A (temporary) limit on the redemption of the dead?

May 2, 2024 By Dan Peterson

Whitney store Kirtland OH — From the earliest days of the Church (as illustrated by the temple-like school room that Joseph Smith added to Newel Whitney’s store in Kirtland, Ohio, in the early 1830s) Church leaders have relied upon both secular learning and divine revelation to carry out their assignments.
(Image from Wikimedia Commons)

We spent several hours in the Kirtland Temple again this morning, and then we moved over to the Newel K. Whitney store in the “Kirtland Flats.” I was filmed in conversations in the store’s upstairs, in the School of the Prophets and in the so-called “Revelation Room.” I doubt that those conversations will appear until next year, when the focus will be on Church history and the Doctrine and Covenants. The material that was recorded in the first floor worship space, though, was directed to the episode of A Marvelous Work that is expected to go public at the end of this month, the end of May.

Inside the Kirtland Temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — An interior photograph of the Kirtland Temple, looking toward the west. A National Historic Landmark, the temple was built from 1833-1836 by the Church of Jesus Christ Latter-day Saints under the leadership of the Prophet Joseph Smith, Jr. . This image, taken in 1934, shows the interior of the assembly room on the first floor, with stucco and hand made carvings in the pulpits and columns. Today’s interior is, so far as I can see, identical to that of ninety years ago.
(Wikimedia Commons public domain image)

I was recently under heavy attack over at the Peterson Obsession Board (POB) for selfishness and hypocrisy and even cruelty. These are common POB charges against me, of course. But my offense on this particular occasion was that I did not step in to perform a sealing for Frenchy Morrell and his long-deceased wife, Wanda, even though I knew — indeed, even though I was positively giddy with excitement about the fact — that Frenchy had died.

How can I defend such callous sloth? One suggestion offered is that I don’t actually believe in the teachings or practices of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I merely pretend to believe because . . . because . . . well, your guess is as good as mine.

But, if I may be permitted, I would like to offer a suggestion of my own: I was under the impression that I couldn’t simply do their work without permission from their closest living relatives (whom I don’t know).

Seeking to confirm my understanding of Church policy in this regard, though, I solicited information from a sometime participant on this board who is in a position to know. Here is her response:

Regarding temple work for unrelated people, you are correct. We should not do temple work for people that we are not related to. FamilySearch has a View Relationship feature that helps determine if you might be related to someone. It goes back 15 generations then forward. If the common ancestor is past that limit it’ll not find a relationship. View My Relationship in Family Tree • FamilySearch

View My Relationship in Family Tree • FamilySearch
Use the View My Relationship feature to quickly see how you are related to ancestors within Family Tree.

The policy about doing work for unrelated people has been in place for a long time from what we’ve been told in FamilySearch Support, and from my own understanding, and well before 2020. Prior to about 2014 it was almost entirely dependent upon the integrity and understanding of the individual requesting the ordinances. About 2014, the FamilySearch system was able to enforce this for people born within the past 110 years

Of course, her reference to “the integrity and understanding of the individual requesting the ordinances” will demonstrate to the POB crowd that, since I lack any and all integrity, I would never imagine that such a policy could ever apply to me.

She then added that

The wait period to perform temple ordinances for a deceased person was reduced, in 2022 I think, from one year to 30 days.

As those critics will happily and quickly point out, I possess the requisite lack of integrity (in spades!) to have proceeded with the sealing (and other temple ordinances) for Frenchy Morrell and Wanda Morrell in brazen violation of Church policy. But, they might further explain, my selfishness, sloth, callous cruelty, and lack of genuine belief in Church doctrine trumped the opportunity that was mine (between the spring of 2013, when I learned of Frenchy’s death, and the new, firmer Church policy that was instituted sometime in 2014) to thumb my nose at the Brethren.

I could, of course, respond that such misunderstand me thoroughly (and consistently). Trying to reason with my Malevolent Stalker and his eager but lesser devotees, however, is quite a distance down the road to madness. As one of the corollaries to Murphy’s Law explains, it’s impossible to make anything truly foolproof, because fools are so ingenious. So let’s simply proceed with her response to me:

FamilySearch does not prevent doing temple work for unrelated individuals born more than 110 years ago, but the policy is pretty straightforward, “Temple ordinances are sacred and should be treated with respect. Please reserve ordinances for individuals only if you are related to them.” https://www.familysearch.org/en/help/helpcenter/article/individuals-for-whom-i-can-request-temple-ordinances Any time you reserve ordinances you get a pop-up that you have to agree to, basically stating you accept the policy and are in compliance with it. The pop-up includes the statement mentioned above about only reserving for those you are related to.

