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“God would cease to be God.” 

This interesting phrase appears multiple times in the Book of Mormon, often in reference to the balance between opposing forces.

Indeed, the gospel of Jesus Christ consists of many ideas that may appear incompatible. Justice and mercy. Grace and works. Love and laws.

With recent messages from leaders of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints about becoming peacemakers, it is the balance of love and laws that I suggest requires more of our focus.

Christ’s Pattern of Love and Truth

We live in a world of polarization, in which we are constantly asked to pick sides. However, we have been taught by prophets, apostles, and the scriptures to love God and love our neighbor—a concept described by President Nelson as upholding both the laws and love of God.

Just recently, President Dallin H. Oaks, president of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,  taught: 

This balancing is not easy. When we seek to keep all the commandments in our personal lives, we are sometimes accused of having no love for those who don’t. When we show personal love and support loving causes, we are sometimes misunderstood as implying support for results that contradict our other religious duties. But as followers of Christ, we should seek to live peaceably and lovingly with other children of God who do not share our values and do not have the covenant obligations we have assumed.

When we over-focus on one side of the equation, we risk both becoming indifferent to people who need our support and connection and failing to be diligent in our discipleship and defense of eternal doctrines. Both of these traps are inconsistent with the love and character of Christ. Throughout His ministry, we see Christ acknowledging sin as wrong, yet choosing to associate with sinners and form connections with those who would otherwise be outcasts.

Learning What We Lack 

It is so easy to notice in hindsight that the treatment of sinners, publicans, and diseased people in the New Testament by the scribes and Pharisees was wrong, but it can be more difficult to recognize that we sometimes still marginalize or “other-ize” friends, families, and communities today. This may include people who choose to participate in elective abortion, those who identify as LGBTQ+, or even just people who subscribe to different religions, some of whose beliefs may contradict or show contempt towards our own. 

Similarly, it is easy to agree with Christ’s support of His Father’s doctrine and His condemnation of false beliefs in His interactions with hypocritical religious figures and sinners alike. Yet it is sometimes difficult to stand up for those same doctrines when they challenge our worldview or appear to cause pain for people we love. 

How do we actually accomplish this feat? 

It starts with prayer, introspection, and personal revelation. I would propose, in accordance with Dr. Ty Mansfield, that we consider, with the Lord’s help, which side of the equation each of us needs to focus on.

When We Need More Love 

You may discover that you need to increase your implementation of the love of God. As you do, you may find that you can be firmly pro-life and yet empathize with single women who may feel terrified and trapped in their unplanned pregnancies. You may find that you can believe in the divine nature of gender, and still choose to connect and associate with members of the LGBTQ+ community or youth struggling with gender dysphoria who feel marginalized or shunned by religion or society. 

If you feel you don’t struggle with these issues, increasing love for others can take smaller forms as well. For example, perhaps you feel a greater drive to take care of the poor and needy, repair family or ward relationships that have previously struggled, pray more intentionally for a spouse, child, or sibling, or avoid angry retaliations to misinformation online.

When We Need More Law

On the other hand, you may discover that you need to become more diligent in upholding God’s laws. Through diligent prayer and study, you may encounter a growing testimony of the family as essential to God’s plan for the eternal destiny of His children. You may feel an increased faith in and appreciation for temple ordinances, even if they still don’t completely make sense to you, or an expanded comprehension of Jesus Christ’s Atonement—what He suffered for you.

You may feel more confident in sharing your beliefs online or grow less concerned about how others will react to your witness of gospel principles. You may even learn to love and stand firmly behind points of doctrine that have been previously difficult to accept because of their implications for friends, family members, or associates.

Through personal revelation, I discovered that I more often struggle to uphold the laws of God in my concern for other people. For example, I had trouble with some of the Church’s policies surrounding the LGBTQ+ community. Luckily, I found myself in classes at BYU that forced me to dive in and truly study “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” from both secular and religious perspectives. Studying these beautiful doctrines gave me an increased understanding of God’s plan and our place in it and allowed me to find peace between the doctrines I have learned to love and the policies and procedures that still affect me and the people I love.

Perhaps (and likely often), we feel that in some cases we need to focus more on love, while simultaneously in others, the laws of God need more of our attention. The Lord wants us to progress, and I believe He will show us which matters need more of our attention.

In this quest to live as true disciples of Jesus Christ, we do not work alone. The enabling power of His Atonement allows us to become more than we ever thought possible. God operates in a space of balance between opposing forces: “If these things are not there is no God.” In our quest to be like Him, let us learn to live within these seeming incompatibilities, building bridges between God, ourselves, and others. This is the work of becoming true peacemakers.

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It matters what kind of God we believe in. Mortality can feel heavy. Bodies hurt, hearts break, and even the most faithful can feel worn down. Members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints worship a God who is not distant, abstract, or unknowable, like in much of creedal Christianity. 

Yet our ability to imagine a God who can literally hug us has become almost common, so ingrained in our imaginations and beliefs, that we may not always notice how deeply it shapes our worship, our understanding of our body, and our sense of divine identity. The truth that God is embodied offers more than a theological quirk to Latter-day Saints and also provides intimacy, dignity, and hope. 

In practice, it may seem as if belief in an embodied God does not make a difference in religious life. The physical act of prayer doesn’t appear to change whether the believer holds an image of God as an embodied being, or as the feeling or presence of love, support, or guidance. Commandments don’t read any differently whether they were spoken by God’s voice or given through inspiration. 

The vast majority of people who have ever lived, even those who believe in a corporeal God, have not seen or interacted with Him physically, nor do they expect to, until after their own physical life has ended. That being the case, why is this doctrine of an embodied God so important, and how does it change Latter-day Saint worship and understanding of our own divine physical identities?

What Is Corporeality?

Corporeality, or embodiment, points to the form and physicality we are familiar with in our own bodies and suggests the capability for interaction. Corporeal beings can share a location in space, exert influence on, and be influenced by, physical surroundings, and communicate through sound, touch, and motion.

Though we don’t know exactly what embodiment entails for divine beings, Genesis 6:6 and Moses 7:28 describe God experiencing grief and weeping over the wickedness of His children. Other scriptures describe His anger and jealousy—negative emotions rooted in disappointment towards His children’s rejection of Him. God’s work and glory in bringing to pass the immortality and eternal life of man is not a pain-free experience, even for Him. 

God, of course, is not miserable in His work with His children, and is said to rejoice alongside heaven in many scriptural instances. 

These emotional elements, along with the physical qualities of corporeality, allow for radical closeness and  between humans and divinity through shared form and varying degrees of shared experience. The doctrine of a corporeal God changes the nature of the relationship a human being can have with their creator, lessening the gap between us and the divine.

Our Understanding of God’s Embodiment

However, because we are fallen humans living in a mortal world, this view of God comes with some problems. By relating too closely to Him, we can make “God in our own image,” and assign Him inappropriate expressions we see in our fellow mortal family members, friends, and associates. In this way, the doctrine of corporeality can lead us to lose the sense of wonder, respect, and even fear for the greatness of the Divine that inspired Isaiah to cry “Woe is me,” and Moses to declare “man is nothing,” along with the praise, celebration, and adoration expressed through psalms, poems, and hymns. God may have a physical body, but His glory exceeds our familiar mortal experience. Recognizing this difference inspires the awe and desire necessary to worship Him reverently.

The exact nature of divine embodiment hasn’t been revealed to us, but we see suggestions of its nature in the scriptures. Doctrine and Covenants 93:34 tells us that we are incapable of receiving a fullness of joy unless our spirits and bodies are united. Resurrected bodies will be immortal and perfectly restored, down to the very hairs of our heads.

Despite this, Jesus Christ’s resurrected body retained His scars. Following His resurrection, Christ was also capable of eating food, feeling troubled, and changing his mind. We don’t know exactly what perfection in bodily form looks like, but the Greek word teleios, used in the Bible to convey perfection, can also be translated as complete or mature, suggesting similarity and continuation of experiences in mortality.

Does God Deserve Worship?

God inspires intense respect for His majesty and power. His love and compassion for his children also inspire reverence. These qualities move Latter-day Saints towards the worship of Him. The etymological source of the word “worship” originates in the Old English weorðscipe, from its root weorð, meaning “worthy.” To worship is to give reverence and respect to the being we recognize as worthy of our devotion. The nature of what and who we worship is therefore tied to the nature of that being.

A person could, in theory, worship a god who is cruel, as long as that god was also powerful enough to inspire devotion and respect purely out of fear. However, while this god could reward his followers for their adoration, he would not inspire a genuine relationship, nor would he be likely to inspire the qualities of love and compassion within them. In the case of our God, both expressions of the qualities we already respect, often referred to as spontaneous worship, and commanded worship, directing us towards what we ought to revere, are both possible.

Our rational minds may be imperfect and liable to error, yet we were given the ability to recognize and seek truth by God, for the purpose of understanding Him and His plan. The image of a god completely outside the realm of human understanding is a god that is difficult to relate to, emulate, and even obey.

How Can You Worship an Embodied God?

To worship a corporeal God is to adore, respect, and honor Him in his corporeality, which can be extended to inspire honor and respect of our own corporeality. Through this, we can more actively and intentionally strive to emulate God. Instead of seeing our bodies as a source of separation, we can see them as a source of connection between Him and us. In a sense, we are divine (or like God) because we are embodied. To mutilate, abuse, or mistreat our bodies denigrates an aspect of our inherent divinity.

Beyond our physical bodies, this respect can extend to all aspects of our embodied experience, including our emotions and sensations. We connect with divinity in our ability to feel both joy and sadness, to see beauty and mess, and to hear harmony and discord. In Matthew 5:48 and 3 Nephi 12:48, we are commanded to be perfect like our Father, or if the alternative translation is used, to be complete or mature. The best aspects of being embodied on this earth—sensations, emotional intimacy, our capability to move, create, and work—as well as pain, must also be similar to the completion or maturity that comes with godlike perfection. As Latter-day Saints, our worship includes obedience to a health code, showing respect for sexual intimacy, and providing for the needs of others when we are able to. This lifestyle encourages respect for our bodies and becomes more clearly inspired when our corporeality is viewed as a connection to the divine.

In addition to the unique ways in which we approach the embodied experience, the worship of our corporeal God encourages prioritization of human relationships. To know that God feels with us and works with us to overcome the challenges of mortality on a physical level allows for a closer and more personal relationship with Him. In the best cases, our relationships with other humans can mirror the attributes of a corporeal living God. Through our belief in an embodied God, we are more able to view ourselves, in our own corporeal state, as capable of becoming like Him.

Though imperfect, our attempts to emulate these qualities in our worship lead us to treasure the good and work through the bad in our human relationships, for the “same sociality which exists among us here will exist among us there…coupled with eternal glory.”

 The worship of a corporeal God inspires the kind of relationship with Him and with our fellow human beings that can transform both our mortal and eternal corporeal existence.

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About a year ago, I wrote an article titled “Like Eve and Mary: The Story of Motherhood.” It explored the archetypal relationship between mothers and God. The response was generous and encouraging—but one question kept returning: What is the story of fatherhood?

I was determined to discover the answer. Yet it did not come to me as clearly as the Story of Motherhood had. Oddly, I found it difficult to locate direct communication between God and men in the Bible. Much of what we learn is conveyed through narrative rather than dialogue. Even in places where one might expect patriarchal communication—such as the prophetic era of Isaac—scriptures focus more on Rebekah. The Story of Fatherhood did not seem to announce itself as naturally or visibly as the Story of Motherhood.

Then it became obvious to me.

At least for me, one profound way of reading scripture had come into view: The Bible from beginning to end tells the story of fatherhood. 

