One of those things is not like the others.

Religion is, of course, not exempt from corruption or crime. But this combination can also create a temptation to read every religious controversy as though it were a mob file waiting to be cracked open.

That seems to be part of what happened in the Sun-Times’ two recent pieces on Wade Christofferson, the brother of President D. Todd Christofferson. This case is horrifying and newsworthy. The Justice Department says Wade Christofferson was federally charged in late 2025 with attempting to sexually exploit a minor and with coercion and enticement. Prosecutors allege repeated hands-on abuse of an Ohio child, plus separate exploitation and hands-on abuse involving a second child in Utah. The Sun-Times also reported that the alleged abuse underlying the current criminal case did not occur on church property and was not directly tied to church activities. That does not make the case less awful. But it does matter when deciding what kind of story this is.

The outline of the Church’s response, as reported by the Sun-Times itself, is not the outline of an established institutional cover-up. According to the Church’s statement, Wade Christofferson was excommunicated in the mid-1990s over abuse allegations, readmitted in 1997, and D. Todd Christofferson did not learn the specific nature of his brother’s abuse history until around 2020, through family disclosure. The Church also told the Sun-Times that when those older allegations were discussed, the adult victims did not want law enforcement involved, and that when President Christofferson later learned of a recent allegation involving a minor, he immediately reported it to legal authorities. Those facts may still leave room for criticism and painful moral questions. But they do not suggest corruption, cover-up, or scandal. The framing and analogies used by Herguth do the suggesting that the facts do not.

Herguth’s coverage did not mention the research suggesting that The Church of Jesus Christ’s policies, or the research showing their low sexual abuse rates compared to other youth organizations. But he did find time to mention LGBT+ issues and Joseph Smith’s polygamy.

In other words, his coverage treats The Church of Jesus Christ not as a major religious body that helps facilitate faith for millions around the world, but treats it like a mob that should be taken down no matter how relevant or supported the accusations.

But what else would you expect when you assign your organized crime journalist to your religion stories?

Latter-day Saints should not ask to be shielded from scrutiny when children are harmed. This case deserved coverage just as other crime beat stories do. But it also deserves journalistic discipline. The Sun-Times missed the boat here in a way that was predictable and avoidable if they had just assigned the correct reporter.

The post Media Framing in the Wade Christofferson Case appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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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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Never before have knowledge and information been so accessible, and yet harmful. Like a flash flood, information, opinions, and facts have breached boundaries once built to maintain order and safety. Just as water can be both life-saving and life-threatening, the flood of information now inundating us can either save or destroy our souls. 

In his first public address at Brigham Young University (BYU) as President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, President Dallin H. Oaks commented on this rising threat and on the “abundance of speculation and false information in podcasts and on social media.” He reemphasized the necessity of the Holy Ghost in discerning truth, adding soberly: “You live in a season where the adversary has become so effective at disguising truth that if you don’t have the Holy Ghost, you will be deceived.” 

Yet this deception is not new. It has been employed from the very beginning by Satan, “that being who beguiled our first parents, who transformeth himself nigh unto an angel of light.” In the Garden of Eden, Satan disguised his true identity and convinced Eve to partake of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, in violation of God’s commands. We know from modern prophets and scriptures that the Fall was ultimately part of God’s plan. It ushered in mortality, the ability to have children, and enabled Adam and Eve to progress and become like God. Oaks even taught that we should “celebrate Eve’s act and honor her wisdom and courage.” 

So what was the problem? The problem was the messenger: Satan offered what he did not have the authority to give, obscured its consequences, and enticed Eve to disobey God. Gratefully, God’s plan cannot be frustrated, even by Satan’s most cunning deception, and God provided a way forward in Christ. But Adam and Eve never forgot the sobering lesson they learned: by following an unauthorized messenger, they almost lost everything.

Learning from their mistakes, Adam and Eve were determined to listen only to true messengers from God once they arrived in the lone and dreary world. But how could they know who was a messenger from God and who wasn’t, especially knowing that Satan can disguise himself? Ironically, by giving Eve the fruit of knowledge of good and evil, Satan gave Eve power to detect him. Further, the temple teaches that God also provided Adam and Eve with certain means, which Satan cannot imitate, to identify true messengers so that Adam and Eve could know of a surety who was an authorized messenger from God and who was not. 

It also does not feel coincidental that Section 129 of the Doctrine and Covenants immediately follows this account with instructions on how to detect ministering angels, or authorized messengers, from false spirits, revealing the “grand keys whereby you may know whether any administration is from God.”

The Apostle John taught early Christians to “believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God: because many false prophets are gone out into the world.” But how do we “try the spirits” to know whether they are of God? John tells us: “We”—meaning the apostles—“are of God: he that knoweth God heareth us; he that is not of God heareth not us. Hereby know we the spirit of truth, and the spirit of error.”

We are blessed to live in a day when ordained prophets and apostles serve as authorized servants of God. They are called of God, and although they are not perfect, we can trust them. Jesus Christ Himself admonished as much when He came to the Americas, called twelve servants, and then declared, “Blessed are ye if ye shall give heed unto the words of these twelve whom I have chosen from among you to minister unto you, and to be your servants; and unto them I have given power …” 

The scriptures, likewise, are filled with the words and teachings of past authorized messengers. They are a powerful, authorized source of truth. Elder Richard G. Scott taught that, “Because scriptures are generated from inspired communication through the Holy Ghost, they are pure truth. We need not be concerned about the validity of concepts contained in the scriptures.” President Ezra Taft Benson further testified, “The scriptures are the key to holding on to that iron rod. If we want to taste for ourselves the pure love of God, we must learn to cling to the power that is our scriptures. … The Book of Mormon is the instrument God designed to bring us to Christ.”

Before Christ’s death, He prepared His apostles for His separation from them by explaining that He would give them “the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name.” Thus, the Holy Ghost is an authorized messenger of God. Christ taught His apostles that they can trust the Holy Ghost because He will “guide [them] into all truth” for “he shall not speak of himself; but whatsoever he shall hear [from the Lord], that shall he speak.” This is an essential qualifier of authorized messengers. They do not speak for themselves–only what God gives them. 

In Oaks’ recent remarks at BYU, he reemphasized the need for the Holy Ghost, quoting the prophetic warning of his predecessor President Russel M. Nelson, that “In coming days, it will not be possible to survive spiritually without the guiding, directing, comforting, and constant influence of the Holy Ghost.” 

From the Garden of Eden to the Dispensation of the Fulness of Times, Satan seeks to deceive and frustrate God’s plan. And while Satan’s tactics are becoming more sophisticated, the solution to deception is the same as the one God first gave to Adam and Eve: learn how to recognize and follow authorized messengers. 

The temple narrative clearly shows that one of the primary struggles of living in a fallen world, separated from God, is discerning whom to follow. If we consider ourselves like Adam and Eve, we must be as vigilant as they were in distinguishing between authorized messengers from God and unauthorized ones. 

I find it significant that multiple times a year, during General Conference and in local Stake and Ward Conferences, God declares who His authorized messengers are. Their names are read publicly. Nothing is done in secret. And we are given the opportunity to either sustain or oppose them. God makes it very clear who we should follow and accept as reliable sources of truth. (D&C 43:2-7; D&C 28:12-13.)

