I have found it important to set down a brief summary of my spiritual journey up to this point. I had considered doing so at times previously but had always found the task of distilling so many nuances into a sort space overwhelming. This time, because of changes in my life, I felt the need to write for my own edification. I settled on a few key themes that I could describe sufficiently clearly without going into crushing detail. I wrote this mostly for myself, secondly for my wife, and thirdly for my kids. I have decided to share it with others in case they find it useful or interesting. In spite of my efforts for brevity, this document still stretched to twelve printed pages. If some day I were to write a more complete version it would surely take reams.
As the sun descended towards the hills, the villagers prepared to accept the transition. The children playing in the square and in the streets willed the sun to halt in its progression, that their playtime might be extended. Those still stuck with chores rushed to complete them before darkness settled over the land. Some scurried to and from the well, carrying buckets first light and then laden down, taking water their mothers needed for preparing dinner. The craftsmen and merchants laid down their tools and straightened their wares as others completed their final purchases, obtaining the last items needed for the evening meal or to keep the darkness at bay. Out in the fields, the men and older sons left their labors and began their journeys in to the meals that would await them.
Journeying along the road into the village, they greeted their friends coming off their fields. On the way, they came upon an old woman likewise making her way towards the village. She moved slowly yet deliberately. Her grey clothes hung loosely. Patches dotted them haphazardly. At one time her clothing may have been brightly colored but now the dust of many journeys covered them. A stranger to the parts, no one greeted her and few even noticed her. Instead they stepped quickly around and continued on.
By the time the old woman approached the village the road was otherwise empty. All of the villagers had made their way around her, arriving at their homes. Entering the village, she stopped and knocked at the first door. It was opened by a young girl who stared into the woman’s face. The girl’s gaze quickly turned away as she examined the woman’s tattered clothes.
From inside the house, a woman’s voice called, “Who’s there, dear?”
The girl didn’t answer, but continued staring. Footsteps could be heard approaching the door and her mother appeared behind her. The wanderer spoke, “Could you share a morsel with a weary traveler?”
The mother pulled her child inside, stated “We’ve nothing for you here”, and closed the door.
At the next house, the door was opened to the old woman’s knock by a small boy. Upon seeing the visitor, he turned and ran back into the depths of the house. An older girl, his sister came to the door. After the old woman repeated her request, a voice from within called, “Take her this and send her on her way.”
The boy reappeared, handing something to his sister. She pressed a stale crust of bread into the woman’s hand and closed the door.
She made her way into the village, obtaining a scrap here, a morsel there, and nothing at the next. No one invited her in. No one asked her to linger. As she reached the village square, the last of the children were hurried inside. Reaching the well, she drew herself water. She sank to the ground, propping herself against the well. Pulling her clothes about her as best she could, she began eating what she had gathered.
Back on the road, another traveler approached the village. He moved swiftly carried by his fleet mount. He held himself tall and proud. His clothes were carefully wrought with bright colors and exquisite patterns. His fine, long cloak flowed down around his horse, keeping the chill evening air from him.
Arriving in the village, he alighted nimbly and knocked upon the door. As it opened, a gleam from inside fell upon him, lightly illuminating his features. The occupants excitedly beckoned him in.
Soon the door opened again, light spilling once more from the doorway onto the street. The girl emerged carrying two buckets and made her way to the well. Carefully avoiding the old woman, she filled the buckets for the visitor to cleanse himself. Again the door opened and a man emerged. He went quickly to his neighbor’s house, inviting them to come and welcome the traveler. As the evening progressed more doors opened. People spilled out bearing with them drink and food to share. Soon the festivities outgrew the first village house and flowed into the street and then into the square. Doors opened, and were left, the lights within brightening the street.
A fire was lit in the square, dispelling the darkness from its reach, flickering shadows beyond. The villagers brought their food and drink and shared freely. Someone struck up a tune; others danced.
Their guest was presented with the finest food and the smoothest drink. Everyone wanted to hear from him, hanging on every word.
Seeking a rest, he settled upon the far side of the well, obscured in the darkness. There he discovered the old woman. Looking up at him, the shadows dancing across his face, she asked him, “Sir, who are you that you are warmly welcomed in this village? Are you a favorite son returning home?”
“No”, he responded, “I’ve not been here before”.
“Well then, surely you must be a great, beloved prince journeying amongst his subjects?”
“No. I hold no lofty position or title.”
“Then, sir”, she persisted, “perhaps you are a mighty hero or warrior welcomed for having freed the people from some danger.”
“No”, he replied. “I am none of these things, though I tell of each one. I relate the mighty deeds of the hero, vanquishing enemies. I tell of the mercies of the noble prince and the horrors visited upon the people by the tyrant. I spread the news of the dear wanderer that has returned.”
“Sir, what is your name?”
“I am Story”, he answered and, turning to her, inquired, “And what is your name, my fellow traveler?”
“I am Truth”, she stated. “Everyone rejoices at your coming, but turns me away.”
Rested, Story arose. Beckoning to Truth, he called, “Come, join the festivities, eat and dine with us.”
Truth turned her head and replied, “No, I would spoil your party. I will remain here alone”.
“That won’t do”, Story responded. Pausing to thoughtfully consider, he suggested, “My cloak is large enough for both of us. Come and I shall wrap it around us both. Then we can both share in the festivities.”
Acquiescing, she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. With a deft twirl of his cloak, he artfully covered them both.
On a cool evening if you are lucky, you may hear a knock at your door. Upon opening it, you may discover Story standing there. Invite him in and share what you have with him, as he will do likewise with you. However, be aware that Story and Truth became travel partners. If you look carefully, you may glimpse Truth peeking out from inside the folds of Story’s cloak.
I would like to share my spiritual journey through my life. It starts when I was young and has continued via many twists and turns to where I am today. From here it will continue down new paths, currently hidden from me in the mists.
A full account of this journey would require explanations of many pathways and individual steps. Even a moderate account would be long and then it would run the risk of omitting important details. Instead, I find myself impelled to describe a few themes or transitions. As brevity has never been a trait of mine, even this abbreviated account stretches on. One idea leads to another, each of which I wish to share.
Whole swathes of the journey must be ignored. Numerous facts need to be excluded. As such, this account becomes a story of some sort. Perhaps within it, some truth lies hidden. Of that you may judge, if you desire, or you may simply enjoy this journey.
This is the section wherein I am supposed to recount the various things my parents taught me as a child. However, I do not know how to distinguish what my parents taught me from I picked up on my own or from other sources. Instead, I shall endeavor to describe the spiritual outlook of my youth.
I grew up in suburban Utah as a member of a devout, committed Mormon family. On both my parents’ sides, church membership extends back many generations to the early days of the church. In my extended family, though, there are some that adhere to the church and some that do not.
I grew up with the church all around me. It was all that I knew. In high school I had some non-Mormon friends but the church still dominated everything.
