What I Learned From General Conference

Looking back at General Conference weekend I realized a number of things.

1.  Reading even the summaries of General Conference talks gives me a headache and the feeling of being sucked back into a syrupy spiritual goo that is sweet and suffocating and prevents movement.  Yeah this sounds cutesy and alliterative and all, but seriously, I thought for a while about how to describe the feeling I got from reading that stuff, and really that’s how it makes me feel.  Like my brain, my spirit is being sucked back into this sticky morass just as I described.  Not a good sign.

2.  All Mormon General Authorities have a “look.”  There’s just something about them in their white shirts and suits that look like they’re bolted on and that barely perceptible know-it-all look in their eyes that says “I’ve made it to the red chair, godhood here I come.”  They all have it.  A very self-satisfied aura of pride, which is probably justified since they’ve survived all the political climbing and jockeying that precedes getting the jobs they have.  I’m sure lots of them are very well-meaning and talented and smart guys.  I even know a few of them personally.  I also know they’re just guys doing a job.

3.  The Mormon church is like Apple.  Obsessed with its brand equity.  Convinced it’s got the best product line-up in the world and if everybody could just see things its way, the whole world would convert and everybody would be wonderfully happy with nothing but Mormon-branded everything.  In fact, that’s its goal.  Just give up all your ability to see things and do things and think about things any other way but how the brand owner wants, and everything will be fine, you’ll be blissful and content inside the walled garden while others make all the decisions.  It’s like the Land of the Lotus Eaters in the Odyssey.

4.  Leaving the church is like putting away my iPhone and changing to Android.  It’s not soup to nuts anymore.  Sure, there’s a basic platform and lots of things that fit together.  But now I have to do some of my own customization and configuration.  There’s no single entity telling me how to do everything, how to live or think.  I have to figure some things out on my own.

5.  I like the Android approach a lot better.    It’s like I finally grew up.  There’s no line of patriarchs stretching back in time making me feel like generations of stern forebears are looking over my shoulder to make sure I toe the church line.  I really am in uncharted country, exploring for myself, making my own decisions, taking my own risks, learning for my own life.  I’m an adult now, I have to fend for myself.  I don’t have the benevolent spiritual taskmasters always telling me what to do anymore.

6.  It’s exhilarating in ways I never imagined or could even have comprehended.  It’s like I spent most of my life in a small stuffy insulated square room with a handful of books, breathing nothing but that stale air, and then suddenly someone opened a door and I stepped out and found myself on a mountaintop with the most incredible views for miles and miles in every direction, the most staggering beauty above, around and below me, and I took in a deep breath of clean crisp air for the first time.  You know how intoxicating that feels?  That’s what it’s like, only not in my lungs.  It’s in my heart.

Disproportionate

When you grow up steeped in everything Mormon you assume that it's the only valid world view.  That everything revolves around Mormonism and Salt Lake City.  You think the trajectory of world history is simple and clear-cut, and moving inexorably to a well-known end.  You're most likely taught that you were saved for "the last days" to be part of that end.  You see the world through Mormon-colored glasses.

Then after breaking out of the shell, things are really disorienting for a while.  They have been for me.  But I'm gradually starting to get my bearings again.  And one thing I'm continuously struck by is the increasingly comical view which Mormons have of their own church's importance in the world. 

Even when I was a good faithful Mormon boy, I remember reading about early leaders' proclamations to the world, addressed to basically everybody worldwide, kings, emperors, presidents, leaders and populace alike, everywhere.  And printed in some local newspaper that probably never saw circulation beyond a few counties on the western frontier edge of the United States.  It seemed laughably presumptuous.  Like a little kindergarten boy indignantly marching outside to lecture a raincloud for spoiling his playtime and demanding that the cloud go away.  And just as effective.

But also getting just about as much notice.  And even today, with its massive wealth and media muscle, the Mormon church is still only about 4 million actual participating people worldwide.  Four million out of six billion?  With growth stalled to near zero in all developed countries? 

