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I’ll start with a picture that makes sense in any big family: a big, sturdy house that your grandparents built with their bare hands. The foundation is thick. The beams are solid. Then one generation comes along and says, “We inherited this place. Let’s knock down a few walls, open up the living room, and maybe throw some parties.” And because the bones of the house are strong, nothing collapses right away. In fact, it can feel amazing: more freedom, less shame, fewer rules.

But here’s the catch: a house can survive a lot of bad decisions when it’s still living off the strength of the original build. If you keep pulling out beams, if you let water sit in the walls, if you stop doing maintenance, the collapse doesn’t happen on day one. It happens later. Sometimes it happens when your kids are grown. Sometimes it happens when your grandkids are moving in.

That, in plain English, is the warning at the heart of J. D. Unwin’s theory.

Unwin’s Argument: Societies Run on “Stored” Discipline

Unwin was an early-20th-century social anthropologist who tried to answer a blunt question: why do some societies surge with creativity, conquest, science, and organization… and then lose that edge? In Sex and Culture, he reviewed a wide range of societies and focused on one variable that, frankly, most modern people would rather treat as “private”: sexual norms. He tracked what he called “sexual opportunity”—basically, how much a society allows sex outside of strict commitments and how strongly it enforces limits before and after marriage. 

Then comes the line Unwin is most famous for, because it states the trade-off in one sentence:

“Any human society is free to choose either to display great energy or to enjoy sexual freedom; the evidence is that it cannot do both for more than one generation.” 

In Unwin’s framework, you can, for a time, enjoy the “advantages of high culture” while also “abolish[ing] compulsory continence,” but you’re basically trying to “keep [your] cake and consume it.” 

And while Unwin’s explanation for the phenomenon—pent-up sexual energy is spent on greater cultural pursuits—is out of favor, his observation that the phenomenon occurs over and over in civilization after civilization continues to hold up. 

The Three-Generation Delay

Here’s where Unwin gets especially relevant to modern America: he insists the consequences are delayed.

He warns that “the social energy… displayed at any time… depends not only upon the sexual opportunity it enjoys but also upon that enjoyed by the two preceding generations,” and that “it takes at least three generations for an extension or a limitation of sexual opportunity to have its full cultural effect.” If a society wants to control its cultural destiny by changing sexual opportunity, “such decrease or increase will appear in the third generation.” 

So the first generation that loosens the rules may feel fine—even successful. Why? Because they were raised by parents and grandparents who still had tighter norms. They still carry “moral muscle memory”: habits of commitment, delayed gratification, duty, and sacrifice. They can break the rules and still function because their character was formed under the old system.

But their children don’t inherit the old system. They inherit the new one.

This is the uncomfortable moral math Unwin forces onto the table: a society can spend its moral capital for a while. It just can’t do it forever. And the people who cash the check are often not the same people who pay the bill.

Why the Sexual Revolution Fits the Three-Generation Pattern

Now let’s talk about the United States.

Then came the sexual revolution of the 1960s and the decades that followed: the normalization of premarital sex, the celebration of “no strings attached,” the idea that commitment is optional but pleasure is a right, and the steady uncoupling of sex, marriage, and childbearing. You don’t need to insult anyone to admit that the norms shifted fast.

If Unwin is right about the lag, we should expect a timeline like this:

• Gen 1 loosens norms but still largely runs on old discipline (they were raised in the old world).
• Gen 2 grows up in transition—conflicted, divided standards.
• Gen 3 grows up with the new norms as the default. The old habits aren’t inherited; they’re museum pieces.

That lands us roughly in the 2000s and 2010s as the era when the deeper “cultural effect” should be obvious. And look at the family structure numbers—because family structure is where sexual norms impact real life.

In 1960, 5.3% of U.S. births were to unmarried women. By 1990, it was 28.0%, and by 1999 it was 33.0%. In recent data, the CDC reports 40.0% of all U.S. births were to unmarried women in 2023. Meanwhile, the U.S. Census Bureau reports married-couple households made up 71% of households in 1970, but 47% in 2022. These are not tiny shifts. That is a different civilization pattern.

You can argue about causes, pointing to economics, technology, globalization, and politics. But Unwin helps explain why so many problems cluster together: when sex is “free,” marriage becomes fragile; when marriage becomes fragile, childrearing becomes unstable; when childrearing becomes unstable, the next generation arrives less equipped for long-term discipline; when long-term discipline collapses, institutions rot. That is how a society “goes downhill” without a single barbarian at the gate. And we are already seeing its effects in politics, but also in culture, such as the dramatic decline in original music. 

“But I’m doing fine.” 

Here’s the line that hits hardest, especially for people like me who’ve watched cousins run the whole spectrum from church kids to party kids and back again: You can reject your religious heritage and still feel okay. You can be a good person while living in a permissive sexual culture. You can build a successful career and raise good children.

Unwin would shrug and say: of course. That’s generation one or two. You are still spending what you inherited. 

But what happens when your children have no inherited picture of covenant, sacrifice, and restraint—only consent and impulse? What happens when the default cultural script is not “build a family” but “maximize experiences”? What happens when children are shaped by pornography and other distorted messages before they are taught their divine worth and the power of righteous boundaries?

Moral values are not just personal choices; they are intergenerational infrastructure, inherited wisdom. These lessons are personal for those who see their children reject covenants and moral code but remain stable because the inherited moral structure is still there. It is their children or grandchildren who will ultimately pay the price, although those generations can return of their own accord. 

Can the Trend Reverse? Unwin Says Yes—at a Price

Unwin is not fatalistic. He explicitly writes: “All these processes are reversible.” He even describes societies that tightened norms and regained energy. His example of the Arabs is blunt: he calls them “an authenticated instance” of a people who moved from permitting premarital intercourse to instituting premarital chastity, reducing sexual opportunity, and then displaying expansive energy. 

But here’s the part modern ears need to hear: Unwin doesn’t treat reversal as a vibes-based “be nicer” campaign. He treats it as structural. If you want the energy back, you have to rebuild the discipline system. And then you have to wait for the third generation.

So the prescription is not “go backwards to female subjugation.” It’s the opposite: equal dignity, plus serious restraint—a moral culture that demands more of men and women, not less.

What Should the U.S. Actually Do? 

If we take Unwin seriously, then moral renewal is not a slogan. It’s policy, culture, and habit—starting in families, reinforced by institutions.

Here are five concrete shifts America should make:

1. Rebuild “marriage first” as a public norm (not merely a private preference). Not by criminalizing people. By re-normalizing the idea that sex belongs inside a committed, durable union—and that the default path to adulthood is building a stable family, not sampling endless dating options.
2. Protect children from sexualization and pornography as a baseline public health goal.  A culture that floods kids with explicit content is teaching them a sexual worldview before they have the maturity to resist it. If sexual restraint is “infrastructure,” then childhood innocence is the construction zone. (This is where parents, schools, tech companies, and lawmakers all have a role.) States passing laws requiring IDs to access online pornography are moving in the right direction.
3. Make it easier to form and keep stable marriages—especially for the working class.  A marriage culture collapses when young adults can’t afford housing, can’t plan, and can’t imagine a future. Economic stability doesn’t replace morality, but it supports it. Unwin knew restraint has to be “tolerable,” not just idealistic. The housing crisis is a morality crisis.
4. Treat divorce as a last resort, not a casual exit—while protecting abuse victims fiercely. If commitment is always provisional, people stop building lives that require patience and forgiveness. We can defend the safety of vulnerable spouses and admit that “divorce by mutual consent” as a norm corrodes the inherited discipline that makes civilizations stable.
5. Recover the religious and moral formation that taught self-control—and stop pretending we can outsource it to therapists and HR departments.  I’m not saying everyone must be religious. I’m saying a society that discards its moral tradition cannot act surprised when it loses moral habits within a few generations. The lack of religious faith can be tolerated without being normalized. Unwin’s model says the loss shows up later—right when we’re tempted to call it “mysterious.” 

You Don’t Keep the Benefits You Refuse to Pass Down

Unwin’s theory is offensive to modern pride because it suggests limits are not the enemy of freedom; they’re the source of the kind of freedom that builds things. He doesn’t say sexual restraint makes people nicer. He says it makes societies energetic—capable of long effort, real sacrifice, and deep culture. 

The United States is living through the delayed bill of the sexual revolution—not because every individual choice is evil, but because a civilization is more than individuals. It’s a chain of formation.

We really can choose “permissive living” in our one life and still feel fine, especially when we were formed by those who created the foundation. That’s the danger. The house still stands—so we assume the beams were unnecessary. But within three generations, the foundation we quietly depended on is gone. 

If Unwin is right, the question in front of America isn’t “How do we feel about sex?” The question is: Do we want the kind of people—and the kind of future—that only disciplined love can produce?

