Behind Mormon’s Space Jesus
Tags: Religion, Mormonism, Criticism, Maps

Space Jesus at the Mormon Visitor’s Center in SLC

I quite enjoy studying and reading about maps and cartography, and I love investigating the worldviews that are forever drawn out before us on the planes of our past. A map is more than a navigational assist. Maps claim ownership by inking borderlines, they bring far away lands unseen to your armchair, they unite people across thousands of miles, they classify humanity by a myriad of categories, and much more. But one particular point of interest is a favorite of mine: where a map places its viewer, because it says something about who you are. Do you remember looking at an atlas when you were young and having that feeling that I can go anywhere. I can be or do anything? This feeling catalyzed my cartophilia.

With the earliest maps of the known world, the viewer was given the nearly blasphemous perspective of a god, looking down on earth. Some people didn’t like that, as they didn’t like it when they heard their precious planet was not the center of the galaxy, let alone the universe (sometimes you just got to roll your eyes at this kind of closed mindedness). But back when the first civilizations were carving their home into stone, we can hardly blame them for their limited knowledge. In fact, it was a necessary first step towards our current Global Positioning Systems, which ironically, always places the user at the center of the universe. When you open the app, it finds you, zooms in on you, and places you dead center. Not surprising that mapping every inch of this world has just led to more human hubris.

It was with this in mind that I wound my way up to “Space Jesus” at the visitor’s center on temple square in Salt Lake City, core of the mormon busine — I mean, universe. I could soapbox for a few pages on this for-profit former-cult, the white Jesus in every portrait, or the nefarious character of the man they call a prophet (or you could just listen to a great podcast series on it), but I will only focus on one interesting thing I noticed in this room, in the very spot I took this photograph.

Notice, like looking at a map, where it places me. I am standing underneath a Jesus, arms open but facing me. His forked beard and flowing locks, paired with a long Aryan nose, are all too Caucasian. People, haven’t we agreed by now that Jesus was Middle Eastern? But his highness’s whiteness is important and revelatory, seeing as black people are cursed angels to Mr. Smith. Wait, no, I think that changed in the 60s? I digress. Behind Jesus is a beautiful painting of outer space with great colors and dust clouds and a vastness that is augmented by some stellar acoustics. When I spoke, my voice reverberated around me, and so I muffled the mockery. Luckily, the only two people there, besides my friend, were chuckling at Space Jesus too. I must say, it is hard not to.

Then I focused on the planet behind and slightly to the left of the effigy and recognized it as Earth, and I confess, my face betrayed an impressed smile. I do appreciate a subtle message.

Mormons believe that at the end of times we will meet our friendly Jebbuh and his high holy daddy and mommy, and like the trust-fund baby that Christ was, we too will be given a planet to preside over, as god, cause we were good little boys and girls. And here is where this “map,” as it were, placed me: at that precise moment of judgement. My life was lived, and now, it was time for me to be worshipped (or sent to hell, I suppose). Either way, whoever stands there is being told a clear message that whether tourist or pilgrim, there is only one eschatological possibility: One day you will face Space Jesus, because our nice little “religion” is The Truth, and you ain’t escaping it.

But in a way, it does more. It makes me Mormon. Jesus looks at me, bowing his head down to do so, giving me his sole focus at the moment. His expression is confidently distant, perhaps in royal way? Frankly, it’s hard to read. His hands are open toward me, again as his sole focus, and they seem like they may close in on me, in some kind of divine blessing. I don’t think he’s casting me to hell. No, boi’s bout to grant me that fuggin planet I been jonesin’ for all my life. Look at the rest of space behind him! I own a piece of it. Which makes me Mormon, without my consent I might add. But like prophet, like messiah I guess. Oops. Let that one slip. Regardless, I am delighted by their little trick; I’ll never say those Young’ns aren’t clever.

However, as much as I love digging up this meaning (much like Mr. Smith did of indigenous graves in hopes of buried treasure), it does not delight me to think of all the people on this planet who stand there looking into the imagined future they will not see and yet, will live each day as if they will. Like our sweet young female tour guides who betrayed an inkling of wanting out, and who may never know what it’s like to look at a map and think “I can go anywhere. I can do, or be, anything.”