So a family member is officiating at mixed-faith wedding. He put together pieces of advice he had foraged from various sources and asked me to compile it into counsel he could give at the wedding. So I did. And I quite like it, so I’m going to post it here.

A few bits of trivia – the silverware story comes from a talk by F. Burton Howard, which can be seen and read here. I’ve edited it and paraphrased somewhat liberally, as I didn’t intend to publish it. I don’t think I’ve altered the narrative much, but I’ve probably broken some journalistic rules by altering the text slightly, as I intended this only to be spoken, not published.

The young physical therapist referenced in the story is none other than my own lovely wife, the bright and beautiful Mrs. Cornell.

And the church leader mentioned later is David O. McKay, my great-grandfather and the ninth president of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

So here it is. Imagine a pastor/rabbi/priest/bishop saying this to you as you tie the knot.
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There’s an old saying that a man’s life isn’t complete until he gets married, but once he’s married, he’s finished. That’s good for a laugh, but it’s just not true.

In the first place, married life is far more fulfilling than single life could ever be. But more importantly, marriage doesn’t finish anything. It’s the beginning of a journey together that will require all that you have and give back more joy than you can now imagine. But don’t kid yourself – marriage takes work.

One man compared his marriage to the precious silverware his wife had been collecting since their wedding. I want to share part of his story in his own words.

Here’s what he said:

“As is common today, when we married my wife registered with a local department store. Instead of listing all the pots and pans and appliances we needed and hoped to receive, she asked only for silverware. But when we opened the presents, there wasn’t a knife or fork in the lot.

“Two children came along while we were in law school. We had no money to spare. But when my wife worked as a part-time election judge or when someone gave her a few dollars for her birthday, she would quietly set it aside, and when she had enough she would go to town to buy a fork or a spoon. It took us several years to accumulate enough pieces to use them.

“This lead to many discussions at dinner as to which utensils to use. In those early days I would often vote for the stainless. It was easier. You could just throw it in the dishwasher after the meal, and it took care of itself. The silver, on the other hand, was a lot of work. It had to be hand washed and dried so that it would not spot, and put back in cloth pockets so it would not tarnish. If any tarnish was discovered, I was sent to buy silver polish, and together we carefully rubbed the stains away.

“Over the years we added to the set, and I watched with amazement how she cared for the silver. My wife was never one to get angry easily. However, I remember the day when one of our children somehow got hold of one of the silver forks and wanted to use it to dig up the backyard. That attempt was met with a fiery glare and a warning not to even think about it. Ever!

“For years I thought she was just a little bit eccentric, and then one day I realized that she had known for a long time something that I was just beginning to understand. If you want something to last forever, you treat it differently. You shield it and protect it. You never abuse it. You don’t expose it to the elements. You don’t make it common or ordinary. If it ever becomes tarnished, you lovingly polish it until it gleams like new. It becomes special because you have made it so, and it grows more beautiful and precious as time goes by. Marriage is just like that.”

A family member had a conversation with a 95-year-old man that put all this in perspective. Very early in her career and in her marriage, she was working as a physical therapist, and her elderly patient asked her if she had a husband. She told him she did. “Well, don’t you ever get divorced,” he said to her. “Remember, someone else will bug you just as much.”

That’s not a romantic thought, but it’s a practical one. It’s like what the wise man said: “Before marriage keep your eyes wide open. After marriage, keep them half closed.” Sharing a life with somebody creates opportunities for emotional intimacy that can’t be found in any other way. At the same time, it requires patience and a good deal of compromise. It can become far too easy to criticize or find fault with your spouse. Once you start down that road, it becomes very difficult to find your way back.

Even small things in marriages can become big problems if couples get complacent. It’s not hard to let practical, day-to-day concerns smother the romantic spark that was there in the early days. When things get hard, some couples start to mutter things like, “Well, the honeymoon is over.” The honeymoon doesn’t have to be over. It should never be over. But if you lose your way, and the honeymoon really is over, it can be rebooted. Just know that all of this requires commitment and effort.

A church leader at his own wedding anniversary referred to his marriage as 65 years of “wedded courtship.”

“Let us ever remember that love is the divinest attribute of the human soul,” he said. “Love must be fed. Love must be nourished; love can be starved to death just as literally as the body can be starved without daily sustenance. Enticing voices will speak to us of worldly achievements and acquisitions that may lead us on dangerous detours from which we can return only with great effort. Small, seemingly insignificant choices along the way will have large consequences that will determine our eventual destiny. Giving ourselves to one another in an eternal marriage is an unconditional giving of the whole person for the whole journey.”

That’s the key. You’re in this together, and nothing should tear you apart. Nothing else matters more. As distractions come your way, and they will come in forms large and small, you might be tempted to forget that. The same church leader once famously said that “no success can compensate for failure in the home.” Nothing you have done, and nothing you will ever do, will be as important as strengthening that unconditional, unwavering love that binds you together.

What you do today has profound consequences that you can only begin to understand. It has been said that marriage is ordained of God. I believe that is true. I also believe that through marriage, you begin to understand God’s purposes for you in ways that you never thought possible. God loves each of us with a purity and power beyond our comprehension. We get a taste of that love when, through marriage, we devote ourselves completely to someone else, when their life is more important to us than our own, and when the sole object of our lives is to make another person happy, no matter what price we must pay ourselves to make that happen. That’s the kind of love God has for you, and the kind of love you need to have for each other.

So don’t ever be satisfied with a mediocre marriage. Don’t ever let it settle into a domestic routine where you take each other for granted. Marriage isn’t a business partnership; it is a union of souls. On this beautiful day, as you two beautiful people see with clarity the power and purity of your love for one another, remember that this is only a glimpse of the deep joy that awaits you as you build your lives together.

So the Somae Health plan works in phases. Phase One begins with three servings of fruits and three of vegetables – 1.5 cups per serving -and three servings of lean meat per day – either 4 oz. of fish/chicken/beef, or 2 eggs. You eat about twenty raw nuts, and you take some multivitamins and digestive enzymes, along with some probiotics. You only get one serving of grain, which consists of a single piece of unbuttered whole grain bread. You can drink herbal tea sweetened with Stevia, and boom! That’s your meal plan.

This frightened me.

My custom was to eat all day long – when I was hungry, when I was bored, when I was watching TV, when I was reading a book, when I was inhaling or exhaling. I wasn’t necessarily big on meals, but a steady stream of chips and salsa makes the day go faster.

I also didn’t realize how many personal rituals I had built around food. Wednesday, you may or may not realize, is the day new comic books are released. I read far fewer than I used to back in the day, but there’s something extraordinarily satisfying about getting the latest issue of Action Comics and perusing Superman’s latest exploits while chowing down on a combo meal at the fast food franchise of your choice.

That’s not to mention the things normal people do, like, you know, go out to dinner with family and friends. “Waiter, I’d like precisely four ounces of unsalted, grilled meat and 1.5 cups of unseasoned steamed broccoli, please.” I mean, what’s the point?

So I started phase one with trepidation, but I dutifully complied. And the first thing I noticed was that I wasn’t hungry. The piece of toast, apple, and two hard-boiled eggs I ate for breakfast constituted a larger morning meal than I usually ate, and it was more than enough to get me to my 10:00 AM morning snack, which was a handful of nuts and another serving of fruit. That got me to noon’s lunch of fish and tomatoes, and I found I was satiated all day long.

Keep in mind, this happened on the first day.

I was somewhat tempted by the sights and smells of more decadent foods, especially the open bag of tortilla chips that my daughter regularly leaves on the kitchen table. But the temptation was about a 4 on a scale of 1 to 10, which is considerably lower than how tempted I am to yell at the television any time some cable news talking head says something stupid. I can handle a 4.

As the days wore on, even those temptations faded. I was able to cook for my kids and handle tasty foods without partaking, and I could synchronize my meals with the fam and sit down to dinner with them. When my lovely bride told me my grilled salmon and steamed brussel sprouts looked better than what the rest of the family was eating, I knew I was on to something.

This program includes the support of a live mentor, who steered me in the right direction when I went astray. (I ate pork once. Not kosher.) I journal what I eat on the Somae website, and she can review what I’m eating and provide encouragement, support, and suggestions for different food choices. She introduced me to the wonders of Stevia, an all-natural zero calorie sweetener that makes my daily herbal tea break the highlight of my evening. I have an official check-in with her every Monday at 1:30, which provides support and keeps me accountable.

I also get daily phone calls from an automated phone coach that gives me an extra nudge in the right direction.

Bottom line: it’s been less than two weeks, and I’ve already lost 15 pounds.

Phase 2 starts on Monday…

On a Sunday night, as I contemplated a new life free of the burden of eating whatever I wanted to eat, I recalled the words of my mother on the occasion of my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary at the end of last year.

All the family had gathered at the downtown Marriott Hotel in Salt Lake City to honor our folks, and some of that time was spent in the pool and the hot tub. It was my appearance in a swimsuit that prompted her to tell me I could stand to lose a few pounds.

“Come on, Mom,” I shot back. “It’s not like I’m morbidly obese.”

She frowned. “Yes, you are.”

Well, no, I’m not. Not in technical terms, anyway. Morbid obesity is defined as being 50% – 100% above your ideal body weight, being 100 pounds overweight, or having a Body/Mass Index (BMI) of 39 or higher. For my part, I’m nowhere near that 50-100% threshold, I’m only 30 pounds above my ideal healthy weight, and, being 6′ 4″ and weighing 230 pounds, I have a BMI of 28, which qualifies me as being officially “overweight,” not obese.

So there. Not that it matters. I’d rather be at my target weight, thanks. But in wanting to prove my mother wrong, I’ve added a “revenge” component to my weight loss quest.

