The Prophet Joseph Smith went through many
great trials in his life. One time, you may
recall that, when he was in Kirtland, Brother
Behunin came to him and said, “Brother Joseph,
many of the brethren have left the Church,
and not only have they left the Church, but
they have turned against the Church and become
some of our most bitter persecutors. I will
never leave the Church, but if I do, I will
move out in the country and buy a little farm
somewhere, and I promise you that I will never
turn against the Church.”
Joseph said something that was very prophetic.
He said, “Brother Behunin, you do not know
what you will do. When you join the Church
of Jesus Christ, you leave neutral ground
forever behind.”
Elder Packer said this in just a little different
way. He said, “They leave the Church, but
they can’t leave it alone.” I have thought
about Joseph Smith and some of the great trials
of the pioneers. One of the things that comes
to mind is the time when George Q. Cannon,
a convert, came up that Mississippi River
and docked in Nauvoo. He was standing on the
river boat looking down on the dock, and he
said there were about 200 men waiting for
the people who were on the boat to disembark.
He said, “If there had been a thousand men,
I would have known which one was the Prophet
Joseph.” And then later on, there were others
who came in great numbers to Nauvoo. At one
time, Joseph Smith, feeling that he ought
to make sure they came for the right reason,
put on his oldest tattered clothing, mounted
his horse, and rode down to meet the Maid
of Iowa as it came up the Mississippi with
many immigrants from England. As they disembarked,
he took aside one of the first ones and asked,
“Why are you here?”
And the good brother said, “Well, because
I have joined the Mormon Church, and I wanted
to come and be in Zion with the Saints.”
Joseph Smith said to him, “What do you know
about Joseph Smith?”
Very humbly this man said, “I know he is
a prophet of God.”
Joseph said, “What if I told you I was Joseph
Smith?”
As the man looked at him in his tattered clothing,
he said, “Then, sir, I know that you are
a prophet of God.”
It is interesting to look back on the life
of the Prophet Joseph, and that leads into
the things I would like to discuss this morning.
Possibly no greater story can be told than
the unfolding of the drama of the pioneers.
Converts by the thousands seemed to be relentlessly
pulled toward the great Salt Lake Valley (Zion
as they supposed). The poor, the abandoned,
the rich (leaving all worldly goods behind),
the educated, and those with limited schooling
all came forth. Their unwavering faith in
Christ and their commitment to his cause led
them on. I should like to share with you some
of the experiences that I have studied that
have humbled me to the earth. Those brave
souls left us a legacy and a rich heritage.
No amount of money could purchase what they
freely gave. It cost life and limb. It cost
great suffering and the most severe kind of
heartache imaginable. Theirs was the noblest
gift—that of love. The Savior said,
"Greater love hath no man than this, that
a man lay down his life for his friends."
There have been great stories of the pioneers
who crossed the great plains and the Rocky
Mountain passes to reach the Salt Lake Valley.
On the fifteenth of August 1852 ten wagons
under the leadership of Hiram Winters separated
themselves from the main body of the eighteenth
pioneer company, which was under the direction
of Captain C. Snow. Rebecca Winters, the wife
of Hiram, was dying of cholera. Her passing
took place about noon. Sister Winters was
one of more than 6,000 who were buried alongside
the old Mormon Trail. Her husband and those
in the other wagons laid her to rest in a
deep grave. That evening and into the night,
a friend of the family, William Reynolds,
using a chisel, inscribed on the outside surface
of an iron tire, “Rebecca Winters, aged
50 years.” This wheel rim was placed over
the grave with her husband’s remark that
later proved prophetic, “That name will
remain there forever.” The following morning
the pioneers pushed on, and the location of
the grave seemed to be lost or forgotten to
her family in Utah.
Later travelers and finally settlers in the
area did not forget, and when the cowboys
found her marker, they gave her name to a
nearby stream and a spring and later to a
precinct in Scotts Bluff County and finally
to a street in the city of Scottsbluff. In
1900, when the Chicago and Burlington Railroad
was being surveyed up the north side of the
Platte, their survey crew rediscovered the
marker right in the center of the planned
grade. Not wishing to disturb the grave, they
backed up several miles and moved the line
over a few feet so that the grave would be
beside the tracks. The chief surveyor also
sent a notice of his discovery to the Deseret
News, and when an article was written about
it, the grave came to the attention of Rebecca’s
descendants. One was Augusta Winters Grant,
the wife of Heber J. Grant who served as the
president of the Church for 27 years.
