Sanford appeared to be motivated by anti-Latter-day Saint bigotry, potentially exacerbated by mental illness and drug use. Four congregants were killed in the attack—two from gunshot wounds and two from the fire—and eight more were wounded. The meetinghouse itself was destroyed. Many victims were lauded as heroes, including two young congregants, both fourth-year emergency medicine resident physicians from nearby Henry Ford Genesys Hospital, who ran back into the burning building multiple times to help others escape. 

Within 48 hours of the attack, Utah resident and Latter-day Saint author Dave Butler, who has no connection to Grand Blanc, started a GiveSendGo fundraiser—not for the victims of the attack (there were already several of those), but for the shooter’s family. You see, Sanford left behind a wife and a young son with a rare genetic disorder that had required multiple surgeries and careful, expensive medical care. Donations flooded in, with many donors indicating that they were Latter-day Saints and that their faith inspired their donations. 

It would have been an extraordinary response to religious hatred even if the story ended there. It didn’t.

Eight weeks later, the BYU football team was scheduled to play the University of Cincinnati. As part of its Cougs Care initiative, which organizes service projects at each of the BYU football away game locations, the BYU Alumni Association held a coat drive with the NAACP that collected more than 600 coats for local children. In addition, The Church of Jesus Christ donated 27,000 pounds of food to Cincinnati’s on-campus Bearcats Pantry to support students facing food insecurity.

Jared Hicken, one of the heroic medical residents in Grand Blanc, and his wife Brandi attended the BYU football game at the University of Cincinnati. Brandi later recalled that after the attack, in which she, Jared, and their 5-year-old had all been wounded by gunshots or shrapnel, she was nervous to be publicly identified as a member of the Church. But she was excited for a “much-needed date night” with her husband, and wanted to “move on from the attack on our church.” She wrote, “We came. We smiled. We cheered. We enjoyed ourselves.” Until what has since become a familiar chant rang out from the student section: “F— the Mormons!” 

Twenty-seven thousand pounds of food. Hundreds of winter coats. Only two months and a few hundred miles away from a mass shooting and arson attack. And still, “F— the Mormons.”

In a 2022 survey conducted by Pew Research Center, only 15% percent of American respondents reported having a favorable view of Latter-day Saints, making them the lowest-rated religious group. Twenty-five percent of respondents reported an unfavorable view, with the remaining 59% indicating either a neutral rating or that they “[didn’t] know enough to say.”

Conversely, Latter-day Saints tend to view members of other faiths quite favorably. Fifty-four percent of Latter-day Saints expressed a favorable view of evangelical Christians, for example, while only 15% of Evangelicals expressed a favorable view of Latter-day Saints (and 27% viewed Latter-day Saints unfavorably). 

The bigotry that members of The Church of Jesus Christ face is nothing like what early Latter-day Saint ancestors faced. And many religious groups, both in the United States and abroad, still presently face serious safety threats and religious persecution. Fortunately, the horrific Michigan shooting was an anomaly, and the football chants, as nasty as they seem—well, we can probably just keep rolling our eyes. 

On the other hand, many Latter-day Saints may look at these events and wonder how we are supposed to respond. We could lament our neighbors’ misunderstanding. We could work harder to correct misconceptions. We could point to the 27,000 pounds of food and ask, What, exactly, can we do more?

But a year after Grand Blanc, here’s a different question to consider. What does our faith ask us when our neighbors don’t seem to like us very much?

A decade before the brutal Michigan attack, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, taught us about the cost—and blessings—of discipleship:

If you haven’t already, you will one day find yourself called upon to defend your faith or perhaps even endure some personal abuse simply because you are a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Such moments will require both courage and courtesy on your part.

Elder Holland did not counsel us to be passive. “Defend your beliefs with courtesy and compassion, but defend them,” he said. Religious bigotry isn’t harmless, and we can respond with more than niceness when it happens. We can correct falsehoods about our beliefs, insist that universities that host Latter-day Saints not allow their students to hurl profanities at us, and defend ourselves when we become targets of religious hatred. 

But even still, none of this releases us from the Christian obligation to love the people reviling us. Jesus Christ was unequivocal on this point: “Love your enemies … do good to them that hate you.” Why?

Sharon Eubank, director of Latter-day Saint Charities, once said of the Church’s humanitarian work, “We do this out of our faith in the love of Jesus Christ. We want to give evidence that we love God by loving our neighbors.” The good we are doing is not a transaction. We love the Lord our God, and that is enough. 

We do not stock a Catholic food pantry so that Catholics will think better of Latter-day Saints. Nor do we partner with Muslims on disaster relief efforts so they will defend us when someone attacks our faith. We do not give 27,000 pounds of food to university students in exchange for respectful behavior from their student section. We feed people because they are hungry. And if they don’t like us afterward? We feed them anyway. 

Religious service can easily become tangled up with our desire to be liked and understood. Latter-day Saints are human—we want to be liked, we want to be included. But Christian charity is not public relations work. The person receiving our love does not need to return it for that love to have been worth giving. 

