Masterson took control of the meeting right out of the gate. “Have you considered President Beckstead’s request that we come together as a neighborhood?”
Jason swallowed hard.
“I can’t help feeling this is a huge decision, and I’m not getting any clear answer through prayer.” It was an outright lie on Jason’s part. He hadn’t prayed about Masterson’s plan. Jason had prayed about how to approach this meeting, but there was never a moment when he had actually considered putting Masterson in charge. He had put enough stupid questions before God to know that God didn’t like playing “Magic Eight Ball” when common sense could do the job.
But bringing up prayer would resonate with the men of the bishopric. The Mormon faith promoted reliance on personal revelation, and going to God for a decision, or indecision, would be seen as a valid response. Appealing to prayer would put a full stop to Masterson’s drive for an immediate decision.
Jason continued. “One of our other committee members and I sought counsel from President Beckstead yesterday.” Masterson’s eyes widened. He hadn’t anticipated they would close the loop with Beckstead, and the flush on his face belied his fear of being caught putting words in his stake president’s mouth. It would certainly affect future callings of leadership if President Beckstead felt Masterson had abused his priesthood authority.
Jason said, “President Beckstead counseled making a prayerful decision about our group and the ward, especially since the Lord blessed us with professional military leadership.” As the words left his mouth, Jason knew this was both a masterful piece of diplomatic gerrymandering and a load of horse shit.
In one swoop, he had distanced Masterson from the decision-making process, and made it clear the stake president knew about their Green Beret trainers. Jason had been working on that one sentence in his mind for almost twenty-four hours. It was critical that he not make Masterson’s rookie mistake of attributing orders to the stake president that he hadn’t given.
Masterson looked like he could barely control his anger. The men of the bishopric received the response as entirely appropriate. They had undoubtedly been a little uncomfortable with Masterson’s overreach the day before, knowing he had exaggerated. They were more than happy to let Jason push back on the aggressive man’s agenda.
Jason made no mention of pooling resources, kicking that issue down the road for now. He figured, if he delayed a decision long enough, it often decided itself.
“Bishop,” Jason turned to Bishop Decker, “would you let us know if the neighborhood decides to pool their food?”
“Ah, yes. I will do that. We’re not sure what to do right now.”
Excellent, Jason thought. He’s admitting the ward isn’t pooling food.
It tore the guts out of Masterson’s plan. The bishop hadn’t yet decided that sharing was the right thing to do. The truth was now in the open and understood by alclass="underline" Masterson’s plan had been a ham-handed attempt to get his mitts on the Homestead’s resources.
Communism actually had historic roots in the Mormon Church. During a fifty-year period in the eighteen hundreds, the Church practiced the “Law of Consecration.” All members pledged everything to the Church while bishops redistributed property as needed. Like so many other collectives in history, the Law of Consecration eventually collapsed under the weight of selfishness. But buried in deep doctrine ran a vein of prophetic utterances calling for outright collectivism.
In a confusing contrast, all the twentieth century prophets had defended the virtues of American constitutionalism and capitalism. Most Mormons voted straight red, Republicans to the core. Liberalism ran almost synonymous with falling away from the Mormon Church. Despite the fact that the Law of Consecration could have been authored by Karl Marx, modern Mormons were also capitalists to the core.
Any suggestion that a ward pool resources would be met with powerful opposition from some members who had their own food storage. Many members would resent anything smacking of mandatory socialism, but hunger was a powerful motivator. The need to feed their families might drive many others to reconsider the Law of Consecration.
In this red letter moment in the history of the Church, during the Apocalypse that just might herald the second coming of Jesus, just about every Mormon ward would be split; people who had food storage and people who didn’t. Both groups would have differing viewpoints on the path of righteousness.
But Masterson wasn’t carrying water for Mormon theology. He wanted power, and his gambit to control the neighborhood, for the time being, had been blunted.
Jeff saw this as an opportunity to push the envelope. “Gentlemen, I’d like to propose that we move the barricades down to the foot of the mountain so we can protect more homes and give ourselves more room in case of a large-scale attack.”
Bishop Decker looked dubious. “Surely it won’t come to that. Who would attack us?”
“I don’t know,” Jeff admitted. “But, if I did know, it’d be too late.”
Jason jumped in, wary of Jeff’s diplomatic skills but eager to achieve the same goal. “If we move the barricades down to the bottom of the hill, we can blockade fewer roads and get a better result. The mountain would do most of our defensive work for us. Would you be offended if we moved the barricades?”
“No, we wouldn’t be offended,” Bishop Decker said.
“As I mentioned in our first meeting,” Jason said, “we need more men from the neighborhood. Right now, we’re offering bread to men camping outside the barricade to train them for our defense forces.”
That was news to the bishopric. Masterson stared intently across the table, struggling to get his mind around the new information. By seeking men elsewhere, Jason and Jeff were executing an end run around the ward. The Homestead would get their men one way or another, and it vastly reduced Masterson’s bargaining position.
“I’d rather train neighborhood men, and maybe give bread to the folks in the neighborhood who have no food storage,” Jason said. “That is, I’d rather do it if you’re comfortable with our veterans controlling all defensive efforts.”
Masterson interrupted, eager to play his final chip in the big game. “Before we talk about ward members fighting for your army, we’re very concerned about reports that your men shot and killed someone yesterday.”
“Yes,” Bishop Decker snapped back to life. “Did we hear that correctly?”
There’s Masterson’s counterattack, Jason thought. To be expected.
“Sadly, we were forced to shoot a man on the east boundary. He crossed our fence, ignored a warning shot, and then pointed his rifle at one of our men. The man who shot him is a professional soldier. I’m certain he had just cause.”
The bishopric men looked uncomfortable.
“How do we know it was justified? That seems very extreme,” Brother Ingram spoke for the first time.
“I know what you mean. These are tough times. A shooting was inevitable. People attempt to trespass on our land many times a day. Almost everyone turns around after a warning shot. This man didn’t. And he aimed at our men with a long rifle.” Jason did his best to explain, but it wasn’t helping.
“One question,” Bishop Decker held up his hand. “Was the man you shot a member?”
In thinking through this meeting beforehand, Jason would have preferred to avoid this question above all others.
“How would we know?” Jeff asked, already knowing the answer.
“Was he wearing garments?” Masterson asked. Faithful Mormons almost always wore sacred undergarments, morning, noon and night. If the man wore garments, it would be proof-positive that he was an temple-attending member of the Church.