This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

I lied to my LDS bishop in order to serve a mission. It bothered me a little at the time, but I got over it rather quickly. It was a practical matter that needed to be resolved in the best interests of me.

It wasn't until years later that I learned my behavior had church-sanctioned precedence, specifically that early LDS leaders consistently lied under oath to Congress about their practice, knowledge and approval of post-Manifesto polygamy.

This behavior has since been addressed by modern LDS leaders who condoned such "lying for the Lord" as imperative toward protecting the best interests of the Kingdom of God upon the earth.

Well, it was imperative that I go on a mission. And I mean right away. My choices in life by then had narrowed down to crime, drugs, prison and an early death. I entered into the service of the Lord the way some people go into rehab.

My bishop at the time was a good man, but new to his calling. Given my well-deserved reputation, he was visibly astonished when I sat down in his office and announced my desire to go.

There followed a series of interviews in which I lied about committing a host of mission-killer sins. No, I was not taking hard drugs. No, I did not smoke tobacco or marijuana. No also to girls, alcohol, assorted crimes, etc.

The things I did confess to were the things I figured could possibly be proven by official records — juvenile-court stuff like intoxication, theft, assault and carrying a concealed firearm.

I'm not sure the bishop entirely believed me. That's probably why I ended up one afternoon in the office of a member of the First Quorum of Seventy, who grilled me anew. Again, I admitted only as much as I thought was imperative to protecting the interests of the Lord. And me.

I wanted to serve a mission, and for my sins, the Lord gave me one. It was easily the most difficult part of my life. There were plenty of times I came close to madness.

In Oliver Stone's film "Platoon," main character Charlie Sheen says, "Hell is the impossibility of reason." Well, some parts of serving a mission can be exactly like that.

Anyone who doesn't think so never spent 77 days, six hours and 11 minutes in a damp, roach-haunted apartment with Elder Lekker.

I managed to get through my mission by lying some more. Yes, I was obeying all the rules. Yes, I loved my companion. No, a friend did not send me a letter written on a Playboy foldout, which I then showed Elder Lekker during the course of an argument over whether impure thoughts constituted a major sin.

Honorably released after two years, I came home a better person. I'd severed all ties with my criminal past, I was off drugs, I had matured to the point of being able to hold a job and, best of all, I soon married the love of my life — a sister missionary who couldn't stand me at first.

Lying may be a sin, but it's a useful one. It all depends on the imperative, and whether you're the one doing the lying or the one being lied to.

Comes to that, there are two kinds of liars. People who admit to it, and people who don't.

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