"We seldom get into trouble when we speak softly. It is only when we raise our voices that the sparks fly and tiny molehills become great mountains of contention."
It’s
a parlous thing to criticize Church leaders publicly. Not because of
repercussions — Church leaders are reluctant to bring to bear
the few disciplinary tools they have.
Nor
does the peril come from the mote-and-beam situation Jesus described
during his mortal ministry. When someone is in a position of public
trust, he is accountable, not just to his superiors, but also to
those over whom he exercises authority.
And
there is no requirement that someone be perfect before he can bring
to people’s notice a flaw in the Church (or anywhere else) that
needs correction.
The
real peril comes from simple ignorance. It is easy to notice
something “wrong” that is not wrong at all — if
only you thought or learned more about it. So to bring the matter to
public attention prematurely runs the risk of damaging the Church, or
someone’s reputation, unjustly.
These
thoughts came to my mind because of an essay I recently read online.
I don’t think the person who wrote it meant to attack the
General Authorities, and his original point — to call into
question a statement attributed to one Apostle — was a
legitimate one, and it is quite possible that the Apostle in
question, if he really said it, already regrets his words. Those
things happen, and sometimes give rise to false doctrines and
unproductive attitudes in the Church.
The
essay crossed the line for me when it included a picture of one of
the Apostles sitting in the first class (or business class?) section
of a commercial airliner. The essayist pointed out that first class
tickets on a particular international flight cost $13,000 each, while
coach tickets cost about $1,300. (Business class would usually cost
somewhere between.)
Now,
when I looked at that picture, what I saw was normal first class
seating on a domestic flight. I’ve flown international
business class, and the seats are much nicer. So right from
the start, I realized that somebody was using a picture of a real
Apostle, but criticizing him for the cost of a completely different
flight.
But
let’s pretend that the picture was appropriate, or that using
it as an example of a hugely expensive flight was an honest mistake.
Let’s simply take the given numbers and see what they imply.
The
writer’s point was that tithing money should be well protected,
never wasted on luxuries, and that our claim that nobody gets paid
for their ministry in the Church was false because General
Authorities are well paid — at least in perks like first-class
tickets.
Now,
anybody who has worked for the corporate Church knows that the phrase
“widow’s mite” is spoken hundreds of times a day at
50 East North Temple. It is usually said to paid contractors, with
the stern implication that they are not worthy of the money they are
being paid — even when it is a tiny fraction of their normal
fee.
(It
is especially annoying when the person saying it draws a nice salary
from the tithing funds of the Church. I am always tempted to suggest
that their job could be done for free by a retiree on a Church
service mission.)
And
I share the essayist’s concern for how the trappings of wealth
can give a false impression. I remember, back in the late 1970s,
walking through the top level of the garage under the plaza at 50
East North Temple, where General Authority cars were parked, and I
noticed that the cars were all late model luxury cars.
I
did not begrudge the Brethren a nice ride. What I wondered about was
the impression it would make to financially strapped Church members
if a visiting General Authority drove up to stake conference in a
chauffered luxury car. It is easy to imagine some of them having
bitter thoughts about the sacrifices they’ve made to pay their
tithing.
But
a few years later, I was relieved to see that someone else must have
noticed this sour note, and all the Cadillacs and Town Cars had been
replaced by cars in the Crown Vic and Caprice category. Not only did
this change represent a frugal use of tithing money, it also improved
the impression made by the General Authorities both in and out of the
Church.
It
is hard for us to keep the worldly attitude toward wealth out of our
own thinking in the Church. In the outside world, rich and powerful
people are expected to display their success in the clothes they wear
and the cars they drive. It enhances their prestige and therefore
increases their power.
Unfortunately,
this carries over into the Church far too often. People who have
achieved worldly success are too often given deference in their wards
and stakes that should properly go only to those who have earned it
through years of good and wise church service.
And
far, far too often, people believe that outward signs of wealth —
the big house on the hill, the luxury car, the expensive clothing,
the jewelry — are signs of the favor of God. The idea
apparently is that God blesses the righteous, so all these
“blessings” are a certificate of righteousness.
