Genesis

How did this journey start? What could have happened to allow this stalwart brother to be so easily led astray? I guess the question really isn’t “how” or “what,” but rather “who?” The answer: Tim.

Yup, it’s Tim’s fault.

Tim, through his subtle, crafty nuggets of sugar-coated half-truths and alleged “church history,” was able to carefully lull my naive and impressionable mind down this road to oblivion.

Who is Tim? Well, if that’s his real name, Tim is a wardie I’ve known for a couple years, but didn’t really get close to until we served briefly together in the absolutely essential (I was told), yet completely forgettable organization known only to a select few as the Ward Sunday School Presidency. It was there while I tried to faithfully and diligently magnify my divine calling that the dubious Tim carefully measured and analyzed me, his unassuming prey. I’m sure he waited weeks, patiently looking for the right moment to plant the seed of apostasy within me.

His opportunity finally came one night at my home during a presidency meeting that consisted of just him and myself. As I attempted to trudge through important agenda items like what color of folders to get for the Sunday School Rolls (which incidentally are dutifully recorded but never used by anyone), Tim began baiting me.

“Do you really think the Word of Wisdom was ever meant to be a commandment?” Tim queried me with a sly look in is eyes.

“Um, yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” I replied, puzzled.

“Well, did you know Joseph Smith was probably drunk when he was murdered?”

I stared at him blankly. “Really? I’ve never heard that.”

“Yeah — well, who knows if he was really drunk, but he had spirits brought to the jail cell,” Tim asserted.

I frowned in perplexed surprise. “Huh, that’s crazy.”

“And I’m pretty sure Joseph had a full bar at the Nauvoo Mansion,” Tim added.

“Huh, that’s crazy.”

“Did you know that Brigham Young owned and operated some of the first breweries and wineries in the Great Basin?” Tim was on a roll now. “And Brigham was known to have a beer with most of his suppers.”

“Huh, that’s crazy,” I replied — again. “I’ve never heard any of this before.”

This exchange developed into a lengthy conversation about the Word of Wisdom, and a few other differences between the Church of Joseph and Brigham and the Church of McConkie and Benson. Though Tim claimed he wasn’t a WoW breaker, he regretted that as Mormons (that’s Latter-Day Saints to you, pal!) we are known more for this law of health rather than as disciples of Christ.

After Tim left that night, I retreated immediately to my home office. What the heck was Tim talking about? Where did he get all that stuff? Jeez, I had no idea Tim was such an apostate! Why does he even go to Church? I felt so bad for him. As I stewed about this unpleasant interaction, I felt a new conviction swell within my bosom. I needed to save Tim.

So, with the sterling fire of missionary work stoked within me, I studiously scoured the Church’s website for any information about the Nauvoo Mansion, A brewery in Salt Lake, and any mention of drunkenness contributing to Joseph Smith falling from a second story window to his death. Nothing. Ha, I knew it! What is this guy talking about? Alcohol brought to the jail cell — yeah right, come on!

As I sat there wallowing in my own intellectual crapulence, slowly my mind started to wonder, and the uncomfortable sensation of doubt started to creep into my consciousness. I squirmed in my chair and felt my eyes wander toward my Internet browser. Suddenly my eyes stopped and my gaze became fixated on what is otherwise known as Satan’s Trapdoor: Google! I tried to resist it, but it was already too late. Tim’s trick had worked! I soon found myself pouring through Wikipedia, the bloggernacle, web archives, typing search queries like “Joseph Smith alcohol Carthage Jail,” “History of breweries Utah,” and so on.

It was like pornography, but worse! How could that be, you ask?! I hesitate to say it . . . because it was true. All of it. There was no alluring illusion or fantasy. It was cold hard history, much of it in our own published records:

History of the Church Volume 6, Page 616: “[June 27 1844] Dr. Richards uncorked the bottle, and presented a glass to Joseph, who tasted, as also Brother Taylor and the doctor…”

History of the Church Volume 7, Page 101; “[June 27 1844] “Sometime after dinner we [John Taylor and other prisoners at Carthage Jail] sent for some wine. It has been reported by some that this was taken as a sacrament. It was no such thing; our spirits were generally dull and heavy, and it was sent for to revive us…. I believe we all drank of the wine, and gave some to one or two of the prison guards.”

As for Brigham Young, I found published diaries, articles about the history of beer and wine in the Utah territory. These articles weren’t published by apostates, ex-mormons, or other enemies of truth and righteousness. If it wasn’t in our own history, it was researched by some professor or some historian.

At first I felt a lump in my throat as the cognitive dissonance started tying knots in my stomach. What did this mean? I felt cold sweat beading on my forehead, glistening in the liquid crystal glow of cold, blunt truth. Then, it slowly dawned on me. I don’t have to feel this way.

To be continued.

One year ago . . .

What was I one year ago? I certainly wasn’t a Mormon (can’t use that term unless it’s used in connection to a multimedia ad campaign). “Latter-Day Saint?” Absolutely. I’m not sure how I would have answered this a year ago, but I’m sure sure I’d instinctively think to myself “Former AP, Zone Leader, District Leader, Trainer, Senior Companion, Ward Mission Leader, Elders Quorum Presidency (cough, Second Councilor, cough), current Sunday School President, Stake Clerk.” That’s how I self-identified. Not as a father, husband, student, disciple of Christ . . . son of God.

Truthfully though, a year ago I was a full-fledged “member” of what we call the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Dutifully, I would attend my Sunday meetings, sternly whispering at my toddlers in sacrament, half-paying attention to the monotone voice of the newest move-in honored with addressing the congregation, occasionally gazing at my phone hoping for a new email or text. I held two callings, and did my home teaching every few months when the guilt became sufficient enough to spur me into action. Faithful? Yes. “The Church is True?” You bet. Sound familiar?

Though I had struggled with my “testimony” as a teenager, around age 17 I’d felt the Spirit, cleaned up my act and prepared for a mission. I preached the Restored Gospel to the descendants of Cain and the toothless hillbillies in the South. Returned with honor, married within a year, made a couple of babies. “Stage 3” by all accounts.

So what’s different today? Not much. Still a “Latter-Day Saint.” I’m still that guy half-listening in sacrament. Still home teaching every now and then. Faithful. Yes. “The Church is True?” Sure, whatever that means. Even though on the outside not much has changed from twelve months ago, inside I’m a very different man.

Over the next few posts, I hope to recount my journey in Mormonism in the past year. But just so I don’t leave anyone hanging, and to set your minds at ease, let me briefly share my testimony, as it currently stands:

There is a God. He is the Father, the Supreme Creator, the exalted man called Elohim. Jesus Christ is my Savior. He is the Son of God, and he suffered and died for the sins of this fallen world. In the 19th century the Father and the Son called a deeply flawed, backwoods frontiersman named Joseph Smith as a prophet of God. Through Joseph Smith ancient mysteries of the universe and the Kingdom of God were revealed and restored to mankind. He communed with celestial beings, through whom he was given keys, records, and priesthoods. This is the foundational core of my beliefs. Though many aspects of mainstream LDS theology and administration are currently up in the air for me, I have a burning testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ as taught in the scriptures, and as revealed by the Prophet Joseph.

I am not an apostate. I don’t seek to destroy or even leave the Church. My hope is to become a better disciple of Jesus Christ. And, though it has recently become painfully cliché to say, I’m proud declare that my name is Paul Nathea, and I am a Mormon.

More to come soon . . .