Chapter Thirty

Usually on a Sunday morning in Kirtland, the streets were mostly quiet and deserted until about seven-thirty or eight o’clock. But such was not the case on this morning of March twenty-seventh, 1836. Saints had been streaming into Kirtland from miles around for the past two days. They came from Painesville and Chardon, Mantua, Hiram and Thompson, New Portage, Orange, Warrensville, Amherst and Ravenna. They slept with friends and relatives, put bedrolls in the backs of wagons, pitched tents, or in some cases just rolled out their bedding on the ground in whatever vacant lots were available. By dawn they began to stir and prepare for a Sabbath that would be different from any one thus far in their history.

Benjamin Steed stepped out of the doorway of his house at ten minutes before seven. He stopped and stared in amazement. The street was teeming with people, all moving northward toward the temple block and the massive building that dominated the bluffs of upper Kirtland. The sun was not quite up yet, and in the softness of the morning light, the white walls gleamed almost translucent and the great eastern tower seemed even higher than it was.

“My goodness,” Mary Ann blurted as she came out of the door, “would you look at that! And it’s not even seven o’clock yet.”

Benjamin nodded. “I knew people would start coming early.” The services were not scheduled to start until nine, but Joseph had suggested they get there well before that if they wanted seats.

Rebecca stepped outside and joined them. “Are they ready?” Benjamin asked her.

Rebecca nodded. “They’re just giving Matthew some lastminute instructions about the children. Rachel wants to go, and Jessica’s trying to explain things to her.”

Mary Ann smiled. “They’ll be fine.” Joshua, Emily, and Rachel adored their Uncle Matthew, and given the fact that he was almost sixteen, Mary Ann did not worry for a moment about his competency. Lydia’s baby was just six months old and still had to stay with his mother, so Matthew would only have the three older children to look after. Melissa and Carl were only two blocks down if there should be problems.

“Becca,” Benjamin said, “tell them we’ll go on ahead and get in line. We’ll save them a place.”

Joseph Smith and the other members of the First Presidency came outside about eight o’clock to let the people in and to begin seating them. By then the crowd was approaching a thousand in number. Clearly, if they kept coming at this rate, not everyone was going to get a seat this day.

As the Steeds neared the front door, taking their turn in line, Joseph came out again and spied them. “Well,” he said, “and here are the Steeds. Good morning, good morning.”

“Good morning, Brother Joseph.”

“Come with me. I have a place for you near the front.”

Benjamin looked up in surprise. “Are you sure, Joseph?” he said quickly. “We don’t want any special favors.”

“No special favors,” Joseph said just as quickly. “But there is a place reserved for the building committee, and the Lord knows, Benjamin, you surely did your part on the building committee.”

As they went inside, Joseph stopped for a moment in the large entryway as he saw the Steed women look up, their eyes widening. Benjamin and Nathan had both been in the temple within the last few days for meetings held on the upper floor, but the women had not. They had been inside previously to help hang the large canvas veils that hung from hidden rollers in the ceiling, but that had been before the last of the finishing work and painting had been completed.

“Oh, Joseph,” Lydia exclaimed, “this is beautiful!”

He nodded in satisfaction. “Come inside and see what you think.”

As they entered the large hall that filled the entire main floor, they stopped again, their eyes wide. “Oh!” Jessica breathed.

“It’s marvelous!” Mary Ann echoed.

The hall was wonderfully bright. Large, Gothic-arched windows let plenty of light into the room, which was huge—sixtyfive feet long by fifty-five feet wide, with high ceilings. It would have seemed cavernous except that along the full length of the north and south walls the ceilings had been lowered, leaving only the center section vaulted. A series of gracefully fluted columns supported these lowered ceilings, breaking up the expanse of the room without taking away anything from its spaciousness. Lydia’s eyes lifted to examine the delicately carved motif of interlocking circles that capped each pillar.

The room was filled with sectioned-off pews, a little lower than waist high. In each of these compartments there were backless benches, this so the congregation could face either way, depending on which end of the room was used by the person conducting. And it was to those two ends of the room that the eye was drawn and held. Here, filling the entire center sections of the east and west walls, were the pulpits of the priesthood—the west being for the Melchizedek, the east for the Aaronic. They rose in four graceful tiers from the level of the floor, so that the highest pulpit was eight or ten feet above the congregation. The lowest tier was a large table with drop-down leaves designed for use in the administration of the sacrament. Above that, each tier held three places for the presidencies of the various priesthood quorums. These tiers were flanked by other benches on both sides so that additional members of the quorum leaderships could be seated.

