Many years ago, a woman I visit taught asked to have me removed as her visiting teacher. I shouldn’t have known about this, of course — the visiting teaching shuffle is almost always a hush hush affair, especially if specific requests for change are involved. But I had an inkling that my visiting teachee wasn’t happy with me, and since I 1. have a need to be liked that occasionally interferes with my ability to behave in a dignified manner, and 2. have a need to know exactly what’s going on that occasionally interferes with my ability to behave in a dignified manner, I cornered the Relief Society President, who also happened to be my good friend, and straight-up asked her:

“Did so-and-so ask for me to be removed as her visiting teacher?”

I saw the expressions moving across the RS President’s face: Surprise, dismay, concern, resignation. She knew there was no hiding the answer at that point, so she sighed and said, “Yes, she did. I guess she took offense at something you said?” (You have to imagine the poor Relief Society president saying this with an apologetic lilt at the end of the sentence.)

I rewound the scene of my last visiting teaching outing and knew exactly the moment she was referring to. I’d said something about the importance of making sure our kids get a college education and how our girls, especially, needed support from their female friends and adult role models that made finishing college an expected goal. I hadn’t thought twice about what I said. But the minute I stopped talking long enough to notice the flush in my visiting teachee’s cheeks, it was too late. “Well, I didn’t finish college, and I think I’m doing just fine,” she said sharply. I stumbled all over myself, trying to explain that I didn’t mean that everybody needed a college education, and that all sorts of smart and amazing people don’t have college educations — but all my blathering didn’t do one bit of good, and, in fact, it probably made things worse. I remember slinking out of her house feeling terrible.

But by the time I cornered the Relief Society president, I’d stopped feeling terrible. By that time, I mostly felt embarrassed. Embarrassed that this woman had called my good friend to complain about me; embarrassed that the RS presidency had probably talked about it; embarrassed that there existed a person in the world who really didn’t like me and had the audacity to make that dislike semi-public.

“I didn’t mean anything by what I said, you know,” I told the Relief Society President. “It was totally innocent. I had no idea that she would take offense.”

She nodded grimly, fervently hoping, I’m sure, to get out of this conversation as soon as possible.

And then the next thing I said? This is what I’m most ashamed of. “But it’s not like I should be surprised. So-and-so makes a habit of getting offended.” Now, this statement was factually true. My former visiting teachee had a reputation for taking offense. As a matter of fact, I knew a bunch of women who’d had run-ins of one sort or another with her, and she was known as one of the more “difficult” women in the ward. But, at this point, any real regret over what I’d said had been replaced by an intense need to justify myself, to paint myself as faultless in the whole scenario. Me? I’m a nice person. I don’t say hurtful things on purpose. In fact, I am the victim of this difficult woman, this person who has obviously committed the sin of taking offense, a sin that we all know, as Mormons, is completely unacceptable and might eventually lead this frustrating woman straight out of the church entirely!

I mean, geez! It’s her fault if she chooses to be offended? Right? RIGHT?

And this is where the whole thing falls apart for me, because by following the line of reasoning above, not only did I manage to maneuver myself out of any personal responsibility for my own failings as her visiting teacher (and there were failings, to be sure — missed appointments, a forgotten birthday, and, yes, my own failing to be sensitive, since I knew in the back of my mind that she hadn’t finished college and still said what I did). But I also completely abdicated my responsibility toward this woman as a sister in the gospel. Yes, she was difficult. But her life was difficult. She struggled with crippling anxiety, a difficult marriage, and a son who was notorious for acting out in Primary. I knew this about her. Yet, in the face of her accusation that I had failed her as her visiting teacher, instead of seeing this as an opportunity for me to repent and do better, all I could think to do was justify myself. And the easiest way to do it was to use this word to describe her response to me:

Offended.

Many years have passed since this experience, and over time I’ve become more and more aware of the way we use the word “offended” in our culture. I’m not arguing here that we should never use the word; sometimes, “offended” is the best way to describe the way a person feels or reacts. And we should also warn against the perils of being too easily offended, because such behavior can indeed be personally destructive.

But. Imagine if, instead of the word “offended,” we used the word “hurt” to describe a person who had, say, become inactive. “Susan was hurt and stopped coming to church,” has a very different connotation to me than, “Susan was offended and stopped coming to church.” First, the word “offended” carries with it the whiff of pettiness. If someone is “offended,” certainly this is over something trifling, something that more emotionally mature people would not be bothered by. But even more important to me is the sense that when someone is hurt, then there is another party involved in the situation who is responsible in some way for the hurting. It is very easy, when we use the word “offended” to describe a person’s emotional reaction, to absent ourselves of responsibility for helping to heal this person’s wound. This person “chose” to be offended, and needs to learn to humble him or herself, a process that doesn’t seem to involve much communication or seeking for common ground between two parties. No, the act of “humbling oneself” is a very lonely process indeed — so lonely that some of our brothers and sisters whom we insist must endure it alone never return to the fold.

I know a few people who have left the church. None of these people — not one — has left because they were “offended,” at least if we’re using the word with the connotations described above. Now, I’m sure there are examples of people who have left the church because they were offended over trifling things, who were so full of pride that they wouldn’t accept the help of their fellow brothers and sisters who continued to extend a loving arm of fellowship. But it doesn’t seem to me to describe the majority of cases. Leaving aside those who no longer consider themselves Mormon because they simply no longer believe, many people I know who have either dropped into inactivity or left the church are in deep pain, or struggle with terrible questions, or are stuck in the quagmire of sin and shame and desperately need the help of a loving and supportive community of fellow believers. Some of these people have been legitimately hurt in some way, too. Just as we would require both sides in a troubled marriage to acknowledge their mistakes before healing can begin, we should require the same thing of ourselves as members of the church if we hope to heal broken relationships between our members, or to lovingly persuade a friend who has left us to return. And this is true, I believe, even if we didn’t intend to hurt the other party, or if the other party made a lot of mistakes, or even if it is generally agreed that the other party is reacting in a way that seems irrational. Because what we want is for healing to begin, isn’t it? For people to return to Christ and His community of believers?

Yes, it is important that other people remember not to be easily offended. But, ultimately, my job isn’t to enforce other people’s learning curve. Nope. My job, as Jesus tells me, is to turn the other cheek. To love other people — not only those who have misunderstood my intentions or misunderstood my words, but even those who have dispitefully used me and persecuted me.

The expression “offender for a word” comes from Isaiah 29:21: “That make a man an offender for a word, and lay a snare for him that reproveth in the gate, and turn aside the just for a thing of nought.” We often use the expression to describe a person who is easily offended, but that is actually a misreading of the scripture. The New International translation of the scripture makes its meaning more clear, condemning “Those who with a word make a man out to be guilty.” Sometimes I fear that our use of the word “offended” does just what we’re cautioned against here: shifts all the blame in a difficult situation onto one person’s shoulders.

Should my visiting teachee from so many years ago refrained from taking offense at an ill-considered comment? Yeah, probably. But whether or not she sinned is not my concern. Whether or not I sinned, however, is — and repairing our relationship was my responsibility. And I abdicated that responsibility. For a word.

Related posts:

1. I’m so offended!
2. Face of a Prophet
3. VT: Bane of my existence? Or blessing my life one plate of cookies at a time?