Testimony and Faith Journeys

As I think about my membership in the LDS church (nearly 37 years now), I realize that I have been on quite a path. Although there are times when I have felt completely secure in my relationship with God and in my trust in my church, I also realize that there are times when I have felt far more vulnerable than I would have liked.


I reflect on this subject this week because of the NYT article making the rounds.  I should point out that there are some excellent responses to this article, including this one at BCC  and this one at BYU Studies.

What occurred to me, however, is that just like Brother Mattsson, featured in the NTY article, each of us is on a faith journey. (The idea isn’t completely my own. I was spurred to this thought by this article written by a friend some time ago and shared with me this week.)

In some ways it is appropriate that I ponder my faith journey during the same week we celebrate a journey of another sort by Mormon pioneers who made their way to the Intermountain West where they could (for a time at least) be free of the persecution they had known in Kirtland, Missouri and Nauvoo. The pioneers, of course, traveled a path of physical, emotional and (I imagine, at least) spiritual hardship, as they physically tested their commitment to the gospel and the prophet Brigham. Their sacrifice was tangible and in many cases terrible, leaving possessions, family members either behind or along the way. Families were separated by circumstance, by service in the Mormon Battalion and in some cases by death.

I am a convert to the church; although I have American pioneers in my heritage, I do not have Mormon pioneers. My pioneer ancestors went to the Pacific Northwest primarily for economic reasons, and while they worked hard to go, they did not suffer the persecution of the Mormon pioneers. My wife’s ancestors, on the other hand, included Mormon pioneers, some of whom suffered greatly in their journey. My wife reflected early in our marriage that she did not think she could have endured the trials of her Mormon pioneer ancestors.

Harold B. Lee is often quoted as saying that in our day we will likely face different tests of our faith from those of the pioneers. While they faced physical challenges, we will face challenges of sophistication. In addition to challenges of sophistication (and some may include the issues highlighted in the NYT article in that mix), I think we have other trials of our faith that may well be common to other generations. That has certainly been my experience.

My challenges of sophistication – that is a scholarly set of questions that I had not encountered in seminary and Sunday School – came early in my career at BYU, when I had a roommate who invited me to address a series of questions he’d learned from his father who was in the process of leaving the church. That experience was critical in my development of a stronger testimony of the gospel. During that year I learned how I could approach questions of our history (and I enjoyed the resources of BYU’s library and one particularly helpful faculty member to do it; I don’t know how I could have done that far from BYU in the pre-internet age). And I had a number of other spiritual experiences unrelated to those questions that reinforced the testimony I brought with me to BYU. That combination helped me through a period that could otherwise have significantly challenged my faith. I learned not only answers to many questions, but also HOW to answer questions in the future (and how to wait when answers were not immediately available).

But those are not the only challenges to my faith. Part of my faith journey includes other trials of faith that come up in everyone’s life: sought-after blessings that may have been slow to appear, children who chose different paths and so on. Life is simply not easy. When what we perceive to be righteous desires are slow to be realized, it can challenge us – at least it has challenged me. Knowing that no success can compensate for failure in the home gives me pause when I know that my home is not perfect. Learning to pray to understand God’s will rather than to present Him a list of my wishes is a lesson that took me decades to learn. In these trials, I suppose perhaps I have kinship with those Mormon pioneers who may not have consciously signed up for the journey they ultimately took.

I think about testimony meetings, where we’re invited to share briefly what we know or believe and how we’ve come to know it. Of course those testimonies are often point-in-time snapshots along our life’s journey of faith, a journey that is often complex and even uncertain. As for me, I am now experiencing mine one day at a time, grateful for where I am today.

Conference questions and answers

I came to conference with questions this time around. There were three specific ones that I had in my head and in my heart. I had not written them down, but I knew what they were.

Similar answers came to each question, but not in the same talks.

It has caused me to reflect on how my process of receiving answers to prayers works. Doctrine & Covenants gives us some clues to general processes in the Lord’s instructions to Oliver Cowdrey in sections 6, 8 and 9. You know them: ponder, pray, think about your own solutions and your own process, feel peace in heart and mind, feel a burning in the bosom, and remember what you’ve learned.

Joseph Smith taught this about divine instruction:

When you feel pure intelligence flowing into you, it may give you sudden strokes of ideas, so that by noticing it, you may find it fulfilled the same day or soon; (i.e.) those things that were presented unto your minds by the Spirit of God, will come to pass; and thus by learning the Spirit of God and understanding it, you may grow into the principle of revelation, until you become perfect in Christ Jesus.”
(Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, sel. Joseph Fielding Smith [1976], 151.)

I’ve written before that my answers to prayer rarely come during the prayer, almost never during the first prayer.

As I prepared for this particular conference, I had three broad questions in my mind. One concerned one of my children, one concerned my job, and one concerned a health concern of mine. These are not questions specific to conference, since these three items have been occupying my prayers off and on for months. But I looked at conference as one opportunity among many to receive guidance.

What I found is that guidance came. Some of it came in overarching themes, and some in specific quotations. A particular sentence in a particular talk struck me in a particular way. A story related by a speaker related to one of my issues. Recurring and connecting themes from several talks united to offer instruction and comfort.

In the end, most of my answers were comforting answers rather than go-and-do answers this time. That’s not always so. But this time I was counseled to be patient and to trust that the Lord can do His work. He has a way to accomplish what He needs to accomplish. That message is reassuring to me.

As I reflected on the Lord’s instructions through the prophet Joseph, it occurred to me that the Lord did whisper peace to my heart and mind. The Lord did cause my bosom to burn as I pondered ideas I had about my questions. And I felt what I assume is the pure intelligence, the sudden strokes of ideas that Joseph described. Not everything happened at once. And I am not sure I recognized each of those events as they happened, some only were clearer after the fact. But I do know that answers came.

These particular questions are still too tender for me to discuss in great detail, which makes this essay less readable; for that I’m sorry. But hopefully my writing will encourage you to think about how conference spoke to you – or that is, how the Lord spoke to you through conference.

I've got questions. They've got answers

Just a quick post today.

I mentioned in my pre-conference post that I was, for the first time that I can remember, taking specific questions into conference with me. I told you I'd report back what happened.

Well, Saturday Morning and Priesthood, that's what.

I'm still not telling you what my questions were.

(My 11-year old shared her questions with me, but I refused to share mine with her. I told her maybe one of my questions was about her... Mine weren't about her (and I told her that), by the way, but I also didn't feel comfortable sharing them with her last night when she asked. But we did both observe that we did receive answers to our questions, and that was important to her.)

My questions were very specific, and the answers were, too. Some were frighteningly specific (frightening because of the work ahead of me).

I'll blog more on conference later, but I'll add this:

As usual I took notes on each talk. Last night my lovely wife and I discussed our impressions and what things we ought to begin to think about for our family as a result. It was, frankly, not a completely easy conversation. The work of gospel living is not always easy for me, especially when I see my shortcomings as clearly as in the light of a conference weekend.

But from my notes I've generated a bit of a punch list for myself (no, that's not a list that gives my 15-year old license to punch me; it's a stepped-up to-do/to-consider/to-meditate list).

I have plenty to do.

I know what I know. Do I know what I don't know? And is it ok if I don't know?

In this post I plow some ground that I've been over before; thanks for you patience.

Last week I got a little heated under my collar at a discussion I participated in with R. Gary on a thread at Clean Cut's blog. Without discussing the particular point of doctrine, here's the gist:

R. Gary advanced an argument, based on statements of modern prophets. Fair enough. I sustain the prophets, too, and I'm ok with looking to them for wisdom and truth – in fact, I encourage it, and do it in my own life, too. (And I encourage you to do the same!)

But R. Gary and I didn't interpret the particular quotation in the same way. I asked questions. R. Gary responded openly and in a very straightforward manner based on his understanding. And I was offended that I felt he suggested that I was something less than faithful.

My characterization of his response to me was unfair. I should not have taken offense. R. Gary is as near as I can tell a faithful latter-day saint, and is welcome to his views, which he clearly has carefully studied out in his own mind and balanced against public statements of the brethren.

