Tag: attack

  • Attack on Mormons

    Attack on Mormons

    Legend has it my grandfather has a hidden room in his home for the day that followers of Christ are rounded up like Jews were in Europe during World War II. I spent much time trying to find that room without luck. I’m still not convinced it doesn’t exist.

    Beth and I recently finished a TV show called Under the Banner of Heaven. If anyone wants to see every anti-Mormon falsehood spouted in 7 hour+ long episodes, I highly recommend it.

    A story made headlines recently. A highly recruited quarterback from Utah was visiting an Oregon football game. He left the game when the student section started chanting “f- the Mormons.”

    The play “The Book of Mormon.”

    Southpark parodies.

    Imagine another religion being treated this way. Can you picture the outrage if a student section chanted “f- the Jews” for example? I felt wrong just typing that.

    And yet the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is not shielded from this. Why is that?

    Under the Banner of Heaven being my most recent exposure to anti-Mormon media, that’s where I’ll focus this post, with my point at the end. Stay with me. Even if you haven’t seen the show (and despite what I said above, I DON’T recommend it) this will still be pertinent.

    An article was written in the Atlantic about the show. That article can be found HERE.

    If you’re interested, you should read the whole article. It’s well written and helped me understand the underlying feelings I had about this show.

    Here are some highlights from that article that I agree with:

    “[It] felt like seeing my religious life in a funhouse mirror, each detail-from the sacred to the mundane-twisted and stretched and distorted to appear frightening and strange.”

    When talking about the absurd use of the phrase “Heavenly Father” in the show, “But I gave up after a few episodes [counting the weird usages of “Heavenly Father], once I realized what was going on. To say that I have never met a Mormon in my life who talks like this would be to miss the point. These lines were not intended as shibboleths for Mormon viewers-they are there to serve a stereotype, to exoticize a people and flatten their faith tradition.”

    “Under the Banner of Heaven is one of the most openly hostile treatments of a minority religious group to appear in popular American entertainment this century. It is also an unqualified hit.”

    I could go on about the flawed and insulting nature of this show.

    Elder Bednar, an apostle for our church, was asked his thoughts on the show. He responded, “We don’t like it, but we don’t spend all of our time responding to it. We have a mission to fulfill.”

    The writer of the Atlantic article stated he initially felt good about Bednar’s response. Then on further thought:

    “But almost immediately, I doubted myself. Wasn’t I just taking the same path of least resistance – above-the-fray politeness, studious nonconfrontation – that Latter-day Saints always seem to take when faced with stuff like this?”

    This is exactly the struggle I deal with. I am in a constant “polite, studious nonconfrontation”-like attitude. It’s how I was raised. I was pretty heated by the end of the final episode. Episodes 1-6 I was just “bluh.” A feeling of, “whatever. They’re making us look weird, the show is weird.” Then that turned into the show is upsetting me. I found myself having an unsettled feeling after each episode that I couldn’t quite pinpoint. Truly, it wasn’t until reading the Atlantic article that full outrage started to settle inside me. How could a show treat my religion like this? Where would it be acceptable to treat any other religion like this? What’s next?

    It was to the point that I didn’t mention to friends I was watching this show because I didn’t want them to watch it. This included close friends that know me and my religion and (I hope) would see through much of the nonsense of the show.

    I hesitated to share because maybe this fear of others seeing my religion as cooky exists inside me. I know what my religion is. It’s precious to me. It’s sacred. It has provided every blessing in my life, I can’t spit upon and laugh at my Church, it’s too important to me.

    So, Bednar’s statement. I like it, in that, it’s how I would respond. Forgive. Turn the other cheek. Don’t get emotional. Don’t get upset. Above all else, don’t let them see you’re upset. But then, at what point do you stop being a cultural punching bag? Is there a point where you stand up for the church and religion that you love? After all, I know this to be Jesus Christ’s Church. Is a show like this really insulting Him? That causes real outrage inside me that I’m willing to speak out about. Spit on me, spit on my faith, spit on my church and my religion. Don’t spit on Him. Maybe that’s ultimately what got me upset. The idea being perpetuated through this show that it was Christ’s church that caused some extremist men to kill a woman and her daughter. I feel for Brenda’s family, her sister, who rightly pointed out that this show unfairly portrays her murder.