And yet those inside it persist in their tendency to think their organization is the fulcrum on which the world pivots.   There's such seriousness, even self-importance, within the cocoon.  Recall my previous example about apostle Russell Ballard being incredulous on learning that most Americans still had a dim view of Mormons even after decades of missionary work and untold millions spent on PR.

And this is where it gets funny.  Outside, hardly anybody even notices the cocoon's existence.  Those who do notice now have the Internet, which has stripped the church of its ability to control its own history and message, and I'm convinced that's one reason why baptismal rates have been dropping since . . . well, isn't that interesting.  Since right around the time the Internet became widely available.  Hmmm.  Coincidence?

The Book of Mormon Musical and the campaigns of Mr. Huntsman and Mr. Romney have focused some temporary media attention on the church.  But much of it isn't the kind the church wants.  And when the musical finishes its run, and next year's presidential campaign is over with, the media and the world will turn their attention to something else.  And I have no doubt the view from inside the cocoon, with its self-importance and its latent persecution complex, will remain unchanged.  As will the fact that most of the world goes on quite happily without any notice of that quirky little group out there in the Utah desert whose growth is clearly stalling out and whose social relevance is fading.

Belonging

This evening I sang the Faure Requiem as part of the special 9/11 Evensong service at San Diego's Episcopal cathedral.  I couldn't help but be struck by the contrast between how I felt as I stood in front of the altar and sang that beautiful music, and how I'd felt in countless Mormon sacrament meetings.

Much in Mormon tradition and leaders' preaching slams traditional Christianity as "apostate" and, as exemplified by Bruce McConkie, makes a huge and angry fuss over things like stained glass and incense and vestments and ceremony and all that.  I guess it's supposed to be self-evident that all those things are evidence of Satanic corruption and confirmation of Whore of Babylon status or something.

Well show me chapter and verse in the Mormon scriptural canon that requires the type of Sunday services the Mormons use.  Other than the sacrament prayer.  Oh yeah, that's what I thought.  It's nowhere in Mormon scriptures either.  Where'd it come from, then?  Most Mormon don't realize that it was Brigham Young who set the pattern for Mormon worship services still used today, and that those services represent Young's New England Congregationalist upbringing and preferences.  Very basic, simple stuff.  No liturgy, no high church trappings.  That's what Brigham Young liked, so that's what the Mormons use.

But over the last 20 years or so, I've noticed something.  And it's not just me, either, I'm seeing people all over the Bloggernacle remark about it.  Mormon services have become unendurably boring.  Bereft of spirit and inspiration.  The spiritual sclerosis induced by Correlation made going to church a chore for me years before I actually left.  And the kids would do nothing but read or sleep through sacrament meeting and eventually began begging me not to make them even do that.  Finally I realized that my time was far better spent giving them attention than sitting with them and sharing boredom and drowsiness on a Mormon chapel's back bench every Sunday.  So we stopped attending and haven't been back.  And family life's far better.

So today, as I stood in front of the altar at St. Paul's Episcopal Cathedral and sang that ethereally beautiful music in memory of the victims of 9/11--who I'm sure barely warranted a mention in Mormon sacrament meetings today--I couldn't help but be struck by the contrast.  The church I was raised in came to feel like a sterile, pointless collection of automatons who assembled each week in a plain boxy room to go through the same rote, boring business meeting punctuated by songs sung abysmally with minimum enthusiasm.  Nobody new ever turned up.  There were two convert baptisms in the 4+ years I attended that ward.  It was like everybody was on autopilot.  A little cocoon of robots, unconnected to the outside world, all dutifully repeating the same things week after week.  Including the guilt for not doing better and not achieving more.  The only time I saw anybody really worked up there was during the Prop 8 campaign when they all suddenly sprang to full, vitriolic, angry, rumor-mongering, homophobic life.  The longer I was there, the more disconnected I felt.

But when I stood there today in front of the altar at St. Paul's, singing that beautiful music, I felt connected in so many ways that I never did in any Mormon setting.  Connected to everyone around me who obviously understood and knew and appreciated this music just as I did.  Connected to the greater liturgical tradition of the church in which I sang and to the literally centuries' worth of people who'd found meaning and purpose in that form of worship.  Connected to those lost on 9/11 in whose memory we sang the Requiem as a memorial and prayer for God's mercy on them.  Connected to every American who paused today to remember the victims and how the world changed ten years ago.  I was part of something vast, that reached out across the country, that reached back centuries in time.  It was awe-inspiring and gratifying in ways I can't imagine ever being possible in today's Mormon sacrament meetings.

