I was at my "inactive" brother-in-law's house, and noticed a paper plate of cookies, loosely covered in saran wrap, on the counter.
"Let me guess, your home teachers came over?" I asked my brother-in-law.
He looked up, utterly shocked. "How did you know?"
I pointed to the cookies. "Love bomb."
He smiled. "Better watch out. They might be poisoned."
I have Mormon neighbors. Lots of them. Somehow (actually, I know how: Mormon nepotism on the housing board) our neighborhood is known as the place to be among Mormons who move here. Actually, it influenced us to move here, back when we were church-goers. Now, though, it bugs the hell out of me is uncomfortable. There are people we used to attend church with. There are people who moved in after we stopped attending. And you better believe the ones who moved in later know exactly who we are. But they won't say anything, no, no, they won't say anything.
The other day we had a neighborhood barbecue, so we went. People trickled in, and I made the rounds of chatting. Then I realized that the crowd had swelled, and was probably half Mormon. Now, we don't live in Salt Lake City, so the crowd should not be half Mormon.
I started to get uncomfortable. And I hated that I was uncomfortable. I looked around and realized my husband had already headed home; his Mo-dar is more sensitive than mine, I suppose. I stayed for a few more minutes, then slipped home myself, checking first to make sure the kids, oblivious to our social politics, were safely playing under the watch of neighbors.
I thought about the stereotype of ex-Mormons as anti-social. I've hated that stereotype. But I've pretty much lived up to it. I stopped going to ward functions, stopped being invited to extra-ward family activities, stopped seeing everyone at church every week, stopped asking for babysitters among the relief society women. Is that actually anti-social? No, but to the ward members, for whom that is pretty much their entire social life, yes. Sometimes I tell myself to prove the stereotype wrong, to put on a big smile and show 'em! But that in itself seems so very like the Mormon hide-your-true-emotions facade I was raised with and I am trying to overcome.
After coming in, I sat in the living room and picked up a book. The day outside was perfect for a barbecue, the neighbors continued to stay and chat for a couple hours after I left. But here I was, inside, with a book, feeling...what? What was I feeling? Sad? Angry at myself? Angry at my own heritage? Why? Why couldn't I just talk to the other people in the neighborhood, many of whom I like? Why couldn't I just talk to the Mormons, pretending, like they do, that everything is perfectly normal? I've done it before. Other times I've laughed inside while doing just that. Why not this time? (Don't say it was because those other times I had a shot of tequila in me. Just don't.)
Maybe it was because I was just recently starting to feel reconciled to the idea that I am, by heritage, by ethnicity even, Mormon. And then I felt so poignantly not Mormon. I am not one of them, nor do I want to be. And yet we have so much in common. But the things we have in common are things I've spent the past few years tearing out of my self, bits of shrapnel I dig, painfully, from my wounded body.
Yeah, yeah, a bit melodramatic, I know. But that's what it felt like.
Some local non-believing friends of ours recently had missionaries sent to their house. Our friends were quite polite to them, and they joked that they would send the missionaries to our house just for gags. It got me thinking about how I could handle a pair of elders showing up on our doorstep:
[dream sequence fuzzies and music]
[doorbell rings]
[fta sees out the window it's some missionaries, but they don't see her. She doesn't answer the door, pretending she's not home.]
Little-fta: Mom! The dooo-ooorrr! Aren't you going to get it? Mom, someone dinged the doorbell.
fta: Shh, shh. Come here. Let's play the quiet game!
...
[doorbell rings]
little-fta: Oh, I'll get it! [goes down the hall to the door] Sure, come in. Mom, Dad, some guys for you.
[fta, setting dinner on table, turns and sees who it is. Shocked]
Elder A: Hi, how are you? We are missionaries from the Chu--
fta: I know who you are. But who do you think you are, dropping by during dinner time without even calling first?
Elder B: Oh, um--
fta: Uh-uh, you just turn around and be on your way. Who sent you anyway? Who sent you? Get out of my house. Where were you parents to teach you some manners!?!
[fta shoves them out the door]
...
[doorbell rings]
little-fta: Oh, I'll get it! [goes down the hall to the door] Sure, come in. Mom, Dad, some guys for you.
