On Twitter, a hospice nurse provides observations about our final moments.

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On Twitter, I encountered a fascinating series of observations on death from an unnamed hospice nurse. The Twitter account is from @Rachel, Spirited Sparrow. This particular Twitter link has garnered more than 5.4 million views.

Death fascinates us. The final moments fascinate us. Near-death experiences fascinate us. What the afterlife is like fascinates us. On this blog, we have reviewed at least three books that deal with these topics. One is Map Of Heaven. Another is Glimpses BeyondDeath’s Door. A more recent review is The Devil Sat on My Bed: Encounters with the Spirit World in Mormon Utah.

Now back to the Twitter post. The thread is here. I am going to share only a little of it below this paragraph. I urge readers to go to the above link. The response from readers is also very interesting to read.

Some takeaways after my conversation with a hospice nurse of 12 years based on her experience:

… The people who have the smoothest transition to death tend to be those with a deep faith. The people who have the most difficulty are those who are adamantly anti-faith (rather than just having no faith)

… Men overwhelming more than women will pass when everyone has left the room. ...

… Based on what the dying have said during the end, it seemed to her that they were seeing through sheer curtains, whereas we are always looking at the other side through blackout curtains.

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Recently, LDS Apostle Jeffrey Holland, who has been in poor health, more or less revealed to church members in the church’s April conference that he had a near-death experience. I hear frequend anecdotes about family members near death, conversing with deceased family members that only they can see. I think that correlates with the hospice nurse’s comment about “seeing through sheer curtains.”

The debate over life after death, or whether we will greet deceased family and friends when we die, will always have fervent supporters and opponents. The proof, for better or worse, arrives when we die.

Review: American Trinity: And Other Stories from the Mormon Corridor

 

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Review by Doug Gibson

I really enjoy reading fiction by David G. Pace. He often captures the conflict between traditional Mormonism, its cultural comfort level, and inevitable questioning and repudiation of mores necessary in a changing world. In Pace's work, this conflict, if continued, can irreparably damage a marriage, cause a general authority to want to rebel, or lead one of the Three Nephites to be fed up with Christ for giving him a never-ending gospel calling.

That leads to the signature story, "American Trinity," in this new anthology, published by BCC Press. Zed is one of the Three Nephites, and the endless stretch of time, the constant changing of environments and culture, have him burnt out, to put it mildly. He only has occasional contact with the other two Nephites, and spends a lot of time at the theater. One of the Three Nephites, Jonas, has become of the world, enjoying multiple marriages and children that he outlives. The other, Kumen, goes the other way, living nomadic and looking for little, mundane miracles he can give to Saints. They are the kind of miracles tailor made for a Fast Sunday sacrament meeting.

I was enjoying the story, Zed's history and his anguish, and expected it to just end, with Zed facing another day. And then wordsmith Pace ups the ante and provides a powerful climax that near brought me to tears. Our protagonist comes across the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, in Greenwich Village, on May 25 1911. Zed comes to a 12-year-old girl, who jumped out to escape flames. She's dying. He can't help her. But somehow this brave soul accepts her death, and -- at least for a little while -- saves Zed. "'Don't be afraid,' she told him."

There are 12 stories in the anthology. Some I particularly enjoyed were "City of the Saints," a Babbit-esque tale of a recently called lesser LDS general authority trying to assert himself and resist conformity. Another, "Sagarmatha," involves a disaffected Latter-day Saint man escaping his crumbling marriage by traveling to Nepal on a mountain-climbing trek. While on it, he devotes considerable energy to protecting a sick dog.

"Caliban Revels Now Ended" is a well-crafted story of a missionary, with his companion, who read The Book of Mormon to a stroke victim, Ian, who cannot talk to them. "There was something about reading the verses aloud--the way they filled the old house with an authoritative cadence--that conjured for Ethan an assurance he hadn't felt before: that the book was a good one; that it was speaking to him," Pace writes. The story concludes 20 years later, with Ethan no longer an orthodox Mormon, no longer a believer in the Book of Mormon as fact. Yet Pace writes, "Still, as Ethan drove away that summer night, he hoped that someone had read one of the final passages of the Mormon's book to Ian before he passed on--a passage that, to Ethan seemed to transcend both orthodoxy and disbelief."

I see through the stories a respect for the Book of Mormon, not as a factual tome, but as a book, created by a man with talents, that can change the lives of individuals. In "American Trinity," Zed reiterates his deep affection for the Book of Mormon as a history that survived, although he is disappointed at Mormon's excessive abridgment.

A couple of others stories I particularly recommend are "Stairway to Heaven," for its take on how surprising too-soon death can be interpreted within LDS culture, and "The Mormon Moment," a lighthearted yet insightful tale -- told in quotes -- of an older LDS man trying to convince "Dot" to vote for Mitt Romney over Barack Obama. It reminded me of the culture of 2012, only 12 years ago but it seems like a long time. Frankly, I'd like to see Pace capture this subject with Donald Trump in 2024.

