Why Excommunication Is Not the Answer

Before I left on my mission, I received and invite along with a good friend who had received his call at the same time go and share our testimonies in our favorite seminary teacher's class.  This was an amazing honor and we were pretty stoked to bear testimony of the gospel (and invite the cute seniors to come to our farewells).  This was obviously a time when life was so much more simple.  It was easy to be a believing member.  I'd grown up in very faithful family.  I'd read all of the standard works.  I faithfully watched General Conference and had advanced honorably through the ranks of the Aaronic priesthood and now had the Melchizedek priesthood.  The next step was one that would change my life forever.  The world was full of possibilities and there was this sort of "spiritual high" both my friend and I were riding as we went to the seminary building that day.


Three Strikes, YOU'RE OUT!

We'd arrived a little early and were waiting in our former seminary teacher's office.  Since my friend had entered the office before me, he took the big, comfy, executive chair behind the teacher's desk.  I, in turn, sat in the ordinary, slightly-uncomfortable seat on the other side.  The situation seemed very reminiscent of an experience both he and I had gone through just weeks prior--our missionary worthiness interviews.

Spinning around slowly until he faced me, my friend leaned against his desk and, in his best Mr. Rogers impression, said, "Brother Buron, I appreciate your presence here today.  I want you to know you are loved.  Now . . . what can I do for you today?"

Not missing a beat, I said, "Well, bishop, thank you so much for meeting with me.  I . . . I have to confess a grievous sin."  I broke into fake sobs.

He pushed a box of tissues across the desk and looked at me expectantly.

Sniffling, I grabbed a tissue and dabbed at my eyes.  "Bishop . . . I . . . No, I can't say it."

"Go on, son."

"I . . . I watched football . . . on Sunday."  My voice caught and I looked down at my shoes.

"I see."  My friend reached into the desk and pulled out a sticky note and pen, hastily scribbled something on the paper, and then folded it in half.  Sliding the paper across the desk, he looked me in the eyes and said, "Always remember that I love you.  The Lord loves you."  

My shaky hand reached for the folded piece of paper.  I opened it and gasped.  It said: "EXCOMMUNICATED."

We both burst out laughing.  It was such an unexpected punishment for something so dumb.  Nobody could ever get excommunicated for something so inane as watching football on Sunday, right?

Excommunicated for blogging?

Attitudes About Excommunication

In the past few months there have been increasing accounts of LDS bloggers who have had to sit through disciplinary councils with well-meaning brethren who, in essence, slip them that folded piece of paper, but for real.  One story in particular made my jaw drop.  (Read what happened by visiting To the Remnant and Pure Mormonism.)  

As I've read about these excommunications and what these saints have had to endure, I've wondered about the basis and purpose of such harsh discipline.  I've also wondered about the implications the decision to excommunicate has, not only on those who lose their membership but also on those who decide to depress the detonator on someone's eternity.  There are, of course, those who say that the excommunicated brought this fate upon themselves.  These people were too outspoken about their questions and doubts and were obviously given the opportunity to repent by their leaders before being excommunicated.  They had it coming, right?  Do we really feel that way?  "They got what they deserved."  I was so appalled by what I saw on social media after Kate Kelly's excommunication.  "It's about time."  "Hopefully she'll take this as an opportunity to repent."  "Finally!"  "She was just trying to stir up trouble."  There were comments full of malice and hatred towards her.  Others bore their testimonies of the need for excommunication in certain circumstances.  Some of my friends even laughed and made light of the situation.  Is this really how we should react as fellow saints?

Members are quick to point out that excommunication is about love--giving the person an opportunity to repent and come back to the fold.  But . . . is that truly the case?  In the eternal scheme of things, does "I love you, but you're doing something wrong so I'm going to let you figure things out on your own and you can come back to us later" really fly?

A few years ago I attended a special priesthood training where Elder Dallin H. Oaks and Elder L. Whitney Clayton made themselves available for a Q&A of sorts with the leaders within a certain region.  The questions the local leaders asked were thought provoking and the questions they received from both Elder Oaks and Elder Clayton were, in my opinion, inspired and also very pragmatic.  One person asked how to know when excommunication was the right option for discipline.  Elder Oaks's reply was brief, but resonated with truth.  

(I quote from memory) "Brethren, excommunication should be avoided at all cost.  I want you to remember that we are interested in saving souls, not condemning them.  Too many of our precious brothers and sisters who are excommunicated from the Church never come back.  This is something that weighs heavily on our minds.  Therefore, my advice to you is to avoid excommunication if at all possible and to find another way to help these brothers and sisters return to the loving arms of their Savior."

I believe that is what the Savior would want.  I am very aware of his laws and the need for obedience.  "Justice" is an idea we get jammed down our throats in Sunday School, Priesthood and Relief Society.  But I believe the Savior is much more merciful than we give him credit.  I feel like he would do everything within the reach and breadth of his power to leave the 99 and save the one sheep that is lost.  Instead, the Church seems content to corral the 99 and nine and push away the 1 who is seen as a "threat."

