A Symphony of Song

Every Pioneer Day, I yearn for that magical, inspired feeling that comes when I turn my heart to those who went before me--those who sacrificed so that I can today enjoy the blessings of the gospel, liberty, and prosperity. It is a feeling of sincere gratitude and appreciation. It is a feeling that drives me to be a little more like those great men and women whose faith was so strong. So, in my annual quest for this renewal of faith and gratitude, I crack open my video and music collection. This traditional collection includes, to name a few: The Mountain of the Lord--a powerful video portraying the 40 year effort to build the Salt Lake Temple, Legacy--a movie that recounts the horrific persecutions and trials of those early saints who followed Joseph Smith, and later Brigham Young, from home to home across uncharted frontier to eventually find a home in the Rocky's, and Come, Come Ye Saints--the Mormon Tabernacle Choir's album that was was released for the sesquecentennial (or 150th anniversary) of the Latter Day Saint's settling of the Salt Lake valley.

In the past couple years, though, I've found that I can most easily find that special feeling, the pioneer spirit, by listening to Saints and Pioneers, a musical production by Rob Gardner that powerfully tells the story of the pioneers through words and music in an hour. Each year, perhaps each time I listen, a different song touches my heart and becomes my new "favorite". This year, my favorite is a piece called "We Must Sing". The words of this song, so powerfully penned, are:

Who knows the burden placed on your heart?
Whence comes the longing? When shall it part?
No matter the sorrow, He'll not forsake,
God made our hearts and in His absence they ache.

Who knows what trials may come our way?
How shall we meet them? What will He say
When we kneel before Him? Will He approve?
God gave us trials that we might choose.

Who'll tell what blessings flow from above?
How might we measure His boundless love?
I'll sing of His goodness, Glory I'll bring.
God made our voices, but we make them sing.

God gave us voices, so we must sing.

God made our hearts... he allows us to feel pain. He allows us to feel sorrow. He allows us to suffer. He also allows us to feel joy and peace, serenity and commitment. Without this precious gift, we would not be human. I thank God for the ability to feel joy, despite the capacity to feel pain.

God also allows us to pass through hardships. God gave us trials that we might choose. With each challenge, we choose to draw nearer to Him or to withdraw to our own devices. And in the daily struggle through affliction and the daily enjoyment of goodness, happiness, and love, we are invited to simply be. We are who we are because of our collective experiences. These allow us to learn and grow and to become a little more like our Savior through each experience, be it a good one or a difficult one. And in each of these experiences, we are simply invited to raise our voices, such wonderful gifts from a loving Heavenly Father, in song. God gave us voices, so we must sing!

Every day, every hour, we are composing music in our hearts--songs of gratitude, joy, pain, or anger. I must admit that some days, the music coming from my heart would be best belong at a heavy metal concert where, rather than through the lyrics, the message of my song is found through loud, unmelodic shouts of intense emotion, be it frustration, anger, or despair. There are some days, however, when a sweet melody of love and happiness can be heard in my thoughts, words, and deeds--the same unique and beautiful melodies I hear from so many others around me. What a masterful symphony of song when voices raise in harmony praising God and finding joy and hope in every experience!

This Pioneer Day, I wish to share a few songs that have truly touched my heart--songs from faithful men and women that I wish so desperately to learn and to echo in my own experiences.

I begin by sharing a song of commitment. This song has been sung by many, but I am especially touched by the simple melody aired by Brigham Young, a man who, in my opinion, was the ultimate pioneer, a man who endured much and inspired many. Brigham sang:

"I will tell you what to do in order to gain your exaltation, the which you cannot obtain except you take this course. If your affections are placed upon anything so as to hinder you in the least from dedicating them to the Lord, make a dedication of that thing in the first place, that the dedication of the whole may be complete… If my heart is not fully given up to this work, I will give my time, my talents, my hands, and my possessions to it, until my heart consents to be subject. I will make my hands labour in the cause of God, until my heart bows in submission to it… The Lord must be first and foremost in our affections; the building up of his cause and kingdom demands our first consideration."

Brigham truly was a man who practiced what he preached. After gaining a testimony of the restored gospel, he left his livelihood and the comforts of his home to join the saints in Ohio. Sang he:

"When we arrived in Kirtland [in September 1833], if any man that ever did gather with the Saints was any poorer than I was—it was because he had nothing. … I had two children to take care of—that was all. I was a widower. ‘Brother Brigham, had you any shoes?’ No; not a shoe to my foot, except a pair of borrowed boots. I had no winter clothing, except a homemade coat that I had had three or four years. ‘Any pantaloons?’ No. ‘What did you do? Did you go without?’ No; I borrowed a pair to wear till I could get another pair. I had travelled and preached and given away every dollar of my property… I had traveled and preached until I had nothing left to gather with; but Joseph said: ‘come up;’ and I went up the best I could."

When the Lord calls, "Come up," will we have the commitment to join our song with Brigham's and go up the best we can?

Next, I am reminded of another song, a song of duty, which is closely related to commitment. Many of the early saints were not much better off than Brigham was when he joined the saints in Kirtland. Poverty and disease were rampant among the saints and they relied heavily on divine aid. When the call to serve came from a Prophet of God, it was not reserved for those who had health and prosperity. It was not directed at the learned or the eloquent of word. The call came to all, often in times of hardship. Many elders were sent abroad on missions when their wives might reasonably have pleaded for them to remain due to trials at home. Story after story tells of a man, his wife, and his children joining their voices with others to sing of duty and service. What beautiful words they sang!

"My four children had to be schooled and clothed, and no money would be left with me," sang Louisa Barnes Pratt, wife of Addison Pratt who was called on a mission to the Sandwich Islands. "My heart felt weak at the first, but I determined to trust in the Lord, and stand bravely before the ills of life, and rejoice that my husband was counted worthy to preach the gospel." Not long after Addison’s departure, his young daughter contracted smallpox. The disease was so contagious that there was real danger to any priesthood brother who might come to the Pratts, so Louisa prayed with faith and "rebuked the fever." Eleven little pimples came out on her daughter’s body, but the disease never developed. In a few days the fever was gone. Louisa later sang a sweet melody of testimony, "I showed the child to one acquainted with that disease; he said it was an attack; that I had conquered it by faith."