    And as the article points out, where is the apology? Where is the script before the show plays saying “Mormons are not an extremist, murdering people. This is a dramatization.”

    In an age where Disney has to apologize before The Lady and the Tramp, Under the Banner of Heaven needs no disclaimer apology for this? Remember that football player at the Oregon game, Oregon apologized for their student section’s behavior.

    As the article points out, we are moving backwards. Rather, we are being pushed backwards. Saints rarely live peacefully in a wicked world.

    What other religion could be ridiculed, spit upon, and disrespected in this way, without public outcry and support, besides the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?

    In our forgiveness, we laugh it off and shrug. But a dangerous thing is happening out there. As Satan does in any dispensation where there are Saints to God, he is stirring up the masses against us.

    This leads to my point.

    The attack of this show on a religion seems like a small enough matter. “Who really cares” some might say, as I did, initially. It does matter. The attack on religion, on faith, on Christ is increasing daily. It seems dramatic to even consider the idea that Latter-day Saints could be rounded up like what happened 80 years ago. We can trick ourselves into thinking we’ve gotten better as a world and as society since then.

    Media attack on faith and on Christ are widespread and increasing. It’s not just the Church of Jesus Christ being attacked when shows and plays and TV openly mock it, it’s all followers of Christ and ultimately Christ Himself.

    This attack is going to increase, and we need to be aware of it. I hope that all my friends and especially those who don’t believe in God realize how important this is to be aware of. Believers need the support of nonbelievers in our defense. Otherwise, this world becomes a scary world for those of faith.

    Maybe it’s time for a return trip to my grandparent’s home to search out that hidden room. I hope it’s not.

  • You Sent a Dog to Comfort a Boy

    You Sent a Dog to Comfort a Boy

    I was 21 years old.  I’d been couch surfing for a full year and starting to ask the serious questions.  What was next?  Was this me?  Was there more for me to do?  What do I do?

    Sensing the end of my ‘no attachment to anything’ days I decided I needed to take advantage of my freedom while I still possessed it.  No serious girlfriend, no serious job, no prospects for a serious job.

    I decided to take a trip to the homeland.  I packed up my teal ’98 Pontiac Sunfire and drove to Utah.  I stayed with various family members, intending to be there a week tops.  Weeks went by.  I stayed with a cousin to party, I stayed with an aunt for movies and dinner, I stayed with grandparents for home cooked meals.  Everything back then was tinted with selfish motivations.

    Eventually I ended up at the home of my Aunt Laura, Uncle Jon, and cousin Sydney.  

    They had a dog named Bengie.  He had been around a while.  At this point he must have been around 4 years old.  A little puppy-like dog, full of energy.

    I stayed in the guest bedroom in the basement.  I still don’t know if this was normal for Bengie, but every night I was there, when it came time to go downstairs for bed, he’d saunter down with me.  I’d get in bed and he’d lay at my feet.  Every night.

    This was a soul-searching trip.  One of the most spiritual experiences of my life happened in that basement.  There were many tears.  A lot of growing up and change happened there.  Things were thought about that hadn’t been thought about for a long time.  Options considered.  Prayers said to God that had been avoided for so long.  So many feelings and emotions.  A post later this week called “Jonah and the Whale” will elaborate on these prayers. 

    Through all those emotional moments, I remember a dog.  Sitting on the bed.  Keeping me company.  It was like God was saying, in a way my spiritually dimmed and simple brain could understand, “See him.  He’s here for you.  I brought him here for you.”  Multiple times Bengie was hugged, talked to.  You know, those weird, talk-to-the-dog-like-he’s-a-person moments.  “What am I going to do Bengie?  I’m scared.”  He would look at me and it was like he knew; it was like he understood. 

    If ever there was a dog that understood…

    I had a lot of comfort from that dog those few days. 

