend church to receive something, since we should be there to serve (as if service, like the Truth, can only be found at church). But why else are we there but to be spiritually fed? I still attend because I can usually find something spiritually nourishing, but I understand that many don’t.
I recall reading the works some years ago of the Yorgasen brothers, each having once served as a bishop (and other significant Church offices that I can’t recall). One expressed an observation about how ‘excommunicants’ and ‘apostates’ were treated in their day:
“Many believe that if a man is excommunicated and his employer is LDS, that he ought to be fired, as if his family no longer deserved to eat. How sad that such an attitude exists!”
While a person that has left the Church for whatever reason may be in ‘error’, at least from my POV, that doesn’t negate his/her standing as a child of God or take any inherent worths as the unique person that (s)he is. The Savior himself saw these types not necessarily as ‘enemies’ or ‘traitors’, but as straying sheep, whom he’d pen up and go off looking for, and rejoice when found.
I really appreciate this post. It articulates how I felt about it as well.
My process of gradually losing faith in Mormonism and gradually gaining faith in another religion (I don’t conceptualize what I went through as a “faith crisis” and I’m really, really skeptical of the existence and utility of a universal or specific thing that is a “faith crisis”) was nothing but pure joy the whole way through. Every new truth I learned about Christ, God, the priesthood, the Atonement, charity, prayer, the temple, etc. was amazing and eye-opening and enlightening and very happy. Seriously, I want to repeat, there was nothing but happiness and joy in my journey because it was the biggest outpouring of spiritual energy, meaning, and light I’ve ever experienced (beyond a mission, temple marriage, etc.).
It wasn’t until I started opening up to my immediate family and friends about that journey that everything went to crap.
“I just feel so sorry for you”
“I’ve prayed about it and I received a confirmation that you’ll be okay”
“Please just stay in – you don’t have to believe things, just please stay in for the sake of all of us”
“I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through and what you’re going through”
“If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, let me know”
Uhh… what? Thank you?
I’m glad that my awesome and happy journey has provoked… pity? Sadness? Defensiveness? Crying? Thanks for proving how compassionate and loving you are that you stoop to have pity on me for having this amazing experience.
Sorry about the sarcasm but I feel like that’s the best way to describe what I felt.
So even if it’s beautiful and articulate, any post about a Mormon reflecting with “compassion” and/or worry and/or sadness about a person who has left a church does spur me to feel glad that someone is processing these emotions in a positive way that is consistent with their beliefs. But also I get this twinge of sarcastic feeling/thought because it’s simply not taking into account my own subjective journey.
In other words, if you truly knew what I was going through subjectively, you’d throw a party for me and you’d just be beaming with joy all the time. Not hyperbole, just trying to express how joyful it’s been (all except for the family/friends reaction).
re 5
hawkgrrrl,
That’s a great point that I’ve heard in several locations on this front — part of the loss of leaving is that if someone left because things weren’t cool (or accepting, or diverse, or welcoming, etc.,) enough, then that reinforces the lack of coolness for everyone who stays.
No offense to uncool people who like their church not cool (or for people who think it’s cool as it is)
re 6,
Nate,
Does pluralism represent in some sense a weakening or lack of courage for convictions, however? One thing about the absolutism is that it seems to be what happens if one very strongly believe his or her position — whether on the Mormon side or exmormon side, or some other religion or philosophy or worldview. If I believe strongly what I believe, then wouldn’t I want everyone to agree? On the other hand, if I say “Well, this works for me, but maybe not for you” does that signal a sort of weakness?
re 8
Laurel,
Yeah, I hear this idea a lot…the idea that if you’re looking to get something *out* of church rather than looking to put something *in*, then you’re doing it wrong. Like, if church is “boring”, it’s because you’re expecting to get something out of that…
Does anyone join the church under the presumption that it’s just a place where they put in their time, money, etc., and get nothing back? I can understand if you have to put in time, effort, energy in order to get something back, but I don’t get the idea that one should not expect anything back.
re 9
Douglas,
That’s definitely the thing that strikes me too…there’s a lot of fuss over whether Mormons believe in grace or not, but I think that the “fruits” are in how Mormons will treat those who leave. Will they see people as still worthy of love, respect, etc., or is all of that conditional on believing the right things, acting the right ways, etc.,?
re 10,
Syphax,
Great comment. I mean:
Right on.
I get sad because (except in once instance) they’ve all vanished on me. I guess I hoped we had more in common, because I liked being their friend. I feel rejected, and left behind, so I feel sad for myself. It’s not about them leaving ‘the church’, it’s about them leaving ME. And in some cases, about feeling like they’re rejecting my friend Jesus (for those that went atheist). Double-kick in the gut! I love Jesus. That’s all very selfish, but I’m working on being comfortable as a flawed human, so I’m not going to apologise for mourning my loss of the closeness with them that came from sharing a faith. But I have always tried not to dump my grief on their shoulders. Everyone’s path is different, and everyone’s choices are their own.
Andrew, for me, you guys nailed it in #2 and #3. It’s in large part that I miss them, and I hope they’d trust me enough to confide in me as to what they were thinking and feeling – not so that I could try to “correct” them, but so that I could just be a friend and seek to understand.