The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  Joseph nodded. “Tribulation will continue to come, but let us always strive to be of good cheer.”

  Chapter Five

  One of the great ironies of American history was that the land of the free and the home of the brave was also, for the first two centuries after its colonization, a land of religious intolerance and persecution. It was one thing to make an amendment to the Constitution which read, “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof”; it was quite another to write that law on the fleshy tablets of people’s hearts.

  In retrospect, it was not surprising that troubles arose. The colonists brought with them from Europe several deeply ingrained assumptions about religion. Each state or community had only one legal religion that was protected by the government and supported by taxes from the citizens. To attempt to establish another church or foster differing religious beliefs was therefore viewed not only as heresy but also as a civil crime.

  In areas where civilization’s veneer was still thin and law enforcement scattered, religious persecution often thrived. Those viewed as a threat to orthodox society were socially ostracized, defamed, mobbed, or expelled. The Society of Friends—the Quakers—experienced cruel opposition when they first sent missionaries into the colonies in the midseventeenth century. Roman Catholics commonly faced ugly, violent confrontations. Preachers and missionaries from various religions out of the main line of the American tradition were hounded and ridiculed, pelted with rotten eggs, tarred and feathered, drowned out by shouting or the banging of drums, or sometimes beaten mercilessly.

  While the Mormons were not unique in being persecuted, they took more than their share of abuse because, in addition to going against the established religious traditions of the time, they also taught religious exclusivity. In their minds, the original Church founded by the Master had been broken up and gone into apostasy after his death. That meant all other religions, Catholic and Protestant, were without authority and did not represent the Church of Jesus Christ. That did little to endear them in the hearts of their neighbors, and least of all in the hearts of the ministers and religious leaders of established churches.

  But if this was a time of religious opposition, it was also a time of religious revivalism. All across the face of the country, but more particularly along the frontier, men and women began to reconsider religion as an option in their lives. Church membership rose sharply. Newspapers proclaimed the imminence of the Second Coming. Tens of thousands of good, decent people began to turn their hearts to God.

  One such person was a young man, Parley P. Pratt by name, living with his wife, Thankful, in the northern part of Ohio. They read the Bible earnestly and felt a great longing for a church that had the characteristics of the Church in New Testament times. One day a preacher by the name of Sidney Rigdon came into the area. He led a group of Reformed Baptists who called themselves seekers. They too were looking for a return to a more biblical church, and the Pratts quickly joined with them.

  But still that did not satisfy the inner longing that seemed to drive Parley. He went to the scriptures like a thirsting man to a cool mountain spring. He began to write passages on slips of paper. He called them his “promissory notes” from the Lord—things like “All things are possible to him that believeth,” or “Whosoever shall forsake father or mother, brethren or sisters, houses or lands, wife or children, for my sake and the gospel’s, shall receive an hundred fold in this life, and in the world to come life everlasting.”

  In the spring of 1830, the promissory notes came due. “I feel called upon by the Holy Ghost,” he told his brother William, “to forsake my house and home for the gospel’s sake; and I will do it, placing both feet firm on these promises with nothing else to rely upon.”

  The farm was sold—at a substantial loss—and their affairs settled. By late summer they set out, with ten dollars in cash in hand and limitless faith in their hearts. They determined first to visit their families back in New York State, then to follow the promptings of the Holy Spirit wherever they might lead them.

  But the young man didn’t reach home. As they moved eastward along the Erie Canal, the Spirit prompted him to disembark at Newark and send his wife on to their families. Newark was a small canal town about eight miles east of Palmyra.

  It was near the close of a summer’s day late in August. Hyrum Smith moved slowly along Stafford Road, about a mile south of Palmyra Village, just across the line of Manchester Township. Ahead of him several milk cows moved briskly along, anxious now to reach the barn so they could be relieved of the weight in their bulging udders.

