"He Knows Changes Aren't Permanent... But Change Is"

"Always hopeful, yet discontent,

He knows changes aren't permanent

But change is."

Neal Peart & Pye Dubois, "Tom Sawyer"

I can't believe when truth tumbles out of a rock song. It does happen from time to time. I can't get this line from Rush's Tom Sawyer out of my head: "Changes aren't permanent... but CHANGE. IS.

Those six words declare one of the hardest truths of eternity, in my estimation. Absolutely nothing stays the same, except the fact that nothing stays the same. The permanent, flowing motion of change in the universe happens because all matter is either in a state of growth... or decay.

Two days ago, I sat in my stake center and tearfully watched my neighbors from two neighboring wards stand, in turn, and offer a sustaining vote to discontinue the wards they had lived in, served in, raised their families in. For a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, a ward is the next concentric circle out from our personal families.

Two ward families died on Friday, and we mourned together at the change. Members of these wards were put in three other existing wards, one of which isn't even in our stake. Tectonic changes for a stake where a generation or two ago, any given ward might have had three deacon quorums in it.

In one afternoon, an entire neighborhood received new instructions on where they were to worship and serve, as if some bossy patriarchal or matriarchal figure got up with a bullhorn at the family reunion, and imperiously insisted we get up and switch tables to re-arranged seating assignments.

Suddenly, all of Uncle Fred's family is mixed up with Aunt Ann's family. Uncle Bruce's family can't just stick clannishly together at the same table like every other year - no, no. Thanks to some bossy busy body, we all have to intermingle, some of Aunt Vi's kids ending up with Uncle Floyd's, and so on.

This is NOT the way we do family reunions, because we do not LIKE to do family reunions this way.

But when ward and stake boundaries are realigned, it's not just an awkward afternoon that must be initially endured until it's enjoyed; it's forever. Well. At least until the next change.

What our stake experienced Sunday reminded me of Zenos' parable of the branches of olive trees transplanted throughout an entire vineyard (see Jacob 5). The transplanting seemed so random and arbitrary - at first.

Cutting the branches so deeply and completely removing them to graft them in elsewhere - if not an experienced horticulturalist - would cause any ordinary, self-respecting branch to cry out at the pain of being so forcibly removed from the tree they loved - where they'd received nourishment their entire existence. At first.

But cutting branches and transplanting them to another tree wasn't some random science experiment; it was actually vital to the very survival of the trees. Every cut - every removal - every transplant - was intended to help the trees stay alive.

In the parable, the standard which measured the success of the operation was whether the branches produced fruit or not. With a spiritual focus, our stake has the potential to actually thrive from the radical changes of cutting and transplanting - if we make the intentional decision to not let where we're planted determine whether or not we'll produce fruit.

Because it's the same vineyard.

It's the same family at a family reunion. There are delightful people at every table. Just not the ones we're the most used to. Adjustments must be made; more tolerance will be called for. More reaching out of ourselves will be necessary. All the ways we cope and cooperate are going to be shaken up - and who of any of us wants that? But that's the kind of change that involves growth - instead of decay.

Radical changes in circumstances radically change people. It's an individual choice whether to take root, grow, and produce fruit, or refuse, wither... and die.

Because this is the vineyard and family of Jesus Christ, this family reunion is not one to miss. "The supper of the great God" (Revelation 19:17) is the family reunion of all family reunions, and something tells me it won't matter if we're at the table with Adam or Abraham, Peter or Paul, John the Baptist or Joseph Smith (see D&C 27:5-12).

This is what matters: there is a place waiting for all of us. No scrunching over to make room or scrambling to set another place. No setting up extra tables because more of us showed up than were planned for.

A place has been set for every one of God's kids. The message communicated through all of scripture is: "Please come! It won't be the same without you." And when we arrive, the message communicated will be, "There she is! We've been waiting for you."

That's how I want to greet my friends next week who have been radically transplanted to another table at the family reunion. I need to make sure they know how very glad we are they decided to come and help produce the fruit for the supper.