Of God, Dentists and Moral Relativism, Part 1

                Recently I have had some pretty interesting and eye opening discussions about my beliefs and religion with people. I am writing this blog to first (in part 1) discuss lessons I have learned from them and secondly (part two) to better try and answer some questions that have been posed to me.

While I regret to admit my own weakness, I am deeply indebted to my friends for teaching me a valuable lesson. It’s obvious now that I fell into a common ‘know-it-all’ trap upon first discussing these things. Although no philosopher or scientist has ever been able to do it before, of course I, Sarah, the sultan of scripture, the colossus of canon, the great bible-bino, felt that somehow, with a flick of the wrist on my typing keys, could single-handedly turn the atheists in the world to God-loving church-goers. Well, I didn’t really think that—at least, not consciously, but sometimes when my intentions are good, I get caught up in the moment—in one argument after another—in proving that I’m always right.  Then, before I know it, my entire point in the first place is long gone and I don’t even remember what is was, let alone where it went. Humility is really the key to any discussion or human interaction, especially of this type.

My friend pointed this out to me. He wrote the following: “Your faith is subjective. That’s the nature of faith! It’s ineffable. No matter how powerful your convictions and beliefs, you can't truly convince someone to believe in what you believe without them coming to it themselves. You can talk about what your faith does for you, and how you came to it, but I believe that once you start trying to pitch battle on the warfront of logic and reasoning, you've lost.”

And he is absolutely right. I’m really grateful that he stepped in because if he hadn’t, I’d probably be really upset right now for no reason—realizing I messed up somewhere, but not knowing where.

                So where did I go wrong exactly? I served a mission and taught this stuff to people every day. I already knew that contention and argument just leaves me and my companion literally crying out on a street corner in the rain about how mean those people were and I how powerless I felt to stop them. (Oh, it was a terrible story—my beautiful, caring, awe-inspiring mission companion was Dominican black and right in front of her, a pastor from another church and his follower had the audacity to say that my church thinks black people are not as virtuous as white people. They were venomous).

But looking back, I think it is experiences like that that actually stem this kind of contentious behavior in me now. I'm tired of getting hurt. I'm tired of being vulnerable. I realize now that so many times I have been put on the defensive about my religion. Ignorance, anger and ill-will on the part of the critic combine to make a perfect storm of not just the general ‘how can anybody believe in God?’ kind of stuff that many Christians receive, but the ‘Mormons are (insert degrading, unfounded insult-followed-by-expletive) here.’  Perhaps now that I’m 27 years old and my peers’ pre-frontal cortices are more fully developed, I shouldn’t feel like I have to worry about that kind of stuff. But it seems like every question is laced and loaded with an attitude of ‘don’t bother trying to explain, because there’s no way you are possibly right about this.’

When even some of your dearest friends reenact scenes of Joseph Smith as a drunkard (despite there being no historic evidence to back that up), take quotes from religious leaders SIGNIFICANTLY out of context, and try to TELL you what you believe, is it no wonder I get defensive. Even today in the modern era, people think it’s okay to not just make fun of the seemingly odd cultural norms of white Mormons in Utah, (and yes, we are sometimes hilarious and peculiar) but to openly mock, ridicule and lie about the most sacred aspects of my belief system.  I’m getting upset right now just writing this.

But I need to let this go. I need to forgive. Holding onto these wounds skews my perception of today’s sincere inquirer, and the defense braces me for further hurt and ultimate spiritual defeat. I suppose since I’m probably not the only one who has had these experiences, I plead with you to do the same—let it go. That isn’t because we Christians are supposed to self-righteously and piously not think ill of the slime beneath us (please know I’m being facetious). That isn’t because our hurts aren’t valid. And although it’s an important point, neither would I say that it’s just because that is what God commanded us to do. But because a)since we claim to know that God heals us from these difficult wounds, why wouldn’t we take advantage of that miraculous power and b) if we don’t, we won’t be capable of discussing these things with both the composure and conviction that we need to make any semblance of sense or impact we desire. (This is due in part to the fact that we’re not practicing what we preach, and mainly because it is only the power of the Holy Ghost that can testify of the things we say to the hearts of the people.)

Even in midst of my struggle to overcome past wounds inflicted, this experience has given me a lot of hope. The people with whom I have been discussing things now are not like those people of my past. I have been impressed with both the sincerity of their questions and their respect and attitude towards me. I have opened myself up a little bit more, telling them of both my desires to answer their questions and my insecurities about doing so, and I have been truly humbled at their understanding. I used to think, not with the people themselves, but on the topic of religion specifically, that it was me against the world—no one could possibly understand and I had to keep my beliefs guarded. I also thought that people put up walls when they asked me questions about my religion, but now I realize it is I who has never taken the walls of the past down. This is, of course, because I forgot the most important part about religion—that life and love and faith are all risks. I need to hold fast to something that I believe, even though it is something I cannot see. This seems irrational to some, and probably it is, but it is the only way I can demonstrate that I really do have a conviction for something. If I feel, which I do, that God has asked me to be open with people about the things I believe (something that is very difficult for me) then I need to trust that He will help me and provide a way that I can do that. I believe that this experience (concluding with a PUBLIC APOLOGY to anyone with whom I’ve had an un-open or holier than thou attitude, an olive branch to those who have hurt me, and a sincere thank you to those people whom now I call even greater friends) has been a part of that way.