[fta, setting dinner on table, turns and sees who it is. Shocked]
Elder A: Hi, how are you? We are missionaries from the Church of--
fta: Yeah, I know. We're just about to eat, I'm sure you guys are hungry. Little-fta, run and get two more plates. Sit down, I made lasagna.
[we all talk during dinner, specifically avoiding religion by bringing up the NCAA tournament and keeping that the topic.]
...
[doorbell rings]
[fta answers]
Elder A: Hello, we're missionaries from the Mormon church. Are you fta?
fta: [confused] No. Oh, you know what? The doorbells get crossed sometimes. Fta lives upstairs from us. She's not home now, though.
[fta closes door]
...
[doorbell rings]
[fta answers]
Elder A: Hello, we're missionaries from the Mormon church. Are you fta?
fta: Yes, come on in.
Elder A: Well, we're just checking in to see how things are going.
fta: Oh! We're doing great!
Elder B: We're noticed your names on the church roles, but we'd never met you...
fta: Probably because we don't ever come to church anymore.
Elder A: Is there something we could help you with that would bring you back? We'd love to see you there.
fta: Oh, well, you know, it's just not working for us. We're really not happy there.
Elder B: But the Gospel brings such great happiness.
fta: No, not really. Listen, I've got a book group tonight, so I've got to run...Thanks for stopping by.
[shows them out]
...
[doorbell rings]
[fta answers]
Elder A: Hello, we're missionaries from the Mormon church. Are you fta?
fta: Yes, come on in.
Elder A: Well, we're just checking in to see how things are going.
fta: Oh! We're doing great!
Elder B: We're noticed your names on the church roles, but we'd never met you...
fta: Probably because we don't ever come to church anymore.
Elder A: Is there something we could help you with that would bring you back? We'd love to see you there.
fta: You've never met us before, so how could you "love to see us there"? Listen, Joseph Smith was a fraud. The church is a corporate institution, worried more about power and money than the members. We're just not happy there.
Elder B: [shocked] Really, fta, you must have been reading some anti-Mormon literat--
fta: No, I haven't, actually. I've just read Mormon literature. And that was enough. I'm done. Thanks for stopping by, but don't do it again.
[shows them the door]
...
[doorbell rings]
[fta answers]
Elder A: Hello, we're missionaries from the Mormon church. Are you fta?
fta: Yes, come on in.
[brings them to living room]
fta: As you can see, we're just sitting down with some friends to watch the NCAA championship. Everybody, these are the Mormon missionaries. This is Rachel, Jack, Mr. fta, and Sam.
Everyone: Hi.
Mr. fta: Come on, sit down, the game is great.
[missionaries sit, uncomfortable]
fta: [to missionaries] Can I get you guys some beer?
...
[doorbell rings]
[fta answers]
Elder A: Hello, we're missionaries from the Mormon church. Are you fta?
fta: Yes, what can I do for you?
Elder B: Well, we were wondering if we could step in for a minute for a chat?
fta: Oh, well, Mr. fta is at the bar down the street, watching the game. And I was just going to hop in the hot tub. Could we could talk there?
[one gets gleam in his eye but tries to repress it, the other is paralyzed with fear]
[fta laughs devilishly, shuts door in their faces]
...
[ding-dong]
[fta answers]
Elder A: Hello, we're missionaries from the Mormon church. Are you fta?
fta: Yes, what can I do for you?
Elder B: Well, we were wondering if we could step in for a minute for a chat?
fta: Listen, I know you're just doing your jobs as missionaries, and you think you have my best interest at heart. But I'd really rather not like to talk to strangers about my spirituality. How about you come on in and have some lemonade. I'll make you sandwiches, looks like your parents back home would think you're too skinny. What do you say?
[they come in, fta brings lemonade]
...
[ding-dong]
[fta answers]
Elder A: Hello, we're missionaries from the Mormon church. Are you fta?
fta: Yes, what can I do for you?