I enjoyed the youth activities and all of the opportunities I had. It felt exciting to be part of a vibrant, growing organization. The church gave me my framework from which I understood life and my place in it. I felt confident that the church had the answers and that there was much depth and richness in it to explore.
I never had a singularly defining moment at which I knew the church was true. At one point I decided I needed to inquire of the Lord regarding the truthfulness of something. I received the impression “Why do you ask about that which you already know?”
I felt confident that I had faith. I maintained that I had a testimony (whatever exactly that might be) and I bore it at times, particularly on my mission. I firmly believed that God would guide me and that he had a specific path laid out for me to follow.
I grew up with a strong literalist worldview. If something was described in the Bible or other scriptures then it was and had to be literally true. For example, a literalist view of Noah maintains that there was a worldwide flood and that Noah saved all existing animals on the ark. Any physical, scientific, or other evidence that conflicts must therefore be incorrect. A literalist recognizes symbolic meanings, but these are subsumed beneath the literal.
I was also firmly grounded in a black-and-white (binary) worldview. Little children are prime examples of this (at least in our Western society). I have observed extreme black-and-white thinking in all four of my children during their preschool to early school years. During this time, when they watch a movie or hear a story, the first thing they want to know is who are the bad guys and who are the good guys. Once that is established, then they can settle down to enjoy it. As they mature, particularly as their cognitive capacity develops, their worldview begins to admit more shades of gray. A black-and-white worldview serves an LDS missionary well; indeed such an approach is fostered by the mission structure and environment. If one is devoting great energy to converting others to one’s beliefs, it helps to have a single-minded assurance of the superiority of one’s beliefs.
People find the birth of their first child to be a singularly transforming event. This marks a huge transition in their lives in many ways. Expectant parents fail to understand just how much this new little being will transform their lives.
I had developed a firm belief in priesthood power. I was confident that God would speak to me and give me definite answers and guidance. This feeling was magnified where my family was concerned.
My wife, Bonnie, and I were very excited about the upcoming arrival. We had delayed children a couple of years after our marriage. We felt the time was right. I had a spiritual experience that confirmed that to me. I felt deep responsibility and concern about my wife through this experience and about our baby.
These days it is very common, perhaps even customary, for parents-to-be to know their baby’s sex before birth. At that time it was less common, though not unusual. We didn’t have an opportunity to find out. However, Bonnie and I were both convinced our baby was a boy.
The due date arrived. Still no baby. Bonnie awoke one morning and discovered that the shape of her belly was noticeably different. At the doctor’s appointment that morning, he examined her and determined that the baby was in the breech position. He scheduled an appointment at the hospital the next day so as to try turning the baby to the correct position.
At home that afternoon, I gave Bonnie a priesthood blessing. I was strongly impressed to promise her, or bless her, that everything would turn out fine. I felt the Spirit assure me that everything would be normal and healthy.
That night Bonnie went into labor. At the hospital, the doctor informed us that he wouldn’t know how to deliver a breech baby vaginally and that a Caesarean section would be necessary. Bonnie was prepped for surgery. I suited up and was seated beside her operating table, near her head. I was in shock from the turn of events. Bonnie was numb all over, from the drugs, from the labor and from the unfolding events.
The doctors operated skillfully. Soon they extracted our baby from the womb and pronounced, “It’s a girl!” In dumbfounded amazement, we both thought we must have misheard.
Thus was Melissa born into the world. We have been very glad to have her in our family. We were not disappointed that she was a girl, just somewhat surprised, given what we had thought we had known.
Recovery from a Caesarean section takes longer than from a normal, vaginal delivery. Bonnie was bed-ridden for several days. It was weeks till she was fully up and around. For me, the emotional recovery from the series of events took much longer.
I was very excited to have our new little daughter. She came with a definite personality. However, I felt that her birth was accompanied by a symbolic death. I felt that my faith had died. The events of Melissa’s birth were contrary to the blessing I had been inspired to give.
From a place or time far removed from those events, it is easy to look at them and say that they did occur according to the blessing. Melissa has been healthy and has grown well. Bonnie went on to deliver three more children vaginally. However, this approach minimizes or flat-out denies the power of what happened. The Spirit’s whisperings to me were not some vague assurance that at sometime in the future everything would be fine. The understanding I was given was that everything would be fine in the specific time of the delivery.
In the time since Melissa’s birth, Bonnie and I have had many conversations to make sense of it. We tried various ways of explaining it away. Each time, we were unable to resolve that the Spirit’s whisperings and the actual events were contradictory.
We reasoned that perhaps this were a test, given from God. Following this reasoning would lead us to conclude that when God spoke to me during that blessing, he lied. If he lied then, at what other times has he also lied? Would it be possible to have faith in an untrustworthy god?
Alternatively, we reasoned that God had been speaking in the long-term. He meant that in the grand scheme of things everything would be fine. If so, then he had spoken in such a way that I could readily misunderstand. If I could so easily misunderstand this that I had understood so clearly and strongly, what other things more vague had I misunderstood? Finally, if he had meant the long-term, then God must be fully satisfied with where I am now. That experience set me upon a path, combined with various other experiences, that has led me to where I am now.
As the years have passed, I have developed other ideas about what happened back then and what it meant. These explanations no longer stem from a literalist, black-and-white viewpoint. They are complex and varied.
One form of stories that people relate to each other is legends. Legends come in many shapes and sizes and from many places. There is the legend of Paul Bunyan and his blue ox, Babe. There are Pecos Bill and the Legend of Sleepy Hollow. There is George Washington cutting down the cherry tree.
As moderns, living in the latter part of the 20th century and into the new millennium, we have developed the impression that legends are a thing of the past. Legends are something our great-grandfathers shared around the campfire. Egotistically, we consider ourselves wiser and more sophisticated than our forebears. We have TV.
In the 1970’s, several researchers began studying modern legends and their transmission. In contrast to the rural lives of our ancestors, these modern legends became known as “urban legends” (ULs). In their studies, these researchers learned that urban legends share many similarities with their previous counterparts. Some ULs are merely modern adaptations of earlier legends. Indeed, once stripped of their external aspects, their clothing, urban legends are no different from older legends. Human nature has not really changed much.
In the early 1990’s, the term and concept of urban legends had not yet fully reached the public consciousness. (I don’t know how widespread it is even today, however in the late 1990’s there was a Hollywood movie of the name and many people seem familiar with the concept.) Jan Harold Brunvand, a professor at the University of Utah, had collected urban legends for years. In the 1980’s, he published many of these legends in a series of enjoyable books. These were provocatively titled after names he gave to some of the ULs, such as The Vanishing Hitchhiker and The Choking Doberman. These books led urban legends out of the alleyway and into the light.
