Inviting a Terrorist to Dinner.

Here is what happened in High Priest's meeting yesterday.
I've been thinking about it, chewing it over, and I've decided I don't like the mindset. A bunch of old dribblers afraid of a bogeyman . . .
Oh well . . . you decide if I'm overreacting.

The meeting started on a pleasant note, as several of the the High Priests came up to me to thank me for putting some spirit into leading the opening hymn (at least nobody walked out, like they used to do in my old ward when I conducted).

Then we began to discuss Lesson #8 -- The Importance of Missionary Work.

Inevitably, the conversation veered off to the ongoing world-wide refugee crisis. That's when, to my way of thinking, things got a little unsettling.

Geezer #1 stuck up his hand and then said "We should definitely be giving them blankets and stuff, but what if one of them is a terrorist trying to sneak into the country and kill somebody?"
This met with general head-nodding approval, and several more comments followed about being gentle as doves but wise as serpents.

When I brought up the point that missionary work is all about treating people the way we want them to become, not the way they were in the past, I was met with stony silence -- you could hear the apricot blossoms falling from the trees outside.

Geezer #1 stuck to his guns, saying "We can't just let these killers come in with the rest of them; there has to be a way to separate the sheep from the tares."
Others chimed in to say that's why they'd never invite a refugee family to dinner; how would you know if one of them wouldn't turn around and murder you?
The hot button had been pushed -- protect the family above all else! Innocent children slaughtered in cold blood. Wives ravished by slavering terrorists bent on destroying Our Way of Life! You could almost see the spirits of Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck hovering over their bald and shiny heads. They were regurgitating the hate speech of talk show hosts, without an original thought in the vicinity.
I finally managed to interrupt the flow of nonsense to ask if any of them had ever actually met a terrorist, someone who threatened them, who meant them harm?
Nope. Not a one.
I then asked if they knew anyone who had been harmed by terrorists. They were quick to say that they personally didn't, but they had a friend of a cousin who knew someone who was in the same Ward as one of those poor missionaries that was injured in the explosion in Belgium.
At this point the time was up and everyone wanted to get home for dinner (our ward meets late and doesn't get out until 3:30). So the teacher simply closed by saying we must love others with prudence.
Oddly enough, despite my seemingly stand-alone position during the lesson, I was asked to give the closing prayer.
I kept it short and sweet. I never preach when praying. I've heard way too much of that.
So . . . what am I going to do about this?
Nothing.
I'm too lazy and set in my ways to stop attending my meetings, plus I distinctly remember how often I was cozened and bamboozled by my own ill-informed opinions earlier in life (and probably still am!)
After all, I voted for Nixon.
I believed all the bs by George Bush about Weapons of Mass Destruction.
I have been a suspicious, crotchety Republican for many years.
If I start to look down at my brethren because of their prejudices and fancies, then what mercy can I expect when I'm brought before the Final Bar without the help of Perry Mason?
So, I guess this is all about me letting off steam. Besides, by next Sunday I'll have forgotten all about this episode.
Life is too short to do anything but write limericks . . .