"Every Knee Shall Bow..."

by Marcus Southworth

In December 2006, I had a most remarkable and unusual experience. Early in the month, we had a Ward Christmas party. Like most ward parties, it was held in the cultural hall. There were lots of preparations in getting this party together. I could see by the decorations and all of the food, that many people were involved. We moved into the neighborhood in April so this was our first Christmas here and there were a lot of people my wife and I did not know.

When my wife, Cherine and I arrived at the chapel just a few minutes early, Amy Pierson asked me to participate in a manger scene that was going to be part of the program that evening. I reluctantly agreed. When I saw the costume she had for me, I thought to myself…oh great! She presented me with a robe and a turban. It was really too small for me, but with a little wriggling we made it work.

In this little production, I was supposed to be one of the shepherds to whom the angels appeared while they were in the fields watching over their flocks. As you recall, according to Luke, an angel appeared to them and told them to go into Bethlehem and there they would find the Christ child lying in a manger.

There were several men and boys from the Ward who were asked to do the same thing. One of those asked to dress up as a shepherd with me was Jeremy Holt, a young man with down-syndrome. I had seen him in the congregation over the few months that we had been attending. He stood out because of his unsolicited participation in leading the music. Whenever the ward sings, and no matter where he was seated, a confident and determined smile would appear on his face and his arms would wave about his head. He looks like an imitation of a trained conductor for a major symphony performance. Once I got over the initial surprise of his unusual performance and participation in Sacrament meeting, I started thinking to myself; I wonder what he is thinking and feeling that makes him come alive every time the hymns are sung?

I have always been moved by the hymns. One of the things I enjoy most about attending my Sunday meetings is the singing of hymns. I must admit, there are times that my heart is so full that sitting in my seat is also hard to do. I wonder if Jeremy feels the same way. Maybe, he too is moved in a special way. On one occasion, I asked Jeremy’s mother if he could speak, since I have never heard him say anything. She said not, but assured me that he understands most everything. I believe her. I always say hello to Jeremy. He always smiles and pauses as I compliment him for leading the singing or for some other good thing that he has done. He is usually very shy but pauses long enough for the verbal stroking. He responds the same way a puppy would from a gently stroking. He loves it!

Well, after getting dressed in our shepherd outfits, we all took our places behind the stage curtain. I was a little embarrassed and consequently light hearted about the whole situation, and joked with the others who seemed to be just as uncomfortable as I was. When the curtain opened, there before the crowd was a woman and her husband dressed in a nativity costume holding a newborn baby in their arms surrounded by cardboard animals and us, the shepherds. We all stood on the stage together as Amy Pierson and her husband read from the second chapter of Luke, (the Christmas Story).

There on the stage in front of hundreds of people, I was at first self conscious about my role and thought how corny I must look to the audience. I towered over everyone, the costume was too small and I was sure that my wife was in the audience somewhere snickering about my predicament. However, as I looked around, I sensed that everyone seemed much more focused on the narrators, and on the manger scene. I soon lost my sense of embarrassment and realized that no one was really paying any attention to me at all. Consequently, I too started listening to the narrators and gazed over at the makeshift manger.

I watched Adrienne and Joachim Schmidt who were playing the role of Mary and Joseph. I remember thinking, ‘hmmm Sister Schmidt looks a lot like I imagine Mary the mother of Jesus would look. For that matter, her husband Joachim, looks astonishingly authentic too, like an old world carpenter.’ I watched this simple looking woman holding the infant baby in her arms, while her husband comforted and cared for her and the baby, and as I did, I felt a sudden rush of emotion, a spiritual feeling, go through me accompanied with a series of wonderful thoughts. To me, it was as if, for a few moments, I was there, in Bethlehem and saw before me Christ, the savior of the world, wrapped in swaddling clothes, and lying in a manger.

I suppose a thousand other thoughts poured through my mind and soul as I thought of Jesus the Son of God born in a stall with horses, donkeys, goats and sheep. I thought of what Bethlehem would be like back then. I also considered how God had chosen the weak things of the earth to show forth his greatness. I thought how through this one child, all mankind would be able to return to their heavenly home because of the atoning sacrifice that he would make.

As these sobering ideas filled my heart and pierced my soul, without any rehearsal or prompting, Jeremy Holt, the young man with down-syndrome, fell to his knees on the hardwood floor before me and with all earnestness he clasped his hands and looked upon the child held in the arms of his mother. I looked back at the congregation to see their reaction. No one stirred, it was if they did not even notice him or what had happened. But right there in front of me was Jeremy, knelling at my feet facing the Christ child, held in the arms of his mother. Suprisingly, I was overcome by Jeremy’s reaction, for I too wanted to throw myself to the floor and bow myself before the babe and worship him. A wealth of emotion filled my soul as I held my position on stage, dressed as a shepherd, sent by angels to witness the birth of Christ the Lord. Silently and to myself, tears of joy streamed down my face, for before me, it was as if I was there and saw the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, even the redeemer of the world, the very Son of God, lying in a manger.

This was a sacred and special moment in my life, one I hope never to forget. Even now, as I write to you of what I saw and felt, I am overcome with emotion and gratitude and happiness.

The scriptures say that when He comes again, that every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that he is the Christ, the Son of God.

