I Don't Speak Very Often, But Here's What I'm Thinking
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My reasons for starting a blog:
1) No one to talk to!! And I have thoughts that I want to be heard, so at least by publishing this, I'll know that there's a possibility that someone may read it. That's second best to having a really good conversation with someone.
Speaking of that, I bumped into Stacy at the commissary last night and she is really hurting. We're gonna get together tomorrow morning and have a really great conversation. I don't get many of those. Maybe once or twice a year. My last good conversation was with her & her hubby a few months ago. I don't have many friendships where we can talk about things that really matter. And there are no boundaries, no taboo subjects. We can talk about the church, friends, sex. Stacy & I seem to be at a very similar place in our spiritual progression. I like Stacy because she has no problem getting right to the marrow of matters. I do have a problem with it. I'm sure my parents didn't mean to raise me up to be this way, but I learned by example to avoid difficult topics and situations by sillying my way out of it; changing the subject. I hate that. I want to talk about serious things. Great conversations can be so therapeutic.
2) Another reason for starting this blog: I want to make sure that I'm never tempted to unload my mind in front of the congregation at a fast and testimony meeting! It's so aggravating how people do that; get up and talk about themselves, entirely forgetting to mention the Savior. Sometimes how dare they even close, "in the name of Jesus Christ." I prefer to reserve my testimonies for bearing my testimony. But I gotta tell you, sometimes I'm tempted to get up there and tell stories that I have no one else to tell them to, if I think it's got a spiritual lesson it somewhere. But I know better. I wish everyone else knew better too. That reminds me of a great article by Robert L. Millet titled Pure Testimony. Here's an interesting portion of it (can be found with a little probing around at religion.byu.edu):
"I have been interested over the years in the manner in which testimonies are borne. While serving in a stake presidency a number of years ago, I had the responsibility for the youth programs of the stake. One year I worked closely with the stake Young Men's and Young Women's presidents in the planning of a youth conference. Because the young people of the stake were so spread out, because they saw one another so seldom, we wanted this two-day conference to be just right, to combine the elements of sociality and spirituality in such a way as to really make a difference in the lives of the youth. All of the events of Saturday morning and evening (including a dance) had gone so well. And now we wanted more than anything for the testimony meeting, held early Sunday morning, to be the highlight of the conference. Special musical numbers were arranged. The setting was prepared. I asked that the Young Men's and Young Women's presidents stand at the first of the meeting and bear brief, heartfelt testimonies, to set the tone of the meeting and to model what we hoped would come to pass.
There was a brief pause after the Young Women's president had expressed her testimony. Then the youth became involved. A young lady from one of the distant branches spoke: "I want to stand and bear my testimony. I want to tell Laura (a young woman to whom she pointed) how much I love her. I want her to know how much she means to me." The speaker was very emotional, but managed to spend about ten minutes telling stories about herself and Laura. She closed. At that point Laura stood up, came to the pulpit, and said: "I want to bear my testimony. I want to tell Stephanie how much I love her." She cried and cried, told stories about how the two of them had romped and played as little children, and about how close they were. Before she sat down she added: "Oh, I also need to tell Bill what a difference he has made in my life. He's been a wonderful friend to Stephanie and me. We love you Bill." As we might guess, Stephanie was followed by Bill, who was followed by the person about whom Bill spoke, and so on for about forty-five minutes.
This approach to things was broken suddenly by one young lady striding up to the stand and with much confidence saying: "I've been thinking about this meeting for some time, wondering what I should speak about, and so I went to my Mom and asked her what I should say. My mother suggested that I tell you what her Catholic priest taught her: 'Every time we sin, we drive the crown of thorns deeper into the skull of Jesus.'" She then encouraged us as a congregation to avoid sin. At this point the stake president, who sat two chairs from me, let out with a quiet groan which indicated his disappointment with the meeting. But frankly, things had been going fine when I consider where they would head for the next little while! A young man from one of the local wards came up to the pulpit carrying a folder. He opened the folder, took out several legal-size sheets of paper, and began: "My talk today is on the Sacrament." This person then delivered an eleven- minute sermon on the importance of the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper, on the need for being worthy to take the bread and water each Sunday morning, and on the meaning of taking upon us the name of Christ. It was really quite good.