I admit it. I'm not as certain as R. Gary on the point of doctrine he cites. I agree that he has a list of quotations. And I understand where he is coming from. But I don't agree with his conclusion. We are simply not on the same page. That doesn't mean he is wrong. I know I'm not right, because I don't know the answer, yet. I am still very unsettled on the question.

But the conflict points out to me an interesting possibility in the church, and that is that if we take a collection of members, it's highly likely that we're in different places in our understanding of doctrine. And that should be no surprise, because we each have different experiences. Some are new to the church; others are more seasoned. Some have intense interest in finer points of doctrine. Others are content to lead good lives, keep the commandments, and not sweat the details of those finer points. Some put questions "on the shelf" for later consideration (I'm a fan of that method, by the way, as it's worked well for me in the past), and others just aren't interested.

I heard Elder Theodore M. Burton speak on my mission. He was a member of the Seventy at the time, and he suggested that our testimony is like a circle. He said if our testimony is small, the circumference of the circle – the border of our testimony – is also small. We know what we know, but we don't know what we don't know. As our testimony grows, he said, the border of our testimony also grows, and we become increasingly aware of what we don't know. And since we know more, we become aware that there is much more that we do not understand.

This teaching has helped me to keep questions that I've had in check over the years. I'm able to be comforted by what I do know, by past spiritual experiences, by the confirming witness that comes sometimes when I sit in sacrament meeting or in the temple, by the truths I've been taught from the scriptures, and by the confirming witness I have as I sustain church leaders.

That I have continuing questions about certain points of doctrine or history does not make me less faithful. For me, the presence of questions means that I am still seeking, still trying to learn, hopefully while doing my best to live the gospel as I should. If I know these things about myself, then I can also assume them for others who are still learning, too.

As for the last question in my title – is it ok if I don't know? I think so. After all, if I knew everything, there would be no need for faith.

Seeking Counsel

I've been engaged in a conversation about seeking counsel from church leaders over at another blog, and I decided to consolidate some of my thoughts on this subject.

A couple of premises from which I operate as a member of the LDS Church:

1. I have a testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, and the restoration of priesthood authority which allows for administration of ordinances and the organization of the church.

2. Men and women who serve in leadership callings in the church are called by inspiration. The Fifth Article of Faith says they are called "by prophecy and by the laying on of hands by those who are in authority to preach the gospel and administer in the ordinances thereof."

3. Those who serve come from a "lay" ministry. Although General Authorities serve full time, clergy in our church do not receive specific training in the ministry beyond what is available to us all: study of the scriptures and inspiration (or revelation) for their stewardship. Although local leaders (bishops and stake presidents) spend part of their time in offering counsel to individual members they are not particularly trained to do so; they do not receive academic training in their leadership capacity in psychology or counseling.

4. I have served as a bishop twice (once in Latin America and once in the United States), so I have my own experience, and I have spoken with others I know who have similarly served, but I am not aware of rigorous academic study of counseling practices among lay leaders in the LDS church.

5. Members generally respect the office of bishop and stake president; they have faith that men who hold those callings are called of God and can speak for Him. This faith comes from their experience with good men who have served in those roles, along with the teaching that we trust in the Lord and in His servants, and we accept inspired words as His words. Often seasoned members will respect the office more than they do an individual who serves in that office, meaning they recognize that the calling comes with certain gifts and blessings from the Lord. Seeking advice from your bishop is not the same as seeking advice from a trusted friend.

6. The men who serve in these callings are (in my experience) good men who do their best to serve in the way the Lord wants them to. They rely on their own experience (often as counselors to other bishops, for instance), on training they receive, on the scriptures, on the handbook of instructions and other church policy, and on personal pleas to the Lord for wisdom and guidance in specific cases. But these men are not perfect, and they are not infallible. Sometimes their counsel is limited by their own experience. Sometimes they do not know what they do not know. Sometimes they may not have read the latest policy, or do not remember it.

That last point may be troubling to some.

