Sacrament meeting talk: The Restoration

Good morning, brothers and sisters. Thank you, Sis. ---, for your comments and experiences. Some of them will make it into my talk as well, I think they fit right in. They made me think of the parable of the Sower, and I felt what I will call a tilling in my heart while you were speaking. That is one way the Spirit works. Thank you again.

I am genuinely excited to be given the opportunity to share some thoughts publicly during this the 200th anniversary year of the First Vision. As a student of history, I'm a sucker for anniversaries, although I'm not always the best at making events of them.

I want to answer what the Restoration means to me. While pondering this topic, I thought of a short collection of experiences to share, and I will share them more in the order that I though of them rather than the chronological order in which they actually happened. So, this talk will be a little more of a thought process than a narration, and I hope the Spirit will accompany us on this journey. It is not "my truth," as is popular to say nowadays; it is my take on the Truth (with a capital T), and how I came to know it.

The first experience happened within this last year while I was reading.

Mr. Gilbert K. Chesterton, an English author and cultural critic in early 20th century, described a story he had thought about writing where "an English yachtsman [...] slightly miscalculated his course and discovered England under the impression that it was a new island in the South Seas[, ...planting] the British flag on that barbaric temple which turned out to be the Pavilion at Brighton[.]"

Of this story, Chesterton wrote:

"What could be more delightful than to have in the same few minutes all the fascinating terrors of going abroad combined with all the humane security of coming home again? What could be better than to have all the fun of discovering South Africa without the disgusting necessity of landing there? What could be more glorious than to brace one's self up to discover New South Wales and then realize, with a gush of happy tears, that it was really old South Wales. [...]"

When I read this quote, I thought about Enos in the Book of Mormon when he went into the woods to hunt beasts. During that trip, he said "the words which I had often heard my father speak concerning eternal life, and the joy of the saints, sunk deep into my heart" (italics added), and these feelings are what prompted and sustained his now famous all-day, all-night prayer.

Sis. --- said that she had a "tender spot" for the Prophet Joseph Smith. I don't think her choice of words is coincidence -- her "tender spot" for Bro. Joseph, my "tilling in the heart" at her words, Parley P. Pratt's "burning in the bosom." I think that these are different people's description of when something "[sinks] deep into [his or her] heart."

What sank deep into the heart of the man in the yacht? His country, England. He had always lived within her, but had never discovered her for himself.

And it made me think of an experience I had while on my mission in Uruguay.

About one year in, while serving in a city called Paysandu, we as a zone watched, with special permission from our mission president, the 2004 Disney film Miracle for a team-building activity that doubled as a Fourth of July celebration.

Miracle is a great movie about the 1980 U.S. Hockey Team and the so-nicknamed "Miracle on Ice" victory over the Soviet Union (Spoiler alert, I guess) during the Olympic Games in Lake Placid, NY.

Besides being a good sports movie and a pioneering hockey movie, as in on a technical level, much of the film's power and message for me on that viewing, on that Fourth of July, on my mission, in Uruguay, teetered on the movie's ability to convey to the audience the prevailing wisdom of the time in which this film is set, that America was good, that there is in fact a weight, a dignity, a pride, a patriotism in representing the United States, in being American, that that American experiment ought to instill in the soul of its citizen a stirring to behave in a certain way, to turn your eyes to a higher plane. This lesson is in large part the journey of the young college-age athletes that compose the hockey team in this film, and, by proxy, it is our journey also as the audience.

Let me dwell a moment on one particular scene from the film that's illustrative of this point, and was particularly impactful for me. After a practice game in Oslo between the U.S. team and Norwegian national team, the U.S. team's head coach, Herb Brooks, is angry at his team for their performance and behavior during the game. The U.S. players on the bench had shown more interest looking at and discussing Norwegian girls in the stands than playing their game. As a result, the U.S. team merely tied the Norwegian team. This was a problem because the Norwegian national team was much inferior to the target Soviet team. Coach Brooks had the vision. And he insists right then and there in the Norwegian ice rink on an impromptu practice of ladder drills. Ladder drills are done by lining up on one side of the rink, then skating as fast as you can skate goal line to blue line (that is, one-quarter of the length of the rink) and back, then goal line to half line and back, goal to other blue line and back, goal line to goal line and back -- and that all counts as one. The start of each ladder is signaled by Assistant Coach Patrick's whistle on the signal of Coach Brooks. The practice continues for hours. Players start to find it difficult to stay standing, some vomit from exhaustion. On various occasions, both Assistant Coach Patrick and the team's doctor question the wisdom of the unrelenting drills. But Coach Brooks continues. At one point the janitor of the rink asks the team to leave so he can go home, but Brooks replies "Just tell him to leave me the keys; I'll lock up." Later, the janitor turns off the lights with the team still on the ice to make his point, but Brooks refuses to stop.

