“We come for eighteen months,” she says.
“Do you get to pick where you go?”
“No.”
“Are you disappointed that you ended up in Salt Lake City?”
She hesitates. “I love Asia,” she says diplomatically.
I want to hear her talk smack about Salt Lake City but she is a well-trained missionary and, despite my prodding, does not bite. The most disparaging thing she will say about Salt Lake City is, “It’s slow.”
Meghan: A tour seems like the most logical next step. Since the Mormons can obviously sense that we are here to observe, and not to worship, we might as well start acting like tourists. We are assigned two very young girls who are on a mission. Clearly any woman who is married is at home having babies, so they need to populate the inner temple with super-fresh single girls.
Sister Hicks and Sister Other-Mormon-Girl are wearing long blue skirts and blouses. They are both cute, clean-cut looking, and carrying Bibles. One of them has dark curly hair and is from California; the other has long, straight dark hair and is from Mexico. Otherwise they are spiritually identical in their aura of calm and striking self-possession.
The visitors’ center is basically a medium-sized convention center dedicated to describing and explaining the Mormon faith. There are different sculptures, dioramas and exhibits set up to portray the entire history of Mormonism. We go through the center via a sort of maze that guides us through each chapter of the history of Mormonism. It’s kind of like a religious Epcot Center....
I once heard a friend of mine, who is also a famous comedian, describe a visit to Salt Lake City. He said that being around Mormons was like going to Japan and being ensconced in Japanese culture. “Everyone is very nice, well-dressed, and friendly, but you feel a little out of place.” As I stand here on our tour in Temple Square with our very cute, sweet, friendly, clean-cut guides, I am overcome with extreme self-consciousness that to a lot of people here at Temple Square, to a lot of people in my own religion that I was raised in, and hell even to a lot of people in America, I am a heathen sinner. I am who these people think are what’s wrong with the world. In their eyes, I will more than likely end up burning in the fiery damnation of hell, or in the infinite abyss, or whatever. The gist is that I am not going to the good place, given the kind of life I am leading: I am going to the really bad one for all of eternity.
Granted, I am standing at the center of Mormon faith, among individuals who have dedicated themselves to living a pious life led by Joseph Smith. I am not dressed appropriately and am still feeling the left-over parts of a hangover and, yes, coming off of a bender with strippers in Vegas, but I admit that as I listen to the sisters and go through the tour, I feel strange and almost ashamed of myself—almost. I want to make clear that it’s not as if our guides have any sort of pious attitude, in fact they are surprisingly open to our prodding about their lives and questions as to why Mormonism is the right religion for them. I assume they are used to being given the third degree by curious visitors about their faith.
The thing about the Mormon faith—and really any religion that relies on strict rules and doctrines—is that on a very basic level, I don’t really understand how they can do it. I do not understand how these sisters have the type of discipline to lead the style of lives they lead. It’s kind of like the way I sometimes feel in a room full of extremely conservative Republicans. I don’t understand what it’s like to believe that one way, one thing, one person has all of the answers and that if you don’t abide to those strict rules and doctrines, you are, well, burning in hell—or considered a bad Republican.
I periodically have moments when I wonder if my life would be easier or different if I could just calm down and stop being so rebellious and impulsive. My natural instinct about life has always been one of discovery and questioning. I have a moment in that visitors center, standing next to the Mormon sisters, surrounded by beautiful, clean-cut, Beaver Cleaver family look-a-likes: I am almost envious. It makes me wonder: if you apparently have all the answers figured out, is life is any easier or do you at least know the path to redemption in the afterlife?
Michael: The sisters are unfailingly sincere as they lead us through the visitors’ center, kind to the point of insipidness. I don’t trust nice people, but I also recognize this as a personal character flaw and not as an indictment of nice people. As pleasant as they are, however, I stay on guard. These are salespeople; I do not want to walk out of this place in magic underwear.
