Hello all -

I have posted my spiritual journey (which includes Mormonism) before, but thought I would repost after some edits.

It is long, so those of you who end up wading through it, thanks.

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I was born in 1980 and given the name Jonathon Edwards, not far from the final resting place of the late fire-and-brimstone preacher. Jonathan Edwards is associated with the Great Awakening, a religious fever that spread with such fervor that it has been canonized in academic textbooks and idolized by contemporary fundamentalists that pray earnestly for another spiritual earthquake to shake the foundations of our nation and world. The extremist ideologies of my namesake mirror the emotional and religious turmoil of my youth.

My mother and father were raised in nominal Christian families in a wealthy New England suburb. As they entered adulthood, they embraced an eclectic mix of alternative spirituality, eventually attending Maharishi International University, founded by Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. This balding, white-bearded, guru helped popularize Hindu practice in America through the introduction of Transcendental Meditation.

As a young child, I recall my father recounting stories of traveling to France, where he participated in a Transcendental Meditation program that allegedly taught TM students the ability to levitate. As a young boy, I was fascinated that my father could fly! This TM-Sidhi Program, or Yogic-Flying, is believed by devotees to manifest a “Maharishi Effect,” exerting a positive influence on society and the individual practitioner.

This ethereal practice had little positive influence on my parents’ relationship. Shortly after my third birthday, Mom and Dad divorced after many unhappy years of marriage. Custody of the four children in my family was granted to my mother. We would spend alternating weekends with my father.

When I was five years old, my father attended a Christian church with his new girlfriend. The Pentecostal Church of the Foursquare Gospel was unlike any congregation he had ever visited. During the worship service, people danced, clapped, cried, and spoke in unknown tongues that were thought to be a heavenly language endowed upon believers by the third member of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit. Words of prophecy were spoken in these services. Gifted individuals in the congregation, believing to possess a prophetic mantle, were the mouthpieces of God on earth. They gave direction, clarification, and encouragement. My father, already prone to mystical experiences, found a new home. He became a tongue-talking, bible thumping, Holy Spirit filled, Born Again Christian. In 1986, Dad remarried a Pentecostal Christian who was an elementary school teacher and sixteen years his younger. My stepmother eventually left her teaching career to pursue full time ministry. She was known as a witty bible teacher, evangelist, and prophetess.

My father and stepmother’s religious fanaticism concerned my mother. She became indignant as my father began a pattern that would last throughout my childhood of evading financial responsibility. My mother was forced to assume the role of sole provider. In 1987, my mother also remarried. My stepfather was a successful Architect, lover of classical music, theatre, and an agnostic. An honest, hard working, ethical man that valued education, my stepfather essentially assumed the role of my biological father.

As a child, my loyalties were divided between my stepfather and my biological father. Through my stepfather's influence, I became an ardent music student, spending a large portion of my childhood involved in musical activities, and pursuing the mastery of the Saxophone, the instrument my stepfather played in his youth.

Through my biological father's influence, I became indoctrinated in religious fanaticism shortly after his Pentecostal conversion. My childhood was a war between religion and reason. At six years old, I said the “Sinner’s Prayer” and became a Born Again Christian. For those unfamiliar, the sinner’s prayer is known in evangelical circles as the gateway to salvation when said with sincerity and conviction.

With a particularly creative childhood imagination, I believed I saw an angel and a demon when I was seven years old. The angel was, ironically, at my mother and stepfather’s house. He had golden hair, a white flowing robe, and stood about eight feet tall. I believed that the angel was there to protect me from the hordes of demons that possessed the bodies of my non-Christian mother and stepfather. I believed I saw the demon in my father’s car. Another irony. This demon, with a gnarled and bloody face, was sitting in the backseat of my father’s green station wagon. My dad approved of and encouraged these imaginations, and taught me how to expel the demons set on attacking me. He was proud to know that his youngest son had a supernatural gift with the ability to see into the spirit world.

I was fascinated with God, angels, demons, heaven, and hell. On some weekends with my father, I would fall asleep listening to testimonies of people who had near death experiences, claimed to have visited a literal hell, and returned to warn people about it. Hell was a torturous place where decent people like my stepfather who had not accepted Jesus, were speared in the chest for eternity by scoffing demons. I was told and believed that Scientists had dug a hole to the center of the earth and recorded voices screaming in agony, thus proving the existence of Hell. At my father’s Pentecostal church, during one particularly memorable service, the Pastor lowered the lights and played recordings of the tortured voices. He would then use the recording as a scare tactic to call people to repentance.