The workmanship was exquisite, and here the master craftsmanship of Brigham Young and those he had supervised was instantly evident. In the four corners of the hall, placed so as to face the pulpits, were additional tiers of choir seats, more simply finished but still blending in perfectly with the overall feeling of the room. Everything was painted white and gleamed in the morning light. The effect was to make the whole room airy and bright, which immediately lifted the spirits and gladdened the heart.

Rebecca said it all for them when she simply turned and said, “Oh, Joseph!”

Joseph was much pleased by their reaction. “It is a fitting house for the Lord, don’t you think?”

“Indeed,” Nathan said fervently. They were all touched with a sense of reverential awe.

Joseph led them to the pew that was four rows back from the western pulpits. “Sit here,” he suggested. “Lydia, you can take the outside; then if the baby needs nursing you can get out more easily.”

“Are you sure this is where we belong?” Mary Ann asked.

Joseph laughed and nodded. “Remember that day when I was trying to convince Benjamin to help us build the temple?”

She nodded, but Ben shook his head, somewhat embarrassed. “I remember,” he said. “I was being a little pigheaded as I recall.”

“A little?” Mary Ann said, poking at him with her elbow, but unable to keep the pride from her voice.

“Well,” continued Joseph, “that day, after you agreed to help, I vowed that I would see that you got a good seat for the dedication. Now I look back on what you’ve done, Benjamin—” Suddenly his voice caught, and he reached out and grasped Benjamin’s hand. “Thank you, my good friend. Your contribution has been enormous.”

Benjamin’s voice was suddenly husky too. “It has been the greatest joy in my life, outside of my family, Joseph. Thank you for not giving up on an old fool.”

“The Lord didn’t give up on me,” Joseph laughed. “I guess that’s where I learned my patience.”

Mary Ann reached out and touched his arm. “Thank you, Joseph. It is a great day.”

“It is a great day, friends. A day of Pentecost. The Lord is pleased with our sacrifice and shall pour out his Spirit upon us in great abundance here today.”

At precisely nine A.M., President Sidney Rigdon stood, and instantly the soft murmur of people whispering quieted. Every seat on the main floor was filled. The great doors had been pulled shut. Even with nearly a thousand people seated, the ushers had turned people away. Some had been sent to an overflow meeting at the schoolhouse to the west of the temple. Others were promised there would be a repeat session on Thursday next. Nathan looked at his father and mouthed a word of thanks. Waiting until Thursday would have been heartbreaking. It was worth the two-hour wait in order to be here.

“I would like to begin these services,” President Rigdon was saying, “by turning to the book of Psalms. I shall first read from Psalm ninety-six.”

He opened a Bible, turned the pages until he found his place, then began to read. “ ‘O sing unto the Lord a new song: sing unto the Lord, all the earth.’ ”

A thrill shot through Nathan. Yes! he thought. He felt like singing. He felt like shouting out praises to his God. He looked down. Lydia had gone out and nursed little Nathan Joseph just before the meeting had begun. Now he slept peacefully in his father’s arms. He saw Lydia smiling at him and reached out and took her hand.

“ ‘Sing unto the Lord,’” President Rigdon continued, “ ‘bless his name; shew forth his salvation from day to day.’”

Nathan smiled back at his wife and clasped her hand more tightly.

Next President Rigdon turned to Psalm twenty-four. Nathan’s head came up. This was one of his personal favorites. But as Sidney boomed out the question asked therein, it startled Nathan. He had heard it, read it a hundred times or more. He had never applied it to himself in quite the way he did on this day.

“ ‘Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord?’ “ Sidney cried, “ ‘or who shall stand in his holy place?’ “ He paused to let his eyes meet the hundreds of eyes that watched him steadily. “ ‘He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully.’ ”

Nathan winced, his mind flashing back to that night almost two years ago now, in the room above a saloon in Jackson County. He had lost his temper and deliberately goaded Joshua into a rage. Did that leave him with clean hands? And what did it mean to swear deceitfully? He had sworn to cross the river so that he could make peace with Joshua. Instead,...He looked away, his face burning with shame.

Nathan’s head came up as he realized that Sidney was through reading.

“We’ll now hear from our choir,” he was saying, “under the direction of Brother M. C. Davis. They will sing from our new hymnal prepared by Sister Emma Smith, hymn number nineteen, ‘Ere Long the Veil Will Rend in Twain,’ a hymn written by our beloved brother, Parley P. Pratt.”

Surprisingly, Jessica’s thoughts at that moment, like Nathan’s, were turned to Missouri and to Joshua Steed.

Ere long the veil will rend in twain,
The King descend with all His train;
The earth shall shake with awful fright,
And all creation feel His might.

