Travel Letter . . .

ON A PLANE BACK HOME
(Delayed)

Across the aisle from me sat one of our preachers, who could unmistakably be identified by the things he was saying to one of our members sitting beside him. A native Dallasite, he had been working up north for a spell, but was returning to try out for a church in central Texas. The member must also have been from Dallas, for they were much concerned about some of the goings-on among some of the recalcitrant congregations, Park Row in Arlington in particular. At any moment they might have mentioned Park Row's chief transgression, having me as a visitor in the pulpit. I listened for the reference, thinking that would be the ideal time for me to lean over and introduce myself. But it didn't come in just that way, though I did catch references to "Ketcherside churches" up north and instrumental music churches that dare to wear our name, both described as evils that one had just as well resign himself to. It was that "basketball star at Abilene," a reference to Jim Reynolds at Park Row, that came in for top billing. You realize, of course, that our own folk, schooled and bred in our finest circles, and heroes at that, like Jim Reynolds and Pat Boone, are not supposed to jump the traces. When they do we can't account for it on ground of conscience but only on the basis that something must he wrong with them.

I was hesitant to reveal that a well-known heretic was so near at hand, so I held my peace. At least I would wait until after dinner, perhaps until we arrived in Dallas, lest I spoil a good thing. After all, when the apostle John fled that bathhouse in Ephesus once he learned that the heretic Cerinthus was at hand, he had one distinct advantage: the bathhouse was on the ground. We must not take advantage of our brothers who want to keep both themselves and their doctrine pure by boxing them in at high altitudes. So I turned my attention to a young couple sitting in front of me who was reading The Teachings of Joseph Smith.

I asked the husband if they were Mormons. They were. I explained that there was a question or two I wanted to ask. That took us on into Dallas and into the terminal where it all concluded by my receiving a very gracious invitation to their home in Quincy, Illinois. He had been a Roman Catholic, but now he was really turned on to Mormonism, and he was taking his family to visit their temple in Salt Lake City. Back on the plane the preacher and the other brother forgot all about their wayward congregations in Dallas and proceeded to help me tree the Mormons, quoting scriptures rather wildly. 2 Tim. 3:16 "All scripture inspired of God ... ," is supposed to prove that there can't be a Book of Mormon, but all a Latter Day Saint has to say is that he believes that book is part of those inspired writings, planned by God for a later period. With their help we were on the verge of a quarrel rather than sympathetic dialogue. The preacher still didn't know who I was or what my religious background might be. But he knew I wasn't a Mormon!

I simply talked to them about Jesus, not bothering to try to disprove any Mormon claims. "Assuming Joseph Smith to be a prophet of God, precisely in what way does he help me to understand Jesus better?" I asked. They replied that he taught them how to live the Christian life better. I quoted various scriptures that point to our duties, such as the gifts of the Spirit in Gal. 5, and asked them to identify any further help that Smith provides that isn't already in the Bible. The wife, a charming and lovely person, insisted that the Book of Mormon tells one of his origin, mission and destiny. I pointed out that if such information is only in the Book of Mormon, millions of believers in Jesus had to wait 18 centuries before they could find out what life is all about.

It turned out that her main point was that Mormonism reveals one's destiny in heaven, celestial marriage and the whole bit. I had fun out of that, telling her about Ouida and admitting that if I could have my wife in heaven that I would be tempted to be a Mormon. But I have one big problem with that, for Jesus teaches that in heaven there will be "neither marriage nor given in marriage." Her answer to that was that you have to arrange the marriage before you go to heaven! I still can't understand how we'll be unmarried like the angels even if we marry celestially before we get there. I recall Joseph Smith's answer to that one, which is at least more logical: that teaching doesn't apply to his followers.

I asked if it bothered them that Joseph Smith had 50-odd wives, all of them listed by name in Fawn Brodie's book, Nobody Knows My History. It did not bother them. I thought of old Sidney Rigdon, one of our preachers who went to the aid of the prophet only to have Smith try to take Rigdon's own teenage daughter to bed with him, but I didn't mention it. The wife said that she believed in polygamy, and I could hardly believe it when she said she was willing for her husband to take additional wives. She certainly is no kin to those Mormon women that Fannie Stenhouse describes in her book, Tell It All. Ouida read that book and wept like a child for those women in Utah, some of whom came from England, who watched their husbands take a second wife and then others, oftentimes to the bedroom next to their own.

I told them of my simple, trusting faith in Jesus, that I believed in him and was immersed into him, that I seek to bear his likeness in my life, that I meet with a group of ordinary folk around the Table on Lord's Day. Can I be saved even if I can't accept the Mormon story?, I asked. They said I could be, but my place in heaven would be at a lesser glory. I settled for that. If by His grace I can be but a doorkeeper, ministering to the Mormons, including Joe Smith and his terrestrial and celestial wives (which number in the thousands), that will be far beyond what my sins deserve. If I can just be with Jesus, I will gladly let him put it all together just as he wants it.

Once out on the curb waiting for Ouida to fetch me, I was at the side of the preacher once more, and at last I introduced myself. It turned out that he loves me almost as much as I do him, and I don't think he would have jumped out of the plane back over Fayetteville after all. Too bad for him if he had, for then he would have missed Ouida. Once these fellows meet her, they can only figure that there is no possible way for me to be as bad as they have heard. — the Editor