At about the midpoint of the meeting, a young man came to the stand and took charge for about twenty-five minutes: he began by telling a few jokes, told a number of sad stories, and then (having elicited both laughter and tears) said: "Hey, I'm pretty good at this. I think I'll be an entertainer!" The congregation roared. At least most of them did. The stake president groaned again. (He slipped me a note which said simply: "This meeting is a disaster." I nodded to him my agreement of his assessment.) I sweat. The Young Women's president wept. The Young Men's president sighed. I wasn't sure what to do, whether to close the meeting, cast out the strange spirit there, or simply get up and explain what was wrong. The stake leaders, all of us, knew that this was a sensitive time, that feelings were delicate, that persons are easily hurt or their efforts easily stifled. So we did nothing. We sat. And we sat. Painfully, we sat.
After about two hours, a young man came to the pulpit, a boy we didn't recognize. He was extremely nervous, so much so that he dared not even lift his head to look at the congregation. He stammered: "My friends or, uh ... brothers and sisters, I... uh ... would like to ... uh ... share some of my feelings. I am not a Mormon, not a member of your church, and so I don't really know how to bear testimony." The stake president, one of the most Christlike men I have ever known, whispered gently: "He should relax. He's in great company!" The young man continued: "The missionaries have been teaching my family about your church for a couple of weeks now. I just wanted to let you know that I really believe in God. I feel a lot of love for Jesus, who died for me. Something inside me tells me that what the missionaries have said about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon and the Mormon Church is true. I'm happy that in a short time we will be baptized. Thank you for being so nice to me." Then he sat down. Here was a testimony, a real testimony, and it came from the only person in our group who was not of our faith.
The meeting did finally come to an end. Mercifully, after almost three hours, it came to an end. I sat in despair. So did the other stake leaders. The stake president looked at me, shook his head in disbelief, and sighed. He then left. I turned to the stake youth leaders and said: "I'm too depressed to talk about it now. Could we meet this Wednesday evening in my office?" They agreed that we would face the music then. It was clear from the looks on their faces on Wednesday that they had spent a great deal of time in ponderous and solemn thought. So had I. Interestingly enough, each of us had had occasion on Sunday to return to our own wards and participate in the monthly fast and testimony meeting. And so I asked: "Is this a youth problem?" The Young Women's president quickly spoke up: "No, it's a Church problem." She continued: "The kids do basically the same things the adults do. Perhaps the grownups are a bit more dignified and formal about it." The Young Men's president nodded in agreement. I indicated that those were my feelings as well.
We sat for a long time that night, asking questions like: What's supposed to happen in a testimony meeting? What is appropriate and what is inappropriate? Are there some expressions that are perfectly right and good in one setting but not quite right for a testimony meeting? Why was the spirit of the youth meeting so strange? Why did so many of the youth feel it was inspirational? Are we the ones who are out of it, insensitive to what we ought to feel? And so on. It was a sober occasion for the three of us, a vexation of the soul, painful searching after truth. We felt the need thereafter to express our concerns to the stake president and to suggest that a message be prepared and delivered by him (or whomever he recommended) on the matter of acquiring and bearing testimony, a message for the whole stake membership. As a stake presidency we first instructed the bishops and high council, turning to the scriptures and the words of living Apostles and prophets for our pattern. We stressed the need for being delicate and sensitive, of never indicating that there was one "approved" way of bearing witness, a "proper" approach to sharing one's testimony. Rather, we strove to speak in terms of correct principles. I think some good came from the whole thing.
