You Belong

Below is a talk I gave in church last summer: 

When we were asked to talk about our favorite story from Jesus’ life, I thought about it, and thought about it, and thought about it. I overachieved, and reread Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John at one time. I’ve read them all before, but never in succession. I don’t know about you, but whenever I read about Jesus, it’s always for some holiday, or some class, or just picking and choosing a story to read. It’s just a verse or series of verses to convey a point. So yes, I had read all of these stories before, but there was something that really impressed me when I read it all in one sitting. And it was really hard to pick just one story. So I didn’t. I cheated a little. Christ continually and unselfishly helped everyone around Him. Verse after verse, chapter after chapter, He is bullied, berated, hated, and questioned by everyone. And verse after verse, He stops to help the people those that hate him, those that others call small and unworthy. He says He loves them, without even knowing them, regardless of everything they’ve ever done wrong, and in spite of what others see in them. And this is what I decided to talk about today. His love.

Really, that’s all that Jesus was. Just love. Just the pure love of everyone in the world ever, as long as the world is or has been in existence- every person you meet and see. He loved them. He loves them. But it’s a certain kind of love that I really admire Him for. He didn’t just love the people who were showing up to church every week, getting straight A’s, doing everything right, being sweet angels. He loved the the odd, the weirdos, the sinners, the harlots, the jerks, even the people that hated him. He loved people no matter how much they stuck out, or how much others said they didn’t belong. He took the opportunity to care for them and teach them. He invited them into church just the same.

So I will start with my first favorite story of Christ’s love. It is the parable of the sheep in Matthew chapter 18. For anyone who doesn’t know the parable, it says that if a man has 100 sheep, and one of them goes astray, he’s going to go looking for that sheep. He’s not just going to leave it. He doesn’t say, “Eh, I have plenty more where that came from.” He gets his hands dirty and gets that sheep back. And when that one sheep does come back, he’s going to be happier about it than even about those 99 that didn’t wander off. God will always welcome us back with open arms. We, too, get so many opportunities to help our lost sheep, to nurture them and help them come back to us. Do we always recognize those opportunities, or do we sometimes miss them, because someone seems too lost or out of place?

When I was about eight or nine years old, my father was excommunicated. Before then he had loved this church. He taught me about the priesthood. He served as a high priest. He had gone on a mission. He was married in the temple. But now, my parents were divorced, and he no longer had the priesthood.  I was confused, and nothing made sense to me, but he was my dad and I still loved him. I was told by my leaders that excommunication was an act of love, to help him start over. This comforted me immensely, but then I witnessed many of my neighbors, his previous friends, stop talking to him. They whispered about him in the halls at church.

It broke my heart. Wasn’t he still one of God’s children? Wasn’t he still my dad?

Several years later, he was in another area, now a nonmember. He had become angry and bitter towards the church. He turned away missionaries and invitations to attend, but he had a bishop that reached out to him. That bishop would visit and talk with my dad, and they became friends.  That bishop found out that my dad loved and missed being involved in scouts, and decided help a lost sheep. He then invited my dad to be a scout leader, and my dad was ecstatic. He had missed being a part of scouts so much, and he talked about it weekly. He made sure my brothers were eagle scouts. He took me camping, and made sure I knew how to tie all the knots, and start a rad log house fire. So, of course, he immediately began preparing lessons for these kids.

One day, he received another visit from the bishop, who told him there had been complaints, too many complaints, about him in the scout leader position. They had threatened to pull their kids out of scouts because my father was a nonmember, and they knew he drank alcohol in his home, and so the bishop had no choice but void his offer. When my dad revealed this to me later, all I saw was hurt in his eyes. It hurt me too, because he was my daddy. The bishop extended a hand towards my dad. He was being Christlike and loving, which he will never know I am so grateful for. He was trying to help get my father involved again. But it can’t just be one person with a lantern, saying “here, sheep. Here, sheep.” In our congregations we are all shepherds and we are all sheep. We need to bust out a search party and love that lost sheep to death.

While giving the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus delivered one of my other favorite lines, “Judge not, that ye not be judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged.” He asks the people how they can point out a mote, or a splinter, in their brother’s eye, but forget about the giant beam in their own eye. Christ, the only perfect person ever to walk the earth, the only person that honestly could place judgment on someone without hypocrisy, tells all his disciples that they shouldn’t do it. I take this thought with me to church every week. I think we can slip up sometimes, and look at someone and think, “Why are they even here? Why are they LDS? They do this and this and this. They don’t deserve to be here. They should just leave.” We forget that someone could look at us, and for whatever the reason may be, they could think the same thing. And I don’t know about you guys, but I really want to be here. Church can sometimes be my sanity, even if I’m snoring—Of course by accident.

