I sent in my resignation last month. About a week ago, I got the letter from Church headquarters that “this is a local ecclesiastical matter” and that they’ve forwarded my letter to my bishop. Never mind that I said in my letter that I was sending an identical letter to my bishop and even wrote “cc: Bishop of Ned’s Ward” on the bottom like it was a business letter. Maybe Church headquarters will forward it to the bishop’s home address. All I had to go on was what I found on LDS.org, which was the street address of my ward’s chapel and who knows if they ever check the mailbox. It’s probably overflowing with copies of the Watchtower.

So I’ve been waiting for the bishop to call, figuring that he was almost certain to ignore the part about me only wanting one more contact from the Church, a letter that confirmed my resignation. Tonight I was reading FLAK, when I heard the doorbell. Maybe we’re anti-social people, but everytime the doorbell rings, I know it’s going to be the Mormons. I rushed to put on some pants (what can I say, this isn’t the Ritz) so they wouldn’t leave prematurely and come back again tomorrow.

Before I go any further, I do want to say this: the least comfortable thing for anyone in this world to do is to go to an address on a sheet of paper, not knowing what kind of reception to expect, and knock on that door. Doubly so if the porch lights are not on and you have to stumble your way up the walk to an ominous-looking house. I don’t believe these guys are doing God’s work or Jesus’ work or anything other than busywork, but I do want to give them credit for coming over just because the bishop told them to. I wish to God they had been home with their families or relaxing after a hard day of work, but we all make our own choices. I can’t tell them how to spend their time any more than they can tell me to spend my time praying and visiting people.

Anyway, I turned on the porch lights (sorry, guys) and opened the door. Unfortunately, we also have a screen door that has a glass pane in it in the winter, so I had to prop the stupid thing open the whole time we talked. They introduced themselves, Older Blue-Collar Guy and 30-year-old Bald Guy and asked if they could come in for a visit. Firmly remembering Capt. Jack’s rules for enforcing boundaries, I ignored this and I asked OBCG (Older Blue-Collar Guy) if he was the bishop. He said he was not.

“We’re here to find out if there’s anything we can do for you,” he said. New home teachers? My last ones were pretty cool about not contacting me when I told them I had zero interest in church. No, the bishop must have sent these guys over once he got my resignation letter. Does he think I went to the trouble of notarizing my letter because I wanted attention?

“Well actually I just sent the bishop a letter asking for my name to be taken off the records.”

30-year-old Bald Guy reacts with visible surprise. Clearly, he didn’t get a full briefing before coming.

OBCG: “Can I ask why?”

Ned: “Well, we all have our own personal reasons…”

OBCG: “You’re not going to offend me, I just wanted to know if there was anything we could do about it.”

This was it, my moment to encapsulate all the reasons that I was choosing to disassociate myself from this Church that has obfuscated so much, explained so little, and hurt so many.

Ned: “No, definitely not. I wasn’t offended by anyone and I appreciate your coming out here, but, ummm, I’m just not into it…”

I’m just not into it. Wow. Not “Joseph Smith had 33 wives” or “The Book of Abraham is clearly a fake” or even “I disagree with every social position the Church has advocated from now back to polygamy.” No, my big send-off was I’m just not into it.

Oh well. It’s not like I’m trying to de-program these guys on my doorstep; I’ve been there and it can’t be done. There is no evidence that would have convinced me, not even daguerreotypes of Joseph Smith and each of his 33 wives consecrating their “dynastic” unions. As soon as anyone says “treasure-seeker” or “polygamy” a little switch goes off in a believer’s mind, and the rest sounds like Charlie Brown’s teacher to them. No, the only thing I can do is show them that ex-Mormons are not bitter, garment-waving slanderers. We are, for the most part, nice and normal people; but we are also people who have gone through the traumatic experience of losing our entire world-view and reconfiguring most of our family relationships.

OBCG said that he would bring me a letter to sign, saying that I wanted to be taken off the records. “That way we won’t have to come out here.” I told him this was unnecessary as I had already sent the bishop a letter, and Salt Lake had also forwarded him another copy. He seemed doubtful, but I assured him that the bishop had a copy. I was a little perturbed that he implied I was wasting their time: I sent the damn letter to the bishop and Salt Lake. How many other people was I supposed to copy? 

Anyway, I thanked them for coming out, and that was the end of the conversation, with me holding open that damn screen door the whole time. I hoped they were going home to their families, as it was fairly late at night. I didn’t want them wasting any more of their time on pointless Church visits. I didn’t tell them that it was the Church’s history that drove me out, but maybe when 30-year-old Bald Guy hears something about someone leaving the Church, he’ll think remember me and not automatically assume that they were offended or sinned or had become “anti-.” I believe that’s what we used to call “planting a seed.”