“I would indeed be ungrateful if I did not stand today”
May 21st, 2007 by Fenevad
When I was a teenager in Anchorage, Alaska, a friend of mine and I would sit in testimony meetings and make bets (don’t worry, Stephen, not for money!) about how many people would get up and say “I would indeed be ungrateful if I did not stand today and bear my testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel”). We counted anything that got through “I would indeed be ungrateful,” and we usually figured on getting at least three per meeting (which is better than when I had a history class and a friend in that class and I played “golf” with how many times the professor would say per se in the lecture: the par was about thirty).
I never hear this precise linguistic formula now that I’m in Indiana, and I don’t know if it is still in use in Alaska. But we do use formulas for all sorts of Gospel things. Some of them get frozen, like when someone ends a blessing being given to someone in the second person with “in the name of thy son” (emphasis mine), or confused, like when folks don’t understand the case of thee, thou, thy, thine and say things like “We thank thou for thou’s Son” (I heard this from a life-long member in Utah).
These small-scale markers serve a valuable purpose of situating our discourse in the realm of religious discourse and indicating our attitude towards it. Occasionally though, we can get stuck on them: I was in an Elder’s Quorum meeting where the lesson was on why we shouldn’t say things like “my goodness” or “darn” (too close to sweaing for the EQ Prez, apparently) and one member told us that he was right because you “never hear GAs saying words like that in their talks” (I wondered if he also thought Pres. Monson went to the grocery store and said “six ounces of deli salami were ordered…” when he wanted a sandwich).
I’m curious what other “small-scale” verbal folklore readers have noticed. (If you can’t tell, I’m a linguistic folklorist, among other things.) Just to get the ball rolling, here are some other examples:
- Unusual use of even as something like an intensifier: “…my lovely mate, even my wife…”
- GA-speak, like the “Hinckely genitive” (“there is much of happiness”) or the “Monson passive” (“tears were shed, hearts were touched, lives were changed”). You could also include the soft-spoken, low-key, almost monotone delivery style of conference talks that some members emulate in this category. (For those who don’t know, prior to electric amplification, LDS leaders were known for a pulpit-punding style)
- Use of particular terms to set us apart from other religious groups, e.g., “bearing testimony” vs. “witnessing” or “last days” instead of “end times,”
On the slightly grander (but still small) scale of things are such talk-opening gambits as asking the spirit to direct one’s talk, beginning with a ritual statement about wanting to get out of giving a talk, or saying “My talk is on repentance so I looked up repentance in the bible dictionary” (or getting the “gospel according to Websters”). These are all part of what it looks
What are things you have noticed in meetings that we use to establish our linguistic identity?
I am grateful for the moisture we have received.
Do other people use ‘turn the time over’ as often as we do?
Getting a vote of thanks seems odd to me.
Is the word ‘quorum’ fairly unique to us?
In Utah and Idaho there seemed to be a lot of ‘expecially’. I can only assume they meant especially.
Thanks Eric for your comments. I had forgotten about the moisture comment. When I moved to Utah from Alaska I found that one very strange. Now that I’m in Indiana, I don’t hear that at all: we’re far more likely to want the moisture to stop when members of our ward are being flooded out than to be grateful for it.
Quorum is not unique to us, but its particular usage to refer to a body (rather than to having sufficient representation of a body, as in counting quorum in the Senate) seems to be one I don’t hear elsewhere.
The bit about votes of thanks reminds me of something I hear in my current ward. One of our bishopric members is a very intelligent man who has little book learning and seems to have some impairment in being able to hear and distinguish related sounds (something he has tried to get help with, without success). As a result when he leads meetings we get a lot of “we prose to stain Bro. X” and “can give a vote of fellship” kinds of formulations.* I think he has special trouble with words that we use in unusual ways in the LDS context, so his verbal difficulties are a good way of spotting what we do that is not mainstream.
(*I should be clear that I like him very much and he is an excellent member of a bishopric: this is not to mock him in any way).
On another note:
I just noticed I left the struck-out part unfinished earlier. What I meant to write was the following: these ways of giving talks are all part of what we learn by listening to others give talks, and we learn from the time we are children or new converts that they are how we should give talks.
