On a snowy Sunday morning in December, I sat on the end of a
pew, next to the wall, in the chapel of my Mormon ward house. My husband stood
at the front of the room, holding our brand new daughter in his arms,
surrounded by men in our family, a few male friends, and the bishopric of our
new ward. He spoke sacred words and blessed and named our child. It was
beautiful to hear. But I have no idea what it looked like, because I was in the
congregation. Sitting in a seat on the edge of a pew, like I was holding up the
wall.
One cold Saturday in late November, I leaned against a wall
trying to get a glimpse of my daughter’s baptism while my husband served as an
official witness to her big moment. She
was in the water with her uncle—he had never married and had no children, so
she wanted him to have a chance to baptize someone—and I was in the crowd. I
was straining my neck around a corner above the font, hoping to see her with my
own eyes, instead of through the heads of our friends and family. I saw it in
the mirror over the pool of water. As I clung to the brick, like I was holding
up the wall.
On March 14, 2010, my 12 year-old son sat in a chair in the
middle of the bishop’s office. My husband stood in a circle with his brothers
and his dad, our bishopric, and some ward acquaintances who would soon be our
son’s youth group leaders. I sat in a chair against the wall, and listened to
the prayer they offered as they ordained my son to the Aaronic priesthood in
our church. I did not lay my hands on his head, nor did I offer any words of
hope and faith in the prayer. I sat in a chair pushed to the edge of the room,
like I was holding up the wall.
These were three beautiful days in the lives of my children.
They were welcomed into the world, into the church, and into the priesthood
that we hold sacred. My husband was there to usher them in—he is a wonderful
man, worthy of such a task—and I am grateful for that. But I was not allowed to
participate in any way, other than as a spectator. I was literally placed at
the edge of these rooms, as though my only purpose was to hold up the wall and
keep it from caving in.
At the risk of sounding whiny, I am just going to say it: I
am tired of holding up the wall. The wall that keeps women from priesthood ordination
is the same wall that keeps women from any position of authority or true
decision-making power in the Church. It has separated me from my true potential
as a daughter of Heavenly Parents. It has limited my service to the kingdom of
God because of my gender. This wall has left me powerless and voiceless in the
Church I chose as a teen, and has filled me with fear and dread as an adult
with questions.
So, for me, and the women who came before me, and the women
who come after me, I have decided to do all that I can to tear down that wall.
If I have to do it brick by brick, I will. Women took a brick down in December
when, faced with threats and name-calling, we wore pants to church (GASP!). We
took another brick out when, after accusations of apostasy and pride, we wrote
letters to have a woman pray in General Conference (DOUBLE GASP!). Two bricks
down. And on Saturday, October 5th, I will aim for another brick,
when I walk quietly to a line for tickets to the priesthood session of General
Conference.
I do not do this to destroy the Lord’s house. I do not do
this to embarrass my leaders.
I do this because I believe that this wall is socially
constructed and not holy doctrine. I believe that this wall cuts through the
middle of the Lord’s house, dividing us. And only when it is knocked down, and
His people are able to serve fully together, will we truly be able to fulfill
His commandments.
