The Oakland Temple
This might be long. Preemptive apologies.
Limited understanding.
As a child, I was taught to strive to enter the temple one day. I cannot emphasize this enough. It was the end goal here on Earth. Go to the temple. Be married there. Return often. Period.
It was where the fullness of the gospel was given and received. Going to church and taking the sacrament and being a good person was all well and good, but if you didn't make it through the temple doors, you had fallen short. This notion was never a debate. You can ask any good Mormon.
As I mentioned before, because my parents were converts to the gospel who already had 3 kids, we needed to be sealed in the temple to be an eternal family. This happened twice when I was a child. The first time was when my parents were sealed in the Oakland temple. I was taken to a 'nursery' of sorts while their sealing was taking place, and then my siblings and I joined them in a room with an altar and mirrors. The ceremony was brief. We were all in white. We were encouraged to look into the mirrors that were in front of us and behind us and see how we continued on forever. We did this again, after we adopted my little brother, Antonio (Tony). He was not born in the covenant either, having been adopted, so we had to be sealed again to have him sealed with us. We went to the Salt Lake temple that time. As a child with limited understanding, I simply remember thinking the temple was large and beautiful and quiet. I do recall that as we were heading out on one of these road trips to the temple, I cannot recall which, we had some car troubles. I remember my mother saying, "See, kids. The devil is trying to stop us from going to the temple". I remember looking out the back window, searching for the devil, certain he was somewhere close and I could catch a glimpse. As it turns out, my dad, bless his heart, was quite possibly the worst at maintaining our cars. We broke down constantly, all through my childhood. However, on this particular occasion, it was the devil.
1984
In the same breath that I was urged, convinced and encouraged to strive to go to the temple one day, I was also told we could not talk about it. "What will happen when I go to the temple?" The response? "You will make sacred covenants with God." That's it. That is all you get to know. The rest is too sacred and special to be discussed outside the walls of the temple. And it wasn't discussed. Songs are sung about the glory of the temple from the age of three, it is held as the highest honor in the church, family and strangers alike will show up for you the day you decide (and are deemed worthy) to enter. Not to be disrespectful, but it's a big fucking deal. Yet, for me, going in was like being blindfolded and then having the blindfold removed only to find a scene before me that was utterly unfamiliar and downright uncomfortable. I felt like a visitor in a foreign country, unfamiliar with the customs and the dress and the language.
My endowment.
I want to be careful here. The goings-on in the temple are considered sacred and very meaningful to many faithful members. I do not hold that level of reverence for them, I actually hold no reverence for them, but I want to be as respectful as I can while still telling my story. I will try to walk that line carefully.
I took my endowments out for one reason and one reason only. To get married. Yes, I could have had a traditional marriage at a local venue and probably saved myself years of trauma and confusion, but that would not make for a very good Mormon story, would it? Dave and I wanted to get married and there was never any question that we would marry in a temple. Truly. No one even asked, "Where will you be married?". It was "Which temple will you be married in?". The expectation was crystal clear. So I felt like our choice was made. Worthy or not, we were going to have a temple marriage.
To enter the temple, I needed to be deemed worthy. I had to meet with both my bishop or a bishopric member and a member of the Stake Presidency. I was asked a series of questions regarding my worth: do I believe in God and Jesus, do I sustain the First Presidency, do I believe in Joseph Smith and the restored gospel, do I pay a full tithe, am I honest, am I morally clean, are there any past sins I need to resolve, etc, etc. That is definitely the paraphrased version. I answered all the questions in the way that I needed to in order to leave the office with a signed, small piece of paper in my hand that said I could go into the temple, so that I could be married. Of course, Dave and I made a concerted effort to earn the little cards we were interviewing for. We were always trying to be better.
Once I had my recommend, I was to attend Temple Prep classes. These were taught by a sweet, older couple in the ward. They would ask me to come to the church on a Tuesday night for a few weeks while they taught me about the temple and the ordinances that would take place. I can honestly say that I walked away from each class just confused. They spoke of signs and tokens, worlds and covenants, veils and new names. I had zero context for any of this. It was all foreign. I figured I would get in there and it would all sort itself out and I would understand it.
Again, my journals may give a more accurate description of who was there and other details about the day. As a disclaimer, I am sure the experience I shared in my journal was more a reflection of how I felt the day SHOULD have been, rather than how it actually was. What I am sharing here is my actual experience as I remember it. It was 30 years ago.