When I give talks I try to avoid these devices because I think that they can lead to a certain dulling of attention. I don’t know whether it works or not, but I feel that by avoiding certain of these formulae I can say more than if I devote time to saying what everyone says all the time.
we seem particularly thankful for opportunities (”I am thankful for the opportunity to get up here today…”)
I’ve noticed that Mormons use partake in casual conversation without a bat of an eyelash
I rarely hear preside used about a person in charge outside church circles.
obviously, the definition of receiving a call for Mormons and, say, the Catholic priesthood are quite divergent
Here are a couple that spring to mind. Almost every time someone in general conference refers to an event that happens on floor 2 or above in a building, they say it happened in an “upper room.” Obviously this derives from the New Testament, but it is a very strange way of speaking. Another one is the way that men, again, usually general authorities, refer to their wives as their “sweethearts.” For most outsiders this is the kind of langauge that went out of style with brush cuts and letter-sweaters at the malt shop.
In my experience — and maybe this is just how it is done in my family — to bless our bodies with health alone is not sufficient. Health must be accompanied with strength, and both must be verbicized (i.e. “bless this food that it will healthen and strengthen our bodies”). Sometimes even that is not enough and we feel inclined to add “and do us the good that we need.” That about sanitizes any meal we eat.
My in-laws typically bless the hands that prepared the meal (and in their defense, they do have very healthy hands — but the rest of them….)
Also, in Mormonism, doubts are tangible things that block out light and frequently cast rather lengthy shadows. But if you can get beyond those shadows, you are in pretty good shape to know something (i.e. “I know this beyond a shadow of a doubt.”)
And fenevad, would you be so callous and empathetically-challenged to lump tearfully reaching for the kleenex as one of the familiar tropes in the performance of pulpit-centric-LDS-speak? (I would)
“Nourish and strengthen our bodies” was the version that we used in my family growing up. My wife’s family always added the “do us the good that we need” bit. It used to be very common to hear people ask for a “portion” of God’s spirit, but I don’t hear that much anymore.
Absolutely it’s part of the performance, which is not to say it isn’t sincere. Performance in the folkloric sense relies on conventions or it is unintelligible, and reaching for the kleenex is part of the cue that says “I’m moved by the Spirit.”
When that style of discourse shows up in other places, however, it gets a little strange. Don Larsen, chairman of the Republican Party in a legislative district in Utah County, recently cried while delivering a motion to declare that those in favor of illegal immigration are “Satan’s minions” (no, I’m not making this up). Anyone who is around that area enough would know he was bearing his testimony, so to speak, but outsiders thought it was really strange and he was pilloried for it (as well as for the whole argument) on political blogs.
1. Sit at the feet of. “I’m so grateful that we can be here today and sit at the feet of one of the Lord’s chosen servants…
2. Many men often say wife with the modifer “good”. “Brother Jones, may I speak with you and your good wife?” (As opposed to his other, bad wife?)
3. “I’d be very ungrateful if I didn’t stand on my feet today and . . .” (what else are you going to stand on?)
And something that sets us apart from other Christians is how we talk about Diety. We usually say “The Lord”, but if we say Jesus, we almost always say Christ, too, as though it were His last name. Turn on the TV to a televangelist and it is constantly Jayzus this and Jayzus that, every sentence.
Fen: are you still in Bloomington? Are the other two guys running this blog in Bloomington too?
I was recently in Bloomington, and plan to be again this summer.
Hoosier Bloggersnacker anyone?
Only if you promise to bring one of your Book of Mormon snack-pack Ladmo Bags.
(can a get an amen from any in the AZ congregation?)
Hi Bookslinger. Yes, I am in Bloomington. When you’re headed down this way, drop a line.
Mark, the Jesus one is interesting. In Evangelical circles it is quite common to hear “Jesus is my friend.” While we are encouraged to have a “personal relationship with our Savior,” it never quite seems to have that intimate familiarity that Evangelicals aspire to linguistically. I’m not sure why we avoid saying just Jesus once we’re out of Primary, but we do.
It reminds me of another difference. Recently I attended the funeral of an evangelical friend. To me the funerary sermons preached by two ministers seemed like high theater (and if I could adequately convey the cadence and substance of their sermons most Mormons would know exactly why I say that). However, I realized after the funeral that my objection was purely æsthetic in nature. If I looked past how they were saying what they were saying to see what they were saying, I realized it was not that different from what we might say at one of our funerals. It has made me wonder how much of our reaction to other faiths is æsthetic in nature, rather than based on substantive differences in belief (although we certainly do have some substantive differences).
