Speeches delivered before 2000 that continue to top the charts
H. Burke Peterson|Mar. 2, 1980 I am glad to be here this evening. We have had four of our five daughters attend BYU. With the first two daughters, I was led to believe that the BYU was a two-year school because they got married after their sophomore year and didn’t come back. Our third daughter did finish here. I remember her graduation. She had married before she finished, and at her graduation we weren’t sure which would come first, the baby or the diploma. But the diploma beat the baby by a few weeks. I feel an anxiousness about my subject tonight because I know, as the scriptures have stated, that we are in the wind-down period of time that precedes the second coming of the Savior. The preparation is being hastened as never before. The signs of this hastening are all about us. The coming months and years will bring some important events in fulfillment of ancient and latter-day prophecies attesting to the times in which we now live. Each of you will have an opportunity to be part of these great experiences. Now it’s true that not all will be prophets, apostles, bishops, or presidents, but the particular assignment is unimportant in the overall perspective of what is happening and what will happen. All of us are Heavenly Father’s sons and daughters, and regardless of our ecclesiastical assignment, the eternal rewards to the faithful are the same. There is no one here tonight—and I hope you will all listen to this—there is no one here tonight whose experience in life cannot be exciting, satisfying, happy, and profitable. None of us here came into mortality to fail or to be mediocre in the things that matter most. I firmly believe in this truth. And lest we forget, there are no greater blessings than those that can come to a successful husband and wife. I don’t know when I have prayed more fervently or worried more continually about being able to communicate with any group than I have in speaking with you this evening. I feel none of us will ever be exalted except as we increase our understanding of and our dedication and commitment to the subject matter of this fireside. I have chosen to speak about prayer. Because of my desire to teach you this evening, I will share with you some experiences that are considered special and sacred by me and my family. I hope you will please forgive me for this. (Some of my family members have suggested that there are better things to talk about than one’s self and loved ones.) The greatest purpose and challenge in life is to learn to know and to live like the Savior. We learn to know Him as we live like Him—as we keep his commandments. Knowing Him is increased as we testify of Him. In this mortal experience, there are many Christlike things we can do, but unless we keep His commandments and testify of Him, we will not achieve our full purpose in life. The world has many good people who do many wonderful things but who cannot testify of the Savior and His mission. Now there are several im
Sheri L. Dew|Dec. 9, 2003 My dear brothers and sisters, I pray that the Spirit will speak to each of you who is ready to hear what the Lord wishes you to hear. For I am not the teacher—He is. Two Christmases ago I went out to my car one evening to find the passenger window smashed and my briefcase stolen with everything in it—money, credit cards, all of my ID (including the passport that had taken me to 50 countries), and irreplaceable documents. I was beside myself. Hoping the thieves had stolen the money and discarded everything else, a friend and I spent all night prowling through area dumpsters, hoping to find something. But we found nothing. The next day I began the tedious process of replacing the contents. Suffice it to say, the whole process was a pain. Then, unexpectedly, two mornings later, my phone rang at 3:00 a.m. It was a Church operator. “Sister Dew, did you lose a briefcase?” “Yes,” I answered. “I have a man on the line who says he found it in a dumpster behind a bar. Been to any bars lately, Sister Dew?” Laughing at her own joke, she connected me with this man whose pickup, as it turned out, had been robbed that night and who had been going through dumpsters. In one he had found a briefcase. My briefcase. When I asked how he had tracked me down, he replied, “When I looked inside the briefcase and saw that Mormon recommendation, I knew this must be important.” He was referring, of course, to my temple recommend. He had then called the Church number, where the operator on duty knew how to reach me. The phrase Mormon recommendation instantly reminded me of Mormon’s tender words to his son Moroni: “I recommend thee unto God, and I trust in Christ that thou wilt be saved” (Moroni 9:22). I have often pondered what it would mean to be recommended to God. In essence, every time we qualify for a temple recommend, our priesthood leaders are doing just that. But on this subject of recommendation there is another dimension to consider. For God our Father and His Son Jesus Christ, with Their perfect foreknowledge, already recommended every one of you to fill your mortal probation during the most decisive period in the history of the world. You are here now because you were elected to be here now (see 1 Peter 1:2). This is not new news. You have been told countless times that you are a chosen generation reserved for the latter part of the latter days. Just two months ago, in general conference, President Gordon B. Hinckley said once again: “You are the best generation we have ever had” (“An Ensign to the Nations, a Light to the World,” Ensign, November 2003, 84). It’s akin to being chosen to run the last leg of a relay, where the coach alw
Sheri L. Dew|Mar. 21, 2000 For someone who bleeds blue, it is wonderful to be back on this campus. I love BYU. But as much as I love this university, I love you more. For me, you embody the vitality of this magnificent Church. You are living, breathing evidence that righteousness will prevail in a cynical, seductive world. Every time I am in a gathering of men and women your age, I have the sense that I am surrounded by spectacular spiritual potential. I wonder how many future mission presidents, bishops, Laurel advisors, and Primary presidents are in this room. How many children will be reared in righteousness because of your devotion as mothers and fathers? Who in this audience will help unlock a nation or a people to the gospel? Who will develop technologies to spread our message more effectively? Who will stand up in communities and schools and countries for values essential to the stability of an intact society? In short, I can’t help but wonder what place in this latter-day battlefront each of you will occupy, for of this I am sure: Every one of you has a unique mission to fulfill. It is about standing where you have been foreordained to stand that I would like to speak today. When I was a student here, I took a year off from my studies to tour with a USO group that entertained at military bases around the world. One trip took us to the Far East, and before we left, my father gave me a strong warning. “I am worried about this trip,” he said. “Be careful. Don’t go anywhere you shouldn’t go.” His words caught my attention, but, frankly, as our adventure in the Orient began, I forgot about his caution. One day we were scheduled to perform at a base near the Demilitarized Zone that separates North and South Korea. Our escort officer asked if we would like to go into the DMZ and visit Panmunjom, where the peace treaty ending the Korean War had been signed. It was a place of great historical significance. Relations between the two Koreas were strained at the time, and we asked if it was safe. The officer assured us it was, but then promptly furnished waivers we were to sign that absolved the military of responsibility in the event of accident or death. I suddenly remembered Dad’s warning: “Be careful. Don’t go anywhere you shouldn’t go.” But not wanting to be the killjoy, and being a little curious myself, I shrugged off my worry, signed the waiver, and headed into the DMZ, where we were no longer under the protection of the U.S. armed forces. That reality was immediately evident as we drove past rows of somber North Korean soldiers sporting machine guns. “Don’t look them in the eyes,” we were warned. “Anything can set them off.” As we joked about our bodies never being found, my stomach started to churn and my father’s warning played in my mind in digital, Dolby sound. I knew that I had indeed gone somewhere I shouldn’t have gone. The experience was nerve-racking. I felt as though I was behind enemy li
David L. Paulsen|Sep. 21, 1999 Nothing challenges the rationality of our belief in God or tests our trust in Him more severely than human suffering and wickedness. Both are pervasive in our common experience. If this is not immediately evident, a glance at the morning paper or the evening news will make it so. On the larger scale and at the moment, names like Oklahoma City, Columbine, Kosovo, and Turkey evoke image upon image of unspeakable human cruelty or grief. But Auschwitz and Belsen still haunt our memories. Closer to home, who can fathom the anguish of family members in West Valley when they discovered their precious little girls suffocated together in the trunk of an automobile, the tragic outcome of an innocent game of hide-and-seek. Or the trauma of a dear friend of mine and his five young children who day by day for several months watched their lovely wife and mother wither down to an emaciated skeleton of 85 pounds as she endured a slow and painful death from inoperable cancer of the throat. Scenes like these are repeated daily a thousand and a thousand times. But we need not speak only of the sufferings of others. Few of us here will escape deep anguish, for it is apparently no respecter of persons and comes in many guises, arising out of our experiences of incurable or debilitating diseases, mental illness, broken homes, child and spouse abuse, rape, wayward loved ones, tragic accidents, untimely death—the list goes on and on. No doubt many of us have already cried out, “Why God? Why?” And many of us, often on behalf of a loved one, have already pleaded, “Please, God, please help,” and then wondered as, seemingly, the only response we’ve heard has been a deafening silence. All of us have struggled, or likely will struggle, in a very personal way with the problem of evil.1 I say the problem of evil, but actually there are many. Today I want to consider with you just three, which I will call (1) the logical problem of evil; (2) the soteriological problem of evil; and (3) the practical problem of evil. The logical problem is the apparent contradiction between the world’s evils and an all-loving, all-powerful Creator. The soteriological problem is the apparent contradiction between certain Christian concepts of salvation and an all-loving Heavenly Father. The practical problem is the challenge of living trustingly and faithfully in the face of what personally seems to be overwhelming evil. I. The Logical Problem of Evil Soaked as it is with human suffering and moral evil, how is it possible that our world is the work of an almighty, perfectly loving Creator? So stated, the logical problem of evil poses a puzzle of deep complexity. But the conundrum evoked by our reflection on this question appears to be more than just a paradox: we seem to stare contradiction right in the face. The ancient philosopher Epicurus framed the contradiction in the form of a logical dilemma: Either God is unw