Seldom in my life have I spent as much time in serious reflection on a matter as I did in the weeks and months that followed that youth testimony meeting. Seldom in my life have I pondered and searched to understand the meaning and purpose of a meeting. I thought back of a thousand testimony meetings I had attended, and of the unusual things that had taken place there. I thought of my Sunday School teacher when I was twelve, a lovely young woman who loved the Lord and lived his gospel. It showed. I distinctly remember that every month in Fast and Testimony meeting she would stand up and say: "I'd like to read a message from the Improvement Era." She would then read an article to the congregation. I thought it was what she was supposed to do, perhaps her church assignment or something! She did that month after month, year after year. I thought back of a middle-aged woman standing up in testimony meeting and, with fire in her eyes and voice, saying to all of us: "You hypocrites! You phonies! You claim to be Christians. That's a joke!" She went on to tear apart the ward for not being more helpful in fellowshipping her non-member husband. I reflected on a man standing up in testimony meeting and startling us with the following: "As many of you know, I teach the fourteen-year olds in Sunday School. I wasn't able to finish my lesson in time today, and so I'd like to do that now, if it's okay with the rest of you." He then took about fifteen minutes to complete his Sunday School lesson.
A few years ago in one of my Book of Mormon classes at Brigham Young University, after I had finished a discussion of Alma 4:19 and of the matter of bearing pure testimony, a student spoke to me after class. He said: "Brother Millet, I wanted so badly to bear my testimony in yesterday's fast meeting in my BYU ward, but I knew that I didn't have anything original to say. I didn't have a special message to deliver." This experience highlights a problem we sometimes see in the Church: the presumption that one has to deliver a message, preach a sermon, or make some original contribution to the meeting. The general handbook of instructions simply indicates that members of the Church are to be invited to bear brief, heartfelt testimonies and, where appropriate, share faith-promoting experiences. There really is no need for the members of the Church to worry one tenth of a second about coming up with something to say, about leaving the congregation with a lasting message, about giving a talk.
I frequently ask groups of returned missionaries the following questions: "Did you ever have any inspirational testimony meetings on your mission?" They inevitably respond: "Oh yes. We had some great ones!" I continue: "I'll bet they were spiritual feasts because every elder or sister said something different. Right?" "Not usually," they answer. "I'll bet they were unusual spiritual experiences because each missionary came with a prepared sermon, delivered it effectively, and set the other missionaries back on their heels with the power of their oratory. Right?" "Not really," they respond. "Well then, what did the missionaries say as part of their expressions?" After a few moments' reflection, the class relates that most of the elders and sisters said about the same thing—they bore testimony of God, of Jesus as the Christ, of Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, and of the guiding hand of the Lord in the Church today. Very little original stuff. But powerful. There's a lesson there.
As I understand it, the purpose of a testimony meeting is for the bearing of personal testimony. Expressions of gratitude and love, so much a part of the lives of followers of the Christ, take a backseat to the bearing of testimonies if in fact the meeting has been set aside for the bearing of testimonies. Letting others know how thankful we are for our blessings, as well as how much we love the Lord and one another—these expressions can and should accompany our testimony, but we are asked primarily to stand and bear witness of what we know to be true. President Spencer W. Kimball counseled a group of young people gathered in a testimony meeting: "Do not exhort each other; that is not a testimony. Do not tell others how to live. Just tell how you feel inside. That is the testimony. The moment you begin preaching to others, your testimony ended. Just tell us how you feel, what your mind and heart and every fiber of your body tells you."3 On another occasion, President Kimball said to a similar group:
Now, you are going to give your testimonies this afternoon. I hope that you'll just open your hearts and let us look inside . . . will you? Just open them up wide and turn on the lights and let us see your hearts, . . . how you feel. A testimony is not an exhortation; a testimony is not a sermon; none of you are here to exhort the rest. You are here to bear your own witness. It is amazing what you can say in thirty seconds by way of testimony, or in sixty seconds, or one hundred and twenty, or two hundred and forty, or whatever time you are given, if you confine yourselves to testimony. We'd like to know how you feel.
