I need to remember that not everyone will know who I'm talking about in some of my posts. I will try to be better in clarifying who people are when I'm writing about them. So when I start talking about Brigham Young, I should clarify that he was a polygamous pervert who had sex with at least 16 women at the same time (well, maybe not at the SAME time, but who knows?), he was an iron fist who believed that people should pay for their sins with blood, and he was the 2nd Prophet of the Mormon church and the founding father of Utah (a blogger I read recently called it "Utard"... immature, I know, but funny? He also used the word "testiphony" a lot and I really did laugh hard on that one).
Reading the word "testiphony" made me remember how I had to bear my testiphony in church the Sunday after I first did Baptisms for the Dead. What are Baptisms for the Dead you ask? Let me school you.
The preparation that is put into the youth of the church is intense and calculated. Sure, those might be negative terms, but I am speaking from my own experience. From the time you enter the "Young Womens" program at the age of 12, you begin hearing about how you can help the cause of Mormonism. When they first bring up the whole idea of "Baptisms for the Dead," they often can not get through it without shedding a tear or two. It does not take long before they really have you believing that YOU can make a difference!
The Las Vegas temple had not been built by the time I was old enough to experience this ritual. I drove up to Utah with a few carloads of pre-teens and I remember the trip being fun and exciting! Away from the parents, staying the night in another city, is there a down-side to this? Indeed there was and it was down, down you go! All the girls changed in a room and the boys in another. We wore these goofy jumpers, all WHITE of course. One by one, we entered the baptismal font where some old dude was waiting for us. The moment I entered that room I felt weird. There were many (not sure on the number) giant, stone oxen that all faced outward. In the middle of it all was the baptismal pool. Now the reason we were even doing this is because supposedly there are countless numbers of people upstairs, just waiting outside the gates of heaven. They can not get in because they have not been baptized Mormon (of course), so I was there to get baptized for them (by proxy). The 20+ people I got baptized for all had Spanish names and I was told had died over a century before.
One by one, the old dude read off the names - and for every name he reads he had to dunk me. I'm thinking about those people upstairs and I'm firmly hoping they are grateful! If I'm going to endure water on the freaking lung, somebody better be getting something out of it! As soon as I finished they ushered me back to the changing room where I was to shower and change. It did not help that one of the girls with us started her period in there and there was blood all over the floor (I had no idea what was going on... my mother did not allow me to take sex education and of course SHE wasn't talking). I was already so wigged out by the actual baptismal experience that when the blood came, it really freaked my freak out.
I went straight home and told my mother that I was never doing that again. She cried.... and urged me to talk to the Bishop about it. I remember thinking that the Bishop can smooch my white butt - it was not going to happen. And no one - NO ONE was going to talk me into it.
I never did another Baptism for the Dead again. No doubt there are still countless souls up there... looking down perturbed that I won't play the game. But wait! What about the fact that the church sent me a letter when I left, saying that my own baptism had been revoked and it was like it had never happened? Does that mean all those Spaniards got rounded up like a herd of cattle and booted out? "Sorry guys, she got EX-ed so you gots to go!"
I feel sorry that the youth of this church are conditioned so severely, but more than that, so EARLY in life. That the next Sunday after this experience happened, there I was.... bearing my testiphony telling everyone how wonderful it had been (it was awful - seriously, run for it while you still can). How much I loved the experience (I've got 2 words for you, folks - WATER---LOGGING).... and how I could not wait to do it again (as in, never).
The one good thing that came out of this experience was that it confirmed my already growing thought that I could not trust those around me. I could not trust my parents (whom I loved, but they worked for them), I could not trust my leaders (I got an earful from the Bishop and I just smiled and knodded), and I could not trust my peers (the one friend I told about my worries told my Young Women's teacher on me - nice.). These, in the end, were all good things, because it forced me to think even harder for myself and to be okay with not caring if anyone understood me or not.
Since that day almost 23 years ago, millions of this church's youth have performed the exact same ritual and hundreds of millions of people have now entered the gates of heaven (sigh--of--relief!). When they performed this ceremony for my Catholic Grandmother, I'm sure a nun fell over somewhere (oh, and you can get married for dead people too.... because in my Grandma's case, 50 years of hell and emotional abuse were not enough - they're going to make it so it can be for time and all eternity).
THIS is the reason that the Mormon church is the largest Genealogical group in the world. They feel they must be baptized and be married for, every person who has ever lived. Yea, good luck with that one.
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