Throughout my time in the M*rmon church, there were other incidents that led me to question the truthfulness of the doctrine that was presented to me. I thought that I could eventually reconcile the unsettling beliefs generated by the church - the racist doctrine and mythology that taught the creator of all things might play favourites with one skin colour, the sexist dogma that insisted that women were equal to men in positions of subservience and had no choice in the matter within the organization, the pressure to procreate beyond a family's financial or emotional means, a lack of desire to engage with the wider world (in the world but not 'of' the world) except in the context of proselytizing and the competitive righteousness that was firmly ingrained in the congregations' collective understanding of heaven, hell and every level in between. I knew by the time I was twelve what kinds of offenses would get you into which level or kingdom of heaven, and which ones would get you banished into outer darkness for time and all eternity.
Growing up in the 80's and having the horrors of World War II pounded into us, we all assumed that Ad*lph H*tler would have had his boots, jodhpurs and mustache fixed firmly in hell, but a quick check on a few Google sites, yesterday, assured me that, indeed, Mr *itler had had all his temple endowments done for him and would have the opportunity to enjoy the highest kingdom of heaven, at some stage. Whether this was a hoax perpetuated by anti-M*rmon sources, or whether the documentation was, indeed, generated by the London temple still gives me pause for thought. Would I really want to belong to an organization that has so overtly given the option of salvation to a mass murderer, when I cannot even hope to attain the same? If the Hitler temple documentation is not really true and anti-M*rmon sources have created a hoax to discredit the church then shame on them, the church has enough controversy to bring it to its knees. The racism I experienced as a youth and young adult against my friends was enough to seal the deal for me. I grew up among the Lamanites and counted them as my friends. I couldn't understand why they had such a raw deal on the reservations until I learned that they were constantly being punished by god for their iniquitous history. Hey, that makes sense and absolves me of any guilt or responsibility! Their darkened skin was a result of rebellion shortly after they arrived in the Americas, from the Middle East. Cough, cough. They would have a series of chances to 'lighten up' if they turned towards god and gave the Nephites a chance to save them with the only true gospel and a sweet little program called Indian Placement. Seriously folks, I learned that my friends were inferior not only in the eyes of the government, but also in the eyes of god. Problem was, in my head most of the Navajo actually had their sh*t together a lot more than I did. The Navajo friends I had gone to primary school with who had the missionaries around to convert them almost always did a few years away in Arizona or Utah with a white M*rmon family. The idea was that their education would have been supplemented by living in an English-speaking family and that their salvation would have been overseen by a priesthood-holding bunch of M*rmons. The reality was that they often returned to the reservation having forgotten their language and had been left out of important family events. I don't know if their education improved as a result, but I seriously doubt it. The doctrine taught to the white seminary students who remained behind was that our Lamanite friends would return whiter and more delightsome in the eyes of god. Who needs to know that H*tler is hanging out with Jesus now? If the N*zi connection with M*rmonism bears out as truth then the wider world will know what I've been convinced of, for years.
Showing posts with label Religion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Religion. Show all posts
Thursday, 24 January 2008
Saturday, 21 July 2007
Post Script
I found a quote in the Guardian Family section this morning, which reads: "If this most elemental thing is a lie, then why should I believe anything?"
It is one thing to tell children mythological moral tales, but it is another thing altogether to pass these myths off as truth. We'd no more do this for ancient Greek myths, even though they contain many of the same character endorsing or condemning morals as B*blical stories. I hope to finish the tale of leaving M*rmonism some day, however, the final act of sending in my resignation will only be a postscript to the tale. The stuff that happened in-between is much, much more interesting. TBC
It is one thing to tell children mythological moral tales, but it is another thing altogether to pass these myths off as truth. We'd no more do this for ancient Greek myths, even though they contain many of the same character endorsing or condemning morals as B*blical stories. I hope to finish the tale of leaving M*rmonism some day, however, the final act of sending in my resignation will only be a postscript to the tale. The stuff that happened in-between is much, much more interesting. TBC
Thursday, 19 July 2007
Why Quitters Sometimes Win, Part 1
I've been lurking on several blogs for the past year - most of them are linked sites where the author has been involved in M*rmonism, but is either questioning or disbelieving in most or all of the doctrine. I can identify with most people but I, like everyone else in M*rmonism, has their individual story (if not an individual testimony...that NEVER, ever seems to come) of entry, indoctrination, disillusionment and exit.
