Beware the Third Hour of the Fifth Sunday

I dreaded every Sunday when I was a Mormon, but most of all the fifth Sunday. More specifically, the third hour of the fifth Sunday. Because that's when the bishopric has long held a joint meeting of the Priesthood and Relief Society.

Since the purpose of these meetings is to unify the ward on issues, they almost always take the form of a pompous, demeaning and sometimes borderline terrifying lecture. Because let's face it, when you're a Mormon, you're always doing something wrong. In my day, it was drinking Coke, seeing R-rated films, neglecting your genealogy, or not recognizing the "gay problem." More recently--if you're a woman--it's wearing pants to church.

Case in point. This past Sabbath Day happened to fall on the fifth Sunday in March. Instead of sitting in church, Mark and I were at Sinbad's with our friends Jerry and Cheryl where, over a martini, I read the following email invitation to a horrific fifth Sunday lecture that we could have been experiencing instead. Here is an excerpt:

…this Sunday all wards in our stake will be discussing, as a unified 5th Sunday message, the importance of specific roles that men and women have in the Church and family. As predicted by past prophets, in these last days much agitation and attack against the correct order of things will come from within and without the Church. One example, of which most of us are probably aware of, is the recent protest that the Church has had to fight against our own members who want women to receive the Priesthood. This is against (the) revealed nature of familial relationships.

Isaiah predicted. "And in that day seven women shall take hold of one man, saying, 'We will eat our own bread, and wear our own apparel: only let us be called by thy name, to take away our reproach.'" (Isaiah 4:1)

This prophecy is being fulfilled and it is important that as a stake we weed out such contention and danger. Some of these protesters have demonstrated by showing the independence of women ("We will eat our own bread"), wearing pants to church ("wear our own apparel"), and now ask for the priesthood ("let us be called by thy name"). Each ward this weekend will discuss how to combat such heretical thinking and apostasy that we might strengthen our individual families and better be of one heart and one mind and continue to build Zion among us…

We're looking forward to the many wonderful things happening this weekend in our stake.

Read the entire email here.

See what I mean about the third hour of the fifth Sunday? Just this past week in this and perhaps many stakes throughout Zion, the faithful were forced to endure a terrifying harangue about weeding out "contention and danger"--all because their fearless leaders are terrified of some women in pants.

From where I sit (martini in hand), what's really terrifying is actually having to sit through these third hour horror flicks. The only thing they could do to make them scarier would be to lock all the doors at the beginning and then cut the house lights at the end. Like Hitchcock did with Psycho.

But then the terror is only beginning.  This weekend is General Conference.

In happier news, Jono reviewed  False Prophet this week. Also, he reviewed  The Girls from Fourth Ward! I'd seen his review of The Girls on Amazon, but not on his excellent blog, Otto's Son, a site that mixes wisdom and humor with gorgeous photographs of both his home and his travels.

And speaking of excellent blogs, if you like Ward Gossip you'll love Sheep Dip. With the tagline, "telling you what to think so you don't have to," Sheep Dip is a marvelous new home for Mormon-themed satire. Check it out here.

We must support each other in the arts. (And stay away from terrifying church meetings.)

False Prophets, Book of Mormon Zombies, and Nervous Turtles

Kirkus Reviews recently published a review of False Prophet, praising its "lighthearted but rewarding humor" and calling it "blatantly critical of Mormonism." Tee hee! Here's an excerpt:

Carrie’s amateur sleuthing, however, results in the novel’s best sequence: A pregnant prowler, in her third trimester and clad all in black, she doesn’t creep into a crime scene—she waddles. This type of lighthearted but rewarding humor is retained even when Carrie is working with Ryan: During an unofficial undercover gig, he mistakes the expectant mother’s desperate need for a bathroom break as trepidation.

This novel scores big not because of its mystery but due to its pregnant protagonist and her inexorable fortitude. Read more here.

