Logs:Doctrine and Covenants
| Doctrine and Covenants | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
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2019-12-16 "In the end, patriarchs and prophets and Popes are all mortal men." |
| Location
<PRV> VL 403 {Geekhaus} - East Village | |
<PRV> VL 403 {Geekhaus} - East Village This apartment has been undergoing a slow transformation, this fall. Its eclectic assortment of curb-shopped furniture is slowly getting swapped out, one piece at a time, for new and upgraded items. Sturdy, elegantly worked, the solid craftsmanship and intricate geometric patterning of polished mosaic-wood surfaces tell clearly of Flicker's labor -- a new low and wide coffee table in the living room, a few coordinated but not-identical chairs at the kitchen table (two of them, modular with low scooped backs, designed more with winged bodies in mind.) The takeout bag has been cooling on the kitchen counter for a while now, filling the apartment with the savory smell of rotisserie chicken. From Flicker and Hive's bedroom there have intermittently come gasps, moans, cries of delight, and breathless murmurs of praise both personal and scriptural. The door finally opens and Steve pads out, looking a bit dazed and not a little mussed, his green-and-white plaid flannel thrown on unbuttoned over a white a-shirt and blue jeans. Ducks briefly into the bathroom and emerges looking -- still a bit dazed, but less mussed, at least. Starts unpacking the food he'd brought earlier. Flicker doesn't emerge from the bedroom until Steve has started unpacking the food. He blips out and into the bathroom, shut in there for longer than the other man. He looks less mussed when he comes back out, though. Hair just slightly damp and neatly combed, face washed, white undershirt tucked into his khakis; he's pulling on a crisp grey button-down over it. "Thank you." He's looking past the food more than at it. Glancing up at Steve with a near shyness that doesn't quite mesh with the time they just spent together. "Hive's got a late night and I --" He curls one arm around his chest, fingers wrapping against his mechanical limb. "Thanks." The smile Steve flashes Flicker is also a bit shy. "Feels odd saying 'you're welcome', considering..." He flushes, but not very deeply. "Well, I certainly enjoyed that quite a lot." The bag contains one entire chicken, a side of green beans, another of sweet potatoes, and a large tub of mac and cheese that must be five or six sides combined. "But I hadn't meant to -- I was glad to, but --" He huffs a slightly exasperated laugh, breaking into a sincere smile. "I wanted to check in on you." His voice softens. "I -- still do. And we don't have to talk, but I am interested." Flicker flashes into the kitchen, returns with plates and silverware to set on the (sturdy, new) dining table. "It's --" He hesitates. Shakes his head, vanishes back into the kitchen. Opens a cabinet, but only stares at the glasses blankly before remembering to take a pair and set them on the counter. "The Church makes some -- poor decisions sometimes, that's all. Do you want water? I think we've also got juice or beer or --" He opens the fridge. "Cactus soda? Coke?" He's gotten his phone back out of his pocket in the meantime. A somewhat tighter cast to his expression as he thumbs through it. "-- is hitting a lot of people pretty hard." Steve transfers the containers to the center of the dining table and removes their lids. Watches Flicker, brows furrowing lightly at that moment of blankness. Then deeper at the list of drinks. "Cactus soda? I'll try that, please -- and thank you." He braces the heels of his hands on the table, fingertips tracing appreciatively over the smooth surface. Blushes again suddenly and looks down. Makes himself look back up, though. "I think all churches do, from time to time. It can be hard to reconcile with the notion that our spiritual leaders are guided by God, but I admit I'm uncertain to what extent yours are considered -- infallible." He pauses thoughtfully. "I'm coming to realize more and more just how little I actually know about your church in general." Gives his head a quick shake. "But I am sorry that particular choice they made is so hurtful. How do think your ward is going to handle it?" Flicker plucks a prickly pear San Pelligrino from the fridge; it and one of the glasses appear on the table almost too quickly to track. He takes the other to fill up at the sink, chewing slowly at the inside of his cheek. "Infallible? Ours aren't --" He shakes his head. Breathes out a quiet laugh. "Well. Not supposed to be. Um. I think that infallibility thing is a you-all sort of..." In the next moment he's back at the table, taking a coaster out of a small stack of them and putting his glass down on it. "The way I've heard the saying go is that Catholics say the pope is infallible but don't really believe it, and Mormons say the prophet is fallible but -- don't really believe it. Nothing in our doctrine actually says our prophet or any of our church leadership is infallible, but I can't tell you the number of times I've been called an apostate or outright sent death threats for suggesting that they aren't perfect. My ward..." His shoulders tighten as he -- gingerly -- takes a seat. "Things were already complicated." Steve's laugh is short, but hearty. "Some Catholics believe it -- fewer now, probably, but even in my day the rest of us tended to side-eye them for it. At least in my community." He picks up the can and examines it curiously before popping it and pouring it into the glass. "In the end, patriarchs and prophets and Popes are all mortal men. Our scriptures and histories are littered with their mistakes." His eyes widen slightly, and he nods. "Like Deus on your Twitter thread. I'm guessing there's plenty more like that in your DMs." He gives a sympathetic wince as he sits down himself, with a quiet "Sorry." Studies Flicker carefully. "I don't