Though my family had been studying with the missionaries for
about a year and though we had finally agreed to be baptized, none of us had
ever been to an LDS meeting. I’d been to a youth dance, but that is as much
contact as we had with the Church except through the missionaries. Quite
reasonably, the missionaries insisted that if we were going to be baptized, we
needed to go to church at least once. So the Sunday before we were scheduled
for baptism, the last Sunday in January 1962, we went to sacrament meeting in
the San Antonio Second Ward.
I was surprised at the informality of the worship service. I
was particularly surprised that those who officiated over the blessing and
passing of the sacrament were so young. At the behest of our minister, I had
once or twice taken part in distributing communion in our Disciples of Christ
congregation, but that was unusual. Here everyone seemed to take that
participation by young men, many several years younger than I, to be normal. I
assumed (incorrectly I later learned) that it had something to do with the fact
that Joseph Smith’s vision had occurred when he was young, fourteen. But apart
from the informality of the meeting and the age of those officiating for the
sacrament, I didn’t see much difference between my Protestant worship and
Mormon worship.
That changed when the sacrament was passed to the
congregation. In the Disciples of Christ, it was important that the Lord’s
Supper was for all. In contrast, the missionaries had told my parents that for
Latter-day Saints the sacrament is a token of baptismal covenants, so those not
yet baptized don’t normally partake. But no one had told me. So when the bread
reached me, I took a piece and ate it.
Immediately I was no longer an observer noting the
strangeness of using ordinary bread rather than a wafer. As the bread touched
my tongue I was overcome with a fulness of feeling that I had never had before.
My chest swelled and burned. I felt incredible joy. I couldn’t help crying. The
chapel we were in seemed filled with light. And, though I’d never before had
that experience, without needing to think about it or analyze I knew what it
was. It was a revelation that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
is what it claims to be, a restoration of the gospel and authority of Jesus
Christ. I knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet called of God. Because of that I
also knew that the Book of Mormon (which I had yet to read) was the word of
God. Most of all I knew that I was to join myself to this church and to remain
faithful to it.
That experience has been the touchstone of my religious life
for almost fifty years. When I have had questions about our history or
doctrine, or quibbles with my leaders, or frustrations with church programs, I
have recalled that experience and it has brought me back to the truth: there
are many things I do not understand; I make mistakes; others make mistakes;
those who lead me are equally as human and at least as sincere as I am—and it
remains true that I had that experience in San Antonio and that it defines my
life. (James E. Faulconer, BYU Philosophy Professor,
https://www.fairmormon.org/testimonies/scholars/james-e-faulconer)
