April 6, 2000. “Our stake center will become an extension of the temple,” the bishop had announced back in March, bringing a strange and sudden thrill into the otherwise humdrum Sacrament meeting. Ever since, I’d been counting the days until the wildly historic occasion: the hundredth temple of this dispensation–the first of the new millennium–dedicated in Palmyra!
The chapel was already crowded that evening when I handed my ticket to the usher. I took a seat towards the middle, giddy with anticipation. Before long a stooped, wrinkled woman I didn’t recognize sat down next to me, and we nodded a greeting. The room was still, so still the very air felt weighty. Not even the slight sounds and motions from the congregation could ripple the stillness.
But that, I hoped, would soon change.
The Kirtland Temple dedicatory prayer commanded the saints to “shout aloud for joy.” Eliza R. Snow said the Hosanna Shout was given “with such power as seemed almost sufficient to raise the roof from the building,” while B.H. Roberts recorded that “it seemed, as the mighty shout was given, to vibrate waves of emotion.”[1]
My first hosanna shout. For weeks I’d imagined the walls of the stake center reverberating with sound (like the desert cave when the Fremen shout MUAD’DIB!). Finally, the long-awaited moment had arrived. Head bowed, I felt the spirit filling my body like sunlight as President Hinckley offered the dedicatory prayer. After his “amen,” the air hummed with anticipation as Elder Packer approached the pulpit. With a fancy twirl of his handkerchief, he cued the congregation to begin:
Hosanna. Hosanna. Hosanna. To God. And. The Lamb.
My shoulders sank. No shouting for joy. No shouting at all, actually. Instead, a stilted, subdued group mumble, accompanied by a faint breeze from the waving handkerchiefs. Not even the triple amen packed any punch.
I snuck a glance at my seatmate to see if she was as disappointed as I was. But right then the temple organ sounded the opening notes of the Hosanna Anthem, and the choir launched into song. At the appointed moment, the director turned toward the congregation and motioned for us to join in the hymn. And as our collective voice rang out, the fire burned and my disappointment was forgotten.
After the benediction we filed out of the stake center silent and awed. Once outdoors the spell was broken: my seatmate and I looked at each other, grinned, and spontaneously embraced in a tight hug. She went her way and I went mine, moving through the gathering dusk towards the parking lot, my teeth chattering like mad even though it was a mild spring evening. For sometimes the spirit maketh my bones to quake.
If the veil could be taken from our eyes and we could see into the spirit world, we would see that Joseph Smith, Brigham Young and John Taylor had gathered together every spirit that ever dwelt in the flesh in this Church since its organization . . . the faithful apostles and elders of the Nephites . . . and every prophet and apostle that ever prophesied of the great work of God. In the midst of these spirits we would see the Son of God, the Savior, who presides and guides and controls the preparing of the Kingdom of God on the earth and in heaven. From that body of spirits, when we shout “Hosannah to God and the Lamb!” there is a mighty shout that goes up of “Glory to God, in the Highest!”[2]
June 30, 2002. The last session of the Nauvoo Temple dedication, broadcasted to a worldwide audience in 72 nations. Some said there would never again be such a gathering. But more impressive to me was the privilege of bringing along my freshly baptized daughter, Elizabeth. My mother flew in from Maryland for the occasion, bringing heirloom white handkerchiefs inherited from her own grandmother.
As the dedication service moved toward its climax I thought of Hariklia, this grand-, great-grand, and great-great-grandmother of ours who died Greek Orthodox. I didn’t remember her, but Mom loved her deeply and had experienced a powerful spiritual manifestation while doing her temple work. I imagined Hariklia preparing to join in the hosanna shout on the other side of the veil. Maybe those of us who’d felt let down by the mumble in Palmyra (surely it wasn’t just me) were ready to shout with boldness this time. For Elizabeth’s sake, I hoped we were.
We weren’t.
When the Hosanna Shout is given by “tens of thousands in unison,” B.H. Roberts wrote, “and at their utmost strength, it is most impressive and inspiring. It is impossible to stand unmoved on such an occasion. It seems to fill the prairie or woodland, mountain wilderness or tabernacle, with mighty waves of sound, and the shout of men going into battle cannot be more stirring. It gives a wonderful vent to religious emotions, and is followed by a feeling of reverential awe—a sense of oneness with God.”[3]
August 23, 2009. The final dedication service for the Oquirrh Mountain Temple. I made my 5 oldest kids cram into our Sentra so I wouldn’t have to park our beast of a van in the sure-to-be-jammed Stake Center lot. Turned out there was no need: when we arrived, just minutes ahead of the clock, the lot was nearly empty. Ditto for the cultural hall, with its hundreds of folding chairs set in neat rows behind the full chapel. The kids swiftly claimed the serendipitous patch of padded chairs at the very back of the room. The ushers, looking somewhat bewildered, trekked across the cultural hall to ask if we wouldn’t rather move up. (No thanks.)
