Mormon Temple of Doom

by Kaya

San Diego is home to many wonderful icons. The “World-Famous San Diego Zoo” (although do you really need to put the words “world famous” into the title if it is?), Sea World,, the Hotel Del Coronado and beautiful beaches. Oh, and a massive Mormon Temple. And, try as I might, it’s hard to ignore the architectural curiosity that is the Mormon Temple.

Cruising north along Highway 5, just after La Jolla and before you hit the exit to a great fish taco place, there she proudly stands. It’s a squintingly bright white structure with ornate, sharp spires. It looks a bit like where the Wizard of Oz lived. Or a spaceship. Or as if it should be underwater as the kingdom for King Triton. It’s like Las Vegas put one of their casinos, such as The Excalibur or Caesar’s Palace, right next to the freeway. Only the Church of Latter Day Saints isn’t exactly known for their loose slots.

There aren’t many Mormon Temples in the United States and they are extremely sacred places. So sacred that only Mormons can enter the Temple – and even many Mormons are not allowed to enter until they are “approved.” Needless to say, if it wasn’t for a brief three-month viewing period after the Temple was built but before they began worship, these dastardly eyes would have never seen the inside of this monstrosity.

I had arranged to get tickets to see the Temple during the time when the unclean would be let in. I was later told they re-painted the walls and replaced the carpet after all the tours were completed. I’m in favor of keeping certain spaces sacred, but re-painting seems a tad excessive. Did anyone befoul the walls during our 45 minute, guarded tour? I’m not usually one to ‘tag’ my name in feces on the walls of religious buildings that I visit, but knowing that the walls would be repainted anyway may have encouraged me to do so.

I was excited and intrigued to take a trip into such a unique place. Having visited some of the most famous churches in Europe, I was curious to get a glimpse of a prominent edifice that I wouldn’t be able to visit ever again. The chances of me becoming an approved Mormon and entering this sacred space again were as good as my chances of marrying Rosie O’Donnell. Neither of us want to be tied to the other...and I think everyone is okay with that.

In front of me in the Disneyland-like line to enter the Disneyland-like castle/temple was a woman in a wheelchair. She was 102 years old, but didn’t look a day over 101. The uncomfortably cheerful man pushing her chair kept saying that she was “102 years young, and sharp as a tack. Yep, sharp as a tack.” As I welcome the opportunity to interact with my elders, I went for a closer look...and I’m not so sure she was still with us. Her eyes were stuck in a far-off stare, her head tilted to the side and her mouth was slightly open. She may have been ‘sharp as a tack’ at some point, but now she was barely as sharp as tapioca pudding. Perhaps “mellow as an eggplant” would have been a better descriptor.

She sat perfectly still as her caretaker pushed her to the front of the line, bragging about her remarkable, but as of yetunseen, mental prowess. It eerily reminded me of a scene from the “Weekend at Bernie’s” trilogy. I half expected a bug-eyed Andrew McCarthy to run in trying to catch up with the corpse in the wheelchair and blathering about some get-rich quick scheme involving pretending this woman was alive and heiress to the secret Mormon diamond mines.

When it was finally time to enter, we were asked to put hospital ‘booties’ over our shoes so we wouldn’t ruin carpet. With so many curious visitors arriving each day to take in (and viciously judge) the glory of the new temple, they had to protect the carpet. Hadn’t I been told that they were going to re-carpet the place anyway? I was in no position to challenge the rules set forth by God or Morma or whoever was in charge.

I obliged and covered my Doc Martins in the soft, light blue shoe coverings. I could no longer track in the heathenness I keep on the sole of my shoe onto the new, clean carpet. If nothing else it gave the tour a formal introduction and made us feel as if we were undertaking an important and sterile task. Like going into brain surgery or donating sperm.

I then looked over and saw the caretaker down on one knee carefully placing booties over the 102 year old woman’s shoes.

I was stunned. I can’t imagine the level of faith one would have to possess to believe that this 102 year old woman (reportedly ‘sharp as a tack’) was going to leap from her wheelchair and muck up the carpet with her shoes. I don’t think she had done much walking recently. I also would have bet that the bottom of the shoes she had on were pristine enough to eat lasagna off of. And I certainly didn’t believe that she was going to need to have those protective booties on during this 45-minute tour...unless this was a clever plan to lull her caretaker into thinking she was comatose before she made a break for the diamond mines.

The tour was less thrilling than I had hoped. There were no massive halls like the ones that dominate traditional Christian Churches, rather the building was broken into several smaller rooms. The coolest part was the “Marriage Room” that had gigantic mirrors facing each other. You were supposed to stand side-by-side with your spouse and see the reflection of your reflection of your reflection to symbolize that you aren’t simply married for this lifetime, but for eternity. Even while looking at hundreds of reflections of myself standing next to a sharp 102 year old woman in a wheelchair, it was still pretty cool. I politely told her I wasn’t really in a place in my life that I could commit to ‘eternity’ with her, but that I hoped we could be friends. I could see in her blank stare that she knew I was right.

The tour also featured a wonderful propaganda film about the church. I had read about how the Mormon Church was predominantly Anglo, so it seemed surprising to see most of the folks in the promotional video were people of color, many with strong accents.

“Dee church has been bery importante en mi life. I bery happy now.”

It was a bit over the top. And not in a classic Stallone arm wrestling movie way, but in the am-I-the-only-one-who-thinks-this-video-is-absurd way. It was like watching a Benetton ad for religion.

It’s easy to make fun of religion, some faiths more than others. (It’s hard to resist low-hanging fruit, especially when they have rules like not drinking coffee or tea). I did, however, appreciate the opportunity to learn how the church operates and be welcomed, even if only briefly, into their sacred space. I hope the Mormon missionaries that come to my door will forgive me when I don’t allow them into my home.

On second thought, they can come in, but they’ll have to wear hospital scrubs and repaint the walls before they leave. Or at least help me with this crazy get-rich quick scheme I’ve hatched with my buddy Andrew McCarthy.