                Recently, I read a blog posted by a Christian actress. I’ve seen it floating on a couple of other Facebook walls, so I know some here have read it. It seemed almost too perfect for this talk. It is called, “Three Immodestly dressed women walk into a church.” It contains a story about three women, and shows why we cannot and should not judge people inside of our halls.

The first woman is new to church and has recently discovered the gospel, after previously being rebellious and a little wild. This is her first time attending, but all she has is a skirt that stops above the knees and a tank top.

The second woman has recently gained a lot of weight, and all of her clothes fit poorly and are now too tight. However, she doesn’t have the money yet to buy new clothes.

The third is a young teen, still grappling with the idea of being “cool” and “modest” at the same time. An older woman tells her that she would never allow her child out dressed like that, that men in this church only want “respectable” girls. The girl hides in the bathroom the rest of the day and many Sundays after.

In all of these stories, we have a couple of choices. We can judge an outward appearance and assume these women’s inner reasons and feelings for dressing like they do, potentially blocking some kind of spiritually uplifting experience for both of us. Or we can open our doors and unlock our hearts and just love them for being here, for taking that step. Christ, in all of his perfection, told us in Matthew 22 that the greatest commandment is to love God, and that the second greatest is to love thy neighbor as thyself. Can we remember this and act with love towards everyone we meet? We never know why people do what they do. We never know what they’re going through. Perhaps our love is just what they need to feel the spirit, to feel whole.

President Uchdorf gave a conference talk last October called, “Come join with us.” It resonated with me. He said that there is room for all here, that we can find similarities in our yearnings, struggles, and hopes. We may have different upbringings, but, and I quote, “we need your unique talents and perspectives. The diversity of persons and peoples all around the globe is the strength of this church.” I would like to add one more thing to this already fabulous idea. That we are all children of God, and we should treat each other as such. What a new found respect for people we can have if we view them this way. How will it change our actions and thoughts towards them?

I loved this talk and felt that it pertained to me, like he was speaking right to me. I don’t look like a stereotypical Mormon. I have a very unconventional upbringing. Aside from my father, my mother is a convert from Judaism. I grew up with bits of everything and teachings from everywhere. My dad even experimented with Native American spirituality. As a lifelong Utahn, I often felt alienated at church, like I didn’t belong there, but I loved the beautiful ideas from the Book of Mormon, adding to and extending broad ideas from the Bible. When I was struggling the most with my differentness, my brother would tell me something I loved. Chris has now informed me that what he said is a famous quote, but I’m going to continue attributing it to my brother, because it made him seem terribly wise and thoughtful. He said, “Church is a hospital for the spiritually sick, not a rest home for the righteous. You deserve to be here just as much as the rest of us.”

When we moved to Columbus I was nervous—nervous that I would have to start all over again, proving that I was worthy to be here with everyone else, that people might not accept me because I don’t seem like a “typical” Mormon. What I found was the opposite. My previous ward, and now this one, welcomed with open arms. So many people extended love in my direction, taking me in, making me feel like I belonged. Two Christmases ago, I sang at our ward Christmas party in full hair school regalia—All black from head-to-toe, a school shirt that was too small, because that was the only size they had left, pants when others were in skirts, hot pink lipstick, and yes, even my purple hair. Afterwards, one of the girls came up to me and said, “I’m so glad that you are you, and that you are here.” I can’t tell you how much that meant to me, something so small she will probably never know. She could have looked at me and thought, “She doesn’t belong here.” She could have never talked to me or done her visiting teaching, because I looked like the kind of person that wouldn’t be into that, but she didn’t. She reached out to me with a Christlike love, and pulled me into the ward, bringing us both closer to the gospel and to Christ. She just loved me.

                So many in this ward have done the same, and I thank you all for your love. If there is anyone here that is worried they don’t belong, I urge you to read any chapter about Jesus’ life. He welcomed all. His church is for everyone, so please stay here with us. I love that we are all children of our Heavenly Father, siblings to our Savior, Jesus Christ, no matter what else we are, and I hope that we can emulate them and remember to love everyone, inside…and outside… of this building. I’m so grateful to be a part of this ward, and for the friendship that many of you have already shown me. Thank you.

I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.