The Mormons Want What They Can Never Have

As I’m sure you’re aware, there’s a push in California to make gay marriage illegal and that push is being bankrolled by the Mormons.  (In a cruel twist of fate, the angel sent to Joseph Smith was named Moroni, which meant that the Latter-Day Saints had a 50/50 chance of being Mormons or Morons.  Luckily, luck was on their side.)

At first glance, this seems odd–why would a group famous for making what the rest of the country considered to be odd marriage arrangements and who suffered persecution based on those arrangments not have some sympathy for people who want to make what they consider odd marriage arrangements?

But there’s a lot of speculation that the Mormons view this–standing up for Proposition 8–to be their ticket into acceptance among other conservative Christians, proving that they’re just like, say, the Southern Baptists, but with kookier names for their children.

And, on the surface, it seems that the Mormons would be ripe for moving into the more mainstream Christian Conservative movement.  They’re very family oriented, against fun stuff like drinking, smoking, doing drugs, and caffiene.  Conservative Protestants are often also against this stuff, at least in theory, if not in practice.

And the Mormons have been around long enough that it seems like they might be accepted as another Protestant sect just by sheer determination.

Plus, add to that the whole Restoration movement–the belief that there is some primative, pure form of Christianity that can be gotten back to even though Catholicism, Protestantism, and Orthodoxy have corrupted Christianity as it is currently practiced–which is also a popular belief among some Protestant churches.

At a glance, you’d think that this would happen, that Mormons are on their way to being just another Protestant denomination.

But believe me, it’s never ever going to happen, at least not in my lifetime.

I am reminded of my favorite joke, and I feel I should call someone up in Salt Lake City and tell it to them, about the dude trapped alone on the desert island who still managed to have two churches.

Protestants are still deeply suspicious that Catholics aren’t “real” Christians.  Many Protestants have no idea what the Orthodox movement is and they sure as hell have no idea about the Coptic church, and have never heard of the Thomasian tradition in India.

Shoot, we all know towns with three Methodist churches only a third full every Sunday because folks are convinced that the other folks are doing it wrong.

And the theological differences between Baptists of various stripes, or Protestants and Catholics, are small potatoes compared to the theological differences between Christians and Mormons.

It just seems to me to be a fundimental misunderstanding of how Christianity works to believe that you could somehow work your way into being Protestant just by being willing to bankroll cruelty towards gay people, no matter how popular a position cruelty towards gay people might be.

International Cat of Mystery

I let the tiny cat out into the garage twenty minutes ago (because she was crying like her mom was trapped out there).  I was all, “It’s raining and cold and you’re not going to be able to go outside.”

And she looks at me like, “This is where I just look at you and pretend like I know what the hell you’re saying, right?”

And I let her into the garage.

I shut the door.

And here she comes waltzing back into the living room.

I envy people who are cat people, who have cats that like to cuddle with them and sit nicely with them and play on the computer with them or share loving moments.  We have two cats and neither one of them are really like that.

Partially, it’s our fault.  We’re not hugely affectionate people, so if the cats aren’t coming over and sitting in our laps, we’re not chasing them down and loving on them.

And, I was raised to believe that every house needs a cat, but that a cat is a working animal.  Keep the pests down.  Trip burglers on their way out of the house.  Make the back room so stinky hippies use it as a hallucinogen.  Provide a magical air to things.  Pee on the Butcher’s stuff.  You know.  Work.

Earn your keep, as my grandma would say.

It’s the unspoken arrangement of cats and non-cat-enthusiasts everywhere.  You work, we feed you, we scratch your head while we’re trying to shit, you don’t shit on our stuff.

I just had no idea that the tiny cat would take it upon herself to find work as a spy.

But, oh, and speaking of the tiny cat’s spy-like abilities.  So, I’m in the back yard with the dog and the dog is all running around like a three-legged… um… dog, pooping and buring off some pent-up energy and all of a suddend, from under the tall pine, emerging from the needles, almost like some well-camoflauged sniper, is the tiny cat.

Startled the crap out of both me and the dog.

There weren’t enough pine needles on the ground for her to have come from under the needles.  I think she’s just so well-hidden when she’s sitting there still that neither of us saw her.

Any day now, I expect to come out in the back yard and find 15 guys from Fort Campbell studying her for tips.