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Imagine you are a first-century Jew at the time of Jesus. You saw the famed Rabbi of Galilee perform miracles. He multiplied food and raised the dead, miracles echoing Elijah and Elisha. You heard him teach doctrines that built upon the law of Moses, but he drew out principles that made the law much more challenging. You saw him ride into Jerusalem on a colt, cleanse the temple, and teach that he was not only the Messiah, but Deity himself. 

And then he was betrayed by his friend and follower, Judas (known in Hebrew as Judah), the namesake of his own people. And rather than take his place on the political throne of Israel, you witnessed this Son of David condemned by Jew and Gentile alike, then tormented, crucified, and placed in a tomb. 

What would you expect next if your only source of reference was the Hebrew Bible? Would you have recognized Jesus of Nazareth in the scriptures you studied? Could you have anticipated from scripture that this self-proclaimed Messiah would miraculously come back to life—forever?

As Easter approaches, perhaps we can feel more charity and empathy for the disciples’ confusion following Christ’s death. Their source of scripture was the Hebrew Bible, which we call the Old Testament. While the Nephites and potentially some ancient Israelites had explicit teachings about the Atonement and Resurrection, the Jews in Jesus’ day faced an open question. 

Despite being longer than the rest of the Latter-day Saint canon combined, the Old Testament has fewer explicit references to “the fundamental principles of our religion”.

Yet while the Old Testament speaks less explicitly of Christ, shadows of His Atonement and Resurrection can be found in its pages. Some teachings of Christ may have been intentionally veiled in rituals and prophetic language. But just as the temple veil was rent at Jesus’s death, making clear that the way back to God was through Christ, the Spirit can lift the veil from our understanding, helping us see that the Easter message is implicit in the Old Testament’s pages. 

Why Isn’t the Resurrection Clearly Taught in the Old Testament?

Restoration scripture makes clear what the Old Testament does not: ancient prophets like Adam, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Joseph, Moses, Isaiah, and others knew of Christ’s mission to some degree. This makes the relative absence of discussion about Christ’s suffering, crucifixion, and resurrection in the Old Testament puzzling. As I see it, scripture (particularly the Book of Mormon) provides three potential explanations. 

The first is that revelation occurs gradually: “line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little.” It may be that knowledge of Christ’s atonement, death, and resurrection was originally sparse, leading to less emphasis in earlier scripture. But our teachings about ancient prophets, if taken literally, are too clear about prophets’ knowledge of Christ’s atonement and resurrection for these doctrines to be considered only seedlings. This must be supplemented by other explanations.

The second possibility is that teachings of a suffering “Anointed One” were rejected, lost, or censored by those who compiled the texts. For example, the Book of Mormon cites Israelite prophets like Zenos, Zenock, and Neum—who aren’t in our canon elsewhere—that taught of Christ’s suffering, crucifixion, and burial. These prophets were stoned and cast out, and perhaps their teachings were likewise discarded.

Nephi also states that the Bible was altered before its international distribution: “they have taken away from the gospel of the Lamb many parts which are plain and most precious.” The editing and authorship history of the Old Testament is complex, and some books could have been crafted by an editor who did not know of or believe in Christ, despite prophets having taught of Him. 

A third possibility is that Old Testament teachings of Christ were veiled to the people by God’s prophets, or even veiled to prophets by God Himself, because of ancient Israel’s spiritual unpreparedness, or for some other divine purpose. Paul spoke of a “veil” that obscures understanding “in the reading of the old testament,” but that this “veil is done away in Christ.” The veiled message Paul speaks of likely came by giving Israel rituals that would resemble Christ’s sacrifice, as well as giving them sacred texts that veiled the mission of Christ or that could point to Him as a secondary, or higher, meaning. The true nature of Christ’s mission could only be gleaned by revelation.

Taken together, these explanations allow us to admit that explicit Old Testament references to Christ are sparse, but that Christ’s mission can still be found through the Spirit’s tutelage. Jesus taught that “the scriptures” of his day—meaning the Old Testament—“are they which testify of me” and commanded his audience to “search” them. With that imperative, I turn now to veiled Easter teachings of Christ found in the Old Testament for those with “eyes to see, and ears to hear.”

Ancient Israelite Prophecy of Christ’s Sacrifice

Abinadi, teaching about the Messiah’s divinity, condescension, atonement, and resurrection, claimed that “all the prophets who have prophesied ever since the world began [have] spoken more or less concerning these things.” Perhaps some of this teaching was censored, but much of it may have been inspired thematic and narrative parallels in scripture that constituted “more or less” a prophecy. As Nephi said, “all things which have been given of God from the beginning of the world, unto man, are the typifying of him,” including parallels in sacred history, poetry, and even prophecies with other primary meanings. Jacob added a second witness that the Israelite scriptures “truly testify of Christ” and “that none of the prophets have written, nor prophesied, save they have spoken concerning this Christ.”

Christ’s atoning sacrifice in Gethsemane and on the cross at Calvary is mirrored in some Old Testament narratives. In the Akedah, God commands Abraham to bind and then offer a burnt sacrifice of “thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest.” This excruciating story, rife with philosophical complexity, does not thoroughly explain itself, but Jacob saw it as typifying Heavenly Father’s offering of His Only Begotten Son for our sins. In further parallels to Christ, Isaac rode a donkey to Mount Moriah, just as Christ rode a donkey for his triumphal entry to Jerusalem, and Isaac carried the wood for the sacrifice to its site, just as Christ carried a wooden cross to Golgotha. When Isaac asked his father where the offering was, Abraham replied, “God will provide himself a lamb for a burnt offering.” Isaac was miraculously delivered, and a ram in the thicket was provided as a substitute, symbolizing how the Lamb of God would ultimately sacrifice in our place. 

In another example reminiscent of the crucifixion and resurrection, Moses is commanded to raise up a brass “serpent and set it upon a pole” for the Israelites to look upon for healing from fatal snake bites. As with the story of the Akedah, the Christian significance of the story is never explained in the Old Testament, but Christ Himself and Book of Mormon prophets interpret it as a veiled symbol of Jesus raised upon a cross to save us by having the faith to look to Him. 

Beyond narrative mirroring, Christ’s mission seems to be directly or indirectly described in isolated phrases and references. New Testament authors like Matthew felt comfortable declaring that Old Testament passages were “fulfilled” when they provided an inspired parallel, even if the context of the passage doesn’t indicate at all that it is messianic prophecy. I argue that we can generally feel comfortable accepting these parallels as well if we acknowledge that there might be a different primary meaning. 

Language echoing Christ’s betrayal and crucifixion is also scattered across the Psalms and connects Christ to his royal ancestor David. The Psalmist(s) describes betrayal by a “familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread”; being despised, mocked, and taunted about how “He trusted on the Lord that he would deliver him”; being surrounded by “the wicked,” after which “they pierced my hands and my feet”; being given “vinegar to drink”; crying “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”; having his clothing divided among a crowd; and being “poured out like water.” The context of some of these psalms suggests that the entire psalms were not necessarily messianic prophecy, yet Gospel authors understood them as being strongly implicated, and Psalm 22 in particular bears stunningly similar parallels.

Finally, there were prophets whose writings could be fairly classified as more direct prophecies of Christ’s sacrifice, most notably Isaiah. In particular, two of Isaiah’s four “Servant Songs” testify strongly of Christ, even if they applied to multiple people (the unnamed servant has variously been understood to be Jesus, Israel, Isaiah, Cyrus, and others). One of the Songs speaks of an unnamed servant who listened to God without rebelling, who gave his “back to the smiters,” and who did not hide his face “from shame and spitting.”

Isaiah’s fourth Servant Song, even though contested in interpretation, is by far the most reminiscent passage in the Old Testament of Christ’s atonement. It describes a lowly “servant” of God with “marred” appearance who has “no form nor comeliness [and] no beauty that we should desire him,” and who is “despised and rejected of man; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.” Although many prophets have been unpopular, the affliction this servant bears is for our griefs, our sorrows, our transgressions, and “the iniquity of us all.” The servant is given as an atoning “offering for sin” by which he will “justify many” and make “intercession for the transgressors.” In so doing he was “cut off out of the land of the living,” “made his grave with the wicked,” and “poured out his soul unto death.” And despite his death, he will be “exalted and extolled, and be very high,” will “prolong his days,” will “see his seed,” and will be divided “a portion with the great [and] spoil with the strong.” Even if there were other applications of this prophecy, it testifies beautifully of Christ’s mission and is perhaps the rarest gem of prophecy of Christ in the Old Testament.

Sacrifice 

In addition to prophecies,  the Old Testament practice of sacrifice foreshadows Christ’s sacrifice for us all. 

The Old Testament speaks openly of a victorious, reigning Messiah, but says little of a Messiah who suffers for sins. But that changes if we learn to see ancient animal sacrifice as a shadow of “that great and last sacrifice” that would satisfy the demands of justice for our sins. 

Though animal sacrifice is as old as Adam, the books of Moses codified its intricacies. With five distinct offerings—burnt offerings, peace (well-being) offerings, sin offerings, trespass offerings, and meat (grain) offerings—the Mosaic rules for sacrifice were complex. The sacrifices had mixed and overlapping purposes: atonement or expiation of sin, removal of ritual impurity, gratitude, memorial, obedience, or petition for deliverance. Animals of both genders and even non-animals were used for many offerings, but all offerings were food items, often with symbolically pleasing smells. Sometimes the offeror ate the sacrifice, other times the priests ate it, and burnt offerings were simply burnt for God.

Some special sacrifices were associated with holy days, such as the Day of Atonement or Passover, and some were performed on behalf of all of God’s people. The Passover sacrifice, in particular, involved the slaughter of a male lamb, whose blood saved the firstborn sons of Israel. And whatever other sacrifices were given, all firstborn animals were to be given to the Lord. 

We can see how these many purposes of sacrifice map onto Christ’s atonement and our own personal sacrifices. We see similarities to Christ describing himself as food and drink that must be ritually consumed by others. We especially connect the image of a male lamb of Passover to the Christian message because scripture calls Jesus the Lamb of God. In general, though, the Christian meaning of these sacrifices was hidden at the time. It is not clear from Leviticus that the Israelites were anticipating a final sacrifice. Leviticus merely taught the underlying principle that blood represents the sacredness of life, and “it is the blood that maketh an atonement for the soul.” 

As we take the sacrament this Easter season, we symbolically consume Christ’s body—just as Israelites did with animal sacrifice—and are divinely fed. We also promise to give up our sins. As the late Elder Neal A. Maxwell taught, “Real, personal sacrifice never was placing an animal on the altar. Instead, it is a willingness to put the animal in us upon the altar and letting it be consumed.” We can also follow Christ’s example and the other purposes of sacrifice in sacrificing our own time and wills, obeying God, expressing gratitude, asking God for what we need, and being “an odour of a sweet smell, a sacrifice acceptable, wellpleasing to God.” 