The issue of “Jesus” usage reminds me of something else. Typically, Mormons refer to Joseph Smith as “Joseph.” When I was writing my dissertation, which had a Mormon element, my committee chair insisted that I call Joseph Smith “Smith” because he had noticed that Mormons tended to use just the first name. That was ok with me, because that is how I do it in my scholarly writing anyway. But his argument was interesting because he said that he had never heard a Lutheran refer to Martin Luther as “Martin.” He even criticized Richard Bushman for using the “Joseph” thing after reading an early draft of Rough Stone Rolling. IIRC Bushman added an explanation of why he uses Joseph Smith’s first name in response to this criticism. It’s just another way in which Mormons are unique–their affectionate use of the church;s founder’s first name.
Fenevad,
I believe there’s one more aspect in addition to what is said, and how it is said. And that is the spirit (lowercase “s”) or spiritual feeling which attends the speaker. Is it an uplifting and edifying spiritual feeling?
When we agree with the content of what other religionists say, we can use that for establishing relationships, friendship, dialogue, and further sharing. However, I do believe it is legitimate to discern the spirit of what everyone says, and the spirit of how they say it, regardless if they are members of our church or of other churches. And the spirit (lowercase “s”) or spiritual feeling that attends them usually has more to do with how things are said than actual content.
I’ve heard some people in the LDS church speak correct doctrine, with which I had to agree 100%, but the spiritual feeling that attended them was bitter and cold. I once attended an Evangelical/Apostolic type of funeral (of a friend’s non-member brother), and one of the ministers impressed me as being open to the restored gospel, and made me think he’d join the LDS church some day. (I need to look him up and give him a Book of Mormon.) He just asked the right questions in his sermon.
I think that’s a level of status in other churches, how many ministers, evangelists, and singers/performers speak/perform at one’s funeral. This guy’s funeral had 3 preachers, an evangelist, and two singers/soloists, in addition to the organ player. Two of the preachers gave me a bad feeling. But I liked that third, and hope to meet him again.
Oh, and by the way, the phrase “personal relationship with our Savior” was looked down on in the LDS church about 20-some years ago. Elder Bruce McConkie even publicly smacked down a BYU prof for using that phrase. However, our General Authorities have now seemed to embrace it.
Fen, how many Hoosier bloggernaclers are there?
Interesting response. I didn’t know that “personal relationship…” had ever been a bone of contention.
Regarding the issue of how things are said, I’d just point out that the likelihood of someone feeling spiritual depends on their expectations about how that spirit is to be expressed. I had a companion who was a visa waiter in Chicago for a while and served in areas with many recent African American converts. He was told in an area conference meeting for missionaries by the visiting GA that they were not to “correct” the “Amens” and “Hallelujias” from the congregation at all, and that those were legitimate manifestations of the spirit, no matter how strange the missionaries might take them.
On another note, I absolutely despise it when someone chooses to sing syrupy Mormon pop songs in sacrament meeting, but I recognize that there are those who find them genuinely moving. Me, I hate feeling like I’m being told “you’ll feel the Spirit, d*** you,” which is what I take away from over-determined emotive texts in songs. So I’m at least open to the possibility that someone could be genuinely moved by the hyperactive prancing of the preachers at my friend’s funeral.
The professor that McConkie hammered for the personal relationship thing was named Pace. His son is now an ex-mo and has written about the entire incident somewhere (RfM maybe?).
Bookslinger: how many Hoosier bloggernaclers are there?
Close, I live outside of Toledo. Only a few miles from being a Hoosier.
Costanza: I believe it is Pace’s son (Pace) who is on the outs with the LDS Church, not Pace the BYU professor.
If I remember correctly, the essence of McConkie’s reasoning was 1) that we worshop the _Father_ (Elohim) in the _name of_ Christ, and that we don’t worship Christ directly, and 2) the Prof (Pace) was teaching something that had not come down the chain of command from the brethren, in effect trying to import a Protestant something-ism (even if only a catch-phrase) into the church.
However, in Pace’s defense, one could nuance what he was saying so that it would still fit within LDS doctrine, and in effect, that is what the GA’s have done since then, with Pres Hinckley even quoting the lines “we worship Christ.” And if I’m not mistaken, I’ve heard him or other GA’s use the phrase “personal relationship with Christ.”
So now that the GA’s have co-opted the phrase, it’s kosher for the rest of us to use it.
