Our own faith was quickened also

This post is part of the General Conference Odyssey. This week covers the Sunday Morning Session of the October 1987 Conference.

Amidst all the coronovirus cancellations and uncertainty, it was amazing having Sacrament Meeting at home this week. Everything felt new and important and personal: baking the sacrament bread myself, cleaning the living room in the knowledge that the ordinance would be done there, putting water in the pitcher my grandmother gave me, and Sam covering it gently with the white handkerchief we've used at temple dedications. I loved the symmetry of having four Priesthood offices represented: Elder, Priest, Teacher, Deacon. I loved seeing Abe and Sam kneel to break and bless the bread together, and then Malachi offering the torn pieces on a plate to each of us in turn. (Sebastian volunteered to stand at the door and make sure it closed quietly if anyone went in or out, ha ha.) I loved Sam pouring the water out carefully into little cups and the way the little ones watched everything with round, solemn eyes. It's essentially what we do every Sunday, but to have it done in our own living room with only our own family present made it seem "our" ordinance in a way I haven't felt before. I felt almost overcome with gratitude for the opportunity and privilege of hosting the Lord's Supper here. For those few moments at least, it made our whole home more holy.

As part of our church services afterwards, we watched the video on the church website about the Latter-day Saints in Ghana who were forbidden to have church services together for 18 months. I listened to them talk about how the sacrament transformed their homes, and how steadfastly they clung to each other and the Lord during that time—and even though our circumstances now are different and so much less difficult, I felt a connection with those Ghanian saints that, again, filled me with profound gratitude. I feel such a strong desire to have the same kind of steadfast, bright-burning faith that they have!

President Hinckley told a story of another man he knew with that kind of faith:

Our friend asked for baptism and hoped for the priesthood that he might teach and act with proper authority. 

“But,” we said, “if we baptize you and then leave, you will be left alone. While there are many Christians in your nation, and freedom of religion is guaranteed under its laws, there are severe restrictions concerning foreigners. There will be no one to teach you and help you. There will be no one on whom you can lean.” 

He responded, “God will teach me and help me, and He will be my friend and support.”
… 

We held a sacrament and testimony meeting with [the man and his wife]. We embraced them and said good-bye to one another, and tears were in our eyes. They left to return to their home, and we left for responsibilities in other nations. 

I shall never forget him. He is poor in the things of the world. But he is educated—a teacher by profession. I know little of his circumstances. But this I know—when we talked with him, the fire of faith burned in his heart, and our own faith was quickened also. 

As we traveled from that scene and there was time to meditate, I wished that faith of his kind was found more widely, both among us and among others.

I have that same wish. I hope I can take this opportunity to strengthen my own faith and let the joy of the gospel flow through me (and into my family tool, I hope) more strongly than it has before!


Other posts in this series:

Putting our faith into action—by Jan Tolman