The Pattern I Can't Unsee: Reflections on Russell M. Nelson's Passing

Russell M. Nelson passed away a week ago at 101 years old. The news brought an unexpected wave of reflection; not about the man himself, whom I never knew personally, but about the patterns his leadership revealed. Patterns I've been quietly observing for years, finally ready to articulate.

I wrote last week about how religious movements handle failed prophecies...the way institutions maintain credibility by highlighting hits, explaining away misses, and retroactively drawing targets around wherever predictions happened to land. The Texas Sharpshooter fallacy, applied to divine revelation.

Nelson's death feels like an appropriate moment to examine a related question: How do we distinguish between divine revelation and pragmatic institutional adaptation? And what does it cost to ask that question out loud?

The Talks That Defined a Presidency

Nelson's tenure was marked by several signature addresses that became cultural touchstones for church members. Each offered a simple, memorable phrase designed to shape how millions of people think:

"Hear Him" (April 2020) emphasized listening for the Savior's voice, launching a massive social media campaign during the First Vision bicentennial.

"Let God Prevail" (October 2020) reframed the Hebrew meaning of "Israel" as willingness to let God be life's most important influence.

"Think Celestial!" (October 2023) invited members to maintain eternal perspective in all decisions, with the 99-year-old prophet recovering from injury as he delivered it.

"Peacemakers Needed" (April 2023) called for civil dialogue amid cultural division.

"The Answer is Always Jesus Christ" (April 2023) positioned Christ as the solution to all questions and problems.

These talks resonated deeply with believers. But from outside the framework of faith, each invites questions about verification, internal consistency, and practical application.

Why They Worked

I've been thinking about why these particular messages found such purchase, despite their logical vulnerabilities:

Hear Him reinforced the foundational Joseph Smith narrative, creating experiential solidarity with the founding prophet while validating each member's claim to direct divine access.

Let God Prevail offered theological comfort, allowing modern believers to embrace a form of universalism while avoiding the church's and scripture's uncomfortable particularism.

Think Celestial provided hope through deferred gratification. When present circumstances disappoint, eternal reward reframes suffering as temporary and purposeful.

Peacemakers Needed articulated universal values that transcend belief systems. Genuinely useful counsel about civil discourse.

Answer is Always Jesus Christ offered intellectual efficiency for believers who've already accepted Christ's divinity. The framework provides certainty without requiring continuous verification.

Each talk served psychological and social functions beyond their doctrinal content. That's not necessarily a criticism, all human meaning-making operates this way. But it's worth acknowledging.

The Pattern I Can't Unsee

What strikes me more, though, is a pattern that extends beyond any individual talk: the remarkable correlation between major doctrinal changes and external pressure.

The 1890 Manifesto ending polygamy came after decades of federal prosecution and threats preventing Utah statehood.

The 1978 revelation extending priesthood to Black members arrived during the Civil Rights era, when the church faced mounting criticism and practical challenges expanding internationally.

The 2019 reversal of the November 2015 policy (which had excluded children of same-sex couples from baptism) came after just four years of internal and external backlash.

In each case, the church frames these as revelations received through prayer and spiritual seeking. The timing's alignment with social and legal pressure seems more than coincidental.

Three Questions I Keep Coming Back To

Do church leaders consciously recognize they're managing a human institution, or do they genuinely believe they're receiving divine guidance that happens to align with social pressure?

Probably both, honestly. Cognitive dissonance theory suggests humans are remarkably good at holding contradictory ideas simultaneously. Leaders might truly believe God guides the church while also making practical decisions, with their minds smoothing over the contradictions. The system selects for certainty, creating what scholars call "preference falsification." The cost of expressing doubt is too high.

How aware are average members of these patterns?

A spectrum exists. Some genuinely don't see it. Each change is received as timely revelation. Others notice but engage in motivated reasoning to explain away the correlations. A smaller group has noticed clearly and are either quietly doubting or already transitioning out.

What does it cost to speak these observations out loud?

This is where abstract analysis collides with lived reality. The LDS church effectively intertwines family identity with institutional membership. "Families are forever" is beautiful theology but also a hostage situation for doubters.

Why I'm Writing This Now

I've been silent for a decade. Five years passively inactive, five more actively atheist but quiet. The silence itself became a burden heavier than the potential consequences of breaking it.

Several things drive me to write now:

The integrity burden of not expressing actual beliefs grows exhausting. Playing a role in family and social contexts feels increasingly inauthentic.

Free speech matters to me fundamentally. The right to express honest conclusions without self-censorship. This itself repudiates Mormon epistemology, which privileges authority and unity over individual expression. Though it's chilling to think that I may be putting myself in political crosshairs with the current administration by espousing what may be construed as anti-Christian rhetoric, the price of silence seems higher.

Writing forces clarity. Sometimes we don't fully understand what we think until we articulate it.

And perhaps most importantly: the internal cost of silence now exceeds the external cost of speaking.

I know people read these posts, including family members. I know where some fall along the spectrum I mentioned above. Others, I am not so certain about. I also recognize that how I handled previous pushback against my posts may influence the reactions I get (or don't get).

The internet is an interesting place to hold these kinds of conversations, and sometimes I need to remember who my posts are for. My posts are not for the true believers. They are for those who may be smoothing things over or who may be further along the path of walking away if they haven't already done so. Those who, like I did, need to see that others have walked the path and found meaning in their life outside of faith.

The Cost-Benefit Analysis

As of now, I maintain my membership in the church as a way of saying it's who I was. However, I'm aware that increased visibility might trigger church discipline. There's a certain irony in that possibility: if the church excommunicated someone for articulating these patterns, it would validate the critique about institutional authority prioritizing control over honest inquiry.

If it came to that, it would be a "you can't fire me, I quit" situation. The authority I no longer recognize can't meaningfully cast me out.

The social cost isn't trivial. Family dynamics could shift. Extended relationships might become strained. Parents would face their own difficult reckonings.

But I've already done that calculus. The people I'm closest to know where I stand and haven't estranged me for it. I realize I'm lucky in that aspect and my heart goes out to those that aren't so lucky. I've built enough identity independent of Mormonism that formal separation doesn't threaten my core self.

The alternative: continuing to self-censor, to maintain comfortable ambiguity, to prioritize others' comfort over personal authenticity stopped being tenable.

What This Is Really About

Nelson's passing prompted these reflections not because of the man himself, but because his presidency highlighted something fundamental about how religious authority operates.

When a system can only maintain itself by preventing honest inquiry and punishing honest expression, that tells us something important about the system itself.

The unfalsifiable framework, the selective memory, the reframing of social pressure as divine timing, the "speaking as a man" defense that renders nothing falsifiable. These aren't unique to Mormonism. The patterns transcend denominations.

But recognizing the patterns changes something. You can't unsee them once you notice. And for me, after years of seeing but not saying, the authenticity of speaking has become more valuable than the comfort of silence.

Nelson lived 101 years and led the church for seven of them. By all accounts, he was brilliant, accomplished, and beloved by millions. These observations aren't about diminishing that legacy.

They're about acknowledging that brilliant, accomplished, beloved leaders can still operate within systems that resist falsification. That sincerity and institutional management aren't mutually exclusive. That the psychological comfort provided by religious frameworks can coexist with their logical vulnerabilities.

And that sometimes the most profound insights really do come from simply paying attention and then finding the courage to say what you've observed.

Russell M. Nelson died September 27, 2025, at age 101. These reflections emerged from contemplating the patterns his leadership revealed: patterns about prophecy, authority, and the systems by which religious movements maintain themselves despite empirical challenges.