But sometimes something interesting happens anyway.

Last year, Emma Simon, a Jewish student at Princeton University and a fellow with the American Jewish Committee, traveled to Salt Lake City as part of AJC’s Interreligious Mission. Simon came to Salt Lake knowing a little bit about our faith. She had spent weeks researching Church history, beliefs, and practices in preparation for the trip. In an article about her trip, she later explained that her feelings about our religious beliefs were “not simple. I am challenged by some of the political and social policy positions they take.”

But then she visited Welfare Square and the Church’s Humanitarian Center. And there, she encountered a religious community at work. “The amount of good the Church does is undeniable,” she later wrote. After her visit, she did not join the Church, nor did she change her beliefs on the conservative policy positions that the Church takes. But she did leave knowing us a little better.

I think sometimes we expect interfaith relationships to develop in one sort of way—we talk, we understand each other, we trust each other, and if all goes well, we cooperate. But sometimes that process goes backward. Sometimes we cooperate first. Catholic Charities of Oregon, for example, operates nine food pantries stocked with food from the Latter-day Saint bishops’ storehouse. Those pantries serve nearly 400 people each week. Latter-day Saint volunteers also work with Catholic Charities to resettle refugees, meeting newly arrived families at airports and helping prepare their apartments. Catholic Charities calls the two organizations “close partners.”

The Church has been working with Islamic Relief USA for more than two decades. In 2004 alone, the two organizations worked together to send millions of dollars in humanitarian aid to Iraq, Sudan, and Bangladesh. They partnered again after the Indian Ocean tsunami. Islamic Relief later described the Church not merely as its oldest interfaith partner, but as its “oldest partnership.”

In Albuquerque, Catholic Charities runs a summer program for refugee families from Arab, Afghan, and African communities. Many of the families are Muslim. The program takes place in a Latter-day Saint meetinghouse, with church members volunteering alongside Catholics. On many summer days, the building fills with cooking workshops, sewing classes, art classes, and people speaking different languages and practicing different faiths.

And in my favorite example: the Christmas before the Grand Blanc shooting, Detroit received its first Giving Machine. Using the machine, visitors could donate money toward:

• Zaman International, a Michigan-based Muslim nonprofit organization that supports women and children in extreme poverty. Money donated to Zaman went to healthy halal meals for local Muslim families in need, ESL instruction, winter coats for single mothers and their children, and refugee housewarming kits.
• Catholic Charities of Southeast Michigan. Giving Machine donations funded their Walking with Moms in Need program, providing critical resources, clothing, and basic necessities for mothers and infants. 
• Jewish Family Services of Washtenaw County. Donations funded kosher meals for local Jewish families in need, emergency overnight shelter services, and gas cards for people who are newly employed after a period of unemployment.
• The Pope Francis Center, a support center in Detroit for the chronically homeless. Donations went to warm winter socks and boots, clean clothes and bedding, and warm shoes and bus passes. 

Nobody has to settle the nature of the Trinity before unloading a truck or agree about prophets before packing a box of food. It is actually liberating to have a problem outside of ourselves to solve together. Maybe we are approaching interfaith understanding backward. We assume that understanding must precede cooperation. But often cooperation produces familiarity, familiarity produces trust, and trust makes true understanding possible. It doesn’t always work. But sometimes.

After the Grand Blanc attack, we as Latter-day Saints truly had many friends who mourned with us as we mourned. Jewish, Muslim, Catholic, Protestant, and other religious communities condemned the violence and reached out with a hand of support. 

And then about six months later, another Michigan house of worship was attacked—Temple Israel in West Bloomfield. The FBI director described it as targeted violence against the Jewish community. 

Now it was our turn to mourn with them. At an interfaith Seder later shortly after the attack, Amy Sapeika of the American Jewish Committee’s Detroit office said that interfaith partners immediately reached out to her with calls, texts and emails expressing solidarity and condemning the attack, and she specifically identified Latter-day Saints in Grand Blanc among those who reached out with comfort and offers to help. “We’re really grateful for their friendship,” she said.

No theological disagreements had disappeared, but instead of seeing each other as organizations with competing religious claims, they recognized each other as neighbors. 

Elder Holland said that “pure Christlike love flowing from true righteousness can change the world.” And sometimes we get to see that change. A Jewish college student comes to Utah skeptical of our beliefs and leaves with something new to think about. Catholics and Latter-day Saints with very different doctrines spend years side by side feeding hungry families. Muslims and Latter-day Saints find common ground as they support refugees coming to the United States to start a new life. 

And sometimes we will still get “F— the Mormons.” The Christlike love we give should not depend on what response we get. Because the better measure of interfaith service is not whether our neighbors understand us better when we are finished. It is whether we have loved them better. Sometimes understanding and friendship follow. Sometimes they don’t. 

Keep serving anyway.

The post Feed Them Anyway 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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