Many members of the Twelve were struck with the ague as they prepared to depart for England. Wilford Woodruff, who was very ill, left his wife, Phoebe, almost without food and the necessities of life. George A. Smith, the youngest Apostle, was so sick that he had to be carried to the wagon, and a man who saw him asked the driver if they had been robbing the graveyard. Brigham Young was so ill that he was unable to walk even a short distance without assistance, and his companion, Heber C. Kimball, was no better. Their wives and families, too, lay suffering. When the Apostles reached the crest of a hill a short distance from their homes, both lying in a wagon, they felt as though they could not endure leaving their families in so pitiful a condition. At Heber’s suggestion, they struggled to their feet, waved their hats over their heads, and shouted three times, "Hurrah, Hurrah, for Israel." Their wives, Mary Ann and Vilate, gained strength enough to stand and, leaning against the door frame, they sang out, "Good-bye, God bless you." The two men returned to their wagon beds with a spirit of joy and satisfaction at seeing their wives standing instead of lying sick in bed.

Have you ever heard such beautiful music? Listen on. It gets better... Francis Scott Key sang of his feelings of gratitude as he saw his nation's banner still flying proudly in the calm aftermath of a storm of war and violence. I can hear a similar tune of one who truly appreciates the rising sun following a difficult night in the words of Bishop Edward Partridge who was publically stripped and covered with tar and feathers. He sang,

"I bore my abuse with so much resignation and meekness, that it appeared to astound the multitude, who permitted me to retire in silence, many looking very solemn, their sympathies having been touched as I thought; and as to myself, I was so filled with the Spirit and love of God, that I had no hatred towards my persecutors or anyone else."

As the persecutions raged in Missouri, many sang of hope. Others sang of faith and healing. During a conflict near the Big Blue River, Philo Dibble was shot three times in the stomach. Brother Dibble sang:

"Brother Newel Knight came to see me, and sat down on the side of my bed… I felt the Spirit resting upon me at the crown of my head before his hand touched me, and I knew immediately that I was going to be healed… I immediately arose and discharged three quarts of blood or more, with some pieces of clothes that had been driven into my body by the bullets. I then dressed myself and went out doors… From that time not a drop of blood came from me and I never afterwards felt the slightest pain or inconvenience from my wounds, except that I was somewhat weak from the loss of blood."

Where Brother Dibble's song continued in this life, there were others who continued their songs in the next life. Such was the sweet melody of David Patten, the first martyr in the church, who died from injuries he sustained in a battle at Crooked River, where Latter-Day Saints attempted to rescue three kidnapped brethren.

Of Elder Patten, Heber C Kimball sang: "The principles of the Gospel which were so precious to him before, afforded him that support and consolation at the time of his departure, which deprived death of its sting and horror."

On his deathbed, David Patten's song turned first to those of his brethren who had fallen from their steadfastness into apostasy. "O that they were in my situation! For I feel that I have kept the faith." Next he pled with his wife, singing, "Whatever you do else, Oh do not deny the faith." Just before he died, he sang to his God, "Father, I ask Thee in the name of Jesus Christ, that Thou wouldst release my spirit, and receive it unto Thyself." And then to those around him he intoned, "Brethren, you have held me by your faith, but do give me up, and let me go, I beseech you." Brother Kimball sang, "We accordingly committed him to God, and he soon breathed his last, and slept in Jesus without a groan."

The persecutions continued, and the saints were compelled to seek out another home. In faith, thousands outfitted wagons and handcarts and braved the wilds of the frontier I cannot pretend to comprehend what it was that inspired William Hyde, a husband and father, to sing the following when asked to leave his homeless family along the trail to join the Mormon Battalion in service of a nation that had turned its back on his family, his rights, and his people. Sang William,

"The thoughts of leaving my family at this critical time are indescribable. They were far from the land of their nativity, situated upon a lonely prairie with no dwelling but a wagon, the scorching sun beating upon them, with the prospect of the cold winds of December finding them in the same bleak, dreary place.

"My family consisted of a wife and two small children, who were left in company with an aged father and mother and a brother. The most of the Battalion left families. … When we were to meet with them again, God only knew. Nevertheless, we did not feel to murmur."

After his discharge, William and many of the other battalion members remained in California to work for a season. Several were present at John Sutter's sawmill when gold was first discovered in 1848, leading to the California Gold Rush. Despite the prosperous possibilities, the Latter-day Saint fathers and husbands did not stay in California to seek their fortune, but rather followed the call of a prophet to gather in Utah. James S. Brown sang of his experience:

"I have never seen that rich spot of earth since; nor do I regret it, for there always has been a higher object before me than gold… Some may think we were blind to our own interests; but after more than forty years we look back without regrets, although we did see fortunes in the land, and had many inducements to stay. Still duty called, our honor was at stake, we had covenanted with each other, there was a principle involved; for with us it was God and His kingdom first. We had friends and relatives in the wilderness, yea, in an untried, desert land, and who knew their condition? We did not. So it was duty before pleasure, before wealth, and with this prompting we rolled out."

I can think of many songs about flowers, songs about lillies, lilacs, pansies, and even mistletoe. I especially love songs about roses. A rose is truly beautiful, but a rose can also offer a painful prick if not handled carefully. Often, many can only see the thorns along their way, but a small few can sense the roses amidst the thorns.

Joseph Moenor sang about his experiences on the trek west. He recalled having "a hard time" in getting to the Salt Lake Valley. But, through his journals, we hear his song was of wonders he had never before seen—great herds of buffalo and big cedar trees on the hills, vast expanses of sunflowers in bloom. Mary Richards, whose husband, Samuel, was on a mission in Scotland cheerfully sang of the comings and goings of the Saints at Winter Quarters, which was rightfully summarized by Brigham Young as the "Valley Forge of Mormondom", including such activities as theological discussions, dances, Church meetings, parties, and frontier revivals.

Amidst the thorns, there are always roses to sing about.

Next I share two songs that have no words but are so sweet and melodic that the absence of lyrics can hardly be noticed.

