Knocking on heaven's door, by way of Sioux City
By John Quinlan Journal staff writer | Posted: Saturday, September 02, 2006
Neatly attired in their creased black slacks, crisp white shirts, ties and shiny black shoes, the two young men march up the sidewalk to their first stop that afternoon, a modest ranch house in a nice Morningside neighborhood.
Elder Tim Bullock rings the doorbell, then raps politely on the door. And it opens.
"Hello, how are you doing today?" Elder Bullock asks. "Do you know who we are? We're Mormon missionaries. We're the ones that live just around here. You've probably seen us walking around."
"Yeah, I've seen you walking around," homeowner John Meyers says, smiling.
"Have we ever stopped by your house before?" Bullock asks."
"No. But I'm Catholic and I'm probably going to stay that way. Thanks for coming by and good luck to you," Meyers says.
"Do you know anybody else in the neigborhood that might benefit from this message?" Bullock's companion, Elder Matthew Moyer, asks.
"Not a lot," Meyers responds. "Not a lot. I just recently retired. So I don't know the neighbors all that well. But good luck to you."
The conversation over, the two Mormon missionaries, both 20, march off to the next house.
During a brief tour of the neighborhood, with most residents away from home (or hiding), only four homes yielded results, none of them favorable to the young men from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, commonly called Mormons. Their missionary work as a rite of passage takes them through many doors.
One woman had no time and discouraged the missionaries' offer to return at a better time. "No thanks," was all one man said before shutting his door. Then they had a pleasant 5-minute chat with an elderly gentleman who was talkative and friendly but, as a longtime member of the Morningside Assembly of God Church, not agreeable to conversion talk ... unless he does the converting. He also wished them well, declining an offer of a free Book of Mormon. "Have a good day. Work hard and earn your keep," he said.
A not unpleasant encounter, Moyer noted.
Sometimes people, especially older folks, just want someone to talk to, whether they're interested in the church or not, he said.
"My first experience -- I had a door slammed in my face," Moyer said. "It kind of scared me. But over time, you kind of get used to it. You've just got to keep going."
And they cherish their successes, Bullock added. "It's interesting and it's scary, definitely scary, to go up and knock on somebody's door; but we do it because we want to," he said. "It does get easier over time."
Meyers, who recently retired as Sioux City finance director, said he doesn't mind the missionaries' visits.
"They have a right to do that. It's no problem," Meyers said. "They have a right to present their religion, and we have a right to be interested in it or not."
It's a common reaction from area residents. For decades, pairs of LDS missionaries have been easily recognizable on city streets, whether clean-cut young men, young women or senior couples, often riding bicycles. Occasionally, they are mistaken for Jehovah's Witnesses. In such cases, they can simply point to their black LDS name tags.
Meyers's reaction was typical. And Bullock said he sometimes prefers it when people not interested in their message interrupt their presentation and pleasantly bid them adieu. "Sometimes we talk to people and they say 'Oh yeah, come back,' and we come back and there's nobody there at the scheduled time," he said. "So sometimes it's good just to get the rejection."
Unfailingly polite, they say they walk away when someone becomes overtly hostile. It is tough, they say, when people erroneously accuse them of cultism or polygamy. The LDS officially ended polygamy in 1890.
Elders Bullock from Idaho and Moyer from Southern California share a Morningside apartment with two other LDS missionaries. There are 10 missionaries in the metro area at this time, so assigned by the Iowa Des Moines Mission, a part of the church's rigid hierarchy.
Moyer is about halfway through his two-year commitment. Bullock has been at it about eight months, the last four and a half months in Sioux City.
No TV, no movies, no dating
Their apartment is nice but Spartan, the furniture motel-basic, with religious pictures, maps and a dorm-style mini-basketball hoop providing the only wall adornment. A weight set sits in the living room corner where most folks might have their television. They are denied access to non-religious TV, movies, music, magazines or newspapers during their two-year missions.
And no dating. At all. Ever. Even their contact with possible female converts is severely limited. And before they begin their missionary work, they are encouraged to end any romantic relationships. With no contact possible for two years, such relationships aren't likely to succeed. And "Dear John" letters can be avoided.
Helping to maintain that focus is the strict daily schedule they keep.
"We get up at 6:30 and we go to bed at 10:30," Bullock said. "It's hard. It's definitely hard. We only get to talk to our parents or families twice a year, at Mother's Day and Christmas. It's hard, but I think we appreciate our families even more when we come out here and kind of let go of them and grow up and learn."