The Law of Moses

In addition to its sacrifice requirements, the Law of Moses foreshadowed Christ, who later declared not only that he fulfilled the law but that “I am the law.” As the Book of Hebrews teaches, “the law [of Moses] ha[s] a shadow of good things to come, and not the very image of the things.” The law seemed to require revelation to see Christ shadowed in it. Abinadi and Benjamin both taught that the Israelites “did not all understand the law,” not because of low intellect, but because they “hardened their hearts.” This was certainly true of Sherem, who claimed Jacob was wrongly “converting” the law of Moses into worship of Christ. 

Nephite prophets saw Mosaic Law as creating a typological framework for an ultimate self-sacrifice to atone for all sins. Nephi taught that “for this end hath the law of Moses been given”: “proving unto my people the truth of the coming of Christ.” Abinadi taught that it was “a shadow of those things which are to come.” Amulek testified that “the whole meaning of the law, every whit” was to point to “that great and last sacrifice” of “the Son of God, yea, infinite and eternal.” We, too, can acknowledge the complexity of the Law of Moses while affirming that it served as a type and shadow of Christ’s atonement to ancient Israelites.

The Old Testament and Resurrection

As for its teachings about the resurrection specifically, the Old Testament shows a plurality of views about the afterlife. Resurrection isn’t clearly taught in many of its books, especially the earlier ones. Jews in the days of Jesus were divided on whether it occurred. Pharisees, who accepted the later prophetic texts, believed in resurrection; Sadducees, who held only to the older books of Moses, did not. Zoramites like Zeezrom and Antionah, who demonstrate knowledge of the early Hebrew Bible books, are also puzzled by references to the resurrection. 

The Book of Daniel declares that “many of them that sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt.” But that book falls relatively late in the Old Testament, and the clarity of the doctrine is obscured as we move back in time—perhaps another veiled or censored teaching. Though there is some uncertainty about what he meant, Isaiah prophesied that our God “will swallow up death in victory; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces;” and “O Lord. . . Thy dead men shall live, together with my dead body [or “together their bodies”] shall they arise.”

Other than these passages, there are a few resurrection passages that are debated but possibly veiled or which might have a secondary meaning. Ezekiel prophesied that a valley of dry bones will come to life as normal people, primarily as a metaphor for the restoration of Israel, but perhaps also suggesting the possibility of resurrection. The Hebrew grammar is jumbled, but Job seems to say, with words not in Hebrew italicized, “though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet [from] my flesh shall I see God.” 

With these powerful images of resurrection available to him, Jesus, surprisingly, does not cite Daniel, Ezekiel, or Job when prophesying of his own resurrection. Instead, Jesus sees the most relevance in the story of Jonah (or Jonas in Greek): “For as Jonas was three days and three nights in the whale’s belly; so shall the Son of man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth.”  We don’t instinctively think of Jonah being swallowed by a “great fish” as death, but Jonah’s prayer from inside the fish uses the language of death: “out of the belly of hell [Sheol] cried I, and thou heardest my voice.” He stayed there for three days before his deliverance.

Perhaps more importantly, God is the one who breathes life into humanity, and he saves Israel from death and bondage repeatedly. The Exodus is just one beautiful example of God delivering his people from bondage—a frequent metaphor for death in scripture. And God shows himself in the Old Testament to be a God of miracles. The same omnipotence that would allow God to part the Red Sea, stop the sun in the sky, shake the earth, obliterate cities, turn back armies, bring springs to life, and deliver his people is the same power required to perform the most stunning of all miracles: to raise from the dead.  

Christ is the Meaning

Finding Christ in the Old Testament happens the same way we develop a testimony of Christ in the first place. Nephi tells us that a key to understanding Isaiah, for example, is the “spirit of prophecy”—that is, the “testimony of Jesus” obtained by revelation. If we encounter Christ’s character in the course of our study, we have found him in the text. Peter, who recognized Christ as the promised Messiah, told Jesus, “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God,” not because it was a logical imperative in scripture, but because our “Father which is in heaven” had “revealed it unto [him].” The Lord’s counsel for studying the Apocrypha also applies to the Old Testament: “whoso is enlightened by the Spirit shall obtain benefit therefrom; And whoso receiveth not by the Spirit, cannot be benefited.” 

Christ is indeed “in all things, and is through all things, and is round about all things.” Like the first-century Jews who needed the Spirit to understand Christ in their scripture, we, too, can seek the Spirit’s help in unveiling Christ in every part of our lives, however hidden He may seem. As we search the scriptures and apply “our hearts to understanding,” we can come to see what Jesus taught His apostles: that the Old Testament scriptures “are they which testify of me.”

As Christ “yielded up the ghost” on Calvary, “the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom,” a symbol of overcoming the barriers to God’s presence under the old covenant. As the Book of Hebrews teaches, we can now “enter into the holiest by the blood of Jesus . . . through the veil, that is to say, his flesh.” Just as the veil in the temple symbolized Christ’s broken body, the veil of the Old Testament is also rent by Christ Himself through revelation. 

Perhaps we can now better understand, with the scarcity of explicit references to Christ’s suffering, death, and resurrection, how confused Christ’s disciples must have been immediately after his death. For those on the road to Emmaus, this confusion was dispelled when Jesus, “beginning at Moses and all the prophets . . . expounded unto them in all the scriptures the things concerning himself,” and why he “ought . . . to have suffered these things, and to enter into his glory.” He was the veiled meaning all along.

The post Unveiling Christ this Easter appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

Humility is not humiliation; it’s the start to something better.

What “The Day Of The Ashes” Meant

In the early medieval West the name dies cinerum—“day of ashes”—appears in the Roman books; by the later first millennium, marking the head with ash had become the way common Christians entered Lent. In 1091, Pope Urban II extended the custom at Benevento; soon liturgical books called the day Feria Quarta Cinerum (Ash Wednesday). The words were simple, the meaning older than Christendom: repentance and mortality, echoing Genesis 3:19.

The gesture sprang from Scripture’s grammar of contrition—Daniel turning “with fasting, and sackcloth, and ashes” (Daniel 9:3), Job repenting “in dust and ashes” (Job 42:6), Nineveh in sackcloth (Jonah 3). Dust was catechesis.

The Restoration’s Witness: Dust, Nothingness, Promise

If medieval Christians called us dust, Restoration scripture continues the theme—and then refuses to leave us there. King Benjamin commands disciples to “remember… the greatness of God, and your own nothingness” so they can learn to “always retain in remembrance” His goodness (Mosiah 4:11–12). Alma is blunter: “I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak” (Alma 26:12). And Helaman’s lament is bracing: “How great is the nothingness of the children of men; yea, even they are less than the dust of the earth” (Helaman 12:7–8).

This is not self‑loathing; it is spiritual realism. Dust is teachable. “If men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness,” the Lord says—not to crush, but to make “weak things become strong” (Ether 12:27). 

The Orthodox Beginning: Clean Monday

Eastern Christians start Great Lent on Clean Monday, a different tradition to enter the same period of the year. It is the first step of fasting, confession, and household “cleansing”—a positive, springlike beginning that pairs sobriety with joy. The day frames repentance not as dour exhibition but as purification, a clearing to make room for grace.

While these traditions have developed different practices, they both intuitively understand that to begin the season that ends with the glorious resurrection, we should start with humility. 

A Latter‑day Saint On‑Ramp To Easter

Modern life trains us to curate an image of greatness. The Book of Mormon’s anthropology is corrective: remember God’s greatness and our dependence, and remember covenant possibility (Mosiah 4:11–12). Moses felt it—“man is nothing”—and then saw God’s work unfold through him (Moses 1:10, 39). In other words, recognizing our nothingness is not an insult; it’s permission to be redeemed. And refusing to recognize it can prevent our redemption.

Members of The Church of Jesus Christ celebrate Easter with worship and witness but have not historically observed Ash Wednesday or Lent as formal religious seasons. 

As we seek to apply Elder Stevenson’s counsel, we don’t need to import another church’s liturgical calendar, but we would be wise to recognize the accumulated wisdom in the way they’ve chosen to celebrate the season. 

So how might Latter‑day Saint families launch an Easter season, starting from the ground, in humility?

Choose a starting day. You might key it to the first Monday several weeks before Easter (a nod to “clean” beginnings) or to a family fast day. Mark the start in family council: “Today we begin our walk to Easter.” Small, simple, said out loud.

Name the truth. Read together Moses 1:10; Mosiah 4:11; Helaman 12:7–8. Let each person finish the sentence: “Because I am dust, I will…” (serve, forgive, listen). Keep it under five minutes; keep it tender.

Consider the Metaphor. Perhaps the timing of planting in much of the northern hemisphere can give you or your family a reason to get into the dirt and dust. This could allow you to connect to the lowliness metaphor in a unique way.

Fast to make room. Perhaps make a special effort to fast on the first Sunday in March, or add an additional fast on the Sunday before or after the traditional Ash Wendesday day as a way of starting the season in humility. 

Prime the house. Borrow a line from Clean Monday: do some literal cleaning, donate gently used items, and clear a shelf for an “Easter table.” If you’re going to do spring cleaning anyway, why not find a way to connect it to the start of an Easter spiritual celebration?

Read the story. Last year, Public Square Magazine published “40 Days to Easter,” a set of readings that covered the life of Jesus Christ. This calendar or similar scripture reading traditions can begin as part of a countdown to Easter. 

We are in an exciting season. Medieval Christians were 600 years into their tradition before Ash Wednesday began to develop. Latter-day Saints are still shy of 200, and so we are purposefully considering ways to expand our traditions and point our lives toward Jesus Christ. As we consider how to celebrate the season, we should be thoughtful about what our unique faith brings, and continue to remain in conversation with our fellow Christians and the ways they have found to celebrate.

The post A Latter-day Saint Prelude to Easter appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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If you were to ask Jesus today, “Are you a Republican or a Democrat?” He might simply kneel, draw something in the dust, and tell a story instead. It was never His way to choose sides on worldly matters like we do. He saw through every label, every flag, every slogan. To Him, the question was never Who do you support? But rather, whom do you love?

Today, politics has become a new form of faith. It shapes our values, friendships, and even our sense of identity. We divide the world into saints and sinners, heroes and villains, based on who supports our side. We often begin with our political tribe and then justify it with faith.