The post Pulling Out the Beams appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

I asked a therapist for help. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but at least some kind of serious therapeutic intervention.

The counselor gave me a book. A children’s book. Like, with pictures.

I was incredulous. The suggestion felt minimizing, as though my family’s dilemma was not important. My incredulity lasted until another friend, a Kindergarten teacher with plenty of experience in the ways of crying 4-year-olds, confirmed the counsel: 

“You need to read him stories.”  

But wait, I do read him stories. Plenty of them. What was I missing? You might as well have told me to look at a brazen serpent on a pole.

“They’re called social stories,” she explained. “They will give him a pattern to follow. Read him a story about how a child was nervous to go to school but was brave and how it all worked out.” 

I returned to this therapist a couple of weeks later, humbled to report that it had worked like magic. 

Like. Magic.

The story really did the trick. As it turns out, human beings are mimickers—mirroring whatever we see around us, both good and bad. And for my boy, the social story became a template to introduce a better story he could live up to.  

By small and simple things. I’m struck by how boring the most important societal solutions often are. Checklists in hospitals save lives, and exercise and good sleep are among the very best cures for a whole host of ailments (including mental ones). Yet they are overlooked precisely because they are already known—commonplace, even. And yet, they make the biggest difference of all.

It wasn’t a bad talk. It was funny in parts and saccharine in others, and it hit the right notes—with people smiling in the right places. But it wasn’t a great talk—partly, perhaps, because of the advice I got beforehand: “Be very careful. Mother’s Day is hard. Be inclusive. And sensitive. Be sure to be kind. Don’t say anything too risky.”

Whatever compliments came afterward, I couldn’t shake the sense that it had been an utterly empty talk. When President M. Russell Ballard was asked if it is hard to give a talk at the Church’s General Conference, he said, “No. What’s hard is giving a good one.”

Preach, brother.

And so, to that poor struggling saint, who represents my tiny intended audience, here are a few words of reassurance. You have an opportunity to do something meaningful this Father’s Day. In fact, you can do something that is more than just good or encouraged or even strongly recommended; you can do something morally urgent in our day. 

You can tell the stories of good men.

Exemplary depictions. Some of our stories get this right. Let me recount two of my favorite scenes in modern cinema. You’re in for a treat, too: I’m a rather refined cinephile—no doubt due to the refined tastes of the people I choose to surround myself with. (My kids, ages 2, 5, 7, and 9.) The film in question is The Lion King. 

I asked a friend of mine which scene best portrayed masculinity in a positive light. He suggested, “It’s the one where Mufasa saves Simba, right?”

Close. It’s actually the scene directly after that one. After dispersing the ravenous hyenas and rescuing his boy with a roar, Mufasa, king of the pride lands, takes his son to the side for “a lesson.” Simba is sternly corrected by his father for putting himself (and his companions) at risk. It is a hard rebuke, even if filled with loving concern. The conversation ends with expressions of affection and playful tussling in the grass. In a moment of heavy foreshadowing, Simba asks if they will always be together. “Let me tell you something my father told me,” Mufasa says in response. “Look at the stars. The great kings of the past look down on us from those stars. So whenever you feel alone, just remember those kings will always be up there to guide you. And so will I.”

The second scene is the emotional climax of the movie: Simba, now grown, has finally come to himself. He climbs pride rock in the pouring rain, and having defeated the villainous Scar, he hears the spirit of Mufasa thunder, “Remember …” who you are. Simba takes courage and finally accepts his place as king. He roars—symbolically accepting coronation—as his kingdom roars back in assent. 

Remember these scenes. We’ll come back to them.

Masculinity is the Solution

I’m struck by a recent bit of research by Jenet Jacob Erickson, James McQuivey, and Brad Wilcox. From the article: “New research finds that the happiest and strongest women self-identify as feminine.” That’s a surprising finding: I’ve always assumed that it takes courage to reject cultural gender norms. It never struck me that it might take courage to embrace them. (And those who do appear to be better off in a number of ways.)

I can’t speak to femininity, but there is certainly a degree of courage required in embracing healthy, noble, even heroic masculinity as well—and pushing back on what the larger culture says men are by nature. Some of the tropes about men are that they are doofuses, absent, irresponsible, or angry. We hear of rebellious teen boys or grown men who still live in their mothers’ basements. Some consider toxic masculinity an inability to express emotion, a need to bottle up anger or resentment until it later explodes, harming everyone within the blast radius. Another strand of toxicity is a man who is willing to use violence to get what he wants—particularly from a woman.

