From Exclusion, Toward Embrace

I have a dream that one morning I will awaken to find myself spiritually at one with my Latter-day Saint (LDS) friends. Significant differences, that I as a Protestant perceive, have been resolved, and the distance I sense is bridged. We affirm and embrace one another as one in Jesus Christ.

How has this unity come to be? Because they have renounced Mormonism and joined my church? Or because I have been baptized into theirs? Have either or both of us compromised our core convictions, forfeiting our identity for the sake of unity? No, none of the above. The dream is bigger than that.

The new bridge spans not only the gap between us as individuals, but also the divide between the faith traditions from which we come. I become genuinely interested when our conversations revolve around events in their ward, and they are no less enthusiastic when I relate the happenings in my congregation. We experience an authentic bond, assured that though we participate in separate institutions, we both are members of the one true Church of Christ. While the styles and formulations used to express our beliefs still differ, we are united in confessing “one Lord, one faith, one baptism, One God and Father of us all” (Eph. 4:5). Our distinct identities are retained as we mutually embrace one another’s unique role in God’s grand agenda for his creation, certain of a common destiny in his presence.

But, so far my dream is only a dream. When among Mormons, I usually sense an insider-outsider mindset, and I am quickly aware of which side I am on. When with Protestants in Utah, too often our first question about the identity of a stranger is: “Are they LDS?” There’s us, and there’s them …

This does not mean we are unfriendly as neighbors. We wave when we pass. We share tools or food items if needed. We ask about each other’s children and grandchildren. On occasion we may even attend an event at each other’s churches. But seldom, if ever, do we seriously discuss the question: What might we do to become truly united in Jesus Christ?

Opportunities to have such conversations certainly present themselves. For example, near the end of a walk around the block, I stopped for a brief exchange with a nearby neighbor who was raking leaves in her front yard. After a bit of small talk she asked, “Why is it that you Protestants do not accept us Mormons as Christians? We believe in Christ, our church bears his name, and he is the center of our faith.”

“I can understand how you might feel about that,” I responded. “And perhaps you can understand how I feel when you Mormons do not accept my church.” I related my visit to an LDS sacrament meeting in which the speaker, a member of their stake high council, started with a quote from the first section of the Doctrine and Covenants (one of the Mormon scriptures). “Do you ward members realize,” he began, “that you belong to ‘the only true and living church on the face of the earth’?”

At that point the friendly exchange with my neighbor might have easily turned into an intense dispute about exclusive rights to labels like “Christian” or “only true and living church.” There have been more than a few times I have fallen for that temptation and came away with a feeling of futility and frustration.

But combative debate is not the only alternative. Either or both of us could have said, “Let’s not get into this,” and walked away. Avoidance can preserve a peaceable coexistence among neighbors. However, is a religious apartheid what those who seriously claim to belong to Jesus really desire? Is that what Jesus himself would desire?

Certainly the desired alternative is to enter into honest and open conversation for the sake of understanding one another, moving beyond mutual exclusion, and somehow finding the basis in Jesus for mutual embrace. But what might that “somehow” be?

To pose one possible response to that question is the purpose of this book. I must say at the outset that mere human effort at fulfilling the dream will be futile. It will have to be a “God thing.” Yet we do have a role to play. So let me suggest a script.

To begin with, we need to be willing to interact with each other …

This goes for writing as well as speaking. It is my hope that Latter-day Saints who pick up this book will sense I am addressing them no less than I am my fellow Protestants. My prayer is that these words will facilitate honest, face-to-face communication between us.

There are risks, of course. Many of us from both backgrounds have memories of past discussions that evolved into battles. We felt we were being attacked, so we mounted our defenses, scrambling for ammunition and artillery of our own. Relations were strained, not strengthened. Efforts at conversing together turned out to be counterproductive. Understandably, we are fearful and reluctant to risk a repeat. But relationships always require risk, and in the case of our relating with one another, both claiming to follow Jesus, the risks are worth taking. They are, in fact, risks we cannot afford not to take if we are to seriously follow Jesus’s teachings.

We can, however, minimize the risks by focusing on scripture. Both of our traditions affirm the significance of scripture in revealing the truth about Jesus, about ourselves, and how we relate to him. If we can agree on a scriptural text around which we can interact, our hopes for helpful—rather than harmful—discussion are greatly enhanced. Such a text could be thought of as a lens through which we can view, then hopefully correct and connect our perceptions.

For a number of reasons, I believe, the perfect text—or lens—for our purpose is the Lord’s Prayer.