It's been eighteen years since I made any concerted and sustained effort to go to a M*rmon church, and I've now officially been inactive/disbelieving for as long as I had been active/believing. It's a strange thing that I should still be so caught up trying to resolve an issue that plays no part in my daily life, especially since my family's history in M*rmonism began with my mother's and my baptism, when I was eight. We had been attending church for four years before our baptisms in the late 1970s- world record for investigators, I'd say! However, there was little pressure placed on us to do the deal until I turned eight, when I was called into the branch president's office and asked whether I'd like to be baptized. I, loving any opportunity to be in the limelight, heartily agreed and began making plans for an acceptance speech. In the weeks up to the event, I prayed in seven and three-quarters year-old earnest and felt certain that I would be blessed with a column of light at the end of my bed and a visitation from an angel, praising me for choosing the right.
For the preceding three and a half years, my mother was branch pianist (how controversial to have a calling without actually having been baptized, though my mother used to play mostly songs she learned in church while growing up as a Methodist, so our congregation sang a lot of 'How Great Thou Art', etc.). I attended Star through CTR classes, all the while having a fairly ad hoc religious education as my family spent our summers visiting my maternal aunts and uncles in a neighbouring state, attending Vacation Bible School (VBS) the Southern Baptist or the Methodist way, with our cousins. I returned to New Mexico after school holidays, tanned and steeped in hellfire, brimstone, and with a great-big-John-Wesley-Amen-at-the-end. I don't think the M*rmons in our branch minded though, it was the freewheeling Seventies - and everyone was church-hopping. I was one of a number of Primary kids whose families attended different churches, at times. I call it 'Interfaithfulness' and it was a good way to find out about other ways of worshipping, and it was also a good way to taste wine well before legal drinking age, and before the dreaded Word of Wisdom was branded into my psyche.
The New Mexican M*rmons were glad to see you step through the door on Sunday and grateful that they had bodies (other than the usual suspects) in the COLD, COLD, metal folding chairs. Most of the families in the branch were related to one line of an old polygamist clan, who had originally settled in Ramah, New Mexico. Their fate was sealed from the breast and it was a slippery slope from bottles of milk to popcorn popping. Of course, having been born in the faith I'm sure the clan never knew the pleasure of sleeping in on a Sunday, or singing a rollicking, happy-clapping version of 'Saved by the Blood of the Lamb', which is a SCARY, SCARY Pentecostal song, for a six year-old, by the way. Our branch was a good one, people were mostly kind to each other, and we had our share of scandalous events - a very human congregation. I liked being with other M*rmon kids and, for the most part, the church was a positive force in my childhood. I have heard horror stories in the community of former M*rmons and I believe their accounts because M*rmonism is a religion that was created to be 'different' by coming complete with its own mythology. This mythology is necessary to establish its difference from other churches, but the problem with mythology is that it is usually created to explain the inexplicable or impose the rather harsh will of another. Once one card in the house falls, the others quickly come down around it. I'm not a PR person, but had I been a man in a position of leadership in the church in the late 80's, I would have dealt with separating the mythology of the church (Book of Abr*ham, Sal*mander Letter, etc.) from the universal religious truths as other Christian-type denominations see them, and tried to move the core values of the church toward a more pragmatic and democratic approach, based on community and acceptance. I would have pushed to set up a church that trained and hired clergy, promoted a fairer system of tithing, promoted smaller families and engaged in community outreach/charity work - not just service projects for ward members or those who might welcome lessons from the missionaries.
Anyway, as time went on I grew in faith in some ways and questioned in others. Some things within the church doctrine, like withholding the priestho*d from black folks did not make any sense while the belief that anyone could receive revelation from g*d made a lot of sense to me. However, I never was content to accept things I could not understand and made a point of questioning them until I was a nuisance. For instance, I remember a time in Primary when I raised my hand to make a point that if you had a King James Bible and G*d inspired that translation to take place for that time (we had just been taught that it was a book inspired by G*d there were errors and so JS received the correct translation for the Bible), then perhaps there would be errors discovered in the JS translation later on, as times changed? I was, of course, met with silence and a little look from Sister 1 and Sister 2. It was the beginning of the end for me, and over the next ten years I gave M*rmonism lip service but I was increasingly convinced my feelings which ran contrary to accepting the complete 'truthfulness' of this version of Christianity, later to religion in general, and finally to the existence of g*d itself...but that's another post. I just thought that because there's now more than one reader on this blog, I might as well tell you why I visit the ex-mo sites.