They provided that a “temple” granite
marker (made of granite from the temple) be
placed over her grave in 1902. Sometime after
that, the Burlington Railroad had a small
wrought iron fence placed around the burial
plot. And then the section foreman, E. F.
Despain, had a well dug to water the shrubs
and lawn and the flowers that adorned the
grave.
Rebecca Winters’s grave still stands as
a pillar in honor of all those noble and brave
pioneers who died and were buried in unmarked
and lost graves. And thus her monument, as
Hiram Winters stated, “will remain there
forever.”
Around the time of the centennial, President
J. Reuben Clark, who was in the First Presidency,
gave one of the greatest pioneer talks ever
delivered, I suppose, in the history of the
Church. He entitled it To Them of the Last
Wagon. Let me give you a small quote from
that. He said:
"But back in the last wagon, not always could
they see the brethren way out in front and
the blue heaven was often shut out from their
sight by heavy, dense clouds of the dust of
the earth. Yet day after day, they of the
last wagon pressed forward, worn and tired,
footsore, sometimes almost disheartened, born
up by their faith that God loved them, that
the Restored Gospel was true, and that the
Lord led and directed the brethren out in
front."
Now here is a great principle. I believe that
as we consider some of these other journeyings,
we find that there is a faith, a purging,
and a need to feel close to the Brethren and
not compromise the standards.
Only God knows the sufferings of every soul
who crossed or attempted to cross the plains.
Surely these magnificent and faithful souls
have stories to tell that would melt the hardest
heart. Women nursing newborn babies at their
breasts, children walking until their poor
little feet would blister and bleed, fathers
and mothers working together in a state of
exhaustion, but always, always pushing onward.
Perhaps the most touching of all stories are
the various accounts of the handcart companies.
As you know, the Emigrating Fund was organized
to assist Saints to come to Zion. The financial
strain on the emigrating company in 1855 (only
eight years after the first Saints arrived
in the valley) was almost impossible. President
Brigham Young wrote a letter to Franklin D.
Richards, who at that time was president of
the British Isles mission, and said something
like this:
"I have been thinking how we should operate
another year. We cannot afford to purchase
wagons and teams as in times past, I am consequently
thrown back upon my old plan—to make hand-carts
and let the emigration foot it, and draw upon
them the necessary supplies, having a cow
or two for every ten. They can come just as
quick if not quicker, and much cheaper—can
start earlier and escape the prevailing sickness
which annually lays so many of our brethren
in the dust. A great majority of them walk
now even with the teams which are provided,
and have a great deal more care and perplexity
than they would have if they came without
them. They will only need 90 days’ rations
from the time of their leaving the Missouri
River, and as the settlements extend up the
Platte, not that much. The carts can be made
without a particle of iron, with wheels hooped,
made strong and light, and one, or if the
family be large, two of them will bring all
that they will need upon the plains.
If it is once tried you will find that it
will become the favorite mode of crossing
the plains; they will have nothing to do but
come along, and I should not be surprised
if a company of this kind should make the
trip in sixty or seventy days. I do know that
they can beat any ox train crossing the plains.
I want to see it fairly tried and tested,
at all events, and I think we might as well
begin another year as any time and save this
enormous expense of purchasing wagons and
teams—indeed we will be obliged to pursue
this course or suspend operations, for aught
that I can see at the present."
In 1856, the first handcart companies were
organized and commenced the journey. The handcarts
were made out of Iowa hickory and oak. The
wood was properly selected and seasoned. The
box was constructed of Iowa hickory or oak
and the shafts also. The axles were uniformly
hickory. The length of the side pieces and
shafts was about 6 or 7 feet with three or
four binding crossbars from the back part
to the forepart of the body of the cart, and
the lead space for a man to pull the cart
was 2 or 3 feet. When necessary, the wife
or the children or all of them would push.