I've thought back many times of the amount of emotion that was evident in the youth testimony meeting. I've been concerned over the years that too often our youth (and, unfortunately, some of our more experienced members) are prone to confuse sentimentality with spirituality, tears with testimony. Let me illustrate. One Mutual night as I came out of my bishop's office, I noticed that the Laurel class was huddled in the hall in the midst of what seemed to be quite a fascinating discussion. They appeared to be talking about one of the young women in their class who had during the last year slipped into inactivity in the Church. I heard one of the girls say, with some enthusiasm: "Well, I can tell you this much—she doesn't have much of a testimony." One of the others challenged her: "How can you say that? How do you know?" The first replied: "Well, you think about it for a minute. I've seen her bear her testimony many times, and I've never seen her cry once!" There was a pause, a moment of reflection on the part of twelve young ladies, and then a rather visible concurrence. Most of them nodded in agreement and said: "She's right about that." I was flabbergasted.
More than twenty years ago I taught several classes of eleventh graders in seminary. My fourth period class was a remarkable group. During the first part of the year, however, I noticed something a bit unusual. Day after day for about three weeks I noticed that every devotional (to start the class and set the spiritual tone) involved some kind of death story. Somebody was dying or giving their life or blood or something. I pulled the class president aside after the third week and asked: "Fred, what's the deal with the devotionals?" He didn't follow me. "I mean, why all the morbid stories in our devotionals? Why are we so hung up with death?" Fred responded verbally in a polite manner, but the look on his face betrayed the fact that my question had totally mystified him. "Brother Millet," he came right back, "How else are we going to get the kids to cry?" I said, "Oh, I understand." I didn't follow up on the conversation at the time, but felt it was best to wait until I had thought through my response.
There's no question that when we have a genuine spiritual experience we may be touched emotionally. Tears come easily for some of us, and there should never be the slightest embarrassment about such a thing. And yet we do ourselves and our youth a tremendous disservice if we begin to believe that an emotional experience is always a spiritual experience. Tears may come, but they should never be manipulated or elicited or sought for. In the classroom, for example, there is plenty for the gospel teacher to do by way of study, prayer, preparation, organization, and presentation; he or she must not seek to usurp the role of the Holy Ghost. He is the Comforter. He is the Revelator. He is the Converter. He is, in reality, the Teacher."
1) No one to talk to!! And I have thoughts that I want to be heard, so at least by publishing this, I'll know that there's a possibility that someone may read it. That's second best to having a really good conversation with someone.
Speaking of that, I bumped into Stacy at the commissary last night and she is really hurting. We're gonna get together tomorrow morning and have a really great conversation. I don't get many of those. Maybe once or twice a year. My last good conversation was with her & her hubby a few months ago. I don't have many friendships where we can talk about things that really matter. And there are no boundaries, no taboo subjects. We can talk about the church, friends, sex. Stacy & I seem to be at a very similar place in our spiritual progression. I like Stacy because she has no problem getting right to the marrow of matters. I do have a problem with it. I'm sure my parents didn't mean to raise me up to be this way, but I learned by example to avoid difficult topics and situations by sillying my way out of it; changing the subject. I hate that. I want to talk about serious things. Great conversations can be so therapeutic.
2) Another reason for starting this blog: I want to make sure that I'm never tempted to unload my mind in front of the congregation at a fast and testimony meeting! It's so aggravating how people do that; get up and talk about themselves, entirely forgetting to mention the Savior. Sometimes how dare they even close, "in the name of Jesus Christ." I prefer to reserve my testimonies for bearing my testimony. But I gotta tell you, sometimes I'm tempted to get up there and tell stories that I have no one else to tell them to, if I think it's got a spiritual lesson it somewhere. But I know better. I wish everyone else knew better too. That reminds me of a great article by Robert L. Millet titled Pure Testimony. Here's an interesting portion of it (can be found with a little probing around at religion.byu.edu):
"I have been interested over the years in the manner in which testimonies are borne. While serving in a stake presidency a number of years ago, I had the responsibility for the youth programs of the stake. One year I worked closely with the stake Young Men's and Young Women's presidents in the planning of a youth conference. Because the young people of the stake were so spread out, because they saw one another so seldom, we wanted this two-day conference to be just right, to combine the elements of sociality and spirituality in such a way as to really make a difference in the lives of the youth. All of the events of Saturday morning and evening (including a dance) had gone so well. And now we wanted more than anything for the testimony meeting, held early Sunday morning, to be the highlight of the conference. Special musical numbers were arranged. The setting was prepared. I asked that the Young Men's and Young Women's presidents stand at the first of the meeting and bear brief, heartfelt testimonies, to set the tone of the meeting and to model what we hoped would come to pass.
