When I was sixteen years old, I attended a church camp at Southern Virginia University. It was not my first year attending. In fact, attending this camp was something of an annual pilgrimage for me growing up. During the previous two years, the camp had been the highlight of my summer - in part because the girl to guy ratio was 2:1, and in part because I really did feel closer to God and spiritually uplifted while I was there.
But this year was different. The past school year had been one of the most difficult in my life, and spiritually I felt like I was dragging myself through a desert, desperate to find an oasis where I could fill up my spiritual canteen. What I really wanted was a "spiritual blast"(I remember using those words) - which I suppose I defined as a singular, emotional experience that would "prove" to myself that my beliefs were not in vain. The spiritual confirmations I had had in the past weren't good enough anymore. I wanted another experience to reconfirm my conviction. I was looking not just for a sign (I'd done that in the past with some success), but for another sign. Religion to me at the time was like a chemical equation that was supposed to yield a particular emotional result. Since in the past this camp had always been an appropriate catalyst, I was looking forward to running the experiment one more time.
But that didn't really happen. In fact quite the opposite occurred. On Thursday - traditionally the most "spiritual" day at camp - I felt as if my entire testimony completely fell apart. During scripture study that morning I read a passage in the Doctrine & Covenants that I didn't understand. Something that seemed to contradict one of the fundamental tenants of the Gospel that I had been taught since I was a child. I tried to explain away the contradiction. I followed footnotes, etc. But the more I dwelled on this apparent inconsistency, the more freaked out I became. Over the course of the next several hours, I entered something of a spiritual death spiral, and my confidence in my beliefs seemed to unravel one principle at a time. Fear and doubt took over. By lunch time, I wasn't sure if the Church was true or if God was listening to my prayers.
Now, I've always been a bit of a skeptic. Growing up, I was a bright kid. I couldn't remember a Sunday School or seminary teacher asking a question to which I didn't know the answer (of course about half of them could be answered by Jesus Christ, pray, read the scriptures, or go to church so I'm not sure that said much). I felt like I had this whole "gospel" thing figured out. To suddenly discover a scriptural question that I didn't know the answer to was a terrifying experience. Especially when it seemed to contradict so much of what I thought I did know.
I needed an answer. I was desperate. I needed someone to explain away this inconsistency. Someone who could show me that I was just reading it wrong. I thought about calling my dad. I thought about talking to one of my camp counselors, or finding the phone number for Joe who had been my counselor the year before. Instead, I just continued to panic.
I continued to follow the schedule for the day, and found myself in a large assembly with the rest of the young men at the camp listening to the camp's director speak. I'm afraid that after all these years, I really don't remember what the theme of his message was, although I remember he compared ESPN SportsCenter to . . . something. But at the end, he asked us to stand up and repeat the phrase "I will not yield, I cannot yield." I certainly didn't feel like I could make such a bold proclamation about my fidelity to the Gospel at that point, but I did it (twice in fact), mostly for myself. I felt as if I was hanging onto the edge of a cliff by my fingernails, and wanted to reassure myself that I wasn't going to let go. At least not yet.
When the meeting was over, I went up and asked the director, Brother Jonathan Austin, if I could speak to him privately. He agreed and we began walking around SVU's campus. I still remember where we sat down. Over the next two hours, I opened up about my doubts. I shared with him the inconsistency I thought I had discovered that morning, and then articulated a lot of the other struggles I had been carrying over the last year: friends (including a seminary teacher) who had fallen away from the faith, ecclesiastical leaders who had made poor decisions, many of which had personally hurt me and my immediate family, an overwhelming feeling of loneliness, and my perception that there was a dearth of "smart people" in the Church. But, ultimately, the conversation kept coming back to the passage of scripture I read that morning. I wanted an answer. I needed an answer. If I was going to hang on, I just knew I needed to resolve this doubt immediately. I needed Brother Austin to answer my question now.
But he didn't. He couldn't. He didn't even try. And for that I am eternally grateful.
Instead, he did two things that have forever changed my life. (1) He openly admitted he didn't know. He hadn't studied that particular topic in Church history, and admitted that it was a good question, worthy of study and investigation. But he didn't seem phased by the fact that he didn't know the answer. In fact, he seemed confident that there was an answer, an explanation, floating out there somewhere, waiting to be discovered. He just didn't happen to know it.
2) He pivoted, and much to my surprise, began asking me very specific, pointed questions about the spiritual experiences I had had up to that point in my life. He asked me about my experiences with personal prayer and scripture study, and he let me talk as I opened up to him about times that I had seen the Lord's hand in my life. Times when my faith was stronger, and when I did feel confident in my beliefs. Then he looked me square in the eyes and said, "James, sooner or later you're going to have to decide when it's enough. When you've had enough signs that you're not going to doubt anymore."