(Let’s
remember that anything we buy for ourselves is not a “blessing,”
it’s a “purchase.”)
A
careful reading of the Book of Mormon makes it clear that pride in
wealth is the primary cause of breakdown and division in the Church.
That “pride cycle” is inseparable from a love of
displaying wealth while disdaining those who don’t have it.
So
it is a good thing for General Authorities to set the tone for the
Church as a whole. No expensive jewelry. No needlessly fancy cars.
Relatively modest living quarters.
But
they also do not need to adopt a pose of fake poverty. Some General
Authorities achieved worldly wealth before entering fulltime Church
service, and they are not required to sell all they have and move
their families into tenements or huts.
Likewise,
those General Authorities whose prior careers never made them wealthy
are given reasonable compensation so that they can afford to live
comfortably. To me, that means having enough money to occasionally
eat out, and a large enough dwelling place to have the grandkids over
for a visit.
I
would go further — if the decision were mine. Every General
Authority is required to make constant public appearances, wearing
suits. With all due respect to the suit-making industry, I think it
would not be inappropriate for General Authorities to be regularly
provided, at Church expense, tailored, well-fitting suits, and for
their wives — who are often required to join in their ministry
— to have enough of a clothing budget to provide themselves
with nice church dresses.
This
is not a waste of tithing money. People should concentrate on what
General Authorities say, not on how they’re dressed. Their
clothing should not be noticeably expensive — or noticeably
shabby or ill-fitting. It should not be noticed at all. And that
takes a little money. Maybe even tithing money. It is well spent,
when it helps them to conduct their ministry.
I
have never seen or heard of a General Authority bedecking himself
with the kind of flashy, expensive accoutrements that TV preachers
are famous for wearing or using.
But
if you see a General Authority at Disney World, surrounded by a flock
of grandchildren or great-grandchildren, it would be uncharitable of
you to think, Is tithing money paying for this?
If
such a thought crosses your mind, then perhaps you should go home and
talk to your bishop. Tell him that you want to pay for a poor family
in your ward or stake to take a trip to Disneyland or Disney World.
He should select the family — you don’t want to know who
it is — and tell them that the trip is being paid for by a
Church member who does not know who is receiving it.
Then
let him pass the funds on to them — and don’t deduct
it from your taxes, because it’s not a Church contribution,
it’s just an act of anonymous kindness that should not be
partially billed to other taxpayers.
My
point is that instead of resenting Church leaders for using some of
their stipends (as you suppose) on “luxuries” that
struggling tithepayers may not be able to afford, you should do what
you can to make sure that those poorer Saints have access to luxuries
that, in our culture, come to feel like necessities.
Now,
let’s come back to the specific criticism leveled by that
essayist: General Authorities flying first class instead of coach.
It’s
good to keep in mind that the Church could easily afford to operate a
fleet of private jets, or charter planes at need, to take the
Brethren to foreign countries. The same jet could carry a group of
Brethren across the Pacific, dropping some off in Tokyo and others in
Manila. This would be a defensible use of funds for any corporation
whose executives must travel constantly to other continents as
part of their duties.
But
the Brethren do not do this. They modestly fly in commercial jets.
When
you leave the Western Hemisphere, serious jet lag is also involved.
Yet from the moment they get off the plane, they are expected —
they expect themselves — to put in a full schedule of
conferring with Church leaders and members in the place they’re
visiting. They hit the ground running.
These
are not young men — no, not even Elder Bednar — and it
does not get easier to cope with the rigors of travel
when you get older. Ever since heart doctor Russel Nelson joined the
Quorum of the Twelve, I’ve noticed a trend toward better
physical fitness among the Brethren, but that doesn’t change
the fact that sitting for hours on an airplane does not invigorate
anybody.
These
days, I’m too heavy to sit in coach — and not just
because I can’t bear the look of horror from people who fear
that this fat old man will sit down next to them. In a first class
seat, there is some hope that I can nap — or, on an
international flight, sleep — so I arrive with enough
vigor and mobility to fetch my luggage and get to the rental car bus.
