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:

The glorious doctrine of hope

I have been impressed in my studies of the scriptures by the doctrine of hope.  It seems to me to be one of those ideas or concepts that we often assume we understand, but that has great depth once we begin to ponder and explore.

"Hope" is an unimpressive little word.  It's interesting that we find it in many scriptural passages in the New Testament, Book of Mormon, and Doctrine and Covenants wedged between the great and powerful concepts of "faith" and "charity." We are often reminded that faith is one of the foundational principles of the Gospel; and that charity, the "pure love of Christ," is "the greatest of all."   But hope often lies unnoticed between those two other brilliant bookends of Gospel principles.

Reflections on a Release

I was called in June 2004 as first counselor in our stake's presidency.  During the years that followed, I spent a LOT of time in this building — in presidency meetings, temple recommend interviews, issuing callings, attending training meetings, giving talks, etc.  Sometimes it felt like I spent more of my waking hours here, than at home.  I would regularly devote 30 hours a week or more to this assignment, including time I spent at home preparing materials or fulfilling assignments.

After more than 9 years of serving, and much joy and growth along the way, a letter from the First Presidency was sent to the stake president in July that included these words:  "It is with sincere appreciation for your watchful guidance of stake affairs and your deep concern for the welfare of the people that we now extend to you and your counselors honorable releases from your positions in the stake presidency. This will take effect at a conference to be held on September 21-22, 2013....  We would like you and your counselors to accept our heartfelt gratitude for your loyal, consecrated service to the Lord, His cause, and the people over whom you have had the honor to preside. We also acknowledge the valued support and service given by your wife and the wives of your counselors."

The Shoulders of Giants: Blessed by noble examples

After I was sustained to serve as a counselor in the stake presidency in June 2004, I was invited to offer brief remarks.  On that occasion I recalled the words of the 18th-century English scientist Isaac Newton, describing his discoveries and achievements, and paying tribute to his predecessors: "If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants."  I paraphrased that thought to say in anticipation, "If we achieve anything our presidency it will be because we stand on the shoulders of giants."  I was referring on that occasion to the wonderful brethren who had preceded us in the callings, whom I admired greatly – Dan Judd, David Glazier, and Ray Smith.

Over the course of the 9 1/2 years that followed, I realized there was quite a different, and perhaps more accurate, adaptation of Newton's thought. While I still have the greatest admiration for those who serve in callings of leadership, I now perceive that anyone who serves in a calling such as this in the Church really stands on the shoulders of the hundreds and hundreds of faithful, dedicated members in his stewardship.  They are the real giants, the ones who courageously carry the Lord's work forward in wonderful ways.  And this is particularly true of the stake I was privileged to serve in – Orem Utah Canyon View.

On Progress and Consistency

We're not big fans of blinking Christmas lights at our house.  I think I grew up with "blinkers" of various types — large and small, colored and clear.  But perhaps because of my wife's southern heritage and east-coast upbringing, we ended up with more simple and traditional decorations.  We use only steady white lights on our simple tree, and I like it that way.

I suppose the blinking of Christmas lights is intended to simulate the flickering of a candle (used as decorations when my mother was a child in Germany), or maybe the twinkling of stars.  Maybe it's just a gimmick to attract more attention.  But this year, another analogy came to my mind.