The Weight of Priesthood

But, then again, the priesthood could be a social construction, something that keeps Mormons organized and the men on top. After all, my polygamous ancestors firmly believed that people who didn't enter into plural marriage were unworthy of the highest orders of heaven. I'd like to think that perhaps they were a little wrong about that as my monogamy is pretty well in place. I want to tell myself that plural marriage was a social construction helpful in keeping the Mormons organized and the men on top. But you don't practice plural marriage unless you believe in it. There has to be some unquestionable core, something transcendent that gives all the pain and wondering some meaning. If I believe in the priesthood only as a social construction, I wonder if it will fail me because I failed it. In which case, why hold on to superstition? It won't work anyway.

This is reality: I doubt. I yearn. My doubt is not going away any time soon. Things I once thought were permanent fade. My stories, which once fit into the larger story, are becoming too complex.

It's anticlimactic to start over, I know. You can't keep the original drama, and you run the chance of boring the audience. But what if I cleared away all the scenery? What if I emptied the whole room and left all the stories behind? Is there any place I can begin again?

Well, sometimes, at night, I crawl over to watch my two boys as they sleep, and I can't resist the impulse to lay my hands upon the head, first of one, then of the other. Though one hand can cover most of the top of a small head, I use both hands. At once I feel completely connected with them -- as if I am in the midst of the most intimate gesture that can occur between two people. And it seems, during those moments, that the weight is lifted, or shared, or completely buoyed. No healings. No miracles. No stories.

I'll start here.

Stephen Carter responded to questions about this article here.

Stephen Carter and his wife, Noelle, completed their MFAs in creative writing. They have two children and are working on their Ph.D.s in cross-cultural education. Stephen has been published in Dialogue, Sunstone, The Sugar Beet, Irreantum, and various newspapers. He makes a living going to small Alaskan villages to teach K-12 students documentary filmmaking.