Was that what it would take to restore the Saints to their rightful place in Zion? The Lord shaking the earth until the Missourians felt the power of his might?

Lift up your heads, ye Saints, in peace,
The Savior comes for your release;
The day of the redeemed has come;
The Saints shall all be welcomed home.

Jessica sighed inwardly, a deep sadness coming over her. What power could soften Joshua’s heart to the point where he could be welcomed home in the presence of God? She shook her head. She was not sure there was any.

The choir finished and sat down. President Rigdon stood and bowed his head. Jessica followed suit, as did the rest of the congregation.

“Our Father who art in heaven,” he began, his voice now somber and filled with awe, “hallowed be thy name.”

Suddenly Jessica stiffened. As President Rigdon continued, invoking the Lord’s blessings on the proceedings of the day, it seemed that his voice suddenly changed. Then she realized it wasn’t him. It wasn’t his voice at all. It was something inside of her. She was feeling the most peculiar sensation. It started in her chest and radiated outward rapidly, going out to the tips of her fingers, and shooting down into her feet. It was the most wonderful thing she had ever experienced. Her whole body was tingling.

She felt Mary Ann stir beside her, and cracked one eye open for a moment. Mary Ann had her hands out in front of her, staring at them. Immediately Jessica understood. Mary Ann was experiencing the same thing she was. Then she saw that Becca, on the other side of Mary Ann, was looking at the two of them, her eyes filled with wonder. She felt it too. Without a word, the three of them were suddenly holding each other’s hands. On the other side of Jessica sat Lydia, who now leaned against her. Jessica turned. Lydia was crying, tears of joy streaming down her face. With her other hand, Jessica reached out for her.

As President Rigdon continued, they sat there like that, these four Steed women, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, holding each other’s hands tightly, thrilling to the sensation that was sweeping through each of them.

Becca Steed caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and started a little. President Rigdon had closed his sermon, and stepped back for a moment. Beside her, her father was reaching into the pocket of his vest. He pulled out his watch and flipped back the cover. She stretched a little, then stared in amazement. It was nearly twelve o’clock!

She couldn’t believe it. After his invocation President Rigdon had announced another choir number. When they finished he stood to deliver his sermon. That would have been—she calculated quickly—about nine-twenty. She sat back, almost stunned. He had spoken for two and a half hours!

President Rigdon had been, at one time, a Campbellite preacher before the missionaries had come to Ohio, and he was well renowned for his oratory gifts. But if anyone had tried to tell Rebecca before this moment that she would sit for two and a half hours so mesmerized that she was barely conscious of the passage of time, she would have laughed aloud. Now she simply sat and marveled.

President Rigdon chose as his text the scripture from the eighth chapter of Matthew in which it is recorded that Jesus said, “Foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.” He developed it powerfully, showing that in spite of the many meetinghouses which were built by the various denominations to provide worship places, there was nowhere a house that the Lord could call his own.

Becca had wept as Sidney recounted the sacrifices and the hardships the Saints had experienced as they built out of their poverty this magnificent structure so that the Lord would have a house he could call his own. He also pointed out that for the most part the people of Jesus’ time had rejected him and ignored his teachings. The same was happening now. That really hit Becca hard. Had she lived in Jerusalem back then, would she have followed the Master? Would she have been one who listened? Or would she have been part of the crowd that screamed, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” Right then and there she vowed that she would make it her lifelong goal to listen to the words of Christ and accept them, no matter where they took her.

Mary Ann was also deeply stirred by President Rigdon’s message. When he stepped back she felt a pang of disappointment. How she loved to hear the gospel, especially when it was taught with such power and clarity.

President Rigdon took a sip from a glass of water, then stepped forward again. “Brothers and sisters, we will now sustain Brother Joseph Smith as our prophet and seer,” he said. “We will do this by calling upon the quorums of the priesthood to manifest their support, followed by the full congregation.”

As President Rigdon called for the quorums to stand one by one, Mary Ann’s mind jumped back to those first days in Palmyra and Fayette. She still remembered the distinct thrill of being in the home of Peter Whitmer, Sr., on the day the Church was organized. She had looked around at those assembled, and marveled. There had been about fifty there. Fifty! She turned her head as another group of priesthood brethren rose to their feet, a great sense of awe swelling inside her. Here in one room there were nearly twenty times that number, and this only represented about half of those who wanted to get in, and a tenth of the total membership of the Church. What would six more years bring? Ten? Twenty?

“The sustaining of Brother Joseph by the priesthood quorums has been unanimous in the affirmative,” Sidney was saying. “Will the congregation now signify your willingness to accept him as our prophet and seer.”

As one, the entire congregation, about a thousand people, came to their feet.

