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MISSIONARIES - SECTION 6
Total Articles:
16
Topics concerning Mormon Missionaries - from young to old.
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 | My Father Died On Sep 8, 1994; My Second Day In The MTC
Friday, Oct 12, 2012, at 07:38 AM
Original Author(s): Xochitec
Topic: MISSIONARIES - SECTION 6 -Guid- | ↑ | It was dinner time and they called me into the office of the MTC first counselor. President Wood, I believe, was his name. He told me. I was certain that, in the sea of elders, he'd called in the wrong one. I simply didn't believe it until I heard my mom on the phone.
"Will you get tickets so I can come home?" I asked her.
"I don't know. Talk to your leaders, they told me to encourage you to stay."
I hung up and slumped down into the black leather couch. I couldn't think.
"It's okay to cry, Elder," he said, but there was nothing to cry about because it was all a mistake. He talked to me about grief, kindly.
"When do I leave?" I asked.
"Um. Well, this is unusual. It's only your second day, we understand that, we've never had this happen so soon after an elder enters."
"Tomorrow, then?"
"Elder, the brethren ask that you stay. The Lord asks that you stay."
"Stay? What do you mean?"
"Let the dead bury the dead."
That rang in my ears. "Oh no."
"Elder.."
"I must go to the funeral."
"The advice of the brethren is that you stay. I don't know that we can take you back. This is what the Lord asks of you."
I said nothing for a long time. Then he talked about heroic missionaries who kept working in the fields even when their parents had died, but I suspected then that they had been coerced into staying, just like what was happening to me.
"I'm going to go," I said at last. "It's your choice to take me back. I'll walk right out if I have to."
"Okay. Alright, then."
I flew out the next day and stayed at home less than a week. My stake president smoothed things over with the MTC and they did take me back.
| | | Mission "Brainwashing": Hurts More Than It Helps
Wednesday, Dec 5, 2012, at 01:07 PM
Original Author(s): Kodacrest
Topic: MISSIONARIES - SECTION 6 -Guid- | ↑ | I'm pretty sure everyone here is blatantly aware of the obscene pressure surrounding 19 year old mormon men about a mission. I'd like to give a different prospective on how I learned missions being so expected is absolutely ridiculous.
I didn't serve a mission, instead, I got to watch everyone's health who was involved with a missionary leaving degrade. Whether it be mentally or physically, it seems to happen to everyone who sends off a missionary. There's even a few stories of the abuse missionaries suffer, or (regrettably) inflict whilst on their mission.
In the last year the local LDS church in my area has sent off 11 missionaries, and it will be 15 by the end of the month. I know two of the missionaries, their families and close friends very, very well. We'll call the missionaries "John" and "Carl" for the sake of everyone involved.
John left for his mission in March, I attended his farwell talk at his request, and watched as his mother fell apart at the seams with "pride." John is serving in Brazil, and in the almost nine months he has been away, has been sick with a fever six of them. I have a very medical mindset, I believe that if you suffer from severe depression due to being separated from family and friends, or from constant sickness, you should immediately do what is best for you. Not what is best for the church community you attend. And so in this I told John he should come home, the foreign country was obviously doing a number on him, as I could clearly tell from pictures he was ill and lost a lot of weight. He refused to leave, claiming he was TOLD BY HIS MISSION PRESIDENT he would not be "a worthy man of God." (direct quote) if he left his mission early. This angered me greatly, but you can't change the mind of someone who knows nothing else, so I moved on.
Carl left two weeks ago, and is a flip side story. Carl left behind a girl he dated for a little over a year, we'll call her Jane, behind To serve a mission in Guam. None of us knew until after he left, besides Carl, but Jane suffered from Severe Panic Disorder and had gone to psychotherapy where she was essentially trained to use Carl as her "wall", (with his knowledge and consent) and it worked. Her attacks had basically stopped.
Jane wasn't in very good health otherwise though. She had been through two bouts of Pneumonia in the last three years, and one was accompanied by MRSA, a lethal staph infection. This was coupled with her having Holt-Oram Syndrome, a rare bone and heart disease and extremely low blood sugar levels. When Carl left, Jane's health plummetted, she has been in and out of the hospital four times for panic attacks causing her to not be able to hold anything down, dangerous blood sugar levels, and an instance of what the doctors told Jane was some sort of coronary issue cause from stress. Jane is going to a therapist, and has proven allergic to her anxiety meds. She writes Carl daily, detailing her pride for him serving a mission, her happiness of it, and "little pointless positive details," as she says. I can't tell you how angry I was to hear her tell us (her friends) she felt like a distraction and a bad person if she told him she was scared or that her doctors think him coming home could solve this whole problem within weeks!
A few of us who are friends with Carl and Jane have found ourselves writing Carl telling him what is happening, asking him - more like begging him - to come home and clean up the mess he must have known he was going to be leaving this poor girl. All we hear back is "Take care of her and tell her it'll be fine." Jane is incapable of holding down more than yogurt and toast. We're passed what friends can do for her. Doctors are pressuring her and trying to reason with her that, sometimes, people are the cure to something. Simple as that. But Jane grew up with bad parents, and a distant family and that shaped her views of her medical problems. So here we are, listening to a dying girl tell us she can't distract her best bet for help because he's on a mission.
That was the last straw on the camel's back for me. I thought missions were a good idea for independence for young men, but now I just see they hurt missionaries and the people they tag along for companionship while their home. I'm watching my friends get sick and wither away, and I'm disgusted.
| My comp and I had worked with a less active family for several months. They let us teach their three youngest boys who hadn't been baptized and we hit pay dirt because they finally gave their approval of us dunking these pre-teens. Hey you took baptisms where you could get them. (Still makes me ill to think about doing this.)
