God's Salesmen

Mormon missionaries put life on hold as they spread the word door to door

Columbus Dispatch/July 6, 2007
By Josh Jarman

Elders Jonathan Hoy and Taylor Nielsen know a thing or two about rejection.

They are Mormon missionaries. Slammed doors and people claiming to worship Satan just to get them off the porch are common -- almost as common as being confused for Jehovah's Witnesses.

But in ties, pressed white shirts and slacks, the two soldier on, spreading the word of God and seeking to convert at least a few to their faith.

When called by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to serve, missionaries spend up to two years wherever the church chooses, spreading the "restored gospel" first revealed to the prophet Joseph Smith in the 1820s.

Missionaries seek to convert people to the Mormon faith and increase membership in the church, which has a presence in almost every country on Earth, in part because of the work of the more than 53,000 missionaries worldwide.

On one day, Hoy and Nielsen are sticking close to their rented apartment in the Hilltop neighborhood on the West Side. They catch a break in the form of Star Caulley, a 33-year-old mother of seven.

She lets the men come up on her porch to talk. She's worried about her children growing up in their S. Harris Avenue neighborhood.

The elders listen attentively to her concerns, and when the opportunity arises, they ask about her faith. They mention the Book of Mormon, which Hoy produces from his backpack.

They ask to pray with her.

Hoy, 21, does most of the talking. He is training newcomer Nielsen, who at 19 has been a missionary for all of six weeks.

This is the bread and butter of missionary work, which begins at 6:30 every morning. Exercise and breakfast are followed by two hours of reading the scriptures.

Then there is more than 10 hours of traveling the city talking about Mormonism to anyone who will listen. All male Mormons are asked to serve as missionaries, but many do not.

For those who do, it is an expensive undertaking. Missionaries pay their own way, saving more than $10,000 before they can go. They spend three weeks in Missionary Training Centers, the largest of which is in Provo, Utah. Hoy's three older brothers all went on missions, so there was little doubt he would do the same. Growing up in San Diego, he saved up from the time he was 14, working in odd jobs from lifeguard to exterminator to afford it. Nielsen's parents footed most of the bill for his trip, though the Salt Lake City native bought his own suits. His parents were midlife converts, and so far all their sons have gone on missions.

Hoy scribbles the pair's phone number in the copy of the Mormon gospel and leaves it with Caulley's 10-year-old son, Kyler. They ask to stop by again before shouldering backpacks and heading back into the street.

Caulley admits after Hoy and Nielsen leave that she was just being nice. People in the neighborhood make fun of the Mormons when they come around. She said it must take a lot of courage to do what they do, for all the good it does.

She says people just don't care as much anymore, as she watches the two getting turned away at a neighbor's house.

Hoy says it is the few successes that make his work worthwhile. He'll always remember a young woman he met in Athens who converted to Mormonism after studying the scriptures with him.

She is the one convert in what he estimates are the 10,000 people he's talked to in his 22 months of service.

"I saw it change her life," Hoy said. "That's what keeps me going."