"We Don't Talk about Bruno"
Or the cracks in our casita.
And we won’t be answering any questions about them either.
This may stray a little from what I usually write, but I felt that it needed to be said.
My kids wanted to watch Disney’s Encanto the other day and as I watched with them, I couldn’t help but notice the correlation I saw between the characters and how they respond to things and the LDS community. The way each character responds to cracks in their “miracle” felt uncomfortably familiar.
“The Magic is Strong”
In Encanto, Abuela is desperate to preserve the family’s “magic” at all costs. Any suggestion that something might be wrong is met with reassurance — or a command — that “The magic is strong!”
That dynamic feels painfully familiar. In the church, when Brunos and Mirabels speak up — when they ask questions, suggest something different, or Heaven forbid, express doubt — the response often sounds like: “The church is true! There’s nothing wrong!”
We have no real forum to discuss concerns, doubts, or questions, without risking a negative label. We’re told, sometimes more forcefully, to hold it together, to stay strong, to “have more faith” pray more, serve others…the list goes on.
But if you look closely at the Madrigal family,every character can represent a type of church member.
Abuela (Leadership):
“There is nothing wrong. The church is true. The walls aren’t shaking or cracking, it’s only that your faith isn’t strong enough.”
Bruno (Whistleblower):
“I saw the cracks before they spread… but you didn’t want to hear it. You blamed me instead. So I left, because it was safer outside the walls than inside with my own family turning against me.”
Mirabel (Reform-Minded Member):
“I love this family, this church. I just… see where it’s hurting, and I want to help. But you keep telling me I’m not special enough to matter.”
Luisa (Overburdened Faithful Member):
“I’m carrying everything — the callings, the service, the endless expectations — and I’m told I’m strong enough to handle it. But no one notices when my knees start to buckle. I feel so alone”
Isabela (Model Member):
“I keep making perfect flowers because that’s what you want to see. But I’m suffocating under your idea of what’s beautiful. I want to grow wild, but I can’t — not without disappointing you.”
Tía Pepa (Emotionally Suppressed Member):
“Inside, it’s stormy. I’m anxious. I’m depressed. But you tell me to smile more, to be happy, because my storms make you uncomfortable.”
Dolores (Silent Observer):
“I hear everything. The cracks. The whispers. The truth. But if I say anything, I’ll be told to stop gossiping or that I’m causing contention. So I keep it all inside… even though I know Bruno never really left.”
Camilo (Chameleon):
“I shift into whatever you need me to be. I have a face for church, a face for friends, a face for myself… though I’m not sure who I really am anymore.”
Image: © 2021 Disney / Pixar, Encanto promotional poster. Used here under fair use for commentary and educational purposes.
History and the Cracks We Don’t Name
Just like Abuela’s past (the war, the loss, the fear), quietly shaped how she led her family, the church’s own history shapes how it leads today. Too often, that history is used not as a teacher, but as a guardrail to keep questions out.
Even Abuela’s war story shows this: trauma, passed down, became a tool of control. Protecting the miracle mattered more than protecting the people in her family.
The church was founded on its own miracle: the account of two Heavenly Beings appearing to a young boy, who grew to be a man we revere. But he was still human, and mistakes were made – by him and every single leader who followed, because they were also human. Mistakes can be forgiven, and the course can be corrected.
If the “sure foundation” won’t carry the weight of honesty, it isn’t stone – it’s scaffolding.
What is harder to forgive is when those mistakes were hidden in the shadows and members are blindsided when the truth resurfaces, contradicting the very foundation they were told to build on. The history of the church is full of moments we are proud of — but it is also full of ones that we aren’t.
It has been disappointing to witness recent and current leaders continue to choose to protect the image of the church, instead of the people who have trusted and followed them.
The Songs That Hit Too Close to Home
Even the songs in Encanto echo the experience of many in the LDS church.
“Waiting on a Miracle”
Mirabel loves her family, is full of faith and hope and even serves every chance she gets, even though she never received her own “gift.” She did nothing wrong, yet still is waiting for things to improve and work out for her, for her family to see her and accept her for who she is.
“Surface Pressure”
Luisa sings of the crushing weight of the “gift” she has been given. Strength becomes burnout, perfectionism, and anxiety. She takes on everything handed to her, even when it’s not hers to carry, because she’s never learned she can say “no.”
“We Don’t Talk About Bruno”
This one needs no translation. The unspoken list of taboo topics could include: abuse, sexuality, doubts, and even the vilification of those who leave. The song shows Howe the family (and the village) united against Bruno, not because of what he did, but because of what his visions revealed. It's unity built on the shared agreement to silence truth that doesn’t match the accepted narrative.
The Lesson We Keep Avoiding
In Encanto, the family doesn’t heal by pretending the magic is fine. In fact, the more they try to sweep it all under the rug, the worse the cracks get. They heal when they finally stop denying the cracks, listen to each other, and realize the magic was never in the perfection — it was in the relationships.
The church could learn the same lesson.
Until then, it will keep silencing Brunos, dismissing Mirabels, pushing Luisas harder, keeping Isabelas picture-perfect, demanding Pepas be sunny, relying on Doloreses to stay quiet, and rewarding Camilos for wearing masks. And all the while repeating: “The church is true!” — as if the words themselves could hold up the walls forever.
The church teaches that our faith should be built on a sure foundation, one that cannot fall. But when the foundation of the religion itself is held together by policy and authority rather than compassion and accountability, it begins to look less like stone and more like a house of cards — or a casita whose cracks are ignored until the walls give way.
Even if every doctrine were true and every ordinance essential, what does it all matter if the leadership of the church ignores the wounds within its own walls — wounds that may be caused or compounded by the church itself? A foundation is only as strong as the care given to those who stand upon it. Right now, too many are falling through the cracks while being told the structure is sound.
Healing will come only when leaders humble themselves, admit the harm, and begin to repair the damage. The alternative is to keep sweeping pain into the shadows, until the cracks spread so wide that the house can no longer stand.