Chapter 1
Where and When
“Tell him to send the Church back.”
The quiet, urgent voice surprised and confused sixteen-year-old Nora Siu Yuen Koot. “What?” she said.
“Tell him to send the Church back.”
Again Nora heard the message clearly. It was as if someone had whispered it in her right ear. But there was no one nearby. She was standing alone outside a hotel in Hong Kong in September 1954. A few visitors from the United States had just boarded a bus to the airport, and she was waving goodbye to them.
The visitors were leaders of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints traveling through East Asia. More than a billion people lived in that part of the world, but only about a thousand of them had embraced the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. The Church had not had an official presence in Hong Kong for several years, not since social unrest in China and a war in nearby Korea had led Church leaders to close the mission in 1951. But now the conflict was over, and the visitors had come to check on Nora and the eighteen other Saints living in the city.
Leading the group was Elder Harold B. Lee, a senior member of the Church’s Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Nora could tell he was important, but she didn’t know enough about Church administration to say why. Still, she knew the whispered message was for him.
Without another thought, she stretched out her hand toward the bus, hoping it would not drive away. “Apostle Lee,” she said.
Elder Lee reached his hand out an open window, and Nora took it. “Please send the Church back,” she cried. “We Saints without the Church are like people without food. We need to be fed spiritually.”
The apostle’s eyes filled with tears. “It is not for me to decide,” he said, “but I will report to the brethren.” He told Nora to pray and keep the faith, assuring her that as long as there were faithful Saints like her, the Church was in Hong Kong.
The bus then shifted into gear and lumbered away.
Month after month passed, and Nora heard nothing from the Church. She sometimes wondered if she ever would. Latter-day Saint missionaries had always struggled in Hong Kong. Elders had first preached there in the 1850s, but illness, religious and cultural differences, poverty, and a language barrier had led them to abandon the mission after only a few months and no baptisms. The next group of missionaries came in 1949, but that mission had lasted only two years.
During that time, Nora and her two younger sisters became the first Chinese people to join the Church in Hong Kong. Their family was among the hundreds of thousands of refugees who had come to the British colony to escape the unrest in mainland China. The mission headquarters had been located on the street where they lived, and Nora’s stepmother sent them there every morning, hoping they would learn English and whatever else the missionaries were teaching.
Nora could still remember the Bible lessons she received from Sister Sai Lang Aki, a Hawaiian missionary of Chinese descent, who helped her learn English. Nora received a witness of the restored gospel at that time. Her testimony helped her stay strong after the mission closed, when it seemed like the sun had set on Hong Kong. Even in the absence of priesthood ordinances, sacrament meetings, meetinghouses, and Church literature in Chinese, she clung fiercely to her faith in Jesus Christ.
In August 1955, nearly a year after Elder Lee’s visit, a tall, blond-haired young man approached Nora at the movie theater where she worked. All at once she recognized Grant Heaton, who had served as a missionary in Hong Kong before the mission closed. He and his wife, Luana, had just arrived in Hong Kong to open the newly created Southern Far East Mission.
Nora was overjoyed. As she’d hoped, Elder Lee had spoken with Church leaders about the Saints in Hong Kong. In fact, soon after returning to the United States, he had recommended reopening the mission and even told Nora’s story at the Church’s general conference. Church president David O. McKay had then called Grant to lead the new mission, which covered Hong Kong, Taiwan, the Philippines, Guam, and other places in the region.
“The sun is rising,” Nora thought. “Morning has returned to the Saints in Hong Kong!”
On September 22, 1955, nearly two months after the opening of the Southern Far East Mission, President David O. McKay returned to Salt Lake City following a five-week visit to the Saints in Europe. Although he and his wife, Emma Ray, had been cooped up in an airplane all day, they cheerfully greeted the Church leaders, family members, and friends who came to the airport to welcome them home.
Stopping on the tarmac to talk to reporters and photographers, President McKay spoke readily about the highlight of his tour: the dedication of the temple near Bern, Switzerland. It was now one of seven operating temples in the world, and the first one to be built in Europe. Its dedication had occurred over ten sessions in seven languages. And hundreds of European Saints had already received their endowment within its walls.
The citizens of Bern were delighted by the sacred building. “They are calling it ‘our temple,’” President McKay told one reporter, “and now the Church members there are being looked upon as Christians.”
