A Great and Dreadful Day - Part 1
Posted: Tue Jan 03, 2017 9:38 pm
A Great and Dreadful Day
A Novel in Seven Parts
by Robert B. Oberson
“And ye shall tread down the wicked; for they shall be ashes
under the soles of your feet in the day that I shall do this…
before the coming of the
Great and Dreadful Day of the Lord.”
--The Book of Malachi, 4:3-5
“Whatever God commands is right, no matter what it is, although we may not see the reason thereof till long after the events transpire. . .”
--Joseph Smith, Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith
PART ONE: The Conversion of Samuel Younger
“When our individual interests and prospects do not seem worth living for,
we are in desperate need for something apart from us to live for.
All forms of dedication, devotion, loyalty and self-surrender
are in essence a desperate clinging to something which
might give worth and meaning to our futile, spoiled lives.”
--Eric Hoffer, The True Believer
- ONE -
It began with a knock on the door.
First, a gentle series of raps, and then a slower, more deliberate and insistent thudding. It was a small miracle that he’d heard it at all above the sound of the hot running water. His hands were red and heat-bitten and slightly wrinkled so that the tattoos on his knuckles looked smudged, and as he noticed the knocking, he moved more quickly, setting the final plate into the slot on the drainboard and scooping the flatware up and into the compartment beside the plates. There hadn’t been many dishes: a few coffee cups from the past few days, some plates, a saucepan, an aluminum bowl that he sometimes used for an ashtray. There was the cast iron skillet, but he would have to take care of that later. He hung up the towel on the refrigerator handle, and ambled into the front room just as the knocking commenced again.
He opened the door to an almost blinding wintery brightness, and there on the step, bundled up against the cold, stood two young men, just barely out of high school by the look of them. Their well-scrubbed faces were open and kind, yet guarded. They seemed like salesmen, with their neat haircuts and leather satchels. An air of professionalism and courtesy hung about them.
“Good morning, Mr. Younger,” said the one on the left. He was the taller of the two, with dark hair and slightly slanted brown eyes. He had freckles that ran across the bridge of his nose. “Or—it’s Sam, right? Is it okay if I call you Sam?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Sam glanced down and noticed the shining black nametags on each of the boys’ breast pockets. It all seemed familiar somehow, but Sam couldn’t place it. The young man with the dark hair went on: “We’re from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we were wondering if we could talk to you for a little while about a really special book.”
Sam stared out beyond the two young men. It was cold and blasted outside. Lonely. The winter winds had torn the dry and shriveled brown leaves from the trees, and the landscape—the dead lawns, the gravel paths, the desert shrubs—had been anointed with a thin patina of frost. He looked back to the faces of the two missionaries, and thought about shutting the door on them—he was used to throwing people out, after all. These two young men were smiling, though, and eager to please. Waiting for him to answer. Did he want to chat? Did he want to know more about their faith? At heart, it didn’t matter one way or the other. He could just as easily be staring at his toe, or reading the paper. He turned his head and glanced backwards over his shoulder at the front room: second-hand TV, tattered sofa, shiny black coffee table with magazines neatly arranged in the corner, bookshelf crowded with unread books. “Well,” he said. “Sure. Why not?”
“Oh, thank you,” said the dark-haired one.
Sam opened the door wide and gestured for them to sit on the couch.
“Boy, it sure is cold out there,” said the other one. He was pudgy, with reddened cheeks, and he had very dark blond hair. There was a slight pain, a freight of concern, in his expression.
“So,” said Samuel Younger, settling into his armchair across from them. “You guys are Mormons.”
“Well. . . Yeah, but that’s really just a nickname that was given to us a long time ago. Really, we prefer LDS.”
“LDS?”
“Latter-day Saints.”
Sam nodded and looked at their nametags. “I see you’re looking at our nametags,” said the dark-haired one. “I’m Elder Miller, and this is Elder Cummings.”
“Elder?” They were both younger than Sam.
The two missionaries laughed. “Oh, believe me,” said Elder Miller, “we get that all the time. It’s actually a designation in the priesthood.”
“Okay.” But of course he didn’t see. It was almost as if these young men were speaking some wholly new and different language: LDS; Elder; Priesthood—and they seemed so at ease with all of it: they sat calmly, leaning forward slightly, with their hands folded in their laps, gazing about the room, taking everything in. There had been a time when Sam would have hated them, but at the moment they looked so happy, eager to share their message, and anxious to please. They looked at peace.
“Wow, this sure is a nice house,” said Elder Miller. “Nice and cozy. Is it yours?”
“Yeah, it’s mine.”
“Just you? You live here by yourself?”
“Yeah,” said Sam. “It’s just me.”
“That’s impressive. A guy like you with his own house already. It’s kind of surprising that you went straight for the house, rather than living in an apartment and saving up for until you got married. I assume you want to get married and have a family one day.” It was difficult to tell if Elder Miller was casting judgment or not. “So,” he continued, “my introductions kinda got sidetracked a little. As I said, I’m Elder Miller and this here is Elder Cummings. I grew up in Provo, Utah. I come from a big family. I’m the fourth of seven kids. I always knew that I would serve a mission, since it’s kind of a tradition in my family, and plus, I believe in the message of the gospel.” He gave a nudge to his partner, and Elder Cummings began.
