Mitt Happens

The other night the conversation shifted to Mitt Romney.

If that sentence doesn’t send chills up your spine, then you’ve either just landed from another planet, or you know who you’re voting for come November. If it does, then you’re in good company, because the subject of Mitt causes a strong visceral reaction in me.

I’m not talking about Governor Mitt, or Mitt the last, best, hope of the Republican party to dethrone the sitting President.

I’m talking about Mitt, the typical starched, upright and smug Mormon. Before I proceed, let me mention that I was raised Mormon, from birth until I was 18 in Salt Lake City,  the seat of the Mormon church and crucible of this particular self-righteous stereotype.

Whether Mormonism is a true Christian faith or a cult is a subject for another time. My beef is with the entire concept that for one to be acceptable among the Latter Day Saints, one must be … well … perfect. Or, at least, be able to give a pretty good impression of Mormon-style perfection.

To begin with, you should be wealthy. Because, as good Mormons know, wealth is sign that you’re right with God. If you’re not well-to-do, then you belong in the back of the church, or perhaps it would be better if you worshipped at some store front.

Let’s not forget physical perfection. Good Mormons are good looking. And speaking of good-looking, one’s children should qualify as models for Crest commercials.

Are there Mormons who love God, and seek to do go in the world. Absolutely. I believe my father was one.

But those who espouse the Gospel of Prosperity, Propriety, Popularity and Perfect cause my stomach to knot up.

Maybe Mitt is not like this at all. If that is the case, then his campaign team had better get to work, because that’s how he comes across to me and, I’ll bet, a whole bunch of other folks.

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