A week or so ago my wife and I went after two birds with one stone.

We attended a family reunion in Manti and then caught the Mormon Miracle Pageant there.

It was my first time.

We Mormons love our parades, pageants and monumental productions. I know Mormon minimalism must exist out there, but I've never seen any. It probably gets painted out by the broad brush strokes of our super-shows.

We Mormons approach theater the way my father approached prescription medicine: If a little is supposed to be good for you, then a massive dose will really work wonders.

And so I stepped through the gate of the Miracle Pageant, not knowing what to expect, but expecting it to be large, lofty and probably long.

I was not disappointed.

I really didn't expect to see five Joseph Smiths scattered across a hillside at the same time.

I didn't expect the battle scenes to be so energetic. And I certainly didn't expect George Washington to make an appearance.

And though the critic in me always finds something to quibble over, I have to say I saw an amazing show for what amounts to a community theater piece.

For me, in the end, the miracle of the thing wasn't in the show, but in the extraordinary dedication of those involved in the show.

Where did they get that commitment?

I remember my friend Paul Braithwaite telling of the time he had to be the angel on the pinnacle of the temple -- in a driving windstorm.

I honestly believe his faith that night was on a par with the children of Israel dashing into the Red Sea.

The night we were there it was cold, and the rain had turned the grass on the hill into a genuine "slippery slope." I hoped no one had told the actors to "break a leg" before the show because, from where we sat, it appeared several of them did just that (poor Moroni hit the ground more times than a BYU linebacker).

Still, all that didn't matter.

The only thing that mattered was the feeling we had as we left.

It was the same feeling I remember having at St. Peter's Square in Vatican City and at the Basilica of Guadalupe in Mexico. It was a feeling that there was so much hope present, so much faith and dedication, that a poor pilgrim like me could feel hoisted up on it and kept afloat.

Some people pool their money. We Mormons pool our faith.

Long after I've forgotten the details of the Miracle Pageant, I'll remember that great lake of faith.

It was the kind of faith that keeps us all from being swallowed by darkness.

Communal faith is a mighty thing -- like a mighty body of water.

Tapping that reservoir of faith, I think, is what keeps Mormons in the pageant business.

And it's what will probably keep them in it for years to come.