Episode 194: The Only Way Through This Life is Together with Pastor Brittany Mangelson

Okay, welcome, folks, to today’s episode of Living Beyond the Shadow of Doubt. For those who are newer to the podcast, welcome—and to those who’ve been around a little longer, welcome back. You know I’m in this transition phase of reimagining my podcast. I’ve focused on faith journeys for the past two-and-a-half years, and I still will, but I’m also adding an ingredient I feel is really important: a much larger focus on the living that comes when we choose to step into our courageous, brave selves and venture into the unknown. We are often amazed, pleasantly surprised, and rewarded with so many beautiful experiences, gifts, and just joy—and I want to highlight and share those.

Today I have Brittany Mangelson with me. I’m sorry—I don’t know your title. Is it Pastor?
Yes—I’m a pastor.
Pastor Brittany Mangelson. This is a conversation I’ve wanted to have for a while, and the timing is perfect. Thank you so much for making time in your schedule to chat today.
Yeah, thanks for having me. I’m really excited for it.
Oh, so welcome! I’ll give you the opportunity to share—just your origin story: where you came from, your background, family, faith, education, profession—anything you’d like.
Yeah, quick intro: I’m 36 years old, born and raised in Provo, LDS, married in the temple, did not go on a mission—I was married before 21. I have three kids. We still live in Utah County, just between Provo and Salt Lake. My husband and I went through what I’d call a faith crisis—felt like a crisis in the moment—starting around 2012. I’m more comfortable calling it faith transition or faith expansion now. We joined Community of Christ in 2015, and I’ve been a pastor there since 2023, in the Salt Lake congregation. I have fourteen-year-old twins and a ten-year-old son—so that’s me in a nutshell.
Okay, that’s amazing. Curious: what about your parents, grandparents, your in-laws—are they all native to the LDS faith?
For the most part, yes. Both my family and my in-laws go back to pioneer days—Europe to the East, walked across the plains. My dad is a convert from Southern California; his parents converted decades after him. We’ve got pioneer stock. Everybody’s still active—temple-going, callings, etc.—so it’s tricky to navigate at times, but we’re far enough in now that things are okay.
I appreciate you sharing that. If you’re okay, could we dive more into navigating those relationships? I know experiences vary widely when you follow your intuition and step away from a long-held tradition. If you don’t mind, can we rewind to 2012 when the faith crisis began? What were the big motivators for your pivot?
Oh, gosh—there was a lot. I struggled with current leadership and policy—this was 2012. Even as a little girl in my Mormon pew, I was aware of gender inequality: why don’t we learn about women in the scriptures? Why can’t boys pass the sacrament? I wasn’t aiming to be a crusader for gender equality, but it always bothered me. I saw clear inequities in the temple endowment and realized why abuse of priesthood and unrighteous dominion happen—there’s opportunity for it. I was glad I got one of the “good ones” in my husband, but I had friends in harmful relationships where priesthood authority was wielded to shut them up. I was watching that while having my own feminist and political awakening, recognizing deep inequality in the world. That was my starting point—social issues—while my husband’s doubts were more doctrinal and historical.

By 2014, Kate Kelly’s excommunication was the catalyst for me: someone I respected spoke out for raising questions, and she was excommunicated. I thought, if they knew who I was or what I believed, I’d be next. My husband had been studying church history and found the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (now Community of Christ), which ordains women, embraces biblical scholarship and theology (not fixed doctrine), and affirms LGBTQ people. He listened to podcasts, reached out to former LDS folks who had made the switch, and it intrigued him.

