Talks to Young Men. XII: The Man and the Mission

TALKS TO YOUNG MEN.

XII.— THE MAN AND THE MISSION. In a community out of which perhaps seventeen hundred young men are constantly in the mission field, in all parts of the liberal, civilized world, the effect of the training received by these

missionaries is constantly asserting itself for good or evil, on their return home. This work has made the settlements of the Latter-day Saints more cosmopolitan than those of any other community in the country. With the restraints put upon young men who thus go out, it may be safely asserted that from their experiences mostly good results. But there are men who fall; there are who fail; and there are who make wrecks of themselves. A word of caution to the youth who is about to leave his quiet home life, for the first time, is appropriate, especially when given by one who has ended a faithfully performed mission, and who, therefore, speaks from experience. Such a one is the author of this talk, which I commend to the boys both at home and in the field:

From time immemorial the ruddy vigor of youth, and the lusty strength of young manhood have been favorite themes of poet and orator. Every year, in this broad land of ours, millions of boys, on the threshold of a new. life, go forth from the home, the school, the college, mighty in the consciousness of innate power, to grapple with whatever obstacles time and tide may bring to bear against them. Like Achilles of old, they put on their golden armor, believing that it needs only the waving of the helmet plumes, only the flash of sunlight from the brazen shield, to drive the Trojan warriors from the field in flight. And every year the ebbing tide leaves stranded on the sands of time, battered breast-

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plates, broken shields, cleft helmets, skeletons in armor— the wreckage of life's up by that relentless sea, last battle, tossed resting place of myriad hopes and plans and lofty aims, the silent cemetery of those who went forth and were overcome. And every year from this Zion of ours, hundreds of young warriors go forth to bear the Gospel of the kingdom to a world that sits in darkness, to fight the good fight of faith, to wrestle with foes implacable without, to struggle with enemies far more implacable within. No man realizes, when he goes upon his mission, that it is the turning point in his life — that through it he is to stand or fall. In most cases he goes forth confident of success, proud of his own power to resist evil. If he has not a definite testimony of the truth of the Gospel which he is sent to proclaim, if he does not know for himself that Joseph Smith was a Prophet sent from God, he has a vague hope that sometime, somehow, that which he lacks will be given him. Little does he sense that only by fasting and prayer, by self-abnegation and entire consecration to the Master's service, can he win a victory over the world, the flesh, and the devil; and, greater than all else, victory over self, for he who cannot conquer self, can conquer nothing else. He goes forth with the blessings of the Holy Priesthood, surrounded and followed by the hopes, the faith and prayers of those who love him best. In due course of time these missionaries come home. Some have labored faithfully, and diligently.Every hour has seen a dnty performed, every day has brought new strength and joy. The honorable releases that they bear, while giving pride, give but a tithing of the satisfaction that is in their hearts, the knowledge that they did their best to merit the "Well done, thou good and faithful Him whose word they have taught, whose servant," from They may not have earthly mission they have striven to imitate. any baptisms to their credit. What of that? They have done that which was required at their hands, and their reward is sure. Others there are who also have honorable releases, and yet they know that they might have done better. They have done nothing very bad, but their hearts have not been in their work. Sightseeing, music, study or pleasure has been their aim, and when their desires in these respects have been satiated, they count the

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days, the months, the hours, until they start upon their homeward voyage. They want their releases, but they do not derive much honor from them. There is a third class, and, thank God, there are but very few in it, comprised of those who return home alone. They carry no releases. They are no longer called "elders" or "brothers," they have fallen in the battle. They wanted to see the great world. They saw it, drank of its cup, tasted its pleasures, and were conquered. Tearful eyes, sad countenances, hearts bowed down with shame, await their home-coming; and thorny must be their paths, bitter their trials, sincere and deep their repentance, would they ever regain that which they have lost, if indeed this be possible. And there is yet a fourth class, more to be pitied than even those just mentioned. There are some who have secretly trodden bye and forbidden paths; whose covenants have not been held sacred. They feel assured that no man knows their sin, and they accept their honorable release with the air of victors. But there are those who know. They know themselves, and never can they escape the lash of conscience. God knows, and Satan also knows. He has placed his brand upon their souls, and some day he will surely claim his own. Let them defy the truth as much as they will, they cannot long face it. The Spirit of God is not with them. They cannot find pleasure in religious duties. In their hearts they have neither part nor lot with the Lord's people. They are missed from the places where they ought to be. They have a name to live, but they are dead. Their friends and associates

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wonder why. God knows; Satan knows; they themselves know. * *

Almost every stranger in the city of Mexico, or in Old Madrid, *

thinks himself in duty bound to see a Spanish bull-fight. It is so unique, so interesting to talk about, a thing never to be forgotten. Why, what is the use of being a traveler if one is not to see just these characteristic features of a city? So almost every stranger pays his money and takes in the great event. There is the amphitheatre, crowded with rich and poor alike, thousands of them. There are flashing colors, blatant music, soldiers to keep the populace in order, in case it becomes too enthusiastic. The president or mayor enters and takes the seat of honor. Flourish of trumpets, grand procession in the arena; brillant spectacle! Then the

