Looking back on my years in Mormonism feels a little like flipping through an old yearbook… if that yearbook also occasionally tried to convert you.
Some memories are meaningful.
Some are confusing.
And some are unintentionally hilarious in a way that makes you go, “Wait… we were serious about that?”
Time does that. It takes what once felt massive and defining and gently moves it into the category of “Well, that was a chapter.” Not the whole book. Just a chapter… with a very specific dress code.
And honestly, one of my favorite reminders of that shift is that absolute gem of Mormon pop culture: “Mormon Rap” by Walter Gregory.
If you know, you know:
“I’m a fine young man, I’m living clean
I don’t smoke, I don’t drink, if you know what I mean
I don’t touch soda pop if it has caffeine
You might say I’m a good little sunbeam
I didn’t even date ’til I turned sixteen
I don’t еven know the meaning of thе word “obscene”
Flip and fetch and scrudilly me
Well, yiminny Christmas and fiddle-dee dee!Mormon, Mormon rap
Do the M-M-Mormon rap
Mormon, Mormon rap
Do the Mormon rap
Huh!
Yeah, come on y’all!
Woo, yeah, ooh yeah!“
Uncanny delivery with the kind of confidence that says, “This is either inspired or we just discovered GarageBand.”
And here’s the thing—I don’t hear it now and spiral into a theological crisis (I do still cringe…it’s corny as hell).
But I do hear it and smile. It’s awkward. It’s trying so hard. And somehow… it’s perfect.
Not because it’s true (for me anymore), but because it’s human.
How I Became a “Jack Mormon”
My version of Mormonism wasn’t exactly brochure-ready.
I wasn’t the clean-cut, buttoned-up, scripture-memorizing poster child. I was more like… the cautionary tale with decent hair.
I was a dissenter early on. A wild child. A rebel without a particularly noble cause—unless you count “seeing what happens if I do the opposite of what I’m told” as a cause.
Smoking, drinking…and other unruly things, I guess. Causing chaos like it was a spiritual gift.
They had a term for guys like me: Jack Mormon.
Which, let’s be honest, sounds like either a pirate or a guy who shows up to church once a year and eats all the snacks.
At the time, it looked like I was just acting out.
Looking back?
I was doing what humans do—pushing boundaries, trying to figure out who I was underneath the expectations, and occasionally making decisions that would not look great in a biopic.
In other words… I was normal. Just louder about it.
The Questions That Came Later
Ironically, my real questions didn’t show up during my rebellious phase.
They showed up later—when I got a little older, a little calmer, and unfortunately… a little more curious.
That’s when things started clicking in ways that didn’t quite line up with the story I had been given.
- The connections between Freemasonry and temple rituals started feeling less like divine download and more like… historical remix.
- Temple recommends sometimes felt like a spiritual interview mixed with a light background check.
- And then there’s the big one: polygamy and polyandry—including marriages involving teenage girls under 18 and situations where women were sealed to multiple men.
- And not exactly a footnote—more like a neon sign: Black members were restricted from holding the priesthood until 1978, when the policy was officially reversed.
That’s not “anti-Mormon propaganda.” That’s just… history.
And once you see it, you can’t unsee it.
Now, you can respond to that with rage, denial, or endless Reddit debates.
Or… you can just be honest about it.
The Trap of Living in the Past (a.k.a. Don’t Build a Condo There)
Here’s something I’ve noticed:
A lot of people leave religion… but never actually leave it.
They just switch roles—from believer to full-time critic.
Still thinking about it.
Still arguing with it.
Still emotionally renting space there like it’s beachfront property.
And look, processing matters. I’m not saying skip that part.
But at some point, you realize:
You can either understand your past… or live in it. You don’t have to do both forever.
For me, the real shift wasn’t winning arguments about Mormonism.
It was learning to live in the present moment—the eternal now—without constantly dragging my past into every room like an emotional carry-on bag.
Why Humor Saves You
This is where humor becomes less of a personality trait and more of a survival skill.
Because if you can’t laugh at parts of your past, you’re probably still a little trapped in it.
Hearing Mormon Rap now doesn’t trigger me. It doesn’t offend me. It doesn’t send me into a podcast rant.
It just reminds me:
Oh yeah… we were all just trying our best. And sometimes our best rhymed “plan” with “man.”
Religious cultures are full of these moments—where sincerity and awkwardness collide like two well-meaning youth leaders trying to be cool.
And honestly? Every belief system has its version of this.
Some people chant.
Some people light candles.
Some people rap about eternal families over a beat that sounds like it came free with Windows XP.
It’s all part of the human experience.
What I Still Appreciate
Even though I don’t share Mormonism’s theology anymore or religious practices, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t leave some good things behind.
For one: service.
Mormons don’t mess around with helping people.
You’re moving?
Cool—15 dudes with trucks show up like it’s a NASCAR pit crew.
You’re sick?
Meals appear out of nowhere like DoorDash but holier.
You hit a rough patch?
The ward already has a sign-up sheet before you’ve finished explaining the problem.
That kind of community sticks with you.
It teaches you that faith—whatever form it takes—isn’t just about what you believe. It’s about whether you show up for people when life gets messy.
I also appreciate the sense of purpose. The idea that life isn’t random, that it matters, that how you live actually counts for something.
You don’t have to agree with the system to recognize the impact it had on you.
And yeah—having a little grace for the people still in it? Not the worst idea.
Living in the Eternal Now
These days, I’m way less interested in debating Mormonism and way more interested in something simpler:
Being here.
Because life isn’t happening in:
- 19th-century church history
- Your last argument about doctrine
- Or that one Sunday School lesson that still annoys you
It’s happening right now.
In the conversation you’re having.
In the people you love.
In the kind of person you’re choosing to be today.
The past can teach you things.
But it doesn’t get to shit on your life unless you keep handing it laxatives.
Perspective Changes Everything
So now when I hear Mormon Rap, I don’t hear something I need to critique or deconstruct.
I hear a memory.
A weird, sincere, slightly cringey, kind-of-beautiful memory from a chapter that helped shape me.
And then… I move on.
Because whatever your background is—Mormon, evangelical, Catholic, spiritual-but-confused—the real work of life isn’t behind you.
It’s not in the church you left.
It’s not in the arguments you used to have.
It’s right here.
Right now.
And honestly?
That’s a way better place to live than stuck debating the past…
Even if the past occasionally drops a beat and reminds you:
“I’m a Mormon, yes I am.”
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