My Life as a Mormon #5 (My Thoughts on the Word of Wisdom)
Posted 09-19-2018 at 10:50 AM by Katzpur
My thoughts on the Word of Wisdom: If there is any commandment that matters to Mormons, it's that we are to obey "The Word of Wisdom." Nothing defines a "good Mormon" like strict obedience to this teaching. Sometimes I feel as if my having a glass of wine at Thanksgiving and Christmas is just about the worst thing that I, as a Latter-day Saint, could conceivably do.
Papa smoked when I was a very little girl. I remember one night when I was young enough that we were all still sleeping upstairs. I had just gone to bed or was just about to. Papa told Mama he was going to run down to the store to buy a package of cigarettes. The memory of this event is almost non-existent, but I know I did something along the lines of pretending to put a cigarette to my lips. Papa saw me, changed his mind, and didn't go buy cigarettes after all. According to Mama, that's when he stopped smoking, and I can't personally recall having even seen him smoke after that. Back then, I was too young to know anything about "The Word of Wisdom." By the time I learned that smoking was forbidden, I knew only that my father had given up the habit years earlier. It wasn't until I was working at the Hotel Utah garage, and Jon VanWaggoner, one of the valets who had previously been a student of Papa's, told me he'd seen Papa smoking in his car. I defended Papa, denying that the accusation could possibly be true, but Mama was non-committal in her response when I talked to her about it. I hated Jon after that; what he could have possibly gotten out of divulging this supposed fact to me was a mystery. I never did know for sure whether Papa still smoked occasionally or not, but now I wondered, and I felt bad that he was hiding it from his family.
Mama and Papa both drank coffee for a long as I could remember. I knew they weren't supposed to, but I never really gave it all that much thought. Mama told me once that she'd started drinking it when her doctor had told her it would help her low blood pressure; she told me that tea and coffee are considered okay if used for medicinal purposes. Sometimes, she'd encourage me to have a cup of tea when I had an upset stomach. I tried it once and thought it tasted horrible; I figured coffee probably tasted just about as bad. I suspect I justified Mama's drinking coffee (and occasionally tea) by telling myself that it would be impossible for anyone to actually enjoy them.
As to why Papa drank coffee, I didn't know or really care. What did bother me was that Papa drank beer. Somehow, drinking coffee or tea qualified as a misdemeanor. Drinking alcohol or using tobacco was seen more as a felony. I'm not quite sure why. Papa had had a can of beer or two in the evenings after he got home from work for as long as I could remember. He never behaved any differently after he had than before, and I never once saw him appear to be even the slightest bit tipsy. I can still picture him sitting in his chair with a can of beer in one hand and the newspaper wide open in front of him. I remember how he was always careful to be discreet about it. He never tried to hide the fact that he drank beer from Mama, Jill or me, but he knew I would be embarrassed if Diane or Angelyn ever saw him with a can of beer. They did, too, on more than one occasion. Whenever the front doorbell rang and he was sitting in his chair, newspaper and beer in hand, and I suspected it was one or the other of my friends outside, I'd give him a quick look and he'd know to conceal his can behind the newspaper. A couple of times, though, he wasn't fast enough, and I'm sure they saw the items he attempted to hide before smiling and saying, "Hello!" to them. Neither of them ever said anything about it to me, but I have a hunch they probably spoke about it between themselves.
I do remember one incident, provoked by his drinking of beer, that hurt me terribly. We'd had a lesson in Sunday School, I guess, or maybe it was in Mutual. The Church hadn't yet officially started the "Family Home Evening" program, but families were being encouraged to have an informal "family night" once a week. This was to be a time to engage in family activities or just to talk, to try to resolve problems and become closer as a family. I brought the matter up one afternoon. Papa was in the living room, sitting in his chair. Mama was there, too. When I explained what I wanted us to do and why, Papa asked what kinds of problems I figured we needed to resolve. With as much cautious optimism as I could muster, I told him that I had hoped we could discuss his beer drinking. Papa immediately reacted with an anger that genuinely took me off guard. "Well, I'm not going to stop drinking my beer and that's that!" he yelled at me. And then he said something about it not mattering to him how I felt about it. I stared at him in disbelief and ran crying into my bedroom. The subject was never discussed again. And we never had "family night" either.