Anyway, their oldest son had a steady girlfriend whom we also taught. She felt the spirit, or at least didn't want to be left out, so she agreed to be baptized. Okay so its baptism day and we go to fill the font and out spews brownish smelly water. Some pipe had burst in the neighborhood a week or two before and no one had cleared the pipes. We finally, after a two hour delay, got the water to be only partially brown with a temprature slightly above freezing (Chicago in the middle of winter mind you) and she agreed to get in. Now the real antics began. This poor girl had an EXTREME phobia of putting her head under water. OMG, what a circus. Time and time again the attempt was made to dunk her but every time she fought to GD hard making a complete immersion impossible. I don't think someone being water boarded would have fought any harder.
After the 10 or 12th time I think the ward mission leader turned away on an attempt and said good to go. What total and complete lunancy. I'll bet that poor girl still has a phobia of being dunked which was only strengthed by the idiocy of the mormons.
I just hang my head in utter shame when these memories come flooding back to me. I wish I knew where these people are now so that I could apologize to them for being such an idiotic prick and using my tools of manipulation to build the kingdom.
| Right out of the MTC in Provo and sent to Peru, which was impoverished and struggling with Marxist terrorism (El Sendero Luminoso).
During the 1st interview on day #2, the MP asks me about my parents' work. I told him my mother was a nurse.
He then assigns me to live and work in a filthy shantytown on the north side of the capital, Lima. No running water, no sewage (toilets were holes in the ground), piles of rotting garbage abounded.
On day #10, I started burning up with a wicked fever (temp.: 105 deg. F) and was loosing strength fast. The full-of-himself AP told my Peruvian comp (who called from a pay phone near the highway) to not overly concern himself with my health "issues" because I was green and just "adjusting."
In fact, I'd contracted spinal meningitis from the filthy conditions and poor quality food. I was dying and would be dead in 24-48 hours.
I worsened and my comp. called the mission office again. Reluctantly, he was told to bring me in. I could barely walk or talk.
I was finally taken to a clinica (small hospital) where a local doctor inquired about my symptoms and, thankfully, treated me.
However, the MP lied to me by telling me I had a less serious illness. Why? He unilaterally decided I should stay in Peru, despite the fact that full recovery from spinal meningitis takes as much as a year. He knew my mother was a nurse and figured that if I told her the truth, she might go to her doctor (a non-Mormon), who might insist that I be sent home to properly recover.
Get this: He asked me if I had medical insurance (so that LD$ Inc. wouldn't be out of pocket for medical attention for one of its dying 'soldiers in the Lord's army'!).
After I was discharged, the MP assigned me to a filthy ghetto and later an even worse shantytown on the outskirts of the Peruvian desert in the north. There, a gang member suddenly attacked my small Peruvian comp. at night (to rob him) and I came to his defense (I was half a foot taller and heavier).
The thief and I wrestled and fell in the sand-covered street. He quickly threw sand in my eyes, pulled a large, homemade knife (the kind used to cut leather for shoes), and nearly sliced open my throat (I hadn't divulged the temple First Sign of the Nail, either!). Other gang members came out from the shadows to aid him. My comp. and I retreated backwards and were lucky to escape alive. I later learned that a municipal inspector had visited the area and been attacked, killed, and robbed.
Having endured hellish conditions, I completed the mission in June 1985 and left Peru, which had increasingly destabilized with bombing attacks and assassinations. Unfortunately, malnourishment, fatigue, and parasites took a huge toll on my health (it took me 15 years to fully get rid of the 'bitchos', courtesy of the 'one, true' corporation of JC!).
During my last interview with the MP mere hours before I flew out, the liar finally revealed to me the truth about the spinal meningitis I'd had during the first two weeks of my mission. I was too mind-numbed and exhausted to be angry at the a**hole. He told me that I should go see a doctor after I got home. Thanks President PR*CK of the Lawrd!
A few days earlier, I learned that God's 'restored' corporation was building a multi-million-dollar temple in a rich neighborhood in Lima. There was ALWAYS BIG $$$ for the Morg's high-end temples (in which useless rites incorporating simulated self-violence were performed), but never $$$ from LD$ Inc. to keep its missionary force reasonably housed, fed and otherwise taken care of.
F*ck*ng money-grubbing CULT!
| This was 30 years ago. Was called on my mission at the age of 24. I was a single woman with a college degree and a fairly decent paying job with benefits. Hadn't been dependent on my parents since the age of 18. I wanted adventure, put in for a mission. The paperwork told me not to take out any special or additional health insurance, so I thought the church would cover anything that might arise.
Had an injury whilst on my mission, ended up needing a plaster cast followed by physical therapy in the mission field. Was told by my MP that I must cover the cost myself. I protested said that I had no insurance because the church told me not to get any. He said "Well, most elders are still on their parents insurance." No acknowledgement for my individual situation.
Paid out of my own pocket, but protested loudly, "Why did the church tell me not to worry about health insurance!!!!" Lo and behold, my protestations must have worked. Five minutes before I was to board the plan back to the USA, the office elders show up with a fist full of local currency for me. Great, what am I suppose to do with unexchangeable local currency with only minutes left in the country! I know they expected me to say, "keep it, it's no good to me at this point."
I needed that cash to get re-established back in the USA. I quickly found several elders that had dollars to change and tempted them with a better than black market rate at a substantial loss to myself. After that I still had some left over, I went to the duty free and bought myself some nice perfume, and a few other last minute souvenirs. I got the evil eye from several other missionaries for this.
| | | My Sister's Mission President Could Have Killed Her
Thursday, Dec 27, 2012, at 07:42 AM
Original Author(s): Jackjoseph
Topic: MISSIONARIES - SECTION 6 -Guid- | ↑ | My sister just came home from her mission to Latin America with a huge, scary lump on her thumb.
She had had it for two months. Her mission didn't let her see a doctor because they didn't want to deal with it. They figured she could just take care of it when she got home in a couple months.
So finally after she got home she went to the doctor first thing to have it looked at. They thought it was a cyst, but when they removed it, there was no fluid. It was a tumor.
The pathologist analyzed it and turns out it was benign. Good thing. If it had been malignant it would have metastasized in those two months and she would have cancer now.
I can't express how disgusted I am with her mission for being so utterly irresponsible as to risk her health and even life in order not disrupt their "all-important" work. It's just one more example of how the church leadership is not inspired at all on any level.
... Or maybe the "spirit" told her mission president that the tumor was benign :/ ...
I suppose she can't be held completely blameless since she was the one with the tumor and she didn't insist on doing something about it. But I think most of us know know what it's like to be so entirely brainwashed that you can't even fathom questioning the "Priesthood Leadership".
| This took place back in the 1990s. I arrived in the mission field with 5 other sisters. One of them, who I'll call Sister Smith, was assigned a trainer who was just amazingly beautiful. I found out she paid for her mission by modeling professionally. The two were assigned to a small, costal town. The assignment was a difficult one for Sister Smith, who was new. Her beautiful companion was very trunky and not much interested in working, in spite of having some months left in her mission. After a couple of months, the area they served in was mysteriously closed and all the missionaries (elders included) were assigned to different areas. Oddly enough, Sister Smith was put back with her MTC companion, who was one of the five sisters on the plane with me. Two newbies serving right in the town the mission president lived in. Everyone thought this was strange but we knew the MTC companion was having problems so we figured that was the reason for it.
Several months later, there was an area conference and the beautiful missionary had gained a LOT of weight. Everyone was commenting on how she'd "let herself go." Some of the elders were being particularly snippy. She was going home next transfer - why wasn't she trying harder to look good? A few months after that, I was assigned to be with MTC companion. She had been with Sister Smith right after the mysterious closure of her area and told me what happened.
Sister Smith and her model comp had been out late at a member's house and were caught by some guys as they walked back to their apartment. They called the mission president, who came right down, brought them back to the mission home and promptly closed the area. I'm not sure if the elders knew exactly what happened, but the MP did. He encouraged the sisters to not tell anyone what happened and to finish their missions, so that they wouldn't have to go home and have everyone know they had been raped and that is why they were sent home. The sisters, as I recall, were allowed to call home. From what I remember, they probably could have gone home if they insisted but were discouraged from leaving. Both decided to stay. Like I said, the one only had a couple of months left but Sister Smith still had a year to stay in a foreign country, far from family and help. They were also told not to tell the other missionaries. By the time I found out what happened, it had been about 6 months. No safety guidelines were givento the other sisters. No warnings. I don't know if the two sisters received any counseling, other than from the MP, a former attorney. MTC comp did tell me that a few other missionaries heard about what happened and blamed the sisters for staying out after curfew - God won't protect the rule-breakers, don't you know. Typing that still makes me want to punch something.
Two post scripts. I lost touch with the model but Sister Smith is a FB friend of mine and is still a faithful LDS woman, married in the temple, with several children. Right before I left the mission field, we got a new MP. He probably wasn't told about the incident, because one of the first things he did was reopen the area. Or maybe he "prayed about it" and thought missionaries would be safe there. I honestly can't remember if it was open to sisters at that time or not, but I'm sure eventually, sisters were sent back there by some MP who didn't know what happened. Twenty years later, the whole incident still makes me sick to recall, as you can probably tell by the flat tone of my writing. Women so naively go on a mission, feeling sure of the protection of heaven, unaware of the dangers they face, unwarned by those who they serve.
| I came home early from a foreign mission. The mission was the absolute worst experience of my life. It aggrevated my depression and OCD to the point that I couldn't function and think clearly. My anxiety and snoring MTC companion kept me from being able to get enough sleep each night. I developed severe social anxiety while out that I have never recovered from. Being forced to go around and bare my testimony in front of my entire district frightened me to death. We were also expected to present in front of district meetings in our new foreign language and I would shake, studder and turn white as a ghost.
The area that we taught in was so poor that people were literally dying of starvation. They slept in wooden shacks on dirt grounds and ate from trash cans. Nobody had the money to feed the missionaries and so we would go hungry. My companion said that she just considered this a long fast and test of our faith to see how long we could go without eating. She had some serious issues herself. I was literally starving and didn't have the energy that a mission required each day. I had to literally BEG the mission president to send me home early.
I also have tourettes and my tics were very severe during this time because of the stress I was under. I was quite literally losing my mind and falling apart! Despite my severe emotional state my parents were very angry with me for coming home. They said that the Lord wouldn't have sent me somewhere I couldn't handle and that my decision to come home was a sin in his eyes. I wasn't even sure that they would be there at the airport to pick me up.
I heard for months how I "just couldn't hack it" and I wasn't sure if they would be financially cutting me off from attending college. I endured horrible treatment from the ward members. My mother said the ward spoke of me as though I had actually died. I got the feeling that my parents would have rather me returned home in a coffin. My parents were very resentful because I had embarrassed them in front of their elite Mormon friends. I actually contemplated suicide during this time in my life.
I had ptsd for years after coming home. Terrible dreams that I was being forced to go back out on a stateside mission. I can honestly say that the person who left on that mission was not the same person who returned. I lost a bit of my sanity from not only the mission experience but the trauma of coming home early. Even though coming home early was a terrible experience I never regretted not finishing. Finishing the mission would have led to a complete and utter emotional breakdown. A mission experience is so incredibly tough but for those of us with a pre-exisisting psychiatric disorder like myself (tourettes, OCD, depression, anxiety) it is literally hell. The only positive was that the mission was the first step in realizing that it was all a fraud although I still would have come to that realization without it.
| | | Mission Experience That Caused My First Spark Of Anger Against The Church
Tuesday, Jan 8, 2013, at 07:25 AM
Original Author(s): Dlstephens
Topic: MISSIONARIES - SECTION 6 -Guid- | ↑ | For some background I was called to serve in the Tacloban Philippines mission. Its the poorest mission in the Philippines which is already a 3rd world country. I leared to speak Cebuano, Waray-waray, and Tagalog on my mission.