The first song was sung by Nellie Pucell, a handcart pioneer who, at the young age of 10, lost both of her parents on the journey west. At one point, in the bitter cold, with insufficient rations and no strength, Nellie and her sister Maggie collapsed with no hope of being able to continue any further. The leader of the company came to their aid, placed Nellie in the wagon and told Maggie to walk along beside it, holding on to steady herself. The forced movement saved Maggie from frostbite. When they finally arrived in Salt Lake City and Nellie's shoes were removed, the skin came off along with the stockings and the girl's feet were amputated. Nellie walked on her knees for the rest of her life. But Nellie's song continued through a normal life as she married and raised six children, keeping house and serving faithfully, never allowing her disability to be a hinderance.

I'm not sure what the title of Nellie's song should be. There are many titles that could and should be applied, but I think the music speaks for itself and could best be left Untitled. This next song without words is one of hope in a time of deepest mourning.

The Crandall family trekked west in the Summer of 1850. On the 23rd of June, the Crandall family numbered fifteen. By the week’s end seven had died of cholera. In the next few days five more family members died. Then on 30 June Sister Crandall died in childbirth along with her newborn baby. Of the fifteen that set out, only two survived the journey.

So why is this song about hope? What became of the two surviving family members? What kind of testimony did they gain as they chose to continue west, following a Prophet of God? What kind of legacy did they leave for their future posterity? There is always hope when we continue to sing when the melodies seem darkest.

Many years after the trials of the handcart pioneers, in a setting of sharp criticism toward the poor planning and leadership that led to the deaths of many, one survivor, whose experience may very well have been like that of the Crandalls or Nellie Pucell, stood and sang a solo that still reverberates in my heart.

"I was in that company and my wife was in it. … We suffered beyond anything you can imagine and many died of exposure and starvation, but did you ever hear a survivor of that company utter a word of criticism? … [We] came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives for we became acquainted with him in our
extremities.

"I have pulled my handcart when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said, I can go only that far and there I must give up, for I cannot pull the load through it… I have gone on to that sand and when I reached it, the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart, but my eyes saw no one. I knew then that the angels of God were there.

"Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart? No. Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay, and I am thankful that I was privileged to come in the Martin Handcart Company."

This man's was a song of pure testimony. Where one might have stopped singing altogether, this brother chose to sing even louder. And, from his personal testimony, we learn that he never stopped singing. God gave this man his voice, but he made that voice sing.

There are so many voices that joined in melodious song of testimony, hope, endurance, sacrifice, faith, healing, and charity. One voice composed a simple, yet sweet tune of peace and comfort that has been echoed by millions whether during the brightest day or the darkest night.

This man was called to be in one of the first groups to leave Nauvoo. He left his wife, who was only one month away from delivering their first child, behind with her parents. As he wended his way through the mud and cold, his thoughts and worries were constantly on his beloved and his expected child. After two long months of waiting for news, he received word that he was the proud father of a "fine fat boy". Wasting no time, he sat down and wrote out his song of joy that has since become an anthem of inspiration and gratitude to pioneers of the plains and pioneers across the world. In his simple exclaimation "All is well! All is well!", countless Saints have found the joy and peace that are the rewards of sacrifice and obedience to a watchful Father in Heaven.

And so, if you feel that you are unable to compose your own masterpiece, be assured that you are indeed writing your own symphony of song. And as you carefully seek out your own words of testimony to put to music, you can simply join me and many others as we sing:

"No toil nor labor fear...
Grace shall be as your day...
Tis better far for us to strive...
Joy, your heart will swell...
Gird up your loins, fresh courage take...
We'll make the air with music ring, shout praises to our God and King...
Our God will never us forsake...
Happy day! All is well!"

Praise to the Men

In driving to Michigan late last night, I spent three hours with church history scholars Susan Easton Black and Truman Madsen remembering the legacy of a man who was instrumental in bringing about a marvelous work and a wonder in our day, a man who helped restore eternal truths about our relationship with God and His son, Jesus Christ, a man who communed with angels and received revelatory instruction directly from our Savior. This man has left a testimony that will stand until the end of time, one that he sealed with his own blood. In speaking of this man and his brother who fell by the bullets of assassins on this day, June 27, 1844, John Taylor wrote,

"They were innocent of any crime as they had often been proved before, and were only confined in jail by the conspiracy of traitors and wicked men; and their innocent blood on the floor of Carthage jail is a broad seal affixed to "Mormonism" that cannot be rejected by any court on earth... a witness to the truth of the everlasting gospel that all the world cannot impeach... an ambassador for the religion of Jesus Christ, that will touch the hearts of honest men among all nations; and their innocent blood with the innocent blood of all the martyrs under the altar that John saw, will cry unto the Lord of Hosts till heaven avenges that blood on the earth."

This man was told of an angel at the young age of 17 that his name would be had for good and evil among all nations, kindreds, and tongues. This prophesy has undeniably held true with the name of Joseph Smith, a man I know to have been a prophet of God; a man who spoke with God and received revelation for the people of his day; a man like Moses, Abraham, Isaiah, and the apostle Paul. And just like many of these men, he was rejected, ridiculed, persecuted, and eventually gave his life for his testimony of the truth.

Well, as I listened to a recounting of events leading up to the martyrdom of Joseph Smith, I couldn't help but feel anger at the injustice and the cruelty, sorrow at the suffering of those inhabitants of Nauvoo, and a great gratitude for the man who "lived great and died great in the eyes of God and his people," a man who "has done more, save Jesus only, for the salvation of men in this world, than any other man that ever lived in it."

I do not believe that these statements, also by John Taylor, seek to deify the man Joseph Smith. Surely we do not worship or pray to Saint Joseph Smith as many might think. But as Brother Taylor states, he has done so much for this world. If you were to make a list of the top ten prophets in their importance to the entire history of the world, I would first and foremost write our Savior's name at the top. From there, I don't want to argue about the rest, but if you were to ask about those prophets who hold the greatest significance and importance to us in our day and in our generation, I would unequivocally agree with Brother Taylor and list Joseph Smith's name in the number two slot, followed by that of our living prophet, Thomas S. Monson, as number three.