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bull is driven in, his horns filed to needle points, angry and looking for a victim. He is tantalized by the capadores. Their flashing mantles bewilder him. He knows not where to charge. In his shoulders bite the barbed banderillas. He is furious, and then the real fight begins. In come the picadores on their blind-folded horses, each intent on goading the infuriated beast and effecting an escape. The scene becomes exciting. The bull paws the ground, charges; charges again and again, and at length catches his quarry full in the ribs. [The sharp horns tear their way from shoulder to flank. The horse plunges, falls, tries to rise, is caught and tossed again, uttering cries of pain. The stranger turns sick, starts to leave, thinks better of it, waits a little longer with averted face. When next he looks, a man is down, being gored to death, and horses, bleeding, mangled, run hither and thither. The bull has served Irs purpose. Now wounded, but unsubdued, he waits with lowering head, the merciful sword thrust of the matador. A second bull is driven in. The same scenes are repeated. The sickening smell of blood floats heavy on the afternoon air. This time the stranger does not turn away nor faint. He is becoming accustomed to it all, and, when the sixth bull lies prostrate, he unconsciously regrets that no more bloody work has been done on this beautiful Sunday afternoon. The stranger is a very different person from the man who took his seat three short hours before. His heart has been hardened. Scenes of cruelty can never again pain him as once they did, and human life is not so sacred in his eyes as it was when he bought his ticket to the bull- fight. ' So in the palmy days of Rome, the vestal virgin, little more than child, when first she entered the great arena, would shriek and faint at seeing gladiators fight, and hearing the roar of the Numidian lions. But, within a month, she could turn her thumbs and demand the death of some poor Goth or Christian, as calmly as she could sit and have her hair combed by her Attic slave. Yet in itself there is no sin in going to a bull-fight, and in itself, there

is perhaps no sin in "taking in the sights" of Chicago, New York, London, Paris or Vienna. The world has not changed one iota since the wise man wrote: "There is a way that seemeth right unto a man, but the end s

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thereof are the ways of death." In the lives of individuals, as

well as among nations, there is a well-fixed law of reciprocity. Each act must bring its result; each cause its effect. When a course of action is proposed, each man, the missionary above all, should ask himself the question: "What good will result therefrom?" as well as, "What harm may occur?" If there is naught

of good to be attained, the only safe plan is to have nothing to •do with it. No young man ever goes to a place of questionable resort for the first time with the intention of doing wrong. But lie should bear in mind that when he goes to such a place, he can-

not take his safe-guards with him. At the portal he must leave the breastplate of righteousness, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, the sword of the Spirit. He must go in his own human strength alone, and when a man feels strongest in and of himself, then the devil laughs the loudest, for he is certain of another victim. How can one pray, "Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil," and expect the Lord to protect him when he goes deliberately where he knows temptations will assail him, where evil is master? It cannot be. No man can take coals of fire into his bosom without being burned. A short time ago, I met two missionaries who, after release, had taken in the sights of Vienna. They said that they had no fear. They had performed good missions, and knew right from wrong. They only went to see. Yet from the stories which they told, the pictures on which they gloated, I knew that the coals had left red, festering sores. There are shadows enough in every heart, without hunting up the shady side of life. There is enough of want, woe and wickedness upon the surface without delving into the under current to find more. And, after all, when it has all been seen, of what good has it been? None, absolutely none. Some years ago, four Elders in the German mission were debating whether or no they should visit one of the famous haunts of a great city. Three of them saw no harm in doing such a thing. The fourth, the manliest of them all, the one who could be counted on to resist temptation, refused to go. He said that he was not strong enough to visit such a place. The others laughed and went their way. Today their names are not to be found on the Church rolls. They have lost the faith, while he who would not trust him-

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self, is trusted now by all, and his name is known to every Latterday Saint throughout the land. Moral strength does not come from putting one's self in the presence of evil, and seeing how much can be resisted, for ultimately the limit of resistance will be reached; but rather from shunning evil wherever it is known to exist. If a man has the spirit of his mission, he has little difficulty in detecting evil in its most subtle guise. It must be that temptations come. They are necessary to develop spiritual strength, but with every temptation there is provided a way of escape, if men would only seek it. The mission fieldhas its peculiar temptations, some that never touch a Saint at home. In meeting them, the missionary must rise or fall, gain strength or become weak. He is morally better or morally worse for the experiences through which he passes. If he could only realize at the beginning of his career that his whole moral and spiritual fate is in the balance, how careful he would be, and how he would seek the Source of Strength as he had never before sought it. It is those who have fought the good fight, who have overcome, that are needed today to strengthen and build up, by example no less than by precept, the youth of Zion, at a time when the influence of the outside world is so stronglyfelt. And each man called upon a mission should feel that, apart from the great good that he may do to others, this mission gives him an opportunity to make sure his own salvation, and to develop moral strength and power that will make him forever useful in the Church to whose service he has consecrated himself. Walter M. Wolfe.