This experience I would like to share happened in my first area Catbalogan. I was still super culture shocked and mostly just followed my companion around like a zombie all day. It didn't help that I could barely communicate with the people because of the multi-lingual barrier.
One hot and sweaty day (every day) we were going to teach a new investigator who lived under a tarp on the side of the filth strewn street. While teaching we would just squat in the road because it was too dirty to sit anywhere. The investigator was a man in his mid 40s who was as skinny as the people you see in the concentration camp pictures after being starved to death. He wore several grocery bags wrapped around his waist for a loincloth.
He admitted to us that because he was to weak to do anything but beg from under the tarp he wasn't getting food or money to feed himself. He was slowly starving to death. He would kill cockroaches and eat them if they came to close to his tarp and that was all he had for sustenance.
After our lesson my companion and I were riding a motorcycle back to our apartment and I asked him if I could buy some food for the investigator. My companion said that he didn't think we were allowed to help the locals because of the mission's rules but I could call the Mission President to ask him.
That night I called our Mission President to ask if I could use my personal funds to feed the poor dying man. I really felt good about this like even though I couldn't speak the langauge I could bring some happiness into this man's life. My Mission President told me in no uncertain terms that I could not assist this man in any temporal way. He urged me to let this man feast from the words of Christ.
A week passed and we went back to teach this investigator. He didn't answer us as we approached his tarp so we flipped up the front flap of the tarp and found him curled in a ball dead. The stench was unbelievable. For a few minutes I just stared at the body of one of my first investigators.
It was the first dead person I had ever seen and I could have done something to save him. My lack of action killed this man. That was the first time I felt geniune anger at the church I had served since I was born. Because of my Mission President's lack of concern with this man's temporal well being he died.
The anger and shame of this experience is still with me today and was a focal point to me investigating the validity of the church.
| | | Anyone Who Served A Full-Time Mission Can Probably Relate
Thursday, Jan 31, 2013, at 07:57 AM
Original Author(s): Wantedmember?
Topic: MISSIONARIES - SECTION 6 -Guid- | ↑ | I served in an Asian country that didn't have many baptisms. That didn't stop the mission president (much like the SP in this story) from making goals for the missionaries, with no regard for the actual circumstances in the missionaries' area (usually at least 2 baptisms per month, even though 1 a month was rare, sometimes as many as 5 in a month when he was pushing for a big month mission-wide)... If you had a non-baptizing month, you were expected to baptize even more the next, and heaven forbid you went 2-3+ months straight without a baptism (even though that was actually the norm)... So there was plenty of guilt-induced stress, a lot of the mission president and AP's calling missionaries to repentance, etc. And most of the missionaries bought into it and began to believe that their personal worthiness/self-worth was tied to the number of baptisms they had... Some good missionaries would just eventually buy-in to the mission president narrative and believe they were worthless and just completely give up (some even eventually went off the deep end, but not until they were shoved off the edge first)... most just spent most of their mission stressed out about baptisms...
Fortunately, I was a very NOM-ish missionary and I couldn't have cared less about the baptism goals and was able to act as a filter/buffer between the mission president/AP's and the missionaries in my zone (knowing that the truth was the number of baptisms a missionary companionship had in a given month had very little to do with their personal worthiness or how hard they did/didn't work). I hope the bishops in this stake can do the same (obviously this particular bishop isn't), as all it does is create unnecessary pressure/guilt and drive good people to do unethical things (manipulating the members, dunking anyone they can get their hands on before the person is ready, etc.)...
I must say, the focus on quantitative goals for something like personal conversion (baptisms), where everyone gets to exercise their agency in choosing if/when to get baptized, has always really bugged me. It is one of the aspects of what I see as corporatized church culture that I think really needs to be changed...
| When my son entered the Missionary Training Center in Provo two weeks ago, he had one large piece of luggage with wheels and various smaller bags. What he needed was a second large bag to make things easier. I told him not to worry about it; I would get a large bag for him and bring it over for him to consolidate.
And so on Thursday I went shopping. I found the right bag and headed over to the MTC to drop it off. Knowing that I was about to approach a hardened security zone, I thought it wise to call my neighbor who knew the intricacies of the place.
No problem, I was informed. This is a necessity. When you're dropping off a necessity they'll let you in, and you can leave it at the front desk.
Wow, this was going to be easy. So I pulled into the MTC driveway and headed for the guard booth.
"I've got this bag I need to drop off for my son," I told the guard. "It's a necessity." The guard seemed to understand but wanted to make sure.
"What is it again, sir?"
"A bag. A piece of luggage."
"What's your name, sir?" I gave him my name. "One moment, please."
He picked up the phone and dialed the front desk. "Are you expecting a Randy Wright to drop off a bag for his son?" Of course they weren't; this was impromptu. The guard seemed to be talking for a long time, and so I thought it was a good idea to remind him: "It's a NECESSITY."
Eventually, he hung up and turned back to me. "You say you have a bag?" "Yes." "What's in the bag?" "Uh, well, nothing. It's just an empty bag. A piece of luggage that my son needs." "You say it's empty?" "YES, IT'S EMPTY."
"I see. OK. Sorry. It's just that we have people who try to sneak treats in to their missionaries. You can proceed to the awning and take it inside."
The barricade arm rose, and into the high-security compound I went. I took the bag inside, where a woman at the front desk looked askance at me. "May I help you?"
