Today I would like to talk about some of the
big issues of our time through the lens of
history and literature as well as the restored
gospel of Jesus Christ. We live in a day of
technological and scientific marvels. It is
also a time of uncertainty—one in which
many ­question whether or not faith and religion
have a place in their lives or in the public
square. You too will have to decide whether
faith has an enduring place in your own life.
In fact, there are dramatic changes occurring
within this country as it relates to faith
and religion. A recent Pew Research Center
study reported a dramatic decline in the share
of the U.S. population that identifies as
Christian. From 2007 to 2014—in just seven
years—it fell by an extraordinary 8 percent.
While the drop is occurring across the board,
it is especially pronounced among young adults.
The world today poses many threats to faith
in God, and the unfortunate fact is that faith
in God is waning.
This is not the first time in history that
such a crisis of faith has loomed. There was
a similar period around 100 years ago. As
the twentieth century opened, the world held
great hope and enthusiasm for the future.
Science was supplying astounding breakthroughs
at every turn and the world seemed to be rushing
toward a modern period when mankind, through
its own self-generated progress and technology,
might finally be able to solve the ancient
problems of our world.
Consider some of the varied discoveries and
inventions in just the first decade of the
twentieth century. The modern escalator was
invented—perhaps a kind of metaphor of man’s
supposedly inevitable rise. Marconi sent the
first transatlantic radio signal. The vacuum
cleaner and the tractor were developed—­harbingers
of liberation from more arduous forms of labor.
The Wright brothers flew the first manned
flight. Albert Einstein stunned the world
with his theory of relativity. Henry Ford
produced more than 10,000 cars on the first
assembly line of its kind. The world saw its
first talking motion picture and Marie Curie
discovered radium.
Cultural historian Richard Tarnas characterized
the period this way:
Using his own natural intelligence, and without
the aid of Holy Scripture’s divine revelation,
man had penetrated nature’s mysteries, transformed
his universe, and immeasurably enhanced his
existence. . . . His own wits and will could
change his world. Science gave man a new faith—not
only in scientific knowledge, but in himself.
This period of time gave rise to what is known
as “the myth of progress”—that is, the
idea that mankind was somehow destined to
rise inexorably on this wave of scientific
progress to a new Eden. So it was that on
the eve of the First World War, as the quest
for power and political dominance reared its
ugly head yet again in Europe, the response
was a sadly naïve one. If a war must be fought
because of the aggression of certain nations,
then it must be fought, but most saw it as
“the war to end all wars.” The belief
was strong that the future was unquestionably
bright.
However, World War I did not end all wars.
The staggering cost of this war dealt a terrible
blow to prewar optimism. World War I was
expected to be brief; however, it lasted for
more than four years. “By the time of the
Armistice, more than nine million soldiers
lay dead and roughly thirty-seven million
wounded.” New technologies such as machine
guns, high-explosive shells, poison gas, and
the movement of troops by railway meant that
more men could be killed more efficiently
than in any previous war. And they were.
On average, there were roughly 6,000 men killed
every day of the war. Twenty-five percent
of the young men in France died in the war.
In the face of such overwhelming ­tragedy,
Christianity seemed irrelevant to many Europeans
and Americans.
Added to the blow of the terrible carnage
of World War I came the death toll of Spanish
influenza in 1918. It infected half a billion
people and was estimated to have killed between
3 to 5 percent of the world’s population,
making it one of the deadliest diseases in
human history.
To many of those living at that time, the
cosmos seemed to be indifferent and uncaring.
Many of the old celebrated values such as
honor, sacrifice, and patriotism seemed hollow.
The realities of the new type of war were
staggering. The horror of seeing men blown
apart and then seeing and smelling their corpses
rot for weeks in the cold mud of the trenches
tried the faith that had sent men to fight
for king, for country, and for God.
As a result, the postwar decades of the 1920s
and ’30s were decades of disillusionment
and cynicism. Faith in God was questioned
widely and openly. The notion of inevitable
progress was shattered and compounded by a
feeling of helplessness and despair. Literature
after the war reflected this bleak view, as
in Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms
and Erich Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western
Front.
Many hoped that the lessons learned in World
War I would prevent another world war. Nevertheless,
just two decades later the world descended
into a second global conflict. Not long after
it ended, two works of literature appeared
that went remarkably against the tide of despair.
They were The Chronicles of Narnia, by C. S.
Lewis, and the trilogy of The Lord of the
Rings, by J. R. R. Tolkien. These two men
had both been soldiers in World War I and
had seen its death and horrors up close. Both
men had lost many of their closest friends
to the war, but, remarkably, neither succumbed
to the cynicism and atheism that was so often
the war’s aftermath. Their stories celebrate
courage, honor, brotherhood, and faith—especially
faith.
What might we learn from these men as we also
face a time when faith is ebbing from the
world? Following the war, Lewis and Tolkien
went on to become university professors. They
taught a generation of students struggling
to make sense of the world at a time when
faith was openly questioned. These two men,
who by that time had become fast friends,
had an answer. Having come through this period
with their own faith intact, they had a message
for the next generation. The horrors of war
had not manifested to them that faith in God
had failed but rather that faith must be viewed
in its proper setting. That proper setting
was the fallen world in which those who have
the precious gift of faith must fight for
good against the combined forces of an enemy
bent on their destruction.
One ever-present constant in their works is
the reality of evil—indeed, a personified,
ultimate enemy of all that is good. War did
not evidence to Lewis and Tolkien that there
was no God but that there was a devil. If
we do have faith, then we must hold on to
that faith in light of the constant struggle
that goes on in the world between the light
and “the Shadow,” as Tolkien called it.
When my wife and I were raising our four children,
we loved to read The Chronicles of Narnia
to them. Perhaps you are familiar with the
fantastical world of Narnia, where animals
can talk and witches turn their enemies to
stone. Narnia is discovered by four human
children who find their way into it through
a magical wardrobe. However, the power in
these books derives not from flights of fantasy
but from the compelling Christian symbolism
that permeates them. Lewis conveys his own
absolute belief in the reality of Jesus Christ
through his creation of Aslan, the lion who
serves as a redeemer for the world of Narnia.
For Lewis, Christ was the most beautiful and
important reality in our world.
The Lord of the Rings, written by J. R. R.
Tolkien, is another fantasy classic that tells
of a quest to destroy the powerful and evil
One Ring in the fires of Mount Doom. It too
seems to be about creatures and places that
never existed. And yet what has made it the
most popular book in the twentieth century,
second only to the Bible, is not its fantasy
but its realism. It is not just about brave
hobbits fighting the armies of Mordor but
about the universal heroism of all of us—seemingly
little people—who must fight against the
evil of our own day in whatever way we can,
calling on an inner strength we didn’t know
we had as we do our part in the great struggle
that is always going on between ultimate good
and ultimate evil.
Some contemporaries criticized these two literary
calls to faith. They accused Lewis and Tolkien
of hearkening after virtues of a world long
past. The disillusioned men and women of the
postwar generations were turning to other
things—newer gods that promised to save
mankind where the Christian and Hebrew gods
had seemingly failed.
Communism was particularly alluring to the
postwar generations. But whatever gains were
made by the forced socialization of countries
in the name of communism came at a terrible
cost in human lives and human dignity. Millions
died in purges and famine. In truth, more
people died at the hands of communist dictators
than died in both world wars.6
Other war-weary souls turned to ­hedonism—the
“eat, drink, and be merry” philosophy
that characterized the Roaring Twenties. We
might lump in with this group the morally
chaotic years that followed the so-called
“sexual revolution” of the 1960s. But
turning to the pleasures of the flesh has
produced in our own time unprecedented levels
of divorce and family breakdown, as it ­inevitably
will.
Perhaps the greatest number of those ­disillusioned
with the death of the old world order turned
to science. Even though some thoughtful observers
pointed out that it was science that had provided
the efficient killing tools that made the
two world wars so deadly, science still seemed
to be an attractive ­solution. At least by
applying the scientific method, many supposed,
one could know truth with certainty.
People turned to Charles Darwin’s evolutionary
hypothesis to explain how we got here and
to Sigmund Freud’s theories to explain why
people did what they did. However, ­science
proved to be a disappointing god. We enjoy
so many benefits from science, but it cannot
provide the eternal truths by which to guide
our lives. And it became apparent that scientists
too were human—men and women who have the
common weaknesses and frailties shared by
all. Over time, science proved that it could
be a worthy servant but that it made a poor
master.
Into a world swirling with such alternatives
to a seemingly discredited Christianity, C. S.
Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien sent their tales
of heroic quests. Both works surprised ­critics
with their popularity. It was as if they had
splashed cold water on the faces of their
readers, reminding the downhearted that the
world had always been a place where good and
evil fought for dominance in the human heart.
This is a fallen world. The scriptures call
Satan “the prince of this world.” The
works of both Lewis and Tolkien contained
satanic figures who sought to cruelly dominate
human beings—the White Witch in one case,
Sauron in the other. What does mankind need
in such a world? We need forces to counter
the boundless evil and a hero to lead those
forces. One of the attractions of Lewis’
and Tolkien’s works is this theme of our
need for such a hero—a Savior, if you will.
On their own, all the characters in the stories
we identify with come to a point of their
own failure. They need someone stronger than
they are.
Surely part of the great appeal of The Chronicles
of Narnia and The Lord of the Rings trilogy
is the longing we discover within ourselves
for a champion to fight those battles we cannot
fight. Listen to the description of the hero
Aragorn at the trilogy’s ending. What does
it sound like to you?
But when Aragorn arose all that beheld him
gazed in silence, for it seemed to them that
he was revealed to them now for the first
time. Tall as the sea-kings of old, he stood
above all that were near; ancient of days
he seemed and yet in the flower of manhood;
and wisdom sat upon his brow, and strength
and healing were in his hands, and a light
was about him. And then Faramir cried:
“Behold the King!”
We can sometimes forget exactly what the great
hope of Christianity is. It is not that Jesus
Christ will fulfill all of our own natural
aspirations for happiness. It is hope in a
triumphant future that only God can and will
provide.
We read in the Book of Mormon this advice
from Alma:
And now . . . , I would that ye should remember,
that as much as ye shall put your trust in
God even so much ye shall be delivered out
of your trials, and your troubles, and your
afflictions, and ye shall be lifted up at
the last day.
The triumph comes “at the last day.” We
too await the return of a King.
“In the New Testament’s 260 chapters,
Christ’s return is mentioned no less than
318 times.” Clearly the Lord intended for
us to think about this and to be ready for
it. The chief metaphor of the New Testament
relating to the Second Coming is that of a
servant who is prepared for his or her master’s
return.
Each of us faces a choice. We can choose to
see ourselves as the Lord’s servants and
humbly seek to know what He wants us to be
doing with the talents and time He has given
us. As such, we can seek to enlarge His kingdom
and prepare it for His return. Or we may imagine
that the story is all about us. Too many fall
into this trap. They forget that they are
His servants and begin to imagine that He
is theirs. They think erroneously that Christ
came to make all their dreams come true. For
those in such a trap, prayer becomes like
dropping memos on a desk in a heavenly office:
“Could you please take care of this as soon
as possible?”
In the Lewis and Tolkien stories, the good
guys are always humble about the lives they
find themselves living. They know that they
are part of a larger story, and they seek
to carry out that part with faithful hearts.
Frodo once expressed his wish that he did
not have to undertake such a difficult task
as was given to him. “So do I,” Gandalf
replied, “and so do all who live to see
such times. But that is not for them to decide.
All we have to decide is what to do with the
time that is given us.”
Lewis and Tolkien rejected both a faithless
view of life and an egocentric one. Their
heroes understood that pain and loss would
occur in this life but that ultimate victory
would be theirs. In their stories, many are
the defeats and great is the suffering that
the truest servants endure while fighting
for good in this world. In both Narnia and
Middle Earth, hope was in the ultimate return
of the king. You too find yourself in a world
of conflict between good and evil. You too
must decide what part you will play.
The quality of faith in Lewis’ and Tolkien’s
works is not like the vague, undemanding spirituality
that appears to be the preferred belief system
of the millennial generation. It seems that
no one wants to be labeled judgmental today,
so our world has posited gods for itself that
never judge and are never stern. They only
affirm us and never deny us of anything we
want.
But that is not what our friends Lewis and
Tolkien believed. Especially in the figure
of Aslan, Lewis described a loving but stern
God who came to save us from our sins and
not in our sins. As we raised our own children,
my wife often told them, “Aslan is ‘not
a tame lion,’” as a way to explain that
we must come to eternal life on His terms,
not our own. We must accept God’s will for
our lives even when we don’t fully understand
it. Listen to this interchange in The Silver
Chair, one of the books in The Chronicles
of Narnia:
“Are you not thirsty?” said the Lion.
“I’m dying of thirst,” said Jill.