“Well, I’m from Scottsdale, Arizona. My mom converted to the Church when I was pretty little, so I don’t have quite the same traditional stuff going on as Elder Miller here. But, I love the gospel, and I pretty much always knew that I would serve a mission, too.” He seemed to be sweating slightly. “Also,” he raised a plump arm and pointed, “I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve got what looks like a really nice chess set up there.”
Sam followed the line of Elder Cummings’s arm up to the chess set perch at the top of the bookshelf. “Oh, that? Yeah, I haven’t had any reason to haul it down in quite a while. Just haven’t had anyone over to play. I work nights, so you know how it goes.”
“Well, we sure would love to play a couple games with you some time,” said Elder Miller, smiling. He had very white, very straight teeth.
“I’ll have to think about that,” said Sam.
“So, what do you do for a living?” Elder Miller went on. “Are you in school?”
“No. No more school for me. I hated school,” said Sam. “Well, let me check that—it’s not so much that I hated the subject matter. I just didn’t like the atmosphere, I guess.”
“Huh, yeah, I know what you mean.” Elder Cummings was wiping a plump palm on the leg of his slacks.
“But to answer your question,” Sam said, “I tend bar at this place in Reno.” He watched their reactions carefully and wondered if he should say anything more. He knew little about religion generally, and even less about Mormons specifically. He’d sometimes seen young missionaries just like these pedaling their bikes around town back when he was growing up, and had wondered what they were up to, with their crisp white shirts, bike helmets, and skinny black ties, but his curiosity—at least at that time—ended there.
“I bet that’s an interesting job,” said Elder Miller. “I bet you get to meet some real interesting people out there. You probably get to see a whole other side of humanity.”
“Well…” said Sam, thinking about this, “I guess that’s one way of putting it.”
Both of the missionaries chuckled—plump Elder Cummings in particular.
“Okay, maybe not!” said Elder Miller. “But then again, I bet they’re at least interesting.”
“Fair enough.”
Elder Miller nodded his wolfish head. He seemed pleased to find a point of agreement. “So what about your family?” he asked. “In the Church, family is really important to us.”
“I guess that’s why you guys have so many kids?”
The missionary’s face was still friendly, but the question sobered him up a bit: “Well, yeah! Yeah, to an extent that’s exactly right. But we’ll get to that later. As you were saying?”
Sam felt mildly uncomfortable, as if he was being very gingerly prodded and examined—interviewed, even. But he went on: “Well, I’ve got a sister. She lives back home, near Sacramento. Both my parents are dead, though.”
“Boy, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Elder Miller, and Elder Cummings, beside him, was once again wiping his palms on the thighs of his trousers. “I know how important my mom and dad are to me, so I can really feel for you there.”
“It’s all right,” said Sam, holding up a big hand.
“They must not have been very old,” said Miller.
“My dad died when I was 18. A car accident. My mom died of cancer about five years back.” He said this in a way that was mostly emotionless, and with a slight smirk—the product of having repeated it more times than he wanted to.
Elder Miller knitted his fingers together and continued to nod with concern.
“Well, my dad died when I was pretty little,” said Elder Cummings, glancing over at Miller, as if for permission to speak. “He had a stroke, and it was pretty sudden. And so I know how rough that kind of thing can be. The message we want to bring to you, though, is that you can be reunited with your loved ones again one day.” He raised his eyebrows for emphasis and lowered his chin a bit.
Elder Miller, nodding more emphatically now, smiled in consolation. “Can I ask you something?” he said, inching forward. “Would you mind if we said a prayer?”
It caught him completely off guard. What would they do if he said no? “Sure, I guess so,” he said. They knelt down, right there on the carpet, and crossed their arms across their chests, with their hands tucked into the crooks of their elbows. Their heads were bowed and their eyes were closed. It was unclear to Sam whether he was meant to imitate them, or whether this was some kind of display for his benefit, or what. There was a time, not terribly long ago, well before the deaths and the thing in Davis had transpired and long before he’d ended up in this house in Lahontan, when he would have laughed at them and called them pussies or gay-wads and told them to get the “F” off of his property. It’s what his dad, and probably his mother would have done in his place. But things were different now, and so he sat there dumbstruck in his chair, half embarrassed for them and half frozen with fascination.
“Dear Father in Heaven,” Elder Miller began. “We want to thank you for this beautiful day, and for the opportunity you’ve given us to speak with Mr. Younger today. We ask thee this day to give us clarity of mind and tongue, so that we might share the truth of the gospel with him, and so that he might feel the spirit. We ask that ye might open his heart and bless him with an open mind so that he might hear our lessons and learn why we’ve traveled all this way out to see him. We ask these things humbly in the name of thy son Jesus Christ, amen.”
Elder Cummings also said, “Amen,” and Sam almost said it, too. The two missionaries climbed back to their feet and went back to their spots on the sofa. “Thank you for giving us permission to pray with you,” said Elder Miller, and then he smiled: “So,” he said, slapping his hands on his knees, “I bet that you’re ready for us to get to the point. There is a reason we’re here after all, and that reason is to share the gospel of Jesus Christ with you.”
Sam scarcely knew what to say. “You’re not going to ask me to buy something at the end of this, are you? A Bible or something? Cause if that’s the case, I’m not interested.”
