The New Fourteen Fundamentals In Following The Prophet

To: Abbottsville Fourth Ward
From: Mark Crawford
Subject: In response to your letter

My dear friends from the Abbottsville Fourth,

Every time I think you're coming along, you do something to bring me back to reality. Most of you have finally accepted that I live with a man, and that I no longer go to church. Nevertheless, that didn't stop you from sending me a list compiled by the former prophet and right wing xenophobe, Ezra Taft Benson, entitled "Fourteen Fundamentals in Following the Prophet."

So I read the thing. Between you and me, I found it a tad subtle. In fact, it's possible that some of you open minded types might try to read between the lines, add your own interpretations, and dive into that downward spiral that starts when a Mormon tries to think for himself. So out of the goodness of our hearts, Byron and I mixed up a pitcher of martinis and did a little editing, just so there will be no mistaking what the LDS Church is going for here. (Original text is in bold type.)

Fourteen Fundamentals in Following the Prophet

1. The prophet is the only man who speaks for the Lord in everything. -- The prophet speaks for everyone, including God.

2. The living prophet is more vital to us than the standard works. -- If you listen to the prophet you shouldn't read the Bible, or anything else for that matter.

3. The living prophet is more important to us than a dead prophet. -- With the exception of the dead prophet who compiled this list.

4. The prophet will never lead the church astray. -- Four martinis a piece, and we still couldn't come up with a way to improve on that one.

5. The prophet is not required to have any particular earthly training or credentials to speak on any subject or act on any matter at any time. -- The prophet is not required to read, write, do arithmetic, or even speak in coherent sentences. In fact it's best when he doesn't.

6. The prophet does not have to say "Thus Saith the Lord," to give us scripture. -- This implies he needs to consult the Lord in the first place.

7. The prophet tells us what we need to know, not always what we want to know. -- Information is released out of church headquarters on a "need to know" basis, and you don't need to know anything.

8. The prophet is not limited by men's reasoning. 

9. The prophet can receive revelation on any matter, temporal or spiritual. -- In particular, matters that intrude on your bedroom, bank account, and Salt Lake City's planning and building codes.

10. The prophet may advise on civic matters. -- The prophet can tell you how to vote. That is, until he figures out a way to take away your right to vote.

11. The two groups who have the greatest difficulty in following the prophet are the proud who are learned and the proud who are rich. -- In other words: smart people who don't pay tithing.

12. The prophet will not necessarily be popular with the world or worldly. -- The prophet will need a really good PR firm.

13. The prophet and his counselors make up the First Presidency -- the highest quorum in the Church. -- aka the world, the universe, the mind of God.

14. The prophet and the presidency -- the living prophet and the First Presidency -- follow them and be blessed -- reject them and suffer. -- If all else fails, the prophet will resort to scaring the shit out of you.

If the members of the Abbottsville Fourth Ward would like to stop receiving my messages, then I suggest they take me off this god-&%$#ed email list.

Write Your Own LDS General Conference Talk

To: Donna Banta
From: Mark Crawford
Subject: Mother's visit

Dear Donna,

Mother was in town for General Conference. So, instead of the usual three hour marathon with her at church, Byron and I were sentenced to twelve hours with her and the General Authorities in our living room. By now Mother has come to terms with the fact that I live with a man, and that I no longer obey the Word of Wisdom. This mercifully allowed Byron to mix multiple pitchers of martinis to accompany the talks. (Although Mother did ask what was in a martini, and when I told her she said, "Oh p-shaw!") Nevertheless, by the Sunday afternoon session, she was drinking them too.

Since you and the other lucky post-Mormons were living it up at the San Francisco Ferry Building, Byron and I decided to compose a synopsis of what you missed:

Generic General Conference Talk 

by Mark and Byron

Check all that apply.

Brothers and Sisters, today I would like to speak with you about:

a. obedience.

b. sweet little old ladies.

c. your filthy minds.

I know that many of you struggle with your commitment to the Gospel because of:

a. these trying economic times.

b. your addiction to porn.

c. your warped desire to have "fun."

For those who harbor such selfishness, I invite you to consider the least fortunate among us. Last month I visited a tiny LDS branch in:

a. Calcutta.

b. Mozambique.

c. Queens.

After church, the branch president invited me into his hut, where his wife offered me:

a. her last few drops of Hawaiian Punch.

b. a box of lime Jell-O.

c. the remainder of the strained carrots she was feeding her infant. 

I asked the young president if he was in need of any church welfare. He immediately waved me off, and said that he and his flock preferred that the church devote its resources to:

a. eliminating the Internet.

b. defining the word, "marriage."

c. developing a line of modest prom dresses.

While the generic G.A. reads the following lines, cut from his face to any or all of the accompanying pictures.

Would that we all had such faith! But then none of our trials are as great as those of our ancestors. Consider the sacrifice of my Great-great-great:

a. Uncle Hyrum who died defending traditional marriage.

b. Aunt Eugenia who dug Uncle Hyrum's grave with only a teaspoon.

c. Grandfather Maxwell, who went to the Sweden, Stockholm Mission and converted over 100 women.

