To “Ordain Women.” Let’s talk.

I recognize that there have been a lot of angry discussions lately about your organization’s goals. You have received all kinds of media attention and been responded to by the whole spectrum, from death threats to applause. While there may be a lot of meaningful and serious doctrinal issues at play, I am a practical woman and will be appealing to you from a practical position. 

 

You see, I happen to believe that the priesthood is not a doctrinal issue, but an inherent one. Since we know that gender is innate and not simply a construct of this life. I believe the priesthood, like chest hair, is just a problem for men. Of course, these sorts of theories are the reason that Brother “likes to correct people” (you know the one) always raises his hand in Sunday school immediately after the teacher invites me to comment. He knows he has to correct me quickly to prevent mass, Mormon hysteria.

So, for Brother “likes to correct people’s”   sake, we’ll assume you are right and women are only prevented from holding the priesthood because of cultural bias. Let’s also assume that protesting is an effective way to change this policy. Now, let’s jump forward in time to the point where you have accomplished your goals and the church has begun ordaining women and men to the priesthood. It’s basically utopia, right?  

Remember the concept of “the same ten people?” It’s changed a bit in our inclusive world. You see, Sister “does everything right” has been called as bishop. You know her. She’s the one who has the same number of hands as the rest of us but manages to do so much more with them. This is because she is listening to her upcoming lesson on audiobook while sweeping the floor, one-handed, so she can make dinner for someone who is almost sick with the other. Her left foot manages to fold laundry and her right is painting a mural in her daughter’s bedroom. She is also singing a hymn in preparation for her family musical number in sacrament, during which her dozen children (who you didn’t realize were even there because they were all sitting quietly reading their scriptures and doing calculus in their heads) will each play a different instrument while quoting all thirteen articles of faith in unison. When you ask her how she does it all, she self-deprecatingly says she “saw it on pintrest,” but you are certain that it was only on pintrest because SHE put it there and probably wrote the code for the website as well.  

Okay, back to Utopia. She’s the bishop too, now, and the chapel is, admittedly, much cuter than it used to be. The sacrament trays are handmade of wood, painted with daisies and then coated in mod podge, and there are refreshments served after every meeting. You see, the “same ten people” is now just Sister “does everything right.” Still, she seems to be handling everything well. It doesn’t sound so bad does it?

If you look out in the congregation, you see your first problem. The men are sitting alone with the children while the women pass the sacrament and preside over the meeting. Looking a little closer, you will see my bench. As I try to envision this, I ask myself, “Could my husband take care of all seven of my children during the meeting without me?”  Maybe. If Sister “does everything right” sits with him, as she often does with me, when I’m alone. Oh wait. She’s the bishop. Well, I’m pretty sure he’s doing okay despite that. The kids’ hands and feet are wrapped in duct tape and they’re attempting to grab the sacrament cup with their teeth, but this really isn’t the first time that’s happened, even if we don’t live the utopian future. 

None of this is really that bad. My daughters are dressed in the hijab and full body armor for modesty and their brothers are wearing  minecraft t-shirts with overly polished penny loafers, because that’s how my fantastic husband interpreted the instruction to dress them in their “best clothes.” But I’m quite sure he’s actually capable of learning to brush their hair, eventually. He did it, after all, when I was young women’s president and had to go in early for meetings some Sundays and he does have that youtube tutorial where the dad uses the vacuum hose to make a ponytail now. I suppose Sundays will work out without too much insanity. 

The rest of the week would change too. 

Let's take a minute to examine a typical Tuesday night. Sister "blessed with trials" is having a really hard time. She turns to her husband and asks for a priesthood blessing. Unfortunately, he's gotten used to Bishop "does everything right" taking all responsibilities out of his hands. As such, he's really busy with other things and tells his wife, "I'm sorry, hun. I'm really close to leveling up on World of Warcraft. Can't you call your visiting teachers to do it? They're both much smarter than me anyway." She really can't argue with that logic, and so gives me a call. Knowing the importance of my church responsibilities, I tell my husband that he is going to need to feed the kids and put them to bed. He's very loving and supportive. But after I leave, the apocalypse begins.