“Thank you.” President Rigdon waited until the noise of the congregation being seated again died. “Are there any who oppose this?”

His eyes swept around to watch, but no one stood. Sidney grunted his satisfaction. “Thank you. We shall now ask the congregation to join with the choir in singing another hymn by Brother Phelps, one of our leaders in Zion. It is hymn number eighteen in your hymnals, ‘Now Let Us Rejoice in the Day of Salvation.’ It will be sung to the tune of ‘Hosanna.’ After the song, we will take a twenty-minute intermission before proceeding.”

Mary Ann opened the small book and found the place. None of the hymns had music, only words. They were sung to various familiar tunes, sometimes the same hymn being sung to different music. This is why the tune had to be designated. This particular hymn was rapidly becoming a favorite among the Saints. It was definitely one of Mary Ann’s favorites. And as the choir director raised his arms, then led out, she could not follow. Her eyes suddenly blurred as she read the first two lines. “Now let us rejoice in the day of salvation, no longer as strangers on earth need we roam.”

She turned and glanced at Jessica and Nathan and Lydia. Oh, yes! she thought. Now let us rejoice! Here she stood, in Kirtland, in the temple of God, with her family around her.

Not that everything was perfectly in order. Her rejoicing was always tempered with a touch of sorrow. Mostly that sorrow came for Joshua. He was far away, in every sense of the word. She had been shocked into numbness when Nathan finally told her what had happened that night in Jackson County. He had not asked her to stop praying for Joshua, as he had threatened. In fact he begged her to continue. She did, of course. How could she not? She and Nathan had written a letter to Joshua over a month ago. But she was without hope, for whenever she closed her eyes in prayer for Joshua, the image of Nathan’s scarred flesh came back to her, and she knew that something down deep inside Joshua had died. But she had Jessica and Rachel. That meant a lot.

Melissa was another source of concern. Carl, who had been so patient, so accepting when first they were married, was becoming difficult about the Church. At first it had just been quiet resentment at Melissa’s being gone, but in the last few months he had started to openly oppose her involvement. When Melissa requested permission to accompany the family to the temple dedication, Carl had flatly refused. They were going to his parents’ church services this Sabbath. They had already promised. Normally Melissa did not push these things, but the dedication meant a great deal to her. Carl did not bend, not even to her tears and pleading. More and more, Melissa was simply letting her activities slip; it was easier that way. But it was not a good sign, and Mary Ann worried about the situation each day.

She turned her head and looked the other way. Here was Becca—sweet, lovely Rebecca, all that a mother could hope for. Mary Ann’s eyes lifted to her husband now. His head was back proudly, and he was singing with all the fervor of his soul. Her tears overflowed now. She had once nearly given up hope on this man, convinced that he had no spiritual inclinations. She had once cried in despair, because he refused to let her have her own copy of the Book of Mormon. Now he led out with the children each day in the reading of it.

Now let us rejoice! Mary Ann Steed threw back her head and sang, lifting her voice to join with the others in praise to God, unashamed now of the tears that stained her cheeks.

Following the intermission, Joseph stood up and took over the role of conducting the meeting. He gave a short address of exhortation, then led the quorums and the congregation in the sustaining of the various officers and quorums of the Church, beginning with the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve, all of whom were sustained as prophets, seers, and revelators.

As he continued, moving through the quorums, having the people sustain the presidencies of each, Benjamin watched the men who were being named. Here were some of the great men of the kingdom, he thought. In addition to Joseph and Sidney, there was Joseph’s father, Joseph Smith, Sr., and the Prophet’s brother Hyrum. Oliver Cowdery, David and John Whitmer, William Phelps, Frederick G. Williams, Edward Partridge, Newel K. Whitney.

On one side of the Melchizedek Priesthood pulpits sat the members of the Quorum of the Twelve. Here too there was much that impressed Benjamin. Thomas B. Marsh, David Patten, Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, Parley Pratt, Orson Hyde, two of John Johnson’s sons. Everywhere he looked, the leaders the Lord had chosen surrounded him.

As Joseph finished and they sang another hymn, Benjamin felt himself overcome by a strange melancholy. The words of the hymn, by Isaac Watts, spoke of Zion being a thrice happy place and of the gospel’s “joyful sound,” but it did not stir him. The sense of sadness settled in with all the more power.

When Joseph stood to read the prayer of dedication, Benjamin thought that would help. The previous evening, Benjamin had seen Sidney Rigdon and he had told Benjamin that earlier that day Joseph had received the dedicatory prayer by revelation. Benjamin had come specifically anticipating hearing it.