"Yes. You see I have this bag for my son. It's a NECESSITY."
"Uh huh," she replied. "Just a bag?"
"Yes, it's just a bag. A piece of luggage."
Drilling me with a cold stare, she asked: "What's in the bag?"
"Nothing. It's just an EMPTY BAG. See?" I said, holding it up for her to examine.
"It's empty?"
"Yes, it's empty!"
"I see," she said, softening a little. "Sorry. It's just that we have people who try to sneak treats in to their missionaries."
I handed her the bag and thanked her, and then I got out of there as fast as I could, before a full body search could be undertaken to discover treats on my person. I'm pretty sure somebody went through all the pockets of the new bag looking for contraband.
As I departed, I couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the good old days when people were expected to sneak treats in to their missionaries. What happened to throwing pizza over the MTC fence? Somehow it was more fun back then.
Nowadays, you can send your missionary a treat via the U.S. Mail or one of those same-day MTC delivery outfits. That way you will not break any rules.
| | | Missionaries Encouraged To Not Attend Parent Funerals
Tuesday, Mar 12, 2013, at 07:16 AM
Original Author(s): Sherlock
Topic: MISSIONARIES - SECTION 6 -Guid- | ↑ | A TBM friend once bore testimony about the massive challenge of his mother passing away whilst he was on his mission nearly twenty years ago. What really disturbed me was that his mission pres actively encouraged him to not attend the funeral - to the degree that leaving the mission wasn't really given as an honorable option.
Now I'm not certain what the general policy is and whether this was just a mission pres exerting his undue influence, but my friend chose to heed this counsel and 'felt good about it' in the sense that he was doing what he thought God wanted.
I felt really sad to hear this. Sure, missionaries can opt not to watch TV or listen to popular music as a means to stay focused on their endeavours, but missing the funeral of a parent? God would really sanction this?
I fear that he might yet live to really regret this decision should he eventually find out the truth.
| In the 1970s Japanese were overawed by the United States and sought to learn from it. So when Mormon missionaries showed up, they were taken very seriously. Then SLC bestowed Groberg and Kikuchi on the poor country, and they turned the missionary force into an extremely rude, manipulative, and myopic force that alienated the Japanese people. When they returned to the States, the new mission presidents tried to rebuild the more modest system that existed before.
But this never worked. By the mid- to late 1980s Japan was becoming an economic superpower and the people had lost their adoration for all things American. So missionaries converted few, and activity rates fell off as all those baseball-baptized people wandered off. By the early 2000s Stake and Mission presidents were still spending huge amounts of time trying to track down people who had been baptized in 1978-1981 to see if they knew they were Mormons or had any interest in being such. In short, the church basically grew until the early 1980s and then began a shrinkage that has not stopped. AT one point SLC sent a high General Authority to find out what had gone wrong, but he naturally refrained from asking any of us who had actual experience. All truth, after all, comes from bishops, stake presidents, mission presidents and area authorities who have a compelling interest in telling SLC what it wants to hear.
So where is Japan today? Well, the church reopened a second mission in Tokyo--I think they resurrected the cursed Tokyo South in which Groberg created his evil; I think our beloved FlattopSF served there. But while Japan remains a wonderful place to be a foreigner and a civil and interesting country to study and work in, it does not yield many baptisms. My guess is that rather than baptising 20-40 people in two years, the rate is now in the low single digits. Better than Europe, certainly, because it is such a comfortable country, but not a source of much growth.
If there ever was a Mormon Moment in Japan, it was roughly 1976-1985. But arrogant multi-level-marketers ruined that chance. As Elder Haight, then head of the overall missionary program later noted (without taking any responsibility), "things really went too far" in Japan.
|  | I Guess I Was On The Cusp Of The Missionary So-Called "Golden Age": Japan West/fukuoka 1973-75. Believe Me, It Wasn't Golden
Monday, Mar 18, 2013, at 07:08 AM
Original Author(s): Steve Benson
Topic: MISSIONARIES - SECTION 6 -Guid- | ↑ | --Pitchin' Mormon Business to Japanese Patriarchs
As missionaries looking for any way to hook converts, we were encouraged by mission leadership to do what was called "kaisha dendo," or business contacting.
It involved going to work places--i.e., commercial business settings such as company headquarters--and asking to speak with the male owner. We would introduce ourselves with business cards (which are very important contacting tools in Japanese society), complete with our names in kanji and the name of our organization (the Mormon Church), in both English and Japanese, Our "business" cards closely mimicked the style, typesetting and look of actual Japanese business cards and were designed to impress and gain us access.
Once in the door of the targeted business, we'd ask the front desk receptionist if we could speak to the head of the company. If the company head was not available, we'd ask for an appointment for a return visit, If granted access then and there, we'd be ushered into the company head's office where, more often than not, we'd promptly be offered tea as a social grace (which, of course, we promptly turned down--not exactly a good way to start the sales pitch, I must say).
We'd then slickly slide into our sales approach, trying to surreptitiously sell the company/corporation owner on the idea of holding, in his home, a Mormon Family Home Evening (without, at that point, getting too deep into the religion thing--you know, tithing, giving up tea and dedicating all your time, talents and resources to a church headquartered in Salt Lake City, America. That would all come later. First things first: Concentrate on the soft sell).
We attempted to hook the head of the company's interest by comparing his family to his company. (Japan is a male-dominated society and it was figured that this approach would go over well with, you know, the guys). The business contacting angle was designed to play to the head of the firm's ego by emphasizing to him that his business was successful because it featured a clear chain of command--one that was structured, goal-oriented and male leader-directed.
The president (so the script went) was the head of the firm who was responsible for making the big, important and final decisions for his present and future business needs, based upon a laid-out model or plan.
