In 1820, during a period of intense religious revival, a boy about your age went into the woods to ask God which church he should join. During his prayer, a pillar of light descended and he saw God and Jesus Christ standing in the air before him. Don’t join any church, they said. You are one important dude, they said. With his mind blown, Joseph Smith went home and prepared to restore the only true religion on earth.

That story is the reason we’re Mormon. It’s the reason “Mormon” is a thing people can be. We hear a lot about it from our church leaders, of course, but if you read the beginning of this letter to you (you should — I talk about M&Ms and farting) you’re expecting me to tell you that the stories they tell us in Sunday School aren’t exactly complete. And you’re right.

A Story About Stories

Imagine you went to scout camp this summer and sent me a postcard: “Dad, it’s been a good trip so far. We saw a hawk fly overhead with a water snake in its claws!” That would be a cool story. I mean, hawks have talons, not claws, but still. Cool story.

Twelve years later, imagine you’re catching up on your journal and decide to record the story as you remember it: “When I was thirteen years old, my family and I went camping. We were cleaning up breakfast when a huge hawk dived from the sky and flew away with a snake in its grasp. It was crazy!”

contributed by Kimberly Petersen

Now imagine it’s been six more years (eighteen years after your scout camp) and you write me a letter: “Dad, I was trying to convince Junior to go to hiking the other day and he asked about snakes. It reminded me of that time when I was fourteen. It was a crisp, clear morning. We had just finished our omelets (spinach and goat cheese — my favorite) when a thunderous crack rang out and a majestic bald eagle, clad in samurai armor that caught and reflected the morning sun, swooped down directly in front of me and sliced a twenty-foot python in half with its razor-sharp talons. I dare say the python had been mere feet away from stealing our breakfast!”

As stories go, I’d pick the one with the bald eagle breaking the sound barrier to eviscerate a python. Way more interesting, with great details. (I didn’t even know you like goat cheese! Gross!) The last version may make a better story, but it also makes a bigger claim, so it deserves some scrutiny.

Let’s say I still have your old journal and postcard so I can review all three versions of your story side by side. Some of the changes seem like you confused minor details, while others seem to change the nature of the story in a big way. Which version is closest to the way things really happened?

We intuitively understand (and studies in psychology confirm) that stories tend to get more impressive over time. As much as I love the idea of armor-clad birds of prey, I assume the more spectacular, impactful, and beautifully-told story is not closest to the truth.

Another Story About Other Stories

The version of the first vision story we have in our scriptures was dictated by Joseph Smith to a scribe in 1838, eighteen years after the visitation he describes. It’s a beautifully told story — flowery language, dramatic tone, nice detail — and it disagrees with other versions, including one written by Joseph in his letter book six years earlier.

That’s not a surprise, really — memory is a tricky thing, and just like our scout camp example, details tend to wander as we retell our stories. But this isn’t just a story about omelets and eagles, this is the foundation of a religious tradition that informs the way we view our world. It deserves a closer look.

So what kind of differences are we talking about? Let’s pretend it’s a multiple choice test at school.