"I understand you more than you think"

I recently visited members of my family as well as my husband's family in Utah. I haven't posted much about the visits partly because I'm still processing my interactions with them, and partly because I'm still negotiating with myself what to reveal and what to keep to myself, for the sake of both my anonymity and their privacy. But there is one conversation I know I want to write about, for multiple reasons. It frustrated me; I need to process it and I do that best in writing rather than in my head; and there are things I wish I had said but didn't. I didn't say those things partly because I didn't think of them at the time; I'm not a good spur-of-the-moment speaker, and I do my better thinking when I can go rethink, edit, mull it over and come back. Partly, I didn't say those things because I haven't yet figured out how much I want to say to my Mormon relatives. It's all a process of figuring out when to keep silent, when to speak up, and when to take a stand.

I can't recall the whole conversation or the order of it, but here are the highlights as I remember them. In this conversation with a brother-in-law, he told me I make a bigger deal out of "it" than is warranted. No one thinks about it anymore, or at least not very much, he said, so there's no need for me to make a big deal. I asked him in what way I make a big deal out of it. He claimed that through observation (though I'd spend only about 10 minutes total with him all week) he'd noticed that every time I have a conversation with his wife, the talk steers toward Mormonism, and I'm the one who brings it up. (Note that he brought up Mormonism in this conversation.) Through our talking, I figured out that he and his wife think I bring it up becuase I'm trying to convince them of something, that I think they need to understand me better. Oddly, this is the opposite of why I bring it up: I do because I can with them. They are more understanding already, which is why I feel free to bring it up. I am comfortable with them. Apparently, they are not comfortable with me.

I argued with him that maybe the siblings don't care much, but our mutual parents-in-law do. My mother-in-law couldn't even force herself to bring it up for several months. What is more, when I was TBM, she confided in me her desires and motives regarding her Jack-Mormon son's children--trying to get them blessed as babies, getting them to Cub Scouts at the ward, inviting them to church to get them exposed to the Truth. This was, of course, motivated by the goodness of her heart and genuine concern for the welfare of their souls, but at the same time manipulative, subversive, and religiously arrogant. I told him that, if not in so many words. I assume she has done or will do the same kind of talking and planning behind our backs.

I told him how our father-in-law has never said a word about it, which he explained away as father-in-law's way of dealing with conflict. Hole himself up in his room and ignore it. I hear that he figures he can't convince us to change our minds, so why try?

I told him it is a big deal that our one remaining bachelor brother-in-law will get married in the temple and we will be excluded. "I know 'they' see it differently; 'they' see it as us excluding ourselves," I said, "but we see it as being excluded. It would be a compromise of my integrity and conscience to toe the line and get a temple recommend to go. I can't do that, as bad as I want to be there for the wedding, I can't."

He countered, "So if he wants to get married in the temple, let him. So what? You can't stop him."

"Of course I wouldn't try to stop him. That's his choice. If that's what he wants, so be it. But he should also recognize that none of his brothers or sisters-in-law will be there. That's important. He should do his temple thing, but he should also have a ceremony outside, one that's more than a cursory nod towards his 'non-worthy' friends and family. Make it big, like a real wedding, walking down the aisle, the whole thing." He seemed to see I had a point. But then, I was talking to a guy that cleaned up his act just long enough to get married in the temple, excluding all his siblings from the ceremony, then promptly "lost" his recommend.

After complaining more about my family's reactions, he asked, "So what do you want them to do?" I didn't really know; I couldn't really explain. What is the best route? Who knows? I'm sick of them ignoring it, but at least that's better than them calling me to repentance or banishing me from their houses.

He continued, "Who cares what they think? People don't understand me. I don't care. I don't have to be understood. I'd rather be left alone."

"Then we're very different on that point," I said. "I've always had the desire to be understood, long before this whole thing. I hate that they don't understand me." It's one of the most tragic things of this, that my family doesn't understand me, and likely never will.

"Give them more credit," he said. "I bet they understand more than you give them credit for. I understand you more than you think. You didn't know me in my party days. I drank, I had sex with girls, I did drugs, I didn't have anything to do with the church. So I understand."

At that moment is was clear to me that he did not understand me. "But I never did any of those things!" I protested. "This isn't about practice, this is about belief. I stopped believing. I don't believe it. I can't go back to believing it. It's gone." Practice, as exemplified so easily and readily in beer-drinking and levels of church attendance, is so completely secondary to belief.

While I couldn't express it then, I see a profound difference between him and me. He is comfortable having a beer now and then, doesn't "want a 70-year-old to tell [him] what to do," and only attends church when he feels like it--all the while feeling guilty for it, and figuring that some day he'll repent. He's a soft-believer, a cafeteria Mormon, one who protests that the community judges him for skipping church but still accepts that the bishop holds the power to decide whether or not he'll see his brother-in-law's wedding. Yes, he will also miss the wedding, but it will be because he drinks sometimes and doesn't attend church enough weeks out of the month.

As for me, I won't attend because I cannot believe its origin claims, its claims to divine connection. I won't attend because I cannot give money to an institution that I find more harmful than good. Because I believe two men going down a checklist of do's and don't's have no right to determine my "worthiness" to see a family member's wedding. Because I am vilified by the church as being prideful, misguided, lost, dark, ignorant, sinful, unworthy, apostate. Because the church glosses over and explains away problems, injustices, and downright sickening actions and policies instead of either 1) not making them in the first place (isn't God supposed to be guiding them here?) or 2) acknowledging, apologizing, and correcting.

And while I want very much to be a part of that future wedding, all those future weddings of nieces and nephews, friends and cousins, I cannot. Why? Because I am making a stand for what I believe is right. He just can't give up his beer and get his ass out of bed on Sunday morning.

I'm sorry, man, you don't understand me. And you know what? I don't understand you, either.