I hope this helps. The reason I’m a bit knowledgeable about FamilySearch related things is because I’ve been a Support missionary for over 14 years now. I started training for the mission in April of 2010.

As a further element in my effort to more clearly understand relevant Church policy, I inquired of a commenter on my blog to whom I shall refer as ttn. My Malevolent Stalker has identified him as a co-conspirator with me in whatever my nefarious, callous, cruel, slothful, and cynical plot was regarding Frenchy and Wanda Morrell. (And no, please don’t ask me to explain that alleged plot, because, candidly, I myself can’t figure it out. Whatever it was, though, it clearly puts me in — surprise! — a very bad light.) I wrote to ttn as follows:

So, ttn, are you suggesting that you didn’t — whether on my fiendish orders or, motivated by frenzied apologetic zeal, at your own initiative — create a record for Frenchy and/or Wanda in violation of Church policy and then, after discovering that a record was already there, scramble to delete it?

That, if I understand it correctly, is the weird scenario that apparently forms the heart of my Malevolent Stalker’s latest conspiratorial fantasy. I’m not sure what the point of the whole enterprise is supposed to have been. Of course, as usual, I’m also not sure whether he really believes this nonsense himself or is simply playing with his small claque of eagerly credulous dupes. It’s certainly possible that he’s actually mad.

Perhaps the most significant evidence that the Stalker cites to support his conspiracy theory is this exchange between us, which occurred slightly more than three weeks ago in the comments section following the blog entry in which I related Frenchy’s story, “Elegiac Thoughts On Why It Matters So Very, Very Much” (https://www.patheos.com/blo…

ttn: “This past month, I have been assigned to work in the sealing offices. It has been a phenomenal month observing the binding authority of priesthood keys. I am grateful that Brother “Frenchy” Marceau (1925-2012) and Sister Wanda Dale Hamilton Morrell (1926-1986) can be sealed (they are both in FamilySearch, waiting for mortal family to discover them).”

dcp: “Wonderful!”

My exclamation of “Wonderful!” is, according to the Stalker’s tale, my public approval of whatever sordid, unethical, and rule-violating manipulation you supposedly performed on the Morrells’ Family Search records. And here I thought that I was simply voicing my pleasure at your report that their records are in the database, ready for the work to someday be done on their behalf by a member of their family! Dang. Ya just can’t fool some folks.

You then asked, “Dr P. May I have permission to cut and paste a couple of paragraphs out of this blog post and share it with a patron on FamilySearch? It might get added to Frenchy’s memories. There is an Anna Morrell that is shepherding his temple work for him, and I think she may enjoy reading this story. If you are willing, let me know if you want to be identified or remain anonymous.”

To which I replied, “Absolutely you may share it. And I can remain anonymous — that would be fine — or it might be more helpful for a relative if my name were identified. Good idea.”

Your response: “Thank you. The deed is done.”

It’s a tale that fairly sears the screen, dontcha think?

He replied as follows:

Wanda happens to be a relative of mine (a ninth cousin). Therefore, Frenchy is a distant in-law cousin. So all my work on their records was very appropriate. However, assuming they were not relatives (so that I can do a teaching moment) . . . .

For Frenchy, I did create a record using the name and vitals from Find-a-Grave. I often do this as a tool to help locate an extant record when the search fails to find it because the information I have is incomplete or not quite right (in this case Frenchy was a nickname). As a result, as I hoped I would, I found an earlier record (using his real name Marceau). I then merged my record into that earlier record. This is an appropriate and commonly used tactic. And when intentional, it occurs in just minutes (but no scrambling) because the whole purpose is to find and merge. If your Malevolent Stalker were able to look at all my work history, they would discover many examples of just the same tactic.

Making corrections and standardizations to FamilySearch records (even non-relative records) is appropriate and something that I was instructed to do as a missionary (I am now in my third mission doing this kind of work). We have a team of missionaries in our mission spending all day doing just these kinds of activity. One of the side activities that all members can do is correct and standardize records. It doesn’t have to be records for their relatives. There is even a tool (The New Volunteer Opportunities on the FamilySearch website landing page) for members to assist with standardizing place names. But in my case, it is even more appropriate because Wanda IS a relative and therefore Frenchy is an in-law relative.