I went to a Community of Christ camp and saw men and women serving communion side by side, queer affirmation embraced—and I realized I couldn’t go back to a place where I’d be at risk of being kicked out for my beliefs. We told our LDS leaders we were testing this out, asked to be released from callings, etc.—it was scary and hard. I’m a Provo girl, a Utah Mormon in many ways—I literally have a Stanley cup next to me, fitting the stereotypes—so going against that was terrifying. I was also three or four months postpartum and vulnerable, looking for a safe place to ask questions without being kicked out. We stuck around, and though it felt all-or-nothing then, there’s a lot more nuance in the LDS Church now. Back in 2012, you couldn’t raise those questions in Sunday School, and most in Utah opposed gay marriage—speaking up felt like outing yourself politically. There just weren’t spaces or podcasts holding nuance, so we bounced fast.
I hear you—back then it felt very black-and-white; it’s evolved a lot in the past dozen years. You mentioned a few things I’d love you to expand on: first, your early awareness of gender inequality and the unrighteous dominion friends experienced. Can you share more so listeners unfamiliar with LDS culture understand? Second, your exploration of doctrine versus theology in Community of Christ. And third, how scary it was to ask questions for fear of being kicked out—something I experienced myself early in my journey, shaming and suppressing doubts until they got too loud. Kudos to you for acting on yours—would love a bit more on those points.
Yeah—I’ll be careful since so much is LDS and American culture. The culture I absorbed said marriage was priority over mission; you weren’t supposed to delay kids; girls got an education as a backup. In college at Utah State, women stressed about marrying by 19–20; men in our singles ward pressured us and implied we couldn’t say no to dates. Women were subordinate to men. Friends dropped out of school to “multiply and replenish the earth,” moved for their spouse’s career or schooling—often not a mutual decision, but “you’re my spouse, so this is what we’re doing.” I saw friends struggle with decisions made on their behalf by husbands who claimed priesthood revelation. In the temple, it was clear: men are head of household, women follow. That felt doctrinal, not just cultural. I found Feminist Mormon Housewives and read abuse stories from friends whose husbands held callings—no one knew what was happening behind closed doors. Anonymous blogs detailed women without a voice in marriage or home. I realized I’d dodged bullets marrying a husband who treats me as equal—but many women weren’t so lucky.

On doctrine versus theology: Community of Christ has been through its own faith transition for decades. When D. Michael Quinn’s work came out complicating church history, they shifted from a “one true church” stance to embracing theology—uncertain exploration—rather than fixed doctrine. Doctrine is certainty, a set list of beliefs (“we know this about eternal families”), whereas theology engages questions and conversation: “What does baptism mean? Is infant baptism valid?” In LDS practice, you must be eight to be baptized; in Community of Christ, we explore the purpose, history, culture, other denominations’ practices—allowing nuanced dialogue.

And yes—I didn’t feel safe asking questions. I feared being kicked out if I spoke up. I experienced shame and cognitive dissonance in my own journey, so I appreciate how hard it was to be honest in that environment.
Thank you for sharing that. We haven’t touched on family yet—if you’re comfortable, how have your relationships with family (and friends) fared? How has your faith journey differed from what you expected?
I recognize many leave LDS and leave religion entirely or go to Unitarian-type churches. I did neither—I went to Community of Christ, which surprises people who ask about Joseph’s polygamy or the Book of Mormon. I’ve had to face every tough question to be comfortable in my faith. I feel halfway between active LDS friends and ex-Mormon friends—I understand both perspectives. I choose a nuanced faith within a faith community that’s also had a faith expansion. Community of Christ isn’t a liberal LDS—it’s quite different—so I lean into differences with ex-Mormon friends and similarities with active LDS friends. I’m constantly code switching.

With family and active-LDS friends, it’s hard to go through a faith crisis—you risk losing relationships, livelihoods, even mental health. The LDS Church works well for many, so I don’t want to push everyone out. I stand for values that conflict with LDS doctrine—me, a woman pastor, is threatening to some—so I balance compassion and respect for boundaries: if they set them, great; I set mine. When we told our parents, we wrote a thoughtful email explaining we’d prayed in the temple, wrestled with issues in church history and current leadership, yet couldn’t give everything up because Community of Christ ties back to Joseph Smith. We shared openly to avoid blindsiding them, not to break their faith. I’ve always been an open book—willing to dig into tricky topics and help others do faith on their own terms. That’s my life mission now.

It’s been relatively successful: I’m one of five kids, all supportive of my choices. My oldest brother ordained his youngest son at my house during dinner—completely fine. We’ve created an ecumenical restoration circle that does its best to get along. That said, I still slip up with snarky comments when upset about things LDS leaders say, and my congregation includes many ostracized members—I see that pain, and it’s hard not to get defensive. But I try to have grace.
You’re human—we all have emotions, and we’re allowed to feel them. It inspires me how you and your extended family move forward with mutual respect for each other’s beliefs. That reflects character and honor.

So a good segue: I want to hear about the blissful, amazing epiphanies and joys you’ve experienced. You spoke of seeing, even from a young age, the importance of women’s voices—and I imagine you’ve seen queer folks step into their joy and find voices they didn’t have before. Tell us about that.
Yes—when we were leaving, people told us we might have temporary happiness but never real joy. That scared me, but I’ve learned it’s untrue: you can have joy outside the LDS Church or organized religion. Joy comes from living authentically, community, equality, recognizing each other’s humanity.