After the services ended and the bishop pronounced the benediction, those of us in the choir--all dressed in black--filed slowly down the aisle of the cathedral as the waning day's sunlight streamed through the great rose window's stained glass and right into our eyes.  And once again, I felt connected.  Very much part of something larger, something that resonated in my heart and stirred me as deeply as anything has.  For me, at least, there really is something to the symbolism of a celebrants' procession in and out of the cathedral.  It tells everyone "Hey!  Pay attention!  Something special is about to happen!" or "Hey, be reverent!  You've been taught and inspired, and now it's time to reflect as you leave."  I was just one of many voices who'd all joined together in worship and memorial, singing music of the highest quality in a setting truly inspiring.

This was the kind of setting and atmosphere that really felt like home.  Not some barely organized plain-jane routine mish-mash of apathetic songs and rote "talks" re-hashed from somebody else's re-hash of somebody else.  For me, at least, it was real worship, real memorial, real connection to the wider world.  In a beautiful setting, with truly inspiring music, and surrounded by people that I knew cared about me not because of my home teaching statistics or anything like that, but simply because I was there, sharing faith with them.

So Brigham Young and Bruce McConkie, you know what you can do with your criticisms of "apostate" Christianity.  I'm finding a lot more inspiration there than I ever found in what you concocted and defended.  By their fruits ye shall know them, remember?

There and Here

Being a lifelong non-Utahn, somehow I acquired the idea in childhood that Utah, being the "center place of Zion," was particularly special, maybe even sacrosanct.  That's where the prophet lived so it must be the holiest place on earth, right?  When I got older, I wanted to visit Utah and experience such a spiritual and holy place for myself.  Yeah, that's really what I thought as a kid.

Then I grew up, and actually visited.  Then moved there for school even.  Saw the real thing for myself.

Now, before I go further, I must say that there are exceptions to every rule, and I have known many people in Utah who are as true and honest Christians as you will find anywhere.  I value their friendship and respect them greatly for their faith and their dedication to practicing it in the truest sense.

That said, add me to the countless number of people who've gone to "Zion", seen it for themselves, and come away dismayed and jaded almost beyond description that the place which claims to be the home of the prophet and apostles, where the spiritual influence of the church is greatest, should be so shot through with hypocrisy.

Now, if I were naturally nothing but a cynic, this wouldn't surprise me.  Part of me is a cynic, it's true.  But part of me stubbornly clings to some perhaps naive idealism and hope that when people claim to be Christian, they actually will try to be.  That when a church claims to be God's One And Only, it will actually act like it, consistently.  That the culture it creates will reflect that truth and Christian character.  And so when those things don't happen, and the gap between claim and reality is revealed to be so great, then I am all the more disappointed.

Some people might say You set yourself up for this, no earthly organization is perfect, the gospel is perfect but the church isn't, the people will always be fallible and imperfect, yadda yadda.  I know all that.

But other churches don't claim a monopoly on God's authorization.  They don't claim to have a living prophet.  They don't claim to be guided by direct revelation both macro and micro.  That's the thing.  The Mormon church teaches that every member has not only the right but the responsibility to seek personal revelation to instruct and inform their life.  And if they were doing it, and actually getting it, and truth being consistent with itself, then one would think all of them would gradually be moving in the direction of greater truth, light, knowledge, Christlike character, no?

And wouldn't that be especially true in the place with the most active Mormons?  Where the prophet and apostles live?  Shouldn't it, of all, places, at least have the capacity to be further along the road to City of Enoch status than others?

