B. H. Roberts replies to Philip Wentworth’s Atlantic piece.

Roberts, senior president of the Seventy, will die in a few months. It’s 1933 and James Talmage will be dead four months after Roberts’s Improvement Era article appears. Roberts will die exactly two months after Talmage. It’s close to the end of an era. In answering Wentworth’s claims, Roberts will repeat a common Mormon trope. But that is for the final part of this meander. First, Roberts will go into a theme that guided his own life, and in an ideal world for him, would have guided his religion. But first, Roberts sees Wentworth’s predicament as a result of the failure of Christianity (Historic Christianity as evangelical apologists love to term it).

Roberts sees the modern Christian world as “transgressing the laws, changing the ordinances and breaking the everlasting covenant of which the blood of Christ is spoken of a being the covenant to be broken (cf. Isa. xxiv:1-7; Heb. xii:20)” and “one of the most disastrous steps Christendom took in this direction was when it fixed limitations upon itself by denying continuous revelation to the Church.” Here, Roberts employs the long time argument of Latter-day Saint missionaries of the previous century: cessationism was the great departure from the true gospel. This denial of revelation means that the Church, as it stood for centuries and up to Wentworth’s own parish experience, fought against all forms of new knowledge. Including scientific progress. And this lays a trap for the young. For Roberts all truth, in one way or another, is a revelation from God. Roberts sees hermeneutics as the problem. Truth trumps hermeneutics for him. Here Roberts repeats Wentworth’s indictment of the Church in his claim the it deploys Government to enforce what it can’t get the folken to believe by sitting in the pews. Roberts even looks at Scopes as a straight-ahead dumb thing by a Tennessee system under the thumb of evangelical dictation. Here is where Roberts gets to the first of his arguments, and it’s pretty clear that he has more than one target in mind.

There are two ways human conduct may be controlled, Roberts says. 1 is “Moral Government,” 2 is “Effective Government.” He defines Moral Government as God’s true government, where an innate Truth is taught and the very force of such truth creates convictions in the populace “which leads to adherence to truth, and hence to right conduct as set forth by truth.” This government rests on “persuasion, long-suffering, gentleness and meekness, by love unfeigned, by kindness, and pure knowledge . . . (and so forth).” No influence ought to be used except by those principles. Those are the forces operating in “Moral Government.” Effective Government is man’s government and it ultimately rests on force, compulsion, fines, imprisonment, and even death. “This government is . . . wholly human, and represents power by which human decrees ostensibly work for the good of society;” but it proceeds by penalty and force. “it should never be invoked for enforcing beliefs or Church discipline.” Roberts sees Wentworth’s complaints as instances of the Christian Church co-opting Effective Government to serve where it should be able, were it truly in possession of real ongoing truth, to persuade, etc., etc. “The Churches . . . seeking state enforcement of prohibition, . . . stricter legislation regarding dissemination of birth-control information . . . and call[ing] upon laws against teaching evolution in [the] schools” have gone off the rails by using Effective Government to enforce religious dogma. [Oh boy.]

Like me, you probably learned the word “Antidisestablishmentarianism” because of its properties as a word. It is one of the longest non-scientific words in the English language, and it showcases the way that shift meaning by multiplying prefixes (dis-, anti-) and suffixes (-ment, -tarian, -ism). And it sounds a lot like George Orewell’s newspeak, which creates complicated constructions like “doubleplusungood” to replace simpler words like “horrible.”

Several years ago, I read a collection of “new” Sherlock Holmes stories. There are many, many of these in the wild, and I don’t even remember the title of the volume. I remember one story from the book by name, though, because it was such an odd name for a story: “The Giant Rat of Sumatra.” I remember the story too: Professor Moriarity has cornered the market on a new plague serum, and he tries to import a huge rat from Indonesia to act as a vector for a plague that will kill everybody in England who doesn’t buy his serum. Oh, and the ship that the rat is on is called the Matilda Briggs.

I was well into adulthood before I discovered that there was such a thing as “atonement theory” and I only stumbled across it by chance. I was preparing to lead a discussion in Elders Quorum on the Atonement of Jesus, and (like most people, I think) decided to do a quick internet search for “atonement” to see what came up. I ended up on a Wikipedia entry that outlined multiple ways to understand Jesus’s atoning work. I was flabbergasted. Like, jaw-on-the-floor stunned.

