Chapter 22
Eternal Reward
On the morning of May 17, 1933, John and Leah Widtsoe awoke to their first view of the Holy Land. From their train window, they saw a barren, rock-strewn plain punctuated by cultivated fields and orchards. John, who had spent years studying the science of farming in deserts, was fascinated by the landscape. “Intensely interesting,” he wrote in his journal.
After returning to London in the fall of 1931, the Widtsoes had resumed their responsibilities in the European Mission. They were now on their way to Haifa, a city on the eastern coast of the Mediterranean Sea, to set apart a man named Badwagan Piranian and his wife, Bertha, to lead the Church’s Palestine-Syrian Mission.1 The mission, which would soon oversee four branches in the region, was one of the smallest in the Church. Badwagan was Armenian, like most Saints in the Middle East, and Bertha was Swiss. Both had joined the Church in the last decade.2
At first, Leah had not planned on going to Palestine with John. The economic depression had spread across the globe, devastating communities that were still recovering from the world war. The Widtsoes’ finances were low, and a cross-continent trip would not be cheap. But John had insisted that Leah come with him.
“We’ve done everything in life together, and this trip must be no exception,” he had said. “We’ll get out of the ‘financial hole’ somehow.”3
After arriving in Haifa, the Widtsoes met the Piranians and their sixteen-year-old daughter, Ausdrig. John was impressed with the new president. A fluent speaker of Armenian and German, Badwagan also had some knowledge of Turkish, Russian, and English. “Brother Piranian,” John reported, “is an intelligent, industrious, sincere man.”4
Leah was equally impressed with Bertha. She had a firm testimony of the gospel and was eager to learn how to help the women in the mission participate more fully in their Relief Societies and YLMIAs. Leah believed these organizations were essential for building up the Church in the area. “If these women can be made active and happy through the Relief Society or Bee-Hive and Gleaner Girl programs,” she thought, “they are going to become much more capable proselyters for the truth.”
Leah sometimes felt like she had to move mountains to persuade mission presidents’ wives to let local women run their own organizations. But as Bertha and Leah worked together, Bertha’s desire to do the right thing and be a good leader shone. By the time John and Leah were ready to leave Haifa, Leah knew that Bertha would do excellent work.5
From Haifa, Leah and John traveled to Tel Aviv and then to Jerusalem. They planned to take a walking tour to the Western Wall, the last remnant of the ancient temple in Jerusalem. After arriving at their lodging, though, John received a stack of mail and began reading two telegrams silently. Their contents were deeply distressing, but Leah was in good spirits, so he set the mail aside and they left the hotel.
The tour took them along old, crooked streets and through colorful bazaars crowded with people. At the Western Wall, they observed Jewish women and men praying and mourning over the destruction of the temple centuries earlier. As Leah looked on, she noticed some visitors slipping prayers written on scraps of paper between the stones in the wall.
That evening, they watched the sun set from the Mount of Olives, not far from the garden where the Savior had suffered for the sins of all humankind. John was still preoccupied by the telegrams and was not enjoying himself, but Leah was thrilled to be in the sacred city.
Later, after returning to their room, John finally told Leah what was troubling him. The telegrams he had received were from President Heber J. Grant, who had written to tell them that Leah’s mother had died on May 27, the day after they had left Haifa. John had delayed telling Leah because she had been so cheerful when they arrived in Jerusalem, and he could not bear to shatter her happiness.6
The news shocked Leah. She knew Susa had not been feeling well, but she had no idea the illness was so serious. Her mind turned suddenly dark and defiant. Why did she have to be so far away when her mother died? She had been looking forward to reuniting with her and telling her about her experiences on the mission. Now everything had changed. Her joy was gone.7
Full of grief, she struggled through the night and the next day. The only comfort she had was thinking of her mother, who had devoted so much time to temple work, joyfully reuniting with her deceased loved ones. She remembered a lighthearted poem Susa had written some time ago:
When I have quit this mortal shore
And “mosey” round this earth no more
Don’t mourn, don’t weep, don’t sigh, don’t sob
I may have struck a better job.
On June 5, Leah sent a letter to President Grant, thanking him for the kindness he had always shown Susa. “Mother’s life was full of years and rich accomplishment,” she wrote. “I pray that Mother’s children, each of us, may love and live for the truth as she has done.”8
Later that year, in South Africa, William Daniels was faithfully attending to his duties as president of Cape Town’s Love Branch. Though he could not perform priesthood ordinances, he could preside at the Monday evening meetings, conduct branch business, counsel the Saints under his care, and attend mission leadership conferences with other branch presidents in South Africa.