Sigh.  Not quite.  Instead, what I found was what I've subsequently learned many others found too.  And which I won't describe, but I'll let two others describe for me so you, gentle reader, will know I'm not just being a crank.  These comments are from an article on an unrelated subject that ran in the Salt Lake Tribune:

I'm a native Californian LDS living now here in Utah,and I don't "get" the "culture" at all, it's like it's two completely different religions. The real LDS Church, and what so many claim to be, here in Utah. Huge difference, and therein lies the shame.  Since I'm from California, I'm an "outsider", a pagan idolater that actually expects people to do what they say they are going to do, instead of their myriad pathetic excuses, rationalizations and justifications for being a hypocrite.
 

Treat people like you like to be treated, celebrate the "differences" between you, find something in common, instead of being lazy and refusing to acknowledge the good decent people that may not be active LDS, in our faith, believe in our faith or at odds with our faith. We can STILL find the good, at least that's what I believe and try to practice-admittedly some days I'm lousy at it. 

. . .

I also am a transplant from CA.  It's a night and day difference between the Mormons outside of Utah and Utah Mormons.  I never had a problem with Mormons growing up... my best friends were Mormon, and yet never pressured me to join.

Then I moved out here, and I have changed my view on the Mormons 180 degrees.  Out here, they are arrogant and hypocritical.  And, like another poster said below, they lie constantly to promote their faith.  My CA friends wouldn't try and recruit me, but now I face an endless stream of missionaries.

I'm glad to know I'm not just Utah-jaded, and that out of state Mormons see it too.

It's encouraging to know that not just non-Mormons but even other Mormons see this and react the same way I did.  So I feel vindicated, to a degree.

But it still bothers me.  If the Mormon church didn't make such lofty claims for itself and its people, this would be no big deal.  But it does make those claims.  So when it and its people fall short, the gap is that much greater, and so is my disappointment.  

Other organizations, even religious ones, can aspire to noble things.  And they can fall short.  And that doesn't bother me.  At least they try.  

But this one is in a class by itself.  It claims to be the one true authorized gospel of Jesus Christ restored to the earth with the only authorized priesthood, the only authentic Holy Ghost for inspiration, the only trustworthy conduit for the actual voice of God through a prophet, the "stone cut out of the mountain without hands" that will ultimately fill the whole earth.  Yet what did I see in the place with the greatest number of its adherents anywhere on the planet?  Enough pharisaism, double-dealing, duplicity, bad faith, bigotry, arrogance and complacent smugness to convince both me and (now ex) wife that we would never ever raise kids in Utah.  We wanted them to confront real life head-on, without the suffocating overlay of hypocritical pretense that "all is well."

I've become a pretty practical, results-oriented guy.  I judge things by their fruits.  And when an organization claiming to be God's sole authorized channel for truth, authority and salvific ordinances produces fruit like this in the place where logically its concentration of spiritual power should shine most brightly, then I am forced to question whether it really is any of the things it claims.  Perhaps it's just that the people really aren't practicing what they preach and if they did, the place would be what I first expected.  Perhaps I should forget about the group analysis and look only at individuals.

But groups are nothing more than large numbers of individuals, and one can discern trends about larger things from the behavior of groups.  It's a sad commentary on the group called Mormons that where their group is biggest, they have the reputation they do.  And in my perhaps still naive heart, that is not the kind of result that a truly divine organization would produce.

Diplomacy

Having sent the kids off to the grocery store to replenish a few kitchen basics, I finally have a little quiet time to set down some thoughts here again.

I've told only selected friends about my resignation from the Mormon church.  I've not announced it on Facebook and I certainly haven't told anyone in my family of origin, who are already having extreme difficulty with my coming out.  Friends' reactions have varied widely.  Some have praised me for courage.  Some have wondered what took me so long.  Some have been matter of fact, saying "whatever makes you happy."  A couple were quite indignant.