To be clear, there is nothing manful about anything in these examples. It’s another case of backwardness: what we call “toxic masculinity” is most often a refusal to become a man, to shoulder responsibilities, reject resentment, and face difficulty with courage. We are calling the problem “masculinity” when most often it is “juvenility.” Masculinity isn’t the problem; it’s the solution.

Meanwhile, our culture has turned not merely against men but against the manly virtues: moral accountability, courage, responsibility, and emotional stoicism. I don’t know what makes these things manly—certainly, women can (and do) exemplify all of them—but they are too often reflected in our media as bad by default. 

Let me explain just two such examples.

1. Moral Accountability. 

When the Texas shooter’s father was asked about his son, he responded, “I don’t want them calling him a monster … they don’t know nothing, man. They don’t know anything he was going through.” This parallels his mother’s statements to “please don’t judge him” and “he had his reasons.” My heart goes out to Salvador Ramos’ parents, who plead for mercy for a son who has done unspeakable horrors. I can’t imagine the hell they have gone through. 

And yet, from a Christian perspective, mercy in the face of evil is hardly merciful to either those who suffer or even to the perpetrator himself. In contrast to this father’s pleas for mercy, the mighty Mufasa corrects and rebukes his son, positively flowing with wisdom, authority, and accountability. Excusing our most despicable acts is a form of subsidy for the very worst of our behaviors. There is nothing moral about it.

As the youth these days are wont to say: this scene “slaps.”

And yet, that is not the message our youth are getting. Too often, they are hearing that any kind of “authority”—especially “moral authority”—is to be held in suspicion. In a recent lesson about avoiding the perils of “permissive” teaching and “authoritarian” teaching, I highlighted the research around “authoritative” teaching that combines both love and healthy structure. I was surprised by this student’s comment: “Can’t we change the name? I don’t like how it still sounds like the word ‘authority.’”

Any kind of strong judgments or emphases on consequences or accountability are likewise quickly seen as wrongheaded. Yet we must call evil that which is evil. Now, I have no interest in judging the shooter’s parents. I do, however, judge our culture, which too often maintains that when someone has committed an act of ultimate horror, they too should be given mercy and grace. This is mercy robbing justice. It is wrong. As Isaiah said of the Messiah, “He will reprove with equity for the sake of the meek.” Moral accountability isn’t for the punished; it is for the victims. We have increasingly lost our sense of moral accountability, and to the degree that continues, it will end in more suffering, not less, and that suffering will primarily land on the meekest among us.

Good times make weak men, which make hard times, which make good men, and so the story repeats. It seems to me that we are somewhere after “weak men” and just before “hard times.” Maybe I worry too much, but my work in schools has given me ample reason to be nervous. Teachers are known to grumble. (On any given day, 80% of teachers will tell you that this is the hardest batch of kids they’ve ever had.) And yet, behind the grumbling is something more sinister; something is off. Crime is up. Drinking is up. There is a feeling that America is coming apart at the seams. We feel it in the mental health crisis, in our political friction, and in a lot of other things. We’ve gone through a pandemic, and now we face a mental health crisis, a war, and major inflation. 

I don’t think the solution is mere policy. When the pandemic came around, I said on social media that it seemed to be a good idea to repent. I wasn’t joking. (And even if I’m wrong, it never hurts.) The real solution is humbling ourselves and turning again to what is good and right, but that will require us to find again our sense of moral accountability.

2. Embracing Responsibility. 

High epic fantasy is still defined by Tolkien’s world of elves, hobbits, men, and lesser gods in The Lord of the Rings. In the final triumphant installment of the trilogy, “The Return of the King,” the heir to the throne of Gondor, a quiet, shadowy figure named Strider, fights valiantly, embraces his true identity, and finally takes his place as Aragon II Elessar, king of Gondor.  

That saga about a man who decides to accept his role as king is, of course, the same story as Simba climbing Pride rock. They both depict a manliness that is inherently about accepting responsibility. In contrast to yet another much-debated statement by Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez about “toxic masculinity” in the wake of this Texas shooting, she wasn’t just wrong. She had things backward.

I have a difficult time seeing such evil as school shootings as anything but a tantrum—throwing a fit, but with a gun. There is nothing manful about it, nothing decent nor masculine. Manliness and masculinity are about accepting responsibility and rejecting resentment, not the reverse. 

