Famine in Zion
Chapter 3: The Lesser Portion
In Matthew 7:9–10 (cf. Luke 11:11–12; 3 Nephi 14:9-10), Jesus presents a rhetorical question—“What man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone? Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent?” While this passage is typically interpreted within the broader context of divine responsiveness to prayer, it also bears a profound metaphorical implication related to spiritual nourishment. Bread and fish, of course, both staples of ancient Near Eastern diets, function here as symbols of life-sustaining sustenance. By contrast, the stone and the serpent represent lifeless or harmful substitutes—inedible in the case of the stone, and dangerous in the case of the serpent, which carries biblical connotations of deception and evil (cf. Genesis 3; Matthew 23:33). The passage affirms the character of God as one who responds to sincere spiritual hunger with true and nourishing gifts, not with deceptive or empty substitutes.
In a scriptural tradition where food is frequently employed as a metaphor for revelation and divine instruction, this teaching further reinforces the expectation that those who earnestly seek God’s word will not be left to feed on metaphorical stones or serpents. In the Latter-day Saint context, where themes of spiritual nourishment are foundational, the passage implicitly critiques environments in which disciples seeking truth may be handed institutional or cultural replacements for genuine doctrinal substance. Thus, the metaphor in this teaching becomes a subtle but potent reminder that God honors spiritual hunger with authentic revelation—not ornamental tradition or corrosive ideology.
In various settings over the years, I’ve observed sincere expressions of spiritual hunger emerge during Quorum discussions—often hesitantly, but with real vulnerability. Sometimes it comes in the form of a quiet admission—“It’s hard for me to come to Elders Quorum because I just don’t feel spiritually fed here.” The language may vary, but the underlying sentiment is remarkably consistent. There is a yearning for deeper instruction, greater nourishment, and more meaningful engagement with the gospel. These moments are rarely confrontational. More often, they are confessions of quiet weariness, offered in good faith. And yet, what tends to follow is not always a conversation, but a redirection. I’ve heard responses from leaders and facilitators such as, “Well, I’ve never felt that way,”or “If someone isn’t feeling uplifted at church, the problem is with attitude and perspective.”
These responses are representative of what, in certain psychological and spiritual circles, is referred to as mirroring—a dynamic in which any discomfort, concern, or criticism is immediately reflected back onto the individual who voices it. In such frameworks, if a person expresses concern about a group leader, the teaching material, or the emotional climate of the group, the expectation is that they look inward and ask, “What within me is projecting this issue?” While introspection has its place in spiritual life, when taken to extremes, this approach can become a tool of deflection. It shifts the point of concern away from structural or doctrinal substance and toward personal guilt or inadequacy. In some high-control or even cultic environments, such thinking is used to systematically dismantle critical thought, suppress dissent, and eliminate the possibility of group accountability. The underlying implication is—if you have a problem with the group, the problem is you.
While most members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints likely do not intend to endorse such an ideology, these kinds of responses reflect a pervasive mindset—often unconscious—found among many well-meaning Saints. The impulse to redirect discomfort back onto the individual is often seen as an expression of faith or loyalty. But such responses, while perhaps rooted in good intent, can render certain concerns unutterable. They close the door to necessary conversations and disincentivize reflection on systemic or cultural deficiencies within our worship environments. More importantly, they can invalidate genuine spiritual hunger. Many members simply do not know how to articulate their discontent, let alone examine it, because we have not cultivated a culture that teaches people how to safely or constructively engage in such dialogue.
In one instance, I listened to a sister give a sacrament meeting talk in which she commented on the oft-heard refrain, “I’m not getting anything out of church.” She strongly rebuked the sentiment and countered with, “Whoever said you needed to get anything out of church? Church isn’t about you—it’s about the people around you.” She went on to suggest that even if one feels no desire to attend, they should come anyway, because their smile or presence might be what convinces someone else to return the following week. While such statements may be rhetorically stirring, they are, at their core, theologically and pastorally problematic. They reduce religious observance to an act of performative duty and burden individuals with the emotional weight of others’ spiritual outcomes. Over time, this can create an environment where attendance is driven more by guilt than by grace, more by obligation than by nourishment. It becomes, in effect, a pressure cooker for resentment and quiet disengagement.