I ran across Brunvand’s books and found them a delightful read. I encountered tales I had heard before, told around the campfire at Scouts, passed from missionary to missionary, or shared in many other settings. It was fascinating to read of stories I had been assured were true and see how they had morphed as they passed from person to person.
At that time, the internet was still largely unknown also. It was available only at select research institutions, including universities, military laboratories, and other U.S. governmental entities. A few other geeks had managed to find their way on. (Coincidentally, the University of Utah again figures into the early days of this, being one of the eight original internet sites in the 1960’s.) I first got on the internet while working at MITRE (a quasi-governmental research agency in Washington, D.C.) during the summer of 1988. When I returned to BYU, the university had just obtained an internet feed from the University of Utah. After graduation, I worked for a navy research lab that had long been on the net.
In those days, USENET was the big “place” for community discussions. Even then there were thousands of discussion groups. One of these, which I started regularly following, was alt.folklore.urban (AFU), for the discussion of urban legends. A frequent abbreviation there was FOAF, standing for “friend of a friend”. Someone would relate a real, true, honest-to-goodness account and aver that it really happened to a friend of their friend. Or they might claim it had happened to their friend, but when they went back to the friend to confirm it, the friend would respond that it hadn’t really happened to themselves but one of their friends. I learned to recognize the lead-in, “This really happened to a friend of my friend”, as a definitive marker that I was about to hear an urban legend.
The folks at alt.folklore.urban were investigating legends and checking their veracity, accumulating a Frequently Asked Questions list. One of the most adept at researching legends was a fellow known as “snopes”, or David Mikkelson. Nowadays, when people want to check the veracity of a legend they’ve just heard, their first thought is to check what the Mikkelson’s have to say about it on snopes.com.
A legend is not necessarily false. Brunvand established this in one of his seminal books. He related one legend he had heard about a mathematics student who arrived late to class one day. The student discovered four problems written down on the board. Assuming they were homework, he copied them down and set to work. Later in the week he consulted with the professor. The student informed the professor that he had solved one of the problems, but try as he might, he could not solve the other three. The professor, amazed, told him that he had written those problems on the board as examples of unsolved problems and that the student had solved one of these problems that had long perplexed mathematicians. Brunvand traced this legend back to its beginning and discovered that a variation of it really did happen to the accomplished mathematician George Dantzig, when he was a student. Brunvand still considered this an urban legend because of the way it passed from person to person and morphed in the telling.
Similarly, sometimes definite legends have real instances. Douglas Adams, author of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to Galaxy and other works, related how he once accosted a stranger, accused him of stealing his wallet, stuffed the wallet in his pocket, and, upon returning home, discovered he had left his own wallet lying on his dresser. Later it was pointed out to Adams that this was a well-known urban legend and could not possibly have happened. He accepted that it was an urban legend but solemnly affirmed that it had indeed happened to him.
Brunvand pointed out that the veracity of a legend is tangential to whether it is a legend. Some legends have a basis in fact. Others, like the prelude to this work, present a story with some element of truth hidden within. This truth may not be obvious, perhaps it may be well cloaked, but it is the reason why we share these stories one with another.
When my faith died, I presumed it must be some temporary setback. I saw others with faith and wondered how it worked for them. The things I had learned at church, I just accepted. Undoubtedly they must be true. As I became more familiar with urban legends, I began to see how many of the things I had been taught at church shared similar natures.
I discovered that much of church history, as shared at church, is legendary. The stories have been passed from person to person or time to time. They have morphed from their original form. At some point they have gotten institutionalized into their present form. But even still, those continue to change.
As a simple example, Primary children learn how the seagulls saved the pioneers’ crops the first summer they were in the Salt Lake valley. A statue at Temple Square commemorates the Miracle of the Seagulls. However, a careful examination of the historical record reveals a somewhat different account. No record from the original time contains the miracle of the seagulls. It was not until at least a decade later that some mention can be found, and then it spreads in legendary form. In short, the seagulls may have been doing what seagulls do, but their contribution was not significant.
This is but one example among many. Others include Joseph Smith’s different, contradictory accounts of his first vision, the transfiguration of Brigham Young after Joseph’s death, the reasons for, practice of, and termination of polygamy, and the institution of the Word of Wisdom.
Not only is church history legendary, but also church doctrine is. As I studied, I learned how doctrine rose in legendary form, passed from one person to another until it became accepted and established. When I was asked to give a talk on testimony, I carefully researched the topic in the scriptures and the words of church leaders. It was fascinating to discover that “testimony” is barely mentioned in the scriptures and when used it has little relevance to the way it is used in the church today. Its rise in prominence can be traced primarily to Bruce R. McConkie, whom a fellow member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles once described as “always certain, but not always correct”, and to his father-in-law before him. In contrast, the scriptures emphasize faith. The things that we are certain we know have been passed to us in legendary form rather than from unequivocal revelation of God.
This does not imply that the history or the doctrines of the church are false. Rather, as in the prelude, these stories carry truth wrapped within them. However, instead of proving the simple ideas that the approved stories carry, the more complete accounts reveal a richer, more complex, fascinating array of truth and ideas. I find the ideas and questions raised by these faceted views much more enriching than the simplistic answers. For example, the real Joseph Smith is far more fascinating, far more human, than the cardboard cutout promulgated at church.
Learning about urban legends showed me how difficult it is to dissuade someone from what they know to be true. Even if it is demonstrably false. On alt.folkore.urban, we would repeatedly have someone show up and proclaim that something listed as an urban legend with no factual basis really had happened to his friend. The regulars in the community would suggest he check back with the friend to verify. The few that would bother would storm back in a huff saying, “Well, it didn’t happen to my friend, but it really did happen to his friend”. In real life, when someone would tell me an urban legend, I would try to tell them about its legendary nature. Once in a copy shop in San Diego, I encountered a woman photocopying fliers (in the days before email was widespread to accomplish the job for her) trying to solicit business cards for the dying boy, Craig Shergold. I tried to suggest that she research it because it was an urban legend and he really didn’t want any business cards. (In fact it had been get-well cards, but that had been cancelled years previously, Shergold had fully recovered, and the Atlanta Make-A-Wish Foundation wasted substantial money dealing with these misguided efforts.) The woman’s response was that the City Council was supporting the effort and so it had to be true. Eventually, I learned it often wasn’t worth the effort to dissuade people of their erroneous beliefs. It had much the same results as teaching a pig to sing. All it accomplished was to make a fool out of you and to annoy the pig.
As time progressed, I came to the same conclusions with regards to religious belief. I enjoy trying to tweak people to think more widely or reconsider something. However, if the tweak doesn’t catch their attention, I don’t have much interest in dissuading them. My days of being a missionary, converting others to my beliefs, are past.
In modern, Western society “myth” and “mythology” share a similar degree of respectability to “legend”. We generally consider “myth” as something which is factually incorrect, as in “10 myths about …”. Mythology we egotistically view as the quaint, unlearned religions of ancient cultures.
