Thoughts about the passing of a prophet
All my life it was customary for my family to tune in and watch the semi-annual conferences broadcasted from the Church's headquarters in Salt Lake City. Regular church meetings were canceled on those two Sundays as members were encouraged to listen to the guidance offered from their spiritual leaders. As a kid I enjoyed the days when we watched "church on TV"; my parents' attention was mostly directed at the television, and quietly playing with toys as a handful of old people gave talks in the background sure beat sitting in a Sunday school class full of my rowdy peers or being cajoled into singing as loud as we could.
That began to change as I left the single-digit years. My attention span grew longer, as did my comprehension skills. Ezra Taft Benson was the Church's president and prophet at that time, though by the time I truly began to pay attention to the proceedings of conference, he had become too feeble for public appearances. He was the prophet for nine years before he passed away at age 94, though for at least the last five of those I became used to seeing his empty chair on the podium.
At this same time, I began listening to complete talks. Thomas S. Monson's talks were very accessible due to the many entertaining or touching stories he would tell to illustrate his points, but then when I was 12 I heard a talk from President Benson's First Counselor, Gordon B. Hinckley. He spoke of marriage and families in that talk, his voice heavy with emotion as he reviewed King David's lament over the death of his rebellious son Absalom. He had my undivided attention whenever he spoke during the rest of that conference; he quickly became one of my favorite Church leaders.
This particular talk, in which he spoke out against those men of the Church who had failed to honor their marriage covenants, left a strong impression on me. I actually had the opportunity to sit in the Tabernacle in downtown Salt Lake City at the time he gave it (although I was sitting too far back to see him properly up at the pulpit). this one made a strong impression on me too, as did others given at later times. Hearing him speak was usually the highlight of any given conference for me. A real highlight of my first semester of college was when he came to campus and gave a speech about the BYU experience. It was just what I needed to hear at the time.
President Benson died at the end of May in 1994, and his successor, Howard W. Hunter, retained President Hinckley as his first counselor. I had learned enough about the order of succession in the Church to know that President Hinckley, the senior apostle after President Hunter, was next in line to become the Church's president--provided he outlived him. (The precedent was established by Brigham Young, who was the senior apostle at the time of Joseph Smith's death.)
One day in 1995 (I was 16 then) I was at the computer in the basement playing a game, when my mom came into the room. She told me President Hunter had just died earlier that morning, and I reacted to the news by simply saying, "Oh." But inside, I was saying, "Now President Hinckley's the prophet! Yes!" I don't want to let anyone think I didn't honor and respect President Hunter by disclosing such a sentiment, but the thought of having President Hinckley leading the Church was much more exciting to me than was the feeling of mourning I had for his predecessor.
I've noticed that many Church members have a special place in their hearts for the prophets of their formative years. My dad's voice takes on a different tone when he brings up his memories of David O. McKay; Spencer W. Kimball is spoken of with equal fondness by those who grew up in the 1970s and early 80s. President Hinckley is that prophet for me. I served as a missionary, got married, attended college, and became a father, all under his leadership.
At the press conference he held after choosing his counselors, a reporter asked him what theme he wished to emphasize during his administration. (Many past prophets are well remembered for particular messages or areas of emphasis; for President Benson it was the Book of Mormon, for President Kimball it was "lengthen your stride," for President McKay it's a tossup between "every member a missionary" and his teachings about home and family, to name a few.) President Hinckley quickly stated that his theme would be to "carry on." Carry on the great work the Church had already been doing.
And really, it will be hard to single out one theme President Hinckley emphasized disproportionately during the past twelve years. More missionaries than ever have served during his administration, and their qualifications have become more strict. There are now more Church members outside the United States than in it. Temples have become smaller and more accessible throughout the world, more than doubling in number over just the past ten years. Loans issued through the Perpetual Education Fund have enabled students in developing countries to pursue educational opportunities they didn't have. Curriculum in the Church has shifted focus increasingly on our doctrinal primary sources, the scriptures and teachings of the prophets. An inspired proclamation on the family was issued early in his administration. The list can go on.
I never had the chance to meet him in person, but I didn't just get to see the prophet from a distance, or know him only through his public addresses. He was my mom's stake president when she was growing up (similar to an archbishop, if Catholic hierarchy is more familiar to any of my non-LDS readers). My Grandpa Krantz provided some crucial support to him one time, when some within the stake were balking at a request he made for money to build a meetinghouse (the unnamed poor mailman mentioned in his 1996 biography, Go Forward With Faith). My older sister lived in his ward briefly when she was first married, though she never indicated to me whether she ever approached him. Those times he was there, he was usually surrounded by friends and admirers.