Up until then, Jesus’s atonement seemed like a pretty simple concept: I was mortal; that meant I was going to die. Because of Jesus’s atonement I would be resurrected. Being mortal also meant I was going to sin, and punishment was required for my sins. But because Jesus took upon himself my punishment for my specific sins I could (if I went through the proper steps) be forgiven and eventually exalted.[1] That was how the atonement worked.[2] Full stop. That was how it was taught to me, and how I taught it on a mission.[3] Until I landed on that Wikipedia page, I had no idea that thinking about it differently was even an option.

“Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten young women took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them, but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. But at midnight there was a shout, ‘Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.’ Then all those young women got up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ But the wise replied, ‘No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.’ And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet, and the door was shut. Later the other young women came also, saying, ‘Lord, lord, open to us.’ But he replied, ‘Truly I tell you, I do not know you.’ Keep awake, therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour. (Matthew 25:1-13)

If necessary, I am pretty sure that I could prove that every generation of Christians from the very beginning has seen itself as the last generation before the end of the world. Sometimes this involves detailed calculations derived from the apocalyptic books of the Bible (Daniel and Revelation). Sometimes it involves sophisticated readings of the “signs of the times” such as wars, rumors or wars, and earthquakes.

Unity. Righteousness. As much as these words are an invitation to Godly action, they can also be, in my view at least, fraught with difficulty. Let me explain.

It has been my experience that the word ‘unity,’ is too often used to sow divisiveness. Throughout history, the call for ‘unity’ has sometimes been used to push out those who do not agree with a prevailing sentiment.  Too often, the language of ‘unity’ is not a challenge to reach out to others, but rather an excuse to sink inward. It is sometimes synonymous with ‘see things like me,’ ‘believe like me,’ or ‘act like me,’ leaving those who see, believe, and act differently branded as unfaithful and pushed to the edges.  I have occasionally seen the call for unity as the very thing which breeds division.

And it has been my experience that the word ‘righteousness’ is too often used to reinforce the status quo. ‘Righteousness’—maybe especially when used by those who benefit most from a contemporaneous cultural arrangement—has sometimes been transformed to become a description of social power, not a statement about spiritual power. Those who support and outwardly align with cultural expectations are labeled as ‘righteous’ and those who do not are dismissed as wicked, impure, unworthy.  Too often I have witnessed the word ‘righteousness’ used to justify the unfair treatment of others and as a basis to relish in the downfall of those we dislike or who are not like us.

Part I came out a few weeks ago. Sorry for the big delay. Philip Wentworth told of his upbringing in a faithful Presbyterian household, his admiration for his minister, and his desire to pursue the ministry by going to HARVARD of all places. His preacher warned him of the slick temptations of academia, but the local church board voted to finance his education. That was the last post in a nutshell. Wentworth will tell us, “What happens to this nicely rationalized system of religious beliefs when scientific notions are superimposed upon them?”

From his Harvard experience at least, Wentworth observes that college does something to nine out of ten students’ faith. Education, he claims, is poison to faith. It’s all about reasoning (thinking critically). It’s like a virus. Sometimes it’s just mild skepticism, but for many, it’s acid that eats all the way through credulity.

The story of Zacchaeus, found only in Luke 19:1-10, is a pericope that does not get much discussion in LDS circles (in my experience at least).  In fact, this story has only been referenced in seven General Conference talks…ever.[1] More personally, I do not believe I have ever had a lesson about this story in Church, even though it has been highlighted in past lesson manuals (and is again in this week’s Come, Follow Me materials). So, consistent with what Jesus does in the Gospel of Luke’s narrative, I thought it was important to stop for a moment and pay attention to Zacchaeus.