There was a brief pause after the Young Women's president had expressed her testimony. Then the youth became involved. A young lady from one of the distant branches spoke: "I want to stand and bear my testimony. I want to tell Laura (a young woman to whom she pointed) how much I love her. I want her to know how much she means to me." The speaker was very emotional, but managed to spend about ten minutes telling stories about herself and Laura. She closed. At that point Laura stood up, came to the pulpit, and said: "I want to bear my testimony. I want to tell Stephanie how much I love her." She cried and cried, told stories about how the two of them had romped and played as little children, and about how close they were. Before she sat down she added: "Oh, I also need to tell Bill what a difference he has made in my life. He's been a wonderful friend to Stephanie and me. We love you Bill." As we might guess, Stephanie was followed by Bill, who was followed by the person about whom Bill spoke, and so on for about forty-five minutes.
This approach to things was broken suddenly by one young lady striding up to the stand and with much confidence saying: "I've been thinking about this meeting for some time, wondering what I should speak about, and so I went to my Mom and asked her what I should say. My mother suggested that I tell you what her Catholic priest taught her: 'Every time we sin, we drive the crown of thorns deeper into the skull of Jesus.'" She then encouraged us as a congregation to avoid sin. At this point the stake president, who sat two chairs from me, let out with a quiet groan which indicated his disappointment with the meeting. But frankly, things had been going fine when I consider where they would head for the next little while! A young man from one of the local wards came up to the pulpit carrying a folder. He opened the folder, took out several legal-size sheets of paper, and began: "My talk today is on the Sacrament." This person then delivered an eleven- minute sermon on the importance of the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper, on the need for being worthy to take the bread and water each Sunday morning, and on the meaning of taking upon us the name of Christ. It was really quite good.
At about the midpoint of the meeting, a young man came to the stand and took charge for about twenty-five minutes: he began by telling a few jokes, told a number of sad stories, and then (having elicited both laughter and tears) said: "Hey, I'm pretty good at this. I think I'll be an entertainer!" The congregation roared. At least most of them did. The stake president groaned again. (He slipped me a note which said simply: "This meeting is a disaster." I nodded to him my agreement of his assessment.) I sweat. The Young Women's president wept. The Young Men's president sighed. I wasn't sure what to do, whether to close the meeting, cast out the strange spirit there, or simply get up and explain what was wrong. The stake leaders, all of us, knew that this was a sensitive time, that feelings were delicate, that persons are easily hurt or their efforts easily stifled. So we did nothing. We sat. And we sat. Painfully, we sat.
After about two hours, a young man came to the pulpit, a boy we didn't recognize. He was extremely nervous, so much so that he dared not even lift his head to look at the congregation. He stammered: "My friends or, uh ... brothers and sisters, I... uh ... would like to ... uh ... share some of my feelings. I am not a Mormon, not a member of your church, and so I don't really know how to bear testimony." The stake president, one of the most Christlike men I have ever known, whispered gently: "He should relax. He's in great company!" The young man continued: "The missionaries have been teaching my family about your church for a couple of weeks now. I just wanted to let you know that I really believe in God. I feel a lot of love for Jesus, who died for me. Something inside me tells me that what the missionaries have said about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon and the Mormon Church is true. I'm happy that in a short time we will be baptized. Thank you for being so nice to me." Then he sat down. Here was a testimony, a real testimony, and it came from the only person in our group who was not of our faith.
