Songs That Have Meant Something

I have a playlist on my phone, with songs that I’ve gradually added to it over the years. The first song I added to the playlist was “Machine” by Imagine Dragons. Today I added “Roll Away Your Stone” by Mumford and Sons.

The playlist is called “Mormon Liberation.”

With the exception of Imagine Dragons and Tyler Glenn, none of the artists in my playlist used to be Mormon. Obviously, those two made of the majority of my playlist, in the beginning. I felt their music and the lyrics to their songs acutely. But today’s addition is different.

I haven’t listened to Mumford and Sons for many years. And the last time I listened to their music, I was quite solidly a Mormon.

I used to sing “Roll Away Your Stone” in the shower, when I was on my mission. I remember that London apartment, the rare, ten minutes I got to myself, in the bathroom, and how badly I missed good music. I missed singing, which I’ve always felt shy about, and only done under duress in public, for many years. But I missed my good music, up there in Canada. I missed it, and went through songs I knew and sang by heart to myself in my car, prior to the mission field. “Roll Away Your Stone,” I figured, was close enough to religious. Surely I, as a missionary, could sing that.

And I did. Somehow I managed to make some awesome rocking music a little sweeter. Less drums and stringy banjos. More just, basic, alto.

“Roll away your stone, I’ll roll away mine. Together we can see what we will find. Don’t leave me alone at this time For I’m afraid of what I will discover inside.”

If you read the lyrics to me now, however, this song does not push the Mormon agenda. To me, in honesty, hearing this song come up on a shuffle of “music you might like,” I listened to the lyrics, again, and heard, once more, my Mormon Liberation. 

“You told me that I would find a hole Within the fragile substance of my soul.” (They did.)

“And I have filled this void with things unreal And all the while my character it steals.” (I filled it with Mormonism, and it absolutely did steal my character.)

“Stars, hide your fires. These here are my desires and I will give them up to you this time around. And so, I’ll be found, with my stake stuck in this ground, marking the territory of this newly impassioned soul… You have neither reason nor rhyme with which to take this soul that is so rightfully mine.”

All of the songs on my playlist are like this - full of words that ring true to a heart that’s gone through something grieving and expansive. 

“I’m down on my knees. I’m begging you please. There’s no place in heaven for someone like me. Won’t you open the door and try me once more? Cause there’s no place in heaven for someone like me.”

“So throw your sticks and throw your stones ‘cause you ain’t gonna break my bones. If I’m a sinner then I don’t feel ashamed. Life goes on, and if I’m wrong, I guess I’ll burn in flames. Been up the river, and I’ve been down the drain. Life goes on, and if I’m wrong, I guess I’ll burn in flames.”

“It comes and goes in waves. It always runs back, but it’s never quite the same… When it pulls me under, will you make me stronger? Will you be my breath through the deep, deep water? Take me farther, give me one day longer. Will you be my breath through the deep, deep water? When I’m sinking like a stone, at least I know I’m not alone.”

“We were always made for love. We could always speak in tongues… I think of you whenever I see fire in the sky.”

“Oh, I am tired of abiding by your rules. Causing me to second guess My every single move. You don’t know who I am Or what I have been through, no. So don’t dare tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, ‘cause Not here to lose. Not here for you to choose How who we should be ‘Cause we’re not part of your machine.”

“I was born in that summer when the sun didn’t shine. I was given a name that doesn’t feel like it’s mine. Lived my life as the good boy I was told I should be. Prayed every night to a religion that was chosen for me.”

“Just take that dark cloud, wring it out to wash it down, but Don’t pray for us. We don’t need no Modern Jesus to roll with us. The only rule we need is never givin’ up. The only faith we have is faith in us.”

I remember when I got my first tattoo, driving home on my own, I listened to that first liberation song, Imagine Dragons’ “Machine,” and I cried. 

“Cause I’ve been wondering When you’re gonna see I’m not for sale. I’ve been questioning When you gonna see I’m not a part of your machine. Not a part of your machine… All my life been sittin’ at the table.”

I was mad, and so SO proud of myself, for doing something that felt like a permanent way of owning myself, for the first time in my life. 

As with grief, what it looks like changes from day to day. The angry, triumphant victory of Machine turned to the sorrowing grief of “Burn Out.”

“Sadness is my enemy. I fear time will age him gently. Walkin’ by my side for all these years, Seems that we’ve grown friendly. Happiness is beautiful to see. Won’t you box it up for me? For me? Oh, give me strength and give me peace. Does anyone out there want to hear me? 

It’s just another downpour, don’t let it get the best of you. It’s only up from the floor, light everything inside of you. Don’t burn out, don’t burn out on me. Don’t burn out, Don’t burn out on me.”