I dozed through most of the service. The solemn sing-song cadence of the speakers’ voices had a hypnotic effect. (Although I tend to doze whenever I sit still and unoccupied for more than 5 minutes, so I can’t blame the speakers.) I roused myself as Elder Ballard stood to lead the hosanna shout, which he did with an admirable measure of apostolic gusto. But it mattered not. This time the congregation’s lukewarm response was no surprise–and no real disappointment, either.
And that was the biggest disappointment of all.
[1] Quoted by Woodbury, Lael J. “The Origin and Uses of the Sacred Hosanna Shout.” In Sperry Lecture Series. Provo, Utah, 1975; 22.
[2] Wilford Woodruff’s words on 7 April 1893, following the dedication of the Salt Lake Temple. Quoted by Bennett, Archibald. “Saviors on Mount Zion,” www.scribd.com.
[3] Woodbury; 22.
By Common Consent, a Mormon Blog 
I’ve also been severely disappointed by hosanna “shouts”. Why do you think that there isn’t any fervor with them?
So sad about the lack of gusto in our Hosanna Shouts. But the world is a different place now than in the nineteenth and early twentieth century. Perhaps the subdued, quiet act that now occurs is what we need. Still, it’s hard not to romanticize about Hosanna Shouts of a past era.
I love Eugene England’s essay “The hosanna shout in Wasington D.C.”
I’ve always shouted as loud as I could. The heck with what everyone else is doing. But I have heard people say, “Oh, you can’t actually *shout*. You’re in the *temple*. That would be irreverent.”
Personally, I think it’s irreverent not to shout.
I was on the top floor of the Nauvoo Temple for the first dedication session in 2002. The building shook like there were a pair of subwoofers in the basement playing the 1812 Overture at full volume.
For other dedications I’ve been to, people are just way too polite. I’ve got ancestors who went through the original Nauvoo temple, and I think about how they donated time, labor, and materials to build a House of the Lord while at the same time trying to eke out a subsistence living on the frontier. They had a personal, invested stake in that building.
Closest thing I’ve heard to this was the Mount Timp temple in Utah. A co-worker of mine was in the YW program in her ward, and they got the announcement that the youth could go “pick rocks” on the temple grounds. Yay. Another service project. Most of the youth milled around aimlessly, picking up an occasional rock and mostly chasing the opposite sex around. A couple of the girls marked off an area 6 feet by 6 feet and declared that they were making that 36 square feet “perfect”. That it would forever be *their* spot. When they got married, they would stand *righ there* for their pictures, because that was *their spot* and it was going to be exquisite. All the rocks were removed, all the weed roots were pulled, and the dirt was combed smooth, with no dirt clods present. In a tiny way, they were “invested”.
Now, with Twin Falls opening recently, the emphasis was on a big dance production to be held at the fairgrounds ten miles away. The temple becomes something “given to us”, instead of something we give to the Lord. The contractors come do their job and move on, the best landscapers around bid themselves almost into extinction for the bragging rights, and in the end it’s “just another temple” – nice, important, but ultimately a gift from Salt Lake instead of a gift to the Lord.
I can’t tell you how disappointed I was by my first Hosanna Shout at the dedication of the Chicago temple. I had thought it would be a true shout of exhuberance; it was anything but.
I think whoever is conducting needs to take a moment and explain the history of the Shout, that it is not irreverent to do it in the temple, and that we are going to do it with gusto. And then model it that way for those in attendance. Until someone in authority takes the bull by the horns, I’m afraid we’re stuck with the Tepid Shout. What a let down. (But as you rightly say, fortunately the Hosanna Anthem/Spirit of God take up the slack.)
Amen, amen, and amen, Kathryn!
About the only quasi-official opportunity we have to express exuberance in the Church is rooting for BYU. Otherwise, exuberance on Church property is actively discouraged. I would suggest that “someone in authority” tell people that the dedication of the temple is an even greater event than BYU beating Oklahoma, but that if they only shout as exuberantly as they root for the Cougars, that would do just fine.
