Good Friday

 

Tonight is the night during Holy Week when we remember the night in the Garden of Gethsemane when the Savior stepped into the deepest part of His redeeming work. Luke records that “being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground” (Luke 22:44). Modern revelation adds that this suffering caused Him “to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore” (D&C 19:18). What happened there is so sacred that, as Bruce R. McConkie taught, “We do not know, we cannot tell, no mortal mind can conceive the full import of what Christ did in Gethsemane. We know he sweat great gouts of blood from every pore as he drained the dregs of that bitter cup his Father had given him.” “The Purifying Power of Gethsemane,” General Conference, April 1985”

And yet, what we do know is enough to change everything. McConkie declared that “it was in Gethsemane that the infinite and eternal atonement began” (The Mortal Messiah, 4:127), and that there the Savior “took upon himself the sins of all men on condition of repentance” (The Purifying Power of Gethsemane*, Apr. 1985). In that garden, before any arrest, before any cross, the Son of God willingly began to bear what justice required. As the Lord Himself revealed, “I… have suffered these things for all, that they might not suffer if they would repent” (D&C 19:16).

Gethsemane was not only about satisfying justice; it was also about entering the full depth of the human condition. Alma taught that Christ would suffer “pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind… that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people” (Alma 7:11–12). In that suffering, He did not become sinful, but He came to know perfectly what sin does to us. As Jeffrey R. Holland testified, “He who had never known sin would come to know how the rest of us would feel when we did sin.” (*None Were with Him*, Apr. 2009).

Gethsemane’s toll was not abstract or distant. It was personal. Russell M. Nelson taught that “in Gethsemane, the Savior took upon Himself the weight of the sins of all mankind, bearing its massive load that caused Him to bleed from every pore,” and then added this remarkable truth: “And yet it was also personal” (*The Atonement*, Oct. 1996). Gethsemane not just for the world in general, for sin in general, it was for each of us individually.

Today, as we remember Gethsemane, we remember that Christ did something both for us and with us. He suffered “that they might not suffer” (Doctrine and Covenants 19:16), satisfying the demands of justice. And He suffered “pains and afflictions… that he may know… how to succor his people” (Alma 7:11–12), entering fully into our experience so He can heal us. He bore both our sins and our sorrows.

He did it willingly. In that same garden, He prayed, “Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done” (Luke 22:42). Before any soldier came, before any cross was raised, He chose to stay. He chose to drink the cup.

Because of what happened in Gethsemane, no burden you carry is unfamiliar to Him. No sin you struggle with is beyond His reach. No sorrow you feel is something He has not, in some way, already borne.  Indeed, because of Gethsemane, Jesus knows exactly what it is like to be you. And because He went there, because He knelt, and suffered, and stayed, and then went forward to the cross, you are not alone. As Jeffrey R. Holland taught, because He walked that “long, lonely path utterly alone, we do not have to do so.” “None Were with Him,” April 2009. 

Tonight, as we remember Gethsemane, if we do that remembering with spiritual eyes, we will see that He is not distant from us and our suffering.  We will find that the power of Gethsemane is, and always will be, right here.

Art: Walter Rane, Not My Will But Thine

Trump, Hormuz and the End of the Free Ride

 

Strait of Hormuz

by James E. Thorne

Trump, Hormuz and the End of the Free Ride 

For half a century, Western strategists have known that the Strait of Hormuz is the acute point where energy, sea power and political will intersect. That knowledge is not in dispute. What is new in this war with Iran is that the United States, under Donald Trump, has chosen not to rush to “solve” the problem. In Hegelian terms, he is refusing an easy synthesis in order to force the underlying contradiction to the surface.

The old thesis was simple: the US guarantees open sea lanes in the Gulf, and everyone else structures their economies and politics around that free insurance. Europe and the UK embraced ambitious green policies, ran down hard‑power capabilities and lectured Washington on multilateral virtue, secure in the assumption that American carriers would always appear off Hormuz. The political class behaved as if the American security guarantee were a law of nature, not a contingent choice. Their conduct today is closer to Chamberlain than Churchill: temporising, issuing statements, hoping the storm will pass without a fundamental reordering of their responsibilities.