So how am I going to do it?

Well, Somae Health claims that their clients lose, on average, 5-7 pounds per week for the first three weeks or so, slowing down to drop 30-40 pounds over a twelve-week period. That works for me, assuming I can keep the weight off at the end of that. They way to achieve this is through eating “whole” foods, which is a concept I didn’t initially understand. After all, I’ve eaten whole cheeseburgers by the dozens, so why shouldn’t those count? But, no, a “whole” food is a food that is a food unto itself without extra ingredients. An Oreo, for instance, consists of SUGAR, ENRICHED FLOUR (WHEAT FLOUR, NIACIN, REDUCED IRON, THIAMINE MONONITRATE {VITAMIN B1}, RIBOFLAVIN {VITAMIN B2}, FOLIC ACID), HIGH OLEIC CANOLA OIL AND/OR PALM OIL AND/OR CANOLA OIL, AND/OR SOYBEAN OIL, COCOA (PROCESSED WITH ALKALI), HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP, CORNSTARCH, LEAVENING (BAKING SODA AND/OR CALCIUM PHOSPHATE), SALT, SOY LECITHIN (EMULSIFIER), VANILLIN – AN ARTIFICIAL FLAVOR, CHOCOLATE. CONTAINS: WHEAT, SOY.

Compare that with, say, a banana, which consists of – well, a banana. It’s a whole food. Whole foods are easier to digest and are generally better for you. So I’m supposed to stick to those.

Of course, some whole foods are better than others. A steady diet of potatoes, for instance, isn’t considered the right way to go. And, in this first phase, I’m steering clear of dairy. I get to eat three servings of protein – in 4 oz. lean meats – along with three servings of fruits, three servings of vegetables, one serving of grain that takes the form of a single piece of whole grain toast, and a handful of nuts. I get to drink water, and lots of it, along with a shot of apple cider vinegar every morning. (Yuck.) And I also take a Somae multivitamin and digestive enzymes with every meal, along with probiotics before I go to bed.

Oooh boy.

So the night before I begin, I chow down on two hot dogs (with mustard-slathered buns), a couple diet Cokes – ’cause, you know, I want to watch my calories – and several handfuls of potato chips, topped up with a big slice of cake. Not to be blasphemous, but it was my own personal Last Supper, if you know what I mean.

The next morning, I pay for it with my first official weigh in – 231.5 pounds, 1.5 pounds more than I had weighed the day before.

Yikes.

Can I do this? Will it work? These are the questions I ask myself as I swig back a nice helping of apple cider vinegar and choke it down.

I’ll let both you and Mom know.

Let me share with you my personal incentive to lose thirty pounds.

I was part of a church performance called “A Night of Broadway,” where I was asked to sing “Mama Says,” a song from the stage musical “Footloose.” I had never heard it prior to being assigned to it, but it seemed goofy enough for my personal oeuvre. I asked if I could accompany myself on the guitar rather than perform with a prerecorded track. What I didn’t do is ask whether I could tell a joke at the beginning of my number – this was a one-night-only gig, and I figured there wasn’t much they could do to stop me.

So here’s the joke:

A cowboy walks into a saloon and says, “I’m lookin’ for an outlaw.”
The saloon keeper says, “Well, what does he look like?”
Cowboy says, “He was a guy wearing a paper hat, paper shirt, paper spurs, and rode in on a paper horse.”
The saloon keeper says, “Man, I’d have remembered a guy like that. What’s he wanted for?”
(Pause for effect)
“Rustlin’.”

I told that every night in Jackson Hole to warm up audiences at the Grand Teton Mainstage Theatre. It’s stupid, but you can’t help but laugh. I figured the other performers in this show were taking themselves way too seriously, and I wanted to break the ice.

From what I could tell, it worked. I got a great response to my number, and I was quite proud of it. It had been quite some time since I stood in front of an audience and sang by myself. I thought I acquitted myself well.

The director of the show set up a Facebook page to post pictures of the performance. She didn’t post everything it once, but the first phot of my performance showed up rather quickly.

Here it is:

I was quite pleased with this photo. I thought I looked good, despite the double chin. I liked the goofy face I was making, and I quickly made this my Facebook profile picture.

The director soon started to post video of the performances, too. Being the Facebook addict I am, I couldn’t wait to post the video of the whole performance to show off my chops. I considered this evidence that, after all these years, I’ve still “got it.” I’m not sure what it is that I’ve got, or if it’s worth getting, but whatever I had gotten before, I still got.

About two weeks ago, the video was posted. I’ve never shared it with anyone – until now.

Here it is. I’m betting you’ll see why I wasn’t eager to have this on display for public consumption.

I look at myself every morning in the mirror, and I never see a fat person. Oh, sure, there’s a little bit of gut there, but that can be sucked in. And if I just stick my neck out a little, the double chin sort of goes away. And I walk around with the illusion that I’m really not that very removed from the geeky beanpole I was before sometime around my thirtieth birthday, which was when the pooch started to grow. (Cleta, my oldest daughter, affectionately refers to my gut as my “food baby.” You’d think I would have taken the hint by now.)

