The Great and Spacious

The Great and Spacious 

(written during LDS General Conference, Sunday Morning Session, 4/4/16)

Perhaps I have tasted the fruit

and become ashamed

I have been the one mocked,

I have felt the disdain

Both for haters and lovers 

of what is called the truth,

not just any that fills the universe 
beyond us and inside us

But also the kind that must be 
contained to be holy,

Truth as The one and only

Yet Mockers of the faithful,

who have chosen another way,

as well as steady saints

who cling to the rod with their might --

Any one of these can fall,

Or lose their ground
or drift away

to a lofty place in the air,

or a dungeon beneath the earth,

or even in places named Holy

Anyone can be prone to worshiping fear

and seeking safety 
in the mind of a mass,

Minds and minds 
in masses of masses

Divided in purpose,
combined into separate chants

Proclaiming their positions, 
insisting “We are right.” 
“We are righteous.”

From a pulpit or a podcast,

a family dinner, 
or even a silent disdain

The pounding pulses heavily

as a war drum in my heart.

I am not safe in following

Whatever they promise, 
whatever they claim.

I am no longer invested in following crowds,

Whether they gather together 
to follow prophets called by a god 
who rewards them with peace 
for faithful obedience,

or prophets called by the world’s angst,

by causes that move them to warn

of what happens to people 
who blindly conform

These paths that each profess

a way of freedom,

and other paths that beckon here and there

are not the way of peace for me --

and yet I seek it desperately,

the peace.

Whether or not it can be sustained,

all my days I have sought it,

to find it mostly, 
but also to give it

To be the steady hand,

the heart, the mind

for others I have witnessed,

the way they have not hidden 
from their storms,

but opened their eyes and hearts

and let the rains beat them

How they have allowed the waters, 
the wind and the heat to enter in

Not to defeat them,

only to move them from their frozen, 
rotting fear

I have converted to their transformation

Seen it as an act of courage, mighty faith

Even as my own has been neglected,

in spite of my determination,

and forced investigation

Yet somehow when another sits before me,

the heaviness 
I willingly accept,

offering my greatest love

Transcending walls that usually protect my heart

I soar, and recognize the pull of gravity

knowing I am borrowing

the weightlessness of change

that I have not yet earned

And what is left inside?

The fuel of fear and doubt, it seems

The only way my body knows 
to navigate this life.

No matter how I plead,

often on my knees or curled up 
inside myself

Flat and mad against the floor

stuck between walls

wandering empty halls

trapped inside a sterile room,

where once I was admitted, 
left in fear

for admitting I was scared

Thought to be unsafe, 
they robbed me of the safety

I was seeking.

No matter how obedient and selfless 
I have tried to be

Believing in a Savior who would find me, 
hold me, see me
infuse me with His love

In years of reaching out
and reaching in

I have yet to find the cure,

the sustenance for starving 
this way.

I feel I’ve made it clear, 
that I am only asking for ability, 
energy to share the gifts 
that feel like stones

thrown against my aching soul.

I’ve only asked to be a better healer,

to return to wisdom, 
quiet, calm, and listening,

to be filled not for my own indulgence,

but so the giving 
does not leave me hungry

for the very bread I offer.

I know the process well, of holding to the rod

and seeking peace by faith in promises believed.

The building you call great and spacious,

the noise alone has kept me distant
 – mostly -

from its heights of plastic glory.

Even miles away the glare is blinding, superficial

Perfect only in deception,

shining only through cosmetic lies

Lies that conceal the depths

of confusion and emptiness.

I have not often wished for mindless ease

or comfort that is meaningless,

but I understand the feeling 
of a building shifting in the air,
trying to stand still

When all that keeps it from crashing

Is the heavy mist of 
angst and despair

The mocking of beliefs and sacred practices

is clearly unacceptable and vile

to the faithful and obedient,

who willingly hold to the rod,

who keep their feet plodding 
along on the ground.

But what about the ones who do not realize

their feet have left the ground,

who rise away from dirt and mud and iron

who, standing side by side with all the mockers,

consider their positions of belief,

their knowledge of one truth

to be the saving word -

Superior to all the other 
faiths upon the earth?

Leaders or followers, 
they act as beacons

Set to light the way for others

Dutifully focused, losing sight

of their surroundings, 
large and spacious

unreachable and distant from
the rest of us

who may not want to mock 
or live an easy life,

but not exactly pleased to trip

at every turn

and doubt and wonder why

Wonder how the combination

prayer, obedience, faith 
and devotion,

the way we were taught 
in our Sunday best,

fail for us, who tried 
from year to year

All of these attempts have stacked

into walls that protect my heart

from the piercing darts of abandonment

while the lack of air slowly kills.

This process of serving, loving, 
and offering my heart to bursting 

with all the grief and love combined,

has yet to unlock the door
to the room for peace

Abiding, healing, hopeful peace.

The promises you make,

Dear men in ironed suits 
from pulpits of power

Your grandness does not reach me anymore.

When I apply your words to my heart,

the formula mutates into a mistake.

I do not fit,
though I know I have tried

and failed, and failed, and failed,

and nearly died of suicide.

Because of the way you taught me,

and the way my parents brought me up,

death seems the only answer 
that makes sense sometimes.

[Pres. Uchtdorf 4/4/16: There is no life so shattered that it cannot be restored . . . the process by which we discover what we are made of . . . We carry within ourselves the substance of divinity . . . The dust and filth of the world stains our souls . . . all this cannot change who we really are. The moment we choose to incline our hearts to our Savior, something miraculous happens . . . we do not desire to walk in darkness any longer. The . . . heavenly being within us is revealed . . . God sees us as we truly are. We may be . . . tortured by doubt. He will find you. He will lift you up and place you on his shoulders . . .]

--Mary Anne Stewart