Wouldn’t work for me, of course. Go Utes. Er, I mean GO UTES!!!!!!
I’ll give you another Amen. But I can’t decide whether to shout it or not.
You really captured some great imagery and power, Kathryn. A couple of article that may be worth checking out, both of which are online:
Jacob W. Olmstead, “From Pentecost to Administration: A Reappraisal of the History of the Hosanna Shout,” Mormon Historical Studies 2 (Fall 2001): 7-37.
Steven H. Heath, “The Sacred Shout,” Dialogue: A Journal of Mormon Thought 19 (Fall 1986): 115-23.
Amen, amen, and amen.
Also, somebody needs to produce a youtube of the Fremen shouting pls thx.
I remember feeling utterly disappointed by the quiet whispers of ….hosanna…. during the Palmyra dedication. My wife (who was attending her first temple dedication) and I made a promise to each other that during the Oquirrh Mountain temple dedication we would shout it out as loud as we could. As the shout was about to happen, I was almost completely let down when Elder Bednar instructed the saints to “say” hosanna. Say? Say? In my blasphemous mind I muttered “what the hell?” — or something like that — to myself. I looked at my wife and reminded her of our deal.
Outside of our own voices, I don’t think many others attempted to raise the volume, but it for us it was a beautiful experience.
It all starts in the Primary, when “reverent” somehow gets conflated with “quiet.” It continues with our congregational singing, where, if you’re really reverent you’ll sing in muted tones, a whisper almost. (I’m still upset with Richard Condie for his gutting of the first half of the last verse of Come, Come Ye Saints–“let’s all sing ‘Happy Day! All is Well!’ as if we don’t really mean it.”) And then on to barring instruments from worship services that don’t have a “reverent or worshipful sound.”
It’s little wonder we don’t “shout hosanna, shout again”–we’ve been taught all our lives not to.
Also disappointed with the “shout” at the Nauvoo temple dedication (the broadcast). I chalked it up to Pres. Hinckley being weak at the time, but sounds like the quietness is getting around.
Not only do I dislike the limpness of a non-shout, but–at the risk of playing up to anti-Mormon stereotypes–it sounds like the mindless chant of a cult.
“it was expedient for us to prepare bread and wine sufficient to make our hearts glad….the stewards passed round and took up liberal contributions, and messengers were despatched for bread and wine….the bread and wine were then brought in, and I observed that we had fasted all the day…” (HC Vol. 2, 430-431).
In the good old days they knew how to throw a meeting….Imagine sending the deacons to the wine cellar to get the crowd in the proper religious mood.
When I was 8 and the Jordan River Temple was dedicated, I loved going to the Tabernacle and waving my white handkerchief. To my 8-year-old ears and in the large chamber of the Tabernacle, it sounded like a magnificent shout. And I loved every minute of it.
I think we need more Primary kids at temple dedications. They know how to shout.
Religious societies, like most cultures, begin with experimental behavior which evolves gradually into manageably predictable, rote patterns of comportment to which adherents cling as familiar anchors of comfort and stability. At the Kirtland Temple dedication on March 27, 1836, Joseph Smith was only thirty years of age. The exuberance of that season is scarcely reflected in modern Tabernacle Voice (my term for that distinctively plodding, aged-authoritarian tone that is expected of highest Church authorities in meetings today).
I still save my handkerchief from the Provo Temple dedication of February 9, 1972. It looks rather sterile, unused (except that in 1984 I wrapped it around a Whitmer family seerstone which I owned for a time). Latter-day Saints no longer peep into hats much, or speak in tongues. At Provo, I was struck by powerful mixed imagery of Harold B. Lee wearing eyeglasses and ancient-styled temple robes. With almost comically sedate decorum, he raised his hanky above his shoulder to wave it cautiously, leading us in a subdued, mechanistic “Shout.” He would probably have felt out of his skin to behave in any more animated manner. We were accustomed only to Tabernacle Voice. No charismatic holy-rolling for us, that day. We were Latter-day Saints . . .
Thanks for the amens, all.
Left Field: I enjoyed England’s essay, too. Anyone who’s interested can read it here:
http://www.signaturebookslibrary.org/dialogues/chapter11.htm#hosanna
J.: Thanks for those links.
Michael, narrator, and mmiles: So glad to hear it.
Cynthia: Indeed!