Jeffrey R. Holland|Mar. 2, 1999 There is a lesson in the Prophet Joseph Smith’s account of the First Vision that virtually everyone in this audience has had occasion to experience, or one day soon will. It is the plain and very sobering truth that before great moments, certainly before great spiritual moments, there can come adversity, opposition, and darkness. Life has some of those moments for us, and occasionally they come just as we are approaching an important decision or a significant step in our life. In the marvelous account that we read too seldom, Joseph said he had scarcely begun his prayer when he felt a power of astonishing influence come over him. Thick darkness, as he described it, gathered around him and seemed bent on his utter destruction. But he exerted all his powers to call upon God to deliver him out of the power of this enemy, and as he did so a pillar of light brighter than the noonday sun descended gradually until it rested upon him. At the very moment of the light’s appearance, he found himself delivered from the destructive power that had held him bound. What then followed is the greatest epiphany since the events surrounding the crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension of Christ in the meridian of time. The Father and the Son appeared to Joseph Smith, and the dispensation of the fulness of times had begun. (See JS—H 1:15–20.) Most of us do not need any more reminders than we have already had that there is one who personifies “opposition in all things,” that “an angel of God” fell “from heaven” and in so doing became “miserable forever.” What a chilling destiny. Lehi teaches us that because this is Lucifer’s fate, “he sought also the misery of all mankind” (2 Nephi 2:11, 17–18). Surely this must be the original ecclesiastical source for the homely little adage that misery loves company. A morning’s devotional could be devoted to this subject of the adversary’s strong, preliminary, anticipatory opposition to many of the good things that God has in store for us. But today I want to move past that observation to another truth we may not recognize so readily. This is a lesson in the parlance of the athletic contest that reminds us “it isn’t over until it’s over.” It is the reminder that the fight goes on. Unfortunately we must not think that Satan is defeated with that first, strong breakthrough that so dramatically brings the light and moves us forward. To make my point a little more vividly, may I go to another passage of scripture, indeed to another vision. You will recall that the book of Moses begins with him being taken up to “an exceedingly high mountain” where, the scripture says, “he saw God face to face, and he talked with him, and the glory of God was upon Moses” (Moses 1:1–2). What then followed was what happens to prophets who are taken to high mountains. The Lord said to Moses, Look, and I will show thee the workmanship of mine hands. .
Dallin H. Oaks|Feb. 9, 1999 My title and subject today is taken from the Savior’s denunciation of the scribes and Pharisees: “Ye pay tithe of mint and anise and cummin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith: these ought ye to have done, and not to leave the other undone” (Matthew 23:23; emphasis added). I wish to speak about some “weightier matters” we might overlook if we allow ourselves to focus exclusively on lesser matters. The weightier matters to which I refer are the qualities like faith and the love of God and his work that will move us strongly toward our eternal goals. In speaking of weightier matters, I seek to contrast our ultimate goals in eternity with the mortal methods or short-term objectives we use to pursue them. I read in the Universe about Professor Sara Lee Gibb’s message from this pulpit last week. She discussed the difference between earthly perspectives and eternal ones. Then, on Sunday, President Thomas S. Monson reminded you that eternal life is our goal. My message concerns that same contrast, which the Apostle Paul described in these words: “We look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal” (2 Corinthians 4:18). If we concentrate too intently on our obvious earthly methods or objectives, we can lose sight of our eternal goals, which the apostle called “things . . . not seen.” If we do this, we can forget where we should be headed and in eternal terms go nowhere. We do not improve our position in eternity just by flying farther and faster in mortality, but only by moving knowledgeably in the right direction. As the Lord told us in modern revelation, “That which the Spirit testifies unto you . . . ye should do in all holiness of heart, walking uprightly before me, considering the end of your salvation” (D&C 46:7; emphasis added). We must not confuse means and ends. The vehicle is not the destination. If we lose sight of our eternal goals, we might think the most important thing is how fast we are moving and that any road will get us to our destination. The Apostle Paul described this attitude as “hav[ing] a zeal of God, but not according to knowledge” (Romans 10:2). Zeal is a method, not a goal. Zeal—even a zeal toward God—needs to be “according to knowledge” of God’s commandments and his plan for his children. In other words, the weightier matter of the eternal goal must not be displaced by the mortal method, however excellent in itself. Thus far I have spoken in generalities. Now I will give three examples. Family All Latter-day Saints understand that having an eternal family is an eternal goal. Exaltation is a family matter, not possible outside the everlasting covenant of marriage, which makes possible the perpetuation of glorious family relationships. But t
Wendy L. Watson|Apr. 7, 1998 During the Saturday afternoon general conference session, I was moved as I watched President Hinckley during one of the congregational hymns. He turned right around and looked at our BYU combined choir—for the longest time. It was not just a brief glance. He stood there gazing. It seemed that he was surveying and studying each student. President Hinckley is the prophet of the Lord. He knows who you as BYU students are. He knows your goodness. He knows your greatness. It struck me that the Lord’s prophet is counting on you. Teaching is a privilege anywhere, but to teach at BYU with you as students who are filled with light and the love of learning and of your fellowmen—well, it just doesn’t get much better than that for me as a professor. So even though I want to offer you some ideas about change today, there are many things I hope you will never change. Let me tell you a few: • Please don’t change your goodness—your deep core goodness. • Please don’t change being a cut above any other student body in the land. I believe it. It’s true. You are amazing—not perfect, but amazing. • Please don’t change that light in your eyes. • Please don’t change how much you want to help each other. Even when I hear distress stories about roommates and family members, the distress flows from wanting to have connections with each other that just aren’t happening. • Please don’t change your love of the Lord. • Please don’t change your courage to do so many seemingly impossible things. • Please don’t change your desire to keep improving. • Please don’t change your desire for change. So, let’s talk about change. I love change! I love it. I’ll admit it. I’m passionate about it. Actually, I’m just plain wild about change! I’m professionally committed to it—and personally enamored by it. Professionally I try to facilitate it and study it, and I love to participate in it. Personally, I advocate it, seek after it, and, basically, am in awe of it. Personally and professionally I am a detective of change. I want to discover change when everyone else says there is none present nor possible. I guess that’s as close as I come to my Sherlock Holmes name of “Dr. Watson.” For 25 years I have had the privilege of working with other seekers of change—they go by the title of “clients”: individuals, couples, and families who want change. They want something to be different in their lives. I’m not sure when my love of change commenced, but I still remember the thrill that accompanied one of the first big changes in my life: the change of advancing from riding a tricycle to riding a bicycle. The brief sinking feeling that accompanied my awareness that my Dad had let go of the back of my bike and was no longer running alongside and holding me up was quickly replaced by exhilaration. I was riding a two-wheeler—all by mysel
Robert W. Lucky|Nov. 26, 1996 Thank you for coming out to hear me this morning. I appreciate your attendance, and I hope to make it worth your while. This is a marvelous setting—it makes me want to be reincarnated as a basketball player and hear the cheers of the crowd as I dunk the ball. But I’m afraid that wasn’t to be my lot. I grew up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and as a child you often wonder what adults do. You form opinions based on those adults you see around you. On my street—I lived on a dead-end street at the outskirts of the suburbs—they kept building new houses. I would see carpenters working, and when they’d leave at night, the house would have come up that much more and you could see what they had done. At the end of my street was a farm, and I saw the farmer growing things. I saw him harvesting what he had grown. And I came to believe that adults made things and they grew things. One day, as an adult, I looked around and I realized that I don’t know a single person who makes a single thing. I don’t know a single person who grows anything. Everybody I know makes their living exchanging information. It is marvelous that it is all possible. We’re living in an information world. When I was in high school I worked in the U.S. Steel mill outside Pittsburgh. It was the largest steel mill in the world, and the experiences that I had in that summer were overwhelming to the senses. Molten ingots would flow by on automated rails, glowing orange. Then, a few seconds later, you would feel the wave of heat sweep over you. There was clamor constantly—near the auditory threshold of pain. There was soot in the air and in my nose, and the taste was in my mouth. My senses were overwhelmed. Last year I visited the Microsoft company store in Redmond, and I looked at the company products—all in a line about twelve feet long, cardboard boxes filled with almost nothing. That was their entire product line. I looked at those boxes and thought, “That company is worth more than any company in the world right now, and their sole product weighs nothing, consumes no space—it’s just those bits.” At the company store, by the way, everything was $10—every software program that they had. I said, “I wish I were an employee and I could buy these things for this price.” One of the executives was telling me, “Do you know we still make a profit at $10?” It’s a frightening thought, but those cardboard boxes are worth more than General Motors, more than U.S. Steel. The steel mill I worked at so many years ago is now a deserted place, a junk pile. Well, the world is getting changed into bits. Now there are two effects and their implications that I want to talk about here. One is the world changing from atoms into bits: the atoms of that steel mill to the bits of Microsoft. The other is that the world is becoming very connected. These two effects are profoundly changing everything that the world is all
