Beauty for Ashes
I climbed out of bed that chilly December morning of 2010, feeling the weight of a rigorous semester slipping from my shoulder. Finals were over. Bring on Christmas break! This joyful occasion however, was darkened by the shocking rumors I began to hear almost as soon as I left my room:
"The tabernacle burned down last night."
"There was a fire, and the tabernacle was destroyed."
As I completed my textbook sell-back and wandered around campus finishing my end-of-semester tasks, I was shocked and sad. I had stood in that very building just a week prior, listening to a Christmas concert with my family. The tabernacle couldn’t have burned down!
Google searches and more conversations, however, confirmed these rumors. The building was destroyed. As my dad drove me home along University Avenue, I glimpsed the charred and still-smoking remains of Provo's beloved tabernacle. I could hardly believe that the place where I had spent numerous hours with my family was gutted, robbed of its capacity for housing worshippers, concert-goers, graduates.
The rubble surrounded by the charred brick walls stood where some of my cherished childhood memories had taken place. One night in particular sticks out in my memory. It was around Christmas time when I was eleven years old, and my family went to McDonalds (where my happy meal contained the most adorable, tiny, stuffed puppy that ever you did see) and then to a Utah Premier Brass concert at the tabernacle. There was a warm spirit of Christmas; a feeling of joy as we walked into the warm entry way from the cold winter night. I laughed as we listened to the British conductor of the brass group we were listening to. I held my little stuffed dog throughout the concert, feeling happy about my life and warm and secure. For some inexplicable reason, that will always be one of my favorite Christmas memories. Indeed, one of my favorite childhood memories. And I will always cherish that tiny stuffed dog which still sits in a place of honor on my dresser at home.
But now that place was gone. We drove out of Provo that morning with the charred skeleton of the tabernacle emblazoned on our minds. There would be no more Christmas concerts or family outings to that beautiful building. The walls that had housed my precious memories would never again welcome me inside. Fire had destroyed it all. And while the fire could not mar the memories that had been housed by that edifice, it did serve to make them more poignant and at times painful.
***
Ten months later, I was again home from college, this time for a weekend to enjoy General Conference with my family. My brother, parents, and I gathered in the basement and listened to President Monson address the Church.
“Late last year the Provo Tabernacle in Utah County was seriously damaged by a terrible fire. This wonderful building, much beloved by generation of Latter-day Saints, was left with only the exterior walls standing.”
I reflected on the fire, once again aching for the lost building. Yet with President Monson’s next words, my heart leapt.
“After careful study, we have decided to rebuild it with full preservation and restoration of the exterior, to become the second temple of the Church in the city of Provo.”
There was an audible gasp throughout the Conference Center and in my parents’ basement. My face lit up in a huge smile and I felt a surge of emotion. I turned to my family in excitement and we talked about how incredible it was that this cherished building would be in our lives again. And it would not merely be restored just as it had been before--it would receive an added measure of glory and purpose. It would become one of the holiest places on earth: a temple to our God. For Latter-day Saints, temples are holy places. That is where families can be bound for eternity. That is where we make sacred promises to God and are able to feel His power and presence.
I felt something profoundly sacred in this announcement. For me--and I'm sure for countless people who have heard the story of the Provo City Center Temple--this wasn’t just a story of architecture. It's not about an unfortunate accident that resulted in the destruction of property. It's not just about bringing back my childhood memories or the collective memories of a community. It's about the atonement of Jesus Christ.
Did Provo need another temple? Well, yes, inasmuch as every temple that is built lessens the power of the adversary on the earth. And the people of the Provo area would be greatly benefitted by the additional temple. But would it have been easier and cheaper to just build a completely new temple in some other location? Definitely. But I love the beauty of the symbolism of God taking a burned, broken building that had been precious to His children, and glorifying and healing it. The Provo tabernacle was precious to God--the Mormon pioneers sacrificed and worked to build this house of worship, and it was a sacred place to them. It was a holy edifice. It was beautiful. It was worth saving even if it was damaged.
And the transformation of the burned tabernacle to a temple is a symbol of God’s love not just for broken, burned buildings that had housed precious memories, but of His love for broken lives, for His hurt children, and for repentant sinners who try to do what is right. It is a symbol of His commitment to each of His precious children. His love is so deep that even if it seems that our mistakes are too big to repair, He will still invest in us. He will not forsake us when events in life beyond our control seem to make everything come crashing down around us. He will still heal us and make it possible for me to become clean and whole again. Indeed, He will make us holy.
Now, after years of painstaking labor, the Provo City Center Temple has been completed. It stands prominently in Provo’s downtown, a beautiful beacon of light and hope. The collective and individual rejoicing at this new temple will culminate this month with the dedication of this edifice as house of the Lord. I imagine that gasp of joy in the conference center four and a half years ago is a tiny reflection of the joy we experienced in heaven when we were told that we would have a Savior who would make it possible for us to be forgiven—we sensed in that announcement a parallel of the promise of our own redemption. If God cared enough about the Provo tabernacle to save and preserve its charred embers and transform them into a temple, we can rest assured that He cares even more about our personal lives. We feel the power of God’s promise that in the ups and downs and struggles of our personal lives, He will never leave us, but will fight for us and with us. He will transform our lives and help us become holy.
I love the verses in Isaiah 61 that speak of Christ’s mission to His people:
“The Lord has anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound . . .to comfort all that mourn . . .to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.”
God saw fit to transform the ashes of the Provo tabernacle into a beautiful and holy edifice. And as much as I know He cared about that building, I know that He is even more deeply invested in the lives of each of His children. Christ performed the atonement in order to comfort, heal, and transform us. He came to earth in order to bind up our wounds, to save us when we feel life is out of control, to comfort us when we mourn. He came to save, redeem, and sanctify our souls. He came so that when the fires of sin, heartbreak, or disappointment touch our lives, He can give unto us beauty for ashes.