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  Hyrum turned around to see where the voice had come from. About fifty yards away a young man was hurrying to catch him. Hyrum slowed his step. The man was plainly dressed, but his clothes were well cared for. He was clean shaven but with long sideburns that came down below his ears. His face was round and full, his mouth generous and quickly given to a smile. Dark eyes, alert and intent, peered out from beneath bushy brows.

  “Yes?” Hyrum said as the man came up to him, a little out of breath.

  “Excuse me, but could you tell me of the whereabouts of Joseph Smith, the translator of the Book of Mormon?”

  Hyrum’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why do you ask?”

  “I was told in the village that his family lived in this neighborhood.”

  “But why do you seek him?”

  The face was devoid of any guile; the answer came out as simple and as straightforward as if from a child. “A day or so ago, as I was traveling through the countryside preaching, a man gave me the Book of Mormon. I have read a goodly portion of it and know that it is true. I must find the man who is responsible for it.”

  Hyrum was still a little reticent. “He’s gone to Pennsylvania, more than a hundred miles’ distance from here.”

  The young man’s face fell. There was no mistaking his disappointment. He sighed, considering what next to do. “Then can you direct me to his father, or any other member of the family?” he finally said. “I must know more about this book.”

  Satisfied, Hyrum stuck out his hand. “My name is Hyrum Smith. I am Joseph’s older brother.”

  “For true?” the man cried in delight. He pumped Hyrum’s hand vigorously. “I am Parley P. Pratt, and most delighted to make your acquaintance, sir.”

  On September first—having traveled with Hyrum Smith to Fayette to meet the Whitmers and others—Parley P. Pratt was baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ by the hand of Oliver Cowdery, who had by then returned to Fayette.

  “Are you ready, Lydia?”

  “Almost. Give me just a moment.”

  Lydia stood in front of a small mirror which hung from the wall of one of the upper bedrooms in the Peter Whitmer, Sr., home. It was now the third week in October, and the nights were frosting hard. Some heat from the great fireplace in the kitchen below them came up the stairs, but not much. Little puffs of frosty breath filled the air between Lydia and the mirror as she worked to fasten a locket around her neck. She was having trouble because her long hair kept falling across her hands.

  Nathan, who never tired of watching his wife, moved across the room. “Here, let me do it.”

  She lifted her hair and bowed her neck. In a moment he had the clasp fastened, but he held it away from her so she wouldn’t know he was finished. Then he bent his head and let his lips brush her skin right at the nape of the neck.

  She gave a little shudder, then giggled a little. “Mr. Steed, what are you doing?”

  He laughed and kissed the same spot again, then put his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him. “I was just smelling your cologne.”

  She turned, slipping around in his arms until she faced him. Her head tipped back so that her hair fell in a cascade of black across her shoulders. “It felt like you were doing more than just sniffing my neck.”

  “Well, you smelled so good, I thought I’d nibble a litt
le while I was there.” He kissed her on the lips, then leaned back a little, running his tongue across his lips. “Yeah, you do taste good.”

  She threw her arms around him, laid her head against his chest, and hugged him tight. For a moment he stood there, stroking her hair, loving the feel of her.

  “Don’t ever leave me again, Nathan,” she whispered, her voice suddenly husky with emotion.

  Surprised, he pulled free and lifted her chin. “Why do you say that? I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I know, but I missed you so much.” It came out in a fierce whisper, and there were sudden tears in her eyes. “I’m not good at being alone.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he looked down at her, and his eyes were amused. “Lydia, I’ve been home for almost two months now. How can you say you’ve missed me?”

  Her mouth drew down into a pout. “You’re laughing at me.”

  “Sorry.” With an elaborate gesture, he passed the back of his hand across his mouth. When his hand came away, the grin had given way to a doleful grimace.

  She fought it. He could see her struggling to hold on to her composure, but she couldn’t do it. The laugh came bursting out like a young colt out of a corral.

  “Lydia,” he reprimanded her with mock gravity, “please! This is serious.”

  She slapped his chest and tried to pull away from him. “You always do this to me. I can’t stay mad at you for even one minute.”

