Elder David J. Wunderli, April 2026 General Conference
Marcella Molnar
Sacrament Talk
August 16, 2026
Sugarmill Ward
We hear certain scriptures so often that their meaning becomes diluted—softened by repetition, familiar to the ear but distant from the heart. “Come unto me… and I will give you rest” is one of those verses. We quote it easily. We teach it confidently. But there are seasons when those words feel far away—when the weight we carry is heavier than our strength, when rest feels impossible, and when we quietly wonder if His relief is meant for everyone else… except us.
I have lived such a season. I once sat on a bench beneath a black walnut tree in my front yard in Orem, Utah, carrying a burden that felt impossible to continue bearing. Fear rushed through me so suddenly it took my breath away. I wept. I prayed. I pleaded. I didn’t have eloquent words—only a cry from the deepest place in me that the Lord would lift what I could no longer carry.
What happened next is difficult to describe. It felt as though something warm and encompassing moved through me, surrounding my whole body. And then, just as quickly, the weight I had been carrying—the fear, the strain, the heaviness—lifted completely off my shoulders. My tears stopped. My breathing steadied. I sat there for a moment, stunned by the suddenness of the relief.
And then… I stood up.
I’ve learned that doctrine is only the beginning. Relief doesn’t come from concepts—it comes from the living presence of God moving within us. There is a Greek word that has stayed with me this year: entheos—God within. When His relief comes, it isn’t just something we understand; it’s something we feel. It’s the moment when our spirit recognizes Him before our mind can catch up.
When the Savior says, “I will give you rest,” the Greek word He uses is anápausis. It doesn’t mean sleep. It doesn’t mean inactivity. It means relief—the lifting of heaviness, the inner refreshment that comes from being held by Him. It is the pause that restores the soul. That is exactly what I felt under the walnut tree. Not escape. Not numbness. Relief.
As parents, many of us feel sorrow when our children step away from the Church. A former bishop once told me, “It’s a sign of the times.” And yet, Elder David J. Wunderli, in his April General Conference talk, Jesus Christ Is Not Our Burden; He Is Our Relief, reminds us that another sign of the times is emerging—a rising generation choosing to abide with Jesus Christ. They gather in temples in record numbers. They wake before sunrise for seminary. They serve missions in greater strength and compassion. They are becoming lifelong disciples of Jesus Christ. They are choosing to walk with Him.
We live in challenging times, and we know the prophecies surrounding the last days. More difficulties will come. I don’t like to give the adversary attention, but his influence is real, and his time is running out. He wants us to believe that life would be easier without commandments, without leaders, without parents and friends encouraging us to hold to the iron rod. He whispers that discipleship is heavy, that obedience is restrictive, that faith is a burden. But Elder Wunderli teaches the exact opposite truth: Jesus Christ is not the weight—He is the RELIEF.
We have been taught again and again that Jesus Christ has overcome the world. He has taken upon Himself the pains and sorrows of His people. He has suffered afflictions and temptations of every kind, so that He Himself would know exactly how to comfort us. His invitation is simple, loving, and powerful: “Abide with me. Stay with me.” That is His greatest desire for each one of us. But we also know that abiding with Him is not always easy.
So how do we abide with Him? How do we stay with Him through our joys, sorrows, successes, and trials? The scriptures show us a pattern which we have spoken of in my primary class this year, as we study the Old Testament—the Apostasy Cycle. The word apostasy comes from the Greek apo + stasi, meaning “to move away from where you once stood.” Over and over, we see people who follow God, then gradually drift through pride or apathy. Consequences increase, humility returns, and they turn back to Him—only for the cycle to repeat. Abiding with Christ means interrupting that cycle. It means choosing to stay where He is, instead of drifting away.
And this is why Christ’s invitation matters so deeply. “Abide in me, and I in you.” He is not asking us to be perfect—He is asking us to stay. To remain. To walk with Him. To let Him lift the heaviness we cannot carry alone.
But it requires praxis (prax’sees)—the lived, daily actions of discipleship. Abiding is not passive. It is practiced. It is lived. It is the daily walk that keeps us from drifting into apo‑stasi—moving away from where we once stood.
And this is what praxis looks like. Elder Wunderli teaches us exactly how we keep Christ with us—how we abide, how we stay, how we refuse to drift into apo‑stasi.
We keep Him with us when we kneel and pray with real intent.
We keep Him with us when we study the scriptures daily—especially the Book of Mormon—and let its witness of Christ guide us through our mists of darkness.
We keep Him with us when we exercise faith in Him, trust Him, and turn to Him in sincere, daily repentance.
We keep Him with us when we live our covenants every day and renew them every week.
This is praxis. This is abiding. This is the daily walk that keeps us from drifting away from where we once stood.
Abiding with Him eases your burdens. Walking with Him shapes your character and helps you become even as He is. It brings real and lasting joy.
Elder Wunderli pleads with us:
“My dear young friends, may we together continue to walk with Jesus Christ, even in our most difficult moments—when we question our worth, doubt our capabilities, or question our faith. When we feel that we are alone, when the weight of life’s challenges sends us backward, may we hold strong to our resolve to keep Him with us.”
“Let us allow the Savior to ease our burdens—allow Him to help remove the rocks of addiction and the weight of our sorrows. Let Him contend with those who would contend with us. Let Him cleanse us from our sins again and again and, yes, even again. Let Him move the mountains before us and change the course of the powerful rivers in our lives that carry us away from Him.”
“Jesus Christ is not the weight; He is our relief; He is our strength; He is the way. May we all walk with Him.”
This is anápausis—His relief. This is entheos—His strength within us. This is praxis—the daily walk that keeps us from drifting into apo‑stasi. Jesus Christ is not the weight; He is the way.
He does not ask us to carry Him. He asks us to walk with Him. And when we do, He carries us.
My brothers and sisters, I testify to you that Jesus is the Christ. He is our brother and our Redeemer. His love for us is so great that He gave it ALL. He suffered it ALL, that we may return to live with Him, our Father in Heaven, and our loved ones again. It wasn’t just a performance… it was a sacrifice—deliberate, infinite, and offered in love.
I testify that His invitation to abide is real. I have felt His relief—His anápausis. I have felt His strength within me—His entheos. And I have seen how daily praxis, the lived actions of discipleship, keeps me close to Him.
And I know this: in seasons when I felt isolated—by my own actions or the actions of others—He drew closer. He became my counselor, my understanding, my compassion, and my RELIEF.
I leave these words with you,
In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