Heaven was a much better place. It was the place I would go if I held firm to the faith. I often watched a videotape of a man who claimed to have visited Heaven when he was eight years old. The streets were paved with gold. The animals spoke. Heaven was filled with mansions, sweet smelling aromas, and angels with swords of fire surrounding the throne of God. The man who claimed to have this vision would revisit my life years later.

I brought my bible to elementary school and wore Christian t-shirts. One had a picture of a fish swimming against the tide. The shirt read, “Go Against the Flow.” The other shirt had a picture of an American Express Card, but was cleverly renamed, “Salvation Express. Don’t Leave Earth Without It.” Instead of a soldier with headgear commonly seen on American Express Cards, Jesus Christ with a crown of thorns was pictured on this “Salvation Express Card.” I wore those shirts with zealous pride.

Rapture Theology held a firm grasp on segments of American evangelical Christianity in the late 1980s. The Rapture is a belief that Jesus Christ will return and rescue faithful Christians from a painful time of tribulation preceding the end of the world. In 1988, a book was written called 88 Reasons Why The Rapture Could Be In 1988. My father and stepmother believed this book, and I became convinced, at eight years of age, that I would celebrate my ninth birthday in Heaven. No such luck.

The painful reality of life smacked me in the face at ten years old when my father and stepmother moved out of the city in which I lived. Their departure evoked many tears. They began a ministry endeavor, touring the United States with a minister who specialized in current events, prophesying the second coming of Jesus Christ and the end of the world. It was 1990 and the beginning of the gulf war.

I had the opportunity to spend an occasional weekend and summer break with my father during this time. This is when I learned that George Herbert Walker Bush was promoting a New World Order that would usher in the Anti-Christ, who some speculated to be Henry Kissinger, the German born American Diplomat. The Rapture was still pending, and could happen at any time. Our society would become cashless, and all transactions would be processed via an electronic chip forcefully implanted on a person’s wrist or forehead. For those who refused the chip, beheading would soon follow.

At one of my father’s religious meetings in a small mountain community in northern New Mexico, I recall walking outside for a breath of fresh air. It was about 2 o’clock in the afternoon, and the sky was dark with ominous clouds and lightening on the horizon. I walked to the center of a field next to the home in which the meeting was being held, and prayed that lightening would strike. I was sure of my salvation, and wanted to die and enter Heaven before I lost my salvation and the minions of hell descended upon the earth to usher in the Great Tribulation.

After that trip, I returned home to my mother and stepfather. Mom tried to hug me, but I resisted. I thought that she was full of the devil, literally. She often wondered why I resisted her attempts to show affection.

As my father and stepmother continued on the ministry road, I entered junior high school. With my father’s evangelical Christian influence distanced, we occasionally attended the Church of Christ, Scientist. Christian Science, founded by Mary Baker Eddy in the late 19th century, focuses on bodily healing through divine science. The church has a strong metaphysical approach to religion and liberal interpretation of scripture. At other times, we attended the Church of Religious Science. Founded by Dr. Ernest Holmes, the Church of Religious Science is a New Thought movement focusing on the intelligence of God and manifestations of a divine presence within the diversity of faith traditions. As a family, we were not fully devoted to either of these organizations.

Junior high was a period of artistic growth. I became very involved in choir, theater, and continuing education through band and private lessons on the Saxophone. For a few years, I was free from the overt religious indoctrination of my earlier, formative years. I received letters from my father occasionally, but he was mostly absent from my life. My mother and stepfather were very supportive of my extracurricular pursuits. These were happy years.

My freshman year of high school, I formed a friendship with a Mormon, who was a fellow member of the high school band. His family expressed a very genuine interest in me. I spent many nights at their household asking questions about Mormonism. Eventually, my curiosity propelled his family to invite me to their church.

The first Sunday I attended was a Stake Conference, a large gathering of smaller, local congregations (wards) throughout the area. I was instantly attracted by the appearance of the Mormon people. They dressed well, smiled, shook hands, hugged, patted each other on the back, and sang hymns with quiet reverence. My childhood experience in the extreme emotionalism of the Pentecostal church made the Mormon worship appear tame and refined.

