The Opinionated Loud Whisperer

There was one woman in my ward that was very outspoken about her opinions. She had long grey hair, a constant scowl on her brow, and had a deep voice like a man.

Her comments in Relief Society had two crowds. The first crowd, consisting of about half of the women, held their breath and cringed in their seats, afraid of the damage she would do. The other half would excitingly turn around in their seat to give their undivided attention, with smiles playing at their lips, a gleam in their eye, and pens ready to write every word she said, that seemed to know something good was about to happen. That second group acted like it was the only thing that brought them to Relief Society, and if she didn't comment during that week, Relief Society had no meaning for them.

The best part, though, was during sacrament, when my family sat close enough to hear her comments about the members of the ward. When a member of the ward spoke about a scare she had with breast cancer, the mumble in the back row came loud and clear during the silence between speakers saying, "I highly doubt that." Or when a child ran off into an isle: "They need to have better control over their children." Or sometimes, "Wow, that baby isn't cute at all. She looks like her dad."

One Sunday, during a Testimony meeting, "Brothers and Sisters, I don't know if you know, but I am in charge of the Family History department for our ward. And I just want to say what a spectacular thing it is," she said in her deep voice that seemed to carry only two or three different pitches, "And the youth should really get involved in it. If the leaders ever need something for the youth to do, they can call us up and schedule a time for the Family History Library. I'll be there. And the adults should get involved in it too." And then she sat down.

There was no testimony. There was no typical closings that are common for Mormon speaking. The audience members didn't know if they should say "amen" anyway or just sit in silence. It was almost refreshing. After she sat down, she asked her husband, "Did I do good?"

Parallelism in Prose

Author’s Note: I hesitate to write a post from my point of view as a speaker because I severely lack the wisdom, level of spirituality and experience found in all of the speakers previously mentioned. I fully acknowledge, and I only share this perspective due to its relation to form.

I shared my testimony in a Relief Society meeting a couple of years ago. It was going like a traditional testimony (is there such a thing?) until the very end when I felt the Holy Ghost prompt me to speak in a form that was foreign to me. I attempted to follow what it was guiding me to say, which was something like this:

I did not watch as they nailed Him to the cross, but I know His agony was real.

I did not look in the tomb, but I know that it is empty.

I did not feel the marks in His hands, but I know they are there.

I did not kneel at His feet and wash them with my tears, but I know one day I will.

I do not know all things, but I know He lives.

After the closing prayer, a sister came up to me and asked me if I was an English major. I thought this was a strange question, but she elaborated:

“There was something about the way you shared your testimony,” she said. “I’ve never heard someone speak like that (referring to the section above), and it was really moving.” 

After being in our class and listening to today’s discussion, I think the reason that sister found the testimony to be effective was partly because of the form it was delivered in. The parallelism in the prose, for which credit goes to the Holy Ghost, stood out to her and made the message resonate.

Using elements of literary form can give oratory a depth and richness, as long as the form rings true to the message.