In this story, Jesus is passing through Jericho when the narrative pauses to introduce Zacchaeus by name. On the surface, Zacchaeus may seem an unlikely individual to merit such focused attention. First, Zacchaeus is a tax collector, a group which scholars note is “portrayed negatively in almost all Greco-Roman literature” including the New Testament.[2] What’s more, Zacchaeus is the “chief tax collector” (19:2), a title which does not appear anywhere else in the New Testament (quite a distinction!). Though Luke sometimes complicates the stereotypical image of tax collectors—e.g. Luke notes that Levi, a tax collector, left his post to follow Jesus (5:28), and just one chapter earlier Jesus relays a parable contrasting a tax collector and a Pharisee in which the tax collector’s humility is held up as superior to the Pharisee’s self-righteousness (18:9-14)—it is still the case that, generally, in the Gospel of Luke tax collectors are regularly lumped in with the “sinners.”

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For most of this year, I have been advancing a position that biblical scholars call the “post-millennial” understanding of the New Testament. This view holds that, when Jesus speaks of the Kingdom of God, he is not talking about something inherited in an afterlife by those who obey his commandments, but created in this life by those who follow his instructions. For postmillennialists (as the name implies) the Millennium is something that happens before the Second Coming—something that humans create through their actions to prepare the world for Christ’s rule.

Once a traveler happened upon a great field filled with people toiling away in the soil. Approaching the those in the field, the traveler asked aloud, to no one in particular, “What are you all doing?”

A voice replied with obvious enthusiasm. “We are building foundations!”

Upon turning to face the person who replied, the traveler saw someone covered in sweat and dirt from days and days of hard labor. The individual was surrounded by holes of various shapes, sizes, and depths. “I don’t understand?” the traveler questioned.

“Look here,” said the laborer pointing to a set of tools neatly arrayed, carefully placed on the ground nearby. The traveler’s eyes fell upon a vast array of tools: pickaxes, trowels, shovels, hoes, rakes, spades, and many more such implements. The tools were well used and well cared for. The various blades, tangs, and edges were sharp and clean; the handles were oiled and polished. The tools glisten in the hot sun.

I just finished Michael Hicks’ new memoir Wineskin: Freakin’ Jesus in the 60s and 70s (published by Signature). It was a terrific read. The only person who might be able to write as interesting a BYU prof memoir is Steve Peck, and he wrote the foreward to this volume. There were bits and pieces I already knew about: growing up in California, his (stunningly gorgeous) artist mother and the string of men in her life, his Jesus freak phase and the Wineskin coffee house, bailing on his mission to Germany three months in (tying his garments together to fashion a rope for the escape!) I knew about his youthful excommunication, but I didn’t have a good handle on the Anne cult.Trust me, you want to read this book.

29.95 24.95

If you have not yet bought A World of Faith, BCC Press’s new edition of the classic children’s (and adult’s) illustrated tour of world religions by Peggy Fletcher Stack and Kathleen Peterson, then it is now officially your lucky day. In celebration of Peggy’s Mormonland interview, we are offering it at the ridiculously low price of $24.95. If you aren’t sold yet, you can listen to the whole interview here:

https://www.sltrib.com/religion/2023/05/10/mormon-land-richness-religious/?fbclid=IwAR0MaNPbNk7OMtCZdgCHwR-Oajrrnz-hpvsvRHMTGajx91r9c8Rfac8Hx2k

Then they sent to him some Pharisees and some Herodians to trap him in what he said. And they came and said to him, “Teacher, we know that you are sincere and show deference to no one, for you do not regard people with partiality but teach the way of God in accordance with truth. Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar or not? Should we pay them, or should we not?” But knowing their hypocrisy, he said to them, “Why are you putting me to the test? Bring me a denarius and let me see it.” And they brought one. Then he said to them, “Whose head is this and whose title?” They answered, “Caesar’s.” Jesus said to them, “Give to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are God’s.” And they were utterly amazed at him. (Matt 12:15-22)

Few passages of scripture have been as interpretively elastic as Jesus’s clever answer to a disingenuous question about taxation. The story appears, with only minor variations, in all three synoptic gospels (Matt. 22:15-22; Mark 12:13-17; Luke 20:20-26), and it has been exported as a proof text in arguments about the separation of church and state, the morality of paying taxes to support war, the right of tax resistance, and the permissibility of civil disobedience. I strongly doubt the ability of the text, in its original context, to support this much interpretive weight. But it does mean something, so let’s dive in and take a look.