Elder B: Well, we were wondering if we could step in for a minute for a chat?
fta: Listen, I know you're just doing your jobs as missionaries, and you think you have my best interest at heart. But I'd really rather not like to talk to strangers about my spirituality. How about you come on in and have some lemonade. I'll make you sandwiches, looks like your parents back home would think you're too skinny. What do you say?
[they come in, fta brings spiked lemonade]
...
[ding-dong]
[fta answers]
Elder A: Hello, we're missionaries from the Mormon church. Are you fta?
fta: Yes. Oh! I'm glad you came. Do you think you could deliver an envelope to the bishop for me?
Elder B: Um, sure.
fta: [goes inside, returns with tithing envelope--with resignation letter inside] Here you go. You guys are the best.
Elder A: [pleased to see the tithing envelope] Oh, yeah, sure, no problem.
fta: Thanks! Bye!
[fta closes door, and does a little jig in celebration]
...
[doorbell]
[fta answers]
Elder A: Hi, I'm Elder Roberts.
Elder B: And I'm Elder Lightner. We're missionaries from the--
fta: Roberts and Lightner, huh? Are you related to BH Roberts?
Elder A: Yep, he's my great-great uncle or something.
fta: Did you know he called the Book of Mormon a wondertale of an immature mind?
Elder A: [stammers]
fta: And Lightner? Did you know that a certain Adam Lightner shared his wife with Joseph Smith and then Brigham Young? Yeah, his wife, Mary Elizabeth Rollins Lightner Smith Young, was married to two guys at once.
Elder B: Joseph Smith didn't practice polygamy. I tell you that for sure. I know it.
fta: You know it? How about checking the church's genealogy site. How about you do that, then we'll talk.
[closes door]
...
[doorbell rings]
[fta answers]
Elder A: Hello, we're missionaries from the Mormon church. Are you fta? Can we come in?
fta: Oh, you know what? Mr.fta isn't home. I know you have rules about that. Try back some other time.
[fta closes door promptly and returns to living room]
Mr.fta: [emerges from bedroom] Who was at the door?
I haven't been contacted by the church much since I stopped attending the ward. There was an initial flurry of phone calls from the bishop or his representatives, a visiting teacher, etc., but we politely declined any appointments or visits and DH felt no need to explain our reasons. I felt some obligation to explain, or send back our recently-renewed recommends, or something, but I didn't. And in time, the feeling faded. If a Mormon from the neighborhood asked me about it in the months after leaving, I would explain with more or less detail depending on the level of our friendship. After that, I haven't heard much.
Last year, I got a Christmas card from the RS president (whom I'm sure couldn't have placed my name on her "inactives" list with a face). Just a standard thing, letting me know she was supposed to care about me personally. I liked this woman when I knew her from afar. As a Caribbean, Catholic convert, she brought a flair into the meetings that made Molly Mormons cringe and me smile. So I rolled my eyes at the card, but I couldn't be mad at her personally.
This Christmas, I got a box of chocolates from two men I had never met before and I supposed were assigned us as home teachers (never mind that DH specifically stated we didn't want home teachers). I couldn't be mad at them, because they just wanted to do their job; they were just messengers in a wacked-out system of assigned friends. I was annoyed because it was the system that brought them to my house, and not any level of true friendship. They even forgot to introduce themselves, but they obviously knew who I was.
Then after Christmas I received a card in the mail, a personal note from someone I actually did know and talk to a few times while I still attended. I even liked her. She "was thinking about me and thought of writing me a note" (The Spirit TM?), hopes we're doing well, and wants to get together and catch up. And she prays that I feel the Lord in my life.
I found myself not minding too much the spiritual references--that writing me was a result of "thinking about me" (it was always encouraged in YW and RS to follow up on those feelings, because it is really the Spirit prompting you); the Lord. I can appreciate these references as just her way of interacting with the mystical world. I can reinterpret it as "I miss you" and "I hope you're happy during the holidays" just like I can reinterpret my Muslim friends saying Alhamdullilah as "That's life" or "Thank goodness" instead of "praise be to God."
So here are my dilemmas: Is it genuine friendship that prompted this? We weren't close friends, but could have been, I think, had we lived closer. Or is it a friend missing me, mixed with concern for my spiritual welfare? Or has she been assigned as my visiting teacher?
