Belonging to Heaven, page 13
The men spent the rest of the late afternoon bathing, figuring out travel finances, and practicing their Hawaiian. George knew he would miss all of them keenly, but these were not the days of ease and reflection, but of work, work, and more work. Spiritual harvesting took prayer, love, and grit.
***
It was warm inside the Ka‘ahumanu Church, and was made more so by the preaching of Reverend Conde. He had taken the text for his sermon from Romans 1:18: “For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who hold the truth in unrighteousness.” Half of his discourse had been in hotly detailing these sins to his sweltering congregation, but then his gaze fixed on the Mormon missionary.
“I say to beware of the Mormon missionaries who fall into this category of unrighteous men.”
George’s body stiffened with anger, and Jonathan looked over at him. The slander stung so badly that George could not return his friend’s gaze, but fixed his sight on the man in the dark robes at the dais. This man does not know how well I understand his Hawaiian words. He thinks he is speaking only to his native parishioners.
“Five men have come to these islands preaching a false doctrine,” the reverend continued. “The leader of their church, one Joe Smith, pretends to have seen an angel and to have had some plates delivered to him that he translated into a book. This book is supposed to give account of the American Indians.” The preacher’s eyes narrowed as he looked at George. “Now, Smith says that these plates, these gold plates, were taken away by an angel, but that is just evidence to me that it is a lie. Had they been real, Smith would have kept them for the world to see. He is a liar and a cheat. He built a city called Nauvoo, in the state of Illinois, and the people of that city stole so much money and broke the law so often that the citizens in the surrounding area would not take it anymore. This Joe Smith, this prophet of the Mormons, was killed fighting the good citizens of the area. He was a wicked man, and the Lord punished him for his sins.”
George gripped the seat of the pew to keep himself from leaping up and crying out against this injustice. Many in the congregation were staring over at him, and he wanted to stand up and rip to shreds the lies the Reverend was preaching. The Spirit warned him that disrupting the meeting would not have the desired result, and he knew that it was contrary to the law, so George kept to his seat, but his heart ached and his stomach felt full of rocks.
“Now, I say, if this Smith had seen angels, why did they not come down and save him from death? Does this not show that the wrath of God came down and consumed this wicked man? In fact, all of the wicked Mormons were run out of the state.”
George took a deep breath and clenched his jaw to stifle the angry tears. His mind thought of the exodus from Nauvoo in the dead of winter—of bloody footprints in the snow. He saw again the homes deserted to the mobs and children dying from exposure. The lying voice of Reverend Conde grated on his sensibilities.
“There are four of these Mormon men living in Lahaina, and one of them comes frequently to Wailuku and stays in the house of Napela.” Reverend Conde looked directly at Napela and the young man sitting next to him. “Perhaps they are friends, which could be a very dangerous thing.”
A low growl rumbled in Jonathan’s chest.
“I warn you not to be deceived by these Mormon missionaries. Yes, this is the enemy. I warn you to keep to the truth.”
Before the singing or the prayer, George and Jonathan stood and left the chapel. When they reached the outside, George walked away from the church and Jonathan followed. It took George several minutes to calm his breathing enough to speak.
“How . . . how can he say such things when he knows they are lies? He knows they are lies! ‘Ae ‘enemi keia. Yes, this is the enemy! Isn’t that what he said? Isn’t that what he called me?” George looked over at Jonathan, who was standing with his head bowed. “Oh, Brother Jonathan, I am so sorry for the trouble this has brought you. It was a mistake for me to come back.”
Jonathan looked up. “It is nothing you have done, Brother George. You wish only to preach your doctrine, and you have the permission of the government.” He looked toward the church and waved to several of his friends as they exited the building. He walked toward them and George followed. “It is Reverend Conde who has made the mistake,” Jonathan said in an aside. “Speaking out against me in church was not wise.”
William Uaua, Kaleohano, and many other of Jonathan’s friends surrounded the two. Their faces were filled with anger.