In the 1900’s, Joseph Campbell brought forth some new ideas that serve to rehabilitate the reputation of myth and mythology. Much like Brunvand did with legends, Campbell explained that myths and mythologies did not die with our forefathers but continue in our own lives. Myths, in the Campbell sense, are the stories that we tell each other and which appeal to us because of the truths they carry. In the prelude, we could’ve named the dashing visitor “Myth” instead of “Story”. Then we would capture Campbell’s sense of myth. In this fashion, mythology is simply the myths and mythic elements by which we individually or as a people order our lives.
Myths are the foundation for our sense of who we are as a people. We tell the story of George Washington chopping down the cherry tree even though the event was fabricated from whole cloth. We share this to confirm our awe and reverence for those that founded our country. The doctrine of Manifest Destiny, which fueled the westward expansion of America, is mythic. We enjoy tales of Americans against the Nazis, the Soviets, or the terrorists because of the mythic response it stirs in us.
Myths underlie the stories to which our soul responds. Whether the story comes from Hollywood, in the pages of a book, or shared by someone, its mythic elements catch our attention. J.R.R. Tolkien took some old myths, combined them in a new way, added some new things, and produced The Lord of the Rings, a mythic adventure of simple, unpretentious, good folk overcoming powerful evil. Campbell spoke of the mythic force of Star Wars. It tells a story of man, or humanity, against machine or machine-like efficiency. A myth is powerful because it speaks to concerns of the day. The man against machine motif brings power to The Matrix, many of Isaac Asimov’s stories, and numerous other science fiction.
The authorized stories of the LDS church are very mythic. The story of Joseph Smith’s First Vision is myth writ large. Here we have a human, who, when faced with a dilemma, inquires of God and receives a personal affirmation that God is interested in him. Personally, I find this more compelling with the real Joseph, imperfect as he was, than with the superman depicted by the church. The former assures me that I, imperfect as I am, can also touch the Divine.
The Book of Mormon is mythic from beginning to end. The story of “The Coming Forth of the Book of Mormon” is very mythic. The depictions of the people in the book are archetypal, from the never faltering Nephi and always troublesome Laman and Lemuel through the resolute Captain Moroni, to the weariless Moroni. The clash of civilizations, their rise and ultimate destruction, contain many mythic elements.
Campbell points out that labeling something as mythic says nothing about its factualness. As with legends, myths may have a factual basis. Generally, though, the facts are overwhelmed by the myth. This is not to say that myths are false by any means. Myths may more readily carry deeper truth than facts ever could.
The Western world has become obsessive about facts and literalness. In some ways this has served us well. We have benefited from scientific advances. We have discarded outmoded, restrictive practices. However, in some ways we have tried too hard to discard myths. Some of the Eastern peoples and philosophies are more accepting of myths. They are more likely to accept them as they are without insisting on their literal factualness.
The LDS church lives in the Western world trying to insist upon a literal interpretation of its myths. Members and leaders alike recoil at any mythic interpretation. They allow only the official view of its history and doctrine. They demand that stories have a particular meaning, refusing to allow any alternatives.
The mythic nature of LDS doctrine is amply reflected in the concept of eternal families. Death is the great mystery that has faced humankind throughout the ages. People have long sought to make sense of this sleep from which none awakens. Never do we confront this spectre more forcefully that when faced with the death of a loved one. Common within many (Western) religions is the idea that we continue to exist after death. Often people expect to share this existence with their family or other loved ones they’ve known in this mortal sphere. This belief has given solace to millions around the world.
The doctrine of eternal families is a key feature of the LDS church. This teaches that families can be together in the next world. If all of them are baptized members of the LDS church and follow the commandments, then it is really quite simple; they can be an eternal family. Except, they also must receive their temple ordinances and be married in the temple. And they must keep all of the commandments unwaveringly, enduring to the end. They must attend church loyally and do whatever is asked of them. What if someone dies without the necessary saving ordinances? Church members will perform the ordinances for them in their behalf. In seeking after order and certainty, the LDS church has codified the concept of eternal families.
This doctrine has comforted many church members. When a family member dies, they take great solace in knowing that they may be with them again someday. This helps them through the grief of their loss.
However, this doctrine has also been a source of great grief. When a family member doesn’t do all the things that they feel are necessary for salvation, then the person feels grief that they will not share eternity with their family member. All too often, this results in the believing person pressuring the “wayward” one to do what they want them to. This may result in rude behavior, driving the disbeliever away. Additionally, there are many in the church who, in the quest for eternal families, will ignore or mistreat their family members during this life.
Looked at from a mythic perspective, we can consider that perhaps there is a great truth cloaked within the codified LDS story. What if the LDS ordinances and observances are not prescriptive but instead are descriptive? That is to say, perhaps the LDS rituals serve not to prescribe (or cause) what shalt be, but to describe what is. I firmly believe that if we do exist beyond the grave, that we will be able to share that existence with our loved ones. This does not occur because LDS ordinances have been performed. It occurs because it is. The ordinances serve to point us towards what is. When we consider the ordinances otherwise, then we miss the mark.
As my tale draws to a close for now, where does it leave me? To find the answer to that, we must return to the beginning. Pages ago, when I started describing this journey I related my worldview at that earlier time. I stated that I held a very black-and-white, literalist viewpoint. This approach would serve me well within the confines of the LDS church.
As my story has unfolded, my worldview has changed dramatically. I have considered the legendary aspects of church doctrine and history. I have discovered a church history that varies dramatically from the official story, but is also much richer. I have re-imagined many of the things I formerly thought I knew and teased out mythic meanings.
I have discovered that these approaches are not welcome or appreciated within the LDS church. An apostle recently stated that there are those who might dig up negative things that Joseph Smith said or did and that those people that do so will be punished. Not long ago, the church president stated that either Joseph Smith was a prophet who translated The Book of Mormon or else it is all false. Personally, I find the question much deeper and more involved than that. However, under such pronouncements, where does one who considers The Book of Mormon mythic yet nonhistorical find a place in the church? I perceive that the majority of active church members seem to find comfort in the literalist, black-and-white view. As such, I have no desire of ripping from them that which they see in order that I might obtain that which I seek.
I find no place within the church for the approaches to which I have been guided. When attending LDS meetings, rather than feeling uplifted, I feel confined. I feel constrained to fit into a predetermined mold into which I can no longer fit.
I find that I must continue my journey outside the confines of the LDS church. Yet another transition, which I am sure is not the last.
For now, this concludes this portion of my story. Long it has been, yet it is but a condensed telling, abbreviated from many other things. It represents truth as I have seen it, but I know not whether you have glimpsed any truth cloaked within or have just been along for the ride.