The kids want spaghetti, and that doesn't sound all that hard. Nate takes a pot out of the cupboard and puts the noodles in it, placing them on the hot range because he doesn't realize water is necessary. Still, considering that he's male, he seems to be off to a reasonable start.

While he's looking through the cupboard for the ketchup (which he assumes is what we usually use for spaghetti sauce), our oldest son comes in with his homework, asking for help. Nate stares at the math problem, perplexed. (In his defense, Nate has an undergraduate degree in mathematics, so common core is necessarily nonsensical to him.)

While he's trying to make any sense of the scribbles on the paper, one of my "three under three" wanders into the kitchen, completely naked, and proudly announces that she used the potty. Nate recognizes that as the greater catastrophe and runs into the bathroom to clean up the mess. On his way, he grabs the baby. After plopping the little one in the bath, he turns to the mess around the toilet. Not knowing where the rags, cleaners, or bleach wipes are, he grabs the bath towel. He manages to transfer the mess onto the towel and subsequently attempts to flush it down the toilet.

He doesn't notice the clog, however, because he smells something burning and runs back into the kitchen. The dry noodles have begun to blacken on the bottom and smoke is copiously billowing from the pan. He grabs a glass of water and pours it onto the gas fire that was heating the noodles, not realizing that failing to turn the dial off causes gas to escape into the house. This is probably because he's distracted by the sound of running water coming from the bathroom and the puddle making its way down the hall.

Wait a minute. This is beginning to sound a little offensive, even to me. It occurs to me that my husband is my equal in every way. He's brilliant, sensitive, hardworking and capable of accomplishing anything he sets his mind to. Suddenly, it seems a bit insane to imply that just because I am the one who does something for our family, he's not capable of doing it. I'm starting to think that this whole scenario wouldn't play out like a comedy of errors at all.  Nate is highly educated and an all-around amazing man. He's actually more than capable of doing my job. 

Let's try this again, keeping my husband's exceptional nature in mind. Unfortunately, this version of the future isn't as fun to read. Nate manages to make dinner, help with homework, clean up messes, bath the kids and get them dressed for bed. After the older ones are in bed, he picks up the sick baby (at least one of them is always sick) and sits in his recliner to rock her. 

As he leans back, with his daughter on his chest, softly smoothing her hair and kissing her head, he feels an overwhelming sense of... humiliation. He was meant for more than this. His brilliance, imagination, training and righteousness are being absolutely wasted. Why is his advanced mind not out leading the church, rather than helping with fifth grade homework? Why isn't he called to a service worthy of his talents? Why does his wife get to do what is clearly the greater service when he is my equal in every way?

Why does he feel this way? I dunno. This is your future, not mine. But, if you don't buy into the argument that a woman's calling is different from a man's because she is less than him or vice-versa, (and the doctrine is pretty clear on that-read anything by Pres. Hinckley), then the only reason to demand the right to do someone else's job is because you feel their job is superior to yours. 

Oh, sisters, Satan has never perpetuated a greater lie than this. It is embedded in our culture. It is taught by our politicians. It is preached in our schools. It is, sadly, embraced by so many of us that it is written on some of our hearts. The idea, the fable, the great deception that the calling of motherhood is somehow less than the calling of the priesthood is truly the single most destructive idea Satan has ever preached. Is it less valuable to nurture than to provide? Are these jobs really unequal? Does one require more talent and ingenuity than the other? It can certainly be argued that one is more thankless than the other. But that's just in the short term. In the spiritual, eternal sense, that too, is a lie. 

I suspect that none of the scenarios I playfully shared here will ever happen. Instead, there will be a day (hopefully several) when I stay home while my amazing husband rushes out to give a blessing. And when I sit in the recliner, gently rocking my beautiful baby, I will know, as the spirit continually testifies to me, that I am there because there is no job that is greater than mine, not because I am not good enough to do his. There's certainly no job I'd rather be doing.

Put me in the nursery. Ask me to serve with the scouts. Call me to the library. Or release me from everything and let me be just a mother. Demanding a different calling is a search for glory, not value. I know the value of my service; please stop trying to make it seem like less than it is. As the Savior taught, the glory belongs to the Lord. I am privileged to be trying my best to heed the Savior’s call to “feed his sheep.” I am so grateful for my womanhood and it’s divine, exquisite, sacred calling.