Joseph Smith ushered in the Dispensation of the Fullness of Times, meaning he received all keys and restored all the plain and precious truths that had been lost over time, leading to an enlightened era of revelation and truth, where we once again have a direct link to our Heavenly Father and can know of a surety what He would have us do. And because of this and to seal this testimony, Joseph was required to sacrifice his life.

In thinking of his important role, not on the same level as that of the Savior, but certainly along the same lines, I can't help but find many similarities in their last days, as I was remembering the details as related by these scholarly lectures I was listening to.

Joseph Smith was presented with multiple arrest warrants in the two weeks prior to the martyrdom. These warrants charged Joseph with inciting a riot on the streets of Nauvoo in the destruction of the printing press for a paper called the Nauvoo Expositor. This publication was authored by apostates, those who had become disaffected with the church and took it upon themselves to destroy the Mormon church. This paper printed many lies and had the sole purpose to stir the citizens of Nauvoo up in revolution.

The Nauvoo city council spent over fourteen hours deliberating on what to do concerning the paper. There was a dilemma here over the Bill of Rights, with the freedom of press and the freedom of religion at stake. The decision to act was not taken lightly. Legal experts have sought to either defend or condemn that decision to destroy the press as a violation of constitutional rights. I will undertake to do neither. I am convinced, however, that the destruction of the press was conducted as due process of law. It was not the act of vigilantes or a mob. Ironically enough, many will condemn Joseph and justify his murder for the destruction of a printing press, while little thought is given to the destruction of our own printing press by mobs and the countless other unconstitutional violent mob actions in Kirtland, Ohio, Independence and Far West, Missouri, and Nauvoo, Illinois.

Well, Joseph was accused of inciting a riot or a mob and was tried and acquitted before a judge of law. He received a second arrest warrant for the same charges. It was felt that since that first judge had been a Mormon, he should perhaps be tried by a non-Mormon to appease the opposition. And so he was tried a second time and once again acquitted. If the violation of the constitutional right protecting against double jeopardy were not enough, Joseph was served with a third warrant for the exact same charges and was facing triple jeopardy. This time, Joseph was told by the governor of the state, Governor Ford, that if he would come to Carthage, the matter might finally be settled. This brings me to some of the parallels I found between the martyrdom of Joseph and that of Jesus.

First, I found it interesting to learn about the second trial in Nauvoo with the judge who was not a member of the Church. According to the law, he acquitted Joseph of all charges. Pontius Pilate had listened to Jesus and claimed, "I find no fault in this man." What was interesting was that this judge asked Joseph to tell his story, to effectively bear his testimony as a prophet of God. Pilate similarly had opportunity to interview the Savior and was moved upon by the Spirit to the point where he not only found Jesus innocent but may have been led to believe in part in his message.

Ultimately, Pilate feared the Jews and the impact they might make on his standing with Rome, and he allowed the capital punishment. This judge of Joseph in Nauvoo ultimately became Joseph's last convert. Like Alma in Noah's court who heard the words of Abinadi, like Agrippa who heard Paul and said, "Almost thou persuadest me to believe...", like the centurion who was there at Golgotha and claimed, "Truly this man was the Son of God," he received a witness of the truthfulness of a divine message by the Spirit of God. And this judge later followed the Saints west as they were driven from Nauvoo.










On to Carthage. The city of Carthage, Illinois, was a hotbed of opposition, hatred, and hostility toward Joseph Smith and the Mormons. For Joseph to follow the summons to Carthage was like Jesus leaving the favorable political and religious climate of Galilee and going to Jerusalem, the political seat of the Sanhedrin and other counsels who wanted nothing more than His blood. Joseph at first refused to go, knowing of the danger that awaited him there, but under the encouragement of many of his people, including his wife, he willingly went to Carthage. There were many Mormons who felt that if Joseph would just go to Carthage, the governor would protect him and that they as a city and as a people might be kept safe. Joseph had faced trials, prisons, and mobs before. Surely, he would once again be protected. But Joseph knew otherwise. Whether he knew of a surety that he would not return from Carthage or not, he clearly knew that he had completed his work as a prophet. In his own words, he had said, "I am just as liable to die as any other man." And, though he felt inclined toward self-preservation, he went to Carthage "as a lamb to the slaughter", saying, "If my life is of no value to my friends, it is surely of no value to me." Christ went to Jerusalem, to Gethsemane, and finally to Golgotha for His friends, for every single child of God. Joseph went to Carthage for his friends.

Appearing before a judge, Joseph was informed that the bail for him and his brother would be $500 apiece. Now in that day, $500 was a great sum of money, money that neither Joseph nor his brother Hyrum possessed. To the credit of Joseph's friends, over $1000 was quickly pooled so that bail might be posted. The judge in Carthage was taken aback, shocked that the sum had been collected, and he would not post bail till the next day as he claimed that his schedule was too full. Before the next day, however, a new warrant was issued, one with charges for which bail could not be made. The charge this time: treason against the United States.

I can't help but think of the crimes for which Jesus was accused. He was accused by those who despised him of blasphemy, the crime of teaching and claiming spiritual truths that the majority of the populace believed to be untrue and a mockery to God. Joseph was similarly hated and persecuted for teaching truths that were not popular or widely believed by the people of his day. The charge concerning the printing press and the riots was just convenient a excuse to get Joseph to come to be near the mobs of Carthage.

When the Jews had laid their hands on Jesus, after paying Judas Iscariot to betray his Lord and committing countless "unconstitutional" acts of injustice according to their own law in the arrest and trial of Christ, they were determined to see that He be killed, and they would raise whatever charges and conjure whatever false witnesses were required to obtain a death sentence. A guilty verdict of blasphemy, however, was not enough to convict Jesus to death according to Roman law, so the charge was changed from blasphemy against God to treason against Caesar. The opposition of Carthage was similarly committed to see Joseph killed, and if the charge of rioting was not enough to hold him in prison, the new charges of treason were raised with a handful of perjured witnesses standing by, prepared to aid their case.