Madison U. Sowell|Oct. 22, 1996 Since forgiveness is an absolute requirement in attaining eternal life, man naturally ponders: How can I best secure that forgiveness? One of many basic factors stands out as indispensable immediately: One must forgive to be forgiven. [Spencer W. Kimball, The Miracle of Forgiveness (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1969), p. 261] Thank you, President Bateman, for introducing me and for allowing me the privilege of introducing two Brigham Young University students who will provide an a cappella vocal duet to set the stage for my remarks on forgiving others. David and Michael Foutz will sing “Lord, I Would Follow Thee,” a hymn that highlights our need to emulate the Savior and, in particular, our need “to refrain from judging unrighteously, to heal and comfort” (Karen Lynn Davidson, Our Latter-day Hymns: The Stories and the Messages [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1988], p. 231). David and Michael are brothers and direct lineal descendants of Bishop Jacob Foutz, who was shot and left for dead at the Haun’s Mill Massacre in Missouri in October 1838. According to an account written by Jacob’s wife, Margaret Mann Foutz, after the massacre Jacob and another brother survived by drawing dead bodies over themselves and feigning death. Margaret records that these two men thus saved their own lives and heard what some of the mob said. After the firing was over two little boys that were in the [blacksmith] shop begged for their lives, but . . . one of the mob said [“Nits will make lice,” meaning] ‘they will make Mormons’ and he put the muzzle of his gun to the boys’ heads and [ended their lives]. [Grace Foutz Boulter, History of Bishop Jacob Foutz Sr. and Family, Including a Story of the Haun’s Mill Massacre (n.p., n.d. [February 1944]), p. 7, BYU Harold B. Lee Library Special Collections; for phrase “Nits will make lice” see Leonard J. Arrington and Davis Bitton, The Mormon Experience: A History of the Latter-day Saints, 2nd ed. (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1992), p. 45] After Margaret found Jacob, she got him home and eventually assisted him in removing a bullet from his hip with a kitchen knife. She applied a poultice to his wound and disguised him in women’s clothes to trick the murderous mob when it returned to exterminate male survivors. Though physically scarred for life, Jacob did survive, and, what is most important, he thrived spiritually. He was called as a bishop in Nauvoo, served a mission in Pennsylvania, and moved west with the Saints in 1847, continuing to serve as a bishop until his premature death the following year. Although Bishop Foutz sought legal redress for the financial losses he suffered at Haun’s Mill, he did not allow the poisonous venom of hate and vengeance to destroy his spiritual life. Instead he bequeathed to his posterity a legacy of faith and forgiveness that cont
Marion D. Hanks|Apr. 16, 1996 This pleasant introduction reminds me of some of the things I’ve been up to over the vanished years. I heard recently someone say that nostalgia is a wonderful thing, but what good is it if you can’t remember anything? We have very happy memories, and some of them relate to these folks sitting behind me for whom I have the highest and most sincere regard. These kind words also reaffirm the feeling that I had when I gave an answer to a bubbly young woman who detached herself from a handsome boyfriend at the entrance of the Salt Lake Temple and walked over to shake my hand. “Didn’t you used to be Elder Hanks?” she asked. I said, “Yes, I used to be, still am, and hope to be in the future Elder Hanks.” I remember when I came here as a substitute for a General Authority who fell ill at the last moment, and I stood in his place. I recalled an experience of Dr. Hashimoto, a revered and respected professor at the University of Utah, when he faced his class the day after Pearl Harbor. (He was an authentic American with ethnic roots.) He stood before his class that morning and quietly said, “Don’t blame me, I’m Irish.” Well, this young lady’s question—though it did in fact amuse me—indicated that, like many others, she probably doesn’t really understand what a General Authority emeritus is. She, however, is a step ahead of another bright young person who confronted me after a wedding I had performed, looked up into my face intently, and said, “Who are you?” As to what an emeritus is, I don’t really know either, but as one who started obviously very young, some things have happened in this change of status. It has not yet meant quick eradication or annihilation, but it has offered some relief from basketsful of meetings and travel so consistent and relentless that it became less than looked forward to: so many postponed dreams of family associations and participation on occasions like Mother’s Day, which I missed consistently through my years of service. These postponed dreams have been revivified and realized. We do still travel together occasionally to various parts of the world on humanitarian projects that have brought us great joy and satisfaction. We are deeply grateful for that. In the Pacific Islands just a few weeks ago, Maxine and I listened to the chatter of myna birds in their incessant, four-syllable, two-word message. They speak it constantly, with no variation in melody. At first when I heard them, “Beep-beep, beep-beep ,” I said to my wife that America’s enterprising commercial entity has reached clear across the world and what they’re saying is, “Pizza-pizza, pizza-pizza.” She said, “No, no. They’re further ahead than that. They have the political message of the current time: they’re saying, ‘Veto-veto, veto-veto.’” Well, I’m very grateful for this visit with this student body. A lot of our happiest memories occurred in relati
Paul Alan Cox|Oct. 10, 1995 When I walk to campus, my route takes me along the front of Heritage Halls. There, underneath some shady trees, the sidewalk runs along an irrigation canal, a relic perhaps of an earlier era when orchards rather than buildings graced the area. One day while walking next to the canal, I was rapt in thought about the pollination of the little aquatic plant Zannichellia palustris. How does the pollen move through water? I had been studying populations of the plant at Fish Springs in the west desert, about a three-hour drive from Provo. “Wouldn’t it be grand if Zannichellia palustris grew right here in this ditch?” I thought to myself. I glanced toward the canal and there it was—Zannichellia palustris! I couldn’t believe it. Now imagine the scene. It’s early morning. Students are scurrying to class along the sidewalk. A semi-respectable professor is walking with the students in front of Heritage Halls. Suddenly, with an excited look on his face, he rips off his sport coat, rolls up his trouser legs, and jumps into the ditch! He reaches down, pulls up a small water weed, and closely examines it with delight. Within an hour I had brought tripods and high-speed cameras to the canal to study pollination. My graduate student Rebecca Sperry and I found that Zannichellia palustris releases its pollen in mucilage that resembles a floating omelette. As the mucilage dissolves, the pollen grains, which are heavier than water, drop like little baseballs onto the waiting female stigmas below. We sent a description of these results to the world’s expert on aquatic plants, Professor C. D. K. Cook at the University of Zurich. His group repeated our study in Switzerland, and together with our respective students we published an announcement of our findings (see Guo, Y. H., Sperry, R., Cook, C. D. K., and Cox, P. A., “The Pollination Ecology of Zannichellia palustris L. [Zannichelliaceae],” Aquatic Botany 38, no. 4 (December 1990): 341–56). Although my discovery of Zannichellia palustris in the Heritage Halls ditch led to some very interesting biology, I still must confess to feeling silly. No, I didn’t feel silly about jumping in the ditch—any of my Biology 130 students would have done precisely the same thing. What I felt silly about was that I had not previously noticed Zannichellia palustris in that ditch before, although I had walked hundreds of times along that path. I had viewed the ditch but had never before truly seen it. How can we acquire the ability to truly see things as they are, rather than merely an idiosyncratic, partial version? Is there away that we can learn to see the world with new eyes? We know that our Heavenly Father is able to see things in a pure and perfect way. He can see the truth of all things because he knows things as they are, and as they were, and as they are to come (see D&C 93:24). The Lord
