Out in the Desert They Wander

At the peril of disappointing some who may read this, I am writing about refugees once again. I should be working on my Sunday School lesson for this week for the teenagers I teach. The topic is not about refugees. The lesson title is,"How can I stand as a witness of God?" I've read the materials, and it is a good lesson, but right now I am still distracted by this issue. So I will write, and try to set some of my thoughts and ache here for a while, hopefully then be able to read and focus on other things for a while. 

Last night I woke in the middle of the night and wanted some distraction to help me sleep again. Lately I've been listening to music to try to trick my mind into letting me sleep. Podcasts or talks have run the risk of engaging my mind too much, making me want to stay awake. News can sometimes be good background noise, but not lately. So music it is. I decided on the Mormon Tabernacle Choir streaming option, since I figured it would be something peaceful, and I wouldn't have to think much about selecting albums or songs. (This choice has backfired on me before, though, when I'm being lulled off to sleep and suddenly and arrangement with bagpipes comes on. Then, whoa! I'm awake!)

This time the hymn that was playing when I turned it on was "Dear to the Heart of the Shepherd." Just when I was wanting to clear my mind and float peacefully off to sleep, I hear the chorus: "Out in the desert they wander,/ hungry and helpless and cold." Where else could my mind go?

Often we think of this song in metaphoric terms, those who are spiritually lost and wandering. I in no way mean to detract from that beautiful message. I mean, I studied and taught writing for years. I'm such a fan of metaphor. We should all use it so beautifully.

But consider what meaning our own religious heritage adds to the metaphor. Clearly the author of the hymn was drawing on scripture as she penned the words about the Good Shepherd seeking for beloved lost sheep. For many of us, though, it also conjures images like this:

Hungry, helpless, and cold. Perhaps those who first included this in our hymnbook thought of such desert landscapes, finding the hymn rather apt for LDS congregations. They might have recalled the story of people stranded, starving, freezing, when President Brigham Young received a message that they were out there. Perhaps their selection of this hymn was inspired by his impromptu conference message that morning. He didn't preach a lesson about preparedness, or an evaluation of the socioeconomic factors of bringing so many destitute people into the valley. In Brigham Young fashion, he was somehow blunt, yet pointed:

Many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with handcarts, and probably many are now  seven hundred miles from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to  them. . . .

I shall call upon the Bishops this day. I shall not wait until tomorrow, not until the next day [then  he included a very specific list of supplies that he expects the people to gather and organize right  away] . . . 

I will tell you all that your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you  in the Celestial Kingdom of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains. And attend strictly those things which we call temporal duties. Otherwise, your faith will be in vain. The preaching you have heard will be in vain to you, and you will sink to Hell, unless you attend to the things we tell you.

This history has so affected people of our faith that we still draw upon these stories in our lessons, sermons, and artwork. Often our youth reenact the scenarios, trekking across plains pulling handcarts, trying to get at least some sense of what it must have been like for those early pioneers.

Today, there are people also reenacting familiar scenes, but not as part of a carefully orchestrated trek during summer vacation. They aren't on well-groomed trails, they don't have leaders who have planned every detail to make sure everyone will be safe, properly hydrated, and (let's be honest) comfortable enough with the proper gear and shelter. They are they embodiment of hungry, and helpless, and cold.

The location of the desert has changed, but the pictures are not much different. Do we assume these children are less dear to their parents than those of the pioneers? Less dear to the Lord? "Dear are the sheep of his fold," yes, but also "dear are his 'other' lost sheep. Over the mountains he follows, over the waters so deep."

The last verses are especially poignant right now. Halfway through the third verse, the Shepherd turns to us, those already safe in the fold and asks for our help. "Hark! He is earnestly calling,/ Tenderly pleading today: / "Will you not seek for my lost ones,/ Off from my shelter astray?"

After another chorus that repeats the words about them wandering so helplessly, the fourth verse begins with a description of the beauty and serenity of the secure pastures. Then those whom the Shepherd had been addressing (presumably us, if we're singing) answer, "Yes, blessed Master, we will!/ Make us thy true under-shepherds; / Give us a love that is deep. Send us out into the desert,/ Seeking thy wandering sheep." 