They show us around. Their early history is no different from an episode of Little House on the Prairie, except that none of the early Mormons had the star power or sexy hair of Michael Landon. We see lots of department store manikins in pioneer clothes. They show us a stone used to construct the temple. Not interesting. A wagon that transported the stone. Not interesting. A guy cutting stone. Not interesting. Then they explain that Mormons can convert dead people to Mormonism in order to get them into heaven. Interesting.
“Wait,” I say. “What?”
“Yes.” Sister Hicks explains how they baptize their long-dead relatives who “never had a chance to accept the truth” so that they can enter heaven. “Do you understand?” she asks.
“Not really,” I say.
There’s a short video they play that explains it for me. Basically, Mormons believe nobody can enter heaven without being baptized in the faith, but because the religion is so young, it means all of their relatives born before 1844 are currently suffering in hell. To rectify this situation, they’ve come up with a scheme where they can baptize people after they’ve already died, the way you might postdate a check.
“You might have heard that Mormons are very into genealogy. This is why,” Sister Hicks tells us without further commentary or any hint of skepticism.
I had heard that. Now that she mentions it, I’d also heard Mormons were going through the rolls of the dead killed in the Holocaust and baptizing the victims. When word of this got out, it was a wee bit controversial. I guess various Jewish groups didn’t appreciate those killed solely because of their religion having that religion changed without consultation. The Mormons didn’t see anything bad about it; they just want to make sure that all spirits have a shot at their celestial reward. There have even been rumors that they’ve posthumously baptized the likes of Anne Frank and President Obama’s mother. After the shit hit the fan, the church agreed to keep their baptizing within their own genealogical fountain. They really get enough bad PR without digging up the graveyard for more.
Apparently, Mormons really like Jews, something I’d never known before. I just assumed they disliked them because it seems like that’s kind of the norm but, no, the Mormons are into Jews because they co-identify, believing their fold to be one of the lost tribes of Israel. You know, the lost tribe that left Israel and sailed to America in 600 BC. Yes, America. If you haven’t heard about any archaeological evidence about such a lost tribe, it’s because there isn’t any.
Meghan: Mormonism is one of the fastest-growing religions in America. Whatever criticism is made concerning some of the more atypical Mormon traditions, radical undertones, and beliefs, no one can suggest that this religion isn’t hitting some kind of chord with Americans. If it’s anything beyond just feeling good about God, it might have something to do with what the faith offers as a culture.
The appearance of being an extremely conservative throwback to a time when America was different seems to be the defining characteristic of the Mormon lifestyle, one that appeals mightily in a world where everything can feel a little too fast and somewhat scantily clad. Maybe American culture has gotten to the point where we are so overstimulated, sent so many sexualized messages from the media, and desensitized in our reaction to overtly bad behavior, that in comparison Mormonism can appeal as something that is safe.
Probably one of the biggest Mormon names out there is Glenn Beck, and he is nothing—and I mean nothing—if not obsessed with the idea of a better time in America, and
bringing it “back to that time.” It’s interesting that Beck converted to Mormonism after a long battle with drugs and alcohol. The religion obviously gave him some answer to his problems. On the other hand is Stephanie Meyer—a good ol’ Arizona Mormon—who has managed to completely desexualize vampires though her Twilight series. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. She claims that she’s not pushing her faith’s adherence to chastity, but at the same time you have to wonder if that’s not exactly what teenage girls and their moms find so appealing about Bella Swan.
As the tour ends, I’m left with an oddly nostalgic feeling about Mormonism, as though I’ve just left my grandmother’s house, or closed the cover of a historical novel. I liked the tour, I liked the experience, I felt underdressed. Mormons seem like shiny, happy people and it seems like a shiny, happy faith. I respect their religion and what they believe in; I just don’t think it’s gonna be the one for me. It is just a bit too organized and structured, but I will hold out that I can’t completely rule it out until I go to the temple and sit through a service, because I don’t feel like God was talking to me anywhere I’ve been. I don’t feel overly inspired at Temple Square. My bouts of extreme faith and inspiration have hit me at different times in my life, but I felt more connected visiting temples in Bangkok than I do in Salt Lake City. My feeling towards God and faith is that it should be something overwhelming and visceral.
