Robert Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was a revelation to me when I first read it so many decades ago. A man and his son are traveling across the country by motorcycle and, along the way, learning and teaching important lessons of life, the importance of quality over quantity, a commentary on the times that informed and moved so many of us.

Riding in the Shadow of the Saints is yet another story about yet another motorcycle journey. Jana Richman can trace her Mormon roots back to the days of the handcart pioneers. Although herself inactive and detached from Mormonism, Richman recognizes she will never come to understand her present life course, her ongoing angst, without coming to terms with the Mormonism that runs through her veins.

Leaving behind her husband and her professional life in Arizona, Richman embarks on a journey taking her from Nauvoo to Salt Lake City. Although not a seasoned cyclist, she chooses this mode of transportation, much to the dismay of her mother, who is still active in the Church. In fact, this journey makes no sense to her mother, but she acknowledges this is something her daughter must do.

Along the way, Richman develops an understanding of the hardships faced by the pioneers. She also comes to appreciate anew their commitment and their single-mindedness in their devotion to Church and leader. Her greatest insight, however, is how deeply ingrained her Mormonism is. It isn't something she can just cast off at will. One such insight comes to her as she stands before the rebuilt Nauvoo Temple:

I'm stunned not only with the quiet splendor of the building itself but with the result of Joseph's vision. I say I'm not a believer in Mormonism, although I'm not really sure what I mean by that statement anymore. At one time I defined "Mormonism" as the dogma and the patriarchal institution -- neither of which resonate with me. But the culture of Mormonism, the subtle characteristics transmitted from one generation to another -- how can I not believe in that? Denying something so pervasive in my life would be impossible, like attempting to erase and write simultaneously when the only tool available for doing so is a single pencil with an eraser tip. So Mormonism remains as elusive in my mind as God. But as I stand in front of this temple that so spectacularly represents the stunning success of Joseph's vision, I have to admit that I'm a believer at least in the dream. (p. 61)

Richman talks a bit about her days as an anti-Mormon, a recounting that has tinges of regret and a sense of the emptiness of her anti-Mormon position. Her journey along the Mormon Trail helps clarify these feelings, and as she she comes into something of an awakening of her own nascent spirituality, her inherent sense of fairness toward her ancestral religion, she comes to understand better her own Mormon identity.

Part of her awakening is an honest evaluation of her leaving the Church:

I don't remember feeling anything when I left the Mormon Church. It wasn't a statement of rebellion against the Church or God; it wasn't an intellectual examination and refusal of Christianity; it simply wasn't necessary in my life anymore. It dropped away like an old friend from high school. When I left the Church, it didn't leave a void or an emptiness to be filled. I simply felt freed from unnecessary social obligations, and I was happy to linger in ambiguity through the remainder of my teen years. (p. 44)

Indeed, few would argue against the idea that Mormonism is more than a religion; it is an entire culture with its own mores, its own sense of values and priorities. But for the young Richman, that's as far as it went. As she grew out of the need for such cultural norms, she simply fell away from Church. It would be later in life when she would feel a real need to reconnect with her roots. Hence this memoir.

Throughout the book, the author reflects on the Church's views on many current issues. In particular, she takes a dim view of the Church's attitude toward women. She has high regard for the pioneer women; she feels that the status of women in the Church has declined over the years. As an ardent feminist, she returns to this theme again and again.

Another recurring theme is her ongoing discomfort with the Church's belief that it is the only true and living church on the face of the earth, what the Christian theologians call the "scandal of particularity" -- that God would favor one group of people over another -- as Ogden Nash was fond of saying, "How odd of God to choose the Jews."

Religion scares me. So much of it seems stifling, restrictive, oppressive, judgmental. Some of that, of course, depends on the person practicing it, but some just comes with the territory. If I believe, as Mormons do, that the Mormon Church is the only true church on earth, that the only road to eternal salvation is through the rituals and practices dictated by the Mormon hierarchy, how then, am I to look upon my non-Mormon neighbor? Seems it leaves me only two options: I either look upon him with pity because he's not bright enough to see the truth, or I look upon him with disapproval because he knowingly chooses to deny God's path. (p. 147)

And then, in a stunning admission, she reveals:

There's a part of me searching for faith -- an easier concept for me than a search for God -- and there's a part of me foiling that search at every turn for fear of finding it. (148)

She continues with a meditation on what she sees as the divisive power of faith, all part of the larger package described above, the idea of "we're right and you're wrong." She wants none of it. She wants her family together and intact, united in a mutual love and respect. Instead, she sees her own family as fractured and divided by issues of faith.

Chapter 16 details part of her sojourn in Iowa, and provides what I think is a real defining point in her journey. The date is September 11, 2001. She has just learned of the attacks on New York and Washington. This sense of terror, of tragedy, brings to her mind the idea that her quest is not just a search for her Mormon roots, but really a desire to understand just what she believes about faith, about God:

My first response to the terrorist attacks in relation to faith is that they offer proof of the nonexistence of God. How could a just God let such a thing happen? But that's an emotional, knee-jerk reaction. I'm not willing to believe in a God who orchestrates every human deed -- good or evil. I'm not ready to blame God for every vile act, just as I'm not ready to give God credit for every kind deed, every charitable undertaking. I'm not willing to believe in a God who jerks us around like marionettes in a Punch-and-Judy show, handing us a crisis to deal with one day and a gift the next -- the great micromanager in the sky. If human beings are not responsible for human actions, if God is to blame for our aggregate sins or to be given credit for our aggregate goodness, then the things that distinguish us as human, that determine the worth of our character -- will, honor, integrity, courage, fortitude -- are nothing more than a hoax. The design can't possibly be that simple. (p. 170-1)

I've quoted from the book more than is my normal practice; it's all been a documenting of the author's ongoing angst, the struggle to discover who she really is. But the bulk of the book chronicles the interesting, sometimes obscure, figures she meets along the road. Her battles are not just with herself, but with her bike, her family, her friends and the people she meets along the way.

Richman's book is filled with interesting characters and situations. She is a very good writer, with a real feel character and place. Riding in the Shadow of the Saints is a delightful read, written with a breezy grace that pleases the eye and the soul.

This book is highly recommended.

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Jeff Needle
August 3, 2005