I look to the western skies ablaze like a flaming fire as the sun sets on a spectacular day. The beautiful sunset going on right now is a fitting capstone to a beautiful day and the perfect reminder of the "shining of a flaming fire by night" and "a tabernacle for a shadow in the daytime from the heat, and for a place of refuge" (Isaiah 4: 5-6).
Many of us were blessed to witness the typical transformation wrought by a glorious Redeemer, who exchanges our mourning for the oil of joy, our heaviness for the garment of praise, and ashes for beauty (see Isaiah 61: 3).
And on another beautiful Palm Sunday, like today, a similar plea went up to the Highest as the first temple was dedicated 180 years ago. The "oil of joy" and the "garments of praise" being put to their divine use as the Prophet pleaded, "And let these, thine anointed ones, be clothed with salvation, and thy saints shout aloud for joy. Amen, and Amen" (D&C 109: 80).
Little did I realize, starting the difficult journey of recovery, and hoping merely to roam the wilderness as a second-class citizen, that I would ever be privileged to shout Hosannas to the King.
One of my first sober Christmas holidays I decided to join the "Messiah Sing-In" at the Provo Tabernacle. There were hundreds singing praises, a superb orchestra, and some talented soloists. We joined the chorus in true "surround sound" with lyrics like,
"And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together" (Isaiah 40: 5).
"Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in" (Psalm 24: 7).
Little did I realize, that historic building would burn to the ground. And after it happened, little did I realize, God would inspire a holy prophet and the remaining skeleton would reappear as "Holiness to the Lord." Yes, His glory will now be revealed in that house, where "the King of Glory" can come in.
Today I observed waved white handkerchiefs and pleas of "Hosanna, save us now." Little did I realize, as a wretched drunk, that the clean white handkerchiefs were symbolic of the palms, symbolizing victory over the chains of alcoholism and even death itself. Little did I realize, that on the Palm Sunday of March 27, 1836 the dedicatory prayer included a verse about victory that states,
"That our garments may be pure, that we may be clothed upon with robes of righteousness, with palms in our hands, and crowns of glory upon our heads, and reap eternal joy for all our sufferings" (D&C 109: 76).
With the ashes of a broken life, scarred by addiction, little did I realize that I would ever be allowed to wave palms in my hand. Nor could I understand that it was a type and shadow of the King who rode into Jerusalem on the first Palm Sunday as the people "took branches of palm trees, and went forth to meet him, and cried, Hosanna: Blessed is the King of Israel that cometh in the name of the Lord" (John 12: 13).
On a cold December night, as I watched and listened to a beautiful soprano soloist sing, "Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion; shout, O daughter of Jerusalem: behold, thy King cometh unto thee," little did I realize I was within the King's walls (see Zechariah 9: 9). After all, I was just a citizen of the community, and a second-class citizen at best.
Little did I realize, the King didn't want me back as a second-class citizen. He wanted me to come back like Him, and like the beauty of the tabernacle He transformed.
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