I spent thanksgiving at a massive get-together, and before we dug in to a really rather delightful meal, my uncle gave a blessing on the food. I’m generally respectful of my family during prayers and try to bow my head and close my eyes for them. However, I was stifling a laugh when the prayer came to this point:

We are so thankful to be members of thy church…

It was a good thing I was in the very corner of the room and no one heard me. I laughed at how silly it sounded. Then I started to get a little ticked off. There were several of people there who were not members of the mormon church. Yet he still said that. Did that mean those who weren’t mormon would soon be, or that he just wasn’t including those who chose to worship at a different altar? It seemed kind of arrogant, but I know my uncle, and more appropriately, I know what mormon prayer is.

From an early age, mormons are taught to say their prayers in a very specific way: by repeating what their parents say. When very small, it is literally a case of “repeat after me,” not only when praying but when “bearing testimony” (which is when a mormon explains their feelings about the church in a church meeting, usually on the first sunday of the month). As the child grows, the parent doesn’t need to prompt them: they’ve pretty much memorised the gist of those initial prayers. Keep in mind, this isn’t supposed to be rote, recited prayer, like you may find in other religions. In fact, mormon doctrine is strongly against rote prayers (with a few exceptions, such as blessing the sacrament of the lord’s supper), but people tend to (at least in public prayers) say nearly identical prayers. There is a reason: language.

Mormons use the King James translation of the Bible, and the Book of Mormon follows largely the same style (since modern english translations weren’t really around when J. Smith started hawking copies of his book). Thus, it is a mormon teaching (I’m not just implying that… it really is a teaching in the lessons missionaries give) that when you pray, you need to use the flowery, archaic prose of the KJV bible. Thus giving a prayer turns from expressing your thoughts to your maker into something akin to writing a paper for your really grammatically-strict english teacher. People get confused over thy/thou/thine (I was always rather good at it, but I’m quite obviously an english nerd), and tend to fall back on the phrases and words they are used to hearing. You hear a lot about being grateful for “thy church” and “all our many blessings” and asking that everyone may “travel home in safety, that no harm or accident my befall us.” And pretty much any meal will be blessed so that “it will be nourishing and strengthening for our bodies, and do us the good we need.” I used to challenge my brother to not say that phrase when he’d pray before a meal, and he’d try so hard that you could hear him catching himself and searching for a different word. Those prayers generally ended in all of us laughing.

But my family is like that. The thought of us all trying to control our laughter during a prayer gives me hope that one day, the remaining half of my family that is mormon will wise up and get out. Cross your fingers.

There is an interesting article on The Mormon Curtain that talks about the mormon phenomenon of being offended. More appropriately, the idea that someone has stopped going to church or resigned their membership because “someone offended them.” If you’re not familiar with the concept of offended members, take a few seconds to read the article.

Done? Okay, now I can relate the perfect example of this thinking. Sister-in-law was raised in a very strict LDS home (by comparison, our family was pretty liberal as far as mormon psuedo-doctrine goes: we had no problems with having caffeinated soda, I recall watching my first R-rated movie when I was about 6, etc). Now, I’m not saying that her home wasn’t loving, or that her parents were harsh to her (I actually really like her parents… in so much that I only have to chat with them at family parties and the like); her home, however, was a place where strict obedience to anything and everything they ever heard in church (or a church-related event)—even if the tidbit they heard was only something they overheard in the hallway gossip chain—was required. Not only was cursing (even if accidentally) something to cause a family member to invoke self-shame and lower their self-esteem, but hearing someone else do it created an open season for guilt-riding and intimidation. For example, if my sister-in-law was sick and didn’t make it to church that sunday (or even only attended 1 hour of the 3 hour block), she’d feel awful, as though she’d found Jesus, approached him and then kicked him in the stones. However, if you missed church, prepare to receive the interrogation of your life. Not in a harsh way (how can anything from a quilter’s high pitched voice sound harsh), but the implied shame and disgust would drip from her words.

Get the idea? A general nature of shame and vilification toward anyone who “slips up” or doesn’t live by their set of rules (regardless of if those rules are even generally understood and practised by anyone).