When I was on my mission, I was visiting another apartment in the mission and happened to see a snapshot of President Hinckley on a table. I asked one of the missionaries if he had taken that picture, and he had. He had been visiting in Salt Lake with a youth group from his native St. George (this was about 1997 or '98), and as they ate dinner in a park one evening they learned that President Hinckley was nearby with his ward. One of the youth leaders decided to arrange for all of them to meet the prophet, despite attempts from the ward's leaders to let him spend the evening with people he knew. The woman refused to take no for an answer, so eventually the ward leaders relented. But they told the youth to not have their pictures taken with him or ask to shake his hand, since he had arthritis and was already tired from a recent trip. Everyone lined up in an orderly fashion to see him; when they had all gathered near he extended his hand and shook hands with each youth, despite the flustered murmurs of the adults around him. Then my friend asked if he could take his picture, and he consented. The moment the shutter closed, all the other youth began pulling out their cameras. But he didn't wait for the unsolicited photos and melted back into the crowd.
I was a bit taken aback by the photo; his eyes were slightly red, and he looked unspeakably tired. Up to that point I had only seen the energetic, enthusiastic side of him that he conveyed in public. Only in the past two years, since his wife died, have I seen any similar signs of such tiredness.
I got to see him in person at meetings and when he was a guest at Salt Lake's Pioneer Day parade. But the closest I ever came to him was during the pre-game program at BYU's final home game of the 2000 football season. It was head coach LaVell Edwards' final home game of his career, and President Hinckley rolled onto the field in a golf cart and announced that Cougar Stadium would be henceforth named after coach Edwards. The marching band was in formation on the field at the time, with a path allowing the team to enter the field. As part of the marching band, I stood ten yards away from him as he gave the announcement.
A couple of times, he made statements about perhaps living to be 100, and I believed that he could have done it. In his closing remarks at the last conference in October, he said that although he was 97 years old, he was planning on making it to the next one this coming April. Perhaps he will be, in spirit--if other work in the hereafter isn't too pressing to keep him away. I knew it was only a matter of time before he passed on, but I still wasn't expecting it to happen when it did; maybe sometime this summer, or even later than that. But not now.
My only reasons for sadness at his passing are selfish ones. At the same time, I'm grateful for the role he filled for the Church. He was a prophet, a modern counterpart to the prophets of the past. His testimony and witness of Christ was clear and unwavering. His counsel was sound and timely: Look for the good in others; avoid such vices as debt, drugs, abuse, pornography, and gambling; be kind and tolerant to everyone; control your temper; become educated; face the future with optimism--in short, simple and practical ways to be a disciple of Christ and act as He would act. The Church will go on, and its future holds much promise. But these past twelve years will stand out brightly in its history as an exciting era of growth and goodwill. I'm grateful I got to see a small part of it firsthand.
That began to change as I left the single-digit years. My attention span grew longer, as did my comprehension skills. Ezra Taft Benson was the Church's president and prophet at that time, though by the time I truly began to pay attention to the proceedings of conference, he had become too feeble for public appearances. He was the prophet for nine years before he passed away at age 94, though for at least the last five of those I became used to seeing his empty chair on the podium.
At this same time, I began listening to complete talks. Thomas S. Monson's talks were very accessible due to the many entertaining or touching stories he would tell to illustrate his points, but then when I was 12 I heard a talk from President Benson's First Counselor, Gordon B. Hinckley. He spoke of marriage and families in that talk, his voice heavy with emotion as he reviewed King David's lament over the death of his rebellious son Absalom. He had my undivided attention whenever he spoke during the rest of that conference; he quickly became one of my favorite Church leaders.
This particular talk, in which he spoke out against those men of the Church who had failed to honor their marriage covenants, left a strong impression on me. I actually had the opportunity to sit in the Tabernacle in downtown Salt Lake City at the time he gave it (although I was sitting too far back to see him properly up at the pulpit). this one made a strong impression on me too, as did others given at later times. Hearing him speak was usually the highlight of any given conference for me. A real highlight of my first semester of college was when he came to campus and gave a speech about the BYU experience. It was just what I needed to hear at the time.
President Benson died at the end of May in 1994, and his successor, Howard W. Hunter, retained President Hinckley as his first counselor. I had learned enough about the order of succession in the Church to know that President Hinckley, the senior apostle after President Hunter, was next in line to become the Church's president--provided he outlived him. (The precedent was established by Brigham Young, who was the senior apostle at the time of Joseph Smith's death.)
One day in 1995 (I was 16 then) I was at the computer in the basement playing a game, when my mom came into the room. She told me President Hunter had just died earlier that morning, and I reacted to the news by simply saying, "Oh." But inside, I was saying, "Now President Hinckley's the prophet! Yes!" I don't want to let anyone think I didn't honor and respect President Hunter by disclosing such a sentiment, but the thought of having President Hinckley leading the Church was much more exciting to me than was the feeling of mourning I had for his predecessor.