Jeremy Holt for whatever reason is mentally handicapped and cannot do and enjoy some of the blessings that we enjoy in this life. But to me, I will always think on him and how his knees gave way as he saw the Christ child ... lying in the manger. For I know, at some future time, every living soul will also kneel and honor Christ the savior of the world. I do not believe that any mortal or immortal soul will resist the compelling reaction. For when we see him again, we shall all fall down upon our knees and worship Him and love Him as he has loved us.

Most Memorable Christmas (My Mother)

Heilige Nacht
By Marianne Muthreich Southworth

1944 was a difficult time for the German people. We had been at war with many nations for the previous five years, and now Germany was about to face one of the most humbling experiences that can come to a proud nation—defeat.

In the spring of 1945 the end finally came. Many thousands had been evacuated from their homes and had gone to the inland cities out of fear of facing the Russians. My family were among these refugees.

I was 15 years old at that time and was living in another city. My parents were unable to reach me in order to tell me how I could get in touch with them. My elder brother was at war, and the four younger boys were all under the age of ten and living with my parents. The time came when I was driven out by the soldiers too, so I began desperately to search for my family. It took me one and one-half years to discover their whereabouts, and when I finally found them, I was shocked at the sad condition. My father had been taken to Russia for hard labor and was never again seen by us. My eldest brother had not returned from the war and never did. My grandmother had not yet been found. My aunt, my mother and the four little boys had been placed in a room above a roadside bar, with only the bathroom to use as a kitchen. The slept on straw on the floor, with flies and lice as their companions. They were all gravely ill, yet bravely facing this terrible time in the best way they could. Christmas was approaching and I immediately applied myself to aid their desperate situation.

We had no food at all until my brother saw a farmer kill a pig and bury the entrails in the ground to dispose of them. After dark my brothers dug them and brought them to my mother who cleaned and prepared them to put in a delicious soup for our Christmas dinner.

On Christmas Eve, the townspeople invited the refugees to a Christmas celebration. I had to work, but my aunt went with the children who were very excited.

We had no tree or presents yet and did not know where they would come from. But I remember searching until I found what seemed to be the most beautiful little crippled tree. Then I took the little money I had and bought a few small gifts at the store such as a metal comb, a bar of soap, and whatever was available to purchase over the counter. Anything could be bought if you had enough money but only on the black market, and my mother did not allow us to buy on the black market. She prayed often to ask the Lord to spare our lives and promised in return that we would have no part in stealing or buying on the black market. We would in no way trade our honor for survival. She would rather have us all die. Many times we almost did.

When I arrived home with my few precious purchases, I set up the tree and prepared the room. My mother prepared the soup, and the fat on top and the chunks of skin I could see floating in it looked so good! When my aunt and brothers returned home from the celebration in town, the room was warm from the fire burning in the wood stove. With our Christmas tree and a few presents to share, we laughed and were so happy. Then just as my mother was about to serve the Christmas soup, the soldiers turned out all the lights in the town. My mother took the pot off the fire, and flames from the stove were dancing as we bowed our heads and blessed the food and the Christmas Season. A spirit of warmth came over us, and we felt so fortunate and approved of by the Lord. The Spirit of Christ rested upon us and gave us a sweet feeling of security; we knew that nothing could harm or destroy us.

Christ the Savior was born.

Be a Pioneer

I admire those who are pioneers in one way or another. These men and women through their persistence and effort improve our future and our lives. Mothers are pioneers. Fathers are pioneers. Converts, immigrants, entrepreneurs, students, athletes, people who are doing things, or those who are improving their lives and the lives of others, they are all pioneers.

I think that we all are or have been pioneers. At some time or other in our lives, we have had to be at the forefront, cutting the way ahead. If there is no one in front of you it is sometimes very difficult. You may be frightened of the unknown, exhausted or even discouraged, yet, you carry on. You push forward and finish what you started. Many men and women have lost their dreams when obstacles begotten, and many others have given in, phobic of faulty piton. However, at this critical time the champion in us all may emerge, no failure is acceptable, no challenge is insurmountable, no sacrifice is too much and no pain to difficult to endure. Darkness may gather, friends may abandon us, the world may condemn us, but this is the hour of our triumph. This is the hour of our glory. This is the moment where we give our all to a good and worthy cause and win or lose, this moment is ours. I know how this feels. I have experienced it in my life. It is at times like this that I rely on the words of President Theodore Roosevelt to lift me and inspire me to buck up and 'get it done':

IT IS NOT THE CRITIC WHO COUNTS

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly;who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming;

but who does actually strive to do the deeds;who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause;who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."

Theodore Roosevelt
Citizenship in a Republic; Speech Delivered at Sorbonne, Paris
April 23, 1910

Gods gift to Us is Free Agency

To fully understand this gift of agency and its inestimable worth, it is imperative that we understand that God's chief way of acting is by persuasion and patience and long-suffering, not by coercion and stark confrontation. He acts by gentle solicitation and by sweet enticement. He always acts with unfailing respect for the freedom and independence that we possess. He wants to help us and pleads for the chance to assist us, but he will not do so in violation of our agency. He loves us too much to do that, and doing so would run counter to his divine character.

To countermand and ultimately forbid our choices was Satan's way, not God's, and the Father of us all simply never will do that. He will,however, stand by us forever to help us see the right path, find the right choice, respond to the true voice, and feel the influence of his undeniable Spirit. His gentle, peaceful, powerful persuasion to do right and find joy will be with us 'so long as time shall last, or the earth shall stand, or there shall be one man upon the face thereof to be saved' (Moro. 7:36)."

President Howard W. Hunter