If someone were to tell me they are not getting anything out of church, my instinct is not to question their commitment, attitude, or faith. My first questions would be: What is being offered there? Is there spiritual substance present? Is the doctrine of Christ being taught in clarity and depth? Are the scriptures being meaningfully engaged? Or is the content closer to a steady stream of empty calories, lightly dusted with gospel language but lacking the theological nutrition that the soul requires?
Part of what makes scriptural illiteracy particularly insidious is that it rarely presents as a crisis. On the surface, everything seems intact—meetings are held, callings are filled, talks are given, activities proceed. A ward may even appear highly functional by conventional metrics—warmth, friendliness, activity rates. But beneath this institutional momentum, something may be spiritually hollow. Elder Donald L. Hallstrom once observed that “It is possible to be active in the Church and less active in the gospel” (“Converted to His Gospel through His Church,” April 2012). That distinction between activity and discipleship is rarely examined, yet it explains why some of the most earnest and faithful members quietly slip away. They were not spiritually lazy. They were spiritually hungry. And they were given a stone.
It is important to acknowledge that the suggestion of a widespread deficiency within Church culture—particularly the idea that certain wards or stakes may be failing to adequately spiritually nourish their members—can be deeply uncomfortable, even offensive, to some. This discomfort is not without reason. For many, the instinct to defend one’s religious community arises from a genuine sense of loyalty, gratitude, and reverence for the good it has done. There is virtue in wanting to protect one’s community from criticism, especially when that criticism appears to challenge its sincerity or integrity. Such sensitivities must be respected and engaged with care.
Therefore, for the rhetorical and analytical purposes of this chapter, I invite the reader to step into a slightly more distanced and reflective frame—one that temporarily suspends judgment or defensiveness and instead allows for a kind of thought experiment grounded in theological and cultural inquiry. Rather than offering a litany of grievances or assigning blame to specific individuals or groups, the question posed here is both hypothetical and diagnostic in nature—If scriptural illiteracy were to become a widespread problem within the Church what would we expect to observe? What patterns of behavior, speech, or spiritual sentiment might emerge as outward symptoms of a deeper inward deficiency?
If, upon reading what follows, one finds no correlation between the proposed observations and their own experiences, then no harm is done. At worst, one has been invited to consider a range of warning signs, blind spots, and red flags, and will be better equipped to recognize them if they should arise in the future. However, if the reader does find resonance—if the descriptions and reflections that follow strike a little too close to home or confirm long-held impressions that previously lacked vocabulary—then perhaps this exercise will serve as an invitation to engage these realities with sincere, critical thought. The goal is not to condemn, but to illuminate. For those who feel the dissonance, this chapter offers a framework for honest confrontation and faithful response—a beginning point for addressing systemic spiritual malnourishment with both reverence for the Restoration and a firm commitment to its continuing vitality.
The following material presents a series of thematically grouped and logically ordered categories of observable outcomes that may reasonably be expected in contexts where scriptural illiteracy is present. To further illuminate the progressive and often imperceptible nature of this decline, each section is accompanied by a corresponding metaphor drawn from the stages of starvation. These parallels serve as a symbolic framework for understanding how spiritual vitality can erode when scripture ceases to function as the living center of discipleship.
Stage 1 – Foundational Weaknesses in Gospel Learning
Starvation Stage: Nutrient Deficiency / Initial Malnutrition
Reduction in Doctrinal Depth
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, one of the earliest and most consistent outcomes would be a reduction in doctrinal depth. This would manifest as a gradual flattening of teaching, testimony, and discourse. Lessons and sacrament talks would increasingly rely on familiar clichés, generalized encouragements, or culturally comfortable phrases rather than meaningful engagement with revealed doctrine. Scriptural exposition would give way to anecdotal storytelling, while theological reflection would be replaced by personal opinion.
In such an environment, the effects of prophetic teaching would also be dulled. Prophets and apostles often teach through layered scriptural allusions, drawing on shared canonical memory. In wards or stakes where scriptural literacy has declined, these allusions would fall flat. Talks rich in interpretive depth would be received as little more than motivational speeches, and the revelatory thread lost. Members would learn to respond to the emotional tone of a message without recognizing its doctrinal core. In time, the Church could become rich in sentiment but impoverished in real theology. The gospel, in such settings, would cease to be a revealed structure of truth and instead become a series of impressions loosely tied to tradition.
This decline would be especially visible in relation to the Book of Mormon—the most widely circulated and, ostensibly, most studied volume of scripture within the Church. What would likely tend to remain are the well-worn phrases and narrative touchstones frequently cited in Primary, Seminary, and General Conference: “I will go and do,” “Adam fell that men might be,” “If ye shall ask with a sincere heart,” and so on. Likewise, familiar stories—Nephi retrieving the plates, Lehi’s vision, the martyrdom of Abinadi, Captain Moroni’s banner, the stripling warriors—would dominate spiritual discourse. While not inappropriate, their repetition without deeper doctrinal exposition would contribute to surface-level engagement.
What would subsequently fade are the doctrine’s that define the Book of Mormon’s covenantal urgency. For example: Mosiah’s denunciation of monarchy (Mosiah 29), Alma’s rebuke of wealth inequality (Alma 4), the blueprint for a Zion society (4 Nephi), and the severe warnings to the modern Gentile Church (3 Nephi 16; Ether 2–3). These are central to the Book’s prophetic voice. In scripturally shallow environments, they would often be left untouched, reducing the Book of Mormon to a treasury of stories rather than the covenantal record and warning voice it claims to be.
Collapse of Internal Scriptural Canon Cross-Talk
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, one of the more subtle but damaging outcomes would be the collapse of internal canon cross-talk. In Latter-day Saint tradition, scripture is a tapestry of interwoven revelation—each part interpreting, reinforcing, recontextualizing, fulfilling, and unifying the others. But where scriptural engagement is minimal, this intertextuality will disappear, and the scriptures would begin to function more like disconnected documents than a coherent canon. Ironically, this would align the church more with mainstream academic and secular views of scripture.
In scripturally shallow environments, members would recognize familiar verses but lack the context or cross-canonical awareness to connect them. Over time, the Restoration’s scriptural canon would cease to interpret itself and would instead be shaped by personal opinion, cultural trends, or isolated proof-texting.
Over-Reliance on Leadership Authority
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, there would be an over-reliance on leadership authority at the expense of direct engagement with scripture. While reverence for prophetic leadership is foundational in Latter-day Saint theology, it becomes problematic when leadership voices functionally replace the scriptural canon as the primary source of doctrinal understanding.
In such environments, members would often default to familiar leadership statements as their core doctrinal references—not because these are more inspired, but because they are more accessible, more frequently cited, and culturally reinforced. Scripture, especially when it is complex, symbolic, or unfamiliar, would increasingly be bypassed in favor of concise quotations from General Authorities. The implicit message would essentially become—Let the Brethren tell us what the scriptures mean, or worse, Let them replace the scriptures altogether.
This shift would foster a model of gospel learning that is derivative and spiritually dependent. Rather than cultivating doctrinal discernment through scripture and the Spirit, members would begin to defer their understanding—and even their conscience—to perceived institutional consensus. In place of spiritually confident, scripturally literate disciples, we would end up with Saints who see themselves not as students of the word, but as passive recipients of filtered instruction.
Overuse of General Conference as a Substitute for Canon
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, there would be an overreliance on General Conference talks as a functional substitute for scripture. Conference talks are generally more emotionally resonant and linguistically modern than scripture, making them a natural default for talks, lessons, and even personal study. However, when these addresses are referenced independently of their scriptural foundation, the risk of theological distortion will increase. Prophetic interpretation may eventually be mistaken for original doctrine, and counsel given in specific historical contexts may be viewed as universal or timeless revelation. When scripture is marginalized, members may not only misapply prophetic counsel but also miss the rich web of scriptural allusion embedded within it.
