LOVE YOUR ENEMIES

(Matt. 5:43)

43 ¶ Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy.
44 But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate
you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;

(Luke 6:26)

26 Woe unto you, when all men shall speak well of you! for so did their fathers to the false
prophets.
27 ¶ But I say unto you which hear, Love your enemies, do good to them which hate you,
28 Bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use you.
29 And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other; and him that taketh
away thy cloke forbid not to take thy coat also.
(In The Lord's Service, p. 157)

7. Pray for your enemies. Christ said to the Nephites, "Love your enemies, bless them
that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them who despitefully use you and
persecute you" (3 Nephi 12:44; see also Matthew 5:44; 3 Nephi 12:10-12). While on the cross,
the Savior pleaded, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do" (Luke 23:34). Many
people are kept from the truth—not because they don't want it, but because they know not where
to find it (see D&C 123:12).

(This Nation Shall Endure, p. 64 - 65)

"Thou shalt not kill." (Exodus 20:13.) We still frown on murder, but need we be
reminded in what small esteem life is now held? Men are to live, else they could not work out
their destiny. This mandate was given to Israel and to each child thereof. It is the command not
to commit the sin of Cain. It is binding upon every one of God's children. It speaks to them as
individuals; it commands them as associated together in nations. It covers the single case of
another Abel; it embraces the mass slaughter of war. It is the law higher than the law of
punishment: "Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot." (Exodus 21:24.) It
forecast the Master's law of love and forgiveness: "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you,
do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you."
(Matthew 5:44.)

(TO REACH EVEN UNTO YOU, p. 9)

Now some who have detoured from the road to peace and happiness have done so
through transgression. With all my heart I urge you to immediately see your bishop and clear up
any problem, that you may again enjoy a quiet and a peaceful conscience.
May I suggest even a further distillation or refinement of the elusive and endless quest of
being able to live happily every hour, every day of every month, and every year of our lives: The
golden pathway that is the most certain and direct route to that happiness which would enrich
and bless your life and the lives of others who cross your pathway is your ability to love. It is
selfless giving of love, the kind of love that has concern and interest and some measure of charity
for every living soul. It will require that you show love even for your enemies and seek to give a
benediction to them that curse you. "Do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which
despitefully use you." (Matthew 5:44.) In so doing you will enjoy the love of God himself and be
able to soar above the ill winds that blow, above the sordid, above the self-defeating and the
bitter. You have the promise that "your whole bodies shall be filled with light, and there shall be
no darkness in you; and that body which is filled with light comprehendeth all things." (D&C
88:67.)
(TO REACH EVEN UNTO YOU, p. 113)

I recalled how, as a boy, I had been taught by my mother the words of the Savior, as
recorded by Matthew, that tell us that true Christians are supposed to pray for those who
despitefully use them. (Matthew 5:44.) I certainly felt that I had been despitefully used. I
happened to be serving as a bishop in the Church at that time, and I chastised myself because I
was something less of a Christian than I ought to be. I had not first considered the direction of
the Master. At an appropriate place and time, I went to my knees and uttered a simple but sincere
prayer for the well-being of this man in Texas. I am ashamed to say that this was the first time in
my life when the sole and only purpose of a prayer was in the interest of one who, in my opinion,
had not done well by me. The prayer seemed to have been almost instantaneously heard and
brought dramatic results. In the time that it takes for an airmail letter to come from Texas, there
arrived a communication from this man, containing the promised money. In the letter was an
explanation that he had been seriously ill, had been in the hospital, and had had to close his
office, but now was doing better. He asked our pardon and apologized for the inconvenience that
this caused.

I relate this experience without apology to anyone who might think that I was weak, inadequate,
or foolish for having humbly sought to follow a commandment of the Savior for a solution to a
practical problem. The Price of Discipleship discipleship is obedience. In many languages, the
word disciple comes from the word discipline. Self-discipline and self-control are consistent and
permanent characteristics of the followers of Jesus.

The disciples of Christ receive a call not only to forsake the pursuit of worldly things, but also to
carry the cross. To carry the cross means to follow his commandments and to build up his church
upon the earth. "If any man will come after me," said Jesus of Nazareth, "let him deny himself,
and take up his cross daily, and follow me." (Luke 9:23.) "And whosoever doth not bear his
cross, and come after me, cannot be my disciple." (Luke 14:27.)

(HOWEVER LONG AND HARD THE ROAD, p. 82)

