Being Part of the Gathering of Saints

On the eve of another General Conference, I've been reflecting on why that experience is so meaningful to me, and in particular, why I don't like things that compete with my participation. I've gotten fussy about my conference time. I am not one who can work in the yard or tinker around the house while listening to conference.  I don't like missing the broadcast, even knowing that the recordings and transcriptions are available for personal review and study almost immediately afterwards.  I feel a personal need to participate "live and in person" with the conference sessions.  The reason why takes a little explaining.  (I also acknowledge that not everyone feels like I do about this—and that's OK! What follows is my approach and my thoughts, and not the only approach or even the right approach.)

I'm not an old man (regardless of what my son says). But I vividly recall some of the experiences of my youth, pre-satellite and pre-cableTV, gathering to a stake center for the Priesthood Session of General Conference. There was no video; just the audio, brought to us over telephone lines and patched into the sound system in the building. The sound quality was inconsistent, and very inadequate for music transmission; but the connection was usually reliable.  In spite of what might seem a limitation by today's standards, I recall some marvelous spiritual experiences in my youth from that setting, hearing the instructions of Church leaders to the assembled priesthood holders.

Judge Righteous Judgment

"Judge not, that ye be not judged." (Matthew 7:1)

This phrase from the Savior's teachings in the Sermon on the Mount is often quoted and discussed.  Joseph Smith refined the thought in his inspired revision of the verse:

"Judge not unrighteously, that ye be not judged; but judge righteous judgment."

This expansion is consistent with the Savior's teachings in other places, particularly John 7:24:

"Judge not according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgment."

As we try to learn the difference between unrighteous and righteous forms of judgment, that insight is helpful.  Judging "according to the appearance" of an action or incident is often unrighteous.  Similarly, the Lord counseled an ancient prophet, "...the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart" (1 Samuel 16:7).  How do we get beyond making judgment based on appearance?  How can we be sure to judge righteously?

Our natural tendency is to make evaluations and decisions based on what we see or perceive in individuals and situations around us.  Often that's a necessary part of how we deal with the world — prioritizing, judging, choosing how to react and interact.  But sometimes, we make mistakes in those judgments that can have serious implications.

I've come to believe that some of the greatest challenges in personal interactions can result from this problem of "hasty judgment."  We hear words or see an action, and quickly assume we understand the history, motivation, or thoughts that led to the action.  We are judging on appearance, not allowing either our reason or the Spirit to lead us to what might be a different story.

Lessons from YW Camp 2001

In 2001, I was serving as a high councilor in the Orem Canyon View stake. I had been assigned as the stake representative to the Young Women — a wonderful responsibility!  We prepared through the year for the annual Young Women Camp, and had been assigned to a week in August at Camp Mia Shalom, where we had attended many times.  During this year, however, the summer was hot and dry, and the water supply at Shalom ran low.  We would have to bring in water for all our needs — a challenging task. We looked for alternatives, and found one option: Camp Bennion, several miles up Spanish Fork canyon. It had water and some good options for activities and was closer to home. It was, however, a tent camp — no cabins — providing a different experience for the young women, and their leaders! But there was a lot of enthusiasm for the new setting.

As the high council representative, I had the privilege to spend the whole week at the camp with the young women and their leaders.  During the course of the week, there were some wonderful experiences, as always.  But three specific lessons that came to me personally have lingered in my mind in the years that have passed; in fact, they always come back to mind when I drive down Spanish Fork Canyon. I decided it was time to record them. I'll list them in the reverse order of when they occurred.

To drink of the cup

In the deserts of Palestine a few thousand years ago, Jesus completed His final ministry in the area known as Perea and started to make His way towards Jerusalem for that last week of His life.

As He journeyed with a group of His disciples, Matthew records an interesting interchange.  One of the women approached Jesus.  She was the mother of James and John, the sons of Zebedee.  She asked the Master what seems to us to be a rather presumptuous and impudent question:

Grant that these my two sons may sit, the one on the right hand, and the other on the left, in thy kingdom.

We infer from her words that she probably had the common misconception about the Savior's kingdom being an earthly one, that His power would be political, and His rise to power imminent.  It probably also shows a little bit of what I think is in every mother, a hope and desire that her sons will "turn out," will be successful and special.

Jesus could have responded with a lecture, or a rebuke, or have even ignored her naïveté.  But His words are sensitive and thoughtful:

Ye know not what ye ask.

"An angel, strengthening..."

The synoptic Gospels describe the event that is, for Latter-day Saints, the focal point of the Easter Week. Following the Last Supper with his disciples, as darkness falls, the Savior makes his way to a garden called Gethsemane—nearby but outside the walls of Jerusalem.  There, the Savior asks his disciples to watch and wait, and he goes on alone to pray.  Luke mentions that at one point, an angel comes to console and encourage the suffering Lord.

In 2011, the BYU Museum of Art arranged for an exhibit of many of the paintings of Carl Bloch, the gifted 19th century Danish artist.  They were beautiful to see.  One in particular seemed to really "speak" to me, and I spent a long time (during several visits) studying it and feeling the power of its message.  It's titled "Gethsemane."

'Tis sweet to sing the matchless love...

For the 9 1/2 years I served as a counselor in our stake presidency, the demands of the calling required that I sacrifice a number of personal interests and activities.  One of those was singing in choirs.  Since my release last fall, it's been a joy to return to my love of music.  I've not only resumed participating in the ward choir, but also joined a community singing group, "The Orem Chorale," that challenges and inspires even more with very beautiful music and a talented, professional director.

When I was a young boy, my mother encouraged me to join with her in being a part of our ward choir.  She had always loved to sing, and wanted me to experience that too.  I don't recall other boys or men who were in the choir; I do remember a dominant soprano with some professional training who outsang the rest of the amateurs (don't most ward choirs have one of those??).

