On Forgiveness

I waited ten months to enter that room. This was the meeting that would declare me worthy to be a fully fellowshipped member of the church again. I sat on the stiff couch, waiting.

The couch sat against the wall outside the high council room. The cushions felt like they belonged on my grandma’s couch wrapped in plastic. I shifted to the left and to the right, trying to find a position to ease my tension. I looked around the hall, and my eyes slowly found the ceiling tiles. Sixteen of the eighty-seven tiles bled with green discoloration. The bone colored paint on the corner cinderblock of the wall clashed with the white caulking of the door frame.

Focus. Fading tiles and white caulking would not make me feel any less nervous. I needed to concentrate on this disciplinary council.

I struggled to know what exactly to expect from this meeting. I remembered back to my first disciplinary council which consisted of fifteen faceless men. I didn’t know any of them. I walked into the room of the Hinckley on the third floor at six-thirty in the morning. The four tables constructed a rectangle with a hole in the middle. The twelve high councilmen and stake presidency sat around the rectangle, waiting. The hole in the center of the rectangle was the only thing I related to in the entire room.

After four hours of recounting details, answering questions, and answering more questions raised from my answers, I was dismissed. Forty-eight minutes later, I was disfellowshipped.

Afterwards in the Stake President’s office I asked if I was going to be able to stay in Idaho to work through this with Bishop Strupp. President Cannon simply responded: “No. These wards are for endorsed students, and endorsed students only.”

I felt my false hopes of mild punishment decay as I sat in his office. These were the consequences of my actions. I knew that I would need to go through some sort of penance process, but sin numbed me in such a way to think it would be a few months of not taking the sacrament. I left the office. Two weeks previously I broke a commandment of God, and then twenty minutes after the fact I confessed to my dad, and then the bishop right after, and then the bishop again twice the next day, and then the stake president three days later, and then the bishop three more times, and then the high council for four hours. The entire time I thought I knew what would happen after the confessing finished. Hearing President Cannon tell me I was no longer welcome in the student ward was final. I was stunned, and tears replaced my lack of words. Sin cut me off in a way I never anticipated.

I didn’t expect to be turned away that abruptly. So I drove home, to Maryland, two weeks later.

And now, after ten months, I sat on a stiff couch. How would this meeting be different? This time I knew most of these men. Bishop Tait issued me my first temple recommend when I was twelve. Brother Meiners made it a point to find me and give me an update about his daughters, Kara and Erika, every time he visited my ward. President Lund’s daughter and I recently dated. He helped me plan dances when I served on the stake youth council and later he interviewed me for the Melchizedek Priesthood. President Johnson interviewed me and sent me on my mission. Twenty-three months previously I reported to all of these men about my mission experience.

They knew they were called together for a disciplinary council to decide whether or not a disfellowshipped member of the church had proven worthy of reinstatement. What did they think when they heard it was me, Eric, the son of John and Kaylene. I could feel their disappointment and their shock. Although, the couch didn’t seem so stiff when I thought about how much they cared; they were here out of love.

In my mind, I gleaned the admonitions of the first high council over and over. My eyes gradually found the picture of Christ centered on the wall just three feet away, a little off to my right. Did I know him well enough to use the Atonement? He stood in the middle of the dark wooden frame with the people on the right in the light, the people on the left in the dark. Where was I in this picture? Am I worthy enough to cross over to the right side? Could I have studied harder? Could I have prayed longer? What more could I do? Did I miss any promptings that would allow me to receive my temple covenants again? In the top left corner of the painting stood a faint white silhouette of the DC temple, could I ever go back into such a holy building?

The door opened. I stood up immediately to be invited into the room. Brother Schoeney slipped out.

“No, not yet Brother Stephens. I just need something from the office. Just a few more minutes.”

I slouched back onto the stiff couch. I stretched over the arm of the chair to see past the corner of the wall. The door glided shut when he walked back into the room. I heard him jiggle the doorknob to ensure it locked properly like it was a parent-teacher conference in elementary school, and they didn’t want the child who sat outside the door to listen. I shifted my weight back to center on the wood-like cushion. The hallway was deserted. I was alone. The breeze through the cracked door from the air conditioner in President Johnson’s office supplied the chill that ran from my fingers to my wrists.