I think of the time I spent at IKEA last weekend, getting a great deal on new sheets and some pillows I needed. I'm going shopping again this afternoon because my daughter's winter coat is getting too small. As I write this, there is a pile of blankets and throw pillows on the living room floor that my kids used to make forts and piled up, just to jump on. And the whir of the heater just clicked off. I need to wrap up because my children are getting antsy for lunch, which I will be able to provide for them. I ache because there are so many parents right now, hungry and helpless and cold. They are desperate to even keep their children safe, let alone warm and fed. We have to hasten our rescue. We need to bring them in.

This little boy from Syria does have boots to wear in the snow, but he is wearing sandals because he gave the boots to his little sister to wear. I don't know if that makes them seem more or less like us.

Dear to the Heart of the Shepherd, by Mary B Wingate

1. Dear to the heart of the Shepherd,

Dear are the sheep of his fold;

Dear is the love that he gives them,

Dearer than silver or gold.

Dear to the heart of the Shepherd,

Dear are his “other” lost sheep;

Over the mountains he follows,

Over the waters so deep.

(Chorus)
Out in the desert they wander,
Hungry and helpless and cold;
Off to the rescue he hastens,
Bringing them back to the fold. (4th verse only: we’ll hasten,)

2. Dear to the heart of the Shepherd,
Dear are the lambs of his fold;
Some from the pastures are straying,
Hungry and helpless and cold.
See, the Good Shepherd is seeking,
Seeking the lambs that are lost,
Bringing them in with rejoicing,
Saved at such infinite cost.

3. Dear to the heart of the Shepherd,
Dear are the “ninety and nine”;
Dear are the sheep that have wandered
Out in the desert to pine.
Hark! he is earnestly calling,
Tenderly pleading today:
“Will you not seek for my lost ones,
Off from my shelter astray?”

4. Green are the pastures inviting;
Sweet are the waters and still.
Lord, we will answer thee gladly,
“Yes, blessed Master, we will!
Make us thy true under-shepherds;
Give us a love that is deep.
Send us out into the desert,
Seeking thy wandering sheep.”

Charity Seeketh Not Her Own

About two months ago, I was driving to an appointment about half an hour from my house, and mistakenly listened to the news on the radio during some rare kid-free driving time. The stories really got to me. It was around the time that Hungary had decided to close its borders to refugees trying to get through to Germany. They enacted the policy a day or so earlier than they had announced, causing even more chaos at the checkpoints of those so desperate to get away from their war-torn homes. Another story was an interview with one of the leading presidential candidates. He was asked how many refugees he would take in if it were up to him. He wouldn't commit to a specific number, but reiterated that he would consider only those whom we needed (with skills and education that our country could use). The stories continued with the day's death tolls of refugees drowning in their efforts to escape to freedom. Stories of the war raging across multiple countries overrun by terrorists, and hostile and brutal treatment of the refugees trying to flee those terrorists. Countries enacting laws to not only refuse the refugees, but to punish any citizens who tried to help any refugees.

Finally I had to turn the radio off. I cried, driving down the freeway in silence. I almost had to pull over. I felt compelled to pray. As I cried, I felt the so ashamed before the Lord. Not like I was elected representative or anything, but I felt ashamed as a member of humanity approaching the Lord; I was so sorry that we were being so mean to each other. I was so sorry that His children had not listened to one of the few things He had asked us to do, to love each other. I hated that He had to watch us, even some of the very people who carried His name, doing this to each other. I wanted to do better, to be kinder, to be more loving.

I wanted to be like the woman in a story I heard later, who went to a train station in Hungary and bought tickets for a man and his two children so they could get to over the border safely and easily. This man's wife had been killed by ISIS. He fled Syria with his 4- and 6-year-old in a boat that capsized. He held them afloat in freezing water until they were rescued. This young father had given everything to protect his young children and had nothing left to give. A stranger had compassion and stepped in, giving help, safety, hope. I so wanted to go to a train station in Europe and buy a ticket for someone. That woman restored my faith in humanity that day.