The handcarts could be loaded with 400 to
500 pounds of flour, bedding, extra clothing,
cooking utensils, and a tent. Each individual
was allowed seventeen pounds of clothing,
and that meant clothing and bedding. Then
they were allowed one pound of flour per person
per day. And so if there were four in the
family, they would have four pounds of flour
times ninety days for the trip. That would
be about 360 pounds of flour that they would
put on the cart plus their 68 pounds of clothing
(seventeen times the four members of the family),
plus their cooking utensils and the tent and
maybe a very special prized possession, what
they would call an heirloom, something that
they wanted to bring along, something they
felt was worth bringing. (One woman had been
given 18 ounces of soap and felt it was one
of the most prized possessions she had at
that day.) And so the total weight would be
nearly 500 pounds.
The first three handcart companies left in
June. The first one left on 9 June, the second
one two days later, and the third one on 23
June. The first company arrived in the Salt
Lake Valley on 26 September; and the second
one had caught up, so they also arrived 26
September. The third arrived on 2 October.
The first company suffered one death, the
second company suffered seven deaths, and
in the third company there were none who died
on the way. This was no greater and oftentimes
less than the regular covered wagon trains’
mortality rates.
When the first two companies arrived, all
three of the First Presidency, President Brigham
Young, Heber C. Kimball, and Daniel H. Wells,
went up to the mouth of Emigration Canyon
to welcome these marvelous, wonderful Latter-day
Saints. I want to share with you some of the
feelings that an eye-witness wrote:
"As they came down the bench you could scarcely
see them for the dust. [I want to have you
think about that.] When they entered the City
the folks came running from every quarter
to get a glimpse of the long looked-for hand-carts.
. . . I shall never forget the feeling that
ran through my whole system as I caught the
first sight of them. The first hand-cart was
drawn by a man and his wife. They had a little
flag on it . . . [And may I say it may be
time to raise this flag. There does come a
time to raise a “title of liberty” flag,
and this was that kind of flag. They had made
that great journey of ninety days, pushing
and pulling; I don’t believe we can comprehend
what they went through. And here was their
little flag] They had a little flag on it,
on which were the words, “Our president,
may the unity of the Saints ever show the
wisdom of his counsels.” [May we have that
same faith in President Kimball. There may
be nothing more important that I’ll say
today than just quoting the faith of those
people as they inscribed it on a little flag.]
The next hand-cart was drawn by three young
women. . . . The tears ran down the cheeks
of many a man who you would have thought would
not, could not, shed a tear."
The next two companies that followed after
the first three were told, “You will go
forward at your own risk.” It was late in
the season. The immigrants had just crossed
the Missouri River and paused to recondition
their handcarts at Florence, Nebraska. They
were wholly ignorant of the country ahead,
the rigors of camp life, the impending winter,
and the Rocky Mountains. So anxious were they
to reach Zion that they chose to commence
the journey. The James G. Willie Company left
Iowa city on 15 July 1856, with about 500
in the company. Thirteen days later the Edward
Martin Handcart Company followed.
During July and August they made fairly good
distances. But the handcarts were not well
constructed, and they began to fall apart.
There was much time lost in repairing them,
but they did make fairly good time. Then fall
came early, and the chill of winter brought
frosty nights. The consciousness of threatening
storms, decreased rations, and insufficient
bedding and clothing dampened their spirits.
Day after day they pulled painfully forward.
“We traveled on in misery and sorrow,”
wrote John Chislett of the Willie Company.
“Sometimes we made a pretty good distance
and other times we were only able to make
a few miles of progress.”
Instead of getting up refreshed, vigorous,
and prepared for a hard day of toil, the poor
Saints were to be seen crawling out from their
tents haggard, benumbed, and showing an utter
lack of the vitality which was so necessary.
When the first snowstorm came, scarcity of
food, lassitude, and fatigue from overexertion
soon produced their effects. Brother Willie
described the situation, and I quote:
"Our old and infirm people began to droop,
and they no sooner lost spirit and courage
than death’s stamp could be traced upon
their features. Life went out as smoothly
as a lamp ceases to burn when the oil is gone.
At first the deaths occurred slowly and irregularly,
but in a few days at more frequent intervals,
until we soon thought it unusual to leave
a campground without burying one or more persons.
Death was not long confined in its ravages
to the old and infirm, but the young and naturally
strong were among its victims. . . . Many
a father pulled his cart, with his little
children on it, until the day preceding his
death. I have seen some pull their carts in
the morning, give out during the day, and
die before next morning . . . .