Intermittently, Coach Brooks reminds his team of various important perspectives -- life lessons perhaps -- which he views essential for ultimate victory against that seemingly unwinnable Soviet hockey team:

+"You think you can win on talent alone? Gentlemen, you don't have enough talent to win on talent alone."

+"When you pull on that jersey, you represent yourself and your teammates; and the name on the front is a [heck] of a lot more important than the one on the back."

+"You keep playing this way, you won't beat anyone who's good let alone great."

+"This cannot be a team of common men, because common men go nowhere. You have to be uncommon."

These are all compelling lessons. But they are not what ultimately stops the grueling practice. So what stops it? Before the whistle can be blown again, one of the team's forwards calls out his own name and where he was from -- "Mike Eruzione. Winthrop, Massachusetts." For us audience members, we recognize this from earlier in the film when the team members are introducing themselves on their first day of practice post-tryouts. Back then as follow-up, Coach Brooks would ask, "Who do you play for?" and the team member would indicate the school for which he played (in Mike's case, Boston University). So, in this scene in Oslo, Coach Brooks asks the same question "Who do you play for?" Mike responds, "I play for the United States of America." We, as the audience, see the beginnings of transformation in the team. And apparently so does Coach, who declares, "That's all gentlemen," and the practice is over. Eruzione is later made team captain.

When I left that activity, I was homesick, not for my house in Idaho, but for my country. I missed my national anthem, I missed the Stars and Stripes, I missed my native language, I missed living amid my American heritage. It was something that I had always had, but had perhaps not internalized her importance, her beauty, her significance to me. My heart ached for the land I had learned to sing about -- my third grade teacher had us transcribe, create illustrations for, and memorize the words to all the verses of both "America, the Beautiful" and "My Country 'Tis of Thee." When my family sang the national anthem, we sang all three verses.

On the one hand, it was not a mindset one would want for a missionary serving out of the country with one year left.

On the other hand, I see that experience as a landmark in my life. A plunging gratitude, a righteous pride, a pure humility of mind and heart "sank deep into my heart" -- I believe that an unspoken covenant between myself and God was made that day, that I would treasure that heritage. My dedication to finding ways to share those treasures did not come until later. But at that time, in a way, I had "discovered" America for and in myself. In that way, I became that man in a yacht.

Now, to another experience. The school marching band was a family legacy. Nearly every child in my family participated at one time or another, if not playing an instrument, then being a member of the color guard. My older brother pioneered this tradition. He played clarinet, and ultimately became the drum major (the student conductor on the field). At one time he was sent from our home in Idaho to a drum major training camp in California. He learned many things. He brought back lots of stories. My favorite was how, over the course of the week-long camp, he had convinced all the big-city students that no one in Idaho had electricity or running water, that we were all potato farmers, and that we boasted the most state-of-the-art horse-drawn plows to prep our fields.

I shared a similar prejudice against Wyoming (WY). For reference, Boise is about the size of Modesto, not rural, but definitely not what you would call "the big city." I nevertheless had a big-city attitude toward WY, and it was the brunt of many jokes while I was growing up, because, as the joke goes, "there's nothing there."

Let me clarify that this prejudice I felt was not without experience. Our Granny, my father's step-mother, had her primary residence in Thayne, WY, for years, and we visited often enough to know how to get there from Boise without a map -- that's pre-MapQuest days, so that was impressive for the time.

Do I still think that WY has nothing in it like the joke implies? If you mean that I still think that the whole state is basically rural, than I would say yes. Do I mean that as a criticism anymore? No, and I haven't for some time.

How did my heart change for that state? There was a couple of reasons, but one that is particularly relevant to our topic today.

On one visit to Granny's during my high school years, I remember noticing the night sky -- on a clear night, WY has one of the most brilliant views of the stars that I have ever seen. And as many before me have said, I was struck by that heavenly view. On the one hand, the beauty is gripping, shocking to experience for myself that our greatest planetariums are mere imitations. On the other hand, at the sight, it is interesting how the mind cannot be satisfied with mere admiration, and how such a view of the heavens seems to inspire the mind to question, and in no light or trivial fashion, but straight to the deep, poignant, philosophical and theological questions.

I was reminded of this experience, which has been the experience of many through the ages, when I later read a passage by the Roman statesman Cicero. I share it as an interpretation of my experience looking at the stars, and the ramifications which he sees implied from; and I am impressed by breadth of what he saw in the universe, in the same way that I am impressed by Nephi's exposition of the words of Isaiah in the Book of Mormon.

