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Mormon Matters Podcast: Matters of Perspective

Mormon Matters present a Dialogue classics read by Curt Bench. From their site:
This classic sermon by former BYU history professor Richard D. Poll, read here for Matters of Perspective by Curt Bench, introduces the metaphors of “Iron Rod” and “Liahona” Latter-day Saint as helpful for understanding two different religious temperaments and the way each approaches life and, more particularly, scripture and the foundational truth claims of Mormonism. Poll’s thought is that if those of us of one temperament can come to understand and see better the ways of being in the world and church of the other, we would be more gracious and generous toward those who are not “like us.”

On Care: Performative Theology, Mosiah, and a Gathered Community

[…] text and honors that commitment by refusing to curtail scripture’s ongoing, continuously potentiated capacity for connection and community. It is impossible to take up the theological task without a deep and abiding sense of […]

The Early Twentieth Century Temples

[…] a city of Zion, independent and prosperous, where the economic, political, social and religious life of the community would all be centered on the Church and its leaders. But by 1892, the kingdom had […]

The Restoration in British Columbia

[…] British Columbia. McMullen was a young school teacher who had secured employment in Chilli wack, a farming community some sixty miles up the Fraser River from Vancouver (McMullen 1941, 1; Jewett n.d., 1). The […]

Fast Offering

[…] the old one. When he got home from church, he crossed out the old name with a black marker and wrote “Brent Brinkerhoff” on the next line. He did his normal route and the […]

The Coalville Tabernacle: A Photographic Essay

[…] to mean valleys and homes and streets and people and, most of all, churches.  By now, the black celluloid sea known only to photographers had engulfed Doug and he was trying to expose and […]

Visit to a Cathedral After a Trip Round the World

In the west door for kings alone swung wide, 
the leather-padded wicket, left behind me 
stifling a gasp, expired. 

No more fresh air: 
I had entered the dim, mouldy, hollow hush 
of a dead church—the silence of the ‘grave 
and reverend’ sirs ghosting it in their gowns—