My exit story is a little dramatic...I was right in the middle of my Mormon mission to Sweden. I was actually enjoying my second relatively cool companion in a row. after gruellingly suffering through three heinous ones. My MTC companion was a sadistic bastard who enjoyed pushing my buttons just for the thrill of it. My trainer was a former Finnish army cadet who incorporated boot camp techniques into his training regime. When hours upon hours of endless knocking on doors weren't yielding us so much as a weekly appointment, he sat me down and said "I know I'm living righteously. And since we aren't having success, that can only mean one of us isn't. Do you have something you want to tell me?"
My third companion only cared about politics. He found every excuse in the book to call up the office elders and get in good with them. Once, at a huge fireside where Thomas Monson spoke, he dragged me through the room in order to make sure he was seen by the President.
So I was about ready to lose my mind after having not even close to even a casual friend as a companion in the first five months of my mission.
The second cool companion was a bit of a mystery. He kept getting these phone calls from a girl...and he explained to me that she was an investigator he was helping to lead to the light, as it were. Apparently, sometimes the light is located down the front of your skivvies.
Finally he confessed the truth about his female caller. She had been a romantic involvement at his previous location. And he had seen her naked. And he had marched right into the Mission President's office to tell him of this development. The President resolved the situation in under twenty minutes. He performed an excorcism.
I loved this guy already, really appreciating how nice it is to have a companion who was also a friend. When he told me this I was shaken to my core. When he suggested we go have a few beers, I said to myself "Screw it. Yeah." And there it was, my first chug of beer as a missionary. Well the situation was clearly unworkable. Couldn't really be drinking beer and serving a sincere mission--although I hear some gave it a better try than we did. My companion ended up bolting and heading to go be with the girl. He wanted me to join him--even promised me to set me up with one of her friends. Tempting as this was--hey one major sin down, why not bat for 1000 ???
I couldn't do it to my parents.
So after about a day of sitting around wondering what to do, I called up the office.
My Mission prez got on the phone with me and tried to resolve the situation in under two minutes.
"Do you know what this means?? Excommunicaiton!"
For some reason I thought that meant the if the whole game was over anyway, I might as well just go get that ground breaking nooky after all. So I flew the coop, enjoying a few minutes of the most intense exhileration I have ever experienced in my life--all over that one word. No not nooky--excommunication. But I remembered--hey I just decided not to do this to my folks.. that's the overriding factor here. I walked back to my apartment and called up my Mission Prez again. He tried to resolve the situation in under one minute this time-- "If you ever run away again I'm going to have you thrown in jail.'
Now this really pissed me off. He had no authority to have me thrown in jail. He wasn't my legal guardian in this country. I was twenty years old already....under a conditional work visa or whatever, and none of those conditions were something he had direct control over...he might be able to eventually process my deportation--but jail? I quickly began to realize that the whole excommunication was also just a threat he intended to pacify me with.
I made it to the zone leader's apartment but I kept stewing over this jail threat. Why couldn't he talk to me like a human being? What was this all about anyway, for pity's sake. Throw me in jail? ANd that's all you have to say to me?
I kept seething and seething, until finally, when i was left with a short scrawny dude as my watchdog(our district leader) I decided to screw it once again and take off again. Throw me in jail asshole. Just do it. My scrawny guard dog followed me and kept imploring me not to leave but I said one thing to him:
"Elder, do I still have my agency?"
He said, "Yes, but if you do this it's going to mean excommunication."
"Heh." I said. "Promises promises."
This is important--my only barrier to leaving was a 5 foot 8 scrawny little guy and all it took was a little offiical doctrine to get him to lie down.
And then I left. I left all of Sweden. This was back in 88, and you could ferry from Sweden to Denmark with just your passport no problem. I spent the night in Denmark with some family I have there (my uncle). Now that I think about it this incident just may have contributed to the policy of having to give up your passports. Sorry about that, lads.
My family was called ,and the story they were told was quite different. Apprently according to my Prez, I had been frothing at the mouth, and had bailed through 10 missionaries like a bowling ball through the ten pins. Now picture the scrawny little district leader, half my size, who relented at the simplest invocation of church doctrine...it's really quite comical. But not a very nice thing to tell somebody's parents when it couldn't be further from the truth. My missionary prez was doing all he could to make me look like a lunatic, cuz that was the only way he could make himself look better.
So in Denmark I stayed with my uncle. He invited me to stay awhile--I should have taken him up on this. I feel I had made my point and I still had some unanswered questions with my Mission Prez. So I called up my family and heard what they'd been told. My uncle also talked with my mssion prez, and from what he gathered the mission prez very much still wanted me to stay on my mission. What? Excommunication and jail and still wanted to serve? Wow, that threw me. Why all the blind faced lieing if you still wanted me to stay on the mission? I do know our Prez had already lost a high number of elders (even a sister or two) so maybe he was trying to save what little face he could. My companion who had bolted to his girlfriend was a sure goner, that's for sure.
