Horrifying event

I had a post planned for today, in response to my D&C readings this week, but I can't post it now—it just seems too trivial. A few days ago, a member of the church Hugo and I have been attending for the past few years was arrested in connection with horrifying allegations of child sex abuse. It's been shocking, not only because of the monstrosity of the allegations but also because it's so completely unexpected. The congregation is reeling.

I need to be vague talking about all this for the sake of people's privacy. But I wanted to post here that I've been impressed with how the congregation's pastor is responding. Yesterday evening a meeting was held where members of the congregation were able to learn what can be appropriately disclosed at this time about what's happening to the alleged perpetrator and his family, and where people were able to talk about what they were feeling. It was raw and uncomfortable, but I thought that it exemplified well the principle, "Let one speak at a time and let all listen . . . that every one may have an equal privilege" (D&C 88:122). It also brought to my mind the call "to bear one another's burdens" and "to mourn with those who mourn" (Mosiah 18:8-9).

After the news broke, I spent time carefully discerning what I could honestly and meaningfully ask in prayer for each member of the family affected by these allegations: the alleged perpetrator, the alleged victim, other family members. That was very difficult.

We'll attend services later today. And I'm praying now for guidance about whether or not to commune. This church has always made clear that I'm welcome to do so, but I don't because I want to hold myself apart—to signal to myself and others that I don't really regard this church as my spiritual home; it's just the place where I've taken up residence in exile. But I'm feeling like this is not a time to be standing apart. A number of people in the congregation have gone out of their way to make clear to Hugo and me that they are concerned about us—about our continuing to feel welcome and trusted at this church; about the anti-gay rhetoric that's flaring up right now as conservative organizations and bloggers latch onto these allegations; about our physical safety, even. It feels graceless of me to keep standing at arm's length when people are being so generous—and emotionally open—about reaching out. And I don't like the feeling that I may be sending the message: What's happened to this community has happened to the rest of you, not to me; it's your problem, not my problem; I'm just here for my own benefit.

If I commune with this congregation, I will be communing with both the alleged perpetrator and the victim, which I feel ambivalent about for obvious reasons. I don't mean literally that the alleged perpetrator will be there at church: he's behind bars. But there's been no talk to suggest that this individual is not still regarded as part of this church community. People feel horrified and betrayed and enraged; but he's still being prayed for as "our brother." I'm impressed by that. The Mormon impulse, in my experience at least, would be to rush to make clear to the world that this person is no longer one of us. This church has chosen a more complicated road than that, a choice which may prove costly in terms of inviting hostility from observers. I trust that in doing so, they—we, I probably ought to say—are following Jesus.