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We live, increasingly, in two places at once.

Our bodies sit at a dinner table while our minds hover in an open browser tab. Our hands fold for prayer while our thumbs remember the muscle memory of scrolling. We attend a child’s story, a spouse’s worry, a friend’s quiet confession—and yet some part of us remains tethered to the possibility that something else, somewhere else, is happening.

This is not merely a productivity problem, nor only a “kids these days” technology complaint. It is, at its core, an attention problem—and attention is not a neutral resource. It is one of the most consequential forms of agency we exercise all day long.

Whatever captures your attention quietly shapes your discipleship.

The Attention Crisis We Don’t Like to Name

There are obvious culprits—busy schedules, social media, the breakneck speed of modern life. But those are surface-level symptoms of something deeper: what we might call the tyranny of elsewhere.

The tyranny of elsewhere is the subtle assumption that real life is happening somewhere other than where you are right now—in the next message, the next headline, the next update, the next comparison, the next microdose of novelty. It is a form of spiritual displacement. You are always near your life, but not quite inside it.

And because it’s socially normalized, it rarely feels like rebellion. It feels like being informed. Being connected. Being responsive. Being “on top of things.”

However, the gospel’s vision of a holy life is not primarily about being “on top of things.” It is about being in things—fully, faithfully, consecratedly present.

“An Eye Single”: Attention as a Spiritual Faculty

In Doctrine and Covenants 88, the Lord gives an arresting promise: “If your eye be single to my glory, your whole bodies shall be filled with light.” That promise is recorded in Doctrine and Covenants 88:67. He then adds the kind of line we might read quickly, even though it should stop us: “Sanctify yourselves that your minds become single to God.” That instruction appears in Doctrine and Covenants 88:68. This echoes Matthew 6:22 and Doctrine and Covenants 82:19.

Notice what’s happening doctrinally.

1. “Single” is not merely “serious.”  It is not just intensity. It is integrity—wholeness. A mind that is not fragmented into ten anxious windows, a heart that is not constantly split between reverence and restlessness.
   
2. Light is not only a reward; it is a capacity.  The promise is not merely that God will be pleased. The promise is that you will become the kind of person who can receive, discern, and “comprehend.” Attention is the mechanism that God gives us for receiving that growth from Him.
   
3. Sanctification includes attention training. Sanctification comes through the Holy Ghost as we repent and keep covenants. When the Lord says, “sanctify yourselves,” He does not only mean “stop doing bad things.” He also means “become the kind of person whose inner life is ordered toward God” so we live in a way that the Holy Ghost can dwell with us. 

In that sense, presence is not cosmetic. It is covenantal.

Mindfulness, but With a Name and a Direction

It’s worth acknowledging: the modern mindfulness movement has rediscovered something true. Purposeful attention in the present moment—focus, concentration, awareness—really does change us. Many people feel, correctly, that distraction is costly.

In fact, research has repeatedly found that when our minds wander away from what we’re doing, our happiness tends to drop—even when we wander to “pleasant” thoughts. And intriguingly, other research suggests that many of us find it so uncomfortable to be alone with our own thoughts—even for a few minutes—that we will choose almost any stimulation rather than simply sit, reflect, and attend to the interior world.

So yes, mindfulness is real.

But the gospel adds something essential: mindfulness is not only attention to the present; it is attention consecrated toward God and toward people. It is presence with purpose—awareness shaped by love, gratitude, worship, and covenant loyalty. Or to say it plainly: disciples don’t just “live in the moment.” They learn to live in the moment with God.

Distraction as a Form of Spiritual Avoidance

If presence is the practice, what is distraction—spiritually speaking?

Often, distraction is not primarily laziness. It is avoidance.

• Avoidance of silence—because silence reveals what we’ve been carrying.
  
• Avoidance of weakness—because stillness makes us honest.
  
• Avoidance of other people—because deep attention requires vulnerability.
  
• Avoidance of God—because God, more often than not, speaks in what we rush past.
  

This is why phones are such a uniquely modern test of discipleship. They aren’t only tools; they are portable exit doors. With a tiny gesture, you can leave the room without leaving the room. You can opt out of the emotional demand of the present moment and relocate to something easier, shinier, safer.

This is also why “just use your phone less” rarely works as a long-term solution. The deeper work is to ask: What am I trying not to feel? What am I trying not to face? What am I trying not to hear?

Because the gospel is remarkably patient, but it is not casual about this: the life of faith is a life of turning toward—toward God, toward neighbor, toward responsibility, toward revelation.

The Covenant Verb We Keep Skimming: Observe

One of the most quietly illuminating patterns in scripture is how often the language of obedience is tied to attention.

Consider Mosiah 4:30: King Benjamin pairs a stern warning with a very practical diagnosis—“watch yourselves, and your thoughts, and your words, and your deeds, and observe the commandments of God.” That is not only about rule-keeping. It is about awareness. It is about living awake to your inner life, your outer impact, and your spiritual drift.

Similarly, the New Testament repeatedly pairs prayer with watchfulness: “Continue in prayer, and watch in the same with thanksgiving” in Colossians 4:2.

We could call this the tragedy of unattended grace—when blessings arrive, warnings are given, invitations are extended, and we remain too distracted to recognize what is happening. The scriptures do not treat that as a minor inconvenience. They treat it as spiritual peril.

A Brief Note on Phones: It’s Not Only About Content

When people talk about phone distraction, the conversation usually fixates on content—bad content, frivolous content, addictive content. That matters. But there is another layer that is arguably more insidious: even “neutral” phone presence can fragment attention.

Some research suggests that the mere presence of your smartphone can subtly draw on limited cognitive resources—what some scholars have called a “brain drain” effect. At the same time, it’s also worth noting that not every study replicates these findings perfectly, which is a good reminder that human attention is complex and context-sensitive.

Still, most of us don’t need a laboratory to confirm what our souls already know: when our attention is perpetually split, our relationships thin out. Our prayers become more performative than present. Our worship becomes more distracted than devoted.

And perhaps most importantly, our capacity to love people well diminishes—not because we stop caring, but because we stop noticing.

Step 1: Pay Attention

So what do we do?

Let’s begin with the simplest, hardest, most foundational discipline: Purposefully pay attention in the present moment. Focus. Concentration. Awareness. This can sound like a self-help slogan until we connect it to the heart of restored doctrine: the Lord’s invitation to live with an “eye single” and a “mind…single to God.”

To “pay attention,” in a gospel key, means at least three things:

1. Attend to what is real. Not what is curated. Not what is imagined. Not what is feared. What is here.
   
2. Attend to what is holy. The Lord’s hand in the ordinary, the needs in the room, the promptings that arrive quietly.
   
3. Attend to what is forming you. Because your attention does not merely follow your desires; over time, what we give heed to shapes our desires.

This is why the command to “watch” yourself in Mosiah 4:30 is so psychologically astute and spiritually mature. It assumes that sanctification is not accidental. It is practiced.

Step 2: Narrow the Eye

A scattered life is not usually healed by dramatic overhauls. It is healed by small, repeated acts of singleness—micro-choices that train the soul to stay. Here are three “eye-single” practices that are simple enough to try and meaningful enough to matter:

1) Consecrate the first look

Many of us begin the day with a reflex: eyes open, hand reaches, feed loads. Consider a different liturgy: prayer before phone. Scripture before scroll. A few minutes of quiet before input. Not because phones are evil, but because the first thing you look at often becomes the first thing that organizes your mind.

If you want your mind to become “single to God,” it helps to begin the day by letting God be real before the world is loud.

2) Build phone-free “altars”

Altars are places where we offer something to God. In modern life, one of the most meaningful offerings might simply be undivided attention.

A few practical examples:

• Meals: phones away—not face-down on the table, but gone.
  
• Bedtime: the last five minutes belong to gratitude, not content.
  
• Church: treat sacrament meeting as attention training, not background audio.
  
• Ministering: let the visit be a human encounter, not a multitasked event.
  

These are not rules; they are rituals. They are ways of saying, “This moment is sacred enough to deserve my full self.”

3) Practice “holy noticing”

Once a day, choose to notice one person more carefully than usual.

• Ask a real question and wait for the real answer.
  
• Remember a detail and follow up later.
  
• Offer a sincere compliment that is specific—not flattering, but seeing.

This is presence as charity: to love is to attend.

Step 3: Witness the Life You’re Actually Living

There is a reason “witness” language runs through covenant life—baptismal promises, sacramental renewal, temple ordinances. Witnessing is not only what we do in courtrooms; it is what we do with our lives.

To witness, spiritually, is to be able to say: I was there. I saw. I remembered. I did not miss what mattered.