Christ invites the reverse: start with love, truth, mercy, and justice — then observe what’s left. This book begins with a simple but uncomfortable question: How does your political party stack up against one thing and one thing only? Love.

That’s not a trick question, and it’s not meant to shame anyone. It’s an invitation to hold our politics up to the light of Christ’s teachings — the ones about mercy, humility, forgiveness, and service. To see what survives that light, and what doesn’t.

Does your party honor the dignity of others? Reduce suffering or fear? Does it build reconciliation or division?

Would Jesus recognize love in it?

So if love is the standard by which Christ measured everything, then love must also be the measure by which we examine our own public life: our policies, our priorities, our party platforms.

When Jesus spoke of loving your neighbor as yourself, he wasn’t just suggesting a simple slogan—he was establishing a revolutionary way for people to connect that goes beyond party lines and policy fights. Yet today, we find ourselves more divided than ever, with each side claiming moral superiority while often ignoring the core message of love that Christ emphasized.

Consider the immigration debate. Rather than viewing it through the lens of partisan talking points, what if we examined it through Christ’s parable of the Good Samaritan? The story doesn’t ask us to determine the legal status of the injured man or debate border security policies. Instead, it challenges us to see the humanity in those who are different from ourselves and to respond with compassion.

This is not to suggest that complex political issues have simple solutions. They almost never do. Instead, it’s about approaching these challenges with the right heart and perspective. Christ’s emphasis on love wasn’t just about personal relationships—it was about transforming how we approach every aspect of human society, including governance.

What would our political landscape look like if we truly filtered our policy preferences through the lens of Christ’s love? How might our approach to partisan politics shift if we prioritized His teachings over party loyalty?

The Heart Before the Flag: Christ’s Radical Political Vision

Jesus—supporter and champion of good; protector of the weak; defender of life, justice, and liberty; leader of compassion and Savior for all. He is our blueprint.

Jesus was a radical and a revolutionary in the truest sense—not because He sought to overthrow governments, but because He sought to overturn hearts. He confronted hypocrisy with truth, power with humility, and hatred with love. When He entered the temple and overturned the tables of the money changers (Matthew 21:12–13), He was declaring that greed and exploitation have no place in the house of God.

His message was not about allegiance to a nation or party: it was about allegiance to truth, mercy, and the intrinsic worth of every person.

It breaks down divisions, exposes hypocrisy, and reorders our priorities toward justice and mercy. When we apply His radical vision to our politics, we are invited to see opponents not as enemies to be defeated, but as neighbors to be loved. Only then can we begin to heal what power alone cannot fix.

Jesus spoke more about love than any other commandment because love is the engine of transformation. Love can make you think, see, and live differently. It is not abstract sentiment, but the most powerful political and spiritual force on earth.

Love doesn’t just tell you; love shows you. Love breaks down the limits of mind and heart, calling us to see even our enemies as children of God. In that radical reordering of priorities, Christ offered not just salvation for the soul, but a model for how humanity might truly live in justice and peace.

“Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.”- 1 John 4:8

A Kingdom Not of This World: Beyond Red and Blue —The Way of the Cross

The Way of the Cross in modern life means carrying the weight of reconciliation. It means standing in places of tension—between rich and poor, conservative and progressive, believer and skeptic—and refusing to walk away.

To bear the cross is to absorb hostility without returning it, and to love without condition, even when that love is mocked as weakness. Public witness no longer looks like shouting from platforms; it looks like quiet courage in workplaces, schools, local communities – and online.

The Quiet Work of Repentance

How can we begin to undue the division that has been manufactured by politicians over not just decades, but hundreds of years? Political idolatry is not undone by argument, but by repentance — a turning of the heart. That repentance might look like listening before judging, or admitting that a policy we once defended actually causes harm. Or refusing to share a post that fuels contempt instead of compassion.

Repentance is not weakness; it’s freedom. And it releases us from the emotional leash of the outrage machine. It lets love, not loyalty, guide our conscience.

The Politics of the Heart

In today’s marketplace of political ideas, where power and influence are traded like precious commodities, Jesus’s revolutionary message of love stands as a stark contradiction to conventional wisdom. His teachings weren’t just spiritual insights but radical political statements that challenged the very foundation of how human beings organize themselves and relate to one another.

Today, this message remains just as disruptive. Imagine if our political conversations started not with who deserves to win, but with who most needs to be heard. Imagine if policy debates were guided by empathy instead of ideology. The teachings of Christ challenge both the left and the right, progressives and conservatives alike, not to adopt “Christian politics,” but to judge every platform and policy by the standard of love. In doing so, we rediscover that politics at its best is not a fight for dominance, but an act of service—a reflection of divine love in the public square.

The Seduction of Certainty

Every party claims moral high ground. Each says it stands for justice, freedom, or compassion. But certainty can become its own idol. When we believe our side is always right, we stop listening, stop learning, and stop loving.

The prophets spoke truth even to their own kings. Nathan confronted David. Amos challenged Israel’s elite. John the Baptist rebuked Herod. Love demands that same courage today: the willingness to hold our own side accountable.

In our age, courage rarely looks like standing before a throne; more often, it looks like standing in a comment section. It’s resisting the easy applause of our tribe and speaking words that make both sides uncomfortable, or refusing to share the meme that distorts the truth, even when it flatters our position. It’s saying, “That’s not right,” when our own side crosses a moral line.

“Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will seeclearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.” – Matthew 7:3–5

This teaching reminds us to examine ourselves before judging others — to practice self-awareness and humility.

Silence in the face of deceit is not peacekeeping; it is complicity. True love tells the truth, even when it costs us our sense of belonging. To love truth more than victory is to worship God more than ideology. 

In the end, Christ will not ask how we voted, but how we loved each other. He will not count our party victories, but our acts of mercy. And if our politics have hardened us to compassion, it may not be our country that needs revival — it may be our hearts.

Ask yourself: Do I equate faithfulness with winning, or with serving? In my community, what would it look like to lead from the cross instead of the throne?

If my party demands allegiance, does it also demand compassion? Do its policies reflect service, humility, and care for the least — or do they mirror Caesar’s hunger for dominance?

Does my loyalty to this party make me more loving toward those who disagree with me? Do I defend truth, even when it costs my side a win? Am I more excited to see mercy triumph than to see my party prevail?

Love has never needed permission to begin. It only needs participants. Every act of kindness is a policy of grace; every word of truth is a campaign for peace.

So go into your world—not to conquer, but to care. Not to shout, but to shine. And remember: the Kingdom is already among us, growing wherever love dares to act.

That is the true revolution.

That is the politics of Christ.

That is the politics of love.

That is how love reigns.

That is how heaven transforms history.

The post A Kingdom Not of This World: Beyond Red and Blue appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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On Sunday morning, January 18, 2026, roughly three dozen anti–immigration-enforcement protesters walked into a worship service at Cities Church in St. Paul, Minnesota. Some moved all the way up toward the pulpit while others chanted “ICE out” and “Renée Good,” invoking the woman fatally shot by an ICE officer in Minneapolis.

The protesters’ stated reason for choosing that congregation was personal: multiple outlets reported that one of Cities Church’s pastors, David Easterwood, leads the local ICE field office.

Whatever one thinks about ICE, about the pastor’s role, or about the protesters’ cause, the method matters. There is a moral difference between showing up outside a building to make a public argument and walking into a sanctuary to stop people from worshipping.

But even those groups whose protests we find offensive have always maintained the line: protest outside, worship inside. 

The inside–outside line is more than mere preference. It’s a recognition that religious spaces matter, and a social agreement that keeps people safe and allows worship to be possible.

This is a bright line that Latter-day Saints understand intuitively and should be willing to stand up for. 

Protecting this boundary is more than theater. Worship spaces have been under attack—including others in Minnesota. Just last summer in Minneapolis, neighboring St. Paul, worshippers were attacked in a mass shooting at the Annunciation Catholic Church during an all-school Mass. And Latter-day Saints, too, have recently experienced violence at places of worship.

When outsiders burst into a place of worship without the intention to worship, the outcome can turn violent. Protesting in places of worship poses all kinds of risks to congregants, who want to protect themselves and their families. Such trespass is simply not safe for any involved, no matter how peacefully the interruption is managed.

To be clear, sanctuaries have never been perfectly safe. Scripture and history are full of sacred spaces violated by violence or contempt.

But the point of a sanctuary is not that nothing bad can happen there. It’s that we collectively agree it shouldn’t—and that agreement restrains the worst impulses in all of us.

Interrupting a worship service is a bad idea regardless of the intent. It inflicts collateral damage on the wrong people. It swaps moral clarity for spectacle. It invites escalation and copycat behavior. It risks legal consequences while muddying constitutional principles. 

It may be tempting for Latter-day Saints to not concern themselves with this violation. After all, the Church has long supported the immigrant community, and its support for constitutional principles likely means it will not be the focus of ire for these protesters. And more largely, Latter-day Saints are not the most natural target for the kind of inside-the-service disruption we saw at Cities Church. Our congregations are politically diverse, our official posture is not partisan, and our public messaging on immigration is neither “open borders” nor “enforcement-only.”

But here’s the sober second thought: we should not assume we’re safe from becoming a target anyway.

The U.S. Department of Justice has said it opened an investigation, with officials publicly referencing potential violations of the federal FACE Act, a 1994 law that (among other things) prohibits using force, threat of force, or physical obstruction to injure, intimidate, or interfere with someone “exercising or seeking to exercise” religious freedom at a place of worship—while also clarifying it does not prohibit First Amendment–protected peaceful picketing and demonstration. We believe this is a wise and justifiable instance for utilizing this law, and we encourage law enforcement to take a stand in reinforcing the norms of places of worship as sanctuaries. 

Regardless of where Latter-day Saints as individuals or as a group reside on the political spectrum, weakening norms around chapels as sanctuaries should concern each of us. We should defend the norm of sanctuary for everyone—because once it’s gone, it will be our youth, our converts, and our visitors who suffer alongside those of our neighbors. 

The post Protest Outside, Worship Inside: A Truce Worth Keeping appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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Marriage in America is in trouble. Rates of new marriages are at an all-time low, and record numbers of Americans have never been married. Many young people fear they will either never marry or, if they do, the marriage will end in divorce. Is there anything they can do to improve their chances of marital success? 

Thankfully, the answer is yes. Recent research from BYU’s Wheatley Institute shows that several practices within each spouse’s control contribute to stable marriages. I emphasize two of these: being fully committed to your spouse and participating in religious activities together.

Religion reinforces commitment in marriage by inspiring greater accountability. Many religions teach that marriage is more than just a civil agreement between two people—it includes a promise to God and each other to maintain the union. The more married couples prioritize each other and God, the more likely they are to stay married. When challenges arise, religious couples tend to believe they are accountable to God, not just their spouse. This elevated perspective encourages them to consider reconciliation over divorce. 

Religion also reinforces commitment by promoting honesty. Many religions charge their members to be upstanding individuals who are earnest and trustworthy. Honesty helps couples maintain complete fidelity to each other—helping them stay committed to each other and avoid divorce. 

Religion also offers quality recreational couple time through activities like scripture study, church attendance, and community outreach that reinforce the couple’s shared religious identity. These activities, offered by a shared religion, encourage healthier interactions between the couple and greater internalization of their shared religious beliefs. 

Being devoutly religious can also be protective against divorce. A 14-year Harvard University study reveals that couples who regularly attend religious services together are 50% less likely to get divorced. The Wheatley Institute has likewise shown that shared church attendance is linked to greater stability in a marriage. In turn, these religious couples report feeling greater meaning and purpose in their lives, as well as higher satisfaction and happiness in their marriage. Religion benefits relational commitment even further when shared religious practices are also observed in the home. 

Highly committed religious individuals are also less likely to cohabit before marriage, according to the 2020 Busby and Dollahite study. Contrary to popular belief, cohabitation does not lead to improved marital outcomes. Rather, cohabitation is a mark of lower commitment in a relationship. Cohabitation says, “I like you, but I still want to be able to walk out.” Couples who cohabit are more likely to dissolve the relationship before marriage or ultimately end their marriage in divorce, according to a 2022 study. Cohabitation fortifies a lack of commitment, as many cohabiting couples continually push marriage off further or indefinitely. 

Of course, not all religious people have successful marriages, and commitment takes great intention to maintain in the long run. But with so much concern about marriage among young people, it’s important to emphasize what is within their control. Through religion, couples can find greater strength in their marriage that fortifies their commitment to each other. While the risk of divorce can never be completely eliminated, religion paves the way for a lasting marriage with high commitment.

The post The “Me-First” Ethic Is Breaking Marriages Before They Begin appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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Years ago, as I was running errands with my minivan full of little children, I checked my rearview mirror. I saw the traffic behind me, but I also saw the sweet little faces of my kids. For some reason, that quick glance—which was such a simple thing on an ordinary day—resulted in an overwhelming sensation coming over me. It was so distinct that I still remember the exact location where it occurred. It’s difficult to describe, but the best I can say is that it was a rush of gratitude. I felt gratitude for the law of chastity—reserving sexual relations for marriage—and for those who had taught it to me. Also, gratitude for my younger self who had trusted in it so I could experience the good fruits it bore as I married and had children.

Louise Perry

In an earlier article, I wrote about society’s need for righteous fathers, and I relied heavily on the book The Case Against the Sexual Revolution, which is a lesson from Louise Perry. Perry argues that women and children have paid a disproportionate price in the fallout of crumbling marriage norms over the last several decades. While working at a rape crisis center in her twenties, she began questioning the modern secular norms she had previously absorbed. Eventually, she became convinced that Christian sexual ethics work, although she was not persuaded by Christianity’s supernatural claims. 

I found Perry’s writing compelling and have continued to follow her online. Over the last several months, I’ve noticed, as have others, that there’s been a transformation in Perry’s relationship to Christianity. It’s moved beyond a sociological appreciation. In an interview earlier this year, she said:

“I kind of think of myself as an agnostic Christian. I go to church. Some weeks I believe and some weeks I don’t but one of the things that my husband and I have committed to do—he’s in the same boat as me—is, we are so convinced that it’s sociologically true and we would so like it to be supernaturally true, that we want to give our children the best chance possible of believing both truths and the way to do that, I think, is to expose them to Christians.”

And then, in a more recent interview, she said: 

“And … since writing the book, I have become Christian and have become much … more willing to make these arguments in theological terms. One of the reasons that I ended up becoming Christian is because I realized if it were supernaturally true, you would expect it to be sociologically true. And observing quite how sociologically true it is was very persuasive to me.”

From Hesitation to Witness

It’s interesting to note that Perry married her husband in 2017 and published her book in 2022 between the births of her two sons in 2021 and 2024. She credits her time at the crisis center for initially opening her up to Christian sexual ethics, but the process of becoming a Christian coincided with her early years of motherhood. Perry said she wanted to give her children “the best chance.” Her children were a motivation for her—a common human experience that many of us have as we take on the responsibility of precious souls.

I’ve thought a great deal about Perry’s experience of being drawn to Christian sexual ethics as a young secular thinker, and it has caused me introspection. How many times have I remained quiet about gospel teachings about marriage and sexuality because I assumed they were the least popular aspects of my faith? How often have I jumped to hasty conclusions about who may or may not be receptive to the Latter-day Saint doctrine of the family? 

We live in a confusing world, and many norms that we once took for granted are being challenged. In Quebec, three men recently adopted a three-year-old girl in a case that is described as a first in Canada. In May 2025, a journal article put out by the American Sociological Association argued that childhood sexual innocence is a “colonial fiction” and that “childhood pleasure is indispensable for an inclusive sociology.” Marriage and birth rates are falling throughout the world. These are just a few of the indicators that point to an obscuring of the divine vision of the family—and Latter-day Saints aren’t the only ones noticing. Many people are feeling the divine tug of truth about the family unit and are participating in conversations about how to safeguard it. 

There will continue to be opposition, and likely even attempts to silence defenders of the family. Still, as Latter-day Saints, we can—and should—join in efforts that foster the flourishing of families. And in the process, we will be strengthened by others, like Louise Perry. They offer fresh outlooks that can inspire us to be more enthusiastic about the eternal truths about family structure that we may have taken for granted. 

The post The Secular Feminist Who Tested Christian Ethics—and Stayed appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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When the internet was widely adopted in the 1990s, a “Great Rewiring of Childhood” took place and created a generational divide between so-called “digital immigrants” (those raised in the analog age) and “digital natives” (those raised in the internet age). Social psychologist Jonathan Haidt describes digital natives as “the test subjects for a radical new way of growing up,” and says the difference in childhood between the two groups is so large “it’s as if [digital natives] became the first generation to grow up on Mars.”

This has implications for older members (digital immigrants) of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints who wish to parent, lead, teach, or mentor the rising generation of digital natives. One area where this gap presents serious difficulty is the subject of pornography and masturbation addiction.

We—Dr. Rance Hutchings (a digital immigrant and men’s mental and sexual health expert) and Kimball Call (a digital native and economics student at BYU)—believe it’s crucial to talk about why digital immigrants often struggle to effectively help digital natives who struggle with pornography addiction. Where is the disconnect coming from? How can it be overcome, and how can older parents, leaders, and teachers better help younger Latter-day Saints?

Rance’s Experience

When Rance began mentoring men with pornography addiction in 2010, he could sense the generational divide between himself and the younger men he mentored. Growing up, he never struggled with pornography addiction, nor did he hear about pornography all that much. He can’t even remember pornography being mentioned in a single church lesson. Pornography was only ever discussed as a “one-off” situation that young men might experience at a party when someone brought a magazine or snuck in a video rented from an adult book shop. So when trying to help the rising generation with pornography, Rance felt like a “foreigner”—desperate to help, but unable to escape feeling inauthentic. 

While serving in a bishopric, Rance felt that it was much easier to teach young men only how to prevent pornography addiction rather than how to overcome it. He’s not alone. Many parents and leaders find that “prevention” is the only method they can teach authentically, because it’s all they ever were familiar with themselves.

 Kimball’s Experience

 Now contrast Rance’s experience with Kimball’s, who grew up seeing the other side of Rance’s scenario. As one of the earliest digital natives, Kimball faced a fundamentally altered childhood landscape (or Mars, as Haidt describes it). Like many in his generation, Kimball discovered pornography as early as the 5th grade, and by the 6th grade had already developed a habit and discovered masturbation. Although his thoughtful and proactive parents tried to implement safeguards and filters, Kimball—as a digital native—found ways around each one. 

 By the time he was a deacon, Kimball was past the point where the “prevention” lectures were helpful. Because he already had a problem, these conversations made him feel isolated. He reasoned that he must be the only one viewing pornography if everyone else only talked about it in terms of staying away from it. This view was compounded when older people suggested “simply quitting,” spoke of pornography as simply a bad choice that could be stopped by willpower and agency, or suggested other silver-bullet solutions.

 The Disconnect

 We believe that these young men were neither weak nor spiritually broken when they first encountered pornography. They were simply “digital martians,” trying to survive on a new planet without adequate tools or preparation, being led by adults whose experiences were completely different. For digital immigrants growing up, viewing pornography required accessing – and often purchasing – physical media like VHS tapes and magazines. In homes or communities where this type of media was highly regulated, it was nearly impossible for most young men to access hardcore pornography. And if they did, it required much more effort to conceal. 

 Today, however, digital natives have unhampered access to much more stimulating forms of pornography with much lower barriers to access and total anonymity. Worse still, it actively gets inserted into social media feeds, movies, and video games, and is always just a few taps away on a device. This is why it’s unhelpful for digital immigrants to talk of pornography as a problem that can be dealt with through willpower, agency, internet filters, “remembering who you are,” or other simple prevention methods. These may have been sufficient once, but a new battle calls for new (and improved) tactics.

 At its root, the generational disconnect stems from the difficulty digital immigrants and digital natives have relating to each other. Digital immigrants have carried over from their era a certain set of expectations for what “normal” looks like, and digital natives are caught in the dissonance between those expectations and the reality they experience. For instance, digital immigrants within the Church grew to expect pornography addiction to affect few people, generally those already in dire spiritual straits. This expectation makes it difficult for some to accept that a majority of young men—including the good, upstanding, and faithful ones—now struggle with a porn habit to some degree. 

The first step to overcoming the disconnect will be to appreciate the new reality our youth are experiencing. Now that we’ve had three decades to observe, conduct research, and develop better approaches, it is incumbent on parents, leaders, and teachers to adapt, to learn, and to prepare the next generation for greater success.

 Bridging the Gap

 After 15 years of professional work, Rance has learned that, for most young men, pornography habits will be forming before they enter priesthood service at 11. By that age, it’s often too late for the prevention lecture to be sufficient. But he’s also learned that he has more in common with digital natives than he thought, and that knowledge can help parents and leaders who aren’t sure what to do next.

 Viewing pornography and masturbating are two separate addictive behaviors, but we often lump them together under the umbrella term “pornography addiction.” Generally,  masturbation is the ‘root addiction’ while pornography is an enhancer. Once porn and masturbation are successfully separated, they can be treated without the compounding effect they have on each other, which allows the path to recovery to look a lot more similar to what digital immigrants experienced. This puts digital immigrants and natives on common ground, allowing more sympathy, patience, understanding, and authenticity. 