Since Christ, the Father (and the Holy Ghost) are “One God” (one in purpose as a Godhead), and as Jehovah (the ante-mortal Jesus) spoke in the name of the Father with “divine investiture” so often in the Old Testament, and as we use the phrase “The Lord” interchangeably for both the Savior and Heavenly Father, I think the phrase “personal relationship with the Savior” can be valid with the LDS context.
Fen (#16), it wasn’t the “personal relationship” part that was the bone of contention, it was “personal relationship with _the Savior_”. McConkie’s point being that we pray only to Heavenly Father, and worship only Him.
Along the lines of a “personal relationship with the Savior” is the notion of Jesus being our “Elder Brother.” I’ve heard and read many smack downs on this kind of language. I remember one citing that Jesus is our Elder Brother in one way (we are all created by God), but is our Father in two ways (through the atonement, and by divine investiture), so we should not think of Him in a familiar way as we would think of a brother. I’ve always agreed with this logic, thinking it is best to remember that God is much above us, not at our level like a brother, but perhaps for some people they find comfort or peace in thinking of God that way. It’s interesting to me.
Also, and this is not about the pulpit, but just a Mormon habit I’ve noticed, why don’t people in the overflow (or back rows) sing the hymns? Are they too far from the organ? What gives?
Jessawhy,
Interesting questions. I think you’re right that there are those who want a close personal and emotional connection with deity, and those who don’t. Overall, I think that part of the issue may be that culturally we distrust Evangelical Christianity and all its trappings, including the idea of a personal connection to God.
For example, I think many members would be uncomfortable with the evangelical-style sentimentality in Rich Mullins’ song “Hold Me Jesus,” e.g.,
Compare that to typical LDS fare such as “I Heard Him Come,” which is no less emotive, but is not so personal (being set in the past), or that saccharine little “Teacher, Do You Love Me?,” which is just as personal, but is instead focused on the relationship between two people.
While avoidance of the Evangelical æsthetic may be one factor, another, perhaps more relevant, issue may be that the ecstatic experience of the divine is anti-authoritarian in many ways: it insists on the primacy of direct connection with the divine. In Mormonism, however, we have a fairly elaborate hierarchy that we live in. While we lay claim to personal revelation, about the only roles for it are (1) providing direction for us in making “life decisions” and (2) confirming whatever we are told by the hierarchy. There is no space in Mormonism for revelation that runs counter to the Church. The moment we get a revelation saying no to something from a higher-up, we are in danger of apostacy and losing our mortal souls…
We are thus often wary of any claims to direct connection that might seem to circumvent the established channels of administration and revelation. Seeing Jesus as my brother, rather than as infinitely distant and above me, runs contrary to our hierarchical, non-ecstatic structure. (It is perhaps significant here that I can think of no Mormon mystics…)
(I should not that this post is not meant to be critical of the Church. I am instead pointing out the social factors that may be involved here and why we would culturally distrust the whole personal connection paradigm.)
Fenevad,
I agree with your analysis, especially of the songs in the church. One song that came to mind is “His Hands” which focuses on a specific feature of Christ rather than his whole being. I wonder if that is a way we connect, but still keep a distance.
Can you explain what you mean by Mormon mystics? I’m not familiar with that phrase. (or the word mystic, for that matter)
As for there being no room for revelation that runs contrary to the church, I definately second that. In fact, I think the emergence of the bloggernacle (with hundreds of sites) is an indication that people need an outlet for ideas that may differ from the church. I’ve started thinking about it in this way: Perhaps all of the doctrines that I’ve been taught to believe are nicely wrapped packages of theology, are really complicated, multi-faceted concepts that have several possible interpretations. It’s as though the tidy little packages are unraveling. For me it’s been many concepts, from women’s role in the church, to a believeable model for the atonement. It’s a little unsettling for me to challenge these beliefs, and yet it is freeing as well. (sorry if this is off topic)
Fenevad:
While we lay claim to personal revelation, about the only roles for it are (1) providing direction for us in making “life decisions” and (2) confirming whatever we are told by the hierarchy.
Um, aren’t you forgetting all the guidance in little things that the gift of the Holy Ghost gives to members? Your list of two items sure leaves out a lot. The Ensign is replete with such examples.
There is no space in Mormonism for revelation that runs counter to the Church. The moment we get a revelation saying no to something from a higher-up, we are in danger of apostacy and losing our mortal souls…
Agreed. But you’re still leaving out possibility for small revelation in many areas in which the church doesn’t direct our lives.