This is one of the quiet gifts of being present: you begin to accumulate a life that feels cohesive rather than scattered—because you were actually in it. And in a subtle but real way, this is where gospel presence differs from mere serenity: we are not practicing attention simply to feel calmer; we are practicing attention to become more faithful.

“Forever Is Composed of Nows”

In a First Presidency message, President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, then second counselor in the First Presidency, quoted the line “Forever—is composed of Nows,” and then reflected on the spiritual significance of living in the middle—where real life, real growth, and real discipleship actually happen.

That is not just poetic. It is doctrinally provocative.

Because if forever is composed of nows, then the question is not only whether we will be faithful in the grand arc of our lives, but whether we will be faithful today—in this conversation, this ordinance, this irritation, this child’s question, this prompting, this quiet moment when the Spirit tries to get our attention and we are tempted to escape.

Holiness rarely announces itself with fireworks. More often, it arrives like a still, small knock. Presence is how you answer the door.

A More Luminous Ordinary

Imagine, for a moment, what it would feel like if a ward, a family, a friendship network quietly committed to being more present—not in an intense, performative way, but in a steady, covenant-shaped way. Sacrament meeting would become less about enduring and more about receiving. Ministering would feel less like an assignment and more like belonging practiced—seeing and naming one another, showing up with love, walking each other toward Christ. Homes would sound different, too. Fewer keyboard clicks and notification chimes. More laughter. More unhurried conversation. More silence that isn’t empty, but spacious—silence where prayer can actually land.

And perhaps, over time, we would discover something hopeful: that attention is not only a scarce resource being stolen from us; it is a gift we can still offer, intentionally, to God and to one another.

Not perfectly. Not constantly. But sincerely—and increasingly.

Because in the gospel, being present is not merely a wellness technique. It helps us keep commandments, practice gratitude, notice grace, and live with an eye single to the glory of God.

And that kind of singleness does something beautiful: it fills the ordinary with light.

The post The Sacrament of Attention appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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It is often easier to speak about the parts of life that unfold as we hoped. I could talk all day, every day about the many good things that have come to my life since my wife and I were married. But it can be difficult and awkward to talk about the things that go wrong. Although I love talking about my marriage, it is much more difficult for me to talk about another major life event—when I returned home early from my missionary service for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints after seven months. Speaking about my early return and everything associated with it just does not come easily. That difficulty comes largely from within: at some point, I came to see returning home early as a personal failure—something that should not have happened—and that belief made the subject unusually difficult to discuss.

But what if we took a different perspective? We often talk about all the wonderful personal growth that full-term returned missionaries had while serving, but why should growth that early-returned missionaries go through after they return be any different? Of course, not all outcomes are going to be positive. Coming home early from a mission is a very challenging experience that can set a soul on a catapulting track toward self-discovery and growth. As an early returner, and now as a Ph.D. student in psychology, I was able to get funding to do a study on what causes early returned missionaries to get on that track of growth. 

My Early Return and How It Led Me to This Study

Before turning to the study itself, some personal context may be helpful. These “positive outcomes” may not show up immediately, nor do I think it’s fair to expect oneself or a loved one to cope with such a dramatic life event so easily. In one of my favorite articles, “Bereavement: An Incomplete Rite of Passage,” the author explains that someone may never entirely “get over” the loss of a loved one — they may learn to generally deal with the loss, but their perception of the experience continually shifts and evolves. I feel the same way about my early mission return. When I came back, I was almost numb. A month later, I was feigning happiness. Two months later, I was questioning my faith. Three months later, I began searching for any identity other than “early-returned missionary” that I could affix to myself, yet each “identity” I attempted to develop was more fragile than the last. My grades at Brigham Young University also suffered.

There was only one other existing academic study on early-returned missionaries. I decided to follow its lead in interviewing each person in depth rather than using survey data. Although this process limited the number of people I could involve in the study, other studies on the use of interviews for niche topics find that researchers tend to reach a sufficient sample level at about 12 interviews. The prior study I mentioned included 12 early-returned male missionaries and had questions on mission experiences, early returns, and post-mission adjustment. I wanted to expand upon this research by including women and spending more time speaking about the identity development participants had gone through since their early return and their perceptions of their future. I also remained open to other salient themes that emerged from interviews. So, I recruited 20 early-returned missionaries to participate in this in-depth study — 9 men and 11 women. I would like to stress that this was a highly emotional experience for most people, and I was extremely grateful for the opportunity to interview such wonderful people about their experiences.

Identity transformation

First, every person mentioned feeling an identity transformation in some way. One participant shared:

Honestly, I think coming home from my mission is a really big thing. It really defined who I am as a person and my understanding of church member[s], because before I thought a church member had to be someone [who] grew up in the Church, that served a mission … things like that. Then I [understood] that a church member is someone that just tries their best to be a disciple of Jesus Christ. And so that really [helped] me shape and understand the members of the Church in a broader sense and not just the typical Utah stereotypes. So, I think coming home from my mission definitely helped with that.

This sentiment resonated strongly with my own experience. Even as a missionary, I had felt that coming home early would be a condemnation for the rest of my life, rendering me always some degree of broken in church settings. Only after going through this process did I realize that it truly is impossible for anyone other than Christ to live a fully “perfect” life, and that joy comes in embracing my imperfections and Christ’s role in my redemption.

Hope for the future

Another finding was that 19 of the 20 participants mentioned an optimistic view of how their futures would develop, given their experiences as early-returned missionaries. Another participant shared:

It’s interesting because I feel less … fearful for the future because I’m like, I already have had something that has literally broken me down to lower than I thought I could be at, and I came out of it. So, it kind of gives me more confidence that whatever comes, I know I’ve been through the process before of only having God to rely on.

Personally, I feel the same way — I know that I can do all things through Christ because I have already been at my lowest, and He has lifted me up again.

Peacemaking and reconciliation

A third commonality, shown in 19 of 20 interviews, was that of peacemaking or some form of reconciliation. One early-returned missionary wrote the following in her journal while on the plane home from her mission, “My Heavenly Father is so wise in giving me an experience like this. It forces me to actually fully trust in Him, which I do. This is one of the first experiences in my life that I can’t fully plan out first.”

This was one of my favorite responses. Having a framework of trusting in God built from strongly needing to do so earlier in life can be so beneficial to one’s future. I’m aware that challenges lie in the future, both for me and this early-returned missionary, but trusting in God first above all else has provided a foundation for all of my decisions that will always yield the best outcome — even if I can’t always see it right then.

Empathy

Despite increased empathy for others not being directly referenced on the list of interview questions, the topic came up in 16 of the 20 interviews. One person said, “Had I not seen myself [at] such a low point in my life, then I wouldn’t be able to reach out to others in a similar state.”

This finding in particular is something I would love to explore deeper in future research. How amazing is it that our imperfections and difficult experiences can actually lead us to become more like Christ? Before my early return, I was of the mindset that early-returned missionaries could generally have stayed out if they had just tried harder. Only after returning early despite having given every ounce of dedication and effort to the Lord did I realize that I’d had it all wrong: I feel for people who are in similarly devastating circumstances. I wish I’d had that quality beforehand, but the empathy I developed is one of my most prized possessions, and I thank God for giving it to me.

Faith

A majority (14 out of 20) specifically mentioned having stronger faith in God or religion as a result of their early return during their interviews, while 4 specifically mentioned having weaker faith as a result of their early return. This strong majority of increased faith is encouraging. One person referring to their early return said:

Because of that, the steps I took afterward, it made me read the scriptures harder than I’ve ever read in my life, and it’s made me love just light, seeing people’s light, and the light of Christ in them. I feel like I’m able to see it so easily and I appreciate it so much because I’ve seen the darkness.

Faith is a lifelong journey, and mine has grown as I’ve appreciated the outcomes of my difficulties more and more. It really is amazing to see others appreciate the goodness of Christ even more after having some experience with darkness.

Perceptual change over time

A final theme referenced by the majority of interviewees (12 of 20) was that of perceptual change. One interviewee said, “I guess with more time that passes, I see it in a different way… So, I think it’ll always be in the back of my mind, or it’ll always be something I reference, just because it was very, very starkly different from any other experience I have in my life.”

It is hard to run away from such a formative experience, and I don’t believe it’s best to act like it didn’t happen. As with all difficulties in life, we tend to see our challenges differently with time, as we learn more about God’s love for us as individuals.

What Many Early-Returned Missionaries Still Need

There were more themes that came from these interviews, some of which included negative experiences, but those tended to be highly individual. What did seem to be uniform throughout the interviews was that these people wanted someone to talk to about their experience, but often didn’t feel that they could. One interviewee said that he didn’t have a single person to talk about his early return with — no member of his family would entertain the topic, and he didn’t feel like he could bring it up to his friends. The sense of loneliness this young man exuded was palpable.