“He should not have spoken out against you in the sermon!” Kaleohano said heatedly.
William Uaua was so agitated he could not keep his body still. “By denouncing you, he tries to bring shame on your family and on your friend, George Cannon. He also brings shame on us, for we are your friends.” He smacked the flat of his hand on his Bible. “We can think for ourselves. Do we not have the right to find out what is true and what is not?”
Jonathan stood stoic as their indignation swirled around him. George was amazed by his composed demeanor and delighted by the support and sympathy he himself was receiving. It seemed the reverend’s sermon had conjured the opposite effect it intended. George felt his own anger subsiding, until he saw Reverend Conde emerge from the church. The sting of being maligned quickly returned, and George began walking toward the man.
“Brother George!” Jonathan called. “Where are you going?”
“I just want to speak with Reverend Conde,” he answered in perfect Hawaiian.
When the reverend saw him approach and heard him speak Hawaiian, his face paled and he looked about anxiously.
Please be with me, Heavenly Father, George prayed silently as he went. I just want to stand up for the truth. Please help me be a David. As he approached, the reverend turned away from him, and George called out in English. “Reverend Conde, might I have the privilege of speaking a few words with you?” George knew that the reverend would have to stop as duty and manners dictated.
The man turned back and stood straighter. “Of course, Mr. . . .”
“Cannon. Elder George Cannon. We have been previously introduced.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I will speak to you in English as my speaking of the Hawaiian is halting at best, but, I assure you, sir, my understanding of the language is perfect.”
The reverend gave him a spurious smile. “My compliments.”
Jonathan and his friends drew near, as did a third of the congregation.
“What is it you want, Mr. Cannon?”
“I want to tell you the truth of the gospel I preach, and then I want you to tell the people that you have told them lies.”
The reverend’s eyes narrowed. “I do not believe them to be lies. From all I have heard about your church, I have told these people the truth, and I will not tell them differently.”
“There is not one doctrine we preach that cannot be proved from the scriptures. We preach faith, repentance, baptism by immersion, which were the means practiced in Christ’s church. We also preach the giving of the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands. That also was practiced in the primitive church. I dare you, Reverend Conde, to prove Mormonism false from the holy scriptures.”
“I am sure that would be an easy task.”
“No, sir, it would not, for everything we preach is truer to the primitive church of Christ than any of the doctrine preached by the reformed churches.” The reverend glared at him. “I do not mean to offend you, sir. I have always been respectful of the spiritual leaders in all churches. You have done a great work to bring Christ into the lives of the people, but I ask the same respect from you. Allow me to preach freely and do not poison the mind of the people with falsehoods. Let the doctrine speak for itself, and let the people decide.”
“I do not teach falsehoods, Mr. Cannon, and I will not let you poison the hearts of this people with wicked lies.” Contempt colored his every word. “The man, Joe Smith, who you call a prophet, was a liar and a cheat.”
George looked directly at Reverend Conde and leveled his voice. “Do not tell me about the Prophet Joseph Smith. I knew the man, and he did not die fighting the people of Illinois.” George’s voice grew in intensity. “He was killed by a mob of a hundred men as he sat innocent in a jail. My uncle, John Taylor, was there with him. He watched . . . he watched as the prophet and his brother were slaughtered.” George’s voice broke. “My uncle was terribly wounded in the same act of butchery.” Jonathan came to stand beside him, and Reverend Conde stepped back. George looked at the stricken faces of the native people and realized that although most could not understand the words, they understood his passion, and felt the truth. Though George’s strength was spent, he knew there was more of his testimony to give. “I knew the Prophet Joseph Smith. I knew him. I walked with him and heard him preach. I have read the revelations that have come through him from the Lord. I have read the Book of Mormon and know that no mortal man of limited learning could write such a book. I, along with thousands of others, bear witness of the truth of Joseph’s first vision. Either he was a prophet and followed the directives God gave him, or he was a total fraud and deceived thousands of people.” Passion colored his words. “I knew him, and I tell you Joseph Smith was no fraud. I also tell you sir, if you do not take back your words, I will stand as a witness against you at the judgment seat of God for having told this people lies, when you knew them to be lies.”
