Christ in America

There was one part in the Manti Pageant I felt drawn to be a part of. During the scenes of Christ in America, a few were assigned to come forward and touch the Saviours hands. I wanted to be one of them.

As I considered how I would feel when that time will eventually come, it brought to remembrance a discussion that took place many years ago, in youth Sunday School. The discussion was around the question of; how would we each greet Jesus if he were to appear at church today?

The one response that made me think the most was, that they would hug him like a brother, freely and familiar, because Christ wouldn’t want us to feel uncomfortable. Whilst I agreed that Christ wanted us to feel welcome in his presence, I found the complete lack of awe in such a response, a hug, decidedly disappointing. Would this really be our natural response to being in the presence of the One Being who above all others embodies supreme Holiness?

Christ holds many titles and roles in our lives. Recongising only one, or a few can mean missing significant other blessings that bring us closer to him. For example, remembering Christ as my brother makes Him approachable. Thinking of Him as our Judge, distances us from Him. Both are valuable and needed, to deny either one is to not fully embrace all the love He offers.

The scriptures clearly state that when He comes a second time there will be those who will rejoice and that there will be those who will want the mountains and rocks to fall on them that they might hide from what they perceive to be His wrath. (Rev 6:15-17) One group of people will feel joy and triumph. Others will feel His anger.

Consider how we might sometimes feel in the presence of someone who is incredibly more beautiful than us. Often, there are those who suddenly feel themselves less attractive, even ugly, when before they had not thought so. Some might be inspired to do better at presenting themselves more beautifully, whilst others feel threatened and shrink away. They chose to associate themselves with people who look like themselves, who are unthreatening. A similar response might be had when confronted with highly intelligent people. We are suddenly faced with our ignorance. Many times we just completely lack the ability to rise to a higher level and we remain excluded.

Imagine then, being in the presence of One whose defining quality is complete goodness. Someone who has never put a foot wrong and is filled with the most incredible intense love. A being who has experienced extreme torture and pain on your behalf and feels no bitterness towards you for it. Someone whose name you, and others around you, had used as a cuss word. Had ignored. Now, suddenly there this man is before you.

No matter how cavalier society has become in the use of His name and the study and understanding of His identity, when we come face to face with such goodness, such forgiveness and loving kindness in the face of so much hate, we shall all want to shrink. Before Him none are good. We shall experience discomfort, guilt and shame.

All the bad, miserable little traits of which we were only half aware or stubbornly justified, will suddenly be thrown into stark contrast with the depth of His character, His love and His wholeness. How pitiful we will feel.

But then He will say, as He did then,

“Come, feel the prints of the nails in my hands and in my feet.”

An offer of such intimate friendship. He says, in effect,

“Feel the scars that were made because of your sins, your badness. These are the tokens of the price that was paid, for you to be free from this guilt, free from these feelings of inadequacy, of the need to justify yourself and free from fear of not being loved.”

To touch the Saviours hands, to touch those scars, the symbol of the price He paid for me, I would not hug him. I would do as those Nephites of old did, kiss his feet and shout Hosanna!

It is amazing to me that the One being in whose presence we shall feel most insignificant, will raise us up to understand our truest, grandest, most eternal worth.

I am sorry, but a hug would not suffice.

Whilst these were the kind of thoughts that my own mind thought through each night we portrayed Christ’s visit to America it was clear that not all participants had the same feelings. It is a hard thing to keep something fresh and real when it is repeated so many times.

Noticing those who lost focus, got distracted or just put in a half hearted effort into their part made me wonder. What is the problem here? Why aren’t they feeling it?

The spirit whispered to me the answer.

They do not believe that their role, in a huge crowd of others, is important or significant. They do not believe that what they do matters. They under value themselves.

At the closing testimony meeting on the Sunday after the last performance this is what I spoke of. . I testified that every person mattered, that their spirit always contributes to a great whole, either bringing it higher or keeping it low. It’s a principle to remember for life, not just for pageants.

Manti Pageant in Picture

New England

James 1 v 5

First Vision, Angel Moroni

Translation

The Book of Mormon

Samuel the Lamanite

Christ in America

Mormon and Moroni

Pioneer Scenes

Robert dies, Mary comes to bring him home. Angels pronounce the truth, death is not the end!

... because a boy of fourteen went into the woods to pray.

Pageant!

I entered the Chapel alone. Immediately in front of me was the empty end of the back pew. At the other end a small group of young women were chattering, I asked them if the seat were taken. They shook their heads and then went back to their giggling, happy conversation. The room was crammed, the noise of friendships and comfortable associations reminding me of home, of being one amongst such a crowd. But in this moment I was a single, lone entity, completely unknown and unattached, sitting on the end of a pew, unnoticed.