Those close to early-returned missionaries can offer an invaluable gift: patient love and a willingness to listen without judgment. Early returners are changing and actively growing, just like you are. We have come a long way as a church community in normalizing the idea that those who might deviate from the normative experience are fully worthy of love and support, but I believe we can be even better, and in attempting to do so, can more fully serve as Christ would.

The post When a Mission Ends Early appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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There’s a kind of disappointment that doesn’t arrive as tragedy. It arrives as delay: the diagnosis that lingers, the job search that won’t resolve, the prayer that feels like it hits a ceiling. You keep doing the next right thing—and nothing budges.

“Are you having a 3½ Moment?” It sounds baffling—until you are in one.

A 3½ Moment is my name for a familiar stretch of discipleship when life feels stalled: you’re doing what you know is right, but the relief doesn’t come. The problem lingers, and hope starts to feel naïve. 

In scripture, God often teaches through symbols. As Elder Orson F. Whitney, an early apostle in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, observed, “God teaches with symbols; it is his favorite method of teaching.” 

One of the Bible’s most familiar symbols is 7—wholeness and completion. But a lesser-known number appears in stories of drought, scattering, and delayed rescue: 3½, half of seven. It often functions as a literary signal that deliverance is delayed—but the delay has a limit. Here’s what that pattern can teach us about our hardest chapters, and four ways to keep faith until God brings your “7.”

Seven: Scripture’s Symbol of Completion

The Bible trains us to notice the symbol 7. God created the heavens and earth in six days, and “he rested on the seventh day” (Genesis 2:2). The number 7 appears throughout the Bible as one of the most common symbols in scripture.

In scripture, the number 7 often refers to wholeness, completion, and perfection. The symbol 7 teaches us to trust that God’s promises will be fulfilled. It also reminds us to obey to completion. Naaman’s story makes the point almost painfully: the sixth dip looks indistinguishable from the seventh. Partial obedience can look reasonable—until the miracle arrives one step later. Joshua’s armies would have suffered complete defeat had they circled Jericho for six days before battle. Seven often appears as a symbol for completing a work.

Three and a Half: When Deliverance is Delayed

In Daniel and Revelation, we see these 3½ measures show up in apocalyptic settings—visions of oppression, exile, and persecution. They mark a period that is real and painful, but also limited: evil is permitted a season, then God intervenes. That 3½ symbol can also have personal meaning to us as a metaphor for our discipleship—what it feels like to live inside a promised ending that hasn’t arrived yet.

Note that recognizing the symbolic meaning of numbers in scriptures is safe spiritual territory, as opposed to the speculative and tangential work of occult numerology. One caution: apocalyptic numbers are rarely a stopwatch for predicting outcomes, and they aren’t a guarantee that God will resolve a specific hardship on our preferred schedule. Their gift is different: they insist that evil and suffering are not ultimate, and that God sets limits we cannot always see from inside the storm. 

The symbol 3½ is often expressed in different but equivalent forms: 3½ years; 42 months; 1,260 days; “a time, times, and half a time”; or three and a half days. Revelation uses these equivalent measures to describe a bounded period of tribulation for God’s people—long enough to be terrifying, short enough to be survivable because God remains sovereign.

The number 3½ is half of 7. That gives us a clue as to its meaning. Read alongside seven (completion), 3½ can be heard as the ‘incomplete’ half, an unfinished story. The texts are speaking first about communal suffering and divine deliverance; I’m using their repeated timeframe as a devotional lens for individual seasons that feel unfinished.

On a personal level, 3½ reminds us that we live in a fallen world, with seasons of opposition and adversity, which will resolve because of 7. For some, that glorious conclusion may arrive beyond mortality; the certainty of “7” rests in Christ’s Resurrection even when present circumstances do not change. But that promise assures that for even the most stubborn problems of mortality, an amazing conclusion is promised.

When Life Feels Stuck at 3½

Symbolically, 3½ can represent our own hard times and challenges, but it carries the understanding that all things can be perfected and brought to a resolution by Jesus Christ. The symbol 3½ teaches us to have divine hope in the eventual 7, to complete our work of keeping God’s commandments (D&C 11:20) and to joyfully look forward to God completing His work (Moses 1:39).

In hard times, it may feel as though the gospel plan isn’t working for us because we don’t appear to be succeeding in ways that we expect. These are moments when cynicism feels most plausible, and most costly. Many hard times can feel like a 3½ Moment, but a 3½ Moment is not the end of the story. It is only half of seven, a limited period of adversity before divine deliverance. Because 3½ is connected to 7, we have the assurance that our suffering and problems are temporary, as we look to Jesus Christ.

President Russell M. Nelson, the late president of The Church of Jesus Christ, once described the discipline this way: “Our focus must be riveted on the Savior and His gospel. It is mentally rigorous to strive to look unto Him in every thought. But, when we do, our doubts and fears flee.” 

To have its intended meaning, the symbol of 3½ must be connected to the symbol of 7. Similarly, to fulfill its intended purposes, we benefit when we connect our hard times to Jesus Christ.

In my own prayers, I’ve learned to ask for something simpler than an explanation: a sentence I can live on. “I can’t see the end yet. Help me be faithful in the middle. Help me take the next step.”

Wendell’s 3½ Moment

Wendell Jones and I previously served together in a bishopric, a congregation’s leadership. In 2022, Wendell was diagnosed with ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease.

ALS is a progressive neurodegenerative disorder that affects nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord. The disease has taken things from him in stages, but it hasn’t taken his posture toward life.

As he navigates this period, Wendell has a deep knowledge and testimony of the gospel plan that helps him maintain an eternal perspective about his life and his illness.

After his diagnosis, he logged miles on a two-wheeled bike to keep his strength. When that became unsafe, he switched to three wheels. Now he rides in a car—often in the passenger seat—so he can talk while someone else drives. It’s a small parable of discipleship: when one way of moving forward closes, you learn another.

My wife recently asked Wendell, “You are always so happy; how do you do it?” Wendell’s response was direct: “How could I not, when I think of everything that Jesus has done for me?”

Wendell has spent his adult life serving his parents and his large posterity. Now, in this season of life, he humbly allows them to serve him.

What Suffering Makes of Us

Alma 62:41 demonstrates the principle that the same difficulties will result in different outcomes. The Nephites had just finished a decade of war, witnessing and experiencing horrific atrocities. The Book of Mormon records that “because of the exceedingly great length of the war… many had become hardened… [and] many were softened because of their afflictions.” The same set of experiences led to opposite spiritual outcomes. What matters most in life is not the adversity faced, but the response.

There is nothing neutral with adversity. Adversity changes us, for better or worse.

Yet when hard times come, we may think:

• “What have I done to deserve this?”
• “Why is this happening to me, when I’m trying so hard to be good?”
• “Why is this problem lingering so long?”

The book of Alma teaches that “whosoever shall put their trust in God shall be supported in their trials, and their troubles, and their afflictions, and shall be lifted up at the last day” (Alma 36:3).

Expect Friction

How can difficult problems be a catalyst to make us better, not bitter? How can adversity become a 3½ Moment that is a stepping stone toward our 7, which is eternal life? I observed four practices in the example of Wendell, and in my own life. 

Author Dennis Wholey wrote, as shared by President Jeffrey R. Holland, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “Expecting a trouble-free life because you are a good person is like expecting the bull not to charge you because you are a vegetarian.”

Even Jesus was made “perfect through sufferings” (Hebrews 2:10). Trials are not evidence that the plan is failing; often they are evidence that God’s plan for us is working.

Practice Gratitude Without Denial

I share a principle that has been meaningful to me. I’ve come to think of it as a kind of “eternal unfairness” principle. Each of us will be resurrected and can receive an immortal body, a gift made possible by the Atonement of Christ. We didn’t earn that. 

Jesus Christ bled “from every pore” (Mosiah 3:7; D&C 19:18) and suffered infinitely, so we have the gift of repentance and receive a remission of our sins. We didn’t earn that.

In Latter-day Saint belief, Jesus Christ, through the ordinances provided in temples, blesses us with eternal life and eternal families—an incomprehensible gift made possible as we receive the Atonement of Christ by making and keeping covenants. We didn’t earn that.

In things that matter most, remember: The deck is stacked—not against us, but in our favor! Life is truly “unfair” because of Jesus Christ. Aren’t we so grateful for it?

