The Three Weeks I Accidentally Became a Mormon

I left Oklahoma as one who was optimistic and hopeful for the world around me. I recently graduated from college, going straight into a coaching job in a small town in southeastern Kansas. Moving from a decently sized suburb to a town of roughly nine thousand has its share of adjustments, but it is my firm belief that you can have an enjoyable time and fit in anywhere as long as you surround yourself with good, genuine people.


It was because of this belief that I began looking for a place of worship in town. In my previous year, I had become involved with a group of close-knit believers who had expedited my experiences with the Lord and, while I wasn't looking to recreate that same community, I was looking for a place of worship that didn't necessarily adhere to what is traditionally known as "Church."

Let me add this disclaimer to begin: I am by no means an advocate of going from church to church until finding one that meets all of one's specific requirements. Too often, we move on too easily and never have time to invest in a community that needs our help.

After visiting a few churches without finding what I had been looking for, I began to wonder if my standards were too high.

As I had been driving around town, however, I had noticed a peculiar building that looked like a house. There was a sign outside that house that said "Community of Christ." This was intriguing to me, mainly because the church I had previously attended in Oklahoma had consisted of housechurches. After a few weeks of trying to figure out the schedule of services, I gathered up the courage to attend.

When I arrived, it was somewhat as I had expected. There were about 15 chairs in what looked like a converted living room. Everyone was very welcoming to me, as I assumed they did not often have visitors. The sermon was general, but not anything that seemed out of place. After the service, a few invited me to have dinner with them that evening.

I remember that night, speaking to them. Having an inspired discussion about how important it was to live out the gospel to others-that we have a responsibility to show the love of Christ to everyone. I remember feeling good about giving the others at dinner something to think about.

The next weekend was Labor Day and I traveled back home. I hadn't been gone very long, but it was a good opportunity to see my friends and family again. I was surprised to get a call from one of the people I had met the previous week:

"Hello?"
"Hey, we missed you at the service today, just making sure everything is ok."
"Yeah, I'm just back in Norman. Everything's fine."
"Okay, so we will see you next week?"
"Yep. I'll be there."

Now, I understand that this is a little odd. How often do you get a call back from someone after only attending their function once? But, I told myself that they were just nice people (which they were), and chalked it up to hospitality.

It was the next service that woke me from my dogmatic slumber. As I took my seat, I skimmed the bulletin that they had handed to me. While reading, I came across an item saying that they would soon be celebrating the birthday of Joseph Smith, Jr. That's when I started to wonder about the tenants of this congregation that I was attending. But the wheels began turning. I didn't want to jump to any conclusions. Smith is a very common surname. Maybe someone in attendance was named Joseph Smith. But Joseph Smith, Jr. is also the name of this man.

So, it was possible that we would be celebrating the birthday of the founder of Mormonism. There are few reasons to be celebrating the birthday of someone that had founded a heretical sect of Christianity, none of them were appealing to me.

As I pondered these things, I remembered that I had noticed that the bible of one of the women seemed abnormally large. So I leaned over to see if I could get a better look at it. When I saw the spine, sure enough, it said:

The Holy Bible

The Book of Mormon

Sacred Texts

At this point, I had enough information to act. I didn't want to cause a scene, which certainly would have happened had I walked out two and a half minutes into the service. So I sat and waited. As service was ending, I had a thought: I don't want these people calling me when I don't show up this week, so I better put some closure on this situation. So I said,

"You guys have been very nice, but I didn't know you were Mormon, so I don't think I'll be coming back."
"Oh, we're not Mormon," said the woman with the thick bible.
"You believe in the Book of Mormon, right?" I replied.
"Well, yes."
"Okay, that's where we part ways."

Or at least the conversation went something like that.

Most of the congregation looked at me and had this "Oh, well" revelation and began to leave. But not everyone. One older gentleman started talking to me. He wanted to express to me his opinion of his own conversion story. His testimony consisted of two main points, as I recall. These two points were his reasons for deciding that the words of Joseph Smith had value.

1. He noticed the letters USA in the middle of the word JerUSAlem one day. To him, this meant that the USA is the New Jerusalem.
2. He once gave a ride to a hitchhiker in the middle of a snowstorm. The hitchhiker wanted to be dropped off further down the line, but this gentleman refused to do so. He dropped off his passenger in the middle of the snowstorm- a snowstorm in which any normal person wouldn't have survived. Later, he searched the local newspapers to see if, in fact, this hitchhiker had died. When there wasn't anybody in the obituaries, he concluded that this man must have been an angel.

I thanked the man, then left. Never to be a Mormon again.