Each death weakened our forces. In my hundred
I could not raise enough men to pitch a tent
when we camped, and now it was that I had
to exert myself to the utmost. I wonder I
did not die, as many did who were stronger
than I was. When we pitched our camp in the
evening of each day, I had to lift the sick
from the wagon and carry them to the fire,
and in the morning carry them again on my
back to the wagon. When any in my hundred
died I had to inter them; often helping to
dig the grave myself. In performing these
sad offices I always offered up a heartfelt
prayer to that God who beheld our sufferings,
and begged him to avert destruction from us
and send us help."
They traveled on. The snowstorms came, and
the shrill wind blew furiously about them.
The snow was several inches deep, but they
had to travel an additional sixteen miles
to get wood for fire and water to drink. It
was that way for the Willie Company, and the
Martin Company was still two weeks further
behind. The Willie Company recorded the snow
over a foot deep after a storm. Five persons
lay in the cold embrace of death. They camped
and waited for aid to come.
Mrs. Jackson, in the Martin Company, recorded:
"My sister became sick. So severe was her
affliction that she became deranged in her
mind, and for several days she ate nothing
but hard frozen snow."
Perhaps this good woman knew that the rations
wouldn’t last, and maybe this was her way
of diverting her rations to someone else.
She passed away soon. Continuing to quote
from Mrs. Jackson:
"A few days after the death of my husband
the male members of the company had become
reduced in number by death and those who remained
were so weak and emaciated by sickness, that
on reaching the camping place at night, there
were not sufficient men with strength enough
to raise the poles and pitch the tents. The
result was that we camped out with nothing
but the vault of Heaven for a roof and the
stars for companions. The snow lay several
inches deep upon the ground. The night was
bitterly cold. I sat down on a rock with one
child in my lap and one on each side of me.
In that condition I remained until morning."
"Deaths continued in the camp. Some died . . . lying
side by side with hands entwined. In other
cases, they were found as if they had just
offered a fervent prayer and their spirit
had taken flight while in the act. . . . Some
died sitting by the fire; some were singing
hymns or eating crusts of bread.
. . . Captain Martin [of the last handcart
company] stood over the grave of the departed
ones with shotgun in hand, firing at intervals
to keep the crows and buzzards away from hovering
around in mid air [until they could bury them].
Sister Sirman, whose husband was near death
and whose two sons were suffering from frozen
feet, appealed to Captain Martin, “Do you
think that the relief party will come soon
with food, clothing and shoes?”
. . . The Captain’s answer was, “I almost
wish God would close my eyes to the enormity
of the sickness, hunger and death among the
Saints. Yes, Sister Sirman, I am as confident
as that I live that the President [Brigham
Young] will and has dispatched [relief wagons]."
On 5 October 1856 at general conference, the
commanding figure of Brigham Young, 55-year-old
prophet of God, stood at the pulpit in the
Tabernacle. Said he—and I’d like to have
you think about our day, about the General
Authorities who have their talks prepared—to
the congregation:
"I will now give this people the subject and
the text for the Elders who may speak to-day
and during the Conference, it is this, on
the 5th day of October, 1856, many of our
brethren and sisters are on the Plains with
hand-carts, and probably many are now seven
hundred miles from this place, and they must
be brought here, we must send assistance to
them. The text will be—to get them here!
I want the brethren who may speak to understand
that their text is the people on the Plains,
and the subject matter for this community
is to send for them and bring them in before
the winter sets in.
That is my religion; that is the dictation
of the Holy Ghost that I possess, it is to
save the people. . . . This is the salvation
I am now seeking for, to save our brethren
that would be apt to perish, or suffer extremely,
if we do not send them assistance."
He then called on the bishops for sixty good
mule teams, twelve or fifteen wagons, forty
teamsters, twelve tons of flour, and other
supplies; then he said:
"I will tell you all that your faith, religion,
and profession of religion, will never save
one soul of you in the celestial kingdom of
our God, unless you carry out just such principles
as I am now teaching you. [And then I believe
he must have said this with all the fervor
of a prophet:] GO AND BRING IN THOSE PEOPLE
NOW ON THE PLAINS."
At that time, Samuel and Margaret Pucell,
husband and wife, were out on the plains with
their two daughters: Maggie, 14, and Ellen,
10. Listen to their circumstances:
"Margaret became ill, so had to ride in the
handcart part of the way. [So Brother Pucell
was then pulling not only the 500 pounds but
also his wife who was on top of the handcart.]
