(Artist: Seb Janiak)
My closest
friends know I dream. I dream a lot.
I have
dreams about fantasy worlds that don't exist, and dreams that are so closely
aligned with memories that I question if they really happened. I have beautiful
dreams, gruesome dreams, violent dreams, adventurous dreams, vivid dreams, abstract dreams, sexual dreams, and
humorous dreams. I dream about loved ones from my past, and loved ones in the
present. I dream about the future. I dream about time travel. I dream almost
every night. Sometimes I write them in my journal.
Some
mornings Drew will ask me, "What were you dreaming about last night? You
were smiling in your sleep again." Other times I’ll wake up startled
and sweating and he will ask, "Did you have another
nightmare?" Sleeping in the same bed as me must be utterly
exhausting. I don't know how he does it. I supposed he's gotten used to it over
the years.
I had a
dream I would like to share.
Women were
ordained to the priesthood. It finally happened. Just prior to the public
announcement, I was granted a private audience with the Q15, because in my
dream why wouldn't I be granted a private audience with the men who run the
Church?
I walked
into a spacious room where elderly white men sat in opulent, red velvet
chairs behind an oversized dark, mahogany desk. I stood in the center
of the room with a considerable distance separating me from them. I felt no
need to step any closer, nor a desire to sit down. I was wearing my usual
Sunday attire, while they were dressed in their usual dark suits. Some seemed
happy, some seemed relieved, some seemed annoyed, and some seemed indifferent.
One of them
said to me impatiently, "Well Blaire, are you happy now?"
I looked at him,
a little confused of how to respond or how I even ended up in this room with
them. I said, "Happy? Why would I be happy?"
Another one
with a much kinder tone continued, "You're finally getting what you want, female
ordination. Aren't you satisfied?"
I paused,
gaining my composure before calmly answering, "No. I'm not satisfied."
Another
looked confused and questioned, "Is this not what you wanted? You fought
for it like you did."
I responded,
"No. I care very little about my personal ordination. I suppose I'm
happy for others that desire ordination, but my personal desires are almost irrelevant
in this context."
Another one with
an attractive accent said, "Are you still upset about our policies on homosexuality? We are planning on changing those as well. That will take more
time."
I mildly
chuckled and said, "I trust policy would change eventually. You've changed
in the past, there's no doubt you're capable of doing it again. You change when the institution is threatened. I see how preserving the institution is of
paramount importance. It's in atrophy.”
The one
sitting at the center of the desk, the leader, firmly questioned, "Blaire,
what do you want?"
I furrowed
my brows while thoughtfully considering his question. I glanced to my left, out
the elongated windows to see light breaking through dark clouds. The windows
were the only source of light. Everything else seemed dim.
I smiled and
turned my gaze back to the men before replying, "I don't know exactly what
I want, but it's not here. To be sure, I want to be Mormon. I'll always be
Mormon—it’s quite literally in my blood. I imagine I'll wear the label Mormon
‘til the day I die, hopefully longer. Mormon theology is my theology, but
your institution is not my institution.
Everyone seems to be an expert on why Millennials are
leaving religion. Yes, your policies and positions are outdated and unnecessarily exclusionary. Yes, it's disappointing
it has taken you this long to ordain women to the priesthood. Yes, we are tired
of gerontocracies. Yes, we are done being preached at from authoritarians who
don’t encourage our autonomy, authenticity, and flourishing. Yes, we’re
unimpressed with patronizing rhetoric. Yes, we are annoyed by literalistic
interpretations of scripture that hinder the genuine pursuit of Truth. Whether
or not a narrative is literal isn't where its power lies. The power lies in human
potential, but you’re still in Plato’s Cave marveling at shadows on the walls unable
or unwilling to remove the shackles of escapism and bask in the exposure of
wonderment, curiosity, and humility. You can’t know God when you cling to the
shadows that make you feel safe. God is a risk, not a security blanket.
I can't
speak for other Millennials, but for me, I didn’t need the Church to be 'true'
from a literal perspective. Honest, yes, but not true. We are shaping the
reality of our existence through stories, narratives, ideas, art, theologies, and
even dreams that inspire a belief in Godly potential. Religions are the
communities that mobilize us to accomplish great acts, and God has always been
the projection of human desire. The problem is you don't believe in my
potential. You may say it, but you don’t encourage it. I sometimes wonder if
you even believe in God. It’s clear you believe in maintaining the status quo,
but God is not the status quo. What if Joseph Smith never reached out beyond
the status quo? What if he had been content with the existing religions of his
time? What if he let external authoritarians override personal revelation? God
can only meaningfully reveal what we would meaningfully accept. You cannot put
limits on God without limiting humanity, and ironically perpetuating asinine
limitations on God is the sort of hubris the scriptures warned us of.
Many Millennials
have lost interest in your institutions. We're moving on. If it’s any
consolation it’s not entirely your fault. There is a global shift occurring
bigger than you, me, the Book of Mormon, the Bible, Mormonism,
Christianity, or any other religion. I'm not interested in tearing you or any
other religion down—that will happen naturally if traditionally recognized
religion fails to pass the gauntlet of natural selection. Even Mormonism, my beautiful
home, isn’t immune.
The failure
to adapt will lead to extinction, and you're not adapting fast enough in our
techno-progressive world. We’re the generation that grew up with cell phones
and the internet. We fact-check you as you speak. We are part of an ever-expanding
network of decentralized information and authority. You cannot control Truth. Radical technology has led
to radical transparency, and it’s creating unprecedented accountability. I pray
these turn of events will lead to radical compassion. However, I am only one
small cell in the body of compassion, the body of Christ. I need grace, as do
you.
I'm
interested in the construction of something better. I’m interested in the
transformation of the mind. Transforming policy is helpful, but insufficient. Gods
evolve. Gods change. Even more importantly, our perceptions of God change. The
death of a God will lead to the birth of a new God, a new myth, a new theology,
predicated by our past. We’re storytellers and I pray the Gods made in our
image might eventually lead us to Truth. I don’t know when or if that day will come, but I choose faith. Even if I am wrong and this is all a futile protest
against meaninglessness, I will have died trying—facing the uncertainty of the
unknown, head on without the allusion of a safety net that you so desperately
cling to.
You would
think I would be more upset at this moment, like a girl saying goodbye to a
lover, but I'm not. I'm grateful. The institution has fulfilled the measure of
its creation. Something better is coming—a
shift in cognition. This is grander than any of us. I don’t know what it is or
what it will look like, but I want to be a part of it. Is this desire of my own
volition, or am I a slave to my biological programming? I don’t know. I only know
the reality of desire.
I imagine others
will feel differently, and will continue to find value
in your pews, but you’ll have to forgive me—I have found your pews wanting.
Thank you for your time. I’ll see myself out now.”
Thank you for your time. I’ll see myself out now.”