About two weeks ago an old friend from high school messaged me for the first time in years, asking me how school was going and what I was up to after so long. "Also," he added, "are you still Mormon?"
Without thinking I typed out a
response, filling him in on the typical details of college life. When I
got to his question about religion, I didn't hesitate. I wrote: "I am not Mormon anymore. I have a lot of respect for the church and its teachings but I'm no longer active."
After I hit "send" it occurred to me that this was a big moment. Although I'd been thinking it for months, this was the first time I'd actually put words to the feelings I had about my religious status. I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off. After almost four years of waffling and soul-searching and putting off questions about my faith I had an answer that wasn't a cop-out or a: "Well, my family is Mormon. But I haven't been to church in years." I had my own identity.
After I hit "send" it occurred to me that this was a big moment. Although I'd been thinking it for months, this was the first time I'd actually put words to the feelings I had about my religious status. I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off. After almost four years of waffling and soul-searching and putting off questions about my faith I had an answer that wasn't a cop-out or a: "Well, my family is Mormon. But I haven't been to church in years." I had my own identity.
This does not mean that the
LDS church is no longer a part of me, or that I suddenly hate religion
and what it stands for. It's impossible to completely reject something
that has been an integral part of your life for
eighteen years, or to miss seeing the value in it. It does
mean that I no longer believe I'm destined for hell if I don't attend
church, or crack open the scriptures, or even pray daily. This is the
best way I can explain it:
I have always taken an
interest in the beliefs and testimonies of others, be they Christian,
Muslim, Buddhist, Bahai, Jewish, atheist, agnostic, pagan, or what have
you. And I have discovered the common thread in each: religious identity is not universal, it is individual. Each person decides for themselves what they believe and how to act on their faith, often after years of searching. If high school was the starting point of my
search for religious identity (the awkward parallel in many ways to
finding self-identity) than my journey began with the need to ask questions. Lots and
lots of questions.
When I was fourteen I attended EFY, a youth conference designed for gospel study and dating in a "safe" setting. It was at this conference that I was able to say for the first time with any degree of assurance that I knew the church was true, that my testimony was sound. Though I still had a lot of questions that were unanswered, I felt satisfied with my interpretation of the peaceful and warm sensations I had experienced at EFY. When I was sixteen I received a Patriarchal Blessing, a special prayer given to members of the LDS church once during a lifetime. The blessing is meant to offer guidance and wisdom to members as they figure out where they are headed in life, and at the time, the blessing did just that for me. I also took the blessing for more than its intent, and convinced myself that it was a kind of roadmap for how the rest of my life was meant to play out. (The church cautions against this).
Then I got to high school, and realized that life is infinitely more complicated. I attended Sunday School and Seminary as I was encouraged to by my youth leaders, but my heart was often troubled by the black-and-white presentation of certain things, the gossip, the looking down on those who had "fallen" into inactiveness or sin. There were days I genuinely enjoyed seminary and days that I longed to skip it, wishing for a fresh perspective and more open discussions. When it came time to pick a college, I purposefully chose not to go to BYU, attracted by the small campus and intimate feeling of the College of Idaho.
After graduation, I fell in love. I experimented with my free will. For the first time in my life, I strayed from the path. I made decisions that went directly against the teachings of the church. And I suffered the consequences. Following a series of interviews with a Bishop at one of the local Caldwell wards, I was put on official probation from church membership. My disenchantment with the church began at this point--when I was told it was "normal" to experience the total self-hatred and alienation I felt when sitting in my ward, when I was unable to find support or friendship in the congregation, when it became a weekly ritual to have to awkwardly turn down the sacrament or offers to pray in class. I was officially on the Outside. (Let me pause here and say that I acknowledge all wards are different. People are people in every religion, in every congregation. Some are more tolerant and kind than others. And, to be fair, I did not go to great lengths to make friends in the ward because I was afraid of being judged). I also started obsessing about my Patriarchal Blessing, rereading it often and wondering if I was bound to the "promises" it made for my life or if my choices still allowed me to decide my own fate.
It took me over a year on the Outside to feel ok with myself again. To realize that being a "good" or "bad" person went far more deeply than the "do"s or "do not"s I had been taught in my youth. I began taking religion courses in other faiths, namely Buddhism and Zen, and found in these a safe haven where religion could finally be discussed with honesty and openness. We talked about Christianity as much as we talked about Buddhism, finding similarities between the two and ways to live that exemplified the standards of both. I recognized that the things I didn't like about the LDS church had less to do with its teachings and more to do with the way people carried out the teachings: the use of guilt to encourage obedience, the acceptance of "this is right" and "this is wrong" without an actual understanding of the why, the intolerance for open discussion on topics like sex, gay rights, and the afterlife.
I began to develop a new religious identity for myself from scratch. Surprisingly, my respect and understanding of many of the gospel principles I'd grown up with didn't lessen--it deepened. I understood now why certain things were "right" or "wrong" because I saw what they led to. I learned gratitude for the time I had on the Outside, because it finally allowed me to see over the wall that I'd put around myself to protect me from the world. I learned compassion and understanding for people in similar or worse situations than myself. Felt the alienation that they felt. Developed tools to help combat the despair and confusion we shared--skills that I know will someday serve me well in social work or counseling. As time went on, I grew more comfortable with not knowing all the answers, and less comfortable with the easy answers religion provided. I started relying on my own heart more and the opinions of others less, and finally found peace with myself.
From time to time a certain pain in my heart returns. I was the first in my family to not get married in the temple, and in many ways I feel I let them down. There are certain big life moments I haven't been able to share with loved ones, including weddings, baptisms, and my dad's appointment to Bishop last year. I watch family and friends live faithful, steadfast lives with minimal mistakes and part of me envies their strength. But then I think, if I could do it all again and choose a more perfect life over the mistakes I made, would I do it?
Not on your life. I would have certainly changed some of my actions that ended up causing other people pain, but I wouldn't be the person I am now if I didn't have those glaring black marks on my record. My heart would never have healed without the chance to be broken.
It is both terrifying and relieving to write this out and to share it. My hope is not to encourage others to ditch church and become heathens like myself =) Rather, my hope is that you read this with an open heart, maybe find something you identify with. I hope that you allow yourself the chance to ask questions, to be restless, to make some mistakes, and to realize it's human and ok to do so. For unless we test our faith, how do we know we have it?
*Pictures taken at the Snake River in Idaho Falls, ID this February*
When I was fourteen I attended EFY, a youth conference designed for gospel study and dating in a "safe" setting. It was at this conference that I was able to say for the first time with any degree of assurance that I knew the church was true, that my testimony was sound. Though I still had a lot of questions that were unanswered, I felt satisfied with my interpretation of the peaceful and warm sensations I had experienced at EFY. When I was sixteen I received a Patriarchal Blessing, a special prayer given to members of the LDS church once during a lifetime. The blessing is meant to offer guidance and wisdom to members as they figure out where they are headed in life, and at the time, the blessing did just that for me. I also took the blessing for more than its intent, and convinced myself that it was a kind of roadmap for how the rest of my life was meant to play out. (The church cautions against this).
Then I got to high school, and realized that life is infinitely more complicated. I attended Sunday School and Seminary as I was encouraged to by my youth leaders, but my heart was often troubled by the black-and-white presentation of certain things, the gossip, the looking down on those who had "fallen" into inactiveness or sin. There were days I genuinely enjoyed seminary and days that I longed to skip it, wishing for a fresh perspective and more open discussions. When it came time to pick a college, I purposefully chose not to go to BYU, attracted by the small campus and intimate feeling of the College of Idaho.
After graduation, I fell in love. I experimented with my free will. For the first time in my life, I strayed from the path. I made decisions that went directly against the teachings of the church. And I suffered the consequences. Following a series of interviews with a Bishop at one of the local Caldwell wards, I was put on official probation from church membership. My disenchantment with the church began at this point--when I was told it was "normal" to experience the total self-hatred and alienation I felt when sitting in my ward, when I was unable to find support or friendship in the congregation, when it became a weekly ritual to have to awkwardly turn down the sacrament or offers to pray in class. I was officially on the Outside. (Let me pause here and say that I acknowledge all wards are different. People are people in every religion, in every congregation. Some are more tolerant and kind than others. And, to be fair, I did not go to great lengths to make friends in the ward because I was afraid of being judged). I also started obsessing about my Patriarchal Blessing, rereading it often and wondering if I was bound to the "promises" it made for my life or if my choices still allowed me to decide my own fate.
It took me over a year on the Outside to feel ok with myself again. To realize that being a "good" or "bad" person went far more deeply than the "do"s or "do not"s I had been taught in my youth. I began taking religion courses in other faiths, namely Buddhism and Zen, and found in these a safe haven where religion could finally be discussed with honesty and openness. We talked about Christianity as much as we talked about Buddhism, finding similarities between the two and ways to live that exemplified the standards of both. I recognized that the things I didn't like about the LDS church had less to do with its teachings and more to do with the way people carried out the teachings: the use of guilt to encourage obedience, the acceptance of "this is right" and "this is wrong" without an actual understanding of the why, the intolerance for open discussion on topics like sex, gay rights, and the afterlife.
I began to develop a new religious identity for myself from scratch. Surprisingly, my respect and understanding of many of the gospel principles I'd grown up with didn't lessen--it deepened. I understood now why certain things were "right" or "wrong" because I saw what they led to. I learned gratitude for the time I had on the Outside, because it finally allowed me to see over the wall that I'd put around myself to protect me from the world. I learned compassion and understanding for people in similar or worse situations than myself. Felt the alienation that they felt. Developed tools to help combat the despair and confusion we shared--skills that I know will someday serve me well in social work or counseling. As time went on, I grew more comfortable with not knowing all the answers, and less comfortable with the easy answers religion provided. I started relying on my own heart more and the opinions of others less, and finally found peace with myself.
From time to time a certain pain in my heart returns. I was the first in my family to not get married in the temple, and in many ways I feel I let them down. There are certain big life moments I haven't been able to share with loved ones, including weddings, baptisms, and my dad's appointment to Bishop last year. I watch family and friends live faithful, steadfast lives with minimal mistakes and part of me envies their strength. But then I think, if I could do it all again and choose a more perfect life over the mistakes I made, would I do it?
Not on your life. I would have certainly changed some of my actions that ended up causing other people pain, but I wouldn't be the person I am now if I didn't have those glaring black marks on my record. My heart would never have healed without the chance to be broken.
It is both terrifying and relieving to write this out and to share it. My hope is not to encourage others to ditch church and become heathens like myself =) Rather, my hope is that you read this with an open heart, maybe find something you identify with. I hope that you allow yourself the chance to ask questions, to be restless, to make some mistakes, and to realize it's human and ok to do so. For unless we test our faith, how do we know we have it?
*Pictures taken at the Snake River in Idaho Falls, ID this February*
