Interpretation of the Actual Gospels by Les

Jesus' beautiful Sermon on the Mount is recorded in Matthew, and it is in Matthew 5:48 that we read "Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect." A summary of the Sermon on the Mount can also be found in Luke, and Luke 6:36 reads, "Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful." The similarity between these two scriptures is striking, and it begs a comparison. 

To be perfect, we must be merciful. We can never be like our Heavenly Father, perfect, unless we become perfectly merciful. Perfect mercy requires perfect understanding of all the circumstances and thoughts and experiences of another person, and that is impossible for us mere mortals. The closest we can come might be learning to see one another as children of God, loved and cherished by deity. 

When we see the imperfect people around us, mercy requires that we remember that God loves those imperfect people and has asked us to do the same--love them. Just love them, without condition or judgement. Love them. Be merciful. Become perfectly merciful. 

It's not just a suggestion. It's a commandment. Do it.

Safety Pins

I put a safety pin on my shirt when I got dressed this morning. Before you judge me, good or bad, let me tell you why.

I love my country. I love the ideals for which the flag stands in my own head and heart. I love the idea of equality and freedom for everyone, the idea of the American Dream where anyone can become anything. I love the idea that there is room for everyone at the table of prosperity in my country. The truth is that those are ideas and ideals; they aren't reality even for me, let alone for everyone. There is a long, LONG list of demographics and individuals to whom they do not apply. But I love my country in more than the abstract; I love her in all her flawed, imperfect, sometimes horrific reality. Why? Because I believe in those ideals and I have hope that we can make them reality.

That ideal reality is a little further away than it seemed a week ago. We have elected a man who has made it clear that -isms and phobias are alive and well in my country. I played a part in that. I feel guilty for everything I could have and should have done differently during the campaign years. Maybe I should have been more confrontational. Maybe I should have engaged in difficult conversations about politics among people with whom I disagree. Maybe, knowing the state I live in, I should have registered as a Republican voter and helped put a decent human being on the ballot during the primaries. There are a lot of things I should have done, but didn't. I'm feeling guilt and shame for what I didn't do.

Now I have to live with that guilt. I have to accept my own part in creating the predicament my country is in now. More importantly, however, I have to start where we are and do something to change it. I have to work to make this the country I hope she can be. I cannot change what I did during the last two years, but I can do better during the next two years.

For the next two years, I will not back down from difficult conversations. I will listen with genuine respect and interest to what other people have to say. I will ask questions and try to understand, especially when I don't agree. Before I condemn someone I disagree with, I will try to understand where they are coming from.

During these conversations, I will do more than listen. I will talk about my own beliefs in clear terms so there can be understanding on both sides. I will point out what I see as injustice and inhumanity. I will talk about what I believe to be right and help other people understand me. I will do so with respect, offering my conversational partners dignity and allowing them to save face as much as possible, but I will not be silent. I will talk. I will be heard. I will try to be understood.

Talking is all very well, but I will also DO. I will call my legislators. I will protest. I will defend the marginalized people who need a defense. I will volunteer my time and effort to help people find the American dream that was handed to me at birth. I will be at the mosque and the shelter.

I will be in my classroom. I had a choice of schools, and I chose to be at the school where I teach. I will do what I can to erase the fear in those scared, brown eyes and replace it with empowerment. I will be in my home, where I will show my half-Mexican granddaughter that she has the power to change her world. I will be at the wedding of my son, where he and his boyfriend will see that their rights matter to me.

I will step up in the face of bullying and harassment in any form. I will be willing to take the insults and the jeers. I will be willing to take the punch. I have thought long and hard about what it means to be an ally, and I will do what it takes to make the world safer for everyone, even if it means my own safety is less certain.

I will call out evil when and where I see it. I will not leave my country. I will not back down from the fight in front of us. I will stay and make my country be what she can be.

I wear the safety pin to remind myself, more than anyone else, to be brave enough to be the woman I should be.

Why Do We Paint Jesus the Way We Do?