I
was much thinner and fitter when my wife and I flew to Djakarta for a
teaching gig, and we decided to fly coach. Djakarta’s time
zone is exactly twelve hours off from my own in North Carolina; you
can’t have a worse jet lag experience.
In
coach, sleep — even drugged sleep (thanks, diphenhydramine) —
was barely possible, and when we emerged from each plane, I could
hardly walk from the cramped position I was forced into for so many
hours.
At
least I didn’t have to teach the same day I arrived. But
General Authorities are usually hard at work before the plane has
been refueled.
So
I must ask: Should we endanger the lives, health, and mobility of
General Authorities by making them travel in cramped coach seats? We
all know how the penny-pinching airlines keep shrinking the seat
space in order to fit in more fare-paying coach passengers; do we
really need to torture the General Authorities in order to save
money?
Or
is it money well-spent, to give the Brethren a chance of arriving in
a physical condition that will allow them to fulfil their rigorous
schedule of meetings?
I
suppose it depends on how you value the apostolic work. Is it worth
$11,700 to let Apostles fly first class on a long international
flight, if it means that they can arrive in physical condition to
perform their duties without impairment? Personally, I think it
would be stupid and cruel to expect them to fly coach and yet
maintain their work schedule.
And
then there’s another point here. Who is actually paying for
the upgrade from coach to first-class? Do we even know that the cost
comes out of tithing funds? Remember that the Church used to own
many extremely valuable companies, and General Authorities served on
their boards, which entitled them to salaries and corporate perks.
Even
if that practice has been discontinued (and if it has, I’m
glad, because I can’t imagine wasting the Brethren’s
time, staying up to speed on the needs of businesses), the Church has
many investments that pay dividends. For all we know, not a dime of
tithing money has ever gone into General Authority air travel.
The
essayist called for the Church to open its books and account for
every dime and dollar that are spent on any purpose. But I believe
his essay is a complete explanation of why the Brethren do not and
should not ever do this. No matter how carefully they husband the
tithes and offerings, I am absolutely certain that there would be
hundreds or thousands of critics, in and out of the Church, who would
find fault with every financial decision they made.
Instead,
the Church uses auditors to make sure Church funds are disbursed as
directed, and nobody is pocketing the money that passes through their
hands. I assume they also monitor to make sure that nobody is getting
kickbacks for awarding Church contracts to favored businesses, and
that nepotism is not involved in any spending decisions. (It’s
wise for any institution to assume that its employees are subject to
the normal human temptations.)
But
I do not believe that any General Authority is overcompensated
for his labor in the vineyard. When I look at the killing schedule
that most of them keep, taxing their bodies to the utmost, and the
high level at which most of them perform, day after day and year
after year, I have to think that no amount of money could
compensate them for their work.
I
know that no amount of money could induce me to work that hard
at anything. I would have to love the work. I think they love
the work — the gospel, the people, and the Lord. They are not
rewarding themselves with misspent luxuries. And it is ignorant and
churlish to imagine that they are.
It
is parlous to criticize the Brethren, because it is so easy for
uncharitability to arise from a critical attitude. I think the
writer of the essay revealed more about himself, when he assumed the
worst of motives for a perfectly understandable expense.
He
should not be punished for writing his thoughts; but perhaps he might
examine his own heart, and try to determine why he seized so eagerly
upon the opportunity to find fault with other Latter-day Saints who
are merely serving, like everyone else, in the calling they’ve
been given.
What
Should We Do With Our Doubts?
Since
I don’t know the writer of the essay I refer to, I cannot make
any statement about his standing in or attitude toward the Church
beyond his own remarks.
But
a clear, simple, and truthful essay by Cassandra Hedelius, “A
House of Order, a House of God: Recycled Challenges to the Legitimacy
of the Church,” seems to me to be a very helpful guide to
Latter-day Saints in sorting through and reacting to the writings and
sayings of those who set themselves up as critics of the Brethren or
of Church policy.
Meanwhile,
let me address an obvious question. If the essayist I responded to
was troubled by the fact that at least some Apostles sometimes fly
first class while on Church assignments, and believed this might be a
misuse of tithing funds, then what should he have done?
He
should have talked to his bishop and/or stake president.