The Swiss Temple was a symbol of the Church’s commitment to establishing strong congregations around the world after decades of encouraging the Saints to gather to Utah. Now, with temples under construction in England and New Zealand, the Church was seeking to bring temples closer to its far-flung members and expand the availability of temple ordinances.
President McKay knew these temples were only a start. As Joseph Smith had prophesied, the truth of God would sweep every country and sound in every ear.
That day had not yet come, but the Church was progressing. Although most of the world’s population had never heard of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, regard for the Church had been growing since the end of the Second World War. There were just over a million Latter-day Saints in the world, and many people admired their wholesome lives, Christian values, concern for the poor, and joyful message. The Church’s Tabernacle Choir had also become a popular performing group on radio broadcasts around the world. Earlier in the year, when the Church celebrated its 125th anniversary, the New York Times, one of the most prominent newspapers in the United States, had nothing but praise for the Saints.
As President McKay and his counselors, Stephen L Richards and J. Reuben Clark, contemplated the destiny of the Church, they were aware of obstacles that lay in the path of even greater growth.
One obstacle was providing good meetinghouses and other facilities for the Saints. In the 1920s, the Church had created a system for supplying congregations with standardized architectural plans and significant funding to help local Saints construct buildings with electricity, indoor plumbing, and, more recently, air conditioning. But in places where the Church was less established, many branches did not have the means or expertise to carry out large-scale projects. As a result, they often had to meet in rented halls.
The problems ran deeper in many parts of the world. Some branches struggled because they had few members, inexperienced local leaders, infrequent contact with Church headquarters, and scant Church literature in local languages. Some places were simply too far from Church stakes or districts to sustain strong congregations.
Also, since over 90 percent of Latter-day Saints lived in the United States, the Church was often associated with America. This perception created problems in communist nations like the Soviet Union, which were deeply suspicious of the United States and of religion in general. In the past decade, many such nations had enacted policies that made it difficult—if not impossible—for the Church to operate within their borders.
The opening of the Southern Far East Mission demonstrated that the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve Apostles were eager to expand missionary work to new regions, particularly in Asia and South America. Africa, though, presented a unique obstacle. Since the early 1850s, the Church had restricted people of Black African descent from holding the priesthood or receiving the endowment and sealing ordinances of the temple, so the Church had undertaken little missionary work on the continent. Still, every now and then Church leaders received letters from people in West Africa expressing interest in the restored gospel.
These challenges and successes were not far from President McKay’s mind six months later, when he traveled to California to dedicate the Los Angeles Temple. Plans for the building had begun under the direction of President Heber J. Grant, but the Great Depression and World War II had delayed its completion for nearly twenty years. It was the largest temple the Church had ever built, and its highly publicized open house had given seven hundred thousand people a chance to go inside and learn about its sacred purpose.
At the dedication ceremony, President McKay thanked the Lord as he looked over the congregation in the temple’s assembly room.
“We have felt Thy presence and in times of doubt and perplexity have hearkened unto Thy voice,” he declared in his dedicatory prayer. “Here in Thy holy house, in humility and deep gratitude we acknowledge Thy divine guidance, Thy protection and inspiration.”
Around this time, in São Paulo, Brazil, an aspiring Methodist pastor named Hélio da Rocha Camargo was beginning his third year at a theological college. One day, an acquaintance from his congregation told him he had met with Latter-day Saint missionaries, and he invited Hélio to attend their follow-up visit.
Hélio was curious about the Saints and their teachings, so he accepted the invitation. The Church had been in Brazil for nearly thirty years, but there were only about thirteen hundred members in the country, and Hélio had never met one. Unfortunately, on the day of the appointment, the missionaries didn’t show up.
A short time later, during a class discussion about the nature of God, Hélio asked his professor if Latter-day Saints believed in the Trinity, or the view that God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost were one being.
“I do not have any information,” the professor said. He didn’t even know if Latter-day Saints were Christians.
“Well,” said Hélio, “I believe that they consider themselves to be Christians because the official name of the church is the Church of Jesus Christ.”
“See if it is possible to find one in São Paulo,” the professor said. He then suggested that Hélio invite a Latter-day Saint to speak to the student body at their weekly forum.
