I give anyone permission to remind me of this post if I ever jump too quickly into a conversation without respecting different languages of faith.

Thanks mucho again for the post. Really spoke my language.

(Actually I have no idea what I am skin tone wise, but I do like Autumn! The word and the season. So clearly that’s the label I should use for my language of faith.)

Diane, wow, that’s a crazy story, especially the part about visiting teaching the woman who thought you were full of the devil. That could be some lively visiting teaching! I should confess, though, that I am in fact a born and bred Mormon, pioneer ancestors, BYU education–the works. Are you saying that I’m doomed to be clueless at church?

newt, we should totally write a quiz. One of those internet things which on the basis of a few questions deduces your entire personality. I’ll put it on Facebook. Really, that’s such a good point about how this helps you be more compassionate and understanding both with yourself and others.

cyclingred and Enna, ahh yes, the crying factor. Like Enna, I am such a crier. I cry all the time and at all kinds of thing. It can actually be frustrating in some situations. But oddly enough, I rarely if ever cry in church. I’m not really sure what’s up with that. When we were teens, several of the ZDs had a reputation for being the stoic family that didn’t cry at girls’ camp. Empirical evidence of our lack of spirituality. (I know you’re thinking to yourself, ha, I knew those ZDs were heathens!)

Lynette, I completely don’t remember the talk. Either you’re so completely unpretentious, or I just wasn’t there. both are highly likely.

RC, I buy into your theory. Well put.

Kaimi and RecessionCone, I appreciate the reassurance that I don’t come across as pretentious. (One of my few goals at church is to not be the person in SS who raises their hand and says in their best GA voice, “in the original Greek . . .” Unlikely in my case, since I don’t read Greek. But anyway.) RC, lol, I was carefully not including details about where this happened because of the number of people in the ward that read ZD; I was imagining someone coming by to comment and agree with this person. (Which is totally narcissistic because really how many people remember talks after a year, or even a month, or even an afternoon?) But anyway, thanks–I’m glad you liked the talk!

I have a friend who was told by a woman in her ward, “i can’t be your friend, I just feel too guilty and inadequate around you.” It was a really hurtful for my friend to hear, because she needed this woman as a friend and didn’t think that she should be pushed away because she’s good at things (smart, ambitious, organized, athletic, etc)

I’ve discovered in myself (since I was a child) a tendency to rate people as better than me (or not). It’s something I’ve always struggled to overcome. I suppose everyone does it to some extent or we wouldn’t be starstruck in the face of celebrities. But, my guess is that when we see someone who is clearly amazing that we assume that nothing we can say will detract from what must be a well-deserved high self-esteem. Thus, this woman didn’t’ think she could hurt your feelings because you’re so damn smart.

But, back to your original subject, I think languages of faith makes sense. I don’t think we value authenticity in our church nearly as much as we value obedience and continuity. So, I don’t know that the woman really thought you were being inauthentic to you, but she didn’t think you were reflecting HER version of spirituality.

And truth be told, I do want to hear people who think like me speak in church. Is there something wrong with that?

In general, I tend to respond to these types of criticism by writing them off as unwitting expressions of inferiority by the person making the criticism. On my mission, one of my companions was very fond of saying that I might be the smartest person in the mission, but I sure lacked “common sense”. I was never sure exactly what he meant by “common sense”, but I came to understand that for him, these declarations were a defensive mechanism – my intellectual bent put him on the defensive, and so he had to come up with some reason why all my brains were actually not that important or useful, because they prevented me from living the good life him and all his friends who happily find themselves possessed with an abundance of common sense.

I think this episode falls in the same category – the commenter, perhaps subconsciously, felt threatened by your insights, and so she responded by deciding that what you were saying wasn’t actually that important or useful, because you didn’t really “feel” it. I would just translate her comments into a statement: my testimony is genuine, I feel the truth of everything I say, and that more than makes up for my lack of intellectual insights into the gospel.

Perhaps the ease with which I brush off criticism reveals my pride and other character flaws, but at least I find it comforting.