When the 2015 policy excluded children of queer or polygamist parents from baptism and blessings unless they disavowed their parents, many queer families reached out to Community of Christ. We’d been queer-affirming in the U.S. since 2013; when that Sunday after the policy came, our Salt Lake congregation held a service of mourning and compassion and a big potluck. Tons of first-time visitors came—several joined, and I’m still in touch with many. I’ve seen trans individuals baptized with their chosen name and gender—a complete renewal and rebirth for them.

Women in our congregation are “running the show”: planning worship, preaching, teaching Sunday School, choosing curriculum and hymns—things we couldn’t do as LDS women. That empowerment, freedom, and participation bring profound joy. I found I did more as a nonmember in Community of Christ than I ever could have as an LDS woman—I was planning worship before I was even a member. All of that counters the narrative that joy lives only inside certain boundaries. I’ve worked with dozens who have left the LDS Church; the prevailing story is that yes, you can find joy outside an old belief system. And many people take a nuanced approach within LDS and find joy too. Ultimately, taking your spiritual life into your own hands—that’s where joy lives, not in rigid systems or policies but in love.

That’s beautiful. I’m so touched by how trans individuals can be baptized in their true identities—such meaningful practice. I’m itching to ask: do you consider yourself a “Mormon”?
That’s interesting. I typically don’t—I say “former Mormon,” because Community of Christ dislikes the “Mormon” label; they’ve spent years distancing from it. Around my family, I wouldn’t use it either—they’d say, “You left.” But I do think Mormonism is an ethnicity and culture: you can be raised LDS, leave at 15, and still be “Mormon.” I don’t like the policing around the name: claim it if you want. People who hear I’m from Utah ask, “Are you Mormon?” I answer, “I was,” so they don’t think I’m active. It’s part of my identity, for good and bad: I still know primary songs, the old Young Women theme—I even learned they updated it recently! That history is on my skin; you can’t wash it off—it’s about leaning into the quirks with integrity.
Perfectly complicated answer—thank you.

Finally: what does “Living Beyond the Shadow of Doubt” mean to you?
I’ve been thinking about this because a Young Women leader once said she knew things “without a shadow of a doubt,” and I’d never questioned what that meant. I realized it can be harmful rhetoric: I knew Mormonism was true, defended the Family Proclamation online, and caused harm in the name of certainty. When I think of living “beyond” that, I see that being knocked off the pedestal of arrogance and certainty—falling hard, doing self-reflection, admitting I was wrong. As a straight white woman whose ancestors colonized these lands, I can’t be certain about much anymore; the only thing I’m certain of is that we don’t have all the answers and we’re in this together. I’m uninterested in beliefs or policies that divide and build hierarchies. Living beyond the shadow of a doubt means embracing doubts and certainties, being willing to pivot with new information, own biases, and course-correct when needed. It’s scary, especially as a pastor, when seekers ask what we “believe” about XYZ and we say, “We don’t claim to have the answers.” But I find joy in the struggle, the doubt, the humility—and in community. I’ve learned more about queer and BIPOC experiences and am better for shedding arrogance. So yes—I’m wrong a lot, and admitting that has been freeing and expansive.
I appreciate that so much. I too now prefer uncertainty—it makes me more teachable and open to growth.

A few fun questions before we wrap: your favorite book?
Oh, that’s hard—I did a master’s in religion and got tired of academic reading, so I dive into fiction now—50–65 novels a year. I like Sarah Adams’s “chick lit,” Jodi Picoult, “The Frozen River” (we read it in my book club), historical fiction, thrillers—just a good escape novel.

Introvert or extrovert?
Introvert—I know people don’t believe me because of my job, but socializing drains me. If I can stay home or go out, I’ll always choose home. I love the joy of missing out.

Favorite artist?
Georgia O’Keeffe—her Western flowers and feminine imagery speak to me.

Celebrity crush?
Gregory Peck—classic, right?

Night owl or morning lark?
Morning lark—my kids finally sleep in, so weekends I get a couple of hours solo before they wake up.

Diet soda or sparkling water?
Neither—I don’t love carbonation. I’m a coffee gal (and tea, plus water). The expanded Word of Wisdom allowing coffee was exciting for me.

Furthest place traveled?
I’m not well-traveled—Mexico, New York City, Florida—that’s about it.

How can folks connect?
On Facebook, Instagram, and Threads as @BrittanyMangelson, or email me at brittanymangelson@gmail.com. I also monitor the Salt Lake Community of Christ social pages, so if you DM them, you’re DMing me.

Perfect—I’ll leave all that in the show notes. Thank you so much, Brittany, for sharing your journey and wisdom. I know it will touch others on their paths.
Yeah, thanks so much.