One guy, a friend since college days who's spent his life teaching for the Church Educational System in Utah, was probably most upset.  His almost instant response was a very agitated "Well one of us has been completely deceived!"  Eventually he calmed down, but the reaction was very telling.  He's known me for long enough that he understands I don't do things rashly, and that when it comes to major decisions, I do my homework thoroughly in advance.  So I wasn't just some superficial, ignorant crank whose judgment he could dismiss as ill-informed.  He knew my previous depth of commitment and understanding.  He knew my record of church service.  And for someone that educated and knowledgeable to conclude that it just ain't so, that he'd been wasting a lot of time trusting things that didn't deserve it, well, that shook my friend to his foundations.  It took hours of conversation to calm him down and persuade him that I wasn't going to try to talk him into doing what I'd done, and that if Mormonism worked for him and helped him be a better person, then I'd say great, wonderful, good for you.  The hardest thing for him was to overcome all the "either-or" programming that instantly pushed him to fearing I'd be a raving hostile apostate.  He seemed to think there wasn't any other kind.  I never bring up the issue now, if he wants to, that's fine, but obviously so far he doesn't.  That's okay.

Another friend who's also gay but remains active in the church was angry with me because I hadn't insisted on the "court of love" thing so I could pull a Thomas More vigorously denouncing prejudice and defending truth before Parliament thing before the stake presidency and high council.  Except I would defend equal treatment and tolerance for gay people and denounce homophobia and bigotry and maybe open their eyes.  Meh.  While I admired his passion for speaking out in defense of truth as he sees it, and I was flattered by his belief that I could have made that kind of difference, he didn't know the local authorities like I did.  Ultimately I did talk with both bishop and stake president and it went wonderfully well.  More on that later.  But at the time I had no idea what might happen.  And everybody knows what happened to Thomas More after he gave his speech.

Tomorrow is my one year anniversary of resignation from the Mormon church.  And I have lots of friends who remain there, even gay friends who are still believing Mormons and trying to reconcile like I did.  I talk with them, read their blog posts, their Facebook updates, comments and questions.  So filled with sincere faith and obvious desire to continue in the church.

I can be the diplomat, no problem.  I'm not wanting to unleash a torrent of anti-Mormon content in their direction.  I truly do try to practice what I preach, live and let live, respect others' freely-chosen beliefs as long as they do no harm to others.  Even if I think the beliefs are flat-out wrong, even fraudulent.  I believe in freedom of choice and self-determination, how could I do otherwise.

I was in the same position as my still-Mormon friends for most of my life till I started looking at it all with objectivity and no agenda.  I used to trust completely subjective feelings as trumping anything objective and empirical too.  I've grown beyond that now and I trust the integrity of truth to be consistent with itself and able to withstand any examination no matter how rigorous.  And in my opinion, Mormon claims can't withstand that kind of scrutiny.

So it's weird to see my still-faithful Mormon friends talk about Mormon stuff as if it were all irrefutable truth.  Things I've thoroughly and exhaustively examined and found to be false, or distorted beyond all semblance of veracity, or misrepresented, or so incomplete as to be totally untrustworthy.  It kind of makes me feel like I used to when the kids were very small and talked so seriously about what the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus would bring.  I didn't dare tell them what I knew, of course, it would have devastated their childlike innocence.  I never saw any harm in those childhood myths that help make the world a more magical and wonderful place.

But for educated grown-ups to cling to beliefs about alleged facts that don't stand up to adult-level scrutiny, for them to make life judgments based on those beliefs, for them to treat others fairly or spitefully as they think their religious beliefs require, that is a different thing altogether.  I concede that I was for a long time part of the group I'm now gently, respectfully, taking issue with.  I know people have their own timetables and abilities for this kind of thing.  That's why I don't presume to criticize any of my still-Mormon friends for their beliefs.  If they're happy where they are, then I don't want to discomfit them gratuitously.

But privately, I struggle just a teeeeeeeeentsy bit.  Because I know they're smart.  Their hearts are good.  They are well-intentioned.  They are talented.  I want to believe the best of them.  And I honestly and truly believe that I am right, and the Mormon church is wrong.  So it grates just a tiny bit for me to see my smart, good-hearted, talented, well-intentioned friends continue to believe in, trust, and make life decisions in light of a religion that I think, to put it bluntly, is deceiving them.  Nobody likes to see their friends taken in, especially about such important things.  I care about them a lot and I don't want to see them hurt.  And while I know the Mormon church can create and do a lot of good things, it has also inflicted incredible pain and tragedy on lots and lots of people, especially gay people and their families.  On gay people as they try to resolve the completely impossible conundrum of being happily gay and happily Mormon--it can't be done, utterly impossible.  And on their families, whom the church persuades to mourn and grieve for the "loss" of their gay children from the eternal family just because a kid is gay and realizes a happy, fulfilled life as a gay Mormon is impossible.  It's cruel and barbaric what the church does to those families.  The unnecessary anguish it inflicts is unconscionable.