Joseph, as mayor of Nauvoo, one of the largest cities in the state, asked for an audience with Thomas Ford, the Governor, hoping to discuss the plight of his city. Governor Ford answered that he did not have time. He would, however, take Joseph with him the next day as he inspected the Carthage Greys, the military troops of the city. At the time of the martyrdom, the Carthage Greys were responsible for the protection of the Carthage jail. But the military disbanded, abandoning their posts and their duty, and there were many among its ranks who painted their faces black and joined with the mob in the siege on the jail. So an inspection of these troops with Joseph standing by might have been perceived by Governor Ford as an opportunity to parade Joseph before his enemies, perhaps with the aim of appeasing them and cooling emotions.

Pontius Pilate allowed Jesus to be stripped, whipped, robed and crowned in mockery with thorns, and then "paraded" Him before the Jews, perhaps hoping to calm their blood lust and invoke pity. It did not work in either case, but served to only further intensify the mobs.

Joseph told Governor Ford that he would be safe as long as the governor remained in Carthage. The governor promised to not leave the city for Nauvoo without Joseph. However, on the morning of the 27th, Joseph was notified that the governor had broken his promise and left for Nauvoo. At the time that the mob stormed the jail, late that afternoon, Governor Thomas Ford was speaking to the people of Nauvoo, relaxing in the Mansion House, and being served dinner by Joseph's wife. Governor Ford may not have been a Caiaphas or a Herod, but he was clearly a Pontius Pilate. He was one who feared the people, one who took a passive role and let the mob violence rule. Ironically enough, in a book he later wrote, giving his version of the history of the state of Illinois, Thomas Ford expressed three great fears:

1. He feared that there would be those in some future day who would speak of Joseph Smith, and that the name would go far and wide.
2. He feared that there would be place names like Carthage and other places like Palmyra that would be as common to people throughout the world as were such names as Bethlehem and Gethsemane.
3. And he feared that there might be someone who might link his name to such infamous characters that had lived in the past as Pontius Pilate and Herod.

Governor Ford never claimed to be a prophet, but his fears literally became true prophesies on all three counts.

After the inspection of the troops with Governor Ford, there were several commanders and military leaders who came to Joseph's room at the hotel where he was under house arrest. They claimed that during the inspection they had not had a good opportunity to see Joseph and wanted a chance to meet the man. Joseph perceived otherwise and accused these men of being among those who most fiercely wanted his life. He then gave one of his last prophesies concerning these men who would be among the mob that took his life. He said that there would come a day when each of these men would "wallow in their own blood," when they would be so sick of blood that they could not stand it. Each of these men present, after the mob actions of Carthage, later went on to be very successful in the military and all served as generals and officers in the Civil War. In fulfillment of Joseph's prophesy, every single one of these men, at some point during that war, wrote letters to loved ones or commanding officers claiming that they never wanted to see the blood of any man again, that they could not stand the sight of blood.

I think of one of Christ's last prophesies, that which He made in Matthew 24 concerning His second coming and the destruction of the Jews. He prophesied that the temple would be completely destroyed, that not one stone would be left standing on another. He also prophesied that his murderers, the Jews, would be delivered up to be afflicted and killed, that they would be hated of all nations for His name's sake. Yes, Christ forgave his executioners, the Romans, who Christ claimed knew not what they did. But he prophesied concerning the condemnation of those who had actively sought his life, and those prophesies were indeed realized. So were those of Joseph.

When Peter listened to Jesus at the mount of Olives before continuing on to Gethsemane, he was horrified at the prospect of offending his Lord and failing to stand by Him in danger. He said, "Though all men shall be offended because of thee, yet will I never be offended. Though I should die with thee, yet will I not deny thee." Peter effectively voiced his willingness to die with the Savior or to even die in His place. When the mob came to take the Savior, Peter was the first to draw his sword. When the other apostles fled, Peter was one of the few to follow the mob to the place where Jesus would be tried. The Lord's words, however, were prophetic, and Peter became a changed and a stronger man through his weakness. Peter was not called upon to die in Jesus' place, but he was truly willing. When he was sent to his death years later, he asked to be crucified upside down so as to show respect toward His master's own martyrdom.

There was a Peter-like character, a close friend of Joseph Smith who similarly offered to die in place of his prophet. This man was Willard Richards. He was one of the Twelve. Joseph had once told him that he would one day stand in the midst of a literal rainstorm of bullets and not be injured, a prophesy that seemed even more unlikely given Willard's very large and portly frame. In Carthage jail, when instructed by the jailers to go to the upstairs room where they might be more "safe", and where they would shortly be attacked, Joseph asked Willard if he would come with him up to the room. Willard said (and I paraphrase), "You didn't ask me to come to Carthage, and here I am. You ask me to come up with you, and I will come. If you are to die, I will hang in your place." This offer, so similar to that of Peter, bears even greater significance than might seem at first. Joseph, in previously thinking of mobs and those who wanted his blood, had claimed that if he was to die, he only hoped and prayed that his life would not end by hanging. What a powerful offer by a friend in those last moments. Willard, unlike Peter, would not be required to share a martyr's fate, but his act of friendship and love in that offer cannot be forgotten.

There is probably a great deal more that could be said of the martyrdom of Jesus Christ and Joseph Smith, of Pontius Pilate's and governors, of Judas Iscariots and apostates, of Peter's and Willard's, of centurions and judges, of selflessness and of divine missions. The most important topic however is the answer to the simple question, WHY?

Why was our Savior martyred? He went willingly to Gethsemane, and despite His wish to pass the bitter cup and not carry out that incomprehensible act of love, compassion, mercy, and redemption, He carried out His mission and sealed that act through the Crucifixion, paving the way so that each of us might live again and have the opportunity to return to our Heavenly Father. I wish that the Savior did not have to go through what He went through for my frailties, my weaknesses, my sins, but there is no question in my mind as to why He had to sacrifice Himself, and I thank my God for that pure act of charity.

Why was Joseph martyred? Joseph Smith was not my redeemer, he was not my savior, nor did he ever profess to be more than a man who had been entrusted with a sacred mission to restore precious truths to the world in a day when these truths were so desperately needed. When he was killed, he had already fulfilled that mission. So why was the sacrifice of his life necessary?

