Day 4: A Homogenized Ward

Walking to Church

8:20 came too quickly for everyone. Without breakfast to keep us awake, we stumbled out of bed, pulled on church clothes, and set off after Sister Tate (rather than Dr. Bird, who preferred to take a bus). It was a crisp, blue day and London seemed particularly slow-going. We cut through Hyde Park to the chapel, past the trees and grassy field, past the big pond and angry geese and children's playground--it was a solid walk, about 25 minutes. Kim and I hung back, having noticed the same thing--the girls in front of us all had skirts that were way too short.

Now normally I would have no reason to criticize, but our leaders asked us to be particularly conscientious about being modest. Kim grew up in D.C. and I in Seattle, so we felt comfortable talking about the strange Mormon culture in Utah. Amanda joined us (running from the flat), and she's a Midwest girl. I'm not the standards police, nor do I wish to be. But it made me angry that these girls had zero inclination not only to do as they were asked and live the standards the rest of us live regularly, but they were determined not to see potential problems their actions would cause. BYU students come from Zion to these members, and whatever we do is considered the Church norm--if we begin to look like hypocrites to these U.K. members (most of whom have been so for a very short time), we could be responsible for more than one priesthood-holder's discomfort.

I sincerely hope that, in time, those girls will leave their home state and move to a place where people watch them every day, where a stranger's entire opinion of the Church is couched in their actions. There's a reason why the members in Las Vegas are so strong. There's a reason why the City of Enoch (built before the Flood, the wickedest time the world has ever seen) was translated. I hope that no one was affected by their choice of dress today, but in my past experience, that's optimism to the point of foolishness.

Hyde Park Stake Center

The Hyde Park Ward had quite a variety for fast Sunday; people from the West Indies, France, Germany, Czech Republic, Slovenia, and even D.C. got up to bear their testimonies. There was Anglican and Catholic influence in the opening and closing prayers, which were beautiful. It was refreshing to leave the strife and sociality of student wards and come to a ward where the members take refuge. Although all of us were exhausted (jet lag seems to be calming down at last), the girls were on their best behavior. (Dr. Seely told us at dinner that the Slovenian man had asked for our addresses so he could start dating us. Apparently it's his dearest wish to marry one of us and move to Utah--which would explain the creepy way he eyed all fifteen of us. Dr. Seely, bless his heart, politely declined.)

The Stake President addressed us after sacrament. He's tall, dark and handsome and can't be over thirty years old--a shocker to the rest of us, who are used to Presidents with grandchildren. His gift for telling us exactly what we need to hear is unmatched; he talked about the program being a mini-mission, and that the best experiences come from serving the members. We all left the room feeling a lot more confident in our abilities and excited to accept whatever callings we received.

The block ended and outside revealed some white rain clouds. I walked home alone, having left my Tube pass there. Cutting a wider track through the park (probably should have paid better attention to where I was going), I walked against some heavy bike and stroller traffic, who all leaned to the left (where I naturally lean) to avoid me. Scary stuff when a kid looks like he'll run you over. They all drive on the wrong side of the road, pfft. I'd never appreciated how easy it is to walk against traffic in the States.

Fireside

A member of the Stake Presidency came to speak to us after dinner was cleared away. He was a somber-looking Englishman with fat crows' feet around his eyes; his lovely wife was from Scotland, and he himself (though born in Liverpool) lived his whole life in Africa, which made for an interesting show of accents (of course, WE'RE not the ones with the weird accents--they are). He told us a fantastic story of being a little boy in Ghana, out with his family, when he saw, several hundred yards away, an elephant. (We all sat up a bit straighter.)

Naturally the boys wanted to photograph the elephant. So the dad picked up a handful of sand and, seeing the wind was in the right direction, set up an old-school oscura camera. Little Mayhew did his best to position the camera close enough, so they steadily worked their way forward. Then the wind changed. The elephant picked up human scent and "he didn't like it". Everyone turned and sprinted toward their little car. But the car wouldn't start. Little Mayhew looked out the back windshield to see an angry beast in the distant, squealing, ears flapping, shaking the ground as he rumbled toward them. Starting to panic, the father tried again and again and at last, with lots of "Let's GO!", the car shuddered to start and they took off, leaving the elephant in the dust just a few yards away.

Happily Brother Mayhew has a marvelous sense of humor as well as storytelling; apparently the only thing his dad ever told him he learned from the experience was, "Never drive a Ford." His remarks were titled "Standing Up to Your Elephants", which made the story a metaphor for life in general. For us, elephants appear in the form of tests, bills, social lives, responsibility, and being away from home. He stressed that new members of the Church struggle with elephants that we don't appreciate as much as we ought--paying tithing, modesty, chastity, the word of wisdom, family pressures, social pressures. But there's more to the story; in Africa, everyone knows that elephants often do a "mock charge" to test their opponent, almost like a bluff, because they're not violent animals. A mock charge halts if the opponent holds their ground--and when that happens, the battle is won.

I won't go into some soapbox discussion about how to deal with trials, because I'm definitely not enduring too many at the moment. Some, yes, but none of them are the tusked, snouted kind. I suppose that the most effective discussions are those that, while we all agree with them in the summertime, we remember in the winter what we learned. Who knows? Perhaps this new Lea Valley Ward I've been assigned to will seem like an angry stampede and I'll find out if I'm brave after all.