“No, not at all!” said Elder Miller.
“It’s really not the case,” said Cummings. “Both of us are paying our own way to be here. The Church doesn’t pay for us to be missionaries. We pay for our missions out of our own pockets because we believe in what we’re doing.”
“You’re crapping me, right?” said Sam. He said this partly to gauge their reaction to his language, but it didn’t seem to rattle them.
“Absolutely not,” said Elder Cummings. “All of our missionaries in our Church are volunteers. Anyways.”
“Well, anyways,” said Elder Miller, coughing into his fist and regaining his general sense of seriousness, “as I mentioned, there are a few important things we’d really like to share with you on this day.” He lifted his briefcase off the ground and snapped it open. From within, he took out a photo and held it out for Sam, who took it. “What you’re looking at there,” said Elder Miller, “is a picture of the Prophet Joseph Smith.”
Samuel Younger looked down into the image. In it, a wavy-haired man with an aqualine nose knelt in a grassy, wooded area. He was wearing clothes from some earlier era, and he was using his forearm to shield his eyes from the intense white light cast by a pair of bearded men who were floating angelically nearby. The light seemed to be emanating from the men’s radiantly white and flowing clothes, and it was clear that the kneeling man was quite frightened. It looked surreal—so much so that Sam felt a chill pass through his body.
“You see,” Elder Miller went on, “we believe that Joseph Smith restored the gospel of Jesus Christ to the earth after a period of apostasy. Joseph was responsible for restoring the one true church on the face of the earth.”
“I don’t understand. What’s ‘apostasy’?” He looked back down at the picture, at the impossible whiteness of the two figures’ clothing.
“Well,” said Elder Cummings, clearing his throat and looking very timid. “Do you believe in God?”
Sam settled back in his chair. “I don’t know,” he said. He thought about it. “I mean, all of this crap had to come from somewhere, right?” He gestured around the room with his arm, towards the wide world that lay beyond the walls. “I guess I’d like to think that I’m living my life for some worthwhile reason, even if I don’t necessarily have a fuckin’ clue of what that is, exactly.”
“Oh, sure,” said Elder Miller. “We’re here to tell you that Heavenly Father loves each and every one of us.”
“Unlike some other religions,” said Elder Cummings, “we don’t believe that people are just ‘creations’ of a God. We believe that God is genuinely the father of each and every one of us. All of us are his children, both in body and in spirit.” He looked mildly pained. “So, what that means is that even you and I are brothers, in a sense. All of us are related in that way—we’re all children of God, and our Heavenly Father loves us so much.”
Sam nodded. It was difficult to follow what they were saying, and he was somewhat bothered by the touchy-feely nature of what they were saying, but he kept listening.
Elder Miller reached up and adjusted the slightly off-kilter knot on his skinny black tie. “The gospel, as it was revealed to Joseph Smith, is designed to bless families. Did you know that if you live a righteous life, and follow the teachings of the gospel, you can be with your loved ones again in heaven?” His eyes sparkled, the wet on them catching the wan light cast by the gooseneck lamp on the side table.
“No, I didn’t know that,” he said.
The two missionaries both nodded gravely and sat up straighter. “I’d like to bear my testimony to you right now,” Elder Miller said, pointing at him, “that I know in my heart these things are true. I know these things with a surety, clearer and more powerful than I’ve ever known anything in my life.” He was clutching his fist against his chest, and a tremor had come into his voice. It made Sam feel embarrassed to see this young missionary exposing his emotions so nakedly.
“These truths are pretty amazing,” said Elder Cummings, smiling tightly, his lips stretched against his large teeth, his hands knitted together in his lap. “I really agree with Elder Miller. Even though I haven’t been a member of the Church my entire life, I’ve never come across anything as good as the gospel. And plus, the Church is just plain neat.”
Samuel Younger could only nod: what was it with these two guys? The more he listened to them, the harder it was to hate them. There was a brief caesura as Elder Miller regained his composure, and Elder Cummings looked over at him, waiting for him to retake the reins of the conversation. Sam looked again at the picture of Joseph Smith.
“So,” Miller said at last. “You’ve said that you believe in God, or that you think you might. Do you also understand that Jesus died for our sins?”
As he sat there staring at these two young men, Samuel Younger began to feel very strange and uncomfortable. His natural impulse—and he knew this—would be to dismiss and ridicule these young missionaries. But he also knew where his natural impulses had led him to this point, and so he suppressed them.
“Jesus died on the cross, in order to atone for our sins,” Elder Miller went on, leaning forward, his hands clutched together. “The pain was so great that he bled from his pores.”
“But in addition to that,” interjected Elder Cummings, “The Savior left us with a lot of important teachings, like about families, and the priesthood. He set up the Church and taught the gospel, so that anyone who has faith, and who repents, gets baptized, and fulfills their callings on Earth, will receive eternal salvation.”
“That means you get to live forever,” said Elder Miller.
“Is that necessarily a good thing?”
Everyone chuckled.
“After Jesus died,” said Elder Cummings, “the world fell into apostasy. The priesthood was lost. Until Joseph Smith came along, that is.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, looking down again at the kneeling man. “Tell me about Joseph Smith.”