Buy this anthology, and also pick up Pace's novel, Dream House on Golan Drive. It's an excellent read of a Utah Mormon family in the 1970s, and the novel's narrator is "Zed" of the Three Nephites. I've no doubt Zed's still around today, hoping against hope for Christ's Second Coming, and an end to his calling.

Book takes a look at all those spirit visits we Mormons receive

 

Review by Doug Gibson

If you are a longtime Mormon like me, you know a healthy amount of the stories out there. There's that missionary who was too confident in his priesthood power and actually summoned a demon. You know how that ended; he tempted evil, and was found with lots of broken bones.

Or there's the story of seeing a large, dark creature. He turns, and his eyes, they're the eyes of Cain! The Spirit whispers, "Stay away." You run.

But there's positive tales out there: It's World War II, and a weary soldier asks a stranger when this cursed war will end. The stranger gives a date. The war ends on that date. It must have been one of the Three Nephites!

I'm taking those yarns, which pop up everywhere, with lots of salt. We've all heard them. But all have a firmer provenance. 

I'm not skeptical of visits from the spirit world, good and bad. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is a religion that preaches personal revelation. That includes the belief that we can sense, even see and commune -- rarely -- with spirits both dead and yet to be born. On a personal note, I have never had a vision or heard a voice, but I believe I have felt the unseen, spiritual presence/love/support from my deceased son, and my deceased parents. My mother believed she saw the profile of Jesus Christ in the Los Angeles Latter-day Saint temple. Over decades I've shared experiences --- mostly with LDS peers --- of what we felt, heard or saw. And, I even claim to have sensed and felt negative spirits during my life.

It doesn't make us odd -- it makes us Mormons. 

Erin Stiles is a professor at University of Nevada, Reno. She was raised in Cache County, located in northern Utah. She has authored a new, fascinating book, "The Devil Sat on My Bed -- Encounters with the Spirit World in Northern Utah," Oxford University Press, 2024.

Stiles is not a member of the LDS Church, but through her life experiences and research she has a strong understanding of Mormon culture. As she notes, spiritual encounters underscore a type of collective salvation, members of a familial lineage -- alive, dead or not yet born -- working in tandem to influence or prod family members through what Mormons call The Plan of Salvation.

Stiles recounts examples, gleaned through personal interviews and research through archives. One is a long-deceased mother who communicates to her daughter through voice and text messages. In one message, the deceased mother laments that she didn't spend more time with her daughter. Others include adults who talk about meeting spiritual children. Later a child is born who resembles the spirit. 

These good spirits often have names, or the living person senses they are a descendant, and later discovers that to be the case.

As noted, Mormons tend to see morality as a concept and righteousness as a verb. That helps understand why Mormons are receptive to spiritual encounters. Mormonism regards works as paired with faith in receiving a degree of salvation or higher. The spirit world is divided between a type of paradise and "spirit prison." The latter is not really a prison. It represents people who need to be taught Latter-day Saint principles and ordinances of the Gospel. Under Mormon theology, it makes sense to continue religious duties after death. I can't tell you how many times I have heard at LDS funerals where someone will remark that "Brother or Sister (so and so) are really busy teaching the Gospel" in the spirit world.

Temple work is important in the LDS faith because it's designed to provide the deceased a choice to follow what LDS faithful believe are covenants necessary toward a higher degree of salvation, called exaltation. As Stiles notes, it is always a choice of the person. It's not a decree. The idea of agency is important within the faith. 

For that reason, unsurprisingly, Stiles has gathered accounts of spiritual encounters within temples, interaction with spirits who have chosen to receive the post-mortal ordinances. I found fascinating accounts of people performing baptisms for the dead seeing spiritual people watching the baptisms. After every baptism, a spirit would leave, presumably satisfied with his or her baptism.

One of the accounts recall a child spirit left alone after the series of baptisms. This child, seen by one of those performing the ordinance, appeared very distraught. The officiator was asked to review the list of deceased slated for proxy baptism. It was discovered the man had missed one to be baptized. Once that occurred, the child spirit left.

I remember one of my late sisters telling me that she had conversed with the deceased spirit of one of our aunts, who died when I was very young. She eagerly conversed with my sibling, still a child. Frankly, I believe her. These are not carnival tricks to Latter-day Saints. Spiritual encounters occur, as the book notes, to guide those on earth, to protect them, and -- most in my opinion -- to comfort. Expressions of love extend beyond the grave.

