THE SPIRITUAL SIDE OF GENOCIDE Pt. 1 – Of Remnants and Remnants of Remnants and Their Role in the Ongoing Plan of Deeming and Redeeming Mankind


THE REMNANT

Remnant:

1. Residue; that which is left after the separation, removal or destruction of a part.

2. A small remaining quantity of something.

The recent post, 1 Nephi 13&14 and its commentary generated much inspiration about the ‘Remnant’. Who is this group known as the ‘Remnant’? What are they a remnant of and where are they to be found? 3 Nephi 5:24 answers some of these questions.

“And as surely as the Lord liveth, will he gather in from the four quarters of the earth all the remnant of the seed of Jacob, who are scattered abroad upon all the face of the earth.”

So we are talking about a remaining part of the seed of Jacob and we find them here, there and everywhere – spread across the globe in a diverse diaspora. When I was young my father explained that America was a ‘melting pot’. The idea fascinated me. I have, since those days, lived in the East, West, Midwest as well as a couple countries in Latin America. I have become acquainted with a variety of people. I’ve been blessed to know people from practically every nation of the earth. There are certain groups who seem to be more widely distributed, like Filipinos and Mexicans. This is due mostly to economic conditions. Poor people feel obligated to leave their homelands and endure the spurn of others, all for the purpose of making a little money – very little money. These days it is the “Dirty Spics” in the past it was the “Dirty Micks”. Others were plucked from the land of their ancestors and brought forcefully to this land in chains. Any way you choose to look at it, all of these groups along with the groups they are removed from are remainders. This paternal splitting reveals a pattern-in-all.

THE CURSE OF ‘CHRISTIANITY’

But in 1 Nephi 13 the Lord specifies one particular portion of the remnant inhabiting the Americas when He interjects “—and this remnant of whom I speak is the seed of thy father— ” in verse 34. Earlier in the chapter Nephi records:

“And it came to pass that the angel said unto me: Behold the wrath of God is upon the seed of thy brethren.”

God’s wrath is mentioned and nowhere at this point is there any mention of the advent of Christianity in the Americas as any kind of blessing – not even in disguise. It should be clear to us that what follows then, is not to be misinterpreted or misrepresented as a blessing but a curse. Nephi looks and beholds a man among the gentiles who was separated from the seed of his [Nephi’s] brethren by the many waters. Even though we are told that the spirit of God comes down and works upon the man before he crosses the many waters to the Promised Land, we need to understand that the man was never moved upon to perform a mission of mercy. Therefore, the spirit is still one of wrath.

In The Devil In The Dust, I asked, “Does the blood of Christ cleanse, condemn or both?” I also spoke about the roles that trace metals and blood play in the devil’s trance-humanist scheme to thoroughly possess the bodies created for Adam and Eve. Eve specifically bears witness to the curse of bloodshed. Under the Iron Fist of tyranny, we see a wrathful element to the element of iron as it combines with oxygen in hemo-goblins to torment Eve and her children with a perpetual cycle of bloodlust and red rust. To many this may not sound like sound science or spirituality but to those with ears to hear they will detect both. Eyes to see will not perceive postulation on my part but will see beneath the pustulation from smallpox on the skin of millions of native inhabitants of this land. Deeper reasons than guns, steel or even germs reveal themselves when the facts are viewed through the microscopic lens of the Holy Spirit. POx (premature oxidation) poisoned the wine of a once pure sacrament. Spanish Conquistadors and Anglo-Catholics drank to their damnation. Drunk with the blood of European Saints, they proceeded to pour the bitter cup of affliction out upon the American Indians.

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Giovanni da Verrazzano, an Itallian mariner-for-hire commissioned by the king of France in 1523 to discover whether one could reach Asia by rounding the Americas to the north, wrote the earliest description of the east coast of North America. Sailing north from the Carolinas, he observed that the coastline everywhere was “densely populated,” smoky with Indian bonfires; he could sometimes smell the burning hundreds of miles offshore.

But in the decades between Columbus’ “discovery” of America and the Mayflower landing at Plymouth Rock, the most devastating plague in human history raced up the East Coast of America. Just two years before the pilgrims arrived in Plymouth, smallpox wiped out about 96 percent of the Indians in Massachusetts. Within just a few generations, the continents of the Americas were virtually emptied of their native inhabitants. Some academics estimate that approximately 20 million people may have died in the years following the European invasion – up to 95% of the population of the Americas.

