Because Mormons could never fully realize their separatist dreams of a visible Zion in North America, the history of Mormonism has involved highly complex contacts and negotiations with non-Mormons. In their attempts to convert, resist, or appease outsiders, Mormons have engaged in a distinctive dialectic of secrecy and self-disclosure, of esoteric rites and public relations. The result has been an extended process of controlled modernization.

Narratives of this process have focused on the 1890 “Manifesto” of LDS President and Prophet Wilford Woodruff, the momentous declaration that Latter-day Saints must cease to contract plural marriages. The Manifesto put an end to the intense federal persecution of the 1880s, when government agents imprisoned or exiled husbands of plural wives, confiscated Mormon assets, abolished Utah women's right to vote, and secularized Mormon schools. President Woodruff's truce with the federal government brought Mormons a relative peace and an important sign of acceptance: the granting of statehood to Utah in 1896.

For over thirty years, eighteenth-century Boston minister Charles Chauncy published his views about universal salvation outside of the printing press. While scholars have argued that he was reluctant to publish because of his heterodox views against a predominantly Calvinist public, the long history of a broadly circulating manuscript complicates any clear intentions toward privacy or secrecy. Instead, Chauncy strategized around the printing press and the pulpit. Using more discreet modes of publication, like manuscript circulation and scribal publication, he gathered a supportive public for universal salvation before his views even reached the printing press. The audience for his work grew even further through intimate conversations and private correspondence between readers of the manuscript and those they wanted to convert. By the time Chauncy decided to print his views, Congregationalist ministers’ hopes for a largely orthodox public sphere had already been compromised through various means of sharing, exchanging, and distributing ideas outside of the printing press. In many ways, it was not strictly the allure of Enlightenment ideas that facilitated the liberalization of New England theology. It was also the ways writers like Chauncy attended to different modes of publications to situate different readers as a captive and receptive audience.

This article explores the conspicuous role of singing in the hagiographical construction of saintly women in the thirteenth-century Diocese of Liège. The constellation of Lives about Liégeois women occupies a prominent place in the “origin story” of the new spirituality in the later Middle Ages. However, one aspect of these women's perceived religiosity—their musical and vocal talent—though omnipresent in the sources, has received only sparse attention from scholarship. This article focuses on two of the most important Lives in this group, those of Mary of Oignies and Christina of Sint-Truiden, and demonstrates that hagiographers, mobilizing liturgical vocabulary and ritual ideas identifiable to a local audience, consistently represented women's singing as magnificent ritual performance. By doing so, the hagiographers highlighted these women's privileged access to the divine and distinct potency as intercessors for the living and the dead. This article also intends to show the highly sophisticated ways in which Latin liturgy and its vernacular appropriation, popular ideas and scholastic theories about music were negotiated, developed, and together contributed to a distinctive religious rhetoric in the articulation of female sanctity in thirteenth-century Europe.

In 1934 the third centennial celebration of Oberammergau's famous passion play coincided with Adolph Hitler's rise to power. For American Jews, the Oberammergau Passion Play had long symbolized the Christian roots of Anti-Semitism. Ironically, American Jews' liberal Protestant allies viewed Oberammergau as a symbol of Christian ecumenism, capable of uniting Protestants, Catholics, and even Jews. “Claiming the Passion” traces Oberammergau in the rhetoric of American liberals from the American tour of Anton Lang, who portrayed the Christus in 1923, to his successor's trial for Nazi sympathies in 1947. It places the conflicting Jewish, Catholic, and Protestant views of Oberammergau in the context of the early goodwill or interfaith movement. It argues that liberal Protestants' enthusiasm for Oberammergau arose from their effort to articulate a more inclusive national identity, in opposition to the Ku Klux Klan and other nativists. But the conflicts over Oberammergau also suggest that liberal Protestants had not yet come to terms with Jewish critiques of Christian Anti-Judaism.

As I began researching religion and woman suffrage in the South I asked a prominent historian of southern religion if he knew of any sources. I had assumed that religion and woman suffrage had an intimate relationship in the South, since historians have amply documented the close connection between southern religion and culture. After scraching his head for a moment, however, he commented dryly, “There really aren't any sources. That will be a short paper.” He went on to explain that religious arguments were seldom used in the struggle for woman suffrage, that natural rights ideology and the social benefits of moral women voting were more common defenses than ones based on Scripture. Even antisuffragists relied on the threat of black women voting and the superfluity of women voting when they were represented by their husbands at the ballot box more often than explicitly religious arguments.

