An Email I Sent Home
The following is an email I wrote home while serving a mission in Pocatello, Idaho:
“This week I have observed something pretty heartbreaking. I am begging you, wherever you are, to prioritize being kind to people over pledging to Church culture stereotypes and damaging cliches. Those you hurt, intentionally or unintentionally, do not forget. Everyday I talk to people who still have a sour taste in their mouths leftover from cruel interactions with Church members. One man, Dean, got remarried and had lots of members antagonize him about it. He eventually stopped going to church. He was turned away from the one place that should bring him peace and support! We visited him a second time and his wife was there. She had a similar story after getting divorced, and her son who came out as gay was extremely mistreated within the ward boundaries by people supposedly following Jesus Christ.
I am begging you again to set aside your pride. Your ‘that's just how I was raised.’ Your perceptions of how the gospel should be lived, justifying your criticism in the name of Christ as if that's what Jesus would have done. As my companion and I left Dean’s house, he said, ‘When you guys came over the first time it gave me hope again that there are good people in the world.’
It saddens me to think that in fourteen years, Dean has had nothing but bad experiences with Church members until we showed up. Instead of folding under the pressure of ‘fixing’ the world or ridding it of bad eggs, just decide right now to be good. To everyone you come in contact with, no MATTER their background, choices, family, class, race, sexuality, or physical appearance. LOVE them as Jesus does.”
This was only the second month into my mission. I was observing the culture and becoming disheartened because it seemed that the truthfulness of Christ had been lost. Unfortunately after this email I had several other experiences related to flaws in systemic religion that I couldn’t shake. Too many of my close family members, people we were teaching, and ward members in our area had troubling experiences that dissuaded me from my conviction in saying that I knew the Church was true. It felt hypocritical, because I didn't know. I was upset and had no unbiased outlet in which to weigh the dilemma.
About five months into my mission, I felt as though I could not go on any further. Forget about the mission, I wanted to abandon being a member of the Church entirely. There is nothing more infuriating than watching the people you love experience pain, affliction, suffering, and harsh judgment from the very institution that holds Christ at the center.
At this point I questioned everything. What was I doing? Why was I here? Was I not doing enough? Who even is Jesus Christ? Why did it seem that His character was entirely ignored in the face of difference? Even after studying Him every single morning for two hours, I felt far removed.
One night I wished I could run away. Put it all behind me. I couldn’t physically escape, so I put in my earbuds and sat at the kitchen table and began to paint. I sat there and cried, my tears pooling in the colors I had created. Water swirled through the orange paint, my eyes following the slow brush stroke, slow enough to consider the depth of my decision to serve a mission. My motivation was love; it always had been. But in my mind, it was drowning in a sea of moral implications and selfish rationale. In a debate of Christ's life, philosophy, and a conservative institution, who wins?
I continued to cry and simultaneously pray for a heightened knowledge of Christ as my brother, savior, healer, and friend. I began to brush shapes onto the paper, pure color and emotion. After a while the shapes formed a person, one of great familiarity to me. I pieced together my emotions and the paint like a puzzle, and when it was done Christ was staring back at me. He was holding a white flower very gently, and was ministering to a group of people. His face had no expression, but still it was full of love. In this moment my hands did something my brain could not: perfectly articulate who I knew Christ to be. Kind, compassionate, loving, generous, wise. Full of grace, mercy, and peace. A seeker and symbol of truth. I knew in that moment that Heavenly Father had helped me to understand that I could feel and administer that same love I portrayed through my art.
This night alone in the basement kitchen didn’t erase my conflict or questions. It didn't cure the systemic flaws that still need attention and change. However, it brought me a certain peace that could not be mistaken or replicated. It could only heal my heart and make place for a loving God who is just as saddened as I was. This peace encouraged me to keep hoping for Christ in my life, in the lives of others, and in the Church as a whole. It directed me to continue holding on to my spirituality and religious nature however removed I considered myself to be. I came home from my mission in February of 2023, eleven months early. Each day this peace remains in my soul, allowing me to be the change I so desperately wanted in that moment, with love continuing to be my motive.
In TS Elliot’s “Little Gidding,” he wisely stated that:
“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”
The truth of life, love, and Christ is something I will continue to seek after, and to truly understand something we must never put an end to seeking.