In approaching this task, the president has a vice-president with whom he consults, a senior officer of the company from whom the president receives input for effectively and efficiently running the company. The vice-president is often a person who has direct, face-to-face contact with the firm's employees on a regular basis, who is intimately aware of the day-to-day needs of the employees and who keeps tabs on the state of company employee morale, sales and success.
Having laid that groundwork, now came time to pitch the parallels between the guy's business and the guy's family.
The theme for snagging the business owner into further contact with the missionaries was to lure him into attention by convincing him that he could similarly structure his family like his business and in that way keep his family happy, productive and functional.
To accomplish this required a power pyramid, modeled after his own business's, one that went like this:
Your family, sir, is like your company.
You are the husband and father--the CEO, if you will--of your family. You are the head of this organization you call your family--just like you are the head of your business.
Just as you do at work, you, sir, are responsible for making the ultimate decisions that you determine are in the best interest of your family.
Your wife is the equivalent of your vice president. She can give you--the president/husband/father--her advice and observations, as they come from her vantage point from inside the family where she operates closer to the front lines, if you will, and where she works intimately and on a daily basis with your children.
Speaking of which . . .
Your children are your employees.
They are part and parcel of your family plan, like your workers are essential in operating your business plan. It is your job and responsibility as president/husband/father of your home to make sure that your children are productive, well-behaved and follow the rules that you establish (in consultation with your vice-president/wife/mother). You, sir, make the final decisions after seeking out assistance from your vice-presidential assistant/consultant.
The Mormon Family Home Evening program is the business plan for your family. It is organized around the president/husband/father's goals for his family, arrived at after touching base with his vice-president wife and. in the end, signed off by the male head of the house.
A successful Family Home Evening program works like a successful business plan.
To boost employee/children productivity and understanding of the goals of your family, the Family Home Evening program features lessons that teach the employees/children what is important and right for the family.
The lesson, or plan, opens and closes with prayer, asking for God's help that your family will understand this plan as being best for them--just like you, as president of your company, certainly would want heavens's help in running your business successfully.
As with your company employees, it is vital for you, as president of your home, to attend to the personal needs and desires of your children, as well as to the needs and desires of your vice-president wife. The Mormon Family Home Evening program provides opportunities for lessons, games, singing and other together-time activities designed for relaxing and enjoying fun things together with your vice-president wife and employee children. It is important that your vice-president/ wife and your children/employees be actively engaged in planning these fun times and are given responsibilities in carrying them out--all under your supervision and with your approval, of course. This will strengthen the bonds between you, as president/husband/father with your vice-president/wife/mother, as well as with your employees/children.
(Are you with me, dear readers?)
This whole male-centric promo (which, again, we as missionaries would make to the corporation/business head in his office at his work site) was accompanied by flip-charts, illustrations and diagrams to drive the point home--much like the official missionary discussions.
The idea was to get the Japanese man to agree to let the Mormon male missionaries come to his home and, together with his wife and children, actually conduct a Family Home Evening, under the missionaries' guidance, suggestions and outlining.
It was designed as a foot in the door.
But, alas, it didn't work very well.
Once the demonstration Family Home Evening was over and the missionaries asked for a follow-up meeting with the guy and his family to talk about a wonderful book that would bring their family forever-happiness and eternal life with God, eyebrows would more often than not lift and we'd politely be shown the door.
It was a disingenuous, manipulative, sneaky and sexist gimmick.
I hated it.
It represented the essential element of Mormon missionary work that bothered me the most: operating under false and misleading pretenses in order to gain converts.
In other words, the Utah Mormon business model.
Some more thoughts about my time there . . .
--Proselytyzing in the Heart of Nuclear Horror
As noted in the subject line, I was in the Japan West/Fukuoka mission back in the mid-'70s, first under Kan Watanabe and then Arthur Nishimoto. Watanabe was more outgoing amd personable while Nishimoto, having served in the U.S. military as a full-bird colonel, was more regimented.
I was assigned to Naha and Oroku, Okinawa; Miyazaki; Sasebo; and Hiroshima (the latter three up on the island of Kyushu).
In Hiroshima, I regularly visited (and, sadly, proselytized in) the epicenter of the A-bomb, known as "Heiwa Koen" or "Peace Park." The "Atomic Dome"--the remnants of Hiroshima's governmental industrial arts building--stood as a stark reminder of the horror of nuclear holocaust. I remember seeing survivors of the A-bomb walking through the park, their faces melted and bloated, their bodies disfigured and crippled. I visited grass-covered mass graves and brutally-showcased war museums--where my views on war waged at the expense of civilian populations were forever changed. Further south in Okinawa (where I began my mission), I visited World War II battlefields, where last-gasp hand-to-hand fighting, cave-clearing flame-throwing and group-forced suicide by soldiers and civilians alike were recalled in profoundly sobering and disturbing displays.
But back to "the Lord's work."
--Struggling to Baptize, Then Hold on To, Far-Eastern Asians Who Weren't in to American-Western Handcarts
As missionaries, we typically worked in small branches (Naha, Okinawa's capital, was the exception, which had a ward). Membership retention was an ongoing problem. Older men (priesthood bait needed to run the local congregations) were hard to snare, meaning that the missionaries frequently ran the branch meetings and supplementally staffed the auxilliary sub-groups. The general meetings were largely attended by women (old and young). The youth members showed up primarily for the social activities, not because they were drawn to Mormonism's frontier-America doctrine. Baptisms were hard to come by; I saw 11 during my mission and I seriously doubt that many of those converts are active today.
We employed a lot of deceptive bait-'n-switch tactics that were taught, approved and encouraged by mission leaders in our door approaches, in our business contacting, in our street and train-station crowd-working and in our free English classes--all designed to lure the Japanese into letting us into their houses. I hated it.