Watching this video, then, woke me out of my stupor. From the moment I waddle out on to the stage, you can see something’s up. Unlike the photo, this was filmed from the side, so you can see the guitar resting on my generous belly at a 45-degree angle. And the double chin is omnipresent. I couldn’t look at anything else. I mentioned this to a friend of mine, who reassured me that “the camera adds ten pounds.” If that’s the case, there must have been four or five cameras on me that night.

This was particularly problematic for me, as, for the past two years, I’ve been working with a company called the Belief Workout, which uses cognitive tools to teach people to change how they think in order to change their weight. I’ve personally been teaching the classes – looking like the guy in that video. Nobody ever complained, and the results of our teaching have been great – but I never really bothered to change my own thinking or change my own weight. Oh, I made some half-hearted gestures in that direction, but I didn’t really see it as an urgent issue. That was someone else’s problem, not mine.

Until, of course, I saw this video.

So I’m now applying the ideas we teach, as well as using the automated phone coach that’s part of our program. We’ve also partnered with a company called Somae Health, which uses live mentors to help you follow their whole foods regimen. I’m diving in to the Somae program, which means adios to cheeseburgers and diet Cokes. My kids don’t think I can do it, and my wife, while supportive, is also skeptical. But I don’t ever want to watch a video of me singing like fat Elvis. My goal is a lifetime of skinny Elvis. I’ll keep you apprised of my progress.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints holds its semi-annual General Conference this weekend, which I affectionately refer to as “church on TV.” Instead of dressing up in my Sunday finest, I will greet Sunday morning by sitting in my pajamas, eating bacon, and lying on the couch as church leaders offer televised counsel that has no dress code.

And by “church leaders,” I pretty much mean “dudes.”

Of course, this is not entirely true. Women speak at General Conference, too, and, for the first time in its 178-year-history, the conference will feature women offering the invocations and the benedictions at conference meetings. And with the lowering of the age of female church missionaries from 21 to 19, young women are signing up for missionary service in droves, including my 19-year-old niece who was recently called to the England Leeds Mission.

Behold the Niece of Stallion!

It seems women are having a greater impact on the destiny of the church than they ever have before, which is leading some to question the church’s policy of limiting its priesthood authority to only one gender.

Please understand what I’m about to say here. I do not think that one gender is better than the other, yet I do believe it is essential that the priesthood be limited to either one gender or the other. It doesn’t matter to me which gender, mind you, but I really think you have to pick one.

Allow me to elaborate.

I have held a number of church positions in my life. My favorite callings all involve teaching, but every now and again, somebody decides I ought to be in some sort of leadership position. I’ve been a young men’s president, and, twice, a counselor in a bishopric.

Being a counselor in a bishopric is a significant commitment of time. This is especially true on Sundays, when a counselor’s day begins at the crack of dawn and doesn’t end until hours after everyone else has gone home. (And this is only a fraction of the time commitment required of a typical Mormon bishop.)

During all these hours spent away from your family, you are in close quarters with two other men, and you are discussing things that are often extraordinarily personal and confidential. You establish a powerful emotional and spiritual bond with these guys. In addition, you are often called upon to travel with these men, sometimes with only one and not the other.

I don’t think it’s sexism to recognize the practical problem that putting a woman into this mix would create.

I have a friend who’s a bishop who claims that this already presents a challenge in certain circumstances. Men and women working together in auxiliaries end up creating emotional ties that lead to places they wouldn’t otherwise have gone without the proximity of church service, which is usually difficult and problematic enough without introducing an additional element of sexual tension into the mix.

Of course, proximity doesn’t always lead to bad lovin’. Men and women work together in secular activities all the time, and grown-ups, even when they are attracted to each other, are capable of controlling themselves. But there is something intimate about priesthood service that would lend itself to inappropriateness more than a day-to-day “real world” job would. I don’t have hard evidence this is the case, but I think most who have participated in this process firsthand would know exactly what I’m talking about.

In my defense, I should note that while this is a problem that ought to be recognized, I don’t think it’s an insoluble one. You could conceivably create a coed priesthood where all leadership functions are performed by one gender or the other.

So, in other words, a woman called as a bishop would be required to call two female counselors, and counselors for dude bishops would be limited, as they currently are, to only the male half of the congregation.

Wow. I think that could work. But I’m not the guy calling the shots – for which you should be grateful.

Just as I will be grateful as I’m worshiping the Lord by sitting on my couch eating bacon.

A visit to the White House can be an arduous process. It requires months of advance preparation, because names have to submitted to the Secret Service in order to run background checks. Consequently, those who travel to the nation’s capitol often plan their itinerary around their appointment for a tour of the Executive Mansion. If you’re one of those with White House tickets in the next few months, prepare to be disappointed. It seems the Obama administration has scrapped your plans by cancelling all upcoming White House tours, citing budget cuts mandated by the sequester as the reason.