Also, around 30 of us went to see The Book of Mormon on stage here in San Francisco this past weekend. Here's a picture of some of us right after the show and before the "effect" had worn off.

It's true--we really are brainwashed

Afterwards we marched single-file with arms outstretched to Club 93 for even more light-mindedness, also some truth serum.

It was there that we began what would become a weeklong discussion of Mormon-themed cinema and the inevitable comparison of Parker and Stone's musical to efforts like the LDS version of Pride and Prejudice, Duck Beach, and Mobsters and Mormons--works so embarrassingly bad that we're surprised the Brethren haven't locked them away in the church vault along with Joseph's seer stones and the Book of Abraham papyri.

And then--what do you know--we all learned that they've released a new temple movie! Since none of us were worthy enough to attend the premier we were left to speculate--in our own inimitable way. According to the San Francisco Post-Mormons, the new version features the voice of Yoda, a nervous turtle, Pope Francis in the role of Satan, and copious repetitions of the descriptive "bullshit."

And the year's only just begun!

***Nominations for the Brodie Awards are now being collected on Main Street Plaza. Go here to nominate your favorite Ex-Mormon authors and bloggers.***

Dark Deception, False Prophet, And Viagra Ads

Recently my fellow blogger AlexisAR posted that she'd just finished my novel, False Prophet, describing it as "delightful" and "recommending it to everyone." Awe, thanks Alexis!

Also, in the same post, she shared what has to be the perfect poster couple for Viagra. Click here to check them out. I dare you not to feel happy for this pair!

But speaking of great reads, it came to my attention that I'd neglected to blog my review of Dark Deception by Lawrence Pratt. Usually when I review a Mormon Alumni Association book on Amazon, I also blog the review either here or over on Main Street Plaza. Somehow I let poor Larry slip through the cracks.

So here's the review, along with some added comments at the end:

Dark Deception by Lawrence Pratt

The Master for Mormonism

Dark Deception is a great first novel from the talented writer, Lawrence Pratt. It is an engaging story about realistic characters who are trapped within a fictional cult that bears a strong resemblance to Mormonism. The author is obviously familiar with his subject, and presents practically every scenario that may occur within such a closed society. The story begins with the history of the cult from its origin in the 1800's, making it a somewhat slow read at the start. As a writer of Mormon-themed fiction myself, I know how challenging--nearly impossible--it is to write about the Mormons without the aid of a little explanation and backstory. Add to that, Pratt upped the challenge by creating a fictional cult. But don't put this book down! The beginning, while seemingly slow, is an excellent description of how a cult begins and then later evolves. It also lays the groundwork for the remainder of the novel, which is a fast-paced, exciting ride that includes many twists and turns as well as characters who are truly worth rooting for. In this way, Dark Deception is to Mormonism what The Master is to Scientology. As entertaining as it is informative, Pratt has made an important contribution to the body of works on Mormonism, a subject that few people are familiar with. I look forward to reading more from this author.


--While I initially compared Pratt's novel to The Master, it later occurred to me that its pacing is reminiscent of the hilarious spine-tingler, Hot Fuzz--a film that begins innocently in a quaint English village and then all of a sudden erupts into a violent siege that ends with a mythic bang. Buckle yourself into your Barcalounger and prepare to be entertained! 

Dark Deception is available in both print and ebook formats. Order it here.

Then go back here and check out those candidates for the Viagra ad. Aren't they the cutest?!

Another Year On Ward Gossip

Perhaps fittingly, 2013 began here on Ward Gossip with my take on the historical interpretations of a certain straight white male representative from Utah who, thanks to his painstakingly thorough research, was able to recreate this otherwise unknown episode during the U.S.Constitutional Convention:

Silas Baxter trudged toward home. He was about the business of forming the constitution. 

Standing for righteousness. Liberty. Freedom. The American way.

She was waiting at the doorway, a cotton shawl around her shoulders. "Hi honey, how was your day?" 