There are many prophets of old who were called to seal their testimonies with their blood, and there were many who were not called to die for the truth. John Taylor specifically stated that Joseph Smith was martyred "to seal the testimony of this book (the Doctrine and Covenants) and the Book of Mormon". In seeking to destroy the Church of Jesus Christ in these days, in seeking to scatter the Mormons and cut off the head of the serpent, the mobs provided martyrs crowns for Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum. The mob allowed Joseph the opportunity to give his final, irrefutable, and everlasting testimony to the truthfulness of these two books of scripture that the Lord revealed through him.

So, according to Sister Black, who was entertaining my drive to Michigan, "Was it worth it? Was it worth the best blood of the nineteenth century to bring them forth for the salvation of a ruined world?" Her answer, that I can soundly echo, was 'YES'!

I know that both of these books are the word of God. Joseph, himself, claimed that "the Book of Mormon was the most correct of any book on earth, and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book." The Bible is indeed the word of God. I love the stories and the teachings contained therein. The life and teachings of Jesus Christ are so plainly and eloquently written that I cannot read that book without feeling the power and the Spirit confirming the truthfulness of those words. That said, I also feel those same feelings and have an undeniable witness of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.

The Book of Mormon is indisputably another witness of Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ is mentioned in the very first and the very last verses. His name, in over 100 different variations is mentioned on an average of once every one and a half verses. From the first to the last pages, the book conveys many truths, but has one overall message: Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and true happiness and joy come from following Him.

I can't understand why men would call the book evil, why they would take a life because of it. I can understand that some men might read, ponder, and study its pages and yet believe that it is not inspired and of God. But any book on earth that conveys a similar message of Jesus Christ, in my opinion, is not evil. It may not be inspired, it may not be true. Such testimonies of faith would be left to the reader. But I cannot see how I could demand a life for bringing forth a book about Jesus or telling people that they believe in Jesus.

I know many people whose beliefs differ from mine. I may hope that they one day convert to fully sharing my beliefs, and they may hope the same for me. But I can still see their goodness and respect their right and privilege to worship God as they see fit. Unfortunately, not everyone shares my opinion and this mutual respect when it comes to religion, and there are mobs and holy wars, and families, friendships, and even entire peoples are destroyed in God's name. Certainly more than one life has been taken. But in the life of Joseph Smith, I thank my God that he restored truth through the Prophet Joseph, and I thank my God for the Book of Mormon, which has been sealed by the testimony of Joseph Smith through his martyrdom.

So my final question to myself and to you: I may know why Joseph was martyred, and I may answer with a resounding yes that the Book of Mormon is clearly worth the best blood of the nineteenth century, but do I show enough gratitude for the martyrdom? I'm not suggesting that I pray to Joseph Smith or set up a shrine to him in my living room. I am suggesting, however, that I can show my gratitude for his life and for his sealing of the Book of Mormon with his blood in my respect for and my personal usage of that most wondrous book.

Do I appreciate that book? Do I open it up and let the pages breath? Do I take the promise of Moroni in its final pages to heart and ask God to confirm the truthfulness of that book and the teachings I learn again and again? Do I share that book with others or do I keep it to myself?

Praise to the Man who communed with Jehovah! Jesus anointed that Prophet and Seer, Blessed to open the last dispensation, Kings shall extol him and nations revere!

Through me and my testimony of this man and the Book of Mormon, can it be said that Millions shall know Brother Joseph again?

God Bless!

Trust in the Gardener

Today in Sacrament Meeting, we had an absent speaker. And so, we as a congregation had the collective responsibility to fill up the duration of the meeting with Insta-Talks® by those chosen on the spot. The topic? How have you felt God’s love in your life this past week? Let’s just say that I had something of a rough week. On a scale from 1 to 10, I'd be considered an optimist if I rated this one as a 2. So with a few minutes of forewarning, I sat there and thought, “What in the world would I speak on, this week of all weeks, in reference to God’s love in my life?” 


Now, I would never volunteer myself to speak in Church. But one of my few talents is the ability to think quickly on my feet when it comes to spiritual topics and have meaningful insights to share in nearly any situation. More than once, I've been called upon, in similar circumstances to this Sacrament Meeting, to fill in for missing speakers with no forewarning, and these have been some of the stronger faith-promoting experiences I've enjoyed in my life. Today was different. For the first time in a long time, I had absolutely nothing to say on the topic at hand. And I was terrified, because I knew that I would be called up to share my non-existent Insta-Talk®. I uttered a silent prayer in my heart, pleading for help. And the Lord didn't fail me. The words and inspiration filled my mind and heart, and then I was ready for my turn. Only I wasn’t called up to speak. In fact, suspiciously, those who were selected all attended PEC this morning and were probably called on then, and the conducting counselor was possibly trying to just scare us, perhaps in fun and perhaps to truly make us prayerfully meditate on that topic. And in my case, he succeeded and the teaching that came in those few minutes to me from the Spirit was no less valuable and precious to me without the opportunity to share it from the pulpit.

So how have I felt God’s love in my life this week? One of my favorite talks was given several decades ago by an apostle in the First Presidency, President Hugh B. Brown, about a currant bush. I think I like this talk so much because I can relate to President Brown’s self-described ability to talk with inanimate objects. His special powers must be stronger than my own, because these objects never talk back to me... You'd think that would deter me from talking to unresponsive computer monitors, chairs, steering wheels, and the like. But no, many days I spend more time in long, drawn out conversations or debates with inanimate objects or unseen persons than I do with sentient beings. In short, I often talk with myself at length.

Well, President Brown describes a day in the garden in which he comes across a currant bush that had grown wild. Overgrown thorns and branches were covered in wilting leaves and blossoms would not grow. As a gardener, the best action was to prune back the bush and stake down the remaining branches so that they could grow back in a controlled and proper fashion. Standing back to admire his handiwork, President Brown’s special super power manifested itself and he imagined the dew on the branches as tears and heard the cry of the bush:

“How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. I was almost as large as the fruit tree and the shade tree! And now you've cut me down. And all in the garden will look upon me with contempt and pity. How could you do it?!? I thought you were the gardener here!”

And in his wisdom as an experienced gardener, President Brown answered the bush:

“Look little currant bush, I am the gardener here. And I know what I want you to be! If I let you go the way you want to go, you'll never amount to anything. But someday, when you're laden with fruit, you're going to think back and say, 'Thank you Mr. Gardener for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.'”

