1977
Onward Christian Soldiers
October 1977


“Onward Christian Soldiers,” New Era, Oct. 1977, 15

Special Issue:
Member-Missionary Work

Fiction:

Onward Christian Soldiers

Not everyone can go to BYU, at least not in his freshman year when he lives only 15 miles from another college, Mark thought as he made his way to a desk in the large amphitheater prior to his first class at State College.

He glanced at the 60 other strangers who had also elected to take Sociology 119. Many of them were also freshmen, opening their cellophane-wrapped notebooks for the first time.

He looked to see if he could recognize any members of the Church. As far as he could tell, he was the only Mormon on campus.

Two rows ahead of him was a girl who caught his attention. It was not her long hair flowing softly over her shoulders or her high cheek bones that caught his eye. She was reading a Bible.

The instructor, Dr. Guthrie, entered the classroom. He wore a turtleneck sweater and carried an old pipe that he carefully filled with tobacco as he waited for the bell to ring. He looked to be about 30 years old. Mark’s adviser had told him that Dr. Guthrie was one of the most popular teachers on campus. He had won teaching awards for the past three years.

Dr. Guthrie began his lecture by telling the class that he was a little “hung over” from a party the night before, but that he’d try to muddle through. He opened with a joke.

Mark looked around at the others in the class. For the most part they were happy to find an instructor who was “human.”

Dr. Guthrie talked for a few minutes about the course requirements, then switched to another joke that ended with a string of swear words.

The class roared its approval.

The girl in front of him raised her hand.

“Yes,” Dr. Guthrie said.

She stood up, cradling her Bible in her arms. She stood with dignity and said calmly, “I’m a Christian, Dr. Guthrie, and I believe the Bible is the word of God. The Bible teaches that taking the Lord’s name in vain is a sin.”

Mark stared at this beautiful girl with no make-up who had the courage to face 60 people and declare her standards. At the same time he felt embarrassed for her, knowing the reaction of the rest of the class.

Dr. Guthrie studied her thoughtfully for a moment, trying to decide whether to humiliate her in front of the class or let it go.

“What’s your name?”

“Sara Taylor.”

“Okay, Sara. Thank you. I’ll try and control my language.”

Dr. Guthrie examined his notes for several seconds, and then, looking up with a sly grin, announced, “Sara has just wiped out half my lecture.”

Loud laughter pulsed through the large amphitheater.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ve got four jokes I won’t be able to tell today, but if anybody wants to hear them,” he said, with a mischievous grin, “come down after class and I’ll whisper them to you.”

“Just send her out in the hall when you want to tell a joke,” someone suggested.

“I’m afraid she’d be in the hall all the time,” Dr. Guthrie kidded.

He’s the Pied Piper of State College, Mark thought.

After class, while the rest stayed to hear the jokes, Mark followed Sara out of the amphitheater into the hall.

“Sara?” he called after her.

“Yes?” she turned to face him.

“I agree with what you said about the Bible.”

“Do you? I didn’t hear you say anything in class.” She turned and hurried away.

As Mark drove the 15 miles home that night, he rehearsed in his mind that first class, trying to picture himself standing up as she had done. Deep down, however, he knew he couldn’t have done it.

As he drove, he remembered his disastrous first-grade school year in a small farm community, reliving the panic as he attempted to answer a teacher’s question but stuttered so badly she finally turned to someone else for the answer. On the playground that year, other boys in the class had mimicked him day after day until finally he would not even go out for recess.

They had moved to a larger town after that year, and careful professional therapy had helped him overcome the problem, but the emotional scars were still there. He couldn’t speak to large groups.

The next class started out with Dr. Guthrie being careful to control his speech. He was an excellent teacher, Mark had to admit, and only used the jokes as a diversion to keep everyone awake.

Halfway through the class, sensing students beginning to tire of sociology, he told a joke that would have made any truck driver blush. There was raucous laughter from a group of guys who sat on the last row.

Sara’s hand shot up again.

Dr. Guthrie saw her and, with a grin, announced, “Oh, oh, I’ve been a bad boy. Yes, Sara.”

Again she rose to her feet, and with a calm voice said, “The Bible teaches that adultery is a sin.”

“That may be true, Sara, but I don’t believe the Bible. I’m an agnostic, and any reference you make to the Bible is meaningless to me. I am more interested in what can be verified and proven. Please confine your statements to something having intellectual merit.”

She sat down. I wonder if Dr. Guthrie ever loses, Mark thought.

After class, Mark stopped her in the hall.

“Can I buy you a donut and a glass of milk?”

“Why?”

“I want to talk with you.”

They went to the student union cafeteria and found a table in the corner.

