Tuane Gorgonsen - Metempsychosis: Part Two

Part Two

Provo is the third largest city in the U.S. state of Utah, located about 43 miles (69 km) south of Salt Lake City along the Wasatch Front, 320 miles from Tetonia. The city is home to the largest Missionary Training center for the LDS Church. That’s where Tuane drove the day he returned from his trip with his mother to Idaho Falls to visit his sister.

“Why have you decided to come here, my son?” said the elder.

“I was fortunate enough to be born into this gospel,” said Tuane in quiet repose. “I've always known it's the only true church. That doesn't mean that I've always lived my faith the way I should have. Through my experiences I've come to know that Heavenly Father truly loves me and this is the way I need to live my life. God continually tells me that this is where I need to be and what I need to be doing.”

“We will let you know, my son. If it is God’s will, his will be done.”

After his interview, Tuane went downstairs to the cafeteria for lunch. He sat down to eat with a USA Today on the table before him. Before long, a young man his age approached.

“May I join you, brother?” said he as he introduced himself.” Tuane returned to his newspaper.

“I saw you upstairs coming out of the office with the elder. Do you wish to join us on our glorious mission?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure if I’m ready,” Tuane mumbled and turned a page.

“I believe it is your calling, my friend. My calling was to invite others to come unto Christ, too. Good news! I am here to tell you your time has come!”

“Why do you say that?”

“Brother, I was in your shoes a few years ago before I went on my mission to Taiwan.” It was the first time Tuane had heard of that place on the earth.

“I search my scriptures every day, I ponder while riding my bike, and I pray on my knees,” the young man went on, taking a sip of the soda pop he had brought to the table. “I first went to Taiwan as a Mormon missionary. I was an active member of the LDS church until about six years ago, when, after a year of soul-searching, I decided to leave.”

“You decided to leave?

“Well, yes. When I served my mission, I was sent to Taiwan. Some of the best looking fellows on my dorm floor at Brigham Young Univ. were sent to missions in the U.S. My younger brother, who is tall, handsome, and fit, was sent to Missouri, where he was sorely abused by Baptists wielding frying pans.”

“Wielding frying pans?”

“That’s why I was glad to be with the gentle people of Taiwan.”

“You don’t say?”

“If you serve in Taiwan, you learn a lot about rejection. The average number of converts brought into the church per missionary when I served in Taiwan was one. Two years of labor for one member. Some did better than that, but many saw no success at all. That’s one reason why I left.”
    “I am curious about Mormon or missionary life,” said Tuane.

“Ask away.”

“I heard that if I join, I have to wear special underwear.”             

“Yes, the church does require that members wear Mormon-style underwear. They're called garments, and they're supposed to protect you from evil and physical harm.” Tuane shook his head and smiled in disbelief.

“The temple ceremony is top-secret and full of interesting rituals,” he continued, smilingly. “There's not mixed-gender nudity, but there is a sort of non-sexual, locker-room style ritual for both men and women. It all freaked me out the first time I went.”

“A locker room ritual?”

The whole thing was freaking Tuane out. He was quickly losing interest in becoming a missionary.

Missionaries only spend 1-2 months training before they begin work, which suited Tuane just fine. But they could not choose the country they were sent to. Tuane wanted to go to Taiwan. He had looked it up in the library and liked what he saw.

Missionaries did not get any salary; instead, they used personal savings and money from their family to pay for their travel and daily living expenses. He was hoping to at least get paid airfare and living expenses and have a choice of destination. He would get the money somewhere, probably from his mom.

Newly called missionaries bound for foreign-language missions spend eight to thirteen weeks at an MTC, depending on the language to be learned. During this period, they are encouraged not to speak in their native tongue but rather to immerse themselves in the new language. Tuane didn’t think learning Mandarin or Taiwanese was necessary. English was enough.

In cases where an immediate family member dies, the missionary is strongly encouraged to stay on the mission. The vast majority of missionaries serve the whole two-year (men) or eighteen-month (women) terms. Tuane had no plans to return to Idaho. He was not going to get stuck nursing his mom; let his married sisters do it. Now he had a good excuse, in the name of Jesus.   

All missionaries must meet certain minimum standards of worthiness. Among the standards that a prospective missionary must demonstrate adherence to are: regular attendance at church meetings, regular personal prayer, regular study of the scriptures, adherence to the law of chastity (sexual purity), adherence to the Word of Wisdom (code of health and nutrition), payment of tithing, spiritual diligence and testimony of God. In his heart, Tuane would have none of that.        