Stages of Faith in Mormonism 
Transitions
I have found it important to set down a brief summary of my spiritual journey up to this point. I had considered doing so at times previously but had always found the task of distilling so many nuances into a sort space overwhelming. This time, because of changes in my life, I felt the need to write for my own edification. I settled on a few key themes that I could describe sufficiently clearly without going into crushing detail. I wrote this mostly for myself, secondly for my wife, and thirdly for my kids. I have decided to share it with others in case they find it useful or interesting. In spite of my efforts for brevity, this document still stretched to twelve printed pages. If some day I were to write a more complete version it would surely take reams.
Prelude
Introduction
In the beginning
Birth and death
Urban legends abound
Myth-conceptions
The confines of the LDS church
Prelude
As the sun descended towards the hills, the villagers prepared to accept the transition. The children playing in the square and in the streets willed the sun to halt in its progression, that their playtime might be extended. Those still stuck with chores rushed to complete them before darkness settled over the land. Some scurried to and from the well, carrying buckets first light and then laden down, taking water their mothers needed for preparing dinner. The craftsmen and merchants laid down their tools and straightened their wares as others completed their final purchases, obtaining the last items needed for the evening meal or to keep the darkness at bay. Out in the fields, the men and older sons left their labors and began their journeys in to the meals that would await them.
Journeying along the road into the village, they greeted their friends coming off their fields. On the way, they came upon an old woman likewise making her way towards the village. She moved slowly yet deliberately. Her grey clothes hung loosely. Patches dotted them haphazardly. At one time her clothing may have been brightly colored but now the dust of many journeys covered them. A stranger to the parts, no one greeted her and few even noticed her. Instead they stepped quickly around and continued on.
By the time the old woman approached the village the road was otherwise empty. All of the villagers had made their way around her, arriving at their homes. Entering the village, she stopped and knocked at the first door. It was opened by a young girl who stared into the woman’s face. The girl’s gaze quickly turned away as she examined the woman’s tattered clothes.
From inside the house, a woman’s voice called, “Who’s there, dear?”
The girl didn’t answer, but continued staring. Footsteps could be heard approaching the door and her mother appeared behind her. The wanderer spoke, “Could you share a morsel with a weary traveler?”
The mother pulled her child inside, stated “We’ve nothing for you here”, and closed the door.
At the next house, the door was opened to the old woman’s knock by a small boy. Upon seeing the visitor, he turned and ran back into the depths of the house. An older girl, his sister came to the door. After the old woman repeated her request, a voice from within called, “Take her this and send her on her way.”
The boy reappeared, handing something to his sister. She pressed a stale crust of bread into the woman’s hand and closed the door.
She made her way into the village, obtaining a scrap here, a morsel there, and nothing at the next. No one invited her in. No one asked her to linger. As she reached the village square, the last of the children were hurried inside. Reaching the well, she drew herself water. She sank to the ground, propping herself against the well. Pulling her clothes about her as best she could, she began eating what she had gathered.
Back on the road, another traveler approached the village. He moved swiftly carried by his fleet mount. He held himself tall and proud. His clothes were carefully wrought with bright colors and exquisite patterns. His fine, long cloak flowed down around his horse, keeping the chill evening air from him.
Arriving in the village, he alighted nimbly and knocked upon the door. As it opened, a gleam from inside fell upon him, lightly illuminating his features. The occupants excitedly beckoned him in.
Soon the door opened again, light spilling once more from the doorway onto the street. The girl emerged carrying two buckets and made her way to the well. Carefully avoiding the old woman, she filled the buckets for the visitor to cleanse himself. Again the door opened and a man emerged. He went quickly to his neighbor’s house, inviting them to come and welcome the traveler. As the evening progressed more doors opened. People spilled out bearing with them drink and food to share. Soon the festivities outgrew the first village house and flowed into the street and then into the square. Doors opened, and were left, the lights within brightening the street.
A fire was lit in the square, dispelling the darkness from its reach, flickering shadows beyond. The villagers brought their food and drink and shared freely. Someone struck up a tune; others danced.
Their guest was presented with the finest food and the smoothest drink. Everyone wanted to hear from him, hanging on every word.
Seeking a rest, he settled upon the far side of the well, obscured in the darkness. There he discovered the old woman. Looking up at him, the shadows dancing across his face, she asked him, “Sir, who are you that you are warmly welcomed in this village? Are you a favorite son returning home?”
“No”, he responded, “I’ve not been here before”.
“Well then, surely you must be a great, beloved prince journeying amongst his subjects?”
“No. I hold no lofty position or title.”
“Then, sir”, she persisted, “perhaps you are a mighty hero or warrior welcomed for having freed the people from some danger.”
“No”, he replied. “I am none of these things, though I tell of each one. I relate the mighty deeds of the hero, vanquishing enemies. I tell of the mercies of the noble prince and the horrors visited upon the people by the tyrant. I spread the news of the dear wanderer that has returned.”
“Sir, what is your name?”
“I am Story”, he answered and, turning to her, inquired, “And what is your name, my fellow traveler?”
“I am Truth”, she stated. “Everyone rejoices at your coming, but turns me away.”
Rested, Story arose. Beckoning to Truth, he called, “Come, join the festivities, eat and dine with us.”
Truth turned her head and replied, “No, I would spoil your party. I will remain here alone”.
“That won’t do”, Story responded. Pausing to thoughtfully consider, he suggested, “My cloak is large enough for both of us. Come and I shall wrap it around us both. Then we can both share in the festivities.”
Acquiescing, she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. With a deft twirl of his cloak, he artfully covered them both.
On a cool evening if you are lucky, you may hear a knock at your door. Upon opening it, you may discover Story standing there. Invite him in and share what you have with him, as he will do likewise with you. However, be aware that Story and Truth became travel partners. If you look carefully, you may glimpse Truth peeking out from inside the folds of Story’s cloak.
Introduction
I would like to share my spiritual journey through my life. It starts when I was young and has continued via many twists and turns to where I am today. From here it will continue down new paths, currently hidden from me in the mists.
A full account of this journey would require explanations of many pathways and individual steps. Even a moderate account would be long and then it would run the risk of omitting important details. Instead, I find myself impelled to describe a few themes or transitions. As brevity has never been a trait of mine, even this abbreviated account stretches on. One idea leads to another, each of which I wish to share.
Whole swathes of the journey must be ignored. Numerous facts need to be excluded. As such, this account becomes a story of some sort. Perhaps within it, some truth lies hidden. Of that you may judge, if you desire, or you may simply enjoy this journey.
In the beginning
This is the section wherein I am supposed to recount the various things my parents taught me as a child. However, I do not know how to distinguish what my parents taught me from I picked up on my own or from other sources. Instead, I shall endeavor to describe the spiritual outlook of my youth.
I grew up in suburban Utah as a member of a devout, committed Mormon family. On both my parents’ sides, church membership extends back many generations to the early days of the church. In my extended family, though, there are some that adhere to the church and some that do not.