Imbalance Between Policy and Principle
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, there would be an increasing imbalance between policy and principle. In such environments, Church policies—outlined in handbooks, procedures, and cultural expectations—would gradually become the default lens through which righteousness is interpreted. While policy is vital for order and consistency, it is not meant to function independently of the doctrinal principles that give it meaning. When scripture no longer informs the spiritual life of the membership, policy often rises to prominence.
This imbalance is largely structural. Policy is easier to reference. It is clear, procedural, and typically requires no interpretive wrestling. It provides certainty through lists of do’s and don’ts that fill the vacuum left by underdeveloped scriptural understanding. In this context, members may ask, “Is it allowed?” or “What does the handbook say?” rather than, “What does the Lord teach in scripture?” or “How does this align with grace, agency, or discipleship?”
Over time, members would start to lack the tools to apply policy wisely. The Word of Wisdom becomes a health checklist, not a covenant discipline. Modesty becomes hemline enforcement, not a principle of holiness and embodiment. Over time, this fosters a culture of regulation over transformation. Worthiness becomes behavioral compliance. Questions feel unsafe. Leaders prioritize enforcement over discernment. Policy becomes the measure of righteousness.
This is rarely the result of authoritarian intent. More often, it reflects a desire for safety and orthodoxy in the absence of scriptural fluency. But policy cannot build Zion. The Restoration is not a legal code—it is a covenantal call to live by revealed principles, guided by scripture and personal revelation. In a scripturally literate Church, members will still honor policy, but with discernment, compassion, and purpose. Without that foundation, Church life risks becoming precise in form and hollow in substance.
Overreliance on Institutionalized Faith
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, one likely consequence would be an overreliance on institutionalized faith. This overreliance would produce a model in which Church participation is mistaken for spiritual transformation. In such environments, outward engagement with Church structures—attendance, callings, behavioral norms—would begin to substitute for discipleship, doctrinal understanding, and personal conversion. Over time, checklist spirituality would replace the deeper, nourishing dimensions of gospel living, including a relationship with Jesus Christ.
Elder Donald L. Hallstrom’s distinction between “active in the Church” and “active in the gospel” is critical here. The Church should facilitate discipleship, but it is not a substitute for it. Without scriptural literacy, members may feel spiritually “active” simply because they are punctual, busy, or compliant, all the while remaining inwardly malnourished.
This deficiency would be reflected in language and teaching. Testimonies would focus on knowing “the Church is true,” while references to Christ or scripture are minimal. Lessons would center on following counsel and fulfilling roles, not studying doctrine or exploring the Standard Works. The Church would be seen not only as the body of Christ, but as the source of Christ—bypassing the very scriptures that testify of him.
Stage 2 – Cracks in Doctrinal Application
Starvation Stage: Metabolic Deterioration / Functional Breakdown
Weak Gospel Teaching
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, there would be a decline in the quality of gospel teaching across age groups and settings. When scripture is not a regular part of members’ spiritual lives, those called to teach may lack both the tools and the foundation needed to anchor their lessons in revealed truth. In such conditions, official Church classes would shift toward anecdotal teaching—relying on personal stories and emotional experiences rather than structured engagement with scripture. Lessons would center on broad moral platitudes or vague spiritual impressions, with scripture present in name but not in substance.
This trend would lead to “discussion-only” formats, where underprepared teachers default to open-ended questions with minimal doctrinal framing. While participatory learning is valuable, when detached from scriptural exposition, it risks reinforcing opinion rather than exploring truth. Teachers may avoid citing scripture altogether, unsure of their authority to interpret it, further weakening classroom dynamic. The effect would be especially acute in youth programs. Activities would prioritize fun, service, or social bonding, while doctrinal instruction would fade to the margins. Emotional loyalty to Church culture cannot substitute for rootedness in truth. Without opportunities to wrestle with scripture and explore real questions, youth will enter adulthood ill-equipped for spiritual complexity.
Priesthood and Relief Society Lessons Feel Like Self-Help Discourse
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, Elders Quorum and Relief Society gospel instruction would transform into formats resembling motivational presentations or group therapy sessions. Lessons would focus on broad virtues like “hope,” “resilience,” or “kindness,” framed through personal stories or inspirational quotes, but rarely anchored in covenantal context. Scripture would become decorative—supporting a point rather than driving the discussion. Comment periods would remain surface-level, favoring personal affirmations that resonate emotionally, regardless of whether they teach revealed truth. Open-ended questions would elicit broad opinions, with little reference to the text at hand. Over time, this open-ended discussion-style approach would steamroll the gospel’s doctrinal richness. Members may feel uplifted in the moment but remain unequipped for spiritual complexity, opposition, or confusion.
Talks and Lessons are Plagiarized
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, one consequence would be the increasing use of pre-written, plagiarized, or AI-generated sacrament talks and lessons. While this may seem like a harmless shortcut amid busy lives, its implications are spiritually significant. It reflects a weakening of doctrinal fluency, a loss of confidence in personal scriptural interpretation, and a diminished sense of accountability to the revelatory process that should accompany gospel instruction. When members lack the habits or tools to study scripture meaningfully, they may turn to internet archives, blog posts, or language learning models to assemble talks that sound correct but are not spiritually or scripturally grounded. It would not be surprising if even official Church publications adopted this practice.
This concern has not gone unnoticed. In April 2025, Elder Ulisses Soares warned against the use of AI as a substitute for divine inspiration (“Reverence for Sacred Things”). While the tone was pastoral, the warning revealed a deeper concern—that members may outsource spiritual responsibility, bypassing the revelatory wrestle that should shape gospel teaching. As D&C 42:14 reminds us, “If ye receive not the Spirit ye shall not teach.” Most concerning is that this trend signals a quiet lowering of spiritual expectations. When members believe doctrinal reflection is optional and instruction can be delegated to past talks or tools, the outward forms of Church life remain, but the inner power fades.
Gospel Language Becomes Sentimental or Therapeutic
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, gospel language would start to shift from covenantal precision to therapeutic sentimentality. In such environments, the vocabulary of discipleship would be gradually redefined through cultural filters that prioritize comfort and affirmation over covenant and transformation.
This shift would become most evident in public discourse—lessons, testimonies, and informal expressions of faith. The gospel would be framed in terms of how it makes one feel, rather than what it requires. Phrases like “I know my Savior loves me” or “The gospel brings me peace” would replace more doctrinally rooted testimony. Words like faith, grace, and repentance would become buzzwords, increasingly softened and detached from their scriptural depth. Faith would become optimism. Grace would become tolerance. Repentance would become self-acceptance.
Fast and testimony meetings would be a good litmus test for this shift. In strong scriptural wards and stakes, testimonies would blend experience with doctrine, anchored in scripture and covenant. In less literate wards and stakes, testimonies would drift toward generalized gratitude and emotional uplift, with little reference to Christ’s words or the Standard Works. Over time, those members would become fluent in feeling but illiterate in doctrine. Perhaps they would still be able to express impressions, but would be unable to explain or defend the truths those impressions are meant to reflect.
Reduced Ability to Identify Scriptural Patterns
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, members would gradually lose the ability to recognize scriptural patterns. A defining feature of scripture is its use of symbolic and prophetic cycles—scattering and gathering, bondage and deliverance, apostasy and restoration, exile and return. These are the architectural logic of God’s covenantal dealings. Scripturally fluent members see how these patterns play out not only in scripture, but in their own lives, families, and societies. Where literacy is lacking, these patterns would remain completely obscured. Without these patterns, members would lose their interpretive tools. They would begin to navigate life through cultural or emotional frameworks rather than divine ones, and in doing so, trade the fullness of the gospel for fragments of the gospel.
Distorted Sense of Revelation
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, there would be a distorted understanding of personal revelation. This would rarely manifest as overt apostasy, but rather as sincere misalignment—where spiritual impulses are no longer grounded in scriptural principles, doctrinal context, or prophetic safeguards. Over time, well-meaning members may mistake fleeting emotion for divine communication and develop a theology of revelation shaped more by internal impression than revealed truth.