Far from the pious pilgrim we are taught to commemorate every thanksgiving, my direct ancestor, William Bradford, who led the celebrated Mayflower group to Plymouth, wrote in his journal: “The good hand of God favored our beginnings by sweeping away great multitudes of the natives … that he might make room for us.” Bradford’s use of the word ‘sweeping’ reminds us of the divine decree, repeated several times in Ether 2, that inhabitants of this land should serve God or be ‘swept off’ the face of it.Especially in the case of the areas known today as Canada and the U.S.A., there was no need for military occupation. Unfortunate souls who found themselves British colonists in the Americas were actually British or at least European, whereas colonies in India, China and Africa remained populated with the original inhabitants. But frequent and failed attempts at colonization by various expeditions of bewildered European explorers along the Eastern Seaboard ended with far more than mere frustration for the once bustling indigenous population.

Things played out very differently here than in Mexico and South America. The work was literally done for them by the time that Europeans started to arrive en masse to the East Coast of most of North America. Taking a more truthful look at the mysteriously poor timing and utter lack of preparation for the landing of the Mayflower group; evidence points to a scenario where, as the plague spread among the Indians, word must have spread among these first opportunistic pillaging pilgrims. In later written records from early colonial times, you constantly come across “settlers” being shocked at how convenient the American wilderness made things for them. The pilgrims couldn’t believe their luck when they found that American forests just naturally contained “an ecological kaleidoscope of garden plots, blackberry rambles, pine barrens and spacious groves of chestnut, hickory and oak.” The puzzlingly obedient wilderness didn’t stop in New England. Frontiersmen who “settled” what is today Ohio were psyched to find that the forest there naturally grew in a way that “resembled English parks.” You could drive carriages through the untamed frontier without burning a single calorie clearing rocks, trees and shrubbery.

Returning to the text of 1 Nephi 13, we find it testifies to the true American history that was left out of school books. Verse 33 plainly states:

“Wherefore saith the Lamb of God: I will be merciful unto the Gentiles, unto the visiting of the remnant of the house of Israel in great judgment.”

This is why the “stumbling” that the Gentiles are excused for does not include any atrocities committed against the “savage” survivors of God’s wrath. The “plain and precious parts” of the gospel which were left out of the Bible by that “abominable church” never justified murder. The Bible carried forth by those pre-restoration Christ-Shuns was sufficiently clear, with its Ten Commandments. And the conscience of any honest Gentile falling into the category of those fleeing captivity and seeking religious freedom, would not allow for aggression against anyone who was not violent towards them. In fact, we would do well to remember that, the although the word ‘gospel’ can and has been hijacked to mean whatever greedy men want it to, the gospel of Jesus Christ is Truth itself. Indeed we stumble today due to the great and abominable public school system of Babylon holding back many “plain and precious parts” of our history. Many so-called Pilgrims and Puritans are the worst offenders. Remember, that whether colonizers or CEOs, they are not agents of the Lord but false shepherds. As agents of the Church of the Devil they have blinded many to the truth since the inception of European Gentile society in this choice land.

The truth is, defection to join native society was so common that it became a major issue for colonial leaders. Ben Franklin, who never lost the empathy for the Iroquois, with whom he developed his reputation as a diplomat, noted that,
“No European who has tasted Savage Life can afterwards bear to live in our societies.”
Franklin wasn’t pointing this out as a critique of those who defected — he believed that Indian societies provided greater opportunities for happiness than European cultures – and he wasn’t the only Founding Father who thought Europeans could learn a thing or two from their Red Brothers. They didn’t dress up like Indians at the Boston Tea Party ironically. That was common protesting gear during the American revolutions. According to Loewen, “Europeans were always trying to stop the outflow. Hernando De Soto had to post guards to keep his men and women from defecting to Native societies.” Pilgrims were so scared of Indian influence that they outlawed the wearing of long hair. Long hair didn’t fully come back into style until a couple hundred years later when Hippy and Native youth started to catch a bit of Zion Fever once again. (Ironically, even the U.S. Military, during the Viet Nam War, allowed certain Native Americans, who they had recruited specifically for their extraordinary tracking skills, to keep their hair long when it was discovered that their spiritual sensitivity/extra sensory perception suffered greatly if required to get a customary military haircut) These chapters in the Book of 1 Nehpi that we are looking at pronounce great blessings on those who “seek to bring forth Zion” and “publish peace upon the mountains”. But sadly peace treaties as early as colonial times were consistently broken by shameless Gentiles. And the not so beautiful feet of greedy men trampling the Appalachian Mountains left them stained from massacres. Benjamin Franklin wrote of the massacres:
“The Wickedness cannot be Covered, the Guilt will lie on the Whole Land, till Justice is done on the Murderers. THE BLOOD OF THE INNOCENT WILL CRY TO HEAVEN FOR VENGEANCE!”

