The REAL Elder Price and the Mormon Boys (Part 1)

Disclaimer:  Obviously, The Book of Mormon Musical is intended to entertain, not to serve as a primer on Mormonism.  This series of essays is offered simply as a view of what missionary life is actually like for Mormon missionaries in Africa, not as a direct response to the musical—though there are a few responses.

The Book of Mormon Musical opens with a scene of Jesus, Mormon, and Moroni on Hill Cumorah in upstate New York.  It is a brief and campy depiction of a Mormon theophany, something which appears absurd and laughable to many: the idea that gods and angels would be personally involved in burying gold scriptures.  In many ways, it plays on a central Mormon tenet—not just the belief in the prophetic calling of Joseph Smith as translator and restorer, but the belief in continuing revelation.  Such revelation not only makes seers of farm boys, but suggests that Jesus Christ and other Heavenly beings are present even in the most unlikely places, and that every human being can be spiritually enlarged beyond any border which mortal paradigms impose.

Mormonism itself demands a generous imagination.  We Mormons are urged to imagine one another’s potential with limitless generosity, daring to believe that the most lowly, uncomely, unrefined person is potentially as glorious as any divine being represented with ultra-watt lighting on a Broadway stage. The Mormon imagination is telescopic, inviting us to see far into the distance, beyond time; to look into the Heavens and imagine that—even in the presence of such mind-boggling creativity as the stars and planets manifest—we humans and our incomprehensible future are God’s “work and glory” (Moses 1:39).

So, these divine beings in upstate New York do make a central statement about Mormonism and imagination.  If viewed cynically, the suggestion that anyone might actually believe that gods and angels would behave so unexpectedly (or behave at all) appears simply naïve.  Taken representationally, the scene implies (accurately) that we Mormons are accustomed to dealing with the unexpected, that we allow ourselves to be surprised by grace in many ways and places, that we don’t “just believe,” as one of the show’s songs states, but that as we grow in love, we behave as love itself does.  And love (says Paul) “bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things” (I Corinthians 13:7-8). It’s not so much a habit of “making stuff up again” (as another show song claims) as it is a willingness to nurture glorious “what if’s”. Love persuades us to view ourselves and our brothers and sisters—comprising everyone—in the light of eternal prospects, granting the potential for individual and communal progress.  This progress doesn’t end.  We Mormons don’t believe in an either/or (Heaven or Hell) judgment immediately after death.  We believe that as God’s children, we may continue to learn and grow even after our earthly lives end.  The only thing which prevents growth is a personal option for stasis.

That there are naïve Latter-day Saints is beyond question.  That there are Mormons who don’t understand the hierarchy of gospel principles, and assume that a belief in Kolob is equally important to faith in Jesus Christ, is true.  But globalizing and reducing all Mormons to the stereotype of smiley, gullible replicas of each other is using imagination as a flat iron rather than a telescope. 

The protagonist of The Book of Mormon Musical, Elder Price, doesn’t appear until this Hill Cumorah tableau fades, and then, he’s already a missionary. 

The REAL Elder Price, as presented in this series of essays (Elder Brandon Price), agreed to imagine himself and others with a divinely generous imagination when he was ordained to the Melchizedek priesthood.  In that moment, he was told that he now held “the keys to all the spiritual blessings of the church” and that he could “have the heavens opened…and enjoy the communion and presence of God the Father, and Jesus” (Doctrine and Covenants 107:18-19).  His temple endowment magnified his godly imagination.  He entered the temple in his Sunday clothes, and carried a bag which would change his life.  In the bag were new temple garments.  For the rest of his days on earth, he will wear this “Mormon underwear” as a constant reminder of his consecration. The depiction of garments in the Book of Mormon Musical predictably gets a laugh, but we Mormons take our garments seriously.  As much as a yarmulke or a priest’s collar indicates personal commitment in other religions, garments, for us Mormons, serve as symbols of our promises to God.

When the Broadway audience first sees Elder Price, he is in the Missionary Training Center, and soon meets his socially inept companion, Elder Cunningham.  These two, with the “Mormon Boys” (various other missionaries) practice a door approach with repetitions of the enthusiastically sung “Hello.”  The music is fun and catchy.   The MTC experience portrayed on stage is, of course, nothing like the real thing. 

