Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" We welcome all praise and worship teams here and pass no judgment. However, today we want to make a special plea, aware that Internet communication is universal and permanent.
I speak for my entire family here. Even mega-church Sis.
We do not want to be baptized posthumously into the Mormon Church.
I'd put this caveat in writing and attach it to my Daughters of the American Revolution papers (on file) if I could.
Many and many a year ago, my mother (who now sleeps with the Confederate Dead) took a bus trip to the newly-opened Mormon temple in Washington, DC. For awhile there the Mormons had the temple open for tours. I don't know if they do now or not.
Ever seen that thing rising from the tree line as you round the Washington Beltway? Looks like the Magic Kingdom on steroids.
Anyway, Mom was taking this tour, and she saw this huge mural depicting heaven. Not surprisingly, God and Jesus were surrounded by blissful folk, while other not-so-lucky people looked on, disappointed.
Mom never let a thought go unspoken. She asked the tour guide: "So, the happy ones are Mormons, and the rest are folks like me?"
And the tour guide answered: "Ah, yes. Many Christians go to heaven, but only the Saints are specially anointed by God."
To which Mom replied: "Sez you."
She was a pistol.
So the tour moves on, with Mom offering editorial commentary on everything from Joseph Smith's golden tablets to the extra vowel in a certain angel's name.
Then she hears about this posthumous baptizing.
You'd think a woman whose ancestors marched in the Whiskey Rebellion, whose mama kept a husband and a lover under the same roof, whose great-grandma hung herself in the barn, might opt for a little posthumous baptizing for the good of the family.
Forget it. Mom said, "I'll pass on that, and don't ever go prowling for my relatives either."
I'll bet that was one happy tour guide to see that busload of crazy hillbillies head westbound into the sunset.
Unfortunately, I've made it very easy for my descendants to get into this baptizing the dead stuff. I've traced the good ol' family tree back 10 generations in every direction (except for that live-in boyfriend of Grandma's, and I know his kin).
I'm not worried about my daughters, The Heir and The Spare, becoming Mormons. They are wondering why they're Methodists.
Down the road, though, you just don't know.
So here it is in writing. Mormon descendant, stop now and baptize no more. We bad-ass hillbillies are happy where we are, wherever that is, and we don't like anyone else making decisions for us.
When are they going to send around a pair of those nice young boys in suits, so I can personally make this official? I get Adventists at my door once a month.
THE MERLIN (NOT MORMON) OF BERKELEY SPRINGS