Baptized in Mockery, Sustained by Fire: The Gospel According to Emma
A Devotional Reflection on Doctrine and Covenants 23–26
The Second Voice of the Restoration
The Lord rarely enters our stories when it’s convenient.
He comes, more often, when the roof is caving in—when the prayers are faint, and the cost of discipleship has risen higher than we expected. He comes when we are half-sure we’ve made a mistake.
Such was the hour of Emma’s baptism. It should have been a serene rite. A promise sealed with water and Spirit. Instead, it was shattered by the shrill laughter of a mob. She was mocked. Threatened. Forced to flee. And when Joseph raised his hands to confirm her membership, the law raised its hand to take him away.
Let us not pretend the Restoration began in peace. It was born in fire and contradiction.
And Emma—our “elect lady”—was not spared that fire. She was asked to build Zion while the world tore down her name. To write hymns while her husband was hunted. To raise a family in the shadow of exile. To believe.
Not in herself. Not even in Joseph.
But in the Voice that told her, through it all:
“Fear not.”
“Rejoice.”
“Cleave.”
I love Emma. I do.
Not as a symbol. Not because she made it into the hymnbook or the history books.
But because in her, I see the quiet soul who bore the weight of a dispensation without ever seeking the spotlight. I see a woman asked to be strong without applause. Loyal without guarantees. Faithful in a narrative she could not control.
And in my personal view, which I’ll unfold more later this year, she was the second most important protagonist in the unfolding Restoration. Yes, second only to the Prophet himself. That’s not flattery—it’s awe.
This is not the last we will hear from her. Nor should it be.
She Still Believes: Emma, Fire, and the Foundations of Zion
It is a subtle, searing mercy that the Lord never hides what lies ahead. To Joseph and Oliver, newly ordained and still raw from rejection, He speaks plainly:
“You shall have afflictions. Be patient.” (D&C 24:8)
Not the message we crave. We want ease. Rescue. Relief.
But the Lord does not promise escape—He promises presence. “I am with thee,” He says.
If that sounds familiar, it is because it has always been so.
He was with Elijah in the silence after the storm.
With Shadrach in the fire.
With Alma’s people “in their burdens,” not apart from them (Mosiah 24:14–15).
And with Emma, not instead of her pain, but inside it.
To be “lifted up out of affliction” does not mean the affliction is canceled. It means it will not define you. Because Someone else already has.
Not Just the Elect Lady: Emma and the Covenant Beneath the Crown
It’s tempting to ask: why Emma?
Why place the mantle on her, with everything already stacked against her?
But heaven has never chosen for comfort.
It chooses for what it sees. And in Emma, the Lord saw not convenience but covenant.
No thunder, no trumpets—just a voice: “Thou art an elect lady.” (D&C 25:3)
The calling wasn’t ceremonial. It was cruciform.
She was called to rejoice while mourning. To sing while Joseph was jailed. To hold the Church together with threadbare hope.
Her calling was not to preach, but to cleave.
Not to lead armies, but to remember.
Not to live comfortably, but to live deliberately.
To be elect is not to be spared, but to be trusted.
Cleave: The Cost of Believing with Emma
“Continue in the spirit of meekness.” (D&C 25:14)
Meekness is not weakness. It is strength that has been trained. It is the quiet self-possession of a soul that has nothing to prove but still everything to give.
The Savior said, “Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart.” (Matthew 11:29)
He said it not with defeat, but with dominion.
Emma’s meekness was not shrinking—it was choosing.
Choosing to stay.
To forgive.
To walk forward without knowing if she’d ever reach the promised land.
That kind of meekness reshapes the world.
She Sang Anyway: Emma Smith and the Covenant We Overlooked
“The song of the heart,” the Lord says, “is a prayer unto me.” (D&C 25:12)
Emma didn’t just sing songs. She gathered them, preserved them, offered them to a people starved for light.
When she compiled the first hymnbook, she wasn’t curating music—she was fortifying memory. And maybe also her own heart.
Singing is not decoration. It is theology.
To sing is to say, I remember who God is, even when I forget everything else.
What song would Emma have sung that day by the river, with the mob behind her and her husband taken?
Perhaps only this: I still believe.
What the Mob Forgot, God Remembered
“Lay aside the things of this world, and seek for the things of a better.” (D&C 25:10)
This is not just about gold or pride.
The “things of this world” often wear subtler faces:
The longing to be understood.
The ache to be safe.
The comfort of being right.
But the Lord doesn’t call us to safety. He calls us to sanctity.
To cleave to covenants is to say yes again and again, even when there’s no spotlight, no reward, and no clarity.
Emma did that. Without fanfare. Without fail.
In D&C 26, the Lord reveals a principle so quiet we almost miss it: “All things shall be done by common consent.” (v. 2)
In Zion, we do not coerce—we covenant.
When we raise our hands to sustain, we are not nodding in agreement.
We are entering into mutual trust.
We are saying, You do not walk alone.
Emma knew what it meant to walk alone.
And yet, she still lifted others. She still sustained a kingdom whose shape she could barely see.
There’s something holy about a testimony that keeps walking even when the story no longer makes sense.
Emma walked.
The Lord saw her. And spoke to her. And trusted her.
She will appear again in the Doctrine and Covenants.
Not as a footnote. But as a partner.
And perhaps, as this year unfolds, we will begin to see more clearly what I believe with all my heart:
That behind every prophet must be someone like Emma—
Not in the shadows,
But in the story.
Not as a helper,
But as a heroine.
This is not the end of Emma’s story.
And it is certainly not the end of her song.
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