Nothing New Under the Pulpit
I should name something before I begin. I am not a neutral observer. I left the LDS Church after decades of membership, and I carry that departure with me—the grief of a community I walked away from, the frustration of feeling unseen and unvalued, the lingering sadness that surfaces when I see people I love give their lives to something I no longer trust.
I sat down to watch this address knowing all of that would color what I heard. It did. What follows is honest reaction, not balanced analysis. Some of it is sharp. Some of it aches. I think both are worth sharing.
On February 10, 2026, Dallin H. Oaks gave his first public address as president of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I decided to watch it. Not because I expected to be moved, but because there's something clarifying about seeing these events from the outside. The patterns that were invisible when I was inside become unmistakable once you step back.
What followed was a half hour of recycled counsel, carefully manufactured reverence, and the same small answers to enormous questions that the church has been offering for decades.
The Machinery of Reverence
Of course the opening hymn was We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet. It's easily one of the most frequently sung songs in the church, and rightfully so—the belief in modern-day prophets and continuing revelation is one of Mormonism's distinguishing features. Members take great pride in being able to claim a living prophet.
But I find it hard to see that people are so willing to place their lives, their fortunes, and their time in the hands of someone they've likely never spoken to face to face.
As the camera panned to Oaks and his wife sitting side by side, I paused the video. Both looked like the epitome of white upper-class America. Tailored suits. Short hairstyles. Perfect makeup. Oaks had this little smile on his face. But I noticed the smile had disappeared during one pause when the camera was focused elsewhere—and the smile returned the moment the camera came back. Performance exemplified. I couldn't help wondering: how might a Palestinian carpenter who appealed to taking care of the poor and needy view this?
One of Oaks' great-granddaughters gave the invocation. How stressful must it be to be in a system that expects you to perform in such a public setting—not just for those present in the BYU arena, but for the hundreds of thousands, maybe millions, watching online. I wonder if that young woman has ever felt free to express whatever doubts she might have, or if she, like many, finds such questions too dangerous to entertain.
I don't want to dwell too much on the prayer itself except to say how public prayers make me think of Christ's own words: "And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen." (Matthew 6:5-6)
The rendition of All Creatures of Our God and King sung by the BYU choir did make me nostalgic for my choir days. There is something magical about blending voices in harmony. And the MC's comment about how the music "set the tone" was telling—music has a way of creating resonance among people, setting up conditions for that collective effervescence that is so powerful in human psychology. It's not revelation. It's a well-understood mechanism of group emotion.
Prophecy That Echoes
Oaks said he prayed for inspiration about what he might say. But when you've been giving public talks for over forty years, I wonder how much inspiration is really needed.
"It is the destiny of Brigham Young University to become... the great University of the Lord."
What does that even mean? BYU is already referred to by members as "the Lord's university." It's not very prophetic to claim something that already exists.
On the passing of the prophetic mantle, Oaks referenced Joseph Smith's succession and how the mantle passed to Brigham Young in different ways—some heard Joseph's voice, some had a feeling, some saw things. "Everyone receives revelation differently," we're told. It's unfortunate that an omnipotent God can't be consistent and reveal himself to his children in a way that isn't ambiguous or open to interpretation.
His voice became emotional as he described feeling "the heaviness of responsibility" settle upon him after learning of President Nelson's death. But hasn't this been what his entire time within the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was about? Hasn't this been the goal for the ninety-something years he's been a member, or at least a possibility that's been in the back of his mind during his tenure as an apostle?
Then came one quote I'd already seen circulating on Facebook:
"In the coming days, it will not be possible to survive spiritually without the guiding, comforting, and constant influences of the Holy Ghost. One of the many reasons you will need the constant influence of the Holy Ghost is that you live in a season where the adversary has become so effective at disguising truth that if you don't have the Holy Ghost, you will be deceived."
Is this what prophetic insight looks like? These are the same things that are in the scriptures. They've been stated and restated throughout church history. The vagueness and echo of past teachings only emphasize that current leadership is allergic to doing anything that breaks traditional norms.
Has Satan really become more effective at disguising truth? According to church teachings, he's been disguising truth since he convinced Eve to eat the fruit. Satan's supposed deceit is nothing new. It has always been part of the equation. There's nothing prophetic or inspired about observing that the game hasn't changed.
Counsel on a Card
Then Oaks offered his prescription for overcoming doubt:
- Strengthen our faith in Christ
- Increase our humility
- Seek help from others
- Be patient
I've noticed how church leaders love to deliver counsel in tidy lists. It started for me with Gordon B. Hinckley's "Six Be's" talk in 2000. President Monson followed the pattern regularly. So did President Nelson. And now President Oaks continues the tradition of giving counsel that fits nicely on a 3x5 card.
As someone who had doubts and eventually left the church, I find it presumptuous to think that these little nuggets of advice can address the complex and myriad ways doubt comes to a person. But let me take each one in hand for a moment.
