Post by gloryintruth on Aug 18, 2007 19:05:14 GMT -5
It was a hot summer's day, just after noon, when there came a knock at the door. At the doorstep were two young men, both kitted out in suits, both very good looking, tall and confident. They greeted me pleasantly, and I noticed that one of them had a strong American accent - a bit of a rarity in the South West.
They were Mormons on a mission. In their hands they held, not the Bible, but the Book of Mormon. One of them opened to a passage and began to read to me about the Christ of the Latter Day Saints.
I interrupted them politely - courtesy being one of my strongest virtues (hard as it is to believe) - and explained that I was already a Christian; I believed in the Lord Jesus Christ; and that I attended small fellowship gatherings where we studied the Bible. I decided to get right into the "heavy stuff" and asked them about their view of God, what his nature and character were like, and the Father's relationship to the Son.
Although I was interested in their explanation, I had a fairly good idea what they would come out with. Being a reluctant "student" of Mormon theology, I knew their view about the spiritual evolution of mankind into gods, and how God the Father was once a man on another planet far away. I even knew about their position that all faithful Mormons will one day evolve into the essence of godhood and become equal with the Father.
In a sense, their theology seems to be a mixture of Star Wars and Charles Darwin.
The difference, however, between these bright, eager young Mormons with their shining eyes of zeal (and this is no metaphorical exaggeration) and dull, plodding me, was that the promise of one day becoming a god, ruling over my own planet, and giving birth to my own "spirit children" held absolutely no attraction for me. Indeed, it was (and is) repugnant to me, running counter to everything I believe. On the other hand, these young men obviously were looking forward to their career as gods. They were brimming with enthusiasm.
Using my trusty old King James Bible - given to me by a sister worker when I was but a callow teen - I looked up some passages. I asked them to explain how the Bible could say there is only one God, and describe him as being "Spirit and Life", while they believed in millions, perhaps billions of gods and goddesses, and a God with "flesh and bones".
Their answer was a bit unsteady. As indeed were all their answers to my questions. But they were not going to be thwarted by anything, least of all a black book, with the title long worn off the cover! For about two hours I reasoned and discussed these things - God and salvation - with the two men.
The discussion went round-and-round, just as the wheels on a bus go round-and-round. They were so zealous in their beliefs; so clean-cut and masculine with a young man's admiration for great men - in their case, Joseph Smith, that my gospel of Jesus from the Bible, by comparison, did not seem half so grand. Both missionaries were full of joy and excitement as they spoke - they were going to a great celestial kingdom one day, with their future brides. And it was all going to be wonderful!
In the heat of the day, the very fabric of time, space and matter seemed to bend, and it was as though we were standing on an unmoving stone in a pond that was whirling about, eternity on every side.
Ultimately, the gospel of Jesus Christ that I presented penetrated not an inch into this cloak of distortion, into this cloud of doctrine and belief. We finished the discussion with my saying to them, "I have to say, in all politeness, that I do not believe you have the true Gospel, and I do not believe it has the power of salvation." They nodded, thanked me for my candour, and slowly walked across the front lawn.
Watching them walk away, and head down the hill to the next house filled me with absolute depression, sadness and intense pain - such as I still feel, virtually undiminished by the passage of some years, as I type these words.
Later, I told my father (I was staying at my parent's house) that we'd had a visit from two Mormons. The only comment I could make to my father to describe the enormity of what had transpired are the words that make the title of this post:
"Heresy is not a victimless crime".
I'll leave it to the reader to decide who were the real spiritual victims in this small, but significant, saga.
They were Mormons on a mission. In their hands they held, not the Bible, but the Book of Mormon. One of them opened to a passage and began to read to me about the Christ of the Latter Day Saints.
I interrupted them politely - courtesy being one of my strongest virtues (hard as it is to believe) - and explained that I was already a Christian; I believed in the Lord Jesus Christ; and that I attended small fellowship gatherings where we studied the Bible. I decided to get right into the "heavy stuff" and asked them about their view of God, what his nature and character were like, and the Father's relationship to the Son.
Although I was interested in their explanation, I had a fairly good idea what they would come out with. Being a reluctant "student" of Mormon theology, I knew their view about the spiritual evolution of mankind into gods, and how God the Father was once a man on another planet far away. I even knew about their position that all faithful Mormons will one day evolve into the essence of godhood and become equal with the Father.
In a sense, their theology seems to be a mixture of Star Wars and Charles Darwin.
The difference, however, between these bright, eager young Mormons with their shining eyes of zeal (and this is no metaphorical exaggeration) and dull, plodding me, was that the promise of one day becoming a god, ruling over my own planet, and giving birth to my own "spirit children" held absolutely no attraction for me. Indeed, it was (and is) repugnant to me, running counter to everything I believe. On the other hand, these young men obviously were looking forward to their career as gods. They were brimming with enthusiasm.
Using my trusty old King James Bible - given to me by a sister worker when I was but a callow teen - I looked up some passages. I asked them to explain how the Bible could say there is only one God, and describe him as being "Spirit and Life", while they believed in millions, perhaps billions of gods and goddesses, and a God with "flesh and bones".
Their answer was a bit unsteady. As indeed were all their answers to my questions. But they were not going to be thwarted by anything, least of all a black book, with the title long worn off the cover! For about two hours I reasoned and discussed these things - God and salvation - with the two men.
The discussion went round-and-round, just as the wheels on a bus go round-and-round. They were so zealous in their beliefs; so clean-cut and masculine with a young man's admiration for great men - in their case, Joseph Smith, that my gospel of Jesus from the Bible, by comparison, did not seem half so grand. Both missionaries were full of joy and excitement as they spoke - they were going to a great celestial kingdom one day, with their future brides. And it was all going to be wonderful!
In the heat of the day, the very fabric of time, space and matter seemed to bend, and it was as though we were standing on an unmoving stone in a pond that was whirling about, eternity on every side.
Ultimately, the gospel of Jesus Christ that I presented penetrated not an inch into this cloak of distortion, into this cloud of doctrine and belief. We finished the discussion with my saying to them, "I have to say, in all politeness, that I do not believe you have the true Gospel, and I do not believe it has the power of salvation." They nodded, thanked me for my candour, and slowly walked across the front lawn.
Watching them walk away, and head down the hill to the next house filled me with absolute depression, sadness and intense pain - such as I still feel, virtually undiminished by the passage of some years, as I type these words.
Later, I told my father (I was staying at my parent's house) that we'd had a visit from two Mormons. The only comment I could make to my father to describe the enormity of what had transpired are the words that make the title of this post:
"Heresy is not a victimless crime".
I'll leave it to the reader to decide who were the real spiritual victims in this small, but significant, saga.