February 2004
Background: Upon returning from my mission, I moved into a shared apartment (six guys) near campus. I attended the ward there I think a total of three or four times, after which I went to the Foreign Language Student Housing ward, where (a) my then-girlfriend (now wife) was attending, and (b) Sunday School was held in Arabic, giving me much-needed practice in the language I was studying. I attended there for several months after which point I began being hassled by the ward in whose boundaries I was living that I needed to get my records moved to the other ward. After a total of approximately six months I finally caved in and started the bureaucratic process of getting my records moved.
For those not familiar with this process, this requires getting approval from all ecclesiastical leaders up the hierarchy. Fortunately both wards were in the same Stake, so I only needed the approval of (a) both bishops and (b) the Stake president.
After Sacrament Meeting at the Arabic Ward, I spoke with the bishop and he okayed everything. Then I spoke on the phone with the bishop of my geographical boundary ward who also seemed okay with the idea and said he’d contact the other bishop. I schedule an appointment with the Stake President for Tuesday since everything seems to be looking peachy.
Later, the geographical boundary ward Bishop called back, basically demanding that I meet with him Monday evening, to discuss “the situation.” When I got home, I immediately penned this:
Wow, what a night.
So I get to the Bishop’s house and, of course, he is late (even though FHE was at his house). One of his counselors is there too, I suppose for backup. After we dispense with the how-do-you-dos, he gets right to the point.
“I’ve talked to the Stake President,” he says. I’m thinking, Yes, and what was this top-secret information he gave you? “He doesn’t see any reason for you to change wards.”
Oh. Okay, lovely. I wonder what sort of “spin” he gave the SP. (I’ll discover later, of course.)
He hands me the Ecclesiastical Endorsement form with a portion highlighted, and asks me to read aloud. (One wonders if he knows in advance my loathing for reading aloud.) I quote it for you here:
“The First Presidency requests that the following question be asked of each member of the Church during the endorsement interview: Since your last ecclesiastical endorsement, “Have you done and will you continue to do your duty in the Church, attend your meetings, and abide by the rules and standards of the Church?” In addition, please determine if the student understands the following:
Attending your meetings means attending the ward (1) that has your membership records and (2) within whose geographical boundaries you live.”
He then launches into the usual spiel about how when I came to BYU, I signed a contract (i.e. the Honor Code), and the Church agreed to pay most of my tuition in return for that contract, etc., and I’m breaking that contract. Of course, to him, breaking that contract is like “stealing from the Church” (his words). And there are thousands of other poor starving kids (probably in Africa) would would gladly keep this contract in order for a chance to come to the illustrious BYU. Please gag me now.
Then he asks me what I plan to do about this situation. “Well, I’ve got an appointment with the Stake President on Tuesday, so I suppose I’ll go talk to him and see if we can work something out.”
“Oh, you can go plead your case to the Stake President all right. I’ve talked to him today, in fact. But you won’t be pleading to attend another ward—you’ll be pleading to stay at BYU.”
Wow. I guess he felt I was “going over his head” or something, and got spiteful.
“What’s the bishop’s name of the ward there?” he inquired.
“Bishop C—” I replied.
“Yes, I talked to him, too. He said he’s never heard of you before.”
I was rather taken aback. “Well, that’s rather odd—I talked to him just last Sunday, and he wrote my name down in his little book.”
“That was the first time he’d seen you,” he said, trying a different tack.
“Um, that’s not what he told me—he said he’d seen me there many times before.”
He shifted gears again. “Do you do your home teaching in that other ward?” he asked.
“No,” I replied, “they said I can’t have a calling there until my records are moved over, which is why I’m trying to get them moved over.”
“Who is ‘they’?” he demanded.
“The numerous people who have called me from this ward,” I replied.
“Have you done your home teaching in this ward?” he asked.
“No,” I admitted. I’ve never considered myself part of this ward, so why should I?
“Do you go to Family Home Evening?” Heh. Of course not. “Do you have a temple recommend?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Have you ever gone to the temple with this ward?” he asked.
“Um, no...” I answered. What on earth does that have to do with anything?
He stated, basically, that he sees he has no choice [he kept framing it as if “his hands were tied,” he was only forced to follow the demands of The Brethren as it were] but to contact the Honor Code Office and tell them to withdraw my Ecclesiastical Endorsement.
Again, the almost-taunting query came, in effect, “What are you going to do about it?” This was to be repeated all evening.
I replied again that I saw no alternative but to talk to the Stake President and get the final word on the matter.
“The Stake President doesn’t sign your Ecclesiastical Endorsement,” he said shaking his head, “I do.”
Wow. Can this get much worse? Oh, just wait ... just wait ...
“What do you think your mission president would have to say about all this?” he asked.
I was like, Huh? What does he have to do with it? But my MP was a pretty easy-going guy, so I shrugged and said, “I’m sure he’d be fine with it.”
“That’s not what the registration office said. They said he’d be very disappointed with you, like how he was disappointed that you came home off your mission early to go to school, and then didn’t obey the contract that you signed. The Church’s policy is that anyone who comes home off their mission early has to wait six months before they can re-apply to the University. And yet you came home and got around that somehow and now aren’t following the rules that you agreed to.”
