Mormon Math
Even if member numbers are overstated, is exaggeration a sin?
http://www.slweekly.com/editorial/2005/deep_2005-08-04.cfm
My colleagues in the Ministry of Truth (informally known as the Department of Propaganda) have been burning the midnight oil ever since The Salt Lake Tribune published those articles documenting the Decline and Fall of the Mormon Empire. We thought we had been doing a bang-up job fiddling with the numbers to make it look like the Church Formerly Known As Mormon was growing like crazy.
For instance, we count as Mormons those stiff-necked lost souls who have fallen away from the Gospel, as well as those converts who turn their garments in after their free, 30-day trial period. As the Tribune articles point out, the real membership of the church is not 12 million but actually around 4 million or so. And the number of converts declined from 321,385 in 1996 to 241,239 in 2001. That means that at least 80,146 spirits (if you calculate the sum using new math) in the pre-existence have been cooling their heels in the celestial waiting room to come to Earth and get a body.
Those of us brethren in the Ministry of Truth have known for quite a while now that folks out there are just not taking to the true Gospel and the Plan of Salvation with the enthusiasm to which we have become accustomed. Several of the brethren have come up with their own theories of why this is so. There is the Information Glut theory, according to which it is now too easy to look up the church on the Internet and to discover all the secret stuff (we call it sacred), which is hardly secret anymore, and which doesnt seem so creepy after youve fasted for a day and cant think straight.
Then there is the Too Darned Hot Hypothesis, which states that the abysmal conversion retention rate in Africa and South American is a direct consequence of what the eminent French anthropologist Pierre Frommage calls garment hyperthermia.
A third explanation addresses the commonly observed phenomenon of young people joining the church because of romantic attachments. This has been termed the Hormone Effect, after the controversial professor of physiology at Southern Utah State University, Dr. Gerald W. Hormone. It has been said that Dr. Hormone first noticed the effect after his wayward daughter, Geraldine, gave up her wild ways and got baptized after dating a returned missionary, a lad from Heber City named Wilfred Delong, for just six weeks.
After tiring of Wilfred, she quit going to church, and hasnt seen the inside of a ward house since. Nevertheless, Geraldine Hormone remains on the church rolls, her status as a full-fledged member as valid in the eyes of the church as the staunchest member of the high priests quorum.
I felt very flattered when a group of my colleagues in the Ministry of Truth approached me to get my advice on how to improve the missionary effort and bring new members into the fold. During coffee breaks I had often shared my experiences in the mission field with my companion, Elder Willard Mitt Romney. According to Elder Boyd Packer, Mitt and myself were the most successful missionaries in the history of the French Mission.
By the way, there is an excellent profile of my good friendweve remained close ever since our days in Paris, Francein the September issue of the Atlantic Monthly. The author rather understandably gushes about Mitts presidential good looks, describing him as virile and handsome. I dont know whether the author is male or female, but it doesnt matter, because Mitt has the same effect on everyone. Take Mayor Sparky Anderson, for example, who gets a dreamy look in his eyes whenever his buddy, the diminutive but dynamic governor of Massachusetts, enters the room.
The one thing that surprised me in the Atlantic Monthly article was how touchy Mitt got when the author asked him about his garments. Mitt stiffened up and said he liked to keep his garments private. Back in the old days, Elder Romney was far more relaxed about such matters. I remember well those steamy Parisian afternoons when it was too hot to go knocking on doors, and Mitt and I would lounge around our apartment near the Champs Elysees in our garments, reading Le Monde, eating baguettes and enjoying a crisp Sauvignon Blanc.
But I will say this for my missionary companion. I never saw him without his garments, even on those well-deserved weekends when we visited our favorite spa with the German girls we converted, Gudrun and Ursula.
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