I sit in the pew just behind the front row. I’m alone this time, but Beth’s father, and brother are behind me. I’m sitting next to Beth’s bag while she conducts music for the congregation. She has a busy Sunday today. She’s conducting music, singing in the choir, leading her group of children she teaches in Christmas carols, and teaching primary. “A day of rest.”

I’m watching her pretending to sing along with a carol, but my eyes are on her hands, and the way they lift and fall. For some reason I can’t stop thinking about something I read from Benjamin Franklin and how he made friends. he often claimed that instead of doing favors to gain friends he would ask potential friends to do him favors so they would eventually come to see him as a friend. After all you wouldn’t sacrifice something for a stranger off the street would you? He must be your friend then.

Beth sits down next to me but only for a moment. She just finished singing in the choir, and she was not able to make it for practice so she was awfully nervous. Her hand is shaking. I give it a gentle squeeze, and it stops. She smiles, I smile. A kid reads a scripture from the book of mormon, and Beth leads her children in a few songs. She has had this calling for two years now, but it’s coming to an end. Soon she’ll be leaving, and they have already found her replacement. She’s sad. She enjoyed being with the kids more than being in the regular adult meetings. She’s told me as much. She knows every single one by name, their home life, their parents, she even keeps all their birthdays straight somehow.

The bishop talks about the birth of Christ. He recites it from old accounts, and gospels any church going person would have heard a hundred times. There is little joy in his tone, and what is there sounds hollow and unconvincing. Beth’s mom read a scripture before the bishop. This is a woman I have seen reflect deeply on pain and loss. She should be the one talking about needing a savior. She would be believable. But there she is confined to reading from a dry text written by the worlds most successful salesman.

It was supposedly all about Jesus today, but it didn’t feel that way. Lots of lip service, but no real context. I think about the horribly cliched slogan WWJD. Was it really as bad as I remembered? I now realize I can’t say for certain because no one ever put it into practice. They talked about what He did, but not what He would do. Not that it matters if no one believes in Him. Or does that even matter? Has Christmas ever been about peace on earth goodwill toward men IF they believe? I don’t think so, but some would disagree, others wouldn’t care, and some still would claim it was originally a pagan holiday. “Yippee you know how to use wikipedia.” These are questions I wish the bishop would address. “Jesus said love thy neighbor. Bishop, are refugees are neighbors?” asks no one.

I keep thinking of Beth with the children, and how sad she is to say goodbye. We’ve talked about it the past few days, and it has been hard for her. Then I think about Ben Franklin again. Did the mormonism Franklin her into loving them? I think about Sunday Seminary, the youth programs, the callings the tithing. “We wouldn’t do these things unless this church was our friend. Unless it was true” I can imagine them thinking it. For some reason I can’t get the image of a handcart out of my head, while the bishop has the gall to say that the leaders of the church sacrificed so much for their members. To say that they offer the free gift of Jesus Christ while they have their hands on the most precious commodity they own: time. Fuck you Ben Franklin.

The meeting ends, and I can’t stay behind this time. Beth was happy I came, and I am happy I got to see her today. It will only be later when I reflect that I see why everything felt so heavy. It’s because it has to feel heavy. The sacrifices need to keep coming, they must keep coming, or one day they will realize that the person they have been helping is no friend at all. Where is the big payoff? After death?? What a gamble to take.

Beth compliments my blue shirt again before I leave. I swear there was at least one other colored shirt the last time I was here, but it’s gone along with the wearer. I hate ending things on a bad note. I want a happy ending to this story, or at least something funny that happened during the experience, but no such luck.

Beth’s dad seemed sad about something, her mom was quiet. Everyone was quiet come to think of it. Beth was the only one I saw smile when I came in, and sat down. I should try to be more cheerful so here I go...

We eventually got to leave. As soon as we left the building light broke on our faces, and we were free. She laughed as loud as she wanted, I took off my stupid tie, and we were happy. At the end of it all I can say is thank God there are 6 days between every Sunday.

I think your insights are worthwhile and, well, insightful.

I didn't know that about Franklin, but it makes sense, and tying that in to the LDS church makes sense too.

Maybe Beth will see what you see. Maybe my "Beth" will see too.

But I'm running out of hope.