Finding Zion: A journey through the world's burdens into a place of unity and peace

By Lexie Kite

December 7, 2005 | One-hundred fifty years ago, a man deemed a prophet of God led hundreds of believers on a death-defying journey through extreme weather and rough terrain westward to Zion: A land where persecution was left behind for a far better land of promise. A land where God's faithful could unite.

Today the 12 million members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints have dispersed beyond Utah's Zion throughout the world. For the modern church, Zion has evolved from a geographic to an existential place: Zion is where the faithful are.

But twice a year the Saints unite as thousands gather to hear the words of their prophet in a world-renowned Salt Lake City conference center.

For these Latter-day Saints, the journey to semi-annual General Conference is as similar to their pioneer ancestors' quest for Zion as they will ever know.

The word of God, revealed through his chosen vessels, leads many Saints away from home and office for two days of personal revelation and a renewal of hope and faith only twice a year. Church members throughout the world are welcome to attend the conference when personal circumstances allow and tickets are available, and are otherwise deeply encouraged to view the four sessions of conference at home. For those lucky enough to attend a session of the highly-anticipated meeting, the time and effort spent to get there is far outweighed by the spiritual uplifting gained.

Sport utility vehicles and minivans -- not handcarts and wagons -- push forward through downtown Salt Lake City's unusually heavy traffic on the first weekend in October. The destination is evident as Sunday-dressed couples and families begin the journey toward Temple Square. High heels click steadily down sidewalks and across busy intersections, assuredly leaving behind the blistered scars of a walk much longer than anticipated.

Skirts and dresses accompany every pair of clicking heels as they ruffle in the breeze of a warm autumn morning. Some long and some knee length, in stripes and dots and every imaginable style, the women's dresses are as different and unique as the men's dark suits are similar. Hand-in-hand, the couples march toward Zion's gathering point at the mouth of the conference center.

The young and the young at heart aren't to be forgotten in the pioneering crowd pressing onward. Children cling to mom and dad as their tiny legs burn with the increasing hustle of the march. The slower-paced elderly are guided along by the arm of a companion matching their pace, while others look to wheelchairs and motorized scooters for support. None are left behind on this quest for Zion.

As the crossing guards direct the flow of traffic, believers by the dozen forge across busy streets toward their destination. With the newly-erected center, a gleaming solid mass of pale marble and granite well-within sight, the clicking heels and soft voices of little children is overshadowed by sudden, commanding tones.

"Believe in God or burn in Hell!" and "Repent of your evil ways and come unto God!" echo in the ears of young and old. Heads bow and steps quicken as the sudden glimpse of the early Saints' persecution becomes more than just a passage in a Sunday school manual. "Mormons aren't Christian!" the protestors shout.

"Just don't pay attention to them and keep your head down. They are just trying to make us mad," one mother says to her children. The confusion in their eyes grows greater as they see the poster-sized pictures of their God in flames, hung on a cross and covered in blood. Photographs of their Book of Mormon torn up and burned add to the monstrosity of the scene.

But just as soon as the protestors' violent screams erupt, another more peaceful and all-the-more commanding sound becomes audible. "I Believe in Christ, He is God's Son. On earth to dwell His soul did come. . . ." The Saints, in stark contrast to the shouts just yards away, begin to reverently sing a hymn.

Many gather across from the protestors to help overpower the shouting and calm the troubled and confused hearts of those enduring the harassment. Those nearing their destination begin to join along, and while the shouting continues without ceasing, many take comfort in the consoling words of their spiritual hymn, "He healed the sick, the dead he raised. Good works were His, His name be praised."

Once past the commotion on the city street, those awaiting the glory of their destination find it towering in front of them: A Zion of sorts. Gleaming in the sun, the majestic structure is now more than merely granite and marble.

Sitting no more than several steps from the road, the conference center's grounds are spotted with flowing fountains and flower gardens kept meticulously neat. Trickling water plays as a background to the hymns sung steps away. The clicking of heels continues, though this time the weathered sidewalks are replaced by smooth stone tiles, placed in a never-ending pattern in every direction.

Waiting to join the throngs of guests inside the building, attendees line up with ticket in hand. Immense golden doors, each numbered and accompanied by an elderly greeter, are the first welcome for conference-goers.

Inside the doors, missionaries complete with identifying name tags offer a friendly hello as they sort through purses and bags for weapons and video cameras. After a step through the long lines of metal detectors lining the entrances, the Saints catch their first glimpse of the true majesty of their destination.

Silence fills the room. Casual chatter and excited conversation are left outside the door with life's stresses and worries. The serene beauty of marbled floors and vaulted ceilings, portraits of beloved prophets and stone columns reaching near to the heavens capture all other concerns and whisk them away. The spirit of Zion is remembered once more while the Saints meet together, awed by their gathering place and the serenity so inherent in its walls.

The awe, the serenity and the silence become ever more powerful as worshippers move past the center's entrance to the doors of the meeting hall built for seating more than 21,000 people. Inside the doors of the hall, the true destination is realized. Housed within the walls of the center, prophets, seers and revelators share the same space as those who have come to ponder on their words.

For the Saints of Zion, following the prophet and heeding his words is and will always be an integral part of the Mormon religion -- no matter the time and effort taken to accomplish the feat.

A rush of deep red meets the eyes of its beholders, who are viewing the upholstery of the seats they will soon fill. Facing their massive audience, the prophet, apostles and general authorities of the church sit in wait of the meeting ahead. Glowing amidst the hues of red seating, the 125 rank golden pipe organ shines as a lofty backdrop for the center's stage.

But the beauty of the organ's pipes is transcended by the splendor of its music. A man no more than 6 feet tall adds to the magnificence of the event as he begins to play a soft prelude. Flowing from the man's skillful hands to the powerfully massive wind pipes, the notes reverberate from wall to wall.

In a matter of minutes, the conference center is filled to capacity.

Representatives from diverse nations and backgrounds leave no seat empty. In anticipation of the meeting ahead, the silent awe of the scene is replaced by conversation and light laughter. Strangers become friends as the Saints, who are often recognized for their willingness to welcome and befriend others, meet and share stories with others in attendance.

As an elderly man, bent low with cane in hand, enters the room from a door left of the stage, the silence that follows is as abrupt and overwhelming as ever. The man looks no different than one of the gentlemen that were slowly pacing down the street, in need of an arm for support. His thin hair and thick glasses don't set him apart. His dark suit and blue tie match the countless others in the room. In an instant, the more than 21,000 seats occupied moments earlier are empty again as the audience stands in recognition of this man. Evidently, he is different.

Standing in recognition and honor of this man, these silent believers testify of their belief in his divinity. They testify that this man, President Gordon B. Hinckley, is their modern-day prophet of God. Their testimonies, while unspoken, appear through the smiles and wiping of tears as the spirit of their prophet overwhelms the auditorium.

With his cane tightly gripped, President Hinckley makes his way across the stage, stopping to wave his cane at the worshippers in attendance. "Thank you. You can all sit down now," he humbly exclaims as he takes his place at the podium to begin the session.

"What a wonderful day and time we live in, when the Saints of Zion can gather together in such a beautiful conference center while millions more can watch and listen at home. . . ."

The prophet's words sound the beginning of another session of LDS General Conference.

One-hundred fifty years ago, the Saints gathered together to heed the words of their prophet and pioneer westward to Zion. In these latter days, Zion has not been forgotten, but has dispersed throughout the world. And twice a year at General Conference, the faithful can unite once again to listen to their prophet's words. Where the faithful are, there Zion is also.

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