Sometimes when I go home to Phoenix and I can’t sleep, I will get up and go to the roof of my parents’ building and watch the sun come up over the desert. Watching the sunrise in Arizona is what I imagine having God whisper in your ear must feel like. That is the feeling I would need to get at Temple Square for me to connect with the temple.
I find God in weird places. I find him in moments that make me feel like the world is so spectacular and beautiful, it’s absolutely overwhelming. Anyone who has a strong sense of spirituality in their life knows what I mean. God for me is found everywhere; in my family, in the desert, in first kisses, in smiles, in laughter, in friendship, in cheesecake, in red wine, and above all else in love. God for me is not something simply found in a church or temple. God as he relates to me is found in everything that makes me feel grateful to be alive. Maybe I will never find that perfect faith, or perfect religion, and I don’t know if I will ever be able to simply define it, but for me, God and faith have no borders or limitations.
Michael: I’m not sure why Mormons are all Republicans. Is it just the gay thing? Mormons really don’t like gay people. We didn’t ask about it because there was no point. They don’t like gay people almost as much as they used to not like black people. To give you a sense of the LDS’s former attitudes about our more melanin-enhanced brothers and sisters, here’s a quote from Brigham Young: “You see some classes of the human family that are black, uncouth, uncomely, disagreeable, sad, low in their habits, wild, and seemingly without the blessings of the intelligence that is generally bestowed upon mankind.”
Quotes like that don’t make them seem like the most racially sensitive religion. Lest you think the early Mormons were just products of their time, consider the fact that until 1978 blacks weren’t even allowed to be Mormon priests.
Out of curiosity, I ask Sister Hicks if there are any Democratic Mormons. I associate the LDS community so strongly with the Republican Party that this seems like a good question.
“Oh yes!” she says brightly. “I think one of the other missionaries is a Democrat.” Keep in mind there are hundreds of missionaries here.
“Which one?” asks Sister Other-Mormon-Girl.
Sister Hicks mentions a name.
“I don’t know her,” says Sister Other-Mormon-Girl.
Meghan asks the sisters if they are allowed to date while doing their service. No. She asks why there seem to be only female missionaries.
“They used to have boys too, but they were kind of . . .” she trails off.
“Immature,” says Sister Other-Mormon-Girl.
Makes sense. The last thing you want is a bunch of horny teenage boys messing up the temple tours. As we finish, Sister Hicks asks if we would like to have somebody visit our homes to continue the conversa—
“No !” I blurt out before the sentence is even out of her mouth. No, this was quite enough, thank you. As pleasant as everybody here at Temple Square has been, I’m just not in the market for a new religion. Especially one that’s so clean. As filthy and depressing as Vegas is, those feel more like my people: the dispossessed and desperate. I wish it weren’t so, but it is. I wish I could be more like all the good-natured people here at Temple Square sitting among the bright flowers eating their box-lunch turkey-and-mayo sandwiches, but it’s just not me.
One of the great things about any religion is the certainty it gives you. These Mormons all seem so certain about everything. They know what they are doing is right, they know Joseph Smith was a prophet, they know they are going to heaven. I wish I had that kind of certainty in my own spiritual life but I don’t and doubt I ever will. I’ll just never be one of those people who can decide to believe something and not look back. I wish I could. I wish I could be a Mormon. My wardrobe choices would certainly be a lot simpler. Dockers and polo shirts. Every day.
For eternity.
After we bid the sisters goodbye, we make our way back to the bagel shop to hook up with Omar. We’re about fifteen minutes early, so we figure we’ll just hang out there and decompress with some highly caffeinated beverages. The Mormons eschew caffeine, so a Mr. Pibb Xtra is just what the atheist ordered.
