Some thoughts on excommunication
Posted: Sat Dec 23, 2006 1:35 am
One of my closest friends posted this on another board, and I wanted to know what you all thought of it. It has profoundly affected me, as it finally explained a lot about him to me.
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My mother was 26 years old when my father was killed. My parents had converted to the Mormon church shortly after they got married—much to the dismay of both their families. So, there was my mom, a young widow with two little boys (ages 7 and 3) in a small Oklahoma town. There were few members of the church and fewer eligible men. It was 1968 and the oil boom in Oklahoma was over and prospects were bleak, so my mom packed my brother and I into our Ford Galaxy 500 and we moved to the heart of Mormondom—Provo, Utah. My mom hoped to find a worthy LDS man to marry, and maybe get the college degree she had always dreamed of getting.
What my mom had failed to take into account, of course, was that peculiar Mormon doctrine that a woman can only be sealed to one man (unless Joseph thought you were hot). In her grief at my father's premature death, she had made her big mistake: she had our family sealed together in the temple. She was now untouchable. Yes, Provo was full of eligible young Mormon men, but none of them wanted to marry a woman who had already been sealed to someone else. They'd be consigning themselves to ministering angel status if they did. And who the hell wants to marry someone with kids?
My mom, desperate for companionship, did the only thing she could do: she started dating people who were either non-members or jack-mormons. She fell in love with a man who had already been divorced twice. One thing led to another and, in what she described as a moment of weakness, she had sex with him. She was heartbroken and went to the Bishop to confess her sin. The Bishop was appalled, scheduled a Church Court (that's what they called it back then) and excommunicated her. All church contact was cut off. People avoided us or were openly hostile. We might as well have been lepers.
A crushing sense of shame descended on our family. It was hell. Our family became inactive in the church. The ironic thing is that we were still true believers in Mormonism. Our faith went from being a comfort to being a burden.
Eventually, my mom married a kind, but definitely jack-mormon, man. We were happy without the church in our lives. Instead of going to church, we spent our weekends camping, hunting, and fishing. It was three years of bliss. Then my mom got a brain tumor. Six months later she was dead and three months after that my brother, and only sibling, killed himself.
I had been inactive in the church for seven years, but all the church indoctrination that I had received as a child came flooding back. I was the last living member of my family and it was my responsibility to ensure my family's eternal welfare. I sent frantic letters to the First Presidency begging them to re-baptize my mother by proxy and restore her blessings. Months went by before I got a staid, business-like reply from Member Records saying that the matter was under consideration. Months later, I received another letter, even more terse, stating that the re-baptism had been approved and completed. I was ecstatic. But I knew that wasn't enough.
I was 16 years old and instead of thinking about cars, girls, and sports, I was obsessed with completing my family's genealogy and doing the temple work for my dead ancestors. The guilt and shame that I grew up with returned. I was the son of an excommunicated woman and my brother was a suicide. I felt compelled to live a perfect life, go on a mission, and redeem my family name.
Years later, after I had honorably and successfully completed a mission, and after I began to feel that there was something not quite right with the church, I attended a Sunstone symposium. The speaker was an elegant British woman. She was talking about the way the Mormon church treats people in spiritual distress. She said that the church bills itself as a hospital for the soul, but that it kicks out the people who need it the most “for fear of getting blood on the hospital floor.” She was right of course.
The practice of excommunication is about as vile and un-Christlike a thing a church can do. Now that I've figured out the truth about Mormonism and the way cults operate, I know why it is done. It is done to shame, coerce, and threaten the alleged sinner, as well as anyone who might dare to get out of line.
I'm 41 years old now and the church that tore my family to pieces when I was 9 continues to wreak havoc and destruction on my life. I haven't been excommunicated, but the moment I expressed my true feelings to my wife, I was cut off and I seriously doubt that things will ever get better. The only shame I feel now is that I let the Mormon church have so much control over me.
Many people say that the Mormon church is a benign institution that helps families. I disagree.
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My mother was 26 years old when my father was killed. My parents had converted to the Mormon church shortly after they got married—much to the dismay of both their families. So, there was my mom, a young widow with two little boys (ages 7 and 3) in a small Oklahoma town. There were few members of the church and fewer eligible men. It was 1968 and the oil boom in Oklahoma was over and prospects were bleak, so my mom packed my brother and I into our Ford Galaxy 500 and we moved to the heart of Mormondom—Provo, Utah. My mom hoped to find a worthy LDS man to marry, and maybe get the college degree she had always dreamed of getting.
What my mom had failed to take into account, of course, was that peculiar Mormon doctrine that a woman can only be sealed to one man (unless Joseph thought you were hot). In her grief at my father's premature death, she had made her big mistake: she had our family sealed together in the temple. She was now untouchable. Yes, Provo was full of eligible young Mormon men, but none of them wanted to marry a woman who had already been sealed to someone else. They'd be consigning themselves to ministering angel status if they did. And who the hell wants to marry someone with kids?
My mom, desperate for companionship, did the only thing she could do: she started dating people who were either non-members or jack-mormons. She fell in love with a man who had already been divorced twice. One thing led to another and, in what she described as a moment of weakness, she had sex with him. She was heartbroken and went to the Bishop to confess her sin. The Bishop was appalled, scheduled a Church Court (that's what they called it back then) and excommunicated her. All church contact was cut off. People avoided us or were openly hostile. We might as well have been lepers.
A crushing sense of shame descended on our family. It was hell. Our family became inactive in the church. The ironic thing is that we were still true believers in Mormonism. Our faith went from being a comfort to being a burden.
Eventually, my mom married a kind, but definitely jack-mormon, man. We were happy without the church in our lives. Instead of going to church, we spent our weekends camping, hunting, and fishing. It was three years of bliss. Then my mom got a brain tumor. Six months later she was dead and three months after that my brother, and only sibling, killed himself.
I had been inactive in the church for seven years, but all the church indoctrination that I had received as a child came flooding back. I was the last living member of my family and it was my responsibility to ensure my family's eternal welfare. I sent frantic letters to the First Presidency begging them to re-baptize my mother by proxy and restore her blessings. Months went by before I got a staid, business-like reply from Member Records saying that the matter was under consideration. Months later, I received another letter, even more terse, stating that the re-baptism had been approved and completed. I was ecstatic. But I knew that wasn't enough.
I was 16 years old and instead of thinking about cars, girls, and sports, I was obsessed with completing my family's genealogy and doing the temple work for my dead ancestors. The guilt and shame that I grew up with returned. I was the son of an excommunicated woman and my brother was a suicide. I felt compelled to live a perfect life, go on a mission, and redeem my family name.
Years later, after I had honorably and successfully completed a mission, and after I began to feel that there was something not quite right with the church, I attended a Sunstone symposium. The speaker was an elegant British woman. She was talking about the way the Mormon church treats people in spiritual distress. She said that the church bills itself as a hospital for the soul, but that it kicks out the people who need it the most “for fear of getting blood on the hospital floor.” She was right of course.
The practice of excommunication is about as vile and un-Christlike a thing a church can do. Now that I've figured out the truth about Mormonism and the way cults operate, I know why it is done. It is done to shame, coerce, and threaten the alleged sinner, as well as anyone who might dare to get out of line.
I'm 41 years old now and the church that tore my family to pieces when I was 9 continues to wreak havoc and destruction on my life. I haven't been excommunicated, but the moment I expressed my true feelings to my wife, I was cut off and I seriously doubt that things will ever get better. The only shame I feel now is that I let the Mormon church have so much control over me.
Many people say that the Mormon church is a benign institution that helps families. I disagree.