Another exception are the “exceptions”. As Elder Oaks and Nelson have explained, the General Authorities teach the rules and the “exceptions” are left up to the individual to work out between himself and the Lord. (, Elder Nelson’s reference.)
Jessawhy: There are actually very few official doctrines of the church. As I’ve studied LDS apologetics, there is actually little official doctrine. There are the scriptures, and the official pronouncements of the First Presidency. There’s a recent press release, ostensibly approved by the First Presidency that states what is official. Even correlated material, currently published by the Church is not official doctrine, even though it falls under the heading of “it’s our best understanding at the present”.
Agreed, I didn’t mention any of that. However, we do seem to be somewhat ambivalent about calling those things “revelations.” If I come to my wife and say, “honey, I’ve had a revelation,” she won’t expect me to say that I had a small voice whsipering to me that I should go a different way to work today or stop and visit a friend I haven’t seen in a while. We are quite comfortable saying those things are the spirit speaking to me, but seldom call them relevations directly.
But this is semantic hair-splitting. You are right that in LDS conceptions it is all revelation, great and small. It doesn’t change the overall point, however, that for us revelation can only be confirmatory. Even in the cases of exceptions, the notion is that the spirit would still tell us the principle is right and confirm our leaders, even if our particular application does end up being different. There is no room for the answer “they’re wrong.” And although we discuss exceptions, we still have the notion that finding exceptions is, in general, a way to head off into the weeds.
This attitude is very different from that in an ecstatic religion. In that case (and this is the real distinction I wanted to get at), revelation can tell you almost anything and you are beholden to no one except God and scripture. That is one reason you see certain Christian denominations constantly splintering and morphing into new groups around charismatic figures. This is also something the Church had to deal with early on with figures such as Hiram Page since Joseph Smith’s first vision fits in with the ecstatic religious experience quite well and there was initially little to say that the results wouldn’t be a community of prophets all in direct connection with God. It took a number of years to work it out and create a feasible organization.
Really, one of the amazing things about the Church is that we do lay claim to personal revelation, but we also have a strong hierarchy and a strong sense of group cohesion. I know of no other denomination that can claim the same to such an extent.
Mysticism is actually a controversial term in religious studies, but it is widely used. This Wikipedia article probably will tell you more than you want to know. Mysticism in general accentuates the idea of direct, personal connection with the divine that transcends human categories. Most major faith have mystical strains (Sufism in Islam, mystics in the Catholic Church), but I don’t know of anyone in Mormonism whom I would really call a mystic.
One of the major obstacles to Mormonon mysticism is the association of mystical experience with “ineffability”–the inability to contain and communicate mystical experience in mere language. As Fenevad noted, mysticism is a contested category, so not everyone sees ineffability as a requirement for mystical experiences, but most scholars view that particular element as common to mystical experience. By that criteria, Joseph Smith’s experiences may be the epitome of the anti-mystical because they are grounded in linguistically-based exchanges with deity or the agents of deity.
But can a mystic describe what salt tastes like?
Fen, would patriarchs somehow come under the mystic heading? I don’t think LDS consider them as such, but an outsider might. In the same vein, an outsider might think that we consider any (allegedly inspired) priesthood blessing as mystical.
“It doesn’t change the overall point, however, that for us revelation can only be confirmatory. Even in the cases of exceptions, the notion is that the spirit would still tell us the principle is right and confirm our leaders, even if our particular application does end up being different. There is no room for the answer ‘they’re wrong.’”
Okay, I agree with your overall point.
Some of the other examples I had in mind were not only those whisperings to tell you to visit someone you haven’t seen in a while, but I was also thinking of enlightening or spiritual-eye-opening experiences that people sometimes have while reading the scriptures, where the deeper or hidden meaning is revealed, and a “new” (to the reader) meaning is revealed. Sometimes those “mini revelations” of meaning have been expounded upon in previous works by the GA’s, even if we haven’t even been exposed to yet.
I also remember a friend telling me about discovering a spiritual insight of a connection between a couple of scriptural teachings. She hadn’t read or heard that insight/connection anywhere before. She had the opportunity to ask a General Authority about it; and according to her, he said that that item was something that the church hasn’t taught directly, but that the Spirit sometimes reveals to individuals.
It’s both a wonderful and scary concept, to realize that not everything, not all truth, is already in writing. We could read everything that has been written by current and past General Authorities, and there would still be more to learn.
Glenn,
Mystics are more likely to explain what taste salts like.