On our way back over, Meghan keeps talking about how Mormonism left her feeling cold. I’m not sure I really understand why. To me, LDS is no different from any other strain of Christianity. They’re all equally weird to me. I get the sense that even though Meghan considers herself a Christian, she is kind of struggling with what she actually believes. To me, that’s a good thing. Why are spiritual questions so removed from political discourse, but spiritual certainty is so embraced?
I’m always wary when presidential candidates start talking too much about their faith. Wrapping little baby Jesus in the American flag does a disservice to both. I would prefer that my political leaders practiced their religion however they see fit in private and shut the hell up about it in public. Spirituality has always felt to me as private as sexuality. We don’t go waving our wieners all over the place and we shouldn’t wave our gods around either.
Meghan: I think anarchists are even stupider than atheists. That being said, the only anarchist I’ve known was a guy in college who wore dark sweatshirts and guyliner and went around saying that he was an anarchist, and from everything I observed didn’t do anything else other than say he was an anarchist. I am almost certain he never acted on his impulses to overthrow the government from our Ivy League dorm. I don’t even really understand what it means to be an “anarchist.” What does an anarchist do? How do they exercise their anarchist tendencies? Who do they vote for in election cycles? Do they vote? Probably not, because they hate the government. How do you hate the government in America to the point where you think lawlessness is the right answer ? Is it weird being an anarchist in the middle of Salt Lake City, Utah? Is it weird being an anarchist across the street from the Mormon temple?
Jackpot. This guy! Omar the Anarchist! Omar the Anarchist had all of a sudden evoked a flood of questions in my brain. I was so glad we met Omar, because he was fascinating. Finally, an anarchist, and in Salt Lake City no less! This will be fantastic. He exchanged numbers with Stephie and we decided to meet up with him when he got off work.
We go back to the deli an hour and a half later to meet Omar the Anarchist. Much to our disappointment, Omar the Anarchist has already left work and hasn’t waited for us even though he said he would. For the record, we are only ten minutes late. He and Stephie proceed to have a text conversation that goes like this:
Stephie: Hey Omar, its Stephie, one of the 3 you met at your work. What are you up to tonight? Michael and Meghan, the other 2, a
re writing a book about politics and America, and talking with an anarchist would be pretty great.
Omar the Anarchist: Well word i would be very down but you kinda caught me at a really shity time i have to move out tomorrow so
Omar the Anarchist: And yea so i kinda wanted to chill here and party so is this the cute one with shades
Stephie: This is the brunette with glasses, so I believe you are referring to Meghan, the very cute blonde. That’s too bad—we’d love to talk to you tonight.
Omar the Anarchist: And no sorry i didnt mean her i meant you i just suck at multi tasking and texting they get mixed up but yea i meant glasses so
Omar the Anarchist: Just come party tonight with me
Stephie: Where will that be?
Omar the Anarchist: And yea sorry the blonde is not my type at all ha ha
Omar the Anarchist: My house ha well whats left of it
Stephie: Well I’ll see how the guys are feeling later. Thanks ever so for the invite.
Omar the Anarchist: Ha for sure i kinfda wanted to get you more so
Then, six hours later . . .
Omar the Anarchist: Hows your night
The anarchist could meet up with us but doesn’t want to get up off his ass to do so. This conversation is probably the best example of why anarchy has never really worked. They apparently cannot organize themselves enough to even explain why they don’t want a government, let alone overthrow it. Dictionary.com’s definition of anarchy reads: “A theory that regards the absence of all direct or coercive government as a political ideal and that proposes the cooperative and voluntary association of individuals and groups as the principal mode of organized society.” Omar pretty much summed up what I would expect from a so-called anarchist in Salt Lake City. I assume he just calls himself an anarchist because it sounds cool and is a way of rebelling against the straightlaced ways of his surroundings.
America, You Sexy Bitch Page 10