This explanation is stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Estimates place the amount of dollars saved from discontinuing the tours at $18,000 per week. That’s budget dust. To put that in to perspective, the Congressional Research Service estimates that it costs ten times that amount to keep Air Force One in the sky for a single hour. That would mean that a single round-trip transcontinental flight by the president burns up the entirety of the money budgeted for White House tours. The president’s most recent vacation to Hawaii cost a reported $7 million, a sum that could have funded all White House tours for the rest of the decade.

I’m not an Obama hater. But it’s very hard to avoid the conclusion that, with this decision, the Obama administration is acting in bad faith.

The financial savings are miniscule, but the unnecessary inconvenience inflicted by this capricious decision play into the narrative the president has been peddling for months.  Flying across the country in his very expensive jet, he has repeatedly warned of dire consequences should the federal government be forced to tighten its belt by a measly 2.4%. Now the cuts are here, and the sky hasn’t fallen. Surely the president must realize his credibility has taken a hit as the apocalypse he predicted has failed to materialize. It seems that by shutting down public access to the White House, he has now managed to inflict a little public misery in order to save face.

In any case, there’s something seriously out of whack here.

Many are justifiably outraged by this display of partisan pettiness. Billionaire Donald Trump has offered to foot the bill for the White House tours himself. That shouldn’t be necessary, and it’s embarrassing that it even has to be proposed. The White House belongs to the people, not to the president, and it’s disgraceful when anyone tries to use it as a political prop.

MY DOG, HE IS FAT

a poem by Stallion Cornell

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My dog, he is fat
My dog, he is fat
My dog, he is fat
Fat is my dog. He is. (Fat, I mean.)

——

(c) 2013, Stallion Cornell. May not be reproduced or replicated without express written or implied oral consent. May not be folded, spindled or mutilated.

——

Recently, I had the opportunity to sit down with famed poetry critic Lloyd Calamine, who discussed both the composition and thematic impact of my groundbreaking verse, “My Dog, He Is Fat.” The conversation was recorded and is transcribed below.

LLOYD: Thank you for taking the time to sit down with me, Stallion.

ME: It’s a pleasure to be here, Kent.

LLOYD: I thought my name was supposed to be Lloyd.

ME: Whatever.

LLOYD: Whatever, indeed! Which brings us to your magnum opus, “My Dog, He Is Fat. ”

ME: Yes.

LLOYD: What inspired the majesty and power of these four immortal lines?

ME: Many things, actually. Injustice. Plus the disconnect between the Platonic ideal and our savage reality. Stuff like that. Also, the fatness of my dog.

LLOYD: So your dog really is fat?

ME: He is fat, yes.

LLOYD: How fat?

ME: Somewhat.

LLOYD: Can you be more specific?

ME: Yes, but I choose not to be.

LLOYD: Ah. Are you then reticent to expand further on the powerful themes evoked by your deceptively simple stanza?

ME: Not at all. There’s a lot going on in those 24 words. I wouldn’t expect anyone to get it all in their first read.

LLOYD: And what are some of the more evocative elements that might not be apparent at first glance?

ME: Well, it’s not just a description of my fat dog, although, as I conceded before, my dog is, in fact, fat. But really, this piece takes it further, and I, as an omnipotent narrator, embody the owners of all fat dogs. In doing so, I give voice to the millions of observations that have pierced the collective unconscious on this universal subject.

LLOYD: In essence, then, you’re saying to anyone who’s ever looked at their dog and said, “Man, that dog is pretty fat,” that you are they.

ME: Well, that’s one way of looking at it, but it goes far deeper than that.

LLOYD: In what way?

ME: In every way.

LLOYD: Touché.

ME: Thank you, Kent.

LLOYD: Can you give us a taste of the process? What comes first: the general outline or the specific words? Does it evolve slowly, or does it arrive, fully formed, in your imagination?

ME: It’s difficult to say. I had long observed the fatness of my dog, but who can name the obese muse who demanded that this story be told in iambic pentameter?

LLOYD: I didn’t notice that. Is the poem written in iambic pentameter?

ME: To a degree. As my passion grew, so did my impatience with the limitations of that particular form. Consequently, I took liberties with the meter when the content required it.

LLOYD: A bold choice!

ME: Perhaps. For me, it was not a choice. I write as I must. I don’t have the luxury of flinching in the face of brazen truth.

LLOYD: Are you insinuating, then, that poets willing to accede to the strictures of any preassigned meter don’t share your moral courage?

ME: I can’t judge their hearts. But yes.

LLOYD: So why have you succeeded where lesser poets have failed?

ME: Drugs, mostly.

LLOYD: But of course! Clean living has been the downfall of so many great artists.

ME: Look what it did to Lawrence Welk.