M. Catherine Thomas|Dec. 7, 1993 My subject this morning concerns the pursuit of self-esteem. I’m going to resist defining self-esteem and simply use the term to circumscribe a number of ways of viewing the self. I would like to explore the nature of the self and the conditions under which it flourishes. In particular, I want to ask this question: What is the eternal value of the pursuit of self-esteem? Whatever the valid uses of the term self-esteem are, however much good is intended, I wonder if self-esteem isn’t a red herring. The term red herring comes from the practice of dragging this smelly fish across a trail to destroy the original scent. Thus a red herring is a diversion intended to distract attention from the real issue. I suggest that the issue of self-esteem is a diversion to distract us from the real issue of our existence. We might be justified in telling people to fix their self-esteem in order to solve their most basic problems if we knew nothing of man’s premortal life, or the spiritual purpose of his earthly probation, or his glorious destiny. But the fullness of the gospel of Jesus Christ teaches the true nature and true needs of the self. There are two major human conditions that the self is subject to that may have led to the idea that the pursuit of self-esteem was important: man’s vulnerability, or even pain, incident to the fall of man; and the conflict and insecurity, or pain, created by personal sin. First, the pain incident to fallenness: Like our Savior, though to a lesser degree, we condescended to come to a fallen world, having agreed to submit to a considerable reduction in our premortal powers. As we came to earth, separated from the presence of heavenly parents, we died spiritually (see Helaman 14:16) and, in a sense, we were “orphaned.” And now, with memory veiled, and much reduced from our premortal estate—somewhat as aliens in a world that is inimical to our spiritual natures—we may carry an insecurity, a self-pain that pervades much of our emotional life. Like Adam and Eve, we feel our self-consciousness or spiritual nakedness. The scriptures teach about this nakedness as a feeling of guilt or shame (see 2 Nephi 9:14, Mormon 9:5). Do we have a sense of loss from deeply buried memories of who we once were in contrast with who we are now? But here is my main question: Is it possible that in our efforts to find security, we have fallen into a number of errors? Is it possible that we have created the whole issue of self-esteem in an attempt to soothe this fallen, homesick self? But there is a better way. Our Savior, who felt all this pain himself (Alma 7:11–13), would not send us to earth without compensation for the distresses he knew we would feel, separated from him. He would not leave us comfortless. You recall the passages in John in which the Savior has told the Twelve that he will be with them only a little while (John 13:33). Peter responds with, “Lord, why cannot I fol
Janet G. Lee|Jan. 14, 1992 When my daughter Stephanie was five years old, I took her to register for kindergarten. When we arrived, she was invited to go into a classroom to “play games” with the teachers and other children. As a former elementary school teacher, I was certain the “games” were a method of testing for placement purposes. A teacher was sitting just outside the room with a box of crayons and several sheets of blank paper, and I smiled confidently to myself from across the hall as Stephanie was asked to choose her favorite color and write her name. “She could write all the names in our family,” I thought to myself. “She is so well prepared, there isn’t anything in that room she can’t handle!” But Stephanie just stood there. The teacher repeated the instructions, and again my daughter stood still, staring blankly at the box of crayons with her knees locked and hands behind her back. In the sweet, patient voice that teachers use when they are beginning to feel slightly impatient, the teacher asked once more, “Stephanie, choose your favorite color, dear, and write your name on this piece of paper.” I was about to come to my daughter’s aid when the teacher kindly said, “That’s okay. We will help you learn to write your name when you come to school in the fall.” With all the restraint I could muster, I watched Stephanie move into the classroom with a teacher who believed my daughter did not know how to write her name. On the way home I tried to ask as nonchalantly as possible why she had not written her name. “I couldn’t,” she replied. “The teacher said to choose my favorite color, and there wasn’t a pink crayon in the box!” I reflect on this incident often as I watch my children grow and observe life in general. How many times are we, as Heavenly Father’s children, immobilized because the choice we had in mind for ourselves just isn’t available to us, at least not at the time we want it? Is progress halted when acceptance into a chosen major is denied, when enrollment in a required class is closed, when a desired job doesn’t come through, when that dream date doesn’t progress beyond friendship, or when the money hoped for isn’t there? Are we ever, for reasons that are hard to understand or beyond our control, faced with a set of circumstances that we did not have in mind for ourselves? In other words, what happens when we look in the box and the pink crayon just isn’t there? It is so easy to lock our knees, put our hands behind our back, and do nothing when things wished for and dreamed about are beyond our reach. But to do so would defy the very reason we are placed here on this earth. As hard as it sometimes is to understand, stumbling blocks are essential to our progression. Remember what the Lord said: “If thou art called to pass through [some] tribulation . . . know . . . that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy
Rex E. Lee|Jan. 15, 1991 This morning I want to talk to you about a very important relationship that exists between, on the one hand, our lives, our practices, and our beliefs as participants in the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and, on the other, the Constitution of the United States. In one sense, this topic is a timeless one, because the Restoration and the Constitution trace their beginnings almost to the same point in time, and over the intervening two centuries have grown and flourished side by side. And yet, in another sense, the subject is not only timely, but also time-driven. Today’s devotional is the last one that will occur during the fifteen-year period from 1976 through the summer of 1991 that Congress officially designated as our bicentennial. Bicentennial! Over the past fifteen years—for most of you, the majority of your conscious years—this word has virtually acquired a secondary meaning. Viewed narrowly, it has been a ceremonial observance of the most remarkable period in the history of our nation, and perhaps in the history of the world. From a broader perspective, the bicentennial has symbolized patriotism and liberty and has served as a valuable reminder that the unique blessings we enjoy as Americans are largely attributable to a document that has proven to be, notwithstanding some flaws, probably the most successful governmental undertaking in the history of civilized life on this planet. Constitutional principles and constitutional issues continually bear on our day-to-day activities. This very day, January 15, 1991—President Bush’s deadline for the withdrawal of Iraqi troops from Kuwait provides an excellent example. It is an event and a day of obvious significance and concern to every American and to the world. Surrounding it on all sides is a constitutional issue. I’ll say more about what that issue is in a moment. But at the outset I want you to understand that constitutional questions enter into a spectrum of our interests ranging from global war to nude dancing to non-returnable soft-drink containers. A Dramatic Story The two-hundred-year anniversary that we have been observing was a fifteen-year period that began with the Declaration of Independence and ended with the adoption of the Bill of Rights by the first Congress in the summer of 1791. The constitution-making portions of that decade and a half lasted only four years and consisted, in my view, of three basic phases. The first was the famous Philadelphia Convention in the summer of 1787. That story has been told several times and in several ways, but nowhere more interestingly nor more accurately than by our own BYU film production A More Perfect Union. The convention was conducted in secret and represented several struggles of epic proportions among the delegates, ultimately resolved by a series of compromises. Someday someone should make another movie like A More Perfect Union, telling the story of the second and
Henry B. Eyring|Oct. 29, 1989 You have moments when you want to be better than you have ever been. Those feelings may be triggered by seeing a person or a family living in a way that lifts your heart with a yearning to live that way, too. The longing to be better may come from reading the words of a book or even from hearing a few bars of music. For me, it has come in all those ways, and more. A Future Home One of my early memories is reading the scriptures in a school room. The law of the land did not yet forbid it, so the Princeton, New Jersey, public schools began each school day with a standard ritual. I can’t remember the sequence, but I remember the content. In our classroom, we pledged allegiance to the flag—in unison, standing hand over heart. One student, a different one each school day, read verses he or she had chosen from the Bible, and then we recited aloud together the Lord’s Prayer. So about every twenty-five school days, my turn came to choose the scripture. I always chose the same one, so my classmates must have known what was coming when it was my day. I don’t remember when I first heard the words; that is lost in the mists of childhood. But I can recite them to you now, and with them the feelings come back. It happened every time, and it still does: Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. [1 Corinthians 13:1–2] You remember the rest, through that thirteenth chapter of 1 Corinthians. By the time I read the first few words, the feeling would come back. The feeling was not just that the words were true, but that they were about some better world I wanted with all my heart to live in. For me, the feeling was even more specific, and I knew it did not come from within me. It was that there would or could be some better life, and that it would be in a family I would someday have. In that then-distant future, I would be able to live with people in some better, kinder way, beyond even the best and the kindest world I had known as a boy. Now, little boys don’t talk about such things, not to anyone. You might confide in someone that you wanted to play big league baseball someday. But you wouldn’t say that you knew someday you’d have a home where you would feel the way you felt when you heard the thirteenth chapter of 1 Corinthians. So I never talked with anyone about those feelings. When I was eleven, my parents dropped me off at the Salt Lake City home of my great uncle Gaskell Romney. He was a patriarch and, because he was my father’s uncle, he could give me, a boy from the mission field, a patriarchal blessing. I don’t think he even sat down to visit with me. He didn’t know me exc
