As the minutes dripped away into the eternities, my brain ceased to function on the plane of mere mortality. My self awareness shifted into another spectrum like a red shifting galaxy moves away from the Earth at near the speed of light. Consciousness stretched like a piece of taffy on a pulling machine. Even though the weather was relatively cool, I felt like I was on fire, the air had become concrete. My eyes stayed open as I became on with the universe and forgot where I was. Pockets of unreality peppered me as voices alternated between sing song and monotone.
Thus was my first Mormon worship service.
The day had not promised to be so surreal. In fact, it began much like any other Sunday, with coffee and cereal. I watched TV and read a little. I even toyed with the idea of catching up on some housework as I waited the morning out. My informant told me that the local meeting was to begin at one. This gave me the morning free and I was able to sleep in slightly. But before I knew it, noon was upon me and I showered, shaved, and hopped into my car and parked among a thousand others at the Mormon Church.
I felt nervous, a little tense. I had not been invited to attend and was concerned that I was breaking a rule. However, during the several visits by the local recruiters, I was invited a few times to come for a Sacrament but never set an appointment. The sun was a little warm but the breeze was cool and carried upon it the hint of autumn. It felt great to be awake and alive. I passed a sign that proclaimed to the world that visitors are indeed welcome. I relaxed a little, but still felt tense with excitement for what was to come.
I entered an inviting lobby that had overstuffed couches framed by fake flowers. Children punctuated clumpy groups of adults to seemed engrossed with conversation. Everyone was very well dressed with white shirts and ties. Even young boys had formal clothes on, although the exuberance of youthful potential had converted ties into toys. The women wore colorful dresses like you would see at a picnic and several other styles. I confess I am not an expert on female things having always been interested in the male world.
No one seemed to pay me any attention. I stood in the lobby for several minutes waiting for someone, a waiter perhaps, to show me to my seat or otherwise explain to me what to do. Eventually I abandoned such hope and began to follow some teenagers into the chapel. I found a seat on a padded pew and set back to observe.
The chapel seemed totally boring, and aside from a total lack of crosses, identical to any other. There was a sea of pews that were slowly being filled by parishioners, a sanctuary with a lectern and chorus seating. There were even chairs for the Church Elders and a the Eucharist was protected by a sheet. There were elaborate lights that hung at reverential intervals illuminating carpeted walls. Organ music provided a foundation for worshipful feelings. Overall, the place seemed inviting and comfortable.
People continued to stream in to the room taking seats all around me. Soon the pews were full of families separated by an empty space as though from above the pews could be read like a book with families as words. Many of them had programs and I wished I had grabbed one off the table outside or accepted one from the youth distributing them. A man with a suit stood and the organ stopped.
He welcomed us to church (Mormons have strange ways of speaking and I will intersperse my commentary with what I can remember) "this day" and another guy gave a prayer. I remember a lot of thees and thous in the prayer. Then the congregation sang a song from these really ugly green hymn books. I tried to sing along, but did not know the tune so I sort of hummed randomly in a way I thought would please God. Another suit talked about some logistical stuff and then we had the Eucharist. A mix of youth and adults passed around bread and then water between prayers. I was a little disappointed that the Mormon God's flesh was white bread and water.
Really, it was wholly unremarkable. I began to despair for the lack of an adventure. Had I spiffed and polished myself for nothing but a normal sort of meeting held by strangely spoken but otherwise normal sort of Christians? Where was the strangeness? Where was the exotic things that Mormons are known for? Don't they believe they could talk to God and that they are intersected with the Illuminati or some other Jewish conspiracy? Was my whole journey going to end in such a vanilla fashion?
Nope. Things picked right up after the Eucharist. The man in the suit stood again and told us that the rest of the time was for us. I metaphorically scratched my head. The rest of the time is for us? What is it he expected us to do? Again, I began to feel a sort of panic, as though I was suddenly in a play for which I knew no lines and was expected to follow the time honored tradition of taking all my clothes off for the audience. But fortunately, the others seemed to know what to do.
A woman got up out of the pews and walked boldly up to the lectern. She said she wanted to bear her testimony. She further elaborated and told a story about how her husband had been out of work but after a lot of praying he found a job and this is how she knows that God lives. She sat down. Interesting, I thought. A man replaced her and also asserted that he had a testimony. He then recounted how much the scriptures have helped him and his wife grow together and love each other. He sat down. A fat lady stood and regaled us with another story, somewhat longer, about how her brother in law was suffering and he is moving towards to truth of the church. She sat and a little kid popped up. He yelled that he had a testimony that the church was true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet and he loves his mommy. When he vacated, two more young kids repeated the same speech. Amazingly, the last one, a cute little blonde girl had her mommy up there with her and was whispering what to say to the poor thing!
I squirmed a little on account of the clear fraud and looked at my fellow parishioners to see if they also shared my discomfort. They did not look uncomfortable, they looked dead. Everyone's eyes seemed to fix in the middle distance. Children muttered as they colored on the programs. A few head seemed to bounce and people lost the war with the Sandman. I turned back to the new speaker, bemused.
A college age guy said he did well on a test. A old lady told about a trip she took to Illinois. On and on they went. Time began to stretch a little. My eyes began to get heavy, but I forced them open and stared like a deranged ape at the current speaker. He was a very old man, angular with white bushy eyebrows that overhung fiery eyes that seemed to accuse the world of being worldly. He spoke with great conviction and fire about how far things have gone wrong, about how the Democrats have fulfilled an unknown number of prophecies of the "latter days." He extended his verbal assault by recounting a trip he took thirteen years earlier and the poor service he received at an IHOP.
Colors began to do funny things. They would trade places with one another. When I directed my gaze on them, they flashed back into place. Objects would split into twins and rotate briefly around one another and then snap back. The lights themselves seemed to pour a liquid luminance down onto the program I was focused on. It would flow uphill, then down hill, and then sideways. Body parts turned to iron and then rusted and broke when I adjusted my position. I prayed that the world would come to make sense once again.
The man sat down with an offended huff. Another oldster replaced him and repeated his testimony, almost word for word. A woman replaced him, who was replaced by another human shaped figure, who was replaced by a human shaped voice. My head was almost between my knees as I heard how Joseph Smith was a prophet was drilled into my reality. He was a prophet, he was. I know he was. They know he was. I was as sure as the pew was hard (despite the cushion) and melding with my posterior that Joseph Smith was a prophet. Anything. Just make it stop.
It all ended like a freight train colliding with a mountain. The Suit Man stood and a hundred folks simultaneously resurrected. The green books appeared and we sang praises to God for releasing us from this unholy Limbo we had inflicted upon ourselves. The windows seemed to burst with painfully cold air that poured water on our slumbering souls. We rejoiced together. It was spiritual. I felt redeemed by the man in the suit and the sharp notes of the organ.
I am told by my informant that there are other meetings after the first one. I am told they are quite nice and interesting. I am told that this is where all the real Mormonizing goes on. I did not wait to find out. I was home recuperating with a beer and football on TV before my car's engine fully started. There are limits to every explorer.
Next week: Once More Unto The Breach (maybe I will bring something to read).
