I was talking with my dearly beloved today about the sex shame in mormonism (she's a nevermo), and I remembered this story from 1998 or 1999:

I was a deacon and had recently discovered the joys of masturbation. Being \clears throat** raised to be Peter Priesthood \shivers**, I made frequent visits to the bishop to absolve my conscience. Bishop would have me sit out on passing the bread and water for a week or two every time I told him about it. The bishop was generally compassionate and kind about the matter, and encouraged me to keep trying to follow swiss-cheese-hands-man in the sky.

The first councilor was a different matter. Dude had a stick up his ass the size of the Idaho pan-handle. Cue story (sorry for the long intro):

That Sunday there was a limited roster of deacons present and there were open spots on the sacrament bench. The first counselor was conducting and prior to the sacrament hymn he starts a little speech about how we all must do our duty, then openly observed that there weren't enough deacons on the bench and that I was sitting with my family. He started to invite me to join the deacons when the bishop reached up and tugged on his suit.

Today I find this experience a little humorous, but that may have been the first thing to go on my shelf.

tl:dr- First counselor remarked to the whole congregation that I wasn't passing the sacrament like all the "worthy" deacons.

Fuck that guy.