An important element of monastic penance and conflict resolution was its repetitive, almost cyclical nature. The manuscripts that were used during these performances often proceed implicitly, which makes them difficult to contextualize and understand. This article considers a possible example of such “hidden” reconciliatory discourse in a manuscript that was produced for the congregation of St. Laurent in Liège around the turn of the eleventh century: Brussels, Royal Library 9361–9367. It examines the sin of pride in monastic dignitaries, discusses the best way to atone for it, and provides tools for the penitent to start living a more virtuous life in the future. The surviving evidence suggests that this manuscript was produced in reaction to the deeds of abbot Berenger, whose actions in 1095 were considered scandalous by contemporaries because he had led his monks into confusion and sin. The article shows how the combination of texts in this manuscript takes on a different meaning because of these politically charged circumstances, and argues that the St. Laurent manuscript was a discreet but methodical way to end the resulting estrangement between Berenger and his monks. In this interpretation, Brussels RL 9361–9367 is a rare and highly relevant testimony to the ways in which monks in the early twelfth century dealt with psychological and social tensions in the wake of an intra-group conflict.

Since the Evangelical Revival triggered a new wave of British millenarian expectations and aroused religiously motivated interest in Jews, various religious bodies and individuals envisioned the necessity of Jews' conversion, stimulating countless and restless efforts to evangelize “God's chosen people.” These efforts, organized within the framework of the vast British missionary enterprise, soon became “nothing short of a national project,” to cite Michael Ragussis. This project, dubbed by its critics as “the English madness,” expressed itself in activity of various societies, and missions, in a wide flow of literature and in constantly recurring public debates. The London Society for Promoting Christianity among Jews (abbreviated from here to the London Society or the Society), was probably its most important outcome. Established as a separate missionary enterprise in 1809, it was the oldest and the largest society in field of nineteenth-century British “Jewish missions.” It sent missionaries not only to the Jewish communities in British colonial spaces, but also far beyond. The efforts of the Society to convert Jews are well reflected in its numerous missionary periodicals whose function, form, and language I wish to discuss here.

The religious history of World War II in the U.S. has long been dominated by the theme of pluralism. The trials of mobilization and battle fostered inter-religious cooperation. Against a backdrop of Nazi intolerance and godless communism, these collaborative experiences would, in the postwar years, help mute religious conflict and amplify a “Judeo-Christian” consensus. This framing, while compelling, has deflected attention from the distinctive modes with which religious Americans interpreted the war. The work of the National Catholic Community Service (the Catholic arm of the United Service Organizations) illustrates the ways Catholics framed the war as a religious matter. In seeking to build Catholic bridges across the separations of wartime, Catholics amplified the unique moral and spiritual means of their tradition. Two themes—sacramental presence and moral exceptionalism—dominated Catholics' efforts to Catholicize the war. Exploring these efforts reveals the religious arenas within which Catholic soldiers, war workers, and their families were invited to work out their sense of the war and their responsibilities as Catholics and Americans. The stories—often strikingly indifferent or even hostile to the pluralist “consensus”—shed new light on the war and on the history of religious difference in the U.S.

This article examines the biography of a twelfth-century English holy woman, the Life of Christina of Markyate—particularly its account of a vision that she had in which she was crowned in the likeness of a bishop's miter—within the context of campaigns undertaken by English monasteries in the late eleventh and twelfth centuries to obtain the papal privilege of full exemption from the sacramental and juridical control of their diocesan bishop. Reading Christina's vision in view of the bids for independence made by St. Albans—the community responsible for commissioning and writing her biography—especially helps to shed light on why the Life seems to figure her in a distinctly episcopal cast. Significantly, the Life's account of this vision may have been shaped by a miniature cycle of the passion and miracles of St. Edmund, produced by Bury circa 1125, seemingly in an effort to provide further confirmation of the abbey's exempt status. In a miniature depicting Edmund's apotheosis, the saint divinely receives a miter-like crown, which is nearly identical in its ornamentation to the one that Christina would later receive. Ultimately under investigation in this article is whether St. Albans' campaign for exemption was one of the influences dictating the composition of the Life of Christina.

This article takes as its central site of interrogation the stone sculpture of Kagawa Toyohiko (1888–1960) in the Washington National Cathedral, asking how a statue of a Japanese Christian leader came to be constructed inside one of America's most important religious institutions. At first glance, the statue appears to be a simple instance of commemoration for an individual who dedicated his life to helping the poor and spreading the gospel within his native country of Japan. What emerges from a close examination of the National Cathedral's archives, however, is the story of a religious leader whose international standing and reputation underwent a significant shift over the course of his career. By tracing the construction of Kagawa's image as a globally renowned Christian pacifist during the interwar period, and the challenges to this image brought on by his subsequent wartime activities, this study seeks to place the Cathedral's building of the statue into historical context. In doing so, it illuminates the politics of national representation inherent in this project of cross-cultural commemoration, while also highlighting the lessons it offers about the rise and fall of Christian internationalism in the mid-twentieth century.