One of the benefits of speaking more of heroic masculinity is that it displaces the counterfeits. Returning to another cinematic example, among the great complaints about the portrayal of Anakin Skywalker in the prequels was that he was boring: He was just an angry teenager, a loser who refused to grow up. Little wonder, then, that he became the equivalent of a sith school shooter. Look, too, at the mediocre manager who shows his authority by flexing his bureaucratic muscles, the gym rat who shows how manly he is with literal muscles, or the jock who does it by being a “player.” If you want these stories to die, you have to do more than not tell them; you have to actively replace them. 

In The Lord of the Rings, Aragorn is more than a character; he’s a symbol—of bravery, of authority, and of the goodness that can be man’s. This is precisely the kind of story we need to hear more about. Heroic masculinity isn’t merely being a “manly man,” it’s being a good one—a godly man, a decent one, a trustworthy man, and a self-controlled one; courageous, true, and devoted to things that are far above himself. 

Simba leaves behind a childhood of Hakuna Matata and finally turns toward responsibility. Strider rises again to become Aragorn, the true ruler of Gondor. Both embrace their birthright and obligation to duty and self-sacrifice, finally taking their rightful places as mighty kings. They accept the burden of responsibility. 

Heroic Masculinity: The Return of the Kings

I asked a friend of mine what the “opposite of toxic masculinity” was. I was hoping for a word like “healthy” or “positive” or “noble” or even “heroic,” but instead, she said something far more brilliant: “Aragorn.”

She pointed me to a brilliant Cinema Therapy video that I recommend enthusiastically. It discusses toxic masculinity and how Aragorn is the opposite of it. He shows emotions. He treats women with respect. He is valiant and brave and courageous but equally humble. He is a master swordsman and poet. 

And while I give the highest marks to cinematherapy for their work, it struck me that the best word they had for Aragorn was merely “non-toxic.” I think we can do better.

That’s why it’s so important to tell the stories of good men. If stories communicate values in such a crucial way, the stories of good men communicate what makes good men. We need those now more than ever and come Father’s Day, you will have the chance to tell those stories. I hope you will. I hope my sons will hear them.

In addition to Aragon’s story, don’t forget Theoden, king of Rohan, has been warped by the whispers of the accursed Grima Wormtongue—occupying the throne as a mere shadow of his former self—confused, twisted, and impotent. It is not until Gandalf dismisses Wormtongue and banishes the evil curse from the king that he finally regains his full stature and faculties.

The title could have been set as plural. It’s not about the return of a king but the return of kings. It is the story of the return of good men. Indeed, the end of the trilogy heralds “the age of men.”

How we need such a return and such an age today! Our deepest stories, our holy stories, are patterns too. In the restored gospel of Christ, we are taught that our gender is eternal, a core part of both our identity and also our purpose. Men have a noble birthright as sons of a Heavenly King: A future rich with the potential of mighty and majestic roles if we can but become the men worthy of them. In describing those who receive the higher priesthood “after the order of the Only Begotten Son,” the Lord states, “They are they into whose hands the Father has given all things—They are they who are priests and kings, who have received of his fulness, and of his glory.” This is the promise of God’s kingdom on earth that “Every man will be a king” (and every woman a queen), as declared stirringly in “One Day More” from Les Miserables. 

When Father’s Day comes, I hope you will take the opportunity to do something truly good: Tell stories far and wide of the best men. 

The post The Case for Heroic Masculinity appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

To baby boomers, millennials seemed entitled in the workplace and won the nickname “Snowflakes” from their elders. Millennials invented the hashtag #OKBoomer to clap back at these elders who called them flaky. 

Here are some examples:

Covid-19 Kills the Elderly and Spares the Young

By March 2020, it had already become painfully obvious that the older you are the more likely you are to die from Covid-19. 

Weary of the world the Boomers had left them and tired of being called snowflakes, some youngers seemed even to anticipate Covid-19 more rapidly ridding them of the irritating older folk. As Covid became better understood last March, #BoomerRemover hit Twitter.

Historian Barbara Tuchman’s brilliant book, A Distant Mirror, shows us how much worse things could be. In discussing the “Black Death” pandemic in Europe in the mid-14th century, she said, “… it seemed as if one sick person could infect the whole world. …Agnolo di Tura, a chronicler of Siena, recorded the fear of contagion that froze every other instinct. ‘Father abandoned child, wife husband, one brother another …’” We have already seen with Coronavirus that when medical services become overwhelmed, the elderly are abandoned but we’re doing much better than they did in the Middle Ages. At least for now.