The two missionaries seemed to bounce in their seats.
“I really love the story of Joseph Smith,” said Elder Miller. “What’s so amazing is that he was just a boy, and yet Heavenly Father chose him to restore the priesthood to the earth.”
“How did this happen?”
“Good question.” Elder Miller licked his lips and went on. “When he was a teenager, Joseph Smith began to get curious about religion. He went to all the churches in his area, listening to the sermons, and trying to find the truth. And yet, something seemed wrong each time. Many of the pastors of these churches seemed greedy or corrupt, or else something just plain didn’t feel right. So, feeling discouraged, Joseph went out into the woods to pray one night, and that’s when God appeared to him.” Elder Miller paused and leaned forward. “Now, can you just picture this? A blinding light appeared before him, and God’s voice rang out, telling Joseph that none of the churches was true. It would be up to Joseph to restore the Lord’s true church to the Earth. This would be his special mission in life.
“Later,” Elder Miller said, “Joseph was given the keys of the priesthood in order to begin the restoration of the church. But he did something else, too.” He reached into his briefcase and brought out a black, leather-bound book, which he passed across to Sam. “At another time, Joseph was visited by an angel named Moroni.”
Sam stared back at the missionary and he turned the book over in its hands, looking up and searching for the slightest hint of guile, deception, or delusion in the missionaries, but he found none. The story—this insane, supernatural narrative—was something that Elder Miller really and truly believed.
Miller went on: “Moroni told Joseph about a treasure that was hidden nearby in a hill called Cumorah. He led Joseph to this location, and had him move a heavy stone. And there, buried in the hillside, were a set of gold plates, covered in strange writing.”
The room had grown very still. It was so quiet that Sam could practically hear the missionaries breathing. It felt cold, too, and the air seemed heavy.
“The angel Moroni gave Joseph the tools to translate the plates, and the result of that translation is the Book of Mormon, which you are holding right now.”
Sam flipped open the cover of the book and felt the thin, parchment-like pages. Glancing at the text, he saw that it read rather like the Bible, or what little he knew of the Bible. “So, where are the gold plates? Do you guys have them on display in Salt Lake City or something?” he asked.
“When the translation was complete,” Elder Cummings said, rather abruptly, “Moroni took the plates back to heaven, since they were no longer needed.”
“It really is a miracle that we have the Book of Mormon today,” said Elder Miller. “Just think of it: Joseph was a farm boy with very little education. He didn’t have much access to books, and so it really is amazing that he was able to translate this book. It’s evidence of its divine nature, if you ask me.”
“Yes,” added Elder Cummings, “there’s no way he could have written it on his own.”
“In fact,” said Elder Miller, smilingly, “we’d like to urge you to read it for yourself. It tells the story of Christ’s visit to America, following his resurrection.”
Sam frowned. “Christ came to America?”
“Yes, he did,” said Elder Cummings, nodding. “There was a whole, vast civilization here. You’ll have to read the Book of Mormon for yourself. That copy is yours to keep.”
The two young missionaries sat perched at the edge of the sofa like a pair of beaming, luminescent twins.
“How are you feeling about all of this?” asked Elder Miller.
Sam looked up. “Well, I don’t know. I feel confused, I guess.”
The two missionaries chuckled. “That’s normal,” said Elder Cummings.
“Do you feel anything else?”
He shifted in his seat, and let out a sigh. “I don’t know. I feel . . . Strange. Confused, and yet lighter somehow.”
The missionaries’ faces lit up: “That’s great!” said Elder Miller. “That lightness—that’s the spirit you’re feeling. You see, when we’re righteous, the Holy Ghost lifts us up and blesses us. Makes us feel good. Like, for me, I usually will get this warm sensation in my chest.” He rapped his fingers on his sternum.
“Okay.”
“What I’m saying is, that’s the spirit that you’re feeling. It’s telling you that what we’ve said today is right and true.”
“Huh.”
“Anyways, as Elder Cummings said, we’d like you to accept that Book of Mormon as our gift to you,” said Elder Miller. “That is a complimentary copy for you to keep, and to read.”
“Well, thanks,” said Sam. “I don’t think I can remember the last time anyone gave me something for free.”
The two missionaries smiled. “If it’s okay,” said Elder Cummings, “we’d like to come visit you again. Would that be all right?”
“I guess so. I’m not really doing much of anything. So far as I know, anyhow.”
“So, could we come see you this same time in a couple of days?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Terrific.” Elder Cummings nodded his big, blond head and smiled.
“I have just one more thing to ask,” said Elder Miller. “If you could do me a huge favor?”
“Sure.”
“Towards the back of the Book of Mormon, in the book called Moroni—just like the angel who appeared to Joseph Smith—there’s a promise. This is one of the most important promises that anyone ever made. If you look at Moroni 10, verses 3 through 5, you’ll see that God makes a promise to each of us. It says:
I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.
And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things.
Elder Miller smiled and leaned forward. The righteous, emotional tremor had returned to his voice once again. The air around him was very still, and as he spoke, his voice became a low whisper, rasping past his lips and out into the room like the flutter of wings:
“All we ask of you, Mr. Younger, is that you read the Book of Mormon, and pray about it. That’s it, really. Just pray about it. Ask God. Find out for yourself, whether what we have said today is true.”