--Being Hosted by Subservient Females
When I was there, Japan was quite the patriarchal society (hence, we played to that unforunate reality with the all-hail-to-the-Mormon-prophet-male approach). Japanese women would typically serve meals when we were visiting in investigators' (as well as members') homes, often retreating quietly to the kitchen while the conversation went on with the guests in the other room. (I remember later meeting, quite by chance, one of the female Japanese members whom I had first met on my mission. She was at Temple Square during General Conference, no doubt looking for an eternal American mate).
--God Loses Out to Gambling
"Pachinko" parlors (the Japanese version of pinpall machines) were all over the place, crammed full of young boys and men who would mindlessly play the games for hours on end.
--The Male Degradation of Japanese Women
The public signage for Japan's version of X-rated moves was prominent and explicit, with females being overtly objectified on large billboards that were frequently featured along busy city streets.
--Cartoon Crudeness
The "manga," or cartoons, were typically and horrifically violent, featuring gory scenes of stabbings and shootings that were over-the-top graphic and bloody, yet regularly watched by very young children.
--Allegiance to the Group, not to the "Gaijin" (Meaning "Foreigner")
The mentality of the Japanese nation was one which placed a premium on group compliance, with strong emphasis on sacrificing for the good of the company and nation at the expense of individualism, all the while avoiding shaming those in authority. That meant not embarrassing one's family by, for instance, joining an American religious cult.
--Free English, in Exchange for a Lifetime of Mormonism
As missionaries, we used to advertise and teach free English classes as a ploy designed to lure Japanese businessmen and students into taking the lesson-plan discussions (The Japanese liked to learn conversational English directly from native speakers, preferring it over the regimented English classes taught in Japanese public schools that were long on structure and short on the actual development of free-flowing conversational skills)
--Angling for the Kids
Japanese youth were enthralled with Western fashion and music. They would wear American-style jeans and t-shirts--the latter often decorated with English-language slogans (even though the wording was often grammatically broken and just as often unwittingly hilarious). Japanese boys would sport what we called "aircraft-carrier" haircuts--protruding out long in the front, waxed along the sides and ducktailed in the back--all while clogging around in their traditonal Japanese shoes, or "getas."
The Osmonds were very popular when I was there (particularly Jimmy), so we used to regularly trot out pictues of the Osmond family smiling and holding up Japanese copies of the Book of Mormon. (That gimmick was especially effective in catching the attention of Japanese schoolgirls).
--My Personal Distaste for the Fakeness of It All
It was such a disingenuous way to approach the people and I never really liked it nor was comfortable doing it. I felt like I was play-acting my way through a distasteful charade, despite what I was outwardly saying or showing. I eventually came to inwardly disdain it, given that it was so phony and deceptive. I actually enjoyed becoming a mission leader, as the assignment allowed me to spend less time hitting people up on the street in ways that bugged both them and me.
--On the Brighter Side
Despite all the Mormon-generated unpleasantness, the upside to my mission was that Japan is a beautiful country full of wonderful, fascinating people with a rich cultural tradition uniquely their own. Their holidays were festive and colorful, with both men and women dressed in striking historical costuming. Their Shinto and Buddhist temples were open and elegant. Their traditional gardens--complete with bonsai trees, arched bridges and meticulously sculpted grounds--were simple and stunning. Their natural landscapes, from the rice paddies to the mountains (and including, because of a lack of space, rice paddies on the sides of mountains), were serene and majestic.
I wish I had spent my stint there as an out-of-the-nest 19- to 21-year-old focusing on absorbing Japanese culture, learning the naton's history and appreciating its amazing singularity instead of wasting such opportunties by peddling silly Mormon propaganda to a nation that really doesn't want it, really doesn't need it and really doesn't relate to it.
--Ode to My "Dodes" (Short for "Dorio," Meaning "Companion")
In the years since, I haven't kept in meaningful contact with my former companions, nor they with me. I wouldn't be surprised if, for many of them, their missions were an early phase of life they went through as obedient, youthful soldiers for Zion but who now are far less involved, devout or even faithful at all.
--Big-City Memories and Small-Zoo Atrocities
For what it's worth, my most memorable recollection of big-city Fukuoka was not of any Mormon temple (there wasn't one back then, anyway). It was of an angry, captive chimpanzee spitting through his cage bars on human gawkers at the city zoo.
I warned a fellow missionary to be careful but he was bound and determined to get a good shot of the displeased and ornery chimp who was sitting,hunched over, at the back of his cage glaring at his unwanted visitors.
The chimp slowly filled his cheeks with water sucked up through his pursed lips from his drinking trough then, without warning, dashed down toward the front of his chain-linked cage, leapt to the top of his enclosure and unleashed the contents of his cheeks, drenching the Mormon elder with a great shot of his own--one that spit-split the missionary right down the middle, drenching his suitcoat and gooping up his nice, long-lens, pricey Nikon camera.
Talk about a missionary door approach gone wrong.
Another equally distressing scene (at least from the perspective of abused animals) was when, early in my mission, I went to a so-called "zoo" in Okinawa, where a mongoose and a cobra were thrown into the same cage to fight it out in front of a bunch of hollering homo sapiens.
The mongoose, by instinct, was focused on attacking the snake, while the snake was likewise focused on fighting for its life.
The animals eyed each other warily, each threatening the other. The cobra eventually struck out at the aggressive mongoose, whereupon one of its fangs became lodged in the tongue of it tormentor. The mongoose proceeded to drag the snake around inside the glass enclosure of this cage-fight, tongue painfully extended from its mouth, unable to shake itself loose from the cobra.
The human handler finally stepped in and pulled the snake out of the mongoose.
It was awful.
Japan was a conflicted mix for me--an experience of good and bad. I learned a lot there. I learned what an amazing place the country was, with gracious, hard-working and devoted people.
