Why I Left the Mormon Church

Or, Why the Mormon Church Left Me

I loved the Mormon Church; big on family, faith, tradition and love of God.

They put God first and emphasized how critical the nuclear family was in modern society and how critical the husband was for the development, guidance and leadership of the family.

I loved that!

But the work!

I don’t know how other “stakes” (the administrative/evangelical area of a Mormon Church) did it, but in our stake, they wanted you to attend services or Bible studies or religious studies 4 or more days a week, sometimes for 3 or 4 hours a day!

That’s a lot of work.

“People, I kind of have a life here.!”

But I loved everything else about it.

The community, the fellowship, the caring, the help when you needed it, pulling together around someone who was having challenges in their life, uniting together, sharing together, I really, truly loved all that.

But what changed? Why did I leave?

Well, I didn’t, sort of.

The pressure to join LDS (Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints), was intense. Each person is introduced into the church by a sponsor. This is someone who will show you the “ropes,” help you get acquainted in the church and with its procedures, introduce you to other members and their families and pick you up and drop you off (if needed) for church events.

And they are constantly “on you,” calling you, asking you to events, pressuring you to join. Every, or almost every, day.

Above your sponsor is their elder. And above that elder is their elder, etc. etc.

And all these people — after a month or two or three — were constantly, continuously pressuring me to join the church.

But I resisted.

Fiercely.

At first, I thought it was just my sense of independence and my rebellious streak that combined to make me resist.

But after nearly a year, I realized something else was going on.

It wasn’t anything I could place my finger on, nothing I could point out.

But something in the church was unsettling to me.

And I couldn’t figure it out.

I was puzzled.

So I started digging for answers.

One of the tenets of LDS is that, far in the past, the land area of North America was settled by a race that built a great civilization here that was eventually completely, totally destroyed leaving no trace.

Mormons, “True” Mormons, believe in this hypothesis wholeheartedly, without a doubt. Some Mormons have their doubts. Most people do not believe that at all and believe it to be totally far-fetched.

And although, interesting, it wasn’t a sticking point for me.

In fact, I believe by exploring old maps and traipsing through wilderness, I may have stumbled upon obscure signs of this ancient, advanced civilization.

So that was not my sticking point.

So what was?

I didn’t know, so I kept on searching.

Another year went by.

My feelings of general, non-specific unsettlement increased.

Was there something wrong with the church?

Or was there something wrong with me?

I mean, with what seemed on the surface — and even digging into it — internally too, a perfect spiritual expression of God’s love for humanity and how to bring that to members and the world, how could I possibly be doubting anything?

It made no sense to me.

Whatever was going on had to be me, right?

Sometimes when the building was empty, I would sneak into the chapel in the late afternoon or at night, and just sit there in a pew and be quiet.

I would just drift away feeling God’s love filling me and the space around me.

It was the most relaxful, peaceful and fulfilling feeling.

Assessing this and everything I had observed about the Mormon Church, other than the constant, intense pressure to join and the requirement to spend 4 hours a day, several days a week at the church or in studies or services, wasn’t everything perfect? Didn’t that mean that it was I that was at fault?

So I sought out the only person who I knew had all the answers.

I asked God for direction and guidance.

At first, I received nothing. A month went by.

Nothing for another month, no answers, no direction, and that month became another, then another.

And then something happened.

Again, it was nothing I could pinpoint, nothing I could describe, nothing I could focus on.

But something was telling me that something was wrong, that I was in the wrong place.

Then the day came.

A couple years had passed.

My sponsor, his sponsor, several elders and the leader of the church showed up on my doorstep.

I heard a knock, I opened the door, and — Surprise!

I felt my stomach shrink within me, my heart skipped a beat, I tensed up and thought “Oh, no. Here it comes.”

The leader of the church said gruffly, “Today is the day you join, and we won’t leave until you do!”

My sponsor asked, “May we come in?”

I swallowed and said “Yes,” and turning into my house, holding the door open, I gestured them in.

As the leader of the church passed me, he said, “We are going to pray for the Holy Spirit to join us and convince you that you must join the church today.”

Relief surged through my body!

I knew, with that simple statement, they had “lost,” and I had “won.”

We sat in the sofas and overstuffed chairs in the living room.

We talked for a few minutes.

I thought about offering them some water, but I decided against it.

I knew they wouldn’t be staying long enough to drink it.

Then the leader bent his head and began to pray.

The other elders present and my sponsor followed suit.

I looked around and saw everyone deep in prayer, so I bent my head also.

I didn’t pray.

I just opened myself up to the moment.

The leader of the church asked for the Holy Spirit to join us.

With that request, a “Presence” filled the room.

We all knew instantly who it was — the Holy Spirit.

I was so greatly relieved.

The senior elder of the church asked the Holy Spirit if I should join the church.

And then.

There was a response from the Holy Spirit.

The response was, “No.”

The elder of the church stopped praying and lifted his head.

Everyone else did the same.

And then, one by one, beginning with the leader of the church, progressing to the next senior leader, to the next and finally to my personal sponsor, each one of them, without saying a word, stood up and quietly walked out the door.

I never heard from any of them again.