Hi, I’m Chris.
I was a mormon.
About me
I was raised in the church from birth. My mother became inactive in her 20’s and married my non Mormon father. They were together for over a decade outside of the church. My mother was adamant about raising me in the church and became active again. My father began attending meetings but did not convert for at least a year. Eventually he was converted by two sister missionaries and was baptized. My family was sealed when I was very young.
My upbringing was idyllic. My parents loved each other and me an unfathomable amount. Growing up, the church always made sense and seemed to me to be the “default” outlook. I never thought critically about its teachings.
When I was twelve or thirteen, I began talking more about church doctrine and history with Sunday school teachers and my father. When I became a deacon I began to give talks in church. At the expense of seeming pompous, I’ll divulge that I was a natural public speaker. I may not have truly felt a strong conviction about the things that I’d say, but all seemed easy enough. I was certain of the way my life was going to play out: I would graduate high school, serve a mission, go to college, meet my wife, be married in the temple, get a job, and have children.
On my shelf
On the Mormon Spectrum
# Why I left More stories of 'Why I left' the Mormon church
When I was fifteen, I was with my family on a trip one state over seeing my grandmother. I have always been very tech oriented, so I had my laptop set up as a workstation on my grandfather’s desk next to my cot in their basement. I looked at all of the books on the shelf that he had amassed and read over a lifetime. He never went to college and was a self-educated but successful man, something my mother and, truth be told, I am very proud of.
A very devout member of the church, many of my grandfather’s books were interpretations of church doctrine and history. I read the first passages of a couple of them, and the general doubts over the authenticity of one’s faith that any religious person is bound to have began to become louder inside my head. I wanted to know factually, not just spiritually, that my church was true and worth devoting my life to. I began doing research on church history on my laptop. I had access to something my grandfather from rural Idaho never had: The Internet, where content and information contrary to official church teachings is allowed. After some time, I stumbled upon the CES Letter.
Reading this document, I knew quickly that if even half of the information was true that I would likely never have a strong faith in the church ever again. After reading it, I started trying to debunk the more serious claims with a fervor. The more I researched the document, the better supported it seemed to be.
Among the claims that shook my faith to its core were the multiple accounts of the First Vision, the process of the translation of the Book of Mormon, similarities in place names therein to modern American place names, and the similarities of some of its passages to the Bible and “View of the Hebrews”.
I felt lied to. The history of the church as I was learning it now, through a more critical and unbiased lens, seemed to contradict foundational things that teachers and church materials had taught me since I was a child.
My whole life, the church was a rock. Foolish as it may sound, I felt impervious to many of the worst outcomes one can have in life, like divorce, destitution, even health problems. “I have my church,” I thought, “I won’t have to deal with the uncertainty and problems that non-members have to deal with.” When I lost any real faith in the church, I really felt as if I’d lost a sort of superpower, an advantage in life. I was just as lost as all the other schmucks now. My faith never recovered from this day.
I kept going to church, albeit with significantly less zeal. I always felt like I was being a hypocrite, saying the same things as everybody else, but not truly believing it, and always finishing it the same way– by bearing my fake testimony.
I didn’t tell my parents for over a year. I knew that they would always love me deeply, and they’d never disown me or kick me out of their house. But I worried if they would support me in the same way or be as proud of me as they would have otherwise. It took a considerable amount of time to muster the courage, but one day I sat them down and told them about my doubts. My parents both sat there. I can only imagine the thoughts they had. I don’t remember exactly what they said, but it was something along the lines of “You need to talk to someone in church about this. Whatever you’ve read must be false.” I was so relieved at what seemed like an uncharacteristically nonchalant reaction to such a grave admission, but I think they both thought that it was a phase and that I would figure it out and “get back on track.”
I stopped going to church almost entirely after that. I’ve been back a handful of times since, perhaps hoping to feel a true “confirmation” from the Holy Ghost; perhaps I’d feel something on a personal level that could help me get past the logical fallacies in the faith, but I never got it. I maintain a healthy relationship with my mom and was very close yo my father until he passed away young three years ago.
I’m not an atheist. I’m not quite sure what I believe. I saw my father in a dream some time after he passed and we embraced. It was both immensely comforting and heartbreaking.
I don’t have any ill will toward the church. I’m not ruling out the possibility that one day I could feel that strong Holy Ghost conviction and decide to throw my hands up and say “There are some things we don’t know!” and become active in the church again. But I don’t think that will happen. I’m married now and living my life in my own chosen way outside the church. I don’t know what we’ll teach our kids, but both of us having grown up Christian, we both want them to have a spiritual connection with God.
I hope this message resonates with someone out there who has gone or is going through something similar. I hope all of us can find our own way.