Reverend Conde did not answer. George turned and walked away leaving the reverend to stand among his uneasy and murmuring flock. Napela and his friends followed George from the churchyard.
When George reached the Napela’s garden, he wept. Hands on knees, bent double, he wept like a little child. All of the pent-up anger, sorrow, and weariness poured from his body as the tears flowed. Jonathan and Kitty stood on either side of him, each with a hand laid gently on his back. Inside the house Kitty’s brother, John, retold the gathered friends the words that had passed between George Cannon and Reverend Conde. Many looked out at the young missionary during the telling and wept with him.
Note
The persecution of the LDS missionaries in Hawaii and of the Hawaiian converts by the Protestant clergy was well documented in many of the Mormon missionary journals, written edicts, and newspaper articles of the day.
Chapter 18
Wailuku, Maui
May 11, 1851
Dear Elders Bigler and Farrer,
I write to you from Wailuku. I pray that you have settled in Honolulu and that the work of the Lord is moving forward. There is a spirit of contention here, and I know that the adversary is not happy that we have come to this blessed land to preach the gospel. I feel if we honor the message, that one day soon the work will take hold in the hearts of these good people, and the Church will prosper. Continue with your study of the language. I feel it is a key.
I did not go with the others to church today. I stayed at the house to study and pray. When Napela returned from the service he looked like his warrior grandfather ready to throw a spear through the eye of a boar. Reverend Conde had again spoken out against him in front of the congregation. He warned him that if he did not put me out and take in a new boarder, a Dr. Coon, then he would have no recourse but to turn him out of the church. Poor Napela. He is being buffeted on every side. He wants me to stay, but fears his position of judge being taken away from him. They have already brought him to trial for drunkenness and associating with a man who had been turned out of the church a few weeks ago. Kitty is also troubled. She does not want her husband to lose his place. Napela is a chief and well regarded in the community. He does not wish to have that influence tarnished. I love him, but I know he must be willing to sacrifice all for the Lord. Those of us who witnessed the atrocities of Nauvoo know much about sacrifice.
I have been led by the Spirit to travel to the area of Kula. It is up on the side of the great volcano mountain, Haleakala. When Jonathan heard of my plans, he was relieved. He has property there where they grow Irish potatoes. He sat down and wrote a note of introduction to the man who runs his affairs in Kula, Akuna Pake, advising him to take me in and give me whatever I need. He is also loaning me a horse.
Mrs. Napela is washing my clothes for the trip tomorrow. She is a good woman, but I think she will be glad to see the back of me.
Brother Keeler is still in Lahaina preparing for his travels to the other side of the island. I hope he can stop in Wailuku on his way to Hana and make the acquaintance of the Napelas and some of their friends. He sent a letter that he is anxious to be off on his new adventure. His enthusiasm for the work lifts my spirits.
I hope you are doing well. I will continue on in the faith that our hard work will bring in a harvest. You may not hear from me for a while as I will be getting settled in this new area. A neighbor of Napela’s, when he heard that I was going to the Kula, warned me not to go. He said it is a difficult place. I told him I was used to difficult places.