"Very discouraging. Mr. Franklin insists on abolishing slavery, while the delegates from the South refuse to give it up. I'm torn between the two sides."

She nodded and made that little pouty face that always drove him wild. "Oh honey, you're such a softy. Feeling sorry for the poor slaves. But shouldn't your first concern be straight white men?"

Turned out 2013 was a pretty darned frustrating for the straight white men who run the LDS Church.

It started with the women who resented Sister Elaine Dalton's remarks in her January 15th Devotional at BYU:

"Young women, you will be the ones who will provide the example of virtuous womanhood and motherhood. You will continue to be virtuous, lovely, praiseworthy and of good report. You will also be the ones to provide an example of family life in a time when families are under attack, being redefined and disintegrating. You will understand your roles and your responsibilities and thus will see no need to lobby for rights." 

Shaken by the realization that LDS sisters seemed to believe they should have rights, the straight white guys rushed to make amends by announcing that the first woman would give a prayer in the April General Conference.

Then, just as the old white guys were breathing a sigh of relief, the whole gay thing blew up again, this time when a disobedient young man was denied the opportunity to serve a mission because he couldn't support the LDS Church's stand on gay marriage, a scandal that inspired the following policy:

"Don't tell your stake president that you disagree with the way the LDS Church treats gays, feminists, and intellectuals--and he won't ask."

But in spite of their outreach to women and progressive new policies, the straight white men in Salt Lake City sensed an evil intellectual trend, a tendency toward tolerance--even in places like Abbottsville, CA:

(The Abbottsville) Ward Preparedness team has been hard at work monitoring ward telephone lines, members' emails, and local LDS chat rooms. Over the past 24 hours, we've detected a shocking number of tolerant-leaning chatter. Here are some of the conversational "red flags" we've uncovered:

• "Shouldn't the job go to the one who's the most qualified?"
• "Have any new ideas?"
• "But it's what's inside a person that counts."
• "It's really none of our business."
• "Why don't we put it to a vote?"
• "She makes a lot of sense."

No doubt these fiendish intellectual uprisings led to the necessity of the Gay Deconversion Badge, Boyd K. Packer's rewrite of the Beatitudes, the church-wide survey on doubt, the demise of DOMA and Prop 8, and the subsequent unrest that drove the persecuted straight white men into brawls in their church parking lots.

Then it was those pesky women again, still wanting to wear pants to church, and even attend the October General Priesthood Session! 

Around that time, I published my new book, False Prophet. -- A sequel to The Girls From Fourth Ward, it includes a scene where Lieutenant Ryan manages to go through a session in the Mormon temple! 

Upon completion of such an accomplishment, I did what any sensible person would do, I left the country. 

So I missed the hoopla around the October General Conference, the thwarted efforts of Ordain Women, Dallin Oak's mean scolding of singles, divorcees, and gays, and Dieter Uchtdorf's deranged plea for members to "doubt their doubts."  

Instead, I got my inspiration from the sides of London's buses.

And that brings us back to those annoying gays, who the courts now insist are allowed to get married. Even in Utah. 

It's been the kind of a year that might even drive the straight white guys in Salt Lake to admit they've made a few mistakes. Well, almost.

But before you declare yourselves "People of the Year," remember, straight white guys, Ward Gossip hasn't all been about you. 

We've celebrated a joyous birth and mourned a tragic death. We've had some fun parties, a great conference, other great reads from the Mormon Alumni Association including works by Johnny Townsend, Michael Oborn, Lawrence Pratt, Micah McAllister, and the amazing anthology, Latter-Gay Saints. Sadly, none were selections for the Relief Society Book Club. We celebrated the 200th anniversary of Pride and Prejudice ("BYU without the sex"), and discussed complex topics like humility, and Mormon exceptionalism. Elder Young continued his efforts in France, Ruthie Renfro plugged away at her MRS, and the sisters in Abbottsville Fourth managed to endure another Mothers Day. Tea Party Republicans continued to entertain, as did the Abbottsville Single Adults, and BYU student life--recently with the introduction of "Caffeine on Campus." I celebrated my 200th post here in June, and my blogger friends kept cranking out stellar stuff along my blogroll. Also, I had lots of fun over on Ex-Mormon Mavens and Main Street Plaza.