My husband and I spent two years in an MTC branch—where we met the REAL Elder Price and various “Mormon boys” on the first day of their missions.

I wrote this about our experience on May 22, 2008:

Yesterday evening, Bruce and I welcomed twenty-one missionaries into our branch at the MTC.

Several of the missionaries come from blended families, where death or divorce has ruptured expectations. At least one young man delayed his mission for a year until he could work through the issues his mother’s death had introduced. One missionary was from Scotland. When I shook his hand, I noted his plaid tie. “It’s not my tartan, but it’s a good one,” he said in a thick accent.

I answered, “You’re from Scotland, aren’t you. Either that or you’ve mastered the accent.”

 “I’m from Scotland.”

“Well, you have a very good accent.”

“Thank you very much,” he said. “I’ve been working on it for eighteen years.”

We had a humorous exchange, but when he stood to tell why he had chosen to be a missionary, I saw his depth.

Most of these new missionaries have sung “I Hope They Call Me on a Mission” since they were old enough to carry a tune. But there are exceptions—some who had not considered a mission until recently. One, a musician, gave up an orchestra tour which included Carnegie Hall so he could serve. Another was in a rock band and had the opportunity to do a European tour.  He had to choose between that tour and a mission.  He sold his guitars.  His mission was financed by the money those guitars brought in. One—Elder Jared Wigginton--already had a college degree focusing on international relations, and even taught for a year. He was admitted to law school, and chose to defer his admission for two years. He will be going to Africa. I am eager to see how this mission prepares him for the rest of what he’ll do in his life. He will learn about Africa in a way no class on international law will ever teach him.

Elder Brandon Price would enter the MTC four months after Elder Wigginton.

Brandon had submitted his mission papers a few weeks before his “call” came in a large white envelope.  (No, mission calls do not happen in “the Center” as The Book of Mormon Musical depicts.)  Brandon sat on the couch with a knife and the envelope. 

“Okay, any last minute guesses?” he said, already sawing the envelope open.

“Some place European! Tennessee! Canada! Guatemala!” his family shouted.

The envelope was opened, and he lifted the papers out.  He stared at the top one. 

“Read it out loud!” his mother coached.

“Wow,” was his response.  He had already seen it.  “Dear Elder Price,” he read, “you are hereby called to serve as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” his mother breathed.

“You are called to labor in the D.R. Congo-Kinshasa mission.”

A gasp and a chorus of “What?” interrupted him.

“You’re going to Af-reek-ah!” his father yelled.

“I’m going to the Congo!” He continued reading: “You will preach the gospel in the French language.”

“Are you joking?” his mother asked.

“No!”  He stared at the call.  “I never heard of anyone going there.”  He read further: “It is expected that you will labor for a period of twenty-four months.”  As his sister tried to find the Congo on a world globe, Brandon Price repeated, “Wow.  Wow.”

“Wow,” his mother echoed.

(Other Africa-bound missionaries had different responses from their families.  One had a grandmother who started crying, “You’re going to die!”)

On Wednesday evening, September 24, 2008, my husband and I met Elder Price.  He was wearing a new suit, new shoes, and a new missionary badge with a little red dot, identifying him as just-arrived.  During orientation, the “just-arrived” removed those dots, and the branch president introduced them to their texts: the scriptures and Preach My Gospel, which gives instructions on how to teach, but more importantly on how to develop Christlike attributes.

Elder Price was paired with Elder Seth Lee, from Seattle, who was also headed for the DR-Kinshasa mission.

We asked each missionary to tell us a little about their lives thus far. 

Brandon Price had been a student at Dixie State College, studying theater.  He believed in the gospel and wanted to share it.  Of course, most of the missionaries are fulfilling family expectations, but such expectations become somewhat irrelevant and cumbersome when the real work begins.  As the president of the MTC once said, “It doesn’t matter what got you here.  You might be here because your girlfriend said she wouldn’t marry you if you didn’t go on a mission.  You might be here because your father promised you a car.  All that matters is that you’re HERE.  And now, if you do your part, you will become a disciple of the Lord.”

Some missionaries have agonized over the choice to serve—two years far from home, and at their own expense.  One, older than most in the MTC, reflected on his decision in these words:

It was at the invitation of a friend to pray and fast about it that I really began to explore the possibility of going on a mission. I remember having dinner prepared and leaving it on the table to go up to my loft to pray. The Lord had chastened me. He had taken away the things that I was hanging onto, and when there was nothing left (or so I felt) I was in that oh-so-familiar place: kneeling next to my bed, saturating my comforter and sheets with my tears and pleas to Heavenly Father. The direction became clear.

I talked with my Bishop. I went through heart-wrenching moments, acknowledging and sharing everything. I remember the difficulty and the love. I remember the anxiety and the peace. And the day I knew a mission was a real possibility, I made a decision. I did not do it for my mom or dad; I did it because I knew it was right for me, that I had to make sacrifices; that if I did not do it, my life and ideals would amount to mere words. I had been given the opportunity to truly contribute to the welfare of the world by serving Heavenly Father's children one by one.

Most of the MTC elders are still in their teens, so such introspection is not the norm, and childish antics are not uncommon.  Elder Price wrote in his journal:  I do get a little frustrated some days with the immature high school-ness of some people, but that’s okay and normal, I guess. The MTC really isn't that horrible.

Though they will still behave like the teenagers they are, most of the missionaries find themselves praying with new intensity as they begin this mission they’ve been planning for so many years.  Elder Price’s companion had simple counsel for him: “Lighten up.”  Indeed, Elder Lee, with a gift of humor, would always honor serious things as a missionary, but would be able to crack a joke when the tension got too much.  

Tension could get particularly thick during language classes.

Our missionaries were all learning French, and were expected to develop at least some fluency within the two months of their MTC stay.  Towards the end of his two months, Elder Price wrote to his family: “I’ve been freaking out about forgetting all my French, but apparently I'm doing something right, because the other night, one of our new roommates told me that I was talking in my sleep in French.  So something’s getting down into my brain somewhere.”

Elder Henry Lisowski (who arrived three months after Elder Price) wrote to me about how hard the language had been for him in those language classes. “You've probably heard of the struggles I had with French,” he said.  Apparently, he thought his ineptitude was legendary.  I couldn’t resist teasing him:  “Did you really think I had heard about how bad your French was?  Did you think you were the gossip of the MTC?” Of course, by the time I sent that, he was in Africa and fluent in French.  I added, “Look at you now!  You've GOT it! You told me it was a gift of the Spirit, and you're right.  Those gifts are wrapped more in love than in our own strained effort.”

My husband and I got to spend two months with our missionaries before sending them to their various mission fields.  We welcomed, supported, and then said good-bye to them.  Those farewells were often emotional, as I described in this note:

On Sunday, our MTC Branch President will ask the departing district to stand.

He will say, “These missionaries will be leaving tomorrow. We want to thank them for their service in our branch and we certainly wish them well on their missions.”

They are such good kids—so pure and full of hope. Some have done very well with their French; others are still struggling. And just wait until they hear how it’s really spoken! They have no idea how difficult and how precious the next twenty-two months will be for them.

And then they were gone—to the countries they had been called to.  Elders Price, Wigginton, Lee, Lisowski, Coburn, Parsons, and Kesler were all headed to the same mission in Africa.

Disclaimer:  Obviously, The Book of Mormon Musical is intended to entertain, not to serve as a primer on Mormonism.  This series of essays is offered simply as a view of what missionary life is actually like for Mormon missionaries in Africa, not as a direct response to the musical—though there are a few responses.

Elder Price's name badge

The Book of Mormon Musical opens with a scene of Jesus, Mormon, and Moroni on Hill Cumorah in upstate New York.  It is a brief and campy depiction of a Mormon theophany, something which appears absurd and laughable to many: the idea that gods and angels would be personally involved in burying gold scriptures.  In many ways, it plays on a central Mormon tenet—not just the belief in the prophetic calling of Joseph Smith as translator and restorer, but the belief in continuing revelation.  Such revelation not only makes seers of farm boys, but suggests that Jesus Christ and other Heavenly beings are present even in the most unlikely places, and that every human being can be spiritually enlarged beyond any border which mortal paradigms impose.

