Remembrance constructs our place in the world. Our awareness of a consistent self relies on a web of memories that represent our relationships and our past. Included in these memories are products of our socialization, the norms and values of the societies where we live. Many times each day, we refer to such memories as we interpret the social events around us and choose our own behaviors. The system works so well that it’s almost invisible—we don’t know what we’ve got until it’s gone. Through memory loss, we may lose the context that provides what we might call an individual’s social positioning. The resulting disorientation can be socially and emotionally devastating. I wrote the following about my mother-in law in 2002:
My mother-in-law is a person with Alzheimer’s disease. She is at the point in the progression of the disease where she struggles with anterior grade amnesia—she is unable to reliably lay down memory traces in the present. She can’t really tell you who visited yesterday or what she had for breakfast. Of course, the disease is progressive, and she has struggled for many years with the foibles of memory that nearly everyone endures as they age. But this last year, a new and most unwelcome memory disruption has appeared: retrograde amnesia—the inability to remember the past. This latter is much more disruptive, not so much disruptive of daily life but of my mother-in-law’s sense of self. The disease is in the process of cutting off access to her memories so that the voices of both distant and recent past go unheard. My father-in-law Duward died five years ago, and her memory of him is faltering. My mother-in-law asks over and over to whom she is/was married:
“Now tell me, where is Dad?”
“He’s dead Mom; he died five years ago.”
“But, I’m married to Duward, right?”
“Yes, but Dad died five years ago.”
“But now I’m married to Duward, right?” And so it goes, over and over, and over. We always try to explain. Why is it so important? It is because she is trying to hold on to her husband, the most important memory in her life. If she can’t produce this memory of memories, then her self is truly diminished, even lost. So she struggles, struggles to retain selfhood. When one has no accumulation of knowledge that is the past, identity wavers and self is undermined. So we answer my mother-in-law’s questions, over and over. I know it is a losing battle; so does she. But she fights, and we with her. Soon the disease will claim more of her—who we are, finally who she is. The self will be gone before she dies. My mother-in-Law died in 2007 and is reunited with her husband.
In the same way, memory activities construct who we are spiritually. Perhaps most important, as we partake of the sacrament each week, we covenant to always remember the Savior, but many other memories are essential for orienting ourselves within the framework that is the Gospel. For example, we hold memories of doctrine taught to us by our parents, friends, or missionaries. We’ve also learned and remember much by attending Sabbath meetings, firesides, and perhaps seminary. Our study of the scriptures has created a web of memories, and the words of modern prophets, including our current leaders, collectively orient us in our religious experience. Finally, the history of the Restoration provides us with a collective memory of God’s dealings with His church in recent times. It is interesting that when a person joins the Church, this history is added to their potential store of meaningful memories. And these are just a sampling of the possible spiritually relevant memories that influence us on a daily basis. Remembrance is important. I’d like to speak about four ways in which remembrance frames and orders our religious experience and our relationship with God.
1. First, remembrance is essential for repentance.
I suppose there are some who have been taught, have repented, and have lived with such dedication that little ongoing repentance is needed. For myself, and I’m supposing many of you, ongoing repentance is necessary. In order to do that, we must remember what we have been taught—commandments we’ve accepted and covenants we have made—and then develop the desire to once again live righteously. As I said before, our memories provide order in our lives. When we sin, we shuffle our priorities and ignore commandments that in the past have brought us happiness. Remembering the things we have been taught in our youth, or more recently, restores order and provides direction. Perhaps we’ve all had occasions where we put important, sacred things in second place only to realize later that we must reorganize our priorities to be consistent with eternal realities. The memories of such experiences are important. I’m not asking that we become paralyzed in reflecting on our past life, but I do want to point to the opportunities that our past provides for us. They give us context, mark the path we’ve been on, and help us so that we don’t end up needing to learn the same lessons over and over. As we hold these examples in remembrance, they may become turning points in our experience, the trophies where the tide changed in the battle for our souls. Let me give you an example of such a memory from my experience.
When I was in graduate school, I had an experience that taught me and changed me. It was near Christmas, and my wife and I had planned a series of special Family Home Evenings to try to tell the Christmas story to our then-young children in a way that would help them understand that Christmas is more than presents. I needed to do some preparation for this lesson. I had been working long hours, and this was a time to spend with my family. But, I was also looking for a job and had an opportunity that day to practice the presentation I would make at an upcoming job interview. The seminar where I could present met on Sunday evenings, and I needed to get ready. The events I’m describing took place over 35 years ago, but I still remember the frustration I felt over feeling so divided. I knew I should spend the time with my family, yet the job seemed so important. I probably gave a substandard FHE presentation, but what I really remember was an awful presentation to the job seminar. The Lord clearly left me to my own abilities, and on that evening, they were insufficient. Afterwards, I knew that I had made a significant mistake and that the feeling of being divided was really because I was distracted from what mattered most.
The feeling of being divided, of being separated, is important. I was separated from my family, but even more importantly, I was separated from God. Thirty-five years later, I realize that feeling of separation is both a symptom and a warning. A symptom because it showed my condition before God. The Lord wants all of our attention. He has made it clear that our spouse and our families are our first priority. A warning because God didn’t want me to remain in this separated state. The warning is a call to action, a call to become one with God, a call to become one again with our families. The memory of that experience is precious to me. I certainly haven’t always avoided feelings of separation, but I know that such feelings signal an opportunity for change and improvement. Remembrance is necessary for repentance.
2. A second type of remembrance is of what we might call “revelatory moments.”
These are experiences that serve as anchors for our faith and hope. Accounts of such revelatory moments are found in the scriptures. For example, consider the Lord’s word’s to Oliver Cowdry in the 6th section of the Doctrine and Covenants. In the revelation, the Lord provided an additional assurance to Oliver that the words that he had been writing were true. Then He provided this additional witness, referring Oliver to a previous spiritual experience:
Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?
And now, behold, you have received a witness; for if I have told you things which no man knoweth have you not received a witness? (D&C 6:22-24)
Many of us have been blessed to enjoy the ministry of the Holy Ghost to some extent in our lives. Although intense spiritual experiences don’t automatically affect us over the years, those memories can connect us to our core knowledge and beliefs even during times when we struggle. Spiritual experiences are renewed with remembrance. Think back on the way you gained your testimony. If you aren’t the first generation in the Church, ask your parents or grandparents how they gained their testimonies.
As a young teenager I remember watching my mother read the scriptures each night before she went to sleep. I remember another occasion when she was preparing a Relief Society theology lesson with the scriptures laid out around her. I asked her about how she gained her testimony, and I clearly remember her response. She said, “I have studied the scriptures sufficiently that I know.”
That emotional and spiritual memory is important to me. I remember the room, my mother’s tone of voice, the look in her eyes. Likewise, my own testimony is grounded in the scriptures. Such spiritual memories are important occasions that carry deep significance for us as individuals and for our families. Such memories may connect us to our faithful progenitors, to the early members of the Church for whom the Restoration was such a light, and ultimately to the Savior.
Years ago, my family attended a Stake Conference in South Carolina where Elder Neal A. Maxwell was the visiting General Authority. The sessions were wonderful, and the Spirit very strong. Just before Elder Maxwell spoke in the final general session, we sang “How Great Thou Art,” an old evangelical hymn in our current hymnal that is a favorite of saints in the South. The Spirit was especially strong during the singing, and many individuals, including me, shed tears. At the conclusion of Elder Maxwell’s address, he gave the assembled congregation an Apostolic blessing in which he promised us that when we would hear the hymn we had sung, we would remember the feelings of the Spirit that we had experienced that day. I don’t know about others, but it has been so for me, if I pray and claim the blessing that was given me. Such events don’t happen frequently, but many of us have had precious occasions when we’ve interacted with the Spirit. If we pray and seek to remember these occasions, their significance is renewed in our lives.
If you haven’t had such “revelatory moments,” listen to David O. McKay’s experiences as a young teenager:
I thought that the only way a person could get to know the truth was by having a revelation or experiencing some miraculous event, just as came to the Prophet Joseph. One day I was hunting cattle … [and] an intense desire came over me to receive a manifestation of the truth of the restored gospel. I dismounted, threw my reins over my horse's head, and there, under a serviceberry bush, I prayed that God would declare to me the truth of his revelation to Joseph Smith. I am sure that I prayed fervently and sincerely and with as much faith as a young boy could muster. At the conclusion of the prayer, I arose from my knees, threw the reins over my faithful pony's head, and got into the saddle. As I started along the trail again, I remember saying to myself: "No spiritual manifestation has come to me. If I am true to myself, I must say I am just the same 'old boy' that I was before I prayed." The Lord did not see fit to give me an answer on that occasion, but in 1899, after I had been appointed president of the Scottish Conference, the spiritual manifestation for which I had prayed as a boy in my teens came as a natural sequence to the performance of duty. (General Conference, Oct. 1968)
President McKay enjoins us to patience in things spiritual and points to a natural unfolding of revelation in our lives as we fulfill our responsibilities in the gospel. Viewed in this way, revelatory moments take a position within the broader fabric of our lives. They take their meaning from that context, both in contrast to our everyday mundane experience but also as we come to see the spiritual in the mundane.
We all know of individuals who have experienced powerful revelatory moments but who have subsequently discounted them and fallen away. Simply experiencing revelatory moments doesn’t automatically assure our spiritual well-being. However, they do serve to strengthen our relationship with God. That process can recur through remembrance. In the words of BYU philosophy professor James Faulconer, our recollections allow us to re-collect ourselves. This usage is similar to one such as “The witness collected himself and continued with his presentation.” Collecting or re-collecting ourselves is a process that I think is akin to pushing a reset button on an appliance or rebooting a computer. Such re-collections allow us to prioritize our activities and even our relationships. Re-collection allows us to again place ourselves in spiritual order.