In closing, brothers and sisters, I leave you my testimony of the truthfulness of the Gospel. I bear witness that our Savior expects each and every one of you to:
a. pay a full tithe, attend all your meetings, go to the temple, magnify your calling, do your genealogy, have a year's supply of food, serve a mission, marry, raise at least 6 kids in the church, then serve a senior mission.
b. pay a full tithe, attend most of your meetings, have a temple recommend, and do your home/visiting teaching.
c. at least pay your tithing.

In return He promises:
a. you won't have a single minute to yourself.
b. you won't have time for any "fun."
c. there will be no money left over to spend on porn.

As I told Bishop Z, it was the most mind-numbingly boring crap I've ever seen on TV. And now I'm all out of vodka.

Regards,
Mark

Mother's Visit

To: Donna Banta
From: Mark Crawford
Subject: Mother's visit

Dear Donna,

Most of the week went fine. Mother seems to have  come to terms with the fact that I'm no longer Mormon and that I live with a man. (Although she still asks where Byron sleeps, and when I tell her she still smiles, shakes her head and says, "Oh p-shaw!") We did the usual. San Francisco, Carmel. In the evenings Mother filled me in on the family in Salt Lake City and taught Byron how to cook "Utah Style." (Believe me, Donna, the man's a saint, and I don't mean the "latter-day" kind.)

On Sunday Byron and I planned to drop Mother off at church, go for brunch, then pick her up after. We made a slight detour to collect her friend, Sister Hickey, who is no longer able to drive. We parked and escorted the elderly sister into the building, as it took three people to manage her walker, oxygen tank, scriptures, and bag of medications.

Once she and Mother were safe in their pew, Byron and I raced for the door, only to be confronted by Bishop Zimmerman and a young member of the Aaronic Priesthood. The bishop's tie was askew and his lapels were covered in Post-it notes. He answered e-mail on his Blackberry as he spoke. "Mark! Thank goodness you're here! I need you to run to the store for the sacrament bread. Give the loaves to Dallin here when you get back." He pressed a wad of cash into my palm and disappeared. I looked down at Dallin. He was in desperate need of a bar of soap. "Listen kid," I said, "why don't you run to the Safeway on the corner and get the bread?" "I can't," he replied. "Why not?" I asked. "Because it's a sin." As the ward's token reprobate, I was the only candidate capable of breaking the Sabbath to provide the Abbottsville "saints" (including my mother) with their holy communion.

After Byron and I delivered the bread to Dallin, our exit was again hampered, this time by a commotion in the foyer. Bishop Zimmerman blocked our path, panting. One of the Post-its had attached itself to his earlobe. I tactfully returned it to his lapel. "Mark! Thank goodness you're back! Sister Turley's water just broke. I need you to sit with their kids during Sacrament Meeting while Brother Turley takes her to the hospital." Mother moved into my range of vision, her eyes imploring. "It's only an hour," said Byron. "We'll still have time for brunch." (As I said, the man's a saint.)

The Turley brood, a foursome ranging from age two through eight, sat on the second row from the front. While former Stake President Taylor waxed sentimental about his genealogy, Byron engaged the twin girls in what he thought would be a game of cat's cradle, but looked more like the bondage scenario in a DVD we recently rented. I might have been turned on, if I hadn't been so intent on dislodging the Cheerio one of the Turley brats stuffed in my ear.

Needless to say, we wasted no time ferrying the kids to Primary. We handed off the two year old to a wild-eyed nursery leader. "I need more help!" she cried, and grabbed Byron as well. I vowed to rescue him after I unloaded the other three, but upon entering the Primary room, Sister Zimmerman called out, "Mark! Thank goodness you're here! Sister Turley was supposed to play the piano, only now she's in labor. Will you fill in?" "Um, OK. Where's the music?" "I don't know. Can't you just wing it?" Sure I could wing it. I wing it all the time for my music students at Grafton College, but the Primary Songbook was not part of my repertoire. I fell back on The Eensy Weensy Spider, Puff the Magic Dragon, and Hey Jude.

After the better part of an hour I announced, "Any more singing will have to be done a capella." Sister Zimmerman thanked me, then asked, "On your way out would you mind tending to little Missy Skousen? She needs to pee." I drew a breath. "All right, I'll fetch her mother." "She just passed out from morning sickness." I refused to be rattled. "Fine, I'll find her father." "He's in the Elders' Quorum." Missy and I walked hand in hand to the Elders' classroom where we were greeted by a chorus of, "Mark! Thank goodness you're here!"

Some forty-five minutes later, I left the Elders, confident I had taught one of the best lessons of the year. (Good thing Brother Harold had that deck of cards.) Saint Byron waited for me in the foyer, head to toe in glitter. We loaded Mother, Sister Hickey and the portable ER into the car. Then as we left the church parking lot, Sister Hickey took a long pull on her oxygen tank, and wheezed, "Where are we going for brunch?"

I'll close for now, as Saint Byron is heading to the bar with our martini pitcher. God knows I need one.

Regards,
Mark

P.S. Do you know how to get off the Fourth Ward mailing list?