Their faith was, perhaps, a little outstripped by their shovels.

But their works were good.

And the lessons learned were exceptional.

The setting: A Boy Scout camp.

The task: Carving a niche into a sage-brush-covered hillside for an archery range.

The tools: Scores of energetic Scouts, dozens of hand shovels and a few picks.

If you were to ask the Scouts — teeth gritty from the heavy dust — they'd no doubt tell you the task wasn't all that fun. The process was pretty low tech. The Scouts formed a circular-rotating line. When they reached the hillside, they'd plunge their shovels into the dirt, then, circulating outward, carry their loads away. No wheelbarrows. No conveyors.

The work wasn't much fun because, well, it was dirty, difficult and, from their hillside vantage point, the Scouts could see the camp's water front, where all sorts of more exciting opportunities awaited them — when the task was complete.

Given the setting, it wasn't surprising that there wasn't much noticeable interest when one of the Scoutmasters reminded his brood that, just maybe, they were using the wrong tools. Faith, he said, can also move mountains.

A logical glance at their shovels might even have left some of the Scouts hoping that, if it actually worked, maybe faith could at least move the mountain faster. And, with the cool lake beckoning below, faster seemed like a good thing.

Trouble was, the Scouts soon remembered, faith without works is, of course, dead.

So on this particular occasion, it seemed pretty obvious that faith would play a smaller role in mountain moving than their work.

So work they did.

And, before too long (depending on who was keeping time), the task was complete. The hillside had been sufficiently cut away that it was a perfect location for an archery range. And the next time they shot the bows and arrows, they could be justifiably pleased with what they accomplished.

But faith was not lost — not by a long shot.

That night, as some sore-muscled lads sat around the campfire, the setting was perfect for a follow-up to the day's on-the-job lesson. Somewhere between a scripture and a testimony, the Scoutmaster finished the day's teaching. He conveyed the deep love he had for his Scouts and his faith in the Savior. Secure in his sincerity, the boys' hearts were touched. And the feeling would likely be remembered for a lifetime.

Sunday classrooms — with chairs and chalkboards — are a great place for sacred and meaningful discussions. Many hearts are touched by the testimonies borne there.

But weekday classrooms — with trees and tents — are also valuable. Blessed is the insightful instructor whose tattered triple combination is a staple of his high-adventure backpack. And even more blessed are the youth in his charge.

"Aaronic Priesthood activities should strengthen testimonies and foster personal growth. They should be based on the purposes of the Aaronic Priesthood. They also should provide opportunities to apply the principles taught in Sunday quorum meetings and feel support in living them.

"Activities should provide a wholesome environment where youth can make friends with others who share similar beliefs and standards. Activities also should create unity and a sense of belonging." (See Church Handbook of Instructions,page 186)

If one doubts the value of those outdoor lessons, just ask the instructor. How many times has the young man, who rarely if ever, participates in class jumped into a campout discussion — with unexpectedly knowledgeable answers? How many times has a starry night elicited a struggling testimony, when a walled classroom was left silent? How many times has a young man told his adviser he really likes him, when, as a Sunday lesson ends, the youth seems more interested in getting out the classroom door?

How many times?

If it were just once, it would be worth it. But advisers will tell you it has been many, many more.