So, while deception abounds in our AI age and the deluge of information drowns many, the Lord has continued his pattern of sending authorized messengers to teach His children truth. Satan continues his efforts to deceive, but prophets and the Holy Ghost are authorized messengers, and we, like Adam and Eve, must be vigilant in hearing their voices above others. Jesus Christ again said it best in Doctrine and Covenants 1: 

Wherefore, I the Lord, knowing the calamity which should come upon the inhabitants of the earth, called upon my servant Joseph Smith, Jun., and spake unto him from heaven, and gave him commandments … And also gave commandments to others, that they should proclaim these things unto the world … that man should not counsel his fellow man, neither trust in the arm of flesh … But that every man might speak in the name of God the Lord, even the Savior of the world … What I the Lord have spoken, I have spoken, and I excuse not myself … whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same. For behold, and lo, the Lord is God, and the Spirit beareth record, and the record is true, and the truth abideth forever and ever. Amen.

The post The Importance of Discerning Authorized Messengers 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.

Almost immediately, everyone did what everyone always does when “the files” drop: they hunted names, screenshotted fragments, stitched narratives together, and treated the internet like a jury box. But even major outlets covering the release have warned that the dump is chaotic, heavily redacted, and incomplete in ways that make confident conclusions difficult—while victims and advocates have criticized the process for exposing survivors while leaving many alleged enablers opaque.

And yet, even with all that noise, something clear has emerged for Latter-day Saints: this release was a stress test for decades of anti-Mormon conspiracy storytelling—and the conspiracy didn’t show up.

The test conspiracy-peddlers didn’t expect to fail

For a long time, a certain genre of anti-Mormon commentary has insisted on two overlapping claims:

1. That there is a uniquely large, uniquely hidden sexual abuse problem inside The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, driven or protected from the top; and
2. That senior leaders are “globalists” quietly entangled in elite power networks—exactly the kind of networks epitomized by Epstein.

To be plain: there have been horrific abuse cases involving members of the Church, and those cases deserve honest reporting—not dismissal.

But the claim at issue here isn’t “abuse exists” (it does, tragically, in every sizable institution). The claim is that the Church’s top leadership is part of a shadowy sexual corruption on one side, global influence schemes on the other.

If that were true, this was the moment it should have detonated.

Instead, it didn’t.

A worldwide net—and nothing where critics promised a catch

The whole point of an Epstein document dump, in the public imagination, is that it catches people from “all kinds of quarters.” And it has: major coverage has focused on public figures, political operators, and celebrity relationships; the whole world is sifting and speculating.

So what about the Church? Where are the receipts that a certain corner of the internet has promised for years?

In the Utah-adjacent reporting that’s surfaced from the latest release, the most concrete “Mormon-world” items being discussed are mundane and geographically local—things like travel notes involving Park City, and paying a likely victim’s tuition for Brigham Young University–Idaho, and someone writing to Epstein mentioned Elder Dale G. Renlund was presenting at a health conference.

If you tell the world for decades that senior Church leaders are entangled in the very elite sexual machinery the Epstein story represents, then the largest public release of Epstein-related material should show it. Instead, it shows, at most, the kind of peripheral, often banal “Utah shows up in a massive dataset” traces you’d expect when you dump millions of pages spanning years and continents.

The “most damning” line—and why it still doesn’t land

Critics have understandably tried to elevate a single muddled excerpt—circulating online from an email labeled “EFTA02437604”—as the long-awaited smoking gun. In that excerpt, Epstein appears to write (in a typo-riddled sentence) about “wayne owens … from utah,” references “pons and cold fusion,” and includes the phrase “had [to/ot] meet with the head of the mormon church.”

Epstein suggested in 2009 that in 1989, when he argued against funding cold fusion research, he met with the “head of the mormon church,” presumably because such funding would have gone to Utah.  

No name for who he meant. The memory is twenty years old. Not even a claim that the meeting was desired by church leaders. And the topic was mundane decades before Epstein’s sexual abuse networks were known. 

I imagine some will attempt to squeeze continued criticism out of the line. But what we have been promised by the anti-Mormon conspiracists for years clearly did not exist. In fact, the Church and its leaders have remained so clear of Epstein and its associates that it should broadly be seen as a positive for their moral character. 

Why this should change the conversation—on both sides

If you’re a critic, this moment is an invitation to intellectual honesty. The Epstein files—massive, messy, and full of all kinds of names—were supposed to be the hammer blow. Instead, they have not delivered what the most confident anti-Mormon allegations promised.

And if you’re a believer, this moment is not an excuse for a victory lap. There are real victims who must remain the focus of care and attention. And remember, the data remains partial and contested. We shouldn’t claim this means more than it does. 

The Epstein files—whatever else one thinks about this sprawling, troubled, often infuriating release—have provided a rare public opportunity to compare conspiracy claims against a truly enormous body of material. And when it comes to the most sensational anti-Mormon accusations about senior Church leaders—secret globalist schemes, Epstein ties, sexual impropriety—the result is not “finally, we got them.” 

The result is: nothing. At the end of the day, behind all the sturm and drang was just normal people. 

That doesn’t make the Church above scrutiny. We all have much work to do in continuing to help victims in every corner. But perhaps we can now do it based on the truth. It should make everyone—members and critics alike—more reluctant to trade in insinuation when the moral stakes are this high.

The post The Conspiracy That Wasn’t appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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The religious right is in a crisis of discernment.

Following Charlie Kirk’s assassination in September, many religious conservatives began to ask “What now?” Kirk had been a unifying voice and a coalition builder. With his Turning Point USA organization, Kirk brought together diverse voices to advance Christian conservatism. An evangelical Christian himself, Kirk assembled a team of Catholics, Jews, Latter-day Saints, and others to promote the cause. He reached and mentored racial and sexual minorities who might otherwise avoid the conservative movement, as Amir Odom explained in a viral video after Kirk’s death.

But lacking Kirk’s unifying force, the conservative movement has fractured along political fault lines that were already emerging. Now, the fault lines have become much deeper and more public, particularly between conservatives who believe in the U.S. constitution versus Christian Nationalists who seek an authoritarian Christian ruler instead of our often-contentious pluralistic political system.

Commentator Tucker Carlson has also cultivated disillusionment with the Constitution and free society. In a recent commentary on Venezuela prior to the arrest of Nicolás Maduro, Carlson followed a similar pattern he has in the past: he identifies a country under an authoritarian regime, then suggests to his viewers that everything you have been told is wrong.

Carlson said of Venezuela: “Nicolás Maduro and his government are very left wing on economics, not on social policy, by the way, which is kind of interesting. In Venezuela, gay marriage is banned. Abortion is banned. Sex changes for transgenderism are banned.”

“And by the way, the U.S. backed opposition leader who would take Maduro’s place if he were taken out is, of course, pretty eager to get gay marriage in Venezuela,” he adds.

Again, the pattern is to look at a regime that is oppressive, illiberal, and in conflict with the United States. Then, make the case to Americans that we have been deceived about that country: Show viewers that in that authoritarian-ruled country, good things are happening that are not happening in free Western societies.

In the case of Venezuela, Carlson’s hinting that authoritarian socialism has enabled the implementation of conservative social policies around marriage and gender that should be the envy of the American right.

The effect of this commentary is to leave viewers thinking “I’ve been deceived by elites. People and governments I’ve been told are bad, are in fact benign or even good. Up is down, and down is up.”

The unstated message is “trust me to be your new guide to reality.”

I recently saw the outcome of this commentary in a response to one of my social media posts on Tucker Carlson, as a commenter admitted Carlson was “the only journalist I trust to do real journalism.”