Kevin, Mark, and Last Lemming: yes.
Bro. Jones: Agree re the cult chant. Good thing no Kool-aid was served.
I agree with #12. At no time is ever ok show enthusiasm during any church meeting. No matter how heartfelt the musical number (played on only certain instruments-heaven forbid a plain old guitar is used in a Sacrament meeting!), we don’t clap or show any collective emotional response.
During the Hosanna shout at our stake center for the Nauvoo temple, my husband and I both did the first “Hosanna” really loud, then realized no one else was. We automatically toned it down to the reverencial mumble of the group. We were too chicken to make a speckle of ourselves. Our 3 children who had their hankies ready for some real action were very confused and commented afterward, “Aww, that was no big deal.”
My husband I teach Nursery. We love it. It is fun to sing “Jesus wants me for a Sunbeam” and really belt out “sun-BEAM, a sun-BEAM, Jesus wants me for a sun-BEAM for Him.” We also get to do the hand motions for “Give Said the Little Stream” which isn’t even sung in the regular Primary anymore because it isn’t spiritual enough. Lastly, we have tamborines, salsa noise shakers, triangles and colorful ribbons on sticks to wave as we sing. Our nursery rocks and the kids have a great time. I feel sorry for them as they graduate to the big kids Primary and all musical instruments, hand motions, and ribbons disappear. At least they have a year and 1/2 of fun in Nursery before the “real world” gets them. It sucks to grow up.
“speckle”??
It is fun to sing “Jesus wants me for a Sunbeam” and really belt out “sun-BEAM, a sun-BEAM, Jesus wants me for a sun-BEAM for Him.”
My teenagers do this during FHE at earsplitting volumes. They pop off the couch with every BEAM as an added measure.
Then Reed and I go take a handful of Advil. Each.
Of the Hosanna Shouts that I’ve participated in, the closest that any ever came to a “real” shout was the dedication of the Provo temple in the Marriott Center. Maybe it was just the spirit of the building, since it’s okay to shout there, but not always okay to shout in the temple itself.
I suppose, but…does anyone really think that mindless hysterical screaming is any less fodder for cult-callers?
Mindless hysterical screaming, Scott?
This is the Lord’s house, not your house.
Great post, Kathryn. I had a similar experience when the Mt. Timpanogos Temple was dedicated. I thought “That was a shout?”
I like Kevin’s idea “Until someone in authority takes the bull by the horns, I’m afraid we’re stuck with the Tepid Shout.”
So perhaps in the spirit of bulls and horns, we need someone to distribute bullhorns so we can shout louder.
Also, Michael’s point (#4) is a great one: “The temple becomes something “given to us”, instead of something we give to the Lord.” I wonder if you’re right, if we just feel less connection to the temple in general, and the Tepid Shout (Hosanna Whisper) isn’t just one symptom of that.
I think Michael is correct.
I cut several paragraphs from this post at the last minute, wanting to see where it would go. Now seems like a good time to share this quote from the Encyclopedia of Mormonism, along with some additional thoughts:
The dedication of a temple is ultimately the dedication of people. In the spirit of sacrifice, they build it, and in the same spirit they perform sacred ordinances within it.
To which I say: sacrifice? What sacrifice? There are no calluses on my family’s hands, no empty spaces in our china cabinet (not that we have one), no holes in our shoes or our bank account. The new temple exacted no price of any of us. Neither did Palmyra or Nauvoo—they are monuments to the works of others. Maybe when the New Jerusalem Temple is built, those present will have sacrificed enough to shout with true joy at its dedication.
I’ve been to three temple dedications in a decade. There are two temples within a mile-plus of my home, and 5 more within a 20-mile radius. Before my neighbor’s tree got tall and bushy I could spot the Jordan River Temple spire from my kitchen window. With the new temple dedicated my home sits equidistant between two active spires, a spiritual Wi-Fi hotspot. So why did the dedication feel so lukewarm?
I do believe I’ve been spoiled.
Kathryn, my point is just that anyone who is predisposed to calling Mormons cultish is going to observe the Hosanna shout and have their prior opinions justified, whether we’re chanting quietly or shouting loudly.
In the vein of comment #27, the Albuquerque temple was dedicated in March of 2000. One month later, my relatives in the Roswell stake received the announcement of a temple in Lubbock, and so two years after the once-in-a-lifetime of dedicating a temple in New Mexico, that eastern New Mexico stake became part of a Texas panhandle temple district.