Next week: Chapter 2....
A Novel in Seven Parts
by Robert B. Oberson
“And ye shall tread down the wicked; for they shall be ashes
under the soles of your feet in the day that I shall do this…
before the coming of the
Great and Dreadful Day of the Lord.”
--The Book of Malachi, 4:3-5
“Whatever God commands is right, no matter what it is, although we may not see the reason thereof till long after the events transpire. . .”
--Joseph Smith, Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith
PART ONE: The Conversion of Samuel Younger
“When our individual interests and prospects do not seem worth living for,
we are in desperate need for something apart from us to live for.
All forms of dedication, devotion, loyalty and self-surrender
are in essence a desperate clinging to something which
might give worth and meaning to our futile, spoiled lives.”
--Eric Hoffer, The True Believer
- ONE -
It began with a knock on the door.
First, a gentle series of raps, and then a slower, more deliberate and insistent thudding. It was a small miracle that he’d heard it at all above the sound of the hot running water. His hands were red and heat-bitten and slightly wrinkled so that the tattoos on his knuckles looked smudged, and as he noticed the knocking, he moved more quickly, setting the final plate into the slot on the drainboard and scooping the flatware up and into the compartment beside the plates. There hadn’t been many dishes: a few coffee cups from the past few days, some plates, a saucepan, an aluminum bowl that he sometimes used for an ashtray. There was the cast iron skillet, but he would have to take care of that later. He hung up the towel on the refrigerator handle, and ambled into the front room just as the knocking commenced again.
He opened the door to an almost blinding wintery brightness, and there on the step, bundled up against the cold, stood two young men, just barely out of high school by the look of them. Their well-scrubbed faces were open and kind, yet guarded. They seemed like salesmen, with their neat haircuts and leather satchels. An air of professionalism and courtesy hung about them.
“Good morning, Mr. Younger,” said the one on the left. He was the taller of the two, with dark hair and slightly slanted brown eyes. He had freckles that ran across the bridge of his nose. “Or—it’s Sam, right? Is it okay if I call you Sam?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Sam glanced down and noticed the shining black nametags on each of the boys’ breast pockets. It all seemed familiar somehow, but Sam couldn’t place it. The young man with the dark hair went on: “We’re from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we were wondering if we could talk to you for a little while about a really special book.”
Sam stared out beyond the two young men. It was cold and blasted outside. Lonely. The winter winds had torn the dry and shriveled brown leaves from the trees, and the landscape—the dead lawns, the gravel paths, the desert shrubs—had been anointed with a thin patina of frost. He looked back to the faces of the two missionaries, and thought about shutting the door on them—he was used to throwing people out, after all. These two young men were smiling, though, and eager to please. Waiting for him to answer. Did he want to chat? Did he want to know more about their faith? At heart, it didn’t matter one way or the other. He could just as easily be staring at his toe, or reading the paper. He turned his head and glanced backwards over his shoulder at the front room: second-hand TV, tattered sofa, shiny black coffee table with magazines neatly arranged in the corner, bookshelf crowded with unread books. “Well,” he said. “Sure. Why not?”
“Oh, thank you,” said the dark-haired one.
Sam opened the door wide and gestured for them to sit on the couch.
“Boy, it sure is cold out there,” said the other one. He was pudgy, with reddened cheeks, and he had very dark blond hair. There was a slight pain, a freight of concern, in his expression.
“So,” said Samuel Younger, settling into his armchair across from them. “You guys are Mormons.”
“Well. . . Yeah, but that’s really just a nickname that was given to us a long time ago. Really, we prefer LDS.”
“LDS?”
“Latter-day Saints.”
Sam nodded and looked at their nametags. “I see you’re looking at our nametags,” said the dark-haired one. “I’m Elder Miller, and this is Elder Cummings.”
“Elder?” They were both younger than Sam.
The two missionaries laughed. “Oh, believe me,” said Elder Miller, “we get that all the time. It’s actually a designation in the priesthood.”
“Okay.” But of course he didn’t see. It was almost as if these young men were speaking some wholly new and different language: LDS; Elder; Priesthood—and they seemed so at ease with all of it: they sat calmly, leaning forward slightly, with their hands folded in their laps, gazing about the room, taking everything in. There had been a time when Sam would have hated them, but at the moment they looked so happy, eager to share their message, and anxious to please. They looked at peace.
“Wow, this sure is a nice house,” said Elder Miller. “Nice and cozy. Is it yours?”
“Yeah, it’s mine.”
“Just you? You live here by yourself?”
“Yeah,” said Sam. “It’s just me.”
“That’s impressive. A guy like you with his own house already. It’s kind of surprising that you went straight for the house, rather than living in an apartment and saving up for until you got married. I assume you want to get married and have a family one day.” It was difficult to tell if Elder Miller was casting judgment or not. “So,” he continued, “my introductions kinda got sidetracked a little. As I said, I’m Elder Miller and this here is Elder Cummings. I grew up in Provo, Utah. I come from a big family. I’m the fourth of seven kids. I always knew that I would serve a mission, since it’s kind of a tradition in my family, and plus, I believe in the message of the gospel.” He gave a nudge to his partner, and Elder Cummings began.