Tucker Carlson’s message appeals, in part, because he is often correct in cases where prominent people and institutions are wrong. After Carlson was accused of promoting a “great replacement conspiracy theory” in 2023, the Biden administration allowed a massive influx of immigration and resettlement using federal dollars, under an expansion of the notion of “humanitarian parole”.

Around that same time, Carlson began warning that Joe Biden was in cognitive decline and the executive branch was being run by staffers and presidential advisors — predating revelations near the end of Biden’s term about the full extent of decline that had been covered up.

A good lesson for critics is this: if you think it is important to limit the influence of a commentator like Tucker Carlson, the worst thing you can do is give people legitimate reasons to believe he is right and he is presenting a more accurate picture of reality than you are.

Anytime a commentator is spending most of their time negating, disrupting, deconstructing, and telling you “everything you’ve been told is wrong,” they are destabilizing.

Of course, there are times and situations where that mental toolset is appropriate. But when it becomes compulsive, when it becomes a person’s constant default approach to the world, that person is showing you that something awful is going on inside.

When asked more about KGB strategies of subversion, Bezmenov described being instructed to “try to get into large circulation, established conservative media, reach filthy rich movie makers, intellectuals, so-called academic circles. Cynical, egocentric people who can look into your eyes with angelic expression and tell you a lie.”

“These are the most recruitable people: people who lack moral principles, who are either too greedy or suffer from self-importance. They feel that they matter a lot.”

None of this is to suggest that Tucker Carlson and other right-leaning influencers are somehow doing the bidding of Russia. What I am highlighting, however, is that our adversaries have been very open about their intentions to destabilize our society, and whether consciously or not, many of our influencers follow the patterns that these open enemies employ to undermine our social fabric and our institutions.

Tucker Carlson’s efforts to upend conventional wisdom have led him to moral inversion, where he condemns Israel for its campaign against Hamas, but is only able to muster morally ambiguous commentary about Russia’s rampage in Ukraine.

Recently, his criticisms of Israel have turned into something resembling obsession, and in a recent episode of his show, he and a guest suggested that the COVID virus was engineered to have a lower impact upon Jews.

This downward spiral of antisemitism on his show was on full display with the recent guest appearance of Nick Fuentes, a commentator distinguished by his open admiration of Hitler (and Stalin), as well as countless examples of vile remarks toward women and minorities.

And here we find the crisis of discernment on the right, particularly among the religious right. In the coalition that Charlie Kirk formed, there are people who hold conservative and even extreme-right positions on issues like immigration or foreign policy. Not all of these people have a Christian worldview, including a Christian understanding of Israel and its biblically-described role in the world.

Many people on the right feel deeply disillusioned by the failures of our institutions, even ones that are trusted to promote a conservative vision for America. Figures like Tucker Carlson and Candace Owens step in and validate people’s sense of disillusionment. They throw gasoline on the fire by leading their viewers into some mixture of true narratives intermixed with cynical conspiracy mongering.

In this way, they offer a constant stream of destabilizing commentary, steadily removing the mental guardrails of their audiences and cultivating a new receptivity toward extreme and morally-inverted viewpoints.

Standing against this process are Christian commentators like Catholic professor Robert George and the evangelical leadership of the Christian satire site The Babylon Bee, as well as other commentators like Ben Shapiro, who is Jewish.

In my view, only a genuinely religious understanding of the world can guard against the pull of authoritarianism that finds so much appeal in a destabilized soul. A believer can see that destabilizing a mind with constant narratives of “everything they tell you is wrong” is the exact process employed in graduate schools to indoctrinate postmodernism and modern flavors of Marxism.

Whereas Christ fasted and prayed in the wilderness and ended up spiritually grounded enough to reject the temptation to power, destabilization is the exact opposite process, preparing souls to accept the lie that power is the only pursuit of real value.

The electoral success of Charlie Kirk’s coalition has been remarkable, and a cause for celebration on the right. But now there is a harder process ahead. The problems facing America’s religious right are spiritual in nature, and they require the teaching and practice of humble and searching discernment.

The post The Most Corrosive Claim in American Politics: “Everything You’ve Been Told Is Wrong” appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The post The Hidden Cost of Normalizing Doubt appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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In two articles published here (Bridle Your Empathy and Empathy or Echo Chambers), I have discussed some lesser-understood challenges in the exercise of empathy. In response to these previous articles, I saw my stance labeled “anti-empathy”––a response I expected. In popular culture, empathy is understood to have an almost sacred value: empathy is never to be scrutinized, questioned, or second-guessed. To even suggest empathy can be a force for anything but good surprises many people. Since many have never imagined criticizing empathy in any possible way, anything but affirmation and praise only registers as an attack on empathy.

Some might be inclined to “balance” the always positive messaging surrounding empathy by making sharp statements about empathy’s problems and drawbacks. This seems to have been the logic behind two recent book titles. The first is The Sin of Empathy: Compassion and Its Counterfeits by Christian theologian Joe Rigney, which offers a Christian perspective on how empathy is misused in the context of faith. The second is the forthcoming book Suicidal Empathy by Concordia University professor Gad Saad, which will reflect his popular commentary on how societies implement self-destructive policies in the name of empathy. However, those of us engaged in critical discussions of empathy have a greater task beyond articulating negatives. Our real challenge is in educating and promoting readers toward an effective mode of empathy. 

Reality Testing

Expanding upon my previous articles, I suggest empathy leads to good only when paired with reality testing. A concept commonly employed in psychotherapy, reality testing is the process of examining beliefs and perceptions to see if they align with reality.

Beyond the context of mental health, reality testing is considered to be important in politics. I say “considered to be” because many tend to assume their political views are based in reality. Many also believe that differing political views arise because others have not engaged in sufficient reality testing. Further, individuals often delegate the task of reality testing to those who curate their political information. By assuming the source has already done their due diligence of reality testing, they treat the information they receive from them as a final product. Reality testing in politics involves accounting for bias in our sources and actively seeking multiple perspectives.

In the United States and Europe, our politics are in a crisis of empathy without reality testing, and much of our lack of reality testing comes from our lack of confidence in institutions that we relied upon in the past to perform that function. This has been a long process, underway for decades. For example, some readers remember the presentation made by General Colin Powell to the United Nations in 2003, making the case that Iraq was developing weapons of mass destruction. When the extensive WMD program described in his speech was not found in our subsequent invasion of Iraq, the U.S. intelligence community suffered a tremendous loss of public credibility as a source for reality testing.

More recently, The Atlantic writer Thomas Chatterton Williams described how decisions in the public health establishment during the COVID pandemic helped to undermine this confidence:

… As the direct consequence of lockdowns and quarantines, many millions of people around the world lost their income, depleted their savings, missed farewells and funerals of loved ones, postponed cancer screenings, never experienced graduations and proms, at times went without human touch entirely, and generally put their lives on pause for the indefinite future. They accepted these sacrifices as awful but necessary when confronted by an otherwise unstoppable virus. And then, from one day to the next, they were told with a straight face that this had all been done in vain. “The risks of congregating during a global pandemic shouldn’t keep people from protesting racism,” NPR announced with eyebrow-raising certitude, citing a letter signed by dozens of American public health officials and disease experts. “White supremacy is a lethal public health issue that predates and contributes to COVID-19,” the letter further explained. One prominent epidemiologist went still further, arguing that the public health risks of not protesting for an end to systemic racism “greatly exceed the harms of the virus.”

To encourage protesting and thereby spread a deadly disease among the protestors themselves, members of our public health establishment gave the impression they were driven by ideology more than public safety. Because of that decision, public health officials ceased to be a viable source of reality-testing for many. The consequences of this have been severe. On questions of public health, a large segment of Americans has turned to alternative voices for reality testing, and it is possible that institutions like the Centers for Disease Control will never recover the valuable role for reality testing they once held.

