Joseph Smith baptized my fourth-great-grandfather on my father’s side, Gideon Hayden Carter, on October 25, 1831. Smith set him apart as a missionary (Doctrine and Covenants 75:34), and he proselytized throughout western New York. My ancestor would die in the Battle of Crooked River, a skirmish that escalated the 1838 Mormon War and prompted Missouri governor Lilburn Boggs to expel all Latter-day Saints from Missouri.
My great-great-uncles, John and Jared Carter (Gideon’s brothers), are known by Mormons simply as “the Carter brothers.” Both served on Smith’s High Council (Doctrine and Covenants 102:3), and each had a unique moment in Latter-day Saint (LDS) history. Jared and Gideon likely laid the cornerstone for the first Mormon temple. I know less about John, except that his correspondence features heavily in The Joseph Smith Papers.
I grew up cognizant—and proud—of my Mormon heritage. (Although it’s now a faux pas in the community to refer to the Latter-day Saints as “Mormons,” due to a revelation from the newest prophet.) I spent my formative years under Gordon B. Hinckley, who emphasized the peculiarity of the Book of Mormon and embraced the “Mormon” moniker. It’s a hard habit to break.
My heritage was all around me, especially after I became a priesthood holder.
Making Mormonism Work
I have a distinct memory of riding home from my baptism interview with our ward’s bishop, answering my mom’s questions about the interview. At age 8, most Latter-day Saints are encouraged to repent of their sins, place their faith in Jesus, and be baptized for the forgiveness of sins. Though I didn’t initially believe the claims of Mormonism, I desperately wanted them to be true.
Though I didn’t initially believe the claims of Mormonism, I desperately wanted them to be true.
I felt the weight of heritage, especially through conversations with my dad: “You know, Zach, one of your ancestors was with Smith when he was martyred.” “We settled Arizona and established some of the Mormon communities there.” “So-and-so did such-and-such.”
I reveled in the stories and worked hard to be a “worthy priesthood holder” (as a young deacon) throughout my teenage years. But that project began to crumble as I spent more time on the internet.
My Dizzying Deconstruction
Awkward and melancholy without many close friends, I spent much of my early teenage years customizing the HTML for my store on Neopets, playing Rise of Nations on my PC, and reading Wikipedia. In the providence of God, I see how each turned out for good. I learned to do web design, which has saved my current church plant a lot of money. Strategic gaming gave me a love of history and cause-and-effect, which helped me finish my dissertation.
And the Lord used Wikipedia to deconstruct my Mormonism.
Wikipedia democratized information and helped free me from the slavery of trying to be good enough for God. Surveys show that it and other sites are doing the same for legions of current and former Mormons.
At 14, I stumbled upon an article about the Kinderhook Plates. Some individuals pranked the early Latter-day Saints by forging “ancient” plates for Smith, who translated them as if they were authentic—and the LDS published facsimiles for decades. Some plates eventually made their way to the Chicago Historical Society, where a material-science professor at Northwestern determined they were forged.
Unless you’re LDS, you may not appreciate how this chipped away at my already shaky faith. Smith and leaders like the Carters were seers and revelators, entrusted to restore the gospel corrupted by Constantine, Catholics, and Calvinists. Yet they couldn’t tell this plate was forged?
Meanwhile, my stepdad’s dad—a devout Independent Baptist—never soft-pedaled his opinions on the veracity of Smith’s claims. He’d refused to attend my mom and stepdad’s wedding because my mom was a practicing Mormon. Every Christmas, we’d get a generous cash gift and a gospel tract. He faithfully prayed for us to know Christ, and he patiently answered my questions. My stepdad, a Bible college graduate, also sowed gospel seeds—redirecting my zeal when I protested his disinterest in taking us to the Mormon church and his insistence on pointing out how Mormons proof text the New Testament to justify their restorationist claims.
I strove earnestly to maintain the Mormon faith, working hard to please the Mormon god by glaring when my stepdad drank coffee, reading the Book of Mormon to strengthen my testimony, and ironing my button-up before sacrament meetings. I felt I had to uphold my heritage in this new family dynamic.
But it didn’t work. The path toward grace had been laid. I’m not sure exactly when, but sometime after being ordained a “teacher” in the priesthood, I turned my back on Mormonism.
Instruments of Grace
A crisis of heritage provoked eternal questions. When I was a high school sophomore, my maternal grandfather passed away. With my biological dad working in another city, and before God brought my stepdad into the picture, he had been a wonderful father figure.
He was also a convert to the Latter-day Saints. Initially he resisted, but he found the clarity of a prophet convincing. As far as I know, no one in his Southern Baptist congregation made any efforts to counter the Mormon missionaries’ message. His church simply let him, my grandmother, and my uncle and aunts stumble into Mormonism.
His death made the committed LDS members of my maternal family double down on their faith. It had the opposite effect on me, for an incredible reason: The Da Vinci Code.
A crisis of heritage provoked eternal questions. Sometime after being ordained a ‘teacher’ in the priesthood, I turned my back on Mormonism.
The film (based on Dan Brown’s book) gave me a shared vocabulary with the Christians in my life and an opportunity to have extended conversations about the gospel. A challenge I encountered while investigating Christianity was that my theological vocabulary wasn’t useful in an evangelical context. Words like “gospel,” “salvation,” and even “Jesus” meant different things to my friends than to me. But that film enabled us to discuss its ideas without confusion over meaning.
Two high school friends, Rebecca and Emily, were extraordinary witnesses. After the movie’s release, Rebecca regularly answered my questions about the mission of Jesus. I remember asking, “God said be fruitful and multiply; what’s wrong with Jesus getting married and having kids?” Rebecca succinctly replied, “Jesus came for one thing: to seek and save the lost.” Dan Brown gave us a neutral space to discuss Jesus’s identity as revealed in Scripture.
I asked why evangelicals claim Mormons don’t go to heaven. “My grandfather was one of the greatest people I know!” I objected. “He stepped into the gap for me. You’re telling me that doesn’t count?” Rebecca answered, “Zach, if your grandpa is in hell, is that what he’d want for you?” I still marvel at that boldness almost two decades later. I could write much more about their families’ kindness to me.
When I told my family I’d decided to repudiate Mormonism—and be baptized in a Baptist church—anger bubbled up everywhere. It was excruciating. But into the gap walked my stepdad: “No one will stand in Zach’s way to follow Jesus and be baptized.”
Costly and Worth It
Some family members didn’t speak to me for years. The whole Mormon project turns on Smith’s restoration of the true gospel; going backward was an assault on him. Within my context—my heritage—conversion meant turning my back on my family.
My ‘Mormon royalty’ lineage is nothing compared to knowing Jesus Christ as Lord.
My family relationships have mended now, though I occasionally get a frustrated message when I write about how Mormonism isn’t orthodox Christianity: “Zach, we literally have ‘Jesus Christ’ in our church’s name! Where is he in yours?” The gospel divides families (Matt. 10:34–39), but I’ve experienced the Savior’s promise: I’ve lost one family heritage but gained another.
I’d been striving to do my duty to God because I felt I had a heritage to uphold. But in Christ, I have a greater heritage. My “Mormon royalty” lineage is nothing compared to knowing Jesus Christ as Lord. He was kind to set aside my striving and strife and graft this twig into a new family, his family—the mighty heritage of grace.
The Gospel Coalition