Regular contact with their families would just make them more homesick, Elder Mark Danneman, 21, of New Jersey said. Outside of the two yearly phone calls, their only communication with their families is through letters and e-mails.
They also get one day off each week. Every Monday from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. is their preparation time.
"That's our time to do our laundry, wash the car, do our shopping, write letters home, take care of all that stuff so we don't have to worry about that the rest of the week. We can just focus on our missionary work," Danneman said.
After morning prayers, consultations and planning, they hit the streets, going door-to-door in search of converts.
On Sundays, they attend service at the LDS chapel at 1201 W. Clifton St. Moyer said the average attendance is about 300 active members every Sunday. The church claims an Iowa membership of 21,453 in 66 congregations.
And they are serious about that work, hence the white shirts and ties.
"Do you think people would take us seriously if we showed up at the door (saying), 'Hey, we're missionaries,' and we're all grungy and wearing jeans and a T-shirt and got a little 'fro going," he said. "You want people to realize how serious you are about this work, how serious you are about going out and sharing this message with them. We do that any way we can."
Walking in the rain shows just how serious they are.
Paying for the privilege
They're not in it for the money.
Missionaries have to pay for the privilege of serving, often with the assistance of family and friends. And while it's not mandatory, most young Mormons, out of a sense of personal and/or family responsibility, gladly volunteer for this work. Their brothers did it. Their fathers did it. Their grandfathers did it.
Elder Mathew Owens of Georgia said he had to work hard and save to afford his time in the field. Missionaries pay about $400 a month which over 24 months amounts to $10,600. They are assigned companions and dispatched all over the world. Though Utah-based, it is a worldwide religion. They are given monthly allotments for groceries and other necessities. They are assigned church-leased apartments and, in many cases, cars to use along with the proverbial bikes. In Sioux City, as in most of Iowa, cars are necessary.
Most opt to sign up right after high school when they're 19. Women, called sisters, not elders, are called to serve at 21, generally for 18 months. There are more than 50,000 missionaries serving worldwide.
After serving, many then go home to continue their educational pursuits. Bullock will go to school while working in construction. "I like to build houses," he said. Moyer, who comes from a long line of firemen, plans to go back to school and become either a firefighter or police officer.
Danneman, with just six weeks of missionary work left, said his time in the field has been an awesome adventure.
"I think I've grown up more these past two years than my entire life combined," he said. "In the experience of serving others, I've ended up doing more for myself than for other people. I feel like I've gotten a lot more out of it than the people I've helped."
The gift of tongues
Elder Tim Bullock rings the doorbell, then raps politely on the door. And it opens.
"Hello, how are you doing today?" Elder Bullock asks. "Do you know who we are? We're Mormon missionaries. We're the ones that live just around here. You've probably seen us walking around."
"Yeah, I've seen you walking around," homeowner John Meyers says, smiling.
"Have we ever stopped by your house before?" Bullock asks."
"No. But I'm Catholic and I'm probably going to stay that way. Thanks for coming by and good luck to you," Meyers says.
"Do you know anybody else in the neigborhood that might benefit from this message?" Bullock's companion, Elder Matthew Moyer, asks.
"Not a lot," Meyers responds. "Not a lot. I just recently retired. So I don't know the neighbors all that well. But good luck to you."
The conversation over, the two Mormon missionaries, both 20, march off to the next house.
During a brief tour of the neighborhood, with most residents away from home (or hiding), only four homes yielded results, none of them favorable to the young men from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, commonly called Mormons. Their missionary work as a rite of passage takes them through many doors.
One woman had no time and discouraged the missionaries' offer to return at a better time. "No thanks," was all one man said before shutting his door. Then they had a pleasant 5-minute chat with an elderly gentleman who was talkative and friendly but, as a longtime member of the Morningside Assembly of God Church, not agreeable to conversion talk ... unless he does the converting. He also wished them well, declining an offer of a free Book of Mormon. "Have a good day. Work hard and earn your keep," he said.
A not unpleasant encounter, Moyer noted.
Sometimes people, especially older folks, just want someone to talk to, whether they're interested in the church or not, he said.
"My first experience -- I had a door slammed in my face," Moyer said. "It kind of scared me. But over time, you kind of get used to it. You've just got to keep going."
And they cherish their successes, Bullock added. "It's interesting and it's scary, definitely scary, to go up and knock on somebody's door; but we do it because we want to," he said. "It does get easier over time."
Meyers, who recently retired as Sioux City finance director, said he doesn't mind the missionaries' visits.
"They have a right to do that. It's no problem," Meyers said. "They have a right to present their religion, and we have a right to be interested in it or not."