Other examples could be cited, but Americans who wish to employ reality testing for our political views face an uphill battle when seeking sources that have not been significantly compromised.

Reality testing in faith

The council system of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is an excellent mechanism for bringing reality testing into decision-making. Many painful moments in the Church’s history resulted from decisions made outside the council system and the reality testing it offers. Perhaps the most notable example is the Mountain Meadows Massacre, where local church leaders in Southern Utah sent a request for guidance from President Brigham Young, and then, in a failure of the council process, they made terrible decisions before allowing enough time to include his voice in their deliberations. President James E. Faust once said the council system among the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve “provides a check on bias and personal idiosyncrasies … guard[ing] against the foibles of man.”

When President Dieter F. Uchtdorf encouraged church members to “doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith,” this was another invitation to reality testing. To “doubt our doubts” is to honestly inquire whether those doubts are the product of sound assumptions and mature thinking. Many people over the years have assumed that if something can be criticized without a satisfactory response, then––by default––it must not be true. But this same logic leads people to “deconstruct” their belief that the world is round or adopt other wild conspiracy theories. For people in these situations, the solution is to learn to deconstruct one’s own deconstruction and apply reality testing to the doubts.

Empathy and reality testing

The motte and bailey is a rhetorical trick where an individual gets an opposing party to agree with a very agreeable position (the motte). However, the individual then swaps the agreeable position for an extreme position (the bailey) to reframe the opposing party’s agreement within the more extreme argument. An example is the following hypothetical exchange:

Person 1: “The Bible says that we should be kind to the stranger among us.” (motte)

Person 2: “I agree.”

Person 1: “Then of course you must also agree that no one should ever be deported or extradited from our country. If not, then you don’t believe in the Bible!” (bailey)

Empathy is manipulatively employed in the motte for a number of baileys that afflict the nations of the world. For example, in 1987, the popular rock band U2 released a haunting song called “Mothers of the Disappeared,” written for the grieving mothers of youth who disappeared under right-wing authoritarian movements in South America during the 1970s. I consider it one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard, and the song always achieves its intended purpose with me: leading me to feel deep mourning for the political violence of that era. Since I first heard “Mothers of the Disappeared,” I have learned more of the history and have wondered, why has not a similar song been written for the children taken from their families under the regime of Mao Tse-Tung, or for the quarter of the population of Cambodia wiped out under the Khmer Rouge? Fascist right-wing movements tend to arise in response to fear and legitimate grievances in the wake of cruel, authoritarian left-wing Marxist movements. Both Marxism and fascism exploit empathy over grievances and injustice toward specific groups as the motte for authoritarian baileys of oppression. Part of reality testing is to apply scrutiny to empathy itself and discern whether empathy is applied selectively to one group or another based on whether they align with the ideological left or right. If so, then one is not really practicing empathy, only partisan sympathy.

In a recent article for Quillette, Brian Stewart wrote a criticism of the empathy-drenched commentary of New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof:

From his perch at America’s newspaper of record, Kristof has spent many years travelling to far-flung places ravaged by poverty, famine, genocide, and war, and rubbing his nose in the misery he finds there. These trips through landscapes of privation and atrocity have brought forth a steady stream of lugubrious dispatches documenting the world’s ills and enjoining the rest of us to do something about them.

Stewart argues that Kristof’s columns reflect no understanding of tradeoffs or unintended consequences. In his reporting on Gaza in particular, Kristof makes claims and moral judgments and avoids asking necessary questions like what Israel is facing, what Hamas intends, and what the consequences would be for different choices. Kristof speaks to the empathy of his readers, but does no reality testing.

And so, we return to the question: If empathy has possible drawbacks, then what is a positive and healthy exercise of empathy? The answer: empathy becomes a force for good only when paired with reality testing. Only then can empathy lead to human flourishing as opposed to performative partisan sympathy, moral grandstanding, and other unhelpful behaviors. 

As Edith Stein expressed, “Do not accept anything as truth that lacks love. Do not accept anything as love which lacks truth.”

The post The Limits of Empathy: Why Feeling Isn’t Always Knowing appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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During the summer of 2025, we’ve seen a notable shift in the narrative style of superhero films. 

Since 2002, superhero films have centered on origin stories—plots that trace heroes from ordinary individuals to extraordinary agents of justice and good. But James Gunn’s rebooted film Superman and the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s introduction of the Fantastic Four both notably start in the middle of their characters’ stories. These characters are fully formed, and their backstories are assumed and deemphasized. 

This shift reflects more than just storytelling evolution; rather, it reflects a deeper cultural transformation in how we are responding to the crises around us, how we conceive of agency, and how we imagine heroism.

In the same way the origin story rose as a response to our cultural processing of 9/11, this shift away from them reflects the breakdown of shared national narratives and a desperate search for safety in an age of uncertainty. 

Pre-9/11: Action Without Introspection

Before the events of September 11, 2001, American action cinema largely operated within a confident moral framework. The genre thrived on spectacle, propulsion, and clarity, rather than introspection or psychological depth. Heroes were rarely burdened with complexity; they were good simply because they were good. Audiences accepted this simplicity not as a narrative deficiency, but as a feature of the genre’s moral architecture. The focus was on what the hero would do, not why they felt compelled to do it.

Similarly, in Independence Day (1996), Captain Steven Hiller (Will Smith) is a hotshot fighter pilot who defends the planet from extraterrestrial annihilation. The film offers no biographical backstory to explain Hiller’s courage; it simply presents him as the kind of American who rises to meet the moment. 

In addition, Top Gun (1986), with its swaggering fighter jocks and Cold War subtext, gives us Maverick (Tom Cruise), a thrill-seeking pilot who competes to be the best. Top Gun is notable because it does nod to the mysterious death of Maverick’s father, but it does so without mining the event for psychological motivation. It presents it not as formative for our character, but as part of his formed character. We never ask what made Maverick crave speed. 

These characters are fully formed at their introductions. There is no demand for narrative justification or psychological realism.

Even in the emerging superhero genre of the era—where one might expect more elaborate treatments of identity and origin, in line with their comic book form—this tendency persisted. The villain was often the one with a backstory, not the hero. Tim Burton’s Batman (1989) gives Jack Nicholson’s Joker an origin as a mob enforcer named Jack Napier, whose disfigurement and descent into madness offer a form of explanation for his violence. Batman, in contrast, is defined primarily through action and mystique. In X-Men (2000), the audience is given a haunting origin for Magneto, who, as a child, survives Auschwitz and emerges with a militant view of mutant survival. The heroes—Cyclops, Storm, Jean Grey—are just there. Even Wolverine, the film’s breakout antihero, is more defined by his amnesia than a deeply explored past.

In places where we do see origin-like elements, they are treated as flashbacks after which we catch up with our heroes mid-story. We see this approach in the brief flashback to the murder of Bruce Wayne’s parents in the 1989 film. Perhaps the clearest example of this narrative economy can be found in Superman: The Movie (1978). The film opens with the destruction of Krypton and young Kal-El’s escape to Earth. But these sequences are delivered in brisk montage and are more interested in Zod, the villain. We quickly skip ahead to a point where Superman is already the embodiment of American virtue.

Post-9/11: Origins as Ontology

In the years following 9/11, that changed. As American society absorbed the trauma of watching its symbols of power collapse live on television, it entered what we might call a hermeneutic age—an era defined by interpretation, inquiry, and a pervasive sense that nothing can be taken at face value. The cultural response was a desperate turn toward explanation, particularly in cinema.

