Untangling these questions and impulses must begin with the most powerful appeal: group identity. When a Mormon says "I'm a Mormon," or "I'm a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints" he says much more than, "these are my theological beliefs." He means, rather, that he is one of a recognizable people, only a few proverbial inches shy of an ethnicity. His instincts interweave his identity with many connected groups: his large extended family, itself bound together with other Mormon families; the CJCLDS hierarchy extending from his Ward to the local Temple, the place of sacred rites (his wedding, for starters); the Temple in Salt Lake City, the seats of the "Twelve Apostles and the President, who is, according to belief, a prophet-by-succession. The only other organization on earth this clearly defined, and comprehensive, is the Roman Catholic Church, whose people also carry an identity beyond mere theology (but not even the Pope claims to be a prophet). Indeed, many have heard the saying, "Once a Catholic, always a Catholic." The Mormon appellation carries as much weight, if not more, for its owners as does “Catholic” for its.
A murkier picture describes the Orthodox Church in the West, which lacks the apparent uniformity of these religions. In the historically “Orthodox” countries (the best known being Greece, Russia, Serbia, Romania…) the same sense of identity HAD developed—to the point where the nationality became an alias for the religion. But historical upheaval ripped apart these cultures (especially by Communism). Suffice it to say for my purpose here, that an Orthodox identity is an illusive reality, and rather hard to see—especially for outsiders. And there's the rub. Although the Orthodox identity remains intact in the Divine Liturgy and in the theological practices lived out by the monks, an inconsistent “face” meets the world in differences of formalized customs and national loyalties. Over long years a sectarian sensibility has grown up, which, in the United States, has sometimes warped into a Protestant variation: "Jesus, the Canons, and me!" Meanwhile, there in Utah stands the CJCLDS, whose public prestige (as religious institutions are concerned) grows. This contrast sparks my envy—a misplaced priority on public face. I want the Orthodox Church to wield enough cultural and political power to make Christian Orthodoxy strong in the public square.
But what am I saying, really? Is this not a lust for power, wanting sanction through an institution linked with God’s name? (look out third commandment!) The history is a mixed bag on this very issue. The Church (or churches), whether the Orthodox, the Roman Catholic, state Protestantism—often elevated the culture at large, though sometimes corrupting the Faith, and sometimes bringing shame to the name of Christ. Theocracy is a dicey business. Even what God himself set up through Moses, and again through Saul, failed (as God predicted), requiring at different times a prophet to chasten or rescue the wayward people. And prophets have tended not to stick around too long, leaving the people to stray again. The God of Israel allows His people to learn the hard way—even when it brings shame to His name. So looking back, it shouldn't be surprising that, when the Messiah came, he said things like this: "My kingdom is not of this world." He did not come to set up a theocratic nation—been there done that. But temptations and good intentions to the contrary, I find myself longing for exactly that, earthly power invested in my Church hierarchy. My weak faith asks, "Why are the Orthodox so weak in the world?"
The answer should be obvious.
Of what use is a theocracy to God? He does not need it, and I believe God would say that we don't need it either, except to teach us of our sin. Kingdoms (wealth, centralized authority, with or without God's name) have proven utterly weak in sustaining either Israel, or the Christian people. St. Paul did say:
God has chosen the weak of the world, so that he may confound the strong. And God has chosen the ignoble and contemptible of the world, those who are nothing, so that he may reduce to nothing those who are something. So then, nothing of the flesh should glory in His sight.
Rather, as regards kingdoms, Jesus said, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” The poor in spirit have sustained the Church, sometimes in outward strength, but more often in exile, or in a monastery. Wealth and political power mean little, which is not a backhanded insult to the CJCLDS. On the contrary, it is to identify the error in myself that would doubt my own experience of the true Faith for the enticement of a prosperous showing by a rival Christianity; the erroneous belief that the mark of true religion is wealth and good morals. These are nice. But the mark of holiness is, and always has been, humility and repentance.
The beauty available within the Orthodox Church grows out of the life of repentance. Its theology and experiential accoutrements, through Christ, feed and support the repentant soul. Such sustaining medicine begins with the Eucharist and confession, continuing in sublime and sober worship, and in the ascetic practices, mainly of prayer. I know of nothing like this combination within the CJCLDS, whose theology begins by assuming a latent power in the individual (a nascent deity), increased through moral exercise, with “The Father” helping. Thus a Mormon finds salvation: fulfilling his life's Mission. Such is my simplification of the Mormon faith. It is worthy of admiration, but not of adoration. The True Faith, given by the True Christ, requires a “broken and contrite heart,” an absence of power, a weakness through which God glorifies both the man and Himself. A Mormon would be a hero; a Christian would be a Saint. The spirit in these two religions couldn't be more different.
A holy man may be wealthy, or he may be poor; he will certainly be penitent and joyful. Christ's true Church has taught me the depth of character wrought by repentance, character distinct from good ethics, from “clean living.” The contrast is analogous to that between cheerfulness and joy, between appeal and beauty, between decency and holiness. In short, despite the buildings, impressive and clean; the presentations well done and friendly—these delightful things notwithstanding, Temple Square seemed a pretty shell, an altar's gold, a hearty body lacking soul.
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