In the LDS Church’s Gospel Essays section it notes, “Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, everyone will be redeemed from the effects of the Fall. We will be resurrected…In addition to redeeming us from the universal effects of the Fall, the Savior can redeem us from our own sins. In our fallen state, we sin and distance ourselves from the Lord, bringing spiritual death upon ourselves.”[1] Language like this, which feels emblematic of the majority of the Church’s language about the Atonement of Jesus Christ, centers (nearly exclusively, it seems to me) on how the Atonement helps individuals, you and me, overcome spiritual and physical death: that is to say, it focuses on how to reconcile schisms in humankind’s relationship with God.[2]

As he was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: ‘You shall not murder. You shall not commit adultery. You shall not steal. You shall not bear false witness. You shall not defraud. Honor your father and mother.’ ” He said to him, “Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.” Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions. (Mark 10:17-22)

Mark presents him only as a man with many possessions. Matthew calls him a “young man,” and Luke describes him as a “ruler” who was “very rich.” The version that has come down to us through history is “the rich young ruler,” a composite taken from all three versions of the story. This amalgamation has not served it us well, as it gives us too many ways to resist identifying the man as ourselves. I am not young, and I am not a ruler. I can even stretch the definition of “very rich” so far out of context that it might not necessarily always include me. Not my needle; not my camel.

Luke 15 contains three parables, stacked one on top of the other: one about a lost sheep, one about a lost coin, and one about a man and his two sons. I think, given their proximity in the text, it is reasonable to believe that the Gospel’s author intended them to be read together and to inform each’s interpretation of the other. I will admit to having never done this previously; and when I did I was surprised to discover how the parables work together to reinforce the importance of making individualized accounting for each sheep/coin/individual over whom we have charge.

Brigham Henry Roberts (1857-1933) was an LDS general authority (1888-1933). A well known church writer, historian, missionary, and political firebrand, Roberts wrote frequently for church publications, though his output on certain subjects had diminished over the last few decades of his life. He often published in the church’s Improvement Era magazine, alternately devoted to the young men of the church, the priesthood quorums, and then the combined young men and young women of the church, though it was read by older cohorts as well.

In June 1932, a recent Harvard graduate, Philip Wentworth, published an essay in The Atlantic, detailing his faith crisis and transition away from Christianity and his midwestern Presbyterian roots. The article was a fine piece of work, and its points were rather sharp. In this part, I’ll summarize Wentworth’s history and in the second part of the post (to be published sometime next week I think) I’ll look at Wentworth’s account of his descent into a rationalist mire. In part 3 (and possibly a 4th part), I’ll look at Roberts’s response in the Era after reading Wentworth’s piece.

[Read more…]

It seems that the richer Christians get, the more interpretive energy they put into proving that Jesus didn’t really mean what he said about rich people. The camel through the eye of the needle? That was just the back gate to Jerusalem. Sell all you have and give it to the poor? He was using hyperbole to prove a point. Mary’s Magnificat? Never heard of it. If I had a dollar for every time I have had these discussions in a church context, I would be rich enough to have to worry about it.

In my experience there is a deep respect for our Jewish brothers and sisters that permeates LDS culture. But it is also my experience that occasionally LDS members unknowingly fall into antisemitic patterns of language and perspective which have, unfortunately, been connected with Christianity since its earliest times. This year, the LDS church’s course of study has moved out of the Hebrew Bible and is approaching the halfway mark in its study of the New Testament. As we continue to engage the New Testament, it is exceptionally important that we are attentive to, studiously avoid, and actively resist any perpetuation of antisemitic scripts in our worship communities and during our Sunday School discussions.

April is National Poetry Month, and BCC Press has always been the place to go for great Mormon poetry. Since the founding of the press in 2017, we have led the way in publishing the freshest, most thought-provoking, and just all around best volumes of poetry to be found anywhere in the Mormon world. Or, really, anywhere else too.

Even by the high standards we have set, however, April 2023 is our high-water mark. Our only competition is ourselves, and we have blown ourselves out of the water as we today release three volumes of poetry by three of Mormondom’s most amazing poets. We still can’t believe how awesome we are.

