'I Tell You This Beforehand:' Content Warnings and the Gospel

Content Warning: This column discusses content warnings.

As a writer, I have mixed feelings about content warnings. I write short stories, which often hinge on a moment of realization. One of my stories focuses on a mother grieving the loss of her child. However, it opens with the main character doing a color-by-number, and the reader isn’t clued into the main topic of the story until a paragraph or two deep. Though I knew it ruined the reveal a bit, I published the story with a content warning that the piece discussed the loss of a child. I felt the sacrifice of the “twist” was worth the avoidance of pain for someone who, for various reasons, would prefer not to accidentally read about that topic.

After all, I myself appreciate a little context when I choose books to read. I often read mysteries or thrillers or true crime stories, but sometimes, I’m not in the mood for that. When I’m pregnant, I don’t want to increase my anxiety by reading books that feature miscarriage, even though at other times I find these stories interesting and even healing. One of my good friends frequently asks me for book recommendations and then follows the question with, “But nothing too heavy—I need an uplifting book at this stage in my life!”

So, what does this have to do with the gospel of Christ? Is there a place for content warnings in our church services?

In my church, we are not taught by an ordained clergy, but by each other, as we take turns preparing sermons and lessons on various topics. This is something I really appreciate, as I learn varied perspectives from others who think differently and come from diverse backgrounds. Often, people use experiences from their lives to connect with their audience and segue into gospel doctrine topics.

Unfortunately, we don’t always know the backgrounds of the people sitting in the pews beside us. We can be unaware of the struggles they’ve gone through and what might be upsetting to them. At times in church, a story has come so out of left field that I’m reminded of Scarlett Johansen, spoofing Katie Britt on Saturday Night Live, when she said, “I’m going to do a pivot, out of nowhere, into a shockingly violent story about sex trafficking.” No, thank you!

I have five, beautiful, healthy children. That said, I have family members who have lost children, and even imagining that pain makes me shaky with grief. The death of one of my children is the literal subject of my worst nightmares.

In a recent church service, a congregant shared a long story about his child slowly dying of a heart condition. Throughout the sermon, I grew increasingly uneasy, until I used my baby’s soiled diaper as a convenient reason to leave. When I came back, I caught the end of the story, in which the child received a last-minute heart transplant and lives to this day. I wondered then how much more I could have learned from the speaker if I had known the end from the beginning.

I want to be clear that I know that my brother in Christ meant no harm. After all, you might ask, what responsibility did he have for the way his words made me feel? We can’t control anyone else’s feelings any more than we can control their actions or words. And if we don’t (and actually can’t) know what other people might be sensitive to, then how can we avoid hurting feelings unintentionally?

When I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I made covenants with God that I would “mourn with those that mourn” and “comfort those who stand in need of comfort.” In other words, how I simplify it for my kids: I promised God to help make things better for others, not worse. When I think of my covenant in that way, I do feel a responsibility to my fellow man to try not to rub salt in a wound.

While we may not always intuit when sharing a story about an upsetting topic is apt, I believe the Holy Spirit does. If we keep our minds and hearts open to the Spirit, we may be prompted to share a specific story—or we may feel a soft restraining hand communicating “not today.”

I also think it would be appropriate and compassionate to preface a story with a warning, such as: “I’m going to talk a little bit about some lessons I learned from my parent’s divorce,” or “I feel inspired to share about my grief over the loss of my four-year-old.” This gives your audience a chance to decide if they want to hear the rest of the story or if they’d rather mentally or physically excuse themselves.

The Christ I know is sensitive even to the needs of the sparrow. May we all be as thoughtful in our comments as He would be.

Rachel Kenley Fry is a writer and mother of five exhausting youngsters. She is thrilled that school has started once again so she can spend more taime working on her short stories and novel. She also spends her evenings rehearsing the upcoming musical “Something Rotten!” But the most beloved hat she wears is as a columnist for, and member of, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.