In 1967, a moderate governor of Michigan ran for the Republican presidential nomination and, for a time, was a favorite among many in the party. His support for the civil rights movement also gave him valuable crossover appeal. But after reversing course on the Vietnam War, his campaign fizzled.

What did not ruin George Romney's aspirations was his faith.

Like his son, Mitt, George Romney was a devout Mormon. Religion, as the truism goes, is far more influential in American politics today than it was in the 1960s. Forty years after his father ran, Mitt Romney's faith has elicited a cover story in the New Republic, a front-page feature in The New York Times and obligatory mentions in otherwise standard coverage of the formal kickoff of his campaign this week. Mitt Romney, it seems, might be the first presidential candidate since Al Smith whose campaign suffers seriously because of his regular attendance at Sunday services.

Writers often note that evangelical voters, now considered consequential in Southern Republican primaries, distrust Mormons. It is too easy, however, to claim that the two Romney candidacies' differing challenges simply reflect the altered composition of Republican primary voters since 1968. In a recent Post-ABC News poll, 35 percent of respondents said they would be less likely to vote for a candidate who is LDS.

Regular cover stories in news magazines, such as Time's "Mormons Inc." in 1997, highlight the role The Church of Latter-day Saints now plays in the popular imagination and reflect a widespread fascination with the church. Having grown up LDS in west Los Angeles, I know that many Americans outside of evangelical communities are uncomfortable with the church. Somehow, my particular religious identification, hardly my defining characteristic, was adequate grounds for my high school nickname — Stormin' Mormon — and the basis for seemingly endless grilling on the faith's eccentricities. The church's history of polygamy, for example, is off-putting to many. But Mormonism can provoke extreme reactions for deeper reasons.

After decades of explosive growth, LDS Church is no longer a relatively small, quirky, American-bred offshoot of Protestant Christianity but an increasingly influential institution that erects large temples in major cities, sends most of its young men on two-year proselytizing missions and operates big businesses across the country. The Mormons, critics say, are secretive and strange, and they are controlling more and more of your world.

The church's growth in power and prominence reflects its highly organized structure — headed by a prophet who Mormons believe speaks for God — that not only encourages but demands unusually active participation from congregants. To some outsiders, this can make it seem conspiratorial. On the lower- and middle-management levels, the church does not employ a professional clergy. Instead, everyday members are integrated into the institutional hierarchy and balance this responsibility with their professional lives. Mitt Romney himself has served as a stake president, an office loosely akin to that of a Catholic bishop. This fusion of laity and clergy means that rank-and-file Mormons are bound to the pronouncements of church leaders in a way that Catholic parishioners are not — indeed, rank-and-file Mormons often are the ones implementing church policy.