As the talk goes on, President Brown describes an experience where, after years of effort, service, and difficulty, he had risen through the ranks of the Canadian military and stood on the brink of a promotion that would have assured him and his family of wealth, comfort, and prestige for the rest of their lives. His commanding officer praised him and told him he deserved the advancement by all accounts, but that he unfortunately could not extend the promotion. President Brown was hurt and angered, even more so when he discovered the words “THIS MAN IS A MORMON” written across his file. This time it was he who raised his fist and his voice up to the heavens and cried out:

"How could you do this to me God. I've done everything that I knew how to do to uphold the standards of the Church. I was making such wonderful growth and now you cut me down. How could you do it?!?”

Then came the voice of the true gardener, in President Brown’s own voice to that currant bush so many years before:

“I'm the gardener here. I know what I want you to be. If I let you go the way you want to go, you'll never amount to anything. And someday, when you are ripened in life, you're going to shout back across time and say 'Thank you Mr. Gardener for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.'”

Well, that was President Brown’s experience. My experience came when I was preparing to leave for my mission. I received my call to serve in the Czech Prague mission. With a few months before my scheduled date to enter the MTC, I studied the culture, I began learning the language, I visited with returned missionaries from that country, and I sampled the food. I was excited and ready to hit the ground running from day one. And I did.

Like most of my academic endeavors, learning Czech proved to be challenging, but with effort, hard work, and help from my Heavenly Father things just clicked and I was doing great! Then came my pruning. Visa problems and further complications inspired the Brethren to reassign my missionary group to other missions. What this meant for me: I had to throw out several weeks of Czech and start all over learning Estonian. Estonia?!? I had never even heard of the country. The language sounded like that of the Ewoks on Star Wars. Rumors said Estonian was the third hardest language for an American to learn behind Navajo and Finnish, but those rumors probably have as much merit as those that claim Estonian to be the closest surviving remnant of the Adamic language.


My reassigned call was to the Lithuania Vilnius mission speaking Estonian. Although I was disappointed that I would not make it to Prague after all, I kept my spirits up and dove into the new language with full energy and mind, but lacking full heart. And for the first time in my life, I hit an absolute academic brick wall. The impact left me reeling, unable to make any sense of this foreign language and confused as to why I wasn’t making any progress. The more I struggled, the more unwilling I was to avoid sneaking an occasional longing for that original country and assignment I had been so excited for. Expending greater energy and effort, I struggled all the more, and spent increasing amounts of time murmuring and longing for a miraculous reversion to the original call.

Why did the Lord call me to the Czech Republic in the first place if governments weren’t going to cooperate and allow me to serve? If he could move mountains, turn water to wine, and atone for all mankind, why couldn’t he just soften one or two hearts and pave the way for the missionary work in that country? If I was really supposed to serve in Estonia, why didn’t he call me there to begin with? Is my call really inspired? Does it matter where I’m called to serve? I thought I had a testimony of my call. I don’t even know what they eat in Estonia… I sure wish I could try some authentic Czech dumplings! This language makes absolutely no sense… if only I was still learning Czech, things would be so much easier! I was doing so well with that language, and then you cut me down…

Such thoughts dominated my mind when I wasn’t busy struggling with the language, and although I didn’t let them interfere or detract from my efforts, I was really having a difficult time keeping my attitude where it should be, and I let myself get frustrated and discouraged. I never once had thoughts about throwing in the towel or going home, but I couldn’t let go of the thought, “If only…” I didn’t doubt the Lord or his plans for me, but I couldn’t let go of what was past and move forward in full faith and trust. Weeks went by and I didn’t seem to be making any progress on the language, and I finally conceded that unless my attitude changed, I would get out into the field completely unready to serve as a missionary. So I stopped praying so fervently for the Czech people and the softening of the hearts of their government leaders and started praying more for a testimony of my new call and an understanding of why the Lord had put me through this experience.

But even that didn’t seem to be the mental and spiritual breakthrough I needed. As I struggled to know why I had been put through this challenge, the challenge wasn’t getting any easier. Finally at a loss, I found myself preparing to attend the temple for our weekly session. Now, leaving on my mission, I had packed three suits but was only wearing two regularly. One of the three didn’t fit so well and gave me a bit of an itch, and I had only brought it to the MTC to appease my mother who had insisted that it was such a nice suit that had been so generously donated by a family friend back home. So I had arrived at the MTC and, while unpacking, had shoved it in the back of my closet and forgot about it completely.

Traditionally, we would wear a full suit up to the temple to look our best as missionaries. And on this particular temple day, I had not prepared well and had taken my other two suits to the dry cleaners a few days before. This left me with only a pair of suit pants. As I tried to figure out how I could get my suit back before the temple trip, I suddenly remembered the forgotten suit and quickly donned it and hurried up to the temple for our session.

After the session, as I had time in the Celestial Room to meditate and humbly supplicate the Lord for help with the language and my attitude, I found myself encompassed with the Spirit and a strong prompting to let go of the past. Right there, I promised the Lord that I would never again let the thought of “if only” come to my mind in connection with my original call. I would keep giving my all to learn the difficult new language, but I would not look back to the Czech Republic. I would fully trust him. Although I didn’t demand or expect answers or explanations for the mission call changes, I still hoped and prayed that they might come in time, but I would no longer wait on them before allowing my faith to carry me forward with an eye single to the glory of God.

The Spirit I felt as I left the Celestial Room confirmed to me that the commitments and promises I had made were pleasing to the Lord and were those that I was required to make to get the blessings and assistance I needed to succeed as His messenger in my upcoming mission.

Then we began to walk back down to the MTC and the strangest thing happened. This forgotten and not-so-comfortable suit that I had been compelled to wear because of my poor preparation began to itch. Now it had itched before when I had worn it, leading to my dislike of the suit, but at this moment, it really itched. It felt tight and confining, it burned… I still don’t know quite how to describe how it felt. To say it felt uncomfortable would be a huge understatement. In fact, it was almost comical how uncomfortable it felt on me at that moment. And that feeling kept growing to the point where I was almost ready to ditch my companion and run back to our dorm room so I could rip it off.