The friendliest face in this large crowd was the one who stood up to begin the meeting. President Doug Barton, pageant President and the one who had brought me down from Salt Lake City. He has the kind of smile that glows like all year Christmas. He had brought me to his home where he and his wife, Mary Ann, had introduced me to all his family, eight children, four of whom were married and three of whom had children. It was quite a crowd, all of whom were interested to know why I had come, how long I was staying and what I thought of America so far. Now that happy welcome was set aside, I arrived on my own, sidling into a noisy crowd, unseen.

Abruptly, that status changed. A part of the way through the meeting President Barton mentioned some of the things special to this pageant, starting with the oldest participant, who is eighty something. He then mentioned the furthest travelled participant, me. He asked me to stand so that everyone knew me, and in that very short moment the whole throng of people knew me, turned to stare at me, standing at the end of my pew. Ice had been very firmly broken. From then on people would come up to remark on my accent, and a conversation could begin, and in some cases, a friendship soon after.

The first week of Pageant involved evening rehearsals at the local Stake Centre where we walked through our entrances and exits, our positions and postures. During the first week I became acquainted with the local town, its library, few shops and the Barton Family. I found myself cheering for the Mavericks with Brad some evenings and climbing the lighting towers to install lights for the pageant. I learnt to drive on the right hand side of the road on a golf cart, which was a lot easier than I had thought it would be.

I slowly put together the significance of roles such as Angels and Warriors, Harvesters and New Englanders and the structure and story that the Pageant told became clear. It was acted out to a recording that had been made about 40 years before and was narrated in the style of an old Charlton Heston type movie. It began thus...

"“A singular event can set in motion a chain of events that covers years, even centuries and effects the lives of millions of people. Such an event occurred in 1820 when a boy of fourteen went into the woods to pray.

Tonight you will see a story unfold that is based upon one such event. It is not a story that can be told dispassionately, for it is a true story, coloured by the hues of heroic drama; by the violence of life and death, by sublime faith; deep and moving tragdies; by curse, prayer, temple and tomahawk, for this is the story of the Mormon Miracle!”

The trumpets sound for the first scene, confusion in New England over the subject of religion. The scenes of Joseph's vision are simple and beautiful. My favourite scenes were the Book of Mormon scenes which begin with Moroni appearing on the top of the Manti Temple, trumpet in hand, quite a spectacular sight. Christ in America was always going to be the most powerful and I found much to contemplate being in those scenes. Joseph Smiths martyrdom is always moving and then the death of the main characters who illustrate the truth of life beyond death as, dressed in white they ascend the steps to 'heaven' as angels appear on the hillside to welcome them home. It is a wonderful, moving finale.

One particular family of friends I made that first week was the Cutler Family from Colorado. Alison, the mum, Hannah, thirteen years old and John 11 years old. Together we spent one particularly memorable afternoon at the pioneer house/museum, putting ourselves back in time and imagining what it must have been like to live all those many years ago, fearing attacks by Indians and diseases that killed so quickly and easily.

Pioneer houses stood at the corner of each block of the town, some of them still used, sometimes clad over or extended on. Others looking partially or completely abandoned. Discarded farming machinery was easily found in peoples gardens, used as decoration, or left lying wherever it had last been used.

When dress rehearsals for the pageant began, it seemed as thought the very ghosts of these pioneers had suddenly come alive. They walked again on Temple Hill, dressed in bonnets and coats. As the pageant recounted trials and persecutions those early saints I was able to look at the town which they had founded and realised that I was looking at the fruits of their sacrifices… their children, living in peace and remembering their ancestors in dramatic representation. Hearts of the fathers and children, each turning to the other in an eternal circle of love and belonging. It felt significant too that 600 of these 950 participants were under the age of eighteen, youth learning of the legacy of their great grandparents.

It was seeing the power of this remembering in particular that made me think of the legacy which we have in England, of the early apostles preaching here, the children of those Utah pioneers who continue to return to England, to share the gospel, as missionaries.

I know that most of these youth were not thinking of this, the pageant linking them closely to past generations in a spirit of love and unity, but I could feel it nonetheless. When I spoke to those who were older, I discovered that they knew it, felt it too. They were that previous generation of participating youth who now acknowledged the power of the legacy they held. Thinking of the English Mormon history it made me think and begin to hunger… I want to see a Pageant in England!