LLOYD: To be fair, he was a foreigner.

ME: Canine obesity knows no borders, Kent.

LLOYD: Oh, I know that. I’m a racist, that’s all.

ME: Racism is bad. You should know that if you truly read my poem.

LLOYD: Ah. Here’s where it gets embarrassing. I haven’t actually read your poem.

ME: What?

LLOYD: I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment.

ME: Well, sure, but -

LLOYD: I’m not like you. I didn’t get into the poetry game for the wine, women, and song. I did it for the money. Big money. High stakes poetry, that’s me.

ME: Then I advise you not to read my poetry. It will indict your soul.

LLOYD: I have no soul. (He commences weeping.)

ME: I can’t help but notice that you’ve commenced weeping.

LLOYD: Nothing escapes your keen, penetrating eyes!

ME: Alas, only one of my eyes is keen and penetrating. The other is playful-yet-vapid.

LLOYD: Oh, my leg! (He dies of joint pain. Exeunt.)

ME: I need a bath. (I brush my teeth instead.)

Fin

The title of this post maybe somewhat misleading. I am not a Catholic, nor do I have any intention of becoming a Catholic. But I’ve had the opportunity to contribute to editorials for the Deseret News about the retired pope and the newly elected one, and my admiration and respect for both men and the organization they were chosen to lead grows with each passing day.

So many observers were hoping and praying for a new Holy Father who would abandon both scripture and tradition and allow members of this venerable institution to ignore all teachings they find uncomfortable or inconvenient. Instead, they have been and will be led by men of integrity who stand fixed and immovable as the chasm between the values of the world and the values of the church grows ever wider.

I greatly appreciate that, mainly because society at large is doing everything it can to marginalize the influence and even the validity of religion as an institutional participant in secular life. And I’m keenly aware of the fact that what’s going to happen to my church in that process is going to happen to the Catholic Church first.

I’ve thought about that these past couple of days as I’ve watched a slew of friends change their Facebook profile pictures to “equal” signs in support of legalized gay marriage. I’ve written enough on that particular subject that I have no interest in addressing the specifics again here. That debate has played out to the point where there are very few minds or positions to be changed with further discussion. Indeed, those equal signs are a clear indication that gay marriage opponents have lost the battle over framing the issue, and subsequently the entire war in the process.

From henceforth and forever, being opposed to any form of gay marriage for any reason is an announcement that you are a champion of inequality. It is tantamount to advocating the return of segregated drinking fountains and trying to get people who are different from you to ride in the back of the bus. All who advocate even the slightest degree of caution in redefining an institution that may well predate civilization itself can now be dismissed with no intellectual effort. Such people are now bigots, haters, homophobes. As such, they can no longer legitimately participate in the discussions that will shape the brave new world in which we now live.

It’s already happening.

Catholic charities and adoption agencies are getting tremendous pushback because of their unwillingness to ignore their own unpopular doctrines about the family. The pressure will continue to grow, and the church will likely find it difficult, if not impossible, to function as they have for centuries. The Catholic Church, as well as all other like-minded so-called religious bigots, will likely lose their tax-exempt status in the United States at the hands of the agents of equality who will use that noble ideal to equate Catholics and Mormons and their ilk with Klansmen or Nazi skinheads or any other kind of loathsome hate group that is rightfully despised by people of goodwill everywhere.

Again, it is already happening.

Please understand that I believe we are all equal in the sight of God, and we should all be equal in the sight of the law. No human being should be subject to cruelty or even unkindness, and hatred does nothing but corrode and destroy. Understand, too, that these are ideals I have been taught as bedrock principles of my religious faith. These are also ideals that are taught from every pulpit in the Catholic Church.

Eroding the influence of such religious voices may now seem to be a good idea in order to achieve certain policy goals, but the long-term effect will be an erosion of not just the institutions, but the morality they espouse that has done much to make the world a better place.

So, despite my many theological differences with my Catholic friends, I stand united with them in countering the movement to consign religious faith to the dustbin of history. When it comes to defending the right to faith, we are all Catholics now.

My Esteemed Colleague and I have had many lengthy and contentious political exchanges of late, most of them focused around his newfound appreciation for Joseph Stalin and the assignment of responsibility for the instigation of the Korean War. I shan’t recount all the details here, but, instead, will focus on one subset of the discussion that has triggered a theological reassessment on my part.

Specifically, My Esteemed Colleague believes that raising children to follow any given religion constitutes child abuse, because all religions are based on irrational threats of eternal damnation and hell.

So let’s talk about hell.

I can recall being quite terrified as an impressionable youngster by certain passages in the Book of Mormon that seem to coincide with My Esteemed Colleague’s diagnosis. Witness this pleasant little passage from 2 Nephi 28:23:

Yea, they are grasped with death, and hell; and death, and hell, and the devil, and all that have been seized therewith must stand before the throne of God, and be judged according to their works, from whence they must go into the place prepared for them, even a lake of fire and brimstone, which is endless torment.