Fair enough, Scott. And my point is just that the exuberant shouts of yesteryear were surely not mindless and/or hysterical.
I think there is a lot to be said about the old temples being the members’ gifts to God, and the new temples being the church’s gifts to the members. I feel no connection or ownership of any of the temples I’ve lived near.
#28. Point taken–but as others have pointed out, sports fans manage to shout in unison at games without sounding like muttering old people. Surely we could do the same.
Several thoughts:
1) There is something to shared sacrifice that gives you a vested interest. When I was a kid and we expanded our chapel, I spend countless hours cleaning up the job site, painting walls, climbing scaffolding, etc. I knew my family contributed DIRECTLY at least some of the cost of the building. And at the end of the day, the building was “MINE”. Contrast that to the way temples and buildings are constructed now. Is there anyone who really has any vested interest in anything anymore to that level?
2) There is just something missing when you watch something on video. It could live, it could have been recorded days before. With the increasing trend of this in the church, they are losing a lot. I’m sure saints in Germany, for example, would respond completely differently to an apostle speaking in a meeting there vs having a meeting there where a video of an apostle was going to be shown.
A couple of thoughts. The ways we’ve learned to quench the Spirit are manifold and tiring, but not defeating. My question to myself is: did I shout? No. But next time I will, because I’m not embarrassed of my God, and I don’t care if the entire Stake Center thinks I’m a fool.
I experienced a fine manifestation of the Holy Spirit as I listened to the Pres. Eyring read the dedicatory prayer. I was with my parents in their downtown missionary branch, and we had a number of Sister missionaries with us on our pew. As I gently wept, I peeked a look at my sisters and saw their eyes wet with tears, as well. All in perfect silence. ~
TP, awesome.
I’m with you.
That’s strange, because both my wife and I experienced the Nauvoo Temple dedication in different places (Seattle and Provo respectively) and we both shouted with gusto. It could be that because we were younger then (teenagers) but at least for me (and so had more energy), I distinctly remember that everyone was pretty excited about the Nauvoo Temple being dedicated and we were yelling pretty excitedly about it.
When I turned to my wife and asked her if she remembered shouting during the Hosanna Shout, she said, “Of course! When do you get to wave a handkerchief around and shout in church?” I hold the same sentiments.
(We missed the Oquirrh Temple dedication because we were out of town. But I’m pretty sure we would have yelled all the same.)
I have only experienced one dedication, the Palmyra dedication at our stake center, and I recall being somewhat disappointed at the weakness of the Hosanna shout. Otherwise, it was a pretty powerful experience. The singing after the shout, was exuberant, and brought tears to my eyes.
I’ve thought about the “investment” idea a little bit. Some of us, I suspect (myself included), don’t much miss the old days of hefty temple assessments, and perhaps that is wrong. But I do think there are opportunities to invest in temples and chapels. Each year, during the annual temple closing here in Seattle, wards have an opportunity to provide workers for a shift to help in the cleaning. So far, I haven’t been around during the week that our opportunity came, or was too late to get signed up. But I am a fairly faithful chapel cleaner at our ward’s building.
Oddly enough, I had quite a spiritual experience once while vacuuming classrooms, as I was trying to do a good job, and get to all the corners. I had a brief image flash into my mind of all the people who venture into our building each week, especially the children, and felt a huge rush of love and compassion that I have always associated with the spirit. I actually broke down in tears with thankfulness for the opportunity to be doing something so mundane as cleaning the building. I’ve tried to always be faithful about investing in our building after that.
I do wish we could crank up the enthusiasm for singing in church, though. I thought my own ward was somewhat lame, but recently attended a ward in another state where every song was sung at about half the normal speed, and half the normal volume. “I Believe in Christ” took about 8 painful, agonizing minutes.
Amen!
I always shout at the “sing and shout” part… that is how we did it in Virginia. In Utah, I am treated like a freak for it. No shouting here
Amen! (I was shouting that, in case you couldn’t hear).
I DID shout, at the top of my lungs, during a dedication session, held in the Marriott Center. Unfortunately, despite my zeal and “to heck with it attitude,” I recognized then and can now see that my anachronistic shout was not a profusion of righteous zeal, but a distraction, something wholly different than what the early saints did. I was a Don Quixote. So I didn’t shout at the recent dedication, though I still desperately want to. I now simply mourn that I don’t get to. It seems another element of what I consider my religion that has (hopefully temporarily) been lost.
