Beal 1

A Lesson in Meekness I stepped out of our 2009 Chevy Malibu, closing the drivers side door with a gentle push. I glanced around the white collar neighborhood, finding it deserted. Leaden clouds assailed the Wichita sky, appearing ominous and tyrant like. I looked for a moment toward the bleak beauty, surprised to see the sun peaking momentarily through the oppression; its rays enlivened me and then disappeared again behind the curtains in the sky. Elder Beal, did you remember to grab the lesson one pamphlet, Asked Elder McGinnis, as he too exited the vehicle. Come on, Elder McGinnis. Who are you talking to? I replied with a laugh. Oh. Well, I apologize, Master of Humility. He retorted back, in good natured sarcasm. So wait, whats this guys name James right? Inquired Elder Mcginnis, as we trekked up the long driveway. No I replied, lowering my voice as we neared the front porch. Its Jeff. Elder Howard and I met with him about a week ago for the first time. I should I hesitated for a moment before continuing I should mention he said hed have a few friends over to join us tonight. Elder McGinnis glanced over at me with a smile This might prove journal worthy. Hopefully not too journal worthy, I commented in an apathetic tone. Nearing the front door, I could hear colloquial voices within the house. Upon knocking, the voices ceased like a flash of lightning. The door swung open soon after, Jeff acting as its operator. Hey guys, come on in, he said, using his arms to motion us into the house. Thanks, I replied. Ominous day today, is it not, commented Jeff, as we stepped inside.

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Youre telling us, said Elder McGinnis. The scent of apple cider pervaded the house, engaging my sense of smell with a swift rush. Jeffs wife Deb appeared in the hallway wearing a dark blue blouse, a pair of white Capri pants, and a Nancy Pelosi fashioned smile; the latter accessory she wore with confidence and skill, as though it were an element of her day to day profession. As with the first visit, I felt slightly outmatched in her presence, chained down by my own inexperience in the laboratory of life. She floated toward us over the beige tile, gracefully shifting her weight with each step. Welcome back, Beal. McGinnis. She said this, nodding her head with the pronunciation of each surname. Upon finishing the initial pleasantries, we migrated toward the living room. Three other figures sat situated in a circular formation upon the tile field. Fold up chairs, with Mars red matching upholstery, had been employed in their service. We shook hands and became acquainted with all three; I took a moment to size up each one. The first one to shake hands with me was a young Spanish fellow, Justin, who appeared foreign to classrooms and settings beyond that of the secondary realms. He was big and intimidating until he spoke, which confirmed my initial assumption that he could be outwitted. Next came the welcome from a middle aged woman, Alicia, also Spanish, who I later discovered to be the mother of Justin. She adorned herself in a black dress, ostentatious jewelry, and a fierce desire to contend, which manifested itself mostly in her prolonged stare, the tightening grip of her rough and callused hand, and the mere presence of a book she held: The Kingdom of Cults. I looked toward Elder McGinnis, who readily made eye contact with me, looking, among other things, concerned. The man whose hand I shook last, Robert, was a Caucasian chap of presumptuous temperament and engagement. During our momentary handshake and eye contact, he was with

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me yet not with me. He seemed aloft, in the stars, focused on a whirlwind of other more intriguing and worthwhile affairs or ideas. I tightened my grip in an effort to tactfully arouse within him his fullest attentions. He sprang to life, tightening his grip and thus meeting my subtle intensity. He appeared bigger now, as if all his muscles flexed vibrantly under his white oxford dress shirt. I smiled in delight. I like your shirt; Oxford is a classy brand. Surprised you recognize it, he replied with a condescending laugh. Well, go ahead and have a seat guys. This Jeff said in a tone less friendly than when he invited us in. He motioned us toward an old and splintered piano bench. Sitting down, the bench creaked as if protesting our presence. All right guys, started Jeff, I was looking on your church website, and I found a quote that really troubled me. All right, I replied. What was it? Jeff reached toward a pile of papers, which sat neatly upon his black, modern looking coffee table. This comes from Lorenzo Snow, one of your so-called prophets. Jeffs voice now took on an oppressive tone, and I couldnt help but shift a few times over in my chair. As man now is, God once was; as God is now man may become. He paused a moment before continuing. Whats up with that? That is that is just flat out blasphemy. It is blasphemy! confirmed Alicia, almost in a shout. Amen to that, offered Robert. Yeah, agreed Justin Tension enveloped us all like miasmic fumes from a factory. In but moments, I could feel that all the hope for common ground, which existed when we had commenced our little meeting,

