This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2014, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

Several weeks ago, a friend in my LDS ward showed up for church without his usual beard. When the ward's foyer quorum asked him what happened, he hedged a bit.

Trapper guessed a simple change in style. Ranger thought it might be a job requirement. I was the only one who suggested it might be an STD gone horribly awry. Turned out we were all partly right.

Following a stake Relief Society meeting, wherein the women were encouraged to ask their husbands to conform to church temple worker grooming standards, the poor guy's wife came home and asked him to shave.

I'm not making this up.

Worse, this was before the recent flap at LDS Church schools, where men are required to sport the same amount of facial hair as Casper the Friendly Ghost.

Note: It is my understanding that some exceptions are made for eyebrows, but everything else is against the church's grooming standards.

Not only does this facial hair ban apply to Brigham Young University students, but also missionaries, general authorities, temple workers, church security agents, and many others employed by the LDS Church.

Herein lies one of the many unappreciated advantages of being a Telestial (third class) spirit. I can go to church and not worry about being asked to shave off my mustache. I've already qualified for telestialism status because of some other stuff.

Except for a short recovery time following an accidental explosion in 1990, I've had this mustache since 1979.

There are only two people who could get me to voluntarily shave off this mess. The first is my wife. Since she's the one who has to look at my face the most, she also gets most of the say.

And all she would have to say is, "Let's see what you look like without it." She already knows it isn't pretty, so I don't expect she'll ask anytime soon.

The other person would have to be a certified angel with a flaming sword appearing at the foot of my bed in the middle of the night. And I mean an angel that would still be there after I sat up and shot it.

The angel would then have to command in a voice loud enough to make me instantly incontinent, "Verily sayeth the Lord: shavest thou thy face mop!"

I'd do it then. I'd also start wearing adult diapers to bed. I've read the Bible. Angels have a reputation for being humorless and mean.

But since I'm never going to BYU (again), I'm not going to be a temple worker, or serve another mission, or be called to serve in the stake high council, I get to keep my mustache.

This doesn't mean I don't appreciate the irony of the mandated hairless. I can attend the temple with this mustache, but the people who work there can't have one even though some of them have enough nose and ear hair to knit a sweater.

Some people also point out the irony of a beardless church policy given that Jesus and the apostles had beards. This is idiotic on its face because nobody knows what Jesus and friends really looked like.

Beyond some vague Old Testament statement to the effect that his appearance was nothing out of the ordinary, we know zip about the grooming standards of the King of the Jews.

Jesus could have had a beard so wispy that it wasn't worth keeping. Maybe all he had was a little lower lip stinger. He could have been bald. You don't know.

If you say you do, my advice is to get your meds refilled. And I don't mean the Rogaine.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley.