3 Nephi 16, 20-21: On gathering

The Sunday School curriculum treats the chapters I read for this week as a unit because they have to do with the gathering of Israel. The appearance of the Book of Mormon itself is presented here as the initiating event—the catalyst—for the gathering, which includes a scenario in which the gospel goes from the Gentiles to the Lamanites, who then rise up and overthrow their Gentile oppressors (all except those who have been numbered among the house of Israel) and build "a New Jerusalem," where Christ will be in the midst of his people (20:22).

Now, I don't read the Book of Mormon as a literal preview of the future anymore than I read it as a literal record of the past. But the gathering—as theme, as dream, as icon—is fundamental to Mormonism, at least during the nineteenth century and even through the twentieth, albeit it gets somewhat metaphorized or postponed (becoming a prophecy for the future rather than, as it was for 19th-century Mormons, an ongoing reality). So I feel I need to sit under this word, as the Calvinists say. I need to listen. I need to figure out why this idea of the gathering was so important to my forebears in this tradition and what the Spirit wants me to learn from it—to do with it—today.

So, some thoughts:

First, the politics of these chapters regarding America's indigenous peoples are far from perfectly PC, but rather striking when you consider the historical context. The thrust of these prophesies is to assert indigenous peoples' rights to the land. Yes, the prophesies also legitimate European conquest (the natives needed to be punished for their sins)—but in the end, God helps the natives violently reclaim their land. The only Gentiles who continue to have a legitimate place in America are those who have been adopted into the indigenous peoples. Considering that the Book of Mormon was published around the same time that the Jackson administration was launching a policy of Indian removal that forcibly relocated most surviving Native Americans west of the Mississippi—in that context, these chapters offer a radical take on native rights. It's a take so radical, in fact, that I can't sign onto it. My politics aren't that leftist. Mormon philosopher Dennis Potter has recently asked whether the Book of Mormon can be used to promote Native American liberation: I assume he has these chapters in mind.

Second—and this will probably feel ludicrously "watered down" compared to what I was just talking about, but I'm just following the mainstream of 20th-century Mormon discourse on this one—the theme of the gathering is important because it's one of the main sources of the imagery or the language that Mormons use to describe their contribution to God's work. I may not be able to relate so much directly anymore to hymns like "Ye Elders of Israel" (about going out and bringing scattered Israel home); but I can certainly relate to the desire to be an instrument for carrying out God's purposes, building up God's kingdom, bringing to pass God's millennial dream, etc., which is what "Ye Elders of Israel" is about when you pull back a level or two of abstraction.

And in fact, borrowing from the work of Armand Mauss, I'm not so sure that orthodox Mormons relate so directly or literally anymore to imagery of the gathering. The emphasis certainly isn't on gathering to the Intermountain West anymore, as it was when "Ye Elders of Israel" was written. Instead the gathering has become metaphorized or spiritualized. Now people gather to Zion by building up the stakes of Zion throughout the world; and even more importantly, Church discourse now emphasizes gathering in the sense of gathering, or coming, to Christ. The equation "gathering of Israel = come to Christ" is at work in these chapters from 3 Nephi, though these chapters are primarily interested in painting for us a picture of the left side of the equation; contemporary Church discourse shifts the primary focus of our attention to the right side of the equation. And I have no problem with that.

Let me try to get more concrete here about the significance of "gathering" for me. This weekend, Latter-day Saints are gathering for General Conference. For some, that will mean a literal gathering in the Conference Center—and the huge investment the Church made in that building attests to how important physical gatherings remain for LDS religious experience. Others will gather to meetinghouses where satellite technology will make them an extension of the gathering in Salt Lake. Others will gather in an even more tenuous sense by watching Conference on TV in their homes.

I'm not part of that gathering. For one thing, I've been formally expelled from the gathering community (though they'd be happy to have me back on their terms). But I'm ambivalent about that kind of gathering in the first place. The sense of connection to a larger church—to home—was very important to me as a missionary when we would gather for General Conference. But looking now at the masses of people gathered to listen obediently to their adored (male, aging) leaders, I find the staging uncomfortably proto-fascist in overtones. In fairness, I should perhaps add that I find "uncomfortably proto-fascist overtones" in massive sporting events or in the huge rallies that accompanied the recent Democratic and Republican national conventions. Anything that smacks of herd mentality instinctively makes me want to pull back. Even when I was active in the Church, I don’t think I experienced, or placed much value on, the sense of belonging and . . . is it security? . . . that most Mormons seem to derive from their participation in the Church community. I’m stand-offish by temperament. It’s a vice, certainly—the vice of pride—though I also act on the faith that it can be a gift if it helps me reflect critically on the community in salutary ways.

In any case, this stand-offishness means that I’ve been comfortable with my status as “Mormon in exile,” as an Episcopal priest I used to work with once put it. I like being scattered in that sense. And so the scriptures’ promise of gathering is actually something of a challenge for me. God’s work, the scriptures tell me, is to bring people together. Christ becomes present—Christ’s power is made manifest—in the midst of a gathered people.

I paused for a while after writing that sentence, deciding whether to pursue that thought. And I decided not to. The Spirit’s pushing me somewhere I want to reflect on more before I say anything more about it in the blogosphere. So I’m going to change the subject a bit. This coming week is my parents’ wedding anniversary. That date is also the anniversary of the first time I ever participated in organized gay life: a talent show held as part of the University of Utah’s GLBT Awareness Week during my first year as a graduate student there. I suspect that the coincidence with my parents’ wedding anniversary makes the talent show more of a dramatic threshold in my memory than it would be otherwise, but I take that date as the beginning of my coming out as a gay man.

There’s a kind of gathering in my life: coming out—or alternatively, coming in—from the exile of the closet, connecting with other gay/lesbian people, claiming membership in a community. In the end, I’m rather stand-offish in that community as well. For the fifth year in a row, I’ve not felt motivated to participate in our local Gay Pride events. Hugo and I have a handful of gay friends, but we’re not really plugged into the local gay community—wherever that is—and we don’t even go out of our way to socialize that much with other gay couples at the Episcopal church we attend. And we don’t emulate standard images of gay life or gay style—I often find myself in situations where I joke, “We’re not that kind of gay.” But we still claim membership in a thing called the gay community: we claim them as our people, and that’s crucial to our identity. In an analogous way, I claim membership in a broadly defined Mormon community: the Mormons are my people (whether they want me or not), and that’s crucial to my identity. For the moment, that’s as closely gathered as I want to be.