BUILDING THE BIG DIPPER

In May I took a three-day trip with the faculty of my Institute to visit significant sites related to the church history in this area. We called our trip the "Northern Settlements Expedition." We traveled north from Orem through Farmington and Kaysville and eventually made our way to the tabernacle in Brigham City. It was there that I began to have the thoughts that are the basis for these musings and meditations.

This was a beautiful building, the first of many monuments to the Pioneer spirit and determination that we visited, that caused the desert valleys of these mountains to blossom.
The building was constructed on what was once called Sagebrush Hill. The work began in 1867. On January 6, 1896 a stove exploded and the building was destroyed. On February 1 the decision was made to rebuild and 13 months later the construction was completed. The re-dedication occurred in March 21, 1897.

We were amazed at the beauty of the exterior and the interior. The remarkable hall around us was a mute and marvelous testimony to the faithfulness of the great saints who plowed the ground and planted the crops and built their houses and dug their ditches and still found time to build something as remarkable as this tabernacle.

From Brigham we continued north and located the tabernacle in Wellsville. This building was striking from the outside, but the inside has not been maintained as well as other tabernacles he have visited and will visit, and it is not currently in use for church services. We spent time in a museum in the basement, then moved to the assembly hall and sang “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.” The construction here was unusual, a wide, shallow room with curved benches and an alcove in the front for speakers and benches and great acoustics. An effort is underway to raise funds to restore this edifice. I hope it is successful.

At the tabernacle in Logan we sat in the benches at the front—most of us—and listened to history from a local scholar. I wandered upstairs to the back. I sat on the northwest corner of the balcony one Sunday for Stake Conference. I was either a deacon or a teacher, and correspondingly stupid. I threw a paper airplane during the closing prayer when I was certain no one would notice. Next Sunday in priesthood, my quorum advisor announced what one of his quorum members had done. He did not use my name, and did not look directly at me, but everyone must have seen the pulsating red glow of my embarrassment as he described my antics. No one ever mentioned it to me, but I learned a painful and and worthwhile lesson.

I asked if we could visit the tabernacle font where I was baptized on March 27, 1954 by my oldest brother, Andy, who passed away last month. I do not think I have visited the baptistry in that building since that day. I entered the room rather casually, thinking about the renewing of an old memory. But the Spirit met me there and flooded me. Tears came as I looked into the font. Imagine that! It was so unexpected and so sweet. I received a more powerful witness about the importance of my baptism in that place than I have ever experienced before.


I spent time in the assembly hall of the building looking at the work done there. Who had the gumption and the get-up-and-go and the know-how to put this thing together? The place is spectacular! And these great saints, weren't done yet. they climbed the hill and built a temple too.

I marveled at the faith of those people with their wagons and their scrapers and their chisels and their horses and willpower, building God a house on the hill. What a miracle to build such a place! I have never been able to build anything worthwhile. I tried a doghouse once. I made it from pallets used to support stacks of sheet metal and the finished product weighed so much we needed a crane to move it. And the dog, a particularly bright Australian Shepherd, took one look and opted to sleep in the yard even in the of winter.

In Paris, Idaho, we stopped at the red sandstone tabernacle. No doors were open so we remained on the lawn. This is another beautiful building, another monument to faith and industry. The command of Brigham to build a tabernacle in Paris cannot have been any less daunting than the command of the Lord to Nephi to build an ocean liner. So what if they did were not sure how to do it? They had a commandment and they tucked in their shirts and rolled up their sleeves and began quarrying stone.

When the trip was over I kept thinking about building things.

When I was in 7th grade shop class, the teacher, Willy Dial, assigned the students to make something to take to their mothers. Kim Cameron made an end table. The intricately shaped top—like water puddled on a stone floor—was thick bleached pine. The legs were lathed and tapered. The whole thing was varnished to a rous finish. It was an amazing creation for a 7th grader!

I made a broom holder. We all need to accept our limitations and I thought I knew mine. My mom was not getting an end table or anything remotely like it from me. But a broom holder . . . I thought I could assemble and finish two pieces of wood, the base to be screwed into the wall, and the yoke, carved to admit the shaft of the broom and hold it by the wide bristled head. A little work with the saw; a little sanding; a little varnish on the bright wood: voila!

I built one, and it was so bad that my teacher refused to let me take it home. He put it were it belonged to await the next trash pickup, and gave me a broom holder from the back room for my mom. I got my first and only "D" in that class, an admission which will not surprise those of you who know my skills with tools.

But these early Mormons built tabernacles and temples and rock churches and tithing offices from one end of Deseret to the other. And they were not log structures like that two-week effort in Kanesville. They were rich and ornate and beautiful: stone and woodwork of the highest quality, built by men who loved the Lord and who were at the same time trying to wrest a living from the soil of their surroundings! I fear that my spiritual constructions may look like my broom holder or my dog house. What will I say to those craftsmen in the next life when they wonder why my home teaching was not finished, or my genealogy was not completed, or my family was untaught?

Now, in recent days, my mind has gone a step farther. I listened to a talk last Friday about the majesty of God and this has caused me to reflect on the things he makes.

God described himself to Job in most dramatic and unusual terms. The underlying message is that God is so great that no man can question his purposes or his actions. The following questions God asks come from Job 38 and 39. Each of the questions contains an inference of the greatness of God.

(38:4) Where were you when God laid the foundations of the earth?
(38:6) On what were the foundations of the earth fastened?
(38:8) Who shut up the sea behind doors?
(38:12) Have you ever commanded the dawn?
(38:16) Have you walked in the depths of the sea>
(38:17) Have you seen the gates of ?
(38:18) Can you comprehend the expanse of the earth?
(38:22) Have you entered the storehouses of the snow?
(38:25) Who cuts the channel for the torrents of rain
(38;29) From whose womb comes the ice?
(38:31,32) Can you bring forth the constellations?
(38:35) Can you send the bolts of lightning on their way?
(38:37) Can you count the clouds?
(38:37) Who tips over the bottles of rain when the earth needs rain?
(38:39) Do you hunt prey for the lioness?
(38:41) Who feeds the ravens?
(39:5) Who decided the wild donkey should be wild
(39:9) Will the wild ox consent to serve and help you?
(39:13) Why are the ostrich and peacock so different?
(39:19) Did you give the horse his strength?
(39:19) Did you decide what the horse should look like?
(39:26) Does the hawk take flight by your wisdom?
(39:27) Does the eagle soar at your command?

I wonder what kind of shop class God runs in the Celestial Kingdom. Because I am going to require some serious training before I undertake to bring forth any constellations or hang the suns and galaxies in the endless expanse of heaven. People have often complemented my on my photos of beautiful things. Shucks. Anybody can learn to take a picture of a rose. But making a rose . . .