The day something broke inside

(Written Sep 2012)
Sunday morning in mid June 2012 on a Filipino island dawned and I left my wife and three children sleeping at the resort while I set off on the hired motorbike to find the chapel on the island. An hour and several wrong turns later, I pulled up outside a pristine chapel with a handful vehicles in the car-park.

I sat down in a room filled with humble, poor Filipinos, 2 tourists and a retired white American giving a talk. I guess he may have been a service missionary, though he had no badge. Or perhaps just a retired businessman.

He stood up and berated people for their lack of dedication and righteousness. He referenced a Saturday service project that only he, the missionaries and branch presidency had attended. Then he turned to the young men sitting at the back, ‘probably too busy gossiping to be listening to what I’m saying. How many of the young men were there yesterday? (he held his thumb and forefinger in a circle)' 'Zero.’ They’re here now aren’t they? I thought. While their peers are playing down at the golden beaches or more likely earning some weekend cash to give to their parents, these boys are sat in white shirts and ties, sitting through a dull 60 minutes of lecturing.

Something broke inside me that day. Guilt, criticism, superiority. Is that what I’m a part of? Is this a process of our white, middle-class, conservative Western superiority being imposed on the rest of the world? As the intermediate hymn started ‘I have a family here on earth…’ I realised, yes, I do, they’re waiting for me back at the resort. I stood up, walked out and rode home, wondering if I would ever feel comfortable in a chapel again.

That was neither the beginning nor the end of my journey. We had moved to Asia some 4 months earlier. Going to a new branch was a shock to me. What I had experienced back home and the attitudes I discovered in the new one were a real contrast. I was sad to come across a persistent condescending narrative. My wife, who was not active when we moved to our ex-pat experience, had not been attending for a while and continued to feel that way. Through a combination of factors I decided to start an investigation of our church's origins, motives and doctrines to understand where we, as a church, came from. This was the beginning of a painful process of discovery and really opened my eyes to many uncomfortable aspects of our history and policies.

Months have passed and I’ve continued going to church. I teach lessons, I study my Book of Mormon on the commute to work most mornings – and I get something meaningful out of reading it. I tend to enjoy church. I don’t want to leave and abandon something that fundamentally makes me feel good, gives me a purpose and place in life, teaches me and my family good, moral family values. I currently want to find a solution to the history and staying. I’m not looking for a way out.

As I've studied I've made myself take a responsible approach. I've read from many perspectives. I've chased the sources to their original context where possible. I've made myself take at least a year before reaching any conclusions. I'm realising it's going to take much, much longer than that.