I'm sorry, you can't stay because you ask too many questions about taboo subjects.

Who Is Acting As Judge?

Those who must appear before a "council of their peers" aren't standing face to face with the Savior.  They're facing men.  Sure, men who have been appointed to act as judges in Israel, but when push comes to shove that calling doesn't exclude them from being human.  As humans they are susceptible to their own biases, life experiences, personalities, points of view and personal flaws (we all have them).  I'm sure the Lord knew this could lead to unrighteous dominion, which is why I assume the process was made to be governed by a system of checks and balances.  One man might be swayed by his own prejudices when it comes to judging another, but a whole council of men would surely be able to balance that out, right?  And isn't that why the Church has a manual of instructions it gives to its leaders?

In theory, yes.  But there's a huge part of the Mormon culture that negates this system.  We have placed our leaders on pedestals so high that they have become untouchable and out of reach.  They have spiritual stewardship over us and therefore the right to receive revelation on our behalf.  The leader's words are law because they were spoken with the gift and power of the Holy Ghost.  And what happens if the Spirit whispers something different to us?  Excommunication.  That's a huge amount of power and one that very few "normal" members are willing or unable to refute.

Lord Acton is quoted as saying, "Power tends to corrupt.  And absolute power corrupts absolutely."

John F. Lehman, Jr., added, "Power corrupts.  And absolute power is kind of neat."

The power to nullify someone's temple covenants, eternal marriage and affect their eternal standing is not neat and it is not something to laugh about, like my friend and I did that day in our seminary teacher's office.

Judgement Based on Law or Whim?

I am an imperfect human.  I'm the first to admit it.  I also happen to be a very guilt-ridden person, which means I have had many opportunities to confess to my bishops.  Thankfully, I've always had wonderful bishops--good and honorable men.  My current bishop is an absolute gem and a man I deeply respect.  I've had to talk to him on occasion and his response has always been one of love and support.  He's awesome.

A while ago, one of my best friends called me.  I could tell he was upset by the sound of his voice.  He explained that he'd done something and felt he needed to talk to his bishop.  His bishop put him off for a week or two, but thanks to my friend's insistence, the bishop finally saw him.  On the phone my friend told me what he'd done.  I almost laughed because it was something that I considered a complete non-issue compared to some of the reasons why I had to talk to my bishops.  But his conscience wouldn't let him rest until he confessed.

During the interview, the bishop asked if he could see my friend's recommend.  After my friend passed his recommend over, the bishop put it in his desk and said, "You can earn this back with your worthiness."

When I heard this my jaw nearly dropped to the floor.  Here is my friend--a GREAT man with a heart of gold who goes out of his way to serve, not only in the church, but in his community; who bends over backwards to fulfill his calling; who is the only person I know other than my father who home teaches because he loves the families he visits and isn't looking for numbers; who takes his only day off to serve in the temple--and he's told he's not worthy for something that he probably didn't even need to go and confess in the bishop in the first place.  That was when I realized that not all judges in Israel are the same.  Had my friend gone to see my bishop, he would have received the counsel to GO TO THE TEMPLE in order to benefit from the spiritual protection temple attendance would provide him. (He'd counseled me to do that on a number of occasions, and I found it to be sound advice.)

So, here we have one bishop who takes away a temple recommend because of a minor mistake and tells the person he can earn it back with his worthiness, and on then you have another who urges the "transgressor" to go the temple because he needs the spiritual blessings.  I'm no statistician but there seems to be quite a discrepancy between those two punishments.

The Church has officially stated that excommunication is handled by the local leaders and the general authorities do not influence these decisions.  Therein lies the problem with allowing men to stand in judgment over other men.  One man's "you're not worthy" is another man's "you're doing the best you can."  What if you're called into a disciplinary council and you have to stand in judgment in front of my friend's bishop?  (The irony of me judging my friend's bishop is not lost on me here.)  You very well might end up leaving the high council room being told, "you can earn your membership with your worthiness."  Or, if you have my bishop you would receive a hug and counsel and possibly be put on probation, but he would be by your side with love and support from that point on.

I think that (thankfully) the majority of LDS bishops are like my bishop.  But there are definitely those who aren't and who may be more focused on exacting justice and 'saving their flock' than, "[avoiding] excommunication if at all possible and to [finding] another way to help these brothers and sisters return to the loving arms of their Savior."  And if you can be excommunicated for writing a blog that asks searching questions about doctrine and Mormon culture; for supporting gender equality; for supporting equal rights for our brothers and sisters who identify with the LGBTQ community; for asking the Church to be more open and honest about how it uses tithing money; for having looked into historical facts that you were told by the Church were false and then the Church turns around and admits are truths . . . then I guess getting excommunicated for watching football on Sunday isn't as crazy as it once used to seem.

And that, my fellow brothers and sisters, is a very scary thought.