I recall one of the leaders of the Stake giving his testimony about the truthfulness of the Mormon church. During this testimony, he began to shed tears. I was impressed that such a professional looking man could express such deep emotion. The service ended with the popular hymn, How Great Thou Art. I left the service that Sunday knowing I wanted to become a Mormon.

In order to join the Mormon Church, the investigator is required to take a series of discussions with church missionaries. The missionary force is composed of mostly nineteen to twenty-one year old men. Two elders, as the young men are called, taught me the series of lessons over the course of several months. After reading the Book of Mormon and completing the discussions, I prayed that God would give me an indication on whether or not to join. I recall being overcome with deep emotion, and felt strongly that I had found religious truth in its most pure form. I took the missionary discussions, and was baptized.

My entire family was extremely concerned with my decision to join the Mormon Church. During this time, my father and stepmother moved back to the city in which I lived. During one particular father and son encounter, Dad said, “Jonathon, if you die today, you will end up in Hell.” My mother and stepfather were perplexed and concerned, and yet respected my decision, and even attended my baptismal service.

A few months after my baptism, I committed a sin in the eyes of the Mormon Church and became convinced that this act had voided my membership. Nevertheless, I believed that if I prayed hard enough, and was the best Mormon possible, somehow God would overlook my youthful weakness. I attended early morning seminary, and became class President. My sights were set on serving a mission and attending Brigham Young University after graduating high school.

I became a very serious individual during this time. I remember having feelings of tremendous guilt when my stepfather said to me, “what happened to the care free kid I used to know?” I loved my stepfather so much, and hated to disappoint him.

The strained relationship with my biological father continued, but he managed to persuade me to read literature that debunked Mormon Church history. This “anti-Mormon” literature was akin to viewing pornography by faithful members of the Church. I became confused, sad, and angry. I spent more and more time at my best friend's household, seeking prayers and blessings from my friend's father. I was encouraged by members of the Mormon Church, who often confirmed how righteous I was, stating that the Adversary (Satan) was focused on me because of my spiritual strength.

One late afternoon during my sophomore year of high school, after finishing a long and stressful day, my fertile imagination escaped into believing that I saw another angel. I believed this angel was Moroni, the divine being that visited the founder of the Mormon Church, Joseph Smith, and revealed the contents of the Book of Mormon. I was comforted by his angelic presence, and I communicated with him my devotion to the Mormon Church.

In January of 1997, being my junior year of high school, as I was wrestling with the anti-Mormon literature I had been reading, I experienced a panic attack in the middle of the night. I began to fear for my life, and became convinced that if I died, I would spend eternity in Hell. Several days later, I visited my father and stepmother, and informed them of my decision to leave the Mormon Church. They, of course, were elated.

That night, I requested prayer from them. As they prayed, I began to shake violently, with tears streaming down my face. My dad believed that Moroni, the angel whom I believed to be my companion, was actually a demonic entity. My father began the first of what would become many encounters with exorcism over the course of the next few years. That night, after the passionate prayers and exorcism, I rededicated my life to Jesus Christ. I believed I was Born Again - again.

With my father and stepmother’s help, I discarded all Mormon material that I had accumulated over the last two years. We ceremoniously ripped apart any literature that I had which was associated with Mormonism. I made the announcement to my best friend and his family that I desired to leave the Mormon Church. Word spread throughout the Mormon congregation like wildfire. I received tear-soaked letters, visits, and phone calls. One individual said, “Jonathon, with you wanting to leave the church, it is like we have experienced a death in the family.”

I composed a letter to my Mormon Bishop, stating the reasons for requesting that my name be removed from the records of the Mormon Church. He responded that, due to the fact that I was not eighteen, he could not remove my name from the Church records without the approval of my best friend's father. I decided it was not worth the effort, and ceased trying to remove my name from the Church records. Over the course of the next three years, I would return to the Mormon Church occasionally, trying to re-create the euphoric experience I encountered when first converting at fifteen years of age. It never happened.

My religious drug of choice became the Pentecostalism of my youth. My senior year of high school, the church I attended experienced a revival. During these services people fell into trances, they shook on the floor, and they laughed uncontrollably. I believed that I experienced visions of my future and was given divine messages, like Greek prophecy from oracles of old, that my life was destined for full time Christian ministry. My senior year of high school, I experienced an improvement in vision after prayer. I went to my mother and Ken, claiming that I had been miraculously healed. Perhaps with this information, they would finally believe in Jesus! Indeed, the eye doctor confirmed that a slight improvement in my vision had occurred. I discarded my glasses and contacts, though struggling for years after to read and see long distance.

