Unmentionable No Longer

There was speculation that Salt Lake would play host to a church-driven "Molympics," heavy on the message and firmly restricting the social vices the "Gentile" world brings with it. But it wasn't. Church President (also known as prophet) Gordon B. Hinckley ordered his flock to turn the volume way down on the proselytizing usually associated with his religion.

It would be easy to say these weren't the Molympics, except they were: Intense hospitality is a cornerstone of Mormon pride. The major players on the Salt Lake Olympic Committee are Mormon. The Tabernacle Choir shared top billing with the celebrities; Temple Square got almost as much TV time as Bob Costas. The very theme of the games -- "Light the Fire Within" -- is straight out of a more self-determined, Oprah-affirmative modern Mormon theology.

Light is a big theme with Mormons. You come to Earth from the light, and you return to the light. The light guides you on Earth. We all have a light inside us. Light, light, light: The Child of Light, the key character in the opening ceremony, is a streamlined and more secular version of the children of light featured in a giant musical stage show, currently playing at the 21,000-seat Mormon convention center theater, called "Light of the World."

At the Games' opening ceremony in Rice-Eccles Stadium, the crowd was clad in matching white ponchos, while the Child of Light, on ice skates, was being chased by an evil spirit, and the pioneers were finding their inner lights.

The subtle approach, in the end, was a brilliant move by the church: The only religious shenanigans and Bible-thumping at the Winter Games came courtesy of angry other denominations, whose members circled Temple Square with anti-Mormon signs and pamphlets and posters:

"Mormon Jesus Is Satan's Brother," read a sign held by one man. "Ex-Mormon, because the evidence is so overwhelming," read a sign being carried by a woman pushing herself around with a walker. The "God Hates Fags" people waved banners, which they've updated to say "God Hates America," with pictures of hijacked planes flying into the World Trade Center on Sept. 11. People stood in front of the temple gate and griped to anyone who would listen about everything that was wrong with Mormons.

Everyone looked nutty except the Mormons, who looked golden.

Underneath, the Molympics rang true and warm.

Speaking of underneath, yes, most of my more personal questions about the garment went unanswered. Mormons I spoke to gave me short answers about the garment, the basic information I'd already heard. They said that many saints no longer wear it, even though your local bishop will often ask as a matter of course whether you are keeping faithful and wearing the garment. Nobody offered to show me theirs.

In a piano bar one night during the Olympics, there was a man from Provo who'd had too much to drink. He talked to me about his various lapses as a practicing Mormon, personal stories about feeling alienated from his family. He spoke of leaving his fiancee, just before the wedding, and struggling with the idea that he was gay. Since we were getting so personal, I asked him if he'd been endowed by the church.

He knew what I meant.

So I asked him if he was wearing the garment.

"That's a rude question," he said, and grew quiet.

Well, I told him, I had to ask. The Mormons welcomed the world, after all, and showed us what they're all about. Showed us almost everything.