April 23, 2013

45 of 65

The Wrath of God

There is an old joke about the Pope calling the cardinals together and announcing, “I have some good news and some bad news.  The good news is that last night I received a telephone call from God.”  The cardinals could not imagine how anything about that could be bad, but the Pope continued.  “The bad news is that the call came from Salt Lake City, and God said She is not happy about some of the things we are doing.”

I hate it when that happens.

On a spring afternoon near the end of my second year of law school, I was at the house studying when the doorbell rang.  I answered and saw two young ladies standing on the porch.  They explained that they were Mormon missionaries and would like to discuss their beliefs.  I told them I could take time to talk to them and they responded, “Really?  No one ever wants to talk with us.”  Then they mentioned they had only a few minutes before they needed to leave for a meeting in a neighboring town, and asked if they could come back.

We arranged a time for their return and they arrived on schedule.  They began by asking me what I knew of Mormon beliefs.  I told the story of the Angel Moroni and the golden tablets and Joseph Smith and later Brigham Young and of the persecution experienced as the band of believers moved across the country, finally settling in the Valley of the Great Salt Lake; and I mentioned that it was a proselytizing religion.

They said, “Wow, you seem to know a lot.  But, what does ‘proselytizing’ mean?”

I said, “It means going door to door and asking people to accept your religious beliefs.”

Then I listened and reviewed pamphlets for about half an hour as they laid out some very basic principles of their dogma.  When they were through the presentation, they asked if I had any questions.  I requested an explanation of what I thought were obvious differences between the records of the journey of Lehi and Nephi and their family and what I understood as the archaeological evidence.  They informed me that I did not yet have enough knowledge to understand.

“Wait a minute,” I thought, “at least I know what ‘proselytizing’ means.”  I did not say that, though I should have realized that deities know one’s unspoken thoughts.

I asked a few more questions; then one of the missionaries asked me:  “You have listened politely to what we presented, but from your questions I wonder if you have believed anything we said.”

“Yes,” I said, “I have.”

“What parts did you believe?”

“All of it.”

“I don’t think you are being honest with us,” she said.  “How can you say that?

I asked how many members the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints had, and I was told that there were more than 5 million in the United States, with millions more all around the world.  “Well,” I said, “5 or 10 million people are not going to believe things that are untrue.”

She asked how it was possible, then, that millions of others have entirely different and contradicting beliefs.  I told her, “In this world, I don’t think the truth is necessarily the same for everyone.”

That idea was not well received.  Her voice grew louder as she said, “We are talking about the Kingdom of God.  There is only one Kingdom of God and only one road to reach it.”

“There is only one Crossroads Shopping Center, “I said, “and I can show you many ways to get there.”

That pretty much ended our meeting.  The girls did not want to schedule any follow-up.  I more or less forgot about the discussion for several weeks.

Shortly after the semester concluded, I packed my trusty 10-year old Volvo – with 170,000 miles on it – and headed out to Washington and Oregon to visit friends for a couple of weeks.  It was a smooth trip driving I-80 across Wyoming.  When I reached Utah, I went North on I-84.  As I passed Ogden and began climbing toward Idaho, the Volvo’s engine seemed to hesitate just a bit.  Some miles later, I began to hear unusual mechanical sounds.  I reached Burley, Idaho and pulled into a large service station.  The attendant approached me and asked, “Why is your car making that noise?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” I responded.

He said, “What kind of car is this?  Is it one of them foreign cars?”

I realized I would need to find someone else to diagnose the problem.  The car was still running – albeit imperfectly – so I elected to turn around and head back toward Colorado.  As I drove, the noise became louder and more constant.  I finally pulled off the highway and spent that Saturday night sleeping in the car in the mountains above Ogden.  The next morning, the car seemed to be running a little better; still I mostly coasted down into the city.  I managed to find a Volvo dealer (which was, of course, closed on Sunday) and parked next to the service department.  I took a backpack and the car’s owner’s manual and walked to the nearest motel.

After I had checked in, I reviewed the manual and determined that I probably needed a new timing belt.  There was nothing I could do that day, so I looked through the local newspaper and saw that a theater a mile or so away had a double bill of The Godfather and Lady Sings the Blues.  Both were long movies, and since I had nothing else to do I decided to spend the afternoon watching them.

I had walked about half of the way to the theater when something in my knee made a loud popping sound.  I sort of limped the rest of the way and watched the films.  When I stood to leave, I found I could barely walk.  My knee was swollen to nearly twice its normal size.  I painfully made my way back to the motel, put ice on the knee and did not go anywhere until the next day.

In the morning, I called the Volvo dealer and explained the situation.  They checked out the car and agreed the timing belt needed to be replaced.  The problem was they had no timing belts in stock.  The repair could not begin until the parts truck arrived from Salt Lake City a little after noon.

I called back mid-afternoon and learned that the parts truck had broken down on the way to Ogden, so the timing belt would not be available until Tuesday.  All I could do was wait – and limp.

The part did arrive on Tuesday, the repair was completed.  I paid for the work, checked out of the motel and immediately left town.  The car still seemed to be running a bit rough, and there was a pinging sound from the engine.  Still, it was much better.  I kept going because by then I realized that Utah is the home of a Mormon deity who did not feel that I had been kind to the missionaries.  I did not want to stay any longer to risk further punishment.

As soon as I crossed into Wyoming, the pinging stopped and the Volvo began to run smoothly and quietly.  My knee was fine by the time I reached home.

I am thankful the retribution was fairly mild.  I learned to respect the beliefs and representatives of all religious faiths.

Still, I continue to avoid going to Utah unless it is absolutely necessary.