In sacrament meeting last week, the bishop got up and announced he had received a letter from the First Presidency. As he prepared to read it, the congregation perked up.

Moments like this are always attention-getters for Mormons. Normally, we get direction from the top during General Conference.

Occasionally something can't wait and it comes in the form of an official letter from the brethren telling us to start (or stop) doing something.

Because it's important enough to warrant pronouncement from the top, the subject could be anything from a formal declaration of the Second Coming to an admonishment regarding inappropriate Sabbath footwear.

"This is it," my brain hollered as the bishop got ready to read. "We're going back to Jackson County. I told you to change the oil in the truck. C'mon, let's go find a map!"

"Shut up," I said.

Apparently that last part was out loud because the last two rows of worshippers turned and looked at me.

The letter turned out to be something of no real concern to me. Basically, it told/counseled rank-and-file Mormons to stop pestering church headquarters for clarification of church doctrine.

Apparently some members get so stressed about the finer points of doctrine that they'll fire off a letter asking for the final word. Church HQ can't handle the demand.

I've never done this, but a letter calling for doctrinal clarification probably goes something like this:

"Dear President/Elder [Pick One]:

"When is it appropriate for worthy Latter-day Saints to burn a witch?"

"Please settle a bet. I say Neanderthal man could never hold the priesthood."

"After much prayer and thought, I can't decide if the Holy Ghost could beat up Optimus Prime."

"May I use Chapstick on Fast Sunday and still hold a temple recommend?"

Disclaimer: I'm probably wasting my breath here, but I made up all of those doctrinal questions. Do not forward this column to church HQ. The answers (in corresponding order) are: never; maybe; our money's on H.G.; and get a grip.

According to the First Presidency's letter, members with real doctrinal concerns were to seek the counsel of our local leaders — stake president, bishop, Scoutmaster, building custodian, etc.

I'm blessedly free from this mandate because I don't wrestle with any huge doctrinal questions. I divide church into two distinct categories: stuff I'll do and stuff I won't. In both cases I rely on the counsel of my brain, keeping in mind that it isn't always right.

For example, after sacrament meeting I ran into my stake president in the hallway. When my brain saw him, it immediately began shouting for us to run away.

"Calm down," I told it.

Apparently that part was out loud as well, because President Russ Davey said, "Robert, I'm always calm when I see you in church."

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com.