In general, probably not, but in the case of some of the weirder blessings out there, the blessings might have some elements. (Consider some of the “seventh seal” stuff described over in BCC: that could be getting there.) As Costanza points out about mysticism in general, straight-forward textual interpretative methods often are contrary to the mystical impulse. Patriarchal blessings are thus unlikely to be very mystical: they are usually pretty straight-forward declarative text. On the other hand, I suppose that individual partriarchs might well conceive of the blessing process in somewhat mystical terms. I’ve never asked any of them about the process of giving blessings, so it’s hard for me to say.
If it helps you understand mysticism, consider the ending cantos of Dante’s Paradiso: he enters the highest realms and language breaks down. He describes the heavenly rose, but he makes it clear that his language comes nowhere near the reality of his experience. I don’t know that the Divine Comedy is really the most typical mystical text, but in this respect it is useful (and probably familiar).
If we did get a mystical PB, we’d probably be pretty disappointed and consider it a bunch of gobbledygook.
Also, the basic undergirding idea of mysticism is that of unmediated experience with the “numenous” (to use Otto’s phrase); patriarchal blessings are, by definition, mediated–the experience is given to one individual who then translates it into verbal form. Mysticism is one concept that does not, by definition, allow for a proxy dimension. Mystics simply do not have mystical experiences for someone else.
Thanks Costanza.
I was more thinking of the possibility of a mystical interpretative mode for PBs—i.e., the recipient interprets the text as a mystic might*—but most of them really don’t support that sort of reading at all since they are straight-forward denotative language. Although I suppose FARMS folks might try to find stuff so subtly coded in them that only they can detect it…
* Eco makes a useful distinction here: in most exegetical modes the text stands between man and God (i.e., it conceals/reveals God), while for the Kabbalist/mystic the interpreter stands between the text and God to create meanings.
The idea of the exegete as mystic is interesting. There are special reasons that Mormonism tends away from that, the most significant of which is simply the idea that only the President of the Church has the right to definitively “interpret” scripture (although there are two schools of thought on this. Presidenct McKay was more liberal while J. R. Clark was more conservative). In any event, there are cultural and institutional limits on what a “correct” experience is. I suppose there are possilbe mystical experiences that would fit, but they would function, as you noted above Fenevad, as basically confirmatory events. So the mystic basically has to make sure that his/her mystical engagement with the text passes correlation (a very un-mystical idea).
Jessawhy (#24)
I agree. And what is fascinating to me is that not all mormons experience the same nicely wrapped packages – so much depends on family and geography and timing – but we all have some nicely wrapped ideas/beliefs that we share. I encourage that they be unwrapped and examined and understood. My one caution is that you decide before hand what you really want to find inside. Do you want the package to be empty? Or do you want it to contain something, anything, that will support your faith? In my experience, I have had to bring it all down to desire, and recognize that while the unraveling can be frightening and often lonely, the direction I take it is really based on my desires. So what are they? And they helps me stay a little grounded, I hope.
The only other trouble that I have found is that once unraveled, it can’t be repackaged. There’s no going back. But there are many choices to make in moving forward.
Feneved (#27)
I’ve been thinking about this. I want you to think of the endowment ceremony and tell me again if you don’t know of anyone in Mormonism whom you would really call a mystic.
Interesting question. In most cases, probably not: most members, I think, tend to treat the endowment as a more-or-less literal account of history, and tend to treat symbolism in it as something that they have to get past to find a literal, expressive truth. This sort of attitude can be found in a sealing session I was in where the sealer decided to bestow upon us all “the” meaning of various things in the temple. His interpretations tended to be pretty banal, and were very literal.
There may be those, however, who do have some sort of mystical experience with the endowment. I know that when I go it matters whether it’s live or filmed (I used to go to Manti regularly). I find that in the filmed version I get stuck up on presentational details, but in a live session with the devil played by a 90-year-old guy who’s 4′9″ tall and doesn’t look sinister in the least, I actually tend to focus more on meaning that perhaps approaches a mystical perspective because the presentational aspects are less “realistic.”
One of the things that I like best about the entire temple experience is that so very few of the symbols are explained. This makes the endowment an open book–a palimpsest really–upon which individuals may inscribe and re-inscribe meaning throughout an entire lifetime based almost solely on their own largely unmediated experiences. This is why I always shudder every time I am in the celestial room and some blowhard is “explaining” all of the symbols to a group of people or when, during sealings, a sealer will give his explanation of certain symbols as if they are authoritative. If there is mysticism to be found in Mormonism, I suspect that it is in the endowment. But I think that plenty (read: way too many) of Mormons experience the endowment in mechanical and non-mystical ways. And that is a shame.
