Morning of Mourning

This morning we learned of the death of President Russell M. Nelson, who for the last 8 or so years has led the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as prophet, seer, and revelator. In the church, our belief in the resurrection and glorious eternity of souls brings comfort to many, and can take much of the sting out of mortal loss. And yet, in President Nelson’s own words, “The only way to take sorrow out of death is to take love out of life.”

So it is appropriate that, individually and as a church, we mourn the loss of someone we have loved, regardless of what hopes we have for them of a glorious resurrection. And if we don’t feel particularly mournful over this event, it’s also appropriate to remember the injunction to “mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort.” Sharing our burdens makes them lighter, and this works best when we choose to bear the weight out of charity for the burdened, rather than only sharing those griefs we would have been subjected to anyway.

But the passing of President Nelson isn’t the only cause we have of grief this morning. We’ve also just learned of America’s latest public shooting, which took place at a Latter-day Saint church in Grand Blanc, Michigan, adding the grief of violence and terror to the grief of loss already being felt by so many in our faith community. This is a developing story, so not much is known, but as always, speculation is rampant, and this adds to the burden by adding the weight of falsehood, conspiracy, and increased uncertainty.

It’s a heavy kind of day.

So today, as I ponder the meaning of compassion, and seek to understand my Christlike duty, here is what I’m mourning.

I’m mourning the loss, even while honoring the life, of a man who stood in a position of great weight and often moved counter to cultural expectations, by shutting down church services to protect public health, by encouraging vaccination, by reducing the length of Sunday meetings, and by subordinating at-church instruction to at-home gospel teaching in importance. He spoke against bigotry and vitriol in public and in private, and stood up for the immigrant and the marginalized, even if such statements didn’t come as often or as directly as some among us would have preferred. I’m mourning with those who feel the same as me.

I’m also mourning with those who fear what comes next in the church, as Dallin H. Oaks, who will be the next President-Prophet, takes the reins. President Oaks has made gender and sexual identity issues a focal point of his ministry, and I some I know (and many I know of) who have been holding on to their membership in the church are afraid of what he may say or do that will force them to choose between the faith/community they cling to and their own innermost feelings, or those of their loved ones.

I’m mourning with the congregants and their families in Michigan who have been subjected to this needless violence, as our whole country has been, yet again.

I’m mourning with those who will find out in the coming hours and days that this heinous crime was committed by someone they love, or claim as one of their own.

I’m mourning with those who found reason in President Nelson’s ministry to feel rejected, outcast, or unwelcome in the church, and who now struggle to know what to say, or to respond compassionately to those who see him differently.

I’m mourning with those whose loved ones have left their faith, and now feel condemned or doubtful about their own decision to stay.

I’m mourning with those who will find reason, in this latest act of violence, to abandon their humanity or their perception of others’ humanity, in order to explain to themselves the reality of the world, or their own grasping to understand it.

I’m mourning with those who feel the need to accuse individuals, groups, or entire communities without evidence, of influencing or committing atrocious acts.

I’m mourning with those who, because of their own despair, will use today’s events as an excuse to utterly abandon involvement in activities that might better and strengthen their communities, in a misguided effort to be in the world but not of it.

In other words, there are so many forms that grief can take, and today I’m trying to see as many of them as possible, with as little judgment as I can muster, and add the feeble strength of my own shoulders to those who bear each of those burdens, in the hopes of making them a little lighter.