What is NOT appropriate is for you or I to reserve Frenchy’s or Wanda’s records and do their ordinance work for them. (Only in my case, I could, if no closer relative does it first.)

For Wanda, I found her record, and connected her to Marceau (i.e., Frenchy). This is also an appropriate action to take (even if Wanda was not my relative).

Once I knew that Wanda was a relative, I also added some details and sources to their records.

The Family History Department is even starting to use AI now to help with these kinds of record improvements, because the missionaries and members can not keep up with it.

For both Frenchy and Wanda their marriage to each other was a second marriage.

Both Frenchy and Wanda have people who appear to be closer relatives that are aware of their records and for Frenchy working on his ordinances. Frenchy had two children from his first marriage and four brothers. I suspect someone from one of those lines is the person working on him.

Wanda was born in 1926 so it will be another few years before a distant relative (i.e., me or someone else) can take care of her. I can see that someone besides me has been working on her record.

ttn: “… understanding what the … rules are.” I’ve been working in a FamilySearch Center in the evenings, since the beginning of 2019 (with a COVID break). This service includes regular training on the methods and rules (more so during the COVID break). Prior to that I served two missions with the Family History Department (my current mission is with the Church History Department, but when the history research is slow, I’m to help with FamilySearch records. Sister T is currently serving at the FamilySearch Library. We serve three eight hour days a week.). I am comfortable that I have a modest grasp on the rules. Sister T knows them very well. We teach others the rules.

I doubt that your Malevolent Stalker knows the rules better than Sister T or I, but I could be wrong.

So to your Malevolent Stalker’s point — is it a conspiracy if I work on my own family history, even if I get a clue to look at someone from a blog, or a newspaper, or a post on social media?

As an afterthought: It is interesting to me that your Malevolent Stalker knew how to find Marceau’s record and see the work I had done on it. Me thinks your MS is living a double life? Not quite authentic to itself or others? Maybe fearful of what the truth would turn up?

One accusation made by my Malevolent Stalker (if I correctly understand his rather convoluted conspiracy theories) is, apparently, that ttn stepped in and did the temple work for “Frenchy” and Wanda that I could have done, had I not been the selfish, cynical, callous, and lazy unbeliever that the Stalker and his epigones believe me to be or, anyway, pretend to believe me to be. Clearly, though, ttn has not performed the work for Frenchy and Wanda. Proof? It remains to be done.

I replied to ttn with the following brief note:

Thanks, ttn. That all makes complete sense, though I must admit that it lacks the frisson of horrified excitement, the inimitable je ne sais quoi, of a genuine Malevolent Stalker fantasy. I predict that it won’t be popular over on the Peterson Obsession Board.

Posted from Cleveland, Ohio

Two Funeral Requests

April 21, 2024 By Dan Peterson

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Me, at Yellowstone — In the sunset of my life: Here I am, with Yellowstone National Park’s Grand Prismatic Spring and the Midway Geyser Basin in the background. (If you look really, really carefully, you can see distant steam rising.) I realize that I mar the beauty of the photograph, which was taken two or three years ago by my wife with her mid-quality iPhone camera, but it seemed an appropriate day on which to temporarily suspend my general “No Me in the Photograph” rule.

In our sacrament meeting today, the ward choir performed “Be Still, My Soul.” The words were translated by Jane Borthwick (1813-1897) from the original German of Katharina von Schlegel (b. 1697), and the exquisite music (from Finlandia) was written by the Finnish composer Jean Sibelius (1865-1957). If you’re unfamiliar with it, you can listen to one or more versions online, including a performance by the Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square:

Be still, my soul; the Lord is on thy side;
bear patiently the cross of grief or pain.
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
in every change He faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul; thy best, thy heav’nly Friend
through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

Be still, my soul; thy God doth undertake
to guide the future as He has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
all now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul; the waves and winds still know
His voice who ruled them while He dwelt below.

Be still, my soul; the hour is hast’ning on
when we shall be forever with the Lord,
when disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.
Be still, my soul; when change and tears are past,
all safe and blessed we shall meet at last.