Strikingly, the defining moments of that relationship are not spoken. They are not marked by what the Father says, but rather by what He does not say.

In fact, the Story of Fatherhood is told, in some of its most piercing moments, through the Father’s silence.

The first such moment unfolds in the Garden of Gethsemane, on the night before the crucifixion. Christ, crushed beneath the weight of the world’s suffering, cries out: “Abba, Father, all things are possible unto thee; take away this cup from me…” The second is similar. While on the cross, He gives voice to another agonizing plea: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”

In both moments, Heaven is silent.

That silence—that salvific silence—is not abandonment. Our calling is not to withhold ourselves from our children, but to remain present, while accepting the real cost of loving them well. Silence, in these moments, does not equate to absence. It is restraint. It is submission. It is love that refuses the immediate in pursuit of the eternal.

As Christians, we rightly speak often of the sacrifice of the Son. Far less do we dwell on the sacrifice of the Father. What must it have been like for Him to hear the cries of His perfect Son and do nothing? This silence is not evidence of cruelty, distance, or apathy. It is evidence of love: a love so grand and pure, one willing to forgo the rescue of one in order to secure the redemption of many.

The Father certainly desired to let that cup pass—or so I can only imagine—but He chose not to. Why? Because the salvation of His children hung in the balance. Few have captured the cost of that choice more vividly and more strikingly than Elder Melvin J. Ballard, a mid-century apostle of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints:

In that hour I think I can see our dear Father behind the veil looking upon these dying struggles until even He could not endure it any longer; and, like the mother who bids farewell to her dying child, has to be taken out of the room so as not to look upon the last struggles, so He bowed His head and hid in some part of His universe, His great heart almost breaking for the love that He had for His Son. Oh, in that moment when He might have saved His Son, I thank Him and praise Him that He did not fail us, for He had not only the love of His Son in mind, but He also had love for us. I rejoice that He did not interfere, and that His love for us made it possible for Him to endure to look upon the sufferings of His Son and give Him finally to us, our Savior and our Redeemer. Without Him, without His sacrifice, we would have remained, and we would never have come glorified into His presence. And so this is what it cost, in part, for our Father in Heaven to give the gift of His Son unto men.

“For God so loved the world that He gave His Only Begotten Son.” We read those words often, yet too rarely with any appreciation for the gravity of what was given—or what it cost the Father to give it.

While this vastly oversimplifies, if the Story of Motherhood is one of celestial submission, then the Story of Fatherhood is one of celestial sacrifice.

What, then, are fathers asked to sacrifice?

The word sacrifice comes from the Latin sacer (sacred) and facere (to make): to make sacred. In its holiest form, sacrifice is the laying down of one’s life for another, as Christ did for us. Few of us will ever be asked to do that. Many of us, I would think, would be willing if we were.

I am a father. I would die for my children and for my wife.

But is that what is being asked of me?

There is a song by The Hunts titled “Please Let It Go,” in which one line confesses, “I was willing to die but I wouldn’t kneel.” Those lyrics haunt me, cut me to my core, each time I hear them. They are painfully true. I am willing to die—but am I willing to surrender my temper when it wounds the ones who matter the absolute most to me? I am willing to die—but am I willing to give up my vices for the sake of my marriage? I am willing to make the ultimate sacrifice, pay the ultimate price, as some would put it. But does that mean anything when I hesitate to make the necessary one today?

I have spent my entire professional career working with men who have been incarcerated. There is one central theme I see repeatedly: father wounds. Again and again, I meet men who grew up without the steady sacrifice children need from their fathers. Luckily, I did not grow up that way. 

I had a father who was willing to sacrifice.

I saw it most clearly the day my father was going through his deepest, darkest moment. In the midst of awaiting news that would change his life forever, I saw him writing. He was writing letters—to me and my siblings. In the moment his future hung in the balance, he was thinking only of ours. In the letter to me, he wrote:

Son, please don’t let all this mess drag you down… We have the gospel, priesthood, and Spirit in our home. In the big picture of things, we both know this stuff just doesn’t matter. What does matter? Your relationship with your Father in Heaven. Your relationship with Jesus Christ. Your relationship with your family. Does anything else really matter?

I am a father now. I have two wonderful children. I am writing my own Story of Fatherhood, and I can only hope I am doing it well.

About a year ago, my wife, my children, and I were at the lake with some friends. Lost in conversation, my wife and I unfortunately failed to watch our children as closely as we should have. I noticed my six-year-old son drifting farther from shore. He could swim—but not well enough for where he was headed.

Not wanting to overreact, I watched.

Too long.

Then he began to struggle. He went under. When his head broke the surface again, a single word rang across the water—one I will never forget.

“DADA!”

I was far away, but already running. I hit the sand, dove into the murky water, and searched blindly, prayer pounding in my chest. I reached where I had last seen him.

Nothing.

Then I saw small hands grabbing at a nearby paddleboard. I grabbed the hands and pulled with everything I had left. My son was in my arms—but my work was not yet finished. I kicked to shore, lifted him over my arm, and smacked his back until he coughed and was breathing again.

I looked at my son, and he met my gaze with tear-filled eyes. He whispered, “Dada, why did you leave me?”

I could not answer. I just held him.

“I never left,” I finally said through tears. “I was watching the whole time. I am so sorry I could not get there sooner.”

I am not a perfect father. But there is one thing I do know: there is nothing—no, nothing—that would have kept me from reaching my son that day.

And that knowledge always leaves me wondering.

How did the Father—perfect in all His being—show such restraint when His own Son, suffering, cried out, “Abba,” “Papa,” or even, “Dada?”

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In 2018, then-President Russell M. Nelson emphasized that church members should use the correct name of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Since then, the Church has updated its website address and social media account names, and it has encouraged Latter-day Saints everywhere to follow this prophetic direction when speaking with others about the Church. President Nelson’s instruction was accompanied by a promise of blessings:

I promise you that if we will do our best to restore the correct name of the Lord’s Church, He whose Church this is will pour down His power and blessings upon the heads of the Latter-day Saints, the likes of which we have never seen. We will have the knowledge and power of God to help us take the blessings of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people and to prepare the world for the Second Coming of the Lord.

Since President Nelson’s reemphasis, much attention has been devoted to recentering Christ in the name of His Church. These discussions and efforts have sought to realize the promised blessings associated with the prophet’s counsel. Yet an additional, and often overlooked, opportunity remains—more intentionally centering Christ in everyday conversation.

As we begin to make a habit of referring to ourselves as Latter-day Saints rather than simply members of the Church, we can more fully realize the blessings associated with President Nelson’s counsel. This article examines three ways in which the title “Latter-day Saint” can influence personal discipleship, shape relationships, and reflect our devotion to our Savior. 

What Calling Ourselves Latter-day Saints Does for Us

It’s true that the Church-approved term “Latter-day Saint” does not include Christ’s name directly. But the phrase “Latter-day Saints” evokes an aspirational attitude toward following Christ. King Benjamin invites us to become “a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord” (Mosiah 3:19). If we are to be saints in these latter days, we must strive to follow Moroni’s final invitation to “come unto Christ, and be perfected in him, and deny [ourselves] of all ungodliness” (Moroni 10:32).

In other words, “Saint” is a word that directly points to Christ. “Saint” is not a neutral label but a holy and demanding one. In my conversations with close Catholic friends, I’ve been impressed by the view of saints within their tradition. While our understanding of saints differs from that of our Catholic friends, recognizing the goodness and selfless service they honor in the saints can provide a useful point of reflection. We should each strive to be exemplary in the way we follow the Savior. As the Lord said unto Moses on Mount Sinai: “Ye shall be unto me a kingdom of priests, and an holy nation” (Exodus 19:6).

Each week, as we take the sacrament, we bear witness that we are willing to take Christ’s name upon us. Shouldn’t calling ourselves Latter-day Saints be one way of doing so? Using this title can inspire us to live in a holier way of following Christ.

What Calling Ourselves Latter-day Saints Says to Others

Since the renewed emphasis on using the correct name of the restored Church of Jesus Christ (including approved shorthands on second reference), responses from the broader public have been mixed. Although some news outlets have adopted the Church’s style guide and use its full name on first reference, many do not. And others, unfortunately, continue to refer to members as Mormons. 

Among fellow Latter-day Saints, I most commonly hear references to one another as “members” or “members of the Church.” While understandable within the Latter-day Saint community, these labels lack context when used with those outside our faith. When talking with neighbors and coworkers, a more descriptive identifier is often needed to distinguish The Church of Jesus Christ from other denominations. In these cases, what name should be used to describe members of the Church?

The Church’s style guide lists the following as preferred names:

• “members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints”
• “Latter-day Saints”
• “members of the Church of Jesus Christ”
• “members of the restored Church of Jesus Christ”

Of these options, “Latter-day Saint” is arguably the most likely to be adopted by our friends and neighbors. Besides its relatively short length, with even fewer syllables than the frequently used “member of the Church,” the “Latter-day Saint” tag comes with an additional benefit. It also works naturally as both a noun and an adjective. Phrases like “I’m a Latter-day Saint” and “Within the Latter-day Saint community” both work, just as one might use the names Lutheran, Catholic, or, previously, Mormon as both a noun and an adjective. Because we want others to adopt the Church’s preferred references, using one that more easily fits familiar speaking patterns, as “Latter-day Saint” does, may encourage broader use.

Using the Latter-day Saint moniker in our daily conversations also strengthens our argument for others to use the Church’s full name in broader contexts. “Latter-day Saints” is a part of the full name of the Church, and by using that identifier, we can draw ourselves and our listeners closer to the centerpiece of our worship, Jesus Christ. President Nelson modeled a simple answer we can use when we are asked whether we are Latter-day Saints: “Yes, I am. I believe in Jesus Christ and am a member of His restored Church.” 

His talk also reinforces the need to use the proper names among ourselves.

The rest of the world may or may not follow our lead in calling us by the correct name. But it is disingenuous for us to be frustrated if most of the world calls the Church and its members by the wrong names if we do the same.

Since President Nelson’s reemphasis, the contrast between those who have updated their terminology and those who continue to use the term Mormon has grown. In news and entertainment media, how the Church is referenced often signals the extent to which a source has carefully engaged with the Church. If blogs, podcasts, or popular TV shows continue using the term Mormon after repeated, clear requests from Church leadership and publications, it is a clue that they have not put effort into accurately portraying the Church. Many of us can likely think of a media outlet that clings to the use of the name Mormon for sensational reasons.

To me, President Nelson’s instruction to recenter Christ’s name well before the recent renewed public attention to Latter-day Saints (much of which still gets basic components of our faith incorrect) signifies his call as a prophet. In a contemporary media environment, where sensitivity to preferred names and self-identification has become increasingly prominent, using the name Mormon as a default descriptor sends a clear signal about a speaker, show, or publication’s attitudes and goals.

I also have several friends who have left the Church. Some still refer to church members as Mormons, even after I have expressed a preference for the term Latter-day Saints. I am not always sure what this decision means, but the terminology my friends choose often reveals how much care and consideration they take in expressing their attitudes towards the Church.

If we truly want others to stop calling us Mormons—and to start using the full name of the Church and preferred shorthands—then consistently calling ourselves Latter-day Saints is a great first step. It subtly reminds us of the other half of the Church’s name, Jesus Christ, and marks us as His followers.

What Calling Ourselves Latter-day Saints Shows the Lord

Calling ourselves Latter-day Saints is not an imperative, and the prophet and apostles use terms like “church members” frequently. I am not advocating that this term become a phylactery, or something we focus on so intently that we miss the mark and lose sight of the end goal.