Should I call her and state up front that if this is church-assigned, I'd rather have none of it? That if she is planning on reporting back to the RS, I will not meet? Or should I get together with her? But not talk about church-stuff at all, even if she brings it up? Talk about it, because hearing the story might help her?
Am I just too paranoid? Am I too cynical to automatically think this had ulterior motives or origins? Why do I have to think that? Why can't it just be a matter of an old friend contacting me after several months of not seeing each other?
If I don't see her, I'll play into the stereotype of "the inactive becomes anti-social and cuts off friendships." If I do meet with her, I might defy that stereotype by showing her I'm actually quite happy and well-adjusted to life without church.
WWYD? (What would you do?)
Since our awakening and subsequent non-attendance of Mormon church functions, we've been left pretty well alone. Within the first month of leaving, the bishop tried to schedule appointments twice; the RS president (a friend) asked why we weren't showing up to church anymore and tried to get us to talk to an budding apologist; I was given saccharine smiles and several "It's so nice to see you here" when I was stupid enough to attend an women's enrichment night activity; and we were asked if we still wanted home and visiting teachers (no, thanks).
After that little flurry of interest in our eternal welfares, we haven't been contacted except in mass emailings about baby showers, group fasts, temple trips, and help-our-neighbor-move-it-might-help-convert-him! requests, because we've been too lazy to just ask to be removed from the email lists. (I just got around to that.)
The silence from the church has been fine by us. I especially like that the primary hasn't tried to recruit our son into sunbeams. Such a tiny little act would probably be that last straw for me.
So I was a little befuddled when the doorbell rang last night. I went to the front door, and looking through the window saw two young, smartly dressed men I didn't recognize. I thought, "No way, they sent the missionaries!?! I'm totally not letting them in." But as I thought that, I looked at one of their chest pockets and didn't see the tell-tale missionary name tag. Then I thought, "Oh, it must be the stupid doorbells again." Sometimes when people ring our upstairs neighbors, our doorbell goes off by mistake and I open the door to some very confused-looking dinner guests.
As I opened the door to the two guys last night, I was about to say, "Oh, don't worry about it, the doorbells got crossed," and let them in to head up the stairs to the flat above. But the looks on their faces told me that I was exactly the person they were looking for. Then it finally dawned on me (all this took about 4 seconds): Home Teachers.
They were here to wish us a Merry Christmas (not the "happy holidays" one so frequently hears in our culturally diverse city) and drop off a present. They got in a few smiles and how-are-yous and please-come-to-this-or-that-activity, and thankfully never asked to actually come in.
They were ready to say goodbye when I reminded them that I didn't actually know their names, since I've never seen them before. (They, of course, know exactly who we are: one of three or four inactive families on their home teaching list.) They introduced themselves and left.
And that's the story of our first love bomb. I was kind of amused by the whole thing, really. I can't be mad at the men; they had the best intentions in their minds.
But the ward Christmas party they invited us to?
I'll pass, thanks.
When I stopped going to church, I didn't tell the bishop. For a while, I was torn about that. On the one hand, he was my ecclesiastical leader, so he felt logistic responsibility over me as a member of his ward, and spiritual responsibility over me as one of his flock. It would be common courtesy to at least inform him that I'd not longer be coming, right?
There were other reasons to not bother. He didn't know me. He always got my name wrong. What was he to me, other than the man assigned to me by other people higher up in the hierarchy? I no longer saw him as my spiritual leader; I felt he had no authority over me any more.
I also figured that if I did agree to an appointment with him (which he tried to schedule twice), he would be of no help. He would tell me I was wrong and try to get me to come back, to reconsider, to read some scriptures. He would have lectured; not listened. He would ask me to tell him my personal business. But why should I have? Tell my personal spirituality to a bare acquaintance?
Would it be of any use to tell him why I was leaving? Would my voice add to and become a force with all those other disaffected voices, all those others who simply can't be a part of the church anymore? Or would it be lost in that office, excused as nothing more than a young, inexperienced, prideful, confused woman's complaints about the wise ways of the Lord that she just can't understand?
I tend to think the latter. So I didn't bother.