Let Trust Be Active

Elder Richard G. Scott, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, taught, “This life is an experience in profound trust—trust in Jesus Christ, trust in His teachings… To trust means to obey willingly without knowing the end from the beginning.” Trials can help us increase our trust in God: that He “shall consecrate thine afflictions for thy gain” (2 Nephi 2:2), and that “He doeth not anything save it be for the benefit of the world” (2 Nephi 26:24).

Instead of asking, “Why is this happening to me?” we can ask, “Why is this happening for me?” What am I to learn? How can this problem help me increase my faith and trust in Jesus Christ? Nelson taught that we can “receive more faith by doing something that requires more faith.”

Turn Outward

Jesus taught by example that in times of adversity we should look outward and serve others. While on the cross, in His deepest agony and suffering, we see Jesus—astonishingly—arranging for the care of His mother:

“When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, Woman, behold thy son. Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy mother” (John 19:26–27).

In times of adversity, our natural inclination is to focus inward. Instead, Jesus invites us to look outward to others, especially when we are experiencing personal challenges. This is a gospel paradox: “He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it” (Matthew 10:39). Elder David A. Bednar, also an apostle in The Church of Jesus Christ, taught, “Character is demonstrated by looking and reaching outward when the natural and instinctive response is to be self-absorbed and turn inward.”

When those inevitable hard times come, we have a choice: we can be frustrated, grit our teeth, and suffer through it. Or we can see this problem that we would never choose as an opportunity. Your 3½ Moment does not define you, but it can refine you. Healing will come. All problems can be temporary on an eternal scale, as we strive to follow Jesus Christ. When you are in that 3½ Moment, remember: 7 is coming.

The post Your Hardest Season Might Be Exactly Half a Miracle appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

Like—spiritual felt clean. No committees. No awkward handshakes. No side-eyes. No church drama. Just me, God, a little sunrise, maybe some music that makes your chest feel bigger than your problems. And if I’m being honest, that idea appealed to me for a reason: I learned early how to survive people, not trust them. I learned the value of a guarded heart. I could talk smooth, move careful, keep my circle tight. And when you’ve been burned enough times, anything that says “you don’t need anybody” starts sounding like freedom.

So yeah. Spirituality can seem better because it doesn’t require anyone but yourself.

It’s you and your thoughts. You and your intentions. You and your version of God—custom fit, no annoying humans included. Nothing messy. Nothing disappointing. Nothing to suggest anything is short of perfect. No one to hurt you. No one to do the unforgivable. 

But let me say this plain: religion is people. 

The difference between organized religion and spirituality is people. 

Saying we don’t agree with organized religion, but believe in a higher power, feels safe because it can never disappoint us. It suggests that our standards are too good, too pure to associate with the disaster of other people trying to connect with God. 

That part used to offend me, because I wanted my faith to feel pristine. I wanted God without the mess. I wanted the mountaintop without the climb. I wanted “the Spirit” without Sister So-and-So being petty, without Brother What’s-His-Name talking like he’s the CEO of righteousness, without somebody acting like their calling gives them the right to treat people like furniture. And I don’t want to undersell the problems of people. They aren’t just delightfully messy in a cute way you could still show on your Insta. This is pride, racism, abuse. Being around these people caused me real wounds. 

I wanted a relationship with God that didn’t come with… humans and the pain they cause.

But spirituality without others—if we’re keeping it all the way real—can turn kind of pointless.

Not because your inner life doesn’t matter. It matters. Deeply. Your private prayers, your healing, your introspection, the quiet work nobody claps for—that’s sacred.

Who cares if something feels pristine and perfect in your own brain if it never becomes love in the real world?

Because God—at least the God I’m trying to know—doesn’t just show up in the perfect parts of me. He pulls up in the spaces between people. In the friction. In the gap between your intentions and somebody else’s misunderstanding. In the moment you want to clap back but you choose peace. In the moment you could hate somebody, but you don’t. In the moment you could walk away, but you stay and you try again.

God often appears in the spaces made between people’s imperfections.

That’s why that scripture hits so hard. It’s basically a spiritual gut-check: “Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen.”

People quote that like it’s a description—like, “Oh, if you don’t love everybody perfectly, you must not love God.” And that’s not how I hear it anymore. I hear it as a challenge. A mirror. A direction.

Because it’s so easy to love abstractions.

I can love “humanity.” I can love “the world.” I can love “people” in general. I can love “community” as a concept. I can love “God” in a poetic way—big, cosmic, clean, untouchable.

But loving real, flawed people? 

People who are rude. People who ignore you and judge you. People who switch up when they get a little authority. People who act holy but move sweaty. People who talk about grace and show none. People who are needy. People who are loud. People who are insecure and make you pay for it. People who remind you of the stuff you’re trying to outgrow. 

That’s where the work is.

So what the verse is saying—at least how it lands in me—is this: you can’t really claim love for God while refusing love for God’s kids. Not because God needs you to be fake-nice, but because love has to become practical or it’s just poetry.

If your love never leaves your mouth or your journal and touches another person’s life, it’s not love yet. It’s rehearsal.

And that’s why I respect the bluntness of Mosiah 2:17. It doesn’t romanticize it. It doesn’t leave it vague. It just puts it on the ground where we actually live: “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”

That’s the whole thing. You want to love God? Love the people around you. It’s easy to love the thing you can’t see. But it’s not real, it’s not authentic, until you’re doing the work of loving the people you can.

And yes, it’s hard.

Not “hard” like a puzzle. Hard like weights. Hard like rehab. Hard like unlearning. Hard like swallowing your pride. Hard like choosing not to become the same kind of person who hurt you. Hard like doing kindness while your feelings are still catching up.

Because community will show you who you are.

Spirituality alone can let you curate yourself. Religion—with actual people—will expose you. It will bring out your impatience. Your need to be right. Your craving for recognition. Your tendency to withdraw. Your tendency to control. Your fear of being seen. Your old temper that’s “under control” until somebody disrespects you in a meeting. Your old mouth that’s “sanctified” until someone says something absolutely out of line. 

I’m saying this as someone who’s cleaned up a lot of my worst tendencies, but I still know exactly where they live. I know what version of me shows up when I feel dismissed. I know what version of me shows up when somebody tries to son me. I know what version of me shows up when I’m tired, underappreciated, and surrounded by people acting like their imperfections don’t stink.

And here’s the thing: the goal of religion was never to provide me a perfect experience.

Religion is not a luxury spa for the soul.

It’s a workshop.

It’s a space where God takes a bunch of broken, brilliant, annoying, beautiful humans and says, “Okay. Now learn to be family.”

That’s why the vision of “Zion” matters so much. Zion isn’t just a vibe. It’s not just “good energy.” Zion is a community reality—people becoming one, not by pretending they’re perfect, but by practicing love until it’s real. It’s the long, stubborn project of building a place where God can dwell because the people are learning to dwell together.

And you can’t build Zion alone.

Even if you’re the most spiritually advanced person on your block, you can’t build a community by yourself. You can’t practice “one another” in a mirror. You can’t “bear burdens” when you refuse to be burdened with people. You can’t learn forgiveness without somebody needing it from you. You can’t become gentle without having to handle sharp edges—yours and theirs.

So yeah, I get why folks bounce from religion to spirituality. I get why they say, “It’s just me and God.” I get why you think you’re too good, too pure, too smart for “organized religion.” Because people are exhausting. Church hurt is real. Hypocrisy is loud. Control shows up wearing a tie. Judgment can hide behind scripture. 

But I am here to say: don’t confuse the mess of people with the absence of God.

Sometimes, the mess is exactly where God is working.

Sometimes the whole point is that you learn to find Him there—inside the awkward conversations, the forgiveness you didn’t want to offer, the apology you didn’t want to make, the patience you didn’t think you had, the service you did quietly, the love you gave when you didn’t get love back.

Because anybody can love God when God stays an idea.

The question is: can you love God when God shows up as the person who annoys you? Or who disrespects the culture? Or who doesn’t know the norms? Or who wants you to stay in your place? 

That’s the challenge. Not a condemnation—an invitation.

And love does require contact with reality.

It requires other faces, other stories, other tempers, other needs.

It requires a “we.”

That’s what religion gives you—when it’s doing what it’s supposed to do. Not perfection. Practice. Not a flawless room. A refining fire.

And I’m starting to believe this: God doesn’t just save individuals. He builds a people.

So when I’m tempted to choose the clean version of faith—the version where it’s just me, my thoughts, my private peace—I try to remember: that’s not the whole assignment.

The whole assignment is to pursue God in the middle of the trouble.

In the middle of the awkward small talk.
In the middle of the misunderstood moments.
In the middle of the personalities.
In the middle of the inconvenient needs.
In the middle of my own ego getting exposed.