In the meanwhile, both elders and youngers have continued suffering, with isolation taking its toll on everyone. The elderly in nursing homes became suddenly bereft of visitors and even nursing staff stopped socializing with them. Some with brain dysfunction had no idea what had happened—they just knew they were suddenly, inexplicably alone. Elders who live at home were cut off from family visits and gatherings. Caregivers began to realize that the elderly were possibly dying of isolation, not just the coronavirus.

The effects of COVID-19 began to impact generations differently. Those who were younger were more prone to economic and educational disasters, and isolation began to cause despair for them, too. While parents were trying to do their best with both types of challenges and handle their newly ever-present kids, who were kept from attending school and playing with friends.

Commentators took notice of the fraying relationships between generations (and other divides too) made worse by the pandemic. As Jeff Green wrote for Bloomberg: 

The deadly outbreak has escalated the tension between generations, as some young people not-so-jokingly referred to the deadly virus as “#BoomerRemover” because it is most deadly in older people—with the not-so-surprising baby boomer backlash against college students who continued to “#CoronaParty” on spring break as other people died. And as more white-collar workers are able to keep their jobs and work from home, the growing ranks of unemployed, uninsured hourly workers are finding fresh outrages in the potentially fatal gap between haves and have nots.

These trends were made worse by the recent direction of much of American life: 

1. Families don’t live in multi-generational households like they used to and often Elders are miles away from their children and grandchildren. Technology helps, but not enough to keep people from feeling isolated. (This may be changing a bit due to the great recession, but that shift back to multi-generational households is not necessarily considered a good thing.)
2. Families are smaller. When family support depends on one or two people, that support can easily fail. Providing support is more difficult than ever during a pandemic. Because more couples are having one or no children and more people are choosing not to marry at all, when the next pandemic comes around, more elderly people will have even less family at all to lean on for support.
3. It’s fair to say that among many today, Elders are also no longer valued for their wisdom and knowledge and have been even more marginalized by advances in technology which have created a huge gap between those who have mastered it and Elders who have no clue. 
4. Mores have changed radically. Youngers typically assume elders have little wisdom regarding postmodern morality, cohabitation, or sexual fluidity. 
5. Youngers have less knowledge of history. Since they are not aware of what their elders have lived through (see #3), they miss out on important lessons that have come from those experiences

How Latter-day Saint Conviction Disrupts These Patterns

It’s not too broad of a generalization to say that the generational disunity afflicting America is not impacting committed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to the same degree. The reasons should be cautionary and exemplary for observers.

1. Latter-day Saints have larger families. This increases the amount of support in the nuclear family and the extended family, decreases the possibility of loneliness, and even increases the possibility of financial help within an extended family. Focus on the family as the most important thing in life keeps the center strong and the orbiting family members close. The image below is of Prophet Russell M. Nelson’s family (and no, there’s no polygamy involved).
2. There is a moral structure that continues from generation to generation because the laws to which the LDS community looks are both biblical and eternal. Since Latter-day Saints have always been marriage-centered, Zoomers are less inclined to dismiss their elders for not approving of “updated” sexual mores. Grandma will indeed have something to say to her granddaughters about striving to be modest and chaste since her granddaughters are seeking to make eternal covenants in a Latter-day Saint temple. So, there is no generation gap where that is concerned. Against such a holy backdrop, the wisdom of elders is constantly reaffirmed as valuable and present. Since the Word of Wisdom (the proscription against using alcohol, tea, coffee, tobacco, and recreational drugs) is a century old, there is common ground on this subject, too.
3.  Latter-day Saint doctrine teaches that “families can be together forever.” That the family structure can be eternal in the highest reaches of heaven increases cohesiveness and loyalty as well as the drive to work out problems and misunderstandings that can interfere. Because of its focus on eternal families, the Church promotes family history work as a saving effort. The benefits of performing family history work include some that might be downright surprising for an unbelieving world. One such benefit is that it helps older people become more tech-savvy. Elders often have the time and interest to do family history work, and that work has largely moved into the digital age. This work also creates a family story that embraces family members of all ages. A 2013 Elaine Reese article in the Atlantic describes the many benefits of having a family story:
   

   Over the last 25 years, a small canon of research on family storytelling shows that when parents share more family stories with their children—especially when they tell those stories in a detailed and responsive way—their children benefit in a host of ways. For instance, experimental studies show that when parents learn to reminisce about everyday events with their preschool children in more detailed ways, their children tell richer, more complete narratives to other adults one to two years later compared to children whose parents didn’t learn the new reminiscing techniques. Children of the parents who learned new ways to reminisce also demonstrate better understanding of other people’s thoughts and emotions. These advanced narrative and emotional skills serve children well in the school years when reading complex material and learning to get along with others. In the preteen years, children whose families collaboratively discuss everyday events and family history more often have higher self-esteem and stronger self-concepts. And adolescents with a stronger knowledge of family history have more robust identities, better coping skills, and lower rates of depression and anxiety. Family storytelling can help a child grow into a teen who feels connected to the important people in her life.

