Of One Heart and One Mindy
Thoughts on tasting Zion
Most Fridays, my wife Mindy and I go out to our favorite Mexican restaurant after work. The conversation usually includes a lot about our work week, our kids, our neighborhood, and… our religion.
She surprised me when she described an experience as Zion.
She could have called it beautiful or memorable, but this religious word, Zion, more completely captured what she wanted to convey, despite the current distance she feels with our religion.
A few years ago, a good friend’s husband unexpectedly passed. Mindy’s emotions surfaced as she relived the experience of tasting Zion. The sensation of being of one heart and one mind, not just with fellow Latter-day Saints, but with a community of people responding to a need.
It transcended the close personal feelings of wanting to be there for her friend. It transcended involvement in a religion. It transcended that moment.
In my religion, we talk about this state of Zion as though it requires shared beliefs. As though this level of unity or this sensation of oneness can only happen through religious conformity.
Mindy reminded me that, as Latter-day Saints, the way we see ourselves and others can be our biggest barrier to experiencing the joy of connecting our hearts and minds with people around us.
When we assume that the beauty of these universally available connections depends on people sharing our religion, we miss out on many opportunities to experience Zion.
Love-Share-Invite
As a ward missionary, I’m often torn between my natural desire to connect with people and the discomfort I feel about my church’s aggressive tradition of trying to convert people.
Love-Share-Invite. This was the slogan of a recent global training broadcast for those of us with “missionary” related callings in my church.
To many Latter-day Saints, this feels normal and natural. Why wouldn’t you want to share something that has brought joy and meaning to your life? Sharing it with others is understood as an act of love.
Seeing it differently can seem like a lack of faith.
During the years I was away from my church, I gained a different perspective from my Mormon upbringing. Through my teens and twenties, in various leadership positions I was trained to categorize everyone into three buckets: active, inactive, or non-member.
Everyone in the world was a target for joining our church or becoming more committed.
What about everyone else? If we’re chosen, what are they? The World? Babylon? Good people who lack the courage to accept our truth?
As a non-member, I remember what it felt like to be on the other end of this mindset. As the only active member in my family, I see how fellow members can struggle to conceive of relationships with people outside of the notion of converting them.
Normal and Natural
Part of the training I mentioned repeatedly spoke of sharing the gospel in normal and natural ways.
It’s not normal and natural to see people as less while hoping to have authentic friendships built on mutual respect. It’s not normal and natural to hope others will want to learn about our beliefs while showing little interest in theirs.
Especially those who have left us.
Zion
For me, the most normal and natural way to be a ward missionary is to let my neighbors know that I’m not there to teach them a lesson or invite them to church, but to listen to their experiences.
Especially in Utah, nearly everyone who doesn’t participate in my church has some strong feelings related to their interactions with Latter-day Saints.
Many grew up as Mormons. Officially, many are still members.
It is a little awkward at first. At a gut level, there is distrust. “What new sales strategy do the Mormons have now? Pretending to be interested in me to earn some trust so they can invite me to something later and I’ll feel obligated to reciprocate their friendliness?”
By explicitly addressing this, then demonstrating the sincerity of it, soon, the ice breaks. People realize we’re serious. We want to hear their stories. We want to hear about the sorrow, anger, or frustrations they’ve had in relation to our church. We want to hear about when they felt excluded or were treated like an outsider.
We want to hear about that policy that rocked their world or when their child came out as gay. When they learned parts of our history that shook them and their trust in leaders.
We want to hear about the abusive ex-spouse considered worthy by the church, ruining their confidence in discernment. About the teen who couldn’t find a date with a Latter-day Saint girl or the child pulled into family home evening lessons at a neighbor’s house without their permission.
We want to hear about the women who felt invisible and powerless in our church. About feeling guilty for not living up to being what the church told them was the only acceptable thing they could be.
We also want to hear about the good things that drive them. What beliefs and experiences do they cherish? What gives their lives meaning and happiness?
When it feels safe, people want to share these experiences.
We’ve been surprised too. After getting out some frustration, many pivot from venting to fondly telling about the joy they once felt in the church.
They aren’t saying they want to come back. They’re just enjoying a positive memory in a context of trust. They feel confident their openness won’t get twisted into an invitation they aren’t seeking.
A few moments of rare acceptance and openness with active church members.
We’re trying to love. Without conditions or church-driven agendas.
We’re trying to share. Safe spaces that value people for who they are.
We’re trying to invite. An invitation to friendship, regardless of beliefs or lifestyle.
It kind of feels like Zion.
People will go to the places where they feel this buzzing sense of acceptance, friendship, hope, love, connection, and meaning. Whether it’s at a church or a gay bar.
People thrive when they find their Zion.
Untrapping Zion
If you saw the show, Where the Red Fern Grows, you may remember the racoon trap. A simple soup can with a shiny object, chained to the ground. One side has edges bent in to allow a raccoon paw to slide in, but when it grasps the valued object, it can’t get out.
The raccoon could let go, but it dies because it won’t let go.
As Latter-day Saints, we’re perfectly capable of letting go of things that create barriers between us and others. It may not feel normal and natural to release our tight grasp on aspects of our religion that feel instinctual.
Giving up something we cherish only makes sense when it’s to gain something far more valuable.
To me, experiencing Zion with people who will never join or return to our church resonates completely with the same influence that led me back to my church.
As Latter-day Saints, I believe that connecting with people in this way depends more on us than them. As my wife Mindy said, we don’t have to wait for some future Zion. It’s all around us if we’ll see and embrace it.
We don’t need hidden agendas to convert people. We need hearts capable of connecting with people. We need humility capable of learning from and being inspired by others. We need love capable of valuing people for who they are.
We need Zion.
Even if we have to let go of some shiny things to obtain it.
