Uncertainty in a Pandemic

Not long ago, I started a new job. This job was supposed to involve a significant amount of travel. Then the coronavirus happened.

My four kids, in four different schools, had been staying busy with friends and activities. Then the coronavirus happened.

Last fall, my wife and I booked a trip to Europe for our family. We have been planning this trip for years. We were supposed to fly near the end of May. Then the coronavirus happened.

Now all six of us are home, including our oldest who was at college until the pandemic forced his school to shut down. For the past couple of months, I have been faced with a lot of questions and relatively few answers. Questions like:

• When will our kids get to go back to school?
• How will I adapt to this new job without the ability to travel to see colleagues and customers?
• Will we be able to take our long-awaited family trip to Europe?

I'm sure there were other questions too, but you get the idea. I was working with a lot of uncertainty associated with the unknown nature of this global pandemic we've been facing. I'm sure I'm not alone.

In my desire for answers, I found myself turning increasingly to the news. I scanned headlines and read news articles, jumping from one to the next in search of information that would enable me to predict the future and answer some of these questions. Of course, it didn't really help. No one knows how this will play out. While I found some of the articles informative, and much of my search was useful, it didn't give me the answers I was seeking. Unfortunately, I also found myself increasingly unhappy as I bought into the negative tone of many of the articles. And, stuck on the idea that my search would help me answer my questions (which, of course, it can't), I became addicted to my search without realizing it.

There were a few days when I got sick of what my search was doing to me, and I swore off my phone, including the news. Taking a day off now and then proved very insightful. I was amazed at how tightly the addiction had woven its tentacles around me in such a short time. Multiple times within the space of an hour's meditation, I found myself watching the urge to reach for my phone arise and slowly fall away as I gave it my attention without allowing it to take over. At the beginning, the urge came up repeatedly, maybe five times in as many minutes, then gradually died down.

A minor addiction like this isn't the end of the world, but it was beautifully liberating to allow my awareness of it to grow and watch it dissolve.

Without any help from me, time has begun to give me answers to my questions.

• My kids won't be going back to school this year. Perhaps they will in the fall. Hopefully.
• I am adapting to my new job in unexpected ways, but the transition is going well. I expect I will be able to travel in a few months, and that will make me even more effective.
• It looks incredibly unlikely that we'll be able to take our trip to Europe as planned. We haven't canceled yet, but we almost certainly will. We hope we can take our trip next summer.

These are first-world problems, of course, not life threatening problems. But my desire for certainty in these areas has driven me to seek certainty in ways that led to a decrease in my happiness. While my certainty is slowly growing, there is still a large amount of uncertainty in our situation.

And that's ok. It gives me a chance to practice being at peace with that uncertainty.

Many people deal with serious uncertainties on a much more regular basis. How many people in the world are uncertain when they will have their next meal? How many are uncertain when they will see a loved one again? How many are uncertain whether they will live to see another day?

Uncertainty is a part of life. And a wonderful way to let go of our ego, release our need to control, and surrender to the flow of life. Becoming comfortable with uncertainty is a spiritual practice. And one that we are all becoming a bit more familiar with during this global pandemic.

It's natural to be uncomfortable when we don't know the answers. But maybe see what happens if you try embracing the uncertainty rather than fighting it. See if it doesn't feel a bit liberating to let go of the need to know.

My Response to the Coronavirus

It was Friday, March 13, and I was getting ready for a business trip to Los Angeles. I was scheduled to fly out Sunday and was looking forward to some great vegan food at a restaurant I found there a couple of weeks before. Then I got an email from my employer cancelling all non-essential travel.

Bummer.

I may have been a bit too confident in my immune system's ability to handle illness. And I definitely underestimated how contagious the coronavirus was. I certainly didn't have the foresight to see where this virus was taking us. I had been feeling cautious about the trip and was planning how to keep myself and surrounding surfaces sanitary to avoid exposure as much as possible. But I wasn't nervous about the trip.

