“How do you feel about the family proclamation?”

The question hung in the air like a cumulus cloud that could darken into a thunderhead at any moment. Inside of a nanosecond, it could transform a white stack of floating puffery against a deep-blue backdrop into a raging storm. And who wants that at a church meeting that’s meant to inspire?

Well, I do.

Actually, I’d prefer partly cloudy skies with just a hint of precipitation. There’s beauty in that, too.

Welcome to my life as a Sunday school teacher, as what’s called a Gospel Doctrine instructor, in my congregation (ward) of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I’ve “taught” Sunday school at church as an adult for more years than I haven’t taught it over the span of seven decades. More precisely, I’ve led discussions. My motto: Try to keep more people in the tent than I chase away from it.

It’s been a journey of walking a tightrope designed to help class members discover, to dive deeper into the feelings they have for what they believe, why they believe it and how they might be able to believe it better. Ultimately, it’s up to them. That’s the thing about finding faith in gospel study — it’s always up to them. It comes from the inside out, not the other way around. Creating a healthy environment in which that faith can be identified and clarified is the goal.

Some time ago, during a class, I asked the aforementioned question about one of the more discussed and maybe, in some cases, divisive topics inside Latter-day Saint theology or policy, whatever it is. For the unfamiliar, in so many words that proclamation states among other declarations that God’s idea of the family centers on a married man and a married woman, meant to come together to build a foundational unit not just for this life but also for the eternities.

Latter-day Saints view, interpret and accept that proclamation to varying degrees, and it’s worthwhile — at least for some — for them to drill down to uncover how they understand that teaching and where they are with it. That week’s lesson didn’t revolve solely around the proclamation, but it was part of it. For others, they took in the document word for word, without question, without further thought. And for yet others, even bringing up such a topic was uncomfortable in that setting, and they preferred to look away.

In discussing Latter-day Saint faith, there are numerous subjects like that, spanning from whether Old Testament stories are meant to be taken literally to whether current prophets and apostles make mistakes.

The traditional tack

In the routine of weekly worship services inside the church, there exists a smudgy kind of divide like that among the faithful — in Sunday school classes, in women’s Relief Society meetings, in men’s priesthood gatherings.

Some members favor traditional lessons, presentations that preach the good word and substantiate ideas accumulated through the individual lifetimes of class members. They embrace tidy, vacuum-wrapped lessons that they are familiar with, that they have heard again and again. Lessons in which they already know all the answers. There’s certitude in that, but is certitude always a blessing or is it a curse? Either way, there’s a bit of … what’s the proper biblical term? … succor in that approach. Those folks might as well attend church with a “do not disturb” sign around their necks. They’d rather keep discussion of gospel matters within the narrow confines of the comfortable.

The last thing they want is any divergence of thought about how Book of Mormon hero Nephi, in his family relations with rebellious brothers Laman and Lemuel, might have been something of a fanatic, but he also was the one writing the record, the one with the final say. I wonder sometimes what one of my sisters would have written about me or our family, how it would be different, if she had been the one telling the story.

Many of those people don’t want to think about or question if Nephi’s slaying of Laban — as “constrained by the Spirit” — in order to swipe the brass plates as his family journeyed out of Jerusalem was really necessary.

Those sorts of discussions scare them. They want to wash, rinse and repeat.

Lectures and life lessons

Along similar lines, some church members want an historical account, a blow-by-blow revisitation of details regarding what happened as portrayed in scriptures, such as the Book of Mormon or the Bible or the Doctrine and Covenants, a professorial kind of lecture on the happenings of the time, mixed with a spiritual kicker at the end.

Others want to hear the basic material listed in the lesson but crave for conversation about modern application of what Jesus taught. They seek to consider: “What does this really mean for me and my family?” And: “How can I apply this in my life now?” They don’t want to simply subject themselves to a worship ritual, go through the motions again, and get on with whatever they’re planning to eat for lunch or dinner later that day.

In the radio business, in which I worked for the better part of three decades, a top consultant used to tell on-air talent that the moment listeners knew what the next sentence out of your mouth was going to be, they already were of a mind to punch the button to the next station. The idea was to dish out information or entertainment that was fresh, funny, memorable and meaningful.

The same goes for church classes. It does little good to preach at people or bore them with straight standardized stuff, not when viable alternatives include connecting to what and how people, regardless of where they are on the faith spectrum, think and feel.

Sometimes it can get a little messy. There might be differences of opinion, but that’s OK. It can be good. How’s anyone supposed to learn anything or find any new avenues of thought, any genuine connection to themselves or to God and heaven, if those in a gospel class just bob their heads up and down like automatons, failing to ask questions, ignoring whatever promptings they might have or wonder about, shying away — on account of fear over how they might be viewed by others — from being real about what’s inside their mind and soul?

That’s part of the value of what church classes can provide. They should be safe spaces to be honest, to get down and dirty with all of it.

There’s nothing wrong with getting creative. I have a friend who led a discussion in a Latter-day Saint priesthood class during the NCAA tournament in which he gave a March Madness-style lesson in which members discussed and voted on the most meaningful moves instituted under then-church President Russell Nelson until they ultimately picked — bracketology-style — the top one. (Winner: the 200 new temples he announced.) It was a big hit. Another friend took the risk in Sunday school of inviting someone during a lesson on Jesus’ humility to come sit at the front of the class, where the teacher removed the socks and shoes of that individual and washed his feet.

Spiritual learning is often best done through heartfelt group discussion, absorbing ideas that a single teacher or manual may not have considered or included, especially when it’s done among friends and fellow worshippers, people you live around. It is said that top church leadership actually encourages such sharing of ideas. Lessons in church manuals are providing discussion points. Teachers mastering that style effectively and efficiently will become even more important and impactful in September when church classes are shortened to an every-Sunday, quick-hit mode.

It’s worth noting that the analogy above about cumulus clouds stacking into nimbus clouds in a class setting has a double application. Nimbus is a Latin root word that meteorologically can mean a threatening rain cloud, but another definition, a more artsy one, can be spiritual. According to Merriam-Webster, it’s a “radiant light or glory above the head of a drawn or sculpted divinity, saint or sovereign.”

What seems like a storm can be divine.

Go ahead, then, and tear into gospel topics. Church classes can and should be the opposite of routine or boring. They can be downright exciting, because lessons often can center on the most meaningful aspects of believers’ lives.

It’s more difficult to boost belief if folks aren’t spurred to think anew, to turn inward and speak outward. If you give them what they’ve heard a million times, exactly how they’ve heard it, they’ll have a mind to punch the button to the next station or to tune out completely.