A key symptom of this distortion would be the tendency to interpret emotional relief—such as the easing of anxiety or a sense of peace—as conclusive evidence of the Spirit. While the Holy Ghost does bring peace (Galatians 5:22), peace alone is not its only marker. John 14:26 describes the Spirit as one who teaches and brings truth to remembrance. Moroni 10:5 affirms that the Spirit reveals the truth of all things. Conversely, members may begin to assume that anything which feels good is divinely approved, and anything uncomfortable must be dismissed. But scripture is clear that the Spirit also corrects, reproves, and calls to repentance (see Hebrews 12:6; D&C 1:27). In scripturally shallow environments, this broader understanding would be lost.
This drift would begin with gaps in gospel teaching. Saints would be taught to “follow the Spirit” without being taught how to test those promptings. Scripture mandates discernment (1 Thessalonians 5:21), yet without doctrinal fluency, members may assume spiritual impressions can override canon. In extreme cases, this leads to claims of personal revelation that conflict with Church teachings.
Stage 3 – Breakdown of Gospel Discernment
Starvation Stage: Cognitive Disintegration / Systemic Crisis
Moral Confusion or Over-Simplification
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, one of the more spiritually disorienting consequences would be a decline in moral reasoning. The scriptures, when read canonically and contextually, present morality not as a checklist of behaviors but as a dynamic, covenantal process mediated through law, grace, prophecy, and divine timing. In scripturally literate communities, members learn to navigate moral ambiguity with wisdom drawn from divine patterns. Where this literacy fades, however, the ability to think ethically in revelatory terms fades with it.
In the absence of scriptural grounding, many members would default to rigid, binary moral categories—righteous versus wicked, obedient versus rebellious, etc. Moral judgments would become behavior-focused, often detached from context, prophetic exception, divine intention, or redemptive possibility. Complex questions about justice, mercy, paradox, or agency would be viewed with suspicion or avoided entirely. Furthermore, struggling members may be harshly judged, not through revealed standards, but through cultural tradition or personal bias. Others may mistake personal preference for eternal law or overlook true covenantal imperatives. This would create confusion and alienation in those seeking deeper discipleship.
Impaired Ability to Recognize Apostasy or Error
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, members would gradually lose the ability to recognize apostasy, doctrinal error, or theological distortion. Members would adopt or tolerate ideas incompatible with revealed truth simply because they no longer recognize the boundaries established by scripture. Without scriptural discernment, ideas would be judged by tone or emotional resonance rather than doctrine. This would leave members vulnerable to speculative theology, mysticism, prosperity gospel, or cultural reinterpretations of truth.
Doctrinal passivity would play a major role in this. When members rely solely on manuals or secondhand interpretation, their spiritual immune system weakens. Charismatic voices may gain undue influence—not because they are true, but because they sound familiar to an untrained ear. The Book of Mormon specifically warns against this. Nephi and Alma speak of apostasy born not of rebellion, but forgetfulness and neglect (2 Nephi 28; Alma 12). Apostasy in such a setting doesn’t storm in. It drifts in—unnoticed, unopposed, and unrecognized.
Doctrinal Confusion in the Home
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, there would be a growing pattern of doctrinal confusion within the home. When parents lack scriptural confidence, when doctrinal engagement is outsourced to minimalistic Church programs, and when gospel conversations are shallow or absent, children are more likely to grow up with an unclear, simplistic, or distorted understanding of foundational truths.
This concern is especially pressing in light of the Church’s “home-centered, Church-supported” model of learning, as emphasized in Come, Follow Me. That model assumes that parents can engage regularly and meaningfully with scripture. But when parents themselves are unfamiliar with the Standard Works—whether in content or interpretive method—they often feel unequipped to lead doctrinal discussions or answer hard questions. Family scripture study can become a brief, superficial ritual, avoiding complexity out of fear of “getting it wrong.” In such homes, Come, Follow Me risks becoming a checklist—measuring participation by completion rather than comprehension. Children, in turn, learn that scripture is peripheral, complicated, or irrelevant.