Yowsa.

This kept me awake at night. I remember looking up the word “brimstone” and realizing the lake of such stuff would not be a pleasant place to spend eternity. It wasn’t until I brought my terror to the attention of my mother, who was allegedly abusing me by indoctrinating me into Mormondom, that I gained a new, and, I think, proper perspective.

In a nutshell, Mom explained that we Mormons believe that endless torment isn’t endless.

“Excuse me?” you may ask, as I did at the time.  ”What’s that supposed to mean?”

She directed me to the 19th section of the Doctrine and Covenants, which contains this gem in verse six:

Nevertheless, it is not written that there shall be no end to this torment, but it is written endless torment.

Confused yet? I was. The rest of the section, however, sheds a bit more light on the subject.

4 And surely every man must repent or suffer, for I, God, am endless.

5 Wherefore, I revoke not the judgments which I shall pass, but woes shall go forth, weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth, yea, to those who are found on my left hand.

6 Nevertheless, it is not written that there shall be no end to this torment, but it is written endless torment.

7 Again, it is written eternal damnation; wherefore it is more express than other scriptures, that it might work upon the hearts of the children of men, altogether for my name’s glory.

8 Wherefore, I will explain unto you this mystery, for it is meet unto you to know even as mine apostles.

9 I speak unto you that are chosen in this thing, even as one, that you may enter into my rest.

10 For, behold, the mystery of godliness, how great is it! For, behold, I am endless, and the punishment which is given from my hand is endless punishment, for Endless is my name. Wherefore—

11 Eternal punishment is God’s punishment.

12 Endless punishment is God’s punishment.

My favorite part of this is where the Lord admits that references to hell are “more express than other scriptures,” because such language will “work upon the hearts of the children of men, altogether for my name’s glory.” In other words, the Lord concedes that he uses such language to scare the hell out of people, so to speak, and sometimes that makes people better. But with regard to actual hell, I learned long ago that one need not fear that God will inflict infinite punishment for finite offenses. The punishment may be described as endless, in that there will, always and forever be punishment for sin, but no matter our level of wickedness, our participation in such endless punishment will only be transitory.

This, among other things, sets Mormonism apart from orthodox Christianity, which generally preaches a static heaven and hell, both of which are fixed and immutable. As such, I fear both. A static heaven sounds tremendously boring, and a static hell is too monstrous to contemplate. According to the doctrines of my church, I have no real fear of hell in the traditional sense that My Esteemed Colleague might recognize, and I make every effort to teach my children that the goal in following Christ is not to avoid hell, but rather to receive as many benefits of heaven as are available in this life and the life that’s coming.

So what’s coming?

Well, Mormons preach that the actual division closest to the static heaven/hell model can only be found between death and the final judgment, but even in that case, the Mormon version differs significantly from tradition, and we teach that people will have the opportunity to get out of the figurative brimstone lake. The division only exists as a result of people’s acceptance of Christ, and, should they accept Christ when given the opportunity in the world of spirits where we will live prior to the Resurrection, they will end up on paradise, not prison. This solves the theological quandary that has plagued Christianity for millennia: i.e.what happens to all the people who die without any opportunity to accept Christ’s sacrifice? Traditional explanations suggest that they end up burning forever through no fault of their own. What kind of unjust, hideous deity would create something and that inflict eternal suffering upon it for crimes it was never given the chance to understand?

Thankfully, God is both just and unhideous.

After the Judgment and Resurrection, everyone will be assigned to a Kingdom of Glory, and even the most loathsome and foul among us will eternally enjoy a redemption that “surpasses all understanding.” (Doctrine and Covenants 76:89) So people who reject Jesus’ payment on their behalf will eventually pay for their own sins, and that payment may be lengthy and miserable, but once the account is settled, an eternity of glory and happiness awaits them.

Glimpses of this worldview can be found in the Bible. In the 16th Psalm, David, after having murdered Uriah in order to get adulterous access to his bride,rejoices that God “will not leave my soul in hell.” Note that he doesn’t claim that he’ll avoid hell altogether, only that God won’t abandon him there.

The doctrine does suggest, however, that there is a tiny, tiny sliver of humanity that will receive an eternal reward comparable to being abandoned eternally. These are the so-called “Sons of Perdition,” who commit what is called the “sin against the Holy Ghost.” In the New Testament, Matthew 12: 31-32, the Savior himself speaks about the “unpardonable sin:”

“Wherefore I say unto you, All manner of sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men: but the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost shall not be forgiven unto men. And whosoever speaketh a word against the Son of man, it shall be forgiven him: but whosoever speaketh against the Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven him, neither in this world, neither in the world to come.”

Mormons believe that committing this sin is very, very difficult to do, and 99.9% of all the people who come to this world wouldn’t be able to do it even if they tried. Joseph Smith described at as follows:

“He has got to say that the sun does not shine while he sees it; he has got to deny Jesus Christ when the heavens have been opened unto him, and to deny the plan of salvation with his eyes open to the truth of it.”

