I grew up in the era of headlong evangelism by the LDS church. We were out to convert the world. Back then, it was "every young man on a mission" and "every member a missionary."

The church didn't just leave it to our imagination how to accomplish this. Full-time missionaries were expected to memorize verbatim an entire series of official gospel "discussions."

Regular members were exhorted to ask acquaintances, complete strangers, or anyone who held still for five seconds, "What do you know about the Mormon Church, and would you like to know more?"

I did the first one on my mission. I only tried the second approach once.

Shortly before leaving on my mission, I sat across from a guy in the waiting room of a tire store. When we made brief eye contact, I nervously popped the "what do you know" question.

The guy gave me a look that said I wasn't his first trip around the Mormon theological block. Then he asked what I knew about recessed hemorrhoids? And would I like to know more?

Touche.

These days, I wait for people to ask about my religion before pestering them for a baptismal commitment. If they ask, I figure they really want to know. And then I don't mind lying enough to keep it interesting.

It happened on the long drive with Buck to the Grand Canyon. Raised Baptist in the Midwest, his knowledge of stuff Mormon was limited to the usual "no smoking, white shirts, and extra wives."

I was Buck's first up-close and personal Mormon, someone he could ask about the inner workings of Mormonism. Scary, I know, but there it is.

As we drove down through Utah and I pointed out various Mormon historical sites, he started asking the deeper theological questions.

Polygamy? Not anymore.

Alcohol? NyQuil yes, tequila no.

Protective underwear? Not even close to bulletproof.

After I explained the difference between a church and a temple, Buck wanted to know what went on in the typical Mormon Sunday worship service.

"Singing, praying, some preaching," I said. "It's pretty much what you're used to except at the end when the bishop sacrifices a goat."

Buck was quiet for several miles. Then he asked, "Who gets the goat?"

I said I didn't know because, as a High Priest, I was typically asleep by then. All I knew for sure is that it wasn't me. He seemed OK with that, so I didn't bother explaining it further.

I don't consider this sort of thing to be misleading or detrimental to the church. In fact, it's actually more like a pre-strengthening of potential members.

Anyone who can stand my answers about Mormonism long enough to become one won't be bothered a bit by the real thing.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com