Thank you, Gentle Readers. I see a great New Year in our future! And more frustration for the straight white guys.

Why People Who Leave The Church "Aren't Happy"

I've been off my blogging lately, taking a necessary break after finishing my second book. But a memory popped into my head today.

A couple of years ago I had the opportunity to attend an LDS Fast and Testimony Meeting. While painful and time consuming, these occasional visits always provide me with some sort of epiphany. This particular meeting was no exception. After several of the usual suspects rose to bear their testimonies, a woman around my age took the stand and with a mopey face tearfully proclaimed, "People who leave the church aren't happy." Then came my epiphany:

I could be her right now. A miserable Mormon woman.

Over the years, LDS leaders have thrown the bulk of their time, talent, and resources into driving home the message that people who leave the Mormon Church are miserable sinners. -- And thereby scaring the faithful into remaining miserable believers.

It's a strategy that's worked pretty well for them. All they have to do is point to the miserable ex-Mormons like me.

As I sit here at my desk, drinking coffee in my street clothes and department store underwear, I am the embodiment of a miserable sinner. 

You see, "sin" has a somewhat broader definition for Mormons than it has for most people--it starts with drinking coffee and wearing department store underwear, and then moves up to more grievous transgressions, such as eating out on Sunday, wearing a tank top, enjoying a healthy sexual relationship, laughing really hard, drinking a coke, playing gin rummy, and having too much fun. Fun is the operative word here. Because if a person is enjoying herself, she is most likely being sinful.

Fun is very scary. It can make you miserable.

Over the past few years, I've been doing something I consider to be great fun--speaking my mind via blogging and writing novels. Researching a novel can lead to all kinds of "sin." For example, when my friend Cheryl and I went to the porn shop. An ex-Mormon and retired first grade teacher, Cheryl, like me, is no stranger to "sin." That said, neither of us ever thought we'd cross the threshold of an adult superstore. After all, in Sunday School our teachers told us that people who left the church ended up as drunken degenerates who wallowed in porn.

Turns out our teachers were right. For the better part of an hour Cheryl and I wallowed in porn. After that we had a few beers.

While I admit I was shocked by some things, and a little grossed out by others, I found a lot of the merchandise to be useful products for people enjoying a healthy sexual relationship. (And we know what to think of that!) All in all, it was a very fun experience, so much fun that I made Cheryl a porn shop co-owner in my new book, False Prophet.

Here's the (obligatory) excerpt from when Lt. Ryan and Sgt. Romano visit her shop:

Romano mercifully broke in. “We’re actually here to ask you if you saw a certain man in this vicinity yesterday. He was a Mormon, so I doubt he was a customer.”

“Don’t be too sure,” said Cheryl. “We have a few.”

Really? I had to ask. “Know a guy named Dennis Newsome?”

Cheryl squinted. “Lawyer?”

“That’s the one,” I replied.

“Newsome,” said Murph. “Nice guy.”

“He was in last week,” Cheryl added. “Bought some of the remote control panties.”

“No kidding?” said Murph. “Thought his girlfriend was into the edible warming oil.”

“The panties were for his wife,” Cheryl replied.

Murph moved his head in a slow nod. “That’s good of him. Keep her happy too.”

Romano shot me a bored look. “Ryan, why don’t you show them the picture?”

“Oh yeah.” I handed Murph the image of Dooley.

“Sure, I’ve seen him. You’re right. He’s not a customer. But he walks by the shop from time to time.”

A girl in a candy store uniform carried a collection of dildos to the counter. Murph passed Cheryl the picture on his way to the register.