But I do think that calling ourselves Latter-day Saints, even in casual conversation with other Church members, can do a few more things for us. Our earnest attempts to do so can show the Lord our hearts, our desire to be connected to Him, and our effort to follow President Nelson’s admonition. This small outward expression can suggest our greater inward commitment to follow Jesus Christ. Nephi delighted in plainness and taught that the Lord speaks to us according to our language and understanding, and we can emulate Him as we seek to do the same.

Finally, I want to once again look at the blessing promised by President Nelson: if we do our best to restore the correct name of the Lord’s Church, “He whose Church this is will pour down His power and blessings upon the heads of the Latter-day Saints.”

Notice who those blessings are for: the Latter-day Saints.

As we take upon ourselves the Latter-day Saint title, we can more clearly see ourselves in the Church, become perfected in Christ, and tie ourselves to Him through The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. By referring to ourselves in this way, we speak with plainness and open the door for others to use the full name of the Church. As we think of ourselves as Latter-day Saints, we take His name upon us and show our desire to follow Him and receive all the blessings prepared for His Saints.

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Sometimes a controversy can be smaller than it first appears, but still worth taking seriously. The recent brouhaha over the Pentagon’s religious-affiliation codes fits into that category. 

You may have heard of this controversy from Latter-day Saint lawmakers pushing back against the new categorization. 

The Department of Defense revised an administrative list of religious-affiliation codes. These are codes used in personnel records and to help plan how many chaplains of each type they need. 

The new list went from more than 200 different religions down to 31. Of those 31, many were listed as “Christian – ” with the name of the faith group appended after the title Christian. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was listed as one of the 31 groups, but it did not have the label “Christian” appended to the front.

That’s certainly reasonable. And the new list should include broad enough categories that almost every service member should find something that suits them.

But it’s that “Christian” label that has caused some of the frustration. Latter-day Saints do not believe that the question of our Christianity is a secondary concern. We view our entire faith as centered on the life, ministry, and divinity of Jesus Christ. 

And this is not merely a bureaucratic question for Latter-day Saints.

Latter-day Saints affirm the Christianity articulated in the New Testament by Christ Himself and His apostles. They reject the later creedal formulations. But in those traditions, it was those creeds that helped define their faith and allowed it to survive. The majority of Christian faiths have grown out of the movements of the leaders who formed those creeds.

The Church of Jesus Christ, however, is a restorationist faith. Meaning it attempts to go around the creedal Christianity and back to a more original form. 

That’s a real religious difference, and not one that we should easily pass over. Most people who are acting in good faith describe it as either creedal Christianity or other/non-creedal Christianity. But many attempt to say that anyone who does not conform to the creeds is not a Christian. This is obviously a spurious argument. By this definition, early Church fathers such as Clement of Rome, Ignatius of Antioch, Justin Martyr, Origen of Alexandria, not to mention Jesus and His apostles, would all be excluded as Christians. But it is also a real issue that Latter-day Saints continue to face in their day-to-day life as they are excluded from schools, service organizations, and interfaith groups while being told they are not Christian. So it is natural that these new Department of Defense religious-affiliation codes would evoke strong feelings.

Here is what is important to note about these codes. They are not a theological determination. There are other non-creedal Christian groups that have been listed with the “Christian” label, such as Jehovah’s Witnesses and Christian Scientists. 

One of the functions of chaplains in the U.S. Military is to provide religious rites and ordinances for members as needed. For Latter-day Saints, these ordinances require priesthood authority that, according to the teachings of the Church, chaplains of other faiths would not have. So, distinguishing between Latter-day Saints and other Christians was already happening. Of course, it also happened between Protestants and Catholics, but that did not appear on the list. 

But it was also a good reminder for Latter-day Saints that there remain certain fundamentalist and Christian nationalist voices that exclude Latter-day Saints. And we would do well to continue to heed the advice of Church leaders in pursuing religious freedom, rather than aligning ourselves with Christian nationalist causes that, among other shortcomings, would likely exclude us from their definitions.

And it’s in that light that we should probably best respond to the Pentagon controversy. The issue for Latter-day Saints was largely symbolic. But for many faiths, including Rosicrucianism, Wicca, and Unitarian Universalism, recognition has gone away altogether by being omitted from the list. 

A Wiccan sailor may have ritual needs, seasonal observance, or community ties that are not obvious to a generic chaplain in “other.” Unitarian Universalists have very distinct beliefs that can be complicated for even well-meaning individuals to understand. A small tradition can still hold existential importance to the person who belongs to it.

This list does not remove the religious freedom rights of these service members. Religious accommodations are still protected by law and policy. This list cannot change that. This does not change the religion that can appear on a dog tag, or the practices that must be allowed. But for people who are often away from home for the first time, this change can mean they may be left adrift without important spiritual support. In my opinion, properly responding to the spiritual needs of our troops should be a high priority, and perhaps even worth a bit of bureaucratic confusion. 

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God does not leave His children to navigate mortality without help.

This idea practically screams from the doctrine of Jesus Christ.

We are given commandments. We are given the gift of the Holy Ghost. We are given scripture. We are given prophets and covenants and ordinances. We are given bishops and other leaders. 

There are also the gifts of the Spirit. In particular helping with this task is the gift of discernment. Discernment can loom large in Latter-day Saint culture. 

Discernment is a gift that helps us perceive reality in the light of the Spirit. Jesus demonstrated it frequently when he was able to perceive the true thoughts of those he came in contact with. 

It helps those it is given to distinguish truth from error, sincerity from performance, wisdom from impulse, and spiritual influence from counterfeit. It is not simply a gift for detecting danger; it can help us minister better, helping us perceive burdens, possibilities, and hidden goodness. 

Spiritual Gifts Are for the Body of Christ

Doctrine and Covenants 46 places discernment within a broader theology of spiritual gifts. The Lord teaches that gifts come from God “for the benefit of the children of God.” It is listed broadly among the gifts that can be given.

The same section also specifically includes that this gift is given to bishops so the Saints are not misled by false claims of spiritual gifts. 

Discernment is not introduced as a private superpower. It is part of the Lord’s effort to bless, order, protect, and edify the Church.

Paul teaches a similar principle in 1 Corinthians 12. Spiritual gifts are distributed across the body of Christ. No single member possesses the whole body’s wisdom, and no single gift exhausts the Spirit’s work. That means discernment is best understood not as an isolated talent possessed by a few, but as one part of a larger divine economy in which God blesses His people through many members, many gifts, and many forms of inspired service.

Discernment is framed to be about service in building the kingdom of God. It is given so the body of Christ can be protected, guided, humbled, and healed.

Discernment Is Broader Than Detecting Evil

Elder David A. Bednar, of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, has offered one of the most helpful modern explanations of the gift. Drawing on earlier teachings, he describes discernment as operating in four major ways. 1) It can help us detect hidden error or evil in others. 2) More importantly, it can help us detect hidden error or evil in ourselves. 3) It can help us find concealed good in others. 4) And it can help us find concealed good in ourselves.

That four-part framework is crucial.

Many cultural conversations about discernment focus almost entirely on the first function: detecting what is wrong with someone else. But Elder Bednar’s description gives us a much richer and more Christian account.

Discernment may help a parent sense that a child’s anger is really fear. It may help a Relief Society president recognize that a sister’s distance is not indifference but exhaustion. It may help a bishop perceive that a confession needs less interrogation and more mercy. It may help a missionary see spiritual hunger beneath defensiveness. It may help a disciple recognize that his own “righteous concern” is actually pride.

The highest form of discernment may not be the ability to expose people. It may be the ability to see them truthfully enough to call forth their better selves.

That is a profoundly Christlike gift.

Christ saw hypocrisy, but He also saw faith. He saw sin, but He also saw repentance. He saw Peter’s denial, but He also saw Peter’s future. He saw Zacchaeus in a tree and called him into a transformed life. He saw the woman taken in adultery as a soul to be rescued.

Discernment, in this sense, is not merely suspicion sharpened by religion. It is perception purified by charity.

Discernment and Judgment

The classic biblical image of discernment may be Solomon’s prayer for “an understanding heart.” Solomon did not ask to become omniscient. He asked for wisdom to judge rightly between good and bad. Discernment is tied to judgment, humility, and stewardship.

The Church’s current Handbook uses similar language when speaking of bishops and stake presidents. It says that, in their role helping members repent, these leaders are blessed with the spiritual gift of discernment, which helps them “discern truth, understand a member’s heart, and identify his or her needs.”

That is a meaningful promise. Bishops and stake presidents are not merely administrators. They are called and set apart to serve as judges in Israel. In that role, they may receive spiritual help beyond their own natural insight.

A bishop who discerns well may be better able to answer the question “What does this child of God need to come closer to Christ?”

Discernment Can Grow

Discernment is a spiritual gift, but like most spiritual gifts, that does not mean it bypasses ordinary faithful effort.

Bednar connects discernment with being “quick to observe”—the capacity to notice and obey. In another teaching on revelation, he explains that some revelation comes suddenly, like light filling a dark room, while the more common pattern is gradual, like the slow increase of light at sunrise.

In my experience, that is often how discernment works in real life. 

Sometimes a bishop, parent, missionary, or friend may receive a sudden prompting. A question comes to mind. A name appears in prayer. A warning feeling interrupts an ordinary moment. These experiences of direct and sudden discernment are real, but are not universal or to be expected at every moment. 

Discernment often develops more quietly. It comes through listening over time. It comes through knowing the scriptures, asking better questions, noticing patterns, and learning from prior mistakes. For leaders, it can grow through studying the Handbook or honoring confidences.

A leader who listens carefully is not relying less on revelation than one who waits for an unexpected impression. A ward council that gathers information, counsels together, and prays over real people is not replacing revelation with process. It may be creating the conditions in which revelation, or spiritual discernment, can be recognized.

Discernment Belongs to Councils

One of the most important correctives to an overly narrow view of discernment is the doctrine of councils.

In a worldwide leadership training discussion, fellow apostle Elder M. Russell Ballard taught that no one person knows all the answers to every question and that councils allow leaders to draw on inspiration from various members. Bednar added that it is a mistaken notion that every element of ward revelation must come through the bishop. By virtue of his keys, the bishop directs and affirms, but he does not need to receive “every jot and tittle” of revelation himself. He also observed that discernment operates more effectively when a presiding officer listens rather than dominates.

The doctrine of discernment taught by these leaders is a mature and deeply grounded one. The gift of discernment works best when joined to humility, councils, and the gifts of others.

The Myth of the Magical Bishop

In some Latter-day Saint conversations, discernment has been imagined in a way that is much narrower, more automatic, and more dramatic than the scriptures require or even imply. This expectation shows up both among some believing members and among some critics of the Church.

The assumption goes like this: if bishops and other leaders have the gift of discernment, then they should be able to detect hidden sin, deception, danger, or unworthiness with perfect reliability. Under that assumption, every missed warning sign becomes evidence that the gift is not real.

There is an assumption that the only way for the Church to be true is for no bishop to ever miss anything. This is not a straw man. It is a recognizable criticism that proliferates in spaces where people have become disillusioned with the Church, perhaps in part because they expected something more like the magic of Wonder Woman’s Lasso of Truth or Professor X’s telepathy than the spiritual gifts of the New Testament. 

Similar questions arise in pastoral and abuse contexts. If God can provide discernment in some cases, why doesn’t he provide it every time it could help alleviate pain or prevent deception?

These concerns deserve empathy. They often come from pain. But they also reveal a misunderstanding of the gift.

A grounded Christian understanding of discernment does not require bishops to be miraculously perfect. It does not treat a calling as a guarantee of constant supernatural detection. It does not make revelation a substitute for confession, evidence, councils, law, policy, or the moral responsibility to speak and act.

The magical version says, “If God is involved, the bishop should just know.”

