Like so many members and friends of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I was heartbroken by the passing of Elder W. Mark Bassett. As tributes from around the world have poured into social and mainstream media, and with his funeral now concluded, I’ve been reflecting on an experience from January 2021, when Elder Bassett called to check in on a missionary-related initiative we were experimenting with in our ward and stake in Virginia. I dove into my observations and lessons learned, and he quickly interrupted me. “Bishop Wright,” he said. “How are you? How’s your family?”
Then, acknowledging that the pandemic still had a hold on so many aspects of our lives, he asked how the young men and young women in our congregation were faring.
Only after covering what must have mattered most to him did we pivot to other topics, such as my writing work and the original purpose of the call. But by then, those seemed like postscripts to his real concerns. Later, I sat at my desk and realized that Elder Bassett cared so much more about the “who” than the “what.”
Since then, I’ve noticed that pattern with others. Men and women of deep faith ask the best questions first. And those questions demonstrate how often their priorities mirror Jesus Christ’s.
When my wife and I recently bumped into Elder Thierry K. Mutombo, who along with his wife served near us as leaders of the Maryland Baltimore Mission, he asked first about our children.
When I’ve crossed paths through the years with writer, publisher, and former counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency Sheri Dew, she’s led with, “How’s your family?” instead of “What are you working on?”
Each time I see or speak to Kevin Calderwood, a friend who served as our stake president twenty years ago in Northern Virginia, then as a mission president, area seventy, and president of the Provo Missionary Training Center, he is relentlessly curious about how the Wrights are doing. It’s not that he doesn’t also care about professional pursuits. He simply cares more about the who than the what. Perhaps it’s not surprising that he and Elder Bassett were dear friends who worked closely together at the missionary department in recent years.
The habit is visible in other friendships. My local Lutheran pastor pal always asks how I am, not how my career is going. My Methodist minister friend has never once asked about my accomplishments, but he has asked about my heart.
Consider prominent Utahn and philanthropist Gail Miller, with whom I have collaborated on two books. With everything she balances each day, she’s never started a conversation with business. She asks first, every single time, about my family. Those she works with on her business and philanthropic teams do the same.
These men and women focus on people before resumes. Souls before schedules. Ministering before administering.
Over the years, I’ve also been blessed to know remarkable people in other circles: artists, athletes, politicians, and entertainers. They have offered me advice I still lean on, encouragement when I need it most, and friendships I treasure deeply. But I have noticed that their check-in questions often feel different.
“What are you working on?”
“How did your last book do?”
“What’s next for you?”
These are also kind, caring questions, and they come from people who genuinely want to celebrate good things. It’s not that one group is loving and the other is not. It’s that they look through different lenses. One view sees the work first. The other sees the worker.
Both lenses matter. The world needs people who stand ready to cheer on our accomplishments. But something happens inside us when someone asks who we are becoming instead of what we’re building.
The world often trains us to ask, “What do you do?”
Faith tends to ask, “How are you?”
And in a world this tired and divided, maybe that second question matters more than ever.
We live in a season of performance. Highlight reels. Curated posts. Bios that read like trophy shelves. Even casual conversations can feel like auditions. I know, because I’ve done it myself.
So, when someone breaks the script and simply asks how we are, then waits for the real answer, something inside us softens. We remember we are more than our output. We remember we’re divine.
I don’t pretend to have mastered this. Like many, I’m better at admiring busy people than I am at sitting still with hurting ones. But Elder Bassett’s voice on that January day has stayed with me for almost five years.
People over plans. Faces over phones. The person in front of you over the next thing on the list.
Late last summer, as Elder Bassett traveled to Thailand, he promised to keep an eye out for my son, Elder Koleson Wright, who had just arrived in the Bangkok West Mission. Even then, in the midst of a whirlwind global trip, he was still looking past the work to the worker. Still asking the question that mattered most.
Long after we forget titles and accomplishments, disciples like Elder Bassett remind us that what matters most isn’t the what, it’s that three word question. And it’s one that now feels almost sacred.
“How are you?”