Not only were several of the Founding Fathers but also many colonial soldiers were directly inspired by the freedom of the Remnant peoples. Of course neither side was perfect but the ideas to form a “More Perfect Union” were very much based on the tribal ways of the more righteous remaining segments of a languishing Lamanite civilization. Historians think the Iroquois Confederacy had a direct influence on the U.S. Constitution, and the Senate even passed a resolution acknowledging that “the confederation of the original thirteen colonies into one republic was influenced … by the Iroquois Confederacy, as were many of the democratic principles which were incorporated into the constitution itself.” So compliance to the revealed principles of The Doctrine & Covenants, Sections 98: 5-7 and 101: 77-80, in which the Lord justifies us, in “befriending that law which is the constitutional law of the land” – “the laws and constitution of the people, which [God] suffered to be established….for the rights and protection of all flesh, according to just and holy principles” has always and always will be contingent upon peaceful and cooperative relationship with the Remnant and the Land itself.

The land itself bears witness to the fact that a huge sprawling civilization once flourished here. Environmental scientists speculate that they must have cleared mass amounts of trees. Geologists and anthropologist can tell you what evidence they have uncovered from Cahokia, a massive Native American city that was located in modern day East St. Louis. In 1250, it was bigger than London, and featured a sophisticated society with an urban center, satellite villages and thatched-roof houses lining the central plazas. It also featured a gigantic man-made mound larger than the Great Pyramid at Giza. It was constructed with more than 2.16 billion pounds of dirt and brightly decorated with soil of various colors brought from hundreds of miles away. Wile the city was abandoned by the time Europeans reached the area, the evidence they left behind suggests a complex economy with trade routes from the Great Lakes all the way down to the Gulf of Mexico. The picture that emerges from the lost civilization of the ancient American mound builder societies meshes with descriptions of Nephite culture in the Book of Mormon and from Joseph Smith’s personal insights from visions.

The truth is that the United States was not really founded on Christian principles at all. Though it could be and is argued by many that this is or at least was at some point, a Christian nation; that is simply not the case. If you want to, you may call it Christian. To me, it is Christ-Shun. What has passed for Christianity here was already so perverted by the time it reached America’s shores that it was a curse to everyone it touched. The Nephite nation was one that was more justly founded on Christian principles but it too fell into devastating cycles of corruption. Approximately 400 miles due west of the ancient site of the aforementioned Cahokia is the place where, presumably, The New Jerusalem will be built in these latter days. And so, it is possibly in that vicinity, where the Resurrected Jesus appeared to the survivors of a much earlier wave of destruction that swept over that same land. The Living Christ has, over all, been rejected more than accepted on this continent. Here we worship the Dead Christ. It brings to mind the words of English trader Thomas Morton upon surveying the scene in the New England woods.

“And the bones and skulls upon the several places of their habitations made such a spectacle that it seemed a new found Golgotha”

E אD I G-E א Ø Ç G E אא Ø-Ç I D E

Genocide is a term invented by Raphael Lemkin in order to put a name to the horrible specter of mass murder that is perpetrated on a scale so huge that it tends to be overlooked, dismissed or disbelieved by the vast majority of humanity. It seems to monstrous to even deal with psychologically. But by putting a name on the demon, we gain power over it, like in the story of ‘Rumplestiltskin’. In sincerely seeking the Lord’s inspiration to come up with a word that would capture the essence of the sin and impress the seriousness of it on the minds of men, Lemkin succeeded, if only subconsciously, in literally capturing the spirit of the evil one himself. The new name, which Lemkin divined through ponderous prayer, revealed the underlying designs of the menace and contains a code that is only decipherable to the wise. If we are wise as serpents and harmless as doves we will discern and apply this knowledge to the service of the Lord. But if after having been shown, we to deny or downplay this truth – be warned – arrogance is not ignorance and neither arrogance nor ignorance is innocence. The separate syllables and the same sounds, which compose the word ‘genocide’ can be rearranged to closely match the phonetics of the word ‘indigenous

Indigenous is a word we inherit from Latin ‘indigena’ meaning “sprung from the land,”

Aboriginal – from ab origine, literally, “from the beginning.”