The Christian version says, “Because God is involved, the bishop should pray, listen, counsel, study, ask, follow the Handbook, protect the vulnerable, receive correction, and seek the Spirit.”

Those are very different models.

A Better Practice

A better doctrine of discernment leads to better practice.

For members, it means we should not outsource honesty to a leader’s supposed ability to detect truth. A person confessing sin should tell the truth because discipleship requires truthfulness, not because the bishop might catch him. A person who needs help should not assume, “If God wanted the bishop to know, he would know.” Sometimes the Spirit prompts a leader. Sometimes the Lord expects us to speak.

For bishops and stake presidents, it means spiritual impressions should be received humbly. The Handbook itself makes this clear. In matters involving serious sin, a bishop or stake president may receive promptings, but if a member denies an accusation, “a spiritual impression alone is not sufficient” to hold a membership council. Leaders are instructed to gather appropriate information and avoid unlawful or inappropriate methods.

That is not a lack of faith in discernment. It is disciplined faith in discernment. It is realizing that when you learned in third grade that multiplication makes numbers bigger, and then learned in fifth grade that you can multiply by fractions, no one was lying to you; the full reality is just more nuanced than you learned on the first pass. 

If there was an example where you wish the gift of discernment had been present, but it wasn’t, that does disprove a simplistic version of the gift of discernment, but it can help you move to a more mature, fuller understanding of how gifts of the Spirit work. 

Seeing as Christ Sees

The gift of discernment is one of the great gifts of the Spirit because discipleship requires more than eyesight.

We need to distinguish spiritual light from counterfeit light. We need to recognize our own self-deception. We need to see hidden goodness in people we are tempted to dismiss. We need to understand when correction is needed and when mercy is needed. We need to know when to speak, when to listen, when to wait, and when to act.

Bishops need that gift. So do parents. So do all of us. But we need discernment not because leaders are flawless, but because none of us are. Discernment is not merely the power to see what is wrong. It is the grace to see more nearly as Christ sees.

The post The Discipline of Spiritual Sight appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

Members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints find themselves in a most unusual position. We believe in God, the Eternal Father. We believe in Jesus Christ, accept his gospel, acknowledge him as Savior, Lord, God, and King. We look to him for forgiveness of our sins and declare that salvation comes in and through his name and in no other way (Philippians 2:9-11). We strive to live our lives according to his example and teachings and are committed to the fact that the depth of our Christianity is most evident, not in theological gymnastics, nor in a received vocabulary, but rather in the way we treat other men and women. We exercise hope in the immortality of the soul, a belief that we will live again after death, because Jesus himself rose from the dead (1 Corinthians 15:21-22). And yet, interestingly, many in Christendom declare that the Latter-day Saints are not Christian.

Reasons for Exclusion

Non-acceptance of the Doctrine of the Trinity

Perhaps more than any other reason, Latter-day Saints aren’t considered to be Christian because of our non-acceptance of the post-New Testament creeds and theological formulations concerning Christ and the Godhead, beginning with the Council of Nicaea in AD 325. Latter-day Saints do believe there are three members of the Godhead—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; that each of the members of the Godhead possesses all of the attributes of Godliness in perfection; and that the love and unity that exist among these three Persons is of such magnitude that they constitute a divine community that is often referred to in the Book of Mormon as “one eternal God” (see 2 Nephi 31:21; Alma 11:44; 3 Nephi 11:27, 36; 28:10; Mormon 7:7). 

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland stated: 

We believe these three divine persons constituting a single Godhead are united in purpose, in manner, in testimony, in mission. We believe Them to be filled with the same godly sense of mercy and love, justice and grace, patience, forgiveness, and redemption. I think it is accurate to say we believe They are one in every significant and eternal aspect imaginable except believing Them to be three persons combined in one substance, a Trinitarian notion never set forth in the scriptures because it is not true …

It is not our purpose to demean any person’s belief,” Elder Holland affirmed, “nor the doctrine of any religion. We extend to all the same respect to their doctrine that we are asking for ours. (That, too, is an article of our faith.) But if one says we are not Christians because we do not hold a fourth- or fifth-century view of the Godhead, then what of those first Christian Saints, many of whom were eyewitnesses of the living Christ, who did not hold such a view either?

Were they not Christians?

Members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints pray to God the Eternal Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, by the power of the Holy Ghost; we acknowledge the Father as the ultimate object of our worship (John 5:19, 26; 7:16; 14:28; D&C 20:19) and confess the Son of God as our Lord and Redeemer, our one and only hope for deliverance from sin and death in this world, as well as our glorious hope for  eternal life in the world to come. We teach of the Holy Spirit as the Messenger of the Father and the Son, the Revealer of the mind and will of God, and the Sanctifier, the means by which filth and dross are burned out of the human soul as though by fire. We are encouraged and charged by our leaders to seek the constant companionship of the Spirit, to attend to its promptings, to follow its lead.

We baptize people “in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost” (3 Nephi 11:23-26; D&C 20:73-74). And, for that matter, the highest ordinance or sacrament within our Church, eternal marriage, received only in the temple, is performed in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. In short, the Latter-day Saints live and move and have their being by and through the members of the Godhead; ours is a lived rather than a spoken or creedal connection to these holy beings. 

Scripture Beyond the Bible

Another reason for the exclusion of Latter-day Saints from the category of Christian is because we do not believe in the sufficiency of the Bible. In point of fact, to state that the Bible is the final word of God—more specifically, the final written word of God—is to claim more for the Bible than it claims for itself. We are nowhere given to understand that after the ascension of Jesus and the ministry and writings of those first century apostles, that revelations from God that would eventually take the form of written scripture and thus be added to the canon, would cease. As Joseph Smith taught, one would need to have received a modern revelation in order to know for certain that there will be no more revelation beyond the Bible.

So why was the canon of scripture closed? Emeritus Professor Lee M. McDonald, an Evangelical Christian scholar, posed some fascinating questions relative to the present closed canon of scripture. “The first question,” he writes, “and the most important one, is whether the church was right in perceiving the need for a closed canon of scriptures.” McDonald also asks: 

Did such a move toward a closed canon of scriptures ultimately (and unconsciously) limit the presence and power of the Holy Spirit in the church? More precisely, does the recognition of absoluteness of the biblical canon minimize the presence and activity of God in the church today? … On what biblical or historical grounds has the inspiration of God been limited to the written documents that the church now calls its Bible?

While McDonald poses other issues, let me refer to his final question: “If the Spirit inspired only the written documents of the first century, does that mean that the same Spirit does not speak today in the church about matters that are of significant concern?”

Indeed, we might ask: Who authorized the canon to be closed? Who decided that the Bible was and forevermore would be the final written word of God?  Why would one suppose that the closing words of the Apocalypse represented the “end of the prophets”? Latter-day Saints find themselves today in a hauntingly reminiscent position relative to the continuing and ongoing mind and will of God. Is ours not the same basic message that Jesus and Peter and Paul and John delivered to the unbelieving Jews of their day—that the heavens had once again been opened, that new light and knowledge had burst upon the earth, and that God had chosen to reveal himself through the ministry of his Beloved Son and his ordained apostles?

Let’s be clear on this matter: no branch of Christianity limits itself entirely to the biblical text in making doctrinal decisions and in applying biblical principles. Roman Catholics turn to scripture, to church tradition, and to the magisterium or teaching office in the church for answers. Protestants, particularly Evangelicals, turn to linguists and scripture scholars for their answers, as well as to post-New Testament church councils and creeds. This seems, at least in my view, to be in violation of Sola Scriptura, the clarion call of the Reformation to rely solely upon scripture itself. In fact, there is no final authority on scriptural interpretation when differences arise, which of course they do regularly.

 “When [traditional Christians] accuse Mormons of not believing the Bible,” Professor Stephen Robinson has written, “they usually mean that we do not believe interpretations formulated by postbiblical councils. If [traditional Christians] are going to insist on the doctrine of sola scriptura [scripture alone] … then they ought to stop ascribing scriptural authority to postbiblical traditions.”

Would the early Christians who had for decades had access only to the Gospel of Mark (considered by most Biblical scholars to be the first Gospel written) have considered the deeper spiritual realities set forth later in the Gospel of John to be a portrait of “a different Jesus”?  Hardly. Thus the current mantra of “Latter-day Saints worship a different Jesus” is a sad, misguided, and too often malicious misrepresentation of the way things really are. Latter-day Saints clearly worship the historical Jesus, the Christ of the New Testament—the man who was born in Bethlehem, lived and ministered during the reign of Tiberius Caesar, functioned under the oversight of Caiaphas (Jews) and Pilate (Romans), gave his life as a sacrificial offering to atone for the sins of humankind, and rose from the grave in glorious resurrected immortality. That there may be differences on certain points of theology is not unimportant, but it does not merit the misleading concept that Latter-day Saints somehow worship a “different Jesus.” Supplementation of the Bible is clearly not the same as contradiction of the Bible.

One wonders whether modern conservative Christianity may unwittingly have created a type of double standard in terms of (a) what is required to be saved, and (b) what it takes to be a Christian. 

In the New Testament and at the time of Paul’s and Silas’s miraculous release from prison, the Philippian jailer asked the question of questions: “Sirs, what must I do to be saved? And [the apostles] said, Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house.” Paul wrote to the Roman Saints that “if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation … For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.” 

Could it be, then, that a Latter-day Saint who professes total faith in and reliance upon Jesus Christ and who seeks in gratitude to keep his commandments, can be saved but at the same time not qualify to be called a Christian? That seems strange at best.

What Kind of a Christian?

Sadly enough, the one feature and facet of Christianity with which too few seem to concern themselves is what might be called orthopraxy—how we act, how we live out our Christian faith. Jesus charged his disciples: “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.” In assessing whether a man or woman is a true follower of the Savior, a Christian, we might ask: How does this person treat others, especially those who believe or act differently? Is the manner in which a person presents the gospel message such that the gospel may be perceived as “good news”?

Is this person’s speech and interpersonal relations such that people feel welcomed and appreciated, rather than spurned and rejected? To what extent does this person’s faith community feed the hungry, care for the poor, respond swiftly to natural disaster, or otherwise involve itself and its members in extending and disbursing Christian charity? This is how the first century saints were known and identified, and it is today a pretty persuasive evidence of the depth of one’s Christianity. The age-old question is still poignant and haunting: “If you were arrested and were to be tried for being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you?”

The fact is, no mortal man or woman is in a position to judge, to discern and perceive the depths of another human soul. No one of us has within his or her grasp the data, the delicate details, to so determine. C. S. Lewis, the beloved Christian writer and defender of the faith, a man whose focus on “mere Christianity” has made him a favorite of millions, declared: “It is not for us to say who, in the deepest sense, is or is not close to the spirit of Christ. We do not see into men’s hearts. We cannot judge, and indeed are forbidden to judge. It would be wicked arrogance for us to say that any man is, or is not, a Christian in this refined sense … When a man who accepts the Christian doctrine lives unworthily of it, it is much clearer to say he is a bad Christian than to say he is not a Christian.” 

What Exactly is a Christian?

A Christian is one who is a follower of Jesus. No one of us has the power or right to look into the hearts of men and women and discern the reality of their Christianity or the depths of their commitment to the Son of God. Faith is a personal matter and is really between that person and God. What then are some standard definitions of a Christian, put forward by more traditional Christians?

From the 1828 Webster’s Dictionary: “A believer in the religion of Christ; professor of his belief in the religion of Christ; one who … studies to follow the example, and obey the precepts, of Christ.”

From The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary: “A member of a particular sect using this name”; a civilized human being; a decent, respectable person.”

From the Harper’s Bible Dictionary: “Christian’ is the term that was increasingly applied to Jesus’s followers in the late first and early second centuries.”