Because that’s where love becomes more than a concept.

That’s where spirituality becomes flesh and bone.

That’s where God—often quiet, often humble—shows up in the space between our imperfections and teaches us to call it holy.

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David Archuleta’s new book, Devout, begins as a moving and candid account of overcoming family trauma, toxic relationship dynamics, suicidal ideation, and an overbearing father determined to live vicariously through his talented son.

Which is why its ultimate conclusion is so tragic.

Because his understanding of God was that of a bludgeon instead of a balm, David decided that leaving the safety of the restored gospel was the best route for him and could be for others.

There’s no way for any of us to know what choice we would make in his shoes, so this isn’t about judging his heart. Thankfully, that’s God’s job. But it is about making righteous judgments about the morality of his choices and the impact his advocacy will have on others. As Latter-day Saints, how do we currently respond to stories like David’s, and how could we shift that response toward something more theologically sound and compassionate?

Patterns of Responding

There’s a predictable pattern that emerges whenever a prominent Latter-day Saint comes out as gay. This pattern typically plays out on both extremes of the political divide. One side uses the announcement as an excuse to ignore, belittle, or theologically dunk on anyone battling with LGBT+ concerns and questions. While that’s going on, the other side recognizes the individual’s sincere expression of pain and uses it to discourage faith-affirming, truth-filled ministering. 

As a sexual minority myself, I alternate between being engrossed with watching it unfold one day and being completely jaded by the drama the next. While our stories diverge in many ways, I do understand the feeling of watching a Church-wide debate that addresses deeply personal aspects of myself. It can be engaging, but it can also be frustrating. 

Both approaches come with a variety of intentions and goals—both good and bad—but both approaches also get us further from reconciliation, community, and truth. Let’s explore these patterns, examine how they fall short of discipleship, and uncover some possible alternatives.

Pattern 1: Apathy and Dismissal

One pattern of responding comes from a subset of Latter-day Saints who are deeply committed to their faith but struggle to embrace any attempts to address morally complex issues, especially LGBT+ issues. Either they take hard conversations about these topics as an attack on faith that requires an aggressive response, or they worry about saying the wrong thing and do not engage at all.

I have great sympathy for both of these worries. After seeing so many examples of church members using LGBT+ issues as a way to shoehorn progressive politics into the gospel, I find myself starting from a place of skepticism whenever I encounter the topic in a faith context. But seeing so many poor examples of addressing a topic doesn’t automatically justify avoiding the topic altogether.

When we encounter approaches like the one in David’s book, it can sometimes feel easy to justify taking a dismissive approach to his story or the story of others like him. Although David’s book begins as a respectful, candid exploration of his trauma and adversity, as it continues, it takes a rather sharp turn toward caricaturizing our beliefs and disparaging church leaders. This might make some inclined to stop considering David’s perspective altogether.

For example, when describing a conversation with Elder M. Russell Ballard where David was asking questions about homosexuality, Elder Ballard admits that we don’t have many revealed answers (a sentiment that other leaders have expressed): “Well, David, to be honest, I don’t know much about any of this. We don’t really have the answers on what to do about LGBT people. We’ve gone as brethren…and prayed about this, but we’ve never received any answers.” David’s conclusion to that answer was that Elder Ballard was admitting they were being dishonest about their role as prophets, seers, and revelators: “I was surprised by what Elder Ballard seemed to be admitting to me—that they didn’t actually know what God wanted or not. They were making guesses. But they were going to tell everyone the message was from God so they would just follow along without questioning them.”

The apathetic, dismissive approach falls short of discipleship by leaving a void. The more aggressive approach falls short of discipleship by pushing others away. Christ did neither. He purposefully sought out those who were rejected or engaging in behavior that was considered sinful or outside the norm. He approached the woman at the well, a social taboo given her Samaritan background, to minister to her. Even though he acknowledged she was living with a man who wasn’t her husband, he didn’t condemn her. Instead, he taught truth lovingly. He didn’t show apathy toward her choices, but he didn’t berate her either.

Being a disciple means engaging in these conversations with both courtesy and conviction. It means listening to the experiences of others with an open mind and a receptive heart. And it also means keeping truth tied to our efforts to minister.

Pattern 2: Discouraging True Ministry 

Another pattern of response comes from a broad group of Latter-day Saints who graft the modern approach to LGBT+ activism into their ministry. Some are politically involved and actively campaign for doctrine to change, while others take a more pacifist, you-do-you approach. When encountering stories like David’s, they rightly sympathize with the expressed pain, but their actions move beyond sympathy. Instead of anchoring their support in gospel truths, they remove many core components of the gospel from their attempts to connect and comfort. Instead of merely affirming the pain and lending an ear, they join in on disparaging our beliefs, prophets, or modern revelation. In the name of ministering, they share and leave supportive comments on social media posts that undermine doctrine. They discourage gospel discussion on topics like the eternal family and reject parts of the family proclamation.

David’s story commands compassion. His dad pushed him to participate in singing competitions, including American Idol, which he was ultimately grateful for, but which weren’t without their scars; he dealt with toxic family dynamics that split his family into factions; his parents divorced after years of turmoil; and, worst of all, he dealt with feelings of despair so deep that he considered taking his life. You’d have to have a heart of stone not to feel for someone who has gone through as much as David.

But what makes situations like this even more tragic is when the conclusion of that pain is to feel ostracized from or to reject the very thing that will help them heal best: namely, Jesus Christ and the understanding of His atonement found in His restored church.

The most challenging dynamic is when church members feel pressured to participate in this type of support because of language or behavior that mirrors manipulation more than advocacy. For example, a common theme in Devout is David’s mention of the effect our beliefs about marriage and family had on him. In referencing a group of people that walked out of his Christmas concert in Delta, UT (where I lived for a couple of years), after he used it as an opportunity for political advocacy, he said, “If that made them uncomfortable, then fine. I want them to think about why it made them uncomfortable. Maybe because sharing their beliefs led someone like me to consider ending my life, and they just wanted me to pretend to be a happy straight Mormon whom they loved watching on Idol?” Hurt by their lack of enthusiasm for his advocacy, he used our beliefs as a bludgeon. He furthered the idea that if we continue to believe and express our beliefs, we’re going to push people to the brink of desperation. A claim that, thankfully, is contradicted by the data. 

This same dynamic plays out in David’s account of suicidal ideation. I have no doubt that David’s suicidal ideation was genuine. He explains it in detail, and while I’ve never experienced that myself, I could nearly feel the despair as I listened to the audiobook. What a horrible reality to experience. I’ve seen it firsthand in a close friend who tried multiple times to end his life, thankfully to no avail. 

Instead of lacing our support with modern symbols and ideas, we can anchor it in the teachings of Jesus Christ. And not just the parts of His message that, in isolation, could seem to fit in with LGBT+ activism. But the totality of His message—including the sacrifice, responsibility, and love that’s moored to God’s law.

A Christlike Pattern for Responding 

Growing up a sexual minority Latter-day Saint was confusing enough for me. I can’t imagine adding to it the type of mixed messaging and morally confused advocacy that’s so common in the way that members of the Church often respond to experiences of same-sex attraction today. I came out of adolescence with plenty of fears and insecurities, but just enough faith to move forward toward the life I wanted. For me, that led to a life in the Church, an amazing wife, and children of our own. I don’t know that I would’ve been so lucky if I grew up in the environment that exists today.

As disciples of Christ and members of His restored church, we have the duty to love David and people like him without reservation. We also have the duty to love those who will be negatively affected by the message he’s promulgating. Are we loving them by cheering David’s choice to leave the path? Are we loving them by insinuating or explicitly stating that the covenant path is oppressive or harmful? Or that modern prophets are standing in the way of God’s true will for gay people? 

We can’t let emotion decide what’s true. Suffering and hardship—like the kind he experienced—don’t automatically discredit a path. On the reverse, relief or elation—like what he’s described after removing gospel standards from his life—doesn’t automatically vindicate one. 

I doubt David will ever see this. But if he does, I hope he also considers why his advocacy might not be received well by all, not out of hatred for him, but out of concern for our children and loved ones.

More than any other social debate, LGBT+ issues have challenged the idea that we can love those who share a different perspective. And it’s no wonder, with how high the stakes are viewed on both sides. But I reject the idea that in order to love someone, we must either adopt or cheer on their choices. As the late and missed President Holland put it, “As near as I can tell, Christ never once withheld His love from anyone, but He also never once said to anyone, ‘Because I love you, you are exempt from keeping my commandments.’ We are tasked with trying to strike that same sensitive, demanding balance in our lives.”

My aim is to strike that balance. I hope you’ll join me in that goal. 