Someone recently asked me why Jesus' family was white in a picture I posted on Facebook. Well, because that's how the artist chose to paint them. I was touched by the picture, showing a tender Joseph holding an infant Jesus while Mary slept. I like thinking of Joseph as a loving, gentle father figure. I wasn't terribly concerned about the historical accuracy. But the question made me think, so I've been doing some research. I will not include any links in this post; please use whatever research tools you like and find the information from sources you trust.

Jesus was born in the land on the southeast side of the Mediterranean Sea. The Bible gives us only one reference to what He looked like; Isaiah said He had no beauty or majesty in His appearance. I believe that means He was fairly ordinary looking, not someone who would stand out in a crowd of people in His time and place. The area was occupied by the Roman Empire, which is the whole reason they went to be taxed and ended up in a stable. I'm certain that there were some children born of Roman and Jewish parentage; that's the nature of conquest. There were some European genes in the pool by the time Jesus was born. There were probably some people with lighter skin than others as a result, but it seems likely that most people had olive skin in that time and place.

We know Jesus was a respected teacher, so He probably lived Jewish law. His beard was probably long and untrimmed, and the hair on His temples was probably long, while the rest of His hair was probably kept short, according to guidelines in the Old Testament. If He didn't stand out much, He wouldn't have stood out in manner of grooming, either.

So, if it's probable that Jesus was olive skinned with an untrimmed beard and short hair, why do so many pictures of Him depict a light skinned man with long hair and a neatly trimmed beard? The easy answer is, of course, we don't know, but maybe I can make some guesses.

There is a commandment in the Bible that we should not make graven images. During His life and immediately after His death, He was represented in pictures with a fish or other symbol, not with a likeness. No one who knew Jesus in life drew Him for us. The early followers of Christ would have been hesitant to give us an exact likeness.

Very early pictures that may be of Jesus were not captioned or labeled, so we can only guess at who the artist drew. The earliest picture with the iconic neat beard, long hair, and halo that we recognize as Jesus is from the early part of the third century, around 235 AD. The artist had never seen Jesus, and probably chose to draw Him as someone like the artist. From that time, there is a long and venerable tradition in religious Christian art to depict Jesus like this. Following in the footsteps of the great masters of the Renaissance, who followed the artists before them, modern artists still use the iconic and almost universally recognized (at least among Christians) look to depict Jesus.

My own religious tradition, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, otherwise known as the Mormons, has additional scripture that we believe. Part of the story is that a modern man, Joseph Smith, saw the resurrected Jesus. Joseph says He defied all description, and gives us no indication of what He looked like. Mormon artists, therefor, continue to use the traditional look of Jesus.

Partly, the look has held on for so many years because it is so recognizable. When you see a picture of Jesus, you know almost immediately who it is. Small children who are regular church goers of almost any Christian church will recognize Jesus in a painting they've never seen before because of His resemblance to all the other paintings of Jesus. Artists want their viewers to understand the painting, and know who is depicted.

I suspect that, with recent debate over what Jesus may have looked like, we will begin to see that iconic look evolve. We may see some pictures with a more olive-complected Jesus. We may see a longer beard or shorter hair. I also suspect that the traditional view will also continue for a long time. It's held on for 1800 years, it's not likely to go away in the blink of an eye.

Regardless of what Jesus looked like when He lived, or what He looks like now, I believe He is the savior of the world. He lived and died so that we can live again. He was the literal Son of God, genetically and spiritually. He is the rock on which I rest, comfort when I need comfort, hope for salvation and eternal life. It doesn't matter what He looks like. What matters is that He lives.

Politics in a Nutshell

Vaccines good.
Schools mostly good.
Donald Trump bad.
Right of gay and lesbian couples to marry good.
Ben Carson withholding judgment but willing to watch.
Nationalized healthcare good.
Keeping up with the Kardashians just silly.
Right to own and carry a gun good.
GMOs good.
Freedom of religion good.
Kid President good.
Bernie Sanders good.
Voting good.
Global warming bad but real.
Planned Parenthood mixed reviews.
Children's right to education good.
Drugs bad.
War bad but sometimes necessary.
Other issues to be decided, but not necessarily discussed, if and when I care about them.

