"We're just like you."

We had a special stake conference this past weekend. Four general authorities (including an apostle, one of the presidents of the Seventy, another member of the Seventy and a counselor in the Presiding Bishopric) were in our state for a Priesthood Leadership Council on Saturday (a meeting with stake presidencies, bishops and perhaps other priesthood leaders from across the state), and then they fanned out over four stakes for special stake conferences on Sunday.

Our visitor was Bishop Davies, second counselor in the Presiding Bishopric. I didn’t know anything about him before he spoke to us. It turns out that for the decade prior to his call to serve in the Presiding Bishopric, he worked finding land for all those temples the church is building. And he had some cool stories to tell us about his interactions with President Hinckley on the site in Paris, and with the mayor of Philadelphia regarding the site there.

But those stories are not the point of this post. Instead it’s two other things that struck me.

First, he mentioned that in his role in the Presiding Bishopric he meets with the First Presidency every week. For last meeting before coming to our conference, President Eyring and President Uchtdorf were absent, and they met just with President Monson. Bishop Davies observed that he often reminds himself that it is a privilege that the vast majority of Latter-day Saints will never know: meeting the prophet face-to-face. I was heartened by his acknowledgement of that fact.

I’ve never met President Monson, though I have shaken hands with President Eyring and President Uchtdorf, both long before they served in the First Presidency (and perhaps before their call to the Quorum of the Twelve). And I’ve shaken hands with a couple of other apostles in my life, in connection with meetings where they spoke and shook hands with many people. I have no doubt they have no recollection of me, even though I remember the circumstances of each of those meetings clearly.

The other thing Bishop Davies said that touched me was really tender. He was speaking about his own family and told of a family member who had become distant from the church despite years of activity and parental teaching. He spoke of his love for this member of his family, and his acceptance of the circumstances. And he said something like, “So you see, even general authorities have similar struggles to yours. We’re just like you.”

And, though it’s true that he’s not like me because he meets weekly with the Lord’s prophet, I believe he is more like me that I would have imagined. And I’m grateful to learn from his example.

 

Mourning with those who wear pants

I had no plans to write about pants. In fact, were it not for the internet, I would know nothing about the pants thing from this past weekend.

But after church as we drove to my BIL’s home for a second thanksgiving dinner, my 16-year old son brought it up. He had seen it on Facebook and read gazillions of comments.

My 12-year old daughter was totally flummoxed. Why would women want to wear pants to church anyway? So we talked about some of the issues they were trying to address and what we all thought about this issues and how they were being raised.

What irked my son is what irked me, and that is how supposedly otherwise faithful Latter-day Saints were talking to one another about the issue on line. The vitriol, while no longer shocking to anyone who spends more than 10 minutes reading comments on anything online, was disappointing among those who covenant to mourn with those that mourn and comfort those who stand in need of comfort.

He was the first to acknowledge that any online discussion seems to attract the highly opinionated and the trolls, and that most people who argue in those forums have no interest in listening to another point of view. They seem instead to seek support for whatever viewpoint they bring with them to the fight.

My lovely wife had some interesting observations from her own experience. She’s served in a number of Relief Society presidencies, and is now in our stake Relief Society presidency. She’s been a part of ward councils in wards on three continents, and has consistently felt her voice has been heard by the bishops and stake presidents with whom she’s served. Furthermore, she knows that the Relief Society presidents in our stake are key to the successful running of their wards; their bishops seek their counsel and listen to it.

She also acknowledges that not everyone has the same experience she does.

As for pants in our ward? I have no idea. We often have one or two or three sisters in pants anyway for one reason or another. But I don’t really pay much attention. As I mentioned in another conversation on the subject, I tend to pay attention to what my lovely wife and my daughter are wearing, and I don’t pay attention to others.

When I think about those who feel like they are standing on the outside looking in, I hope we treat them with love and kindness. I’m reminded of an experience I had as a young married man:

We lived in a Provo family ward just after we were married. I was soon called to be the Sunday School president (at the time that Sunday School opening exercises was done away with), and I felt my calling to be increasingly less important. Still my counselors and I made a good effort to attend classes, provide feedback, hold in-service meetings, and so on. I never could, however, figure out the value of the stake Sunday School organization. The one stake training meeting I attended seemed totally useless to me, and I felt we were doing just fine on our own.

I’m fairly certain I was not shy about my contempt for the stake organization (since I wasn’t shy about much in those days). And yet, every time the stake Sunday School president visited out ward, he’d put his arm around me, give me a warm handshake and tell me how much he loved me and appreciated the work we were doing in our ward.

I don’t remember anything I taught in our in-service meetings, but to this day I remember the warmth and kindness I felt from this man who was doing his best to magnify his calling, despite my hubris.

I hope that if I met any of the pants-sympathizers (or any of the pants-haters, for that matter), that I would respond to either with love and kindness, just as my stake Sunday School president did with me.

(Photo credit: SL Tribune)

The next step

In recovery circles, one often hears the slogans “One day at a time” and “One step at a time.” Those slogans recognize that for an addict, an alcoholic or a co-dependent, change is neither instantaneous nor permanent.

Of course that’s true for all of us. We take the sacrament each week because we simply cannot keep our baptismal covenant perfectly. We need to repent as we go along.

There’s another less-used slogan in recovery circles that says “Take the next step.” That slogan may refer to moving from one of the twelve steps to the next one. But more often it is about identifying the right next thing to do.

An anecdote: I have this vague recollection of sometime in grade school when a teacher told us that we cannot add three numbers at the same time. I was a bright kid, and have been argumentative since I could walk, so I bristled at the notion that I could not add three numbers at once. I could clearly look at 1+3+4 and know that they equal 8. My teacher’s point, of course, was that my brain actually did it in two steps: 1+3=4, and 4+4=8. Even if I did those calculations very quickly, I still only added two numbers at once.

Just as I cannot add three numbers at once, but must add the first two, then add the third to the result, so I can only take the next step in my life, whatever that is. And the most important thing to my spiritual development is my next step.

Hence, the value of the slogan, “Take the next step.”

Yes, I can fix my eye on the long term goal. I can look to the horizon to see where I am going. But in the end, the only way I get to my end is one step at a time. And my most important step is my next one.

I’ve long held that if we think of our journey back to Heavenly Father as a long path, we’re probably all on different spots on the path. Brother X may be ahead of me, and Brother Y may be behind me, but I am where I am. I can’t judge my progress relative to others, because for me, the only thing for me to worry about is my next step.

Similarly, I can’t judge my fellow path-walkers based on my progress. Brother X who is ahead of me may be having just as great a struggle with his next step as I am. Just because he’s ahead of me on the path does not mean his road is easier than mine. And Brother Y who is behind me needs to concentrate on his next step, not mine. I may offer Brother X the security of knowing someone is behind him to support him if he stumbles, and I may offer Brother Y a hand as he steps forward, but for my progress, my next step is my concern.

Especially since we are a missionary church, it should not surprise us that we are scattered all over the path. Some may hear a talk about family scripture study and find it inspirational and uplifting and encouraging because it matches well with their next step. Others may hear it and dismiss it because they aren’t there yet. Both responses may be completely appropriate.

Acknowledging we are at different places on the path does not excuse sin, nor does it eliminate the need for standards of worthiness. But it may help us to view one another with compassion as we move along our way.