He
could also have written directly to any of the Brethren, either one
of his Area Authorities or one of the General Authorities, though I
believe the most likely response to such a letter would be a meeting
with his bishop or stake president, in which the bishop or stake
president had a copy of the letter with the pertinent points
highlighted. The Brethren usually bounce such routine questions and
criticisms back down the chain of command to local leaders who are
personally acquainted with the complainant.
To
some members — the ones Hedelius addresses with “A House
of Order” — this process represents a complete breakdown
of communication because “of course” the stake president
or bishop will counsel you to keep such doubts to yourself, and will
assure you that the tithes and offerings entrusted to the Church are
disposed of very carefully by those in authority, according to
principles established after prayer, discussion, research, and
inspiration.
Yet
this is exactly right. The tithes and offerings are disposed
of by those in authority — and no one else. Those authorities
do use principles that came by inspiration after prayer,
research, and discussion.
And
the advice to “keep such doubts to yourself” is
essential. The moment you speak a “doubt” aloud, it
stops being a doubt and becomes a criticism. You may feel sure of
your own testimony despite such doubts, but many to whom you say it
may respond much more negatively than you. And what does anyone
gain?
By
sharing his thoughts about flying first class, what did this writer
hope to accomplish? Some of his readers might then stop listening to
the particular Apostle pictured committing the non-sin of
“First-Class Flying” — or listening to any
Apostle, because a new cynicism and skepticism has been introduced
into his relationship with Church leaders.
And
yet, as I hope I showed in my response, this skepticism is, to put it
clearly, both short-sighted and absurdly uncharitable. The automatic
assumption of evil motives is a marker of paranoia or of enmity.
When you immediately leap to the conclusion that there is no
good motive for an action you disapprove of, you reveal your own
prejudice and declare yourself the enemy of those to whom you ascribe
such motives.
This
is inappropriate behavior for any Christian — though, being
human, we all do it at times almost by reflex. But the wisest among
us stop before publishing it, lest by doing so we cause harm to the
innocent.
If
there are abuses, then it is our responsibility to notice them
and to call them to the attention of the appropriate (usually local)
Church leaders. Once we have spoken or written our observations and
turned them in, then our responsibility as a fellow-citizen of the
Saints is fulfilled.
The
leader to whom we gave our observations then has the responsibility
to call the matter to the attention of those who have stewardship
over him; if all of them do their work properly, then the
matter will reach those who are responsible for solving the
problem. Then they will either fulfil their responsibility by making
sure no harm is being done, or they will not. But it is their
responsibility; your responsibility was discharged already.
Not
every local or intermediate leader will pass along the concern, of
course — they can be busy, forgetful, or simply human, and
sometimes their inspiration takes the form of “stupor of
thought” about bad ideas. But if it is a matter that concerns
the Lord, he will make sure that either your or some other expression
of the problem reaches those who are in authority. The Brethren are
constantly alert to whatever is in the minds and hearts of the
members.
I
think, however, that our responsibility goes a little further. For
instance, we might hear other people voice the same concern. We
could egg them on by saying, “That’s exactly what
I think! What’s going on with those guys?” Or we could
hide from their concerns, thinking, I’ve done my bit, now let
them work it out for themselves.
Or
we could say, “I once had a concern about that, and gave a
letter to (or had a discussion with) the stake president about it.”
Then you can report what you learned and either assure the worried
member that you are satisfied with the response you got, or assure
him that you trust the Lord to direct his Church and correct all
abuses in his own due time.
In
other words, you don’t goad others into a frenzy of outrage;
you don’t ignore their honest concerns; and you support the
Church and its leaders.
And
you never seek to replace revelation and inspiration with
rabble-rousing. If you ever think that by agitating and
propagandizing (agit-prop) you can get the Brethren to change a
Church policy, you have already lost your belief that the LDS
Church is led by revelation to living prophets.
In
such a case you are already speaking and acting from outside
the Church. The methods of agit-prop are coercive. They represent
“unrighteous dominion.” Amen to whatever authority
or influence you had.