Throughout my teens, I heard the occasional lesson on The Word of Wisdom. As might be expected, these were always hard for me to sit through. I remember one Seminary teacher pointing out that D&C 89:3 refers to it as "adapted to the capacity of the weak and the weakest of all saints, who are or can be called saints." I didn't like how that made me feel and I didn't like the implication that my father's non-observance of this "commandment" was evidence that he was apparently weaker than the weakest of those who can be called saints. I knew that, in more ways than I could count, he was a far better person than many men I knew, men who would have died before ever tasting a drop of alcohol.
Later on, probably about the time I entered college, Papa brought a bottle of wine home. By then I was old enough to legally drink, and when Papa offered Mama a glass, he offered me one, too. As I recall, he said he'd prefer that I taste it at home, rather than at some wild party. One taste was enough. It was horrid. Papa thought so, too. He really wasn't much of a wine connoisseur at that time. Over the next few years, though, he learned quite a bit about wines and it got to the point where he started bringing home some really good ones. Over time, I tried a couple more of them and was surprised to discover that I really liked them. Papa still enjoyed a can of beer, but more often would have a glass of wine or two before dinner. Mama would often have one with him. If I ever asked for one, he always obliged, but that didn't happen often.
For some reason, his drinking wine bothered me less than his drinking beer ever had. The only reason I can come up with to explain this was that wine seemed like a classier drink. In my mind, sophisticated people drank wine, while the lower classes drank beer. As was the case when he was drinking beer, I never saw my dad drunk on wine. That was the case, at least, until one Christmas Eve. He was retired by then, and we were over at Mama's and Papa's place for dinner and to unwrap Christmas presents. That night, he sat in a chair almost in a stupor. He wasn't loud, silly or obnoxious. He had simply tuned out and might as well not have even been in the room. While the rest of us were enjoying one another's company, he sat staring into space. We left for home when he said he was tired and wanted to go to bed. That was the only time I ever saw him affected by alcohol.
By the time we'd been married for a couple of years, we'd pretty much stopped going to the temple (a decision that was more mine than it was Matt's). I started working for Gillham Advertising and found myself to be among a very small minority of active Mormons who were employed there. A large number of employees smoked at that time; they also drank. They were a social group. They meshed well with each other, and would occasionally go out to lunch as a group. When they did, they drank. I never felt like I fit in at Gillham and I knew that people would see me in a different light if I drank. I really wanted to be liked, and by then, having a temple recommend was no longer an issue. I figured a social drink now and then wouldn't hurt me, and I asked Papa for his advice on what kinds of drinks I might like. He suggested that I would probably like vodka better than any other hard liquor, and told me to try either a Screw Driver or a Salty Dog. As it turned out, I liked them both quite a bit. Rachel Cook, the woman I replaced as the space buyer and media director, thought I'd also like the taste of a Vodka Collins. She was right! Boy, was she ever right! I really didn't ever overdo it. I limited myself to one or two drinks and only drank when I was with people from Gillham who were also drinking. I did feel guilty, though, and once I left Gillham, I stopped.
For a long time, I had no idea that The Word of Wisdom wasn't actually a commandment at all, but merely "a word of wisdom." Once I came to realize that, my feelings about its overemphasis in the Church became even stronger. When I learned that Joseph Smith had had a drink of wine the last night of his life in Carthage Jail, I became even more resolute in my feelings on the subject. I can't imagine any Latter-day Saint who has been more in tune with God's will than Joseph Smith. His courage, commitment and integrity are an inspiration to me. As for the "commandment" being more a test of our obedience than a strict set of rules governing what we eat and drink, I simply don't buy that. The Lord specifically stated that he was giving Joseph a revelation "not as a commandment." It would have been one thing for Him to emphasize that it was "a word of wisdom," but He did more than that. Not only did He say what it was, He specifically said what it was not. Somewhere along the line, those in authority simply decided to overrule Him on the matter. We have no record of any revelation in which God's original statement was modified. To me, the idea that a person could be denied the privilege of being sealed to his spouse because he drinks an occasional cup of coffee is simply irrational.
For as long as I can remember, I have had mixed feelings about The Word of Wisdom. I know it has value, and that's why I obey it to the extent that I do. For most of my life, though, I have thought it received a great deal more emphasis than was warranted, and I have often looked at morbidly obese people whom I knew darned well would never touch a drop of alcohol but who were clearly seriously jeopardizing their health by carrying around 100 pounds or more of excess fat. What bothered me was that they could look the bishop in the eye and say with conviction that they were living The Word of Wisdom. Most bishops wouldn't bat an eye at signing their temple recommends. For quite a number of years now, I have had a couple of glasses of wine with my dinner at Thanksgiving and again at Christmas. Period. Even for other special occasions, I decline a drink when offered one. When I am interviewed for a temple recommend, I say that I obey The Word of Wisdom. No, I'm not living in accordance with the letter of the law. I'm living in accordance with the spirit of the law and feel that my Father in Heaven is okay with that.