Strengthen our faith. I have thoughts on the problem of divine hiddenness that I've yet to fully articulate and publish. But the crux is this: a God who truly loves us and wants us to follow him would not require us to walk by faith. The hiddenness itself is the problem, and "just believe harder" isn't an answer—it's a deflection.
Increase our humility. This came across to me as: don't require too much of yourself. Don't lean too hard on your own understanding. Don't think too deeply. Don't question too far. It continues the pattern of self-erasure that is necessary to remain within a system of belief that cannot withstand the light of scrutiny. Humility, in this context, means making yourself small enough that the questions stop mattering.
Seek help from others. On its face, I agree. Reaching out to others is one of my own goals lately. But I already suspected—and the address confirmed—that he means only seek help from those inside the group. Don't talk to people outside the faith. Don't take their experience or knowledge to heart. Don't investigate their perspectives when they contradict church teachings.
Be patient. It's hard to hear this knowing how finite our lives are. On the cosmic scale we are hardly a blink. To spend years carrying doubt without being allowed to release things that no longer work is a form of bondage.
The Echo Chamber, Made Explicit
Later in the address, Oaks made the insular counsel explicit:
"A third way to draw closer to our Savior is to associate with other believers. This includes discussions with trusted associates, local church members, and other faithful friends."
There it is. Associate with other believers. Discuss things only with trusted associates, church members, and faithful friends. Don't seek to broaden your horizons by engaging outside perspectives. Stay within the echo chamber so your beliefs won't face real scrutiny.
He went further:
"An abundance of speculation and false information in podcasts and on social media. Some may protest or question the truth of church doctrine without knowing or even understanding the fulness of that doctrine. Don't be persuaded by false or inaccurate information. Discuss your concerns with faithful, well-informed friends and always take those concerns to the Lord."
There's the othering. Everything that disagrees with church teachings is branded as falsehood and misinformation. Staying close to church doctrine is equated with faithfulness and being well-informed. It allows no possibility that what the church teaches might be wrong. It allows no possibility that outside voices might be right. It does not permit the revision of ideas that have outlived their usefulness, if they ever had any. It ignores the humility being espoused earlier.
It paints those who are critical of church doctrine as simply not understanding it correctly. All that means is there exists a possibility to understand church doctrine another way—but it will always be deemed the wrong way.
Only discussing concerns with those inside the church insulates you, exposing you to the same feedback loop: read the scriptures, go to church, pray, pay your tithing, don't worry about the hard things that don't make sense.
Knowledge as Threat
"Never let your secular learning limit your horizons."
Going back to President Hinckley's Six Be's, one of them was "Be Smart." He extolled the virtue of education and echoed what was a familiar phrase from daytime television in the '80s and '90s: "Knowledge is power."
But secular learning will expand your horizons more than spiritual learning ever will. Curiosity should be cultivated. Exploration should be encouraged. Like the Garden of Eden, it seems that knowledge is always a threat to God's ability to keep us obedient.
Oaks quoted Richard L. Evans, an apostle who died in 1971:
"There may be some seeming discrepancies [between religious and scientific teaching]. Do not worry about them. Eternity is a long time... Remember this: science, after all, even when it is true and final and factual, is simply man's discovering of a few things that God already knows and controls in his ordering of the universe."
First, it is profoundly dismissive to tell someone "don't worry about it" regarding discrepancies that may fundamentally challenge their worldview. How dismissive not to encourage people to seek answers, or to simply acknowledge, "We don't have all the truth—it may lie elsewhere."
And to describe science as if it could ever be "true and final and factual" perpetuates the apologetic misunderstanding that exists about the scientific method. Science does not seek to establish final truths. It seeks to describe the world as it is and to make data-driven predictions, always leaving the door open to revision and expansion—unlike religious dogma, which claims finality and resists amendment.
Eternity is indeed a long time, but we have no good reason to believe such a length of time will be afforded to us.
If something is true, it will withstand scrutiny. If it is not, it should be amended, replaced, or discarded without regret. Even in failing to understand the world correctly, we expand our understanding.
Oaks continued: "Trusting in the Lord is a particular need for all who wrongly discount the commandments of God and the teachings of his prophets by measuring them against the latest findings and wisdom of men."
We have nothing else if it isn't the latest findings and wisdom of men. It was not the commandments of God that led to the invention of the printing press. It was not the commandments of God that led to the Industrial Revolution. It was not the commandments of God that led to the abolition of slavery across most of the world. It was not the commandments of God that advanced medicine, germ theory, psychology, physics, and biology. All of these were advancements made most often in spite of religious objections—a fight that continues as Christian representatives in the United States push religious dominion by attempting to place creationism and the Ten Commandments into public schools.