Had I done everything the original high council had asked?

I read most of The Miracle of Forgiveness, poring over President Kimball’s words on repentance as if I were learning it for the first time. I prayed every morning and every night and as often as I could in between the two. I read the stories in The Book of Mormon. The stories about Nephi and Lehi, the Sons of Helaman, Ammon, Abinadi, and especially King Benjamin.

It took me three weeks to pull Brother Premont aside to ask him in private not to call on me to say the prayer during institute. I made every effort to sit through church without wanting to be somewhere else, every week not taking the sacrament. I met with Bishop Sheppard almost every week since the first of the year, twenty-nine times.

In April, Sister Lake invited me to say the prayer in Gospel Doctrine, but my dad immediately stood up and began the prayer before I could shamefully decline. The only thing I remember is the look of confusion on her face as I jetted out of the chapel.

Only once I forgot that I wasn’t supposed to sustain ward members in callings. I quickly retracted my arm as soon as I remembered my mistake. I felt dread seep into my veins like ice as I rested my hand in my lap. I didn’t stop asking for forgiveness from God until the end of the first talk. I didn’t care if anyone saw my retreated hand; I cared that I wasn’t able to fully participate as part of my penance, and I forgot.

Am I ready yet? Ten months wasn’t enough, I needed the full year. But that would take me to late October. If I did that, I’d miss the deadline for the Winter Semester. That would mean I’d miss twenty-one months of school—almost two years. I couldn’t miss another two years of school. I wanted to graduate someday soon, not later. If I wasn’t ready now, could I ever be? I had to be ready. I wanted to be whole, to be able to fully participate in class, to be able to give a priesthood blessing, to be able to go to the temple. Is that desire to be a whole again enough to be ready?

Suddenly, the door opened again. I lost the thread of thought like a spider strand in the sun. This time President Johnson came over, and I stood up. He placed both of his hands on my shoulders; my knees bent slightly from the unexpected weight.

“Brother Stephens. Before we go into this room, is there any reason we should postpone this meeting?”

I remembered having concerns, but I couldn’t recall any details. They seemed insignificant compared to the Stake President’s heavy hands. “Not a one, President. I am ready.”

I entered the room, everyone stood up immediately. I avoided their eyes. I sat down.

“As you are aware Brother Stephens, you were disfellowshipped last year on October 19th. You are here today to explain to us why you feel you are worthy enough to be reinstated into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Please proceed. Also, please share with us your testimony.”

Hesitation flooded my mouth. I swallowed as much as I could, and spoke.

“During the last three months of my mission and the year following I did not believe in God. During the last ten months of my being disfellowshipped I learned what it meant to have faith. My first disciplinary council told me there were two options on the table when they made their decision: excommunicate or disfellowship. The primary reason they decided on the latter was because if I were excommunicated, I would lose the gift of the Holy Ghost.

“For a long time I struggled to know the Holy Ghost’s role. Their comment told me just how important that role is. I felt His promptings to testify to three of my friends about the love and care God puts into repentance. David ended up speaking with his bishop and is now married. Bryce came back to church and is preparing to serve a mission. Brandy came to church and recommenced her search for God.

“I cannot say that it is because of me that these things happened, but I can say that it is because of God that these things happened. I couldn’t do that a year ago.”

I then shared with them all I had done over the past ten months: my mistakes, my struggles, my triumphs, and my service. They asked questions, and I answered them.

President Johnson dismissed me after twenty minutes. I stood up and left the room with more speed than I anticipated. I paced the ten-foot stretch of hallway four times and sat down on the stiff couch once again. My knees weren’t bouncing, and my fingers weren’t tapping; I felt calm. A long eleven minutes later the door opened, and I was invited back into the room.

“Brother Stephens, after hearing your plea, some discussion, and the promptings of the Lord through prayer, we have decided to reinstate you as a fully fellowshipped member of the church.”

He began explaining more about remaining worthy to receive my temple recommend, and others of the high council gave me more advice. I couldn’t hear very much of it. I had to celebrate.

