Unwanted in Our Town

The world always mistook false prophets for true ones, and those that were sent of God they considered to be false prophets, and hence they killed, stoned, punished, and imprisoned the true prophets, and they had to hide themselves in deserts, and dens, and caves of the earth, and though the most honorable men of the earth, they banished them from their society as vagabonds, while they cherished, honored, and supported knaves, vagabonds, hypocrites, impostors, and the basest of men. - T&C 147:6

The Labor Divided

And it came to pass that two men together were appointed to labor in a work concerning the word of God, that it might be carried forth, taught, and understood among people in distant lands. The calling was given in partnership, that the burden might be shouldered together in humility, and that unity and counterbalance might preserve the work from corruption.

But one of the two aspired not to labor in equality. He was equal but moved to be more equal than his brother. For his heart inclined toward his singular authority, and he was troubled that the work should proceed by mutual persuasion rather than by his own righteous judgment. In time his irritation waxed and he perceived an opportunity to cut off his nuisance.

And it came to pass that he accused his brother of wrongdoing, and yet when asked to declare the matter plainly he could not support the charge with witness and fact. And the accused pled, “If I have erred, tell me my offense, that I may repent.” But the accuser answered him not.

Instead, the man drove his brother from the work, declaring him unfit, though no damage could be identified. And because the accusation did not stand openly, it was quietly carried to women aligned with the accuser so that they might hold counsel against him. 

Judgment was rendered as planned. And all nodded and agreed among themselves, “His removal is necessary, lest the work be hindered.” Thus the laborer was cut off—not for sin, but for his resistance to their secrecy, for he did not recognize their disfigured body.

And it came to pass that the Lord said it is enough — but allowed the effort to continue despite one of His laborers being cast out. He placed an ominous load upon the one who remained, saying that he alone would answer to Him when he had accomplished the future, specific work. Unlike the previous appointment, the true nature and narrow parameters of his new assignment were declared publicly for all to see.

But the lone servant, instead of receiving this charge with fear and trembling before God, inferred confirmation of his own set course. He set about his work as he had designed, this time unhindered by his brother in arms. 

A record had been rendered into plain speech so that the posterity of the common lineage could have true understanding. But the servant continued to clothe it in an ancient tongue; in a form suitable to learned scholars rather than simple disciples. He supposed that its impressive form would legitimize authority and satisfy reputation among those who seek for things they cannot understand. The book could not be returned to its original reformed and altered manner of speech; therefore the man employed scholars to instead render the plain book into the language of the learned. This would expose hearts and hold them accountable for the words of the book.

 

Certain people began to discern the stumbling block, puzzling among themselves, “Why is a record once made clear translated again into obscurity?”

 

And counsel answered, “So religious leaders may justify it.”

And others agreed, “They will surely recognize the Lord’s truth in their ancient tongue.”

Thus the language of the record became an obstacle before it was ever carried to those in the distant land. In this obfuscated state, many could be made dependent upon the stiffnecked few.

The Lord warned that many arguments among the people arise not from truth, but from pride, stubbornness, and the desire to control rather than serve. He warned that His patience should not be mistaken for approval, for though He bears with the people still, awaiting natural fruit, the season of harvest draws near.

And it was seen by those with eyes to see that contention had not arisen from doctrine, nor from sin, nor to protect the people—but from reckless indifference toward God and one another. Thus the man first removed his fellow laborer, then continued his work that would leave the masses without understanding, and rationalized both as righteousness.

Yet the vineyard yielded no natural fruit from such a course. For the Lord does not call men together to divide them by accusation, nor does He make His word inaccessible to preserve men’s position, nor does He accept a work that fails to accomplish all that is required. 

Many perceived that the laborer who cried most loudly of righteousness had rejected the very humility that righteousness demands. And so the labor was divided.

Unbeknownst to the laborers, the Lord had been preparing the ground in this distant land. He made provision that their ancient book should also be rendered into plain speech. The truth of His word, now illuminated, is available to their nation. 

The Authority That Consumed Its Own Foundation

And it came to pass that among the people a certain authority was entrusted to women. The power was given as a check and a balance, and for discernment. It was meant to hear the vulnerable, to weigh matters with wisdom, and to protect the integrity of the community. And the people rejoiced, for this power and authority was not figurative, but literal.

For a time it functioned within its purpose.

But soon afterward, the power was reshapened to conform to a pattern that had not been justified in revelation. For certain women, bound by allegiance and blood, convened councils of their own initiative, having a form of a body but denying the organization thereof. Within those councils, accusations were assembled, charges were brought without evidence nor first-hand witness, and judgment was determined before formality. The misshapen council proceeded while an accused man was absent and unable to answer.

The man was laboring in a faraway land, on an errand seeking to do God’s will among strangers, while the councils proceeded.

The women were told that this new kind of body assembled in haste was necessary. They were told it was for protection—to preserve the work—that righteous procedure must yield to necessity, though the one judged was half a world away and could not reach them.

And so the council acted.

Yet for the man, the charges were not defined and the witnesses were not named. The accused was not present.

Still, judgment was rendered.

Some among the people felt relief, believing danger had been averted. Others felt unease, sensing that something quite consequential had been set aside. For a body disfigured cannot be declared to be beautiful without destroying the standard of beauty itself.

The damage was borne not only by the accused. For soon, the people began to fear this power rather than to trust it. They wondered which disputes would be next, and whose voices would be absent when judgment was pronounced.

Women seeking to serve found their authority questioned—not because they lacked beauty, but because the standard itself  had been deformed. For when a council becomes a place where accusations are carved rather than discerned, they cease to uphold the sword of truth, displaced by a dagger. And a tool, once repurposed, does not easily return to its original design.