Her husband grew so weary and weakened from
the lack of food that this additional burden
caused him to slip and fall one day as he
crossed the river. Having to travel in the
cold, wintry weather with wet clothing he,
too, became ill and died from hunger and exposure.
His wife died five days later, leaving ten-year-old
Ellen and fourteen-year-old Maggie orphans.
. . . Many died and many others suffered from
frozen limbs, among them the Pucell girls,
both having badly frozen feet and legs. . . . When
shoes and stockings were removed from the
girls’ feet, the skin came off. Although
Maggie’s legs were frozen, she would not
allow them to do more than scrape the flesh
off the bones, but Ellen’s were so bad they
had to be amputated just below the knees."
On 30 November, a Sunday (now think about
the weather and the time and season and how
cold it is—oftentimes we’re skiing after
Thanksgiving), the Saints were assembled in
the Tabernacle again with President Brigham
Young presiding. Having been apprised of the
imminent arrival of the immigrants, the Martin
Handcart Company, he spoke to the congregation:
"When those persons arrive I do not want to
see them put into houses by themselves; I
want to have them distributed in the city
among the families that have good and comfortable
houses; and I wish all the sisters now before
me, and all who know how and can, to nurse
and wait upon the new comers and prudently
administer medicine and food to them. To speak
upon these things is a part of my religion,
for it pertains to taking care of the Saints.
. . .
As soon as this meeting is dismissed I want
the brethren and sisters to repair to their
homes, where their Bishops will call on them
to take in some of this company; the Bishops
will distribute them as the people can receive
them. . . .
The afternoon meeting will be omitted, for
I wish the sisters to go home and prepare
to give those who have just arrived a mouthful
of something to eat, and to wash them and
nurse them up. You know that I would give
more for a dish of pudding and milk, or a
baked potato and salt, were I in the situation
of those persons who have just come in, than
I would for all your prayers, though you were
to stay here all the afternoon and pray. Prayer
is good, but when baked potatoes and pudding
and milk are needed, prayer will not supply
their place on this occasion; give every duty
its proper time and place. . . ."
Then in a way of the prophets, this great
man, Brigham Young, told the bishops to send
all of the immigrants for whom accommodations
were lacking to his home. I believe that’s
exactly what President Kimball would do today
if he were in a similar circumstance.
There were 66 deaths in the Willie Company
and 135 deaths in the Martin Company.
President David O. McKay, in an address given
at an annual Relief Society Conference in
1947, the centennial year of the Saints’
arrival in the valley, talked of the criticism
given by a teacher conducting a class, who
commented that it was very unwise to have
even permitted the Saints to cross the plains
under such circumstances, and they were talking
about the Willie and Martin handcart companies
who left later than they should have. President
McKay said:
"Some sharp criticism of the Church and its
leaders was being indulged in for permitting
any company of converts to venture across
the plains with no more supplies or protection
than a handcart caravan afforded.
An old man in the corner [and this was written
by President William Palmer, who was present]
sat silent and listened as long as he could
stand it, then he arose and said things that
no person who heard him will ever forget.
His face was white with emotion, yet he spoke
calmly, deliberately, but with great earnestness
and sincerity.
In substance the father above mentioned said,
“I ask you to stop this criticism. You are
discussing a matter you know nothing about.
Cold historic facts mean nothing here, for
they give no proper interpretation of the
questions involved. Mistake to send the Handcart
Company out so late in the season? Yes. But
I was in that company and my wife was in it
and Sister Nellie Unthank whom you have cited
was there, too. We suffered beyond anything
you can imagine and many died of exposure
and starvation, but did you ever hear a survivor
of that company utter a word of criticism?
Not one of that company ever apostatized or
left the Church, because everyone of us came
through with the absolute knowledge that God
lives for we became acquainted with him in
our extremities.
“I have pulled my handcart when I was so
weak and weary from illness and lack of food
that I could hardly put one foot ahead of
the other. I have looked ahead and seen a
patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said,
I can go only that far and there I must give
up, for I cannot pull the load through it.”
[And a wife with a baby in her arms by his
side!] “I have gone on to that sand and
when I reached it, the cart began pushing
me. I have looked back many times to see who
was pushing my cart, but my eyes saw no one.
I knew then that the angels of God were there.
“Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart?
No. Neither then nor any minute of my life
since. The price we paid to become acquainted
with God was a privilege to pay, and I am
thankful that I was privileged to come in
the Martin Handcart Company.”"
