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The Kindness of Strangers

The Kindness of Strangers

Last updated on: July 13, 2026 at 9:09 pm by Dan Peterson

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The Kindness of Strangers 2026-07-13T21:09:46-06:00 Dan Peterson

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In the late 1830s, the people of the Mississippi River town of Quincy, Illinois, welcomed, fed, and sheltered Latter-day Saint refugees fleeing from persecution and the governor’s infamous “extermination order” in Missouri. (Wikimedia Commons public domain image)

The newest installment of the Interpreter Foundation’s Becoming Brigham mini-documentary series went up online earlier today. It runs just slightly less than thirteen minutes in length, and I hope that you will both watch it and enjoy it and that you will bring the series to the attention of still others who might be interested or who might benefit from the effort that we’re putting into the project: “Mobs to Mercies?” – Becoming Brigham, Episode 25

From James Jordan, one of the three principals in Redbrick Film Works and, thus, in the Interpreter Foundation’s film projects, this is a view along the Congo River in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (formerly Zaire).

In other Interpreter Foundation news, here’s an article about Junior Banza, who has been the narrator — both in English and in French — for the Foundation’s Not by Bread Alone film project, which recounts the stories of Latter-day Saints in sub-Saharan Africa. (If you haven’t already had a look at the work that has appeared from Not by Bread Alone, you might enjoy the results thus far.) Anyway, here’s the article, which was published in the Deseret News: “First Latter-day Saint baptized in Democratic Republic of Congo returns as mission president 40 years later: ‘The Lord has given me a front-row seat to His biggest miracle’”

The Kinshasa Democratic Republic of the Congo Temple, will soon be joined by three additional temples in the DRC, in Kananga, Mbuji-Mayi, and Lubumbashi, as well as by one just across the Congo River in Brazzaville, in the distinct Republic of the Congo. (LDS Media Library)

This Deseret News article expresses a view that, I know, is regarded not only with derision in some circles but with anger: “Opinion: Why so many gay Latter-day Saints stay: For years, I walked around angry at religion and convinced organized faith had no place for someone like me.”

And here is a very interesting Deseret News article on a rather distant but still somewhat related topic: “Opinion: The link between declining faith and falling marriage rates in America: Over the same decades that marriage and birth rates have dropped, religious participation has fallen, too”

A Wikimedia Commons public domain image of Mendenhall Glacier and Mendenhall Lake, near Juneau, Alaska

We went whale watching in Juneau, and managed to get some pretty good and sustained views of (I think) five individual humpback whales. We’ve often seen humpbacks in Maui and elsewhere in the Hawaiian Islands, where they go each winter to mate and calve in the warm, shallow waters near the Hawaiian coasts. It was fun, finally, to see the other end of their very long annual migration route here in the cold waters of Alaska, where they come to feed — really, to gorge themselves — after the fasting (and the calorie-depleting gestation and nursing) in Hawaii. I now have a slightly more complete idea of their fascinating life cycle.

We also visited Mendenhall Glacier near Juneau, walking around there for several beautiful views. I’ve been intrigued to learn about the process of plant succession that occurs as glaciers recede (which, of course, they’ve been doing worldwide since the last major ice age ended about twelve thousand years ago and very rapidly now since roughly the middle of the nineteenth century). I think that, in some important ways, the process must resemble what occurred with the spread of early plant life on our earth as a whole.

We saw scores of bald eagles in and about Juneau. That was exciting for us, of course, although probably not such a thrill for our drivers and guides. A few days ago, up at Hubbard Glacier, one of our local glacier boat’s crew referred to bald eagles as their area’s equivalent of pigeons, because they’re so ordinary and common.

In Ketchikan, we rode a trolley around the town and its environs, seeing many totem poles (this is apparently the totem pole capital of the world) and getting out at one site in hopes of seeing some wildlife. We’d hoped for bears, which are commonly observed where we were, but we saw none. However, we saw signs of bears, and half a dozen bald eagles — both juvenile and adult — and a seal. The salmon seem to returning just a little bit late this year, but we may have seen one or two of them. And (I confess to having eaten yet again today) I had some really good smoked salmon early this afternoon.) At the end, we closed out our time in Ketchikan with the very touristy but also very entertaining Great Alaskan Lumberjack Show.

A sunrise at sea (Wikimedia Commons public domain photo)

I end this blog entry, as could easily have been predicted based upon what I wrote above, with a brief meditation on death.

I often encounter the claim from unbelievers that this mortal life is enough, and that it’s self-indulgent foolishness to believe, to hope, or to wish that there might be more beyond. I can, I think, understand an attitude of resignation toward the finitude of life: That’s just the way it is, and there’s no point in yearning for more. But I honestly can’t share in any kind of happiness about the prospect that all ends, and fairly quickly, in oblivion. And, although I can make sense of the notion that life’s richness consists to some degree in its very boundedness, the bounds could be vastly larger than they are before I could ever even begin to be concerned about the theoretical possibility of boredom or ennui.

There are so many places that I haven’t seen — even so many views of places that I have seen, so many individual sunsets, so many perspectives on so many vistas — so many pieces of music that I haven’t heard, so many books that I haven’t read, and, yes, so many flavors that I haven’t tasted. I’ve always wanted to raft the Grand Canyon, but that seems increasingly unlikely. I’ll probably never visit Siberia now, or Mongolia, or, as a friend and I once planned, go backpacking in eastern Türkiye. As my lifespan inescapably draws toward its close (though my critics shouldn’t get their hopes up, as I have no reason to believe that my demise is imminent), I simply never find myself indifferent to the idea, as long as my health holds, of seeing, hearing, learning, and experiencing more. I have never liked going to bed in the evening. I find it difficult to put my book down or to turn my computer off. I think of the famous words of Dylan Thomas:

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

What makes it acceptable to me — as if I really had a choice whether or not to die! — is that I don’t believe that death is “night,” the “close of day,” or “the dying of the light.” Yes, as the hymn says, “Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day. Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away.” There is truth is Thomas’s next line, that “wise men at their end know dark is right.” Still, I anticipate an experience, when passing beyond the veil of death, of ineffable, inexpressible light and fulness and beauty. As, I trust, both Dylan Thomas and his father learned for themselves.

Posted from an inlet of the sea near Ketchikan, Alaska

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