front of this officer.” The Church really did believe in law and order…the President’s comments weren’t just blowing smoke up my butt.
“Do you know who he is?” The hate that came through in his voice was the kind that’d been reared up in him for nineteen odd years. “He shouldn’t be here.” That kind of disgust didn’t grow up overnight.
“What is your issue, Elder?”
Didn’t really want to get into it and drag things down. “Don’t worry about it President Stacy. Just leave it be.”
“He was excommunicated.” Thinking, maybe, he’d got me, Trey sneered, “For being a faggot.”
An odd look blew across the President’s face. I didn’t know what to think. The man’s expression was unreadable. When he spoke his tone was cold. “You will not use such derogatory terms while you are on your mission. Do you understand, Elder?” Stacy drew himself up and stepped in close to Trey. “Until such time as you can honestly say you have done nothing that would lower yourself in the eyes of God, then you have no right to ever disparage anyone.” Nose to nose he read that boy the riot act. “This deputy has come here on an official investigation. Whatever his status with the Church is wouldn’t matter one iota to me because he’s here in that uniform asking for our assistance. Do you understand?”
“But…” Trey almost swallowed that one word. I don’t think he expected that attitude from the Mission President.
“If I must, I will sit there in that room and make sure you cooperate fully.” Stacy moved back to his desk and pointed at me. “Elder, you cooperate with the authorities, always, no matter who they are.”
“But he…” Trey’s bravado crumbled in the knowledge that President Stacy didn’t back his hate, “everyone near Panguitch knows that he’s taken up with this guy and got kicked out.”
“Elder,” Stacy snapped, “after you answer this officer’s questions, you have an assignment. You’re going to go sit in your room and you’re going to ponder this: ‘Christ didn’t die for people who already loved him. He died for sinners—people whose lives were bound up and directed by sinful desires that went contrary to God’s will. It was the sick he came to cure, not the healthy.’” Then he tapped the pile of papers on his desk. “And you’re going to write a confessional on what that means to your mission and the work God has given you to do and how you’re going to use today as a lesson for dealing with people not in the Church when you’re out there in the world spreading the Gospel according to Jesus Christ.”
“Yes, President Stacy.” I wouldn’t swear Stacy’s speech cowed Trey, but the boy acted contrite enough.
“And if this officer comes back and tells me you’ve given him any lip, been disrespectful of his office or himself, and have not cooperated fully with his investigation, don’t doubt that I will deal with you accordingly. I’m certain the last thing you want is to be sent home.”
That equaled probably the worst punishment that a missionary could suffer. Everyone you knew would know you got kicked off your mission. The embarrassment and shame of that would follow a man for the rest of his life. My missionary companion hated his mission so much he couldn’t sleep and lost twenty pounds, but he kept on with it—and I gave him as much support as I could—because he wasn’t about to shame his family by going home early.
The only worse punishment in the Church was excommunication…like had happened to me.
President Stacy kept drumming his fingers on the papers. “Adjust your attitude, Elder, if you understand what’s good for you.” Then he took a deep breath and smiled—at me. “Elder Taylor will take you to one of the unused classrooms. You can interview Elder Hall there.” He reached out and offered his hand. It took me a second to fire up my brain and take his shake. “If there’s any problems you can grab any of the
“Do you know who he is?” The hate that came through in his voice was the kind that’d been reared up in him for nineteen odd years. “He shouldn’t be here.” That kind of disgust didn’t grow up overnight.
“What is your issue, Elder?”
Didn’t really want to get into it and drag things down. “Don’t worry about it President Stacy. Just leave it be.”
“He was excommunicated.” Thinking, maybe, he’d got me, Trey sneered, “For being a faggot.”
An odd look blew across the President’s face. I didn’t know what to think. The man’s expression was unreadable. When he spoke his tone was cold. “You will not use such derogatory terms while you are on your mission. Do you understand, Elder?” Stacy drew himself up and stepped in close to Trey. “Until such time as you can honestly say you have done nothing that would lower yourself in the eyes of God, then you have no right to ever disparage anyone.” Nose to nose he read that boy the riot act. “This deputy has come here on an official investigation. Whatever his status with the Church is wouldn’t matter one iota to me because he’s here in that uniform asking for our assistance. Do you understand?”
“But…” Trey almost swallowed that one word. I don’t think he expected that attitude from the Mission President.
“If I must, I will sit there in that room and make sure you cooperate fully.” Stacy moved back to his desk and pointed at me. “Elder, you cooperate with the authorities, always, no matter who they are.”
“But he…” Trey’s bravado crumbled in the knowledge that President Stacy didn’t back his hate, “everyone near Panguitch knows that he’s taken up with this guy and got kicked out.”
“Elder,” Stacy snapped, “after you answer this officer’s questions, you have an assignment. You’re going to go sit in your room and you’re going to ponder this: ‘Christ didn’t die for people who already loved him. He died for sinners—people whose lives were bound up and directed by sinful desires that went contrary to God’s will. It was the sick he came to cure, not the healthy.’” Then he tapped the pile of papers on his desk. “And you’re going to write a confessional on what that means to your mission and the work God has given you to do and how you’re going to use today as a lesson for dealing with people not in the Church when you’re out there in the world spreading the Gospel according to Jesus Christ.”
“Yes, President Stacy.” I wouldn’t swear Stacy’s speech cowed Trey, but the boy acted contrite enough.
“And if this officer comes back and tells me you’ve given him any lip, been disrespectful of his office or himself, and have not cooperated fully with his investigation, don’t doubt that I will deal with you accordingly. I’m certain the last thing you want is to be sent home.”
That equaled probably the worst punishment that a missionary could suffer. Everyone you knew would know you got kicked off your mission. The embarrassment and shame of that would follow a man for the rest of his life. My missionary companion hated his mission so much he couldn’t sleep and lost twenty pounds, but he kept on with it—and I gave him as much support as I could—because he wasn’t about to shame his family by going home early.
The only worse punishment in the Church was excommunication…like had happened to me.
President Stacy kept drumming his fingers on the papers. “Adjust your attitude, Elder, if you understand what’s good for you.” Then he took a deep breath and smiled—at me. “Elder Taylor will take you to one of the unused classrooms. You can interview Elder Hall there.” He reached out and offered his hand. It took me a second to fire up my brain and take his shake. “If there’s any problems you can grab any of the
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