Mormonism itself demands a generous imagination.  We Mormons are urged to imagine one another’s potential with limitless generosity, daring to believe that the most lowly, uncomely, unrefined person is potentially as glorious as any divine being represented with ultra-watt lighting on a Broadway stage. The Mormon imagination is telescopic, inviting us to see far into the distance, beyond time; to look into the Heavens and imagine that—even in the presence of such mind-boggling creativity as the stars and planets manifest—we humans and our incomprehensible future are God’s “work and glory” (Moses 1:39).

So, these divine beings in upstate New York do make a central statement about Mormonism and imagination.  If viewed cynically, the suggestion that anyone might actually believe that gods and angels would behave so unexpectedly (or behave at all) appears simply naïve.  Taken representationally, the scene implies (accurately) that we Mormons are accustomed to dealing with the unexpected, that we allow ourselves to be surprised by grace in many ways and places, that we don’t “just believe,” as one of the show’s songs states, but that as we grow in love, we behave as love itself does.  And love (says Paul) “bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things” (I Corinthians 13:7-8). It’s not so much a habit of “making stuff up again” (as another show song claims) as it is a willingness to nurture glorious “what if’s”. Love persuades us to view ourselves and our brothers and sisters—comprising everyone—in the light of eternal prospects, granting the potential for individual and communal progress.  This progress doesn’t end.  We Mormons don’t believe in an either/or (Heaven or Hell) judgment immediately after death.  We believe that as God’s children, we may continue to learn and grow even after our earthly lives end.  The only thing which prevents growth is a personal option for stasis.

That there are naïve Latter-day Saints is beyond question.  That there are Mormons who don’t understand the hierarchy of gospel principles, and assume that a belief in Kolob is equally important to faith in Jesus Christ, is true.  But globalizing and reducing all Mormons to the stereotype of smiley, gullible replicas of each other is using imagination as a flat iron rather than a telescope. 

The protagonist of The Book of Mormon Musical, Elder Price, doesn’t appear until this Hill Cumorah tableau fades, and then, he’s already a missionary. 

The REAL Elder Price, as presented in this series of essays (Elder Brandon Price), agreed to imagine himself and others with a divinely generous imagination when he was ordained to the Melchizedek priesthood.  In that moment, he was told that he now held “the keys to all the spiritual blessings of the church” and that he could “have the heavens opened…and enjoy the communion and presence of God the Father, and Jesus” (Doctrine and Covenants 107:18-19).  His temple endowment magnified his godly imagination.  He entered the temple in his Sunday clothes, and carried a bag which would change his life.  In the bag were new temple garments.  For the rest of his days on earth, he will wear this “Mormon underwear” as a constant reminder of his consecration. The depiction of garments in the Book of Mormon Musical predictably gets a laugh, but we Mormons take our garments seriously.  As much as a yarmulke or a priest’s collar indicates personal commitment in other religions, garments, for us Mormons, serve as symbols of our promises to God.

When the Broadway audience first sees Elder Price, he is in the Missionary Training Center, and soon meets his socially inept companion, Elder Cunningham.  These two, with the “Mormon Boys” (various other missionaries) practice a door approach with repetitions of the enthusiastically sung “Hello.”  The music is fun and catchy.   The MTC experience portrayed on stage is, of course, nothing like the real thing. 

Elder Brandon Price arrives at the MTC.

My husband and I spent two years in an MTC branch—where we met the REAL Elder Price and various “Mormon boys” on the first day of their missions.

I wrote this about our experience on May 22, 2008:

Yesterday evening, Bruce and I welcomed twenty-one missionaries into our branch at the MTC.

Several of the missionaries come from blended families, where death or divorce has ruptured expectations. At least one young man delayed his mission for a year until he could work through the issues his mother’s death had introduced. One missionary was from Scotland. When I shook his hand, I noted his plaid tie. “It’s not my tartan, but it’s a good one,” he said in a thick accent.

I answered, “You’re from Scotland, aren’t you. Either that or you’ve mastered the accent.”

 “I’m from Scotland.”

“Well, you have a very good accent.”

“Thank you ve