I maintained enough composure to make a quick stop by the dry cleaners to pick up my other suits on our way back. When I finally removed the ridiculous suit in our room, I felt a huge burden literally lifting off of my shoulders. I reached for my favorite suit that I had picked up and quickly dressed, feeling an intense sense of relief and comfort wash over me. To borrow from Alma, I might describe that wonderful feeling in his words, “There could be nothing so exquisite and so bitter as were my pains. Yea, and again I say unto you, my son, that on the other hand, there can be nothing so exquisite and sweet as was my joy!” The physical feelings I had felt were so clear and deliberate that I knew they were directed to me for a reason. And it was as I was hanging my suit jacket back on the hanger to cram once more into the back of my closet that I learned why. On the tag on the inside flap of the jacket were written the three words:

Made in Czechoslovakia. 

And in that moment, it was as if I heard the gardener’s voice:

“Look little currant bush, I am the gardener here. And I know where I want you to grow! If I let you go the way you want to go, you'll never amount to anything. But someday, after you've spread my word and done my work, you're going to think back and say, 'Thank you Mr. Gardener for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.'”

I was humbled. I had been put in my place. The Lord hadn’t reached out and slapped me, but he might as well have done so with how deliberately he had gotten my attention. I had promised Him that I would move forward. I had finally let go. And in His tender mercy, He had given me a very real reminder of my need to trust in Him. My faith was a little stronger, my commitment a little more firm. I was ready to get back in that classroom and have another go at that language.

But the Lord wasn’t done with me. On my way to our classroom, I felt the funniest prompting that I needed to take off that suit jacket I had changed into. I didn’t want to, because I was afraid that that almost comical feeling of comfort and joy I had been allowed to feel in donning it might go away. But I knew better than to ignore the prompting, so I slipped off my jacket. My companion must have been wondering who had spiked my orange juice that morning with all of my funny behavior to this point. I didn’t need to be prompted that I was supposed to look at the tag of this second suit jacket. I read the words and quietly slipped it back on, the physical feelings of comfort returning, and we walked in silence to our morning class. The tag had read: Made in Lithuania, the country serving as headquarters for the mission I had been reassigned to. Once more, I heard the gardener’s voice:

“You must learn to trust me completely. I have my reasons for everything I do, and they are for me. It is for you to simply trust me. I am the gardener.”

That is my testimony. I can’t say anything further that can be any clearer than that. And just like President Brown, all I could say was, “Thank you Mr. Gardener for loving me enough to cut me down.” I went to Estonia. Eventually, I “learned” the language to a degree of fluency, not by any effort of mine alone. I served for two years, and I had many opportunities to remind myself of the gardener’s caring cultivation in my life when difficulties arose. When I came home, I still had a faint hope that in time, I might learn why I had been redirected to Estonia. I hadn’t had some miraculous discovery along the way making everything clear. But I didn’t need it.

To this day, I still don’t know why the Lord sent me to Estonia via a detour of a few weeks of learning Czech in the MTC. I do know that the message I preached as a missionary is true, and I do know that my service was acceptable to him. Could the same have been true if I had made it to Prague after all? Absolutely. But the gardener had other plans.

And he still has other plans. This week, how have I felt the Lord’s love in my life? This week I had opportunity to cry out, “How could you cut me down? I was doing so well!” There are many weeks when I feel this way, and I often forget the lessons of the currant bush and have to be reminded again. Such is my humanity and my natural man. And so for me that reminder came today in the form of a Sacrament Meeting scare tactic. The Lord’s love comes through his tender mercies, which are there more often than we probably realize, and in his gentle reminder, “I am the gardener here. Please trust me.”

And so I will.

**************

As something of an addendum to this experience:

Two weeks after my sacrament meeting Insta-Talk® experience, I was organizing my filing cabinet with my wife. I came across a handful of sacrament meeting talks I had given in years past. One of these nearly jumped out of my hands and hit me in the face. It was a talk I gave shortly after moving to Arizona to take my first job out of school. The reason it hit me so powerfully was this: that talk from five years ago was the very message I’ve just shared, almost word-for-word, the same thoughts and experiences that came to me when I was asked, ‘How have you felt the Lord’s love in your life this week?’ Even though I was not called on to share this message from the pulpit that Sunday, I came home to write it down as an unspoken sermon of the heart that could provide me or my posterity strength at a future time. And as I was writing this down, I did not know that three feet away, filed away in a cabinet, was the very same sermon I was rewriting, one that had been spoken by me, one that I had forgotten, but one that had been brought to my remembrance by the Holy Ghost in a time of need.

What a special tender mercy to know that in his love and wisdom, my Heavenly Father had prepared me with special, powerful experiences ten years ago, that I would have the opportunity to share from the pulpit five years ago, and that I would desperately cling to in a time of trial and difficulty today. Just as in President Brown’s experience, where it was his own voice that came to him and reminded him of the lessons of the currant bush in his time of need, now it was my own voice, my own talk from five years ago, that came to me in my moment of need. And the way in which the Lord allowed me to discover that the gardener’s voice that I heard was, in fact, my own was yet another tender mercy and a testimony to me of His infinite goodness.

I'm sure Heavenly Father was so excited and pleased to prepare this special surprise for me. My mother is a wonderful inspiration to me. In response to a tender mercy of her own that she shared with me where the Lord helped her through an especially trying time, she wrote words that sum up my feelings better than my own words ever could:

"Was it all chance? Not a Chance! The Lord's timing is really remarkable. I am humbled that He set up the whole thing so beautifully as to bring me comfort at an emotionally trying time. Truly, I believe Heavenly Father was smiling in absolute delight at the surprise he'd worked out for me. Why? Because I know how happy and excited I am in anticipation of a child's joy when he's about to receive a special present I've prepared. In the New Testament we read of Jesus' teachings that if we, as imperfect parents, want to give good gifts to our children, how much more will our Father in Heaven want to give good things to His children who ask of him. Above all, our Father in Heaven loves us as a perfect parent. He knows our hearts and knows when we are hurting. At those times he encircles us in the arms of His love."

Our Father in Heaven and His Son know us better than we know ourselves. They are always watching over us. They will save us from our greatest trials, our greatest weaknesses, and our greatest sorrows. Christ truly is our Savior and our Redeemer.

God Bless!