Not everything was wonderful at BYU, however. Since Mormon girls were taught that they ought to weigh the spiritual fitness of their potential husbands, boys at BYU tended to try to out-Mormon each other to compete for female affections. One, for example, might decide that it was not righteous to listen to music with foul language, so he would dramatically smash his explicit CDs in the hallway and challenge his floor-mates to do the same. Soon, half the dorm would be putting their similar CDs in pillow cases and smashing them against doors. Public shame and guilt were pervasive, and students didn’t hesitate to report any unbecoming behavior of others to the dorm leaders.
Though I strived to follow the rules and live virtuously, I believed that the spirit of a law was more important than the letter thereof, and I found it grating when I would bump up against some of the more arbitrary ones. I was turned away from the cafeteria several times, for example, for not having shaved recently enough. I would occasionally rebel against interpretations of rules and Scriptures that I deemed to be too strict — I even made fun of those who decided that they couldn’t stay out past midnight on a Saturday, believing that to do so would violate the Sabbath.
I enjoyed having philosophical discussions with friends on how best to adhere to the ordinances and principles of the Gospel. Consequently, I began to question many of the key admonitions and rules that had been given to me. I found it interesting that other Christians saw no problem with the consumption of alcohol in moderation, while Mormonism expressly forbids all consumption. I couldn’t find a moral reason that made total abstention better than controlled and moderate drinking and ultimately determined that the only bad thing about having a single glass of wine was that it would be disobedient to what God had instructed. Being a 19-year-old boy, I also thoroughly questioned sexual morality, particularly regarding masturbation and premarital sex. Everyone wanted to know exactly how far they could go with a girl before it became inappropriate in the eyes of God, and I was no exception. For most questions, I was able to find moral justifications in the rules given to us by the Church — masturbation, I thought, must be immoral because it causes us to have lustful thoughts, which are forbidden by Jesus. I believed that it could also lead to a heightened desire for pornography, which could cause people to objectify women and might transform individuals into sexual predators.
The pinnacle of my freshman year of college was in the spring, when most of us would receive our mission calls. Like most Mormons, I had been raised with a desire to serve a mission in order to bring the Gospel to the world. Mormon men sitting around a campfire on a camping trip tell stories from their mission the way that other men discuss their days in military service or at college, calling it the best two years of their lives. I couldn’t wait for mine. As a child, I liked to spin a globe and push my finger onto the surface until it stopped, imagining that I would serve a mission wherever my finger happened to land. Nothing excited me more than the possibility of traveling to a foreign country. One by one, the other boys in the dorm got their calls. They would hold parties with all of their friends present and with their family members on the phone or connected via the internet, opening and reading the fateful letter to noisemakers and applause. My excitement was overwhelming when I received my call to the Singapore mission, which included Malaysia, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, and other nearby areas as well. I was to report to the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah on June 16th, 2006!
I was scheduled to go through the Endowment ceremony on the 10th of June, six days prior to start of my mission. Many Christian sects believe that entrance to heaven requires that the baptismal ordinance is performed, but Mormons believe that baptism is but one of several ordinances that are requisite to enter the highest kingdom of heaven, the Endowment being one of them. Receiving the Endowment is a ceremony that can only take place in a Mormon temple, and most Mormons do so either immediately before leaving for a mission or immediately before marriage.
I had been aware of the existence of the ceremony, and I knew that it was at the time of the Endowment that members begin to wear garments — commonly called “Mormon underwear” by non-members. I knew that the garments were a bit odd from an outsider’s perspective, but I grew up seeing my parents and other family members wearing them, so it didn’t seem particularly strange to me. I had been taught that they are meant to serve as reminders of the covenants that are made in the temple, and that was acceptable enough. Growing up, I had occasionally heard Apocryphal Mormon folk stories about garments providing supernatural protection for, for example, people who had been lit on fire in a horrible accident, having burns everywhere but where their garments touched their bodies. I had been taught that God rewards obedience, and it seemed reasonable that He might cause miracles for those who wore the garments as they had been commanded.
Other than the receiving of garments, I knew nothing of the Endowment. I took a preparatory course from the Church, but the focus of the course was to prepare me to be in the right spiritual state to receive it. The course said nothing about the actual content of the ceremony. As we drove to the temple, my parents and grandmother told me that I needed to keep in mind that what takes place in the temple is highly symbolic and that I may need to go for many years before finally grasping the true meaning of it all. I was excited and intrigued, if a little nervous, as we entered together.
To publicly discuss the ceremony outside of the temple is firmly forbidden. I know many ex-Mormons who still refuse to talk about the ceremony because of how badly it would be seen by their Mormon friends and family. What follows is my account of the ceremony — readers that would be offended by the same ought to skip this section.
Though it was over five years ago now, and the details are a bit fuzzy, I recall most of that day quite clearly. I had always liked the temple. It is built and designed for calmness and serenity — the building itself is remarkably soundproof, and the interior is designed to maintain that. Aged temple workers in white flow through the various rooms, keeping everything in order while speaking only in whispers. One temple worker sits at an elevated white desk at the entrance with a book of names before him, ensuring that only members who have been approved by their bishops — holding a card called a Temple Recommend — enter.
I entered the Spokane, Washington temple with my parents and grandmother. The man at the front desk smiled as he took my Recommend, asking, “First time?” I nodded, and he put his arm around me as we walked toward a small office behind him, where the temple president was waiting. He must have been in his sixties, and I remember him smiling warmly as he shook my hand. He explained that I would first need to go to the locker rooms to change into my temple clothes, which my parents had purchased and brought with them. I was to be washed and anointed, and then, the Endowment would proceed. “At some point in the ceremony,” he told me, “you will be asked for your second name. This second name is your divine name, your true name, and the name that you were known by before this life and will be known as after this life.” He admonished me to never share my second name with anyone, as the Lord had said that anyone who knew your true name would have power over you. He leaned over his desk as my parents turned away and whispered, “Barnabus.” As I mulled over the bitter-tasting realization that I would be known as Barney for the rest of eternity, the president offered to give a prayer before we continued.