The Evening and the Morning Star

Vol. 2, Kirtland, Ohio, June 1834, No. 21

By: Oliver Cowdery

Narrated by: Virtual Voice

The nineteenth century was a time in which many respectable gentlemen, clothed in the sober garments of religion and propriety, professed the deepest devotion to Heaven while exhibiting an extraordinary terror at the notion that Heaven might still speak. In number 21 of The Evening and the Morning Star, the writers cast their gaze upon the polished sectarians of Christendom itself, those comfortable custodians of religion who had, in the opinion of the editors, converted the living God into a silent ornament. With no small degree of biting wit, they describe the gods of modern churches as “dumb gods,” beings who once conversed with prophets and apostles but who, according to fashionable theology, had now retired forever into celestial muteness. Thus, the gravest charge brought against the churches was not unbelief in God, but unbelief that God still possessed either voice or inclination to address mankind.

The editors proceed through history with the stern patience of a barrister reviewing evidence before a jury. Pharisees, Roman magistrates, persecuting mobs, and modern clergymen are presented as men of established authority uniting, with astonishing speed, whenever anyone dares to claim fresh revelation. Rival sects may quarrel endlessly over doctrines, ceremonies, and creeds, but let a prophet arise declaring visions from Heaven, and suddenly these enemies discover among themselves a brotherly harmony founded entirely upon suppression. To the writers of the Star, this recurring hostility is proof that the ancient war between living faith and respectable religion marches on, beneath new costumes and fresh banners.

When the narrative turns toward the outrages in Jackson County, Missouri, theology gives way to indignation. Here we encounter mobs inflamed by rumor, respectable men hiding cowardice behind legal forms, and influential citizens quietly encouraging disorder while pretending innocence. Fear, is the true architect of persecution: fear that a people claiming revelation, gathering together, and expecting divine government might disturb the comfortable arrangements of society. One sees again, that peculiarly human tendency for the powerful to stir the passions of the ignorant, while carefully washing their own hands of responsibility afterward.

Most curious of all is the article discussing the names “Christian” and “Saint.” The writers insist that “Christian” first emerged as a reproach from unbelievers, while “saints” was the sacred title used among the faithful themselves in the pages of the Holy Bible. Beneath this dispute over words lies something far deeper: the longing of a persecuted people to anchor themselves directly within the scriptural world and modern revelation through Joseph Smith Jr.. To call themselves saints was, in their eyes, not vanity but continuity—a declaration that the God who walked with Israel and spoke with apostles had not abandoned the earth after all.

Altogether, the document reveals a people convinced with unshakable sincerity that they stood upon the threshold of the final dispensation. Their vision of the world is stern, uncompromising, and often severe; yet beneath it burns a persistent hope. Kingdoms, churches, customs, and reputations are all weighed against the expectation that Christ shall soon return and reorder the world entirely. The reader closes these pages with the feeling that these writers possessed one quality too often absent in civilized society: they truly believed what they professed.