"The tabernacle burned down last night."
"There was a fire, and the tabernacle was destroyed."
As I completed my textbook sell-back and wandered around campus finishing my end-of-semester tasks, I was shocked and sad. I had stood in that very building just a week prior, listening to a Christmas concert with my family. The tabernacle couldn’t have burned down!
Google searches and more conversations, however, confirmed these rumors. The building was destroyed. As my dad drove me home along University Avenue, I glimpsed the charred and still-smoking remains of Provo's beloved tabernacle. I could hardly believe that the place where I had spent numerous hours with my family was gutted, robbed of its capacity for housing worshippers, concert-goers, graduates.
The rubble surrounded by the charred brick walls stood where some of my cherished childhood memories had taken place. One night in particular sticks out in my memory. It was around Christmas time when I was eleven years old, and my family went to McDonalds (where my happy meal contained the most adorable, tiny, stuffed puppy that ever you did see) and then to a Utah Premier Brass concert at the tabernacle. There was a warm spirit of Christmas; a feeling of joy as we walked into the warm entry way from the cold winter night. I laughed as we listened to the British conductor of the brass group we were listening to. I held my little stuffed dog throughout the concert, feeling happy about my life and warm and secure. For some inexplicable reason, that will always be one of my favorite Christmas memories. Indeed, one of my favorite childhood memories. And I will always cherish that tiny stuffed dog which still sits in a place of honor on my dresser at home.
But now that place was gone. We drove out of Provo that morning with the charred skeleton of the tabernacle emblazoned on our minds. There would be no more Christmas concerts or family outings to that beautiful building. The walls that had housed my precious memories would never again welcome me inside. Fire had destroyed it all. And while the fire could not mar the memories that had been housed by that edifice, it did serve to make them more poignant and at times painful.
***
Ten months later, I was again home from college, this time for a weekend to enjoy General Conference with my family. My brother, parents, and I gathered in the basement and listened to President Monson address the Church.
“Late last year the Provo Tabernacle in Utah County was seriously damaged by a terrible fire. This wonderful building, much beloved by generation of Latter-day Saints, was left with only the exterior walls standing.”
I reflected on the fire, once again aching for the lost building. Yet with President Monson’s next words, my heart leapt.
“After careful study, we have decided to rebuild it with full preservation and restoration of the exterior, to become the second temple of the Church in the city of Provo.”
There was an audible gasp throughout the Conference Center and in my parents’ basement. My face lit up in a huge smile and I felt a surge of emotion. I turned to my family in excitement and we talked about how incredible it was that this cherished building would be in our lives again. And it would not merely be restored just as it had been before--it would receive an added measure of glory and purpose. It would become one of the holiest places on earth: a temple to our God. For Latter-day Saints, temples are holy places. That is where families can be bound for eternity. That is where we make sacred promises to God and are able to feel His power and presence.
I felt something profoundly sacred in this announcement. For me--and I'm sure for countless people who have heard the story of the Provo City Center Temple--this wasn’t just a story of architecture. It's not about an unfortunate accident that resulted in the destruction of property. It's not just about bringing back my childhood memories or the collective memories of a community. It's about the atonement of Jesus Christ.
Did Provo need another temple? Well, yes, inasmuch as every temple that is built lessens the power of the adversary on the earth. And the people of the Provo area would be greatly benefitted by the additional temple. But would it have been easier and cheaper to just build a completely new temple in some other location? Definitely. But I love the beauty of the symbolism of God taking a burned, broken building that had been precious to His children, and glorifying and healing it. The Provo tabernacle was precious to God--the Mormon pioneers sacrificed and worked to build this house of worship, and it was a sacred place to them. It was a holy edifice. It was beautiful. It was worth saving even if it was damaged.
And the transformation of the burned tabernacle to a temple is a symbol of God’s love not just for broken, burned buildings that had housed precious memories, but of His love for broken lives, for His hurt children, and for repentant sinners who try to do what is right. It is a symbol of His commitment to each of His precious children. His love is so deep that even if it seems that our mistakes are too big to repair, He will still invest in us. He will not forsake us when events in life beyond our control seem to make everything come crashing down around us. He will still heal us and make it possible for me to become clean and whole again. Indeed, He will make us holy.
Now, after years of painstaking labor, the Provo City Center Temple has been completed. It stands prominently in Provo’s downtown, a beautiful beacon of light and hope. The collective and individual rejoicing at this new temple will culminate this month with the dedication of this edifice as house of the Lord. I imagine that gasp of joy in the conference center four and a half years ago is a tiny reflection of the joy we experienced in heaven when we were told that we would have a Savior who would make it possible for us to be forgiven—we sensed in that announcement a parallel of the promise of our own redemption. If God cared enough about the Provo tabernacle to save and preserve its charred embers and transform them into a temple, we can rest assured that He cares even more about our personal lives. We feel the power of God’s promise that in the ups and downs and struggles of our personal lives, He will never leave us, but will fight for us and with us. He will transform our lives and help us become holy.
I love the verses in Isaiah 61 that speak of Christ’s mission to His people:
“The Lord has anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound . . .to comfort all that mourn . . .to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.”
God saw fit to transform the ashes of the Provo tabernacle into a beautiful and holy edifice. And as much as I know He cared about that building, I know that He is even more deeply invested in the lives of each of His children. Christ performed the atonement in order to comfort, heal, and transform us. He came to earth in order to bind up our wounds, to save us when we feel life is out of control, to comfort us when we mourn. He came to save, redeem, and sanctify our souls. He came so that when the fires of sin, heartbreak, or disappointment touch our lives, He can give unto us beauty for ashes.
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