It’s a song that I’ve loved for years. If I had my wish, I would have it performed at my funeral, which, statistically speaking, cannot be too many years off. And here’s another one that I love and that I would request for my funeral. It’s not in the hymnbook, but you can find it in several places online, including here and here. The lyrics were set to music written by the Czech composer Antonín Dvořák (1841-1904), from the famous “Largo” theme that is played on an English horn in his Symphony No. 9 (From the New World), Op. 95.

Going home, going homeI am going homeQuiet like, some still dayI am going home

It’s not far, just close byThrough an open doorWork all done, care laid byNever fear no more

Mother’s there expecting meFather’s waiting tooLots of faces gathered thereAll the friends I knew

I’m just going home

No more fear, no more painNo more stumbling by the wayNo more longing for the dayGoing to run no more

Morning star lights the wayRestless dreams all goneShadows gone, break of dayReal life has begun

There’s no break, there’s no endJust a living onWide awake with a smileGoing on and on

Going home, going homeI am going homeShadows gone, break of dayReal life has begun

I’m just going home

These two songs give beautiful expression to matters that are at the very heart of my faith.

But who am I kidding? When I take my leave, I’ll probably be lucky to have more than half a dozen people (beyond my immediate family) at my funeral service. And there will very likely be a virtual chorus online, singing “Na na na na! Na na na na! Hey hey hey! Goodbye!”

I mean — and I apologize for mentioning something so crude — I received an email many, many years ago in which the anonymous author vowed someday to urinate on my grave, so I don’t expect that my passing will be met with universal grief. For one thing, the weirdly obsessive personal hatred over at the Peterson Obsession Board has been boiling for roughly twenty years now. It’s still bubbling, and there’s no particular reason to expect it to cool off within the next two decades. By which time, given the statistical realities, I’ll very probably be gone.

But the fellow who vowed to desecrate my grave, at least, will be deeply disappointed even if he follows through on his oath. Because I won’t care. Whether on my view or on his atheistic view, it will make absolutely no difference to me.

The L.A. Temple — The Los Angeles California Temple by night. (Wikimedia Commons public domain image)

Since I’ve already mentioned the Peterson Obsession Board here, I suppose that it won’t do any more harm to respond to the latest popular attack there. (Two of that board’s emissaries have written to me directly, albeit anonymously, challenging me to answer their complaints.)

I’m a hypocrite and a fraud because _____________ . (Fill in the blank according to personal taste.) There are, of course, innumerable reasons to anonymously but publicly and repeatedly brand me a fraud and a hypocrite. In this most recent iteration of the charge, though, I’m a hypocrite and a fraud for the specific reason that, having witnessed Frenchy Morrell’s sorrow at his long separation from his wife and then, subsequently, having learned that he had died, I nevertheless didn’t act to have them sealed in the temple. So, plainly, I don’t really believe in the efficacy of temple ordinances and/or I don’t really care about such lesser folks and/or I was merely exhibiting my vanity and claiming some sort of religious superiority by relating their story. Or something to that effect.

How, it is demanded, can I explain or justify my inaction?

Here is my understanding of current Church policy, drawn from online information published officially by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints under the title “Submitting Names for Temple Ordinances”:

Temple ordinances can be performed for the following:
• Direct line ancestors – (parents, grandparents, great-grandparents etc., and their
families)
• Biological, adopted, and foster family lines
• Collateral family lines – (uncles, aunts, cousins, and their families)
• Descendants of your ancestors
• Possible ancestors with probable relationship example: people with the same surname
in a small town or village. . . .

Requesting temple ordinances for people not related to me
Published September 16, 2020
Please do not request temple ordinances for someone you are not related to unless you have
obtained permission from a close living relative. A close relative is an un-divorced spouse, adult
child, parent, or sibling. . . .
Having received permission from a person, prior to his/her death, to perform their temple
ordnances after their death, does not qualify as getting permission from the closest living
relative. Permission from the closest living relative is still required. . . .

To perform ordinances for a deceased person who was born within the last 110 years:
• The person must have been deceased for at least one year.
• You must either:
A. Be one of the Closest Living Relatives, defined as:
• An Un-divorced Spouse (the spouse to whom the individual was
married when he or she died)
• An Adult Child
• A Parent
• Their Sibling (brother or sister)
B. Or obtain permission from one of the Closest Living Relatives

Having never known nor even met any other member of Frenchy Morrell’s family, and having met Frenchy himself only once, briefly and years ago, and being neither his undivorced spouse nor his adult child nor his father or mother or brother or sister, I had no right under the rules of the Church to submit his or his late wife’s name for temple work. Moreover, I’m not only not among his closest living relatives, I don’t even know any of his closest living relatives. My contacting them out of the blue as a stranger seeking permission to perform an unfamiliar religious ritual on behalf, essentially, of two total strangers wouldn’t have made much sense to them even if I were somehow able to find those closest currently living relatives.