The turn toward psychological realism and its expression—the origin story, arguably began with Spider-Man (2002). Released less than a year after 9/11, Sam Raimi’s film offered a superhero origin story steeped in trauma, guilt, and reluctant responsibility. Peter Parker isn’t simply bitten by a radioactive spider; he wrestles with the moral implications of power, the weight of his uncle’s death, and the crushing burden of his double life. The story insists on the interiority of its hero. And for the first time, where our superhero came from wasn’t a footnote; it was the story itself.

Christopher Nolan’s Batman Begins (2005) exemplifies this shift. Rather than drop us into the action, the film spends nearly an hour exploring Bruce Wayne’s childhood fears, the trauma of losing his parents, and his training with the League of Shadows. The film doesn’t hint at his backstory; it is his backstory. Batman becomes not merely a symbol of justice but a complex psychological case study. And while the latter two films don’t repeat his origin, they continue to build on the themes of what caused him to be who he is. In The Dark Knight (2008), the Joker is terrifying precisely because he is inexplicable.

This trend wasn’t confined to traditional superheroes. Consider Casino Royale (2006), which reboots James Bond not for the next adventure, as he had been rebooted four times before, but at the beginning of his story. Here, he doesn’t begin as the suave, infallible operative of earlier films, but as a man learning the emotional and moral costs of espionage. Even Sonic the Hedgehog got an origin story!

Iron Man (2008) launches the Marvel Cinematic Universe not with world-saving action, but with Tony Stark’s reckoning with the consequences of his own weapons empire. Every character must be wounded, conflicted, and from somewhere. It is no mistake that Tony Stark’s origin focuses more on his alcoholism and troubled romantic life, which could resonate with the audience, than on his extreme wealth.

As audiences, we wanted to feel like anyone could rise up and become the hero, and by seeing these heroes begin as people like us, we felt empowered, putting ourselves into their shoes. 9/11 showed that our external heroes could fail, and the intimate experience of seeing the tragedy in our own living rooms made each of us want to feel empowered. For all the fantasy special effects, these films were at their heart a playbook for how each audience member could become a hero. It’s no surprise that during this period, it was our least human superheroes that struggled to resonate with audiences, Superman Returns, Man of Steel, the first two Thor films, and Eternals. These characters didn’t become heroes; they were born as heroes, so audiences didn’t need them.

A New Kind of Hero Post-COVID

Today, we are no longer reeling from a singular, unifying trauma like 9/11. Instead, we inhabit an age of chronic disillusionment. The COVID-19 pandemic became not a rallying point but a breaking point—exposing fractures in our civic trust, political institutions, and even basic consensus about reality. Where the post-9/11 era yearned for heroes we could become, the pandemic era has left us longing for something else entirely: the comfort that someone, anyone, in a position of responsibility will simply do their job.

We can see this anxiety in the fractured multi-verse style stories that began to take hold. Everything, Everywhere, All at Once (2022) captured this feeling in the prestige market, while it took over in Spider-Man: No Way Home (2021) and Dr. Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (2022). The progenitor of this trope, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018), went from novelty project to cultural behemoth post-COVID in 2023’s Across the Spider-Verse.

But while this reflected the moment in a way that clearly intrigued audiences, it didn’t speak to their desire for something soothing. Consequently, the appetite for the 9/11 generation of superheroes has waned. While the studio system kept producing more of the same, it was the throwback exceptions like Top Gun: Maverick (2022) that captured attention and rose to the top. This film succeeds precisely because it returns us to a world where competent people lead, where moral clarity is possible, and where action matters more than angst. Rooster doesn’t need an origin story; he needs to hit the target. And he does.

Audiences seem tired of watching characters endlessly become. They want to see them do their jobs.

This brings us to the superhero season of 2025. Although Marvel released Thunderbolts*, widely regarded as their best film in years, the reveal that it was another origin story about a superhero team ultimately turned off audiences, who then didn’t show up.

Audiences instead have shown up on the superhero front for Superman and The Fantastic Four: First Steps.

Both stories drop us into the action in media res, asking us to keep up with the characters who are already competent and decisive. We meet our newest Superman after a fight. 

Superman is notable here because his story does hint at his origin, but the film’s plot involves how he manages and subverts that in the present moment. One of the film’s major themes is how his origin does not define him. 

Both Clark Kent and Reed Richards have extreme powers—they have been entrusted by the people of their universes to protect them. Both of them fail and then [spoiler-alert] ultimately emerge victorious as they combine their deeply moral hearts with their advanced competences.

They care about people, so they protect them, and that’s a good enough reason. 

Today, America wishes our leaders and institutions would do the same. In the absence of that, we go to the cinema to see our fantasies and salve our wounds.

The post-9/11 era transformed not just geopolitics but the grammar of our storytelling. American films, once comfortable in moral simplicity, turned inward, seeking explanations, origins, and ontological justifications for every mask, every motive. That desire was understandable. In times of trauma, we reach for coherence. But as our culture has moved into its next phase, it has grown weary of explanation and demands action. We do not always need to know why someone became a hero. Sometimes, it is enough that they are one.

The post How We Lost Faith in the Hero’s Beginning appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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Previous essays: Navigating Your Faith Journey: Questioning is Good, Navigating Your Faith Journey: Use Your Heart, Navigating Your Faith Journey: Use Your Head

This is the fourth essay in a series on Navigating Your Faith Journey. In the first essay, we argued that careful, thoughtful questioning is not only acceptable but can be helpful to your faith journey. Then we promised three follow-up essays in the series where we would provide guidance on how to go about navigating your faith journey productively using your heart, head, and hands. In this final essay, we will focus on the role of your hands, or in other words, the need to put in the necessary work to successfully navigate your faith journey. As we noted in the third essay, we realize it is a bit artificial to think that human beings can be broken down into separate parts like hearts, heads, and hands. Obviously, you need your heart (emotion) and head (thought) to engage in work (action). But, to use our car analogy from earlier, to be able to get anywhere, in addition to having an engine (heart) and steering wheel (head), you need to have tires. In other words, work (using your hands) is where the “rubber hits the road.”

A big part of the work of a faith journey is questioning, which involves asking questions, seeking answers, and then trying to act on those answers. This formula was outlined by Jesus when He taught His disciples to “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you” (Matthew 7:7). Asking involves praying, seeking involves pondering and studying, and knocking involves acting on what we learn and observing the effects on our lives. Then, ultimately, as Elder Neil Anderson taught, “faith is not by chance, but by choice.”

The second step is to study, or “seek,” as some scriptures suggest. In other words, we need to put in the work to learn about the gospel and the Church. We have been instructed to “… seek learning even by study and also by faith” (Doctrine and Covenants 88:118). And as Joseph Smith declared, “A man [or woman] is saved no faster than he [or she] gets knowledge. …” However, sometimes we fear more knowledge, wondering if it might lead us away from the Church. This is especially true when it comes to matters of church history. But, as Elder J. Reuben Clark was known to say, “If we have the truth, it cannot be harmed by investigation.” Thus, more knowledge of the gospel and the Church should lead to deeper faith and stronger commitment. The truth is on our side. In fact, some people who leave the Church only to return later note that they originally left because they didn’t know enough—though, at the time, they thought they did. However, once they learned more and had studied things out a bit more carefully, they returned (see the Come Back Podcast). The Lord has been clear that we need to study “the best books” (Doctrine and Covenants 88:118), and nowadays that would include the best magazines, websites, blogs, podcasts, and so on. As we noted in our essay about using your head on your faith journey, not all sources of information are created equal. In that same essay, we also talked about the myth of objectivity. Often, people look for “objective” sources about the gospel and the Church, or the sources themselves may claim to be “objective,” but there is no such thing as an objective perspective on anything. While it is often useful to get multiple, diverse perspectives, it is important to follow the guidelines outlined in our previous essay for evaluating sources. Examining and weighing alternative perspectives is central to making thoughtful, informed decisions. It is further helpful to appreciate that while there are always at least two sides to any issue, that doesn’t mean both sides are equally correct, consistent, or reliable. Also, remember the first rule of religious understanding by Krister Stendahl, “When you are trying to understand another religion, you should ask the adherents of that religion and not its enemies.”   