The post A Devout Sexual Minority’s Response to Archuleta’s “Devout” appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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Elder Clark G. Gilbert was announced Thursday, February 12, 2026, as the newest member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. His call fills the vacancy that followed the passing of President Jeffrey R. Holland, who died December 27 at age 85. 

Years before today’s announcement, Elder Gilbert sat in a devotional hall in Lima, Peru, surrounded by first‑generation university students enrolled through BYU–Pathway Worldwide. A visiting General Authority, Elder Carlos A. Godoy, looked over the room and urged those students to “involve the Lord in this process” of lifting their lives through education and discipleship. In a general conference address, Elder Gilbert later used that scene—and his now‑familiar “parable of the slope”—to teach that in the Lord’s calculus, our eternal trajectory matters more than our starting point: “In the Lord’s timing, it is not where we start but where we are headed that matters most.” That anecdote captures his blend of faith, data‑driven pragmatism and pastoral concern that has marked his ministry. 

Born in Oakland, California, in 1970 and raised in Arizona, Clark G. Gilbert served a mission in the Japan Kobe Mission before graduating in international relations from Brigham Young University. He earned a master’s in East Asian studies from Stanford University and a doctorate in business administration from Harvard Business School, where he later joined the faculty in entrepreneurial management. He and his wife, Christine C. Gilbert (née Calder), are the parents of eight children. 

After returning to Church education in the mid‑2000s, Gilbert became associate academic vice president at BYU–Idaho, working on online learning and what would become the Pathway program. In 2009 he was appointed to lead Deseret Digital Media and soon after the Deseret News, where he orchestrated a widely watched digital transformation that separated fast‑growing digital operations from legacy print, refocused editorial priorities, and drew national notice from media analysts. 

The Church’s Board of Trustees named him the 16th president of BYU–Idaho in 2015. Two years later, in February 2017, the First Presidency announced BYU–Pathway Worldwide, a new global higher‑education organization for the Church; Gilbert was appointed its first president. In April 2021 he was sustained as a General Authority Seventy and that August began service as Commissioner of the Church Educational System (CES). 

Under Gilbert’s leadership, BYU–Pathway matured from a promising pilot into a large‑scale, global gateway for degree seekers who often balance study with work and family. In 2024, nearly 75,000 students in 180+ countries were served through BYU–Pathway; a Church announcement described the initiative’s subsequent rollout of three‑year, outcome‑based online bachelor’s degrees—offered by BYU–Idaho and Ensign College with NWCCU approval—as a way to reduce time and cost while preserving required learning outcomes. 

His scholarship and executive experience have also shaped his public profile beyond the Church. Gilbert co‑authored Dual Transformation (Harvard Business Review Press), a playbook for leading legacy institutions through disruption while simultaneously building new growth engines—an approach visible in his work at the Deseret News and later in CES reforms. 

In his recent ministry, Gilbert has emphasized a number of important themes. 

Divine potential and covenant identity. Elder Gilbert’s October 2021 general conference message, “Becoming More in Christ: The Parable of the Slope,” distilled a recurring theme: that conversion to Jesus Christ changes our “slope”—our trajectory—through grace, repentance and covenant discipleship, regardless of starting point. He illustrated that theology with stories from inner‑city youth in Boston and first‑generation learners in Peru, connecting pastoral care to measurable change. 

Education as religious responsibility. As CES commissioner, Elder Gilbert has argued that learning in the Church is inseparable from discipleship. In a June 2025 broadcast to tens of thousands of seminary, institute and Church‑sponsored higher‑education teachers, he reiterated CES’s mission to “prepare young people … to grow spiritually and become lifelong disciples of Jesus Christ,” signaling a continued push to align curriculum, hiring and student support with revealed priorities. 

BYU’s distinctive mission—“gospel methodology.” In August 2025, addressing the BYU University Conference, he urged faculty and staff to be “deliberate” in building a university that engages the world “without being defined by it,” emphasizing prophetic governance, mission‑fit hiring and the charge to employ “gospel methodology” in research and teaching. He highlighted the call—traced from President Spencer W. Kimball to modern apostles—to teach “truth with love” while preparing students for the Savior’s return. 

Home, family and the Savior. In September 2025, Elder and Sister Christine Gilbert taught BYU–Idaho students how to find Christ in “The Family: A Proclamation to the World,” underscoring a Christ‑centered view of family relationships and identity. That devotional, and similar messages across CES, reflect his conviction that doctrine, belonging and spiritual habits must be taught together. 

To journalists and Latter‑day Saint observers, Elder Gilbert’s selection reads as both pastoral and programmatic. His ministry has consistently fused access (lowering barriers to education across continents), alignment (anchoring institutions to revealed mission) and accountability (measuring outcomes without losing sight of grace). BYU–Pathway’s scale—tens of thousands of learners worldwide—and innovations like the three‑year degree show a willingness to rethink form while protecting substance. In media, peers noted the boldness of his digital “dual transformation,” separating the old and the new to let both flourish. Those same instincts—build the future while strengthening the present—have characterized his counsel to teachers and students: teach truth, elevate slopes, and center every effort on Jesus Christ. 

Colleagues describe Elder Gilbert as an exacting but pastoral leader—comfortable with spreadsheets and scripture alike. He met Christine at BYU; together they have raised eight children through moves that traced a calling‑heavy life from California to Massachusetts to Idaho and back to Utah. The biography pages maintained by the Church and BYU‑Pathway emphasize both his scholarship and his family‑first discipleship, a through‑line visible in his local service as a bishop, counselor in a stake presidency and Area Seventy before his 2021 call as a General Authority. 

Within the Church’s governing structure, the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles are “special witnesses of the name of Christ in all the world.” When an apostle passes away, the President of the Church calls a replacement. His background in global education and institutional renewal suggests he will bring a data‑literate, prophetically aligned voice to a quorum that travels, teaches and administers worldwide.

The post Who is Clark Gilbert, Our New Apostle? 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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The Serpent as a Sacred Symbol

In many ancient civilizations, the serpent was a symbol of kings, royalty, and gods. You can see this on the front of the Egyptian Pharaoh’s crown and in the Mesoamerican legend of Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent. 

It is also a symbol of Christ. The scripture story of Moses’ serpent devouring the Egyptians’ serpents conveyed a powerful theological message that Jehovah is the superior serpent. As Latter-day Saint scholar Andrew Skinner points out, this story testifies of Christ’s supremacy over counterfeit powers.

This context makes it deeply significant that Satan appeared to Eve as a serpent in the Garden. He was appearing as a counterfeit of Christ. Genesis teaches: “Now the serpent was more subtle (cunning, crafty, clever) than any beast of the field” (ESV), setting up the serpent as a counterfeit messenger—appearing authoritative while steering souls away from Christ. Moses 4:6 adds, “Satan put it into the heart of the serpent (for he had drawn away many after him,) and he sought also to beguile Eve.” 

The Brass Serpent and the Lesson of Misplaced Worship

The serpent appears again early in the Old Testament. We read in the book of Numbers that “the people spoke against God and Moses,” asking, “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we loathe this worthless food” (ESV).

God responded to their lack of faith by sending “fiery” (poisonous) serpents into their camp, and people began dying. When the Israelites repented and asked Moses to pray for deliverance, the Lord instructed Moses to make a “serpent of bronze” and fasten it to the top of a pole so that whoever looked upon it would live.

Why would the Israelites worship something meant to point them to the Lord? Did they forget whom they truly worshiped? Similarly, do we forget whom we really worship and find ourselves idolizing good things that were meant to lead us to Christ?

When the Means Become the End

Some things intended to point us to Christ, such as the Church, the Prophet and apostles, the scriptures, church programs, local priesthood leaders, the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet, and even commandments, can sometimes inadvertently become like the brass serpent. They bring us to Christ, but when we treat them as salvific in and of themselves, we risk idolizing them. The Pharisees exemplified what idolizing commandments looks like.

I’m not suggesting anyone does this deliberately, but in our valiant effort to teach members and children to fully participate in church, follow the prophet, and read the scriptures, we sometimes create a culture where these good and righteous things are assumed to be the end goal instead of the means to the end. 

What Does It Mean That the Church Is “True and Living”?

But don’t we say things like, “The Prophet will never lead us astray,” “The Book of Mormon is the most correct of any book,” and “The Church is the only true Church?” Yes, but those statements require context.

When we say the Church is “true,” what do we mean? It has the ordinances of the Priesthood, is led by Christ through revelation to His servants, and teaches salvific doctrine. It is divine, it is Christ’s Church. Many hear ‘true’ as ‘flawless’: perfectly accurate scriptures, faultless programs, decisions exactly as God would make them. In other words, we interpret “true” as factually binary, all right or all wrong. Many members even feel proud of that idea, believing that all other sects are abominable and all preachers corrupt.