I probably should have been.

Watching the spread of the virus in the United States has been sobering. Because of the virus' incubation period, our current understanding of the spread is, at best, like looking in the rear view mirror, giving us information about the true contagion from a week or two ago. But we're also underestimating the extent of the spread in the past because of the lack of ubiquitous testing today. So it's almost certainly worse than we know. Seeing where things likely were a couple of weeks ago when I would have been in LA makes me grateful that my employer was feeling more cautious about the situation than I was feeling. Friday the 13th turned out to be my lucky day.

Picture of a coronavirus from National Foundation for Infectious Diseases website

Who knows whether the travel would have exposed me to the virus. It certainly would have increased the probability. Instead of traveling, though, I have spent the last two weeks isolated in my home with my family. This is both awesome and frustrating. Cabin fever is tough. I'm finding it harder to exercise, which makes me physically weaker and puts a strain on my mental health. And the isolation takes a toll on me psychologically. It has been a challenge to adapt.

But being forced to share the same space, with little variety in our routine, has led to some awesome times together as a family. Earlier this week, we had a family music night where people played piano, guitar, ukulele, requested and sang songs, and laughed together as we made music. We have had family dinners together every night, talking, joking, annoying one another, and getting to know each other better. We have had family game nights and solved puzzles together. We have had family movie nights, with last night being the culmination of stupidity when we stayed up playing video games and decided to start a movie at 2am. It was so much fun.

I feel like this virus is forcing us to slow down, forcing us to reconnect with loved ones, and giving us space to dig inside ourselves and discover who we are and what we're made of. It is a gift. Packaged in horrific wrapping.

I feel so much sadness for people in Italy and New York who are struggling, suffering, and facing difficult choices of who to treat and who to abandon to their suffering and possible death. I feel such a heavy weight when I contemplate the spread of the virus across the world, and increasingly in the U.S. We may all soon be where New York is now if we're not careful. Or maybe it's too late, and we'll get there no matter what we do. I feel so sad when I think about the economy and its impact on poor people, who were living paycheck to paycheck and have now lost their jobs.

Coronavirus spread from Johns Hopkins interactive map (3/28/20)

I have no solutions to these problems. But in spite of the heaviness and sadness, when I quiet my mind and look inside, I find a place in me that is beyond the chaos. A place of peace. A place of quiet joy and delight in the miraculous complexity of life in this world. I like to visit that place regularly to remind myself that we will be ok. We will struggle. We will suffer. Many have died and many more will die before it's all over. But we will be ok.

Every challenge is an opportunity. A chance to look inside and decide whether we want to grow or shrink as a result of the challenge. A chance to decide what's important and to focus our attention and energy on the things that bring us joy and fulfillment. A chance to move beyond the masks and the fake veneer that sometimes cover the deep authenticity of being - and to decide to live more fully, more authentically, "and not, when [we come] to die, discover that [we have] not lived" (Thoreau).

Most of us will survive this challenge. Most of us will be forever marked by the experiences we're having right now. Most of us will forever remember the coronavirus and how it changed our world. We have an opportunity now and in the coming months to decide what that world will look like. I hope, whatever we choose, that our world may bring a little more light, love, and compassion into our lives and the lives of those we love.

May you all be well. Here's to us.

Etty Hillesum

I recently discovered the life of a Dutch Jewish woman, Etty Hillesum, who was killed at Auschwitz in 1943 at the age of 29. Her life seems to have been one of self-discovery and spiritual awakening at a time when the dark side of human nature seemed as if it might completely blanket the world in its shadow. I'm reading her diary and although I'm only about 1/3 the way through, I've already come across a wealth of spiritual and psychological insights, and I'm excited to read the rest.

Etty Hillesum in 1939

This morning, I read a snippet from her diary that I'd like to share. It's beautiful in its simplicity and humility. I'm in awe of people who, living through such darkness, can shine a light inside themselves and sidestep the urge to hate. The text below came directly from her diary as part of a single paragraph. I have added paragraph breaks to enhance readability, but the text is otherwise unchanged.

"What is it in human beings that makes them want to destroy others?" Jan asked bitterly. 

I said, "Human beings, you say, but remember that you're one yourself." And strangely enough he seemed to acquiesce, grumpy, gruff old Jan. "The rottenness of others is in us, too," I continued to preach at him. "I see no other solution, I really see no other solution than to turn inward and to root out all the rottenness there. I no longer believe that we can change anything in the world until we have first changed ourselves. And that seems to me the only lesson to be learned from this war. That we must look into ourselves and nowhere else." 

And Jan, who so unexpectedly agreed with everything I said, was approachable and interested and no longer proffered any of his hard-boiled social theories. Instead he said, "Yes, it's too easy to turn your hatred loose on the outside, to live for nothing but the moment of revenge. We must try to do without that." 

We stood there in the cold waiting for the tram, Jan with his great purple chilblained hands and his toothache. Our professors are in prison, another of Jan's friends has been killed, and there are so many other sorrows, but all we said to each other was, "It is too easy to feel vindictive." 

That really was the bright spot of today.

From "An Interrupted Life" by Etty Hillesum

Matthieu Ricard

I heard the following quote recently:

In clinging to the cramped universe of the ego, we have a tendency to be concerned exclusively with ourselves. The least setback upsets and discourages us. We are obsessed with our success, our failure, our hopes, and our anxieties, and thereby give happiness every opportunity to elude us. The narrow world of the self is like a glass of water into which a handful of salt is thrown - the water becomes undrinkable. If, on the other hand, we breach the barriers of the self and the mind becomes a vast lake, that same handful of salt will have no effect on its taste. ... If the ego were really our deepest essence, it would be easy to understand our apprehension about dropping it. But if it is merely an illusion, ridding ourselves of it is not ripping the heart out of our being, but simply opening our eyes.

- Matthieu Ricard

Some of My Spiritual Experiences

I wrote the following a few months ago in response to a request from my youngest daughter. She was working on a project for her youth program at church, and she asked family members to share stories of personal faith experiences. This is my attempt to capture some of the spiritual experiences I have had up to this point in my life.

Childhood

When I was really young, I used to sometimes sit by myself and sort of zone out. I'd think about anything and nothing. I remember one time sitting in the car by myself while it was parked at our house. I was in the passenger seat, waiting for my mom to drive me somewhere. I remember staring out the window, letting my thoughts go wherever they wanted, when I saw little dots of light racing around my field of view. I realize now that what I saw was the shadow of blood cells in my eyes projected onto my retina while staring at the blue sky (yes, I am a geek). But at the time, it seemed so magical. Like I could see into a special, hidden world. And I remember feeling a connection to something. I often felt peaceful when I was alone with my thoughts, but I couldn't really explain why I felt that way or what it was that I was doing that caused me to feel that way.

A simulation of the 'blue sky' effect I talk about above

Look closely ... white dots are moving through the blue background

Teenage Years

When I was a teenager, I had some powerful spiritual experiences that were very formative for me. One of these happened at a youth camp called Especially for Youth (EFY). I think this was the summer I was 16 years old.

The whole week had been amazing. I remember during check-in, I gave up my room twice because each time I got to my room, my roommate-to-be had a friend with him, and they wanted to room together. So both times, the pair of friends asked me if I would mind swapping rooms. I was in Indianapolis. I knew almost no one there. I had nowhere I needed to be, so I said sure. Both times.

I could have felt exasperated the second time it happened, but somehow, I just laughed and went with the flow. Each time, we had to go to the registration desk to swap keys so they had a record of where everyone was. The second time I did it, the people at the desk laughed when they saw me. But I didn't mind. I laughed too.

That initial experience was indicative of the entire week. Somehow, I had an incredibly good attitude about everything that week. I had no prior attachments molding my behavior. I was out on my own, with none of my friends around. And everything was new. Like I was a brand-new baby. I could choose whatever I wanted. I could choose where I went, who I talked with, and what my attitude would be. And I talked with everyone and had a really fun time. This feeling of having no attachments, no prior history, and total freedom to choose my response was incredibly liberating. And it gave me a lot of confidence that I could be whatever I wanted to be. All I had to do was let go.

When I got to my third room, I met my roommate, who, thankfully, let me stay, and I started to get to know the other guys in my group. There were about 20 or 30 boys in our group, and we were led by a counselor who was pretty animated and fun. We had a great time. We played and laughed and flirted with girls. Every night, we'd hang out in a lounge area at the end of our hall. I remember we entertained each other with something called "helping hands" where two people would make up one character. One person would be the character's body and face, and the other would be the character's arms. In another 'game', we drew upside-down faces on our chins and, propping ourselves upside down with a hat covering the upper part of our faces, we'd mess around, telling jokes and stupid stories, and generally acting like idiots. Watching someone's upside-down chin-face try to frown to simulate a smile, then break into laughter that looked like the weirdest scowl I'd ever seen, was hilarious. We laughed a lot in that lounge. In fact, I don't think I had ever laughed that hard in my life up to that point. A lot of this stuff was instigated by our counselor, but we all got into it. We ended up doing a skit at the talent show later in the week, recreating some of the stupid stuff we had done as a group in that lounge. It was a crazy fun week. And we grew really close as a group.

At the end of the week, all 20 or 30 of us were sitting in a small classroom, listening to a devotional given by our counselor. It was the lead-in to what was supposed to be the spiritual highlight of the week -- a testimony meeting. I don't have any memory of what our counselor said. But I do remember sort of sinking into myself and, looking around, I watched the world around me change. I seemed to be listening to an inner voice that week. A voice that had always been there, but that was largely drowned out by my fears and insecurities. When I found the courage to be completely and authentically myself, the voice became clear, and I listened to the voice and accepted it without question or doubt. Now, at the end of this magical week, I found myself transforming in a deeply profound way. And the world itself was transforming. Or perhaps I was beginning to see it clearly for the first time in my life.

There was a subtle shift in the air. Or in the way the air looked. Like I could see ripples in the air that were distorting my vision. But those ripples had always been there. I had just never seen them before. Now that I could see them, I could sort of see through them. And the world seemed more clear. And vibrant. And alive.

I looked around at my friends. I hadn't known any of them before the week started. But we had had some great times. And I considered them friends. And as I looked at them, it seemed to me that I could see into their hearts. Or their souls. I kind of saw through them. I know this all sounds mystical and magical. And probably unbelievable. But it's what I experienced. Maybe I was deluded. But it seemed to be one of the most real things I had ever felt. There were three of the boys in particular whose hearts/souls stood out to me. As I looked at them, I got the distinct impression that I knew them. Not from the week at EFY. But before. Before any of us had been born.

I raised my hand and asked if I could say something. I told the group a little of what I had just seen. And I told them that I had the distinct impression that some of us knew each other before this life. I mentioned the three boys by name who had stood out to me. I don't know why I had the courage to say what I did. Normally, I would have balked at the idea of saying something so bold and outlandish. But I was listening to that inner voice that week and somehow, I felt no fear. I just said what I felt I should say.

When the devotional ended, I went to a drinking fountain in the hall to get some water. When I looked up, those three boys were standing there. Each one of them told me they had felt the same thing. Whether they felt that way before I said anything, after I said something, or simply felt pressured into saying they felt it, I don't know. But I took it as a confirmation of what I had felt.

