This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2015, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

Earlier this week I experienced a bizarre fold in time. It may have been the Holy Spirit/Ghost that caused it. More likely it was a huge dose of personal irony, something everyone needs from time to time.

Leaving a religion class with desk partner Bryan one evening, I came up short in the hallway when it — SMACK! — hit me. It was Tuesday.

Tuesday evenings were a big deal when I was a teenager and living far from Zion. It was the night for Mutual or M.I.A. (Mutual Improvement Association), today referred to by Mormons as Young Men/Young Women.

Every Tuesday evening, Mormon kids would gather at the church in order to have fun with other Mormon kids. First, we would reinforce our Mormonism with a class, and then we would dance with the other Mormon kids we otherwise only saw once a week.

Mutual was considered cool in Babylon. Even guys like me who hated church looked forward to Tuesdays. No one wanted to ditch a place where the eligible girls were.

Then my family moved to Utah, where mutual was largely something to endure rather than anticipate. Why would anyone look forward to seeing people they saw every day, sometimes 10 or 15 times? That was way too much association with your own.

Anyway, Mutual in Zion stopped being a positive experience, an insular place to make and maintain friendships with my own kind. So I quit going.

Not to worry. In its place I discovered alcohol, drugs and companions who didn't require a special night to hook up. It wasn't good for me in the long run, but it was a hell of a lot more fun than hanging around people who showed up primarily because their parents insisted.

That was a long time ago. Forty-five years later, I'm looking forward to Tuesday evenings again. It's not for the same reasons, though. Now it's all about finding mutual ground despite the differences.

It's weird. Every Tuesday evening, my wife teaches a Bible class at the non-denominational Christian church she attends, while at the same time her go-to-church Mormon husband attends Islamic classes with a Unitarian.

Associating primarily with your own kind has a certain attraction, especially if religious differences make you nervous. It's safe. You don't have to think as hard in a herd.

But hunkering down with your own kind is a form of behavior akin to hiding from the rest of the world. Do that long enough and group validation gets confused with genuine understanding.

Granted, there might be a risk in mingling with other than your own kind. Listening to an imam explain the Quran once a week, I probably stand a billionth of a percent greater chance of leaving Mormonism for Mecca.

It's a risk I'm willing to take because otherwise I wouldn't have met people like Muslim husband and wife Mohammed and Beverly.

A former Mormon herself, Beverly helps translate the Islam stuff into Mormon-speak so that I'll get it.

Me: "So a once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage to Mecca is, what, like an LDS mission call?

Her: "Sort of, but hajj doesn't last as long and can cost a lot more."

Meanwhile, Mohammad has a healthy sense of humor about the Muslim culture. He told Bryan and me that learning how to fire a rocket-propelled grenade didn't come until the last class.

After Islam 101, I go home, where my wife and I exchange what we've learned. It's often difficult but a lot more rewarding in the long run.

Learning to understand other people can reveal a lot of unflattering things about yourself that you'll never learn by hanging with just your own. That's good, because then you can stop doing them.

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