That hit me. Not in a deep spiritual sort of way. I didn't feel any great emotion. But it made sense. I thought about it all day, reflecting on the experiences I had had throughout my life. I felt like I was paralyzed on a fulcrum, teetering precariously between doubt and faith. One side was the path of the gospel, the other a new path. I didn't know where either path would take me.
But, at testimony meeting that night I made my decision. I decided that I had had signs enough. I decided that I had had enough to believe. That I wasn't going to doubt anymore. I didn't know, but I believed. I didn't make the decision because I was bowled over by the Spirit in that moment. I felt uplifted, sure, but my decision was based more on the memory of the spiritual experiences I had had in the past. In many respects the testimony that I left with after camp that week was much smaller than the one I arrived with. But it was stronger. It was more sure. And it wasn't contingent on the Lord spiritually holding my hand every step of the way.
Coincidentally, one of the camp's themes that week was a quote by President Gordon B. Hinckley - the LDS prophet at the time: "This is the great day of decision for each of us. For many it is the time of beginning something that will go on for as long as you live. I plead with you: don't be a scrub! Rise to the high ground of spiritual, mental and physical excellence. You can do it."
There are a lot of blogs out there by members (and ex-members) of the Church and other faiths expressing their doubts and concerns. Sometimes they criticize the Church and its leaders, and pride themselves in their skepticism. I've been there. But, I've found greater strength and peace in choosing to believe. This blog is devoted to my thoughts about the Gospel, in hopes that I can help someone out there the way that Brother Austin helped me.
That day at camp was my "great day of decision," and it has been the beginning of something that will go on for as long as I live. I wish I could say that I've never had another doubt since then. I have. A lot. But when those doubts do arise, I fall back on the things that Brother Austin taught me. (1) I openly admit that I don't know, and choose to be ok with that. The answer's out there . . . waiting to be discovered, or in many cases, revealed by the Holy Ghost. And (2), in my darkest moments, I force myself to remember the spiritual experiences I've had in my life, those "tender mercies" where I've seen and felt the Lord's hand in my life. Sometimes, I force myself to rewrite them, word-for-word from my journal, to help me remember the light even when I feel surrounded by darkness.
One final note, the second I stopped looking for signs . . . the signs started to appear. The following year of high school was one of the hardest years of my life (in hindsight, it trumped the previous year that I thought was so hard) - but it was also one of the most uplifting. I can honestly say that I felt the Spirit almost every day that year, and my testimony and knowledge of the Gospel grew exponentially. I guess what Moroni says is true: "I would say unto the world that faith are things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith."
But this year was different. The past school year had been one of the most difficult in my life, and spiritually I felt like I was dragging myself through a desert, desperate to find an oasis where I could fill up my spiritual canteen. What I really wanted was a "spiritual blast"(I remember using those words) - which I suppose I defined as a singular, emotional experience that would "prove" to myself that my beliefs were not in vain. The spiritual confirmations I had had in the past weren't good enough anymore. I wanted another experience to reconfirm my conviction. I was looking not just for a sign (I'd done that in the past with some success), but for another sign. Religion to me at the time was like a chemical equation that was supposed to yield a particular emotional result. Since in the past this camp had always been an appropriate catalyst, I was looking forward to running the experiment one more time.
But that didn't really happen. In fact quite the opposite occurred. On Thursday - traditionally the most "spiritual" day at camp - I felt as if my entire testimony completely fell apart. During scripture study that morning I read a passage in the Doctrine & Covenants that I didn't understand. Something that seemed to contradict one of the fundamental tenants of the Gospel that I had been taught since I was a child. I tried to explain away the contradiction. I followed footnotes, etc. But the more I dwelled on this apparent inconsistency, the more freaked out I became. Over the course of the next several hours, I entered something of a spiritual death spiral, and my confidence in my beliefs seemed to unravel one principle at a time. Fear and doubt took over. By lunch time, I wasn't sure if the Church was true or if God was listening to my prayers.
Now, I've always been a bit of a skeptic. Growing up, I was a bright kid. I couldn't remember a Sunday School or seminary teacher asking a question to which I didn't know the answer (of course about half of them could be answered by Jesus Christ, pray, read the scriptures, or go to church so I'm not sure that said much). I felt like I had this whole "gospel" thing figured out. To suddenly discover a scriptural question that I didn't know the answer to was a terrifying experience. Especially when it seemed to contradict so much of what I thought I did know.
I needed an answer. I was desperate. I needed someone to explain away this inconsistency. Someone who could show me that I was just reading it wrong. I thought about calling my dad. I thought about talking to one of my camp counselors, or finding the phone number for Joe who had been my counselor the year before. Instead, I just continued to panic.
I continued to follow the schedule for the day, and found myself in a large assembly with the rest of the young men at the camp listening to the camp's director speak. I'm afraid that after all these years, I really don't remember what the theme of his message was, although I remember he compared ESPN SportsCenter to . . . something. But at the end, he asked us to stand up and repeat the phrase "I will not yield, I cannot yield." I certainly didn't feel like I could make such a bold proclamation about my fidelity to the Gospel at that point, but I did it (twice in fact), mostly for myself. I felt as if I was hanging onto the edge of a cliff by my fingernails, and wanted to reassure myself that I wasn't going to let go. At least not yet.
When the meeting was over, I went up and asked the director, Brother Jonathan Austin, if I could speak to him privately. He agreed and we began walking around SVU's campus. I still remember where we sat down. Over the next two hours, I opened up about my doubts. I shared with him the inconsistency I thought I had discovered that morning, and then articulated a lot of the other struggles I had been carrying over the last year: friends (including a seminary teacher) who had fallen away from the faith, ecclesiastical leaders who had made poor decisions, many of which had personally hurt me and my immediate family, an overwhelming feeling of loneliness, and my perception that there was a dearth of "smart people" in the Church. But, ultimately, the conversation kept coming back to the passage of scripture I read that morning. I wanted an answer. I needed an answer. If I was going to hang on, I just knew I needed to resolve this doubt immediately. I needed Brother Austin to answer my question now.
But he didn't. He couldn't. He didn't even try. And for that I am eternally grateful.
Instead, he did two things that have forever changed my life. (1) He openly admitted he didn't know. He hadn't studied that particular topic in Church history, and admitted that it was a good question, worthy of study and investigation. But he didn't seem phased by the fact that he didn't know the answer. In fact, he seemed confident that there was an answer, an explanation, floating out there somewhere, waiting to be discovered. He just didn't happen to know it.
2) He pivoted, and much to my surprise, began asking me very specific, pointed questions about the spiritual experiences I had had up to that point in my life. He asked me about my experiences with personal prayer and scripture study, and he let me talk as I opened up to him about times that I had seen the Lord's hand in my life. Times when my faith was stronger, and when I did feel confident in my beliefs. Then he looked me square in the eyes and said, "James, sooner or later you're going to have to decide when it's enough. When you've had enough signs that you're not going to doubt anymore."
That hit me. Not in a deep spiritual sort of way. I didn't feel any great emotion. But it made sense. I thought about it all day, reflecting on the experiences I had had throughout my life. I felt like I was paralyzed on a fulcrum, teetering precariously between doubt and faith. One side was the path of the gospel, the other a new path. I didn't know where either path would take me.
But, at testimony meeting that night I made my decision. I decided that I had had signs enough. I decided that I had had enough to believe. That I wasn't going to doubt anymore. I didn't know, but I believed. I didn't make the decision because I was bowled over by the Spirit in that moment. I felt uplifted, sure, but my decision was based more on the memory of the spiritual experiences I had had in the past. In many respects the testimony that I left with after camp that week was much smaller than the one I arrived with. But it was stronger. It was more sure. And it wasn't contingent on the Lord spiritually holding my hand every step of the way.
Coincidentally, one of the camp's themes that week was a quote by President Gordon B. Hinckley - the LDS prophet at the time: "This is the great day of decision for each of us. For many it is the time of beginning something that will go on for as long as you live. I plead with you: don't be a scrub! Rise to the high ground of spiritual, mental and physical excellence. You can do it."
There are a lot of blogs out there by members (and ex-members) of the Church and other faiths expressing their doubts and concerns. Sometimes they criticize the Church and its leaders, and pride themselves in their skepticism. I've been there. But, I've found greater strength and peace in choosing to believe. This blog is devoted to my thoughts about the Gospel, in hopes that I can help someone out there the way that Brother Austin helped me.
That day at camp was my "great day of decision," and it has been the beginning of something that will go on for as long as I live. I wish I could say that I've never had another doubt since then. I have. A lot. But when those doubts do arise, I fall back on the things that Brother Austin taught me. (1) I openly admit that I don't know, and choose to be ok with that. The answer's out there . . . waiting to be discovered, or in many cases, revealed by the Holy Ghost. And (2), in my darkest moments, I force myself to remember the spiritual experiences I've had in my life, those "tender mercies" where I've seen and felt the Lord's hand in my life. Sometimes, I force myself to rewrite them, word-for-word from my journal, to help me remember the light even when I feel surrounded by darkness.
One final note, the second I stopped looking for signs . . . the signs started to appear. The following year of high school was one of the hardest years of my life (in hindsight, it trumped the previous year that I thought was so hard) - but it was also one of the most uplifting. I can honestly say that I felt the Spirit almost every day that year, and my testimony and knowledge of the Gospel grew exponentially. I guess what Moroni says is true: "I would say unto the world that faith are things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith."