Suicide

In my experience, there is always someone who understands the situation I'm in, and that person is almost always willing to offer acceptance and support if I am brave enough to ask for it. It is also my experience that there are many people who do not understand one or another situation I find myself in, and no one can understand the total of my unique life. I sometimes feel like I am sharing too much, and then every time someone will let me know that they have been going through the same thing and were hesitant to talk about it. There are always other people who say they didn't understand, but are trying to learn now that I have put it out in the open. To that end, I want to share my experience with a very sensitive topic, in hopes that it will help someone to know they aren't alone, and help someone else to understand a little better.

Most of my social circle knows I take psychiatric meds. I take an anti-depressant (in large doses) and an anti-psychotic (in small doses) to keep functioning. The last time I called the pharmacy for a refill, and they didn't have my meds in stock. I went without for many days, and it's been a steep uphill emotional climb to start to want to feel normal again. I learned first hand what it's like to have greatly distorted thinking and judgment.

In that distorted mental state, (without going in to graphic detail) I did plan for my own death. I honestly believed that my family and friends would be better off without me. Death seemed preferable to running away, since after my death they could all find closure and move on with their lives. I was scared and tired. Suicide did not seem like a selfish decision; rather, it felt like the most selfless thing I could do for the people I love. When I'm thinking clearly, I know that doesn't make sense. But it did make sense at the time. 

I obviously did not choose to die. I have been one of the people left behind after a suicide; I know first hand that one never really moves on after that. Somehow, I found the courage to believe that past experience, and the courage to trust a couple of people with my inner struggle. My husband believed me without question when I told him I was in trouble. Never once did he suspect I was faking to get attention. Never did he suggest I should just snap out of it. He was there, physically in the same room, for several days, offering his love and ensuring my safety. A girl friend offered a listening ear, available upon request, and insisted on a lunch date. The listening ear reminded me that I really did have friends who might miss me if I were dead. That date gave me a commitment to fill, and something to look forward to. Without these two angels, I may have made a very different decision.

I share this experience because I learned some things that might be helpful for someone else. First: if you are in danger of hurting yourself, get help. Call the national suicide hotline (1-800-273-8255). Talk to someone who loves you. Go to an emergency room near you and ask for help. Second, if you love someone who asks for help, believe them. Try to recognize the courage it takes to ask for help. Be there physically, even through the uncomfortable anger and tears. You call the suicide hotline. Call 911 if it seems necessary to insure safety. Third, I share this because there are people out there who feel like I did, or who find themselves in the position of my husband and friend. It is those people who most need to know they are not alone. None of us is alone. Help, support, and sympathy are out there. Take courage in knowing that other people have fought similar battles. 

After this experience, I feel a deeper sympathy for people who have lost loved ones to suicide. Your pain is just as real. You are left with all the scars of a battle you couldn't control. For this, I can offer only the hope that you are not alone, either. There are people who understand you, too. To a small extent, I understand you; someone I love left me with some of these scars. I am not trying to belittle your experience or the experience of the person you lost. I was lucky; others are not. 

One final thought: my faith in my God continues as a ray of hope for me. I find comfort and rest in the Lord, and I am grateful for His love and concern.

Women and Priesthood

Women and Priesthood. Authority, keys, and women. Women in the Church. It’s all a sensitive and touchy topic for feminist activists, including me. I believe that the Church and its leaders are directed by Jesus Christ, whose church it is, and that the Lord will not allow His servants to lead His church astray. I also believe that I am the equal of my husband and any man alive. God gave me a brain and a soul and a heart, and the ability to use them. I cannot help but wonder why the priesthood keys and authority are reserved for men.

A few weeks ago, just as I am wrestling with this issue, one of my Primary kids asked a question in sharing time: “Why don’t moms have the priesthood?” to which the Primary president said, “Maybe Sister Bishop can talk about that in your class.” I spent the next twenty minutes alternately praying that I would have an answer for this child, or that he would forget he had asked the question. He did not forget. The minute we closed the classroom door behind us, he asked again. Luckily, I had an answer.