Neal A. Maxwell|Oct. 21, 1986 Wearing His Yoke Meekness ranks so low on the mortal scale of things, yet so high on God’s: “For none is acceptable before God, save the meek and lowly in heart” (Moroni 7:44). The rigorous requirements of Christian discipleship cannot be met without the tutoring facilitated by meekness: “Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly” (Matthew 11:29). Jesus, the carpenter, “undoubtedly had experience making yokes” with Joseph (Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible, vol. 4 [New York: Abingdon Press, 1962], p. 925), and thus the Savior gave us that marvelous metaphor (see Matthew 11:20). Unlike servitude to sin, by wearing his yoke, we truly learn of the Yoke Master in what is an education for eternity as well as for mortality. Meekness is needed, therefore, in order for us to be spiritually successful—whether in matters of the intellect, in the management of power, in the dissolution of personal pride, or in coping with the challenges and routine of life. With meekness, living in “thanksgiving daily” is actually possible even in life’s stern seasons (Alma 34:38). Meanwhile, the world regards the meek as nice but quaint people, as those to be stepped over or stepped on. Nevertheless, the development of this virtue is a stunning thing just to contemplate, especially in a world in which so many others are headed in opposite directions. These next requirements clearly show the unarguable relevance as well as the stern substance of this sweet virtue. Serious disciples are not only urged to do good but also to avoid growing weary of doing good (see Galatians 6:9 and Helaman 10:5). They are not only urged to speak the truth but also to speak the truth in love (see Ephe-sians 4:15). They are not only urged to endure all things but also to endure them well (see D&C 121:8). They are not only urged to be devoted to God’s cause but also to be prepared to sacrifice all things, giving, if necessary, the last full measure of devotion (see Lectures on Faith6:7). They are not only to do many things of worth but are also to focus on the weightier matters, the things of most worth (see Matthew 23:23). They are not only urged to forgive but also to forgive seventy times seven (see Matthew 18:21–22). They are not only to be engaged in good causes, but also they are to be “anxiously engaged” (see D&C 58:27). They are not only to do right but also to do right for the right reasons. They are told to get on the strait and narrow path, but then are told that this is only the beginning, not the end (see 2 Nephi 31:19–20). They are not only to endure enemies but also to pray for them and to love them (see Matthew 5:44). They are urged not only to worship God but, astoundingly, they are instructed to strive to become like him! (See Matthew 5:48; 3 Nephi 12:48, 27:27.) In the midst of al
Russell M. Nelson|Sep. 30, 1984 Our being here reminds us of those days when we were where you are now in your schooling. We had three important goals. One was to get married. Then, once married, our next goal was to get by financially. Then our goal was to get through. We got married when Sister Nelson was an undergraduate student and I was in my second year of medical school. Because I was under legal age, parental consent was required. My father was very amused when I called him away from his work to sign for me so I could get a marriage certificate. With Sister Nelson’s (and parental) help, we were able to make it through medical school after we each received our baccalaureate degree. I then informed her that it was customary to have a year internship. Following that I was determined to specialize, and I let her know that it would require additional training. I’ll confess to a bit of naivete. If we had known that the interval between my getting my doctor’s degree and our finally going into practice would be twelve and a half years with six children added, we might not have been quite as enthusiastic in the beginning. So I pay great tribute to her for her role in our partnership. I owe so much to her. Now I pray for the Spirit of the Lord to direct our discussion tonight. I have entitled my remarks “Begin with the End in Mind.” I suppose some of this comes from my surgical background. An elective incision is never made without planning to close it. The same principle is generally applicable in all fields, however. Track stars don’t begin a race without knowing the location of the finish line. So, in your important race, I would plead for you to begin with the end in mind. To assist you in defining that end, I would ask you this simple question: What would you like said about you at your funeral? Or, if you were to write your own eulogy and you could have only three sentences (no big flowery speeches, please), what would you want to say? If it’s fair for me to ask that of you, it’s fair for you to ask that of me. If I were to write what I hope might be said about me, those three sentences would include: I was able to render service of worth to my fellowmen. I had a fine family. I evidenced unshakable faith in God and lived accordingly. Some of you have already defined your goals. Some have even developed a system of priorities to give order to your interests and responsibilities. I applaud such discipline and think it’s useful, but I believe that this ordering process may often be a little artificial. Rarely do we fragment the life that we live. It is not possible to influence one facet of our life without that affecting other aspects as well. So, in my own experience, I have preferred not to compartmentalize my interests, but to synergize them. Let me explain what I mean. Nephi said, “I did liken all scriptures unto us, that it might be for our profi
Hugh Nibley|Aug. 19, 1983 Twenty-three years ago on this same occasion, I gave the opening prayer, in which I said: “We have met here today clothed in the black robes of a false priesthood.” Many have asked me since whether I really said such a shocking thing, but nobody has ever asked what I meant by it. Why not? Well, some knew the answer already, and as for the rest, we do not question things at the BYU. But for my own relief, I welcome this opportunity to explain: a “false priesthood?” The Explanation Why a priesthood? Because these robes originally denoted those who had taken clerical orders, and a college was a “mystery” with all the rites, secrets, oaths, degrees, tests, feasts, and solemnities that go with initiation into higher knowledge. But why false? Because it is borrowed finery, coming down to us through a long line of unauthorized imitators. It was not until 1893 that “an intercollegiate commission was formed to draft a uniform code for caps, gowns, and hoods” in the United States. Before that there were no rules—you designed your own; and that liberty goes as far back as these fixings can be traced. The late Roman emperors, as we learn from the infallible Du Cange, marked each step in the decline of their power and glory by the addition of some new ornament to the resplendent vestments that proclaimed their sacred office and dominion. Branching off from them, the kings of the tribes who inherited the lands and the claims of the Empire vied with each other in imitating the Roman masters, determined to surpass even them in the theatrical variety and richness of caps and gowns. One of the four crowns worn by the emperor was the mortarboard. The French kings got it from Charlemagne, the model and founder of their royal lines. To quote Du Cange: When the French kings quitted the palace at Paris to erect a Temple of Justice, at the same time they conferred their royal adornments on those who would preside therein, so that the judgments that came from their mouths would have more weight and authority with the people, as if they were coming from the mouth of the prince himself [the idea of the Robe of the Prophet, conferring his glory on his successor]. It is to these concessions that the mortar-boards and the scarlet and ermine robes of the chancellors of France and the presidents of Parlement are to be traced. Their gowns or epitogia [the loose robe thrown over the rest of the clothing, to produce the well-known greenhouse effect], are still made in the ancient fashion. . . . The name “mortar-board” is given to the diadem because it is shaped like a mortar-board which serves for mixing plaster, and is bigger on top than on the bottom. [Charles Du Fresne, Sieur Du Cange, Glossarium ad Scriptores Mediae et Infimae Graecitatis (Graz, Austria: Akademische Druck u. Verlagsanstalt, 1958; Unveränderter Abdruck der 1688 bei Anisson, Joan. Posuel u. Claud. Rigaud in Lyon erschiehenen A
Richard L. Gunn|Aug. 19, 1982 At about the time that you graduates were being born, I was invited to speak at a conference to be held in St. Louis. My wife, Jeanne, thought it was a wonderful opportunity for our children to see the famous Saint Louis Zoo, so I accepted the conference option of applying the cost of an airplane ticket toward driving. We stuffed the children into our small car and headed east. Our budget-control plan pushed us into hamburger stands for lunch and dinner during our trip. In those days we used to say, “We were broke all week, so we had hamburgers.” Nowadays, with our grandchildren, we say, “We had hamburgers all week, so we’re broke.” When we arrived at the convention hotel, Jeanne thought we should get something more adequate for the children. After sitting down in the hotel restaurant, we passed out menus and announced that we were going to have a good meal. We asked if there was anything they especially would like. The children enthusiastically clapped their hands and shouted in unison, “Hamburgers!” I am reminded of another incident that occurred as I was returning from India during World War II. Our staging area was Karachi, then part of India. At three o’clock in the morning an Indian vendor came down the street awakening us with his one English word: “Hamburgers.” There was an instant mob scene. Men came pouring out of every building, many clad only in their shorts. (That was a shortsighted maneuver that left some shortchanged.) Back home I had never seen a hamburger that cost more than fifteen cents; these were $2.50. Eager men snapped them up for three greenbacks if no change was available. They elbowed in with an aggressiveness that if matched on the battlefield would have shortened the war by months. The size of the hamburger did not dampen their interest. A twenty-five-cent coin could cover every part of the meat, and a penny-size dab of mustard on these dinky hamburgers was the total trimming. Soon the echo of empty bins sent the vendor flying for more meat—who knows to what source in India. Most of you probably remember, as do I, when a big, thick, juicy hamburger was more desired than anything printed on any menu. But I suspect that if you graduates came to this special occasion of a graduation banquet—and many of you are here with relatives and special friends—and if you sat down at a banquet table to face a hamburger dripping on a paper napkin, would you have a different feeling in this hall than you now have? We can enjoy a hamburger life, and we can live without banquets, special occasions, or bachelor’s degrees. But what a loss to special feelings, to our quality of life, to the joie de vivre, if we do not partake of a smorgasbord of enriched perceptions, a search for sensitivity, the fruits of work, the arts, and the discoveries opened with bachelor’s degrees. In this 1982 class there may be some among you who are still single—tha
