Their fervor triggers a trip to a different dimension. The members of the Gospel Doctrine class are involved in an energetic discussion of the Abrahamic covenant. In my cocoon, I’m aware of what’s going on, of how dynamic the exchanges are as various class members share ways that being part of that covenant blesses their lives. I’ve hardly ever seen them so animated. From my in-between space, I watch with detached fascination and begin to ask how long has it been since I’ve even thought about Abraham’s covenant, let alone how my life might be affected by my partaking in its responsibilities and promises. Do I even believe in things like this—that God could make a promise to one person that can create real effects in lives four millennia later? I’m pretty positive that whatever blessings my fellow class members are recounting, these are mostly their readings of various positive things having come into their lives partly as a result of their spiritual lineage.
Just as I generally sit in the back of the Sunday School class, for most of my waking life the Mormon sacred narrative has taken a back chair to critical thought, ethics, and a science-driven overarching vision of what the world is really like or the criteria I should use to decide what is and is not really important. I definitely like many aspects of the Mormon mythos, and I even champion some of its most compelling ideas. But I often keep myself aloof from fellow ward members. I’ve learned to step outside the gospel’s story and see it as myth, as sacred narrative, as true in only certain ways—and they haven’t. I’m inside the Mormon tent, yes, committed to it even; but still every story told at church gets filtered through my academy-honed lenses: “Yeah, that’s a nice idea, but come on! You have to know that this, that, and that are full-on mythic!” Through these lenses, I hardly ever see the heart of the person telling the story.
At this moment, however, it all shifts. During my time-out-of-time, I stop deconstructing and am flooded with love for the good, humble, remarkable people in my class who are sharing their hearts, their determinations, their dreams for their lives and those of their children. I feel the call of Abraham—and I want in.
Four years later, I still occasionally deconstruct; I still notice gaps between myth and fact. I speak up when I think an idea has the potential to send a hurtful message. But I no longer feel distant from my fellow Saints. I am in.
Dan Wotherspoon
Tooele, Utah
