Life coach Martha Beck writes a monthly column, “Beck on Call,” for O: The Oprah Magazine. She is the author of the New York Times bestselling Expecting Adam as well as Finding Your Own North Star and The Joy Diet. She lives with her family in Phoenix, Arizona. Learn more about her at marthabeck.com, and join the discussion at leavingthesaints.com. From the Hardcover edition.Excerpt from Book
Chapter 1: Room at the Inn So there he stands, not five feet away from me. He looks almost unchanged since the last time I saw him, ten years ago—fabulous, for a man now in his nineties. His features are still sharply cut, his sardonic smile and turquoise eyes as bright as ever. The only difference I notice is that both his hair and his wiry body have thinned a bit. His trousers (probably the same ones he was wearing a decade ago) are now so baggy he’s switched from a belt to suspenders. A Shakespearean phrase pops into my mind: “. . . a world too wide / For his shrunk shank.” From As You Like It, I think. That’s something I seem to have inherited from this little old man in his shabby pants: a tendency to produce random literary quotations, from memory, to fit almost any situation. I don’t do this on purpose; it just happens to me. The same way it happens to him. Despite the fact that we’ve rarely had a significant conversation, I know that my father understands the way I think, probably better than anyone on earth. “Well, well, well,” he says heartily, opening his arms. Hmm. This is new. Back when I knew him, my father wasn’t the open-arms type. But, then, neither was I. I go forward and hug him. It does feel odd, but I’ve been practicing hugging the people I love for years now, and I get through it. “Hello,” I say, and stop there, at a loss for words. I can’t bring myself to say “Hello, Daddy,” but I don’t know what else to call him. “Daddy” is the only title by which I and my seven siblings ever addressed him. “Dad” would sound disrespectfully casual, “Father” too formal, his given name completely bizarre. I settle for repeating “Hello,” then gesture toward the easy chair by the door. “Please, sit down.” He sits, and I’m startled by another eerie jolt of familiarity: This man moves just like I do. Nervous as I am, scared to death as I am, there is something unspeakably poignant about the fact that my posture and carriage are echoes of his. It’s been a long time since I encountered so many of my own chromosomes in anyone besides my own children. “I thought this day would never arrive,” my father says, still wearing his most cheerful smile. “I thought you’d never come to your senses.” He assumes I’ve come to recant. He’s wrong. I’m here for two reasons: to sew up the loose threads I left hanging when I fled my past and to make sure, as far as I can, that my father isn’t afraid to die. If his model of the universe is correct, there must be serious retribution awaiting him in the afterlife, and in case this belief worries him I want to tell him I don’t share it. The God to whom I pray is all parts unconditional love, no part vengeance or retribution. I once read that forgiveness is giving up all hope of having had a different past, and I reached that point a long time ago. But forgiving is not the same as obliterating memory. As Santayana wrote, “Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” This is something I do not want to happen. Not to my father, and certainly not to me. “Oh, I stand by everything I’ve said,” I tell my father as I sit down on the sofa a few feet away from him. “That hasn’t changed at all.” His expression turns from cheer to scorn in a heartbeat. “Ridiculous,” he says. “Utterly ridiculous.” Those sky blue eyes flash toward the door and I feel my throat tense with the fear that he’s noticed it&Main Description
As “Mormon royalty” within the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Martha Beck was raised in a home frequented by the Church’s high elders in an existence framed by the strictest code of conduct. As an adult, she moved to the east coast, outside of her Mormon enclave for the first time in her life. When her son was born with Down syndrome, Martha and her husband left their graduate programs at Harvard to return to Utah, where they knew the supportive Mormon community would embrace them. But when she was hired to teach at Brigham Young University, Martha was troubled by the way the Church’s elders silenced dissidents and masked truths that contradicted its published beliefs. Most troubling of all, she was forced to face her history of sexual abuse by one of the Church’s most prominent authorities. The New York Times bestseller Leaving the Saints chronicles Martha’s decision to sever her relationship with the faith that had cradled her for so long and to confront and forgive the person who betrayed her so deeply. Leaving the Saints offers a rare glimpse inside one of the world’s most secretive religions while telling a profoundly moving story of personal courage, survival, and the transformative power of spirituality.Review Quote
“Martha Beck’s riveting memoir teaches us more about love, spirituality, trauma, truth telling, and hope than all the self-help books combined. It is one of the bravest, most achingly honest books I’ve read in years. Leaving the Saints is a priceless gift.” —Harriet Lerner, Ph.D., author of The Dance of Anger “A courageous, touching, and beautifully written spiritual journey of the heart. I applaud Martha’s candidness and perseverance in her steadfast pursuit of the power of love.” —Judith Orloff, M.D., author of Positive Energy and Dr. Judith Orloff’s Guide to Intuitive Healing “Very sad. Very brave. Very true. Martha Beck has written a universal story for anyone who has confronted physical and spiritual abuse and freed themselves from the tenacious grip of patriarchy.” —Terry Tempest Williams, author of Refuge and The Open Space of Democracy “Leaving the Saints is a brave book. Martha Beck shares her journey out of religion and into faith and healing with heartbreaking candor, softened by wit and uplifted by a deep spiritual longing.” —Sharon Salzberg, author of Faith: Trusting Your Own Deepest ExperienceReview Quote