I had many other spiritual experiences in my later teenage years. These experiences made me feel connected to something larger than myself. Magical experiences that took me out of myself and, at the same time, made me feel more truly myself than any other time in my life. Some of these experiences made me want to laugh and shout. They filled me with energy and excitement. I felt a fire inside me that seemed to make everything beautiful and joyful. Other times, the experiences were peaceful and calming. They made me want to just sit quietly and soak it all in. But they always connected me to something. Something big and beautiful. Something loving and accepting.

One of these experiences led me to decide to attend college at Brigham Young University (BYU). The decision was based on a feeling I had during a campus visit in my senior year of high school. A feeling that I was coming home. I felt like BYU was the right place for me. And so I went.

Young Adulthood

And BYU was a great place for me. I grew into adulthood there and really began to find myself. I had some wonderfully supportive people around me, and I learned a lot. About myself. About my future profession. And about my religion. And after graduation, I took those lessons with me and continued to learn about all three of those areas of my life. In fact, I have never stopped learning about them.

In the middle of my education at BYU, I went on a mission for the LDS church in Germany. Serving a mission was one of the hardest things I have ever done. It was painful at times - physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I was physically ill quite a lot. At one point, I thought I would be sent home because of my illness. But with some help from my parents, my Mission President, and my companions, I worked through the illness well enough to continue my mission for two full years.

During those years, I had some awesome spiritual experiences. One that stands out in my mind happened during a really rough time near the beginning of my mission. I had been in Germany almost four months, and I knew my companion was going home soon. I was feeling pretty overwhelmed because a lot of older missionaries were going home, and a lot of new missionaries were coming. The mission's cohort was becoming younger and younger. And even though I had only been there for four months, I felt like I was going to become a senior companion to someone younger than me and possibly train someone brand new.

It turned out I was right. On both counts. And it was hard taking on that much responsibility with so little experience. But even before it happened, and before I knew for sure that it would happen, I felt really inadequate about the possibility. I spoke the language pretty well, better than most my age, but not well enough to train someone. I didn't even feel competent to be the leader in a companionship, having someone else rely on my language skills and my knowledge of missionary work to guide the work we would do. But I felt strongly that it was coming, so I struggled with my feelings of inadequacy.

One night, I was feeling particularly despondent. I don't know if something specific happened that day that prompted my feeling. It's very likely. But whatever it was, what I remember most vividly was the despair I felt and the hopelessness that seemed to envelop me. I knelt down next to my bed and began to pray. I poured my heart out to God and told Him how weak and hopeless I felt. I asked Him for help. I don't remember what else I said. At some point, in the middle of my prayer, I felt this intense release. Like the tension that had been building in me had suddenly found an outlet and, like a dam breaking, the pressure was gone almost instantly.

Into my heart poured a light that was so incredibly peaceful and relaxing. I seem to remember kneeling there and suddenly feeling every muscle in my body instantly relax. I seemed to hear a voice that calmed me deeply, but I don't remember if there were any words to the voice or what it might have said. And, though I felt nothing physical, I could have sworn there was a hand on my shoulder, like an angel was there, giving me strength.

I have come to believe that sometimes, we simply slide into a spiritual connection. Other times, we unknowingly fight it until we're so overwhelmed that we crack, like I did that night in Germany. We protect ourselves from connection by building a cocoon around ourselves. Most often, I think this comes about by fear, though maybe there are other motivations that cause us to try to protect ourselves. But when we do, the world begins to bear down on that cocoon until we reach a point of desperation and we finally crack. Then the light begins to pour in and we find what we were looking for, but were unknowingly avoiding. Connection.

We sometimes have powerful spiritual experiences as we're pushed to the limits of our endurance. But I find it much more enjoyable to slide into that connection voluntarily. Humility and vulnerability go a long way here. We have to move beyond our own egos in order to experience that connection in a deep and fulfilling way.