And it was a wonderful prayer, stirring and memorable. Joseph expressed deep gratitude for God’s goodness to his people and asked that he would now accept the temple. He noted that the Saints had built it through great tribulation, so that the Savior could have a place where he might manifest himself unto the people. He prayed that the blessings previously promised might be poured out, now that the Saints had fulfilled the Lord’s commands. He prayed that Church leaders, members, and the leaders of nations would all be blessed and that the promises about the gathering of scattered Israel might now come to pass. He prayed that, as the people entered this sacred house, all of their incomings and all of their outgoings might be in the name of the Lord, that it might be kept holy.

It was a wonderful, inspired and inspiring prayer, but it did little to lift the cloud that had settled in upon Benjamin Steed. When Joseph said amen and the congregation echoed it, Benjamin hardly lifted his head.

“My brothers and sisters,” Joseph said, “the choir shall now sing a hymn written specifically for this occasion by our own Brother William Phelps. It is found in your hymnals, number ninety, if you wish to follow the words.”

Next to Benjamin, Becca opened their hymnal and found the page. Brother Davis, the choir director, stepped forward and raised his arms. The organ began the first strains. Benjamin looked away as the director gave the singers the downbeat and they began to sing.

The Spirit of God like a fire is burning!
The latter-day glory begins to come forth.

Benjamin’s head came up sharply. When they had entered the temple that morning, Joseph had said it was a day of Pentecost. Benjamin had heard Joseph say something similar earlier; he had referred to the marvelous events of the previous two months as a Pentecostal season. Benjamin had been so struck by the term, he had talked to Mary Ann about it. She reminded him that it came from the Bible, in the book of Acts. That night, while the others in the house slept, he had looked up the story and read it through twice.

Now the images he read about leaped into his mind. It was after the Resurrection. The Savior had ascended to heaven in glory. A few days later, the disciples were gathered to observe the feast of Pentecost, so named because it was the fiftieth day after Passover. Jews from more than a dozen nations had gathered to Jerusalem for the festival season. Suddenly in the place where the Twelve met there was the sound of a mighty rushing wind. Tongues of fire appeared over the head of each Apostle and they began to speak in tongues.

Benjamin’s eyebrows lifted suddenly. Tongues of fire? His eyes swung down to the hymnal. The Spirit of God like a fire is burning.

The room shook with the power of the song as the members of the choir sang in perfect harmony both of voice and of spirit.

The visions and blessings of old are returning,
The angels are coming to visit the earth.

That was it! That was what lay so heavily upon him now. It had been a Pentecostal season of remarkable proportions. For the past two months or more, Kirtland had been ablaze with it. Visions and blessings and angels. The Saints had seen them all.

In the book of Acts, the Apostles had spoken in tongues. Rome, Parthia, Crete, Media—it mattered not from whence the Jewish pilgrims had come; they heard the gospel preached in their own tongues, and they had marveled. In the past two months, Benjamin had seen a similar “feast of Pentecost.”

It began in mid-January as Joseph began to administer the ordinances of the “endowment” as far as they had been revealed at that time. As a member of the quorum of elders and also a part of the building committee, Benjamin had been invited to be in attendance in the temple for one of the meetings. After several ordinances were performed, a remarkable thing happened. Joseph suddenly cried out. “The heavens are opened to my view.” His face seemed to radiate as Benjamin watched him in awe. Even as he looked on the vision, Joseph told the others what he saw. Gates of encircling fire, streets paved with gold, the blazing throne of God. To his amazement, he also saw his brother Alvin there. Alvin had died before the Church was restored, so it surprised Joseph to see him in God’s kingdom. “All who have died without a knowledge of this gospel,” the Lord explained, “who would have received it if they had been permitted to tarry, shall be heirs of the celestial kingdom of God.”

Following that remarkable experience, the power of the Spirit burst upon the whole group. Some cried out that visions were opened to their view. Others testified that angels ministered to them. Some even said they saw the face of the Savior as they communed with the heavenly hosts.

And now Benjamin understood his own sense of melancholy. That night in the temple, Benjamin had thrilled to it all, believed every man who testified, but he personally saw nothing. And over the following weeks, when men spoke in tongues and others interpreted for them, when they were moved to prophesy or had the visions of eternity opened to their view, he was always an observer, but nothing more.

The choir had come to the chorus of the hymn and, if anything, sang with even greater fervor than before. Benjamin followed the words intently as they sang.

We’ll sing and we’ll shout with the armies of heaven— Hosanna, hosanna to God and the Lamb!

It nearly shook the rafters as the Saints in the choir thundered out their hosannas.

Let glory to them in the highest be given,
Henceforth and forever: amen and amen!

