Excommunication anniversary

A year ago at this very hour I was getting ready for the disciplinary council that—a couple hours from now, one year ago—decided to excommunicate me. Because I knew this anniversary was coming up, certain passages from my Book of Mormon reading last week jumped out at me in light of my excommunication, i.e., the verses in Alma 32 and 33 about how we don't need to be in a congregation in order to worship God. "O God," Zenos prays in Alma 33:9-10, "you have been merciful to me and heard my cries in the midst of your congregations; and you have also heard me when I have been cast out . . ." Alma tells the Zoramites in 32:12, "It is well that you are cast out of your synagogues, that you may be humble and that you may learn wisdom." Later he tells them that if they suppose they cannot worship God outside the synagogues, "you do greatly err, and . . . if you suppose that [the scriptures] have taught you this, you do not understand them" (33:2).

It's tempting to lapse into a kind of defiant mode as I talk about this, but that's not the spirit I want to have with me right now. When I read Alma 32:12 last week, I penciled in the margin: "Did my excommunication make me more humble? More wise?" That question hangs in the air, challenging me.

I feel moved to say this, and it's something between a prayer and a testimony: I'm thankful that I felt as positive as I did about the disciplinary council at the time it happened. I felt that the stake president and I had reached a place of disagreement but mutual respect; he'd been unexpectedly, amazingly, forthcoming about Church headquarters' role in the process (after some initial dissembling); and that made the excommunication feel like a friendly divorce, which was the best outcome I thought I could expect. In the months since then, I've come to feel rather less positive about things, largely because I ran up against the unpleasant realization that I was never actually told why I was excommunicated (only what I'd been charged with), which means that Church officials can tell the media whatever's convenient for them to claim about my excommunication, and I'm in no position to contradict them.

But that thought's taking me somewhere I don't want to go tonight. What I wanted to say was this: I'm thankful the experience was as positive as it was at the time. And I'm thankful for the many ways and places I've encountered God during the years since I withdrew from LDS Church activity. I'm thankful that my convert parents made a point of raising me with the understanding that Latter-day Saints don't have a monopoly on love of God and Christ. I'm thankful that they provided me with my first experiences of attending non-LDS worship services. I'm thankful that after I stopped attending the LDS Church, I found my way to St. Mark's Episcopal in Salt Lake. I'm thankful for Michael Chase, may he rest in peace (except he probably doesn't believe he's dead—he was a fan of Mary Baker Eddy's writings, so he didn't believe death was real), who kept me following my spiritual impulses even when I wasn't sure I believed in God anymore. I'm thankful for the Catholic mission that let me spend a few months in the Dominican Republic with them, even though they realized a lot quicker than I did that I wasn't right for them, because it was that experience that made me realize beyond any doubt that I still believed in God. I'm thankful that my friend Lucy was inspired to suggest I do a retreat at the Trappist monastery in Huntsville, Utah, and I'm thankful they let me, because the personal revelation I received during that retreat is why I'm still calling myself Mormon today, even after my excommunication. And I'm thankful for the Episcopal Church of the Advocate, here in North Carolina, who practice "radical hospitality" and therefore allow me to worship with them, and serve with them, even though I refuse to become fully one with them.

I feel a little sad now—but blessed, too. "You are merciful, O God, for you have heard my prayer." In lots of places.