4. While many younger people are falling into despair during the pandemic, young people with a strong sense of their family story (and faith, more broadly) have more to work with. Many new converts know nothing of their ancestors and have little awareness of their family story. But even in foreign, exotic cultures, they are happy to adopt the story of the “Mormon” pioneers. Observers of the Church have commented that Latter-day Saints have managed to become “a people, not just a religion” as have the Jews with their much-longer history and experience with persecution. This sense of “peoplehood” is an important part of the story that grounds members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
5. While Latter-day Saints have many reasons to not discount the older generations, they similarly seek to value the young. Their large familiar missionary force which represents the faith around the world is composed almost entirely of eighteen to twenty-one year olds. Latter-day Saints invite these missionaries (the men which are called “Elders”) into their homes to be taught the gospel. These representatives of the faith which bookend the stages of life serve to create unity and respect among ages.      
6. While worldly America has come to devalue the wisdom and knowledge of its elders as being impertinent to their modern experience, in the Church, it’s just the opposite. First of all, we have a lay clergy and the “callings” or positions of service and leadership in the Church have not changed in essence over time. An 80-year-old great-grandfather who has been a bishop twice will have plenty of valuable advice for his great-grandson now newly-called to be a bishop himself. The same man has had myriad spiritual experiences and stories about using his priesthood power that can enlighten younger men and boys—and they know it.

Some in the world question why the principal leaders in the Church are so old. Combined they have nearly 1200 years of experience. 

Before these men were called from a lay clergy to serve as church leaders for the rest of their lives, they followed a variety of professions.  President Russell M. Nelson  was a noted heart surgeon and Apostle Dale G. Renlund was also a cardiologist. Several apostles were lawyers or judges and others were successful in business or education. Dieter F. Uchtdorf, who is German, was a fighter pilot and an executive with Lufthansa Airlines. Because of this, they are well-informed and worldly-wise. They are greatly respected in our community for both their worldly success and knowledge and their spiritual maturity and wisdom. 

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland said this about the aged leaders of the Church in a 2006 conference talk: 

… not often but over the years some sources have suggested that the Brethren are out of touch in their declarations, that they don’t know the issues, that some of their policies and practices are out-of-date, not relevant to our times.

As the least of those who have been sustained by you to witness the guidance of this Church firsthand, I say with all the fervor of my soul that never in my personal or professional life have I ever associated with any group who are so in touch, who know so profoundly the issues facing us, who look so deeply into the old, stay so open to the new, and weigh so carefully, thoughtfully, and prayerfully everything in between.

No, you will never hear a committed Latter-day Saint say after hearing an apostle speak, “#OKBoomer.” Should one of these elders fall prey to Covid-19, veritably the entire church will fast, pray, and worry for him. Neither will you ever hear a committed Latter-day Saint say, “Never mind, Covid is our #BoomerRemover.”

We know better. Not because we are better.  But because we’ve relished a better—“more excellent way” —that looks to God (and those who have sought His ways for many years) to help us find the same path ourselves. As a result, the benefits of a truly multi-generational community accrue and arise naturally—in every direction.  

If that’s something attractive to you, come join the fun. There’s an important place in this enormous family saved just for you.

The post Reckoning with the Generational Estrangement of the Covid age appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

While this vivacious little Basque-Hispanic woman lived a storybook life with abounding love and high spirits for over 97 years—like even the greatest novels, her life came to an end. 

Watching Ma deteriorate was one of the most difficult experiences of my life. 

When the news came that Ma had only a few weeks left to live, we all wanted to hold onto the time we had left with her. She was quickly moved into her daughter’s home, and soon after surrounded by children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Family members found themselves flying and driving in to enjoy some last precious moments with Ma. However, to all of the doctors’ surprise, this very act of familial love was the antidote Ma’s failing heart needed.

Our sweet Ma went on to live many years after this, and I learned an important lesson. My young mind always viewed this matriarch as being robbed by the thief of age. I felt her loss of dancing, playing tennis, reading novels, quoting “Gone with the Wind,” and countless other favorite pastimes were all reasons for her to grow tired of life and wish it to come to an end. 