Now he understood. His eyes ran from man to man, from leader to leader. These were the stalwarts of the faith. One only had to glance from face to face to know of great sacrifice, great commitment. As a member of the building committee, Benjamin had been in a unique position to know just what this building represented, how many tears had wet the stone walls, how much heart was represented by every course of masonry.

In front of him, directly to one side of the western pulpits, stood Brigham Young. A year ago, Benjamin had been at a neighbor’s house and witnessed a scene he would never forget. Brigham Young had come, hat in hand, to ask for a loan of money. He was destitute and his family was starving. The weather had been well below freezing, but Benjamin had watched the sweat roll off Brigham’s face as he had to face the humiliation of asking another man for a handout.

Directly behind the Steeds sat Noah Packard and his wife. Baptized by Parley Pratt in 1832, the Packards sold their farm and came to Kirtland. Though it left them impoverished, Noah cheerfully donated more than a thousand dollars to the temple fund. Across the aisle was Oliver B. Huntington. He had been a wealthy farmer back in upstate New York when Joseph had visited there in ‘35. Joseph asked the Huntingtons to sell their farm and come to Kirtland as quickly as possible. Huntington obeyed, taking a loss of fifteen hundred dollars in order to sell the farm quickly. Further setbacks awaited him in Kirtland. An unscrupulous member of the Church, who later apostatized, cheated Huntington on a mortgage. In a matter of six months Huntington went from comfortable affluence to abject poverty. Just two months ago Benjamin had sent food over to the Huntingtons’ house after learning that for the past month they had had nothing but beech leaves, string beans, and an occasional scanty portion of corn bread. Yet day after day Oliver Huntington had been at the temple site, laboring cheerfully in the service of God. Not once had Benjamin ever heard a murmur of complaint from him. Not once had he ever heard him criticize the Prophet for calling him to come to Kirtland.

There were dozens of similar cases. Benjamin shook his head. No wonder they had had a Pentecostal season! And no wonder that he had not. What had he done? Fought Joseph Smith bitterly. Forbidden his family to read the Book of Mormon. True, he had finally come around, he had finally put all that behind him, but it had taken so long. And what had he sacrificed? He was prospering. Everything he seemed to set his hand to blossomed. He and his family had not gone without food. They were in a comfortable home.

How blessed the day when the lamb and the lion
Shall lie down together without any ire,
And Ephraim be crowned with his blessing in Zion,
As Jesus descends with His chariots of fire!

Benjamin dropped his head, feeling a great shame. Now he understood why on this great day of Pentecost he felt nothing but sorrow.

“Benjamin, my son.”

Benjamin’s head snapped up.

“Listen to my words, my son. Be still and know that I am God.”

Later he would conclude that he didn’t hear the voice as much as he felt it. It came inside his mind, but the effect was to permeate every fibre of his being to the point that he felt as if his whole body were on fire.

“Your sacrifice is acceptable unto me. I am well pleased with your desires and with your labors on my house. Murmur not about those things which you have not yet seen. Ye are not able to abide the presence of God now, neither the ministering of angels; wherefore, continue in patience until ye are perfected.”

The rest of the dedicatory service was mostly a blur in Benjamin Steed’s mind. After the choir finished singing “The Spirit of God Like a Fire Is Burning,” the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper was administered to all present. Oliver Cowdery spoke. Frederick G. Williams rose and testified that while Sidney Rigdon was offering the invocation earlier, he had seen a being enter through the window and take a seat between him and Father Smith. Joseph later explained that it was the Apostle Peter. David Whitmer testified that he also had seen heavenly beings. President Rigdon arose and led them in the Hosanna Shout, a shout that nearly lifted the roof right off the temple. Brigham Young spoke in tongues, David Patten interpreted.

He was vaguely aware of it all, but for Benjamin Steed one thing burned all the others into insignificance, and that was the words, “My son, your sacrifice is acceptable unto me.”

Lydia stepped back into the kitchen area of her mother-in-law’s house.

Mary Ann looked up. “Is he asleep?”

“Yes, thank goodness.”

“It’s been a long day, but he was so good in the temple.”

“I know, it was wonderful.” Lydia suddenly stopped, the emotion rising unbidden. “When I think—” She swallowed, then tried again. “When I think about possibly not being there, I can hardly stand it. If we were still in Palmyra...” She couldn’t finish. Mary Ann patted the chair next to her and Lydia came over, sat beside her, and took her hand.

Jessica sat on a chair in the corner, knitting a shawl for Rachel. She nodded, her own eyes suddenly misty. “And I could have stayed in Missouri,” she whispered.

“All right, now,” Melissa said, coming in from the parlor where she had been changing little David, “don’t make this any harder on me than it already is.”