“Sara, I admire you for your courage.”

For the first time, she seemed to relax, realizing that he wasn’t going to argue with her.

“I know I don’t do it very well, but I have to say something. I just can’t let him walk over everything I cherish.”

That she dunked her donut in her milk made her seem a little more human to Mark.

She continued: “Before class today a girl came over and said that she hoped I wasn’t trying for a good grade in the class. I asked her if she had been quiet in class because of wanting a good grade, and she said, ‘Sure, I’ll believe whatever he wants me to believe for an A.’”

“Oh,” Mark said, feeling a little condemned by the story.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked as gently as she could.

He looked at her eyes, trying to decide if he could confide in her. She did not carry with her any arrogance.

“I’m afraid,” he answered honestly.

“Anybody would be nervous; that’s natural.”

“No, it’s more than that. When I was young, I had a speech problem. I overcame that, but the fear of being laughed at is still there.”

“Exodus, chapter 4, verses 10, 11, and 12 [Ex. 4:10–12],” she answered with a grin.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Here, I’ll write it down and you look it up later.” She wrote the reference on a napkin and gave it to him. He put it in his wallet.

“Are you a Christian?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, wondering how much more he should tell her.

“Someday you’re going to have to show it. Jesus will help you.”

He wondered why this girl, who had only a fraction of the scriptural knowledge about the Savior that he had could be so much better at showing her love for Him.

“Will you help me?” he asked her.

“Yes, of course.”

“Dr. Guthrie knows his business, but maybe we could be more effective if we could meet him in his own arena, you know, ‘intellectual merit.’ My Sunday School teacher is a trial lawyer. He knows how to present a case before a jury. I’m sure he’ll help us. Will you come with me to my Sunday School?”

“What church is that?” she asked.

“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The one we go to is 15 miles from here. I could pick you up at your dorm.”

Sunday he picked her up at 7:30 in the morning so he could attend priesthood meeting. She attended a Sunday session of Relief Society.

After class he saw her coming out of the classroom. She was upset.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Take me back to the dorms or I’m walking.”

“Why?”

“This is the Mormon church.”

“Yes, that’s another name.”

“And you’re a Mormon?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been deceived,” she said, turning and walking quickly out of the building.

He ran after her. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“Back to the dorm.” She stopped and accused him, “You’re not a Christian.”

“How can you say that? How could a church that is named after the Savior not be Christian?”

“What about the Book of Mormon?” she said. “That’s your Bible, isn’t it?”

She turned and ran from him. He ran after her. After half a block she slowed down to a fast walk. She wouldn’t allow him to walk beside her, and so he maintained a ten-foot distance behind her.

A few blocks from the church, a family driving to church who knew Mark stopped and asked him if he needed any help. He asked them to tell his parents that he’d be late. Before they left, he asked if he could borrow a copy of the Book of Mormon. They willingly agreed.

He had to run to catch up with Sara. By this time they were outside the small town and were walking along a gravel road that eventually led to the highway back to the college.

“Sara, you can’t walk 15 miles.”

“Watch me.”

“Sara, listen to me. I’m going to read you the flyleaf from the Book of Mormon.” She sped up, but Mark stayed close enough so she could hear him: “‘… to the convincing of the Jew and Gentile that Jesus is the Christ, the Eternal God, manifesting himself unto all nations …’”

“Do you have several wives?” she snapped.

“I don’t even have one, and if all women are as unreasonable as you, I may keep it that way.”

She kept on walking.

A few minutes later, he tried again. “Sara, I’m going to read from the Book of Mormon about the Savior. Did you know that he visited people in the New World after his resurrection?”

No answer.

Mark began reading aloud in chapter 11 of 3 Nephi [3 Ne. 11]. As he began, she again sped up, trying to get out of hearing range of his voice.

It was difficult to both read and watch where he was walking. He fell down once but quickly got up and continued.

After a few pages she slowed down.

He read aloud to her to the end of 3 Nephi. It took two hours.

Then, finally, she stopped and turned around. “What you’ve been reading, it’s in the Book of Mormon?”

“Yes.”

She began walking toward him. She passed him, standing there, and kept on going, now heading back to town.

“Where are you going?” he called after her.

“Back to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

“Sara?” he called after her.

“What?” she asked, not breaking stride.

“Can I walk beside you?”

She stopped and turned around. It was the first smile he had seen from her that morning.

By the time they reached town, the other ward was about to begin their sacrament meeting. He ushered her to the second row.

It was fast and testimony meeting, and it was one of those meetings that you hope will never end. At one point he looked over and saw tears streaming down Sara’s face.

After the meeting they drove to the home of Brother Packard, who was a lawyer and Mark’s Sunday School teacher. He agreed to help them debate the concepts presented by Dr. Guthrie. They stayed so long that they were invited for a light supper. While Sara helped Sister Packard in the kitchen, Mark called his parents to explain what had happened. He also called the elders to arrange a time for the missionary discussions for Sara.

During the next week Mark and Sara prepared to debate the opinions of Dr. Guthrie. They spent several hours a day in the library taking notes from reports that would sustain their position in regard to chastity, family life, and use of drugs. They used a shoe box to file their notes. On Thursday they met with Brother Packard who coached them.

Friday night Sara received her first discussion.

On Saturday morning Mark took her rock climbing in the mountains near the college. She had never climbed before, so he chose an easy route.

The air was crisp, and the leaves on the aspen trees along the canyon had begun to turn various shades of gold and yellow. They were both quiet as they made their way up a rock cliff, talking only when necessary, somehow trying to disturb as little as possible the beauty around them.

Finally they reached the top of the rimrock and sat down. He pulled two apples from his small pack. They munched on the apples slowly and watched the morning progress into day.

She looks best out here, he thought to himself. On campus, if she were placed alongside a girl who uses make-up, Sara would look plain, but out here where simplicity is a mark of beauty, she looks good.

“Last night I woke up and started to cry,” she said quietly.

“What for?”

“The problem I face is, what if your teachings are true?”

“They are.”

“Mark, you can’t be right. God would’ve told more people. How many Mormons are there?”

“Four million.”

“And those four million are right, and everybody else is wrong?”

“The priesthood has been restored.”

“I know that’s what you believe.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked her. “What’s really bothering you?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you. My mother. All last night I worried about my mother. She’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” she said, fighting back the tears. While she waited to gain composure, she picked up a small gold leaf from the ground and examined it.

“My mother was a good person. Dad and Mom were always dedicated Christians. I never was. When I was 14, I rebelled against them. I did everything I could to hurt them. When I was 17, I ran away from home. I wound up in California, living with a group of other girls who had also left their homes. We were pretty wild.

“One day I went with some other girls to hear an evangelist speak. We went on a lark, but as he spoke, my heart softened and all the bitterness left me. I made a promise to dedicate my whole life to Jesus. As soon as I could scrape up the money, I took a bus home.

“All the way home on the bus, I thought how happy Mom and Dad would be to see that I’d finally accepted Jesus as my Savior. When I arrived home, I found that my mother had died four weeks earlier. She never saw me as a Christian. We were never united as a family.”

She let the leaf slip from her hand and fall to the ground. “What about my mother? Is she to be condemned for never hearing about Joseph Smith?”

He reached into his pack and pulled out his Bible and also his three-in-one combination.

“Do you have an answer?” she asked, surprised at seeing his broad smile.

“The most beautiful answer in the world,” he said, turning to the Pearl of Great Price.

In the afternoon they found a path in the woods and followed it for miles. They talked about many things, both large and small, but once, during their walk, she turned and asked if they could talk about the Savior, and it was like two people getting together and sharing news about a cherished friend whom neither had seen for some time, each sharing memories of his experience with that friend. Sara told of His mission to bring salvation to the world, and of His love for even those who have sinned. Mark told of His appearances to Joseph Smith and other prophets, and that He was speaking to a prophet in our day.

As he said good-bye to her at the dorm, she said, “Mark, I must tell my father that I’m learning about Mormonism. I owe him that.”

Sunday night she received the second missionary lesson.

Tuesday night he picked her up at the library at closing time, and they drove to a diner on the highway for a snack. She seemed very distant and tense as he drove.

When the waitress came to take their order, Sara said abruptly, “I’ll take a cup of coffee.”

After the waitress left, Mark asked, “Why? Why did you order coffee?”

“Why not? Do you think I’ll be damned if I have one cup? Are you that close-minded?”

“You’ve never ordered coffee before,” he argued.

“There’s no reason I can’t drink coffee. I’m not a Mormon, you know.” Her voice was sharp, her face hard.

“You’re drinking it just to spite me.”

The waitress put down two rolls and her cup of coffee and his glass of milk. Sara eagerly took a sip.

“Would you like some?” she taunted.

“No.”

“Why not? Afraid it will kill you?”

“Why are you acting this way?”

“My father received my letter today. He called me tonight after supper and read me some things about Mormonism from a book he’d found in the library. They are quite different from what you’ve been telling me.”

“And you’re going to believe him?”

“Why shouldn’t I? He’s my father.”

“Will you at least finish reading the Book of Mormon and taking the missionary lessons?”

“No. I’m through.”