The third step is to act and observe. This is the “knock” part of ask, seek, and knock. In addition to praying to seek personal revelation and learning about the gospel and the Church, it is also important to observe the effects of the gospel and the Church in our own life, the lives of others, and the world more broadly. Alma invites us to “experiment upon [God’s] words” (Alma 32:27). Noah Webster’s 1828 Dictionary defines “experiment” as “A trial; an act or operation designed to discover some unknown truth, principle, or effect, or to establish it when discovered.” In other words, just as scientists systematically conduct experiments to discover and verify truths about the temporal world, we can, on a smaller scale, run our own case study experiments on the gospel in our own lives. If applying a gospel principle in our life warms our heart and enlightens our mind, we are on the right track—we have evidence of the truthfulness of the principle (Alma 32:28). As the Lord taught, “by their fruits ye shall know them” (Matt. 7:20 and 3 Ne. 14:20) because “a good tree bringeth not forth corrupt fruit; neither doth a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit. For every tree is known by his own fruit” (Luke 6:43-44). Thus, as we see changes in ourselves—such as in our personality, attitudes, habits, and relationships—that provides further evidence for the truthfulness of the principles, to the point that eventually we can say we “know” it is true (Alma 32:29-34). In this way, we can come to know the truth in a deeply personal, directly experiential way that speaks to both our hearts and our heads—but only if we do the work with our hands.

In addition to observing the effects of the gospel in our own lives, we can also observe its effects on other people. Pioneering psychologist Albert Bandura called this observational learning. We might observe the impact on the lives of family, friends, neighbors, coworkers, and others when they live or do not live the gospel. This helps us identify patterns and trends beyond just what we observe in our own lives. If we see something in our life and then see the same thing in other people’s lives, we gain confidence in that principle. We are moving beyond the case study. And, in addition to observing the consequences of the gospel in our own lives and the lives of others around us, we can also learn a great deal by studying the lives of those who have gone before us (including in the scriptures). History often teaches many important truths by powerfully showing how the consequences of decisions and patterns of acting play out over time, for good or ill.

For decades, social scientists have studied the role of religion in people’s lives. So, we can also look at the scientific evidence. Some of this research is theoretical, where social scientists articulate models for the role of religion in life. Some of this research is qualitative and involves identifying themes in interviews with people about the role of religion in their lives and relationships. And some of the research is quantitative, involving statistical analyses of outcomes of religion. Although there are exceptions, the bulk of the social sciences research suggests that religion leads to positive outcomes for individuals, families, and society. There is also substantial evidence that members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are doing relatively well. Sociologist Christian Smith conducted the largest study ever of adolescent religious development in the United States. Based on his in-depth analyses, he stated, “… in general comparisons among major U.S. religious traditions … it is Mormon teenagers who are … faring the best.” One of his collaborators similarly claimed that “… topping the charts—in religious devotion, in overall well-being, in integration of faith and life—were the Mormons.” In fact, she included a chapter in one of her books titled “Mormon Envy,” where she speculated on why Latter-day Saint youth are doing so well compared to both youth of other faiths and those who are not religious. In short, for most people in most situations, the gospel seems to work, and the Church seems to be doing something right. But we invite you to investigate the research yourself.

We just described what we called the four action steps for doing the work on your faith journey. But we caution against thinking of these steps as a sequential checklist, as they may not always proceed in that order, and they are continually interconnected. We can think of ways in which each of the four steps motivates and informs the others. This is similar to how the first principles and ordinances are not a “one and done” effort, but a lifelong process.

We should also stress another crucial point: not all questions are equally worth asking. Elder Lawrence Corbridge distinguished primary questions from secondary questions. He suggests the following as four primary questions:

1. Is there a God who is our Father?

2. Is Jesus Christ the Son of God, the Savior of the World?

3. Was Joseph Smith a prophet?

4. Is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints the kingdom of God on the earth?

These are primary because they constitute what many consider the key elements of a “testimony.” We would like to add a fifth question that could be considered a shortcut of sorts to answering the previous four questions: Is the Book of Mormon the word of God? Joseph Smith declared the Book of Mormon as the “keystone of our religion.” Further, Elder Tad Callister argued it can be the “keystone of our testimonies.” In essence, if we know the Book of Mormon is true, we will know that God is our Father, Jesus is the Christ, Joseph Smith was a prophet, and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is God’s restored church on the earth today. You may have a lot of other questions on your metaphorical “shelf,” as they say, but satisfactory answers to these primary questions will resolve most of those secondary questions. It doesn’t seem logical or efficient to gain a testimony of the Book of Mormon yet still hold onto doubt based on archeology regarding horses and elephants in the Americas!

This concludes our four-part series of essays on navigating faith journeys. We hope we have provided some inspiration and guidance to help you along the way. Nevertheless, this is your individual journey. In some ways, we are all on the same journey, while in other ways, each journey is unique. As such, we encourage you to prioritize the Spirit (Holy Ghost) as your guide. In the words of Nephi, “For behold, again I say unto you that if ye will enter in by the way, and receive the Holy Ghost, it will show unto you all things what ye should do” (2 Nephi 32:5). Jesus also taught, “But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you” (John 14:26). And Moroni promised that, “… by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things” (Moroni 10:5). With a spin on the Jedi blessing, we close with “May the [Spirit] be with you.”

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This is the 3rd article in a series of 4.  Part 1: Navigating Your Faith Journey: Questioning is Good, Part 2: Navigating Your Faith Journey: Use Your Heart, Part 4: Navigating Your Faith Journey: Use Your Hands

In this article, we provide suggestions for how to use your head more effectively in your faith journey. This is the third essay in a series on Navigating Your Faith Journey. In the first essay, we made the case that questioning is not only acceptable but can be helpful to your faith journey. Then we promised three follow-up essays in the series where we would provide guidance on how to go about navigating your faith journey productively using your heart, head, and hands. In this third essay, we will focus on the role of the head, meaning your thoughts, intellect, logic, and reasoning. Obviously, separating humans into hearts, heads, and hands is a bit artificial since we aren’t really composed of discrete parts or pieces. Still, it does provide a framework for organizing various aspects of our lives that are relevant to navigating our faith journeys. As such, we can generally imagine that the heart is what provides the power, while the head provides the direction. (If you remember the car analogy from Essay 2, the heart is the engine while the head is the steering wheel.) So, in this essay, we will provide ideas to help you make sure you are going in the right direction on your faith journey.