But ultimately it's their choice.  If they want to talk about such stuff with me, I'm happy to do it.  But I won't push them.  If I'd been pushed I would have pushed back; hell, I did, a lot.  I remember doing it.  I changed when I was ready.  I just have to continue to be the respectful diplomat, love and respect my friends sincerely, as I do, and hope that someday they will see things as I do.  And if they don't, I'll still love them.  Though I don't accept the Mormon version of Christianity anymore, I still try to follow the Savior's teachings, and I still believe that charity--the pure love of Christ--never faileth.

Normal

Saturday's Warrior.  Chosen generation, royal priesthood.  Saved for the last days to build Zion and greet Jesus' second coming.  Destined to save the U.S. Constitution--and thereby the nation and the world--when it's been shredded by evil vicious godless people.

Yeah, I grew up with all that.  Believed it, too.  Felt very privileged.  I was gonna save the world from all the ignorant corrupt dangerous plotters of doom and evil who I was told surrounded us on all sides though we couldn't see them because they were hiding, waiting for the right time to emerge and destroy the country and the world.  And it would be up to me, imagine that, to beat them back, defend truth and freedom, and then struggle to my feet, bloody but unbowed, as I gazed up into the sky and watched Jesus descend from the heavens to re-set all of world history.  Seriously, that's what I was taught to believe and expect.

Well, needless to say, we're still all standing around waiting for the cataclysm.  Sure, the world's going through kind of a rocky patch right now, but it's certainly nothing like the Great Depression or World War 2.  People who lived back then were surely more justified in fearing the total end of the world than we are now.  And guess what.  Now it's my kid who's being told in his deacon's quorum that he is the Saturday's Warrior, the chosen generation, the royal priesthood, the one reserved to be born in the last days to build Zion and greet Jesus' second coming.  Destined to save the U.S. Constitution--and thereby the nation and the world--when it's been shredded by evil vicious godless people.  Wait, that sounds familiar.


I was "special" for a long time.  Then I realized it was only in my own mind, and only because I'd been told so by other people with their own religious agenda.  And after a while, I got kinda tired of it.  Eventually "special" morphed into "weird" as I learned more of how Mormons actually came across.  I laughed out loud when I read a recent story of a briefing given to Russell Ballard of the 12 apostles on how bad of a reputation Mormons have in the United States.  What made me laugh was his reported reaction: stunned disbelief and astonishment.  Like "We've spent millions of dollars and decades of missionary effort, how could people not love us?"  Sheesh.  No wonder those guys seem like they live in an ivory tower sometimes.  Because they do!

Well I got tired of being in a local version of the same tower.  I gradually felt more and more smothered by all the rules and performance obligations.  Any spiritual growth had long since petered out, replaced by growing alarm at the mounting evidence that the Mormon church had lied about so much of its own history, to the degree that I couldn't trust it anymore.

So now I'm out.  I resigned on principle, while still keeping all the rules.  I felt it was a matter of integrity.  But I knew I didn't believe it anymore, there was no reason to stay.  So we parted ways, on good terms.

And now I'm really glad to be normal.  I'm glad to have given up that benign bigoted subliminal arrogance that comes from all that "You're Saturday's Warrior!" programming.  I'm just a guy, trying to do his best to figure things out, live an honorable life, be a good example to my kids, help and serve those around me when I can.  I love a good cup of coffee in the morning.  I love a glass of good wine with dinner, and maybe the occasional more high-powered recreational beverage when I hang out with friends.  Many times I've thought NOW I get it!  NOW I understand the whole "social lubricant" thing!  Because it really does make a difference.  I don't smoke (it's disgusting) and I don't do drugs.  Those are both nothing but harmful.  But a cup of coffee or a glass of wine with friends?  What could be more normal and congenial than that?  Two little pleasures in life that I've finally been able to appreciate.