We learn that there is great power in the united faith of the priesthood. It was not only the
elder Alma who prayed when his son was laid helpless and insensible before him, but also the
priests and, we might assume, other faithful friends and neighbors. With the support of more
private prayers, the priesthood assembled and "began to fast, and to pray to the Lord their God
that he would open the mouth of Alma, that he might speak, and also that his limbs might receive
their strength—that the eyes of the people might be opened to see and know of the goodness and
glory of God." (Mosiah 27:22.)
 Here is a majestic example of Christlike love. No one in this group seemed delighted that
devastating recompense had finally come. No one here seemed pleased to imagine the torment of
this young spirit. Yet this was the young man who had despised their faith, harmed their lives,
and attempted to destroy the very church of God, which they held dearer than life itself. But their
response was the response of the Master: "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do
good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you."
(Matthew 5:44. Italics added.) These saints were wise enough to know that they and every other
human soul are wholly dependent on the merciful gift of God's forgiveness, "for all have sinned,
and come short of the glory of God." (Romans 3:23.) What we all need, we cannot in good
conscience or integrity deny another. So they prayed for him who had despitefully used them.
We learn that repentance is a very painful process. By his own admission Alma said he
wandered "through much tribulation, repenting nigh unto death," that he was consumed with an
"everlasting burning. . . . I was in the darkest abyss," he said. "My soul was racked with eternal
torment." (Mosiah 27:28-29.)
"My soul was harrowed up to the greatest degree and racked with all my sins. . . . I was
tormented with the pains of hell. . . . The very thought of coming into the presence of my God
did rack my soul with inexpressible horror." Then this most appalling cry: "Oh, thought I, that I
could be banished and become extinct both soul and body, that I might not be brought to stand in
the presence of my God, to be judged of my deeds." (Alma 36:12-15.)
For three seemingly endless days and nights he was torn "with the pains of a damned
soul" (Alma 36:16), pain so real that he was physically incapacitated and spiritually terrorized by
what appeared to be his ultimate fate. No one should think that the gift of forgiveness is fully
realized without significant effort on the part of the forgiven. No one should be foolish enough to
sin willingly or wantonly, thinking forgiveness is easily available.
Repentance of necessity involves suffering and sorrow. Anyone who thinks otherwise has
not read the life of the young Alma, nor tried personally to repent. In the process of repentance
we are granted just a taste of the suffering we would endure if we failed to turn away from evil.
That pain, though only momentary for the repentant, is the most bitter of cups. No man or
woman should be foolish enough to think it can be sipped, even briefly, without consequence.
Remember the words of the Son of God himself of those who don't repent: "Therefore I
command you to repent—repent, lest I smite you by the rod of my mouth, and by my wrath, and
by my anger, and your sufferings be sore—how sore you know not, how exquisite you know not,
yea, how hard to bear you know not. . . . Which suffering caused myself, even God, the greatest
of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit—
and would that I might not drink the bitter cup, and shrink." (D&C 19:15, 18.)
We learn that when repentance is complete, we are born again and leave behind forever
the self we once were. To me, none of the many approaches to teaching repentance falls more
short than the well-intentioned suggestion that "although a nail may be removed from a wooden
post, there will forever be a hole in that post." We know that repentance (the removal of that nail,
if you will) can be a very long and painful and difficult task. Unfortunately, some will never
have the incentive to undertake it. We even know that there are a very few sins for which no
repentance is possible. But where repentance is possible, and its requirements are faithfully
pursued and completed, there is no "hole left in the post" for the bold reason that it is no longer
the same post. It is a new post. We can start again, utterly clean, with a new will and a new way
of life.
Through repentance, we are changed to what Alma calls "new creatures." (Mosiah
27:26.) We are "born again; yea, born of God, changed from [our] carnal and fallen state, to a
state of righteousness, being redeemed of God, becoming his sons and daughters." (Mosiah
27:25; see also 5:1-12.) Repentance and baptism allow Christ to purify our lives in the blood of
the Lamb and we are clean again. What we were, we never have to be again, for God in his
mercy has promised that "he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord,
remember them no more." (D&C 58:42.)
We learn that the teachings and testimonies of parents and other good people have an
inevitable, inexorable effect. Those lessons are not lost on even the most wayward soul.
Somewhere, somehow, they get recorded in the soul and may be called upon in a great moment
of need. It was in such a moment that the young Alma "remembered also to have heard my father
prophesy." (Alma 36:17.) That prophecy may have been uttered in a day when Alma was
taunting his father, or jeering at those who believed, or willfully denying the reality of revelation.
It may have come at a time when his father assumed Alma did not care or hear or understand. Or
it may have come so early in life that his father might think he had forgotten. We do not know
when the lesson was taught. But somewhere, sometime, one or more or a dozen of those
teachings had been heard and had been implanted somewhere in his heart. Now it was being
called forth for the very protection it had intended to give. Like Enos, who was haunted by "the
words which I had often heard my father speak" (Enos 1:3), Alma also remembered—and
believed. Parents, friends, teachers—none must ever stop teaching and testifying. There will
always be great power—even latent, delayed, residual power—in the words of God we utter.

(ON EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN, p. 199)