  He started another retort, but at that moment they heard Mother Whitmer’s voice from down below them. “Breakfast is ready.”

  He turned, craning his head. “Be there in a minute,” he called. He took Lydia’s hand. “We’d better say our prayers.”

  As he led her to the side of the small bed with its straw-filled mattress, Lydia thought of the first time they had knelt together as man and wife and how strange it had seemed to her. Being pillars in the Presbyterian church, her family had prayed daily for as long as Lydia could remember. But it wasn’t anything like this. They would gather in the parlor right after supper, sit on the couch with their hands properly clasped together, and then Josiah McBride would pray. It was typically a set prayer of some kind, spoken reverently but with formality and some stiffness.

  Lydia said her own personal prayers every day as well, but as a child she had been frightened of kneeling in the dark; so she would always sit up in bed with the covers pulled up around her, bow her head, and let the words run through her heart. She never spoke the words aloud. Somewhere as a child she had heard that if you didn’t speak out loud, the devil couldn’t know what you were praying for.

  So on that first night after they were married, when Nathan knelt down at the side of their bed she was caught completely off guard. Seeing the look on her face, he patted the spot next to him. As she knelt to join him, he spoke with great solemnity. “Lydia, I think we need to decide right here and now that we will say our prayers every night and every morning and ask God to bless our marriage and help us to live the gospel better.” She had responded instantly with enthusiasm, and she would ever love him the more for suggesting it. But the form Nathan suggested took some getting used to. Each time, one prayed aloud vocally for the two of them. Then they continued kneeling while each said a silent prayer.

  It had felt strange to Lydia at first, to speak them aloud, but now their twice-daily ritual was something she treasured. It had been a major factor in her own spiritual development. And she marvelled at that. She had come so far in six months. She knew now what Paul meant when he spoke of the “fruits of the Spirit”—love, joy, peace, gentleness, goodness, faith. She knew why the influence of the Holy Ghost was sometimes called a “prompting,” and knew the joy of following those promptings. She also understood why the Holy Ghost was called the Comforter. More than once during Nathan’s absence, when the ache of being alone, or some noise outside her room, left her frightened or in turmoil, she had prayed and felt that calm, sweet, gentle peace that only the Spirit could bring.

  “It’s your turn, Lydia.”

  She nodded, then dropped her head, squeezing his hand tightly as she closed her eyes and began to pray.

  When they were finished, Nathan stood quickly and pulled her up. As she straightened he laid a hand on her stomach, cocking his head slightly as though to listen.

  “Silly,” she laughed. “It’s too soon to feel anything. It’s not even two months yet.”

  He grinned, a little sheepishly. “Remember, you promised you’d tell me as soon as you feel life.”

  “I will,” she said. “Come on, let’s go downstairs.”

  Joseph and Emma had moved back to Fayette from Harmony the latter part of August when Emma’s father began to believe all the falsehoods being circulated about Joseph and life became unbearable for them. Nathan and Lydia had gone to Fayette along with the rest of Nathan’s family (minus Benjamin, of course) for the second general conference of the Church held near the end of September.

  It had been Lydia’s first chance, since becoming a member of the Church, to watch Joseph in action close at hand, and she came away deeply impressed. There had been problems to deal with. Hiram Page, a son-in-law to the Whitmers, had found a round stone and claimed he was getting revelation. The Saints were fascinated with the idea that the city of Zion would be built on the American continent as prophesied in the Book of Mormon. Hiram’s “revelations” revealed its future location, and the Whitmers and Oliver Cowdery accepted them as from God, even though Joseph strongly disagreed and pointed out that these revelations were in contradiction to the revelations he had already received from God, which said that the location of Zion had not yet been revealed.