Hélio went to the Church’s headquarters in the city and invited Asael Sorensen, the president of the Brazilian Mission, to speak at the forum. President Sorensen wanted to accept the invitation, but since he had a prior commitment to keep, he offered to send two young missionaries in his place.
“I guarantee that these young men are well prepared,” he told Hélio.
On the day of the forum, two missionaries from the United States—Elders David Richardson and Roger Call—arrived at the college. Hélio welcomed the young men and introduced them to a room of around fifty students and a dozen faculty. Elder Richardson, who had more experience speaking Portuguese, walked to the pulpit and began talking about the Church. Elder Call, meanwhile, jotted down important points on a blackboard.
Hélio was impressed by Elder Richardson’s courage and calmness. The young man spoke first about the Godhead, testifying that the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost were three separate beings. Soon members of the audience began interrupting him, asking question after question. “Let me finish,” Elder Richardson finally said, “and then you can ask questions after.”
The audience quieted, and the missionary continued his message. He used the Bible often, and every time he quoted a verse, the professors and students flipped open their scriptures to check his accuracy. Hélio could sense that his colleagues did not agree with everything the missionaries were teaching, but they were now listening more respectfully.
Then Elder Richardson raised the topic of priesthood authority and baptism. “If we can prove to you that we have the authority to baptize,” he said, “how many of you would submit to baptism?”
One student shouted, “Yes!” and the college director scowled at him in disgust.
When Elder Richardson concluded his presentation, he invited questions from the audience. Immediately, some of the students asked about the Mountain Meadows Massacre and other controversies. Few students, it seemed, wanted to appear interested in the Church.
After the presentation, Hélio and three other students went to lunch with the missionaries. They asked the elders more questions, showing sincere interest in their message. Hélio wanted to learn more about the Church, but his time was precious. He and his wife, Nair, had four young children, with another on the way. Between school and family, he was kept busy.
Before long, he set aside his interest in the Saints and lost contact with the missionaries.
One day in May 1956, Mosese Muti and his friend and fellow Church member ʻAtonio ʻAmasio were traveling along a road just outside the city of Nukuʻalofa, Tonga, in the Pacific Islands. As they chatted, a car drove past them and stopped abruptly. Both men knew the car belonged to Fred Stone, the president of the Tongan Mission. President Stone was about fifty years old—just a few years older than Mosese. He and his wife, Sylvia, had been serving in the country for about six months.
Mosese and ʻAtonio hurried up to the car, and President Stone greeted them. “Do you know anyone who would like to go on a mission?” he asked. Across the South Pacific, the Church was calling dozens of “labor missionaries” to quicken the pace of chapel building in the area. President McKay had recently approved the construction of twenty-one new chapels in Tonga, and President Stone was authorized to call local Saints to carry out the work.
Mosese looked at ʻAtonio, and his friend shrugged. There were more than four thousand Church members in Tonga, but no potential missionaries came to mind. Labor missions provided Saints with valuable on-the-job training as bricklayers, electricians, plumbers, and carpenters, which could help them secure employment after the mission. But the work could be grueling.
“You must know someone,” President Stone persisted. “How about you, Muti?”
“If it’s a call from the Lord, I’ll go gladly,” Mosese said. He and his wife, Salavia, had been members of the Church for more than twenty years. They had already served several missions, including one to help construct Liahona College, the new Church high school in Tonga. But Mosese was now working as a building supplies manager for the Tongan government and had a large family to support. He did not want to disrupt his life simply because the president needed a willing missionary.
“The Lord wants you,” President Stone assured him. “Do you have any money, any savings?”
“That’s why I gave you the answer I did,” Mosese said. “He knows how poor we are and what He would have to bless us with for us to make it on a mission.”
“Why not talk it over with Salavia,” President Stone suggested. “Let me know what her feeling is about going on this mission.”
“All I want to know is where and when,” Mosese said.
The president told him that he would be serving on Niue, a small island nation nearly four hundred miles northeast of Tonga. Four missionaries were already preaching the gospel and preparing to build a chapel there, but progress was slow.
“My wife and family will be happy to go,” Mosese said. He told President Stone about a dream he’d recently had in which he and Salavia were walking together on another island. “It was a place where all the villages are located around the island along the seashore,” Mosese said. “I had never seen such an island before. It must be Niue!”