    So, when the time came that Bengie needed a home; Sydney was going to college and Uncle Jon wasn’t able to keep up with the day to day care of a still energetic, 11-year-old puppy, I jumped at the opportunity.  My mom was talking to Jon about taking Bengie in.  I asked and was prepared to beg.  Let us take Bengie!  Beth and I had just gotten married, I had just started coaching so Beth was home for hours and hours on her own. 

    It felt like the second time God sent just the right person, a dog, to answer not yet uttered prayers. 

    Today, I tell Beth that Bengie is my best friend, she can take second.  Everyone else has fallen behind.  Just like those days in that basement bedroom, seemingly alone, I’m never alone long.  Any dog lover knows, especially with a velcro dog, he’s always there. 

    It was only a couple months in to having Bengie.  We were at a dog park.  As soon as we walked in a playful pit bull took an extreme interest in Bengie.  It seemed playful.  A small amount of concern set in when the owner of the pit bull quickly intervened, pulling her dog by its harness and dragging it, kicking and screaming, to the other end of the park.  Beth and I continued to walk through the park.  We were dog-sitting a giant golden doodle that day.  So, Archie-the-golden-doodle ran bounding around the perimeter of the park.  Bengie did his normal perusing, checking out the hot spots of the area.

    Bengie was walking on his own, near no other animals or people.  I didn’t go to the dog parks with Beth too often.  It wasn’t in my nature to hover protectively over a dog when I did.  Maybe something did feel off when we came in with the pit bull and the other dogs, being playful, I thought.

    I saw the pit bull sprint right by me.  It ran at Bengie.  I continued walking towards them.  I was maybe 15 feet away.  I thought they were going to play.  Bengie, not appreciating the sudden surprise charge of a bigger dog immediately got defensive.

    It happened really fast.  The pit bull bit Bengie around the neck and started swinging him around.  I ran and grabbed the harness of the pit bull and yanked him back.  Bengie fell out of his mouth.  I pulled the pit away as he kept trying to get back to Bengie who was laying on the ground.  The owner showed up and was trying to calm her dog.  Beth showed up and scooped Bengie off the ground.  I didn’t see it happen; all I saw was the blood pouring from the pit owner’s hand.  I was lucky I got behind the pit bull.  She made the mistake of getting in between a dog and what it now, apparently, deemed prey.

    I’ll jump ahead, I don’t want to leave you in too much suspense.  Bengie survived.  By some miracle the pit bull didn’t get a full grip on his neck.  Only one side of him was punctured, the other side of his neck was just grazed.  If the pit got a proper grip, there’s no chance Bengie would have survived. 

    Puncture Wound

    The next day was really difficult.  Bengie wouldn’t eat or drink.  He couldn’t walk, though he tried to.  You know, because he couldn’t let us be anywhere in our home alone, even when he was near dying.  I don’t know if you’re supposed to bless animals.  I don’t think you’re supposed to.  I didn’t anoint him with oil.  But I held him, and I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed.

    I know this will be silly to many.  Once upon a time it may have been silly to me.  But I love that dog so much.  In that moment I felt a tiny glimpse into what it’s like to see a child suffer.  I know, I know, he wasn’t a child, I get it. I’m still saying it.  I love him like a child, and it was really, really hard to see him so hurt and in so much pain.

    I can’t begin to understand, even consider the pain of losing a child.  I can’t.  I won’t let my mind go there and hope I never have to.  I learned a tiny, infinitesimal bit of that pain that day.

    Now, as my first daughter makes her way to my life, I realize how much Bengie has taught me.

    I like to think I’ve progressed more from a boy to man in these past 9 years. Since those first days with Bengie, when he comforted me.  He stayed by my side and slept at my feet.  He watched me pray.  He was there to look at me, with (I swear it) care in his eyes as I cried questions I had to ask.

    One day I’ll write about my Aunt Laura and why she was so special. Bengie was her special companion and comforter through her last years. Beth said something interesting recently. She said, “Sometimes I look at him and think about all the comforting he’s done.” For Laura, for me, for Beth. Aren’t we lucky God has sent us such special friends?

    You sent a puppy to comfort a boy. You sent a dog to teach a man.