“And so you’re just going to believe what is in some anti-Mormon book without completely investigating our teachings?”

“I’m past the rebellious stage. Do you know what I put my father through when I ran away from home? I can’t hurt him anymore. I love my father.” She hastily got up. “Good-bye, Mark.”

She hurried out of the diner. He threw down a dollar bill on the counter and ran after her.

“Where are you going?” he asked, running to catch up with her as she ran along the side of the road.

She stopped to confront him. “Leave me alone!” she yelled. “Go find someone else to convert!”

“Look, you say you love your father. Fine. I’d expect that of you. But do you love your mother?”

“She’s dead.”

“I believe she’s waiting for you to accept the message of the Restoration. At least give me five minutes.”

They turned and walked back toward his car. He drove her to the parking lot near her dorm and parked the car. During that time, he tried to decide what to say, praying in his mind for help.

“Sara, you know a lot about the Bible. I want to talk about something that is in the Bible. When Jesus was on the earth, he was not accepted by most people as the Messiah. One of the reasons was that he was from Galilee, but the scriptures testified that the Messiah would come from Bethlehem. Do you agree with me on that?”

“Yes, but he was born in Bethlehem.”

“I know. Hundreds of people rejected him because others, some of them influential and smart men, ‘proved’ that Jesus was not a true messenger. Any one of those people who rejected him could have asked Jesus about the apparent contradiction, and he would have told them that he had been born in Bethlehem.”

“I wouldn’t want to have made that mistake,” she said.

“Sara, don’t reject our message just because someone says that we’re wrong. Study it out. Finish reading the Book of Mormon. Finish the missionary lessons. Pray and ask God if it’s true. That’s all I’ll ever ask. Will you do that much?”

She studied his face carefully for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders and replied, “Okay, I will do that.”

Just before she left him outside the dorm, she reached out and held his hands. “Mark, I think we had better quit seeing each other. I will do as you’ve asked, but I don’t want to feel any pressure to accept your teachings because of my feelings for you. That wouldn’t be honest.”

And so they quit seeing each other except in their sociology class. Mark asked the missionaries after every discussion about her progress. She was having a difficult time.

Sara continued to voice her opposition to some of Dr. Guthrie’s views, but it was in her own way, and many in the class enjoyed seeing Dr. Guthrie systematically destroy her arguments.

Mark inherited the shoe box with references on recipe cards because Sara did not feel comfortable using them, but he had not yet spoken in class. The fear of being laughed at, as he had been when young, prevented him from speaking out. At night he would resolve that tomorrow would be different. He would practice in front of his mirror what he would say. But when morning came, he faltered.

Sara never did falter.

Another month rolled by. As Mark began his fast on Saturday, he decided to pray for help so that he could overcome his fear of speaking. He spent the afternoon in his bedroom praying for help.

Sunday morning, as he drove to priesthood meeting, he was stopped by the state police.

“Could I see your driver’s license?” the officer asked.

“Here it is,” Mark said, pulling it out from his wallet. “Is something wrong?”

“Your back license plate is about to fall off. You better get it fixed before you lose it.”

“Thanks. I’ll take care of it right away.”

After the policeman had left, Mark put his driver’s license back into his wallet. He noticed a small piece of napkin tucked in with the other cards. He pulled it out. There was writing on it—Exodus, chapter 4, verses 10, 11, and 12 [Ex 4:10–12]. He read the scripture while still parked alongside the road.

He saw Sara at church and went with her to the class taught by the missionaries. Near the end of the class, one of the elders asked what her reactions were after learning about the Church.

“It’s been very interesting,” she said lightly. “I think everyone should learn about other beliefs.”

Mark turned to her, “Is that all you can say?”

“What am I supposed to say? I told you my father doesn’t want me to become a Mormon.”

“Is the message true?” Mark asked. “That’s the first question to answer.”

“I love Jesus,” she answered. “Isn’t that enough?”

“How much do you love him? Enough to be baptized into his church? Enough to follow a prophet who receives revelation from Jesus?”

“Mark, when we’re together, why is it that I always end up crying?”

“Sara,” one of the missionaries gently asked, “will you pray and ask God if the Book of Mormon is true?”

She stared at the wall for several seconds. Finally she answered quietly, “I don’t need to ask. It is true. I’ve known that for days.”

“If you know that, will you be baptized?”

“Don’t you understand? I love my father. All he’s ever wanted from life is that I follow in his faith. He doesn’t want me to be a Mormon. It would hurt him deeply, and I’ve already hurt him so much. How can I ask him to let me be baptized?”

Mark placed his hand on her shoulder. “Once you gave me an answer for one of my problems. You told me, ‘Jesus will help you.’ Sara, he’ll help you too.”