imagine they've stopped trying to -- well, you said they don't require you to be straight, but essentially want you to act as though you are. Now you're not even allowed to acknowledge that you're queer, regardless of how you act?" "I've blocked enough people now that the worst of it has tapered off but --" Flicker's face has grown slightly paler, his jaw clenching and his eyes fixed on the table. His fingertip traces against the wood grain, his posture otherwise extremely still until he reaches out for his water. He takes a large gulp, one leg starting to bounce rapidly. "We think revelation is ongoing -- both on an individual level and church-wide through the prophets. It's -- kind of baffling to me how many Saints say they believe that, even shame others for not truly feeling like they have a personal testimony but then simultaneously -- also shame people for daring to think they have a right to speak up if harmful decisions are being made. But the church reverses decisions all the time. Talking to Heavenly Father doesn't always mean hearing Him right, or having the right interpretation of what you think He's saying." His lips thin, head shaking jerkily. "I know my Heavenly Parents love me as I am. The people claiming to speak for them on earth are saying -- we're only even allowed to try getting closer to Them if we stifle ourselves. It feels wrong on so many levels. Even if you accept the doctrine that we can't ever act on --" His fingers waggle, here, between himself and Steve, a dusting of pink flushing back into his cheeks, "-- and that's a really big if. But even then, expecting people to just suppress that in silence? With no guidance or support? It's beyond unrealistic, it's hopelessly cruel." Steve lifts his own glass and takes a sip. When he sets the cup back down it's onto a coaster of his own. His brows raise up slightly at the explanation. "Seems to me there's space for considering that men's perspectives may change down through the ages," he adds after a thoughtful pause, "even if you consider God's revelation to be complete. But if you do not, and especially if that revelation comes through the whole body of your church, it's practically nonsensical to shout people down for questioning the way things are, or have been. " His face does something quick and complicated, and his eyes flick down momentarily. When he continues his voice is just a little tighter. "If I were to be cynical, it sounds like such a policy could be aimed at quelling the larger conversation about mistakes the church may have made. But incidental cruelty isn't any less cruel, and it seems more likely to push people away -- if not worse -- rather than bring them any closer to God." Flicker takes another long swallow of his water. Nods again. "It's one of the things I struggle with the most, you know? Christ is so loving -- calls us to be so loving -- and His people here are often so inflexible and hard. And the Church makes mistakes -- so many mistakes, and people do speak on them, and work to change them. And frequently are punished for it? As though we're here in the service of the institution rather than -- the institution being in the service of Christ." The jittery-quick bounce of his leg has stopped again, and his mechanical fingers curl down against his knee as though physically holding it in place. "I'm sure speaking to it'll get me kicked out -- again -- but that just can't be what church is about, to me. This world does enough all on its own to isolate people from God and each other, we don't need to help that along." Steve sucks in a deep breath. Shakes his head. "I can't speak to your church particularly, but I think any institution that's around for long enough will start resisting change in systematic ways, and risk calcifying over time." His eyes track Flicker's mechanical hand, his expression troubled. "That probably holds even truer for institutions that have some claim to higher moral authority, and is all the more important for those who care about them to push back." He reaches for Flicker's hand, now. "I pray that the people make decisions in your ward, at least, can recognized they are blessed to have your courage and integrity. In this and all matters." "Calcifying," Flicker repeats this slowly. Sucks his cheeks inward. "Yeah. And it's such a shame because there's so much potential in our faith to bring people so much joy -- so much potential for it to be a place of liberation. But people just want to --" He presses his lips together, exhales hard. "It's exhausting." He doesn't seem, at first, to notice when Steve's hand takes his. Just gnaws at his lip, his eyes a little too wide when they fix on his water glass. "Courage." It's just a quiet breath of a word -- a little soft, a little ragged. "I don't feel like -- I mean all I want is for my community to --" He closes his mouth hard, starts to press his hand down harder against his leg. Only now looks down at it. Blinks. Draws in a short hitched breath, slowly turns his hand upward, stiff fingers curling in against Steve's. "Thank you." "You're allowed to be tired sometimes," Steve says evenly. "A wise man once told me you can let your friends give you some of their strong. It's made a big difference in my life." He smiles, small and sincerely. "Anyway, I think you're courageous, all the same. Not because you want better for your community, but because you're doing better by them." His fingers tighten carefully around Flicker's mechanical hand. "Do you want to say grace, or should I?" "A wise -- oh." Flicker laughs, small but warm, digging his knuckles briefly into the hollows of his eyes. "Oh." His eyes meet Steve's for a just moment before his head bows, a quick smile darting across his face as he looks down to their joined hands. His other arm wraps around his chest, his eyes closing. "Heavenly Father, bless this company and the food that we share -- that it might nourish our hearts as well as our bodies..." | |