Sorry Fenevad–I posted my last comment before yours was up.
No problem. It fit nicely with it…
In fact, I was actually thinking of your experience with the temple sealer when I wrote that comment!
I thought perhaps that was the case.
One thing I find interesting about the endowment is that no matter what scholarly perspective I use to think about it, it seems to be rewarding. It’s not a one-trick pony. Lately when I’ve gone (which is far too infrequently!) I’ve tended to think of it in Levi-Straussian terms at several levels, and this has been a rewarding approach to me. At other times I approached it was a more Durkheimian sense, and that was also rewarding. Applying Turner also offers interesting insights. I don’t know that this is really an argument for its divinity (i.e., I don’t think it would convince anyone not already dedicated to its validity), but it I start from the perspective that it is inspired, the applicability of so many approaches to understanding it and the fact that it seems so tailor-made for them is faith-affirming. I love the fact that the endowment is a meaning-generating ceremony, so no matter how many times I go I can come away with a new meaning that is valid for me. Now that approach, which argues that the endowment always escapes being pinned down does convey something of a mystical flavor.
Re 36
Glenn,
Thanks for your comments. I’ve been thinking about the unraveling of doctrine for a while and what you are saying makes sense. In fact, I read a great article about Joesph Smith in BYU magazine a while ago and though I don’t remember anything about Joseph Smith, I remember the way he framed our choice to believe. In fact, the conclusion of the paper was, “I found reason to doubt. I found reason to believe. I chose to believe.” I’ve had that idea in my head for almost a year, it’s a powerful concept, that our choice to believe is at least as important as the evidence we gather to draw our conclusions. Also, I think you’re right about asking myself what I want to discover or know when I start investigating a certain concept, as well as the idea that we can’t go back to seeing it the same way. (Although I have secretly hoped that wasn’t true.) I am interested in all of the choices going forward, I haven’t discovered them yet, but will keep looking.
BTW, Kevin Barney has started a post on “vain repititions” in prayers over at BCC. There are some parallels to Feneved’s original question here. It’s worth a read.
I know I’m late to the game, but one phrase that I’ve long thought about is the classic: “I know the Church is true” — guaranteed to be heard at least once a month if not many times more. It strikes me as such an odd phrase when I step back and think about it. I really don’t even know what it means and I’m not entirely sure I understand what other people mean when they say it. Replace the word “Church” with any other organization — Boy Scouts, BYU, or the Black Panthers — at it just seems like gibberish.
Along these same lines, though, I find these cultural signifiers very interesting. I was recently in a setting with several businessmen. I knew some were not Mormon, but I knew one went to BYU for law school and he knew I went on a mission, but neither of us knew if the other was still active. We were having lunch with others and it wasn’t a setting where we could just ask the other point blank. So, I kept trying to pick up on little hints — does he swear, drink caffeine, does he have garment lines, etc. — to get to the bottom of it. I’m sure he was trying to do the same with me.
And… What did you find out, Nate? The suspense is killing me.
I agree with Nate about the “know the church is true” bit. I think it’s something we feel we have to say, even if we don’t really understand it. Look at the primary kids who all say the same THREE phrases. “I know the church is true, I know pres.(fill in the blank) is a true prophet. I love my family”. As sweet and well meaning as it is, I don’t think they fully understand what they are saying. It’s more ritual than anything more.
Another phrase that I find very amusing is on our tithing settlement sheets. We speak so often of families forever and Temple marriage, but on these forms it always says, “Current spouse”. What’s that all about?
Glenn,
Turns out he’s in the bishopric. And, I was able to fool him into thinking I’m active, too.
The “current spouse” thing is just the reflection of a sad reality–Mormons get divorced just about as frequently as everybody else.
Nate,
Is that the bishopric of the ward you are attending? If so, you should really be careful about stealing office supplies . . .
Nate (#49), Just be sure you don’t talk to him about your views on the you-know-who’s and the legalization of the you-know-what.
Irene, (#48) speaking of current spouses, do you think I should put some Wayne and Debbie Evans in my XSPF playlist at the bottom of the page?
I don’t know if the world is ready for it. But thanks for the reminder. “But they did not understa..ah..and”.
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