“Good,” said the president. “You have two and a half weeks to prepare before the boat comes.”
Salavia rejoiced when Mosese told her about the mission call, and together they thanked the Lord for it. Since their marriage in 1933, she had never known him to refuse an opportunity to serve in the Church. And she shared his dedication to missionary work, trusting that God would bless them for the sacrifices they made in His behalf.
More than anything, the Mutis longed to receive their temple blessings. The nearest temple was in Hawaii, three thousand miles away, and the cost of travel had always kept them from making the trip. Once the temple in New Zealand was finished, the journey to achieve this goal would be far shorter. But even then, the cost would be more than they could afford, especially now that they were going on another mission.
Still, they had reason to hope that they would someday enter the temple. In 1938, while Mosese was serving a mission, apostle George Albert Smith had visited Tonga and conferred the Melchizedek Priesthood on him. “If you keep up your missionary work,” the apostle had promised, “you will go through the temple without a penny spent from your pocket.”
On May 29, 1956, Mosese and Salavia boarded a ship to Niue with their four youngest children. The family had just enough money to book the passage. How they would support themselves in the mission field, though, was in the Lord’s hands. As Tonga receded from view, replaced by rolling waves and endless horizon, the Mutis were full of faith in God’s promises.
A few months after the Muti family set out for Niue, Hélio da Rocha Camargo found himself full of doubts about infant baptism, a common practice among Methodists and other Christian denominations. At first, he simply wanted clarity. Why did these churches baptize infants? How did the baptism benefit the baby? The Bible seemed to say nothing about the practice, so he posed these questions to his professors and fellow students at the theological college. No one could answer them to his satisfaction.
“As a historical custom, it ought to be preserved,” one person suggested.
Hélio failed to see the logic. “Why is it beneficial?” he asked. “Are historical traditions necessarily true?”
The more he thought about infant baptism, the more it unsettled him. His wife, Nair, had just given birth to their fifth child, a boy named Josué. Why would an infant like Josué need to be baptized? What sin had he committed?
Other students at the college joined Hélio in questioning the practice. Alarmed, school administrators convened a faculty council and interviewed Hélio and the other students. Hélio was honest with the professors. “I do not find sufficient justification for infant baptism,” he told them. “It is a practice that is not supported by doctrine that I can understand or find in the New Testament.” As a pastor, he said, he could not in good conscience baptize a baby.
After the interview, Hélio and three of his friends were suspended for a term to seek answers to their questions. When Hélio broke the news to Nair, she was upset. She shared Hélio’s devotion to Jesus Christ and Bible study, and she did not like how the college was treating him. If Hélio’s studies did not lead him to agree with their views, the faculty council would simply put an end to his studies at the college—if not his career in the ministry.
Hélio tried once more to understand infant baptism. He asked a few of his friends and professors to help him find answers. They refused. “What good would it do?” they said. “You will never change your mind.”
“But I want to change my mind,” Hélio insisted. “I want to find good reason to change it.”
One professor finally agreed to look at the matter with him. They studied every passage about baptism in the New Testament, sometimes consulting commentaries and the original Greek text for more insight. “You are right,” the professor said after a few weeks. “There is no scriptural basis for the doctrine.”
At the end of his suspension, Hélio met again with the college council and informed them that his position on infant baptism had not changed. Realizing there was nothing more they could do to change his mind, the council terminated his studies at the college.
Hélio began working at a bank, but he continued to read about baptism, seeking to know what other churches taught. Nair supported his search for more truth, but his relatives thought it was odd and a little immature of him to leave the college. Hélio paid them no mind. He prayed often for guidance, not only for his own sake but for the sake of Nair and their family. As a father, he felt an obligation to lead his children toward light and truth.
One day, Hélio remembered the Latter-day Saint missionaries who had come to his school. At the time, he had bought a book about their church called A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, but he hadn’t read much of it. He found the book on a shelf and opened it. The author, LeGrand Richards, was a Latter-day Saint apostle who had twice served as a mission president. Each chapter outlined a principle of the restored gospel, point by point, relying heavily on the Bible to support each claim.
Hélio soon lost interest in other churches. A Marvelous Work and a Wonder had captured his attention completely. “This book,” he thought, “has answers that no other one has.”
He knew he had to seek out the Church. There was more to learn about the Saints.