The Not-So-Great Apostasy

Micah
March 2009

Written February 22, 2009

I found today's Elders Quorum lesson very challenging/engaging. "Beware the Bitter Fruits of Apostasy" (Chapter 27, Teachings of the Presidents of the Church: Joseph Smith) warns that losing confidence in our church leaders is the first step on the path to apostasy.

The manual, quoting from History of the Church, states:

That man who rises up to condemn others, finding fault with the Church, saying that they are out of the way, while he himself is righteous, then know assuredly, that that man is in the high road to apostasy; and if he does not repent, will apostatize, as God lives.
I commented in class that the lesson had some internal and external validity issues in my mind. Internally, the lesson shouldn't proceed without acknowledging the convenience that the principle of apostasy offered Joseph Smith—a man who, though loved by many, often times had much push-back from his followers. Externally, I don't understand how the principle of apostasy should properly manifest itself into modern LDS discourse.

It seems like excommunication happened regularly in the early days of the church. Joseph Smith readily removed people from membership, including the three witnesses to the Book of Mormon. But he also readily allowed people back in. My impression is that Brigham Young was a bit harsher.

Organizationally, I can see how the policy of declaring dissenters apostates made good sense in those days. The demands of building Zion from the ground up required a strict form of obedience, not only to church doctrine but also to the temporal, day-to-day decisions of leaders. The if-you're-not-with-me-you're-against-God approach to management, although unsettling on a certain level, drove the early saints to create a cohesive community that could withstand the common pitfalls of organizational development.

But I wonder how the principle of apostasy should function in today's church. Our lesson on Sunday often drifted into discussion on following church doctrine. However, the lesson, as presented in the manual, wasn't about this type of apostasy (i.e. disbelieving or disagreeing with doctrine). The lesson's discussion narrowly defined apostasy as it relates to leadership.

A year or so ago, a local leader came to Elders Quorum to tell us that a petition would be placed outside the room. He went on to give a brief and biased summary of a bill before the Maryland state legislature. We were then encouraged to sign the petition as we left.

For many reasons, I strongly disagreed with the leader's approach. There have been various other occasions in my life where the actions of leaders made me... well, made me upset. I never know what to do in these situations. On the one hand, I want to be respectful of my leaders and give deference to their decisions based on the inspiration I expect them to receive in their callings. But on the other hand, there are occasions where my silence causes me to feel complicit in actions that I feel damage my church community. And then there is probably occasions when a leader isn’t receiving inspiration and exercises his or her authority improperly.

The information in today's lesson seemed to present an extreme view of apostasy. Likely apostasy was framed in a particular manner by Joseph Smith and early leaders because of the organizational demands that existed in the early days of the church—demands that don't exist in the same form today.

I disagree with a view on the principle of apostasy that creates hierarchical structures in which authority operates in an unchecked manner. There's going to be error. People are going to make mistakes, most of which will hopefully be the result of good intentions. A view of apostasy that damns members who are unwilling to be silent doesn't create room to correct the error. A view on apostasy that makes members worry they'll be damned seems equally damaging. Members ought to feel safe offering valid criticisms of the decisions made by their leaders.

(And perhaps there is/was room for this type of criticism in Joseph Smith’s discourse on apostasy. I just didn’t gather such from the manual or our discussion in Elders Quorum. Plus, people tend to cringe whenever I say, “I don’t agree.”)

At the other extreme, a view on the principle of apostasy that allows members to pull away at the legitimacy of leaders based on non-consequential matters can't be healthy for the community either. "Because Bishop [so-and-so] picks his nose" isn't reason enough to throw one's hands in the air and give up on the leader's ability to contribute.

And so the principle of apostasy seems to necessitate a balance between unbridled criticism by members and unbridled authority of leaders.

Mark recently mentioned that it's important to have faith that our leaders are qualified and ordained to lead. I like that thought because it requires work on my part. I look back on times in my life when I've been asked to watch over others in a leadership position, and I never expected anyone to blindly follow or substantially defer to my exercise of authority. It comforts me to think that someone maybe worked on having faith in me and my call to serve.