Mature Adulthood

As I grew older in adulthood, having married and become a father, I found my spiritual experiences coming less frequently. I could sometimes feel a connection to something during quiet times while reading scriptures or praying. But the weight of the world bore down on me and seemed to drive away the magic. I think this came from the stress of providing financially for a family and trying to give my wife and kids the best of me. I was often stretched thin and, burdened by stress and fear, I found myself longing for the connection I had often felt when I was younger. Church, which had previously been something of a catalyst for those experiences, more often felt like a burden than an asset. And though I clung to it for many years, I eventually came to see that what had once helped me find so much connection to God was now limiting me.

I didn't fully realize this until I found my connection again. But when I found it in the spring of 2014, it felt like coming home. And I learned to let go of what was holding me back.

Experiencing the connection felt very familiar, but it was facilitated by a different method than I was used to. And the fact that this method was so powerful caused me to question many things I had previously held inviolate. The method was centered around meditation, but I realize now that it was very similar to what I had experienced during my most powerful prayers. And it was similar to what I had experienced as a young child during quiet times of reflection. A new world began to open up to me where even the most ordinary things could be infused with life, luster, and beauty. The whole world seemed to be teeming with life and light and love. And love seemed to be at the foundation of it all. But the oddest thing of all was that I experienced all of this without any reference to God, or any calling upon a Deity.

The process of accepting this new method for experiencing a spiritual connection was long and challenging. It involved transitioning away from the church, which was probably the most difficult part. But as I did when I was young, I found my inner voice. And I found the courage to follow it. And in doing so, I found the strength to explore my new landscape. And I found greater clarity than I had ever found before in my life. I think that clarity was facilitated by a rare authenticity and sincerity. Something I have experienced to a large degree at various times, like that week at EFY, but probably not quite as fully as I experienced it a few years ago as a fully grown man.

It's difficult to pinpoint a specific spiritual experience during this time of exploration because my life became a string of powerful experiences, one day after another. No single day stands out among the rest. But on a typical day, I would enter into a state of calm reflection until my mind became completely placid, like the waters of a calm lake. I would feel a deep connection to something beautiful and expansive. Something that seemed to have infinite love and patience. And as I connected with it, which happened consistently and reliably, some of that love and patience distilled into me, and I became more and more like the thing I was connecting with. Days would go by where it seemed my patience was infinite. Nothing could rattle me. I was at peace with myself and the world around me. And I felt a love inside of me that started with me (I accepted and loved myself just as I was) and gradually extended to encompass everything around me. And this love, which I seemed to be swimming in, also became a powerful source of healing for me, both physically and spiritually.

Like many things in life, my spiritual practice peaked, then fell off again as the stress of life began to crowd out my time of meditation and reflection. And as the practice fell away, old habitual thought patterns began to reassert themselves, and I lost some of the spiritual high I had achieved.

Then, about a year or two after my transition, I took a business trip during which I had a lot of opportunities to reflect. As I meditated that week, I began to lean into some uncomfortable feelings and emotions. The feeling that stands out most in my mind is loneliness. I began to see that I was terribly alone. Being away from my family, I was naturally missing them, but there was something more than that. I had once been connected to something incredible, and I had lost much of that connection. As I leaned into the feeling of loneliness and separateness, opening myself to the sensations and sorrow associated with those feelings, I found that connection re-established in a very powerful way. It was almost instantaneous. As if my vulnerability had been the key that unlocked the door separating me from this loving, expansive something. And my soul expanded like it hadn't done in several months. Maybe a year. It felt like whatever was out there was right there, always within reach, accessible anytime I woke up and realized who I really was and how I related to the world. When I began to breathe in the love that was all around me, I became connected to that love. And I remembered that love was my true home. My origin. The essence of my being. And I came home.

I have since cycled at least once more through a spiritual high and low. And I'm happy to say the lows are getting higher over time. I feel like I have no idea where I am headed, but I'm very happy about where my path has been taking me. I don't know where it will take me next, but I feel a deep sense of faith and trust that the path is good. And though I can't see very far ahead, I feel like I'll know where to step if I just pay attention.