From the Holman Bible Dictionary: “an adherent of Christ; one committed to Christ; a follower of Christ.”

In the Westminster Dictionary of Theological Terms: “a name applied originally in Antioch to followers of Jesus Christ (Acts 11:26) and now used to designate those who believe in Jesus Christ and seek to live in the ways he taught.”

From The Amsterdam Declaration (2000): “The word Christian should not be equated with any particular cultural, ethnic, political, or ideological tradition or group. Those who know and love Jesus are also called Christ-followers, believers and disciples.”

Some friends of other faiths have suggested to me that it appears that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is seeking to move into “the mainstream of Christianity.” To be sure, Latter-day Saint leaders have encouraged members of the Church to get to know their neighbors better; to be more involved in community, civic, and political affairs; to show greater love, acceptance, and tolerance for those of other faiths; and, in general, help the world to better understand us. In addition, our Church is seeking to be better understood, to teach our doctrine in a manner that would (a) allow others to see clearly where we stand on important issues, and (b) eliminate misperceptions and avoid misrepresentations.

To be honest, it would be foolish for Latter-day Saints to stray from their moorings and seek to blend in with everyone else in the Christian world. People are joining our Church in ever-increasing numbers, not because we are just like the Roman Catholics or the Greek Orthodox or the Baptists or the Methodists or the Presbyterians or the Anglicans down the street. These people choose to leave their former faith and be baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints because of our distinctives; our strength lies in our distinctive teachings and lifestyle. In that spirit, President Gordon B. Hinckley said:

 Those who observe us say that we are moving into the mainstream of religion. We are not changing. The world’s perception of us is changing. We teach the same doctrine. We have the same organization. We labor to perform the same good works … They are coming to realize what we stand for and what we do.

Joseph Smith once observed: 

If I esteem mankind to be in error, shall I bear them down? No. I will lift them up, and in their own way too, if I cannot persuade them my way is better; and I will not seek to compel any man to believe as I do, only by the force of reasoning, for truth will cut its own way.

 There is too much at stake in the world today for God-fearing people to spend their time and energies attacking, belittling, or misrepresenting those who choose to believe differently. Jesus certainly called us all to a higher standard than that. What was his plea in prayer for his followers only hours before his sufferings and death? “That they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in us: that the world may believe that thou hast sent me.”  

The post Latter-day Saints and the Christian World appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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Dear Mayor Hubbard,

We write to you not as The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, nor on behalf of it, but as members of that church scattered across the country who have watched the Fairview temple controversy with growing concern. We know municipal leadership is hard. We know neighbors can disagree in good faith. We have often worked with our neighbors to get temples approved in our communities. We know growth can bring friction, and that public officials often inherit tensions they did not create. We also know that the language leaders use can either heal a community or quietly inflame it.

That is why your renewed request that the Church voluntarily lower the Fairview Texas Temple steeple deserves a candid response, not from the Church, but from its people. The town approved a 120-foot steeple more than a year ago; construction is now underway; and your latest appeal asks the Church to reopen what had already been mediated, compromised, approved, and begun.

The Church could have made this a courtroom fight from the beginning. It could have pressed for the original plan, with a steeple reported at roughly 174 feet—nearly 50% taller than the design now approved. Instead, after mediation, it reduced the project to the 120-foot steeple now under construction. The Church also accepted a slew of other concessions as part of a “neighborly” agreement. The concessions were not trivial. They were attempts to recognize your priorities and work with you. 

So when, after all that, you suggest that the “neighborly” thing would be still another reduction, many of us hear something more troubling than a plea for harmony. We hear a public official redefining neighborliness as surrender. We hear an approved agreement treated as merely the latest opening bid. We hear a handshake being turned into a pressure campaign.

That is not a compromise. It is a way of poisoning the well. It says to the public: if the Church builds what your town approved, then the Church has chosen legalism over love, rights over respect, height over harmony. But the Church already compromised. Fairview already approved. Construction already began. At some point, “please compromise” stops sounding like reconciliation and starts sounding like bad faith.

Nor is it serious to argue that because the Church has built smaller temples or steeples elsewhere, it must therefore build this temple smaller too. A smaller building in one city is not a perpetual promise never to build a larger one. Fairview’s own records show that religious-facility heights have historically been handled case by case, including approval of a 154-foot bell tower for Creekwood United Methodist Church. We noticed that distinct treatment. 

We understand that change is hard. Fairview sits in a region that is changing quickly. The Census Bureau reports that Dallas-Fort Worth grew 11% since 2020, with especially significant growth on the metro’s outer edges. Four of the country’s five fastest-growing cities are small cities in the DFW area. Latter-day Saints are part of that growth, too. The Church has tens of thousands of members in North Texas, and we need temples to serve them. Perhaps the character of Fairview that needs to be preserved is how you treat everyone in your city. Perhaps treating your neighbors of different faiths like they belong is the character that should be preserved. We’re not intruders. We’re neighbors. 

You can still be the neighborly one here. You can say, “We disagreed. We debated. We mediated. We both gave a little. We approved. And now we will honor what was approved.” That’s the neighborly thing to do. And mayor, if you don’t stop this passive-aggressive campaign, perhaps it’s you who’s chosen not to be neighborly. 

The Church is building the temple Fairview approved. It is not unneighborly for us to ask you to honor that.

Respectfully,

C.D. Cunningham

The post An Open Letter to the Mayor of Fairview, Texas appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

But today it has taken on a more bureaucratic feel. The old “UFO” has become the “UAP,” an unidentified anomalous phenomenon. The phrase feels less theatrical, but the fascination is the same. Americans still want to know whether the strange lights in the sky are drones, balloons, sensor errors, secret aircraft, or something stranger.

But while these conversations have historically been sidelined as conspiracy theories that serious people don’t engage in, that has changed. Former President Barack Obama recently made headlines for saying he believes aliens are real. Congress held public hearings on UAPs, including a 2024 hearing titled “Unidentified Anomalous Phenomena: Exposing the Truth,” followed by continued congressional requests for records and video files in 2026. NASA convened an independent UAP study team and concluded that the subject deserves a rigorous, evidence-based scientific approach. Since 2010, up to 70 planets have been discovered that are in the “habitable zones” of their star systems. The 2025 documentary “The Age of Disclosure” included interviews from military pilots, Department of Defense officials, Congressional Representatives and Senators, a Former Director of National Intelligence, and the Secretary of State. And the Pentagon began its release of UFO files. 

The sudden official sheen to this conversation has intensified the cultural imagination. While there have been no likely or definitive conclusions that extra-terrestrials have visited Earth, the question is being taken seriously in a way it never has before.

Aliens and Religion

A 2021 Pew survey found that just over half of Americans said military reports of UFOs were probably or definitely evidence of intelligent life beyond Earth. Religious Americans were somewhat less likely than the unaffiliated to say intelligent extraterrestrial life exists. 

For many, the religious question is obvious: What would happen to faith if we discovered we are not alone?

At the same time, the most careful surveys complicate the popular assumption that religion would collapse under the weight of alien life. Ted Peters’ “ETI Religious Crisis Survey” tested the idea that contact with extraterrestrial intelligence would produce a religious crisis, and found that most religious respondents did not expect their own tradition to collapse. Interestingly, religious people were often less worried about their own faith than secular respondents were about religion in general. In other words, the people most confident that aliens would destroy religion were often people outside religion looking in.

But if intelligent life exists elsewhere, how could aliens and religion fit together? How would faith survive this change to our paradigm of life and creation?

I want to explore that question within the context of my own tradition, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

In my view, Latter-day Saints are unusually well-suited to think about the possibility of alien life. That does not mean we should credulously accept every sensational claim or canonize every blurry Pentagon video. Our faith does not depend on crashed saucers, whistleblower testimony, or the latest congressional hearing. But, if extraterrestrial life were discovered—microbial, animal, or intelligent—it would not require Latter-day Saints to rebuild their theology from the foundation up. In many ways, the foundation is already there.

Latter-day Saint scripture has never pictured creation as a small, sealed human stage with Earth alone under the eye of God. It teaches “worlds without number,” heavenly parents, faraway stars, and an infinite atonement. The Restoration certainly did not shrink the Christian cosmos. 

A Cosmos That is Already Full

The first reason Latter-day Saints need not panic over the possibility of extraterrestrial life is simple: our scriptures already teach that God’s creations extend far beyond this earth.

In the Book of Moses, Moses is shown a vision of the earth and its inhabitants and then learns that God has created “worlds without number” through the Only Begotten. The scripture does not explicitly state, but heavily implies, that many of these worlds were inhabited by children of God (and the chapter summary states that). It implies that these many worlds are part of God’s plan to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of His children.

Doctrine and Covenants (D&C) section 76 is even more direct. In Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon’s vision of the degrees of glory, they testify that by Jesus Christ “the worlds are and were created,” and that “the inhabitants thereof are begotten sons and daughters unto God.” This is the most direct reference in Latter-day Saint scripture to inhabitants of multiple worlds. It does not merely say that God made stars, planets, or matter. He made inhabitants. And it places those inhabitants in a familial relationship to God. D&C 93 similarly teaches that worlds were made by Christ. 

D&C 88 describes that Christ is the light that is the sun, moon, stars, and earth, and the light that “fills the immensity of space.” Scripture then teaches that God created other worlds, they have inhabitants, those inhabitants are children of God, and it is Christ’s light that is on all of them.

It doesn’t say what our relationship is or will be with those inhabitants of other worlds. 

Modern Church leaders have repeatedly returned to this theme. Late Church President Russell M. Nelson taught that the earth is only one of many creations over which God presides, and he cautioned that our knowledge of the Creation is limited and will be augmented in the future. President Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has used the vastness of the universe to emphasize not human insignificance, but divine love; the God who created worlds without number still knows and values His children.

Elder Neal A. Maxwell, who also served in the Quorum of the Twelve, made the same point. He taught that the Restoration explicitly affirms a plurality of worlds and that God’s universal majesty does not make Him less personally involved in our individual lives. He said, “How many planets are there with people on them? We don’t know. There appears to be none in our own solar system, but we are not alone in the universe. … God is not the God of only one planet!”

These scriptural statements, and the interpretation from Church leaders, establish a basic theological posture. Latter-day Saints do not approach the universe assuming that human beings on Earth are the only rational creatures God has ever loved.

Creation is Not Random 

Latter-day Saint theology does not treat these worlds as mere divine trophies. The God of Moses creating these many worlds does not do so merely to display his power. He creates because He is a Father. This is the center of Moses 1. The scale of creation makes divine parenthood feel inexhaustible.

This is crucial for thinking about alien life. If there are living organisms elsewhere, they are not theological clutter. They are part of creation. If there are intelligent, morally accountable beings elsewhere, they are not an embarrassment to Christian doctrine. They would be evidence that God’s family is as large as we imagined.

Abraham 3 gives Latter-day Saints a distinctive vocabulary for this question. It speaks of intelligences, of differing degrees of intelligence, and of God as greater than them all. Whatever else this passage means, it resists the idea that human life is a late accidental spark in a meaningless universe. Intelligence, agency, hierarchy, progression, and divine governance are built into reality. 

But none of these possibilities would make God smaller. 

Are They Children of God?

The hard theological question is not whether extraterrestrial life could exist. In Latter-day Saint thought, it clearly can. The harder question is what kind of life it would be. 

Latter-day Saint theology distinguishes between different forms of life. Plants, animals, mortals, and resurrected beings do not occupy the same moral or salvific category. So if life exists elsewhere, the first theological question would not be “Are they aliens?” It would be, “Are they God’s spirit children?”