Okay, now, having read about “being offended” and getting a taste of what my sister-in-law is like, allow me to paint a picture. I’ve not stepped in any church (regardless of the denomination) in over a year and a half. Prior to that, however, I had attended the same congregation as my brother and his then fiancé, but only just. Mormon ministry is a lay ministry, and I had been “called” to take care of the congregation’s administrative duties, which dominated most of the 3 hour block of Sunday meetings (minus the main “sacrament meeting”, but plus an hour or two after everyone left, to count and deposit the week’s donations). So most of my Sunday was devoted to office work, not religion. But this was fine by my sis-in-law; I was at church. However, fast forward 1.5 years. I’ve moved to another part of town, stopped attending church, and pretty much rid myself of all things mormon. Well, except family. It’s important to note that only my father and one of my brothers (both out of the church as well) know the full scope of my “mormon situation.” My other brother (husband of the aforementioned) only knows that I don’t go to church; he has no idea that I’ve renounced belief in its tenets. But, being my brother and a generally accepting and loving man, he doesn’t push it. In fact, he’s only once mentioned going to church to me. However, his wife…

One evening, I had driven to their house to help him fix a computer problem. After it was fixed, we spent some time talking about funny things we’d seen online. We were enjoying each other’s company. Well, his wife (we’ll refer to her as Jenny) had been watching TV in the other room, but had apparently tired of it and walked into the office, sitting down on an upturned bucket and just stared blankly at us. We were deep in conversation when Jenny broke in with “When you move (I’ve been planning a move out of state. -ed), will you go to church?” I stared blankly at her.

“What?” (my brother and I had been discussing cars, so the comment seemed alien to me)

“I mean… do you not like church?” she questioned.

“Umm… why are you asking me this right now?”

“Well, don’t you miss going to church?”

I look at my brother with the oh, shit, here we go again look. “No.”

“Doesn’t that make you sad?”

“No. I feel fine, thanks.”

Now, obviously trying to pressure her husband into helping with her cause, she asks him, point blank, “You feel sad when you miss church, don’t you?”

The look of awkwardness and horror sweeps my brother’s face. He’s a great man and one of the most charitable people I know, but he’s never struck me as Hellfire and Brimstone, Ra-Ra-Ra type of mormon. He sort of squeaks out, “Uh… well, not sad… but I do miss seeing our friends at church if I miss a few weeks.” He looks at me. “I don’t feel sad when I miss elders quorum, though.” We both chuckle.

Henceforth, let’s say my brother’s name is Troy. “Well I feel sad when I don’t go. Troy feels sad”—I look at my brother, and he has the oooookay… look on his face—“when he doesn’t go. Why don’t you?”

Not wanting to turn my family life upside down at this moment, I avoid explaining that since I have no belief in the tenets Joseph Smith conjured up, going to a mormon church is kind of a moot point. “I dunno… just doesn’t bother me.” I decide to turn the tables a bit, “Why does it upset you?”

“Because that’s what you’re supposed to be doing. You go to church.” She pauses. “Did someone offend you at church?”

God. Damn. You’re kidding me right? The thoughts flood my mind. I start getting a little frustrated. “No.”

Okay, not entirely accurate. Hundreds of people in the church have offended my sensibilities and perception of proper etiquette, social skills, and reason. But never once did that cause me to say “I hate the church! I want to stay away because Brother Johnson said all democrats should be barred from the temple!” (someone really did make that democrat statement in my presence once, though). And certainly, I’m thick-skinned and reasonable enough to realise the difference between someone being a massive tool at church and the actual beliefs of a church.

I started to think about Jenny’s methods and manipulation techniques. I recognised a few from my training as a mormon missionary. Her goal was not so much to understand why I was not going to church, but to instil a sense of guilt in my heart and manipulate me into going to church again. I began to look at her actions in the scope of someone whose entire belief in the church was based on the social aspects (generally, someone who is a recent convert to mormonism and the kind of person who joined because the missionaries were so nice to them). If she had acted this way toward one of these thin-skinned, timid new-entries… she’d have been the source of someone being offended and leaving.

Offence can cause people to leave the church, as with any social group, but the most infuriating part, as mentioned in the linked article, is that offence is treated as one of the only possible reasons someone would leave the church (along with “being too weak to live the commandments”, “not wanting to admit past sins”, or “wilfully wanting to sin, look at Playboy™ and drink beer!”) and yet the blame for said offence is placed squarely on the shoulders of the offended. Can we not all see how amazingly obtuse this is? It blows my mind to think that so many otherwise smart people can serious believe that the only reason any person would give up their supposed “eternal glory” was because someone was mean to them. Seriously, if I believed that something would lead me to never-ending happiness, I’d gladly take someone screaming insults in my ear all day. However, I do not subscribe to the beliefs of the mormons, for many reasons… but not a single one is because someone offended me.

Special note: This entry was written on my previous blog while I was still on my path to finding the truth about Mormonism, so therefore, I may not hold the exact same points of view as I did at the initial publication. However, I thought the following would be a good addition to the blog.

