Serving a Mormon mission is a brand of sanctioned serfdom. It is voluntary slavery. It is hard work. It is grueling at the lowest levels of human emotional response and simultaneously responsible for pinnacle moments of euphoric ecstacy. If that depicts an emotional roller coaster ride for you, you are not far off. I loved mine. Every second of it.
I thoroughly enjoyed my two years serving as a missionary. It was bred into me to do so. I was conditioned from my earliest cognicent years that I would serve. I looked forward to it. I longed for it. I prepared for it by submitting to every brand of Mormon indoctrination available. I memorized countless scriptures as part of my attending early morning seminary. I would arrive at Sister Clifford's home before highchool started, usually around 6:15 as I recall. High school began at 8:00 and I would be done with my religion classes by 7:30 so that early time slot is probably a fair assessment. Early morning seminary was a Monday through Friday occurance for me and my Mormon youthful counterparts. Saturday usually involved a Mormon youth group activity in the form of a church sponsored basketball game, a church sponsored scouting activity or a church sponsored Priesthood quorum activity that involved service. Sunday was a high holy day in our Mormon household. No shopping, no playing, and once a month we would forgo eating in a fasting ritual that was designed to foster elevated spiritual states of being.
Fasting started for me at age 8. My siblings also started at this age. Fasting was done once a month church wide so when I came to church, the entire congregation was also going without food. I suppose this is group fasting. These special Sundays were designed differently from the rest. The entire first hour and ten minutes was a compilation of "speak easy" type spontaneous personal witnesses of how each person knew that the Mormon church was God's only true church on earth.
Many people walked up to the front of the congregation to declare that they knew the Mormon Church was the Only True church on earth. Often, grown men would openly weep as they expressed their tender feelings about how they knew this was so. Others submitted oral history of family traditions. Invariably, there was the person who got up to declare that because their horse did not get hurt in the trailer when the gun shot spooked all the other horses, therefore, Mormonism was true (huh?). Good fortune pretty meant god was looking over their shoulder protecting their every minutia minute by minute. Towards the end of my faith, I wanted to scream out publicly after the mode of the blonde, crew cut hairstyle, 80's weight loss guru, Susan Powters:
Stop the insanity, People!!
You see, other people in other faiths also had these "proof positive" episodes in their life and used them to prop up the exclusivity claims of Jehovah's Witnesses, Catholicism, Eckankar, Islam, Fundie Christianity. I am glad I found restraint somehow. Little children also offered their solemn testimony. I was one of them. I recall several times bursting with enthusiasm for my chance to bear my testimony to the congregation. Each time I did so, I was complimented by my peers and made to feel very special.
Thus describes my preparation and back ground to go out and be counted as one of the valiant servants of the Mormon god, Elohim. There was ridicule, raised eyebrows, open mockery, and glorious rejection available to stoke the fires of persecution complex for the name of Jesus. If it was a bad day, I needed only to retire to my apartment with my companion, read a few minutes of scripture and instantly be floated into martyrdom status for "The Cause".
Eric Hoffer once said in his book, The True Believer... [insert quote]
and I take that to heart literally since I personified just about every single word while active as a missionary.
The missionary is a salesperson. He knows that sanity lies in the numbers. For every "NO" spoken into his general direction, that only means he is one step closer to a "YES". Look at the demographics. Hardly any missionary goes 2 years full tilt without not converting a soul. For this reason the missionaries are required to keep meticulous notes and tally all kinds of statistics about their overall daily and weekly/ monthly performances. These numerical values are reported to senority and there is even a President of this corporation who scrutinizes the numbers as he receives them. Some of the numbers I had to report were:
hours worked each week
how many people I successfully obtained phone numbers and addresses from
how many "discussions" I taught to people
what type of discussions I taught i.e. the one about Joseph Smith, Christ, Tithing, or baptism?
whether or not I masturbated that week
if I masturbated, what steps of repentance was I currently engaged in
if I was a new missionary, how many scriptures and "discussion points" had I memorized
how many people I was currently teaching had baptismal dates, and what were any of their concerns
did I love my male companion, were we getting along, was their a spiritual bond between us
Basically it was a supreme controlfest. I paid my own way, wore out a dozen pairs of shoes, and literally wasted myself away serving god as if nothing else mattered. My mission, looking back, was a basic example of a cult brainwashing experience. I came off my mission completely high on god and Mormonism. I was drunk with my religion. I'd walk into restaurants and post mission and try to convert waiters and still talk to people I did not know about Joseph Smith. I was angry when I came home to find my family less than enthusiastic about missionary work.. they had neighbors!! Why didn't their neighbors have books of Mormon in their hands!! What was wrong with my parents!! Could they not see that NOTHING was more important that giving their neighbors books of Mormon?
