Courtesy of James R. Birrell

While checking in with a few former-member groups on FB, I came across this exquisitely-written assessment of the predicament faced by apostates as they continue to interact with those with whom they once shared a religious belief. Thank you, Mr. James Birrell, for giving me permission to re-post your eloquently-worded thoughts. Without further ado...Mr. Birrell.

"An Iranian student of mine, here at UVU, has been spending time with me sharing about his culture, faith, country, and perceptions of America--which right now is Utah County. He wore a beautiful necklace symbolizing his Zoroastrian faith: the Faravahar. It's beautiful, and I asked if I might have one to wear--if wearing it would not disrespect his faith tradition.

He brought me one last Friday and shared some of the meanings. He said, if you wear this, Iranians and others from the Middle East may come up to you and begin talking with you, because it will change how they see you. I put the necklace on and wore it out of the building. I passed three Middle Eastern men as I did, which is not unusual. What was unusual was that, for the first time in my three years here at UVU, one of them looked at the necklace and said, "hello."

I thought how wearing the Faravahar made me visible to some people, because the symbolism has status; thus, those who wear the symbol are now accorded status. They are no longer invisible. For ten seconds, as I passed that man, I was no longer invisible. For ten seconds I was "real" and "visible" in the perceptual world of a man who otherwise had no reason to see me or accord me status.

Mormonism does not escape that reality. Like any other group, there are symbols we give status to, including membership, level of activity, temple recommend holder, calling, gender, political affiliation, point-of-view, dress, etc. I think more often than not, what we are engaging within the church experience are those symbols: we see each other positionally as Bishop, President, home teacher, etc. We may come to know someone more personally, or visibly, than their place in the order, or how they contribute, hold power, or support us and our families. We may be moved by their knowledge of scripture, frequent testimonies, style of dress, figure or hair, etc. We may even become friends.

We see our perception of them, and according to what symbols we hold as valuable, we give value to them as an expression and affirmation of those symbols. I might give status to the Stake President, for instance, that I don't give to the Ward Librarian. I live in Utah and, while visiting Podunk, Iowa, I see garment lines through a shirt and think, "He is one of us," and accord him status.

We make people who wear the symbols of our faith, i.e., of our sense of what is true, and who is true, right and righteous, and who God surely approves of--because they are like us, etc., one of us, a part of us, real, visible, and approachable.

Without those symbols people are just one of seven billion faces in the sea of humanity that passes us as or almost as invisible, unless someone is attractive, or for some reason, engages us for a moment or lifetime. We size them up, symbolically. We assign status, accordingly.

And for Mormons, what do you do with a so-called apostate? A "doubter" can have status. An inactive member can have status. There is no status for one who intentionally walks away, after having once been enlightened--as the holy Mormon writings say. There is no status, or way to give status from that place that gives status in the first place--belief, acceptance, certainty.

So, those who leave the faith trouble those who stay, because they do not know how to make them visible--that would mean returning them to status somehow; how can the believer do that? Too often when the formerly visible becomes painfully invisible, that which was once so visible becomes inaccessible--and for some even, so lamentable or deplorable, and so painful, that they cannot even be lovable to formerly visible, now exiled one. The once visible becomes--as it were--invisible, as if they were dead, and from that place you can experience all sorts of hurtful actions from those who once held you as equal, and who now have no way to see you at all, except as wrong, lost, destroying our family, captured by the enemy, or worse.

And the truth is, they never really saw you when you were active--save in so far as you met their need to fit and affirm their symbolic sense of reality--you were the righteous priesthood holder, or dutiful wife; you played a role--you were that role! The life of the "exile" is to be invisible to those believers who have no symbolic place to love "all" as the self, as required by their faith. The only currency between people who require status from one another to be OK seems to be pain....and that part can be so hard to make invisible to believers or exiles. The former faith has no status; thus neither does the continued believer. Apostasy has no status; thus, neither does the self-exiled.

From that place, there is only pain! Until there is another way to experience life between the still faithful and once former believer! And that way for you is.........."

My reply, by the way, was quite short: I experience life as stardust, by the way. If I, you, and all the TBMs we know are truly the Cosmos Made Conscious, (thank you, Brian Cox!) we are all products of our genetics/upbringing/race/nationality/religion/influences/experiences, and though I may not relate to any of those particulars, they make up a person who is who and what I'd have been had I been born to/lived with all those particulars. They are a reflection of me - the cosmos made conscious, little bits of stardust - that differs insofar as their collective existence, but are a complete record of who I could've been. How can I not love that, if and when I'm willing (and disciplined) enough to look beyond myself?

I'd love to hear YOUR thoughts! Comment away, people! :)