“God, I could never be like you. I can’t change, I can’t change and I don’t want to. I’ve been on the run, so I’m not coming Sunday. It’s alright. I’ll probably talk to you at midnight.”

“I might be jaded and delusional But at least I found a home inside my head. This is for all those dreams I believed in. This is for all those doubts in my mind. This is a wild wild world that we live in. I won’t let anyone tell me I won’t survive. I’ll be just fine. I’ll be just fine.”

“I hung my heart out to dry On rooftops under blue skies. No, I never would have grown if I’d never been alone So when I find myself, I’ma bring it on home.”

When you go through grief, you find it everywhere. You find it in songs. You find the anger, the loss, the acceptance, the peace, the isolation, the denial, bargaining, panic, hope.

Losing your religion causes grief. Grief is messy, and I’m grateful for the musicians who have helped me put words to my thoughts, and music to my emotions, every single day.

“I found myself when I lost my faith.”

Presenting the Message

I debated if this was even worth mentioning, let alone devoting a blog post to, so know this one’s gonna be quick. 

On Saturday my family went back to Nauvoo. Are we gluttons for punishment? Perhaps I am. Perhaps there were geodes twenty minutes away. Perhaps there was root beer we missed last time. Perhaps I didn’t get my hands on one of the “Nauvoo” tourist bricks that I’ve so desperately coveted since I didn’t get one last year. Whatever the reason, I wanted to go back.

This time, we went to Nauvoo when everything was open. There were other families wandering around, Community of Christ buildings were open, and we even managed to wander onto a wagon ride!

Seeing sites presented by Mormons, and sites presented by Community of Christ members was… enlightening. And I wanted to talk about that.

One of the first rules they told us, getting on our wagon ride, was, “Photographs are encouraged! But please no videos or audio!” She also stressed multiple times that she wanted us to save our questions for the end, and just listen.

My husband and I shared a suspicious glances, though respected the requests. Instead, we just paid extra close attention to what was being taught. Because, guaranteed, if they don’t want you being able to quote them, what they’re saying is important.

1. They stressed twice that Joseph Smith was jailed despite… *checks notes* “He did absolutely nothing wrong.” 
2. The road which led to the Mississippi River crossing was renamed the “Trail of Hope” by Gordon B Hinckley. This is nothing other than purely inspiring, because of how optimistic the Mormons’ futures would be, and definitely had nothing to do with the fact that they had been calling it the “Trail of Tears.” … O_o
3. “Brigham Young and his wife...” 

That last one is always worth a good laugh. They’ve pulled that one with Brigham Young quite a bit. Teachings of the President Brigham Young, in particular, used that line a lot. 

The whole ride, as an ex-Mormon amateur historian, was wildly entertaining, and would have been more entertaining if we hadn’t been wrestling a baby who was intrigued by horses drawing a wagon for about the first five minutes, and increasingly less so for the last twenty-five.

Suspiciously, though, I don’t know if it was the fact that I was wearing a top that showed my shoulders - scandalous - but generally, their treatment of us was… frightened. Again, I was on my best behavior and didn’t say a word. But they called a couple sister missionaries “on their lunch breaks” to come sit behind us on the wagon ride, as if to keep us under control. Not to talk to us, but to watch us? To stop us from angrily interrupting the tour? Because we’d expressly been told not to talk.

Once we were off the wagon, I did have a question for the tour guide sister, though.

“I noticed the brickyard is closed! We were hoping to get one of those Nauvoo bricks! Where do we go to find those?”

So yes, I jolly well did go to the center to watch the brick demonstration. And I learned how to make bricks, thank you very much. But again? No missionaries running up to volunteer to help us. We had to ask. It was all very… tense.

Then we went to the Red Brick Store, where Community of Christ runs the show. 

We were met with rows and rows of “anti-Mormon literature” books for sale, metal buttons that said “Joseph Smith for President!” And just as many stating “Emma Smith for President!” We laughed with the ladies behind the counters - It’s funny because… he DID run for President… 

They leaned into the honest, frank humor of the history, right along with us. We laughed with them about how we’d just learned about “Brigham Young’s WIFE,” and purchased harmonicas and matching red bonnets for the baby and me. And root beer. Danged good root beer.

Community of Christ stopped trying to hide from their history decades ago. They learned from it, and moved on. Mormonism continues, desperately, to try and hide their history, while simultaneously trying to inspire their membership by a white-washed version of it. And it has made them stiff and scared. 

I was a woman who wanted a brick and some cheap weekend entertainment for my kids, as well as a drive along the Mississippi. I didn’t intend to raise Hell. But by merely existing outside the status quo, with tattoos and shoulders, Hell I raised. (Literally. Sister missionaries babysitting us on the wagon ride, as backup.) 

Thank you, Mormonism, and most especially Community of Christ, for reminding me that authenticity is important. That comfort with yourself and your past is what makes for good company.