The first time my mother-in-law visited Salt Lake City she asked me and my husband to show her around. She, a well-read history nerd and having a general fascination with religion in a purely academic sense, was particularly interested in seeing Latter-day Saint historical sites.
We took her to Temple Square, which played all the hits for her: The pin-drop presentation in the Tabernacle. The crackling overhead speaker giving “space Jesus” a robust autobiography in a strong Utah accent atop the North Visitors’ Center. A sister-missionary-guided tour of Brigham Young’s house[s], including a suspiciously glossed-over explanation of why he needed so many rooms. (All questions on this were forgotten after they offered us lemon drops, which disappointed my mother-in-law once she learned they were talking about hard candy and not her favorite cocktail.)
We eventually made our way over to the Conference Center. “Listen,” I told my husband and his mother. “This isn’t my first rodeo. If you’re not careful you can easily get sucked into a 90-minute tour in this place.”
I guided them into the lobby, where we were greeted by a senior sister missionary. “Please do not be offended,” I said to her, “but we do not have the stamina or patience for the regular spiel. Can we please just peek in at the auditorium and then go up to the garden roof?”
Now listen. Yes, I was a guest here, and in some contexts one might argue what I requested was rude, considering that I was a guest. But I paid tithing for 30 years and got beaten up as a church missionary in Ukraine for the cause. And when you add in the number of times I cleaned a meetinghouse toilet and the one-year stint (in which I aged 10 years) when I served as Young Men president and HAD TO GO CAMPING, I figure I’m still entitled to the occasional special Deseret treatment.
I may have exchanged my temple recommend for booze and general hooliganism, but at some point I earned lifetime status at least at the lowest rewards level, and, frankly, I could cash that in on far worse things than requesting slapdash tours of religious buildings.
A ‘real’ tour guide
(The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) The rooftop garden of downtown Salt Lake City's Conference Center is shown before the renovations began on the Salt Lake Temple.
To her eternal credit, the senior missionary nodded at me and said “got it” in a tone like we were all on the same team here. “You guys just tell me to shut up if I start talking about something you don’t want to hear. I taught middle school for my entire career. It’s impossible to offend me.”
We had not anticipated the tour guide might be funny, and had I thought this was a possibility, I would not have come in so hot. But there we were, 90 minutes later, on the rooftop garden watching this senior missionary deliver a five-star, one-woman show with the confidence of a veteran Broadway performer. She had jokes. Her comedic timing was enviable. She was real with us.
When my mother-in-law tepidly asked a question about the Mountain Meadows Massacre (she had just learned of this in a book), I expected apologetics and digressions. Instead, the senior missionary gave a frank and robust answer that included references and recommendations to non-church-produced historical records where we could find more information. I’m not sure whether what she did was frowned upon, and it is for this reason I am choosing to withhold her name in this column. (I ain’t no snitch.)
The sun was beginning to set by this point. “Oh!” the senior missionary stopped midsentence. “This is the most perfect lighting. Do you want me to take a picture of the three of you with the Wasatch Mountains in the background?”
We accepted her offer and huddled together for a shot. “Do you want one with just the two of you now?” she asked, referring to me and my husband. “It’s a very romantic atmosphere.”
It was so casual, the way she said it, that I forgot the context. Here was a Latter-day Saint missionary, on the clock, offering to help my gay husband and me photographically preserve our love atop an arena where General Conference sermons regularly denounced our very relationship.
The two kinds of members
(Francisco Kjolseth | The Salt Lake Tribune) Attendees view General Conference of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at the Conference Center in Salt Lake City in October 2019.
On the drive home, as the three of us excitedly discussed our new obsession with this stranger we’d likely never see again, the irony occurred to me that she had probably engaged in the most effective missionary work anyone would see that day simply by choosing to live a message rather than preach it.
She reminded me of so many Latter-day Saints I’ve known throughout my life. There are certainly plenty of the other kind, too — the ones I block on social media and hope to never accidentally move next door to.
But I’ve been thinking of something my dad said to me recently. I have no permission to share this, but he had no permission to bring me into the world in the first place so honestly every family secret I publicly broadcast is on him and my mother.
We were talking about religion and the history of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, including some of the (ahem) more uncomfortable aspects.
“I don’t think any religion is perfect, and I have a hard time with some things I learn,” he told me. “But, at the end of the day, I figure if my religion is helping me be a better person and try to do good, at least there’s that.”
While those who use their religion to inflict harm irritate me to no end, I appreciate the other kind who are just out there hoping to succor the weak. It seems the church is packed with both types of members: the ones who use their belief as a sword against anyone who disagrees with them, and the well-meaning folks who wander between the first group, simply trying, however imperfectly, to clean up the damage.
While we may disagree on matters of faith, I’ll stand in unity and friendship with the do-gooders any time, sipping my lemon drop while they suck on theirs.
Tribune humor columnist Eli McCann.
Eli McCann is an attorney, writer and podcaster in Salt Lake City, where he lives with his husband and their two naughty (yet worshipped) dogs. You can find Eli on X, formerly known as Twitter, at @EliMcCann or at his personal website, www.itjustgetsstranger.com, where he tries to keep the swearing to a minimum so as not to upset his mother.
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