Trump’s antithesis is to withhold the automatic guarantee at the moment of maximum stress. Militarily, the US can break Iran’s residual ability to contest the Strait; that is not the binding constraint. The point is to delay that act. By allowing a closure or semi‑closure to bite, Trump ensures that the immediate pain is concentrated in exactly the jurisdictions that have most conspicuously free‑ridden on US power: the EU and the UK. Their industries, consumers and energy‑transition assumptions are exposed.

In that context, his reported blunt message to European and British leaders, you need the oil out of the Strait more than we do; why don’t you go and take it? Is not a throwaway line. It is the verbalisation of the antithesis. It openly reverses the traditional presumption that America will carry the burden while its allies emote from the sidelines.

In this dialectic, the prize is not simply the reopening of a chokepoint. The prize is a reordered system in which the United States effectively arbitrages and controls the global flow of oil. A world in which US‑aligned production in the Americas plus a discretionary capability to secure,or not secure, Hormuz places Washington at the centre of the hydrocarbon chessboard. For that strategic end, a rapid restoration of the old status quo would be counterproductive.

A quick, surgical “fix” of Hormuz would short‑circuit the dialectic. If Trump rapidly crushed Iran’s remaining coastal capabilities, swept the mines and escorted tankers back through the Strait, Europe and the UK would heave a sigh of relief and return to business as usual: underfunded militaries, maximalist green posturing and performative disdain for US power, all underwritten by that same power. The contradiction between their dependence and their posture would remain latent.

By declining to supply the synthesis on demand, and by explicitly telling London and Brussels to “go and take it” themselves, Trump forces a reckoning. European and British leaders must confront the fact that their energy systems, their industrial bases and their geopolitical sermons all rest on an American hard‑power foundation they neither finance nor politically respect. The longer the contradiction is allowed to unfold, the stronger the eventual synthesis can be: a new order in which access to secure flows, Hormuz, Venezuela and beyond, is explicitly conditional on real contributions, not assumed as a right.

In that sense, the delay in “taking” the Strait, and the challenge issued to US allies to do it themselves, is not indecision. It is the negative moment Hegel insisted was necessary for history to move. Only by withholding the old guarantee, and by saying so out loud to those who depended on it, can Trump hope to end the free ride.

 

Jesus Christ in Gethsemane

 

"This sacred spot, like Eden where Adam dwelt, like Sinai from whence Jehovah gave His laws, like Calvary where the Son of God gave His life a ransom for many, this holy ground is where the sinless Son of the Everlasting Father took upon Himself the sins of all men on condition of repentance.

We do not know, we cannot tell, no mortal mind can conceive the full import of what Christ did in Gethsemane.

We know He sweat great gouts of blood from every pore as He drained the dregs of that bitter cup His Father had given Him.

We know He suffered, both body and spirit, more than it is possible for man to suffer, except it be unto death.

We know that in some way, incomprehensible to us, His suffering satisfied the demands of justice, ransomed penitent souls from the pains and penalties of sin and made mercy available to those who believe in His holy name.

We know that He lay prostrate upon the ground as the pains and agonies of an infinite burden caused Him to tremble and would that He might not drink the bitter cup.

We know that an angel came from the courts of glory to strengthen Him in His ordeal, and we suppose it was mighty Michael, who foremost fell that mortal man might be.

As near as we can judge, these infinite agonies—this suffering beyond compare—continued for some three or four hours."

Bruce R McConkie

The Constitution of the United States is a Glorious Standard

“The Constitution of the United States is a glorious standard; it is founded in the wisdom of God. It is a heavenly banner; it is to all those who are privileged with the sweets of liberty, like the cooling shades and refreshing waters of a great rock in a thirsty and weary land. It is like a great tree under whose branches men from every clime can be shielded from the burning rays of the sun.”