  Benjamin, who heard about the controversy from his family before they left for the conference, was amused by it all and flatly predicted that Joseph would have to expel Oliver Cowdery and Hiram Page from the Church or surrender control to them. But it had not been anything like that, and Lydia began to understand why Nathan so loved and admired Joseph. Realizing the conference was coming, Joseph decided not to do any more than talk to the brethren about the situation. He also turned to the Lord in prayer and received a revelation directed to Oliver. The revelation clearly stated that Hiram Page was getting his revelations from a false source and directed Oliver to correct the situation. As the conference began, there was no animosity, no bitter recriminations. All present, including Oliver and Hiram, renounced the stone and the revelations received through it as false.

  That had opened the way for an outpouring of the Spirit like that witnessed in days of old. It had been a glorious experience for Lydia. They partook of the sacrament, confirmed and ordained many of those who had been previously baptized, and conducted numerous items of Church business. As Joseph put it near the end of the conference, “We have had much of the power of God manifested amongst us; the Holy Ghost has come upon us, and filled us with joy unspeakable; and peace, and faith, and hope, and charity have abounded in our midst.”

  “Amen,” Lydia had breathed.

  More important, Joseph had received three different revelations either just before, during, or right after the conference. And that was why she and Nathan had returned to Fayette now, less than a month later. In the revelation given to correct the Hiram Page problem there was an item of much interest to the Saints. Oliver Cowdery was told, “You shall go unto the Lamanites and preach my gospel unto them, and cause my church to be established among them.” He was also told that the city of Zion would be somewhere near the “borders by the Lamanites.” The Saints understood that to mean Indian Territory.

  Just four months previously, President Andrew Jackson had signed into law the Indian Removal Act. For decades the white settlers had clamored for the removal of the native tribes from the Eastern States to permanent Indian settlements. Now it was law, and thousands of Indians were on their way west. Pawnee, Choctaw, Cherokee, Osage, Seminole—more than a dozen tribes were destined for resettlement along the western borders of Missouri, Iowa, and Arka
nsas, which constituted the western border of the United States.

  But the call to Oliver raised some difficult questions. Indian Territory lay over a thousand miles to the west. The journey would take him through largely unsettled and uncivilized territory. Was he to undertake this arduous and dangerous trip alone? Joseph submitted the problem to the Lord, and to the joy of at least one person there, the answer came back: Oliver was to be accompanied by three others—Peter Whitmer, Jr., Ziba Peterson, and Parley P. Pratt. Parley had literally leaped into the air. His promissory notes had been fulfilled.

  Preparations for their departure had begun immediately and were now coming to fruition. The sisters around Palmyra and Fayette had undertaken to make the clothing and other items the men would need as they turned their faces west and plunged into the wilderness. Lydia, Melissa, and Mary Ann had been furiously knitting scarves and mittens, stockings and sweaters. Others were making woolen coats, shirts, and trousers. Men were cutting the leather for boots and knapsacks. Now they had all come to Fayette to complete the preparations.

  There were more than a dozen people in the kitchen when Lydia and Nathan came down the stairs. Peter Whitmer and his boys—David, John, Jacob, Christian, Peter, Jr.—were seated at the table, already eating. Next to David was Hiram Page. Joseph and Oliver had already finished and had pulled their chairs back. They were huddled together talking softly. Elizabeth Ann, the youngest of the Whitmer children, watched Oliver from the corner with unabashed admiration. Though she was not yet sixteen, there was no mistaking her interest in the handsome schoolteacher from Palmyra. Mary Whitmer—Mother Whitmer, as her family and the Saints called her—was at the large stone fireplace which took up half of the south wall, stirring a large pot of oatmeal porridge. Her oldest daughter, Catherine, wife to Hiram Page, was at the small oak table, cutting off slices of bread and handing them to Thankful Pratt, Parley’s young wife. On the other side of the fireplace, Parley stood warming his hands. He had obviously been outside helping with the chores. He still had on a coat and hat, and his cheeks were touched with pink. Emma, looking pale and drawn, sat in a chair on the opposite side of the fire, watching Joseph and Oliver talking. As Nathan and Lydia entered the room there was a chorus of good mornings and hellos.