“Then drink,” said the Lion. . . .
“Will you promise not to—do anything to
me, if I do come?” said Jill.
“I make no promise,” said the Lion. . . .
“Do you eat girls?” she said.
“I have swallowed up girls and boys, women
and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms,”
said the Lion. It didn’t say this as if
it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry,
nor as if it were angry. It just said it.
. . .
“Oh dear!” said Jill, coming another step
nearer. “I suppose I must go and look for
another stream then.”
“There is no other stream,” said the Lion.
And that is the gospel’s message to your
generation: “There is no other stream.”
Only one stream contains the water of eternal
life. We find a similar metaphor in Lehi’s
vision of the tree of life. There is only
one path that leads to the tree of life. The
path is often obscured by mists of darkness
emanating from an evil source. Without a hand
on the iron rod, some wander in what are called
strange paths—and our world is full of such
paths. All who followed those paths were lost.
We must be humble enough to follow His path
and not our own.
My dear brothers and sisters, the enemy of
your souls will entice you to take these strange
paths, to devote your precious life not to
building God’s kingdom but to any other
cause. From Satan’s point of view, any cause
will do if it diverts God’s children from
the one path that allows them to hold fast
to the iron rod and thus receive ongoing revelation.
This world is full of alternatives that, if
they become one’s primary focus, can crowd
God Himself out of our lives—alternatives
such as social media, fulfilling a bucket
list, making lots of money, or having an obsession
with sports or social causes. There are endless
paths in our world other than the one that
leads to the tree of life.
Lewis summed up the conclusion that William
Law, an eighteenth-century clergyman, had
come to: “If you have not chosen the Kingdom
of God, it will make in the end no difference
what you have chosen instead.” So please
remember, there is a story line to this world’s
history. It is an epic tale. It involves a
True King who is hidden from the world’s
sight for a time while His kingdom is ruled
over by a wicked pretender to the throne who
is a cruel despot who seeks to rule by war,
blood, and horror. But the True King has true
followers—humble servants who are able to
see through all the lies and deceptions of
the enemy and who seek to build allegiance
to the True King. They seek to prepare a people
who will be ready to receive Him when He comes
in glory and defeats the false king, rewarding
those who are looking forward to His coming.
I have spoken today about Lewis and Tolkien
as examples of those who saw the ­ultimate
reality behind all of this world’s conflicts
and inequities, its burdens and sorrows. They
knew, as we read in Ether, that “good cometh
of none save it be of [Jesus Christ].” That
is also my testimony.
As we enter the Christmas season, we celebrate
the first coming of the Savior to this world.
In one of our cherished sacrament hymns, we
sing, “Jesus, once of humble birth,” remembering
how the King of Kings was born in a lowly
stable. It is right that we celebrate that
and teach our children to know the real reason
we celebrate Christmas. But the song goes
on:
Jesus, once of humble birth,
Now in glory comes to earth.
Once he suffered grief and pain;
Now he comes on earth to reign.
Once forsaken, left alone,
Now exalted to a throne.
As you think of the Christ child this season,
remember also the sequel to that story: the
future return of the King. As you reflect
on the stable in Bethlehem, keep alongside
it this glorious vision:
And I saw heaven opened, and behold a white
horse; and he that sat upon him was called
Faithful and True.
His eyes were as a flame of fire, and on his
head were many crowns.
And he hath on his vesture and on his thigh
a name written, KING OF KINGS, AND LORD OF LORDS.
And so great shall be the glory of his presence
that the sun shall hide his face in shame,
and the moon shall withhold its light.
And his voice shall be heard: I have trodden
the wine-press alone, and have brought judgment
upon all people.
And now the year of my redeemed is come; and
they shall mention the loving kindness of
their Lord, and all that he has bestowed upon
them according to his goodness, and according
to his loving kindness, forever and ever.
If we are prepared for His coming—if we
are looking for it—that day will be a great
time of reunion and rejoicing. Make your choice,
brothers and sisters, to use your time in
the cause that matters most—the one that
leads to the millennial reign of Jesus Christ.
I bear my testimony to you that He is the
True King of this world. Jesus first came
as the Christ child, a meek and lowly lamb
who offered Himself for our sins. He is going
to return in glory to receive the ­acknowledgment
of every tongue and the homage of every knee.
May we prepare for the return of our King
is my prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ,
amen.