One day, William became seriously ill. He was sure the sickness would pass quickly, so he did not immediately ask the missionaries for a blessing. His health worsened, however, and his doctors grew concerned. He was nearly seventy years old, and his heart was weak.
Six weeks passed before William finally contacted the mission home to request a blessing. President Dalton was not there, so another missionary came to administer to him. After the blessing, William felt better for a while, but the sickness eventually returned. This time President Dalton was able to come and give him a blessing.
Concerned for William’s life, President Dalton brought his wife, Geneve, and their children to comfort their friend. When President Dalton saw William’s condition, he wept. The family knelt around the bed, and five-year-old George Dalton offered a prayer. Then President Dalton anointed William’s head with oil and gave him a blessing. He promised William he would be able to return to worship with the Cape Town Saints again.
A few weeks later, President Dalton returned to the city and found William well enough to travel. Together they went to the Mowbray Branch Sunday School, where the Saints invited William to speak to them. With some help, he climbed the stand and bore his testimony of the healing power of faith. After the meeting, everyone in the room, young and old, shook hands with him. And soon he was able to return fully to his duties in the Love Branch.
William rejoiced in the missionaries and the healing blessings he had received from them. “I feel more blessed than the king with all his wealth,” he once told the branch. “I thank the Lord for the privilege of having those good people in my home, and for the faith I have in the elders for anointing me.”9
After his health improved, William wrote down his testimony for the mission newspaper, Cumorah’s Southern Messenger. As he reflected on his experiences in the Church, he recounted his conversion, his life-changing visit to Salt Lake City, and his recent experience with the power of the priesthood.
“My testimony is that I know Joseph Smith to have been a latter-day prophet of God,” he testified, “and that the restored gospel contains nothing but the teachings of Christ Himself.”
“I know that God lives and hears and answers prayers,” he wrote. “Jesus is the resurrected Redeemer and verily the Son of our true and living personal Father in Heaven.”10
Not long after his mother-in-law’s death, John Widtsoe received a letter from President Grant. “Speaking of your return, I wish you would write me with absolute frankness,” it read. “Don’t hesitate to tell me if you would prefer to come home to be here with your loved ones. You have filled a first-class mission.”
John did not know how to respond. On the one hand, he and Leah had already served for six years—twice as long as other recent European Mission presidents. John also knew their family in Utah missed and needed them, particularly now that Susa was gone.11
On the other hand, he and Leah felt at home in Europe and enjoyed missionary service. Leah would certainly miss the work. Her mark on the Church in Europe could be seen everywhere. She had strengthened local women’s organizations, encouraged a more faithful observance of the Word of Wisdom, and made Relief Society lessons relevant to a European audience. She had just completed her European edition of the Bee-Hive Girls handbook, which had significantly simplified and adapted the MIA program to meet the needs of young women throughout the continent.12
The mission was also facing new challenges. As the economic downturn spread worldwide, tithing revenue in Europe plummeted, and some branches lost their meeting halls, unable to pay the rent. The Depression drastically reduced the number of missionaries who could afford to serve, and many families needed their sons at home to help provide. In 1932, only 399 men had been able to accept mission calls, compared with a high of 1,300 missionaries per year in the 1920s. With the missionary force so diminished, would it be best for the Church if John and Leah, who had so much practical experience in Europe, continued to lead the European Mission?
John told President Grant that he and Leah were content to leave the matter in the prophet’s hands. “I have always found the Lord’s way better than mine,” he wrote.13
On July 18, John received a telegram stating that apostle Joseph F. Merrill had been called to replace him as president of the European Mission. Although it would be difficult to leave, John and Leah felt good about the decision. By September, they were busily preparing for their departure, with Leah managing business at the mission home in London while John made a trip to the European continent to survey conditions one last time.14
John’s final stop was a visit to the mission office in Berlin, Germany. Adolf Hitler had been appointed Germany’s chancellor earlier that year, and his Nazi Party was tightening its hold on the nation. The First Presidency, concerned about these events, had asked John to report on the state of the country and whether the missionaries in Germany were safe.
John himself was closely watching Hitler’s ascent to power and its effect on Germany. Many Germans were still chafing after losing the war fifteen years earlier, and they deeply resented the harsh sanctions imposed on them by the victors. “The political nerves of the German people are laid bare,” John informed the First Presidency. “I hope when the boil is ready to break, the poison may be drained off instead of diffusing itself throughout the whole social structure.”15
After arriving in Berlin, John was struck by how much it had changed in the decades since he was a student there. The city had the air of a military camp, with symbols of Hitler and the Nazi Party everywhere, including in the mission office. “The Nazi flag hangs on the wall,” John informed the First Presidency, “not I hope in acceptance of all that the present government is doing in Germany, but as an evidence of the fact that we uphold the lawful government of the country in which we dwell.”
As John spoke with the presidents of the two missions in Germany, he felt reassured that the Church was not in immediate danger in the country. The Gestapo—the Nazi secret police—had examined the records of the mission office in Berlin, as well as the books of several branches, but so far they seemed satisfied that the Church was not trying to undermine their government.16
Still, John feared that Hitler was leading the German people into another war. Already local Saints were preparing to take charge of the branches and watch over Church members should trouble arise. And John advised mission presidents to make plans to move the missionaries out of Germany within two or three hours, if necessary. He also thought it would be wise for the First Presidency to limit the number of missionaries going to Germany in the future.
After two days of meetings, John left the Berlin office to travel back to London. He took a familiar path along Unter den Linden, a street in the heart of Berlin named after the linden trees lining the walkways. As he made his way to the railway station, a large company of soldiers came into view, rigidly goose-stepping through the city to replace the soldiers currently on guard.
All around them, thousands of Hitler’s supporters crowded the streets, wild with enthusiasm.17
In the spring of 1934, Len and Mary Hope, the African American Saints who had joined the Church in Alabama, were living on the outskirts of Cincinnati, Ohio. The couple had moved their family to the area in the summer of 1928 to find new work, and Len had quickly secured a steady job at a factory. They now had five children and another on the way.18
Cincinnati was a northern city bordering a southern state, and most areas of the city were as strictly segregated as any place in the South. Because they were Black, the Hopes were not allowed to live in certain neighborhoods, stay in certain hotels, or eat at certain restaurants. Theaters designated separate seating for Black patrons. Some schools, colleges, and universities in the city either barred Black students or greatly limited their educational opportunities. Several religious denominations had white congregations and Black congregations.19
When the Hopes first arrived in town, they attended meetings with the Cincinnati Branch. Since there was no Churchwide policy on racial segregation, wards and branches sometimes created their own policies based on local circumstances. At first, it seemed the Cincinnati Branch might welcome the family. But then a group of members told branch president Charles Anderson that they would stop attending meetings if the Hopes kept coming.
Charles liked Len and Mary, and he knew it would be wrong to ask them not to attend church. He had moved to Cincinnati from Salt Lake City, where the small population of Black Saints attended church side by side with their white neighbors. But he also knew that racism ran deep in the Cincinnati area, and he did not think he could change how people felt.20
The branch boundaries had recently been redrawn, bringing many southern Saints within Charles’s stewardship. But it was not just southern Saints who objected to the Hopes coming to church. Some longtime branch members whom Charles had known for years had also voiced fears that integrating the branch would give local critics of the Church a new reason to deride the Saints.21
With a heavy heart, Charles went to the Hopes’ home and told them the branch members’ objections. “This is the hardest visit that I have ever made to anyone in my life,” he admitted. He promised to help the family stay connected to the Church. “We will do everything we can,” he said. “We will make a special trip out here each month to bring the sacrament to you and have a Church service in your home.”
Heartbroken over Charles’s decision, Len and Mary stopped attending church except for district conferences and other special events. On the first Sunday of every month, they held a testimony meeting in their home for missionaries and any other branch member who wanted to come and worship with them. The family also enjoyed informal visits from local Saints.22 The Hopes lived in a cozy four-room house with a large front porch and white picket fence. It was located in a predominantly African American neighborhood about ten miles north of the branch meetinghouse, and a streetcar from Cincinnati could bring visitors to within a mile’s walk.23
At their monthly Sunday meetings, the Hopes partook of the sacrament and bore their testimonies, oldest to youngest. Sometimes the talented Hope girls sang or played the piano. After every meeting, the Hopes served a delicious meal with foods such as roast turkey, corn bread, potato salad, and other home-cooked dishes.24
Among the Saints who visited the Hopes were Charles and his counselors, Christian Bang and Alvin Gilliam. Sometimes Christine Anderson and Rosa Bang joined their husbands on visits. Branch clerk Vernon Cahall, his wife, Edith, and branch members Robert Meier and Raymond Chapin also came, often with their families.25 Sister missionaries, who taught Primary classes in the homes of several branch members, held Primary classes for the Hope children as well. Elizabeth, the oldest Bang daughter, would sometimes help. Occasionally, the Hopes would visit with missionaries or members of the branch at other places, like the Cincinnati Zoo.26
On April 8, 1934, Mary Hope gave birth to a boy. In the past, the Hopes always made sure their babies were blessed, and this time was no different. Two months after little Vernon’s birth, Charles Anderson and the branch clerk came to the Hopes’ home for another sacrament meeting. Afterward, Charles gave the boy a blessing.27
When he bore his testimony, Len often recounted his conversion to the restored gospel. He knew that he and Mary had been extraordinarily blessed since coming to Cincinnati. While the Depression had left many of their neighbors out of work, he had not lost a day’s labor. He did not make much money, but he always paid a full tithe.
