Over the years I’ve seen many wise and wizened Mormon high priests come and go. Lately, most of them seem to be going.
The Brigham City 5th Ward lost two stalwarts recently — Lloyd McGee and Les Dunn. Others, I fear, may not see another Peach Days.
For decades I’ve been moving up the ward “seniority ladder” toward the top rung, where the most ancient patriarchs perch.
I figure I’m now one rung away.
That’s not good news.
What is good news, however, is in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the high priests have never been more alert and active. Most could pass for elders. (Both the high priest group and elders quorum are comprised of Melchizedek Priesthood holders and those who are part of stake presidencies, bishoprics and high councils, among others, are ordained to be high priests.)
Currently, a member of the quorum and his wife are waltzing through Italy. Others often visit family in a dozen different states.
My Golden Years look bright.
Unlike the Golden Years of the fine old high priests of the 1950s.
Back when I was a boy (read that line in the voice of Walter Brennan), old folks never went anywhere. Television didn’t exist. Freeways didn’t exist. People in Brigham City stayed put, hidden in the mist like the souls in Brigadoon.
In our old 6th Ward, the high priests spoke the way their fathers spoke, who spoke the way their fathers spoke. And they all spoke in a thick, rural Utah accent that could almost pass as a dialect. When Homer Tingey bore his testimony, he’d use so many quaint sayings and words I could barely follow him — even with both ears.
And the things he and other oldsters talked about seem odd today — other-worldly.
The high priests, for instance, seemed to spend great chunks of time debating whether the lost 10 tribes lived under the polar ice cap or on the North Star.
That seems almost charming today. But back then, it was serious business. Old men dreamed dreams in those days. When Brother Bircham took up half of testimony meeting telling about his dealings in the nether world, people nodded.
Now, travel, technology and information have tamped down such things. Few high priest quorums spend time today discussing the “airplane runways” built by the Mayan Indians. Today, talk turns more toward ways to keep the evils of the world at bay or needed service projects.
The world of Brigham City’s corps of high priests has expanded. Their concerns are more practical, less fanciful. When I veer into speculation, more than one of them will tap his scriptures, a cue to get back on track.
And that’s good.
Still, when I think of old Fred Burt at the pulpit, calling out the names of irreverent deacons, I get a little lonesome.
Few deacons today would smuggle a bottle of Pepsi into sacrament meeting, the way we did. That’s a plus.
On the other hand, few high priests — me included — even know the names of the deacons, young men ages 12 to 13. We have no idea whose kid is whose.
We’re just too busy living our lives to the fullest.
Email: jerjohn@deseretnews.com