Present were: Dave, my parents, Dave's parents, Dave's grandma Esther and possibly his other grandmother Kay-Kay, Dave's older brother Mike, maybe our Bishop (Steadman). There may have been a lady or two from the ward, maybe some others. Those are the people I remember. Once we entered and showed our recommends, the men split from the women and I didn't talk to Dave again until the very end. We were each on our own for this first-time experience. Not together, which I would have greatly preferred.
First things first. We needed temple clothing. At the counter where you rent clothing and the ceremonial clothing 'packets', my mother told the temple worker that I was there to take out my endowment, and a flurry of excitement ensued. She asked what size I was and gave me a good look up and down, then disappeared behind the shelves of clothing and slippers. She came back with a 'special' dress. It was reminiscent of a dress from the 1900's. High neck, ruffled collar and wrists, tight waist, and embroidered eyelet flowers. She was so excited that it fit me. I was less so. I was nineteen. Not ninety.
A piece of paper was attached to me, letting other temple workers know that I was there for the first time. This garnered a lot of attention. Everyone was very kind, showing me extra attention. With my new, unopened garments under my arm, I was separated from my mom and directed to a dressing room. I was instructed to remove my clothes - all of them - and was given a large, white poncho to put on. It was far from modest. It had large slits under each arm that I had to keep closed with my hands. While wearing this poncho, and nothing else, I then walked to another small room, the size of a closet, really. I sat down and a female temple worker joined me. She proceeded to pray over me, blessing parts of my body and anointing them with oil: my forehead, my lips, my neck, my breast, my belly, my inner thigh, my leg, my foot - each place was touched. She simply reached in and touched me. This was the washing and anointing, to prepare me to wear the 'holy garment', undergarments that I would covenant or promise to wear for the rest of my life.
This whole experience, the washing and anointing, caught me so off guard. It affected the rest of the experience. My mood immediately shifted. I went from having some semblance of excitement and anticipation to feeling tricked or duped. My mom didn't tell me I would be asked to remove all my clothing, that someone would touch me. My temple prep teachers didn't mention it. Nobody told me. To say it felt dishonest feels like too strong of a word, but I can't think of another word that accurately describes it.
After this ritual, I donned the shiny, new garments from the plastic bag and then the vintage gown. I've never felt less like myself than in that moment.
Next was the endowment session. I sat by my mom, who was sitting by the other women in our group. The men were seated on the other side of the room. I had been given a packet of ceremonial clothing that would be introduced to me momentarily. I remember sitting down and crossing my arms and staring ahead and wondering what all of this meant and what was going to happen next. I don't know if my mom could sense my serious apprehension, but I think she was more concerned over how my quiet demeanor reflected on HER. I wasn't smiling. I wasn't talking. I just followed the instructions I was given.
The actual endowment was long. A mixture of video, lighting, recitations and an overhead male voice giving instruction. The creation of the Earth was detailed, day by day. Adam & Eve were introduced, and an actual couple from the group was chosen to represent them at the altar. Signs and tokens were introduced - words and names and handshakes. With each new token, a promise was made. Promises I didn't completely understand, yet I was covenanting to obey. One by one, the ceremonial clothing was taken out of the pouch and put on. By the time the pouch was empty, I did not recognize myself or anyone around me. My dad, my mom, Dave, his parents - everyone was wearing a get-up that I could never have imagined or made up. In a way, they seemed like strangers. Who were these people? Had they been coming here and doing this all this time, all these years? I felt so disconnected from the people I loved the most.
A prayer closed out the endowment, replete with covered faces, raised arms and chanting. This was followed by going through the veil. More rote recitations, tapping, and hand grips. This put me in the Celestial Room, a place filled with white carpet, fresh flowers, paintings, the nicest drapes and chandeliers I've ever seen, velvet covered chairs and sofas, and temple workers. This was where women can join the men and socialize in a whisper and then part again to put on our normal church clothes and go home. I wanted nothing more than to leave. I wanted to feel like myself again. I wanted to wear my own clothes. I wanted to talk to Dave about everything we had just seen and done.