D&C 76 provides the strongest reason to believe that at least some inhabitants of other worlds are indeed sons and daughters of God. President Joseph Fielding Smith, a former prophet of The Church of Jesus Christ, similarly taught that the Father, through His Only Begotten, created worlds without number and that these worlds are peopled by His spirit children. 

That does not require us to assume that every organism in the cosmos is spiritually equivalent to human beings, but it implies we should be open to the idea that some are. It also doesn’t answer whether other worlds are populated now, were populated in the past, or will be populated in the future. But it does mean that Latter-day Saints already have a category for non-earthly persons who belong to the family of God. 

This is where Latter-day Saint theology differs from a thin human exceptionalism. We do believe human beings are made in the image of God. We do believe this earth has sacred significance. We do believe Jesus Christ was born, died, and rose here. But we do not believe God’s love is provincial. The fact that He is our Father does not prevent Him from being Fathers to others. 

As anyone who is not an only child knows, a sibling does not reduce the love you receive from a parent. 

One Savior, Many Sheep

One of the more difficult questions about extra-terrestrials and traditional Christianity has often been the Incarnation. If Christ was born on this Earth, does that make Earth cosmically unique? Would He need to be incarnate, suffer, die, and rise again on every inhabited world? Are there multiple falls, multiple redemptions, multiple atonements? 

Latter-day Saint leaders have generally answered by affirming both the local reality of Christ’s mortal ministry and the cosmic scope of His redeeming work. 

Nelson taught that the Atonement of Jesus Christ is infinite, not merely in duration, but in scope, extending to all humankind and to the infinite number of worlds created by Him. This gives Latter-day Saints a powerful doctrinal framework. We do not need to imagine a weak, local Christ whose saving power stops at the atmosphere. Nor do we need to multiply incarnations beyond what has been revealed. We can affirm what scripture and prophetic teaching affirm: Jesus Christ is the Only Begotten of the Father in the flesh, the Creator of worlds, the Redeemer, and the Lord of the universe.

That does not resolve every mechanics-of-salvation question. But questions remain even without the addition of extraterrestrial life. If intelligent beings on other worlds fall, how is Christ revealed to them? What ordinances do they receive? Do they have prophets? Do they have scriptures? We don’t know.

The Book of Mormon prepares Latter-day Saints for the idea that God’s dealings with one people are never the whole story.

In 3 Nephi, Jesus tells the Nephites that He has “other sheep” who are not of Jerusalem and not of the Nephite land, and that He must go show Himself to them. I’m not suggesting Jesus was implying he was visiting other worlds, but underlining the idea that there are always more children of God for Christ to minister to. 

Christ’s self-disclosure is not limited to the records we presently possess. There are divine visits not recorded in our canon. Latter-day Saints have an open canon. If God has had dealings with other worlds, that would not offend the structure of our faith. 

Do we know? No, but not being told is not the same as being trapped. Latter-day Saints are comfortable with revealed patterns and unrevealed details. We know enough.

What If They Are More Righteous Than We Are?

Latter-day Saints should be cautious about imagining ourselves as cosmic tourists or missionaries. We have been given commandments, covenants, priesthood keys, and missionary obligations for this world. We do not possess a revealed commission to carry ordinances to hypothetical civilizations in another solar system. If God has children elsewhere, He is capable of revealing Himself to them, calling prophets among them, appointing ordinances suited to His law, and gathering them in His own order.

The aliens say that they love Jesus, and that He comes to visit every few years.

The pope is shocked. “Every few years, but He hasn’t even come a second time yet?”

The aliens feel bad, and try to help, “Maybe He doesn’t like your chocolate.”

The pope confused asks, “Chocolate? What does chocolate have to do with anything?”

“Well,” the aliens explain, “every time he comes we give him a big basket of chocolate. Why, what did you give to Him?”

Jokes aside, another possibility is exactly what the joke posits, that intelligent extraterrestrial beings do exist, and they are not invaders or monsters or lost pagans waiting for us to teach them about God. They might be more obedient, unified, humble or righteous than we are. 

Again, Latter-day Saint scripture leaves room for such a possibility. Abraham 3 teaches that intelligence differ and that God is greater than them all. This should help discipline our imaginations. Much of our alien fiction is really human self-projection. Sometimes aliens are our fears, sometimes our aspirations. Latter-day Saint theology gives as a less sentimental and more serious possibility. Other beings could simply be God’s children. Some wicked, some innocent, some righteous. 

What if There is No Alien Life?

A sound theology must also account for the other possibility: that we may never discover intelligent extraterrestrial life. The current evidence certainly does not prove alien existence, let alone alien visitation. Serious Latter-day Saint thinking should not build spiritual excitement around speculation that may collapse under scrutiny.

If no alien civilization is ever found, however, Latter-day Saint theology remains untouched. “Worlds without number” does not need to mean that human scientists in 2026 can identify, contact, or verify those worlds. God’s creations may be distant in space, separated by time, hidden by limits of observation, or simply beyond our stewardship. 

This helps protect us from two opposite errors. If the skeptic says, “If aliens exist, religion is false,” and enthusiasts say “If UAPs are real, my religion is confirmed,” Latter-day Saints should reject both. Our faith is grounded in Jesus Christ, his covenants, and the witness of the Holy Ghost—not in the newest unidentified object.  

The Restoration gives us a capacious cosmos, but it does not require gullibility. 

A Theology Big Enough for Discovery

So where does that leave us?

No matter what we discover, or don’t discover, the theological center holds. The Latter-day Saint doctrine of creation is already cosmic. The doctrine of God is already parental. The atonement of Christ is already infinite. And our understanding of revelation is already open. 

Not every speculation has, or even needs, an answer. We do not know whether any UAP represents extraterrestrial intelligence. We do not know what they look like, we do not know what their history is, or what their relationship is like to Christ. 

But we know enough that we do not need to fear that a discovery of aliens will upend our theology or understanding of the cosmos. We already know our Earth is small, but important eternally.

The discovery of alien life would not make the gospel any less true. It might just remind us that God’s household is larger than we suppose. That wouldn’t upend our beliefs. In fact, it sounds quite familiar. 

The post Aliens and Latter-day Saint Theology appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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The story of Queen Esther focuses on a terrifying extermination order in Ancient Persia to eliminate the Jewish population—and a high-stakes marital challenge. Queen Esther, a Jew, was married to the Persian King Ahasuerus (also known as Xerxes). The king had permitted his highest-ranking official, Haman, to pass the extermination order without knowing its consequences to the Jewish people—or the Jewish identity of his own wife. 

Esther’s uncle, Mordecai, urged Esther to approach the king to plead for her people’s lives. But Persian law dictated that anyone who approached the king in his inner court without being specifically summoned would be put to death. The only exception was if the king extended his golden scepter to spare the person’s life.

Faced with the threat of her people’s destruction, Esther called her community to fast and pray before she approached the king:

Go, gather together all the Jews that are present in Shushan, and fast ye for me, and neither eat nor drink three days, night or day: I also and my maidens will fast likewise; and so will I go in unto the king, which is not according to the law: and if I perish, I perish.

Esther then stepped forward with courage to do what was right despite immense danger. 

She expressed her strength not only inwardly, but in an outward act of faith. Through her religious actions and the united actions of her faith community, she successfully persuaded her husband, the king, to spare her people—and her own life. 

Esther’s inspiring story is retold once a year in the Jewish community, and her courageous spirit lives on in the daily lives of highly religious women. For highly religious women, Esther is not just a historical figure but a functional model for navigating challenging situations, including in the home. In this article, we will discuss the findings from a recent study we conducted about the religious actions that women of faith, like Esther, take to overcome their marital challenges and hardships.

Belief in God Leads to External Resources That Strengthen Marriage

Esther’s unwavering faith in God gave her the strength to face the king, even if it meant she might die. In our study, while the lives of believers were not on the line, family happiness was. We found a recurring theme of what religious women do to call down the power of God into their family life. Gwen, an African American Christian, called it the “big three” and said this:

If you are doing the big three: prayer, being in the word, and fellowshipping with those of like faith then it helps you, and you can encourage other people when they do see that you’re still happy in your marriage after umpteen years.

So how do prayer, scripture, and fellowshipping contribute to happy marriages and families? We turn now to insights from our study participants.

Prayer

Our study participants commonly expressed a connection between their relationship with God and the way they chose to act in their marriages and families. They reported that they built strong bonds with God through prayer. Anne, a Catholic, said:

My faith has had its ups and downs. During the lowest downs where I’ve really been kind of far from God, I haven’t been a very good wife, and I haven’t been a very good mother. But when I’ve come back to God and been closer and been more faithful and more active in my own personal prayer life, then I’ve been better: a nicer person and a better wife and a better mother. So, they just, they’re totally hand in hand. I can’t really separate prayer and my family relationships.

Not only did prayer help participants improve their relationships, but it also fostered spiritual and personal growth. Alyshia, an African American Christian, offered this:

Having a solid relationship with the Lord … He will tell you when you are out of line. The Lord will change you and say, ‘Look at thy selfishness; … and then we can see a little more clearly. Definitely, a solid relationship with God helps with my marriage and family relationships.

In addition, husbands and wives used prayer as a means of resolving disagreements. Yui, a Chinese Christian, said, “When we had some disagreements, we prayed together, confessed our sins before God, and learned to forgive each other.” For many of the women we interviewed, prayer was not merely a religious practice—it involved a sacred connection to get closer to God and closer to family.

Scripture Study

Reading sacred texts or scriptures emerged as another key resource for the women we interviewed. Moriah, a Jewish wife, said that reading the Torah brought her and her spouse closer together:

So often you just stop talking. You don’t communicate, and so I think when we read Torah together, which we really try to do pretty often, it does create conversation and more understanding, and I think certainly that reduces conflict. It prevents conflict. It also helps remedy conflict once it’s there.

Cassandra, an African American Christian wife, also commented:

I get all of my inspiration and all of my guidance from the Bible. That’s how I learned how to treat others. How to treat people and how to be in my marriage with my relationship with my husband. And that is what puts things in priority, in order. That’s where I get it from. And when I make decisions, I always say, ‘I don’t make decisions just based on what I think. It’s coming from scripture.’ It’s gonna be scripture-based or it’s gonna be something on that ground.

Not only did scripture study reportedly influence couple communication and personal decision-making, but it also enhanced participants’ relationships with both God and with their spouse—reflecting similar benefits to prayer. Mercy, a Baptist wife, relayed this about God’s word:

When two people are married, what’s wrong in you really influences the other person. But for me, I find the only way that I grow very effectively is through God’s touch in my life. So I study in scripture and learn more about who God is and what His heart is for our relationship, for His world that He’s made. It helps me to be able to grow myself so that I can better apply what I learn into my relationships.

Participating in a Faith Community

Just as Esther drew support from her uncle and the Jewish community, the women we interviewed drew vital support from their faith communities. Emily, a Baptist wife and mother, highlighted how her congregation gave her needed support:

So, faith helps me because I realize that there is a different way to do [life]. And I can actually learn how to do it differently, with other people who are also learning too. Some people I know are much further along, and I can learn from them. And I find that I can actually share experiences with other people that help them. I think being in a faith community is helpful that way, because we realize that we’re not alone.

Sometimes I’ll go to Bible study and I’ll realize: ‘Boy, the kinds of things that my husband Michael and I maybe are facing or dealing with are nothing compared to what someone else might be experiencing.’ Or I can learn from other people and bring it back into our marriage and say: ‘Hey, this is something somebody shared with me; and what do you think?’ So it’s a dynamic thing. There’s all these relationships that affect us and we have those relationships because we have the same faith.