Papa smoked when I was a very little girl. I remember one night when I was young enough that we were all still sleeping upstairs. I had just gone to bed or was just about to. Papa told Mama he was going to run down to the store to buy a package of cigarettes. The memory of this event is almost non-existent, but I know I did something along the lines of pretending to put a cigarette to my lips. Papa saw me, changed his mind, and didn't go buy cigarettes after all. According to Mama, that's when he stopped smoking, and I can't personally recall having even seen him smoke after that. Back then, I was too young to know anything about "The Word of Wisdom." By the time I learned that smoking was forbidden, I knew only that my father had given up the habit years earlier. It wasn't until I was working at the Hotel Utah garage, and Jon VanWaggoner, one of the valets who had previously been a student of Papa's, told me he'd seen Papa smoking in his car. I defended Papa, denying that the accusation could possibly be true, but Mama was non-committal in her response when I talked to her about it. I hated Jon after that; what he could have possibly gotten out of divulging this supposed fact to me was a mystery. I never did know for sure whether Papa still smoked occasionally or not, but now I wondered, and I felt bad that he was hiding it from his family.
Mama and Papa both drank coffee for a long as I could remember. I knew they weren't supposed to, but I never really gave it all that much thought. Mama told me once that she'd started drinking it when her doctor had told her it would help her low blood pressure; she told me that tea and coffee are considered okay if used for medicinal purposes. Sometimes, she'd encourage me to have a cup of tea when I had an upset stomach. I tried it once and thought it tasted horrible; I figured coffee probably tasted just about as bad. I suspect I justified Mama's drinking coffee (and occasionally tea) by telling myself that it would be impossible for anyone to actually enjoy them.
As to why Papa drank coffee, I didn't know or really care. What did bother me was that Papa drank beer. Somehow, drinking coffee or tea qualified as a misdemeanor. Drinking alcohol or using tobacco was seen more as a felony. I'm not quite sure why. Papa had had a can of beer or two in the evenings after he got home from work for as long as I could remember. He never behaved any differently after he had than before, and I never once saw him appear to be even the slightest bit tipsy. I can still picture him sitting in his chair with a can of beer in one hand and the newspaper wide open in front of him. I remember how he was always careful to be discreet about it. He never tried to hide the fact that he drank beer from Mama, Jill or me, but he knew I would be embarrassed if Diane or Angelyn ever saw him with a can of beer. They did, too, on more than one occasion. Whenever the front doorbell rang and he was sitting in his chair, newspaper and beer in hand, and I suspected it was one or the other of my friends outside, I'd give him a quick look and he'd know to conceal his can behind the newspaper. A couple of times, though, he wasn't fast enough, and I'm sure they saw the items he attempted to hide before smiling and saying, "Hello!" to them. Neither of them ever said anything about it to me, but I have a hunch they probably spoke about it between themselves.
I do remember one incident, provoked by his drinking of beer, that hurt me terribly. We'd had a lesson in Sunday School, I guess, or maybe it was in Mutual. The Church hadn't yet officially started the "Family Home Evening" program, but families were being encouraged to have an informal "family night" once a week. This was to be a time to engage in family activities or just to talk, to try to resolve problems and become closer as a family. I brought the matter up one afternoon. Papa was in the living room, sitting in his chair. Mama was there, too. When I explained what I wanted us to do and why, Papa asked what kinds of problems I figured we needed to resolve. With as much cautious optimism as I could muster, I told him that I had hoped we could discuss his beer drinking. Papa immediately reacted with an anger that genuinely took me off guard. "Well, I'm not going to stop drinking my beer and that's that!" he yelled at me. And then he said something about it not mattering to him how I felt about it. I stared at him in disbelief and ran crying into my bedroom. The subject was never discussed again. And we never had "family night" either.
Throughout my teens, I heard the occasional lesson on The Word of Wisdom. As might be expected, these were always hard for me to sit through. I remember one Seminary teacher pointing out that D&C 89:3 refers to it as "adapted to the capacity of the weak and the weakest of all saints, who are or can be called saints." I didn't like how that made me feel and I didn't like the implication that my father's non-observance of this "commandment" was evidence that he was apparently weaker than the weakest of those who can be called saints. I knew that, in more ways than I could count, he was a far better person than many men I knew, men who would have died before ever tasting a drop of alcohol.
