Criticism allowed, revenge not

Last week Kevin and I recorded a new episode of our podcast The Mormon Closet and somewhere halfway through he asked me a question I took home with me: how do you actually deal with people who criticize your approach as a bishop?

I had to think for a moment. Not because I don't know the answer, but because the honest answer might be more uncomfortable than people sometimes expect. My first reflex to criticism is not defense. It's curiosity. I want to know where that criticism comes from. Especially when it comes from someone who has been hurt, I first try to understand where that pain lies.

Criticism from within

Our church receives quite a lot of criticism from outside. That doesn't surprise me. Something that doesn't affect anyone usually also evokes little reaction. Criticism doesn't automatically mean you're right, but it does mean that what you do stirs something up. For me, the most interesting conversation is not about criticism from people who hardly know the church. It's about criticism from within: from people who were once members, or still are, and who became disillusioned or hurt somewhere along the way. That's where it gets more personal.

The line between criticism and revenge

Our church places great importance on freedom of choice. For me, that also means you are free to think what you want. You may disagree with what the church teaches. You may say you no longer believe. You may leave the church. You may criticize, and outside the church you may even try to convince others of your point of view. Within the church, in lessons, in conversations with other members, the church asks something different: that you do not actively continue to proclaim a conviction that goes against what the church teaches as if it were the doctrine of the church itselfis. You may keep your opinion. What is asked is that you do not pass them on within those walls. Freedom of choice is only truly freedom of choice when we also tolerate the choice that we ourselves hope someone does not make.

For me, that is not where the line is drawn. The line is drawn elsewhere. Criticism can be sharp. It can be uncomfortable. It can even hurt me. But criticism becomes something else when it transforms into a personal vendetta, deliberate deception, intimidation, or the willful harming of people. For me, the difference between criticism and revenge is not in how harshly someone speaks, but in the manner and intent with which it is done.

The example of Mormon Stories

Take, for example, John Dehlin and his podcast Mormon Stories. Dehlin was once a member of our church and was eventually excommunicated after a decision by his local church leaders. According to his church leaders, this was not simply about him having doubts or criticism, but about publicly and repeatedly rejecting fundamental church beliefs and actively spreading them within the church itself, precisely the distinction that was already at play above. Dehlin himself, by the way, has always viewed that interpretation differently.That, too, I think, should be said. If you write about a conflict, you must be honest enough to admit that both parties do not necessarily agree on what exactly happened.

Today, there is also a legal conflict between the church and Mormon Stories regarding the use of certain protected elements in the design and branding of the podcast. The church has explicitly stated that it is not its intention to prohibit the use of the word 'Mormon' nor to deny Dehlin the right to criticize the church. According to the church, it concerns protected trademark material, images, and design that could potentially give the impression that Mormon Stories is officially connected to the church.Dehlin and Mormon Stories view the matter differently and see it as a threat to their freedom of speech. Ultimately, a judge will have to rule on the legal aspects.

What interests me in that discussion is something else. It is easy to say that criticism is allowed as long as that criticism barely affects you. The real test comes when someone with a large reach constantly questions or attacks something you love dearly. It is precisely then that it becomes clear whether you truly believe in freedom of choice and freedom of expression. I therefore find it important that the church itself explicitly states that Dehlin may continue to criticize her. She does not have to find his criticism pleasant, correct, or just in order torecognize his right to express that criticism.

Honest about a difficult history

What also personally helps me is that our church today deals with difficult questions from its history much more openly than before. We talk about polygamy, about the different accounts of the First Vision and about difficult or dark pages from our history. That is not always comfortable. Sometimes it even raises new questions. But honesty seems to me ultimately the only sustainable basis for faith. A faith that can only continue to exist when certain questions are not allowed to be asked, is, in my opinion, anyway toounstable.

What pain needs

But ultimately, something much more interests me than discussions about podcasts, history, or lawsuits. I sometimes hear stories from people who have left the church and who say they have been hurt by something someone in the church did or said. I don't want to dismiss their pain with a platitude like 'you just have to stand up for yourself' or 'the church is true, even if people make mistakes.' Such a statement might still be theologically correct, but at that moment, it hardly helps a hurt person move forward.

If someone tells me they have been hurt by people in the church, I don't need to first find out who was right. Pain doesn't become less real because it was unintentionally caused. Perhaps someone made a decision that seemed logical at the time and later turned out to be wrong. Perhaps a leader said something without realizing how much damage those words would cause. We are a church of people, and people make mistakes. Bishops too.

Then for me there is only one honest starting point: I'm sorry you're in pain. Tell me what happened. And if I can do something to lessen that pain or to set something right, then I want to try that.

Not winning, but continuing to listen

Because ultimately, for me, it's not about winning. Not about proving that the church is right and a critic is wrong. It's about the question of whether we dare to continue a conversation with each other when we fundamentally disagree. Whether I can listen to someone without immediately having my defense ready. And also whether someone who has criticism can make room for the fact that my faith is genuine and valuable to me.

As a bishop, my mission is serving, not convincing. I am not here to prove people right or wrong, but to bring them closer to Christ. And the longer I do this work, the more I realize that this only truly succeeds in one way: by first listening, also to pain, also to criticism, without immediately having an answer or a defense ready. Those who don't feel heard rarely come closer to Christ. Usually, they move further away.

We are not a church of perfect people. That needs to be said. We don't have to immediately see criticism as a threat. Sometimes criticism is unwarranted. Sometimes it's exaggerated. Sometimes it's painful. But sometimes it also shows us something we no longer saw ourselves.

Perhaps that is the most difficult form of freedom of choice: not only allowing others to think differently, but also remaining willing to listen to them.

How do you deal with criticism of something dear to you?