Similarly, Noor, an Arab American Muslim wife and mother, commented on how her masjid (mosque) and its faith-based classes have offered her direction in her marriage:

Basically, I need to learn more about Islam to strengthen our marriage, even make it stronger. I think that by getting more in depth in Islam, which I’m trying to do now, I’m going to classes and everything. So, it’s helping me understand a lot more; and I think that it makes me understand more my role in our marriage and how I’m supposed to act.

Many of these women of faith drew marital support from their faith communities.  These supportive relationships were often so strong that many women referred to “sisters” and “brothers” in their “church family” who had helped their marriages to grow spiritually, temporally, and relationally. Many of the women of faith emphasized that growing alongside others helped them navigate their marriages and parenting with greater wisdom and perspective than they would have found on their own.

A Legacy of Courage

Our study participants’ words echo the legacy of Esther: courage is born not only from within, but from a life rooted in faith and the relationships it enriches. Like Esther, these women found strength not in their circumstances but in their devotion to God and in the support of a covenant community. 

By turning to the “big three” of prayer, studying sacred texts, and engaging in marriage-strengthening fellowship with others, their faith shaped how they navigated marital hardship in myriad ways. The sacred practices of these women did more than comfort them; these relational efforts empowered them. Prayer, study, and covenant community worked together to foster clarity, compassion, and resilience in the face of difficulties and challenges in family life. Ultimately, the perspective of these women was that active faith in God can help provide not only a set of coping tools, but a deeper sense of strength, purpose, and connection within their marriages.

The post Women of Faith, Action, and Power appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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Forgive the provocative title. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints certainly should care for the poor and needy as modeled by the head of the Church, Jesus Christ Himself.

There is, however, a consistent thread of criticism whenever the cost of a Church-involved project becomes public, that all of that cost should have been spent helping the poor instead. 

The argument has even been extended to time, with critics arguing that spending time in worship is a waste when it could be spent in soup kitchens.

I disagree. Worship is not an alternative to doing good. It’s the engine that makes doing good last.

And this isn’t a new argument. A home crowded with people. A dinner. A sense that Something Big is about to happen. Then a woman—Mary of Bethany, in the telling of the Gospel of John—breaks open a jar of costly ointment and pours it on the feet of Jesus Christ. The room fills with fragrance. It’s extravagantly impractical. It looks, from a certain perspective, like waste.

And right on cue, a voice rises with the sensible objection—the ethical objection:

Why wasn’t this sold and given to the poor?

It comes from Judas Iscariot. And if you’re honest, the line sounds persuasive. It sounds like moral clarity. It sounds like priorities. It sounds like what an enlightened, modern faith should say.

But Jesus doesn’t nod along. He doesn’t say, “Great point—let’s liquidate the perfume and put together a hunger-relief budget.” He defends the act. 

Jesus’ action should break the false spell that says devotion and discipleship are only real when they are immediately convertible into measurable “impact.” It reminds us that worship—direct, reverent, God-facing worship—can look inefficient to anyone who thinks humanitarian deliverables are the only ledger that matters.

And it’s not the only time Jesus refuses to reduce the life of faith into a single social program. He commands His followers to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the prisoner, lift the heavy burden. But He also commands love of God with heart, might, mind, and strength. He commands prayer. He retreats to commune with the Father. He institutes ordinances. He receives honor. He welcomes adoration.

In other words, worship and service both matter enormously. The Christian life is not either/or.

Let’s take that critique seriously, because the best versions of it come from a good instinct: people are suffering, and we should not be casual about it. If you believe in Christ, you should feel a holy discomfort when you see hunger, war, displacement, addiction, loneliness, and abuse. If your faith never pulls you outward into sacrifice and service, then it’s not discipleship.

But the critique collapses when it assumes something that sounds compassionate yet ends up being corrosive: Worship is basically overhead, and the “real work” begins only when worship ends.

That assumption is not just spiritually mistaken. It’s historically naïve and psychologically backward. In practice, it’s one of the fastest ways to kill the very humanitarian impulse it claims to maximize.

Worship is the foundation of sustainable humanitarian good.

Not because worship is a loophole to avoid helping people. But because worship is how you make a people who keep helping people when it’s hard, when it’s boring, when it’s thankless, when it’s politically inconvenient, when the cameras are gone, when your own life is falling apart, when you’re tempted to turn cynical.

And if—hypothetically—humanitarian aid were the ultimate end goal, you would still want a church to stay fiercely centered on its religious mission. Because that mission is what grows the community, strengthens the moral muscles, and keeps the generosity from becoming a short-lived mood.

Even if the only goal was to maximize humanitarian efforts, a religious mission is a wise investment. 

The Trap of Turning a Church Into an NGO

The world already has many institutions whose job description is “make material life better.”

Some are incredible: disaster responders, hospitals, development orgs, refugee agencies, food systems, governments running safety nets. Many of them do heroic work, and believers should often be their most loyal partners and supporters.

But here’s the uncomfortable truth: if a church becomes just another version of those institutions, it loses its reason to exist.

Not because humanitarian work isn’t holy. It is. But because a church’s unique contribution is not merely relief—it is redemption. It exists to reconcile people to God, shape souls, bind communities through covenant, preach repentance and hope, administer ordinances, and teach a way of life anchored in the living Christ.

When a church quietly trades that identity for the safer, more broadly applauded identity of “a values-based service club,” it doesn’t become more relevant. It becomes replaceable.

And replaceable institutions tend to shrink.

That isn’t an abstract theory; it’s one of the storylines of modern Western Christianity. Beginning in the mid‑20th century, many churches in Europe and North America leaned hard into social and political engagement, sometimes explicitly downplaying doctrine, miracles, and distinctive worship as embarrassments from a pre-modern past. On the far edge, you even had “Death of God” theology in the 1960s, arguing that belief in God had become meaningless in modern life.

At the same time, older currents like the “Social Gospel”—a movement that interpreted the kingdom of God as demanding social reform as well as personal conversion—became newly influential in modern form.

These movements that built on the foundation of faith and religious strength produced real good. Civil rights advances, anti-poverty efforts, humanitarian advocacy, not to mention the millions of individuals given a hand up—many believers gave their lives to these causes. That deserves sincere admiration.

The sociological details are debated, but the broad fact of mainline decline is not. Pew Research Center has documented significant declines in mainline Protestant identification and retention in the United States in recent decades. And these losses have been localized in the congregations that went all in on a modern social gospel emphasis. When social action becomes the main product and worship becomes a mild preface, churches tend to lose the very people who would have fueled the action.

A church that abandons worship does not become a better charity. It becomes a worse church and, eventually, a weaker charity too. Because the deepest engines of durable compassion—repentance, gratitude, covenant, awe, accountability, forgiveness, hope, spiritual discipline—are cultivated primarily through worship.

Learning From Our Catholic Friends

It’s worth noticing: even traditions that have built enormous global service institutions still insist that worship is primary.

The Church of Jesus Christ has focused most of its humanitarian efforts in assisting other organizations. Two of the most prominent are Catholic Charities and Catholic Relief Services.

In Sacrosanctum Concilium (the Second Vatican Council’s Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy), the Church describes itself as “eager to act and yet intent on contemplation,” and explicitly orders “action to contemplation,” not the reverse. And it says the liturgy is an “outstanding means” by which the faithful express the mystery of Christ and the nature of the Church.

You don’t have to be Catholic to see the wisdom of this approach. Worship is neither a waste nor a reward after the work; it’s the source that motivates the work, and connects the work to identity, rather than mere philanthropy. 

What Worship Actually Does

People sometimes talk about worship like it’s a little more than a cultural habit, a vibe if you will.

But biblically (and in Latter-day Saint practice), worship is much more like alignment.

Worship is what happens when you stop treating yourself as the center of the universe—and deliberately, repeatedly, bodily re‑center on God. That sounds “spiritual,” and it is. But it has very practical effects:

• Worship builds a different kind of person

Humanitarian service requires more than empathy. Empathy is a spark; it flares and fades. Service that persists needs character: patience, chastity, honesty, restraint, long‑suffering, courage, meekness, integrity when you’re not being watched.

Worship is where these virtues are named, demanded, practiced, and—over time—formed into muscle memory.

• Worship builds a different kind of community

A congregation isn’t just a crowd of like-minded individuals. At its best, it’s a covenant community with thick relationships. You notice when someone disappears; you show up when a baby is born or a parent dies; you bring soup; you sit through awkward conversations; you forgive; you get forgiven.

That kind of community is a miracle. It’s also a logistics machine for mercy.

• Worship builds time horizons long enough for real good

Some problems yield to a burst of attention. Most don’t.

Addiction. Poverty. Education. Conflict. Cycles of abuse. Trauma. Refugee resettlement. Loneliness. Generational hopelessness.

If your only fuel is outrage, you burn out. If your only fuel is applause, you quit when the applause stops.

Worship trains people to act from a longer story. It makes sacrifice rational because it places sacrifice inside eternity.

• Worship protects service from becoming ego

Humanitarianism can become vanity. Service can become a way to be seen, to feel superior, to justify contempt for others (“I help people; why can’t you?”), to build a brand, to control.

Worship is where the ego gets humbled. Where you remember you’re not the savior. Where you’re reminded that you, too, are poor in spirit and desperately in need of grace.

The Data Says Worship Grows Generosity

The argument is not only theological, but empirical. 

In the United States, religious participation—especially regular attendance—has repeatedly shown up as one of the strongest predictors of charitable giving and volunteering.

• Gallup reports that Christians (and especially those who attend church regularly) are more likely than the nonreligious to say they donated and volunteered in the past year.
• A widely circulated analysis hosted by the Hoover Institution (drawing on the Social Capital Community Benchmark Survey) found large gaps between weekly attenders and secular respondents in both donating and volunteering—differences measured in double-digit percentage points.
• The Generosity Commission summarizes the broader pattern bluntly: declining religious participation is frequently cited as part of the donor-participation decline, and there’s “substantial evidence” that religious Americans are more likely to give and volunteer—including to secular causes, not only religious ones.

Some of these benefits likely come from the fact that believers tend to be part of strong communities. Worship, however, doesn’t just create community; it rehearses a moral story where generosity is expected. It normalizes sacrifice. It turns giving from “extra credit” into “this is what we do.”

And psychologists have tried to probe causation more directly. Experiments have found that subtly priming religious concepts can increase prosocial behavior in anonymous economic games. Meta-analytic work reviewing many studies finds religious priming shows a reliable positive effect on prosocial measures.

You don’t need to overclaim this research to see the headline: religious practice isn’t merely “private meaning-making.” It measurably shapes how people behave toward others.

Which means the critique “Stop worshiping and start serving” is not only spiritually misguided. It’s practically self-defeating. Because the evidence suggests worship is part of what produces servers.

You can say, why do you waste time and money worshipping instead of serving, but in practice those who spend their time and money worshipping are also the ones spending the most time and money serving. 

So What About The Church of Jesus Christ Specifically?

Let’s talk directly. The Church’s religious mission costs money. Meetinghouses, temples, missionary work, youth programs, education, publications, administration, welfare logistics.

Critics sometimes frame this as theft from the poor, as if every dollar spent on worship is a dollar stolen from a hungry child.

That’s a powerful emotional frame. It’s also simplistic in a way that would get laughed out of any serious discussion of how organizations work.

Low overhead is not proof of effectiveness. Some of the biggest organizations in non-profit accountability went to bat to combat this myth in 2013. It remains true today. And the problems that need to be solved won’t be solved by pouring money into them. They require infrastructure, training, and longevity. Looking at just welfare for low-income countries, between 2020 and 2023, nearly $700 billion was spent, and the problem remains far from solved. 

The real question is not, “Could we spend this dollar on something else?” Of course, we could. You can always redirect dollars. The real question is what is the best way to spend that dollar. What system produces the most good for the most time? 