In addition to spiritual preparedness, church bishops are instructed to ensure that prospective missionaries are physically, mentally, and emotionally capable of full-time missionary work. The Elder who interviewed Tuane had said, "We realize that while all men definitely should, all men are not prepared to teach the gospel abroad.
     “All in all, I'm glad I was a missionary, and a Mormon. My missionary experience gave me a chance to learn about organizational culture, to learn to speak Mandarin fluently, to learn about my own character weaknesses, and to learn how to be disciplined in going after a goal. I doubt I would be enjoying the life I enjoy right now if I had not been a Mormon missionary.”

“You do like chomping on the bit! What’s the main reason you left the church?” Tuane was getting impatient.

“I left the Mormon church because I couldn't live up to the standards and I was offended by some member of the church.” Duane took the straw out of his mouth and slowly glanced at his guest.

“I left because it no longer made sense to belong to something I didn't believe in,” he said as he placed his hand on Tuane’s shoulder for emphasis. “I've managed to maintain friendships with some members of the church, and about half of my family members are still active. I respect these people, even though I disagree with many of their beliefs.” 

“Like what?”                                                            

“Well, I was strolling through a park in Taichung, Taiwan one day with my missionary companion at the time, Brother Shi. Although he was Chinese and I American, we both were 22-year-old men serving as missionaries for the Church. Our stroll wasn’t recreational.”

Tuane sipped the straw in his Coke.

“We were looking for people to chat up, hoping to persuade them to accept a pamphlet and invite us to their homes for an in-depth discussion of the church.”

“Uh-huh,” said Tuane, shrugging the hand off his shoulder.

“We hadn't met with much success, so partly for mutual support, partly because we liked each other well enough and partly because it was a perfectly acceptable thing for men to do in Taiwan, we went arm in arm. Before long, we came upon a teenage girl and boy who, like us, were walking arm in arm.”

“‘Will you look at that?’ Brother Shi said in Mandarin, turning slightly to watch them walk away. ‘That’s disgusting.’ ‘Why?’ I countered. ‘They’re just doing what we’re doing.’”

“‘But anyone can look at us and see there’s nothing going on,’” he said. ‘If you look at them, you know something is definitely going on.’ I was devastated!”

“Why? Are you gay?” said Tuane slowly without looking.

“I believe the Lord knows no distinction in love,” said the visitor.

“Really?”

Sweat beads glistened purple and red. His breath grew deeper, lips swelled, taut and curled. Long strands of red-blond hair arched above his scalp like a cat whose hair had seen a ghost. Air turned cold rushing through the gauntlet around his earlobes. Hard cartilage nostrils letting go smoking gray soot from the Caverns of the Moon. Half-chewed nails exposing raw waves of top-skin finger-tips like rounded blood worms squeezed to their max with the last glob of ointment. His chest heaving, heaving, ever faster, ever deeper heaving, cold blue eyes stretched to tear-duct space ready to explode in gruesome expansion, his Adam’s apple ready to erupt from the nest in his neck like a phoenix egg hatching. The open mouth, and the sound, the horrible monster sound – hash, hash, hash – aboriginal throbbing words of other- world – deep – black- razor-sharp coral disgust – black rusted words, up and up through a mouth of anal agony, hemorrhoids popping; he spoke:

“The hell he does,” said Tuane. “Get away from me right now,” “Or you’ll become the next horse that was foaled of an acorn!”

 Everyone in the cafeteria turned around to hear and see a slender young man with Tuane get up abruptly and scamper away.

Calmer now, on his way home, passing by the eastern banks of the Great Salt Lake, just near the exit ramp to the international airport, Tuane saw a large billboard for China Airlines. The pretty, well-tailored flight attendant, smiling and bowing in courtesy, was inviting him to come to Taiwan. To Taiwan he would go. On the six-hour interstate drive back to Tetonia, Idaho, he was on a tropical island. The putrid, fishy, salty air blew through the window of the old sedan like a hammer as he passed north.

After application to the church and the requisite approval, prospective missionaries receive a “call to serve”—an official notification of their location assignment—through the mail from the President of the church. The mission call also informs the prospective missionary what language he/she will be expected to use during his/her mission.

The next week, Tuane received the letter; his application had been rejected. He would go to Taiwan, anyway.