So I was shuttled to the Danish Mission office, where the Danish President sat me down. "We need to send you home, son." He said.
Oh yeah, he'd been told I'd been rabid and knocking missionaries about also. I set him straight and explained I wanted to see my old Prez face to face. This Danish guy though was remarkably sane. He didn't have it as his primary goal to resolve situations in under five minutes, so we actually talked about my problems for an hour and a half or so. He was a kind, loving man that made me realize just how different this all might have turned out if I had been servind under this man instead of the crazy rat liar who was telling my family I was beating up people. I took an airplane ride to face the music.
WHen I got to Stockholm I was met at the airport by the entire office staff. Like eleven elders surrounded me. I was so amused by this. I had to be escorted by 11 elders...my president had everyone believing his line. Wow, this frothing maniac is remarkably calm and well groomed, they must have all thought. For a super strengthed behometh who was tossing ten elders around he has a remarkably calm gait." I kept thinking about the tiny little stringbean. Hell, if I'd known I was gonna get the blame anyway I'd have happily tossed the guy down on the carpet anyway. Maybe rip open his shirt and give him the nastiest case of red belly he'd ever experienced.
In the van home my mission prez mocked and ridiculed me openly. I began to see him more clearly then. This wasn't about me at all, really, not from the very start. So when we got back to the office, it was apparently understood I was staying and that was that. I was babysat by the office elders for a couple of days. I went out on some appointments; lived the office life. I had to help put together a creative tribute for my third weaselly companion because he'd baptized the most people this month. THat was a moment of some irony, let me tell ya.
Finally I realized the Prez had no intention of sitting down with me, so I just walked into his office.
"Why did you perform an excorcism for my companion?"
"Because he was possessed by a demon. And so were you."
Now that was news to me, though I should have figured it out. You can't bowl through 10 missionaries like bowling pins without a little extra juice going, after all. Ok, so that's his official line? I then began to interview the man. It was my turn. My turn to conduct the priesthood interview.
"Oh, yeah, why did you lie to my parents. Why did you tell me I'd be excommunicated? WHy did you threaten my with jail instead of just talking to me like a bleeping human being for five minutes? "
None of the answers he gave me were satisfactory. I gave him the bad news. "You don't pass this interview, Prez. You're not worthy. I'm afraid I'm going to have pull my service." And I insisted to be returned home.
It created all the anticipated emotional horrors for me to return home for my family and more. There was a small stir as I told some of the leadership in my ward about it quite openly. A general authority who lived in our ward finally heard my story.
He said I'm going to have call this president and make sure we don't have some wild cowboy on the loose, he promised.
Wow, I thought. Now here's some action! Maybe there's hope for this church after all. Maybe this prez was just a lone gun.
So about a week later the GA called me into his office--yes at the Church Office building.
He sat me down in the office of Paul H Dunn of all people--guess he wasn't needing it for some reason. :)
He handed me a manella folder containing several typed up documents and asked me to read them.
I started reading the very fascinating story of a missionary in South America who was possessed by a demon. Now this was good reading...very fascinating stuff--but I realized that there were pages and pages of this stuff. The Church, using due dilligence, has a "Missionaries possessed by demons" file apparently. (Gee, I wonder if I'm in there. ;) )
I realized quite sadly what this meant.
I walked out of Paul H Dunn's office into his. "You think this is helpful?"
I threw down the folder on his desk.
"Did you read them...?"
"No, I didn't finish. I wasn't possessed by a demon, sir. I guess it would be a nice easy way out. I did a lot of things that hurt my family I'm not proud of, and there may have been some demons having some good fun in my general vicinity, but none of them , not one, ever took over the wheel. DId you pray about this and get this as the answer?"
I could tell that's exactly what happened. I walked away and haven't looked back since.
SO there you have a very long and twisted but very very true story. I told it once on a few boards back in the day but I felt it was time to recycle it. It does me good to vent. I got a big boost of help form this situation in leaving the church. It makes me appreciate those of you who have left without experiencing something dramatic like this as a spark.
It was a lot of fun though, and standing up for myself against that crazy Prez. We forgot to tell my uncle I came home, and so he called up my good old Prez and asked him where I was. "Oh he's out working" he was told. WTF? Meanwhile, far far away from my Mission's Prez's magical land of make believe I was indeed not out working, but enjoying some beers and being glad in the fact I'd never see that man again. So far I haven't seen him surface in the Seventy. Hope I didn't have anything to do with that.
You can check out my blog at http://wigroom.blogspot.com