Later on, probably about the time I entered college, Papa brought a bottle of wine home. By then I was old enough to legally drink, and when Papa offered Mama a glass, he offered me one, too. As I recall, he said he'd prefer that I taste it at home, rather than at some wild party. One taste was enough. It was horrid. Papa thought so, too. He really wasn't much of a wine connoisseur at that time. Over the next few years, though, he learned quite a bit about wines and it got to the point where he started bringing home some really good ones. Over time, I tried a couple more of them and was surprised to discover that I really liked them. Papa still enjoyed a can of beer, but more often would have a glass of wine or two before dinner. Mama would often have one with him. If I ever asked for one, he always obliged, but that didn't happen often.
For some reason, his drinking wine bothered me less than his drinking beer ever had. The only reason I can come up with to explain this was that wine seemed like a classier drink. In my mind, sophisticated people drank wine, while the lower classes drank beer. As was the case when he was drinking beer, I never saw my dad drunk on wine. That was the case, at least, until one Christmas Eve. He was retired by then, and we were over at Mama's and Papa's place for dinner and to unwrap Christmas presents. That night, he sat in a chair almost in a stupor. He wasn't loud, silly or obnoxious. He had simply tuned out and might as well not have even been in the room. While the rest of us were enjoying one another's company, he sat staring into space. We left for home when he said he was tired and wanted to go to bed. That was the only time I ever saw him affected by alcohol.
By the time we'd been married for a couple of years, we'd pretty much stopped going to the temple (a decision that was more mine than it was Matt's). I started working for Gillham Advertising and found myself to be among a very small minority of active Mormons who were employed there. A large number of employees smoked at that time; they also drank. They were a social group. They meshed well with each other, and would occasionally go out to lunch as a group. When they did, they drank. I never felt like I fit in at Gillham and I knew that people would see me in a different light if I drank. I really wanted to be liked, and by then, having a temple recommend was no longer an issue. I figured a social drink now and then wouldn't hurt me, and I asked Papa for his advice on what kinds of drinks I might like. He suggested that I would probably like vodka better than any other hard liquor, and told me to try either a Screw Driver or a Salty Dog. As it turned out, I liked them both quite a bit. Rachel Cook, the woman I replaced as the space buyer and media director, thought I'd also like the taste of a Vodka Collins. She was right! Boy, was she ever right! I really didn't ever overdo it. I limited myself to one or two drinks and only drank when I was with people from Gillham who were also drinking. I did feel guilty, though, and once I left Gillham, I stopped.
For a long time, I had no idea that The Word of Wisdom wasn't actually a commandment at all, but merely "a word of wisdom." Once I came to realize that, my feelings about its overemphasis in the Church became even stronger. When I learned that Joseph Smith had had a drink of wine the last night of his life in Carthage Jail, I became even more resolute in my feelings on the subject. I can't imagine any Latter-day Saint who has been more in tune with God's will than Joseph Smith. His courage, commitment and integrity are an inspiration to me. As for the "commandment" being more a test of our obedience than a strict set of rules governing what we eat and drink, I simply don't buy that. The Lord specifically stated that he was giving Joseph a revelation "not as a commandment." It would have been one thing for Him to emphasize that it was "a word of wisdom," but He did more than that. Not only did He say what it was, He specifically said what it was not. Somewhere along the line, those in authority simply decided to overrule Him on the matter. We have no record of any revelation in which God's original statement was modified. To me, the idea that a person could be denied the privilege of being sealed to his spouse because he drinks an occasional cup of coffee is simply irrational.
For as long as I can remember, I have had mixed feelings about The Word of Wisdom. I know it has value, and that's why I obey it to the extent that I do. For most of my life, though, I have thought it received a great deal more emphasis than was warranted, and I have often looked at morbidly obese people whom I knew darned well would never touch a drop of alcohol but who were clearly seriously jeopardizing their health by carrying around 100 pounds or more of excess fat. What bothered me was that they could look the bishop in the eye and say with conviction that they were living The Word of Wisdom. Most bishops wouldn't bat an eye at signing their temple recommends. For quite a number of years now, I have had a couple of glasses of wine with my dinner at Thanksgiving and again at Christmas. Period. Even for other special occasions, I decline a drink when offered one. When I am interviewed for a temple recommend, I say that I obey The Word of Wisdom. No, I'm not living in accordance with the letter of the law. I'm living in accordance with the spirit of the law and feel that my Father in Heaven is okay with that.
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