 New (And Improved) Tactics 

 A new battle calls for new and improved tactics. Once parents, leaders, and mentors have shifted their own paradigm and can better understand the new challenges digital natives face, there are several resources, tools, and strategies they can use. 

 Begin by separating pornography use and masturbation so they can be tackled separately. Pornography use should generally be dealt with first, using a healthy mix of prevention strategies (defense) as well as strategies addressing underlying spiritual, emotional, and physical problems (offense). Prevention will play a key role in the first few months of recovery, while offensive strategies will be crucial for long-term success. Once viewing pornography has been thoroughly addressed, these same tools can be used to slow—and eventually terminate—masturbation addiction.

 Kimball recently approached Brad Wilcox at BYU to ask if the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles is teaching the same principles when they teach about pornography use, and received adamant confirmation that they are. Evidence can be found in the recently published, First Presidency-approved Missionary Resource Guide for Addressing Pornography found on Gospel Library. This resource teaches missionaries, “While your ultimate goal is to be clean from pornography use, understand that you will not get there all at once. It will take sustained and consistent effort. Set small, achievable goals and build on successes rather than focusing on failures.”

 Members of the Church can apply this counsel by ending the practice of tracking “porn-free streaks.” This tactic seems appealing, but it tends to perpetuate addictive behavior in the long run. As the Missionary Resource Guide for Addressing Pornography states, “Setbacks don’t take you back to square one.” Instead, it will be more effective to find ways to decrease the frequency and intensity of slips over time. For example, a digital native just starting the journey to recovery might set a goal to view pornography less than three times in the first week and to not allow a slip to last for longer than five minutes. If successful, their next goal might be to go two weeks with less than three slips, then on to three weeks, a month, and so on. 

 This strategy decreases the chance of binges: the tendency to slip multiple times in a row once an abstinent streak has been broken. Binges can severely hamper long-term progress, so it’s better to allow one or two minor slips within the goal period than to risk a binge. One or two minor slips are not indicators of an unsuccessful recovery; in fact, they are normal—taking a few steps forward, one step back, and so on until the gaps between small slips grow longer and longer. Sustainable and lasting recovery is much more likely with this method. 

 Crucial to recovery is strong accountability, so we recommend a mentorship model: choosing one trustworthy person for the recovering person to regularly communicate with weekly. It usually works best for this mentor to be an adult member of the same sex, but they don’t have to have prior experience with pornography. Mentors provide many benefits, including an outside, unique perspective of the factors that play into pornography use and how to manage them. Check-ins with mentors should be judgment-free and focused on future action, not past mistakes.

 Any underlying emotional, mental, and physical health needs will also need to be addressed. We urge members to seek help from Church-aligned sources. There is a secular trend—which we reject—to excuse and tolerate pornography use as normal and harmless behavior, and seeking help from these kinds of sources frequently doesn’t lead to a full and lasting recovery. Supplemental tools that we do endorse include cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) and mindfulness-based cognitive therapy (MBCT), both of which can be adapted for use to help with pornography and masturbation addiction. 

While both generations should embrace new realities and methods for tackling pornography and masturbation, we shouldn’t seek to change the moral standards of chastity. Lowering expectations is an unhelpful strategy for lifelong happiness. Parents and leaders will need to adjust their approach, be more open-minded, and grow more understanding, without lowering standards of moral cleanliness and virtue, even if our social environment makes it increasingly difficult. Therefore, we advocate for a Christlike approach, built on high expectations and ever-increasing love.

In Rance’s experience, he doesn’t know of anyone who sincerely wanted to be free of pornography addiction who wasn’t eventually successful once they had the right tools and mindset. With an approach designed for his reality, Kimball found relief, and now wants his digitally native peers to know that there’s hope. Full recovery is a reality! And we hope that with a new perspective, digital immigrants and digital natives can be more successful working together to achieve a lifetime of happiness.

The post Bridging the Generational Divide to Help Youth with Porn Addiction appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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What is power? Even without a formal philosophical framework, it is easily recognizable in a multitude of dynamics: physical power, electrical power, political power, military power, economic power, intellectual power, social power, persuasive power, spiritual power, and more.

In a conflict, what can be done when it seems the other party has all the power? As Christians, should we desire power? And if so, what kind of power is righteous, and what kind is destructive?

The Series

This is the second-to-last article in the 12-part series published by Public Square Magazine and written by the team at TheFamilyProclamation.org. Each article expands on the ideas from 12 short, 1–2 minute videos in the playful yet poignant Peacemaking Series. 

This week’s video, “What is Power?”, offers practical suggestions for navigating the power dynamics inherent in conflict resolution. The video uses the visual analogy of two children playing baseball to illustrate power plays that emerge in conflict. Its dual purpose is to help those who feel powerless recognize the power they do have, and to caution those who abuse power that they bring upon themselves natural consequences because of their abuse. 

Power Defined: Control Over Resources

“What is power?” the video asks. “Perhaps the simplest definition is the ability to control a resource.” While this simplifies a vast and complex topic—one debated by Western thinkers from Plato and Aristotle to Locke, Marx, Foucault, Piaget, and Bourdieu—it provides an accessible entry point. This thesis seeks to provide an accessible, utilitarian definition that helps a person recognize their own power.

Viewed through this lens, a sense of powerlessness stems from a lack of control or an ignorance of or undervaluing of personal resources. Resources are not only external, like money, property, information, or authority, but internal as well: like participation, patience, integrity, ingenuity, empathy, motivation, faith, or moral conviction. Increasing one’s power becomes a matter of recognizing available resources and learning to exercise mastery over them.

Mastery and Self-Control

But what does it mean to be a “master”? Consider Christ, who taught, “Neither be ye called masters: for one is your Master, even Christ. But he that is greatest among you shall be your servant. And whosoever shall exalt himself shall be abased; and he that shall humble himself shall be exalted” (Matthew 23:10-12). True mastery is not domination, but compassion and self-control.

Christian discipleship emphasized such power of persuasion emanating from an internal purity of charity. We love God because He first loved us (1 John 4:19). Charity is a gift from God, yet manifests itself within a disciplined inner self (see 1 Corinthians 13:4-8). There are resonances of this principle beautifully expressed in ancient Asian philosophies. Confucius illustrated that an empire’s “good government” radiates out from the individual citizen’s self-mastery of heart, thoughts, and knowledge. Similarly, the Taoist believes “mastering others is strength; mastering yourself is true power.”

The Baseball Analogy: Play as Power

Patience, long-suffering, and charity are not merely moral virtues—they are practical strategies that make influence sustainable. Power emerging from coercion or fear may achieve immediate results, but will eventually fail.

In the video, a larger child wishes to play baseball with a smaller friend. When the larger child’s aggressive play causes an injury, the smaller friend no longer wants to participate. This simple example illustrates a profound principle: abusive systems of power eventually lose the participation of those they seek to dominate. Tyrants are overthrown; corrupt institutions collapse; cheaters stop getting invited to play. 

The childhood adage “It doesn’t matter whether you win or lose; it’s how you play the game” captures a deep truth about sustainable power: Those who respect others’ agency and fairness and elicit joy inspire continued engagement.

Dr. Jordan Peterson illustrates life as a series of successive and increasingly complicated games. While winning is important, whether or not an individual wins the immediate game isn’t the most important objective. Fair-play is the quality of an individual who engages effectively in the “meta-game”; they demonstrate they are a person worth playing with and therefore attract playmates. Someone who wins repeatedly but fails to play fair will eventually exhaust their playmates. This might explain why someone can “win” some games (like the financial game of life), but “lose” in other games (like the relationship game of life).

The solution is mutuality: power is most durable when all parties willingly participate. Participation is power. And, play motivates participation. Systems perpetuate themselves when participation is voluntary, and relationships thrive when engagement is balanced and mutually beneficial. Whether we “win or lose” in any particular interaction is often secondary to whether our behavior encourages ongoing participation and trust. 

Using Simple Resources

Power often begins not with influence over others, but with the careful stewardship of the resources already at one’s disposal. Consider William Kamkwamba, who, as a young boy in Malawi, built a windmill from scrap materials, bringing electricity to his village through ingenuity and persistence. Malala Yousafzai, despite attempted murder and continued death threats, risks her own safety to insist on women’s right to education—wielding her voice and persistence as resources to inspire global change. Mother Teresa used the simplest acts—tending the sick, feeding the hungry—to exert a quiet but transformative influence over those around her. Harriet Tubman’s courage and careful planning allowed her to lead countless enslaved people to freedom using her knowledge, relationships, and tireless action as her tools.

In each case, these individuals did not possess vast power in conventional terms like money, authority, athleticism, or status. And, in most of these examples, there were even adversarial individuals who utilized all the resources they had to try to stop these good-doers. But these impressive individuals got scrappy using what resources they did have, countering their antagonists, and succeeding in their goals. Their strength came from recognizing the resources they did have, like skills, relationships, knowledge, moral courage, and choosing to act. These examples demonstrate that sustainable power grows from within, from conscience, compassion, the willingness to act, and inviting others to willingly engage in the pursuit of justice, truth, and good. 

Power and the Christian Perspective

The gospel reframes our understanding of power. Power is not inherently good or evil. When aligned with God’s will, we become powerful in healing relationships, strengthening communities, and fostering enduring peace. Christ Himself never sought domination. He healed, taught, and served—exercising influence through love, persuasion, and example rather than force.

Influence rooted in persuasion, patience, and love aligns human relationships with divine law, creating sustainable cooperation and peace. When everyone wants to play, the game is on.

The post The Paradox of Power and the Secret Strength of Meekness appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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There are several stark ironies in my life. First, I grew up in an active Latter-day Saint family in a small farm town in southern Idaho. So, my upbringing was about as conservative as you can imagine. Yet, I got a PhD in psychology, which is about as liberal a field as you can imagine. Second, I’m still an active member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, while I’ve had numerous family members and friends leave the Church. Yet, I’m the one who is in psychology, arguably the least religious field in academia. Third, I study deconversion, so I know all the reasons people leave religion. Yet, I have little if any motivation to leave myself. Fourth, I’m one of the leading researchers of adolescent religious development in the world, yet I struggle to raise my own kids in the Church. Fifth, I’ve been in the field of psychology for two and a half decades as a developmental psychologist, so I should understand growth and change. Yet, I have struggled mightily with my own mental health and relationships. Sixth, I have spoken and written about how to navigate faith crises, yet I am still struggling with my own faith.