Over time, this dynamic leads to quiet deconstruction. Children may associate gospel learning with boredom or vague sentimentality rather than transformation, guidance, or curiosity. When questions arise—as they inevitably do—parents may deflect or simplify, reinforcing the perception that the gospel has little to offer in the face of real struggle or complexity. In such a vacuum, other sources necessarily fill the interpretive gap. A child who has never seen their parents wrestle with scripture is unlikely to believe it holds answers. A home without doctrinal conversation becomes a home without doctrinal inheritance. This is rarely due to apathy, but to generational doctrinal insecurity. Many parents simply were never taught how.
Temple Worship Becomes Abstract or Confusing
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, there would be a gradual disengagement from the meaning, coherence, and revelatory power of temple worship. Many members would continue to attend the temple out of duty, habit, or cultural expectation. But over time, temple worship would risk becoming abstract, confusing, or emotionally inaccessible because the scriptural framework that gives them meaning has faded from view.
Temple worship in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the culmination of covenantal patterns deeply rooted in scripture—especially in the Torah, Psalms, Isaiah, Hebrews, and Revelation. The layout of the temple, the sequence of ordinances, the covenants, clothing, and language—all draw on scriptural temple theology. When members cease to engage with the scriptures that inform these symbols, the temple loses its interpretive key.
The endowment ceremony, for example, finds parallels within Israel’s tabernacle system, the high priest’s ascent to the Holy of Holies, and apocalyptic visions in both canonical and apocryphal scripture. Covenants echo Deuteronomic structures of loyalty and renewal. Ordinances reenact creation, fall, atonement, and return. Without this scriptural architecture, members may sense the temple’s importance but struggle to articulate or understand its content.
As a consequence of this, we would see many first-time temple attendees (particularly for initiatory/endowment ordinances) resign to treating these ordinances like Christian mysticism. Parents, teachers, and leaders would consistently “warn” new temple-goers that aspects of the experience might feel strange or confusing—largely because they themselves had never fully grasped its meaning. Over time, many members would quietly withdraw from temple attendance due to discomfort or detachment. Others would continue attending but feel mentally absent—unaware of the deeper meaning behind the rites. In all cases, the temple would cease to function as a source of doctrinal clarity and spiritual transformation, and become more akin to an idol.
A common symptom of this idolatry would be the confusion between secrecy and sacredness. Out of reverence—or uncertainty—many members would avoid discussing temple themes, even in appropriate settings such as gospel classrooms or family study. While very few specific elements of the temple are protected by secrecy, temple theology is not meant to be hidden. Prophets and apostles regularly teach temple doctrine publicly, but without scriptural knowledge, members would fail to recognize or internalize those teachings.
This would result in a kind of temple agnosticism. Members would affirm the temple’s holiness but feel estranged from its meaning. They would say, “I know the temple is important,” or “I feel peaceful while I’m there,” but not really know why.
Stage 4 – Institutional and Cultural Erosion
Starvation Stage: Cachexia and Collapse / Terminal Shutdown
Over-Personalization of Scripture, Undermining Its Authority
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, one of the more spiritually corrosive outcomes would be the over-personalization of scripture in ways that undermine its covenantal and revelatory authority. While personal application is essential to discipleship, reducing scripture primarily to individual insight can erode its role as divine instruction, prophetic witness, and binding declaration of God’s will.
This tendency would be compounded by the mistaken belief that scripture was written for us in the modern day, rather than to ancient peoples in particular cultural and historical circumstances. Without a firm grasp of original context, members may project modern assumptions onto ancient texts, interpreting them solely through contemporary lenses.
This would often surface in classroom questions like, “What does this verse mean to you?” While inviting participation, such phrasing can unintentionally shift interpretation from covenantal fidelity to personal preference. Meaning would be judged by how a verse feels, not by what it declares. Lacking tools like historical context, canonical comparison, and doctrinal scaffolding, members would default to themselves. Scripture would become a vehicle for confirmation, not transformation.