Based on my recent experiences, I think maybe that's the essence of spirituality. Attention. Awareness. Consciousness. Built upon a foundation of love and compassion. And all of that leads to connection.

Love is central to it all. And I think maybe it's who we really are. If God is love (1 John 4:8,16), and we are children of God, then ... maybe we are love. And if love is all around us, then we're all deeply connected. Much more deeply, I now believe, than I had ever supposed as a child or a young man. If we are all made of love and we're all surrounded by love, then we're all swimming in the same stuff. And it's the same primordial stuff that makes us who we are. So we're all connected. And that connection, which already exists, seems to be the only thing the soul really craves.

So we already have everything we need (connection). We already are everything we need to be (love). All we need to do is wake up and see it.

Are Mormons Christians?

I was raised in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (the Mormon church). I studied and practiced that faith for nearly forty years. I'm not active in that church anymore. In fact, I don't believe in the doctrines of the church anymore, though I did for most of my life.

I was thinking about the claim that some people make that Mormons aren't Christians, and I thought I might tackle that today. Because of my background, I have some knowledge on the subject. And because I no longer believe in the church's teachings, I hope I may be seen as unbiased.

Background

For as long as I can remember, I have heard people claim that Mormons are not Christians. As far as I can tell, the logic typically goes like this: Mormon doctrines and teachings are in direct opposition to the Bible, the Nicene creed, or something similar. Mormons therefore worship a Jesus who is not the Jesus of the Bible. Therefore, Mormons are not Christians.

An alternative argument says that Mormons worship something or someone other than Jesus. Some claim that Mormonism was founded by the devil, so Mormons worship the devil. Others say that Mormons worship Joseph Smith (the church's founder) and/or their current leaders. Any worship other than the worship of Jesus disqualifies them from being Christians.

These are two parallel chains of logic. Let's look at each one a little more closely.

Teachings in Opposition to the Bible, the Nicene creed, etc.

Some of the doctrines and teachings I have heard people use as justification for saying Mormons aren't Christians include the following:

1. Mormons deny salvation by grace alone
• Mormons tend to emphasize works more than many Protestant Christians
• Note that this accusation could be made against the Catholic church too
2. Mormons deny the inerrancy of the Bible
• If they deny the Bible is the perfect word of God, they are not true Christians
3. Mormons teach that they can become gods
• This denies the supremacy of God, Jesus Christ, etc
• There is nothing in the Bible that corroborates this teaching
• There are various other doctrinal differences that people may use to justify their claim, but this is one of the most powerful and compelling

Mormons Worship the Devil, Joseph Smith, etc.

Some of the attacks on Mormons in the last 40 years or so claim that the miraculous events associated with the early Mormon church were facilitated by the power of the devil. Thus, the Mormons follow and/or worship the devil.

The Mormon Church often emphasizes the priesthood authority held by its leaders. Hymns such as "Praise to the Man", a stirring song written in praise of Joseph Smith, seem to support the idea that Mormons worship their founder. If you watch General Conference, you can see that same reverence and respect directed toward the current leader of the Church, whoever he may be at the time. The respect that Mormons have for their leader(s) has often been taken as a sign that Mormons worship those men.

My Take on These Claims

The doctrinal differences can be disturbing for those who don't share the Mormon view on them. We could talk about each of them, but instead of trying to explain the Mormon teachings, I think I'll just point out the danger of the logic that says that a doctrinal difference justifies me in stripping someone else of their claim to be a Christian.

The Nicene creed is an important marker in the development of Christian theology, but is it the standard by which we should measure the Christianity of any person or group? The Bible is a more reasonable standard, but the different doctrines of various denominations (some of which openly conflict with one another) have all been founded on the Bible. These differences, all with biblical justification, have led Christians to persecute and kill each other at different times in history. So using the Bible as the standard by which we judge the Christianity of any movement is a bit dangerous. The Bible is broad enough that different people can find different meanings in the same passages. For every doctrine mentioned above, and many others taught by the Mormon church, I can find Biblical passages that could be construed as supporting it. You can disagree with the interpretation, but it's reasonable for someone who believes the principle to read the support of that principle in those passages. Yes, even the teaching that humans, as God's children, can grow up to be like Him, can be justified by the Bible. See Psalm 82:6 and John 10:34-36. Again, you can disagree with the interpretation, but if you read those with an open mind, I think you'll see my point.