“Well, I’m from Scottsdale, Arizona. My mom converted to the Church when I was pretty little, so I don’t have quite the same traditional stuff going on as Elder Miller here. But, I love the gospel, and I pretty much always knew that I would serve a mission, too.” He seemed to be sweating slightly. “Also,” he raised a plump arm and pointed, “I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve got what looks like a really nice chess set up there.”
Sam followed the line of Elder Cummings’s arm up to the chess set perch at the top of the bookshelf. “Oh, that? Yeah, I haven’t had any reason to haul it down in quite a while. Just haven’t had anyone over to play. I work nights, so you know how it goes.”
“Well, we sure would love to play a couple games with you some time,” said Elder Miller, smiling. He had very white, very straight teeth.
“I’ll have to think about that,” said Sam.
“So, what do you do for a living?” Elder Miller went on. “Are you in school?”
“No. No more school for me. I hated school,” said Sam. “Well, let me check that—it’s not so much that I hated the subject matter. I just didn’t like the atmosphere, I guess.”
“Huh, yeah, I know what you mean.” Elder Cummings was wiping a plump palm on the leg of his slacks.
“But to answer your question,” Sam said, “I tend bar at this place in Reno.” He watched their reactions carefully and wondered if he should say anything more. He knew little about religion generally, and even less about Mormons specifically. He’d sometimes seen young missionaries just like these pedaling their bikes around town back when he was growing up, and had wondered what they were up to, with their crisp white shirts, bike helmets, and skinny black ties, but his curiosity—at least at that time—ended there.
“I bet that’s an interesting job,” said Elder Miller. “I bet you get to meet some real interesting people out there. You probably get to see a whole other side of humanity.”
“Well…” said Sam, thinking about this, “I guess that’s one way of putting it.”
Both of the missionaries chuckled—plump Elder Cummings in particular.
“Okay, maybe not!” said Elder Miller. “But then again, I bet they’re at least interesting.”
“Fair enough.”
Elder Miller nodded his wolfish head. He seemed pleased to find a point of agreement. “So what about your family?” he asked. “In the Church, family is really important to us.”
“I guess that’s why you guys have so many kids?”
The missionary’s face was still friendly, but the question sobered him up a bit: “Well, yeah! Yeah, to an extent that’s exactly right. But we’ll get to that later. As you were saying?”
Sam felt mildly uncomfortable, as if he was being very gingerly prodded and examined—interviewed, even. But he went on: “Well, I’ve got a sister. She lives back home, near Sacramento. Both my parents are dead, though.”
“Boy, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Elder Miller, and Elder Cummings, beside him, was once again wiping his palms on the thighs of his trousers. “I know how important my mom and dad are to me, so I can really feel for you there.”
“It’s all right,” said Sam, holding up a big hand.
“They must not have been very old,” said Miller.
“My dad died when I was 18. A car accident. My mom died of cancer about five years back.” He said this in a way that was mostly emotionless, and with a slight smirk—the product of having repeated it more times than he wanted to.
Elder Miller knitted his fingers together and continued to nod with concern.
“Well, my dad died when I was pretty little,” said Elder Cummings, glancing over at Miller, as if for permission to speak. “He had a stroke, and it was pretty sudden. And so I know how rough that kind of thing can be. The message we want to bring to you, though, is that you can be reunited with your loved ones again one day.” He raised his eyebrows for emphasis and lowered his chin a bit.
Elder Miller, nodding more emphatically now, smiled in consolation. “Can I ask you something?” he said, inching forward. “Would you mind if we said a prayer?”
It caught him completely off guard. What would they do if he said no? “Sure, I guess so,” he said. They knelt down, right there on the carpet, and crossed their arms across their chests, with their hands tucked into the crooks of their elbows. Their heads were bowed and their eyes were closed. It was unclear to Sam whether he was meant to imitate them, or whether this was some kind of display for his benefit, or what. There was a time, not terribly long ago, well before the deaths and the thing in Davis had transpired and long before he’d ended up in this house in Lahontan, when he would have laughed at them and called them pussies or gay-wads and told them to get the “F” off of his property. It’s what his dad, and probably his mother would have done in his place. But things were different now, and so he sat there dumbstruck in his chair, half embarrassed for them and half frozen with fascination.
“Dear Father in Heaven,” Elder Miller began. “We want to thank you for this beautiful day, and for the opportunity you’ve given us to speak with Mr. Younger today. We ask thee this day to give us clarity of mind and tongue, so that we might share the truth of the gospel with him, and so that he might feel the spirit. We ask that ye might open his heart and bless him with an open mind so that he might hear our lessons and learn why we’ve traveled all this way out to see him. We ask these things humbly in the name of thy son Jesus Christ, amen.”
Elder Cummings also said, “Amen,” and Sam almost said it, too. The two missionaries climbed back to their feet and went back to their spots on the sofa. “Thank you for giving us permission to pray with you,” said Elder Miller, and then he smiled: “So,” he said, slapping his hands on his knees, “I bet that you’re ready for us to get to the point. There is a reason we’re here after all, and that reason is to share the gospel of Jesus Christ with you.”
Sam scarcely knew what to say. “You’re not going to ask me to buy something at the end of this, are you? A Bible or something? Cause if that’s the case, I’m not interested.”