I grew up with the church all around me. It was all that I knew. In high school I had some non-Mormon friends but the church still dominated everything.
I enjoyed the youth activities and all of the opportunities I had. It felt exciting to be part of a vibrant, growing organization. The church gave me my framework from which I understood life and my place in it. I felt confident that the church had the answers and that there was much depth and richness in it to explore.
I never had a singularly defining moment at which I knew the church was true. At one point I decided I needed to inquire of the Lord regarding the truthfulness of something. I received the impression “Why do you ask about that which you already know?”
I felt confident that I had faith. I maintained that I had a testimony (whatever exactly that might be) and I bore it at times, particularly on my mission. I firmly believed that God would guide me and that he had a specific path laid out for me to follow.
I grew up with a strong literalist worldview. If something was described in the Bible or other scriptures then it was and had to be literally true. For example, a literalist view of Noah maintains that there was a worldwide flood and that Noah saved all existing animals on the ark. Any physical, scientific, or other evidence that conflicts must therefore be incorrect. A literalist recognizes symbolic meanings, but these are subsumed beneath the literal.
I was also firmly grounded in a black-and-white (binary) worldview. Little children are prime examples of this (at least in our Western society). I have observed extreme black-and-white thinking in all four of my children during their preschool to early school years. During this time, when they watch a movie or hear a story, the first thing they want to know is who are the bad guys and who are the good guys. Once that is established, then they can settle down to enjoy it. As they mature, particularly as their cognitive capacity develops, their worldview begins to admit more shades of gray. A black-and-white worldview serves an LDS missionary well; indeed such an approach is fostered by the mission structure and environment. If one is devoting great energy to converting others to one’s beliefs, it helps to have a single-minded assurance of the superiority of one’s beliefs.
Birth and death
People find the birth of their first child to be a singularly transforming event. This marks a huge transition in their lives in many ways. Expectant parents fail to understand just how much this new little being will transform their lives.
I had developed a firm belief in priesthood power. I was confident that God would speak to me and give me definite answers and guidance. This feeling was magnified where my family was concerned.
My wife, Bonnie, and I were very excited about the upcoming arrival. We had delayed children a couple of years after our marriage. We felt the time was right. I had a spiritual experience that confirmed that to me. I felt deep responsibility and concern about my wife through this experience and about our baby.
These days it is very common, perhaps even customary, for parents-to-be to know their baby’s sex before birth. At that time it was less common, though not unusual. We didn’t have an opportunity to find out. However, Bonnie and I were both convinced our baby was a boy.
The due date arrived. Still no baby. Bonnie awoke one morning and discovered that the shape of her belly was noticeably different. At the doctor’s appointment that morning, he examined her and determined that the baby was in the breech position. He scheduled an appointment at the hospital the next day so as to try turning the baby to the correct position.
At home that afternoon, I gave Bonnie a priesthood blessing. I was strongly impressed to promise her, or bless her, that everything would turn out fine. I felt the Spirit assure me that everything would be normal and healthy.
That night Bonnie went into labor. At the hospital, the doctor informed us that he wouldn’t know how to deliver a breech baby vaginally and that a Caesarean section would be necessary. Bonnie was prepped for surgery. I suited up and was seated beside her operating table, near her head. I was in shock from the turn of events. Bonnie was numb all over, from the drugs, from the labor and from the unfolding events.
The doctors operated skillfully. Soon they extracted our baby from the womb and pronounced, “It’s a girl!” In dumbfounded amazement, we both thought we must have misheard.
Thus was Melissa born into the world. We have been very glad to have her in our family. We were not disappointed that she was a girl, just somewhat surprised, given what we had thought we had known.
Recovery from a Caesarean section takes longer than from a normal, vaginal delivery. Bonnie was bed-ridden for several days. It was weeks till she was fully up and around. For me, the emotional recovery from the series of events took much longer.
I was very excited to have our new little daughter. She came with a definite personality. However, I felt that her birth was accompanied by a symbolic death. I felt that my faith had died. The events of Melissa’s birth were contrary to the blessing I had been inspired to give.
From a place or time far removed from those events, it is easy to look at them and say that they did occur according to the blessing. Melissa has been healthy and has grown well. Bonnie went on to deliver three more children vaginally. However, this approach minimizes or flat-out denies the power of what happened. The Spirit’s whisperings to me were not some vague assurance that at sometime in the future everything would be fine. The understanding I was given was that everything would be fine in the specific time of the delivery.
In the time since Melissa’s birth, Bonnie and I have had many conversations to make sense of it. We tried various ways of explaining it away. Each time, we were unable to resolve that the Spirit’s whisperings and the actual events were contradictory.
We reasoned that perhaps this were a test, given from God. Following this reasoning would lead us to conclude that when God spoke to me during that blessing, he lied. If he lied then, at what other times has he also lied? Would it be possible to have faith in an untrustworthy god?
Alternatively, we reasoned that God had been speaking in the long-term. He meant that in the grand scheme of things everything would be fine. If so, then he had spoken in such a way that I could readily misunderstand. If I could so easily misunderstand this that I had understood so clearly and strongly, what other things more vague had I misunderstood? Finally, if he had meant the long-term, then God must be fully satisfied with where I am now. That experience set me upon a path, combined with various other experiences, that has led me to where I am now.
As the years have passed, I have developed other ideas about what happened back then and what it meant. These explanations no longer stem from a literalist, black-and-white viewpoint. They are complex and varied.
Urban legends abound
One form of stories that people relate to each other is legends. Legends come in many shapes and sizes and from many places. There is the legend of Paul Bunyan and his blue ox, Babe. There are Pecos Bill and the Legend of Sleepy Hollow. There is George Washington cutting down the cherry tree.
As moderns, living in the latter part of the 20th century and into the new millennium, we have developed the impression that legends are a thing of the past. Legends are something our great-grandfathers shared around the campfire. Egotistically, we consider ourselves wiser and more sophisticated than our forebears. We have TV.
In the 1970’s, several researchers began studying modern legends and their transmission. In contrast to the rural lives of our ancestors, these modern legends became known as “urban legends” (ULs). In their studies, these researchers learned that urban legends share many similarities with their previous counterparts. Some ULs are merely modern adaptations of earlier legends. Indeed, once stripped of their external aspects, their clothing, urban legends are no different from older legends. Human nature has not really changed much.
In the early 1990’s, the term and concept of urban legends had not yet fully reached the public consciousness. (I don’t know how widespread it is even today, however in the late 1990’s there was a Hollywood movie of the name and many people seem familiar with the concept.) Jan Harold Brunvand, a professor at the University of Utah, had collected urban legends for years. In the 1980’s, he published many of these legends in a series of enjoyable books. These were provocatively titled after names he gave to some of the ULs, such as The Vanishing Hitchhiker and The Choking Doberman. These books led urban legends out of the alleyway and into the light.