Tribal societies in all four quarters of the earth are targeted by genocidal maniacs, possessed of Satan, simply because as residues of the original way, members of the tribes of the earth embody and maintain much of the potency rejected by the larger group. And this power has the potential to be manifested in more miraculous ways due to the compact purity that has come about due to millennia of pressure. They represent the remnant because no matter how small the residue of literal blood of Abraham, according to our definition, that may or may not flow through their veins, they hold true to the Original Spirit of humanity. Even when it comes to detectable DNA, the coveted Cohen Marker which they claim as a sure sign of priestly heritage is typically more prevalent in East Afrikans than in any Khazar or Ashkenaz group of Eastern Europe. If blood is thicker than water, then spirit is vastly more pure and therefore more powerful than both. God is less concerned with Semitism and more involved with sentiment. God is not checking you against some scale of ‘Coheness’ or ‘Choseness’. He has chosen to call everyone to the great work and it is up to us to accept that calling and choose Him in every moment. God does not allow Himself to be tied down by cult-sure and those who obsess over such things usually end up torturing most viciously, themselves in thought and the saints of God in both mind and body.

The etymological pairing of the Greek prefix –Geno– and Latin suffix –Cide– for a literal meaning of “killing a tribe” invokes a chilling perversion of the LDS Article of Faith #10, which states:

“We believe in the literal gathering of Israel and in the restoration of the Ten Tribes; that Zion (the New Jerusalem) will be built upon the American continent; that Christ will reign personally upon the earth; and, that the earth will be renewed and receive its paradisiacal glory.”

Do we believe in the annihilation of the Tribes of Israel? We would deny such a notion. But if we do not wish to support the killing of the tribes then why do we stand aside, look the other way and in some cases act as a willing party to such crimes? Perhaps we do not know how to recognize genocide. The devil has used man’s fear of confronting demons to narrowly define the word genocide in our minds and thereby distract them. Parading Hitler’s Holocaust is advantageous to Satan since one unfamiliar word will establish unfamiliarity with the other. Genocide and Holocaust are practically synonymous terms in our heads. How many give any thought to the fact that the word Holocaust means “Burnt Offering”? How can we say “Never again” if we don’t know what happened? Oh that’s right the battle cry is no longer “Never again” but “Never forget!” so the feeling, thought and strange fruit of genocide may continue indefinitely.

Genocide is – “the deliberate and systematic destruction, in whole or in part, of an ethnic, racial, religious, or national group”

This seems quite straight forward. However, as mentioned earlier, the human tendency to do whatever possible to avoid the issue made it necessary to spell it out in greater detail. Legally defined, it is:

“Any of the following acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such: killing members of the group; causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group; deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life, calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part; imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group; [and] forcibly transferring children of the group to another group.”

As LDS and as Americans, as members of modern society wherever we live, we have been guilty of every single one of these items listed in the official definition of genocide. The methods by which we have soiled our garments are sundry and were I to just rattle off a few or dive into the task of detailing the diverse ways we take part in these atrocities, neither approach would do much good. He who searches his soul will recognize that sincerity begins with sin and will reconcile with God.

Although God suffers genocide, God does not condone it. Does God’s intervention, somewhere before the point of total destruction is reached, save the victims and perpetrators of genocide alike? Yes, for He is perfect in both mercy and justice. But what does He save each party from respectively? The victimized group is obviously saved from their oppressors. What then are the aggressors are saved from? Is this process a simple dichotomy with justice served on one side and mercy on the other? The Book of Mormon tells us that mercy can not rob justice. (Alma 42:25)  If this is true then the converse is also. So both parties will receive equal parts mercy and justice. Now, what does mercy for the disinherited look like? What form will it take when delivered to the wicked? And as far as justice goes – “What man among you, having twelve sons…. saith unto the one: Be thou clothed in robes and sit thou here; and to the other: Be thou clothed in rags and sit thou there—and looketh upon his sons and saith I am just?” (Doctrine and Covenants 38:26) Why does the Lord commence this parable in the context of 12 Sons (Tribes of Israel), then proceed to mention only 2 (Ephraim & Manasseh), before finally following it up with an admonition to be 1? “If ye are not one ye are not mine.” (D&C 38:27)

To be one is to be complete and whole. Whether in whole or in part – genocide is genocide. Just as reward for righteousness is not withheld when we fall short in our performance, retribution for evil will not be stayed simply because we stop short of some imaginary line in the sand. Thank God, we are not judged for our actions any more than we are for our appearance. Actions are only appearances after all – the appearance or emergence of that which lay beneath the surface. Jesus said “by their fruits shall ye know them” and we often take this to mean that we are safe judging another by their actions or inaction. But Jesus wants us to look deeper than protocol so as to not be fooled by false fruit. He was speaking of the fruits of the spirit. The spirit in which a thing is done, not the action itself must be our indicator. This may seem a foreign concept to many. But herein hides the reason for all of our sin in the first place. Action is not the first place. Jesus tells us that thought precedes all action and this makes us guilty of the sin inwardly before and regardless of whether we ever commit it outwardly. Thought is no more the first place than is action. Feeling precedes thought. Feeling is a vague term to our minds and is still far from the throne of God. But the word feeling is close enough to the source for our purposes, because if we honestly seek to follow the word of the Lord and bridle our passions (Alma38:12) then we will eventually, through experimentation; (Alma34:4) position our selves properly so as to watch (Mosiah4:30) not only our words and thoughts but our feelings. No one who feels good and desires that good reign in his life will ever participate in genocide from any angle, plain and simple.

Adolph Hitler did not feel good inside. He was not a man who bridled his passions. He did venture inside himself but he did not think himself able to change his feeling from bad to good. So he remained an open portal for evil. As a whole, those who were forced into concentration camps did not feel and find good in their selves. Or if they did, they did not hold those good feelings sacred enough to honor above all else. They thought that holiness came as a result of monitoring action alone. They were observing ritual and not thought; much less feeling. Too ‘modest’ to approach the shining Throne of God situated high up on the mountain, they could feel zeal but not much else. Their moderation was not in all things, rather it was a mutation of modesty that left all revealing to a dead Moses while it reveled in the self righteousness of a limited view from within the shadow of the valley of death. The English word ‘martyr’, comes to us from Late Latin – martyros. Martyr literally means “witness,” probably related to mermera “care, trouble,” from mermairein “be anxious or thoughtful,” Modesty makes martyrs. Martyrs make mortar mixed with blood for the building up of the Kingdom of the Devil and the establishment of Traditional Thought. Adolph aligned himself with the swollen thought and deep feelings of millions and Nazis and Jews together hummed the same hymn of human sacrifice:

I prefer peace
Wouldn’t have to have one worldly possession
But essentially I’m an animal
So just what do I do with all the aggression?

Well I’ve tried
Everything but suicide
But it’s crossed my mind

Life is a one-way street, aint it? and if you could paint it
I’d draw myself going in the right direction
So I go all the way – like I really really know
But the truth is I’m only guessin’

And I’ve tried
Everything but suicide
Ooh but it’s crossed my mind
Just a thought

It’s even dark in the daytime
It’s not just good – it’s Great Depression
When I was lost I even found myself
Looking in the gun’s direction

And so I’ve tried
Everything but suicide
But yes – it’s crossed my mind

Just A Thought – Gnarls Barkley

THE MIRACLE OF FORGIVENESS & KIMBALL’S CADILLAC – Pt. 1


The crisp coldness of the Utah Valley winter air dominated my senses but clashed in competition with the rumbling warmth of an idling Cadillac engine. Soon I found myself side by side with my best friend, rolling, in silence, through a meandering suburban maze. By the time the humming motor took over the soundscape, my mind began to ruminate on the events that had led up to this unassuming moment. If I had allowed my mind to wander further back in time, I would have marveled at the stranger than fiction story-line that had brought two New Yorkers – one black, one white– to cross paths in Orem, Utah of all places. But, as it was, my subconscious and my conscious, seated side by side in my right and left brain hemispheres respectively, enjoyed a quiet, mutual appreciation, perfectly paralleled by the way Mike and I respectfully remained in our own private thoughts during these demure moments of reverie.

I thought back to only hours earlier, when we had made a midnight run for burritos at a popular 24 hours spot located in that no man’s land in between Orem and Provo. During my not so distant college days I had jokingly dubbed that area, “Orvo”. Although we were unaware, time and space had here converged in an “Ovum” pregnant with possibilities. Another brother from yet another mother, Brio Springford, would later explain to me the mystical significance of such intermediate states as midnight, dusk and dawn. Neither here nor there, this nor that, halfway between solid and gas, they act as a mystical mist or lubricant opening portals between the physical world and the realm of spirit. But, like I said, my conscious mind was not even traveling back that far into the strange and slow spiritual sojourn that had taken my brother and I along the paths of Muslim and Mormon to this current crossroads in Christ. Brio was, at this point, still just a Facebook acquaintance going by his first given name, Joseph. And all I remembered was the good grub and good conversation.

We had talked of many things; Mexican food and culture, U.S. culture, Mexican women, U.S. women. But mostly, Mike shared his enthusiasm for Cadillacs. This was my first time riding in one and I could see why he liked them so much. Comfortable and kingly, the ride evoked a classic coolness to transcend all trends. As he described the character of the car I could see, hear and feel the truthfulness of his report. This was an honorable vehicle. Even its functional flaws figured nobly into its proud performance –Honor on wheels.

This magnificent maroon colored machine now made its way to the freeway on-ramp and my thoughts moved forward to only minutes before we left the house. I had checked online and saw that the Facebook friend I mentioned earlier had invited me to join a group that called itself the Mormon Reconciliation Movement. Joseph explained in a message that the group’s goals were somewhat loosely defined but that they wanted to at least start a dialogue among people who desired a peaceful and happy society. Open to and in fact reaching out to those of all faiths and cultures, the group would however maintain as one of its focal points, a reconciliation, specifically between Mormons and Native Americans.

I was well versed in the lamentable history between LDS and ‘Lamanites’. Now as the little man in my mind accessed the file on dealings between Mormon settlers and Native tribes, I saw a vast library of information appear on my mental screen. There was Joseph’s referencing of the native population as modern descendents of the Lamanite civilization described in the Book of Mormon narrative. The commission to the overwhelmingly white converts of an early Mormon Church to join with the natives, rejected, and a precarious distance respected in Brigham’s Utah. My great-great-great-great grandfather and one of my guardian angels, Daniel Webster Jones’ statement that he had found, “more nobility of character among the Indians than what is common among many whites, even Mormons included,” echoed through my thoughts. Appalling accounts of treachery towards the Hopi that built the corrupt careers of Ernest L. Wilkinson and others were harrowed up from this dark data base. But perhaps most disturbing to me were the misguided notions of LDS Church President, Spencer W. Kimball. Most disturbing, because, this sweet old man with smiling eyes, had a love for the Navajo people, which seemed to be sincere, real. I guess Pres. Kimball was a product of the thinking of his time. But I found no comfort in this conclusion. That an old man with a good heart would allow the racism of his era to mislead his heart was extremely saddening to my own heart. The contrast between true love and false principles made me feel like puking. And speaking about “striking contrast,” as a product of ‘his era’, he pushed the painful irony deeper when, in a 1960 issue of a magazine called The Improvement Era, he said:

“I saw a striking contrast in the progress of the Indian people today …. For years they have been growing delightsome, and they are now becoming white and delightsome, as they were promised. In this picture of the twenty Lamanite missionaries, fifteen of the twenty were as light as Anglos, five were darker but equally delightsome. The children in the home placement program in Utah are often lighter than their brothers and sisters in the hogans on the reservation. At one meeting a father and mother and their sixteen-year-old daughter we represent, the little member girl—sixteen—sitting between the dark father and mother, and it was evident she was several shades lighter than her parents—on the same reservation, in the same hogan, subject to the same sun and wind and weather…. These young members of the Church are changing to whiteness and to delightsomeness. One white elder jokingly said that he and his companion were donating blood regularly to the hospital in the hope that the process might be accelerated.”

During this very visit to friends in Utah, my wife, Quiana and I, had witnessed firsthand, the soul-corroding effects of Kimball’s zeal for the Indian Placement Program. Long-time friends of Navajo descent, the Seschille Sisters, welcomed us to their home until they discovered that Quiana, by choice, no longer wore the LDS Temple undergarments. They seemed unable to feel the spirit of the ancestors sweeping the land, unaware of the blocks that had been placed between them and their kindred dead; while Quiana and I were unable to deny that same powerful spirit of Elijah. Just over a month prior, during the harvest time of year once celebrated by my Keltic ancestors as Samhain, now commercialized as Halloween and observed in Mexican tradition as Day of the Dead, we had been made keenly aware of the presence of those long passed. It wasn’t so much the resurrection of repressed ancestral memories, but a relaxed and naturally remembered ritual. There was a very ‘tuberous’ theme reminding us of our ‘roots’ that day. Modern-day Americans, of course, use pumpkins. But the Keltic Clans had used turnips, and they felt right at home with the anciently rooted Nahuatl custom, which made use of a closely related species –the refreshing jicama. Revived spiritual sensitivity along with an already sanctioned mix of Catholic and Mesoamerican holy days being observed locally by the general public, coincided to usher in an early thanksgiving, which had always been Quiana’s and my favorite holiday. It was really nice, because, whereas living so far from ‘living’ relatives made get-togethers extremely difficult, this simple openness that had snuggled up to our hearts gradually till this period of permeability in the veil between worlds, reminded us that distance itself was relative. And hence, distant relatives and even the spirits of relations of close friends and curious neighbors, graced our home with their visitation during this season.

But, I digress. This was not the warm climate of central Mexico. It was early December in Utah, and my train of thought was stopped cold in its tracks. I was contemplating the cruel confusion of this world that made a genuinely respectable man capable of hosting such degrading attitudes and perpetrating truly deplorable actions toward such a noble albeit abused race. As soon as the sick and twisted picture started to sink in, a feeling suddenly came over my heart and a thought rushed into my mind. I felt and thought that Spencer was truly sorry and repentant for his past transgressions. But who could know but the man himself and God, right?

Then, just as suddenly, my train of thought was completely derailed when Mike’s gruff voice broke the silence. “There’s this Caddy I peeped on KSL classifieds. I was thinkin’ of goin’ to check it out after we run these errands.” Oh, so not derailed but looped back to the original line of thought, “Cadillacs”. I listened while the enthusiast described the details of the vehicle for sale. It was located in American Fork –we were headed there anyway. It was a ’79 DeVille D’Elegance –we were riding in a 1980 DeVille. It was originally owned by Spencer Kimball. “Whoah, hold up. Did you say Spencer Kimball?” I asked. I had to consciously swallow the ‘W’ that my Babylonian upbringing was wont to automatically insert; as if the presentation of, first name–middle initial–surname, would grant the man some heir of worldly importance.  Mike confirmed that I had indeed heard him correctly. He said, “Yeah, I guess you know who he was. I wasn’t really familiar with that name but I gathered that he was a leader in the LDS Church.” As I marveled over the route of thought that had just completed a perfect closed circuit through my mind and Mike’s mouth, I told my friend that Spencer Kimball was the President who had finally changed the policy preventing black men from being ordained to the Priesthood in the Church. Mike’s eyebrows were slightly raised and his tone was somber as he said, “Wow. See, that makes me even more interested in this car.”

I too was seized with the desire to see this car and took it as a very material validation of the sweet spiritual assurance I had just received. Why should Spencer Kimball confess and speak to my heart regarding his personal conversion? Why should he want to offer this token and sign of his repentance? Why not? Our hearts were one on this issue. We all help one another as brothers and sisters through mutually uplifting heart to heart dialogue. One who is looked up to as a leader in any capacity knows that they can only retain respect in the eyes of their younger supporters through humility. Public confession was a very emotionally freeing way to keep families working well together in the early days of any Christian movement. The bold swallowing of pride by one of my elders, so long removed from the sphere of the ‘living’, but nonetheless indelibly impressed upon my mind from the earliest days of my childhood, caused my mind also, to be humbled. I understood that God’s forgiveness is infinite and that by continuing to judge someone based on the actions of their past, I could lose the opportunity of reaping beautiful blessings from the reconciliation that comes about through repentance. My mind could hardly believe what was happening but secretly I was excited by the prospect of participating in what appeared to be an inter-dimensional gift exchange transacted across time and space.

We went to see Kimball’s caddy. There she was, shinning in a partially iced-over driveway just off of 100 East; an impressive, Book of Mormon Blue, Mafioso looking ’79 Cadillac DeVille D’Elegance. The current owner came outside and shook our hands. We admired his scrap-metal artwork as he rummaged through drawers in his garage and finally produced the keys to the vehicle. We examined its spacious trunk, its plush, light blue interior. Between the seats, Mike found a clear plastic clip with worn adhesive material on the back, encasing a little slip of paper. “Yo, check this out.” He passed it to me. At the top of the paper it read: LDS Vehicle Service Center. Below it listed the details of a service check done in May of ’87. This being a ’79 model would have been issued to Spencer in September of the previous year, making it the same car which transported him the day of the historic announcement in general conference on Sep. 30th of 1978. The man told us that he had hoped to sell it to someone who appreciated the car’s history. He said that shortly after placing the Cadillac on the market he was contacted by an old woman who wanted to purchase it as a collection piece for the very fact that it had belonged to President Kimball, who the lady described as her “favorite prophet”. But for some reason he felt impressed to not sell it to her and wait instead. I felt a warm sensation come over my heart. The feeling was fire and ice as Mike and the seller carried out the details of the transaction. I just stood there with sunbeams, like little golden children of God signing in my face and chills running up and down my spine, like the “Itsy Bitsy Spider” from the song.

As we pulled out of that amiable young man’s driveway, Mike in Kimball’s Cadillac and I tailing him in the other Caddy, a quote popped up in my mind. From a crease in the grey matter right next to the memory accessed earlier that day, came a file containing a vaguely remembered, preferably forgotten piece of Church history which had no doubt been preserved for some wise purpose in the Lord. My happy heart was overwhelming my meticulous mind at this time and so I would have to look it up later to retrieve the corrupted file in all of its vainglorious corruption. Something about “Negroes and Cadillacs”, but this was no Snoop Dogg track. It turned out to be from a shameful speech given by apostle Mark E. Peterson, at BYU, August 27, 1954.

“Now we are generous with the Negro. We are willing that the Negro have the highest education. I would be willing to let every Negro drive a Cadillac if they could afford it. I would be willing that they have all the advantages they can get out of life in the world. But let them enjoy these things among themselves.”

Later Peterson explains how he expects to find Negroes as his servants in the next life. I wonder what he did find there and if his hateful speech has since turned to a sad soliloquy delivered from some dark catacomb like Hamlet. To be so miserably mean is to be lonely and anguish to a human being’s soul. But, unlike the fictional character of Hamlet, “Not to Be” is not an option. As soul’s discover their own immortality they are ever faced with the same question “To be loving or to be damned?” Poor guy, I’m sure he’d love company. And perhaps Spencer in some other dimension was visiting his contemporary in his spirit prison cell. But in this space and time, Spencer W. Kimball was arranging the symbolic signing over of this prized possession through the veil.

I took it as a sure sign that I was to ordain Mike to the Melchizedek Priesthood. Oddly enough, the thought had occurred to me the last time I had visited and seen Mike in person, exactly one year earlier. But that December was full of other adventures and due to last minute family plans, we had been unable to spend more than a few hours with Mike. At that time Mike had seemed a little depressed and sort of distant. Apart from that, I did not really know how to bring it up. What was I supposed to say? “Hey bro. Why don’t you let me put my hands on ya head and pass you some priesthood?” No, like many other ideas and premonitions that came to me that year, it would have to wait. Wait for what? –For me to get over my fear to act on the promptings of the Holy Spirit for one thing. It would have to wait for me to stop drinking the Kool-Aid of LDS Cult-sure once and for all by desisting from my church attendance. It would have to wait for me to get out, by means of fear and trembling, from under the veil of unbelief I was born into. It would have to wait for me to “Gird up my loins,” which is biblical language for “Grow some balls”. It would have to wait for many things. And to be fair to myself, Mike had to do some personal soul searching in that time too. It would have to wait for everything to be just right. And as a matter of fact we would end up waiting about a month, till it felt like the perfect time to perform the ordination; although I told him later that same day and we were both agreeable to the idea. But, as I explained to my friend, this would not be a conferring of power so much as a symbolic act to unlock a power already inside each of us. It would not have to wait much longer as God hastened his strange work in these latter days.

The stars were literally aligning. Michael’s militant muse of Mars and my guiding star, Jupiter were prepping each other for resiliency in an upcoming adventure where we would need to be very daring. The adventure would take us over land and sea and be challenging but exhilarating. Exhilaration and sheer electricity was felt as I finally placed my hands upon the crown of his head and unlocked the priesthood power. In many ways, Spencer’s spirit helped set us up for what we needed to do in life. The ensuing experiences since December of 2011 have changed Mike’s and my lives forever. We are new people –Stronger, happier. We are grateful to God for the miracle of forgiveness which enables us to stop trying to outrun our pasts and be made free in Christ. And we are grateful to Kimball for the Cadillac.