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!