Prophet Joseph Smith

Joseph Smith’s declaration that the Constitution is “a glorious standard” and “a heavenly banner” invites us to see this founding document not merely as a political achievement but as a divine safeguard for human dignity. His imagery evokes the spiritual symbolism of refuge and covenant: a “great rock in a thirsty and weary land” recalls Isaiah’s promise that the Lord will be “as rivers of water in a dry place, and the shadow of a great rock in a weary land” (Isaiah 32:2). In this light, the Constitution becomes a God‑given structure that shelters the weary, protects the oppressed, and refreshes the soul of a nation. Its guarantees of agency, conscience, and equality echo the scriptural truth that “where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty” (2 Corinthians 3:17).

The Founding Fathers themselves sensed this divine dimension. George Washington spoke of the “sacred fire of liberty” and warned that its preservation depends on virtue and faith.

Thomas Jefferson insisted that the Constitution was designed to secure the God‑given rights of all people, and James Madison taught that the very purpose of government is to protect the “faculties of men”—their agency, their conscience, their property, their pursuit of truth. Modern prophets have reaffirmed this sacred framing: President Ezra Taft Benson taught that the Constitution was “made possible by the God of heaven” and rooted in eternal principles of agency, while President Gordon B. Hinckley called it “the keystone of our nation” and “the guarantee of our liberty.”

Together, these voices—prophetic, scriptural, and foundational—reveal why Joseph Smith likened the Constitution to a great tree offering shade to “men from every clime.” It is a divinely inspired refuge under which God’s children, regardless of origin, may find protection from tyranny, space to exercise their God‑given agency, and the freedom to seek truth, worship, and flourish. To honor the Constitution, then, is to honor the God who gave liberty, to cherish the covenant of self‑government, and to stand as stewards of a sacred trust meant to bless all nations and all generations.

Jesus Christ as Our Savior

 

We cannot save ourselves. Left on our own, we are like people stranded in deep water, trying to swim to shore with no strength left. No matter how hard we try, we cannot rescue ourselves—we need someone to save us.

But none of us possess that power. We cannot offer ourselves redemption.

So God provided the only solution that could ever work.

He sent His perfect Son.

From before the foundations of the earth were laid, the Savior stood willing to do what none of us could do. He offered Himself as the sacrifice—one pure life given for all humanity.

He would stand in our place, bear the weight of sin, and satisfy the demands of justice while extending the arms of mercy.

Through His suffering in Gethsemane, His death on the cross, and His resurrection from the grave, Christ accomplished what no other being could ever accomplish.

He made rescue possible.

He became our bridge back to the Father.

Because of Him, our failures are not the end of the story.

Because of Him, broken people like you and me can be healed.

Because of Him, the sinner can be forgiven, the weary can find rest, and the lost can find their way home.

There has never been another way, and there will never be another name given under heaven capable of saving mankind.

Jesus Christ has always been—and will always be—our only hope for peace in this world and eternal life in the world to come.

All we have to do is turn toward Him, trust Him, and allow His grace to carry us where we could never go alone...

Sensible Truth Ep. 30: "Agency, Responsibility, and the Moral Climate of a Nation"

Sensible Truth Ep. 30: "Agency, Responsibility, and the Moral Climate of a Nation"

Milton Friedman once asked, “Why have we had such a decline in moral climate?” His answer was piercing: “because we have shifted from a belief in individual responsibility to a belief in social responsibility”. 

Watch

Sensible Truth on The Medlock Post Ep. 29: The Impostor Syndrome

 

Sensible Truth on The Medlock Post Ep. 29: The Impostor Syndrome

Impostor syndrome may whisper that we are unqualified, but Scripture reminds us that God does not call the flawless—He strengthens the willing. Like David, we can acknowledge the size of the “giants” before us without letting them define us, because our identity rests not in our résumé but in our Redeemer. When we bring our weakness into the light of God’s truth, humility becomes courage, fear becomes obedience, and self-doubt becomes dependence on grace. In the end, the question is not whether we are enough, but whether God is faithful—and He is.

Watch