Ted, glad to hear there are still shouters among us. Although James, you do have a point about the quixotic . . .
StillConfused, in VA you shouted “shout” in The Spirit of God? I admit that would seem BEAM-ish to mee.
kevinf, that’s a cool story. Thanks.
I was in the lobby of the Porto Alegre, Brazil temple during the first dedicatory session, but I can’t remember whether we shouted or not, and from my letter to my parents, either way it wasn’t worth writing home about. (My mission journal has a gap that starts that very morning. Boo.)
I do remember The Spirit of God, though, just as you described, Kathryn. I have no doubt there were angelic members of our choir that day. Beyond that, while my companion and I didn’t have any reason to expect to be in the temple that morning, immediately after the dedication we saw a sister from our ward there, which fulfilled dreams each of the three of us had had that week.
Oh, I too wish we had a grand Hosanna shout! Limp is exactly the word for the ones I’ve experienced.
I don’t think we’re temple spoiled so much as we are timid. I think it would be worthwhile for bishops and stake presidents to remind their congregations that it is meant to be a shout of joy. ooh, wouldn’t it be fantastic if one of the dedication speakers encouraged a good shout. I think I’ll nominate you for General RS President, Kathy, just so that you can give that talk!
Kathy, I love the way you draw attention to these things. I’ve been thinking about this for days and trying to frame something I want to say, but it always comes out having missed the mark and too long. But it boils down to this: Our tepid shouts seem to be a manifestation of institutional boredom. I feel the same lack of enthusiasms in our lessons, hymns, parties. It seems to me without an infusion of creativity and innovation we are just going through the motions in many of our rituals and they often do not move the soul.
I study the mid-19th century, and can firmly say that modern church members would, in general, be *very* uncomfortable in historic church meetings.
Church culture changes over time (the gospel does not)–but there is a lot of apathy in the modern church culture, and I, too, would like to see it change. I’ll have to start with myself, as I’ve been battling a “why bother” attitude for awhile, and I find it really unattractive as an aspect of my character.
I agree 110% with the comments that we’re losing something in being less physically connected with sacrifice and our worship. There’s some amount of Old Testament/New Testament parallel: in the early days of the Church, as in the Old Testament, there were many physical sacrifices that had to be performed for the gospel to move forward. Now, as in the New Testament, the old laws of *doing* have been updated with laws of *being*. It’s a lot easier to sacrifice a burnt offering, or my china for the walls of the temple, than to figure out what equivalent spiritual or character-based offering I’m supposed to sacrifice to the same depth and purpose.
I remember, in my teens, wishing I was Catholic. Going to confession and saying some Hail Marys seemed to be a lot easier to me than rooting out my sinfulness and making sure I handled it in private and fully. I don’t still think that it’s easier, but I do think it’s sometimes easier to make a sacrifice when it *is* a sacrifice, when it’s visible and felt. The act of saying a Rosary is tangible, as well as spiritually refreshing. It feels harder to find intangible ways to sacrifice, but that connection is so vital.
I would LOVE to see more physical connection between the people and the church buildings, though. It’s service to the Lord, and could be an excellent way to start or deepen the spiritual connection. Going into the chapel to polish the pews and podium was something that really made me feel peaceful as a teen. Add in a little hymn singing while I worked, and a small act of necessary cleaning became a small session of worship, and the chapel was forever set aside in my mind as a place of quiet service and devotion, rather than just another room in just another building.
Still Confusedin VA- By chance were you in the McLean ward that met at the Scotts Run Chapel? If so then we may have been in the same ward. My family left from Utah from McLean and I always wondered what was wrong with the primary I attended in Utah because they never shouted the shout in “The Spirit of God.”
Some one on here called it the Hosanna Mumble. Very apropos. I remember being in the Bountiful Temple dedication, and President Hinckley waived his handkerchief around rather blandly. I was sooooo disappointed.
You know who I want to see lead the shout? Brother Eddie, a man who was a preacher in an African American Baptist church before he converted. Brother Eddie didn’t need a mike. His testimonies were firery, loud, and he wanted Amens. Can I get an Amen? There were Sunday’s I prayed for Brother Eddie to feel the spirit because I was about to poke my eyes out because the meeting was beyond boring. Thing is, Brother Eddie had a testimony, felt it with all his soul, and loved the Lord.
So that’s who I want to see lead a Hosanna Shout, Brother Eddie from California. I promise it will be a shout.