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was now but an illusion. I chastened myself for believing that such a hope could have ever been realistic. How do you justify that with scripture? demanded Deb. I unzipped the leather case which held my scriptures and pulled out a copy of the New Testament. My hand trembled and my heart raced as I flipped open to Philippians. I think I can understand your concern, I offered in a polite, Leave-it-to-Beaver-type tone. That is a bold doctrine. Evil is more like it, sneered Alicia. Her brusque comment caught me off guard. I lowered my brow and hesitated for a moment before continuing. We believe this doctrine is taught clearly in the New Testament. If you flip open to Philippians 2:5-6, this might help you to understand why it is we unequivocally promote and maintain this belief. Pages ruffled as everyone turned to the scripture. Elder McGinnis, could I get you to read this scripture? Certainly, Elder Beal. Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus: Who, being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God. I sat silently for a moment, wanting to give them time for the scripture to sink in. Except for a low squeak from the piano bench, which ensued as Elder McGinnis shifted his weight, silence dominated the interval. I was starting to feel more confident, vindicated even, for the beliefs that I had fully embraced just three years previous. You Mormons have it all wrong, affirmed Jeff. Your doctrine and everything you believe is a lie and a sham. How in the world can you go to sleep at night not knowing you believe in something so fake? Your religion is a lie, and if you believe garbage like that, then youre not a Christian.

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My heart thudded thunderously against my rib cage. I could feel my blood heating up, not yet boiling, but close. A part of me wanted to lash out, figuratively flip the coffee table, or tell them they were wrong, but I didnt. Instead, I thought of a scripture: Be ye wise as serpents but harmless as doves. A feeling came to me of him whose name I often wore casually upon my chest. My pride capitulated itself to a better way of being, like an addict who has realized a need for change. I decided to try for meekness. I understand that our beliefs can and do conflict, but its our hope that perhaps, even if we dont agree, we can nevertheless leave as friends and united in what common ground we do have. I paused, looking out the window, again toward the skies. The sunlight was now beginning to break through the clouds. Its my personal belief that that is what Christ would want. Jeff seemed taken aback by my statement. The muscles in his face relaxed and the sudden edginess he had manifested seemed to disappear. Realization bubbled across his countenance. A dense silence ensued. You You make good sense Elder Beal, Remarked Jeff Maybe we have come off a little strong. Alicia, who had been using the tips of her fingers as a book mark in The Kingdom of Cults, furtively gave up her place by removing her fingers. She sat forward in her chair. Elder Beal, you represent Mormons well. Thank you, I replied. With the tension now neutralized, our discussion became worthwhile and good natured. They asked us about home, why we chose to serve missions, and why we chose to believe in certain points of our doctrine. Tension never reappeared in our meeting, and where enmity once reigned, a bond of mutual respect was forged.

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As our meeting ended and we got up to leave, Jeff led us to a hallway with a large painting of a faceless figure engrossed in a game of chess against the devil. He looked at it in awe, as if for the first time. I fight this fight every single day, he commented. It never stops. The war is never ending. I often think about those words, and when I find myself in the act of elevating my status to a higher plane than those not of my faith, I picture myself as the man pitted against the devil in a game of chess. For the man in the painting is everyman, and a reminder of our constant necessity to, instead of being so prone to quibble and contend amongst ourselves, concentrate our efforts on the real Adversary.

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