A Mormon as President?

By Mike Allen

A mormon church official and a public relations executive shuttled recently from the Fox News Washington bureau to the Washington Post to the online political digest the Hotline. The two were engaging in a little pre-emptive rearguard action, gearing up for the impending Republican presidential campaign of Massachusetts Governor (Willard) Mitt Romney, 59, whose family has long been part of the church's elite.

Like other minorities--ethnic or religious--Mormons are proud of those among them who make it big. When Steve Young, a descendant of church leader Brigham Young and a quarterback for the San Francisco 49ers, was taking snaps on Monday Night Football in the 1990s, his fellow Mormons took to calling Family Home Evening, their weekly togetherness meeting, Family Home Halftime instead.

But church officials are wary of the impact Romney's candidacy could have on them--and on the portrayal of their faith. Yes, his campaign will bring attention and credibility to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS), as the Mormons are formally known, and give them a chance to demystify their theology and customs. But church officials also calculate that Romney's bid to succeed George W. Bush could remind some mainstream Christians just how different Mormonism is from their faith and perhaps expose their flock to more of the sort of discrimination that drove their founders west by handcart and covered wagon into the Great Salt Lake Valley.

Although Mormons are known for family centeredness, hard work and clean living, many Americans remain suspicious of them, maybe because so many aspects of their faith remain mysterious. A poll conducted in June by the Los Angeles Times and Bloomberg found that 35% of registered voters said they would not consider voting for a Mormon for President. Only Islam would be a more damaging faith for a candidate, the poll found. That's why Michael Otterson, a Mormon convert who is now the church's director of media relations, was calling on political reporters when he visited Washington from Utah in October. He wants them to know that in its 176-year history, the church has never endorsed a presidential candidate and that much of the folklore surrounding its beliefs just isn't true. "The message in a nutshell is, Remember that we're politically neutral as an institution," he says. "The church is about preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ. Anything else is a distraction." Otterson says he has a "no dumb questions" policy and urges journalists to call his cell phone, day or night.

The church used a similar strategy successfully when Romney, who became wealthy building a venture-capital firm in Boston, was brought in as president of the Salt Lake Organizing Committee when it needed to rescue the 2002 Winter Olympics from a bribery scandal. Some critics wondered if the games would become the "Molympics," and Otterson says he met with a stream of sports reporters to try to "put some of the myths to rest--polygamy being the most enduring."

That task is never done. Even though the church has not allowed members to have multiple wives since 1890, that's not how it comes across on TV, in books or even in the courts. The popular HBO series Big Love shows a Utah family trying to "live the principle" of plural marriage; at the end of every episode, the network's defensive disclaimer informs the audience that the Mormon church, in fact, rejects polygamy. Similarly, the nonfiction best seller Under the Banner of Heaven by Jon Krakauer chronicles shocking murders within a Mormon splinter group, though it was probably lost on many readers that the sect has no connection to the church. More recently, the 50-year-old leader of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, a sect that has been disavowed by the LDS, has been on trial on two first-degree felony counts of rape. He is accused of helping arrange the marriage of a 14-year-old girl and her 19-year-old cousin in 2001.

Even if the church succeeds in its public relations offensive, Romney still has some explaining of his own to do, particularly to the Republican evangelical base, which now makes up nearly a third of the party's electorate and can wield huge power in primary states, most notably South Carolina. That's because some Evangelicals hold the view that Mormonism is not a Christian faith. Because Mormons acknowledge works of Scripture that are not in the Bible, believe that their prophets have received revelations directly from God and teach that God has a physical body, Evangelicals consider them heretics. The Southern Baptist Convention lists the LDS church under Cults and Sects, along with Scientology. In late October, Romney and his wife Ann, balancing lunch trays on their laps in the den of their Belmont, Mass., home, met with about 15 evangelical leaders from as far away as Alaska, including Jerry Falwell, Franklin Graham and Southern Baptist leader Richard Land. The three-hour meeting was set up by Mark DeMoss, a p.r. consultant who specializes in Evangelicals. Charles Colson, the former Nixon official and convicted Watergate conspirator who founded a prison ministry and now hosts a popular evangelical radio show, told TIME that Romney's faith should not disqualify him. "You wouldn't vote for a man just because he is a Christian, nor would you vote against a man just because he was a Mormon," Colson says.

Still, when it comes to managing the message about Romney's relationship with his church, his team has already shown vulnerability. The Boston Globe reported in October that Jeffrey R. Holland, one of the church's 12 apostles, had discussed the campaign at church headquarters with one of Romney's sons as well as with a key Romney donor and a paid consultant to his political action committee. The church says it was just a courtesy call, one of many such meetings Holland holds. But the Globe also described e-mails from two administrators of the business school at Brigham Young University, the Mormon school that is Romney's alma mater, who used office computers to solicit support for the campaign. The two were told by B.Y.U.'s counsel to knock it off, although Romney later said it made sense to raise money from people he knows, including alumni.

Senate Democratic leader Harry Reid rarely gets questions about his Mormonism, and Romney has tried deflect them by focusing on the broad principles of his faith, as well as family values and traditional marriage. A writer for the Atlantic Monthly asked Romney last year if he wears Temple Garments--white underclothing, with the "Marks of the Holy Priesthood" sewn in, donned with reverence by the most faithful Mormons. "I'll just say those sorts of things I'll keep private," he sensibly replied. Will that dodge work for other theological questions? Calling himself "a religious person," Romney in June used the Charlie Rose Show on PBS to test-drive an answer that keeps him from getting into the nitty-gritty of his religious heritage. "I believe that Jesus Christ is my savior," he said. "But then as you get into the details of doctrines, I'd probably say, 'Look, time out. Let's focus on the values that we share.'" That kind of high-mindedness proved effective during Romney's unsuccessful challenge to Senator Edward Kennedy in 1994 after Kennedy tried to make an issue of the Mormon's attitude toward blacks and women. Romney said he was not running "to be a spokesman for my church," and Kennedy backed off.

Romney advisers are debating whether he will need to give a big speech in the tradition of John F. Kennedy, who told Protestant church leaders in Houston 46 years ago that he was "not the Catholic candidate for President" but instead was "the Democratic Party's candidate for President, who happens also to be Catholic." After the G.O.P.'s defeat in the midterms, that may be a speech Republicans are prepared to hear. A big tent, even one stretching all the way to Salt Lake City, could be what gets them back into power in Washington two years from now.