Nor was the cross any easier to bear for our
beloved Lamanites. Chief Joseph of the Nez
Perce Indian tribe was told by his father
as a young man:
"When I am gone, think of your country. You
are the chief of these people. They look to
you to guide them. Always remember that your
father never sold his country. You must stop
your ears whenever you are asked to sign a
treaty selling your home. A few years more,
and the white men will be all around you.
They have their eyes on this land. My son,
never forget my dying words. This country
holds your father’s body. Never sell the
bones of your father and your mother."
Chief Joseph kept his commitment to his father.
He would not sign the treaties that other
chiefs signed consigning their people to reservations.
Finally, a commission of five men was sent
to speak with Chief Joseph and to make a final
settlement.
Why, they asked him, did he refuse to give
up the Wallowa? He answered by referring to
the land as the Mother of the Indians, something
that could not be sold or given away. “We
love the land,” he said, “It is our home.”
But, they persisted, Lawyer had signed it
away in 1863.
Joseph had a ready reply that embarrassed
them. “I believe the old treaty has never
been correctly reported,” he said. “If
we ever owned the land we own it still, for
we never sold it. In the treaty councils the
commissioners have claimed that our country
has been sold to the government. Suppose a
white man should come to me and say, ‘Joseph,
I like your horses, and I want to buy them.’
Then he goes to my neighbor, and says to him,
‘Joseph has some good horses. I want to
buy them but he refuses to sell.’ My neighbor
answers, ‘Pay me the money, and I will sell
you Joseph’s horses.’ The white man returns
to me and says, ‘Joseph, I have bought your
horses and you must let me have them.’ If
we sold our lands to the government, this
is the way they were bought.”
It was determined later that Chief Joseph
and his people would be placed on the reservation
by force. General Howard was assigned to the
task. The Nez Perce made one of the greatest
retreats and attack strategies in all of open
war. And mind you, they had every squaw and
child and infant in addition to the warriors,
and they retreated. They went into the Salmon
River country, crossing and recrossing the
river. (I don’t know if you have floated
the middle fork of the Salmon or the main
Salmon, but that would not be an easy task.)
Oftentimes General Howard’s soldiers could
not get across and were delayed, but somehow
the Indians crossed. They battled the army
of men and won at every turn. They made a
march and forced journey from Oregon into
Washington, over into Idaho and the Salmon
River country, all the way across the 1,300
miles to Wyoming, and then into Montana. Finally,
they camped near the Bear Paw Mountains, some
17 miles from the Canadian border where they
felt that after they’d crossed the border,
they would be safe. Troops were sent. A siege
took place that lasted several days. Finally,
Joseph mounted his horse and, followed by
several men, rode up the hill from the camp
and across to the army lines where Generals
Howard and Miles waited for him. He dismounted,
handed Miles his rifle, adjusted his blanket
to leave his right arm free, and, addressing
Miles, began one of the most touching and
beautiful surrenders ever made:
"Tell General Howard I know his heart. What
he told me before I have in my heart. I am
tired of fighting. Our chiefs are killed.
Looking Glass is dead. Toohoolhoolzote is
dead. The old men are all dead. It is the
young men who say yes or no. He who led the
young men is dead. It is cold and we have
no blankets. The little children are freezing
to death. My people, some of them, have run
away to the hills, and have no blankets, no
food; no one knows where they are—perhaps
freezing to death. I want to have time to
look for my children and see how many I can
find. Maybe I shall find them among the dead.
Hear me, my chiefs. I am tired; my heart is
sick and sad. From where the sun now stands,
I will fight no more forever."
Now, the application of these things to our
generation: Winston Churchill said, “We
have not made this journey across centuries,
across oceans, across mountains, across prairies
because we are made of sugar candy.” James
Bond Stockdale, vice admiral retired, spent
eight years as a prisoner of war in Viet Nam
prisons. His philosophy and the principles
he learned may help make all I have said today
relevant. Said he, “Pressurized experiences
have a way of giving us an overload of dilemmas
that can’t wait for a waffled solution.”
He also says, “A sort of transformation
takes place under pressure.” And, “Prisons
have been crucibles of both degradation and
creative impulse throughout history,” and
were they not indeed for Joseph Smith?
From this eight-year experience I distilled
one all-purpose idea, plus a few corollaries.