I’ve heard many answers over the years that are supposed to make me feel better about not having the keys and authority of the priesthood. None of them actually make me feel better. I’ve often heard, “But women can have babies, so what are they complaining about.” This is not the same thing at all. Every worthy man can hold the priesthood, with or without a wife; not all worthy women have babies, and many drug addicts do. Babies obviously don’t depend on worthiness, as priesthood ordination does. I’ve also heard from women, “I don’t need the priesthood,” with the accompanying implication that men are less capable and therefore need some guiding power to keep them in line. This is a subtle insult to my husband, who is a good, faithful priesthood holder and would still be a good man if the priesthood keys and authority were not on the earth. My husband is not second-rate in the eyes of God, either. The answers of the world hadn’t worked for me. They obviously wouldn’t work for a six-year-old earnestly seeking wisdom.

I was blessed with an answer that worked for him and my little class. I asked my class if they knew that we have a Heavenly Mother. We don’t know much about her, but She is there. Whatever power and authority She has is reserved for women, who can become like Her just as men can become like Heavenly Father. My class was satisfied with this answer.

The answer still felt incomplete for me, though. My brain and soul wanted to know more, so I thought and prayed and studied, and am slowly arriving at a more thorough understanding of my role in eternity. I may already possess the entirety of my power and authority, and just don’t recognize or understand it yet. There may be additional power granted in Heaven (just as the power to create worlds and the power of resurrection is not currently available to priesthood holders here, but may be granted later. See Elder Oaks’ talk from the April 2014 conference) that I am not aware of yet. Whatever that power is, it matters in the grand scheme of the universe.

It is clear to me that women matter in the eternal plan. Heavenly Father loves His daughters and we are not secondary or lesser in His eyes. We, the daughters of God, have eternal potential for growth and progression. Our potential is infinite, as it is for men. Our worth is infinite, as it is for men. Our power, whatever it looks like, is eternal, as the keys of the priesthood are for men. I do not claim to understand God’s plan for me, or for any of us. I trust God to do what is best for me, because He loves me. I have faith that my mortal brain can learn, line upon line and precept upon precept, until I come to a full understanding of my role, both here and in eternity. I am important. I am of infinite worth. I am content with my limited understanding, for now.

What I Used to Know

I have no way of knowing your heart of mind. I can't know what makes you choose the things you choose. I don't know your story or your history. I do know my life story, and I am finding that there are a lot of things I thought I knew, but didn't. Here, in no particular order, is a list of things I used to think I knew all the answers about:

• Addiction, to legal or illegal substances
• Sexual orientation
• Affairs
• Domestic abuse
• Child abuse
• Divorce
• "Welfare" or public assistance
• Single parenthood
• Teen pregnancy
• Math (Yep. I used to think I knew all the math in the world. I was 10. Then I looked in a Calculus textbook. I learned right then that there was a lot I didn't know yet.
• Disability

After some life experience in these and other things, I have learned that there are no easy answers. I have learned that the answers I used to know were misguided at best. Every single thing on that list sometimes happens to good people who are stumbling through life the best they can. All of these have happened in the lives of people I love. Some of them have happened in my own life, and any of them could. I have learned that people often make choices that make sense, even if they don't make sense to outsiders. I am more compassionate and patient with people whose lives include these things in some way.

Because I have been proven wrong so many times, I can only assume that I would be proven wrong again if I had experience in other thing. I am trying to be more compassionate and patient with people whose lives include things I don't understand, too. 

Unfortunately, my belief and my behavior don't always match. As much as I want to be loving to everyone, I sometimes think or say that someone else is making stupid choices, that someone else must not be a good as I--I make judgments based on my own incomplete understanding of the situation. But I can change, given time and room to grow. I can become the woman I want to be. Please be patient. Genuine compassion for all mankind is still installing.