3 Nephi 5

So, turnabout: every single Nephite knew that the prophets were true, God lived, he’d sent signs, Jesus was coming, all of it. They quit sinning, let alone abominating, and served God day and night.

To show their newfound religion, they made sure every Gadianton escapee was dead, imprisoned everyone they’d caught, and forced them to hear sermons round the clock. Any who professed belief and recanted their former lifestyles they let go. Any who wouldn’t were beaten or worse. (No details on the punishment; classified religious information.) Amazingly, most all of them said they believed, would quit Gadiantonism, and got out of jail free. A miracle.

And so righteousness prevailed. The Nephites had ended wickedness by killing, threats, semi-forced confessions, and a sliver of generosity. Forgive them, they were new at Christianity.

Years 22-25 continued in this odd, blissed-out culture.

Now, I won’t go into another inventory of the plates on which these histories are written in various degrees of completeness and honesty. But I do wish to point out that I am Mormon writing now. I made these plates myself. I’m not dictating, but hand-etching each word.

As a point of personal privilege, a few words about me:

I was named after the land where Alma had started the church about which you’ve read. I am a disciple of Christ with a charge from him to do what I’m doing to help get people saved.

Writing is fundamental to transmission of knowledge across long stretches of time or space. So I take this assignment very seriously. I’m putting this whole big book together and stamping my name on the front. It’s an anthology, but it’s my book. I transcribe, compile, edit, insert my own thoughts, and, in the end, tell about things I have personally witnessed. There are language issues. That’s part of the literary game. There are things I can’t express in words and there are words that can’t express much of anything. But we have to try. We have to keep trying.

Before I return to the narrative of Jesus’ coming, I feel compelled to give my faith context. I am a pure descendant of Lehi. No intermarrying with, say, Ishmaelites in my line. I thank the Lord for Lehi’s nervy exodus to this remarkable continent, about which the Old World has no idea unless God gave visions about it. Lehi didn’t even have a clue himself, just the fortitude and rectitude to build a boat and get in.

There’s no way I can eclipse this fact of our location with any dark thoughts. God has blessed us. I just can’t doubt—not that I want to. I never get the impulse. Some do. But that’s not me.

To be blessed has a cost, though: submission. So if you obey you have a good shot to be blessed. If not, it’s still possible— that’s the mercy part of God, which can be capricious—but you shouldn’t bank on it.

I have this notion that, however small our tribes end up, considering how devoutly we practice genocide in every direction, God will not allow complete extermination of our nation. They’ll always be some part left kicking around, like a rug that keeps getting unrolled and walked on from house to house.

Ignorance will swell in the collective brain of mankind, even among those of us who are completely soaked in religiosity. But God is all about intelligence and knowledge. So it will keep coming back like the sun every morning (except for those exceptionally rare sign-of-something-cosmic-happening-mornings when it stays all dark). No matter how many lying centuries elapse, truth will out. Likewise, no matter how far families get scattered, something always returns them to the same spot.

But back to the story.