“One of the bravest, most achingly honest books I’ve read in years. Leaving the Saints is a priceless gift.” —Harriet Lerner, Ph.D., author of The Dance of Anger “Few have such fascinating tales—or the literary chops and emotional range with which to tell them—as Martha Beck. . . . That Beck can write so eloquently about [her break from the church] without bitterness is a gift worth its weight in gold plates.” —Ralph Frammolino, Los Angeles Times “Trying to get your truth out against a wall of resistance? Looking for a spiritual bonus in the struggle? Your struggle is Beck’s, and Leaving the Saints tells it consolingly well.” —Detroit News and Free Press
Leaving the Saints is an unforgettable memoir about one woman’s spiritual quest and journey toward faith. As “Mormon royalty” within the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Martha Beck was raised in a home frequented by the Church’s high elders—known as the apostles—and her existence was framed by their strict code of conduct. Wearing her sacred garments, she married in a secret temple ceremony—but only after two Mormon leaders ascertained that her “past contained no flirtation with serious sins, such as committing murder or drinking coffee.” She went to church faithfully with the other brothers and sisters of her ward. When her son was born with Down syndrome, she and her husband left their graduate programs at Harvard to return to Provo, Utah, where they knew the supportive Mormon community would embrace them. However, soon after Martha began teaching at Brigham Young University, she began to see firsthand the Church’s ruthlessness as it silenced dissidents and masked truths that contradicted its published beliefs. Most troubling of all, she was forced to face her history of sexual abuse by one of the Church’s most prominent authorities. This book chronicles her difficult decision to sever her relationship with the faith that had cradled her for so long and to confront and forgive the person who betrayed her so deeply. This beautifully written, inspiring memoir explores the powerful yearning toward faith. It offers a rare glimpse inside one of the world’s most secretive religions while telling a profoundly moving story of personal courage, survival, and the transformative power of spirituality. From the Hardcover edition.Flap Copy
"Leaving the Saints is an unforgettable memoir about one woman's spiritual quest and journey toward faith. As "Mormon royalty" within the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Martha Beck was raised in a home frequented by the Church's high elders--known as the apostles--and her existence was framed by their strict code of conduct. Wearing her sacred garments, she married in a secret temple ceremony--but only after two Mormon leaders ascertained that her "past contained no flirtation with serious sins, such as committing murder or drinking coffee." She went to church faithfully with the other brothers and sisters of her ward. When her son was born with Down syndrome, she and her husband left their graduate programs at Harvard to return to Provo, Utah, where they knew the supportive Mormon community would embrace them. However, soon after Martha began teaching at Brigham Young University, she began to see firsthand the Church's ruthlessness as it silenced dissidents and masked truths that contradicted its published beliefs. Most troubling of all, she was forced to face her history of sexual abuse by one of the Church's most prominent authorities. This book chronicles her difficult decision to sever her relationship with the faith that had cradled her for so long and to confront and forgive the person who betrayed her so deeply. This beautifully written, inspiring memoir explores the powerful yearning toward faith. It offers a rare glimpse inside one of the world's most secretive religions while telling a profoundly moving story of personal courage, survival, and the transformative power of spirituality. "From the Hardcover edition.Long Description
As "Mormon royalty" within the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Martha Beck was raised in a home frequented by the Church's high elders in an existence framed by the strictest code of conduct. As an adult, she moved to the east coast, outside of her Mormon enclave for the first time in her life. When her son was born with Down syndrome, Martha and her husband left their graduate programs at Harvard to return to Utah, where they knew the supportive Mormon community would embrace them. But when she was hired to teach at Brigham Young University, Martha was troubled by the way the Church's elders silenced dissidents and masked truths that contradicted its published beliefs. Most troubling of all, she was forced to face her history of sexual abuse by one of the Church's most prominent authorities. The "New York Times" bestseller "Leaving the Saints" chronicles Martha's decision to sever her relationship with the faith that had cradled her for so long and to confront and forgive the person who betrayed her so deeply. "Leaving the Saints" offers a rare glimpse inside one of the world's most secretive religions while telling a profoundly moving story of personal courage, survival, and the transformative power of spirituality.Review Quote