He also expressed faith in the future. “I know I cannot have the priesthood,” he once said, “but I feel in the justice of God that someday this will be given to me, and I will be allowed to go on to my eternal reward with the faithful who hold it.”
He and Mary were willing to wait for that day. The Lord knew their hearts.28
Meanwhile, in Tilsit, Germany, fourteen-year-old Helga Meiszus could not help noticing how much had changed in her town since the Nazis took power. She used to be scared to walk home from church at night because so many people were loitering in the street. The economy was bad, and many people were out of work and had nothing to do. They were probably not dangerous, but Helga was always afraid that they would try to hurt her.
Then Hitler came and the economy improved. Jobs were no longer scarce, and the streets felt safe. What was more, people started feeling proud to be German again. Hitler was a forceful speaker, and his passionate words inspired many with the idea that Germany could emerge once again as a powerful nation that would endure for a thousand years. When he spouted lies, spoke of conspiracies, and blamed Jews for Germany’s problems, many people believed him.
Like others in their country, German Latter-day Saints held a variety of opinions about Hitler. Some supported him, while others were wary of his rise to power and his hatred of Jews. Helga’s family was not very political and did not openly oppose the Nazi Party. Yet her parents thought Hitler was the wrong leader for Germany. Her father, in particular, disliked being forced to use “Heil Hitler” as a greeting. He insisted on using the traditional “good morning” or “good day” instead—even if others disapproved.
Helga, however, was afraid not to say “Heil Hitler” or raise her hand in the Nazi salute. What if someone saw her refuse? She could get in trouble. She was so afraid of standing out, in fact, that she sometimes tried not to think about Hitler at all, worried the Nazis could somehow read her mind and punish her.
Still, she enjoyed the pageantry of the Nazi Party. There were Nazi dances and uniformed troops parading down the street. The Nazis wanted to instill nationalism and loyalty in the youth of the country, so they often used recreation, stirring music, and other forms of propaganda to attract them.29
Around this time, Helga became a Bee-Hive Girl in what the Church had recently renamed the Young Women’s Mutual Improvement Association. Under the guidance of an adult leader, members of her class set goals and earned colorful seals to place in their German-language edition of the Bee-Hive Girls handbook. Helga cherished her manual, making it her own by coloring its black-and-white illustrations and using a pen or pencil to mark her completed goals with an X.
Helga marked off dozens of goals as she worked through the handbook. She named the accomplishments of five great musicians, went to bed early and rose early, bore her testimony at three fast and testimony meetings, and identified the most important ways the Church’s teachings differed from other Christian creeds. She also chose a Bee-Hive name and symbol for herself. The name she picked was Edelmut, German for “nobleness.” Her symbol was the edelweiss, a small, rare flower that grew high in the Alps.30
One day, Helga came home excited. Representatives from the Nazi Party’s youth movement for young women—the Bund Deutscher Mädel, or League of German Girls—were recruiting in the neighborhood, and many of Helga’s friends were joining.
“Oh, Mutti,” Helga told her mother. “I would like to go and belong to the group.” The league offered all kinds of lessons and activities and published their own magazine. There was even talk of ski trips, subsidized by the government. The girls wore sharp-looking white blouses and dark skirts.
“Helgalein, you are a Bee-Hive Girl,” her mother said. “You don’t need to belong to that group.”
Helga knew her mother was right. Not joining the League of German Girls would once again set her apart from her friends. But the Bee-Hive program was helping her achieve righteous goals and be a better Latter-day Saint. Neither Hitler nor his league could do that.31