I was very successful in my Saxophone performance that year, and earned a scholarship to attend the local university. College would be paid in full. Though I cherished my saxophone and music, I was convinced that my life was destined for a higher purpose. I began listening to tapes of the man who claimed to visit Heaven when he was eight years old. I discovered that he was the founder of an unaccredited Bible School in Southern California. I applied and was accepted.

This was out of the question to my mother and stepfather. Our relationship was extremely tense, and I was convinced that Satan was using them to try to prevent me from fulfilling my destiny. This was confirmed when my stepfather, whom I loved deeply, in a fit of rage at the dinner table called me a "fucking hypocrite." Because of our strained relationship and religious extremism, I was placed in therapy. This did not last long, and I was convinced it was another ploy of the devil to keep me from fulfilling my calling.

The summer after my high school graduation, I let my mother and stepfather believe that I had completed all the necessary paperwork to begin school at the university in the fall. In mid-June, they discovered that I had not. They knew I wanted to attend Bible College, and did not support these aspirations. My stepfather demanded that I return my professional model Saxophone and vehicle. I did, and while my brother was driving me to my father and stepmother’s house, he punched the windshield of his vehicle, causing it to crack. It was an emotionally turbulent evening.

I ceased communication with my mother and stepfather, and I was encouraged by my father and stepmother to pursue Bible College in Southern California. They purchased a plane ticket for me, and I made arrangements to leave. The night before leaving, I sent an email to friends and family, advising them of my intent to pursue a life of Christian ministry. At midnight, there was a loud knock on the door. Friends that received this email gathered together at the front door with my Mormon best friend and his father. My father answered the door, and I listened from the bedroom, shaking and crying. My best friend's father was concerned about my emotional state, and wanted to speak with me before I left. My father would not allow it. He became forceful and said that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints would not condone my actions.

When I arrived in Southern California, I received an email from my friend's father, expressing his disappointment saying, “I wish you the best in the level of mediocrity you have embraced.” My mother and stepfather did not know I had left my hometown until I left a message from a pay phone upon arrival in Southern California. We did not communicate for over a year.

Though I was not aware of it at the time, I had leaped from the frying pan of Mormonism into the fire of Pentecostalism, and was badly burned. I became the recipient of of prayers of exorcism on numerous occasions. These exorcism sessions included being held down by six men, while the Pastor sat on my chest and attempted to cast out a host of demonic entities.

This college taught a doctrine called “Warfare Tongues.” We were taught to combat spiritual entities through hours of loud, boisterous, prayers in English and our unknown tongues (glossolalia, in the Greek). As a movement associated with the Prosperity gospel, we were encouraged to give our money through tithes and offerings. I emptied my bank account several times giving the little I had to the church. We were taught that the more money we gave, the more money we would receive through divine sources.

My second year of Bible school, my father and stepmother moved to Southern California to be a part of this radical movement. Half way through the year, I quit school and fell into a deep depression that lasted for months. During this depressive state, I made contact with a former Saxophone teacher from my high school years. I decided to return to my hometown to pursue a music education degree. I made great strides musically, but internally was battling with thoughts that I had failed and thwarted my destiny by dropping out of Bible school. I became, once again, very depressed and dropped out of the university.

I returned to Southern California to finish my religious education. In December of 2001, a scandal rocked the church, and the Pastor that I listened to as a little boy, who claimed to visit Heaven, was revealed to have been engaging in a homosexual affair with the youth pastor. I was crushed.

I moved with my father and stepmother to Texas to attend a church that had been started by a former assistant Pastor who had been ousted from the congregation in California. There were several “damaged sheep” that came to this congregation after the homosexual scandal.

When moving to Texas, I began working in the Hotel and Hospitality field. I climbed the ranks in the Hotel, and in my mid twenties became a senior manager at a full service Hotel, eventually overseeing staffs that ranged from approximately thirty to eighty individuals. I was in a position that generally required a Hotel Management degree, but was fortunate to attain various management positions without it.

I am now thirty-one years old. In my mid twenties, I entered into a phase of agnosticism and harbored severe anger toward Christianity. Nevertheless, I eventually returned to a less fanatical, Protestant Christian faith. At age twenty-nine, I returned to my studies of Music Education, and am currently a junior at the University of North Texas, working toward becoming a band director.