After last week's terrorist attacks, especially those in Paris, people are skittish. Understandably so. But the ugliness against the refugees has heightened. A number of governors, including my own, have told the President that they will refuse to accept any refugees that come to the U.S., claiming they pose a danger to us all. They will refuse to accept anyone fleeing the same terrorist we all fear.  (Never mind that any refugee entering the country will already have to go through extensive background checks and scrutiny, more than anyone else who travels to the U.S., as explained in this article written by the executive director of The Center for Victims of Torture, someone who has dealt with refugees of these atrocities plenty and knows the vetting process they go through rather well--please read this if you are feeling uneasy about safety and reugee resettlement.) Some politicians and presidential candidates are suggesting that we only accept Christian refugees. I understand that the Muslim jihadists and extremists are frightening. So do the Muslim and Christian refugees who are fleeing them.

It seems that we are replacing the anti-Semitic sentiments and policies that our country held in the early to mid-20th century with anti-Muslim sentiments. I recently attended a presentation by a Holocaust scholar. He talked about our country's refusal to accept Jewish refugees prior to WWII, along with most other countries approached at the time.  He cited some numbers that are pretty sobering. 90% of the Jews in Germany were murdered during the Holocaust. If each country that turned refugees away had taken in just 17,000, all the Jews from Germany in WWII would have survived. 17,000. We didn't do it then, and many are hoping we won't do it now. Isn't it interesting that Germany is the country now that is so willing, so welcoming to the displaced right now?

When the Apostle Paul talked about having charity, he did not say "just for those we need," or, "just for Christians." He talked about those who need us. He said that charity, "seeketh not her own" (1 Corinthians 13:5). If we can only extend love and compassion for those who are like us, our own, I think maybe we have failed in our discipleship; as Paul says, without charity, we are "nothing" (2). How would Jesus answer the query, "Who is my neighbour?" today (Luke 10:29)? We don't know any Samaritans today. Would He use "Muslim," or "refugee," or "immigrant" in the role of the Good Samaritan? I think either way, the moral of the story would be the same. "Who was the neighbour . . . ? He that shewed mercy on him. Then said Jesus . . . Go, and do thou likewise" (36-37).

As one friend pointed out today, we are entering a season where many of us will celebrate a very special Middle Eastern family (one, I might add, who had to flee their homeland for a time, become refugees in a foreign land because of threat of mortal danger). The part of the story we never forget to tell, and that I think frequently gives us pause for introspection, is that for them, there was no room in the inn.

Come Now, and Let Us Reason Together

This morning my Facebook feed was filled with news, posts, comments, and rants about the new Church policy regarding children of same-sex couples, as well as broadening the definition of apostasy to include participation in (meaning being a spouse in, as I understand it) a same-sex marriage. Children of same-sex couples cannot receive ordinances (name and blessing as a baby, baptism, or ordination to the priesthood for males) until they are adults, no longer living with the same-sex parents, disavow same-sex marriage, and are cleared by the first presidency.

Most seem a bit blindsided by this new policy. Recently, it seems the Church has done much to be more inclusive, while still maintaining it's doctrine on marriage. Working with state and community leaders in Utah and supporting legislation that would protect LGBT citizens. Giving a substantial donation to a shelter that serves homeless LGBT youth. Elder Oaks's recent presentation on religious liberty, in which he argued for the necessity of government officials sustaining the law of the land in regard to same-sex marriage (issuing marriage licenses, etc). He called for accommodation and civility, not culture wars. Then this policy from the handbook get published in several newspapers. Cue the culture wars.

Most of the discussion I have seen has been from those in some way associated with the Church, either current, inactive, or former member. The responses have ranged from confusion to outrage. To this point, I haven't seen anyone who is really excited about the change. Everyone, regardless of their activity level in the Church, seems to be saddened by this news. I doubt there is anyone in the Church who is untouched by this issue in general. We all know someone, have a friend, a sibling, a cousin. We hurt for them, for one more time they seemingly hear, "this is not for you." The comments have been ranged from the mournful, to the subdued "wait and see," to the smug "I always knew they were just mean," to the accusative "this is hateful and vindictive." Some have wondered why these children and not the children of other "sinners," such as unmarried heterosexual couples. Others have picked up this thread to argue what the differences are in the various situations proposed and why this makes perfect logical sense. Some talk about the legal ramifications for the Church, on both sides of the issue. Some say it's to prevent families from being torn apart, while others argue it does exactly that. Many are having a hard time reconciling this with the scriptures we are taught in Sunday School ("suffer the little children . . ."), while others are seeing this as the nail in the coffin of their testimony and affiliation with the Church. (A blog post of interest: this one is written by a historian and gives some interesting context as to how the very similar policy regarding polygamy, which seems like a normal policy to us now, would have been received in its own day--really good read.)