Sacrament Meeting Becomes an Echo Chamber
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, one outcome would be the gradual transformation of sacrament meeting into a space where discourse becomes circular and redundant rather than revelatory or scripturally grounded. Though sacrament meeting is not meant to be a doctrinal symposium, it is intended to center on Christ, reflect his teachings, and engage with revealed truth. When scripture no longer informs spiritual vocabulary, talks would draw not from canon, but from communal repetition.
This dynamic would be reinforced by rhetorical habits—“As Sister Smith said last week…” or “Like Brother Jones mentioned…” Talks would reference one another more than scripture or prophetic voice, forming a closed loop of communal validation. The scriptures would become purely decorative rather than directive. Over time, this would create a doctrinal monoculture where certain buzzwords dominate, while deeper concepts are either glossed over or simplified. In other words, orthodoxy would no longer be measured by scripture, but by repetition.
Missionary Work Becomes Emotionally-Driven
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, there would be a shift in missionary work from doctrinal clarity to emotional appeal. While personal experience has always played a role in conversion, lasting discipleship depends on scriptural literacy, covenantal understanding, and doctrinal depth. When these foundations are weak, missionary work may appear fruitful but would lack staying power.
Where scripture is unfamiliar, missionary testimonies would be reduced to vague affirmations—“I know the Church is true because it brings peace,” or “I feel good when I pray.” These statements may be sincere, but without doctrinal scaffolding, they would leave investigators with emotional resonance and little theological substance. Converts would learn how to act, but not always what to believe or why.
As a result, conversion would become experiential rather than revelatory. When trials arise—or when alternate interpretations challenge beliefs—many would lack the doctrinal memory or spiritual vocabulary to remain anchored. This would have long-term consequences. Converts who join on emotion alone would struggle in Gospel Doctrine or temple preparation classes. They may quietly disengage, not from rebellion, but because they were never taught how to spiritually and doctrinally thrive. Without the tools to grow, they would eventually slip away, unnoticed and unrooted.
Weak Retention and Conversion
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, there would be a gradual weakening in both member retention and the durability of genuine conversion. Wards may still appear active, classes held, and programs functioning. But beneath the surface, a quiet erosion would be underway, disproportionately affecting converts, youth, and even returned missionaries. These members would struggle not from disbelief, but from never having “tasted the good word of God” (Hebrews 6:5) in a way that grounds and renews. Many of these members would inherit a secondhand testimony shaped more by cultural rhythm than personal conviction. The gospel, to them, may have felt more like expectations than revelation.
Data from the General Social Survey and Pew Research Center show declining Latter-day Saint retention over the past two decades. According to Pew’s 2023-2024 Religious Landscape Study, only 54% of individuals raised in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints still identify with the faith as adults, a decrease from 70% in 2008. This retention rate is among the lowest for major U.S. religious groups, comparable to trends seen in Buddhist communities. The General Social Survey further reveals generational decline, with just 46% of Millennials raised LDS continuing their affiliation, compared to 62% among Generation X. Even among returned missionaries, approximately 40% are estimated to become inactive or leave—a sobering reality that challenges the assumption that missionary service guarantees long-term faithfulness. The evidence suggests deeper doctrinal formation is lacking, even among those once deeply involved.
Normalization of Dysfunction as the New Spiritual Baseline
If scriptural illiteracy were to become widespread within the Church, the most troubling consequence would be the collective failure to recognize these aforementioned deficiencies as problems at all. Over time, the accumulation of weakened gospel instruction, emotionalized conversion, and doctrinal vagueness would create a culture in which spiritual dysfunction becomes normalized as the new baseline. This is the most insidious outcome of scriptural illiteracy—not just the loss of knowledge, but the loss of awareness that something has even been lost.
And herein lies the essence of “active in the Church, but not active in the gospel.” Programs may run, attendance remain steady, and teaching appear lively—yet the soul of discipleship is undernourished. A talk may feel “uplifting” without referencing Christ or scripture. A class may spark discussion without ever opening the assigned chapter. A member may say “I know the Church is true,” but nothing of covenants, the Atonement of Christ, or the Restoration. This is the essence of dwindling in unbelief.
