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I love demolition videos. The punctuation of explosions; the half-second silence before buildings crumble. They’re more fascinating than fireworks on the Fourth of July. Seriously. Just watch a greatest hits reel. Tell me these aren’t amazing.

Sometimes my civil engineer dad and I will pull up Controlled Demolition’s YouTube channel and analyze their explosions for hours. (Stop reading this post and watch one!) We’ll discuss the timing and math and structure, the need to understand every brick and window and pillar, all the details that go into efficiently dynamiting buildings.

But, as Dad often reminds me, not every dilapidated building needs to be razed to the ground. The foundation and supporting beams are often solid even if the trimmings aren’t. Utter destruction is unproductive when all you need is a remodel. Don’t rush to knock something down, unless you have a clear vision of what will replace it.

I think about this civil engineer’s mindset whenever I dive into the Bloggernacle and other online Mormon forums. Their constant exploration and deconstruction of all things Mormon serves an important purpose. Asking hard questions about theology, listening to difficult facts about history, and wrestling with the real pain present in our community is absolutely necessary to my experience of Zion. Participating has flooded me with new insights and perspectives, as strangers-turned-friends share their vulnerable truths. During the hopeless months leading up to my divorce, this community encouraged and sustained me. It validated my experiences and helped me heal.

But for the last couple of years, I’ve increasingly found myself tuning out my “Mormon” RSS feed and unsubscribing from Facebook notifications. [1] Many forums I used to patronize daily have simply stopped working for me. Maybe I’m alone in this, but it feels like their once-dynamic conversations have … stalled. Every thread, every news story, even efforts to inject positivism, rapidly devolve into tearing apart the myriad individual and historical and structural and doctrinal and hypocritical causes of each member’s utterly justified pain. I crave new knowledge and robust dialogue, but I can’t handle the constant anger.

Anger doesn’t teach me how to build the Church back up again. Demolition serves no purpose unless we have a vision for what comes next. I don’t need dynamite-blasts of bitterness, crumbling the pillars of my faith. Those pillars – love, hope, grace, peace – are the core of who Christ is and who I aspire to be.

This is my vision: to scrutinize an imperfect Church in order to make it stronger. To understand my fellow saints’ pain so that, in mourning together, we construct Zion. To explore all of Mormon and Christian history so that we can both frankly repent for our errors, and reinvigorate our eternity. I will never help the Church become more loving and forgiving if I can’t love and forgive it first.

It is with that vision that I always re-read my talks, lessons, and blog posts prior to publication. Does this story build up, or destroy? If this criticism is necessary, does it come from a place of love? The self-examination constantly hurts my pride, forcing me to question my own motives and ruthlessly cut snide remarks.

In Searching for Sunday, evangelical-turned-Episcopal blogger Rachel Held Evans describes a similar journey from disaffection to Christ. Angry at the evangelicals, she began church-hopping, looking for some angelic body of already-perfect Christians. They didn’t exist. As she confessed (and my goodness this sounds all too painfully like me):

I girded myself with a sense of smug detachment wherein I could observe [church] proceedings from the safety of my intellectual superiority, certain I could do a better job at running the show thanks to my experience as, you know, a Christian blogger. Oh, I talked a big game about the importance of ecumenicism and the beauty of diversity within the global church, but when I deigned to show up at one of these unsuspecting congregations, I sat in the pew with my arms crossed, mad at the Baptists for not being Methodist enough, the Methodists for not being Anglican enough, the Anglicans for not being evangelical enough, and the evangelicals for not being Catholic enough. I scrutinized the lyrics to every worship song; I debated the content of every sermon; I checked the bulletins for typos. Deconstructing was so much safer than trusting.

The only way out of that spiral, criticizing everything and alienating everyone, was to love. To accept the radical gospel of Christ’s love for all. To frankly acknowledge everyone’s human fallibility and celebrate the gift of grace. To befriend all of God’s children, including those whose spiritual welfare is better served by migrating over to the church-next-door.

I want to love. I want to heal others. I want to build Zion. That requires me to understand history and listen closely to pain. But it does not require explosive anger. We need humble remodels, not grand demolitions. We can throw away rotting trimmings and tear down corrosive policies, while still preserving the pillars of Christ.

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[1] I’ve made an exception to my Facebook-unfollow rule for two relative newcomers. Mormon Women for Ethical Government is doing an incredible job advocating for compassion and empathy across the political spectrum. And Aspiring Mormon Women is matchless at building women up as they pursue education and careers.