No, that's not why I left the church, because I "wanted to sin" like this.  But having left, for solid and legitimate reasons, I can say that it's good to not be special anymore.  It's good to be normal, to feel like I can finally choose for myself from everything that life has to offer.  Not because of guilt or some responsibility somebody else imposed on me, but because of my own best judgment.  Acting for myself, and not being acted upon.  It's really, really good to just be normal at last.

Unmentionables

It's gotta be weird in all kinds of ways that underwear features so prominently in any religion.  But the Mormons have never shied away from seeming strange, in fact, they tend to embrace it as verification that they're right and the rest of the world is wrong.  It's that thing Jesus said about the world will hate you because it hates me.  Which the Mormons fall back on whenever they do or believe or say or adopt anything that's just flat-out bizarre.  And obsessing about underwear in the name of faithfulness certainly qualifies.

Growing up surrounded by and saturated with every bit of Mormoninity possible, temple garments seemed to innocent little kid me a badge of achievement, accomplishment, spiritual maturity.  When I finally went to the temple and put them on my first time, it was like "Wow, I've arrived, I'm all grown up now!"  I remember going once to the LA temple on a Saturday during the summer just before my mission with a BYU dormmate buddy.  After a session we went to the temple cafeteria for lunch still in our whites.  There were hordes of youth there at the same time still drying out from baptism sessions (the LA temple cafeteria is, like everything else in that temple, huge.  It's bigger than a lot of ward chapels I've seen).  Since dormmate buddy and I were only a couple years older than a lot of them, we attracted quite a bit of attention from these kids since we were in full temple whites and the garment lines were of course clearly visible.  I felt very mature.

Afterward at BYU, the g's were of course a badge of legitimate eligibility.  All RMs there remembered what it was like to be socially dismissed as a non-garmie-wearing freshman boy.  And any observant BYU alum who attended a student ward probably remembers seeing some girl somewhere in some church meeting tracing the garment seam lines on her boyfriend's thighs or arm or chest or back.  That's the only legitimate way to relieve sexual tension there.  Other than biting through barbed wire.

But once you leave Crappy Valley's cocoon and go out into the real world, start working out at real world gyms, that kind of thing, you start realizing that g's maaaaaaaybe aren't quite as cool as you always thought.  Those funny marks are . . . well, kinda funny.  Especially where they're placed.  It's like you've got permanent scars on your t-shirt from what some people might think was the world's most powerful titty-twisters.  No wonder Mormon guys outside Utah act shy and jumpy in "gentile" locker rooms.

I just dealt with it for a long time as best I could.  Figured I'd made a commitment to wear these things the rest of my life so I'd better do it.  When I married, I got the standard advice, it's okay to take them off for sex but put them right back on again afterward.  And since wife was even more orthodox than I was, that became the unquestioned rule.  I remember once when we actually decided beforehand that we wouldn't put them back on again but would sleep without them.  Just that one night.  We were trying to get pregnant and thought that might help.  It didn't, and we both ended up feeling horribly guilty in the morning because we hadn't "kept the rules."  I roll my eyes now to think about it, but that was our mind-set at the time.

Then the whole Prop 8 thing came along and I began seriously questioning everything.  I started doing some business travel, and one evening after work, for some reason I still haven't figured out, I decided I was gonna go get some non-Salt-Lake-approved underwear.  It'd been a lotta years since I'd even let myself consider doing such a thing, so I played it safe and went to Nordstrom and got some boring white Hugo Boss briefs.  Not the same cut as little boys wear, but they were still called "briefs" on the package.  Took 'em back to my hotel room, and tried 'em out next morning after showering for work.

I couldn't believe how it felt.  I could actually feel the fabric of my jeans against the skin of my thighs.  Damn it felt good.  It wasn't a sexual thing, either.  It was sensual.  There's a big difference.  Look it up if you don't know it.  Didn't take me long to realize that wearing the g's all those years seemed to have basically deadened the skin sensitivity everywhere the g's touched.  I was hooked.