“Can you bag them individually?” the girl asked. “They’re gifts.”

“I saw him yesterday.” Cheryl handed the picture back. “Just after nine a.m. I remember because the sales rep who supplies our butt plugs had to run to pay for parking. The meters begin operation at nine every morning.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I pulled out my pad.

“Anyway, just after he left, your man appeared in the window, wide-eyed, mouth open, gawking, but at nothing in particular. I’d seen him go by before, but with barely a glance at us. I was so startled by his appearance that I went out the door to ask if he was okay. He stared back at me in a bizarre way that gave me the creeps. And in my business that’s saying something.”

Suffice to say, I am obviously very miserable. Look at all the fun I'm having.

Two Conferences, Both Not Alike In Dignity

dig - ni - ty

noun

1. The state or quality of being worthy of honor or respect.

In Mormonworld October is the month for two conferences.

The first is the LDS Semi-Annual General Conference. On the surface, it exudes the appearance of dignity: envision a sea of distinguished white men in white shirts.

Only once they open their mouths they're stripped of any semblance of dignity--all the way down to their holy temple garments. It never fails. Every General Conference what the men in the magic underpants say is sometimes folksy, always guilt-inducing, basically bullshit, and, at the same time, over-the-top boring.

As my regular readers know, I had the good fortune to be in London during this October's 7 1/2 hour snore-fest. So I missed the whole damn thing. But from what I understand this year was no different. Evidently only two speakers managed to rouse the faithful from their rem sleep:


The unintentionally hilarious Dieter Uchtdorf who admitted that LDS Church leaders had made a few mistakes (presumably referring to eensy boo-boo's like polygamy and the Mountain Meadows Massacre) and then urged skeptics to "doubt their doubts." (Whatever the hell that means.)

AND

The intentionally nasty Dallin Oaks who pompously insisted that even though gay marriage is legal it is still immoral.

Shakespeare couldn't have said it better.

The second of two conferences is the Ex-Mormon Conference in Salt Lake City. I was present for that and can report first hand. On the surface, it did not exude the appearance of dignity.

I spent a good part of it playing hooky with my pals at the registration desk.

I got this amazing breadboard made by InsanaD's husband.

Also we had a little too much fun with some missionaries I found at Deseret Book.--Leave it to the Mormons to make "action figures" with no moveable parts. We did our best to loosen them up.

Right off we got them drunk.

Ensuring these are the best two years of their lives.

Also there was some flagrant self-promotion--Yes, of course, I brought my new book!

I also won a very cool book in the door prize drawing!

These are true messengers!

But here's the thing, what the Ex-Mormon Conference lacked in decorum, it made up for in substance. What its speakers shared was sometimes folksy, never guilt-inducing, totally true, and, at the same time, over-the-top interesting. For example:

Micah McAllister's heartfelt presentation about his excellent book, Exit Strategy: Leaving Mormonism with your Dignity Intact. (There's that word again.)

D. William Johnson's panel discussion of his "I Am an Ex-Mormon" videos--a presentation so moving that at it's end, members of the audience rushed forward with cash donations to help him continue the project.

Richard Packham's two excellent talks that were, at times, intentionally hilarious.

Chris Johnson's fascinating insights into possible sources for the Book of Mormon.

Kay Burningham's speech, "Are Mormon Leaders Above the Law?"

And beyond that, the hours of scintillating conversation amongst the thoughtful and intelligent attendees.

Which of the two October conferences possessed the state or quality of being worthy of honor or respect? I'm with the Ex-Mormons. We may not wear white dress shirts anymore, and we've nothing like the magic underpants. But our dignity is intact. Also we're allowed moveable parts.