I ran across Brunvand’s books and found them a delightful read. I encountered tales I had heard before, told around the campfire at Scouts, passed from missionary to missionary, or shared in many other settings. It was fascinating to read of stories I had been assured were true and see how they had morphed as they passed from person to person.
At that time, the internet was still largely unknown also. It was available only at select research institutions, including universities, military laboratories, and other U.S. governmental entities. A few other geeks had managed to find their way on. (Coincidentally, the University of Utah again figures into the early days of this, being one of the eight original internet sites in the 1960’s.) I first got on the internet while working at MITRE (a quasi-governmental research agency in Washington, D.C.) during the summer of 1988. When I returned to BYU, the university had just obtained an internet feed from the University of Utah. After graduation, I worked for a navy research lab that had long been on the net.
In those days, USENET was the big “place” for community discussions. Even then there were thousands of discussion groups. One of these, which I started regularly following, was alt.folklore.urban (AFU), for the discussion of urban legends. A frequent abbreviation there was FOAF, standing for “friend of a friend”. Someone would relate a real, true, honest-to-goodness account and aver that it really happened to a friend of their friend. Or they might claim it had happened to their friend, but when they went back to the friend to confirm it, the friend would respond that it hadn’t really happened to themselves but one of their friends. I learned to recognize the lead-in, “This really happened to a friend of my friend”, as a definitive marker that I was about to hear an urban legend.
The folks at alt.folklore.urban were investigating legends and checking their veracity, accumulating a Frequently Asked Questions list. One of the most adept at researching legends was a fellow known as “snopes”, or David Mikkelson. Nowadays, when people want to check the veracity of a legend they’ve just heard, their first thought is to check what the Mikkelson’s have to say about it on snopes.com.
A legend is not necessarily false. Brunvand established this in one of his seminal books. He related one legend he had heard about a mathematics student who arrived late to class one day. The student discovered four problems written down on the board. Assuming they were homework, he copied them down and set to work. Later in the week he consulted with the professor. The student informed the professor that he had solved one of the problems, but try as he might, he could not solve the other three. The professor, amazed, told him that he had written those problems on the board as examples of unsolved problems and that the student had solved one of these problems that had long perplexed mathematicians. Brunvand traced this legend back to its beginning and discovered that a variation of it really did happen to the accomplished mathematician George Dantzig, when he was a student. Brunvand still considered this an urban legend because of the way it passed from person to person and morphed in the telling.
Similarly, sometimes definite legends have real instances. Douglas Adams, author of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to Galaxy and other works, related how he once accosted a stranger, accused him of stealing his wallet, stuffed the wallet in his pocket, and, upon returning home, discovered he had left his own wallet lying on his dresser. Later it was pointed out to Adams that this was a well-known urban legend and could not possibly have happened. He accepted that it was an urban legend but solemnly affirmed that it had indeed happened to him.
Brunvand pointed out that the veracity of a legend is tangential to whether it is a legend. Some legends have a basis in fact. Others, like the prelude to this work, present a story with some element of truth hidden within. This truth may not be obvious, perhaps it may be well cloaked, but it is the reason why we share these stories one with another.
When my faith died, I presumed it must be some temporary setback. I saw others with faith and wondered how it worked for them. The things I had learned at church, I just accepted. Undoubtedly they must be true. As I became more familiar with urban legends, I began to see how many of the things I had been taught at church shared similar natures.
I discovered that much of church history, as shared at church, is legendary. The stories have been passed from person to person or time to time. They have morphed from their original form. At some point they have gotten institutionalized into their present form. But even still, those continue to change.
As a simple example, Primary children learn how the seagulls saved the pioneers’ crops the first summer they were in the Salt Lake valley. A statue at Temple Square commemorates the Miracle of the Seagulls. However, a careful examination of the historical record reveals a somewhat different account. No record from the original time contains the miracle of the seagulls. It was not until at least a decade later that some mention can be found, and then it spreads in legendary form. In short, the seagulls may have been doing what seagulls do, but their contribution was not significant.
This is but one example among many. Others include Joseph Smith’s different, contradictory accounts of his first vision, the transfiguration of Brigham Young after Joseph’s death, the reasons for, practice of, and termination of polygamy, and the institution of the Word of Wisdom.
Not only is church history legendary, but also church doctrine is. As I studied, I learned how doctrine rose in legendary form, passed from one person to another until it became accepted and established. When I was asked to give a talk on testimony, I carefully researched the topic in the scriptures and the words of church leaders. It was fascinating to discover that “testimony” is barely mentioned in the scriptures and when used it has little relevance to the way it is used in the church today. Its rise in prominence can be traced primarily to Bruce R. McConkie, whom a fellow member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles once described as “always certain, but not always correct”, and to his father-in-law before him. In contrast, the scriptures emphasize faith. The things that we are certain we know have been passed to us in legendary form rather than from unequivocal revelation of God.
This does not imply that the history or the doctrines of the church are false. Rather, as in the prelude, these stories carry truth wrapped within them. However, instead of proving the simple ideas that the approved stories carry, the more complete accounts reveal a richer, more complex, fascinating array of truth and ideas. I find the ideas and questions raised by these faceted views much more enriching than the simplistic answers. For example, the real Joseph Smith is far more fascinating, far more human, than the cardboard cutout promulgated at church.
Learning about urban legends showed me how difficult it is to dissuade someone from what they know to be true. Even if it is demonstrably false. On alt.folkore.urban, we would repeatedly have someone show up and proclaim that something listed as an urban legend with no factual basis really had happened to his friend. The regulars in the community would suggest he check back with the friend to verify. The few that would bother would storm back in a huff saying, “Well, it didn’t happen to my friend, but it really did happen to his friend”. In real life, when someone would tell me an urban legend, I would try to tell them about its legendary nature. Once in a copy shop in San Diego, I encountered a woman photocopying fliers (in the days before email was widespread to accomplish the job for her) trying to solicit business cards for the dying boy, Craig Shergold. I tried to suggest that she research it because it was an urban legend and he really didn’t want any business cards. (In fact it had been get-well cards, but that had been cancelled years previously, Shergold had fully recovered, and the Atlanta Make-A-Wish Foundation wasted substantial money dealing with these misguided efforts.) The woman’s response was that the City Council was supporting the effort and so it had to be true. Eventually, I learned it often wasn’t worth the effort to dissuade people of their erroneous beliefs. It had much the same results as teaching a pig to sing. All it accomplished was to make a fool out of you and to annoy the pig.
As time progressed, I came to the same conclusions with regards to religious belief. I enjoy trying to tweak people to think more widely or reconsider something. However, if the tweak doesn’t catch their attention, I don’t have much interest in dissuading them. My days of being a missionary, converting others to my beliefs, are past.
