Learning from Enrique

Enrique was the kind of member you don’t forget. He was a fifty-something former alcoholic, and a former evangelical Christian. He had given up his drinking, but the jury was still out on whether he had given up his evangelical tendencies. Actually, the jury had come back with a pretty solid verdict: Enrique’s evangelical tics were here to stay.

And stay they did. Every time that a speaker mentioned a key concept — “we must have faith,” for example — Enrique would call out “amen, hermano!” He had a loud and beautifully resonant voice, and often after firing off a few amens, he would begin to sway back and forth in a rhythm. Our few long-term members mostly ignored him; newer members would look around, a little disconcerted. Was this what Mormons did? Every few weeks, it seemed, Enrique’s contagious enthusiasm would catch on — usually with the newer converts — and some of the other members of the congregation would join him, until we had a chorus of ecstatic amens punctuating the sacrament talks.

As the branch presidency, we could not put up with such silliness. And we had conversations with Enrique: We don’t do that kind of thing in this church, Enrique. You need to sit still and listen. He would nod obediently and promise better behavior.

For our part, we didn’t want to push too hard. As missionaries, we were thrilled by Enrique’s enthusiasm, which was a refreshing change from the usual member apathy. It wasn’t like we had much in the way of member resources. The San Pablo branch was small, consisting of twenty or thirty regular attendees, and still met in a small, cozy room without microphones or fixtures, with only a podium and some chairs.

And so we were happy that we could count on Enrique for splits, anytime, on a moment’s notice. He handed out Books of Mormon to friends and family and total strangers. He bore his testimony regularly, and in our thinly staffed branch, we could count on him to give talks or even teach lessons.

Enrique’s talks, however, were themselves a mixed blessing, as he was always on the verge of slipping back into evangelical fervor. Once, Enrique bore his testimony about how God had saved him from being an alcoholic. It started quietly enough, but quickly escalated as Enrique became emotional describing his prior lost state. “Why, I was so trapped, that I would lie in the gutter, without even a shirt to wear!” he cried out, and then pulled off his shirt and threw himself onto the floor. “Like this!” We gently prodded him to move on.

Such digressions were awfully off-putting to a nineteen-year-old missionary branch president and his greenie companion. Were branch presidents supposed to tolerate this kind of behavior? How was I to bring him into line? Many of our members were relatively new, and were still trying to get a feel for church culture. Enrique was outgoing and charismatic and energetic, and I worried that he would influence new converts to follow his behavior. I cringed when stake leaders visited, sure that with every “amen” that echoed across the room, they became more conviced that our branch was made up of backwoods barbarians.

But we had other things to worry about as well, like finding a permament branch presidency. And after months of fruitless searching, we met with a new family that looked promising. The father, Pablo, was highly educated and very literate. Pablo and his family were well off, unlike the coffee field laborers that comprised the rest of the branch. We immediately thought “future branch president.”

Pablo and his family were also very excited about the church, and within a few weeks, they had been baptized. In our enthusiasm, we decided that we would prepare him for branch leadership as quickly as we could. And so, a few weeks after his baptism, we scheduled Pablo to bless the sacrament.

There was a snag: Pablo was nervous about the blessing the sacrament. He was worried about not getting it right, worried about speaking in front of the branch. You’ll be fine, we told him. Here, let’s practice the prayer together. And so we visited him several times, and practiced the prayer. We were convinced that we had helped him through his temporary stage fright.

Sunday rolled around, and Sacrament meeting began. We looked over at Pablo, sitting at the Sacrament table. He looked back at us, a little tense. He’s going to be fine. Please, Heavenly Father, let him be fine. And so we sang the Sacrament hymn, and bowed our heads. And we heard —

Well, in the very front, we barely heard a soft mumble. In the seats, they heard nothing. And then the mumble stopped, and Pablo looked up. He had said the prayer, but he had said it in a near-whispered tone, in our non-microphoned room.

There was a confused murmuring amoung the members. They hadn’t heard any prayer, and they looked around, wondering what was going on. The sacrament passers were not stepping forward, since they too were confused. Had there been a prayer? They looked up at me for instruction. Pablo looked sideways and upwards at me, from on his knees in front of the Sacrament table, terrified. What do I do now, his eyes seemed to say.

I sat, shocked. How do I handle this? Was I going to have to intervene as Branch President, and subject our future potential leader to a humiliating repeat prayer? Was his fragile psyche up to that? All eyes were on me. Please, Heavenly Father, help me through this. Please, let this work out in a way that doesn’t destroy Pablo’s nascent confidence.

And then, from the middle of the congregation, a familiar, resonant voice, with a familiar word:

“Amen.”

Enrique declared it loudly and authoritatively. And as soon as he did so, the spell was broken, the confusion evaporated. “Amen,” repeated the whole congregation after Enrique, and everyone looked relieved. The passers stepped up to take the trays, and the sacrament proceeded as if nothing had happened. Relief washed over me. Heavenly Father had answered my prayer in a most unexpected way.

The meeting proceeded without further event.

When I left San Pablo, Enrique and Pablo were still attending the little branch. I later heard through mission grapevine that San Pablo was going to get its first local branch president — not Pablo, but another new convert who I had met the week that I left the area. Pablo was still attending, and playing an important part in the development of the branch. And Enrique was still attending, of course.

I’m terrible at correspondence, and I haven’t kept in touch with the members of the branch. It’s been ten years since I served there, and I hope that by now they’ve developed into a ward, meeting in a beautiful new building with polished pews and bright windows (and microphones!).

But in my memories, they’re still meeting in that cramped little room, where Enrique’s cheerful “amens” echo off of the walls, a signal that Heavenly Father is indeed watching over us.