Writes Cicero:

"[Grant] me that the entire universe is overruled by the power of God, that by his nature, reason, energy, mind, divinity, or some other word of clearer signification, all things are governed and directed[...]

[And since] you grant me the existence of God, and the superintendence of Providence, I maintain that he has been especially beneficent to man. This human animal—prescient, sagacious, complex, acute, full of memory, reason and counsel, which we call man,—is generated by the supreme God in a more transcendent condition than most of his fellow–creatures. For he is the only creature among the earthly races of animated beings endued with superior reason and thought, in which the rest are deficient. And what is there, I do not say in man alone, but in all heaven and earth, more divine than reason, which, when it becomes ripe and perfect, is justly termed wisdom?

There exists, therefore, since nothing is better than reason, and since this is the common property of God and man, a certain aboriginal rational intercourse between divine and human natures. This reason, which is common to both, therefore, can be none other than right reason; and since this right reason is what we call Law, God and men are said by Law to be consociated. Between whom, since there is a communion of law, there must be also a communication of Justice.

Law and Justice being thus the common rule of immortals and mortals, it follows that they are both the fellow–citizens of one city and commonwealth. And if they are obedient to the same rule, the same authority and denomination, they may with still closer propriety be termed fellow–citizens, since one celestial regency, one divine mind, one omnipotent Deity then regulates all their thoughts and actions.

This universe, therefore, forms one immeasurable Commonwealth and city, common alike to gods and mortals. And as in earthly states, certain particular laws, which we shall hereafter describe, govern the particular relationships of kindred tribes; so in the nature of things doth an universal law, far more magnificent and resplendent, regulate the affairs of that universal city where gods and men compose one vast association. [...]

Now the law of virtue is the same in God and man, and cannot possibly be diverse. This virtue is nothing else than a nature perfect in itself, and developed in all its excellence. There exists therefore a similitude between God and man; nor can any knowledge be more appropriate and sterling than what relates to this divine similitude."

In short, God is our Heavenly Father, we His divine progeny. God is the Great Governor of the Common Commonwealth that is the universe, and our citizenship in this cosmic nation is part of our divine heritage. In shorter still, we were always children of God, we never lost that. When our first parents partook of the forbidden fruit, they gave up their immortality and their innocence, not their divine heritage. And so we have not either.

And yet, we had all forgotten, having a veil drawn over our minds that we would not remember our pre-mortal life in the presence of the Father. And even though sparks of memory flashed and left us wanting in our earthly wanderings, all of us, even we who grew up in the Church, at some time, had to discover our divine heritage, or divine citizenship, for him or herself, by the Spirit causing that heritage, that thing we already possessed, to sink deep into our hearts, and we become the man in the yacht.

And is this not the story of the First Vision? Is this not the heritage of the First Vision? This re-discovery of our divine heritage in each of us? The precedent of divine communication to each of us that we are children of God? That He loves Joseph Smith? That He loves me? That He loves Sis. --- ? That He loves each of you? And that you can know it for yourself?

While important in various ways on historical, theological, philosophical, and scriptural levels, I believe that this is perhaps the greatest heritage of the Restoration.

I will close with this excerpt from my journal:

"I exited my house to check that the side gate was locked. I live in a place that is not usually cold, but can have its share of winter nights and mornings whose briskness would surprise newcomers. Tonight was the first which I noticed that crispness one feels when the temperature drops low enough. It's not freezing, but can still be called cold. It has a slight sting to the bare skin of the face, especially the nose and ears. It is also a moderately lit area, not urban, not completely rural -- while city lights do not block out the stars, only those middle to upper tier in their brightness are typically seen at night. That crispness of the air, coupled with the cloudless night sky dotted with stars tends to put me in a pensive mood.

I thought of Dante, and how he envisioned Hell as being colder the deeper one descended, since you would be increasing distance from God's light, which he equated to physical warmth like that of the Sun. And yet, in my current situation, I couldn't help but disagree, as the cold prompted me into a mind of seeking for divine things. What was different?

I noticed that I was properly clothed with a sufficiently-thick hooded sweater, pants, socks, and shoes, to meet the cold. I noticed the lights from the houses on the block to meet the darkness. And I thought to myself, perhaps it is the physical warmth while in the cold, the vision possible by the presence of physical light in the darkness, literally standing in a place of tribulation that has been made tolerable, even comfortable, by blessings I enjoy, that calls my mind to pondering, to considering things outside myself, above myself.

And perhaps this is the feeling, this communion of spirit, that is intended when we are instructed to Count Your Many Blessings. It is both comforting and troubling. I am grateful for what I have, and pray that it be in Father's plan that I keep it."

In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.