Henry B. Eyring|Mar. 28, 1982 I’m grateful to be with you tonight. And I appreciate what it means for you to have decided to spend your time with me. I watched you take your seats and wait. I’d like to talk with you tonight about those two things: about time. And about waiting. A Time to Every Purpose I was riding in a car with a wise man a few years ago. We talked about some tragedies in lives of people we knew. Some had waited too long, missing the chance to act. And some had waited not long enough. He said quietly, more to himself than to me, “Timing is everything.” Ecclesiastes said, with an elegance that goes beyond poetry to frame our problem: To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted. And then later: A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away. [Ecclesiastes 3:1–2, 6] Waiting for a harvest takes more judgment in life than it does in gardening. In your garden, you can tell if the seed sprouts. And even an amateur can tell when the corn or carrots are ready. But I remember a story told to me long ago, far from here, by a sad voice. I remember it not because it was unique but because I have heard the same story told, again and again, about waiting or failing to wait. The details vary, but not the feeling of drama. She said it happened on a summer Saturday afternoon. She was tired. Tired of being single. Tired of trying to be a faithful Latter-day Saint. Not so much tired of being kind and virtuous as tired of nothing good seeming to come of it. She’d not had a date in months. She saw no prospect of even becoming friends with, let alone marrying, a man who shared her faith and ideals. In frustration she found herself deciding something. She decided that afternoon, consciously, that years of good works and restraint had produced too little and promised no more. She said to herself almost aloud, “Oh, what’s the use?” The phone rang. It was a man’s voice, a man she knew. He lived in the same apartment building. He’d asked her out before. She’d refused because she was sure he’d expect her to compromise her standards she’d preserved at great effort. But, almost as if directed by a scriptwriter, he called at that instant. She didn’t say, “Yes.” She said, “I’ll think about it.” She thought about it. He called again. And finally, she repeated to herself, “Oh, what’s the use?” She went. She found she had been right about his intentions. And in a choice about time and about waiting or not waiting, her life changed. So, she will never know what might have been ahead on the path she decided wasn’t worth the price; she knew quickly the other one was uphill, and a hard climb. All of us make decisions every day, almost every hour, about whether it’s
Bruce R. McConkie|Feb. 17, 1981 I know, as do we all, that the things of God can be understood only by the power of the Holy Spirit. And I pray that we may receive a mighty outpouring of that Spirit as we consider the three pillars of eternity—the three great eternal verities upon which salvation rests. My purpose is to take the three greatest events that have ever occurred in all eternity and show how they are interwoven to form one grand plan of salvation. If we can gain an understanding of them, then the whole eternal scheme of things will fall into place, and we will be in a position to work out our salvation. If we do not build our house of salvation on a true foundation, we will never make the spiritual progress that will prepare us to enter the Eternal Presence. Three Great Events The three pillars of eternity, the three events, preeminent and transcendent above all others, are the creation, the fall, and the atonement. These three are the foundations upon which all things rest. Without any one of them all things would lose their purpose and meaning, and the plans and designs of Deity would come to naught. If there had been no creation, we would not be, neither the earth, nor any form of life upon its face. All things, all the primal elements, would be without form and void. God would have no spirit children; there would be no mortal probation; and none of us would be on the way to immortality and eternal life. If there had been no fall of man, there would not be a mortal probation. Mortal man would not be, nor would there be animals or fowls or fishes or life of any sort upon the earth. And, we repeat, none of us would be on the way to immortality and eternal life. If there had been no atonement of Christ, all things would be lost. The purposes of creation would vanish away. Lucifer would triumph over men and become the captain of their souls. And, we say it again, none of us would be on the way to immortality and eternal life. And so I now say: Come and let us reason together; let us reason as did righteous men of old that we may come to understanding. Come and hear us declare sound doctrine; let us declare it plainly and in power as do the angels of God in heaven. Come and let us testify of those things which God has made known to us; let us testify as do those whose souls are afire with the Spirit and who know by revelation of the truth and verity of their spoken word. The Atonement Let us gaze first at a scene of sorrow and suffering in a garden called Gethsemane, the garden of the oil press. There, outside Jerusalem’s walls, on the now sacred side of Olivet, we see eight of the Twelve huddled at the garden gate. Inside the garden are Peter, James, and John. It is night, and the eyes of all are heavy with sleep. About a stone’s cast removed from the three we see the Son of God in sorrow and agony beyond compare. He has fallen on his face. We
Ezra Taft Benson|Feb. 26, 1980 My beloved brothers and sisters, I am honored to be in your presence today. You students are a part of a choice young generation—a generation which might well witness the return of our Lord. Not only is the Church growing in numbers today, it is growing in faithfulness and, even more important, our young generation, as a group, is even more faithful than the older generation. God has reserved you for the eleventh hour—the great and dreadful day of the Lord. It will be your responsibility not only to help bear off the kingdom of God triumphantly but to save your own soul and strive to save those of your family and to honor the principles of our inspired constitution. To help you pass the crucial tests which lie ahead I am going to give you today several facets of a grand key which, if you will honor them, will crown you with God’s glory and bring you out victorious in spite of Satan’s fury. Soon we will be honoring our prophet on his eighty-fifth birthday. As a Church we sing the song, “We Thank Thee, O God, For a Prophet.” Here then is the grand key—follow the prophet—and here now are fourteen fundamentals in following the prophet, the President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. First: The prophet is the only man who speaks for the Lord in everything. In section 132, verse 7, of the Doctrine and Covenants the Lord speaks of the Prophet—the President—and says: “There is never but one on the earth at a time on whom this power and the keys of this priesthood are conferred.” Then in section 21, verses 4–6, the Lord states: Wherefore, meaning the church, thou shalt give heed unto all his words and commandments which he shall give unto you as he receiveth them, walking in all holiness before me; For his word ye shall receive, as if from mine own mouth, in all patience and faith. For by doing these things the gates of hell shall not prevail against you. Did you hear what the Lord said about the words of the prophet? We are to “give heed unto all his words”—as if from the Lord’s “own mouth.” Second:The living prophet is more vital to us than the standard works. President Wilford Woodruff tells of an interesting incident that occurred in the days of the Prophet Joseph Smith: I will refer to a certain meeting I attended in the town of Kirtland in my early days. At that meeting some remarks were made that have been made here today, with regard to the living oracles and with regard to the written word of God. The same principle was presented, although not as extensively as it has been here, when a leading man in the Church got up and talked upon the subject, and said: “You have got the word of God before you here in the Bible, Book of Mormon, and Doctrine and Covenants; you have the written word of God, and you who give revelations should give revelations accordin
James E. Faust|Mar. 13, 1979 I have come this morning to speak to you of holy things and of sacred happenings. Perhaps it may not be given to us to fully understand these occurrences, except through the intelligence of the Holy Spirit. I pray for that special spirit both for you and for myself, so that we may come to a perfect understanding concerning these sacred matters. I pray that we may worship together in spirit and truth. I will speak to you today concerning a testimony of Christ. I can speak to you with some insight and feeling on this subject for two reasons. Firstly, I am the most newly called of the special witnesses. No one else in the world has more recently experienced the sacred happenings of coming to this sacred calling than I. Secondly, Sister Faust and I have recently walked in some of the pathways of the Savior. What I have to say to you, however, is more than feelings, but is rather fact and knowledge to me, the truth of which may be known to you by sacred whisperings. The things of the spirit are most to be treasured because from these spiritual reassurances come the sacred inner peace and strength, as was the testimony of John the Baptist: “A man can receive nothing, except it be given him from heaven” (John 3:27). Each has to receive his own witness concerning Jesus as the Christ. I wish this morning to set my seal upon this knowledge. Let me begin with Peter. No one was in a better position to know than was Peter. Peter’s story is credible—he was there. Said Peter, “For we have not followed cunningly devised fables, when we made known unto you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but were eyewitnesses of his majesty” (2 Peter 1:16). Anyone who claims discipleship cannot help but have a special appreciation for the calling of the first apostles and for their authority. And Jesus, walking by the sea of Galilee, saw two brethren, Simon called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea: for they were fishers. And he saith unto them, Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men. And they straightway left their nets, and followed him. And going on from thence, he saw other two brethren, James the son of Zebedee, and John his brother, in a ship with Zebedee with their father, mending their nets; and he called them. And they immediately left the ship and their father, and followed him. [Matthew 4:18–22] These came early to a testimony of his divinity. Again the next day after John stood, and two of his disciples; And looking upon Jesus as he walked, he saith, Behold the Lamb of God! . . . One of the two which heard John speak, and followed him, was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. He first findeth his own brother Simon, and saith unto him, We have found the Messias, which is, being interpreted, the Christ. And he brought him to Jesus. And when Jesus be
