STRAIGHT OUTTA DODGE

When the creators of South Park, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, dove headfirst into the Mormon pool by producing the satirical hit Broadway play "The Book of Mormon" they received a lot of criticism and adulation from all sides of the religious debate. The Mormon church actually bought ads in the program inviting patrons to read the book after watching the play. The church was betting that many who saw the play would think, "Wow, that's so cool that they are good sports about all this. Maybe I'll check it out." When the more self-righteous mainstream Christians clamored about Mormons not being real Christians and that the play normalized a cult, Matt and Trey came to the defense of Mormons saying something like, "Yeah, Mormons are weird, but they aren't any weirder than the rest of you Christians. At least when we run into Mormons they are super nice and happy all the time."

I get it. Mormons seem quaint and quirky to outsiders. A lot of people view Mormons in the same way they do the Amish: a little backwards, but ultimately harmless. And sure, maybe they aren't as subversive and nasty as some religious zealots can be. But that's how they get ya.

You see, for a Mormon, there is an ulterior motive to their overt pleasantness. They are literally selling you something. For the low, low price of 10% of your income, you, too, can achieve eternal life. Act now and they will even allow you see your family in heaven.

Their greatest marketing tool is their kindness. By being nice to you, the customer, they hope that you will be impressed by their graciousness and want to join their church. It is not unlike Coke-a-Cola spending millions to advertise their charitable givings during the Superbowl. And Mormons are not subtle about it either. They literally talk about it as a way to encourage non-Mormon friends and family to talk to the missionaries and get baptized whenever they have Sunday school lessons about how every member is a missionary. In fact, as an actual missionary one is required to do weekly public service so that locals will see the church in a favorable way.

In my mission we offered free English classes at the church for anyone who wanted to attend. I remember one time we were starting a new round of classes and we pushed extra hard to have a great turnout. We printed new eye-catching posters and plastered the city with hundreds of ads. It took us a week or two to post them all. When the class started we had our highest attendance ever. Dozens of people filed into the entry level class, most of whom I had never seen before. We were ecstatic. Another missionary and I were teaching together, and I started the class by explaining who we were, and what the class would be about. Suddenly, I felt "impressed by the spirit" to bare my testimony that the church was true and the Book of Mormon was a real historical document and all the other typical sound bites Mormons use during a sales pitch. Part way through my testimony, which was starting to drag and feel a bit forced (as they often do), the other missionary interjected and started writing basic words on the white board. He turned to me and whispered, "You gotta include more English, man." I was deflated. I really felt like god wanted me to say what I said, and that I would touch the heart of someone in our captive audience. After all, we were missionaries in post-communist Bulgaria. Business was slow and we were desperate for success.

The next week maybe 25% of the students came back. The week after we were back to our regular crew of about half a dozen people for all three classes.

Sometimes I think about that incident and regret sharing my testimony. Maybe I could have done some actual, no kidding good for the local people who obviously had a desire to learn English (learning English meant having a better chance of winning the Green Card lottery and moving to the USA). Maybe then my two-year mission wouldn't have been a complete waste of time. Other times I think it was a good thing that I put off so many people on the first day of class. At least that way they were able to see our true intentions--and let's be clear, converting them to Mormonism was our intention--and get out while they could.

Maybe it's a wash.

Fast forward to this past weekend when my wife and I went to her parents' home for dinner. We had a pleasant evening. There was good food, we played a board game, my dog got to spend some quality time with her third favorite person in the world. As the night was wrapping up, I thought to myself, "wow, this was actually a nice little get-together." When it was time for us to leave, my wife announced that we needed to get going, and without hesitation my father-in-law said, "Let's have a family prayer." It wasn't a question.

I was livid. I reluctantly stood by as my in-laws and my wife all kneeled on the floor and my father-in-law said a prayer about, well, I don't know, I was too upset to pay attention. The whole evening was a sham. It was coercive, passive-aggressive manipulation. He was betting that we wouldn't want to be rude after such a pleasant evening and would just go along with it. Then god would "do the rest" and soften our hearts and we would leap back into the Mormon pool once again.

Was is a big deal? Could I have gone along with it? Sure. I have in similar situations. But my wife and I have had conversations with her parents about Mormonism and our relationship with the church (we have both removed our names from the church's records). They don't know all the details, because my wife isn't all that eager to get in to it with her parents. And that's fine. She gets to dictate the pace with her family. But her parents know enough about our position to be able to reasonably infer that at the very least things like prayers and firesides and sacrament meetings and General Conference and reading scriptures is touchy for us and very likely to make us uncomfortable. Especially when put on the spot in front of other family members who may not know as much about the situation. What if our roles had been reversed? What if I made it a point to have a movie playing which I knew would offend my guests as they come in? What if I had steered the conversation to things like the health benefits of coffee and tea, or the moral case for abortion. What if before they left my home I insisted that I read a passage from Christopher Hitchens' book god is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything? At the very least I would be a poor host. But when religious people pull that nonsense knowingly in mixed company, they presumably get a pass. Frankly, it's rude and shows a lack of respect for our beliefs and boundaries. But Mormons don't care. The ends justify the means. In their view they are doing us a favor. They are offering us eternal life, after all, for the low, low price of 10% of our income. And if we act now we can spend eternity with pushy, self-righteous assholes.

I really need to get out of Utah...




BONUS MATERIAL:




Christopher Hitchens on how religion poisons everything.