Alma 19

No one knew how to determine if he were alive or dead—a pretty basic function of the healing art, no? They had a hasty private funeral—why so quickly? some people wondered; he was the king, for crying out loud—then hauled his body to the makeshift tomb his family had had pickaxed out of a hillside.

Lamoni’s so-called widow, the queen who was about to take over the whole country, sent for Ammon. He came and, dutiful as ever, asked what he should do.

She said, “I’ve heard all about you. Pretty impressive. You’re just the man, I’d say, to determine if my husband is actually dead. We need to nail this down. Some say he must be dead because of how bad he smells. I don’t think he smells that bad, but I have a long history with him. So I may have just gotten used to it. Others not.” Ammon smiled. He knew Lamoni was in a bizarre trance, in which God was reprogramming his brain to have faith, be wise, be kind, be joyful, all the virtues that should come with primary confessions of belief. Ammon knew this kind of reprogramming could take a long time. He’d seen it before. And he was oh-so-happy to show that Lamoni, this huge convert, was not, in fact dead.

So he went in, gave a perfunctory examination, and told the queen, “He’s not dead, just in a sort of deific catatonia. Do not, whatever you do, bury him. He’ll be up tomorrow. As for the smell, that you’ll have to deal with later.” He wanted to make sure she believed him, so he asked her. She gave a kind of weasely answer about how she had no evidence to the contrary, so …

Ammon was already kind, of course. He’d been at this religion for a long time. So he said to the queen, “Your faith is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it. Ever.” Hyperbole springs eternal.

She stayed by her husband’s bed and, sure enough,

he woke up the next day, stretched, yawned, and said, “Bless God. And bless you, dear. I’ve seen, in my God-sedated state, my Redeemer—and everyone’s.” He fell back on the bed alongside his wife, both of them overwhelmed at his simple assertion.

Ammon, seeing that his prayers had been answered at many levels, dropped to his knees for some fearsome prayer of his own. He spoke jubilantly, though quietly, given the circumstances. He fell back on the floor, to which the king and queen had also slid.

The servants were unnerved at what they saw. They started loudly praying and were soon overcome themselves. The floor welcomed more prostrate occupants, all the servants, in fact, except for a Lamanite woman named Abish, who’d been a believer for years because of a vision her dad had. She’d kept her faith to herself—smart woman—but now saw she might be able to confess it, seeing as how everyone had been literally knocked out by God’s power and was lying on the floor. She ran out and started telling people, house to house.

Soon a huge crowd had gathered at the king’s bedroom. They saw the whole scene. Someone noticed, though, Ammon, the light-skinned Nephite, lying on the ground. That started a commotion: why was he still here, alive? some said. And that got them started talking about the sheep episode, how many Ammon had killed, and how off-base the king must be to allow this mayhem. One of the crowd, whose brother Ammon had killed, pulled out a sword and lifted it to decapitate Ammon on the floor. Before he could, he fell, dead.

It was now clear to everyone that Ammon, Great Spirit or not, was unkillable (as God had promised to Mosiah in private). People realized that Ammon or, indeed, anyone lying on the floor, could be a divine (or demonic) booby-trap. Some started up the old Ammon-is-the-Great-Spirit rumor again. Their opponents thought differently: he was a monster shilling for the creepy Nephites.

Another theory was that the Great Spirit had sent Ammon to torment them for their sins. The Great Spirit, some said, had always stuck up for the Nephites and massacred the Lamanites. Very bad Pr for the deity.

The divinely sedated lay on the floor so long that people had lots of time to theorize and counter-theorize, argue and even start shoving one another. Abish started to cry. This was all her fault. Why not let sleeping gods lie?

So, hoping to put an end to the bitter quibbling, she grabbed the queen’s hand, intending to roust her. But at the slightest touch the queen shot onto her feet and started almost yelling “Thank you, Jesus. You saved me from hell! Please do the same for my subjects!” She then clapped her hands for joy and grabbed Lamoni’s hand.

He, however, stood up and started castigating the debaters, trying to quell their rancor and teach them as if he were a mini-Ammon. He made a few converts, . but hardly made a dent in the crowd, who dispersed more or less peacefully

Ammon finally woke up, stood up and started his own sermons, which were enough to convince a few hangers-on. The most zealous of the day’s converts swore their hearts had been radically changed. They had no thought to do a bad thing ever again. A few even claimed they saw angels who taught them directly.

Another baptismal service and a new local church ensued. God really liked this outcome, partly for the Lamanites’ sake and partly for his own reputation’s. He wanted always to be known as a broadminded God. Fair and balanced, even.

After the church had gotten going, Lamoni wanted to take Ammon to Nephiland to meet his father.