“No, not at all!” said Elder Miller.
“It’s really not the case,” said Cummings. “Both of us are paying our own way to be here. The Church doesn’t pay for us to be missionaries. We pay for our missions out of our own pockets because we believe in what we’re doing.”
“You’re crapping me, right?” said Sam. He said this partly to gauge their reaction to his language, but it didn’t seem to rattle them.
“Absolutely not,” said Elder Cummings. “All of our missionaries in our Church are volunteers. Anyways.”
“Well, anyways,” said Elder Miller, coughing into his fist and regaining his general sense of seriousness, “as I mentioned, there are a few important things we’d really like to share with you on this day.” He lifted his briefcase off the ground and snapped it open. From within, he took out a photo and held it out for Sam, who took it. “What you’re looking at there,” said Elder Miller, “is a picture of the Prophet Joseph Smith.”
Samuel Younger looked down into the image. In it, a wavy-haired man with an aqualine nose knelt in a grassy, wooded area. He was wearing clothes from some earlier era, and he was using his forearm to shield his eyes from the intense white light cast by a pair of bearded men who were floating angelically nearby. The light seemed to be emanating from the men’s radiantly white and flowing clothes, and it was clear that the kneeling man was quite frightened. It looked surreal—so much so that Sam felt a chill pass through his body.
“You see,” Elder Miller went on, “we believe that Joseph Smith restored the gospel of Jesus Christ to the earth after a period of apostasy. Joseph was responsible for restoring the one true church on the face of the earth.”
“I don’t understand. What’s ‘apostasy’?” He looked back down at the picture, at the impossible whiteness of the two figures’ clothing.
“Well,” said Elder Cummings, clearing his throat and looking very timid. “Do you believe in God?”
Sam settled back in his chair. “I don’t know,” he said. He thought about it. “I mean, all of this crap had to come from somewhere, right?” He gestured around the room with his arm, towards the wide world that lay beyond the walls. “I guess I’d like to think that I’m living my life for some worthwhile reason, even if I don’t necessarily have a fuckin’ clue of what that is, exactly.”
“Oh, sure,” said Elder Miller. “We’re here to tell you that Heavenly Father loves each and every one of us.”
“Unlike some other religions,” said Elder Cummings, “we don’t believe that people are just ‘creations’ of a God. We believe that God is genuinely the father of each and every one of us. All of us are his children, both in body and in spirit.” He looked mildly pained. “So, what that means is that even you and I are brothers, in a sense. All of us are related in that way—we’re all children of God, and our Heavenly Father loves us so much.”
Sam nodded. It was difficult to follow what they were saying, and he was somewhat bothered by the touchy-feely nature of what they were saying, but he kept listening.
Elder Miller reached up and adjusted the slightly off-kilter knot on his skinny black tie. “The gospel, as it was revealed to Joseph Smith, is designed to bless families. Did you know that if you live a righteous life, and follow the teachings of the gospel, you can be with your loved ones again in heaven?” His eyes sparkled, the wet on them catching the wan light cast by the gooseneck lamp on the side table.
“No, I didn’t know that,” he said.
The two missionaries both nodded gravely and sat up straighter. “I’d like to bear my testimony to you right now,” Elder Miller said, pointing at him, “that I know in my heart these things are true. I know these things with a surety, clearer and more powerful than I’ve ever known anything in my life.” He was clutching his fist against his chest, and a tremor had come into his voice. It made Sam feel embarrassed to see this young missionary exposing his emotions so nakedly.
“These truths are pretty amazing,” said Elder Cummings, smiling tightly, his lips stretched against his large teeth, his hands knitted together in his lap. “I really agree with Elder Miller. Even though I haven’t been a member of the Church my entire life, I’ve never come across anything as good as the gospel. And plus, the Church is just plain neat.”
Samuel Younger could only nod: what was it with these two guys? The more he listened to them, the harder it was to hate them. There was a brief caesura as Elder Miller regained his composure, and Elder Cummings looked over at him, waiting for him to retake the reins of the conversation. Sam looked again at the picture of Joseph Smith.
“So,” Miller said at last. “You’ve said that you believe in God, or that you think you might. Do you also understand that Jesus died for our sins?”
As he sat there staring at these two young men, Samuel Younger began to feel very strange and uncomfortable. His natural impulse—and he knew this—would be to dismiss and ridicule these young missionaries. But he also knew where his natural impulses had led him to this point, and so he suppressed them.
“Jesus died on the cross, in order to atone for our sins,” Elder Miller went on, leaning forward, his hands clutched together. “The pain was so great that he bled from his pores.”
“But in addition to that,” interjected Elder Cummings, “The Savior left us with a lot of important teachings, like about families, and the priesthood. He set up the Church and taught the gospel, so that anyone who has faith, and who repents, gets baptized, and fulfills their callings on Earth, will receive eternal salvation.”
“That means you get to live forever,” said Elder Miller.
“Is that necessarily a good thing?”
Everyone chuckled.
“After Jesus died,” said Elder Cummings, “the world fell into apostasy. The priesthood was lost. Until Joseph Smith came along, that is.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, looking down again at the kneeling man. “Tell me about Joseph Smith.”
The two missionaries seemed to bounce in their seats.
