The Mormon Candidate - a Novel (9 page)

My father
was a stern man, but I still remember how he
trembled
with joy when I, his youngest,
advanc
ed
to the
Aaronic P
riesthood at
age 12
. M
y mother
was more
expressive
. H
er tears flow
ed
freely
when I first fulfilled my duty as Deacon to pass the sacrament
al
bread and the water to the congregation
. She
even
sobbed at my Eagle
Scout
ceremony, and my framed
certificate
soon
h
u
ng over her kitchen sink so she could look at it all the time.

At
14, I advanced to Teacher, and at 16, to Priest, which entitled me to recite the prayers over the sacramental bread and water and fill in for the adult priesthood holders in conducting meeting
s
and even in baptizing converts. And, finally, like all worthy Mormon males
,
I advanced to the Melchizedek Priesthood
and
experienced the secret Temple ordinances, rituals
,
and oaths,
which endowed me with all the powers and authority of God.
There are few occasions in life more dramatic than the first participation in the rituals—so special and secret that we had to pantomime the punishment for revealing them to Gentiles by pretending to slit our throats and slice our stomach
s
in pretend disembowelment.

As a holder of
my
own
Temple Recommend
C
ard
—the laminated
admission
card
to the
T
emple and
the most sacred rituals
of the Church
of
Jesus Christ of
Latter
-da
y Saint
s
—I was a true Saint.

Living in Utah, where a Temple is never too far, I regularly served as a proxy in baptizing dead souls
. The process had two parts that were performed at different times by different proxies. The first part required stamina to endure 30 or 40
immersion
s
in the baptismal bath while the
dead people
’
s
names
were
read from a list
. Taking
the Temple ordinance rituals for
the dead was easier, but also
a slower process that took
a lot of
time
. But serving as
a
proxy for the dead
gave us, male teenagers who were selected for this hono
r, a sense of great importance.

After that
, it was only a matter of time until
our bishop
certified me as worthy, and the letter came from Salt Lake City to
call
on
me
to serve as a Missionary
.

My imminent departure
was a cause of mixed feelings for my parents, as I was the last child still living at their home
. I had spent the previous two summers working
in my uncle’s CPA office, entering endless lines of numbers into a
slow and capricious
computer database
at $3
per hour
,
to save up enough money to pay my expenses during my Mission
. I was about to earn the
most prized feather in a Mormon man’s cap—the
honor of
sav
ing
Gentiles from a life of apostasy and
ignoran
ce
of the
T
rue
C
hurch
, and later, an afterlife of
hell.

Behind my typical
18
-year-old’s bravado
was
a good deal of
nervousness about going away for
2
years, most likely to a foreign country.
According to church policy, the place of service is revealed to each missionary only a few weeks beforehand
.

I was right to be nervous
! My assignment was
New York City!

It could have been Somalia, as far as I was concerned,
because from
our
small town
in
Utah
, the urban jungle was more intimidating than
a
real one.

Several
intense
weeks
at the Missionary Training C
enter
in Provo
taught me the art of “tracking” – approach
ing
Gentiles
with
intrigu
ing
questions to make them curious a
bout the Mormon faith
. We practiced
greetings and light-hearted
opening line
s to be used on
Christians
, who could always be enticed to hear ‘a
nother testimony of Christ.
’
We acted out
situations that commonly occurred as prospects agreed to hear more. We used videotaping to record and watch ourselves
declar
e
our solemn, hearty personal testimony that the LDS principles were true
, with the goal of reaching such level of emotional sincerity that our prospects were moved emotionally. We practiced praying and singing catchy
hymns, and
we learned how to
read the gospel with
prospects
while sharing deeply personal experiences of salvation and miracles. The key was to
create a moving experience so that the prospect felt
the Holy Ghost
as a sort of “
warm
th
of kinship
”
in their bosom. That feeling would turn a Gentile into
an
“
Investigator
”
who’s willing
to
learn more.

Our trainers practiced with us repeatedly, as if we were in acting school
. We learned
how
to challenge
a Gentile e
ver so subtly:
Are you ready to set
a date for baptizing in
to the
True Church
?
That was the goal
. Later on,
a baptized convert would
be committed to the G
ospel and would work hard
to
feel the truth, to
become more righteous and worthy of the priesthood or, in the case of women, of serving her priesthood-holding husband.

T
he Church’s multiple
Missionary Training C
enters pr
epared tens of
thousands of us
to go out
with fervent dedication to
every country in the world, except those that banned
missionary work, such as
China and
the Islamic
countries.

I reached New York City in my black suit and tie
, carrying
2
suitcases
with everything I needed for the next
2
years
. I knew there would be no vacations, no family visits, and no phone calls home other t
han Christmas and Mother’s Day.

But my expectations of feelin
g repulsed and dismayed by the Sin City
never materialized. Rather, it was the most exciting time of my life
. I loved the
daily
cycle
of proselytizing to men and women of all color
s
and ethnicities, to people who spoke Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, French, or English with an Irish accent so
thick
it s
ounded like a foreign language.

Missionary
training was
a work-in-progress
. E
very night in the walk-up apartment,
prayers and
intense discussions
went on about
how best to approach a prospect
. T
rac
k
ing
only had a chance to work when we
emphasized the similarity of our
LDS
faith to mainstream Christianity
while avoiding the differences.
At first we only
shared the
common
belief in the divinity of Christ
so that
converts
opened their hearts. The
ir salvation required initial ignorance. It was for their own good. Those who agreed to be baptized needed time to become
part of a ward and grow
attached to
our warm community and wholesome way of life. The more detailed teachings were left for later.  In time, they would
discover how
the True C
hurch
was
alone among
the
falsehood of the
other so-called Christian churches, as
Jesus Christ
and God the Father
had told Joseph Smith
in the First Vision.

Frequent visits from local
LDS
leaders and missionary officials helped us
survive emotionally
under
the constant
barrage of
reje
ction and ridicule.
Successes were few and far between,
most people
unwilling
to hear our pitch for Jesus Christ and His restored church
. B
ut among those polite enough to
listen
in whatever language they understood (we had translators on standby), the most challenging were the Yiddish speakers
. No
t many of them
were
left in the Bronx by 1988, but enough
of them
humored
us
with
curiosity and
a
glass of water
while making
us
realize
how
staunch
ly
Jews
clu
ng to a religion many of them were
n’
t even practicing
on a regular basis
.

I returned
home to
Utah
greatly matured
. My faith had solidified by the challenge
s
and by the successes—I had baptized eleven converts,
a good average for which I was commended.
But the biggest change in me was an awareness that
New Hebron
and the rest of
Utah
felt like
a small town. I had seen the real America, experienced
its
greatness and diversity, and wanted to go back out there and make a difference
.
I decided
to study computer science and join IBM or another large corporation that offered opportunities to rise to leadership positions.
You’d think I was naive, and perhaps I was
. B
ut even now, with all that ha
s
happened
since
, some of
my
boyish
enthusiasm
still persists
,
mixed with a
sadness for
unfulfilled
dreams
.

Our bishop
called me in for a meeting. He
explained that t
he
divine
mission of our True Church
to eventually lead the United States depended on sending young men like me into every branch of the government
,
where our personal excellence would bolster the
Mormon
image and extend
the
reach
of
our True G
ospel
. The repo
rts from the mission director
in New York
had suggested
that
my dedication, deference to authority, and resilience
would
make me
an excellent
military man
.
The bishop
therefore instructed me to pray and fast
so that God
would
reveal to me
which part of the armed forces I should join.