Chapter 1: Church

It is the first time I go to church with any of my girls. I’m not particularly religious. I don’t believe in criticizing others for their beliefs, and I believe in supporting those I love. I’m not about to start going to church every week, but if I feel one of my girls needs it or they ask me to, I will accompany them.

Both Moira and Dahlia have expressed misgivings about their churches. They were thinking about quitting. Neither of them has issues with the doctrine taught, but rather, have problems with the people. In the past, I explained to them that the teachings of the church should dictate their belief or unbelief, not the falseness of the people. There are good and bad people in every crowd. Quitting something you believe in just because you come face to face with an asshole is just silly. If you live like that, you will quit everything.

We leave with plenty of time to spare. The girls and I pile into the back of the guard’s armoured SUV. Our security prefers it if we would always travel this way. It isn’t practical, and they only have four motorbikes. If we all went somewhere and then split up, there is no way for them to guard us and have their reliefs meet up with us at shift change over.

We leave with two motorbike escorts. When we get to Moira’s, I walk her to the door and kiss her goodby, after which I tell her, “Be sure to tell both your parents that I insisted you come home. I don’t want your Dad mad at you, and I want your Mom to understand I am putting forth an effort.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them. Thank you, I had a good time last night.”

“Your welcome. I love you, now get inside.”

“Love you.”

She gives me one last kiss then disappears.

We leave a motorcycle bodyguard to escort her to church, and the rest of us take off. We get to the Mormon Church on Mann Ave. Entering the building, we meet people in the foyer, most of which introduce themselves, shake our hands and leave.

Dahlia is excited to introduce me to some of her friends.

There are greeters at the chapel doors who also only introduce themselves and shake our hands. I start to see a pattern of artificial friendliness. It isn’t that they are fake. They just only extend their friendship so far.

Mormons are notoriously late. Despite only being 10 minutes early, the chapel is mostly empty. Dahlia directs us to where she usually sits. One of our bodyguards sits with us. One stays with the greeters and the last patrols the grounds. Slowly the chapel fills. Occasionally somebody else stops by to shake our hands. Only Dahlia’s friends stop for anything more than a cursory chat. The only exception is the Bishop. In me, he sees an unfamiliar face and decides he is going to get to know me a bit better. We chat for a bit. During our conversation, I ask, “Is there any way I can see you for a bit before we leave today?”

“Will you be staying the full 3 hours?”

“That is my plan.”

“I will try to talk with you during Sunday School. If not, then have Dahlia direct you to my office after church.”

When the services start, a guy stands at the pulpit, calling himself a councillor, introducing himself and the presiding Bishop. He then invites the Bishop to conduct business.

The Bishop steps up to the pulpit and releases people from their callings, then offers up names for people for a vote to fill the vacated positions. Then he sits down.

Next comes what they call sacrament. It is the Mormon version of communion. They close the doors to the chapel for this, which ends the procession of people entering the chapel. After the sacrament is over, they open the doors again, and there is another flood of latecomers. I find it hard to believe people that believe in God would be so disrespectful of their time to worship him.

The conductor then announces that this meeting is something called a Fast and Testimony Meeting. People are supposed to fast for the first two meals of the day. The money for those two meals would then go into a fund to help less fortunate people. Hearing this gives me a bit more respect for the congregation. The rest of the meeting is opened to the floor. People wait on the stage for their turn to bear their testimony. Most of it is drivel. Some of the verbal diarrhea is related to testimonies, but most of it isn’t. Most stories do have some kind of moral.

I am surprised when Dahlia goes on stage to wait with those wanting to bare their testimonies. When it is her turn, she says, “Morning, most of you know me. My name is Dahlia. Normally, I don’t bare my testimony, but today, I feel like I would be ungrateful if I don’t. This year I have seriously contemplated my testimony and if I even have one. I do, and it is my boyfriend that showed it to me. There are many rumours about him. Most of them are lies.”

I look around and see that at least 5 of the jocks from our school are here. I guess they are responsible for the rumours.

“He is a good person, and despite not having religion to guide him, does his best to make the world a better place and help those around him. He is a super genius and uses it to benefit everybody. Some people would have you believe that our guards are because he is an evil guy that has many enemies. Trent invents things. Many of which have military applications. Guarding him is a matter of national security. That is why the army patrolled his home, and we had a tank parked at our shop.”

It was really a Grizzly IFV (Infantry Fighting Vehicle)

“One of the amazing things that happened when his grandmother died is, he explained to people using science how there is a pre-earth life, and there is an afterlife, just like what is mentioned in the Book of Mormon.

“Trent has shown me that despite how we humans tend to mess things up, there is still order in the chaos. Everything from the smallest molecule to the biggest organization follows the same rules. He may not be a religious man, but he gave me my testimony. I love him. Because of him, I can stand here and say, Jesus is the Christ, God lives, and I know the Book of Mormon is true. I bear you my testimony in the name of Jesus Christ.”

She then leaves the stage and sits beside me. As she does, I notice how her hands are shaking.

I whisper, “That was beautiful. I love how you turned a defence for me into a testimony.”

“I was so nervous. Just look at my hands, shaking.”

It is no surprise to me that the meeting ends late. These people have no concept of how disrespectful being late all the time is. When the testimony meeting is over, we split into groups. It means that Dahlia and I are in a room with the jocks and other teens for a Sunday school lesson.

The teacher tries to keep the lesson as a general discussion. With a class full of teens, you can bet most of them are here because their parents force them. The jocks sit in the back, making fun of the lesson and generally disturbing the class. Despite the teacher’s best effort, it turns more into a lecture than a discussion. I am glad that the Bishop doesn’t come and get me. I don’t want to leave Dahlia in a room with so many rapists.

When the hour is up, Dahlia and I are separated. She goes to a class for girls. They send me to a priest’s quorum they call Teachers. I’m stuck in a room with an adult, the jocks and a few other boys. I just sit in silence and wait for the meeting to end. After the meeting, Dahlia comes and gets me, escorting me to the Bishop’s office.

Waiting to see the Bishop, many of the adults come and thank Dahlia for her testimony. A large portion of them strike up short conversations with me. They have families to feed, so they excuse themselves and head home.