The meeting did finally come to an end. Mercifully, after almost three hours, it came to an end. I sat in despair. So did the other stake leaders. The stake president looked at me, shook his head in disbelief, and sighed. He then left. I turned to the stake youth leaders and said: "I'm too depressed to talk about it now. Could we meet this Wednesday evening in my office?" They agreed that we would face the music then. It was clear from the looks on their faces on Wednesday that they had spent a great deal of time in ponderous and solemn thought. So had I. Interestingly enough, each of us had had occasion on Sunday to return to our own wards and participate in the monthly fast and testimony meeting. And so I asked: "Is this a youth problem?" The Young Women's president quickly spoke up: "No, it's a Church problem." She continued: "The kids do basically the same things the adults do. Perhaps the grownups are a bit more dignified and formal about it." The Young Men's president nodded in agreement. I indicated that those were my feelings as well.
We sat for a long time that night, asking questions like: What's supposed to happen in a testimony meeting? What is appropriate and what is inappropriate? Are there some expressions that are perfectly right and good in one setting but not quite right for a testimony meeting? Why was the spirit of the youth meeting so strange? Why did so many of the youth feel it was inspirational? Are we the ones who are out of it, insensitive to what we ought to feel? And so on. It was a sober occasion for the three of us, a vexation of the soul, painful searching after truth. We felt the need thereafter to express our concerns to the stake president and to suggest that a message be prepared and delivered by him (or whomever he recommended) on the matter of acquiring and bearing testimony, a message for the whole stake membership. As a stake presidency we first instructed the bishops and high council, turning to the scriptures and the words of living Apostles and prophets for our pattern. We stressed the need for being delicate and sensitive, of never indicating that there was one "approved" way of bearing witness, a "proper" approach to sharing one's testimony. Rather, we strove to speak in terms of correct principles. I think some good came from the whole thing.
Seldom in my life have I spent as much time in serious reflection on a matter as I did in the weeks and months that followed that youth testimony meeting. Seldom in my life have I pondered and searched to understand the meaning and purpose of a meeting. I thought back of a thousand testimony meetings I had attended, and of the unusual things that had taken place there. I thought of my Sunday School teacher when I was twelve, a lovely young woman who loved the Lord and lived his gospel. It showed. I distinctly remember that every month in Fast and Testimony meeting she would stand up and say: "I'd like to read a message from the Improvement Era." She would then read an article to the congregation. I thought it was what she was supposed to do, perhaps her church assignment or something! She did that month after month, year after year. I thought back of a middle-aged woman standing up in testimony meeting and, with fire in her eyes and voice, saying to all of us: "You hypocrites! You phonies! You claim to be Christians. That's a joke!" She went on to tear apart the ward for not being more helpful in fellowshipping her non-member husband. I reflected on a man standing up in testimony meeting and startling us with the following: "As many of you know, I teach the fourteen-year olds in Sunday School. I wasn't able to finish my lesson in time today, and so I'd like to do that now, if it's okay with the rest of you." He then took about fifteen minutes to complete his Sunday School lesson.
A few years ago in one of my Book of Mormon classes at Brigham Young University, after I had finished a discussion of Alma 4:19 and of the matter of bearing pure testimony, a student spoke to me after class. He said: "Brother Millet, I wanted so badly to bear my testimony in yesterday's fast meeting in my BYU ward, but I knew that I didn't have anything original to say. I didn't have a special message to deliver." This experience highlights a problem we sometimes see in the Church: the presumption that one has to deliver a message, preach a sermon, or make some original contribution to the meeting. The general handbook of instructions simply indicates that members of the Church are to be invited to bear brief, heartfelt testimonies and, where appropriate, share faith-promoting experiences. There really is no need for the members of the Church to worry one tenth of a second about coming up with something to say, about leaving the congregation with a lasting message, about giving a talk.