“I’m sorry, Melissa,” Lydia said. “I know how badly you wanted to be there.”

Mary Ann decided to change the subject. “Do you think the brethren will have anything like that happen tonight?”

They all contemplated that for a minute. Joseph had reconvened priesthood holders for another service. Nathan and Benjamin had left just a few minutes earlier to be in attendance for the evening’s meeting.

They all jumped as the front door to the house exploded inward, slamming against the wall. “Mama, Mama!” Little Emily burst into the kitchen with Joshua hard on her heels.

Lydia jumped up in alarm. “What is it?”

“They’re meeting on the temple!” Emily blurted. “Come see.”

“They’re what?” the women all said at once.

“It’s true, Mama,” Joshua gasped. “Quick, come and see.”

In a moment they all rushed through the house and out of the front door. Mary Ann stopped and gaped in amazement. It was true. There were people on the top of the temple, walking back and forth. Though it was late afternoon, it was still full daylight, and while they were nearly two blocks away, they could see the people clearly. Then, even as she watched, Mary Ann felt a shiver shoot up her spine. The people on the temple had disappeared. In an instant they were back again, walking and conversing. Then again they disappeared.

“Who are those men?” Melissa asked. “That’s dangerous up there.”

Lydia was staring, one hand to her mouth. She had seen what Mary Ann had seen. “They’re not men,” she whispered breathlessly.

Melissa jerked around as though she had been yanked with a rope. It was true. The figures on top of the temple could be seen clearly. They were dressed in white, with robes that came down to the ankles. And they disappeared, then reappeared.

At that moment, Matthew came tearing around from the back of the house, Rachel and young Carl in tow. He pulled up short at the sight of the women. “Listen, Mother!”

Mary Ann looked at him in surprise, but in obedience to the urgency in his voice, cocked her head. The others did the same.

“What is it?” Emily cried in alarm, moving closer to her mother.

“Listen!”

They all heard it together. At first it sounded like the beginnings of a breeze sighing in the trees, but it swelled rapidly in volume. Mary Ann stared upwards at the treetops around them. Nothing there stirred, and the sound was not really coming from above. She turned her head. It was coming from the direction of the temple.

Across the street, their neighbor Sister Carlson came dashing out. She looked up, then when she also saw nothing she ran over to them. “What is it!” She had to shout to make herself heard.

Jessica cupped her hands, instinctively bracing herself against the wind that was not there. “We don’t know,” she yelled.

All up and down the street now, people were coming out of their houses, staring up into the sky.

Suddenly Mary Ann started. “I know,” she cried.

They all swung around to stare at her. “In the book of Acts. Remember? On the day of Pentecost?”

Jessica’s eyes widened. Lydia nodded, understanding. Melissa still looked puzzled, so Mary Ann leaned closer toward her. “The Bible says that when the tongues of fire appeared, there was a sound like the sound of a mighty rushing wind which filled the house.”

They stood there for a moment in awe, no one moving as the sound finally began to die gradually. Mary Ann turned toward the temple. The roof line was clear now. The figures were gone. She felt a pang of disappointment. But then, just as she was about to turn back, her eyes looked again. The temple seemed to be glowing more brightly.

“Look,” Matthew cried out beside her. Then she knew her eyes were not deceiving her.

Melissa unconsciously pulled David closer to her.

“What is it?” little Joshua whispered.

No one answered. A shaft of light, like a mighty pillar of fire, enveloped the entire building now, and the temple glowed as though the very walls were made of light.

“What is it?” Lydia whispered, echoing her son.

Mary Ann slowly turned. “Our sacrifice is accepted,” she said slowly. “God has accepted his house.”

Approximately four hundred brethren had gathered back in the temple for a special priesthood session called by Brother Joseph. This time Joseph was conducting the meeting. It started out normally enough. After a hymn and prayer, Joseph told those assembled that on the upcoming Wednesday those present would participate in the sacred ordinance of the washing of feet. He cited from the scriptural account of when the Savior performed the ordinance for the eleven Apostles in the Upper Room in Jerusalem, then instructed them as to how the ordinance was to be performed. Nathan was very much sobered by the time Joseph finished. This would be a sacred and holy experience indeed.

But then Joseph’s demeanor changed. Now he was speaking to them on the subject of the spirit of prophecy. He indicated that it was one of the gifts of the Spirit, and that as members of the Church and righteous priesthood holders, it was their right and privilege to exercise that gift.

Nathan glanced out of the corner of his eye at his father. Benjamin was leaning forward, totally enraptured with what Joseph was saying. Joseph had paused now. Every eye was on him. No one so much as stirred.