I've noticed that many Church members have a special place in their hearts for the prophets of their formative years. My dad's voice takes on a different tone when he brings up his memories of David O. McKay; Spencer W. Kimball is spoken of with equal fondness by those who grew up in the 1970s and early 80s. President Hinckley is that prophet for me. I served as a missionary, got married, attended college, and became a father, all under his leadership.
At the press conference he held after choosing his counselors, a reporter asked him what theme he wished to emphasize during his administration. (Many past prophets are well remembered for particular messages or areas of emphasis; for President Benson it was the Book of Mormon, for President Kimball it was "lengthen your stride," for President McKay it's a tossup between "every member a missionary" and his teachings about home and family, to name a few.) President Hinckley quickly stated that his theme would be to "carry on." Carry on the great work the Church had already been doing.
And really, it will be hard to single out one theme President Hinckley emphasized disproportionately during the past twelve years. More missionaries than ever have served during his administration, and their qualifications have become more strict. There are now more Church members outside the United States than in it. Temples have become smaller and more accessible throughout the world, more than doubling in number over just the past ten years. Loans issued through the Perpetual Education Fund have enabled students in developing countries to pursue educational opportunities they didn't have. Curriculum in the Church has shifted focus increasingly on our doctrinal primary sources, the scriptures and teachings of the prophets. An inspired proclamation on the family was issued early in his administration. The list can go on.
I never had the chance to meet him in person, but I didn't just get to see the prophet from a distance, or know him only through his public addresses. He was my mom's stake president when she was growing up (similar to an archbishop, if Catholic hierarchy is more familiar to any of my non-LDS readers). My Grandpa Krantz provided some crucial support to him one time, when some within the stake were balking at a request he made for money to build a meetinghouse (the unnamed poor mailman mentioned in his 1996 biography, Go Forward With Faith). My older sister lived in his ward briefly when she was first married, though she never indicated to me whether she ever approached him. Those times he was there, he was usually surrounded by friends and admirers.
When I was on my mission, I was visiting another apartment in the mission and happened to see a snapshot of President Hinckley on a table. I asked one of the missionaries if he had taken that picture, and he had. He had been visiting in Salt Lake with a youth group from his native St. George (this was about 1997 or '98), and as they ate dinner in a park one evening they learned that President Hinckley was nearby with his ward. One of the youth leaders decided to arrange for all of them to meet the prophet, despite attempts from the ward's leaders to let him spend the evening with people he knew. The woman refused to take no for an answer, so eventually the ward leaders relented. But they told the youth to not have their pictures taken with him or ask to shake his hand, since he had arthritis and was already tired from a recent trip. Everyone lined up in an orderly fashion to see him; when they had all gathered near he extended his hand and shook hands with each youth, despite the flustered murmurs of the adults around him. Then my friend asked if he could take his picture, and he consented. The moment the shutter closed, all the other youth began pulling out their cameras. But he didn't wait for the unsolicited photos and melted back into the crowd.
I was a bit taken aback by the photo; his eyes were slightly red, and he looked unspeakably tired. Up to that point I had only seen the energetic, enthusiastic side of him that he conveyed in public. Only in the past two years, since his wife died, have I seen any similar signs of such tiredness.
I got to see him in person at meetings and when he was a guest at Salt Lake's Pioneer Day parade. But the closest I ever came to him was during the pre-game program at BYU's final home game of the 2000 football season. It was head coach LaVell Edwards' final home game of his career, and President Hinckley rolled onto the field in a golf cart and announced that Cougar Stadium would be henceforth named after coach Edwards. The marching band was in formation on the field at the time, with a path allowing the team to enter the field. As part of the marching band, I stood ten yards away from him as he gave the announcement.
A couple of times, he made statements about perhaps living to be 100, and I believed that he could have done it. In his closing remarks at the last conference in October, he said that although he was 97 years old, he was planning on making it to the next one this coming April. Perhaps he will be, in spirit--if other work in the hereafter isn't too pressing to keep him away. I knew it was only a matter of time before he passed on, but I still wasn't expecting it to happen when it did; maybe sometime this summer, or even later than that. But not now.
My only reasons for sadness at his passing are selfish ones. At the same time, I'm grateful for the role he filled for the Church. He was a prophet, a modern counterpart to the prophets of the past. His testimony and witness of Christ was clear and unwavering. His counsel was sound and timely: Look for the good in others; avoid such vices as debt, drugs, abuse, pornography, and gambling; be kind and tolerant to everyone; control your temper; become educated; face the future with optimism--in short, simple and practical ways to be a disciple of Christ and act as He would act. The Church will go on, and its future holds much promise. But these past twelve years will stand out brightly in its history as an exciting era of growth and goodwill. I'm grateful I got to see a small part of it firsthand.