I haven’t written anything for a long time, but not because my interest in all-things-Mormon has waned. In fact, I am still almost obsessive in my quest to understand LDS history, doctrine, and culture. I’m listening to hours of podcasts and voraciously reading books and articles, but I’m also trying to find time to understand my ancestors and sort things out in the temple. It’s been a busy summer—babysitting grandkids, working in the yard, helping with girls’ camp, and trying to have some fun. My blog has seriously suffered, but I know that I need to sit down and capture the feelings I’m having today.
If you have read any of my previous posts, you probably know that I’m on a spiritual journey—looking at all the criticisms leveled at the church and trying to reconcile those with my personal experience and faith. While I believe that it is impossible for anyone to be truly unbiased, I’ve tried to really listen to other’s perspectives and accept the truth, even if it’s not what I’ve always believed or what I want to believe.
I have found a whole mess of messiness. Joseph Smith did a lot of things that caused even his closest associates to lose faith, Brigham Young made plenty of really outrageous statements, and the church has actively taught things that we now see as wrong. The church’s history is littered with heartache and misunderstandings, and we are living in a period of chaos and confusion. I think it is because I have been so immersed in the clutter that today’s experience felt so clear.
In my ward, there is a beautiful girl that I’m guessing she must now be about twelve or thirteen years old. I don’t think I will ever be able to look at her and not recall her bright smile as she sat in the little junior primary chairs and enthusiastically sang the primary songs when I was the chorister. Now she is facing some serious health challenges. Last night we began a ward fast and this morning we held a prayer meeting on her behalf. It was a remarkable thing. I started crying before the meeting even began and still find myself tearing up just thinking about it.
I don’t know how much my reaction was colored by knowing the people who were there, or if the feeling was actually so strong that a stranger would also have felt it. For an atypical Thursday morning meeting, I thought the turnout was impressive. I noticed young people there—some near the girl’s age, some had come alone and others with their parents. People were there in Sunday clothes, others appeared to be dressed for whatever job or project they had just taken time out of, or would soon be headed to. It didn’t matter, we felt unified. I observed elderly members whose health must have made it a struggle just to get there by 8 a.m. and younger ones who probably had to rearrange schedules to be leaving for work so late. There were those who have been in the ward for many decades and others who are relatively new, but it felt like family. As I looked around, I was noticed many who I knew were affected by serious struggles of their own but were still there to support their neighbor.
In this meeting, the gospel was so simple that it could be expressed in just two words—love and faith.
Love—there was genuine love and concern for this little girl, her welfare, her parents, and her family. The feelings were deep and extended to all who were there and even many who weren’t. The hugs, smiles, handshakes and other expressions of warmth were clearly heartfelt.
Faith—I witnessed a deep faith in the reality of a Heavenly Father who loves us and is willing to work in our lives. We are personally powerless to heal this sweet girl, but we have a conviction and hope in the power of the divine. I would guess that most of those who came to pray were also fasting, an act of sacrifice and faith. When it came time to pray, those who were able were asked to kneel, while those who find kneeling difficult were told that it was fine to remain seated. I was impressed by many who choose to kneel, even when it was clearly challenging or painful. It was an act of quiet humility and reverence. The prayer was tender and sincere. Of course, what we want is a miraculous recovery, but we trust God and his plan. We want God and angels to be in the details of our lives, to strengthen us through the hurt and struggle. We want to find ways to help and support each other.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not claiming that LDS wards are perfect. I know they are full of real people, pettiness, misunderstandings, and hurt feelings. But what I experienced this morning was overwhelmingly pure and good.
I know that there are many problems in the church and its history, but we don’t throw out science because it has so often been wrong, or medicine because it still doesn’t have answers for so many ills. Instead, we celebrate growth, progress, and learning. The LDS church has always acknowledged its need for improvement and reform. That is the very point of continuing revelation, so the Lord can yet reveal many great and important things. We also stress the atonement of Christ so we can repent, both individually and collectively.
I believe that one of the true miracles of the LDS faith is that after nearly two hundred years of messiness and struggle, this gospel can still produce the outpouring of pure love and faith that I saw and felt this morning. How can something so complicated and turbulent result in something so beautifully simple?
I have a deep gratitude for those who persevered, who forgave themselves and others for faults along the way, and who keep trying, loving and praying to do better. They inspire me in my weakness and build my much-less-blind faith.
