The Evening and the Morning Star

Vol. II. Kirtland, Ohio, December, 1833. No. 15.

By: Oliver Cowdery

Narrated by: Virtual Voice

From August through November of 1833, there were no new issues of The Evening and the Morning Star. W.W. Phelps had been the editor in Independence, Missouri, up until the 14th issue. The reason for the missing months is explained in this, the fifteenth issue, December 1833, Volume 2. Oliver Cowdery, in Kirtland Ohio, takes on the responsibility of publishing the paper from this point on, although Phelps still contributes, as well as F.G. Williams. At this time in the history of the church, the paper reveals with grave clarity, a republic loudly professing liberty while quietly recoiling from a despised and peculiar people. Into Jackson County came the followers of Joseph Smith—few in number, strange in doctrine, aflame with visions of Zion and the approaching kingdom of God. Yet instead of meeting these claims with sober argument or lawful restraint, their neighbors answered with rumor, suspicion, and finally organized fury. Tales of political conspiracy, slave insurrection, and territorial ambition were seized upon as convenient instruments by which otherwise respectable citizens excused the ruin of homes, and the driving out of families. Thus fear, once unleashed, clothed itself in the garments of civic duty.

Most striking of all was the conduct of those who proclaimed themselves defenders of law and order. In the name of preserving the Constitution, they suspended its very principles. Liberty of conscience, freedom of the press, and the sanctity of lawful protection were cast aside in Missouri as mobs tore down a printing office, tarred and feathered men, and drove women and children into exile. Armed assemblies gathered under the noble pretense of civic necessity while committing acts which struck adversely at the very foundation of the government. Here lies one of history’s oldest and darkest contradictions: men who praise freedom in theory often become its destroyers in practice when confronted by opinions they neither comprehend nor command.

The Saints, for their part, endured these trials with a stern and scriptural resolve. They spoke continually of Christ’s injunction to turn the other cheek, and for a season they submitted to indignity rather than bloodshed. Yet they gradually perceived that endless submission would invite extermination. Their appeals to Governor Daniel Dunklin did not cry out for vengeance, but for the restoration of lawful order. Their argument was simple and formidable: if one unpopular sect may be expelled by force without consequence, then the liberties of every citizen stand upon uncertain ground. The assault upon the “Mormons” was therefore no isolated outrage, but a wound inflicted upon the Constitution itself.

However, threaded throughout the entire narrative runs the fierce millennial spirit of the age. The writers viewed themselves as a covenant people journeying toward Zion amidst the tumults foretold by prophets of old. Signs in heaven, the gathering of Israel, the imminent return of Christ—these were not abstractions to them, but living realities. Even persecution became, in their eyes, evidence that prophecy marched steadily toward fulfillment. Exile was transformed into a badge of divine favor; suffering became preparation for the kingdom they believed would yet arise upon the earth.