But for me there is no greater amazement and no more difficult personal challenge than
when, after the anguish in Gethsemane, after being mocked, beaten, and scourged, Jesus staggers
under his load at the crest of Calvary and says, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what
they do." (Luke 23:34.)
If ever there is a moment when I indeed stand all amazed, it is here, for this is an
amazement of a different kind. So much of the mystery of his power and ministry tear at my
mind. The circumstances of his birth, the breadth and variety of his ministry and miracles, the
self-summoned power of the resurrection: before all of these I stand all amazed and say, "How
did he do it?" But here with disciples who abandoned him in his hour of greatest need, here
fainting under the weight of his cross and the sins of all mankind that were attached to it, here
rent by piercing spikes in his palms and in his wrists and in his feet—here now the amazement
tears not at my mind but at my heart, and I ask not "How did he do it" but "Why did he do it?" It
is here that I examine my life, not against the miraculousness of his, but against the mercifulness
of it, and it is here that I find how truly short I fall in emulation of the Master.
For me, this is a higher order of amazement. I am startled enough by his ability to heal
the sick and raise the dead, but I have had something of that experience in a limited way, as
many have as well. We are lesser vessels and undoubtedly unworthy of the privilege, but we
have seen the miracles of the Lord repeated in our own lives and in our own homes and with our
own portion of the priesthood. But mercy? Forgiveness? Atonement? Reconciliation? Too often,
that is a different matter.
How could he forgive his tormenters at that moment? With all that pain, with blood
having fallen from every pore, surely he doesn't need to be thinking of others now, does he?
Surely he doesn't need to think of others every minute all the time, and especially not with this
pack of jackals who are laughing and spitting, stripping him of his clothing and his rights and his
dignity. Or is this yet one more amazing evidence that he really was perfect and intends us to be
also? Is it only coincidental—or absolutely intentional—that in the Sermon on the Mount, as
something of a last requirement before stating perfection as our goal, he reminds us, "Love your
enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which
despitefully use you, and persecute you"? (Matthew 5:44.)
 I'd rather raise the dead. I'd rather restore sight and steady a palsied hand. I'd rather do
anything than to love my enemies and forgive those who hurt me or my children or my children's
children, and especially those who laugh and delight in the brutality of it.
"And when [Pilate] had scourged Jesus, he delivered him to be crucified. Then the
soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the common hall, and gathered unto him the whole band
of soldiers. And they stripped him, and put on him a scarlet robe. And when they had platted a
crown of thorns, they put it upon his head, and a reed in his right hand: and they bowed the knee
before him, and mocked him, saying, Hail, King of the Jews! And they spit upon him, and took
the reed, and smote him on the head. And after that they had mocked him, they took the robe off
from him, and put his own raiment on him, and led him away to crucify him." (Matthew 27:26-
31.)
"Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do." Who cares whether or not they
know what they are doing! This is cruel and barbaric and insulting injustice to the purest and
only perfect life ever lived. Here is the one person in all the world from Adam to this present
hour who deserves adoration and respect and admiration and love. He deserves it because "there
was no other good enough / To pay the price of sin. / He only could unlock the gate / Of heav'n
and let us in." ("There Is a Green Hill Far Away," Hymns, 1985, no. 194.) And this is what he
gets for it?
Is there no justice? Shouldn't he cry out, "Be gone with you!" as he did to those other
devils? Shouldn't he condemn them all and call down the legions of angels that were always
waiting at his very command?
Every generation in every dispensation of the world has had its own multitudes crowding
around that cross, laughing and jeering, breaking commandments and abusing covenants. It isn't
just a relative handful in the meridian of time who are guilty. It is most of the people, most of the
places, most of the time, including all of us who should have known better.
What is there that makes him do it, and what lesson is there in it for us? We must go back
to the beginning.
Following Adam and Eve's experience in the Garden of Eden, and their eventual
expulsion from it, "Adam began to till the earth, and to have dominion over all the beasts of the
field, and to eat his bread by the sweat of his brow, as I the Lord had commanded him. And Eve,
also, his wife, did labor with him. . . .
"And Adam and Eve, his wife, called upon the name of the Lord, and they heard the
voice of the Lord from the way toward the Garden of Eden, speaking unto them, and they saw
him not; for they were shut out from his presence. And he gave unto them commandments, that
they should worship the Lord their God, and should offer the firstlings of their flocks, for an
offering unto the Lord. And Adam was obedient unto the commandments of the Lord.
"And after many days an angel of the Lord appeared unto Adam, saying: Why dost thou
offer sacrifices unto the Lord? And Adam said unto him: I know not, save the Lord commanded
me.
"And then the angel spake, saying: This thing is a similitude of the sacrifice of the Only
Begotten of the Father, which is full of grace and truth. Wherefore, thou shalt do all that thou
doest in the name of the Son, and thou shalt repent and call upon God in the name of the Son
forevermore." (Moses 5:1, 4-8.)
Call upon God for what? What is the nature of this first instruction to the human family?
Why are they to call upon God? Is this a social visit? Is it a friendly neighborhood chat. No, this
is a call for help from the lone and dreary world. This is a call from the brink of despair. "Thou
shalt repent and call upon God in the name of the Son forevermore." This is a call from the
personal prison of a sinful heart. It is a call for the forgiveness of sins.
 And so the God and Father of us all established with those first parents in the first
generation of time certain principles and ordinances fashioned to convey how such forgiveness
of sins would come. Along with all else of meaning and substance in our lives, it would come
through the sacrifice and example of his Only Begotten Son, who is full of grace and truth.
To serve as a constant reminder of the humiliation and suffering the Son would pay to
ransom us, to serve as a constant reminder that he would not open his mouth and would be
brought as a lamb to the slaughter (see Mosiah 14:7), to serve as a constant reminder of the
meekness and mercy and gentleness—yes, the forgiveness—that was to mark every Christian
life: for all these reasons and more, those firstborn lambs, clean and unblemished, perfect in
every way, were offered on those stone altars year after and year and generation after generation,
pointing us toward the great Lamb of God, his Only Begotten Son, his Firstborn, perfect and
without blemish.
In offering our symbolic but much more modest sacrifice in whatever dispensation—that
which reflects our broken heart and contrite spirit (see D&C 59:8)—we promise to "always
remember him and keep his commandments; . . . that [we] may always have his spirit to be with
[us]." (D&C 20:77.) The symbols of his sacrifice, in Adam's day or our own, were intended to
help us remember to live peacefully and obediently and mercifully. And, as a result of these
ordinances, it was intended that we demonstrate the gospel of Jesus Christ in our long-suffering
and human kindness one for another, as he demonstrated it for us on that cross.
But over the centuries it seems never to have worked that way—at least not often enough.
Cain quickly managed to get it wrong. As the Prophet Joseph Smith noted: "God . . . prepared a
sacrifice in the gift of His own Son who should be sent in due time, to prepare a way, or open a
door through which man might enter into the Lord's presence, whence he had been cast out for
disobedience. . . . By faith in this atonement or plan of redemption, Abel offered to God a
sacrifice that was accepted, which was the firstlings of the flock. Cain offered of the fruit of the
ground, and was not accepted, because he . . . could not exercise faith contrary to the plan of
heaven. It must be shedding the blood of the Only Begotten to atone for man; for this was the
plan of redemption, and without the shedding of blood was no remission; and as the sacrifice was
instituted for a type, by which man was to discern the great Sacrifice which God had prepared; to
offer a sacrifice contrary to that, no faith could be exercised, because redemption was not
purchased in that way, nor the power of the atonement instituted after that order. . . . Certainly,
the shedding of the blood of a beast could be beneficial to no man, except it was done in
imitation, or as a type, or explanation of what was to be offered through the gift of God Himself;
and this performance done with an eye looking forward in faith on the power of that great
Sacrifice for a remission of sins." (History of the Church 2:15-16.)
And so others of us in every age and season, a little Cain-like, would come home fresh
from morning oblations to scream at a spouse, devastate a child, kick the dog, or merely lie a
little, cheat a little, and dig a pit for the neighbor. The attention span we've shown in relation to
our saving ordinances over the dispensations would by comparison make preschoolers look like
college graduates. Too often we have forgotten why even before the blood was dry on the altar or
the trays were returned to the table or the robes of the holy priesthood folded and put away for
yet another session.
Saul, king in Israel, demonstrated the problem. In explicit contradiction to the Lord's
instructions, he brought back from the Amalekites "the best of the sheep and of the oxen: to
sacrifice unto the Lord [his] God." Samuel, in utter anguish, cried: "Hath the Lord as great
delight in burnt offerings and sacrifice, as in obeying the voice of the Lord? Behold, to obey is
better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams. For rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft,
and stubbornness is as iniquity and idolatry. Because thou hast rejected the word of the Lord, he
hath also rejected thee from being king." (1 Samuel 15:15, 22-23.)
 Why is rebellion (or stubbornness or disobedience in our ordinances) like witchcraft?
Because it makes a statement about our loyalty and our understanding of what God is really like
and what he really wants. Saul, who understood the method but not the meaning of his sacrifice,
and the Latter-day Saint who faithfully goes to sacrament meeting but is no more merciful or
patient or forgiving as a result—both are much the same as the witch and the idolater. They go
through the motions of the ordinances without loyalty to or understanding of the reasons for
which these ordinances were established—obedience, gentleness, and loving kindness in the
search for forgiveness of our sins.
Ordinances pursued in error and altered in meaning mark an apostate priesthood and an
idolatrous nation. As the Prophet Joseph taught us, we can rest assured that God was not
interested in the death of innocent little animals—unless the meaning of those altars truly alters
the nature of our lives.
At one particularly low point in Israelite history, the Lord cried out to his children: "I
hate, I despise your feast days. . . . Though ye offer me burnt offerings and your meat offerings, I
will not accept them: neither will I regard the peace offerings of your fat beasts. Take thou away
from me the noise of thy songs; for I will not hear the melody of thy viols. But let judgment run
down as waters, and righteousness as a mighty stream." (Amos 5:21-24.)
And so it was so much of the time until we come to this final parable:
"There was a certain householder, which planted a vineyard, and hedged it round about,
and digged a winepress in it, and built a tower, and let it out to husbandmen, and went into a far
country: and when the time of the fruit drew near, he sent his servants to the husbandmen, that
they might receive the fruits of it. And the husbandmen took his servants, and beat one, and
killed another, and stoned another.
"Again, he sent other servants more than the first: and they did unto them likewise. But
last of all he sent unto them his son, saying, They will reverence my son.
"But when the husbandmen saw the son, they said among themselves, This is the heir;
come, let us kill him, and let us seize on his inheritance. And they caught him, and cast him out
of the vineyard, and slew him." (Matthew 21:33-39.)
That is the moment at which we find ourselves on the summit of Golgotha. It is not a
pleasant story. Through patience that seems inordinately generous, the Father and the Son have
waited and watched and worked in this vineyard for mercy to run down as waters, and
righteousness as a mighty stream. But mercy and righteousness have not run. Not only have the
prophets and faithful few been killed, but now so is to be the son of the Lord of the vineyard. A
terrible, incalculable price is to be paid, and it wounds the human heart to tell it.
In the midst of the swearing and the spit, the thorns and the threats, the ridicule and the
rending of his garments; added to the crushing weight of his own body straining for support on
the very nails that have been driven into his hands and into his feet; and with friends in retreat
and foes as far as the eye could see—the unexpected happens, the worst possible scene in this
divine drama unfolds.
Perhaps the briefest glimpse is given of the terrible emotions and forces at work here
when we read lines intentionally preserved for us in the original Aramaic: "Eli, Eli, lama
sabachthani? that is to say, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46.)
There is one thing and one thing alone this Only Begotten Son has been sure of: the love
and companionship and unwavering support of his Father. Consider these lines taken almost at
random from the Gospel of John. They are suggestive of a theme that runs throughout that book.
"The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do: . . . For the Father
loveth the Son, and sheweth him all things that himself doeth." (John 5:19-20.)
"I came down from heaven, not to do mine own will, but the will of him that sent me."
(John 6:38.)
 "I am not come of myself, but he that sent me is true, whom ye know not. But I know
him." (John 7:28-29.)
"The Father that sent me beareth witness of me. . . . If ye had known me, ye should have
known my Father also." (John 8:18-19.)
"He gave me a commandment, what I should say, and what I should speak." (John
12:49.)
"Behold, the hour cometh, yea, is now come, that ye shall be scattered, every man to his
own, and shall leave me alone: and yet I am not alone, because the Father is with me." (John
16:32.)
And then this assertion, perhaps the most painful of all: "I am not alone, but I and the
Father that sent me. . . . He that sent me is with me: the Father hath not left me alone; for I do
always those things that please him." (John 8:16, 29.)
That one constant thread of doctrine and belief, the one certainty he had in spite of what
might happen among mortal friend and foe: "[My] Father hath not left me alone; for I do always
those things which please him."
And now, "Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? . . . My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken
me."
May I share this from Elder Melvin J. Ballard, written many years ago.
"I ask you, what father and mother could stand by and listen to the cry of their children in
distress . . . and not render assistance? I have heard of mothers throwing themselves into raging
streams when they could not swim a stroke to save their drowning children, [I have heard of
fathers] rushing into burning buildings [at the peril of their own lives] to rescue those whom they
loved.
"We cannot stand by and listen to those cries without it touching our hearts. . . . He had
the power to save and He loved His Son, and He could have saved Him. He might have rescued
Him from the insult of the crowds. He might have rescued Him when the crown of thorns was
placed upon His head. He might have rescued Him when the Son, hanging between two thieves,
was mocked with, 'Save thyself, and come down from the cross. He saved others; himself he
cannot save.' He listened to all this. He saw that Son condemned; He saw Him drag the cross
through the streets of Jerusalem and faint under its load. He saw the Son finally upon Calvary;
He saw His body stretched out upon the wooden cross; He saw the cruel nails driven through
hands and feet, and the blows that broke the skin, tore the flesh, and let out the life's blood of His
[Only Begotten] Son. . . .
"[He] looked on [all that] with great grief and agony over His Beloved [Child], until there
seems to have come a moment when even our Saviour cried out in despair: 'My God, my God,
why hast thou forsaken me.'
"In that hour I think I can see our dear Father behind the veil looking upon these dying
struggles, . . . His great heart almost breaking for the love that He had for His Son. Oh, in that
moment when He might have saved His Son, I thank Him and praise Him that He did not fail
us. . . . I rejoice that He did not interfere, and that His love for us made it possible for Him to
endure to look upon the sufferings of His [Only Begotten] and give Him finally to us, our
Saviour and our Redeemer. Without Him, without His sacrifice, we would have remained, and
we would never have come glorified into His presence. . . .
"This is what it cost, in part, for our Father in heaven to give the gift of His Son unto
men. . . .
"Our God is a jealous God—jealous lest we should [ever] ignore or forget and slight his
greatest gift unto us"—the life of his Firstborn Son. (Melvin J. Ballard, Crusader for
Righteousness [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1966], pp. 136-38.)
 So how do we make sure that we never "ignore or slight or forget" his greatest of all gifts
unto us?
We do so by showing our desire for a remission of our sins and our eternal gratitude for
that most courageous of all prayers, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do."
(Luke 23:34.) We do so by joining in the work of forgiving sins.
" 'Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ,' [Paul commands us].
(Gal. 6:2) . . . The law of Christ, which it is our duty to fulfil, is the bearing of the cross. My
brother's burden which I must bear is not only his outward lot [and circumstance], . . . but quite
literally his sin. And the only way to bear that sin is by forgiving it in the power of the cross of
Christ in which [we] now share. Thus the call to follow Christ always means a call to share [in]
the work of forgiving men their sins. Forgiveness is the Christlike suffering which it is the
Christian's duty to bear." (Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship, 2nd ed. [New York:
Macmillan, 1959], p. 100.)
Surely the reason Christ said, "Father, forgive them" was because even in the weakened
and terribly trying hour he faced, he knew that this was the message he had come through all
eternity to deliver. All of the meaning and all of the majesty of all those dispensations—indeed,
the entire plan of salvation—would have been lost had he forgotten that not in spite of injustice
and brutality and unkindness and disobedience but precisely because of them had he come to
extend forgiveness to the family of man. Anyone can be pleasant and patient and forgiving on a
good day. A Christian has to be pleasant and patient and forgiving on all days. It was the
quintessential moment of Christ's ministry, and as perfect in its example as it was difficult to
endure.
Is there someone who perhaps needs forgiveness? Is there someone in our home,
someone in our family, someone in our neighborhood who has done an unjust or an unkind or an
unchristian thing? All of us are guilty of such transgressions, so there surely must be someone
who yet needs our forgiveness.
And please don't ask if that's fair—if the injured should have to bear the burden of
forgiveness for the offender. Don't ask if "justice" doesn't demand that it be the other way
around. No, whatever we do, we must not ask for justice. We know that what we plead for is
mercy—and that is what we must be willing to give.
Can we see the tragic and ultimate irony of not granting to others what we need so badly
ourselves? Perhaps the highest and holiest and purest act of cleansing would be to say in the face
of unkindness and injustice that we do yet more truly love our enemies and bless them that curse
us, do good to them that hate us, and pray for them that despitefully use us, and persecute us.
That is the demanding pathway of perfection.
A marvelous Scottish minister once wrote:
"No man who will not forgive his neighbor, can believe that God is willing, yea wanting,
to forgive him. . . . If God said, 'I forgive you' to a man who hated his brother, and if (as
impossible) that voice of forgiveness should reach the man, what would it mean to him? How
would the man interpret it? Would it not mean to him, 'You may go on hating. I do not mind it.
You have had great provocation and are justified in your hate'?
"No doubt God takes what wrong there is, and what provocation there is, into the
account: but the more provocation, the more excuse that can be urged for the hate, the more
reason . . . that the hater should [forgive, and] be delivered from the hell of his [anger]." (George
MacDonald, An Anthology, ed. C. S. Lewis [New York: Macmillan, 1947], pp. 6-7.)
I recall several years ago seeing a drama enacted at the Salt Lake airport. On this
particular day, as I got off an airplane and walked into the terminal, it was immediately obvious
that a missionary was coming home because the whole airport was astir with conspicuous-
looking missionary friends and missionary relatives.
 I tried to pick out the immediate family members. There was a father who did not look
particularly comfortable in an awkward-fitting and slightly out-of-fashion suit. He seemed to be
a man of the soil, with a suntan and large, work-scarred hands. His white shirt was a little frayed
and was probably never worn except on Sunday.
There was a mother who was quite thin, looking as if she had worked very hard in her
life. She had in her hand a handkerchief—and I think it must have been a linen handkerchief
once but now it looked like tissue. It was absolutely shredded from the anticipation only the
mother of a returning missionary could know.
There was a beautiful girl who—well, you know about girls and returning missionaries.
She appeared to be on the verge of cardiac arrest. I thought that if the young man didn't come
soon, she would not make it without some oxygen.
Two or three younger brothers and sisters were running around, largely oblivious to the
scene that was unfolding.
I walked past them all and started for the front of the terminal. Then I thought to myself,
"This is one of the special human dramas in our lives. Stick around and enjoy it." So I stopped. I
slipped into the back of the crowd to wait and watch. The missionaries were starting to come off
the plane.
I found myself starting to guess as to who would make the break first. I thought probably
the girlfriend would want to most of all, but undoubtedly she was struggling with discretion.
Two years is a long time, you know, and maybe one shouldn't appear too assertive. Then a look
at that handkerchief convinced me that the mother was probably the one. She obviously needed
to hold something, so the child she had carried and nurtured and gone down into the valley of the
shadow of death to deliver would be just what the doctor ordered. Or perhaps it would be the
boisterous little brother—if he happened to look up long enough to know the plane was in.
As I sat there weighing these options, I saw the missionary start to come down the stairs.
I knew he was the one by the squeal of the crowd. He looked like Captain Moroni, clean and
handsome and straight. Undoubtedly he had known the sacrifice this mission had meant to his
father and mother, and it had made him exactly the missionary he appeared to be. He had his hair
trimmed for the trip home, his suit was worn but clean, his slightly tattered raincoat was still
protecting him from the chill his mother had so often warned him about.
He came to the bottom of the steps and started out across the apron toward our building
and then, sure enough, somebody couldn't take it any longer. It wasn't the mother, and it wasn't
the girlfriend, and it wasn't the rowdy little brother. That big, slightly awkward, quiet and
bronzed giant of a man put an elbow into the rib cage of a flight attendant and ran, just simply
ran, out onto that apron and swept his son into his arms.
The oxygen summoned for the girlfriend could have now been better directed toward the
missionary. This big bear of a father grabbed him, took him clear off his feet, and held him for
the longest time. He just held him and said nothing. The boy dropped his bag, put both arms
around his dad, and they held each other very tightly. It seemed like all eternity stood still, and
for a precious moment the Salt Lake City airport was the center of the entire universe. It was as if
all the world had gone silent out of respect for such a sacred moment.
And then I thought of God the Eternal Father watching his boy go out to serve, to
sacrifice when he didn't have to do it, paying his own way, so to speak, costing everything he had
saved all his life to give. At that precious moment it was not too difficult to imagine that father
speaking with some emotion to those who could hear, "This is my beloved son, in whom I am
well pleased." And it was also possible to imagine that triumphant returning son, saying, "It is
finished. Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit."
Now I don't know what kind of seven-league boots a father uses to rush through the space
of eternity. But even in my limited imagination I can see that reunion in the heavens. And I pray
for one like it for you and for me. I pray for reconciliation and for forgiveness, for mercy, and for
the Christian growth and Christian character we must develop if we are to enjoy such a moment
fully.
I stand all amazed that for a man like me, full of egotism and transgression and
intolerance and impatience, there is a chance. But if I've heard the "good news" correctly, there is
a chance—for me and for you and for everyone who is willing to keep hoping and to keep trying
and to allow others the same privilege.

(THAT WE MIGHT HAVE JOY, p. 17)

Consider, for example, this instruction from Christ to his disciples: "Love your enemies,
bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully
use you, and persecute you." (Matt. 5:44.)
Think what this admonition alone would do in your neighborhood and mine, the
communities in which you and your children live, in the nations that make up our great global
family. I realize this doctrine poses a significant challenge, but surely it is a more agreeable
challenge than the terrible tasks posed for us by the war and poverty and pain the world
continues to face.
How are we supposed to act when we are offended, misunderstood, unfairly or unkindly
treated, or sinned against? What are we supposed to do if we are hurt by those we love, or are
passed over for promotion, or are falsely accused, or have our motives unfairly assailed?
Do we fight back? Do we send in an ever-larger battalion? Do we revert to an eye for an
eye and a tooth for a tooth, or, as Tevye says in Fiddler on the Roof, do we come to the
realization that this finally leaves us blind and toothless?
We all have significant opportunity to practice Christianity, and we should try it at every
opportunity. For example, we can all be a little more forgiving. In latter-day revelation the Lord
said: "My disciples, in days of old, sought occasion against one another and forgave not one
another in their hearts; and for this evil they were afflicted and sorely chastened. Wherefore, I
say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his
trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin. I, the
Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men." (D&C 64:8-
10.)
In the majesty of his life and the example of his teachings, Christ gave us much counsel
with secure promises always attached. He taught with a grandeur and authority that filled with
hope the educated and the ignorant, the wealthy and the poor, the well and the diseased.
His message, as one writer said, "flowed forth as sweetly and as lavishly to single
listeners as to enraptured crowds; and some of its very richest revelations were vouchsafed,
neither to rulers nor to multitudes, but to the persecuted outcast of the Jewish synagogue, to the
timid inquirer in the lonely midnight, and the frail woman by the noonday well." His teachings
dealt not so much with ceremony and minutia as with the human soul, and human destiny, and
human life filled with faith and hope and charity. "Springing from the depths of holy emotions,
[they] thrilled the being of every listener as with an electric flame." In a word, his authority was
the authority of God. Christ's voice was pure and pervaded with sympathy. Even the severity of
his sternest injunctions was expressed with an unutterable love. (Frederic W. Farrar, The Life of
Christ [Portland, Oregon: Fountain Publications, 1964], 215.)
Let me recall one of the great stories of Christ's triumph over that which seems to test us
and try us and bring fear to our hearts. As Christ's disciples had set out on one of their frequent
journeys across the Sea of Galilee, the night was dark and the elements were strong and contrary.
The waves were boisterous and the wind was bold, and these mortal, frail men were frightened.
Unfortunately there was no one with them to calm and save them, for Jesus had been left alone
upon the shore.
As always, he was watching over them. He loved them and cared for them. In their
moment of greatest extremity they saw in the darkness an image in a fluttering robe, walking
toward them on the ridges of the sea. They cried out in terror at the sight, thinking that it was a
phantom that walked upon the waves. And through the storm and darkness, to them—as so often
to us, when, amid the darknesses of life, the ocean seems so great and our little boats so small—
there came the ultimate and reassuring voice of peace with this simple declaration, "It is I; be not
afraid." Peter exclaimed, "Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water." And Christ's
answer to him was the same as to all of us: "Come."
Peter sprang over the vessel's side and into the troubled waves, and while his eyes were
fixed upon the Lord, the wind might toss his hair and the spray might drench his robes, but all
was well. Only when with wavering faith he removed his glance from the Master to look at the
furious waves and the black gulf beneath him, only then did he begin to sink. Again, like most of
us, he cried, "Lord, save me." Nor did Jesus fail him. He stretched out his hand and grasped the
drowning disciple with the gentle rebuke, "O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?"
Then safely aboard their little craft, they saw the wind fall and the crash of the waves
become a ripple. Soon they were at their haven, their safe port, where all would one day hope to
be. The crew as well as his disciples were filled with deep amazement. Some of them addressed
him by a title that I declare today: "Of a truth thou art the Son of God." (Adapted from Farrar,
The Life of Christ, 310-13; see Matt. 14:22-33.)
It is my firm belief that if, as individual people, as families, communities, and nations, we
could, like Peter, fix our eyes on Jesus, we too might walk triumphantly over the swelling waves
of disbelief and remain unterrified amid the rising winds of doubt. But if we turn away our eyes
from him in whom we must believe, as it is so easy to do and the world is so much tempted to
do, if we look to the power and fury of those terrible and destructive elements around us rather
than to him who can help and save us, then we shall inevitably sink in a sea of conflict and
sorrow and despair.
At such times when we feel the floods are threatening to drown us and the deep is going
to swallow up the tossed vessel of our faith, I pray we may always hear amid the storm and the
darkness that sweet utterance of the Savior of the world: "Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid."
(Matt. 14:27.)

(THAT WE MIGHT HAVE JOY, p. 132)

"Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray
for them that despitefully use you." (Matt. 5:44.)
I believe he would have endorsed the modern addition to an ancient scripture: "And with
all thy getting, get going!" His principles are briefly paraphrased: "Do unto others as you would
have them do unto you." "Go the second mile." "If you want to know whether what I say is true,
try it out!" This is what we mean by gospel imperatives. They are words that challenge to action
—go, do, pray, repent, love, find, give, consider, provide, and a host of others.
One of the most dynamic challenges in the scriptures comes at the end of King
Benjamin's address to his people as he concludes his ministry and turns the reins of government
over to his son Mosiah. Standing on the tower he built to address the people, he guides them
through the fundamentals of the gospel and commits them to the wisdom, power, and purposes
of God, making this most important challenge: "and now, if you believe all these things see that
ye do them." (Mosiah 4:10.) The sincerity of their belief must be demonstrated in the verity of
their actions.

One of the most dynamic challenges in the scriptures comes at the end of King Benjamin's
address to his people as he concludes his ministry and turns the reins of government over to his
son Mosiah. Standing on the tower he built to address the people, he guides them through the
fundamentals of the gospel and commits them to the wisdom, power, and purposes of God,
making this most important challenge: "and now, if you believe all these things see that ye do
them." (Mosiah 4:10.) The sincerity of their belief must be demonstrated in the verity of their
actions.

(Living With Enthusiasm, p. 129)

Recently, I read a book by Robert Coles, a pediatrician and child psychologist, with an
intriguing title: The Call of Service. He told the story of a six-year-old girl named Tessie, who
was one of the three black children involved in the desegregation of McDonogh 19 School in
New Orleans during the fall of 1961. Every day the federal marshals would arrive at Tessie's
house at about 8:00 a.m. to escort her to school. Walking into school, she was forced to pass by a
mob of angry parents and children, who yelled obscenities and threats at her. Robert Coles, at the
time involved in a study on psychoanalytic threatening, provided emotional support to Tessie. He
was intrigued by her stoic courage and had a great desire to understand it.
According to Robert Coles, at the heart of the passive resistance movement for racial
equality was Christian faith and love. On a day when Tessie's resolve was weakening, her
maternal grandmother lectured her about her service. She said, "You belong in that McDonogh
School, and there will be a day when everyone knows that, even those poor folks—Lord, I pray
for them!—those poor, poor folks who are out there shouting their heads off at you. You're one
of the Lord's people; He's put His Hand on you. He's given a call to you, a call to service—in His
name!" fn
Later, Coles asked Tessie if she knew what her grandmother had meant. Tessie replied,
"If you just keep your eyes on what you're supposed to be doing, then you'll get there—to where
you want to go. The marshals say, 'Don't look at them; just walk with your head up high, and
you're looking straight ahead.' My granny says that there's God, He's looking too, and I should
remember that it's a help to Him to do this, what I'm doing; and if you serve Him, then that's
important. So I keep trying." fn
For Tessie, service meant service to Heavenly Father. Her call from Heavenly Father was
to change the hearts of her enemies in this battle over racial equality. It was her faith in God and
in the importance of her call to serve that sustained her through several months of the bitterest of
trials. She could do as the Savior instructed—"Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do
good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you"
(Matthew 5:44)—because, in her words, "if I can help the good Lord and do a good job, then it'll
all be okay, and I won't be wasting my time." fn
Not only did Tessie's service bless the lives of blacks who lived in the South; it also
blessed the lives of their white enemies. Two months into the ordeal, a woman, one of the
protestors, wrote Tessie an anonymous letter. It read:
Dear little girl,
 I stand there with them and sometimes I've shouted, along with everyone
else, but I feel sorry for you, and I wish all this trouble will end, soon.
You're good to smile at us, like you do sometimes, and I want you to know
I'm praying this will be over, and my kids will soon be back in school with
you and the other two. fn
Tessie's love for her enemies had penetrated a milieu of hate and redefined the
relationship between enemies. The woman who wrote the letter was the first of many protestors
to realize that they could not win a battle against a six-year-old girl who refused to fight back.
The Anti-Nephi-Lehies, Stephen, and young Tessie are all examples of what it means and
what it takes to become one of "the peaceable followers of Christ." At the heart of the matter is
the heart—a heart somehow changed by the love of God and an understanding that even our
enemies are our brothers and sisters and, therefore, part of his eternal family.
The path to becoming a peaceable follower of Christ is long and difficult, requiring
innumerable changes. I hope these examples will help keep your eyes pointed in the right
direction so you can get where you want to go. In conclusion, let me offer a little suggestion to
help fortify your resolve.
Sometimes in our enthusiasm for the gospel, we cast our pearls indiscriminately, and we
might even been tempted to enhance the luster of the gospel, our pearl of great price, by placing
it in a much too attractive setting. This may only detract from the true value of our pearl. Our
pearl will stand on its own, with all of its beauty and simplicity. We do not need to enhance it
with the bright and flashy things that will bring only antagonism and conflict to the Church. We
need to speak less about our accomplishments, and by our actions we need to show which
kingdom we seek.
Place on your refrigerator doors the scriptures that will continually remind you, as you go
about your daily duties, who you are and what you represent. Could I suggest just a few of these
scriptures as starters?
The first is Luke 6:35: "Love ye your enemies, and do good, and lend, hoping for nothing
again; and your reward shall be great, and ye shall be the children of the Highest: for he is kind
unto the unthankful and to the evil."
The second is James 1:27: "Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this,
To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the
world."
Finally, display one of the great scriptures from the Book of Mormon, Moroni 7:47:
"Charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at
the last day, it shall be well with him."
I love the gospel of our Lord and Savior. It has brought into my life the greatest peace of
mind, joy, and happiness I could ever hope to imagine. I pray that we might all be willing and
able to become peaceable followers of Christ.

(The Church in War and Peace, p. 180 - 181)

The Savior gave to us an exalted principle which men find it very difficult to live by. He
said: "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for
them which despitefully use you and persecute you." (Matthew 5:44) I grant that this seems well
nigh impossible in times of war. It requires a large measure of the divine nature, which
characterized Him who suffered more than any other man at the hands of His enemies, to so
control one's native passions and feelings. When, however, they can be brought under control
men's minds are enlightened, and they are able to distinguish between just punishment and
revenge, between the sin and the sinner, and they do not permit themselves to be poisoned with
the most deadly virus in all the world,—hate and enmity. Let us never forget that love is
ordained as the saving grace for all mankind.

(ARTICLES OF FAITH, p. 362)

Intolerance is Unscriptural—The teachings of our Lord breathe the spirit of

forbearance and love even to enemies. He tolerated, though he could not approve, the practises of
the heathen in their idolatry, the Samaritans with their degenerate customs of worship, the
luxury-loving Sadducees, and the law-bound Pharisees. Hatred was not countenanced even
toward foes. His instructions were: "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to
them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you; that ye may
be the children of your father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on
the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust." fn The Twelve were commanded to
salute with their blessing every house at which they applied for hospitality. True, if the people
rejected them and their message, retribution was to follow; but this visitation of cursing was to
be reserved as a divine prerogative. In the Parable of the Tares, Christ taught the same lesson of
forbearance; the hasty servants wanted to pluck out the weeds straightway, but were forbidden
lest they root up the wheat also, and were assured that a separation would be effected in the time
of harvest. fn
In spite of the prevailing spirit of toleration and love pervading the teachings of the
Savior and the apostles, attempts have been made to draw from the scriptures justification for
intolerance and persecution. fn Paul's stinging words addressed to the Galatians have been given
a meaning wholly foreign to the spirit that prompted them. Warning the saints of false teachers,
he said: "As we said before, so say I now again, If any man preach any other gospel unto you
than that ye have received, let him be accursed." On the strength of this forceful admonition
combined with denunciation, some have sought to justify persecution on account of differences
in religion; but such misconstruction must be charged to shallow reading and evil prejudice. Was
it not—is it not—rational to say that any man or coterie of men, any sect, denomination or
church that would preach its own conceptions as the authentic Gospel of Jesus Christ, is guilty of
blasphemy and deserving of the curse of God? Paul leaves us not in doubt as to the character of
the Gospel he so forcefully defended, as his later words show: "But I certify you, brethren, that
the gospel which was preached of me is not after man. For I neither received it of man, neither
was I taught it, but by the revelation of Jesus Christ."Vitality of "Mormonism," p. 182. fn Let it
be remembered that vengeance and recompense belong to the Lord. fn
The intent of John's words of counsel to the elect lady has been perverted, and his
teachings have been made a cover of refuge for persecutors and bigots. Warning her of the
ministers of Antichrist who were industriously disseminating their heresies, the apostle wrote: "If
there come any unto you, and bring not this doctrine, receive him not into your house, neither bid
him God speed: For he that biddeth him God speed is partaker of his evil deeds." fn By no
rightful interpretation can these words be made to sanction intolerance, persecution, and hatred.
The apostle's true meaning has been set forth with clearness and force by a renowned
Christian writer of the current day, who, after deploring the "narrow intolerance of an ignorant
dogmatism," says: "The Apostle of Love would have belied all that is best in his own teaching if
he had consciously given an absolution, nay, an incentive, to furious intolerance. * * *
Meanwhile, this incidental expression of St. John's brief letter will not lend itself to these gross
perversions. What St. John really says and really means, is something wholly different. False
teachers were rife, who, professing to be Christians, robbed the nature of Christ of all which gave
its efficacy to the atonement, and its significance to the incarnation. These teachers, like other
Christian missionaries, traveled from city to city, and in the absence of public inns were received
into the houses of Christian converts. The Christian lady to whom St. John writes is warned that
if she offers her hospitality to these dangerous emissaries, who were subverting the central truths
of Christianity, she is expressing a public sanction of them; and by doing this, and offering them
her best wishes, she is taking a direct share in the harm they do. This is common sense, nor is
there anything uncharitable in it. No one is bound to help forward the dissemination of teaching
what he regards as erroneous respecting the most essential doctrines of his own faith. Still less
would it have been right to do this in the days when Christian communities were so small and
weak. But, to interpret this as it has in all ages been practically interpreted—to pervert it into a
sort of command to exaggerate the minor variations between religious opinions, and to persecute
those whose views differ from our own—to make our own opinions the conclusive test of heresy,
and to say with Cornelius-a-Lapide, that this verse reprobates 'all conversations, all intercourse,
all dealings with heretics'—is to interpret scripture by the glare of partisanship and spiritual self-
satisfaction, not to read it under the light of holy love." The Early Days of Christianity, pp. 587,
588. fn
Toleration is not Acceptance—The human frailty of running to extremes in thought and
action finds few more glaring examples than are presented in man's dealings with his fellows on
religious matters. On the one hand, he is prone to regard the faith of others as not merely inferior
to his own but as utterly unworthy of respect; or, on the other, he brings himself to believe that
all sects are equally justified in their professions and practises, and that therefore there is no
distinctively true order of religion. It is in no wise inconsistent for Latter-day Saints to boldly
proclaim the conviction that their Church is the accepted one, the only one entitled to the
designation "Church of Jesus Christ" and the sole earthly repository of the eternal Priesthood in
the present age, and yet to willingly accord kind treatment and a recognition of sincerity of
purpose to every soul or sect honestly professing Christ, or merely showing a respect for truth
and manifesting a sincere desire to walk according to the light received. My allegiance to the
Church of my choice is based on a conviction of the validity and genuineness of its high claim—
as the one and only Church possessing a God-given charter of authority—nevertheless, I count
the sects as sincere until they demonstrate that they are otherwise and am ready to defend them
in their rights.
Joseph Smith, the first prophet of the current dispensation, while reproving certain of his
brethren for intolerance toward the cherished beliefs of other men, taught that even idolators
ought to be protected in their worship; that, while it would be the strict duty of any Christian to
direct his efforts toward enlightening such benighted minds, he would not be justified in forcibly
depriving even the heathen of their liberty in worship. In the sight of God, idolatry is most
heinous; yet He is tolerant of those who, knowing Him not, yield to their inherited instinct for
worship by rendering homage even to stocks and stones. Deadly as is the sin of idolatrous
worship on the part of him to whom light has come, it may represent in the savage the sincerest
adoration of which he is capable. The voice of the Lord has declared that the heathen who have
known no law shall have part in the first resurrection. fn
Man is Accountable for His Acts—The unbounded liberality and tolerance with which
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints regards other religious denominations, and the
teachings of the Church respecting the assurance of final redemption for all men except the few
who have fallen so far as to have committed the unpardonable sin, thereby becoming sons of
Perdition, may suggest the erroneous conclusion that we believe that all so redeemed shall be
admitted to equal powers, privileges, and glories in the kingdom of heaven. Far from this, the
Church proclaims the doctrine of many and varied degrees of glory, which the redeemed will
inherit in accordance with their merits. We believe in no general plan of universal forgiveness or
reward, by which sinners of high and low degree shall be exempted from the effects of their
deeds, while the righteous are ushered into heaven as a dwelling place in common, all glorified
in the same measure. As stated, the heathen whose sins are those of ignorance are to come forth
with the just in the first resurrection; but this does not imply that those children of the lower
races are to inherit the glory provided for the able, the valiant and the true in the cause of God on
earth.
Our condition in the world to come will be strictly a result of the life we lead in this
probation, as, by the light of revealed truth regarding the preexistent state, we perceive our
present condition to be determined by the fidelity with which we kept our first estate. fn The
scriptures declare that man shall reap the natural harvest of his works in life, be such good or
evil; in the effective language with which the Father encourages and warns his frail children,
every one will be rewarded or punished according to his works. fn In eternity, man will enjoy or
loathe the "fruit of his doing."