From persecuted to persecutor: leaving the mormon church

I’ve written many essays about how I don’t want to be one of them.

But them exists because an us formed. A line was drawn between us and them.

For the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (LDS), the line was drawn when the founding prophet declared God had restored his one true church through him.

One true church.

Not one of many. Not one of many ways to God.

The only way to God.

The LDS believe it is solely their church that holds the keys to the kingdom, which means the right to speak in God’s name and perform sacred ordinances (baptism, covenant marriage, etc.). A person can only return to live with God after she dies if she is baptized in the LDS church, married in the temple, and remains true to her covenants (there is one more option that includes baptisms for the dead, but I won’t get into that here).

The LDS, or “mormons” as some like to call them, have been persecuted from their inception for their church

It’s no wonder. When you suddenly claim you are the mouthpiece of God, have a new scripture (the Book of Mormon), and believe God wants its people to practice polygamy, it makes sense that people were irate.

And thus began the history of persecution. Of us (the LDS) and them (the persecutors).

But persecution was also a badge of honor. It was, and still is, interpreted as Satan railing against something holy. If Satan is fighting you, you must be up to something good.

This doesn’t mean the LDS want to be persecuted, misunderstood, or mislabeled. Many people still refer to the LDS as polygamists, even though they don’t practice it anymore ( the church did away with it at the end of the 19th century).

Many believe mormons are not Christians, even though they follow Christ. Many believe mormonism is destroying the world, even though thousands of members strive daily to follow Christ-like principles and act with genuine love and care for others.

I know because I used to be one of them.

I used to be part of the us. I was a mormon. I know what it feels like to be persecuted by them.

I joined the LDS church when I was 23. My parents, evangelical Christians, told me I was being led by the devil. When I decided to become a missionary, my mother told me I would be dragging people to hell.

My family’s reaction was devastating. But their persecution and vitriol was also emboldening. Satan was coming for me because I was about to do powerful things. I sunk deeper into the LDS community for comfort, support, and understanding. The gap between us (the LDS) and them (my family and the outside world) grew wider.

But I am no longer LDS.

I left after 4 years. My 1.5 year mission opened my eyes to the realities of the LDS church. It wasn’t a sudden realization. It was a gradual seeing — an experiencing.

My leaving the church was just as gradual. I slowly backed away, until one day I decided I wasn’t going back.

Artwork made by me, in front of my other artwork

But that wasn’t the end. There was still so much to dismantle within me. The work of religious deconstruction takes time, and is still ongoing for me (especially considering I grew up at a Southern Baptist Camp and then joined the LDS church).

But I have devoted significant time and effort to understanding my religious journey. And the more I understand, the angrier I become. The more I see. The more I want to speak out on the inherent harm in the religious structures I lived.

But that makes me one of them.

If I speak against any of the teachings or actions of the LDS church, I am a persecutor.

I know what it is like to feel persecuted. I do not want to be one of them.

But it is an irony I cannot escape. The religions I once held dear will now see me as an adversary.

And once I am one of them, they will not listen. I will simply be an apostate, a lost sheep, and someone blinded by Satan.

It’s kept me from sharing my perspectives and experiences.

For I’m not just alienating the LDS church (of which I still have extended family members and friends), I am also alienating evangelical Christianity (of which I still have immediate family members). I am alienating the communities that raised me, held me, and did their best to nurture me in the ways they felt best.

Can I hold that tension?

And the tension that I once thought I was so “right” that I can never again consider myself right? That I always hold the possibility that I could be wrong.

But there are still things I feel must be said — however contradictory and messy.

There is something in me that calls.

I know others that have left the LDS church and have no desire to discuss it, let alone write about it publicly.

What is it about me that something in me knows I must do this? Is it that missionary spirit?

That ironic tension again.

And maybe, just maybe, if I can hold the contradictions, I can be an us and them.

Thanks for reading!

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