There is irony underlying the tips we will provide here for using your head to navigate your faith journey. They all come from our discipline of psychology (or at least psychology borrowed them from other disciplines, such as philosophy and science), and psychology is one of the least religious academic disciplines. Nonetheless, we are going to show you how to use certain tools of psychology to help you on your faith journey. We are confident in this approach because these tools have helped us on our faith journeys, and we are not the only ones who have applied these tools to the successful navigation of faith journeys. For example, books such as “Seekers Wanted” by Anthony Sweat, “Planted” by Patrick Mason, and “Wrestling with the Restoration” by Steven Harper articulate similar ideas.

How might source criticism help you navigate your faith journey? When you encounter information about the gospel or the Church, we suggest you first evaluate the quality and reliability of the source. For example, here are some questions you might ask about the source (the same questions we ask about sources relevant to our field of psychology):

1. Who said or wrote the information? Do they have relevant training, education, experience, or expertise? If not, they are likely a less trustworthy source of information on that topic. For example, many of the most well-known critics of the Church have very little, if any, training in relevant areas such as theology, philosophy, and history. Also, what are their biases? For example, many of the most well-known critics of the Church are disgruntled former members. As we will discuss more below, objectivity is a myth. Often, people questioning the Church will seek “objective” or neutral sources, but no such sources exist. It is impossible for humans to be objective; we can’t step outside of our experience to be entirely neutral and unbiased. Instead, look for sources that are fair and honest. Being fair means they listen to other perspectives, seek to understand the strengths and limitations of their own ideas and those of others, and are willing to question and even modify their own views. Being honest means they are sincerely pursuing the truth, trying to convey the truth with integrity, and acknowledging their own biases.

2. What was the venue or outlet for the information? Is it a reputable and credible venue or outlet? Does the venue or outlet have a review process; in other words, are there gatekeepers to ensure the quality of the information? For example, anyone can post anything they want on the internet, but not everyone can publish anything they want in a newspaper, magazine, or book. Those venues have editors.

3. How old is the information? Old information might still be good, but it depends. Is it still relevant and accurate? Has the information been revised or challenged in important ways by more recent work?

4. Is it a primary or secondary source? You may be familiar with the game “telephone,” where people line up and the first person says something, and then that information gets passed down the line. Invariably, the information the last person gets is quite different from the original. If someone quotes someone else, particularly if they paraphrase, it is always good practice to find the original source before putting too much stock in the information.

The second tool is Contextualization. In addition to critically evaluating the sources of information we receive, we also need to appropriately and adequately contextualize the information. Otherwise, it can be misleading. There are several important ways in which we need to contextualize information we receive regarding the gospel and the Church.

1. Textual context. Often, information used by critics of the Church comes from obscure quotes from scriptures or modern-day church leaders taken out of the context in which they were originally used. For example, some critics of the Church have taken a quote by Elder Oaks out of context to suggest that he said we should always accept anything a church leader ever says as true, even if it is not. In fact, however, Elder Oaks (who was speaking to historians) was suggesting that not everything that is true about a person’s life is always useful to share. He wasn’t saying that leaders are always above any correction, only that historians need to be thoughtful about what they share about the people they write about—that they should strive to see the person in context, to not focus on one flaw or misbehavior and use it to define the whole person. Interestingly, in those same comments, Elder Oaks spoke about the importance of being skeptical in our reading and being sensitive to bias in our informational sources.

2. Historical context. We have the tendency to interpret historical events through the lens of our current experience. But historians caution that other historical ages are like other cultures; that is, they often did things differently back then. That doesn’t mean we can’t think critically about things that happened; it just means our own worldview for doing so is insufficient. We also need to take into consideration their worldview and context. One way in which we can do this is by stepping back and reflecting on what we learn without rendering immediate judgment. Doing this gives us some emotional distance and allows for a more balanced examination. This is especially the case when the information we encounter is negative or surprising. This doesn’t mean that we must be totally dispassionate, at least not in the way objective neutrality would require. Feelings and values can be important in helping us understand and evaluate history. Still, we should rationally evaluate the information we encounter in light of our values and the values of those presenting the information. It also seems best to view historical events in a spirit of charity where we give others the “benefit of the doubt,” especially when they are the target of criticisms that may be one-sided. Being charitable means assuming others are acting in good faith—at least until we find evidence to the contrary. For example, critics often show undue concern that Joseph Smith looked for treasures using seer stones and married teenage women. Our knee-jerk reaction to such things might be bewilderment and disgust. But neither of these things was unusual for that time in which he lived.

3. Church context. It is also important to understand if information is primarily at the level of the gospel, the Church, or church culture. The restored gospel of Jesus Christ is 100% true. We readily testify to that. And everyone can receive direct revelation from God that it is true. Typically, however, the gospel comes to us from God and Christ by way of mortal men and women. Often this occurs within the organization of the Church. In other words, that perfect gospel sometimes loses integrity as it passes through human minds and hands on its way to us. In fact, the Title Page of the Book of Mormon acknowledges this when it states: “And now, if there are faults they are the mistakes of men; wherefore, condemn not the things of God, that ye may be found spotless at the judgment-seat of Christ.” The gospel is perfect, but the scriptures and the Church, and any other medium reliant on mortal efforts, are imperfect. To this point, Elder Dale G. Renlund taught: “If you receive what the Lord’s Church offers, you can be perfected in Christ before His Church is perfected, if it ever is. His goal is to perfect you, not His Church” (footnote 35). Still, the Church plays an important role in delivering the gospel to us. If we are thoughtful, we can still hone in on core gospel truths or doctrines. Lastly, our encounters with the gospel often come in our local congregations and our homes. Yet another layer of human minds and hands the gospel passes through, whereby it loses even more integrity. We might call these “folk religions,” and technically, there are as many folk religions as there are members of the Church! Thus, do not confuse the way your Ward or family teaches or practices the gospel, much less the way you yourself do, with being THE GOSPEL or THE CHURCH. Such naivety is easily challenged by attending a different Ward or getting married, where you encounter other interpretations of the gospel and the Church. These three layers are important to remember because the further down the information is, the more prone it is to error.

How might cognitive flexibility help you on your faith journey? In the first essay in this series (on Questioning), we outlined the stages of faith (using the Hafens’ model): (1) simplicity, (2) complexity, and (3) simplicity beyond complexity. In Stage 1, people figuratively see the world as black and white and thus have minimal cognitive flexibility. But at some point, for many people, that way of thinking is no longer adequate, because the world generally isn’t black and white. As Jean Piaget, a pioneer in developmental psychology, explained, when encountering new information, we can either assimilate that information into our current ways of thinking or accommodate it by developing new ways of thinking. According to him, cognitive development happens as people are pushed to develop more and more sophisticated ways of thinking. When people have experiences with or encounter new information about the gospel or the Church that cannot easily be assimilated into their current way of thinking, some choose to abandon the gospel or the Church, but they could instead learn to accommodate. Since simplistic ways of seeing the world are often unrealistic, accommodation means being open to seeing the world as it is; in other words, having cognitive flexibility. One common example noted in our first essay is the simplistic notion that church leaders are infallible. If we hear something a church leader did that seems wrong, our immediate reaction might be to assume that either the information is false, or the Church isn’t true—it’s an either/or situation. So, we might immediately dismiss the information to retain belief in the Church. But with more evidence of the truthfulness of the information, we may feel compelled to abandon the Church. But what if, like in psychology classes, the correct answer is “both” or “it depends.” In this case, the information could be correct AND the Church could still be true. But only if we have cognitive flexibility.