I remember, especially and early on, doubting the depth of my testimony. I was in my first area. Despite my earnest study, I had nagging doubts about the veracity of the Book of Mormon, so late one night I climbed up to the roof of our apartment in Okinawa, seeking answers.
I remember the moon was out, dramatiucally reflecting off the clouds in what we called "typhoon alley." I paced back and forth for hours, praying for God to tell me that the Book of Mormon was true.
Finally, after a long futile effort, I "heard" a voice inside me ordering me to go to bed because I had work to do in the morning--missionary work. I stuffed my doubts down deep and plowed ahead, finishing my mission as a zone leader and returning, ostensibly faithful, to the fold.
I told that apartment-rooftop story to a young-adult fireside audience upon returning from my mission--after which my mom reprimanded me, telling me that I was not to repeat that story again since, she declared, I had always had a testimony.
But Mormonism--as I was to eventually find out through my own stubborn thinking, digging and asking--wasn't true and, hence, wasn't for me.
Too bad it took me so long to arrive at that conclusion.
I would have much more enjoyed Japan as a Gentile.
| I served in Sendai. It was a bitch. I was a language superfreak and picked it up right away--I was also anxiously engaged and one of those elders I am sure the rest of the mission loved to hate in some respects (I was sincere and that's what got me--I climbed right on up the ladder without even trying). The meme posted by Br. Galileo is at least partly accurate.
In any case, the Japanese haven't "caught onto" Mormonism so much as consistently and reliably ignored it.
Elder Kikuchi is the star of the LDS show in Japan. I leave it to the reader to judge his utility in any significant capacity vis-a-vis proselytizing etc. I met him once and like any good missionary worshipped him, even as I observed a very minor Elder and Sister peccadillo happen right underneath his nose during a zone conference over which he presided. He was never the wiser.
The Church is widely considered a nuisance there, mostly because the missionaries spend their time harassing the good people of Japan who have no desire to be harassed into heaven. Go figure.
Baptismal rates were very low--I didn't have a single one. I also saw overall missionary numbers from from 112 to 86 while I was there (between seven and nine years ago).
Five hundred people were on the rolls in one of my wards--less than one hundred were at Church. Less than a dozen Melchizedek priesthood holders in that ward. Tokyo is a black hole for investigators, converts, and ward members alike. Wards shrink and never recover.
The ward members dislike the missionaries just as much as nonmembers in Japan. We were always at odds with them (although I did encounter a few friends).
Long hours, few to no results. Like I said, a bitch. Hot and humid in the summer, bone chillingly cold in the winter (at least in Sendai). MP's didn't have a clue. (First was American and second was Japanese). About anything.
Lots of eternal investigators and stupid English classes with stupid people (who were too cheap to pay for legitimate instruction and strange enough to hang around after they learned that they were taking classes form cult pushers). Weird.
Did I mention the porn? Everywhere--not helpful for young missionaries. I didn't have a problem with it, but there were those who did. And when you are that young and that horny, even mugi starts to look very good (actually, some mugi are very attractive, but the point is--who the hell thought it was a good idea to send sexually repressed young adults to one of the sexiest countries? Stupid!). Like we always said, "Remember the oats!"
Ugh. I hated every moment of my experience. It didn't help that I was dealing with intense inner turmoil that perpetuated itself throughout the whole 2 years, day in and day out, that left me broken and empty. I'm still dealing with that trauma. Thanks, First Presidency and your stupid computer that sent me to Japan (not that Japan was so bad, per se, but there would have been better places for me where I would not have been so isolated etc.). Dicks.
| | | Being Sent To Impoverished And Terrorism-Plagued Peru In The Mid-1980s At 19 Was Difficult Enough
Thursday, Apr 11, 2013, at 12:53 PM
Original Author(s): The 1st Freeatlast
Topic: MISSIONARIES - SECTION 6 -Guid- | ↑ | Factoring in the parasites I picked up while in-country, chronic malnutrition in the slums I was put in, lingering effects of spinal meningitis (contracted in my first area, a filthy shantytown on the north side of Lima, the capital), and almost being murdered (in another ghetto where I was assigned to live and proselytize), it took me about a decade and a half post-mission to fully recover from my stint marketing the 'message' of the 'one, true' corp. of Je$u$ Christ (a.k.a. TSCC).
In my stake, a guy in another ward who was roughly my age was sent to Haiti to 'preach the Go$pel' during some of its more violent years. There, he witnessed a man being 'necklaced' (a gasoline-covered tire put over his torso and arms and set alight). The trauma of seeing that extreme violence in conjunction with the grinding poverty deeply psychologically wounded him. TSCC didn't care, really. There were missionary discussion (lesson) and baptism quotas to be met.
Of course, Mormon 'Profits' running the show at LD$ Inc. from their comfortable, air-conditioned offices at church HQ in SLC were arrogantly convinced - and still are - that even poverty-afflicted Latter-day Saints in Third World nations like Peru and Haiti should pay tithing in order to be 'worthy' of Mormon-imagined 'blessings'.
LD$ Inc. has never given members who struggle to survive on the local currency equivalent of a few dollars per day (or considerably less, in many cases) a break on tithing. But it's been quite willing to take their meager funds and spend billions of $$$ on a shopping-mall-and-condos project in SLC, for starters. The thinking inside the Morg is obscene, really, but LD$ 'Profits' don't care, not when more multi-million-dollar McTemples are being built or their construction planned.
As we've learned during the past decade or so thanks to govt. requirements for registered charities in certain countries, LD$ Inc. has reserves of hundreds of millions of dollars in its accounts in the UK and New Zealand alone. But it won't give even 2% of its multi-billion-dollar annual income to help the poor and others in need of humanitarian assistance, according to its filed reports.
I feel sorry for the 18-year-old. The sooner he gets out of the dishonest, cultic, and money-obsessed LD$ Church, the better.
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