Temples are springing up around the globe. I’m confident that the work for Frenchy and Wanda will be done, and in the not too distant future.

This is just more disingenuous silliness from my Malevolent Stalker and his small claque over at the POB. And, of course, my response won’t make any difference to them. They’ll simply (and shortly) open up a new angle of attack. But I thought it worthwhile, at the least, to confirm my understanding of Church rules regarding the submission of names for temple ordinances. So it wasn’t a waste of time at all.

Yes to Heavenly Reunions

April 19, 2024 By Dan Peterson

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Land of Nephi? — In the Guatemalan highlands, near Antigua
(Wikimedia Commons; click to enlarge.)

“The Unwritten Debates in Moroni₁’s Letter,” written by Morgan Deane

Abstract: Moroni₁’s letter in Alma 60 is not simply an angry and intemperate screed against the government; it also responds to arguments about just tactics (what modern readers would call ethics) taking place among Nephite leaders at this time. Moroni₁’s letter argues for his preferred strategies of active defense and ambush, while interpreting defeat as a failure of leaders. His rhetorical strategy is particularly noteworthy for associating his Nephite opponents’ hopeful trust in the Lord with the passive resistance of the king-men, and shifting blame for defeat away from his strategies and onto his political opponents. Overall, Moroni₁’s arguments exemplify sophistication and debate within Nephite thought.

[Editor’s Note: This paper is adapted from chapters 4–6 of Morgan Deane, To Stop a Slaughter: The Book of Mormon and the Just War Tradition (self-published, Venice Press, forthcoming, 2024).]

“Interpreting Interpreter: Captain Moroni’s Hidden Debates,” written by Kyler Rasmussen

This post is a summary of the article “The Unwritten Debates in Moroni₁’s Letter” by Morgan Deane in Volume 61 of Interpreter: A Journal of Latter-day Saint Faith and Scholarship. All of the Interpreting Interpreter articles may be seen at https://interpreterfoundation.org/category/summaries/. An introduction to the Interpreting Interpreter series is available at https://interpreterfoundation.org/interpreting-interpreter-on-abstracting-thought/.

The Takeaway: Deane suggests that Moroni’s letter to Pahoran argues implicitly against taking a passive approach to military threats—and in favor of placing the blame for defeat at the hands of political leadership—in response to debates that may have been taking place within the Nephite political and military hierarchy.

“An Exceptional Example of the Richness of Church History,” written by Susan Easton Black

Review of Jeffrey M. Bradshaw, Emer Harris & Dennison Lott Harris: Owner of the First Copy of the Book of Mormon, Witness of the “Last Charge” of Joseph Smith (Salt Lake City: Eborn Books, 2023). 235 pages, 67 illustrations, appendix, references, $29.00 (paperback).

Abstract: Jeffrey Bradshaw has, in a single well-researched volume, provided a gift to those interested in the lives of early Church members. In Emer Harris & Dennison Lott Harris, Bradshaw brings out of obscurity the remarkable life of one of Martin Harris’s brothers and illustrates the contribution of that life to the initial decades of the Restoration.

Jordan's image of Zuccola — Michael Zuccola as the young David Whitmer in the Interpreter Foundation theatrical film, “Witnesses” and the Interpreter docudrama “Undaunted: Witnesses of the Book of Mormon”
(Still photograph by James Jordan)

In other news: I recommend this very brief TikTok item to you and to all your family and friends: “David Whitmer Testifies of the Book of Mormon”

I routinely see a very great deal of online nonsense about Joseph Smith’s legal and courtroom experiences. This should help raise the level of discourse on the subject: “The Joseph Smith Papers Project Releases ‘Legal Records: Case Introductions’”

“Do Latter-day Saints really attend church more often? Smartphone data may hold answers: A University of Chicago researcher found that about 1 in 345 Americans are weekly church-attending Latter-day Saints”

Where my parents' bodies lie — A view of Rose Hills Memorial Park, in Whittier, California, where my parents and paternal grandparents and many other of my relatives are buried. It’s sacred ground for me.
(Wikimedia Commons public domain image)