Sometimes we get things wrong. But more often than not, it is not the commandments of God that set us on the path to greater understanding. It is our own relentless curiosity about the world around us.
The Nice Guy Who Won't Take No
"God is relentless in his loving pursuit of each of you."
Here's the nice guy who doesn't know how to take no for an answer. He doesn't know how to give you the space you might need. He doesn't value your autonomy or your ability to make choices that might not include him.
How insecure do you have to be to not simply say, "I still love you. If you ever want to come back, I'll be here"?
That latter example isn't relentless. It's patient—one of the four virtues Oaks included in this address. The irony writes itself. A God who is "relentless" in pursuit of his children is not practicing the patience he commands of them.
How much more understanding of the human condition would it be for a prophet to say, "Some might walk away. They deserve the chance to explore, to find out what works for them. They deserve to find happiness even if it's outside our doors. If they want to come back, we'll welcome them with open arms. If they don't, we wish them every measure of human happiness that can be found"?
Who's Missing from the Conversation
Oaks talked about missionaries who don't remain faithful after their missions. He spoke of men who don't seek the Melchizedek priesthood.
Notably, he didn't mention how rapidly women are leaving the church. From what I understand, women are leaving at a greater rate than men. Maybe the sexism shown even in the areas of concern reveals the real value placed on women remaining within the faith. Their departure doesn't warrant a mention because their presence was never valued the same way.
The Unnamed and the Uncorroborated
A small thing, but worth noting: Oaks shared a story about humility in which he was asked to be an interim professor to replace a faculty member who had passed away. He didn't name the professor. Why not make it easier to corroborate the story for those who might wonder if it's simply a faith-promoting anecdote crafted for the occasion?
After fulfilling the assignment, Oaks said he felt good about his efforts—until one student offered the feedback: "You will make a good teacher someday." Maybe it's a humorous anecdote and a humble brag. But if the rest of the class gave positive or neutral feedback, why give credence for humility to a single person's opinion?
He also shared, again without names, the experience of a BYU student who told his stake president he'd decided to leave the church. Rather than responding with curiosity—rather than wanting to understand—the stake president proceeded to share his own "profound testimony" of the joy, peace, and inspiration the gospel had brought him.
As if these things are exclusive to church membership. Billions of people find joy, peace, and inspiration in contexts that have nothing to do with the LDS Church. To deny a young person the chance to explore the richness of human experience is pitiable.
It doesn't acknowledge the bravery or maybe the recklessness of the young man, who was taking business classes at BYU. This young man, if he existed, would surely have known that to express your doubts to your stake president not just risking personal estrangement from a trusted friend, but also potentially losing his ecclesiastical endorsement to attend the university in the first place.
The Man at the Podium
My final impression is how frail President Oaks looked throughout his address. It wasn't hard to notice the way his arm shook as he steadied himself at the podium. I noticed how he sometimes mispronounced words or temporarily lost track of where he was on the teleprompter. Sure, these things can happen to any communicator from time to time. But usually they're moments too small to notice.
At least he was able to stand. I wonder what it feels like to be ninety-something, standing that long under hot lights, addressing thousands.
I am not saying this to mock the man. I only point it out because I think of how much church leadership demands of people. This isn't just a matter reserved for those in the upper echelons of leadership. Those in bishopric and stake presidencies often sacrifice so much of their time that could be spent with their families and other loved ones. I'm not sure what it's like for the young women's leaders, but I know there are great demands on the Relief Society presidents in making sure they attend to the needs of the women in the church.
I think of how they are led into it with the promise, "Sacrifice brings forth the blessings of heaven." How much of their mortal lives do they give away with what is possibly an unrealized fulfillment that has to wait for eternity?
As I reflect on the state of many of the church leaders today, I keep thinking of a verse that was often quoted by George Washington, from Micah 4:4: "But every family shall sit under its own vine and fig tree with no one to disturb them. For it is the LORD of Hosts who spoke."
At ninety, if I survive that long, I hope to find rest and replenishment rather than the demands of constant performance. I think people deserve to say, "I've worked hard all my life. But I don't have to die to be able to rest."
And maybe that's the thread that runs through all of this. Performance. The performed smile that fades when the camera turns away. The performed reverence of public prayer. The performed emotion of accepting the mantle. The performed prophecy that says nothing new. The performed humility that deflects genuine doubt with a 3x5 card of counsel.
The church asks its members to perform faith their entire lives. And it asks its prophet to keep performing at ninety, shaking at the podium, under hot lights, saying the same things that have been said for two hundred years.
I don't know what Dallin H. Oaks truly believes. I don't know what he feels when the cameras turn off. But I know what I heard in his first address as prophet: the same old wine in the same old wineskins.
Nothing new. Nothing prophetic. Nothing that suggests a living God is speaking through a living prophet to a living people.
Just a man saying things he's been saying for 40 years who looks tired but doesn't have—and won't demand—permission to rest.