I was shocked.1
“Do you think he’d think you’re honoring your priesthood?” Silence.
“Well, obviously you don’t think so.”
“What, and you do? Not doing your home teaching? Not attending Church activities? What have you been doing?!”
I’d had about enough at this point. “I’ve been attending Church. I believe that this ‘duty’ that it talks about [gesturing to the EE] is between you and the Lord. I know how I feel, when I feel the Spirit, and ...”
He interrupted, “This isn’t about worthiness. This is about an Ecclesiastical Endorsement. An Ecclesiastical Endorsement can’t get you into the temple, and a temple recommend can’t get you into BYU.”
I stop and think. “Right, I guess it’s, like you say, more of a contract. So that’s why I’m asking, what sort of things are required of me?” Previous to this, in a place I can’t fit into the story, he basically gave me his Ultimatum, and I responded asking, basically, what things he’d require of me to consider me “worthy” of an EE. He wouldn’t respond, and basically gave the answer, “What do you think?” several times. Go home teaching? I asked.
“That’s a start,” he replied.
“What else?” I tried to elicit, but no-go. Then when eventually it came up to this point, I tried to get more details out of him, what exactly he wanted me to do in exchange for his highness “allowing” me to stay at BYU. Again, my queries brought me nothing.
Several rounds of all of the above ensued, with him several times making clear the points that (a) he didn’t really want to do this, he was being forced to by the Church presidency [I’m sure] (b) that I’m a total scumbag for not doing my Duty (c) sure, you can go talk to the Stake President, but it won’t help you. You’re out of luck, kid. As well as a few other cogent points.
It ended with him saying, basically, “You’ve already got a history,” [direct quote], and if I didn’t straighten up and fly right, he’d get me kicked out of BYU. Oh, and one other thing, he said, “Bishop Christopherson said that you told him I didn’t have any problems with this.”
“That’s right,” I nodded. “That’s what I’d heard from, from all the people who called me from the ward.” He didn’t look happy with that. “I’m sorry if they misrepresented you,” I explained, “but I thought that’s what you thought.”
Anyway, a repeat of his ultimatum, “If I see at any moment that you’re not willing to abide by the contract that you signed,” etc. etc., then he would have no “prerogative” (his choice of words) other than to inform the Honor Code Office that I was not complying with the terms of the Ecclesiastical Endorsement.
Anything else you need? he ended with. Well, then, I guess you can go now.
And, boy, I did. “Here, you can have this back, I suppose,” giving him back his highlighted EE.
“No, you can keep it,” he said, in that authoritarian tone of voice that was so typical of the evening.
“I’ve got a copy already,” I laughed at him as I sped out the door. “Well, have a good evening,” I said, as the door slammed shut behind me with nary a word of Godspeed.
Footnotes
1. I was scheduled to return home from my mission at the end of October, but BYU’s Fall Semester began at the beginning of September. I spoke with my Mission President about returning home early for school, and he approved it—but said I had to also have the approval of the Area Authority President, Robert C. Oaks. So I sent a nice letter off to Mr. Oaks and was approved.
A year or so after the approval, the blessed day came and I finally went home. I had corresponded via email with several people at BYU about returning home early and they said there would be no problem, moved my deferment, and helpfully assisted me in registering for the various classes that I would be taking. When I arrived home I checked my schedule on-line and everything looked perfect.
Imagine my surprise, then, when several days after my arrival I received a letter in the mail telling me that my entire schedule of classes had been dropped and that I would have to re-apply to the University next year.
We recently received notification that you were not able to complete the full-term of your missionary service. As you may recall, one of the criteria for using the missionary deferment for your future enrollments is the completion of a full-term mission. Accordingly, we have withdrawn your application and cancelled any classes for which you may have been registered.
I discovered later that what happened was my Mission President, on the form he filled out for BYU, checked “no” under “Did the applicant complete his 24-month mission?” because I hadn’t, actually, completed all 24 months in their entirety. So to BYU this meant an immediate suspension from the University.
I explained my plight to the BYU Admissions Department; they were actually quite friendly, but cheerfully assured me that there was nothing they could do about the matter. That was the official policy. I had but one recourse—submit an appeal to BYU asking, basically, for forgiveness for coming home early and beg to be re-admitted anyway.
So, I wrote a lengthy epistle humbly begging for their generosity, including the letter I had written to Mr. Oaks, and including a scanned copy of my “Certificate of Honorable Release”, which ironically states that I had honorably served 24 months. (That was my dad’s idea.)
They (thankfully) accepted my appeal, re-instated my classes, and re-admitted me to the University.
However, a note still must have been placed on my record stating that I had gone home from my mission early and successfully appealed. This note, I assume, was what my bishop “discovered” and which caused him to assume that my mission president “was disappointed that I came home off my mission early,” and that somehow I got around the policy that “anyone who comes home off their mission early has to wait six months before they can re-apply to the University”.
Needless to say, his powers of discernment were quite astounding.