 As I looked at all the arguments before me, I almost commented on a few of them. I thought I had some pretty good responses that would just really clear some things up for some people. Then I read a bit more, and thought of some better ideas. Then I kept reading and found some other reasons and some other rationales. Then I realized I had no idea why this policy was really put forth the way it was right now. I saw all the arguments, the reasoning, the rationales, and a familiar, uncomfortable scene came to my mind. Nephi, having just ended his great vision, the same vision his father saw, comes across his brothers. "And they were disputing with one another concerning the things which my father [or the Church Handbook] had spoken unto them. For he truly spake many great things unto them, which were hard to be understood" (1 Nephi 15:2-3). To these brothers' credit, they were trying to figure things out, and even Nephi says this was tough stuff. The problem with this situation is the "disputing with one another." When they ask Nephi, he doesn't just tell them what Lehi's words mean, which he could have (He did just have the vision, after all). Instead, he answers with his own question: "Have ye inquired of the Lord?"(8). That question gets me every time. And every time I imagine that punched-in-the-gut feeling Nephi must have had from his brothers' response: "we have not; for the Lord maketh no such thing known unto us" (9).

 Now, I am not dismissing the importance of public discourse, of reason, or intellect. I think we are rational beings, and we were created that way. We should use our intellect and reason to engage in great discussion and search for answers. Didn't God say that we are in essence intelligence (Abr. 3:22)? Doesn't He say He would answer our prayers in our heart and in our mind (D&C 8:2)? Certainly this reasoning step is not unimportant. But when it turns to disputing with each other, when it turns to making leaps and forcing doctrine to fit (or not fit at times) our own political dogma, I think we've maybe left out part of the equation. Reason, yes, but have you ever met a human being? We are not purely rational. Sometimes we need more. Sometimes we need help in this process. Sometimes it is better to not just reason with Facebook. As it says in Isaiah, "Come now, and let us reason together." For me, for now, I think the best One for me to reason with and wrestle with over this issue is the Lord.

 Ultimately, I do not have answers. I am saddened for those who this personally hurts. I don't want to wound anyone. I don't want to think of my religion as exclusionary. I do find it interesting that this is part of the handbook that is for ward and stake leaders, instructing them in their lay ministry. This was not a Church announcement to the world, but something leaked to the press (not that it was a secret, but it was intended for Church leaders). To some this might make it seem even more hateful and mean. I see this being in the same handbook as the instructions for Church disciplinary councils, which many also might see as mean or hateful. I have a different perspective on that, which would be a whole other long post. But I see how those are ultimately a form of love and compassion, removing the responsibility of covenants from those who would stand condemned by them if they still carried them. To those who don't believe in such covenants or condemnation, or God, for that matter, it seems like somebody getting kicked out of the club. This new policy is in the same handbook that instructs these leaders on conducting temple recommend interviews with the accompanying questions. Again, many see this as an exclusionary practice, the Church trying to keep the riff-raff out of their fancy temples. But here I have come to see love, questions that ensure people are not taking on covenants that we truly believe are binding before they are ready. So I don't have answers yet on this issue; I have questions. If these other things in the handbook are actually loving, can this actually be loving too? And how so? So many are accusing the Church leadership of being hateful. My question is, what if that isn't their motive? What if the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve, who I have seen and felt such love from before, are being loving now? What if someday we all understand why this was actually an important thing to do, but right now, just hours after the news, it makes no sense? What if this is from God? What if He is heading this Church and directing it and inspiring its leaders? The best answer I can come up with for now, and the best I have felt about it all day is when the Lord says, "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways . . . For as the heavens are higher that the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts" (Isaiah 55:8-9).It's been less than a day. I trust more answers will come, as they have before.