Outburst in the branch conference priesthood meeting

I had two outbursts in priesthood today. It's our branch conference so the stake leaders are here in force.

The lesson was on home teaching.

The high councillor who taught is a good man. He serves diligently, he has a generous and willing heart. He, like all of us, has a personally adapted view of the world that leads him to certain conclusions and perspectives. Knowing him fairly well means I know that his perspective drives him to serve his fellow-man in an admirable way.

Having said all that, I was reminded that what motivates one person can be a bitter pill for another.

While asking about what helps us be a better home teacher I shared a quote from Spencer W. Kimball. at a seminar for Regional Representatives in 1979:

"I do not worry about members of the Church being unresponsive when they learn of the needy as much as I worry about our being unaware of such needs. … Please, priesthood leaders, do not get so busy trying to manage Church programs that you forget about basic duties in what the Apostle James described as ‘pure religion, undefiled’ (James 1:27)."

I then made the point that there are many ways of serving others. That if you're not doing your home teaching it might not be because you're doing something bad, but because you're doing something equally good, better or best.

I then mentioned Elder Dube in the recent conference, who was quoting J Reuben Clark:

“...in the service of the Lord, it is not where you serve but how”

http://www.lds.org/general-conference/2013/10/look-ahead-and-believe?lang=eng

I was trying to make the point that there are many ways to serve the Lord by serving our fellow-men. Some of us see Home Teaching as a good way of serving, but we might not see it as the better or best way.

I sat quiet for the lesson which focused more on doing our duty than the joy of service. Towards the end of the lesson the teacher said, "Love is the most important aspect of home teaching. Love should motivate us" (so far so good). He then started talking about our love for our wives and said: "when I first married I didn't love my wife enough because I wouldn't stop smoking and wouldn't go to the temple to be sealed. If we love our wife we will attend our meetings to bring blessings on our family. If we love our wife we will do our home teaching."

He finished and another stake leader started talking. I tried to ignore it my feelings and reaction to the implications of the previous.

I suddenly interrupted the lesson and bubbled out with: "I'm sorry, but I can't let the last message go without comment. I love my wife and she loves me. She doesn't come to church at all but her love for me is neither dependent on not manifested by that decision. I support home teaching as a principle but if my wife could choose I wouldn't do it all. Some might even say that if  I really loved her I wouldn't go at all. But I love her independently of any choices I make to serve other people."

There was an awkward pause. Unfortunately I'd spoken passionately and probably confrontationally. I regret that. The tone of my voice will have meant that some people didn't listen to my choice of words.

The stake leader then went on to start talking about home teaching not being an assignment but a responsibility. Another stake leader then said: "If you really love Jesus Christ, you'd do your home teaching."

Something snapped. "This is ridiculous," I muttered. I stood up and stomped towards the door. As I got near the exit I turned back to the the silent room.

"I deeply disagree with the idea that we can't say we love Jesus Christ if we're not doing our home teaching. There are people in this town who are hungry, lonely, homeless and in prison. If we read Matthew 25 then these are the people we should be serving but we do nothing. We obsess about Home Teaching because it's measured and reported. We ignore those who are truly in need because there's no statistical recognition for it."

As I left the room I planned on gathering up my family and driving home. A councilor on the stake presidency, who had given me my temple recommend interview last month and was aware of some of my changed perspectives, followed me out and asked if he could speak briefly before I left.

I sat down in a side room and started sobbing. "I'm sorry, I feel like I've been hanging on at church by my fingertips for the last year or two. I shouldn't have spoken like that. There are so many people we could serve in so many different ways. No-one is motivated by accusations and guilt trips." He let me finish and then reassured me that he'd also been uncomfortable in the lesson and was sorry it had taken that tone. He appreciated the way I must be feeling. "I'm aware of your challenges. I support you. Keep doing what you're doing. It's important." There was no rebuke, only compassion.

When the priesthood lesson finished I went back and apologised for my outburst to the high councilor. He was bereft and in tears. He hadn't meant to point fingers, he simply meant to speak about his own motivation. That it was this was part of what drove him on to be of service, because he knew it made his wife happy and was expression of love. He hadn't meant to accuse me and was sorry if it sounded like it.

It's so easy to take offence at things people say. I know that I need to work harder at listening for subtext and remember that we are all imperfect communicators. Myself included. I'm sure that there are things I say in lessons that frustrate or bother people and they are generous enough to not call me out as a 'liberal' or 'heretic.' I need to work harder at hearing the intent, not just applying my own perspective.

As Brigham Young once said:

"There is one principle I wish to urge upon the Saints in a way that it may remain with them—that is, to understand men and women as they are, and not understand them as you are."

Later, the same stake councilor who spoke to me after the outburst also spoke in sacrament meeting. He told us that in his home odd socks got put in a box. Once a month the family would sit together and sort through all the odd socks and re-discover several pairs (or close enough to be pairs). We are all, he said, a bit like odd socks. We don't always feel like we fit, but if we are able to find ways of working together and complimenting each other.

As someone feeling like a very odd sock in church, I appreciated his support and message.