But
I don’t know the motives of the writer of the essay I responded
to. He may be the kind of Mormon Gnostic that Hedelius addresses so
clearly and well. Or he may be a guy responding to somebody else’s
agit-prop — and all he needed was to have somebody point out
the logic behind having aged Apostles fly first class so they can
retain the health and stamina to continue their demanding schedule of
work.
The
question of whether someone is falling into apostasy is, for the
first while, a matter for them to ponder in their own hearts; then in
conversation with priesthood leaders; and finally in formal departure
from the Church, if that’s the only resolution that makes sense
in the end. If someone truly comes to believe that the Church or its
leadership is corrupt and fallen, then conscience should require such
a person to cease to pose as a believing Mormon.
Because
you can’t have the gospel without the Church.
The
most vital quotation from Hedelius’s article is this paragraph:
“There are no ‘deep doctrines,’ because there are
no shallow doctrines that we can outgrow and deemphasize. The deepest
doctrines are faith in Christ, repentance, obedience, and service.
Any enticing gospel hobby that detracts from those is a snare. Any
belief that you’ve found a more ‘deep,’ more
‘spiritual,’ way to understand those doctrines, apart
from steady dedication and humble incremental progress among your
fellow Saints, is a snare.”
Let
me repeat a more easily memorized portion of that: “There are
no ‘deep doctrines,’ because there are no shallow
doctrines that we can outgrow and deemphasize. The deepest doctrines
are faith in Christ, repentance, obedience, and service.”
Now
let’s distill this down to its essence, when people are tempted
to believe they are seeking, or have found, superior understanding:
“There are no ‘deep doctrines,’ because there
are no shallow doctrines.”
Repeat
this as a mantra whenever you catch yourself feeling wiser,
better-informed, or more virtuous than Church leaders.
Let
me add one more question that should accompany any other questions we
have about the practices of the Church or its leaders: “Is this
my calling?” Or, to put it more broadly, “Have I, by
revelation and the laying on of hands, been given stewardship over
this aspect of the Kingdom of God?”
Let
that question automatically accompany any doubts or criticisms that
might be festering in our minds. The purpose of that question is not
to stifle all doubt or criticism, but rather to put it in
perspective. Somebody has been given that
stewardship. It is never wrong to discreetly call a problem to
the attention of its proper steward, even if that steward takes no
pleasure in hearing it.
Remember,
too, that not all problems in the world or in the Church require
authoritative action. For instance, if a person is in need of
assistance, but Church welfare rules don’t allow the bishop to
help meet some or all of their needs, there is no rule against
individual members providing whatever help they can, and inviting
others to join them. I have seen this many times, as kind Saints do
what Fast Offering funds cannot. (Such private help should never be
accompanied by criticism of the Church for not acting officially in
the case.)
It
is never a sin to be the Samaritan who picks up the wounded traveler
from the side of the road. This is a matter of service, and Jesus’
teaching is clear: If you have done it to the least of my brethren,
you have done it to me.
So
where it is within our reach to resolve a problem, resolve it (as I
attempted by explaining a reason why first-class flying for General
Authorities might be an appropriate use of funds available to the
Church). Where the responsibility lies with another steward, call it
to his or her attention. Other than that, we attend to our own
houses and our own stewardships, and beseech the Lord in prayer. It
is all within his stewardship, and he always hears.
Orson Scott Card is the author of the novels Ender's Game, Ender's
Shadow, and Speaker for the Dead, which are widely read by adults and
younger readers, and are increasingly used in schools.
Besides these and other science fiction novels, Card writes contemporary
fantasy (Magic Street,Enchantment,Lost Boys), biblical novels (Stone Tables,Rachel and Leah), the American frontier fantasy series The Tales of Alvin Maker
(beginning with Seventh Son), poetry (An Open Book), and many plays and
scripts.
Card was born in Washington and grew up in California, Arizona, and
Utah. He served a mission for the LDS Church in Brazil in the early 1970s.
Besides his writing, he teaches occasional classes and workshops and directs
plays. He also teaches writing and literature at Southern Virginia University.
Card currently lives in Greensboro, North Carolina, with his wife,
Kristine Allen Card, and their youngest child, Zina Margaret.