The fifth and final tool is Questioning Assumptions. This is, perhaps, the most difficult tool we have to offer, but also the one that may prove to be the most helpful. As we just noted, every human perspective is a perspective from somewhere. In other words, the way in which we make sense of and experience the world, and even the questions we ask about our faith journeys, arise out of some very basic assumptions we have about the world, ourselves, and others. These assumptions concern our basic sense of how we can know things to be true or false, how things ought to be, and what interpretations or understandings of events “just make sense.” Because they are so basic to our experience of the world, these assumptions are also mostly taken for granted, and thus, we seldom examine or clarify them to ourselves. This does not mean that our most basic assumptions cannot be accessed, evaluated, or critically examined. In fact, it is vital that we not only take careful stock of the assumptions that others seem to be operating from to better evaluate the arguments they make and the evidence they present, but we also need to carefully think through our own assumptions to know why we find some ideas particularly troubling or persuasive.

In summary, we have provided you with five tools to help you on your faith journey: (1) Source Criticism, (2) Contextualization, (3) Cognitive Flexibility, (4) Myth Buster, and (5) Questioning Assumptions. As we noted at the start, these are tools that scholars and psychological researchers like us use in our research and writing. They are tools we teach our students. But we have noticed they have also helped us and many others navigate our faith journeys “using our heads.” For faith and reason are not in conflict, but are mutually reinforcing, and both are necessary for us to find our way forward.

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In the early years of gospel formation, Latter-day Saint parents and Primary leaders tend not to talk about the Wrath of God and instead focus on the positive and loving attributes of Christ described in the New Testament.  The ultimate goal is to become like Jesus. We often hear the phrase ‘Be Christlike’ and sing songs like “I’m trying to be like Jesus” and “I know Heavenly Father Loves Me.”   Children are taught to be kind, loving, gentle, meek, nice, charitable, and peacemakers. All of these attributes are essential, but incomplete.

The God of the Old Testament is Jesus Christ. In those scriptures, we see a God who follows through on consequences and values justice: the flood destroyed many, Sodom and Gomorrah were demolished, and the Israelites took 40 years to reach the promised land. In each of these stories, the consequences were a direct result of sinful choices. The God of Abraham is a God of covenants, who required His children to keep His commandments. I have heard many people state that they don’t like the God of the Old Testament because He seems too mean. It’s ironic when He’s described as not being “Christlike.”

In contemporary culture—and even within Latter-day Saint communities—there is growing pressure to be “nice” at all costs.  Unfortunately, this is happening in our wards too. I heard from one follower: 

One of the trends I’ve noticed is that our ward is increasingly becoming more divided due to new move-ins in the past couple of years who have brought an uneasy spirit into the ward. The underlying issue? No one wants to discuss hard topics for fear of possibly ‘offending’ others. Sigh. We are definitely living in the last days!

Perhaps we avoid difficult conversations, downplay doctrine, and hesitate to stand for truth because it might create discomfort. But is that Christlike? Or have we confused true kindness with mere politeness?

Perhaps we have also avoided teaching lessons about God’s justice: the moments when Christ rebuked hypocrisy or the times He boldly stood for truth despite opposition. While these stories might seem to contradict the loving Jesus we eagerly teach our children, could leaving them out unintentionally create an incomplete picture of discipleship—one that equates being Christlike with never making anyone uncomfortable?

Christ Was Kind, Not Merely Nice

If Jesus had only been “nice,” meaning primarily concerned about not causing discomfort to others, the Pharisees probably would have loved Him.  Perhaps they would not have sought His crucifixion. But His kindness—which calls people to repentance—made people uncomfortable.  Here are a few examples from Christ in the New Testament demonstrating this balance:

• Niceness would have ignored the woman at the well to avoid religious conflict. Kindness engaged her in truth, helping her recognize her spiritual need (John 4:7-26).

• Niceness would have let the rich young ruler walk away happy. Kindness told him the truth—that he lacked something, even if it was hard to hear (Mark 10:17-22).

• Niceness would have kept quiet before Pilate. Kindness bore testimony, even when it led to His crucifixion (John 18:37).

Clearly, kindness is not the absence of conflict—it is the presence of integrity.

Why Niceness is a Counterfeit Virtue

Many church members today may feel an increasing pressure to be nice rather than truthful. This shift reflects cultural trends, not gospel principles. Psychologist Jordan Peterson points out that “niceness” is often a socially enforced behavior, not a moral virtue. In contrast, kindness requires moral courage—the ability to do what is right even when it is hard socially. Psychologist Dr. Harriet Lerner describes this in her book The Dance of Connection:

Niceness is concerned with not upsetting others, even at the cost of honesty. True kindness is the ability to speak with clarity and care, even when the truth is hard to hear.

This distinction is critical in discipleship. The Savior was not simply “nice”—He was good. The difference? Goodness is rooted in truth. 

If we prioritize niceness over kindness, three common dangers arise:

1. Niceness Encourages Silence, Not Strength

Many hesitate to share their testimony of eternal truths—especially about family, gender, and discipleship—because they don’t want to offend. Elder Dallin H. Oaks, quoting Hugh Nibley, clarified, “You have to be willing to offend here, you have to be willing to take the risk. That’s where the faith comes in … Our commitment is supposed to be a test, it’s supposed to be hard, it’s supposed to be impractical in the terms of this world.” Truth spoken with love may still offend, but it is redemptive.

One sister shared with me,

I once hesitated to correct a Relief Society discussion that veered into personal opinions rather than doctrine. I worried that addressing it might seem unkind. But as I gently guided the conversation back to scripture and prophetic teachings, the Spirit in the room shifted. One sister later thanked me, saying she had been confused about the topic and appreciated the clarity. That experience taught me that truth delivered with love blesses rather than wounds.

Similarly, we’ve all been in situations where the desire for niceness overshadows the need for truth. For example, in one Relief Society class, a teacher started the lesson by asking, “What conference messages from the last conference did you find troubling? What didn’t you agree with?” Especially in this context, the question felt more divisive than enlightening, as it seemed to put personal opinion before the gospel message.

2. Niceness Seeks Social Approval, Not Divine Approval

Niceness is externally motivated—we want people to like us. Kindness is internally motivated—we want to follow Christ. The Pharisees were obsessed with appearing righteous (Matthew 23:5), yet Christ called them out for missing the heart of the gospel. Likewise, we are seeing the rise of a form of Christianity where doctrine is softened to fit social trends both within and outside The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This isn’t kindness—it’s spiritual abandonment. We have ample illustrations from church history and contemporary church leaders of how to express truth kindly yet with clarity.  Some examples include the Church’s statements on  the Respect for Marriage Act, as well as the Church’s position on  abortion.

3. Niceness Avoids Truth, Kindness Applies Truth with Love

Kindness does not mean weaponizing truth or being harsh: it means speaking with both clarity and care. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland put it best: “Defend your beliefs with courtesy and compassion, but defend them.”

One of the best examples I’ve seen came during a Relief Society lesson about the temple garment. Before studying the General Conference talk, the teacher boldly started her lesson, saying we were not here to get contentious about our different opinions regarding the temple garment. “We are here to discuss the words and teachings of our General Conference speakers and to follow the guidance from the prophets.” This is the job of a Relief Society teacher. This is the format that we should have in our Sunday discussions.

A Call to Kindness

Niceness will never change the world. But kindness—which is grounded in truth—will. President Russell M. Nelson has repeatedly emphasized that true discipleship requires both love and loyalty to God’s laws. Kindness is not about keeping the peace at the expense of the truth. It is about speaking truth in a way that invites peace, that invites Christ. As disciples of Jesus Christ, we are called to be “peacemakers” (Matthew 5:9)—not by avoiding truth, but by sharing it with compassion and courage.

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