Priesthood Session, Warm Fuzzies, Scary Temple Scene

Recently, a group of Mormon women requested tickets to the General Priesthood meeting. The LDS Church countered with the claim that the physical presence of women in the Conference Center would violate the sacred bonding between fathers and sons who attend the session together. As a feminist, I admire the efforts of this small number of women who seek to equalize their status within their church. But as an Ex-Mormon, I can't fathom why anyone would want to sit through this mythic snore-fest. Moreover, I question how much father/son bonding takes place during 90 or so minutes of verbal chloroform that is only enlivened by occasional scoldings toward those who are single, gay, or sometimes tempted to touch themselves.

But then, the Mormons are expert at promoting their bizarre and tiresome rituals as warm and fuzzy spiritual experiences. Lieutenant Matt Ryan discovered that when he inadvertently found himself inside a Mormon temple endowment session--under the guise of Brother Zimmerman, whose temple recommend he'd borrowed. It's just part of my new novel, False Prophet. (Yes, this is more flagrant self-promotion for my book--did you think it wouldn't be?)

Excerpt from False Prophet:

A voice from the speakers said, “We are instructed to clothe you in the Robes of the Holy Aaronic Priesthood.” I heard, “place the robe on your right shoulder.” It lost me after that. I saw that my neighbors were removing their Dearfoams. I popped mine off too, with barely a tug at the overtaxed elastic, and rummaged through my clothing for a robe. I found a long skinny scarf, what appeared to be a hat, and a folded square of white cotton. I figured it for the robe.

“Need help, Brother Zimmerman?” (actually Ryan.)

I looked up to see Brother Booze and a handful of others standing and staring down at me. 

“Nope, I got it,” I replied, and jumped to my feet. 

What they called a robe looked more like one of those sexy drapes that actresses wear in movies set in ancient Greece. It fastened with those annoying little hospital gown strings that I never could properly tie. When I at last completed the task, I looked around to see that the entire room was now fully accessorized and seated. Brother Booze leapt to my aid. 

“Where are the rest of your temple clothes?” he whistled. 

Indeed, where had they gone? The young red-haired man on my right collected them from underneath his seat. He stood, handed my hat to Brother Booze then tied the long white scarf around my waist. Booze placed what looked like a baker’s cap on my head, and came around behind to tie yet another string, this time connecting my hat to the shoulder of my robe. I stood still and stiff, aware that every eye was on me. 

Brother Red Hair searched under his seat again then mimed, “Where is it?” 

I shrugged. 

“Your apron?” Booze whispered. 

“The green thing?” 

Booze nodded. 

“I’m still wearing it.” 

Booze and Red Hair hiked up my skirt on either side. I flashed back to the pained expression of my fellow kindergartner, Rhonda Tressler, after I’d performed what I thought was a harmless playground prank. Brother Booze removed my apron and motioned for me to tie it around the outside of my clothes. Then the three of us sank gratefully into our seats. Red Hair pointed at my feet. 

“Brother Zimmerman, you need to put your slippers on,” said Brother Booze. 

Right. The Dearfoams. I guess I could manage that on my own. I found the left one in front of me on the floor and then felt around for the other. Shit. It must have traveled. If only the goddamned elastic wasn’t so tight. I dropped to my knees, searched under my seat, and those around me. I thought I spotted it, but when I touched the toe it moved. This was getting me nowhere. I climbed back into my seat and aimed a desperate look at the officiator. 

He cleared his throat. “Will the brethren in the room kindly check around their chairs for a stray slipper?” 

The room roiled with the bobbing of white caps, until a polite whisper of discovery came from behind, and the shoe floated hand over hand in my direction.“Thank you, brothers,” I murmurred before returning it to my foot and facing the altar. 

The officiator sent me a withering look and motioned to Brother Booze. Booze glanced over, grabbed the baker’s hat that dangled from my shoulder, and put it back on my head.  

I smiled up at the guy at the altar. He nodded, sighed, and depressed the button that activated the voice of God.

That will do! For now.

Click here to order False Prophet--and check out its first 5 star review from Mikayla Anne Pratt!