The Evening and the Morning Star

Vol. 2. Kirtland, Ohio, February, 1834. No. 17.

By: Oliver Cowdery

Narrated by: Virtual Voice

In this seventeenth number of The Evening and the Morning Star, the accounting of injustice and a great struggle upon the borders of the American wilderness continues, much like those ancient contests sung in the lays of forgotten kingdoms, when the hearts of men were divided between fear and hope, pride and mercy. The tale of Jackson County, Missouri, is not a simple quarrel among neighbors in this newspaper, but the unfolding of a deeper malady that has ever haunted the race of Men: that those who proclaim themselves guardians of order often become, through fear of the unfamiliar, the destroyers of justice itself. The Saints are portrayed as a wandering and covenant-bound people, driven not by conquest but by conviction, while their enemies clothe wrath and envy beneath the fair garments of public virtue. Thus, the paper reveals a sorrowful truth well known in former times—that mobs and tyrants alike seldom confess their lust for dominion openly, but rather adorn it with the language of righteousness.

Yet beyond the strife of Missouri, there moves a greater theme, as vast and deep as the rhythmic tones of the cosmic spheres. The writers know that the ancient powers of prophecy had not departed from earth, but only slumbered, awaiting the hour of awakening in the 19th century in the spirit of Joseph Smith Jr, the seer and translator of the Book of Mormon and revelator of the restored gospel of the Only Begotten Son of God. They reject the notion that revelation belonged solely to vanished ages, insisting instead that visions, miracles, and the gifts of the Spirit were intended by God, to endure among the elect children of God. To them, the restoration through Joseph Smith Jr. was a rekindling of fires long hidden beneath ash. Like the return of a forgotten king or the discovery of a lost language, these manifestations were believed to herald the renewal of divine order among mortals.

Their adversaries, who honored the memory of ancient apostles while denying the living power that once accompanied them, are portrayed as men who preserve only the garment of an old kingdom while allowing the spirit to perish.

The prophecies of the Millennium and the gathering of Israel are then unfolded in this periodical as promises destined for fulfillment. The vision includes the wolf dwelling with the lamb, the earth filled with the knowledge of God as waters cover the sea, and Israel gathered again beneath covenant and peace. In these writings lingers the same longing that echoes through ancient records—the hope that Zion will return to earth.

The history of Israel, especially through the warnings of the prophet Zephaniah, is treated as both tragedy and warning. Nations flourish when rulers bow themselves before righteousness, as in the days of Josiah, yet decay spreads like a blight when pride and idolatry reign unchecked. Judgment, therefore, is shown not as cruelty, but as the stern consequence of abandoning the Light of Christ. Still, mercy endures. Though kingdoms fall and peoples are scattered, Providence remembers the covenant, and restoration remains possible even after desolation.

When the publication is viewed in its entirety, it appears akin to a chronicle of a beleaguered fellowship that believed themselves living once more within the sacred patterns of ancient history. They saw in their persecutions the same shadow that had pursued prophets, apostles, and martyrs in ancient times. To them, their sufferings were not evidence of abandonment, but signs that the old war between revelation and worldly power had awakened anew. Thus, the Saints labored amid ruin, striving to build a forgotten city of faith while storm and darkness gathered about them. In this, there is both melancholy and grandeur, for the whole narrative carries the air of a people convinced that the long exile of truth was ending, and that the world itself stood upon the brink of renewal.