It's been eighteen years since I made any concerted and sustained effort to go to a M*rmon church, and I've now officially been inactive/disbelieving for as long as I had been active/believing. It's a strange thing that I should still be so caught up trying to resolve an issue that plays no part in my daily life, especially since my family's history in M*rmonism began with my mother's and my baptism, when I was eight. We had been attending church for four years before our baptisms in the late 1970s- world record for investigators, I'd say! However, there was little pressure placed on us to do the deal until I turned eight, when I was called into the branch president's office and asked whether I'd like to be baptized. I, loving any opportunity to be in the limelight, heartily agreed and began making plans for an acceptance speech. In the weeks up to the event, I prayed in seven and three-quarters year-old earnest and felt certain that I would be blessed with a column of light at the end of my bed and a visitation from an angel, praising me for choosing the right.
For the preceding three and a half years, my mother was branch pianist (how controversial to have a calling without actually having been baptized, though my mother used to play mostly songs she learned in church while growing up as a Methodist, so our congregation sang a lot of 'How Great Thou Art', etc.). I attended Star through CTR classes, all the while having a fairly ad hoc religious education as my family spent our summers visiting my maternal aunts and uncles in a neighbouring state, attending Vacation Bible School (VBS) the Southern Baptist or the Methodist way, with our cousins. I returned to New Mexico after school holidays, tanned and steeped in hellfire, brimstone, and with a great-big-John-Wesley-Amen-at-the-end. I don't think the M*rmons in our branch minded though, it was the freewheeling Seventies - and everyone was church-hopping. I was one of a number of Primary kids whose families attended different churches, at times. I call it 'Interfaithfulness' and it was a good way to find out about other ways of worshipping, and it was also a good way to taste wine well before legal drinking age, and before the dreaded Word of Wisdom was branded into my psyche.
The New Mexican M*rmons were glad to see you step through the door on Sunday and grateful that they had bodies (other than the usual suspects) in the COLD, COLD, metal folding chairs. Most of the families in the branch were related to one line of an old polygamist clan, who had originally settled in Ramah, New Mexico. Their fate was sealed from the breast and it was a slippery slope from bottles of milk to popcorn popping. Of course, having been born in the faith I'm sure the clan never knew the pleasure of sleeping in on a Sunday, or singing a rollicking, happy-clapping version of 'Saved by the Blood of the Lamb', which is a SCARY, SCARY Pentecostal song, for a six year-old, by the way. Our branch was a good one, people were mostly kind to each other, and we had our share of scandalous events - a very human congregation. I liked being with other M*rmon kids and, for the most part, the church was a positive force in my childhood. I have heard horror stories in the community of former M*rmons and I believe their accounts because M*rmonism is a religion that was created to be 'different' by coming complete with its own mythology. This mythology is necessary to establish its difference from other churches, but the problem with mythology is that it is usually created to explain the inexplicable or impose the rather harsh will of another. Once one card in the house falls, the others quickly come down around it. I'm not a PR person, but had I been a man in a position of leadership in the church in the late 80's, I would have dealt with separating the mythology of the church (Book of Abr*ham, Sal*mander Letter, etc.) from the universal religious truths as other Christian-type denominations see them, and tried to move the core values of the church toward a more pragmatic and democratic approach, based on community and acceptance. I would have pushed to set up a church that trained and hired clergy, promoted a fairer system of tithing, promoted smaller families and engaged in community outreach/charity work - not just service projects for ward members or those who might welcome lessons from the missionaries.
Anyway, as time went on I grew in faith in some ways and questioned in others. Some things within the church doctrine, like withholding the priestho*d from black folks did not make any sense while the belief that anyone could receive revelation from g*d made a lot of sense to me. However, I never was content to accept things I could not understand and made a point of questioning them until I was a nuisance. For instance, I remember a time in Primary when I raised my hand to make a point that if you had a King James Bible and G*d inspired that translation to take place for that time (we had just been taught that it was a book inspired by G*d there were errors and so JS received the correct translation for the Bible), then perhaps there would be errors discovered in the JS translation later on, as times changed? I was, of course, met with silence and a little look from Sister 1 and Sister 2. It was the beginning of the end for me, and over the next ten years I gave M*rmonism lip service but I was increasingly convinced my feelings which ran contrary to accepting the complete 'truthfulness' of this version of Christianity, later to religion in general, and finally to the existence of g*d itself...but that's another post. I just thought that because there's now more than one reader on this blog, I might as well tell you why I visit the ex-mo sites.
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