[And mind you, he was in Viet Nam in a prison
for eight years without seeing one other living
soul. Robby Reisner said that he remembered
the little corner where they had a hole that
they would use for their urinal. He put his
head down through that and saw one blade of
grass, and, knowing that something was living,
he kept contact with reality that way. They
went year after year without seeing anyone.
And James Stockdale came up with one idea.]
It is a simple idea, an idea as old as the
scriptures, an idea that is the epitome of
high mindedness, an idea that naturally and
spontaneously comes to men under pressure.
If the pressure is intense enough or of long
enough duration, this idea spreads without
the need even for its enunciation. It just
takes root naturally. It is an idea that in
this big easy world of yackety-yack seems
to violate the rules of game theory if not
of reason. It violates the ideas of Adam Smith’s
invisible hand, our ideas of human nature,
and probably the second law of thermodynamics.
That idea is: “You Are Your Brother’s
Keeper.”
Eight years in a prison camp, and Admiral
Stockdale tells us that an idea that is the
epitome of high mindedness is, “You Are
Your Brother’s Keeper.” When he is asked,
“What kept you going? What was your highest
value?” he answers, “The man next door.”
Eight years, and he said that patriotism didn’t
bring him through, as much as he loved the
country. They punished him too greatly and
severely. But he said that knowing there were
other prisoners, that he was his brothers’
keeper and, for their sake, had to continue
on, kept him going. An idea that is epitome of high mindedness is that you are your brother's keeper.
When he was asked, "What kept you going?"
He answered, "The man next door."
We have read and been moved by the Prophet
Joseph’s experiences in Liberty Jail. Joseph
understood this same principle: “If my life
is of no use to my friends it is of none to
myself.” Willard Richards stated, “Joseph,
if you are condemned to be hung for treason,
I will be hung in your stead, and you shall
go free.” Brigham said, “Go and bring
in those people now on the plains.”
We, all of us, are our brothers’ keepers.
When we are endowed with charity and love
from on high, then the eternal welfare of
our neighbor, our brother, our son, our daughter
becomes more important than life itself. Ours
is a generation of “hunters and fishers
of men.” We cannot, we must not, isolate
ourselves from the world. We must go among
them and declare “glad tidings” from Zion.
We must give them hope. We must go out on
the plains after each of them; we must respond
because we have seen “something in his eye
that won my love; I knew not why.” And when
our scanty meal is spread, we must be there
to give him our crust, to let him drink and
quench his thirst with the water in the stream.
We must, in a very real sense, welcome the
stranger and lay him on our couch to rest.
And we must be there to rouse his pulse, bring
back his breath, revive his spirit, and then
the time may come when we must decide.
"In pris’n I saw him next, condemned
To meet a traitor’s doom at morn.
The tide of lying tongues I stemmed,
And honored him ’mid shame and scorn.
My friendship’s utmost zeal to try,
He asked if I for him would die.
The flesh was weak; my blood ran chill,
But my free spirit cried, “I will!”
Then in a moment to my view
The stranger started from disguise.
The tokens in his hands I knew;
The Savior stood before mine eyes.
He spake, and my poor name he named,
“Of me thou hast not been ashamed.
These deeds shall thy memorial be;
Fear not, thou didst them unto me.”
“Fear not, Joseph, Brigham, the Martin Handcart
Company, the Willie Handcart Company, Rebecca
Winters, and all others, thou didst all these
things unto me.”
Now, I suppose the things that I prize most
dearly in my life are those that relate to
the prophets and the leaders of this kingdom.
I love them with all my heart and soul. I
believe that I may qualify, as George Q. Cannon
said, “There will come a generation who
will follow the prophets out of sheer obedience’s
sake.”
I believe I qualify. I don’t question when
they speak; I simply honor them and love them
and follow them to the grave if necessary.
Of course, Christ is the supreme example of
all that I hold precious and dear. I love
him, I love you, and I love his prophet; and
I commit my soul to his work and to the work
of being my brother’s keeper. I would rather
have my children come across the plains and
suffer and even die with a testimony, being
faithful, never leaving the Church, having
the angels walk with them and push the handcarts,
than to have all the comforts of life and
lose their faith. That is my testimony. I
love the Lord, and I intend to follow the
prophet and obey his counsel in unity with
the other Brethren, in the name of Jesus Christ.
Amen.