But what happens when the Church changes policies, reverses decisions, or rolls out a less effective program? What do we do when someone says something hurtful, when leaders contradict each other, or when members feel hurt or isolated within church culture?

The problem with this true or false thinking is that when people encounter a problem in the Church, they often feel they have no choice but to leave, throwing the baby out with the bathwater. The assumption is that a divine institution should have no human error, turning every mistake into a potential crisis of faith.

D&C 1:30 states that this is the only “true and living” Church. We often define “true” as “unchanging” or “factually accurate,” but the qualifying word “living” complicates that definition. Another meaning of “true” is “to make level, square, balanced, or concentric; to restore to accuracy or form,” which gives the word a more dynamic, living sense. “Truing a wheel,” for example, means adjusting the spokes so it spins straight and steady, free of wobble. 

Perhaps the Church being “true” is like a bicycle wheel, pointed in the right direction, generally straight, yet occasionally needing adjustment. We have to pump flat tires, straighten dents, and realign spokes to keep it true. And as we ride, we make countless small course corrections that keep us moving toward our destination.

To call the Church “living” points to continuing revelation, but it also implies correction, growth, and healing. Recent changes to temple language and partnerships with the NAACP are examples.

The Church is a vehicle to salvation, like a car. Compared with others in the lot, it’s the best one. It’s not perfect or the biggest or fastest, and it has dents to buff out. But it’s reliable, offers upgrades, and has the best safety features. We get weekly gas fill-ups and 24-hour roadside assistance. Each model year improves, and it even includes a heavenly OnStar call button. The best feature may be the eternal warranty.

Prophets, Fallibility, and the Divine Filter

In the Old Testament, the Lord summoned Gideon to free Israel from Midianite oppression. Gideon raised an army of 32,000, but God told him that was too many, since He wanted no one else to take the glory. After reducing the army to 300, they triumphed. Yet the people gave Gideon the credit, saying, “Rule over us, for you have delivered us.” Gideon replied, “I will not rule over you, the Lord shall rule over you.”

Latter-day Saint scholar and writer Terryl Givens, in The Crucible of Doubt, observes that such hero worship is common in human history and even within our Church. He cites the old joke that Catholics claim the Pope is infallible but no one believes it, while Latter-day Saints claim the Prophet is fallible but no one believes it. The notion that prophets are infallible specimens of virtue and perfection is “neither scriptural nor reasonable,” Givens writes.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf likewise acknowledged, “We openly acknowledge that in nearly 200 years of Church history… there have been some things said and done that could cause people to question…. And, to be perfectly frank, there have been times when members or leaders in the Church have simply made mistakes.”

Elder D. Todd Christofferson added that “not every statement made by a Church leader, past or present, necessarily constitutes doctrine. … Often it represents a personal, though well-considered, opinion, not meant to be official or binding.” 

Scripture reinforces that God speaks to us according to our language and understanding (see 2 Nephi 31 and D&C 1). Revelation filters through human personalities and paradigms. Joseph Smith acknowledged this, and Moroni echoed it on the title page of the Book of Mormon: “If there are faults, they are the mistakes of men.”

So what does divinity look like filtered through mortals? I find the metaphor of stained glass fitting. Depending on its color and design, the light passing through is beautiful and divine, but still filtered. The filtering makes it unique. Just because there’s glass doesn’t mean the light isn’t divine. Consider how divine inspiration manifests differently through the “stained glass” of Neal A. Maxwell, Brigham Young, Sheri Dew, Jeffrey R. Holland, Gordon B. Hinckley, Bruce R. McConkie, Dieter F. Uchtdorf, or Sharon Eubank, and through your own ward members.

God uses flawed vessels because that’s all He has, but also to teach humility and redirect our worship. He told Joseph Smith in D&C 121: 1, “For unto this end have I raised you up, that I might show forth my wisdom through the weak things of the earth.” Elder Jeffrey R. Holland reminded us, “Imperfect people are all God has ever had to work with… and when you see imperfection, remember that the limitation is not in the divinity of the work.” 

The Lord built checks and balances into His system, councils, quorums, companionships, presidencies, and marriages. Elder Boyd K. Packer noted, “These procedures protect the work from the individual weaknesses apparent in all of us.” 

Two Common Errors in Faith

We tend to err in two ways. First, we don’t take the prophet, the Church, or the scriptures seriously enough. Many of us fail to fully embrace the blessings of following the Brethren, participating in Church, and feasting on scripture. President Nelson warned that “we should not put question marks where the Prophet has put periods.” 

The second error is what New Testament scholar Darrell Bock calls “brittle fundamentalism,” assuming the Church, prophets, or scriptures must be perfect, then losing faith when confronted with imperfection. If we think the Church must be all true or all false, it’s easy to walk away when we find flaws. 

The Value of Honest Questions

To those wrestling with doubts, your questions are valid. There is nothing wrong with you. Questions are how we learn. Nearly every revelation in the Doctrine and Covenants began with a question. The First Vision began with a question.

Uncertainty is uncomfortable, but sincere inquiry is part of discipleship. Answers may come quickly, slowly, or not at all, which is why faith is essential to spiritual growth. Joseph Smith taught that “a religion that does not require the sacrifice of all things never has power sufficient to produce the faith necessary unto life and salvation.” Perhaps part of that sacrifice is placing our complaints and unanswered questions on the altar, trusting that God values honest wrestling as much as easy belief.

Creating a Culture Safe for Seekers

A living church must also be a safe place for sincere seekers. If faith is meant to grow through honest inquiry rather than brittle certainty, then questions should not be treated as threats. In practice, however, some members quietly fear that voicing doubts will brand them as disloyal or spiritually weak.

Yet the Restoration itself models a different pattern. Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf taught, “Inquiry is the birthplace of testimony. … Asking questions isn’t a sign of weakness; it’s a precursor of growth.” Faith that cannot tolerate sincere questions risks confusing devotion with defensiveness.

Mature discipleship makes room for complexity without abandoning commitment. Over time, faith may move from simplicity to complexity and, ideally, return to a deeper, humbler simplicity (see Hafen, Faith is Not Blind). Creating space for that process does not weaken the Church. It honors the fact that a true and living faith must also be patient, charitable, and resilient.

Triangulating Truth

We must utilize each of these sources rather than idolize them.

Choosing to Believe

I’ve chosen the gospel of Christ as the reality on which I’ll depend for salvation. I believe this Church is the best vehicle to reach that destination. I believe because I choose to, not because of flawless logic. I have felt the Holy Spirit confirm the truth to me on many occasions.

My testimony waxes and wanes, as everyone’s does. Sometimes it nears certainty; other times it leans on faith alone. Yet even in weakness, it calls me to keep trying, to keep seeing light through stained glass.

The post When Symbols Become Idols: Remembering What Points Us to Christ appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

Few Church leaders have been as well-liked as President Holland, who recently passed away at age 85. He had a talent for connecting with nearly everyone: old and young, rich and poor, academic and practical, believers and skeptics, people within the Church and people outside of the Church, and just about everyone else.

This is why I think his 2021 talk, “The Second Half of the Second Century at Brigham Young University,” is particularly noteworthy. In this talk, President Holland defended the unique mission of Brigham Young University (BYU) and said the University should be willing to forgo some “professional affiliations and certifications” rather than renege on its core commitments. The talk attracted particular ire for discussing LGBTQ issues and suggesting that BYU professors provide “musket fire” in favor of the Church’s teachings on marriage and sexuality.

I have discussed President Holland’s talk in more detail elsewhere, but what I want to focus on here is what the talk says about his character. President Holland likely knew that his talk would be unpopular. He knew that many people would (falsely) accuse him of hatred and insensitivity. He knew that his standing as the apostle that everyone liked, as a leader that everyone could relate to, would be seriously threatened.

It’s also noteworthy that President Holland gave this talk at the peak of Progressive confidence about issues related to gender and sexuality. The Church’s views were castigated as false and harmful; members of the Church were constantly told that they were on the “wrong side of history” for holding to the views expressed in The Family: A Proclamation to the World. At a moment when the forces of political, social, and academic respectability were all blowing in the opposite direction, President Holland was willing to stand up and be counted as someone who was committed to the Church’s teachings.

Of course, Church leaders (as well as the rest of us) are not supposed to care about what the world thinks of us. We are repeatedly warned in scriptures about loving the praise of men more than the praise of God. Popularity can become an idol, distracting and deflecting us from commitment to God. But Church leaders are human, and humans like to be liked. President Holland knew that this talk would put his reputation and public standing in jeopardy. He gave the talk anyway.

