The Cry of The Trumpet

I lay before you Mormon’s lament, a voice that trembles for a people who once called themselves believers.  It was written for us today because it happens amongst us now. Hear the hush between his words, the small, stubborn grief that will not be quieted. Similarly today, I see the righteous being driven out, step by measured step, as if the world exhales them into exile. Light is no longer welcomed; it is folded away, hidden beneath the hands of those who fear its burn.   They turn from truth and gorge on feeling, carried by tides that move them rather than by choices made with clear eyes. Anger rises where conviction should stand; softness becomes hardness; the Spirit’s pleadings fall like rain on stone. They have lost God, or let Him slip like a thread through their fingers, and the land remembers what it once was—civil, delightsome, bright—and grieves what it has become.   Yet we must speak. While we remain in the flesh we must declare the truth,...