One reason I have no motivation to leave is that I have adequately applied my heart, head, and hands to my faith journey, as articulated in a four-part series of essays I wrote previously with my colleague Ed Gantt. These essays are extensive, so I won’t repeat what is said there. But they capture a lot of the reasons why I have not left the Church. 

One major reason I am not motivated to leave the Church, as pointed out in our essays, is that I focus on primary questions and let go of secondary questions. Elder Corbridge beautifully described this distinction in a BYU devotional. I have studied why people leave religion (deconversion) for about a decade, so I know all the secondary questions. But I don’t spend much time and energy on them. This is largely because of what I describe in my faith journey essays. And part of it is, I have my hands full with the primary questions, which are essentially the pillars of a testimony. Here they are:

1. Is there a God? 
2. Is Jesus the Christ?
3. Was Joseph Smith a prophet?
4. Is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints the true church?
5. Is the Book of Mormon the word of God?

Let’s start with, is there a God? I really believe there is a God, but I have several barriers that have made it hard for me to feel His presence and love. First, although I grew up in a wonderful family that I love, we aren’t the most emotionally intelligent (at least speaking for myself). We learned how to use our heads more than our hearts. Second, I made that worse by getting a PhD and becoming a professor. My career is very focused on logic and observable evidence. Third, I have struggled with my mental health. In a recent study I conducted with my colleagues and students, we showed that spirituality and mental health are bidirectionally linked. That is, it isn’t just that spirituality protects people from mental health challenges, but in turn, having such challenges can hinder spirituality. So, I feel my mental illness has made it harder than usual for me to have spiritual experiences. Fourth, it seems like my weakness and sin have often been like an umbrella, blocking me from the rays of light coming down from God. Fifth, more importantly, I have lived with shame as my harmful constant companion. Shame blocks me from feeling love from myself, others, and God. 

Next, is Jesus the Christ? One of my big challenges here is that it is hard, with my modern, Western, scientific mind, to envision having a relationship with someone whom I can’t observe with my five senses. Also, the barriers above for me feeling God’s presence and love are also barriers to me experiencing the Atonement of Christ. In particular, shame is basically a denial of the Atonement of Christ. Sort of like, I know you paid for my sins, but I prefer to keep them and beat myself with them. In short, even though I really want to believe in Christ, I have struggled in my relationship with Him and in experiencing the healing and enabling powers of His Atonement. 

Yet, I love all things Christian. I am a junkie of The Chosen. I’m all in on that personable Jesus! I feel the Spirit so powerfully in many of the most beloved scenes. I’m also obsessed with Christian music, particularly Christian rock. Most of my listening time these days is devoted to Christian music. I feel uplifted and connected to God, Jesus, and the Spirit. Many of the lyrics echo my struggles, triumphs, and the desires of my heart. So, although I struggle in my relationship with Jesus, I seem to yearn for it. 

Next, was Joseph Smith a prophet? Most of the issues people have with Joseph Smith probably qualify as secondary questions, so I’m not very interested in those. I’ll evaluate him based on his two major contributions, which are restoring the Church and translating the Book of Mormon, discussed further below. If those are legitimate, then he was a prophet.

Despite these struggles, I love the Church and the gospel and hold onto faith and hope that they are true. And my meager but sincere attempts to “Hear Him” seem to be bearing some fruit, as attested by my spiritual experience described earlier. Furthermore, the social sciences data regarding our church is overwhelmingly positive. One book about youth has a chapter called “Mormon Envy” (a Freudian play on words). The researchers were so blown away by how amazing our youth were compared to most other youth in the U.S., and my colleagues and I at BYU have largely replicated these findings with newer data, better measures, and a larger sample of Latter-day Saint youth. So, with all our flaws, we seem to be doing something right.

The final reason I am not motivated to leave the Church is that I really want and even need it to be true. First, I want to honor my ancestors. I have Latter-day Saint pioneer heritage on both sides of my family. Maybe this seems like lame conformity, but I’m not the only one who thinks it’s important. Second, my parents both died of cancer. It is unacceptable that death is the end. Third, as noted earlier, I am stumbling my way through life. My own will and intellect have been good for my career, but have fallen short in other areas of my life, such as my mental health and relationships. I’ve come to the end of myself to the point of turning my life over to God and accepting Jesus as my Savior. Fourth, I got to the point of realizing that no amount of observable or rational evidence in mortality will ever give sure answers to any of the questions above. So, as Elder Renlund encouraged, I decided to be inclined towards faith. I know, critics of the Church will point to Occam’s razor. Be careful, it’s a double-edged razor. It isn’t any simpler believing in evolution as the origin of man than divine creation. It isn’t any simpler believing Joseph Smith was insane, or a genius, or a copycat, than believing the Book of Mormon was translated by revelation. It seems that either way we go when answering these primary questions, whether “Yes” or “No,” requires a faith of sorts. So, I’ll give the benefit of the doubt to the affirmative answers.

The post Confessions of a Deconversion Researcher: A Scholar’s Journey of Faith appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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All American Families of Faith participant names are pseudonyms to protect identity.

For many immersed in 21st-century culture, the idea of repentance may be jarringly akin to “shaming,” guilt-tripping, or fear-based condemnation. These connotations suggest links to depression, anxiety, and relational struggles and strife.  

In sharp contrast, however, many of the roughly 200 wives and husbands we interviewed in our American Families of Faith project—people with religious and relational strengths—discussed repentance as personal transformative change that has strengthened or even saved their marriage, their parent-child relationships, or both. For them, repentance is not a dark night of the soul, but the dawn of a better day for them and their loved ones. 

Jesus’ parable of the Prodigal Son opens with the words: “A certain man had two sons” (Luke 15:11). We learn that one of the two sons wanted to be finished with his life at home and requested “his portion” of his inheritance. 

The son wandered far from his father’s home and values, and gloried for a time in unfettered hedonism. The inheritance, however, was soon squandered, and when a famine hit, the prodigal son was reduced to caring for swine, the filthiest of animals in Jewish tradition. At rock bottom, the consequences of the wayward son’s foolish choices led him to think back on his father and filled him with a desire, or at least a desperation, to return home. 

As the father watched the road, he hoped that one day his son would come back to him, and “while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him” (Luke 15:20, NIV). His son, with a humble heart, pleaded, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son” (Luke 15:18-21, NIV). 

Instead, the father asked his servants to bring the finest robe, a ring, and shoes to clothe his son, then ordered a feast to celebrate his return.

As in the story of the Prodigal Son, in the American Families of Faith project, we have found instances of families being reunited, restored, preserved, and strengthened through acts of repentance. Personal transformative changes tend to have positive relational consequences. A close exploration of participants’ responses helped us to understand the processes and power of repentance among diverse Christian, Jewish, and Muslim families. 

The families’ recurring references, discussions, and explanations of repentance and forgiveness were particularly noteworthy given that we asked no direct questions about repentance and forgiveness. These insights emerged as participants shared the key practices and principles they embraced to become the type of family their respective clergy deemed strongest and most exemplary in their faith community.

Reasons for Repentance

Among participants, three main reasons were offered regarding the desire to repent. The first and primary reason for making difficult changes was having faith and a relationship with God. Charles, an Orthodox Christian father, said, “The desire to be with God, to be able to speak to Him, brings one to repentance and toward better action.” 

Similarly, Rachel, an Orthodox Jewish wife, related:

When you become more closely acquainted with Hashem¹ and … what His expectations are, you come to a realization that what you yourself want is not the most paramount thing on earth. … My goal [and] my purpose is to live a more Jewish life; not to live a more self-fulfilling life in the sense of material stuff … [and] egotistical things. 

A second motivating force or influence toward repentance and forgiveness is religious practices and rituals. These sacred practices reportedly reminded individuals of their spiritual beliefs and motivated them to consider how they could improve their behavior. Tyra, an African American Baptist wife, said of her husband of about two decades,

I’m sure to get on his nerves. He gets on my nerves … [but] we’re able to go to Bible study and go to Sunday service, and we’re going to hear something. God is always going to bring a word back to our [remembrance] that’s going to make us realize and ask Him for forgiveness, and we [then] come back and ask each other for forgiveness. 

We found similar narratives surrounding parent-child relationships, where the parents were inspired to repent and change because of their children. Such changes included improving dietary intake in ways that were health-conscious, religiously driven, or both. Changes also included increasing religious involvement, “walking the walk” to avoid hypocrisy, and striving to better “practice what you preach.” Indeed, an overarching lesson that emerged from the strong families we interviewed was a conviction that “Our behavior is permission to others to behave similarly … but it is more than that. It is an invitation to do so.”² To summarize the leading motivations for repentance, parents changed for God, they changed because of their religion, and they changed for their family members.

Steps for Repentance

American Families of Faith participants discussed various processes involved in repentance. First, one recurring idea was that repentance is a daily process that must be repeated often. Brent, a Jehovah’s Witness husband, said, “We’re constantly praying to God for forgiveness.”

Other instances of repentance occurred as couples worked together. Tanner, an Orthodox Christian husband, said, “I was not very religious when I first met [my wife] Amy, but she got me thinking about it. … I hadn’t really had any experience in the church for probably 15 years … but she made it an important thing to explore.” 

Several couples stressed the importance of patience with others as you are striving to be better. An African American Christian wife named Joelle determined that she would help her husband in his own faith journey, even if it took time. She recalled,

Even though I was on fire for God and I had made some changes in my life … my husband loves to [go to clubs] … and so I would still go with him. And you know, I think a lot of times women make that mistake, they become so self-righteous. … [But] until he was ready … [I believed] it was up to God to make the changes in him, that it wasn’t up to me. … And when he had begun to make changes, I just stepped it up a bit. … [It] was a matter of matching my steps with his steps so that we were still in harmony. 

This idea of growing together was echoed in the words of Quon, an Asian Christian husband, who said, “Sometimes she was ahead, sometimes I was ahead, and we encouraged each other to grow in the Lord together.” Likewise, Ramzi, a Muslim husband, shared, 

Our being together has influenced our progression in the faith. … Sometimes, I become lazy with some of the aspects of religion, then she reminds me, “[Y]ou are slacking off …” [For example], you are slacking off with your prayers, and you need to do them on time. So definitely, being together has helped us progress in our faith gradually. 

Husbands from various backgrounds noted that their wives helped them to stay on track. They also found vital actions of repentance during their relational struggles and conflicts that helped them to recognize the need for repentance.

Resources to Aid in Repentance 

There were two resources that participants mentioned as especially helpful in efforts to make constructive changes and repent. The first resource was having a belief in and a relationship with God, gaining strength through seeking divine assistance and grace. Christi, a Hispanic Christian mother, illustrated how she used this resource:

Only through my faith, that’s the only way [I was able to change], because … I just enjoyed smoking marijuana, that was just a part of my [life]. … There are [old friends], who are still smoking it, who can’t believe [that I’ve quit]. … Everything around my faith is positive for our marriage because it [helps us do what] we need to do. 