As Stiles notes, adversarial spiritual encounters are generally nameless. They include demons on beds, bad ouija board experiences, encounters with Cain. There are many accounts of missionaries dealing with bad spirits. Although the term demon is often used in popular culture, most Mormons would regard these visitors as being rebellious spirits who aligned with the devil, Lucifer, in the pre-existence and were cast out to -- ironically earth. They were denied bodies. Mormon theology considers the number to be a third of all people created.

An example in the book involves unseen spirit women who were whispering to missionaries late at night. The sounds were so loud the missionaries faced accusations of having girls in their rooms. I'm not sure about this one. It may derive from sexual frustration. However, as a missionary myself, we swapped tales of dealing with the adversary.  Another involves rebellious spirits attempting to enter the Logan LDS temple. This is a well-traveled tale. The spirits are stopped, but in some accounts do manage to disrupt temple activities. *

In both cases, males in the Mormon faith used what is called Priesthood authority to cast out the renegade spirits. The patriarchal culture of Mormonism provides near-absolute authority to males in ecclesiastical matters. Stiles notes that in the early years of the LDS Church, women had much more power to "perform ordinances" before church leaders cracked down on that in the early 20th century. Candid interviews with current members provide evidence that the future may hold a loosening on overly patriarchal attitudes on female participation in Gospel ordinances.

"The Devil Sat On My Bed ..." contains fascinating information. It brings to an academic setting what's long been discussed between families, in pews, in Sunday school, firesides, campouts, sleepovers, family reunions, and so on. What happens in northern Utah really happens just about everywhere in Mormon culture. Hopefully this book, which can be a tough read at times due to its academic style, will lead to more books on spiritual encounters and how they relate to Mormon theology and culture.

* I have no disagreement with Stiles' stance that most adversarial spirits are unnamed. However, I have spoken to a handful of people who have a feeling these bad spirits they encounter are acquaintances, or friends from the pre-existence, but chose to follow Satan. Given Mormon culture, I think that idea is worthy of further study.

Doctrine on children who die fulfills a primal desire for Latter-day Saint parents

The second-hardest thing I have ever done is hold my infant son in my arms and watch Ray die. The hardest task for my wife and me were allowing Ray to die without a fight. He was born in 2000 with hypoplastic left heart syndrome, which meant that his heart wouldn’t function on its own. After reviewing the doctors’ options, which involved a high expectation of pain for Ray and a survival chance that a dispassionate observer would rate as virtually nil, we allowed our son to die.


A key advantage of grief is that it allows sorrow to be put into perspective. The months before Ray’s birth, when he was diagnosed, and several months to years after his short life, were very difficult. Moments intended for matrimonial passion become a time for tears when you look into your spouse’s eyes and know what both of you are thinking of. You look at children born at the same time as Ray and resist an impulse of bitter envy. You mentally plug your ears to condolences that your child “was too pure for the world” or vain exclamations from the pulpit of how prayer saved so and so’s child.

But grief is a positive. With time, it allows comprehension to sink in that what happened to your child happens to many, many others every year. You realize that 24 hours with a healthy baby makes you very lucky compared to the countless others left to die too early in terrifying circumstances, with no one to comfort them. If you don’t understand that life’s not fair, that our Creator doesn’t play favorites, then grief can turn you into a selfish, self-pitying person — and that’s a bigger shame than the loss of an innocent.

My wife and I do cling to a faith-based belief that others may call fantasy. We’re LDS, and we regard Joseph Smith as a prophet. When Smith was alive, he taught this, according to a 1918 edition of The Improvement Era: 

President Joseph F. Smith, the sixth President of the Church, reported: ‘Joseph Smith taught the doctrine that the infant child that was laid away in death would come up in the resurrection as a child; and, pointing to the mother of a lifeless child, he said to her: ‘You will have the joy, the pleasure and satisfaction of nurturing this child, after its resurrection, until it reaches the full stature of its spirit.’ …

"In 1854, I met with my aunt [Agnes Smith], the wife of my uncle, Don Carlos Smith, who was the mother of that little girl [Sophronia] that Joseph Smith, the Prophet, was speaking about, when he told the mother that she should have the joy, the pleasure, and the satisfaction of rearing that child, after the resurrection, until it reached the full stature of its spirit; and that it would be a far greater joy than she could possibly have in mortality, because she would be free from the sorrow and fear and disabilities of mortal life, and she would know more than she could know in this life. I met that widow, the mother of that child, and she told me this circumstance and bore testimony to me that this was what the Prophet Joseph Smith said when he was speaking at the funeral of her little daughter."

I choose to believe that I, with many other happy parents, will raise children who died too soon. I’m not convinced of that because a group of retired businessmen say it. I base it on my faith in a loving God and a primal desire to have that privilege. 

But if I’m wrong, I refuse to be disappointed. The 24 hours my wife and I had with Ray was another blessing we will always thank God for.


-- Doug Gibson

Originally published at StandardNET in 2010