“I really love the story of Joseph Smith,” said Elder Miller. “What’s so amazing is that he was just a boy, and yet Heavenly Father chose him to restore the priesthood to the earth.”
“How did this happen?”
“Good question.” Elder Miller licked his lips and went on. “When he was a teenager, Joseph Smith began to get curious about religion. He went to all the churches in his area, listening to the sermons, and trying to find the truth. And yet, something seemed wrong each time. Many of the pastors of these churches seemed greedy or corrupt, or else something just plain didn’t feel right. So, feeling discouraged, Joseph went out into the woods to pray one night, and that’s when God appeared to him.” Elder Miller paused and leaned forward. “Now, can you just picture this? A blinding light appeared before him, and God’s voice rang out, telling Joseph that none of the churches was true. It would be up to Joseph to restore the Lord’s true church to the Earth. This would be his special mission in life.
“Later,” Elder Miller said, “Joseph was given the keys of the priesthood in order to begin the restoration of the church. But he did something else, too.” He reached into his briefcase and brought out a black, leather-bound book, which he passed across to Sam. “At another time, Joseph was visited by an angel named Moroni.”
Sam stared back at the missionary and he turned the book over in its hands, looking up and searching for the slightest hint of guile, deception, or delusion in the missionaries, but he found none. The story—this insane, supernatural narrative—was something that Elder Miller really and truly believed.
Miller went on: “Moroni told Joseph about a treasure that was hidden nearby in a hill called Cumorah. He led Joseph to this location, and had him move a heavy stone. And there, buried in the hillside, were a set of gold plates, covered in strange writing.”
The room had grown very still. It was so quiet that Sam could practically hear the missionaries breathing. It felt cold, too, and the air seemed heavy.
“The angel Moroni gave Joseph the tools to translate the plates, and the result of that translation is the Book of Mormon, which you are holding right now.”
Sam flipped open the cover of the book and felt the thin, parchment-like pages. Glancing at the text, he saw that it read rather like the Bible, or what little he knew of the Bible. “So, where are the gold plates? Do you guys have them on display in Salt Lake City or something?” he asked.
“When the translation was complete,” Elder Cummings said, rather abruptly, “Moroni took the plates back to heaven, since they were no longer needed.”
“It really is a miracle that we have the Book of Mormon today,” said Elder Miller. “Just think of it: Joseph was a farm boy with very little education. He didn’t have much access to books, and so it really is amazing that he was able to translate this book. It’s evidence of its divine nature, if you ask me.”
“Yes,” added Elder Cummings, “there’s no way he could have written it on his own.”
“In fact,” said Elder Miller, smilingly, “we’d like to urge you to read it for yourself. It tells the story of Christ’s visit to America, following his resurrection.”
Sam frowned. “Christ came to America?”
“Yes, he did,” said Elder Cummings, nodding. “There was a whole, vast civilization here. You’ll have to read the Book of Mormon for yourself. That copy is yours to keep.”
The two young missionaries sat perched at the edge of the sofa like a pair of beaming, luminescent twins.
“How are you feeling about all of this?” asked Elder Miller.
Sam looked up. “Well, I don’t know. I feel confused, I guess.”
The two missionaries chuckled. “That’s normal,” said Elder Cummings.
“Do you feel anything else?”
He shifted in his seat, and let out a sigh. “I don’t know. I feel . . . Strange. Confused, and yet lighter somehow.”
The missionaries’ faces lit up: “That’s great!” said Elder Miller. “That lightness—that’s the spirit you’re feeling. You see, when we’re righteous, the Holy Ghost lifts us up and blesses us. Makes us feel good. Like, for me, I usually will get this warm sensation in my chest.” He rapped his fingers on his sternum.
“Okay.”
“What I’m saying is, that’s the spirit that you’re feeling. It’s telling you that what we’ve said today is right and true.”
“Huh.”
“Anyways, as Elder Cummings said, we’d like you to accept that Book of Mormon as our gift to you,” said Elder Miller. “That is a complimentary copy for you to keep, and to read.”
“Well, thanks,” said Sam. “I don’t think I can remember the last time anyone gave me something for free.”
The two missionaries smiled. “If it’s okay,” said Elder Cummings, “we’d like to come visit you again. Would that be all right?”
“I guess so. I’m not really doing much of anything. So far as I know, anyhow.”
“So, could we come see you this same time in a couple of days?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Terrific.” Elder Cummings nodded his big, blond head and smiled.
“I have just one more thing to ask,” said Elder Miller. “If you could do me a huge favor?”
“Sure.”
“Towards the back of the Book of Mormon, in the book called Moroni—just like the angel who appeared to Joseph Smith—there’s a promise. This is one of the most important promises that anyone ever made. If you look at Moroni 10, verses 3 through 5, you’ll see that God makes a promise to each of us. It says:
I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.
And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things.
Elder Miller smiled and leaned forward. The righteous, emotional tremor had returned to his voice once again. The air around him was very still, and as he spoke, his voice became a low whisper, rasping past his lips and out into the room like the flutter of wings:
“All we ask of you, Mr. Younger, is that you read the Book of Mormon, and pray about it. That’s it, really. Just pray about it. Ask God. Find out for yourself, whether what we have said today is true.”
Next week: Chapter 2....