Guest Post: Questions from an Agnostic Mormon

by Lydia

I am an agnostic Mormon. I don’t believe Joseph Smith was a prophet, I don’t believe in the Book of Mormon. While I hope beyond hope to be with my family forever, I’m skeptical. I’m not even sure if Jesus was a real person, let alone if God exists. But I also go to church every Sunday and try my best to participate in one way or another. For some reason I can’t let go of the church. I keep asking myself “How can I have such a personal religious deficit and still attend a religious institution?”

I was among the many who began to question their faith during the COVID days. The birth of our first child, depression, and the Internet spurred me and my husband on. Our faith fell apart. We ended up making a big move to a different state and tried unsuccessfully to repair our belief in the church. Still, even when my husband stopped attending, I kept showing up and saying yes. It felt like I couldn’t help myself. I kept seeking community in the church, partly because I didn’t know how to find community anywhere else. Moving away from our old ward and the watchful eyes of family members should have made it easier for me to leave, but it didn’t. I was a young mom in a city I hardly knew existed before we moved there. Attending church became an act of survival. Who would be my friends if not the sisters in Zion? I was willing to contradict myself if it meant I wasn’t so alone.

The discomfort of staying active in the church forced me to start deconstructing how being Mormon had impacted my identity. As a part of reworking my foundational beliefs, I wanted to test out the feminism I saw in Tiktok videos and Reddit posts. One video cemented my resolve; a mother was discussing how her divorce had left her vulnerable emotionally and penniless financially, with no skills or experience to put on a resume after years dedicated to motherhood. I had just had my second baby and felt the weight of motherhood stronger than ever. I realized while I gave day after day to my husband and children, I had never invested in myself. So I applied to the local university and made up my mind that by the time my new baby was ready for school I would be ready to begin working a “big girl job”.

Feminism is like a little seed: If planted it will grow. Reviving my education journey has been everything to me. Suddenly I could see that I had branded myself as the sacrificial lamb of our family- as if giving up myself would equate to fulfillment in the lives of the rest of the family. Don’t get me wrong, I love being a mother, and school has been difficult in its own unique ways. Childcare is an obstacle, as is balancing schoolwork while dealing with the toddler tornados that are my children. But I wake up everyday knowing that I have a vehicle to find my own fulfillment in life. I wonder why I thought motherhood was the straight and narrow path to true happiness. Of the priceless gifts education has given me, one particularly precious is uncovering the history of Mormon women. These forgotten matriarchs made me feel less like a crazy radical and a link in a generational change of female empowerment. I’m working everyday to knit together my intelligence, professional dreams, and motherhood into the beautiful tapestry I know it is. While I’m still figuring out my religious identity, I now confidently call myself a feminist.

Nothing worth working towards is without its drawbacks, though. Transitioning into an unbelieving Mormon has left me lonely in ways I never expected. In the beginning of my faith transition I still felt Mormon, looked Mormon, sounded Mormon. Losing my belief in God didn’t erase my cultural identity, but embracing feminism began to break down my comfortability in church settings. After talking about my school and career plans, I had one sister in the ward warn me about the dangers of abandoning family life. Her comments, while not intended as malicious, remain cemented in my mind. When I walk into the church on Sunday, or join with the playgroup put together by the moms in the ward, I feel like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Would they want me to join them if they knew I don’t believe in God and think the priesthood is a power structure created for the benefit of men? Do I make them feel uncomfortable? Do they all see me as a ward project?

I can’t reach into the minds of these sisters, so I’m working on my own instead. I’m “rematriating my worldview” (see A Clan Mother’s Call: Reconstructing Haudenosaunee Cultural Memory). I’ve started to recognize that my ward is full of matriarchs, with lifetimes worth of experience between them all. Despite myself, I still crave their company and perspective. While I don’t always agree with them, I’m a better woman and mother for knowing them. I wish I was brave enough to open up to them. I recently looked at some of the church’s new cartoons for D&C, and was delighted to see Susa Young Gates featured in one. I felt heartbroken (but not surprised) when I realized there was no mention of the work she did for women. When are they going to teach us that the church has matriarchs? I think of Emmeline B. Wells and Annie Clark Tanner and Sonia Johnson. Would it be inappropriate to bear my testimony on the empowerment I find in learning about Mormon women in all their complexity? Is my perspective of any value to my fellow Church goers?

I don’t know why I stay these days. On some level, it’s the social aspect. Even if I feel disingenuous, at least I’m not alone. On another level, it’s to keep up with appearances. I also find myself carrying around a sense of guilt, feeling that I’m a parasite. Am I simply taking what I need from the church without giving back my tithing or spirituality? Is Mormonism a scar I can’t stop picking at? Maybe it’s simply what is under my skin and in my blood. My ancestors became Mormon at great cost, some journeying across an ocean as they transitioned to a new faith themselves. Deep down, there’s an understanding that I am Mormon. I wonder how remaking myself as a post-Mormon compares to crossing the plains.

I know the place I exist in is probably a transitory phase. Maybe someday I’ll feel brave enough to label myself something new. But I also think there’s others who feel the same way. I spend Sundays trying to look around for clues and wonder what my ward members think about me. The thought of being discovered as a non-believer is scary and wonderful. For now I’m standing my ground. If our foremothers could be both polygamists and suffragists, why can’t I be a non-believing Mormon feminist? Is it really inevitable that I’ll be separated from the community that raised me? Will I be rejected for expressing the full range of my personal beliefs? I know I can’t change the culture, policies, and doctrine of the church, but still I linger at linger longers and serve in the church. All the while I tell myself that if I’m right in thinking I’m not alone, maybe the answer isn’t that I need to leave, but that I need to stay. I know there are no good answers to my questions, but I wonder about them anyway. Maybe there’s an agnostic Mormon in your sacrament meeting, too.

 

Lydia is a student studying social studies education. She loves nature walks, good books, and cuddles with her kids.

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