Bruce C. Hafen|Jan. 9, 1979 Thank you, President Oaks. It feels good to be back on this campus. If you were to ask our children where they are from, they would still say Provo. I do not know how many more years that will continue; we hope that they will become acclimated to Rexburg soon. Provo and Rexburg have much in common, not the least of which is that in these two cities are two great colleges. It has been a source of great satisfaction to me to notice the support and concern that BYU people have for Ricks College. I want you BYU people to know that the people at Ricks appreciate your interest. I also would like to share with you something I recently heard about students in the Church schools, so that we can be alert to what the enemy is saying. A friend of mine, a graduate from another school in this state, recently asked me if I knew the difference between a rooster, a patriot, and a coed who goes to an LDS college. I said that I did not know the difference, but that I had always wondered about that very question. He said, “A rooster says ‘cock-a-doodle-doo,’ a patriot says ‘Yankee Doodle-doo,’ but a coed at Ricks or BYU says ‘Any dude’ll do.’” This obviously does not apply to us, except for the occasion on which I proposed to my wife here in Provo a number of years ago. At that time, at least, I was glad that there was some truth in that observation. The title for my remarks today, brothers and sisters, is a simple one that will leave you wondering what I mean; I hope it will be clear by the time I have finished. The title is “Love Is Not Blind.” When I was a law student, my wife and I attended a student ward in which most of the members were graduate students. We developed close friendships with many of those who were experiencing, as we were, the great expanding of our minds as we learned the tools of intellectual analysis and the expanding of our spirits as we drew close to the Lord through such experiences as marriage and the bearing of our first children. One Sunday morning, the Elders Quorum in our ward held a special testimony meeting characterized by spiritual warmth and personal openness. During that meeting, a fellow law student related a boyhood experience that had occurred just after he had been ordained a deacon. He lived on a farm and had been promised that a calf about to be born would be his very own to raise. One summer morning when his parents were away, he was working in the barn when the expectant cow began to calve prematurely. He watched in great amazement as the little calf was born; and then, without warning, the mother suddenly rolled over the little calf. He could see that she was trying to kill it. In his heart he cried out to the Lord for help. Not thinking about how much more the cow weighed than he did, he pushed on her with all his strength and somehow moved her away. He picked up the lifeless body of the calf in his arms and, brokenhearted, the tears running down his cheeks,
Neal A. Maxwell|Oct. 10, 1978 Thank you very much, President Oaks; and thank you, sisters, for that lovely music. This is always a great experience for any of us to have. Often, when speaking to student leaders in higher education, I have used the analogy that—in a university—the faculty, staff, and administration are like the natives, and the students are like the tourists. In many ways, a recurring devotional speaker is more like one of the natives. Even so, I thank President Oaks for once again extending this precious privilege to me. You may conclude today, however, that I am becoming more like a tourist, since I shall try to cover two topics in order to make the most of these fleeting moments. Discipleship includes good citizenship; and in this connection, if you are careful students of the statements of the modern prophets, you will have noticed that with rare exceptions—especially when the First Presidency has spoken out—the concerns expressed have been over moral issues, not issues between political parties. The declarations are about principles, not people, and causes, not candidates. On occasions, at other levels in the Church, a few have not been so discreet, so wise, or so inspired. But make no mistake about it, brothers and sisters; in the months and years ahead, events will require of each member that he or she decide whether or not he or she will follow the First Presidency. Members will find it more difficult to halt longer between two opinions (see 1 Kings 18:21). President Marion G. Romney said, many years ago, that he had “never hesitated to follow the counsel of the Authorities of the Church even though it crossed my social, professional, or political life” (CR, April 1941, p. 123). This is a hard doctrine, but it is a particularly vital doctrine in a society which is becoming more wicked. In short, brothers and sisters, not being ashamed of the gospel of Jesus Christ includes not being ashamed of the prophets of Jesus Christ. We are now entering a period of incredible ironies. Let us cite but one of these ironies which is yet in its subtle stages: we shall see in our time a maximum if indirect effort made to establish irreligion as the state religion. It is actually a new form of paganism that uses the carefully preserved and cultivated freedoms of Western civilization to shrink freedom even as it rejects the value essence of our rich Judeo-Christian heritage. M. J. Sobran wrote recently: The Framers of the Constitution . . . forbade the Congress to make any law “respecting” the establishment of religion, thus leaving the states free to do so (as several of them did); and they explicitly forbade the Congress to abridge “the free exercise” of religion, thus giving actual religious observance a rhetorical emphasis that fully accords with the special concern we know they had for religion. It takes a special ingenuity to wring out of this a governmental indifference to religion
Ezra Taft Benson|Mar. 24, 1978 This has been a glorious Easter for us. For three and one-half hours the Council of the Twelve met in the temple this morning in our semiannual testimony meeting. Following that my wife and I went to our ward fast and testimony meeting, then visited Elder Stapley in the hospital. I am happy to report that he looks better and is better. Now we have come here tonight to conclude this glorious Easter day we shall long remember. It is always a personal thrill and honor for me to be in the presence of you, the youth of Zion—“the rising generation,” as the Book of Mormon calls you (see Mosiah 26:1; Alma 5:49). As the ancient apostle declared on the Mount of Transfiguration, “It is good for us to be here” (Matthew 17:4). I have been uplifted and inspired by the fitting, lovely music provided this Easter evening. Tonight I want to share my love, appreciation, and testimony concerning our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I love the Master, our divine Redeemer. It is a sacred honor to bear witness to the divine mission of Jesus Christ; to represent His great Church; to be an ambassador of truth to our Father’s children; and to be called by a prophet of the Lord to go into the world and proclaim the glad tidings that God has again spoken from the heavens, that He still communicates with men on the earth, and that the pure gospel of Jesus Christ has been restored to the earth in its fullness for the last time. I rejoice in this glorious privilege, thank the Lord for this rich opportunity and blessing, and bear solemn witness to the truth of the message we carry to the world. We meet here at this great University with a prayer of gratitude in our hearts and on our lips for the privilege of living in this choice period when the light of truth has burst forth. We meet in a great Christian nation—a nation with a solid spiritual foundation—but a nation which has departed in great measure from the basic principles of its founders. May God help us, as His covenant people, “to arise and shine forth” and be a standard for the nations and a light to the world, as the Lord has commanded us (see D&C 115:5). As a people we have just joined with others of the Christian world in the celebration of Easter. It is therefore most fitting that we consider together that most glorious event, the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ. There has been considerable publicity and media coverage recently on the reporting of experiences which seemingly verify that “life after life” is a reality. The ancient prophet’s question, asked centuries ago, has been revived. Job asked, “If a man die, shall he live again?” (Job 14:14). In other words, what happens to a person once he dies? A definite answer to that question is provided by the Savior’s ministry in the spirit world following his crucifixion, death, and burial. Even before the fall of Adam, which ushered death into the world, our Heavenly Father had prepar