Not only did participants reportedly employ their faith and belief in God to change their individual behaviors, but faith was also central in helping to change the behaviors in their relationships. Ali, an Arab American Muslim father, said, “If we can’t get along, we [have] got to ask for God’s assistance. … We have to beg Him for His help and His aid, we have to receive His [guidance].” 

A second recurring resource we identified among participants’ responses in helping them make personal changes was various forms of religious practice and worship, including both public and private practices. 

Attending church was an example mentioned by Sophie, a Presbyterian wife who said, “Our practice of going to church on Sunday … reminds me of those things [I should be doing], [and] literally, I feel transformed within the hour, that I can actually do it.” 

Another example was from Yuusif, an Arab American Muslim father, who expressed: 

[The] five prayer times are basically reminders for Muslims [as to what] they should be doing. … You are alive to have a better afterlife, and to do that is to please God, and the way to please God is to praise God and ask for forgiveness for whatever you have done wrong. … People who do [these prayers] will be better people, better human beings. … Personally, it does affect me, and I would say my family [too], that it reminds us what the priority is. 

Other religious resources mentioned included studying sacred texts, seeking the support of one’s faith community, sacraments, fasting, the observance of High Holy Days and Shabbat (for many Jews), and the month of Ramadan (for many Muslims).  

How Repentance Strengthens Relationships with Others and God

There were many reports of positive outcomes for families and individuals that came from repentance. Many said repentance led them to have a better connection or relationship with God.  Timony, an Evangelical Christian husband, said, “As we invite Him into our life and He forgives our sins … He changes us and makes us more like Him, and the desire of our hearts changes and we develop friendship with God. I mean, that’s amazing!”  

There were also many positive family outcomes from repentance. Like the statement in The Family: A Proclamation to the World³ which states that “Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness …,” we found that repentance helped strengthen family relationships. Felipe, a Hispanic Catholic husband and father, explained, 

There have been so many times … our children have tried to do things that we haven’t taught them to do, but then when you come to them and say, ‘Hey, remember what the Bible says, you shouldn’t be doing that.’ And then, it is like they wake up again, and they say, ‘Alright, I was doing bad.’ And that happens many times. And the same for others, and adults, you know? … [Correcting] things like that make[s] your family life much better. 

Similarly, Sandra, an Orthodox Christian mother, said that a key for her family “to help avoid or reduce conflict, whether in the family or the marriage, is … frequent forgiveness and confession. And having those things is what keeps us, the kids and the parents together.” Reports like those from Sandra and Felipe indicated that repentance helped create peace in the family.  

Finally, when peace was disturbed or destroyed, repentance helped reduce and resolve marital conflict. Jian, an Asian Christian wife, said, “When we had some disagreements, we prayed together, confessed our sins before God, and learned to forgive each other.” 

Repentance also helped participants to develop habits and virtues that made it easier to reduce and resolve marital conflict. Dustin, an Episcopal husband, said that they had learned: “We are capable of looking at ourselves and seeing and being able to admit that we’re wrong. I do think that a religious background and a belief in God have an effect on that.” 

In summary, repentance creates and maintains peace, but when peace is fractured, it is also repentance that helps to restore peace. 

Repentance is often misunderstood as a term associated with shame and punishment, but for the families of faith we interviewed, it was honored as a powerful resource that promotes both personal and relational transformation. 

We can all relate to the spiritual or relational weight we may feel when we have committed a mistake, but like the Prodigal Son, we can repent and come back to our better selves. The families we interviewed remind us that as we do so, not only are we healed, but our relationships can be as well.

Personal and Relational Processes of Repentance in Religious Jewish, Christian, and Muslim Families

Notes:

1. Hashem (meaning “The Name”) is how many Orthodox Jews refer to God in order to honor the name of God.

2. Marks, L. D., & Dollahite, D. C. (2017). Religion and families. Routledge. (Direct quote from p. 250).

3. A statement of the First Presidency and Council of the Twelve Apostles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

The post The Power of Repentance to Help Relational Healing appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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Faith is hard. One of my favorite writers is Flannery O’Connor, an American Southern Gothic novelist and short story writer. O’Connor was a devout Catholic, and her published prayer journals and letters give us a glimpse into her life of faith. In a letter to a lifelong friend and pen pal, Louise Abbot, O’Connor responds to what must have been Abbot describing a trial of faith, saying: 

I think there is no suffering greater than what is caused by the doubts of those who want to believe. I know what torment this is, but I can only see it, in myself anyway, as the process by which faith is deepened. A faith that just accepts is a child’s faith and all right for children, but eventually you have to grow religiously, as [in] every other way, though some never do.

What people don’t realize is how much religion costs. They think faith is a big electric blanket, when of course it is the cross. It is much harder to believe than not to believe. If you feel you can’t believe, you must at least do this: keep an open mind. Keep it open toward faith, keep wanting it, keep asking for it, and leave the rest to God.

It is interesting that she both acknowledges that for some, faith can be excruciating—the cross itself—but also the way by which faith is deepened. In other words, this is how it is supposed to work.

Many I know who have struggled with faith are unsure how to initiate these kinds of conversations with friends or seek out literature that will help them find the truth. Perhaps they have reached out to loved ones about their doubts, and have received dismissive or surface-level answers like “just read your scriptures more” or “It sounds like you’ve been reading anti-material.” Often they have been convinced by nonbelievers or former believers that any faith-positive source is biased or deceptive, or that once the “shelf is broken,” there is no going back. 

Too often, we treat church meetings as the place where every spiritual concern must be resolved. But not every question belongs in the chapel pew. Some conversations about faith are sacred—and require a different setting, a different pace, and a different kind of attention.

Faith is hard, and we should normalize the challenges, and ebbs and flows, and questions that come along with a life of devotion. No believer goes through mortality without crying out to God in agony of a great loss, or feeling silence from the heavens, or seeking out greater meaning or understanding of God’s plan. After all, this is part of the process. 

But how we go about normalizing these struggles matters.  In our efforts to normalize any challenge, we risk romanticizing it—or worse, reinforcing it. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the movement to normalize mental health challenges. 

Mental health has become the lens through which we view nearly everything. Diagnoses appear in social media bios. Therapyspeak—words like “toxic,” “trauma,” and “boundaries”—has seeped into casual conversation, often stripped of clinical meaning. Employers hand out mental health toolkits, colleges offer petting zoos during finals, and celebrities tout the virtues of therapy for every relationship hurdle.

But things aren’t getting better. Symptoms of anxiety and depression continue to rise, especially among adolescent girls. Even emotionally stable teens now pathologize normal ups and downs, often self-diagnosing via TikTok. Gallup reports that Americans’ self-assessed mental health is the worst it’s been in over two decades. Suicide rates have increased by 30% in the last 20 years. Parents are more fearful than ever—reluctant to let their children roam the neighborhood, convinced that every stranger at Target might be a kidnapper.

We are more anxious, more fragile, and more volatile. This culture of constant rumination and performative validation is not serving us well. Bringing in “faith crisis” to every church meeting risks creating the same culture of unhealthy navel-gazing in our spiritual lives.

First, the right setting: In The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we are often taught that the most important part of church attendance is taking the sacrament and renewing our baptismal covenants. President Dallin H. Oaks has taught that we attend church to serve (not to be served) and teaching manuals such as Preach My Gospel for missionaries and Teaching, No Greater Call for general membership emphasize that our primary purpose should be to invite others to come unto Christ. I would humbly suggest that the right setting for a deep dive into questions and doubts is probably not in our regular Sunday meetings. 

This is somewhat tricky. Avoiding hard questions might leave struggling members isolated—or lead them to those who’ve left the covenant path and want others to follow.

On the other hand, among the members and visitors at church each week are likely widows, those who are caring for elderly parents, have sick or disabled children, have lost jobs, have mental health issues, and myriad other challenges. These people come to church for the balm of Gilead that is the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Our niche Joseph Smith historical questions, while they may feel immediate and pressing to us, can detract from that important purpose.

Flannery O’Connor chose faith, even when it didn’t feel effortless. During her graduate school years, she attended Mass daily. She journaled about the tension between her desire for God and her sense of distance from Him. “My thoughts are all elsewhere,” she confessed. But she showed up anyway. She didn’t wait for certainty before practicing devotion. When prayer felt elusive, she turned to writing, pouring out her longings, her doubts, and her imperfect love into beautifully wrought prayers. She didn’t pretend to be more faithful than she was—she simply brought her full self to God and asked for help.

We can do the same. In times of spiritual struggle, our offering may be small—a prayer uttered in hope rather than confidence, a Sunday School comment made despite nagging doubt, a verse of scripture read with an open, aching heart. But small offerings matter. They are expressions of our desire to stay in a relationship with God. And that desire, acted on, can become the seed of faith.

The right people and the right sources also matter. When we’re struggling with mental health, we’re careful—ideally—not to rely on unqualified influencers or unreliable forums for advice. The same care should apply when we’re facing serious gospel questions. Not every voice online—or even in our social circles—is equipped to help. President Russell M. Nelson has warned us against “increasing (our) doubts by rehearsing them with other doubters.”

For some, the right person might be a trusted family member, a close friend, a ministering sister or brother—someone who can listen without panic and respond without platitudes. For others, it might be a mentor, a bishop, or someone with experience navigating similar questions. But we also have to prepare to be that kind of person for others—to receive their questions with love and patience rather than fear or defensiveness.

The Church provides a helpful resource called Helping Others with Questions in the Gospel Topics Library, which outlines practical ways to support loved ones in faith crises. Outside of official church resources, organizations like Mormonr or FAIR Latter-day Saints offer thoughtful, research-based responses to common questions and criticisms. These sources won’t perfectly answer every question—but they are striving to be both spiritually grounded and intellectually responsible.

It’s not wrong to hear out questions or criticisms. But we shouldn’t let them monopolize the conversation in our hearts and minds. Doubt may be a part of our path—but we get to choose who we walk with, and who we let guide us, and how much space we want to give to those doubts.

Flannery O’Connor was not only a gospel seeker, but also a guide. Her own wrestling made her a compassionate companion to others in their searching. She never claimed to have perfect faith—only a determined one. Her writing continues to offer a kind of spiritual hospitality to those who want to believe but aren’t sure how.