In other words, to commit the unpardonable sin, one would have to, by means of the Holy Ghost, have a perfect, unassailable knowledge of who Jesus is and what he did, and then knowingly, willfully oppose him anyway. That requires a level of knowledge that has been given to only a tiny group of people throughout all of history, and, among those with that capacity, such deliberate rejection of the truth is exceedingly rare indeed. I think, out of the billions who go through the mortal experience, the people who will ultimately be subjected to such a fate can likely be counted on one hand.

As I get older, and watch people from all walks of life muddle through the disappointments and miseries of mortality, I become increasingly confident that the Lord did not send us here to fail. He operates according to his own timetable, but whether in this life or the next, it is likely that more of us will come to appreciate his mercy, and the reward that awaits us is far, far greater than we can now conceive.

North Korea sucks.

Don’t worry – the incendiary headline is strictly for Google’s benefit.

My most popular posts, in which I supposedly reveal the innermost secrets of the Order of the Arrow (OA) AKA the pseudo-Taliban wing of the Boy Scouts of America, continue to attract an unreasonable amount of attention from angry Boy Scouts who think I have violated a sacred trust I established when I was hazed by white guys in Indian headdresses thirty-plus years ago.

If you need a history of my squabbles therewith, the original post can be found here; my follow-up where I discover I’m top-ranked in OA ordeal Google searches is here, and a particularly nasty follow-up on the subject can be found here.

I always find myself amazed at the incoherence of the comments that show up after all these years. You can see them yourself in the comments section in the sidebar, but some of them are just too delicious to avoid calling more attention to them.

Witness today’s excursion into rhetorical genius from our new friend “AnnoyedScout”:

Ordeal is not really a horrible thing and if you had any sense you would take this down; or at least edit it. You make it seem like they kill you just so you can get ordeal level. Having gone through ordeal it is not as horrible as people may think. If you actually got to first class and above without your parents doing everything for you like me it is easier than if your parents did. I do not think this reflects the OA at all. There are a lot of fun things about ordeal. Also ruining OA secrets for people just seeing how wretched this site is like all of the others is not okay. If I sent this to national you would be in so much trouble. If you remember in your induction you promised not to tell anyone any of this.

Except I don’t remember. Anything. I remember people smacking me in the back of the head if I peeked while they led me around on a rope, and I remember freezing and starving and doing slave labor, but if there are super secret loincloth secrets, I don’t remember what they were. And I haven’t revealed them here – not out of principle, but out of, you know, not remembering any of them.

I asked AnnoyedScout if he would, in fact, report me to the BSA national office, and that I’d be happy to print any nasty letter they send to me in its entirety. I shudder to think what other “trouble” I might be in. Can the BSA slash my credit rating? Or just revoke my neckerchief privileges?

Here’s another party recently heard from – someone who playfully refers to themselves as “Order of the Arrow member.”

That is a time honored ceremony going back hundreds of yours you disgrace the brotherhood by reveling these secrets

Not to put too fine a point on it, but, no, it does not go back hundreds of mine. Or yours. Or even years, for that matter. It goes back to 1915, when the Order was first established. Am I supposed to presume that Abraham, Isaac and Jacob were Order of the Arrow members and were given a carrot and a gumdrop for dinner?

But I love reveling secrets. Revelry is always fun, unless the Order of the Arrow is involved.

Here’s “Zach Ness” from late last year:

I didn’t think ordeal was that bad i’ve been through worse not that i care a whole lot for the organization i just think if kids wanna be in it its their problem and if parents wanna force their kids into it shame on them but the order deserves better then this…

Better than what?

These are the bad eggs that deserve whatever Dixie Cup boiling they get. But I also had a pleasant exchange with a guy named Randall Cone from Atlanta, who was gracious enough to use his own name, proper grammar, and reasonable arguments. Here is his summation:

[The] OA just wasn’t for you at that time. Just as people who don’t skydive aren’t defective and people who smoke aren’t ALL dangerous (just a few of them). The guys that elected you may not have known you very well and the responsibility of the vote is to select the boys that WILL fit in with OA. I was inducted at age 16. When I was 14 I would have hated every second of my ordeal. If you completed ordeal then you are entitled to maintain your membership. Maybe you should attend a few functions and be one of the people that insure that ordeal isn’t the experience that you had. They still camp but most of the time it’s in permanent shelters with mattresses and good food.

Randall Cone
Atlanta, GA

Fair enough. And I have received a number of off-blog reports from people I respect that much of the hazing extremes that marred my own experience have been curtailed in the current order. So more power to them.

I should note, however, that the good Mr. Cone has revealed just as much detail about the OA as I ever have. Are you reporting him to “national” too, AnnoyedScout? I’d hate to be the guy that kept Randall Cone out of a neckerchief.