Faith in adversity

In the first century A.D., Judea was a Roman province.  The Roman governor, supported by a legion of troops, imposed Roman will on the Jewish people.  The Jews sought for deliverance; first, zealots sought to rebel from Rome, but were stamped out.  They looked for a Messiah that would deliver them from their oppressors.

Then Jesus Christ was born in the city of David.  He was the Messiah, but He came to deliver the Jews (and all others) from a more serious, though less immediate, enemy.  He saved His own from death and hell, and made atonement for their sins.

Most Jews were expecting a political Messiah.  They got a better one, but didn't most recognize Him.  Do we sometimes do the same?  Do we expect God to deliver us from the small enemy in front of us when in reality He is defending us from the bigger enemy farther away?  Do we sometimes murmur because we are not saved in precisely the manner we want to be saved?

Having faith in adversity means accepting that the Lord is in the process of saving us, and that what pain we are experiencing is for our own benefit.  Having faith in adversity means that perhaps the Lord will deliver us from the fiery furnace, but if not, then we will still be faithful unto death.  Then, having died, we will be saved in heaven.

When we have faith in adversity, we tell God that we accept His will for us.  We acknowledge that we are in His hands.  But really, were we ever anywhere else?

Imperfections and distractions

Today at church, I was afraid my family was distracting others.  It was stake conference, so rather than sit through and hour and a quarter of talks and other boring-to-toddler happenings our three kids, aged 3, 2, and 8 months had to sit through a full two hours of it.  First the youngest, then the middle child "had" to be taken out because of their behavior (and for potty breaks).

Specifically, I was afraid that we were distracting the the family behind us.  After the closing prayer, I apologized and was surprised when they said my kids were actually remarkably well behaved.  They had noted that after an hour and a half, the kids were less inclined to behave, but that this was to be expected due to their habits and development.  Furthermore, the family said they had probably been the distraction for our kids.

After choir practice, I had a conversation with another brother who mentioned that our children were so well "managed" that he was afraid they weren't getting a chance to be kids.  I've thought about that some, and I think I've uncovered one of the subtle lies the adversary uses to discourage us.

Sometimes we see our imperfections too clearly.  The devil throws our ugliness and sins in our faces so often that we don't see much else.  That's half the victory for that old toad: when all we think about is sin, and spend no thoughts at all on virtue, there isn't much room for grace in our hearts.

When those imperfections are or could be public and well-known, sometimes the devil makes us fear men.  We fear that others will not like us because of our imperfections (either real or pretended) or that we'll distract others, or disrupt the service, or not follow the lesson, or answer the question wrong, or any number of embarrassing possibilities.  To diminish these possibilities, we create facades.

Of course, it is important to refrain from actually distracting others.  We shouldn't be a stumbling block on another person's path.  Yet when we start worshiping from a position of artificiality, when we start pretending to be what we are not just because we fear what other people will think, we're letting something artificial come between us and our relationship with the Lord.  In a sense, we're creating our own idol.

At its best, the Church serves as a place where people won't judge you for your imperfections, but will help you overcome them.  In a hospital, people aren't surprised or offended when they see sick people.  So also should you not be surprised or offended when you see an imperfect person at church, nor should you believe that others will be surprised or offended when your imperfections are shining through.  Rather than distracting others, perhaps you're inspiring them to help you, or reminding them that all people have a place in church.