And research suggests that churches that focus on worship and doctrine do a better long-term job of addressing those problems. 

For example, in its “Caring for Those in Need” report for 2025, the Church says it supported thousands of humanitarian projects across nearly the whole world and reports $1.58 billion in expenditures and millions of volunteer hours. In 2024, it was $1.45 billion, in 2023 it was $1.36 billion, and in 2022 it was $1.02 billion. And the projects they choose to spend on are those that will produce a virtuous cycle of improvement in the communities where they take place. Consider the self-reliance push of the Church’s welfare system. Consider BYU-Pathway and the Perpetual Education Fund. When it came to serving in the community, the Church didn’t just have members show up, they created JustServe, to create an engine to help local non-profits find volunteers. And the Church has focused on improving neonatal care by training nurses, and training nurse trainers, creating generations of healthy babies.

As we’ve seen in recent history, a church that forgets worship forgets why it serves. It may still do good for a while. But it begins to hollow out—spiritually, culturally, demographically—and eventually it loses the very capacity it once had to mobilize good.

So when critics say, “Stop spending on worship and spend it all on humanitarian aid,” they are—ironically—advocating to dismantle one of the most powerful known engines of mass voluntary generosity.

Worship is how God turns ordinary people into a durable community capable of extraordinary service.

So yes—celebrate humanitarian giving. Expand it. Partner widely. Be transparent where appropriate. Improve effectiveness. Learn from everyone.

And also: do not let anyone shame you into believing worship is wasted time. 

Mary’s ointment filled a house with fragrance. A room full of people could smell her devotion.

The modern world is hungry for that fragrance—devotion that doesn’t flee from suffering, but also doesn’t pretend that suffering is the only thing worth talking about.

A relationship with Christ is not a side quest. It is the center.

And from that center—when it is real—flows a river of service that can outlast outrage, outlast politics, outlast the news cycle, outlast your own energy.

That’s not an argument against humanitarian work. It’s an argument for why the Church should keep being unapologetically a church.

The post The Church Is More Than A Charity appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

The Church’s soft power is built on credibility through collaboration—pairing a global volunteer culture and substantial resources with trusted partners who already have expertise, reach, and on-the-ground legitimacy. In a world hungry for trust, this posture multiplies humanitarian impact—and it quietly teaches the rest of us how to lead with humility, stewardship, and shared purpose.

For the Church, the aim is covenant discipleship and Christlike love; any “soft power” that follows is a byproduct of that faithfulness. In other words, credibility is fruit, not the vine.

Soft power is earned, not asserted.

Soft Power, Reframed as the Fruit of Discipleship

Here I use “soft power” descriptively, not normatively—the Church serves because it follows Jesus Christ; trust accrues because it serves consistently. Humanitarian service is an outgrowth of that discipleship. 

To understand the Church’s “soft power,” we first need to clarify what we mean by the term. In Joseph Nye’s framework, soft power is the ability to shape outcomes through attraction and persuasion rather than force or payment. In practice, it runs on one scarce resource: credibility—earned over time through consistent values and reliable action.

Historically, the Church has maintained both an inward-facing welfare system and an outward-facing humanitarian effort—tracing its formal welfare program to 1936 and its broader humanitarian outreach to 1984. The existence of both streams is important: it signals that partnership is not a substitute for institutional capacity. It is, instead, a strategic and moral decision about how to deploy capacity for the widest good.

Why Partnership Is the Strategy—Not the Exception

The Church’s own public framing is revealing. It speaks of a desire to “maximize” impact so that help blesses not only individuals but families and communities—and it explicitly acknowledges “trusted organizations” as part of the ecosystem that makes the work possible.

In this context, partnership becomes more than a practical convenience. It becomes a posture:

• Stewardship: directing resources where they will do the most good.
• Humility: letting others lead when they hold the expertise.
• Unity: working across lines of faith, nationality, and institutional identity.
• Fidelity: cooperating widely without compromising revealed doctrine, standards, or church governance

And just as notably, the Church’s model often aims to serve people regardless of religious affiliation—an approach it states openly in its humanitarian descriptions.

Partnership is not a compromise. Partnership is a multiplier.

Creating a new program from scratch is not always the most compassionate option—especially in global humanitarian work. Building a parallel infrastructure can mean duplicating supply chains, duplicating local relationships, duplicating compliance systems, and, unintentionally, competing with the very organizations already trusted on the ground.

For example, organizations like the World Food Programme have global distribution systems and emergency operations that can be activated rapidly. The Church can amplify those systems faster than it could replicate them.

By contrast, partnering lets the Church contribute what it can uniquely offer—funding, commodities, volunteers, convening power—while relying on others for what they uniquely offer: specialized public health capacity, emergency logistics, refugee systems, school feeding programs, and long-developed accountability frameworks.

The Church’s own communications sometimes name this directly: long-standing work with organizations “recognized for their effectiveness and integrity,” including World Food Program USA, UNICEF, and CARE, is presented as part of how its projects are carried out.

What looks like “outsourcing” can, when done ethically, be a form of respect.

Case Study One: A Logistics Hub in Barbados

Consider a moment that is easy to miss if we only look for dramatic headlines: the Church and World Food Program USA jointly funded an emergency response logistics hub in the Caribbean, supporting construction and operations in Barbados with a combined $4.3 million, including an initial $2 million grant from the Church.

That is not merely a donation. It is an investment in readiness—the kind of capacity that makes the difference between good intentions and timely food, shelter, and supplies when disaster strikes.

Context: influence grows where reliability lives

And that choice keeps compounding. The World Food Programme identifies Latter-day Saint Charities as a partner since 2014, emphasizing measurable progress toward hunger relief.

Implication: soft power that doesn’t need the spotlight

Soft power, at its healthiest, doesn’t demand center stage. It chooses impact over branding, durability over applause, and coalition over control. A logistics hub is, in many ways, the perfect symbol: unglamorous, essential, and quietly decisive.

Case Study Two: Eight Organizations, One Women and Children Initiative

Now widen the lens from logistics to public health.

In a Relief Society–led global effort to improve maternal and child health, the Church announced $55.8 million in support. It is collaborating with eight internationally recognized nonprofit organizations—including CARE, Catholic Relief Services, Helen Keller International, iDE, MAP International, Save the Children, The Hunger Project, and Vitamin Angels—to strengthen health and nutrition programs in 12 high-need countries.

This is a partnership built not as a one-off, but as a deliberate coalition

Context: the Church as a convener, not just a funder

Furthermore, convening is its own kind of power. When a large institution chooses to collaborate across multiple NGOs—rather than selecting one “favorite” or building an in-house global health apparatus—it signals that the goal is not institutional dominance. The goal is reach.

In Helen Keller International’s own public statement about the collaboration, the logic is explicit: scaling “proven” nutrition services, with multiple peer organizations working together, to create lasting change.

Implication: the soft power of “shared credit”

There is a subtle leadership lesson here: the Church’s influence increases when it refuses to hoard ownership. It strengthens other institutions—and in doing so, it becomes the kind of partner other institutions want nearby.

That desire—to collaborate, to coordinate, to trust—is the heart of soft power.

Case Study Three: Feeding the Hungry Through Systems Already in Place

The Church’s partnership approach is not limited to international NGOs. It also shows up in the way it feeds neighbors close to home.

On its own “Feeding the Hungry” summary page, the Church describes a three-part approach: donate to immediate needs, collaborate with organizations focused on long-term food security, and run its own child nutrition program.

The Church reports operating 122 bishops’ storehouses across six countries, using them to care for members in need, and where storehouses are unavailable, it sometimes works with local grocery store chains.

But perhaps most notably, the storehouse system is not treated as a closed loop. The Church states that food and supplies from bishops’ storehouses are distributed to charitable organizations throughout the U.S. and Canada—and that in 2024, more than 32 million pounds of food were donated through humanitarian organizations and food banks (about 32 million meals).

It even offers concrete local examples, including support to Catholic Community Services in Salt Lake City and assistance to El Hogar Buen Samaritano in Spain.

This is one of the clearest answers to the question, ‘Why partner rather than build everything internally?’ Because hunger is not solved by a single pipeline. It is solved by networks—food banks, shelters, grocery chains, local ministries, civic agencies—each doing what they do best.

The Church’s soft power here is the power to strengthen the network without demanding the network become the Church.

Case Study Four: Trust Across Lines—The NAACP and the Red Cross

Soft power is not only global. It is also social: the ability to lower defensiveness and raise cooperation in places where history, misunderstanding, or suspicion might otherwise block progress.

The NAACP partnership

The Church’s relationship with the NAACP, as described in Church Newsroom coverage, began with a joint call for greater civility and racial harmony in May 2018, later developing into education and humanitarian initiatives.

Local and national outlets described scholarship support and related initiatives tied to the partnership. Later, Church News summarized additional education and humanitarian commitments, including scholarships and related efforts.

Whatever one’s perspective on institutional history, the partnership model here communicates a clear principle: we do not wait for perfect alignment before we begin building shared good. Such collaboration proceeds under prophetic direction and clear boundaries. Partnership does not equal endorsement of every position; we work together where concrete objectives align with the gospel and established Church policies.

The Red Cross collaboration

Similarly, the Church’s collaboration with the American Red Cross is framed—on the Church’s own regional humanitarian summary page—as having “staying power” because of shared values like humanitarian spirit and trust.

And the Red Cross itself publicly describes Church donations supporting Red Cross efforts, situating them as part of a longer pattern of giving.

The Personal Lessons: How to Practice “Soft Power” Without Losing Your Soul

Institutional examples matter because they give us patterns to imitate—not in scale, but in spirit.

Here are the takeaways that translate most directly into ordinary life. Our influence grows when our service is dependable.

Lesson 1: Choose contribution over control

In families, workplaces, wards, and neighborhoods, we are often tempted to help in ways that keep us central. The Church’s partnership posture suggests a different path: support what already works, and let others lead where they’re strongest.

Lesson 2: Let “shared credit” be your leadership style

Soft power in personal life is rarely about charisma. It is about trust—built through consistency, humility, and credit-sharing. The Church’s collaborations—from global NGOs to local food banks—model a way of doing good that doesn’t require ownership.

Lesson 3: Build ecosystems, not just moments

A single act of service can be beautiful. But durable influence comes from strengthening systems: the food pantry, the school, the shelter, the community volunteer network.

In this light, platforms like JustServe become more than a scheduling tool. They become an institutional habit of connecting people to organizations that can sustain service beyond one weekend.

Lesson 4: Measure what matters—then tell the truth about it

The Church’s annual summaries are not perfect proxies for every form of generosity, but they reflect a principle: service should be reportable, accountable, and visible enough to build trust. We count to improve care, transparency, and wise use of sacred funds—not to keep score. And we remember that many of the most important outcomes—conversion, dignity, belonging—resist quantification.

In our lives, that can look like simple clarity: following through, closing loops, showing receipts (sometimes literally), and making outcomes legible.

Lesson 5: Keep the moral center clear

Finally, partnership only works when your values travel intact. The Church repeatedly frames its humanitarian collaborations as rooted in Christlike love and a desire to bless communities broadly.

For us, the equivalent is straightforward: serve in ways that are clean, respectful, and non-transactional—without turning people into props for our identity.

Soft power is often misunderstood as image management. But at its best, it is something far more demanding: the disciplined practice of becoming trustworthy.

The Church of Jesus Christ demonstrates a version of that discipline through its partnership-centered humanitarian work—mobilizing volunteers, funding, and commodities, while collaborating with organizations that bring specialized expertise, local legitimacy, and global reach.

And the institutional example returns to us as a personal invitation: to live in a way that multiplies good—through humility, collaboration, and a steady willingness to build trust.

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