Robert D. Hales|Nov. 9, 1976 My brothers and sisters, it’s a pleasure to be here today. Many thoughts went through my mind as I prepared for this occasion. I wanted to make sure that I deliver the kind of a message that is going to be helpful. I hope the Spirit will be with me that I might do just that. The subject will be that of marriage, with an eternal perspective. Temple marriage describes the place you go to have the marriage performed. Celestial marriage is being true to the sacred covenants you make in that temple marriage ceremony—living celestial principles in the marriage relationship. A celestial marriage requires, after the vows are taken, a continuing consecrated life of worthiness leading to happiness and exaltation, which President Kimball has talked to you about. If we live the laws properly, as they are intended, we will, with another individual and with our family, be able to have a little heaven on earth. We are practicing, when we live the laws pertaining to celestial marriage, the same laws that are practiced in heaven. We are practicing how to live with God the Father and his Son and with our families in the eternities to come. That to me is the message to the world of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. So my title this morning is “Celestial Marriage—A Little Heaven on Earth.” I would like to reinforce in your minds the principle of celestial marriage and the gospel lesson it gives to us. Goals for Righteous Living Something as wonderful as a celestial marriage doesn’t just happen. In the story Alice in Wonderland, Alice approaches the Cheshire Cat and asks, “Would you please tell me which way I ought to go from here?” The Cheshire Cat replies, “That depends a great deal on where you want to go.” Alice says, “I admit, I don’t much care where.” The Cheshire Cat then says, “Then it doesn’t really matter much which way you go, does it?” “Just so I get somewhere,” responds Alice. Then the Cheshire Cat reveals an interesting truth, “Oh, you’re sure to get there if you keep walking long enough.” What is the message? How many of us are going through life today telling ourselves, “If we keep going long enough, we’re going to get somewhere,” but are not defining exactly where that place is we want to be? “Somewhere” is not good enough. We must know where we want to go and be firmly committed to getting there. And we should get that knowledge and commitment early. Alma stated, “Oh, remember, my son, and learn wisdom in thy youth; yea, learn in thy youth to keep the commandments of God” (Alma 37:35). That says it all. Do it now. Temple Recommends Once we are committed to a celestial marriage, we should understand and do the things that lead to it: To enter the temple, you will need what is called a recommend. A searching interview will b
Boyd K. Packer|Feb. 1, 1976 I am particularly appreciative of the music we’ve just heard, and quote from section 25 of the Doctrine and Covenants: For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads. [D&C 25:12] I very anxiously lay claim to those blessings from these righteous young men and women who have sung so beautifully this sacred hymn of Zion. My gratitude to them will, I’m sure, be more obvious when I move into the message that I have chosen to speak upon tonight. I want to respond to a question that I face with some frequency. It has many variations, but the theme is this: Why do we not have more inspired and inspiring music in the Church? Or why do we have so few great paintings or sculptures depicting the Restoration? Why is it when we need a new painting for a bureau of information, or perhaps for a temple, frequently nonmember painters receive the commission? The same questions have an application to poetry, to drama, to dance, to creative writing, to all the fine arts. Now, I’m sure there are those who will say, “Why does he presume to talk about that? He is uninformed. He is just out of his province.” It may comfort them to know that I know that. My credentials to speak do not come from being a musician, for I’m not. I am not a composer, nor a conductor, and certainly I am not a vocalist. I cannot, for example, play the piano. I would be very unwilling to do so. However, should I be pressed to it, I could, without much difficulty, prove my point. I am not adequate as an artist, nor as a sculptor, a poet, or a writer. But then I do not intend to train you in any of those fields. My credentials, if I have any (some of them should be obvious), relate to spiritual things. I hope for sufficient inspiration to comment on how the Spirit of the Lord influences or is influenced by the art forms that I have mentioned. Since I have been interested in these matters, I have, over the years, listened very carefully when they have been discussed by the Brethren. I have studied expressions of my Brethren and of those who have led us in times past, in order to determine how those questions should be answered. The reason we have not yet produced a greater heritage in art and literature and music and drama is not, I am very certain, because we have not had talented people. For over the years we have had not only good ones but great ones. Some have reached great heights in their chosen fields. But few have captured the spirit of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the restoration of it in music, in art, in literature. They have not, therefore, even though they were gifted, made a lasting contribution to the onrolling of the Church and kingdom of God in the dispensation of the fulness of times. They have therefore missed doing what they might have done, and they have missed being what they might have bec
Belle S. Spafford|Feb. 11, 1975 It is always a great pleasure and a strengthening experience for me to speak to a group of Brigham Young University students. I enjoyed the chorus this morning, and I also appreciated being referred to as a young woman. I was called the other day by the National Council of Women and asked if I would accept an appointment as a delegate to an international meeting in Paris. I thought, “Before I accept this, I should refer it to one of the members of the First Presidency.” So I called President Tanner and said, “I have an invitation to serve as a delegate, and I don’t think I should accept it because and because and because—.” I had a number of very good reasons, I thought. He listened attentively, and then he said to me, “You know, I should think you’d take advantage of your opportunities while you’re still young.” I’m particularly honored this morning to be invited by the chairman of the Women’s Week program committee to speak at this devotional assembly. Since this is Women’s Week, it seems appropriate that I address myself, in the main, to the role of the Latter-day Saint woman in today’s changing world. I’m sensitive to the fact that this group consists of men as well as women. In the governing structure of the Church, men play an important role in relation to the women’s activities as they relate to the work of the Church. At early meetings of the Relief Society in Nauvoo, the Prophet Joseph Smith clearly defined this relationship. At the founding meeting, a presidency consisting of three women—a president, a first counselor, and a second counselor—was appointed to preside over the organization. Later in the meeting the Prophet Joseph said, “Let this presidency serve as a Constitution—all their decisions be considered law, and acted upon as such. If any officers are wanted to carry out the design of the institution, let them be appointed and set apart. . . . The minutes of your meetings will be precedent for you to act upon—your Constitution and law” (“A Centenary of Relief Society,” p. 15). Nonetheless, at the third meeting of the society the Prophet gave this enduring directive: “You will receive instructions through the order of the Priesthood which God has established, through the medium of those appointed to lead, guide, and direct the affairs of the Church in this last dispensation” (“A Centenary of Relief Society,” p. 16). Because of these mandates it seems imperative that not only the women but also the brethren of the priesthood should be knowledgeable regarding the role of women. The brethren will want to be familiar with the problems confronting women so that through an understanding of these and the duties and the responsibilities of the sisters they will be in a position to counsel and direct them in harmony with the design of the Lord. The advancement of the work of the Church is a joint responsibility of the men and the women of the Church, each wo
Gordon B. Hinckley|Oct. 29, 1974 It is good to be here with you this morning, my dear young friends. I ask that the Lord will help me to say something that will help you. Recently I spent the better part of a week in Washington, D.C., living in a hotel room. Each morning I watched the early news on television and then read the morning paper while eating breakfast. President Ford had just granted a pardon to his predecessor. The amount of venom that spewed from the mouths and pens of the commentators was unbelievable. They were aflame with indignation. In all that week of morning watching and reading I never heard nor read among the commentators and editorialists a single paragraph of positive thought. The speakers were brilliant. They were men of incisive language, scintillating in expression. The columnists were masters of the written word. With studied art they poured out the sour vinegar of invective and anger, judging as if all wisdom belonged to them. At the conclusion of that week, I too made a negative observation. Said I, “Surely this is the age and place of the gifted pickle sucker.” The tragedy is that this spirit is epidemic. Criticism, fault-finding, evil speaking—these are of the spirit of the day. They are in our national life. To hear tell these days, there is nowhere a man of integrity among those holding political office. In many instances this spirit has become the very atmosphere of university campuses. The snide remark, the sarcastic gibe, the cutting down of associates—these, too often, are of the essence of our conversation. In our homes wives weep and children finally give up under the barrage of criticism leveled by husbands and fathers. Criticism is the forerunner of divorce, the cultivator of rebellion, sometimes a catalyst that leads to failure. Even in the Church it sows the seed of inactivity and finally apostasy. I come this morning with a plea that we stop seeking out the storms and enjoy more fully the sunlight. I am suggesting that we “accentuate the positive.” I am asking that we look a little deeper for the good, that we still our voices of insult and sarcasm, that we more generously compliment virtue and effort. I am not asking that all criticism be silenced. Growth comes of correction. Strength comes of repentance. Wise is the man who can acknowledge mistakes pointed out by others and change his course. I am not suggesting that our conversation be all honey and blossoms. Clever expression that is sincere and honest is a skill to be sought and cultivated. What I am suggesting and asking is that we turn from the negativism that so permeates our society and look for the remarkable good in the land and times in which we live, that we speak of one another’s virtues more than we speak of one another’s faults, that optimism replace pessimism, that our faith exceed our fears. When I was a boy our father often said to us: Cynics do not contribute. Skeptics do not create.
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