Slightly more than three weeks ago, I recounted the little story — not for the first time — about an encounter that my wife and I had with a sorrowing widower whom we met while we were visiting the cemetery in Southern California where the bodies of my parents rest. (See “Elegiac Thoughts On Why It Matters So Very, Very Much.”) As always, my Malevolent Stalker — who is maliciously creative but not stupid (at least, not in the conventional sense) — has attempted to twist that little story into a yet another redundant demonstration that I’m callously cruel, hypocritical, and just generally depraved and of monstrously bad character. (I’m not inclined to get into the details here. The myth that he has tried to create — backed by revelations from supposed “informants,” no less — is so convoluted that I honestly don’t even quite understand what I’m supposed to have done, or why I did it. Or didn’t do it. Or something. Anyway, it’s bizarre, and it’s flatly false. But, weirdly, the Stalker’s fictional tale even includes one of the regular commenters here, who apparently serves — somehow — among my “lackeys.” Maybe I’ll tell my “lackey”; I think he would be amused.)

“Folks,” gushes the Stalker’s talentless Mini-Me wannabe while obsequiously licking his Master’s boots, “you just can’t make this stuff up!” To which the obvious answer is, “Clearly, you can.”

Anyhow, one of the accusations launched in this particular Stalker attack on me is that, when I expressed happiness at the fact that — as I believe — Frenchy Morrell has finally been reunited with his wife, Wanda, who had died nearly three decades before, I was lying. (Since I’m always lying, of course, I’m not sure why this particular lie should be news. But then, I can’t really make sense of the Stalker’s thinking on any level, so why should I hope to understand him this time?)

How does he know that I was lying? Because, being a Latter-day Saint, I know that Frenchy Morrell won’t be reunited with his wife, since they weren’t sealed for all eternity in a Latter-day Saint temple. (I think, in fact, that I’m supposed to feel contemptuously superior about this, and to rejoice in the inferiority of non-Latter-day Saints. Or something like that. I haven ‘t really spent a lot of time studying the Stalker’s demonology. I don’t even know whether he genuinely believes it or whether it’s some kind of gaslighting joke — and, after approximately two decades of it, I don’t particularly care.)

So I think that I’ll state here what I actually think about this question: No, Frenchy and Wanda hadn’t been sealed in a Latter-day Saint temple. But that doesn’t mean that they won’t see or know each other in the world of spirits. Absence of a temple sealing simply means that spouses are no longer married (“till death do us part,” after all) and that families aren’t organized any more as families. (But vicarious temple dealings can and will be offered to all who have gone on before us.) However, I’ve read hundreds upon hundreds of accounts of near-death experiences in which those who have entered into the next life have been met upon their arrival by previously deceased spouses and other family members. So I have absolutely no doubt that Frenchy was greeted by Wanda, and that they were reunited after their long separation. Which is wonderfully good news. And eventually, they will be offered the opportunity to have their marriage made eternal.

Tissot had seen the place — A depiction of Christ delivering the Sermon on the Mount by James Tissot (1836-1902)
Wikimedia Commons public domain image

Finally, as is my frequent practice here, I close with something from the Christopher Hitchens Memorial “How Religion Poisons Everything” File™: “Zion with God’s Most Unlikely Children: My Journey to The Other Side… Academy,” written by our friend Joseph Grenny. At their request, my wife and I organized — and accompanied Joseph and a number of other leaders of The Other Side Academy (TOSA), including Dave Durocher, on — a tour of Egypt back in January. Just in case I haven’t been clear enough heretofore, please permit me to try again: Both my wife and I had already been deeply, deeply, deeply impressed by what is going on at TOSA and its related undertakings. And we came away from that Egyptian tour more deeply impressed than ever before. It’s one of the most amazing things that I’ve ever seen.

Elegiac thoughts on why it matters so very, very much

March 30, 2024 By Dan Peterson

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I hope that people out there are not so confused as to be unable to decide which holiday they should celebrate tomorrow: “Biden Proclaims Easter Sunday ‘Transgender Day of Visibility’”

Both of my grandfathers died well before I was born. Both of my grandmothers died when I was five years old. I’ve always envied friends who were able to get to know, and to make memories of, their grandparents.

I don’t think that I have any actual memories of my maternal grandmother. She lived in St. George, Utah, while I was growing up in Southern California. My “memories” of her are, I think, really just images from photographs. Curiously, though, I still retain one very clear picture of being on the lawn of the mortuary in St. George — it’s still there, on St. George Boulevard — when we went up to Utah for her funeral. Nothing more than an image of grass and a sunny day. That’s all. No narrative or story. Every time I pass by the mortuary in St. George, it comes back to me. And I can summon it up right now.

Having lost their farm in their old age (a sad family tale) and after most of their children had left North Dakota for Southern California, my paternal grandparents spent their last years in the greater Los Angeles area. As I say, my grandfathers both died before I was born. But I sometimes think that I can still hear my Peterson grandmother’s voice in my mind: It’s a breathy, old-woman’s voice, with a strong Norwegian accent. I have to admit, though, that I may only be remembering the voice of her little sister, my great aunt, who lived to be well past a hundred years old and whom I met at least a couple of times when I was, by little-kid standards, considerably older than I had been at the death of my grandmother.

The first death that really impacted me was not of a family member. It was that of a friend from church. He was more than a year older than I was and a year ahead of me in school; he had a brother who was my age. But I knew him fairly well; he and his family lived only two or three blocks from my house. He had a vivid personality and a lot of mischievous energy.

He went out for groceries with his father one night, almost exactly fifty-five years ago. As they finished their shopping and were headed toward their car in the parking lot, a friend of his rode by on a new motorcycle and invited my friend to ride behind him. The friend would take him home. My friend’s father agreed to let Gordon go for a ride on the motorcycle, reminding them to be safe.

Only a few minutes later, they came to a familiar railroad crossing. A train was coming. The lights were flashing and the crossing gates were already down, but the cyclist — probably because he was a teenage male with a new motorcycle and a friend to impress — seems to have decided that he could beat the train.

Unfortunately, though, he couldn’t. The motorcycle collided in some way with the train. The driver of the motorcycle somehow survived with only relatively minor injuries. My friend, though, was caught by the train and dragged for at least a hundred yards. He was pronounced dead at the scene.

This was the closest death that I had yet experienced, and it shocked me deeply. Old people died; I knew that. It was natural. But this friend was approximately my age. And yet he was gone, snatched suddenly and irrevocably from the very circles in which I moved at church, at school, and in my neighborhood.

One other detail that I still recall, almost photographically: My parents and I joined in the funeral cortege traveling from our church to the Rose Hills Cemetery (where, now, their own bodies lie, along with the bodies of many of my other relatives, mostly from my father’s family). The route of that procession of cars took us by an elementary school, on the playground side of the school campus.

It must have been recess playtime. Dozens of children crowded up against the chainlink fence separating them from the street. They were fascinated to watch a funeral procession travel past them. After all these years, I can still see them very clearly in my mind, with their hands above their heads holding on to the fence and their faces right up against it.

“How old was the old coot?” one of the boys yelled as we passed slowly by. (The answer was that he was seventeen.) I winced, hoping desperately that my friend’s parents had not heard the boy’s question.

I’ve visited Gordon’s grave once or twice since then, when I’ve been there to place flowers on the graves of my paternal grandparents, my own parents, at least three uncles, an aunt, a niece, and a lot of the people that I knew growing up. His mother and father joined him years later. I’ve wondered what things he might have done, what kind of a person he might have been. But his earthly story ended suddenly on an April evening in 1969, and there is no more to tell beyond that point.

Easter says, however, that his story and our stories continue. Wonderfully.

I’ll mention one particular visit to my parents’ graves, which took place in July 2018. I made a note of it here, which is why I remember that specific day relatively well.

The view from their burial place is splendid, and this was a beautiful, clear day. We could see the skyscrapers of downtown Los Angeles off in the distance to the west, and, to the north, the San Gabriel Mountains — including Mt. Wilson, which I saw every day of my life growing up, with its television broadcasting towers and its observatories (from which Edwin Hubble first noticed the red shift of distant galaxies, thus discovering the expansion of the universe and leading to the theory of the Big Bang). It’s a very peaceful place, and I love it. The inscriptions on their tombstones sum them up, simply but eloquently: For my Mom: “Beloved wife and mother,” and then “Family first.” For my Dad: “Beloved husband and father,” followed by “A good man.” (I once dedicated a book to him with a citation from John 1:47 in the KJV New Testament: “an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no guile.”)

I was happy again that day to see the grave next to my mother’s, on the opposite side from my father’s. Why happy? Let me explain.

My father died on 30 June 2003. My mother died on 11 April 2005. I think it was on our first visit to the cemetery after my mother’s passing that my wife and I, driving up the rather steep hill toward my parents’ graves, noticed an elderly man who was toiling painfully up the road. We pulled over and asked him whether he could use a ride. Yes, he said, he could. He was walking to put flowers on the grave of his wife, whose loss, it soon became clear, he still felt with acute pain.

We invited him to ride with us and asked him to tell us where to turn. To our astonishment, his wife’s grave turned out to be about four or five feet from my parents’ burial place. It was separated from their graves by his own tombstone, with his name, “Frenchy M. Morrell,” and his birthdate inscribed on it but, obviously, no death date. We talked for a while, and he spoke movingly about how much he missed his wife, Wanda, who had died in 1985. He was horribly lonely, and he longed to be with her again. We offered him a ride back down the hill and to wherever he wanted to go, but he had planned on spending several hours there by his wife’s grave, and he declined our offer. We never saw him again.

We’ve returned, and I’ve come back alone, many times since then. Whenever I’m in southern California, if I can do it, I visit the cemetery. Every time for years, I looked to see whether Frenchy had finally gotten his wish.

Visiting in the spring of 2013, we immediately noticed that the grass next to my mother’s grave was fresh, and so, with some excitement, I hurriedly walked over to confirm what I suspected: Frenchy was gone. He had died on 30 August 2012.

I was deeply happy for him. After twenty-seven long years of sorrowful separation, he was with his wife again. And my faith tells me that he really is, not merely metaphorically.

We took some of the flowers that we’d brought for my parents that day and placed them on his grave.

“And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away” (Revelation 21;4).

Happy Easter to everyone!

Reunion

July 3, 2018 By Dan Peterson

Rose Hills Memorial Park, in Whittier, California, is apparently the largest cemetery in the United States. It’s also the resting place of many of my relatives, mostly on my father’s side — including my paternal grandparents, at least three uncles, an aunt, a niece, and a lot of the people that I knew growing up. And my parents are buried there, too.

My wife and I visited my parents’ graves today. The view from their burial place is wonderful, and today was a nice day. We could see the skyscrapers of downtown Los Angeles off in the distance to the west, and, to the north, the San Gabriel Mountains — including Mt. Wilson, which I saw every day of my life growing up, with its television broadcasting towers and its observatories (from which Edwin Hubble first noticed the red shift of distant galaxies, thus discovering the expansion of the universe and leading to the theory of the Big Bang). It’s a very peaceful place, and I love it. The inscriptions on their tombstones sum them up, simply but eloquently: For my Mom: “Beloved wife and mother,” and then “Family first.” For my Dad: “Beloved husband and father,” followed by “A good man.” (I once dedicated a book to him with a citation from John 1:47 in the KJV New Testament: “an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no guile.”)

And I was happy again today to see the grave next to my mother’s, on the opposite side from my father’s. Why happy? Let me explain.

My father died on 30 June 2003. My mother died on 11 April 2005. I think it was on our first visit to their cemetery after my mother’s passing that my wife and I, driving up the rather steep hill toward my parents’ graves, noticed an elderly man who was toiling painfully up the road. We pulled over and asked him whether he could use a ride. Yes, he said, he could. He was walking to put flowers on the grave of his wife, whose loss, it soon became clear, he still felt with acute pain.

We invited him to ride with us, and told him to tell us where to turn. To our astonishment, his wife’s grave turned out to be about four or five feet from my parents’ burial place. It was separated from their graves by his own tombstone, with his name, “Frenchy M. Morrell,” and his birthdate inscribed on it but, obviously, no death date. We talked for a while, and he spoke movingly about how much he missed his wife, Wanda, who had died in 1985. He was horribly lonely, and he longed to be with her again. We offered him a ride back down the hill and to wherever he wanted to go, but he had planned on spending several hours there by his wife’s grave, and he declined our offer. We never saw him again.

We’ve returned, and I’ve come back alone, many times since then. Whenever I’m in southern California, if I can do it, I visit the cemetery. Every time, I’ve looked to see whether Frenchy had finally gotten his wish.

I’m deeply happy for him. After twenty-seven long years of sorrowful separation, he’s with his wife again.

We took some of the flowers that we’d brought for my parents that day, and placed them on his grave.

“And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away” (Revelation 21;4).

Posted from Newport Beach, California.