On Monday, Mark arrived late and didn’t get to talk to Sara before class. Dr. Guthrie stated that they would discuss changes in the past ten years regarding dating and marriage. He quoted a number of surveys that showed a marked change in these areas.

“Have these changes been healthy?” he asked. “I think they have. The old religious philosophy of damnation for doing what was labeled sin is almost gone, and good riddance.”

Sara objected. “I believe that kind of physical intimacy is reserved for marriage.”

“And who reserved it only for marriage?” Dr. Guthrie asked, obviously baiting her.

“God,” she answered.

“I see,” he said with a smirk that was shared by many in the class. The group of guys on the back row began to boisterously sing “Onward Christian Soldiers.” Dr. Guthrie smiled and asked them to stop.

“Sara, I’m afraid your opinion is fast leaving the contemporary scene. Does anyone else feel the way Sara does?”

Mark knew that he must finally defend his beliefs.

“I do,” he said boldly, standing up to face Dr. Guthrie.

“Oh?” Dr. Guthrie asked, surprised at finding anyone else who would support Sara’s position. “And are you going to quote the Bible too?”

“Dr. Guthrie, I can understand that two people may have an honest difference of opinion, but you have delighted in making Sara look bad. I felt the implication from you that anyone who believes in Christianity is foolish. And I have sat by and let you do it. I should have stood long ago to defend my beliefs, but I didn’t. This is hard for me to do. Is there anyone else in here who has felt uncomfortable with the way Dr. Guthrie has treated Sara?”

A girl’s hand went up. Then another. Slowly, soberly, others raised their hands until there were 15 hands in the air.

“Thank you,” Mark continued. “You seem to take great sport in poking fun at the Bible. Have you ever read the Bible?”

“No. Not completely. I’ve got more important things to do.”

“Is it fair then to say that you are not an authority on the Bible?”

Dr. Guthrie’s smile had disappeared. “Yes.”

“On what basis do you choose to reject a book you’ve never read?”

“That’s beside the point. This is a sociology class.”

“I’ll get to that in a minute, but will you agree that there may be merit to the teachings of the Bible, but Bible study has been outside your area of expertise, and so we may treat your opinions on that subject differently than we might were you to speak about your area of research? Is that a fair statement?”

“Yes,” Dr. Guthrie said grimly.

“Thank you. I’d like to make one small suggestion about your teaching. I can see why you are rated so highly as a teacher. You deserve the tribute you receive. However, I have noticed that you seldom present more than one side of any issue. That to me is not very scholarly.”

Mark wished he had time to write out what he was saying in order to filter it. He was making mistakes, angering Dr. Guthrie, but he had to muddle through as best he could. He felt the sweat pouring down his shirt, and he knew that he was blushing.

“Last week you chose to speak about the legalization of marijuana. The week before we discussed open-coed dorms. In each of these issues your opinion matched that of the majority of the class. Today we will discuss a subject that, when we are through, will end up with you agreeing with the majority of the class that traditional religious sanctions on dating are old-fashioned. I am curious why you have chosen topics upon which you must know beforehand that there will be agreement between you and the class. Is that the price you pay for popularity as a teacher?”

There was utter silence in the room.

Too strong, Mark thought.

“Are you through?” Dr. Guthrie asked curtly.

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. I don’t want to change anything in the class except to add a more balanced approach to the topics we discuss. If you would not be offended, I am prepared to present tomorrow an opposing viewpoint to your position concerning the subject of dating standards.”

After class Sara met him in the hall. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “Can we go for a walk?”

It was snowing lightly that morning. Large flakes settled gently on the lawn and trees and her hair.

“I called my dad this morning, and I told him that I loved him, and that I loved my mother—more now than ever before. I told him that Jesus has restored his gospel to the earth. I told him that this church holds the only opportunity that our family can ever have to be united together in heaven. I asked him to give me permission to be baptized. Mark, he said yes.”

He threw his arms around her, lifted her off her feet, and they spun around and around until they both fell down on the snow, laughing, crying, bubbling.

In a few minutes they continued their walk.

“After I talked to my father, I phoned Sister Packard and asked her to help me fill out a form so that someone can be baptized for my mother in the temple.”

“You’ve had a busy morning,” he said.

“We’ve both had a busy morning,” she said, squeezing his hand as they approached the cafeteria. “But you know what? It’s just the beginning of busy mornings and afternoons for both of us.”

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“This morning, when I phoned the missionaries to tell them I wanted to be baptized, we also talked about something else. Who do we need to contact about setting up an LDS institute program on campus?”

Illustrated by James Christensen