After shaking their hands and awkward one-armed-half-hugs, I bounced to my car in the parking lot. I couldn’t wait any longer to report to someone that I was full again. Finally, after ten months, I could partake of the sacrament, offer a prayer at institute, sustain the prophet, give a blessing, and feel whole. I opened my phone expecting to see the missed calls and text messages from my friends and family whom I told about the meeting.

There were no missed calls, and there were no text messages. No one remembered. My phone remained painfully silent as I drove thirty-eight minutes home.

Lynsey, my fifteen year-old sister, wasn’t even home on the computer waiting to talk to me when I walked through the door like she had done so many times before. She slept over at friend’s house. My mom and dad waited up for me. My mother cried a little bit, and my dad gave me a hug. Then I went downstairs.

As I sat at my kitchen table eating left-over Chinese food that was prepared with a little too much fish sauce, I realized that people probably did remember but waited for me to tell them. It was a personal trip to Mecca, my journey. The mountains I climbed and the chasms I traversed were my own. People would hear about it when I tell them.

The following Sunday I sat in sacrament meeting. I listened to the prayers over the bread and water closer than I ever had before. The young deacon with the crooked tie placed the tray before me. For the first time in ten months, I ate the piece of bread and drank the little cup of water.

I didn’t feel any different. It didn’t make any sense. I thought I completed everything required to feel different. Did I miss a step? I wanted to feel different. I remembered my actions that led me to being disfellowshipped, and then I did feel different. I felt drained and tired.

Two months later I sat in my car in the church parking lot in Idaho holding my new temple recommend. It was lighter than I remembered. The perforated edges felt rough against the smooth spot of my middle finger where the tip got cut off while I was chopping garlic last year. It was a year since I cut my finger. It was a year since I was disfellowshipped.

The scar remained on my finger, a reminder that it couldn’t heal properly. Could I ever be fully fellowshipped? My bishop in Maryland told me I was worthy. The high council told me I was reinstated. My bishop here in Idaho gave me a temple recommend. Then why did I feel so inadequate to hold a piece of white and green paper?

I tried talking to some friends about it. They couldn’t understand. How could they? I appreciated their efforts, but that was all they could offer.

I left their house to meet with a member of the stake presidency to get the third and final signature needed to make the temple recommend valid. As I sat in his office, I answered the interview questions as they were meant to be answered. And then he asked the last question.

“Eric, do you feel worthy to enter the temple?”

I choked; I could feel tears leaking from my eyes. “I don’t know. I was disfellowshipped last year, and just got refellowshipped in August. I finally was able to meet with my bishop today and get my recommend, but I just don’t know if I can do it. I want to assume that is the same thing as someone feeling inadequate before they leave for the MTC or before they get married, but I don’t know if it is.”

He slowly got up and handed me a tissue box from his desk.

“Eric, it has taken me more than sixty years to trust the Lord. For a long time I could honestly say that I believed in Jesus Christ. Believing Jesus Christ when he says he can heal you is another thing entirely. The Atonement is a powerful gift that God has given us. There is only one sin, and one sin only for which you cannot be forgiven. You have not committed that sin. You can be forgiven. Eric, you have been forgiven. Your bishops, your stake presidency, and your high council in Maryland all have told you that you have been forgiven. You need to know for yourself that you are forgiven. I cannot tell you that will happen tonight or even if it will happen in the near future, but I do hope it is soon. You have answered my questions, and I believe you have answered them honestly. You belong in the temple. Go as soon as you can.”

As he spoke I felt different. For the first time I saw part of the forgiveness offered by the Lord. I belonged in the temple, despite how inadequate I felt. He signed the designated line and handed it back to me.

As I left the stake offices he called out, “I am going to put this into the computer right now. You should be able to get in as soon as it opens on Tuesday.”

I loosened my tie as I exited the stake center. The wind was strong and cold against my hot face. When I turned the corner to go to my car, I looked up and saw the temple through the tree line. Its white walls stood graciously against the black sky. The Lord knew I was whole. What everyone else thought or knew didn’t matter; just me and God. I wasn’t numb. I wasn’t cut off. I felt his warmth. After two and a half years I would be sitting in the temple on Tuesday. The wind wasn’t so cold after that.

One year and one day after I was disfellowshipped, I walked through the doors of the Rexburg Temple because I knew that is where I needed to be.