Mette Ivie Harrison introduces her new book, The Women’s Book of Mormon (BCC Press), a reimagining of the Book of Mormon narrative.
Once upon a time, I lost all faith in God. I attended church anyway, because I couldn’t imagine what life would be like if I didn’t continue with all the rituals and cultural trappings of the Mormonism that had always been part of my life. And then after a while, I felt lonely. Then I tried so hard to come back to Mormonism, bringing all my new thoughts with me, hoping that we could all sit in a space and honor each other’s spiritual experiences.
But that wasn’t what happened. I felt unable to speak about my new belief in tithing, that it shouldn’t be paid to the institution, but should be something we offered to God, to be directed to give to others we saw in need. I was corrected and spoken down to when I talked about my experiences with the feminine divine. I tried to talk about LGBT issues and how to learn to love more fully without judgment. I got nowhere.
Eventually, I was sent to teach the Sunbeams, because I think they imagined I couldn’t get into too much trouble there. But even in Primary, I struggled to sing songs without changing the words, making the “I am a child of God” God into a plural. Or singing “Heavenly Mother, are you really there?” I thought that Heavenly Mother was a defendable doctrine of Mormonism, but when it came to questioning the very idea of an eternal family through the eyes of the children I taught whose parents were divorced or who were simply missing one parent or another in their presence, I ended up feeling like I was doing more harm than good.
I stepped away from attending church in January of 2018. I did it all in one gulp, the way they tell you no one does. You don’t go from attending every week and praying and reading scriptures every day to just—not doing those things. But, mostly I did. I admit, I haven’t been a particularly happy ex-Mormon and I find myself calling out those who claim that “everyone” is happier if they leave Mormonism. I wouldn’t say I’m happier. I think I might say that I’m more me. Sometimes I’m happy, sometimes sad, sometimes angry. But I’m actually acknowledging my emotions and who I am instead of trying to fit myself into someone else’s mold of perfect womanhood.
And then this week, I came to a realization that hit me like a bolt of lightning. You may just smile when you read it because it may seem both obvious and not that earthshaking to you. But here it is: I’m still Mormon. I will always be Mormon. My soul was forged within Mormonism and I’m no longer interested in yanking it out and trying to make it into something else.
I have no interest in attending church again. I’m going to continue to call out the leadership of the Mormon church for their hatred and prejudice, for their secrecy and cult-like behavior. And I’m going to keep reading The Book of Mormon at night, at least the places that speak to me. I’m going to continue to see it as scripture, though fictional as I suspect most of the Bible is, as well. As a fiction writer myself, this is not me denigrating Joseph Smith’s accomplishment in creating The Book of Mormon. I consider him to be a genius, and that he was genuinely channeling God’s presence when he wrote much of it. And that’s why I’ve been writing my own expansions of The Book of Mormon.
Plenty of ex-Mormons see this as either ridiculous or as morally wrong, me pretending that The Book of Mormon has some value once you’ve thrown out the pablum of simple origin stories that are taught in Mormon Sunday School, for adults and children. I don’t see it that way at all, obviously. I see my work as continuing an honored literary tradition, updating it, making it more true in the way that I thought everyone believed that the gospel became more true with each passing decade, as we were alerted to the wrongs we’d made in the past and God guided us—stumbling as we often are—toward a better future of love, joy, and Truth (the Truth of fiction, not of fact or history, whatever those things are).
I used to say all the time that I didn’t understand why people who left Mormonism kept saying “I’m the same person.” I felt like I was a completely different person. There was a kind of psychic break in me where I really could not understand how I’d become the person I was, remembering the person I had been. But this moment of me realizing that I’m still Mormon came along with a flash of memories of things that I’d believed as a Mormon and that I’m still passionate about, though I think of them so very differently now.
I love the idea of an eternal family, but I don’t think of it as blood relations anymore. I could argue that Joseph Smith didn’t think of it that way, either, but I don’t really need his permission to have my own thoughts on the topic. I especially don’t need polygamy getting in the way.
I believe firmly in seeking. It’s one of my values now, a deep seeking of the kind that as a kid I thought led Joseph Smith to the woods to pray. I pray with seeking day and night now, more fervently than I ever did before. I am deeply suspicious of the answers I get, but I believe the seeking is itself of enormous value.