In that way, O’Connor mirrors the very work of the gospel: inviting the wounded, the weary, and the wondering to come unto Christ, even when we ourselves are prone to wander. If we can become the kind of believers who sit with others in that space—without panic, without platitudes, but with patience and love—then our faith, however imperfect, becomes not only our anchor but someone else’s lifeline.

Faith is hard. But as with most hard things, it is transformative, refining us in the very hardest of times to become who only God can see in us. That is the work of a disciple—not to have all the answers, but to keep walking with God, and help others do the same.

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As mental health therapy becomes an increasingly prominent feature of contemporary life, it becomes more important to stop seeing the practice as a monolith and recognize it as a bundle of distinct practices, philosophies, and goals. Sometimes these different approaches even directly contradict one another. 

Latter-day Saints understand the importance of caring for our mental health and often utilize mental health practitioners. But that doesn’t mean every approach is worth trying or comports with Christian principles.

Differentiation therapy, however, conflicts with the principles of Christianity broadly and the Restored Gospel specifically. In addition, despite the modality’s current popularity, there is little evidence that this approach works.  

What is Differentiation Therapy?

Differentiation therapy is a psychotherapeutic model advanced by David Schnarch. It is also sometimes called “crucible therapy.”

Schnarch posits that the purpose of our relationships is individual growth, and that the way to heal relationships is by focusing on our own needs, identity, and preferences separate from our partner. 

Schnarch first published his theories in the early 1990s. He built on the ideas of one of the early practitioners of family therapy, Murray Bowen. Bowen pioneered systemic therapy, a therapeutic approach that recognizes how our struggles are often found within the complex system of relationships in a family. Bowen articulated “self-differentiation,” the ability to recognize and define yourself as an individual within that system, as one of the items in tension in the family system. 

Schnarch focused and emphasized self-differentiation, recontextualizing this idea within the affective domain of marital intimacy, asserting that the path to greater eroticism, emotional fulfillment, and personal development lies not in interdependent vulnerability but in cultivating emotional autonomy and self-definition. He contends that genuine intimacy emerges when each spouse remains firmly rooted in a differentiated self, experiencing anxiety within the relationship that spurs individual growth, and resisting the urge to seek validation from the other. Schnarch’s framework is built on the maxim that relational maturity is contingent on one’s ability to “hold onto oneself,” particularly in the face of emotional intensity.

As Paul teaches in 1 Thessalonians 5:21, “Prove all things, hold fast that which is good.” Differentiation therapy doesn’t hold up to those standards.

For Christian or Latter-day Saint engagement, any therapeutic model must be assessed through two interdependent criteria: its empirical reliability and its theological coherence. Specifically, a model must conform to a theology that affirms the covenantal, sacramental, and grace-dependent character of human relationships. 

On both empirical and theological grounds, this model raises serious concerns. 

Similarities to the Gospel

Before diving into why differentiation marriage therapy doesn’t adhere to Christian theology, let’s first grant that there is much about the ideology that can appeal to those in our tradition. 

Crucible Therapy is so named because the idea is for us to improve ourselves like metal does in a crucible. This metaphor is familiar to Latter-day Saints, who have heard it consistently in General Conference addresses for decades.

We want to grow, which sometimes requires us to do (or endure) difficult things. Joseph Smith even described his time in Liberty Jail as a “crucible.”

Personal growth is a key component of the Latter-day Saint conception of life and the eternities, as we rely on the grace of Jesus Christ to become more like Him.  

And we view marriage as a key pathway to achieving that personal growth. Elder Richard G. Scott described the overarching theme of the “eternal blessings of marriage” as “trying to be like Jesus.”

Even the concept of self-differentiation itself is not opposed to the gospel. After all, in President Russell M. Nelson’s 2008 formulation, salvation is “an individual matter.” In each Latter-day Saint ordinance and covenant made from the first at baptism to the temple endowment, individuals participate independently.

The problem with differentiation therapy is not the ingredients, but rather the emphasis, proportions, and timing.

The Sacramental View of Marriage

Scripture and tradition present a vision of marriage not as a mere partnership but as a covenantal and ontological union. Genesis 2:24 and Mark 10:8 declare, “the two shall become one flesh,” articulating a unity that transcends sentiment or legal arrangement. This union is sacramental, reflecting the mystery of divine communion and typifying the nuptial relationship between Christ and the Church. 

Within Latter-day Saint theology, this union also echoes the oneness of the Godhead and extends to eternal dimensions. Eternal marriage is not a symbolic ideal but a sacred ordinance that enables joint participation in the divine nature. In this view, marital unity is achieved through consecrated covenant keeping and divine grace.

President Gordon B. Hinckley famously warned that “selfishness is the great destroyer of happy family life.” Christian ethics consistently portray the self not as autonomous but relationally constituted, and pride as the origin of spiritual alienation. Love entails the displacement of self-centeredness. Schnarch’s valorization of emotional self-sufficiency is in tension with Christ’s self-emptying love.

Schnarch does attempt to articulate an ideal of oneness near the end of his second book. He writes, “Holding onto yourself and becoming more differentiated actually leads to the loss of the self you’ve been holding onto.” In this, he articulates a goal shared by Christians. But Schnarch gets the order precisely backward. In teaching the Twelve Apostles, Jesus said, “He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.”

The Rev. Lauren R.E. Larkin, an Episcopalian, notes that Schnarch’s model implies what I might describe as a form of psychological soteriology in which transformation is self-engineered and internally sourced. In contrast, Christian soteriology comes from the sacrifice of the self in our relationship with Christ, and that happy marriage comes from applying the same principle. 

Specific Theological and Pastoral Concerns

Schnarch’s philosophy is hardly the only one to be at odds with the principles of Christianity. But it warrants attention both because of its growth among those providing therapy for Latter-day Saints and the specific negative behavioral outcomes it can produce. 

Reframing of Selfishness as Growth

In Schnarch’s paradigm, behaviors that prioritize the self over marital unity are reframed as developmental milestones. This conceptual move risks legitimizing patterns of emotional disengagement or moral abdication that Scripture identifies as destructive.

Devaluation of Mutual Dependence

Christian marriage presupposes mutual reliance and covenantal solidarity. Emotional interdependence is not pathological but redemptive. By pathologizing need and elevating stoicism, Crucible Therapy undermines the logic and purpose of marriage within the Christian life.

Therapeutic Destabilization of the Vulnerable

The deliberate intensification of anxiety may compound harm in couples already contending with trauma or asymmetry. Without a framework of mercy, discernment, and accountability, this method risks exacerbating wounds rather than fostering healing.

Psychological Work as Identity Formation

Crucible Therapy reflects and clinically adopts a broader cultural trend: the belief that personal identity is best discovered through solitary psychological excavation. For Christians, our truest identity is revealed not in looking inward but in looking upward—to God—and outward—to others.

Undermining the Redemptive Power of Weakness

Differentiation therapy often frames strength in a relationship as the ability to withstand emotional storms alone. But Latter-day Saint theology teaches that God’s power is made perfect in our weakness, and our spouses as a “help-meet” for those challenges. Schnarch ignores the redemptive capacity of dependence. 

Flattening the Eternal Narrative of Marriage

Perhaps most fundamentally, differentiation therapy assumes marriage is primarily a context for individual growth and erotic renewal. But for Latter-day Saints, marriage is the divine setting for exaltation. While it shares the desire for marriage to be a conduit for individual growth, the Latter-day Saint conception of marriage has a project much more lofty and eternal in mind. 

Secular therapies can’t be expected to fully integrate all gospel understanding. Still, we can avoid the ones whose explicit goals and practices set us toward different goals than those we are pursuing.

Toward a Christological Integration of Differentiation and Unity

The question of how to balance differentiation and unity—how to maintain personal identity while becoming “one” with another—is not merely a psychological puzzle but a theological one. For Christians, the life of Jesus Christ provides the supreme model for how distinctiveness and relational communion are held in perfect harmony. He is not only the exemplar of love but the embodiment of divine identity lived in full self-giving.

Throughout the New Testament, Christ’s actions and teachings demonstrate a perfect union of individual authority and relational surrender. In John 5:30, He declares, “I can of mine own self do nothing: as I hear, I judge … because I seek not mine own will, but the will of the Father which hath sent me.” Here we see a Savior who is fully self-aware and fully self-sacrificing. His divine agency is never wielded for isolation but always for communion—first with His Father, and then with those He came to redeem.

The pre-mortal Christ likewise demonstrates an integrated identity in His dealings with Israel. In Exodus 3, He reveals Himself as “I AM,” an assertion of sovereign selfhood. Yet He repeatedly binds Himself in covenant to His people, dwelling with them, feeding them, and pleading for their return. His identity is never diluted, but His divine selfhood is always offered for relationship.

In 3 Nephi, the resurrected Lord descends among the Nephites. What does He do? He weeps. He heals. He prays for their unity, invoking the language of divine indwelling: “that they may be one, as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee” (3 Nephi 19:23). Here again, the goal is not emotional distance but sanctified closeness. Christ does not ask us to become strong by ourselves. He invites us to be made whole in Him. At no point is differentiation set against unity. Rather, disciples are expected to retain their agency and consecrate it—to grow, yes, but to grow together.

From this Christological lens, differentiation is not a prerequisite for unity, nor is unity a threat to identity. Instead, selfhood and love are co-eternal truths, fulfilled in covenant. The Savior does not command us to “hold onto ourselves” but to take up our cross. He does not sever our personhood; He sanctifies it in communion.

In Jesus Christ’s life, death, and resurrection, we see the perfect integration of individuality and unity. 

Recommendations for Moving Forward

For Latter-day Saints looking at what kinds of marriage therapy are appropriate for them and their circumstances, I have a few pieces of advice. 

Not all therapists and therapeutic practices are created equal. As mental health resources are often in short supply, it can be tempting to visit the first person with a license and an opening. But it is worth being discerning, especially in a venue where we are opening up our hearts and minds to someone. 

While “Latter-day Saint therapists” can be helpful (if unnecessary) in that journey, be careful to understand whether your therapist merely understands the vocabulary of Latter-day Saints or is committed to helping you maintain your worldview.

Preserve your moral and spiritual lexicon. Grace is not a synonym for internal resilience. Sin is not a developmental stage we grow out of. 

Based on my experience, observations, and analysis, my advice is for Latter-day Saints to exercise considerable caution before engagin in differentiation therapy or working with clinicians who practice it. There are approaches that better align with the gospel of Jesus Christ, and which the evidence shows work better.

David Schnarch’s Crucible/Differentiation Marriage Therapy presents a psychologically articulate, but ultimately inadequate framework for relational transformation. Its emphasis on self-validation, emotional independence, and internal differentiation diverges from the best practices evidence shows work and the covenantal, grace-saturated vision of Christian marriage.

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