“Brethren,” Joseph said quietly, “I now call upon the congregation to speak. The spirit of prophecy belongs to you, so do not fear to prophesy good for the Saints. If you prophesy the falling of these hills and the rising of these valleys, if you prophesy the downfall of the enemies of Zion and the rising of the kingdom of God, it shall come to pass.”

His eyes swept over the assembly, seeming to catch each man’s eye and to hold it for a moment, though in actuality it was done in one moment. “Brethren, I tell you, the first one who rises to his feet and opens his mouth shall prophesy.”

For a moment the group was stunned. They glanced around at each other, and the air was filled with a sudden tension. Then, two rows in front of where Nathan sat, eighteen-year-old George A. Smith, cousin to the Prophet Joseph, stood up. He opened his mouth and began to speak, and Nathan gaped at him. Nathan had traveled for three months with this young man on Zion’s Camp. He had seen him wince with pain when his feet were so badly blistered that they left his boots wet with blood. He had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him on a bluff overlooking the Fishing River and seen him tremble with fear. But now, George A. Smith threw his shoulders back and spoke with the roar of a lion.

Barely had he begun when another sound began to fill the temple. It was a pleasant day outside, and so the windows on both sides of the temple were open to the evening air. At first Nathan thought the wind had started to blow outside, but as he looked out he saw that it was not so. The leaves on the trees outside were limp and still. The sound rose rapidly in volume. It filled the great hall in which they met, like some roaring hurricane that drowned out all sounds but its own.

Without realizing it, Nathan was on his feet. So was every man in the room. Their heads turned this way and that, looking up toward the ceiling to ascertain the source of the mighty roaring. Nathan felt a hand grip his shoulder. He turned. His father was staring at him, eyes wide with amazement and wonder. And then Benjamin began to speak. At least his mouth started to move, and sounds came out, but it took a moment before Nathan realized that it was unintelligible, a babble of sounds and words that made absolutely no sense to him at all.

Then suddenly he jerked forward, his eyes glued on his father’s mouth. It was the gift of tongues! His father was speaking in tongues! Nathan felt a jolt shoot through him. It hit him with such force that he groped wildly for the edge of the pew to stop his knees from buckling.

“The temple is filled with angels!”

The cry brought Nathan around to look up at the pulpits. It was Joseph who had shouted out. He was pointing out across the assembly room. Chills and a wild tingling were coursing all up and down the entire length of Nathan’s body now. But when he turned to scan the hall, he saw nothing. There was a sharp pang of disappointment. Then suddenly he was aware of another sensation. He felt them! His head came up sharply and he looked around again, focusing inwardly now. It was as if he had suddenly acquired another sense—not seeing, not hearing, but...He groped for the right word. Knowing! That was it. He knew, as surely as if he saw them, that there were other beings present with them in the room. Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes. He knew! He knew!

The assembly room was now filled with a roar of a different kind. All around him men were talking or calling out excitedly. Some pointed at the air in front of them, crying out that visions were opened to their view. Others evidently were allowed to see the heavenly beings. Some spoke in tongues, many were prophesying.

Nathan whirled back around to his father. Benjamin had stopped speaking now, but his face still glowed with a radiant power, as though inside there was some unseen fire. Nathan reached out and took him by the shoulders and shook him. “Pa,” he cried, “you spoke in tongues.”

For several moments, Benjamin just stared at him, then suddenly one great racking sob shook his body. “I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

It was eleven P.M. when father and son came out of the east doors of the Kirtland Temple and turned south toward their homes. They were still overwhelmed. And drained! Benjamin could not remember a time when he felt more exhausted. When they came to the gate in front of Benjamin’s home, he stopped for a moment. He turned back, and Nathan did the same. For almost a minute they gazed at the great dark silhouette of the building to the north of them.

“We’ll sing and we’ll shout with the armies of heaven.” Earlier that day he had faltered when the choir had begun to sing that chorus from William Phelps’s dedicatory hymn. He had felt nothing but sorrow and envy then, and had lowered his eyes, not wanting anyone to see his shame. “The Spirit of God like a fire is burning,” the hymn began. This afternoon he had known that to be true, but only for others.

Now all of that was changed. Now he understood.

Benjamin turned to his son. His mouth opened, then shut again—a great lump in his throat suddenly cut him off. It was all right, though. Words could not possibly say what he was feeling. Instead, he held open his arms. Nathan’s eyes widened in surprise. Then, in an instant, he stepped into Benjamin’s encircling embrace.

For a long time, father and son stood there, not far from the shadow of the temple, holding one another, and silently rejoicing.

Dedication of the Kirtland Temple