This is what we’ve got for you:

Let’s begin, not in Galilee, but in River City, Iowa, the setting of Meredith Wilson’s classic musical, The Music Man, where Professor Harold Hill is trying to convince the Widow Paroo to buy a cornet and a fancy uniform for a band that, he knows, will never play a note. (see clip here)

HAROLD: Mrs. Paroo do you realize you have the facial characteristics of a cornet virtuoso?

MRS. PAROO: I don’t know if I understand you entirely, Professor.

HAROLD: If your boy has that same firm chin, and those splendid cheek muscles – By George! Not that he could ever be really great, you understand, but –

MRS. PAROO: Oh, is that so. And in the name of St. Bridget, why not?

HAROLD: Well – you see all the really great Cornet players were Irish – O’Clark, O’Mendez, O’Klein –

MRS. PAROO: But Professor, we are Irish!

HAROLD” No! No! Really! That clinches it! Sign here, Mrs. Paroo. Your boy was born to play the Cornet!

[Read more…]

I was taken aback in a recent re-reading of the Parable of the Good Samaritan by the way in which Jesus reframes a tricky question to deliver a stunning message.

Recall that the parable is prompted when a lawyer asks Jesus a series of very lawyerly questions (apologies to all my lawyer friends… but you know I’m right). The exchange goes like this:

The lawyer asks Jesus, “Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus responds, “What is written in the law? how readest thou?” The lawyer thinks for a moment and says, “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind; and thy neighbour as thyself.” Jesus says, approvingly, “Thou hast answered right: this do, and thou shalt live.” And then the lawyer retorts, “And who is my neighbour?”

At this point Jesus tells the parable (Luke 10:30-35) which is ubiquitous enough that it does not need recounting here. And upon conclusion of the narrative, Jesus reengages the lawyer directly. Here is the exchange:

Jesus asks, “Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves?” The lawyer responds (with the only right answer), “He that shewed mercy on him.” Then said Jesus, “Go, and do thou likewise.”

Here is what I find really remarkable: By asking the question, “who is my neighbor” the lawyer tries to get Jesus to categorize and classify others, so that the lawyer can then say, “that group is my neighbor, and that group is not.” Jesus does not take the bait.

Instead, in his response Jesus recasts the issue entirely. “Neighbor” is not a group outside of ourselves. Instead of categorizing others, Jesus responds by clarifying you are to be a neighbor. “Neighbor” is something we are to others. Thus neighborliness, Jesus seems to say, should be our polestar when we engage with our fellow brothers and sisters on Earth. Jesus reinforces this by the command “Go, and do thou likewise.”

Imagine what life would be like if, instead of asking “which one of these people is my neighbor and which isn’t?” everyone started asking “how can I be a neighbor to the people around me?” I think the Gospel of Jesus requires nothing less.

Yesterday, my five-year-old nephew was assigning characters from the Easter story to the rainbow of marbles in his marble run, and he chose the red marble (his favorite color) for Jesus. My sister commented on how his choice mirrored D&C 133:48 (and Revelation 19:13), which says Jesus will be wearing red at the Second Coming.

That got me thinking of colors that symbolize Jesus. Personally, I’d have picked the blue marble, for living water. What other colors would symbolize Jesus? (Please add more colors/references in the comments!)

To read the Gospels is to become obsessed with a vision. And the name of the vision is “the Kingdom of God,” or, sometimes, “the Kingdom of Heaven” or just “the Kingdom.” It is the most powerful vision in any of the standard works, where it occasionally also goes by the name of “Zion.” It is the focus of most of Christ’s parables and of the vast majority of His teaching and ministry. And it remains one of the most poorly understood concepts in the churches that use his name.

And here is the root of the misunderstanding: throughout his ministry, Jesus tried to describe what the Kingdom looked like—how people who understand the vision act towards each other and how they orient themselves toward God. We have taken that simple description and turned it into a prescriptive list of things that we have to do to earn a place in something called “heaven.” In the process, we have turned consequences into rewards and instructions on how to live into checks that can only be cashed after we die. For centuries, Christians have been trying to earn the very thing that the New Testament instructs us to build.