I liked wearing t-shirts to absorb sweat so I figured I'd just stick with the garmie tops for a while, why pop for a bunch of new t-shirts when I already had enough.  But I obviously needed more bottoms, so I got adventurous and went for some black Calvin Klein boxer-briefs.  That was a big step.  Non-white underwear?  After so many years of nothing but garmies?  I felt dangerously daring as I tried those on for the first time.  Then I got even more reckless and got some bright blue ones.  And soon after, the garmie tops started to wear out, and I decided transition time was over.  Why halt between two opinions.  So I chucked the lot, got a whole stack of regular t-shirts, and haven't looked back.  And now I have evolved to complete decadence, with bright red boxer shorts that have sharks all over them, and the sharks are saying "Bite me."  Bright orange ones with hamburgers and french fries on them and the words "Check out my junk."  Bright blue ones with whales and the words "This blows."  And they are SO comfortable.

Taking off the garmies for the last time seems to all endowed active Mormons the ultimate act of rebellion and defiance.  I'm sorry but that's just weird.  The whole idea that you can judge someone's religious commitment by their underwear.  And there are so many stupid myths about it all too.  First of all, the recommend question is wrong.  You didn't make a covenant to wear the garment night and day, you were "instructed" to "wear it throughout your life."  And what that phrase means is up to each person.  But Mormon culture loves its cheap and easy talismans for judging others, and wearing the garmies has become one of those.  Nobody seems to know that 24/7 garment wearing was NOT the rule until Joseph F. Smith, the original Garment Nazi, took over as church president in 1901.  He preached that the original garment design was revealed straight from heaven and should never change.  He instituted the 24/7 wearing requirement.  He had those new rules posted in all the temples.  And what did his successor Heber Grant do when he took over?  He promptly ordered all those instructions taken down and burned--yes, burned--and authorized the most significant changes to garment design ever, to that point.

All of that is academic to me now, of course, since I no longer accept any of the premises for garment-wearing.  But researching and reading the history of the garment was one of the things that contributed to my progress out of the church.  More contradictory statements and claims by different people who all claimed to be inspired when they spoke.  It became clear that the garment was just another man-made pro forma ritualistic practice that one particular sect decided to cling to, like a barnacle, as a badge of uniqueness. One that, conveniently, became a revenue-generator for the church.  Funny how that works sometimes.

More seriously, though I also realized that the 24/7 garment rule is another means of controlling members' lives.  Make them promise to (buy and) wear this one kind of underwear for the rest of their lives.  Make them feel guilty if they don't do it every single damn day.  Use it as a means of interposing church requirements even between husbands and wives in the privacy of their own bed, when of all times, nothing should come between them.  The more I think about that, the angrier I get at such presumption.  Make them fear that if they ever take the things off for more than is "minimally necessary" for certain types of activities, God will be displeased with them.  Create a culture in which everybody is subliminally curious about what kind of underwear everybody else is wearing.  'Cause if they're wearing garments, they're faithful and you can trust them, right?  After all, they've been to the temple.  WTF?  How creepy is that?  Judging someone's religious faith and trustworthiness by their underwear?  That's just bizarre.  But that's the way it is in much of Mormondom. 

As I gradually realized all that, it seemed more and more pointless to keep wearing the things.  So on the day I resigned from the church, I cut 'em up and tossed them.  Just before, though, I put on both bottom and top one last time just to see how it felt.  And it felt suffocating.  I really felt like I couldn't breathe.  And that was that.  The things I'd looked forward to wearing had ended up smothering me.  Literally.  It was an ironic symbol of what the whole Mormon package had become for me.  So I said no more of this, I need to breathe.  And ever since I have reveled in a regained sense of freedom that is not just physical but emotional, psychological and spiritual too. 

So that's the story of how I've gone through the whole Mormon cycle of Underwear Obsession.  The rest of my family of origin continues to wear their garmies faithfully, or at least I assume so since I hear about them going to the temple and all.  But other than that, I have long since left the ranks of The Secret Mormon Underwear Police.  Gawd, what a silly thing to think about.  So much is more important.  Like which boxers should I wear tomorrow, "bite me" or "check out my junk"?