Your brother in the Lord,
Elder George Q. Cannon
Chapter 19
Kula, Maui
June 1851
George hefted the large bucket to the next withered potato plant. He lifted the ladle and poured water onto the wilting leaves. Two more ladles and on to the next plant. Flies buzzed around his sweaty head, while his stomach grumbled with hunger. He would almost rather starve to death than eat any more mealy potatoes. For nearly three weeks now it had been nothing but mealy potatoes—sometimes with molasses. Was the Lord making him humble, like John the Baptist in the wilderness? George moved on to the next plant. Three ladles of water, pick up the bucket, and trudge to the next plant. He poured one of the ladles over his head, took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. Kula, upcountry, the dry land, George thought ruefully. Dry and desolate. He looked out across the plains of West Maui to the ocean. Oh, how he wished he was back in Lahaina with his three companions, standing in the cool ocean water, and eating bananas. His stomach rumbled in protest. Well, here is where the Lord wanted him, so here he would stay until given other directions. He sighed and poured another ladle of water on his head. Parts of the Kula district were beautiful, with large stands of trees and open, green grassland, but other parts were dry with cacti and rocks. Napela’s land was a combination of the two. George was bending down to pick up the bucket when he saw Akuna Pake approaching from the farmhouse. The land caretaker was a head shorter than George, but with strength enough to carry a large pig under each arm. He had reliable common sense, a quick humor, and a good work ethic. His wife, Honua, was grumpy. George figured she had every right, as they lived mostly on mealy potatoes with an occasional windfall of fruit, poi, and fish.
Pake waved. “Mister George! Mister George! You have visitors at the house!” He hurried to George’s side. “The judge has come with his cousin Kaleohano. They bring gifts for you.”
“Gifts? What sort of gifts?”
Pake chucked. “Oh, you will like these gifts. We all like these gifts. Even my wife is smiling.” He picked up the bucket. “Come. We will finish the watering later.”
George trudged after the eager man, not sure he knew what to say to Jonathan or Kaleohano. He was trying not to be discouraged, but taking care of potato plants was not the type of harvest he wished for. He had spent a good deal of time traveling around the small villages in the Kula area without much success. The field was not white, and it was not ready to harvest. Oh, George, he chided himself, stop murmuring.
As he approached the small house, he saw Jonathan Napela and H. K. Kaleohano in the front yard giving water to their horses. Both men were the sons of chiefs and carried themselves with an easy grace, but all George saw at that moment were his friends, and it was good to see their familiar faces. A smile jumped to his mouth.
Jonathan saw George and Pake coming in from the field. He moved around his horse, took five long strides, and scooped George up in a hug. He stepped back and put his forehead on George’s. “Aloha. Aloha, Brother George. I have missed you.”
“I have missed you too, Brother Jonathan. I hope you are well.” When he did not receive an answer, he stepped back. “Are you well?”
“I will tell you all about myself later. I have much to discuss with you.” He held out his hand to Kaleohano. “Kaleohano wanted to come see you too.”
George smiled at him. “Aloha, Kaleohano.”
“Aloha, George Cannon. How are things in Pulehu?”
“Quiet, and full of potatoes.”
Akuna Pake laughed. “Full of potatoes! This young one makes me laugh. O Kula i ka hoe hewa! Kula of the ignorant canoe paddlers, because we are uplanders, far from the sea.”
George smiled at the man and turned back to Kaleohano. “How are things in Wailuku?”
“Too quiet without you.”
George scoffed. “More peaceful, you mean.” Jonathan looked at the ground, and George was instantly sorry for his surly reply. “I am sorry, Brother Jonathan. You and Kitty have always been thoughtful of me.”
Kaleohano interceded. “And that is why we are here. We bring you supplies: flour, salt, dried fish, kalo to make poi, breadfruit, bananas, and coconuts.” George was stunned. His stomach growled in anticipation, and the others laughed.
“My father’s stomach used to talk like that when food was being prepared,” Jonathan said fondly.
“This is such a gift,” George said. “Thank you.”
Pake rhythmically clapped his hands and began chanting a happy song about food.
“Oh, there is more,” Jonathan said. “We found another gift for you on our doorstep and thought we would bring it along.”
From around the corner of the house stepped Brother Keeler.
“Brother Keeler! What are you doing here?” George yelled as he ran to give his missionary brother a hug. “What a surprise!”
“I am on my way to the other side of the island. Off on my grand adventure. I stopped in Wailuku, but they said you were here.”