As far as Mormons worshiping something or someone other than Christ, that is certainly possible. Just as possible as it is for any professing Christian to have someone or something in their life that takes precedence over the life and teachings of Jesus Christ. Do Mormons worship the devil? Not as far as I can tell. It could be that some people have done so at different times in history. Who knows? But as an organization, the church is anything but satanic. Do Mormons worship their leaders? This is far more likely. There have been times in the church's history when the mission of Joseph Smith and the authority of a living prophet have been emphasized as a way to differentiate the church from other Christian churches. True Christianity may have waxed and waned in the church as a result of this and other doctrinal and cultural trends. But a study of the teachings and people in the church from the founding of the church in 1830 tells me that the major undercurrent of the entire religious movement is, and always has been, faith in Jesus Christ and His redemptive sacrifice. That seems like sufficient justification for claiming the title of Christian.

Christianity in Mormonism

Mormons pray to God in the name of Jesus Christ. They take the sacrament weekly in remembrance of the body and blood of Jesus Christ. They believe in the Bible, though they have concerns about mis-translations, pedigree of manuscripts, etc. They also believe in other scripture, most notably the Book of Mormon, whose subtitle is "Another Testament of Jesus Christ". They are called Mormons because of the name of this book, but the official name of the church is "The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints", which has been the church's name since 1838. Note how many times I mentioned the name of Jesus Christ in these few, simple statements about the Mormon church's faith and practices.

As a practicing Mormon, the Christianity of the faith was central to my spiritual practice. Though I do not believe in the foundations of the faith anymore, I believe that adherence to the faith has the potential to improve peoples' lives and connect them with God.

The Mormon church isn't flawless. It has its warts like any other organization. But Jesus Christ is central to the church's teachings, and I think it's extremely disrespectful to suggest that the Mormon church is not a legitimate Christian church.

Respect for All Religions

All religions have good in them. All have the potential to improve peoples' lives. While religion can have a dark side, in general, I think it is a force for good in the world. It is the arrogance in religion that makes it unhealthy. The kind of arrogance that makes us confident enough in our understanding of truth to strip someone else's religion of its claim to a faith that is central to its doctrine.

The Mormon Church is a Christian church. And it does a lot of good for its people and, by extension, the world. Let's have respect for other peoples' faith, and allow them the freedom, both politically and morally, to worship as they think best. This kind of acceptance and tolerance will do them, and us, a lot of good.

Spirituality without Religion

A few years ago, I left the church I grew up in. For a while afterward, I sometimes wondered what that would mean for me as far as religion goes. I never had a strong desire to join a new church, but I did sometimes wonder if I should join a community that practiced meditation. I went to a Zen Center nearby a few times, and while it was great in a lot of ways, it didn't really click for me.

I'm not against the idea of joining a group again at some point, but I'm pretty happy with my independent spiritual journey for now.

That probably seems weird to some of you. What does spirituality mean without religion?

Religion is a conduit for spirituality. A spiritual connection to something outside yourself is an individual experience. If many people make a connection in some joint exercise, that can be really cool. But it isn't necessary.

Spirituality without religion is a bit like education without school. It would be ridiculous to suppose that education can't occur outside of school. I don't go to school anymore, but I learn new things all the time. And while I don't associate myself with a religion anymore, I often feel a spiritual connection to something outside myself.

Maybe that's ok. And maybe someday, I'll join a community of like-minded practitioners and see if that can help me progress even more. Or maybe not. We'll see.