3. Third, we have remembrance of our experiences with and teachings from the scriptures.
In thinking about our relationship to the scriptures, I find Elder Packer’s description of the Book of Mormon very helpful. He says, “It is the saga of a message, a testament. As the influence of that message is traced from generation to generation, more than twenty writers record the fate of individuals and of civilizations who accepted or rejected that testament” (“The Things of My Soul,” General Conference, Apr. 1986). Like Father Lehi’s family studying the brass plates, we too become a part of that saga by reading and studying. To one degree or another, we too accept or reject the testament of the scriptures.
If we accept and, in Nephi’s words, liken the scriptures to ourselves, the teachings become a part of our own lives. Pursued over time, we add to the saga for ourselves and create our own spiritual autobiography in the scriptures. Specific scriptures become touchpoints of council and comfort that are associated with events in our lives that have been exhilarating or challenging. Our own experiences are intertwined with scriptural accounts so that the memories of our lives are associated with those in the scriptural record. Specific individuals described in the scriptures become familiar friends and role models. But most importantly, the Savior becomes more a part of our lives.
As Nephi wrote the scriptures, he said that he wrote “the things of my soul.” The gems that we produce by likening the scriptures to ourselves are the things of our souls. It is the things of our souls that prepare us to face the spiritual struggles of life. These are the things that really matter, the source of our deepest joys and our most powerful armor against adversity.
If I can, let me share a few examples of the things of my soul.
- My missionary experiences are linked to the scriptures. I, like so many young missionaries, was thrilled read of Alma’s yearning, expressed when he declares, “O that I were an angel and could have the wish of mine heart” and to speak “with a voice to shake the earth and cry repentance to every people” (Alma 29:1). The scriptures helped me then and now to envision what my life could and should be.
- In Mosiah chapter 5, King Benjamin teaches his people who have experienced a mighty change in their hearts about the name by which they should be known—The Children of Christ. He says:
I say unto you, I would that ye should remember to retain the name written always in your hearts, that ye are not found on the left hand of God, but that ye hear and know the voice by which ye shall be called, and also, the name by which he shall call you.
For how knoweth a man the master whom he has not served, and who is a stranger unto him, and is far from the thoughts and intents of his heart? (Mosiah 5:12-13)
When I read this scripture, I always assess my progress. Is the Savior a stranger to me? Do I hold Him in my daily thoughts and deepest inner intents? The way to know Him is to serve Him, but our thoughts can be slippery. However, remembering to retain His name written in our hearts is both a stunning opportunity and a barrier against sin.
- Finally, I am a witness that the Savior knows each of us. As Alma taught the people in the city of Gidion, he described the Savior’s earthly mission.
And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities. (Alma 7:12)
In my weakness, to understand the degree to which I am known by Christ means everything to me.
My thought is that you too have created an autobiography in the scriptures—the things of your soul. You could each sit down with the scriptures and think back over verses that have guided you, inspired you, and comforted you. Spending time reading and pondering these special verses is a way to recall the reasons they were important in the first place. The things of our souls make the scriptures come alive and provide us with power to overcome adversity.
4. Finally, we remember the Savior.
We know it is through the ordinances that the power of Godliness is made manifest in our lives. Here is a quote from Elder Christofferson from General Conference:
Our covenant commitment to Him permits our Heavenly Father to let His divine influence, “the power of godliness” (D&C 84:20), flow into our lives. He can do that because by our participation in priesthood ordinances we exercise our agency and elect to receive it. (“The Power of Covenants,” General Conference, Apr. 2009)
We each have memories of these events, but often we may take them for granted. In order to experience this power, we need to focus on the ordinances we have received. We can to prepare for our weekly experience with the sacrament and intentionally remember our baptism and additional ordinances if we have received them. Under the influence of the Holy Ghost, who can bring all things to our remembrance, memories of the covenants we have made with God are renewed and remain an active part of our lives. As we do that, we hold our spiritual experiences in remembrance. As we remember, we will be brought closer to Christ, to His sublime teaching, to His testimony of the father and of His own mission. Such memories are precious anchors.
In a devotional presented at BYU–Provo in 1974, when Ezra Taft Benson was President of the Quorum of the Twelve, he said the following:
A few years ago, we knew our Elder Brother and his and our Father in heaven well. We rejoiced at the upcoming opportunity for earthly life that could make it possible for us to have a fullness of joy as they had. We could hardly wait to demonstrate to our Father and our Brother, the Lord, how much we loved them and how we would be obedient to them in spite of the earthly opposition of the evil one. And now we’re here—our memories are veiled—and we’re showing God and ourselves what we can do. Nothing is going to startle us more when we pass through the veil to the other side than to realize how well we know our Father and how familiar his face is to us. (“Jesus Christ–Gifts and Expectations,” BYU Devotional, Dec. 1974)
The remembrance of our efforts to repent and become personally worthy, of our own revelatory experiences, and of weaving our own experience with the narratives, council, and testimony presented in the scriptures provides the opportunity to more fully bring the power of Godliness into our lives. I pray that through remembrance inspired by the Spirit, we can reach back and place ourselves in spiritual order and understand who we really are. God is not far, and the process of remembering brings Him closer. I bear you my witness that that is true in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.