Myth-conceptions
In modern, Western society “myth” and “mythology” share a similar degree of respectability to “legend”. We generally consider “myth” as something which is factually incorrect, as in “10 myths about …”. Mythology we egotistically view as the quaint, unlearned religions of ancient cultures.
In the 1900’s, Joseph Campbell brought forth some new ideas that serve to rehabilitate the reputation of myth and mythology. Much like Brunvand did with legends, Campbell explained that myths and mythologies did not die with our forefathers but continue in our own lives. Myths, in the Campbell sense, are the stories that we tell each other and which appeal to us because of the truths they carry. In the prelude, we could’ve named the dashing visitor “Myth” instead of “Story”. Then we would capture Campbell’s sense of myth. In this fashion, mythology is simply the myths and mythic elements by which we individually or as a people order our lives.
Myths are the foundation for our sense of who we are as a people. We tell the story of George Washington chopping down the cherry tree even though the event was fabricated from whole cloth. We share this to confirm our awe and reverence for those that founded our country. The doctrine of Manifest Destiny, which fueled the westward expansion of America, is mythic. We enjoy tales of Americans against the Nazis, the Soviets, or the terrorists because of the mythic response it stirs in us.
Myths underlie the stories to which our soul responds. Whether the story comes from Hollywood, in the pages of a book, or shared by someone, its mythic elements catch our attention. J.R.R. Tolkien took some old myths, combined them in a new way, added some new things, and produced The Lord of the Rings, a mythic adventure of simple, unpretentious, good folk overcoming powerful evil. Campbell spoke of the mythic force of Star Wars. It tells a story of man, or humanity, against machine or machine-like efficiency. A myth is powerful because it speaks to concerns of the day. The man against machine motif brings power to The Matrix, many of Isaac Asimov’s stories, and numerous other science fiction.
The authorized stories of the LDS church are very mythic. The story of Joseph Smith’s First Vision is myth writ large. Here we have a human, who, when faced with a dilemma, inquires of God and receives a personal affirmation that God is interested in him. Personally, I find this more compelling with the real Joseph, imperfect as he was, than with the superman depicted by the church. The former assures me that I, imperfect as I am, can also touch the Divine.
The Book of Mormon is mythic from beginning to end. The story of “The Coming Forth of the Book of Mormon” is very mythic. The depictions of the people in the book are archetypal, from the never faltering Nephi and always troublesome Laman and Lemuel through the resolute Captain Moroni, to the weariless Moroni. The clash of civilizations, their rise and ultimate destruction, contain many mythic elements.
Campbell points out that labeling something as mythic says nothing about its factualness. As with legends, myths may have a factual basis. Generally, though, the facts are overwhelmed by the myth. This is not to say that myths are false by any means. Myths may more readily carry deeper truth than facts ever could.
The Western world has become obsessive about facts and literalness. In some ways this has served us well. We have benefited from scientific advances. We have discarded outmoded, restrictive practices. However, in some ways we have tried too hard to discard myths. Some of the Eastern peoples and philosophies are more accepting of myths. They are more likely to accept them as they are without insisting on their literal factualness.
The LDS church lives in the Western world trying to insist upon a literal interpretation of its myths. Members and leaders alike recoil at any mythic interpretation. They allow only the official view of its history and doctrine. They demand that stories have a particular meaning, refusing to allow any alternatives.
The mythic nature of LDS doctrine is amply reflected in the concept of eternal families. Death is the great mystery that has faced humankind throughout the ages. People have long sought to make sense of this sleep from which none awakens. Never do we confront this spectre more forcefully that when faced with the death of a loved one. Common within many (Western) religions is the idea that we continue to exist after death. Often people expect to share this existence with their family or other loved ones they’ve known in this mortal sphere. This belief has given solace to millions around the world.
The doctrine of eternal families is a key feature of the LDS church. This teaches that families can be together in the next world. If all of them are baptized members of the LDS church and follow the commandments, then it is really quite simple; they can be an eternal family. Except, they also must receive their temple ordinances and be married in the temple. And they must keep all of the commandments unwaveringly, enduring to the end. They must attend church loyally and do whatever is asked of them. What if someone dies without the necessary saving ordinances? Church members will perform the ordinances for them in their behalf. In seeking after order and certainty, the LDS church has codified the concept of eternal families.
This doctrine has comforted many church members. When a family member dies, they take great solace in knowing that they may be with them again someday. This helps them through the grief of their loss.
However, this doctrine has also been a source of great grief. When a family member doesn’t do all the things that they feel are necessary for salvation, then the person feels grief that they will not share eternity with their family member. All too often, this results in the believing person pressuring the “wayward” one to do what they want them to. This may result in rude behavior, driving the disbeliever away. Additionally, there are many in the church who, in the quest for eternal families, will ignore or mistreat their family members during this life.
Looked at from a mythic perspective, we can consider that perhaps there is a great truth cloaked within the codified LDS story. What if the LDS ordinances and observances are not prescriptive but instead are descriptive? That is to say, perhaps the LDS rituals serve not to prescribe (or cause) what shalt be, but to describe what is. I firmly believe that if we do exist beyond the grave, that we will be able to share that existence with our loved ones. This does not occur because LDS ordinances have been performed. It occurs because it is. The ordinances serve to point us towards what is. When we consider the ordinances otherwise, then we miss the mark.
The confines of the LDS church
As my tale draws to a close for now, where does it leave me? To find the answer to that, we must return to the beginning. Pages ago, when I started describing this journey I related my worldview at that earlier time. I stated that I held a very black-and-white, literalist viewpoint. This approach would serve me well within the confines of the LDS church.
As my story has unfolded, my worldview has changed dramatically. I have considered the legendary aspects of church doctrine and history. I have discovered a church history that varies dramatically from the official story, but is also much richer. I have re-imagined many of the things I formerly thought I knew and teased out mythic meanings.
I have discovered that these approaches are not welcome or appreciated within the LDS church. An apostle recently stated that there are those who might dig up negative things that Joseph Smith said or did and that those people that do so will be punished. Not long ago, the church president stated that either Joseph Smith was a prophet who translated The Book of Mormon or else it is all false. Personally, I find the question much deeper and more involved than that. However, under such pronouncements, where does one who considers The Book of Mormon mythic yet nonhistorical find a place in the church? I perceive that the majority of active church members seem to find comfort in the literalist, black-and-white view. As such, I have no desire of ripping from them that which they see in order that I might obtain that which I seek.
I find no place within the church for the approaches to which I have been guided. When attending LDS meetings, rather than feeling uplifted, I feel confined. I feel constrained to fit into a predetermined mold into which I can no longer fit.
I find that I must continue my journey outside the confines of the LDS church. Yet another transition, which I am sure is not the last.
For now, this concludes this portion of my story. Long it has been, yet it is but a condensed telling, abbreviated from many other things. It represents truth as I have seen it, but I know not whether you have glimpsed any truth cloaked within or have just been along for the ride.
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