"One of the bravest, most achingly honest books I've read in years. "Leaving the Saints" is a priceless gift." --Harriet Lerner, Ph.D., author of "The Dance of Anger" "Few have such fascinating tales--or the literary chops and emotional range with which to tell them--as Martha Beck. . . . That Beck can write so eloquently about her break from the church without bitterness is a gift worth its weight in gold plates." --Ralph Frammolino, "Los Angeles Times" "Trying to get your truth out against a wall of resistance? Looking for a spiritual bonus in the struggle? Your struggle is Beck's, and" Leaving the Saints" tells it consolingly well." --"Detroit News and Free Press"Short Description
In a thoughtful examination of faith, bestselling author and life coach Beck chronicles her difficult decision to leave the Mormon church, and her struggle to overcome a dark secret buried in her childhood.Review Quote
"Martha Beck's riveting memoir teaches us more about love, spirituality, trauma, truth telling, and hope than all the self-help books combined. It is one of the bravest, most achingly honest books I've read in years. Leaving the Saints is a priceless gift." Harriet Lerner, Ph.D., author of The Dance of Anger "A courageous, touching, and beautifully written spiritual journey of the heart. I applaud Martha's candidness and perseverance in her steadfast pursuit of the power of love." Judith Orloff, M.D., author of Positive Energy and Dr. Judith Orloff's Guide to Intuitive Healing "Very sad. Very brave. Very true. Martha Beck has written a universal story for anyone who has confronted physical and spiritual abuse and freed themselves from the tenacious grip of patriarchy." Terry Tempest Williams, author of Refuge and The Open Space of Democracy "Leaving the Saints is a brave book. Martha Beck shares her journey out of religion and into faith and healing with heartbreaking candor, softened by wit and uplifted by a deep spiritual longing." Sharon Salzberg, author of Faith: Trusting Your Own Deepest ExperienceExcerpt from Book
Chapter 1: Room at the Inn So there he stands, not five feet away from me. He looks almost unchanged since the last time I saw him, ten years agofabulous, for a man now in his nineties. His features are still sharply cut, his sardonic smile and turquoise eyes as bright as ever. The only difference I notice is that both his hair and his wiry body have thinned a bit. His trousers (probably the same ones he was wearing a decade ago) are now so baggy he's switched from a belt to suspenders. A Shakespearean phrase pops into my mind: ". . . a world too wide / For his shrunk shank." From As You Like It, I think. That's something I seem to have inherited from this little old man in his shabby pants: a tendency to produce random literary quotations, from memory, to fit almost any situation. I don't do this on purpose; it just happens to me. The same way it happens to him. Despite the fact that we've rarely had a significant conversation, I know that my father understands the way I think, probably better than anyone on earth. "Well, well, well," he says heartily, opening his arms. Hmm. This is new. Back when I knew him, my father wasn't the open-arms type. But, then, neither was I. I go forward and hug him. It does feel odd, but I've been practicing hugging the people I love for years now, and I get through it. "Hello," I say, and stop there, at a loss for words. I can't bring myself to say "Hello, Daddy," but I don't know what else to call him. "Daddy" is the only title by which I and my seven siblings ever addressed him. "Dad" would sound disrespectfully casual, "Father" too formal, his given name completely bizarre. I settle for repeating "Hello," then gesture toward the easy chair by the door. "Please, sit down." He sits, and I'm startled by another eerie jolt of familiarity: This man moves just like I do. Nervous as I am, scared to death as I am, there is something unspeakably poignant about the fact that my posture and carriage are echoes of his. It's been a long time since I encountered so many of my own chromosomes in anyone besides my own children. "I thought this day would never arrive," my father says, still wearing his most cheerful smile. "I thought you'd never come to your senses." He assumes I've come to recant. He's wrong. I'm here for two reasons: to sew up the loose threads I left hanging when I fled my past and to make sure, as far as I can, that my father isn't afraid to die. If his model of the universe is correct, there must be serious retribution awaiting him in the afterlife, and in case this belief worries him I want to tell him I don't share it. The God to whom I pray is all parts unconditional love, no part vengeance or retribution. I once read that forgiveness is giving up all hope of having had a different past, and I reached that point a long time ago. But forgiving is not the same as obliterating memory. As Santayana wrote, "Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it." This is something I do not want to happen. Not to my father, and certainly not to me. "Oh, I stand by everything I've said," I tell my father as I sit down on the sofa a few feet away from him. "That hasn't changed at all." His expression turns from cheer to scorn in a heartbeat. "Ridiculous," he says. "Utterly ridiculous." Those sky blue eyes flash toward the door and I feel my throat tense with the fear that he's noticed it&