It's a common reaction from area residents. For decades, pairs of LDS missionaries have been easily recognizable on city streets, whether clean-cut young men, young women or senior couples, often riding bicycles. Occasionally, they are mistaken for Jehovah's Witnesses. In such cases, they can simply point to their black LDS name tags.
Meyers's reaction was typical. And Bullock said he sometimes prefers it when people not interested in their message interrupt their presentation and pleasantly bid them adieu. "Sometimes we talk to people and they say 'Oh yeah, come back,' and we come back and there's nobody there at the scheduled time," he said. "So sometimes it's good just to get the rejection."
Unfailingly polite, they say they walk away when someone becomes overtly hostile. It is tough, they say, when people erroneously accuse them of cultism or polygamy. The LDS officially ended polygamy in 1890.
Elders Bullock from Idaho and Moyer from Southern California share a Morningside apartment with two other LDS missionaries. There are 10 missionaries in the metro area at this time, so assigned by the Iowa Des Moines Mission, a part of the church's rigid hierarchy.
Moyer is about halfway through his two-year commitment. Bullock has been at it about eight months, the last four and a half months in Sioux City.
No TV, no movies, no dating
Their apartment is nice but Spartan, the furniture motel-basic, with religious pictures, maps and a dorm-style mini-basketball hoop providing the only wall adornment. A weight set sits in the living room corner where most folks might have their television. They are denied access to non-religious TV, movies, music, magazines or newspapers during their two-year missions.
And no dating. At all. Ever. Even their contact with possible female converts is severely limited. And before they begin their missionary work, they are encouraged to end any romantic relationships. With no contact possible for two years, such relationships aren't likely to succeed. And "Dear John" letters can be avoided.
Helping to maintain that focus is the strict daily schedule they keep.
"We get up at 6:30 and we go to bed at 10:30," Bullock said. "It's hard. It's definitely hard. We only get to talk to our parents or families twice a year, at Mother's Day and Christmas. It's hard, but I think we appreciate our families even more when we come out here and kind of let go of them and grow up and learn."
Regular contact with their families would just make them more homesick, Elder Mark Danneman, 21, of New Jersey said. Outside of the two yearly phone calls, their only communication with their families is through letters and e-mails.
They also get one day off each week. Every Monday from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. is their preparation time.
"That's our time to do our laundry, wash the car, do our shopping, write letters home, take care of all that stuff so we don't have to worry about that the rest of the week. We can just focus on our missionary work," Danneman said.
After morning prayers, consultations and planning, they hit the streets, going door-to-door in search of converts.
On Sundays, they attend service at the LDS chapel at 1201 W. Clifton St. Moyer said the average attendance is about 300 active members every Sunday. The church claims an Iowa membership of 21,453 in 66 congregations.
And they are serious about that work, hence the white shirts and ties.
"Do you think people would take us seriously if we showed up at the door (saying), 'Hey, we're missionaries,' and we're all grungy and wearing jeans and a T-shirt and got a little 'fro going," he said. "You want people to realize how serious you are about this work, how serious you are about going out and sharing this message with them. We do that any way we can."
Walking in the rain shows just how serious they are.
Paying for the privilege
They're not in it for the money.
Missionaries have to pay for the privilege of serving, often with the assistance of family and friends. And while it's not mandatory, most young Mormons, out of a sense of personal and/or family responsibility, gladly volunteer for this work. Their brothers did it. Their fathers did it. Their grandfathers did it.
Elder Mathew Owens of Georgia said he had to work hard and save to afford his time in the field. Missionaries pay about $400 a month which over 24 months amounts to $10,600. They are assigned companions and dispatched all over the world. Though Utah-based, it is a worldwide religion. They are given monthly allotments for groceries and other necessities. They are assigned church-leased apartments and, in many cases, cars to use along with the proverbial bikes. In Sioux City, as in most of Iowa, cars are necessary.
Most opt to sign up right after high school when they're 19. Women, called sisters, not elders, are called to serve at 21, generally for 18 months. There are more than 50,000 missionaries serving worldwide.
After serving, many then go home to continue their educational pursuits. Bullock will go to school while working in construction. "I like to build houses," he said. Moyer, who comes from a long line of firemen, plans to go back to school and become either a firefighter or police officer.
Danneman, with just six weeks of missionary work left, said his time in the field has been an awesome adventure.
"I think I've grown up more these past two years than my entire life combined," he said. "In the experience of serving others, I've ended up doing more for myself than for other people. I feel like I've gotten a lot more out of it than the people I've helped."
The gift of tongues
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