I remember a play I wrote when I was in college. In it, a bishop expressed private doubts to his stake president about a decision he had made as bishop. My father-in-law, a very faithful and somewhat conservative Latter-day Saint, was troubled by my characterizing the bishop as doubting, not because bishops do not have doubts, but because he worried that I might unfairly suggest that doubt is a regular part of a bishop's experience.

I do not believe that bishops spend a lot of time in doubt; they may simply not have time. In one ward I served, I easily spent twenty or more hours a week "bishoping" in addition to my 50-60 hours a week of work. (It was only later that I realized what a toll my service had on my family, and my next time around I tried to be more sensitive, though the time required really was more a sacrifice by my family than by me.)

Knowing that bishops are not perfect (I used to joke when I was a bishop that no one should think I was perfect, and if they did, they should consult my teenagers, who could set them straight), one might worry whether a bishop is acting under inspiration. This question seems to pop up often – wondering for instance when the General Authorities are speaking for themselves or for God. And of course the same question may apply for bishops and stake presidents.

The problems that may arise are easy to imagine. If we assume leaders are always inspired, we will be obedient, but may be troubled by discrepancies of history or finer points of doctrine or our own spiritual experiences. If we assume leaders are not always inspired then we are left with inevitable inconsistency in the application of their counsel.

Here are some ways I have come to terms with this question. These ideas are not new with me, but they do work for me.

1. If I receive a calling, I assume that calling is from the Lord. I know the process that most leaders follow when issuing a calling. Auxiliary leaders pray about the calling and offer inspired recommendations to bishoprics, and bishoprics pray to confirm the correctness of calls. Even if a call is uninspired, it would rarely be detrimental to accept it, but in my experience, the callings I've received have been great blessings to me, even if I was reluctant to accept initially. (I do remember one occasion when my wife received a calling she questioned. She asked if she could pray about it for a few days, sincerely not wanting to decline. By the following Sunday, the bishopric member who had issued the calling informed her that the bishopric had reconsidered and extended a different calling instead.) I remember sweet experiences extending calls where the person to be called seemed to be aware of the calling before I extended it. On one occasion, I was extending a release and in the middle of the interview I received the distinct impression that I should not extend the release after all, so I didn't. I am comfortable assuming that calls (and releases) come from the Lord, and I can seek that confirmation for myself, as well.

2. If I receive counsel over the pulpit, I assume it is the result of significant preparation. I understand that general authorities give a great deal of time and effort in preparing general conference talks. I have heard accounts of multiple drafts, reworking, rewording, and seeking the right nuance of meaning. If I have a concern about the counsel, I can seek my own confirming witness. I do not know if local leaders spend the same time and effort in their public addresses, and stories I hear suggest there is a wide variety of experience. I know the care I took when I spoke in sacrament meeting, and I try to assume that others do the same. (I reserve this position for counsel, but not necessarily for doctrine or history; if a bishop reads a source that has the history wrong, he may well repeat the wrong history.)

3. If I receive counsel in a blessing, I accept it as revelation for me. Elder Oaks' talk has caused me to think about this principle, and frankly I'm still working on it. But if my stake president were to give me a blessing that I sought, or pronounced a blessing while setting me apart, I would accept the words he spoke as revelation. This is particularly so if the blessing came after I had prepared myself and the person pronouncing the blessing had prepared himself. Of course I still have the opportunity to go to the Lord in private prayer to discuss particulars of a blessing for further understanding.

4. If I receive counsel in an interview, I try to have an open conversation with the interviewer to understand the counsel, why the interviewer recommends it, and how I should receive it (am I getting his opinion or am I getting inspired counsel?). Frankly, most often in an interview setting I'm told to go find my own answer. In fact, sometimes that's the answer I'm given in a blessing as well. In this kind of counsel, as in all counsel, I look for consistency with the scriptures, accepted church policy and the teachings of the prophets. When I gave counsel in an interview, I tried to hold to the same standard. One stake president suggested that the bishop in an interview should spend less than 20% of the time talking, and the other 80% praying for inspiration to say the right thing. Not bad advice.

I am grateful for the opportunity to receive personal revelation and for a faith which teaches me that is possible. I'm also grateful for inspired leaders who likewise receive revelation for their stewardships.