Investigators and people we approached raised some of these questions, most of which were standard anti-Mormon fare: Quakers on the moon, Adam-God theory, other fun off-handed comments by past prophets from the Journal of Discourses.
But by far the most troubling revelations were that the narrative of church history I'd grown up with and had been teaching was not the full story. as a product of polygamy, I'd been well-aware of the practice, but only learned about the polyandrous practices in Nauvoo while a missionary. I learned for the first time about the Mountain Meadows Massacre. And though I'd been aware of and troubled by the church's history with racial issues before my mission, teaching the gospel to people of African descent highlighted how problematic this practice had been.
Other questions had arisen through my own personal study: the question that arose after reading Doctrine and Covenants 110 was perhaps the most troubling. Following the appearance of Jesus Christ to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery, some of the great Hebrew Bible prophets appear and grant Joseph and Oliver certain blessings. Moses blesses Joseph and Oliver the keys of the gathering of the tribes of Israel; Elijah informs them that Malachi 4:5-6 was about to be fulfilled.
But another prophet appears and "committed the dispensation of the gospel of Abraham." I decided to learn about this prophet, Elias, about whom I'd never heard. I looked him up in the Bible Dictionary.
The thought, "He made it all up!" flashed through my mind. I immediately tried to bury that notion. "He couldn't have," I thought. There was just too much for a New York farm boy to make up.
But that tick-like didn't go away. It bored into my mind; usually just benignly present, but every now and then causing an infection of doubt.
So, I came home. I read all I could find about the historical questions that had troubled me and all that I could about Joseph Smith.
Within a year of returning from the mission, I had come to the conclusion that the church was not what it claimed to be.
The next several years were not pleasant ones. I went through school, but felt completely alone - alienated by my faithful Mormon friends and unwilling to participate in their church-related activities, but misunderstood by non-Mormons. I didn't do anything drastic like have my name removed from church records, but I wasn't attending church or adhering to many church standards, either. As soon as I was financially independent, my plan was to bolt.
But then I fell in love.
Making some sort of peace with the church was imperative.
I soon came across the blogs and podcasts of a guy who'd had a similar faith crisis. He was on a mission to help those who'd also undergone upendings of their faith realize that there was still a way to make things work in the church.
So, I tried it. Rather than continually scratching the Book of Mormon historicity and genesis scabs, I focused on its message. I could accept that the leaders of the church were truly prophets, seers, and revelators, if I just broadened my definitions a bit. Revelation didn't have to go from Jesus' mouth to the prophet's ear and then over the pulpit. Rather, the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve likely experienced "revelation" as we all do: a still small voice, a feeling, a thought, an impression, that follows deep thought and sincere prayer.
It seemed to work.
I felt at home again in the church, at least far more than I had in years. I soon married this wonderful woman. I was teaching in Elders' Quorum once a month and later, in Sunday School.
I hit a few roadblocks along the way: the occasional General Conference talk that rubbed me the wrong way, didn't ring true, or whatever; the off meeting or thoughtless remark of a Priesthood leader. But generally, I was rolling with the punches. Though well-intentioned, leaders at all levels of the church are imperfect, I told myself. Give them the benefit of the doubt that you'd hope they'd extend to you.
And then, Prop 8 happened. I understood the church's position, but was deeply troubled by its political actions. And though its theological objections to gay marriage made sense, at least within the church's theological framework, they did not, to my mind, translate well into legal arguments.
Would my already weakened relationship to the church survive?
(To be continued...)
*Though I feel more moored now than I ever have; it just that my moorings are no longer institutionally-based.
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