From Elvis to Eternity: Passing Down What Truly Matters

Have you ever had a moment where you realize something you think is an obvious bit of knowledge is completely foreign to someone else? This happened to me while watching “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” with my daughter. If you’ve never seen the musical, it tells the story of Joseph in Egypt, with each song set in a completely different musical era.  It’s a little eccentric but very fun.  When Pharaoh appears he is styled as an over-the-top Elvis impersonator.  I’ve always thought it was a brilliant cultural nod to have the King of Egypt portrayed as the King of Rock ‘n Roll.  I chuckled at the cleverness but when I looked over I noticed my daughter’s blank stare. I mentioned how great I’d always thought it was that Pharoah was styled like Elvis.  I expected her to have a lightbulb moment when I named him as Elvis. Instead, she gave me that vague, polite nod—the kind that says, “Uh… sure, Mom, if you say so.” That’s when I realized: my daughter had no idea who Elvis was.  I was a little shocked but I chalked it up to some cultural naivete and didn’t think too much more about it.

The next day however, I decided to test my 13-year-old. Surely he, with a few more years of cultural exposure, would know who Elvis was. I retold the story to him, expecting him to shake his head at his sister’s cluelessness—but instead, he didn’t see what the big deal was.  I decided to meet this head on and asked him directly, “Do you know who Elvis is?” He responded confidently, “Oh yeah!  Didn’t she write some Christmas songs?” Uhm… I mean, Elvis does have a Christmas album, but he’s definitely not a she.  I was surprised that my kids didn’t know who Elvis was. I mean, he wasn’t a huge part of my life, but he’s such a massive cultural icon… EVERYONE knows who Elvis is, right?  

Feeling I should fix this gap in their knowledge, I pulled out my phone and started Googling Elvis with my son. As we scrolled through articles and videos, I had a realization—I didn’t actually know all that much about him either. I mean, I could spot an impersonator easily enough, name a few songs and knew catchphrases. But when it came to his actual history, or why he was so important culturally, I only really had a vague overall idea of why he was who he was.

It occurred to me that while Elvis came on the scene during my grandparents’ young adulthood and was still very culturally present until he passed when my parents were in their teenage years, he was gone before I was born. While my grandparents were really there when he came on the scene and witnessed that cultural revolution firsthand, the experience was a bit different for my parents. Elvis was no longer a surprise by the 1960s and 1970s—he was just part of life. I only knew Elvis from recordings and general cultural awareness, but I had no personal experience with him in my own life.  Today—unless I intervene and teach my children myself—my kids won’t know Elvis at all.

As I reflected on this, I thought about the Nephites.  When King Benjamin gathered his people to speak, his words were so powerful that the people fell to the earth, overcome by the Spirit and filled with the joy of redemption (Mosiah 4:1-3). They entered into a covenant with God, committing to follow Him with full purpose of heart.

These people experienced one of the most profound spiritual moments recorded in scripture. But their children—too young to comprehend the weight of that moment—grew up without the same experience. Years later, we read, “Now it came to pass that there were many of the rising generation that could not understand the words of king Benjamin, being little children at the time he spake unto his people; and they did not believe the tradition of their fathers.” (Mosiah 26:1).

In the same way my kids wouldn’t recognize an Elvis song unless I played it for them, the rising generation didn’t just “pick up” faith in Christ—they needed to be taught. When that teaching stopped, so did their belief.  It wasn’t good enough that their parents knew, or that their parents had their own personal experience that had brought them to Christ – their children needed to have those experiences for themselves.  

I also thought of the people in 4 Nephi.  It’s always amazing to me to read that chapter and see how quickly the people go from seeing Christ to complete wickedness and destruction.  We read in 4 Nephi 1:16 that, “surely there could not be a happier people among all the people who had been created by the hand of God.”  You would think that the advantages of living in such a society would speak for itself. However, by the time the grandchildren of those who had personally sat on Christ’s knees (3 Nephi 17:21-25) were growing old, His presence had faded from memory. What had likely seemed obvious to the second generation after Christ might not have seemed like something they needed to explicitly teach to the third.  As they stopped remembering, their society quickly disintegrated and fell into destruction.

I don’t really care much if my kids know Elvis—sure, he was a cultural icon, but knowing about Elvis really isn’t going to be that important in their lives. However, I do really care that my children know Jesus. The fact that I have had personal experiences with my Savior and His gospel does nothing for the next generation unless I help them have their own experiences. I can’t assume they’ll just “pick it up” because I know. If I don’t deliberately teach them, the testimony and experiences I’ve cherished will fade away when I do.  That is unacceptable to me.

I hope that my faith won’t end with me; I want it to be a foundation for generations to come. If I don’t take the time to teach my children the gospel explicitly, how can I expect them to hold onto something they never truly had? My goal in teaching them is not just to pass down knowledge, but to help them develop their own relationship with the Savior.  My own experiences might fade from memory, but if I can help my children gain their own, then their faith can become ‘steadfast and immovable.”  I can think of nothing that I want more than that.