The Price of Patriotism – Sunday, July 19, 1981
It’s oft been said—and quite truthfully—that freedom is not free; that its price is eternal vigilance; that it must be purchased by each succeeding generation. It is also true that there is a price for patriotism. To love our country and people well, we must learn to serve and sacrifice for them.
Now, it is a law of nature that the things for which we struggle hardest are the things we treasure the most. No one learns this lesson better than the pioneers of any endeavor. It is they who can appreciate so little only because they give so much. In this context, we are particularly mindful of the American pioneer who trekked across the western plains; the ardent patriots who settled in these western valleys of the mountains.
It would have been so easy for them to be bitter. Driven from their homes because of their beliefs, they sought refuge in a land that no one else wanted. The land of sun and sand and sagebrush surrounded by the towering mountains, was a difficult and dangerous obstruction to travelers on their way to more easy, fertile country. But to those pioneers, it was their promised land and they treated it as such.
In the dusty soil, they saw potential life. On barren plains, their inward vision pictured fields and orchards, groves and gardens. Along each canyon stream, they saw a city. Theirs was the vision—the dreams—that is part of every pioneer.
But they did more than dream. They worked and prayed and hoped. And as they did, they sang an invitation to whoever would join them in their pursuit. “Come, come ye saints”, they sang, “no toil nor labor fear.”1
But fearful was the journey. The trail was rough and rutted. More than 6,000 died along the way.2 Yet those who struggled on took courage in their faith in God and comforted each other with the reassurance that “All is well.”
Those pioneers paid the price of patriotism and freedom. And for it, they received the rewards that only they could fully appreciate. They prized their freedom and newfound homeland more than life itself. And because they did they loved it, cared for it, and sacrificed for it. Eventually those barren plains became fruitful fields.
Today one can stand on a surrounding mountaintop, and with some sense of gratitude to those who perhaps loved it best, praise the effort that made it so. Indeed, we can—as the mountains themselves seem to do—shout for joy for those early pioneer patriots.
1 “Come, Come Ye Saints”, words by William Clayton.
2 111 Days to Zion, Hal Knight and Dr. Stanley B. Kimball, Deseret Press, Salt Lake City, 1978, p. 254.
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July 19, 1981
Broadcast Number 2,709