But this depressing notion of age as a thief changed for me as I watched Ma regain purpose when surrounded by her loved ones—each of whom considered themselves to be her favorite. Ma’s story, then, suggests something else—reminding us that human connection and love can be the saving grace for a fading mind. 

This spunky, 80-pound woman eventually moved on to the next life, gifting a great legacy of love behind her. Ma’s passing inspired a curiosity within me for the maturing adults around me. She gave me new insight into their will to live despite their hip pain, wrinkles, and exhausted bodies. I reflected on the way that each of them goes on, not for themselves, but for a greater purpose. Each of them has experienced a long life rich with life experiences that younger eyes often fail to see. 

In the past few years since losing Ma, I have since reflected on the value of respecting and revering our elders, which is sometimes a casualty of our fast-paced, individualistic American society and, for different reasons, can be lost especially on the younger generation. Now, I find it difficult to turn the other cheek when I hear people say dismissive things to older people, such as ‘Okay, Boomer.’ 

Isn’t it better to listen to their stories and learn from their years of life experience rather than dismiss them as out of date?  Each time an aged individual passes, we lose an encyclopedia of knowledge. Isn’t seeking out their jewels of wisdom even more relevant in a society where 27% of those aged 60 and older already live alone—many without family members to cherish their stories? 

We can learn much about respecting elders from the rich cultural traditions of other societies. In the Middle Eastern culture, for example, family systems are typically built upon intergenerational households and proximity to older family members. One Iraqi woman, Luma Simms, explains this norm within her culture as a result of their reverence and love for the aging generation. She described her community as one “where each member is valued and has an irreplaceable part, especially the elderly.” 

This valuing of the older generation is also vividly apparent in many Asian cultures, such as China, Korea, and Japan—all cultures rooted in this conviction, resulting in practices associated with filial piety. This cultural notion is deeply grounded in Confucian values and goes well beyond respecting one’s own family members to proactively teaching children to reverence the entire aging population. These cultures paint a beautiful image of embracing later life, rather than avoiding aging yourself or pushing away these aging adults in their culminating years of life in a way that makes them feel like unwanted members of society. 

Native American tribes also deeply respect their aging population, not for somehow retaining their youthful glow, but for their years of wisdom and life experience. Similarly, within Greek culture, referring to a person as an “old man” or “old woman” is not an insult, but a way to honor their wisdom and closeness to God. What if we were able to reimagine and culturally redefine aging in some of these same ways?

Interestingly, this heightened awareness for those in later life has been forced into the public eye in the wake of the devastating COVID-19 outbreak. It’s become tragically clear to all of us that the most at-risk population in terms of contracting and passing away from this virus are those older than 65. Because drastic measures have been needed to contain the spread of this virus, social distancing has been especially advised for older adults.

The stay-at-home order flooded my mind with images of seniors locked inside nursing homes, with no outside connection to family or friends. However, many of these initial thoughts sweetly melted into a greater faith in humanity as my social media feed flooded with wonderful examples of younger generations taking action for those in their later years. Rebecca Mehra’s recent tweet went viral as she recounted helping an older woman and her husband buy groceries because they were too “afraid to go in the store.” The seed of selflessness that Mehra planted that day was a critical message for this time.

Instagram and Facebook are now touting stories of “corona carolers” singing to maturing adults at their doorstep from six-feet away and grandchildren in car seats waving at their grandparents through the car window in a drive-by visit. These small acts not only spread love within the hearts of those served, but they spread awareness for this critical population of people so deserving of our love and admiration.

As I saw so intensely demonstrated with my own great-grandmother, her need for human connection only deepened as her body aged and her mind began to fade. Eventually, I had to let go of her hand when her time on earth came to an end. Yet her passing and the life lessons she had shared only magnified my desire to bring joy into the lives of these experienced, mighty souls. I recognize this new reverence as a gift from my great-grandmother.

As we face these frightful circumstances of this global pandemic, we have the unique opportunity to not only serve—but perhaps also redefine some of our culture’s individualistic views through selflessly recognizing the needs of the aged, so especially vulnerable at this time. Cultures across the world have done this for centuries, carrying forward ancient traditions from their revered ancestors.  Perhaps it is about time we in America adopt this same level of caring amidst this pandemic and show them the appreciation they so deserve.   

The post Honoring the Wisdom of The Generations Who Came Before appeared first on Public Square Magazine.