Parker, Idaho Ward Choir - 1900

OK, maybe we weren't THAT old-fashioned.  But it does seem like a LONG time ago.

True Believers in Christ

On two occasions, prophets in the Book of Mormon use a phrase that has always fascinated me — "true believers in Christ" (Alma 46:14-15, 4 Ne 36-7).

The use of the adjective "true" always makes me wonder.  Why didn't Alma and Nephi just talk about "believers in Christ"?  Are there believers who are not true believers?  Why was it significant to add that qualifier?

I pondered what other kinds of believers might be distinguished from the "true" ones; here are some alternatives that came to mind.  I've seen examples of these characteristics in people I've known, or from tendencies I've noticed in my own life at times:

The bright and morning star

Recently as I returned from an early-morning hike just at dawn, I looked to the east and saw a simple, but beautiful sight — a single bright star shining in the eastern sky, defying the increasing sunlight.  I watched for a while until it lost the battle and faded from view.

Of course, it wasn't a star at all; it was the planet Venus, known in this phase of its orbit as "the morning star." I was thrilled to notice it this week in its morning phase, because of the symbolism it evokes.  It will be visible for several more months in the morning sky, then will "disappear" behind the sun in late summer, to reappear at the end of the year as "the evening star."

Because Venus is closer to the sun than Earth, and has a 225-day "year" (orbit around the sun), it sometimes appears in the morning and sometimes in the evening.  When it's on the "trailing" side of the sun, it appears in the evening sky coming into view as the sun sets — the "Evening Star."  When its orbit takes it to the other side, it "leads" the sun in the morning, appearing in the sky for an hour or two before dawn — the "Morning Star."  Ancient observers thought these two manifestations were different celestial bodies; the Greeks called the morning star Phosphoros, “the bringer of light,” and the evening star Hesperos, “the star of the evening.”

Three thoughts from Eliza R. Snow

Engraving from 1884, age 80

Eliza Roxcy Snow was among the most renowned women of the LDS Church in the 19th century, recognized for her leadership, teaching, and especially for her poetry. She was the older sister (by 10 years) of Lorenzo Snow, who would become the Church's 5th president. She directed the re-establishment of the Relief Society after the Church moved to Utah.  She was sealed to both Joseph Smith and Brigham Young.  On the 210th anniversary of the birthday (January 21, 1804) of this remarkable woman, I share three insights she provided.

The "Stuttgart Declaration of Guilt"

I read today about a man who has always fascinated me — Martin Niemöller (anglicized spelling Niemoeller), a Lutheran pastor born in Germany on today's date (January 14, 1892).  He has a fascinating story.  He was a distinguished commander of a German submarine in the first World War, awarded the Iron Cross for his victories and valor.  But later in life, he often told the story of having torpedoed an enemy boat; he commanded his crew not to rescue the sailors of that ship but to let them drown.  The incident haunted him.  When the war ended, it was among the things that motivated him to become a minister.

As Germany rebuilt in the years that followed, Niemöller opposed the Communists and initially supported Hitler and the Nazis; but soon became an outspoken opponent because of the Nazis' policies of Aryan supremacy and control of churches.  He was eventually imprisoned for his opposition, barely escaping execution but instead spending 8 years in concentration camps, to be liberated by Allied forces at the end of the war in May 1945.  He is probably best known for this statement about the events leading up to his imprisonment:

Niemöller used this example a number of times in his speeches after the war, often listing other groups who were persecuted by the Nazis, including Communists, those with incurable diseases, Jehovah's Witnesses, and civilians in countries occupied by Nazi Germany.

Establishing patterns of righteousness

I read an interesting book a few years ago that included a discussion about the time and effort needed to develop a talent to world-class level. The author claimed that his research showed a common pattern in many instances. With the exception of the occasional prodigy, and acknowledging that there are often inherited abilities or physical elements involved — there was something common in the development of abilities in very diverse areas, and that transition happened after about 10,000 hours of effort or practice or experience. The greatest basketball players had opportunity to play and develop skills to the point where their muscles "knew" exactly how to make the jumpshot under any condition. The great musicians practiced until the sense of music was deeply ingrained in their being, in the movements of fingers or control of voice. Even great computer innovators had opportunity to experiment and develop and hone skills over thousands of hours. It was a fascinating theory.

I've thought what that might mean to our spiritual talents and gifts. Most of us aren't like Paul or Alma, having a dramatic change in our natures. We gradually develop the depth and strength we need to fully serve the Lord most effectively. We learn and grow, "line upon line." At what point do we change to the depth that it becomes so deeply ingrained in us that our very nature is different? Is it perhaps at 10,000 hours as the author I read suggests? When we're counseled to "seek... earnestly the best gifts" (D&C 46:8), how do we interpret the word "earnestly"? Are we asking casually for a gift and then hoping something appears, or are we willing to sacrifice and give the time and effort to receive and develop a gift?

Three Lessons from History

Lately I've had opportunities to drive through southern Utah, usually on the way to California.  That drive always gives me a chance to ponder some interesting applications of history.  A hundred and fifty years ago, some of my ancestors lived in the area just south of Cedar City now known as Kanarraville. My 3rd-great grandfather, William Rees Davies, his wife Rachel Morris Davies, and their son John Reese Davies were early converts to the LDS Church in southern Wales.  They came to Utah along with other family members, and ended up in this remote and primitive area.  The three of them are buried in the Kanarraville cemetery.

As I drive past Kanarraville, I often ponder their lives, trying to imagine what they experienced living here in the mid-1800s and how times have changed since.  During a recent drive I thought about these three lessons: