Shedding Our Sheltered Upbringing
Our fireside this eveing was the highlight of the whole day, Primary entirely exhausting and redemonstrating to me that Book of Mormon names are a stupid idea. The speaker was one Brother Stewart, a man suffering ceberal palsy and dependent on chairs and his trusty cane. He's a cute man, with a shiny bald head, a round, happy face, and a handful of teeth missing. His presentation involved several photographs and certificates. Dr. Seely, of course, was all smiles. His gentle tenor voice had us all enthralled in his story.
He started off with his parents; mother, one saucy player, and father as the patient victor of her heart. He was born in 1946. Apparently he was the shortest choir boy they'd ever had in Norwich--the rector would stack two or three lectern Bibles on his bench so he looked uniform. (Cute black and white picture of him garbed out to sing). When he was sixteen or so, he determined that he wanted to be a monk. After a year of training (free, no commitment on either side, but living monk standards) he entered the Benedictian abbey for four full years. Those were years of manual labor, snatches of sleep, prayer, long hours of silence, and education. By the end, he decided to become employed by the Church and was appointed deacon, and subsequently parish priest (beautifully handwritten certificates, embellished with the diocese crest).
Despite these efforts, he found himself in Her Majesty's Royal Air Force as a chaplain. I learned that under the Queen's orders, the chaplains (appointed specially by the Church) are the same rank as any officer they're addressing. Such a ruling came to a head when Father Stewart would try to hold services on time; the Admiral lived some two hundred yards from the church, would hop in his car and stroll into services late. But the Admiral warned the chaplain (as he was the highest officer there) that they could NOT start without him. So Father Stewart, still staunch from his abbey years, decided to stick it to the man and start on time, with or without the Admiral. He didn't give us details, but sure enough the Admiral walked in late and was irate that they'd already started. Meeting in the chaplain's office after the service, the Admiral expressed these views. But Father Stewart merely said, "By the Queen's command, you don't outrank me and we will start on time while I'm in charge of this parish." They got along great after that.
His conversion story started the same as a lot of religious intellectuals' begin; he was bored and invited the elders in for a bit of fun. It took some doing, but he read the Book of Mormon and did a lot of praying and told them he believed things were true, not understanding where the words were coming from. The only trouble for the cartwheeling missionaries was the fact that he would lose his job, his house, his pension, his credibility anywhere if he got baptized. But he made the decision to do it. And naturally, the Anglican Church thought he was insane and told him to take a few months and think about it (but they did quit paying him). He broke with his dad and had to reconcile a year later, and really had every calling in the church handed to him (being in the UK) in the first five years of being in it. Minus bishop. He doesn't understand why ANYone would want to be bishop, which I completely agree with.
It was a great story, ending with his marrying a gorgeous woman just six years ago and getting a six-foot-eight stepson. It really brought home to us the sacrifices people here made and still make to be members, as well as the blessings that come from such conviction. There isn't a strong membership as far as numbers, but they're stronger than we are. His testimony that the Church is true was so beautiful, coming from a man with such theology and training, who had come through so much for his faith. I hope he's as happy and at peace as he looked.
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