I left the temple wearing the dress I came in wearing, with my new underwear underneath. I had chosen to wear a very modest, long dress with a v-neck. The garments I now had on kept showing through the tip of the V. I had to keep pulling the neckline up to cover them up. It made me self conscious and uncomfortable (see above photo). Everyone was hugging us and congratulating us. It felt strange. Was no one going to mention all the weirdness that had just occurred in there? Nope. The whole experience was described by my family and friends as 'beautiful', 'spiritual', and 'peaceful'. Had I spoken up and said how I really felt, I would have been alone. The Sunday after I took out my endowment, I sat in church and a good friend of mine who was also getting married had just taken out her endowment. She stood and spoke of the experience to the Relief Society, full of emotion and tears. She said what a peaceful feeling she had, how she loved the temple and the way it made her feel. She felt close to God. I sat there, realizing I had felt none of those things. This left me to surmise that it was ME. I had the problem. If I didn't feel the spirit and feel uplifted and blessed, it's because I was not ready for it. I hadn't prepared well enough. I wasn't worthy. I accepted this right away, a testament to the degree to which I believed. It couldn't possibly be that the church was wrong or the experience flawed...the flaw had to be in me.
My Wedding Day
Only one day separated my first trip to the temple from the day I was married there. I think the flurry of planning for the day itself and being so busy made it easier to forget the experience I had just had. I was wearing my new garments under my new knee-length shorts in the hot, August weather while we set up the cultural hall for our reception. To say I was uncomfortable, would be an understatement.
The day I got married, though, I was focused. At the end of the day, I would be married and Dave and I would be together and no one could tell us what to do. It was all I could think about. We were there at the temple to be married, that's it. Some couples decide to do an endowment session along with their sealing. This was the furthest thing from my mind. No way would I willingly sit through that again on my wedding day. I came for the marriage certificate, then I was leaving.
I wore my mother's wedding dress. She bought it in 1966 and it was made of Chantilly lace. I always thought it was a dress fit for a princess - it even required a large hoop. I still think it is a beautiful gown and it was an honor to wear it. However, the top portion of the dress was all lace. You could see my skin through it and that is a no-no in the temple. It needed to be altered to be more modest. So, we had it altered by putting cap sleeves and a neckline on it that covered my garments. Not a cheap or simple thing to do on a dress that was almost 30 years old. When I got to the temple that day, I was escorted to a room of my own with my mother and I donned the gown. My garments were covered, all was well. Until...a temple worker who was assisting us did not like how my garments were only just barely covered by the alteration (my first sets of garments were much too large for me; I did not know what size to buy) leaving my whole arm, dark from the summer, showing through this beautiful lace. She had my remove the top portion of my dress and slid what I can only describe as a cropped, silky, long-sleeved vest over my bra and garments. The dress went on over that. Now my arms were white, from shoulder to wrist, the lace barely visible against the new white backdrop. Why did I bother with the time and expense of having the dress altered to make it 'temple worthy'? No bare arms in the temple. God forbid anyone see your arm. I tried so hard not to let it shift my mindset. It was fine. No photos were going to be taken in the temple, anyway. It was fine.
Then, to my horror, I was handed the ceremonial packet of clothes. These would be worn OVER my dress... There would be no 'reveal' to Dave with me in my dress, with him seeing me wearing it for the first time in all it's glory. He would see hints of it underneath this sash and apron and belt. Again, I was overcome with a desire to leave this place. I wanted to get married...and go. And we did just that. We sat out in a hallway, across from one another, staring and smiling at one another, dressed in our full temple garb, before being led into the room filled with friends and family and placed at an altar while a man we did not know, performed the ceremony. All I ever said was "yes". I was 'given' to Dave and he 'received' me. I don't even remember the advice this stranger gave us. I just wanted to be pronounced husband and wife and I wanted to be outside these walls, in the fresh air and sunshine.
Afterward, in that same dressing room with that same temple worker, we removed the ceremonial clothing and the vest. My mother was helping me "tuck" the brand-new, never worn, too big garments into the altered gown and I recall the temple worker watching us and shaking her head in disapproval. To my mother's credit, she said, "It's fine - its just for today". Tucking was certainly frowned upon.
We made it outside. Hallelujah. Time for photos. It was a beautiful August day and the temple grounds were overflowing with wedding parties, all who needed the quintessential photos in front of the temple. My photographer was not LDS. He was professional and thorough. He saw the potential for some great shots in front of this magnificent edifice and he wanted to do me the service I was paying handsomely for, and capture them. But there was one wedding party in particular that was impatient and the bride was upset that we were taking so long on the steps of the temple. At the time, I could not understand the rush - we were probably on the steps for less than 10 minutes - and I could not comprehend the nasty attitude she was displaying on her wedding day, in front of the Lord's house. I was disappointed. I felt like she should have been kind and Christ-like, especially on this day. But, she wasn't.
My relationship with the temple
I would love to say that, over time, I developed a fondness for going to the temple. I would love to say that I unlocked the secret to attending and feeling the spirit or that I had some miraculous experience while within the walls and that inspired me to keep going back. I never did. I wanted to, truly. But I just never did.
