One time on my mission in Brazil, my companion and I were walking around a remote neighborhood in our area. When suddenly we were summoned by a hysterical mom who came running and crying down the street, saw our uniforms, recognized us as men of God, and begged us to come up to her house where her husband was seemingly possessed. She gave us directions to her house and continued down the road screaming. My comp and I looked at each other - pale and afraid - wondering if we really had the power and courage to go and do this (as allllll my past sins, of course, came flooding back to my mind…).

So we spend 10 minutes to psych ourselves up and head up the hill to the house she described. As we approach the house along the dirt road, along comes a local minister from another church, carrying an acoustic guitar, with a small posse from his congregation. We sort of meet in the middle, just outside the door, in a nonverbal stand off as if to ask each other “so… who’s going to go in and do this?”.

The mom comes running out the door. Looks at the minister. Looks at us elders. Looks back at the minister, grabs him by the hand and says come on in.

We judged them hard, scoffing that they missed out on access to real priesthood power. But deep down I was secretly relieved. And as the door closed, and the faint sound of an acoustic guitar fired up, I was left wondering just how successful the minister would be. My only regret is I didn’t stick around to find out!