On Saturday, I spent a couple of hours chatting with a friend who runs an evangelical bookstore. He set the shop up in the heart of Mormon country and has kept at it for 30 years.

"I have to say, I admire your devotion," I tell him.

"I never take credit for personal virtue," he says. "That's you guys."

It's the way things are between us. We don't play a lot of slap and tickle. We know where we stand.

Evangelical faith comes out as confidence and boldness, which Mormons often see as brazen.

Mormon faith comes out as obedience, which evangelicals often see as smug.

"But you do see yourself as a sinner," I say.

"Yes."

"Well," I say, "among your many sins, I don't see 'lack of devotion."'

He smiles.

I don't mind playing to type.

He says he likes talking with me because I'm an "old returned missionary." The new returned missionaries, he says, speak in the same earnest voice and say the same things in the same way.

The comment strikes me as curious. I've never seen evangelicals as a colorful bouquet of religious style and thought.

He says he can size people with one question: "Are you a good person?" If they say "yes" or "I try to be," they haven't been saved. True Christians, he says, see themselves as sinners, washed in the blood of Jesus.

True Christians, I think to myself, behave like true Christians.

I suppose it's why our faiths are natural rivals. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints sends thousands into the world to show people they can live better lives. Evangelicals send out thousands to tell people it doesn't matter what they do. Yes, they see Mormonism as a cult because we stress behavior. But they also see Catholicism as a cult, along with Jehovah's Witnesses, large swaths of the Episcopal Church, Muslims, most Quakers and probably Jews. In fact, the only reason I can see for Mormons to be so concerned about being accepted by evangelicals is politics. Evangelicals control the right wing of the Republican Party. If druids controlled the Republican right, political Mormons would look for ways to bond with their druid brethren.

"Your good works aren't bad works," my friend is saying. "They're just dead works. Meaningless."

"The Jesus I believe in would find that a bit harsh," I say.

He opens his Bible to let me know my Jesus isn't Paul's Jesus.

I tell him my Jesus shows up in the gospels.

We're like two old men playing checkers in the park. We know each other's moves. We just play the game out for company.

I tell him I have to go.