Temple attendance is encouraged, to say the least. It is emphasized in General Conference, Stake Conference, weekly ward meetings, in Relief Society, in Sunday School, even in Primary...go to the temple, receive blessings, do the work for the dead. Ward temple nights are arranged, Relief Society temple trips are regular. Couples will get together and go to the temple for 'date night'. It's a thing.
Dave and I were never great at attending the temple regularly. I feel like we made efforts to go, especially when the expectation was clear. While we never talked about how we felt, and I can't speak for Dave, I don't believe either of us ever went for the right reasons. We had a "I am righteous" box to check, and we wanted to check it. So we went. Once we went and we felt like we had checked that box, it was checked for a pretty long while. Like, months. That was good enough for us.
Despite our lackadaisical temple attendance, we did try to keep our recommends current. It used to be that you had to get a new recommend every year and later in our marriage that changed to every two years. That meant, each year, you had to meet with members of the bishopric and the stake presidency each time - and answer all the same questions about worthiness. We would joke, each time we emerged with a recommend in hand, saying "I passed!". The truth in that statement makes it not so funny if you think about it. My relationship with the temple throughout much of my adult life was one of indifference. It was there, I went when I felt enough guilt over not going, I was checking the box.
But that relationship soon took a turn.
My son's wedding
My first-born met and married a good human after his mission. They have since divorced, but the good human part is a constant. They decided to be married in the Portland temple, where both families were living at the time. I made sure to have my recommend current and bought a black dress that almost covered my garments. I had to sew in a few pieces of black fabric on the shoulders and at the back of the dress to cover my garments entirely. The dress was black lace. Intentional or not, it may have been a bit of a middle finger to the church for my wedding day experience. Black. Lace.
Regardless, as is always the case, there was a lot of hustle and bustle surrounding the event. Arrangements to make for family coming into town, transportation issues, timing, etc. My parents flew in for the wedding. My dad, on a prosthetic leg, got dressed in his best for the wedding of his first-born grandson, whom he had an affinity for since the day he was born. He loved this kid with a ferocity I can't quite explain. He made a point to be there for his big moments: his graduation, his races, his missionary farewell. My mom had on a new dress and she had her nails freshly done. Transportation was tricky for my parents. They were not familiar with the area and my dad had his prosthetic leg, making walking and driving a difficulty. Luckily, my brother and his wife, also members of the church, came out for the event. They helped in getting my parents where they needed to be. I'm sure this was hard for my dad. He was a proud man and had a hard time accepting help - or even needing help. He had always been the one to help others and to make things happen. It was hard for him to accept rides because he couldn't walk that far or to have someone help him up out of a chair. But for my son, he swallowed that pride and did whatever needed to be done to be there. He had his cane (which he hated using) and my mother at his side and he put on a smile.
As I write this, I am taking frequent breaks. I have dreaded retelling this portion of my experience because it brings me great sorrow and regret. My eyes are wet, my nose is running and I am heartbroken. I cannot talk about this memory without falling apart.
As we filed into the temple to ready for the ceremony, my parents found a couch in the common area and sat down. That is where they remained while the rest of us proceeded upstairs to witness the marriage. You see, my parents were poor. They had always struggled financially, but in the last few years before this day, medical bills had piled up and they were living with the financial help of each of their children. There was no money to spare. My dad could not justify paying a full tithing when his kids were paying some of his bills. They were not 'full tithe payers', and therefore did not have current temple recommends. No recommend, no entry, no watching your first-born grandchild get married.
I am ashamed to say that at the time, I did not think too hard about this. My parents had chosen, after all, to have integrity. They were following the rules. And I didn't make the rules. The church they loved and served their whole lives made the rules. They were simply following them. It gave me no pleasure to leave my parents in that lobby. I knew how it hurt them to be left out. To be deemed 'unworthy' in front of all those other people that were filing past them. With all my heart, I wish I had sat there with them. I wish I had the insight and the knowledge and the resolve that I have today - and had sat there with them. I wish I had insisted on a ceremony that was inclusive of ALL the people that loved my son, not just the 'worthy' ones. My parents are both gone now. I wish that I could apologize to them for that day. For leaving them there. It is a great source of shame and one of the biggest regrets of my life. It is why the temple holds no reverence for me. I see those opulent structures as a place of exclusion. A place where conformity is honored and individual life experiences are judged. People I love, out of no fault of their own, are not allowed to enter.
I will never set foot inside those walls again.
Comments
Post a Comment