Rough Stone Rolling

I believe I mentioned some entries back about the part-member couple I met at the Fast Sunday Post-Fast Evening Mingle– our ward’s response to the stake president’s tyrannical abolishment of Break the Fast (it takes place 4 hours later, thus technically being well out of the range of a punishable Break the Fast)– last month. We really hit it off, and the wife (the non), told me how touched she was by my conversion story sacrament talk. Well, I got really psyched last week when her husband called and asked if I’d give the same talk at her baptism! The woman had gone through missionaries like breakfast cereal, claiming she had already belonged to two other churches and wasn’t about to just haphazardly jump into another until she KNEW (I guess that proverbial KNOWING moment happened) and not a second before. A thought flitted by, like a moth bumping into a light bulb, that baptismal programs were supposed to be standard 2-talk affairs– Baptism and The Holy Ghost– but I gladly accepted the invite and proceeded to dust off and abridge my talk.

Then I got the call from my friend MM, the ward mission leader, along with the missionaries: There was a concern about my talk. My clumsy moth was right– there’s a standard to the program that needed to be adhered to, and since the mission president and mission mother were supposedly coming, we really, really had to keep to the protocol. So after some sparring and derisive defiance on my part (something about being slaves to convention and white shirts on deacons) I suggested I incorporate the conversion story into the baptismal talk. Much rejoicing ensued on the other end of the line, and if there was a fatted calf I’m sure the elders would have biblically had their way with it.

Anyway, the program was a private affair with selected invitees, I gave the talk, a sweet sister gave the talk on the Holy Ghost that went something like, “I never did receive a witness from the Holy Ghost myself, but it’s a wonderful companion to have…”, the baptism was spiritual and the glowing new sister was confirmed the following Sunday. And the mission president & wife did not show up, thank you very much.

Anyone who’s had an administrative position in the ward is familiar with the Church MLS system. Not my favorite software to navigate, by a far piece (someone needs to tract out Bill Gates), but it’s handy for looking up and/or assigning home teachers & visiting teachers, and family info such as birthdays and phone numbers (if they’re not already on the ward website). Everything in the MLS is considered gospel, as it’s piped in directly from Church headquarters. That isn’t to say it’s always accurate. For example, one of our members’ records recently moved to another ward across the country, even though the member herself hadn’t budged an inch. But I’ve said it before– No matter how wrong they are they’re always right. Perhaps if the sister were more in-tune, she would have divined that the Lord had a purpose for her in that other ward.

So the other night I was perusing a list I hadn’t used before: An A-Z directory of the ward membership showing who is assigned home teachers and who isn’t. The stake presidency recently challenged all wards to get every member assigned a home teacher by April 20, so I wanted to see what little holes in my quorum I could spackle. Scrolling down the list, my spirit shrunk like a sad balloon (I swear I heard feeble, wet squeaking as the air escaped) by the number of names that fell under my jurisdiction– people I’ve never heard of, who were not assigned. Who are these people?? I passed my findings on to the bishop, hoping he’d offer a bright, sunny explanation that would absolve me from this fubar predicament. Not likely– he smiled sympathetically and said, “Welcome to my world.” Again with ‘Welcome to my world?’ Honestly, Bishop needs to come up with new material for the downtrodden, suicidal and manic depressive.

Every week names pour into our ward boundaries, and in every PEC and ward council 3-6 families are added to our membership. In almost every sacrament meeting we raise hands to welcome the newbies and 24 times out of 25 no one stands when their names are called. They remain in auxiliary limbo until assigned home teachers and we learn they’re either a) inactive, b) attend a singles ward or c) moved away a long time ago. So much time that could be devoted to giving service to established members is blown on locating and “reaching out” to these vaporous bogeymen.

So here’s my plan on how to satisfy the stake president’s challenge by the due date: Assign every non-assigned name to the home teacher most geographically adjacent to their address. Then instruct said HT to treat them like their own personal blitz– that is, take a few minutes to knock on their door and invite them to church, or at least verify their existence. Nothing would make me happier than if they had moved on to someone else’s backyard. The cruel reality, however, is that they will remain in our system until they eventually resurface wherever it is they went. Sometimes that doesn’t happen for years. If Jimmy Hoffa were a Mormon we’d still have him.

Meanwhile, Temple Prep came to a satisfying close on Sunday, and none too soon. The back-to-back classes were kicking my butt, and I sorely missed Sunday afternoons with my family. The fruits of the labor, however, resulted in two couples, a gung-ho new member that just crossed his year mark, and a young woman about to be married, all getting their recommends. But it’s the couple who held back that I think about the most. Their knowing that they need to take the step, but not wanting to stifle the husband’s imagined rock music career leaves a part of me feeling that I failed to get the message across. How can anyone with presence of mind– who had been baptized and countlessly renewed their covenants in sacrament, who sat through powerful testimonies and talks, conferences and lessons– suddenly go fish eye when the greatest of eternal blessings are laid before them? During my final testimony to the class, I turned my attention to them and urged them to visit with the bishop about their issues. In my opinion, if he couldn’t allay their reservations, then they don’t want them to be allayed. Spirits in the material world.

Ever notice how much “Lord Dismiss Us with Thy Blessing” sounds like “Deutschland, Deutschland Uber Alles”? Or maybe I’m just tired.