Thus the power given to protect was repurposed to punish. The authority given to heal was doctored to harm.  And the beauty that was given to women was made suspect—not by rebellion against it, but by defacing her visage.

And the people began to see that institutions are not destroyed only by those who oppose them, but also by those who use them to serve their own design. For power that abandons its purpose consumes its own foundation. And though the immediate harm was borne by one, the visible wound belonged to many—especially to the women whose stewardship had been undermined, and whose service would now be viewed as misshapen.

They did not understand that justice lost on a single matter sacrificed confidence in the power meant to balance the people.

The Accusation That Traveled Only One Way

And it came to pass that an accusation was passed among the people. It was whispered privately; often enough to grow legs and run. And when challenged openly the accusation clothed itself in parable and stepped into the public.

The man had frequently taught through scripture and opened the understanding of the congregation through his written word and friendly conversation. He was often invited to expound to the people when gathered. But the man hadn’t shared his scriptural insight in quite awhile. Thus, his recorded words— newly published —generated excitement among the congregation.  They could not recall that he had ever addressed them this way before.  But they discerned that the accusation was now clothed in scripture; spoken by the man they had loved and admired. He—saying it was carried by concern for righteousness.

The one over whom the accusation cast its shadow did not speak publicly. He did not publish his thoughts; he did not teach to crowds; he did not answer through articles or recordings. He had no platform from which to reply. And it was known among the people that this man possessed very little. He did not gather funds; he did not invite donations for his own support; he did not oversee accounts. He moved from place to place, quietly carrying his needs with him.

Meanwhile, the man upon whose lips now carried the accusation into public light spoke often. He sat in the chief seats before the people; he placed himself at the podium; he was heard and recognized. From the upper room he spoke and support followed. 

Yet it was not he who bore the charges. The accusation instead flowed downward.

It traveled from the one with voice to the other with out. From the one with means to the other with out. From the one who could explain himself publicly to the other who answered privately, only when asked. This troubled some among the people.

For scripture had taught them that priestcraft exalts the teacher above the hearer, and places the burden upon those who are taught. Yet here, the burden fell not upon the one receiving support, but upon the other already stripped of it.

The one with resources warned against corruption. The other without purse or scrip was named as its example. The one who lived in luxury cautioned against misuse. The other, homeless, bore the suspicion.

And the accusation did not diminish.

It did not climb upward for examination; it did not test those with authority; it did not weigh the conduct of those with influence.

It flowed downhill like dirty water over rocks.

And the people began to notice that accusations which travel only one way do not purity the people, but contaminate with confusion. They do not refine the community; they render it uncertain.

For when the powerful speak of danger, and the powerless are named as its wellspring, the accusation itself becomes a tool—regardless of the professed sincerity with which it is spoken. 

And so the people were left to consider: priestcraft is known by who is elevated and who is diminished—yet this accusation was regarded by the target and not from whence it was launched.  Wisdom requires that trajectory be tested.

And the people began to perceive that the accusation had done a work—not by what it proved, but by whom it burdened.

The Pattern He Would Not Name

 And it came to pass that a man with a public voice began to speak again from scripture.

He said that he was teaching patterns found in holy writ, as he had always done. He reminded his listeners that he had studied for many years, that this was his habit, and that anyone who knew him would recognize the approach.

And he chose to begin with a pattern already familiar to the people.

Now it was known among them that this same pattern had recently been invoked in judgment against another man—openly, publicly, and without resolution. The memory of it was not distant, nor settled, nor healed. It was still present in the minds of those who listened.

And a woman, observing the timing, asked a simple question.

She did not accuse; she did not presume; she asked only where the man was coming from.

She asked whether the pattern he was teaching was meant to be understood in light of what had already occurred. She asked whether he was relating the ancient account to present events. She asked because listeners could not help but hear it that way.

And the man answered her at length.

He spoke of his habits; he spoke of his sincerity; he spoke of his long practice of viewing the world through scripture.

He said that the message was larger than any recent dispute, and that the matters raised before were small by comparison. He said that he was leaving his own opinions out of the teaching, and that he was not drawing comparisons to the present.

Yet he also acknowledged that listeners would inevitably apply scripture to what was happening around them.

And having said this, he refused to say more.

He would not clarify whether the pattern was being invoked in reference to the present moment. He would not deny the obvious association. He would not name the pattern as it now lived among the people.

Instead, he left the application to circulate freely.

And when it was suggested that the pattern, left unnamed, might nevertheless wound, he spoke not of the effect, but of his interior state. He spoke of anxiety, of inadequacy, of tears, and of the weight he felt upon his soul. He insisted that he did not seek attention, nor influence, nor followers.

And the people heard him.

Yet the question that had been asked was not answered.

For the question was not whether he was sincere. The question was not whether he felt burdened. The question was not whether scripture mattered.

The question was why this pattern was being spoken now, and whether it was being allowed to fall where it already had power to harm.

And on this, he was silent.

Thus the pattern moved among the people without a name. It moved without ownership. It moved without correction.

Those inclined to apply it did so freely. Those already under its weight felt it press further. And the speaker remained untouched by its consequences.

For there is a power in naming, and there is also a power in refusing to name.

And it was seen by some that to invoke a pattern while declining to acknowledge its present use is not neutrality, but a subtler form of authority. For though the speaker did not make the accusation himself, he created the conditions in which it could circulate, unowned and unchecked.

Thus the pattern was taught. And thus the pattern was applied. And thus the one who spoke of it bore none of its cost.

And many began to perceive that what was left unsaid had done more work than what was spoken.