I was raised as a mormon. While I don’t intend to turn this blog into a pro/anti mormon blog, I do believe in speaking frankly about my experiences and my view points. First things first, no, I do not attend mormon services any more, nor do I give monetary donations. I have been “through the temple” and wore “the garments” for a period of time.

If you aren’t aware of what I’m talking about, I’ll briefly (and discretely) explain: when a mormon, in good standing, either goes on a mission (you know, the guys in the suits with name badges that knock on your door) or gets married, they go “through the temple” or more specifically, they go to one of over 100 LDS temples world-wide and take part in what is referred to as the endowment ceremony. You can read more about the specifics elsewhere on the web if you are so inclined. One of the major points involved in going to the temple is getting your temple garments. These garments are technically just underwear with some small symbols sewn into them. No, I lie… they are just terribly ill-fitting underwear.

So what’s the big deal about all this temple/underwear mumbo jumbo, then? Well, to inquisitive non-mormons, the whole thing seems, frankly, odd. However, to dyed in the wool mormons, going to the temple is tantamount to seeing Jesus and giving him a high five. Everything that happens in the temple is somewhat like Vegas, minus the gambling/sex/alcohol: what happens in the temple, stays in the temple. Outsiders call it secret, active mormons call it sacred. Perhaps later I’ll go into more depth about the secrecy and my own experiences with the mormon temple, but for now I’ll just go on to the almost superstitious nature of temple garments (I’ll refer to them as simply garments from now on).

Growing up in a mormon family, I knew nothing other than “grown ups wear garments.” I’d see my dad run from the bathroom to his closet in his “angel suit” fairly often, and I’d occasionally have to change loads of my parents’ laundry, so I knew exactly what they were. I also noticed how hidden they really were. As a garment wearing mormon, you’re not supposed to have any bit of the underwear showing (with maybe the minor exception of the collar of crew neck tops… those are bound to show a little bit and I recall being told that it was okay). When you washed them, you weren’t supposed to let them touch the ground. You shouldn’t leave them laying around. But really, they weren’t to be seen. Notice my own father, running the five feet from the bathroom to his closet, as though he were naked, even though he was fully covered. People wear far less to the beach, yet in his own home, my father felt as though he had to hide. Perhaps this fear of exposure translated over to my youthful experience: I always closed my blinds, slept with my door shut, damn near stepped into my (non walk-in) closet every time I changed my clothing, even with my door shut and my blinds down.

So these undergarments were hidden… so what? Well, that’s just one piece of the puzzle. You see, mormon’s believe that these holy underroos are like a bullet-proof vest: you wear them, and you are protected. If you’re out proclaiming the good word, and someone opens fire on you… you’ll be okay. Allow me to share a few morsels that I had driven into my subconscious from years of mormon youth meetings.

1. Person X was a missionary. He was mugged and it went wrong. The mugger shot him. Somehow, miraculously, the bullet skimmed past his body, tearing a hole through his dress shirt… but not his temple garments.
2. Person Y was on a boating trip. The boat caught fire, and person Y was burned horribly on his arms, legs and face… but not on the area that his garments covered.
3. Person Z (and this one was always a little bit disconcerting) was in a crash. When they pulled his body out, all that was left was the areas that were covered by his garments.

Okay, hopefully you can see what I’m saying here… but these sort of crazy ideas have been expounded from the pulpits of mormon churches for years. It’s no wonder why we keep seeing mormon missionaries getting injured or killed: they’re fresh from the temple and think they’re superman. Well, plus, sending young, largely white, americans into third world countries, wearing suits that cost more than most people make in a year… you’re bound to get a high quota of muggings and attacks.

I guess the main significance behind these underwear is that (and I’m not making this up, I swear) wearing god’s underwear is a sign of the promises you made to god the church when you went through the temple. Thus, for example, when I decided to stop wearing them, to mormons, I was giving the finger to god. I find this highly disturbing, not because I agree with that sentiment, but because I can see how people, especially excommunicated members, could feel so socially pressured and guilty, that they’d be thrown into depression and sometimes suicide, after removing the garments. The world is over… everyone they’ve ever loved hates them and believes that they’ve entered into a pact with the devil. Or so they are lead to believe.

Why did I take them off? Firstly, I found it completely illogical to continue to wear special clothing that signified a connection with a group I no longer wished to be affilliated with, and secondly… they’re really not all that pleasent to wear, and they certainly aren’t flattering. Seriously, all religious animosity aside, why couldn’t they make a proper set of boxers that had the proper markings, etc? I guess it’s kind of like the spiked cilice belt that albino wears in The DaVinci Code… pain and discomfort remind you of the promises you made.

Hallelujah for Calvin Klein.