There’s a lot that can (and should) be said about how leaders approach the authority they are given. I can see how the attitude of a leader really affects how this will all play out. If both parties (the leaders and the non-leaders) approach the process with humility, it seems likely to work out. If not — jumbled mess. But for now I’m content trying to engage my own involvement in the process because my personal contribution and attitude is all that I really have control over.

Approaching my leaders with faith gives me hope that I'll be able to find a proper way to express my legitimate concerns when they arise. That's not a very definitive resolution to the anxiety I felt while reading the lesson. But I think the faith approach is the right attitude. It allows space for both deference to leadership and constructive criticism of issues that will inevitably arise.













the greatest of these is charity

Micah
18 February 2009


Being embedded in Mormon culture is a curious experience on many levels.

Service is a major part of what we Mormons do. We help each other move. We help each other paint. We make casseroles for the sick and weed gardens for the widows. I've been up early on Saturday mornings to clean the church building before Sunday services. I've been out late on Friday nights to can powdered milk for LDS Humanitarian Services.

In addition to a culture of performing random acts of kindness, we Mormons move in and out of church callings on a regular basis. Accepting a calling is kinda just what we do. A friend of mine in California coordinates the flower arrangements displayed in sacrament meeting each week. One of my roommates serves as our Elders Quorum President. My other roommate is ward mission leader.

One time my bishop called to play the piano for the Elders Quorum. I don't play the piano, but I diligently learned one song to play for each week of the month—it was painful not only for me but the people who tried to sing along. During my first few weeks of playing, I struggled not only to hit the right keys but also to see the music notes through my tears of complete frustration, nervousness, and embarrassment. There were several people in the congregation who could play the piano much better. I knew it. They knew it. But I played each week, and we all got pretty dang good at "Come Follow Me."

I think because of all the opportunities to serve and be served, I find myself loosing sight of the reason for giving and receiving service—charity. A couple of months ago I asked to be released from a calling I held for almost two years. I loved the calling, but for many reasons it was my time to be done and move on. I think it surprised my bishop when I asked to be released. He immediately offered me a new calling—a calling that I've always wanted. But I told him, "Thanks, but no thanks." I just wasn't feeling like I wanted to jump right back in.

Corinthians chapter 13 goes down as one of my all-time favorite portions of scripture. It teaches the qualities of charity: long-suffering, kindness, humility. Good stuff.

Verse three comes as a warning:

And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.
Does it strike anyone else as curious that even if I gave my book collection, mountain bike, MacBook, ice skates, Spice Girls t-shirt, and autographed picture of Katie Couric to the poor AND THEN allowed my body to burn for a good cause—let's say, raising money for fire prevention—I still might not have charity? That's crazy smack.

So, I've been frustrated about this for the past couple of months, and often times I've felt very inadequate about serving and being served. It's great to be nice. And it would be great if being nice was sufficient. But being nice isn't enough apparently. I've found myself wondering why. Any insights?

I wonder if the repetitive motion of being nice for the sake of being nice is not sustainable. In the past, I've done nice things without feelings of charity to back the nice things up, and eventually doing the nice things becomes somewhat of a burden. Sometimes I even grow to resent the people for whom I perform the charity-less acts of service. When I don't operating out of love, it's easy for me to be critical of those I serve, and I oftentimes judge their receptiveness to my "kindness" as inadequate. That's just not good.

It's also pretty easy to tell when someone is being nice to me because they feel like that's the right thing to do. Those "kind" acts can cause a rift unlike any other because the acts acknowledge/emphasize/pronounce the emptiness of the relationship.

And so maybe it make sense—it's not enough just to serve. I've got to be serving for the right reason. My actions must be full of meaning. And for my actions to be full of meaning, I need charity for those I serve and for those that serve me.

Which leaves me in want/need of charity.

More to come.