I frequently ask groups of returned missionaries the following questions: "Did you ever have any inspirational testimony meetings on your mission?" They inevitably respond: "Oh yes. We had some great ones!" I continue: "I'll bet they were spiritual feasts because every elder or sister said something different. Right?" "Not usually," they answer. "I'll bet they were unusual spiritual experiences because each missionary came with a prepared sermon, delivered it effectively, and set the other missionaries back on their heels with the power of their oratory. Right?" "Not really," they respond. "Well then, what did the missionaries say as part of their expressions?" After a few moments' reflection, the class relates that most of the elders and sisters said about the same thing—they bore testimony of God, of Jesus as the Christ, of Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, and of the guiding hand of the Lord in the Church today. Very little original stuff. But powerful. There's a lesson there.
As I understand it, the purpose of a testimony meeting is for the bearing of personal testimony. Expressions of gratitude and love, so much a part of the lives of followers of the Christ, take a backseat to the bearing of testimonies if in fact the meeting has been set aside for the bearing of testimonies. Letting others know how thankful we are for our blessings, as well as how much we love the Lord and one another—these expressions can and should accompany our testimony, but we are asked primarily to stand and bear witness of what we know to be true. President Spencer W. Kimball counseled a group of young people gathered in a testimony meeting: "Do not exhort each other; that is not a testimony. Do not tell others how to live. Just tell how you feel inside. That is the testimony. The moment you begin preaching to others, your testimony ended. Just tell us how you feel, what your mind and heart and every fiber of your body tells you."3 On another occasion, President Kimball said to a similar group:
Now, you are going to give your testimonies this afternoon. I hope that you'll just open your hearts and let us look inside . . . will you? Just open them up wide and turn on the lights and let us see your hearts, . . . how you feel. A testimony is not an exhortation; a testimony is not a sermon; none of you are here to exhort the rest. You are here to bear your own witness. It is amazing what you can say in thirty seconds by way of testimony, or in sixty seconds, or one hundred and twenty, or two hundred and forty, or whatever time you are given, if you confine yourselves to testimony. We'd like to know how you feel.
I've thought back many times of the amount of emotion that was evident in the youth testimony meeting. I've been concerned over the years that too often our youth (and, unfortunately, some of our more experienced members) are prone to confuse sentimentality with spirituality, tears with testimony. Let me illustrate. One Mutual night as I came out of my bishop's office, I noticed that the Laurel class was huddled in the hall in the midst of what seemed to be quite a fascinating discussion. They appeared to be talking about one of the young women in their class who had during the last year slipped into inactivity in the Church. I heard one of the girls say, with some enthusiasm: "Well, I can tell you this much—she doesn't have much of a testimony." One of the others challenged her: "How can you say that? How do you know?" The first replied: "Well, you think about it for a minute. I've seen her bear her testimony many times, and I've never seen her cry once!" There was a pause, a moment of reflection on the part of twelve young ladies, and then a rather visible concurrence. Most of them nodded in agreement and said: "She's right about that." I was flabbergasted.
More than twenty years ago I taught several classes of eleventh graders in seminary. My fourth period class was a remarkable group. During the first part of the year, however, I noticed something a bit unusual. Day after day for about three weeks I noticed that every devotional (to start the class and set the spiritual tone) involved some kind of death story. Somebody was dying or giving their life or blood or something. I pulled the class president aside after the third week and asked: "Fred, what's the deal with the devotionals?" He didn't follow me. "I mean, why all the morbid stories in our devotionals? Why are we so hung up with death?" Fred responded verbally in a polite manner, but the look on his face betrayed the fact that my question had totally mystified him. "Brother Millet," he came right back, "How else are we going to get the kids to cry?" I said, "Oh, I understand." I didn't follow up on the conversation at the time, but felt it was best to wait until I had thought through my response.
There's no question that when we have a genuine spiritual experience we may be touched emotionally. Tears come easily for some of us, and there should never be the slightest embarrassment about such a thing. And yet we do ourselves and our youth a tremendous disservice if we begin to believe that an emotional experience is always a spiritual experience. Tears may come, but they should never be manipulated or elicited or sought for. In the classroom, for example, there is plenty for the gospel teacher to do by way of study, prayer, preparation, organization, and presentation; he or she must not seek to usurp the role of the Holy Ghost. He is the Comforter. He is the Revelator. He is the Converter. He is, in reality, the Teacher."