Jesus taught: “No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon” (Matthew 6:24). He also taught: “Woe unto you, when all men shall speak well of you! for so did their fathers to the false prophets” (Luke 6:26). Though a message of peace, the gospel is also “a stone of stumbling, and a rock of offence” (1 Peter 2:8) to those who do not believe. Perhaps by design, the gospel can never be made completely respectable by worldly standards.

To me, President Holland’s 2021 talk demonstrated his ultimate allegiance. He was willing to give up his worldly popularity and respectability to stay true to the gospel of Jesus Christ. I believe he gave the talk with great eloquence and sensitivity, but that is not how many people received it. He was criticized by people within and without the Church; even some national publications took notice of the talk and criticized it. But this was a price he was willing to pay. Perhaps there is not better way to end than with President Holland’s own words about courageously defending the gospel:

“Be strong. Live the gospel faithfully even if others around you don’t live it at all. Defend your beliefs with courtesy and with compassion, but defend them . . . In courageously pursuing such a course, you will forge unshakable faith, you will find safety against ill winds that blow, even shafts in the whirlwind, and you will feel the rock-like strength of our Redeemer, upon whom if you build your unflagging discipleship, you cannot fall.”

The post Popularity Is a Terrible God—and Jeffrey R. Holland Knew It appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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This article marks the twelfth and final article in the Peacemaking Series. In 2023, the late Prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, issued the call, Peacemakers Needed. TheFamilyProclamation.org answered this call by producing 12 playful, 1 to 2-minute videos teaching principles and tactics for Peacemaking. While secular in their content, each video was directly inspired by the principles taught in President Nelson’s talk. When writing each script, the creators presented scholarly theories from the fields of psychology, philosophy, conflict resolution, and communication, which would help support an individual trying to integrate President Nelson’s message into their personal and professional relationships. Public Square Magazine published this 12-part article series as an opportunity to exhibit the research that supported the content of each video. Each article acts as a companion piece for one video from the series.

Questions for Conflict

The final video in the series presents a list of “Questions for Conflict.” Each question references principles taught in the previous videos. The intention is that an individual who has watched all the videos can quickly view this last video to help them remember what they have learned. The questions aren’t a test; they help guide an individual’s thinking as they consider the course of action they ought to take when trying to make a conflict more peaceful.

In similar fashion, this companion article lists the link to each video in the series, the link to its companion article, the main ideas taught in that video and article, and then the action question from the resource video above. Our intention with this article’s brevity and organization is that it may become a simple reference guide, something easily bookmarked for quick access, sharable with friends or family; an aid for creating more peace while navigating social conflicts in life, for inspiring “love one toward another” and to go “about doing good” (1 Thessalonians 3 and Acts 10). God bless us all as we grow in our discipleship of “The Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9).

Controlling Anger

The Art of Peacemaking: Controlling Anger by Bridging Logic and Emotion

Main Idea: When anger or other strong emotions surge, they can hijack our judgment, pushing us toward reactions that harm understanding and connection. By pausing to breathe deeply, we slow the body’s adrenaline response, give our rational mind time to catch up, and create space to act with clarity, patience, and purpose instead of hostility.

Question: Should I take a few deep breaths?

Conflict Is Natural

Conflict is Natural: How We Mistake Discomfort for Destruction

Main Idea: Conflict is when two or more opposing forces meet each other, and our personal associations with that word—whether positive or negative—reveal how we understand and respond to disagreement. By maturing those associations toward a “conflict is natural” perspective, we learn to see conflict not as something to fear or even like, but as an inevitable process toward discovering balance, harmony, and productive solutions.

Question: What good can come from this conflict?

Semantic Ambiguity

From Babel to the UN: How Semantic Confusion Undermines Peace—and the Radical Power of Clarity

Main Idea: Many disagreements begin with semantic ambiguity—the confusion that arises when a word carries multiple meanings and each person assumes their own definition is shared by everyone else. To resolve such confusion, take time to unpack the word by asking, “What do you mean by that?” This simple act builds the communication foundation for genuine peace through clarity.

Question: Are any of the words we’re using ambiguous?

Positive Gossip

What If Gossip Isn’t a Sin—But a Skill in Peacemaking?

Main Idea: Gossip––any conversation about someone who is not present—is a pervasive part of human communication, and it can be either negative, focusing on the faults of others, which spreads harm, or positive, celebrating others’ virtues and reinforcing unity. Intentionally pivoting from negative to positive gossip by asking questions that encourage empathy fosters compassion, strengthens relationships, and transforms ordinary conversation into a constructive force for understanding and social unity.

Question: Have I acknowledged this person’s strengths?

Bridges of Understanding

The Complex Art of Christian Kindness: Building Bridges

Main Idea: Conflicts often arise not because people truly disagree, but because people misunderstand one another’s perspectives. The solution is to ask sincere questions motivated by genuine curiosity and the desire for positive connection—turning toward “bids.” This builds understanding, fosters goodwill, and allows people to navigate differing perspectives without compromising personal standards.

Question: Do I sincerely believe this person knows something I don’t?

Disagreements Bring Balance

Disagreements Bring Balance: When Silence Isn’t Peace

Main Idea: Many people avoid speaking up in disagreements out of fear of rocking the boat, being judged, or creating conflict, yet this silence often limits perspective, stifles collaboration, and diminishes relational authenticity. By embracing vocal disagreement through empathy, curiosity, and structured techniques—such as using “I statements,” talking in parts, asking clarifying questions, and restating others’ perspectives—individuals can take responsibility for expressing their own views and create deeper connections.

Question: Have I expressed every part of myself honestly?

Forgiveness

 You Don’t Need to Feel Forgiving to Forgive

Main Idea: The experience of personal betrayal often leaves lasting pain, presenting a tension between holding onto anger or extending forgiveness, a choice that affects both the offender and the offended. Forgiveness is an active, deliberate process practiced through steps like naming the hurt, imagining dialogue with the offender, switching perspectives, and then choosing between anger and forgiveness. Even without trust, apology, or change from the other person, one can cultivate compassion, emotional healing, and freedom for oneself.

Questions: Why am I hurting? Why might they be hurting? Am I choosing to give them anger or forgiveness?

Save the Relationship!

Disagreement: Three Steps toward Relationship Conservation

Main Idea: Even minor disagreements, if mishandled, can threaten the very heart of a relationship, causing lasting damage. By following the three-step approach—first separating the conflict from the relationship, next resuscitating the bond with gratitude and repair attempts, and finally addressing the deeper needs behind the disagreement—relationships can be preserved, strengthened, and transformed into opportunities for understanding and growth.

Questions: Have I separated the relationship from the conflict? How can I “resuscitate” the relationship? How can I address their deeper needs?

Conflict Styles

Why Winning Doesn’t Make You Right: Five Conflict Styles

Main Idea: Disagreements are inevitable, and no single approach suffices for every conflict; understanding the five conflict management styles—Oblige, Promote, Collaborate, Compromise, and Avoid—helps prevent resentment. Discern the needs of yourself and others, then apply the appropriate style for the situation: you can oblige when the issue matters more to others, assertively promote when it matters more to you, collaborate for mutual solutions, compromise when time is limited, or even avoid the conflict altogether when it’s just not that important.

Questions: Who has the greater need here? Which conflict style would be wise for me to use?

What is Power?

The Paradox of Power and the Secret Strength of Meekness

Main Idea: Power, defined simply as “the ability to control a resource,” emerges not from domination or coercion but from recognizing and effectively using resources (both internal and external). Sustainable and righteous power grows through self-mastery and compassionate influence, inviting others to engage willingly in play.

Questions: What resources are available to me? What should I stop participating in, and start participating in?

Peacemaking

Peacemaking, Redefined: Why Civility Feels So Radical

Main Idea: Rising social and interpersonal tensions make even minor disagreements feel threatening to relationships. The introductory video and article explain that the Peacemaking Series teaches that healthier connections can be cultivated by taking personal responsibility, approaching differences with empathy and respect, and modeling peacemaking one interaction at a time.

Question: What can I do to be a peacemaker?

About The Sykline Research Institute

The Skyline Research Institute hosts the website TheFamilyProclamation.org. As a non-profit organization, they combine scripture, scholarship, and stories supporting the doctrine and teachings in The Family: A Proclamation to the World. You can follow them for podcasts, original research, more video content, and even lesson plans for families and classrooms through their social media accounts or at their website, TheFamilyProclamation.org.

The post The Final Lesson of Peacemaking: Ask Better Questions 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.