I believe in the equality of souls. I was taught this by The Book of Mormon, or at least parts of it, and I admit I ignore the ways in which the stories and language of The Book of Mormon have been used and continue to be used to talk about race in terrible ways. I’m rewriting The Book of Mormon to talk more openly about the prejudice of the Nephites toward those who were different from them in many ways.
I believe that women and traditional feminine work and femininity are of value in this secular world where sometimes masculine values and money are all that matters. I have my own brand of feminism and I’m not always very feminine. But I think we are lost if we don’t see the value in softer ways of engaging with the world. I knit and crochet, as I was taught in Young Women’s and I also beat my husband and son in almost every triathlon race we sign up for.
My new book, The Women’s Book of Mormon, is the first volume of two that tell the stories of the forgotten women behind the scenes of all the familiar stories you already know. There are trans women and men, non-binary people, bisexual women, ace and poly and lesbian heroes in my stories. In a way it feels to me that they were always there. They fit there neatly. They should have been there. This is The Book of Mormon with the bad parts knocked off and inclusivity added in.
It’s who I am now, this weird independent Mormon creature who writes fiction for a living, who publishes regularly about her beefs with the corporate church, and who is still, at heart, deeply Mormon and deeply invested in scripture, fiction as it always is. Stories matter. Stories tell us who we are. This story helps tell my story and I hope it tells yours.
I can’t say that I understand Mette or even empathize with her. I’ve always been of the thought that when you leave things behind, you just keep going, not turning back–lest you become a salt statue–and find a new life. Of course, I’m not from Utah and I didn’t grow up in a typical white Mormon family, so I’m not sure I understand the cultural grab that it has on so many people like Mette. Even those who are angry, sometimes hateful, are trapped in this Mormon bubble. They think that by lambasting the church, its leaders or its people, they are somehow showing they are free of Mormonism, but the opposite becomes clear. I also realize that a lot of the creative people of ex-Mormonism depend for their livelihood or their personal satisfaction on Mormons or ex-Mormons, so they cling to Mormonism to continue to be relevant. This is not a criticism, but an observation. I’m glad that Mette has found herself and that she feels Mormon, but I wonder if this type of attitude doesn’t just keep her trapped. Constantly criticizing the church has little value–at least to me–when it comes from those who chose not try to make things right, or who simply lost their faith. I also wonder why anyone would want to read books about Mormonism from one who left. I can see the “Why I left Mormonism” memoir once, but the “Let me tell you more about why I left Mormonism” or “How I’m a better person for leaving Mormonism”…and on and on, makes no sense except for people who are still angry or simply want to rationalize their departure. A very obvious insight: you don’t have to. Just find your happiness and let Mormonism go–find another economic or self-affirming endeavor–and I guarantee you will be happier. You won’t have to worry about what you are going to say about General Conference, the new prophet, Mormon finances, etc. They are now none of your concern. You’re observations are simply making other people’s lives miserable–thought they probably shouldn’t– when mostly they just want to worship “who and what they may”.
Well, this response is best summed up with: “I can’t say that I understand Mette or even empathize with her.” That much is certainly clear. Ignacio, I highly recommend reading the book Bridges: Ministering to Those Who Question by an active member, David Ostler. Seems you could use a little empathy.
I argue for a secular Mormonism in the way that Jews identify as secular Jews. There’s a lot of material to be written about as a post-Mormon.
I make no apology after 24-plus years of being formally an Ex-Mo that I still write primarily if not almost exclusively about the great civilizing force of my life and its many iterations, the light reflected from its facets, the darkness that subsumes it regularly. It’s lunacy as well as its beauty.
That said, the hold of this kind of indoctrination on the post-Mo is not likely to leave you for some time. There’s an internal journey that has to happen as well, and because it is uncharted it can be treacherous because your identity has been fused for many long and formative years to a glue-ball of individual, family and institution. You may not know where one ends and the other begins. I didn’t. Sometimes I still don’t. Your moral compass is in there somewhere too, so when you “leave” you leave all of your default positions.
Give yourself twenty years to loosen those bands but realize that those restrictions can be a fulcrum for a creative life now. You don’t have to wait for that.
Being a secular Mo ain’t that bad. For one thing it frees you to find a spiritual life if you seek one. The world is your garden.