I have two reasons to write this blog. First, I enjoy writing and want to write better, so I want to practice. Second, and more importantly, I want to dwell on spiritual things and writing about them seems to work for me. Hopefully, someone else can benefit from this, too.
Today in Sunday School our lesson was on the Lord's Covenant People--in other words, about us. Two seperate points struck me.
First of all, we all make covenants with the Lord, but why are we called a covenant people? I think it is because the Lord recognizes that we are social creatures. Our salvation is calculated individually, but it is achieved collectively, as we embark in the company of saints on this lifelong migration toward God.
As a result, not only do the covenants we make change who we are individually, they change who we are collectively, including how we interact with each other.
So what does this mean for us personally? It means that the Mormon sitting next to you is also a pioneer heading their way toward Zion. It means that each is equally valuable--from the Bishop to the deacons to the semi-active member, each can participate and add to the company's success.
The second major point is that becoming a covenant people involves a whole attitudinal shift. Rather than concentrate soley on the distance that separates one from God, the covenant people concentrates on the progress they make. The difference lies in which direction one looks: if one is obsessed with the sin that divides us from God, even if looked at with the lens of guilt, then one is not looking toward God. The covenant people instead acknowledge their sin, but do so with their faces pointed toward the God that saves them.
In other words, covenants change everything about us. They change how we interact with others, how we view our sins, how we view ourselves, how we view the world around us. No wonder covenants and the physical ordinances that teach us of those covenants are so vital to the gospel.
Today's Sunday School lesson on the Priesthood brought home an important point for me. Hell is no other people.
Our greatest triumphs in life come through other people. When we are truly successful in life, it is because we have served others and made their way a little easier; in so doing, we become greater than we otherwise would be because we become part of something bigger than ourselves. Consider some successful people: doctors (who heal other people), firemen, (who save other people), musicians (who entertain and inspire other people), or policemen (who protect other people).
When we truly fail in life, it is because we have turned inward and acted solely for our own entertainment, desires, or interests. Consider some famously bad people: corrupt politicians, greedy businessmen, gangsters, or the like. All make sure they take care of #1 first.
In reality, the #1 doesn't need our help. Instead, He taught that we should love our neighbors as ourselves; neither they nor I are more important. Instead of ignoring others or wallowing in misplaced asceticism, the Lord would have us moderate, seeking our individual salvation in the company of others.
When we are surrounded by people we love, we are in heaven, for we are exalted by the bonds between us which in turn both stretch and mold us. When we are alone, or when we are alienated from those around us, then we are in hell, an isolation so complete that we shrivel up into our own nothingness.
That's why the Priesthood can only be used to bless another. Joseph Smith couldn't baptize himself; he needed Oliver Cowdery. I cannot bless myself, I can't even give myself the sacrament--instead, I need others as they need me, and together we can advance as a company on our lifelong migration toward God.
A wealthy man walked down a squalid alley, approaching four men and women huddled around a trash can fire. All four were poor and sick, some had handicaps, and all had large amounts of debt they owed to merciless creditors. They were at the point of despair.
Upon greeting them, the wealthy man announced that he would like to lift them each out of poverty by granting them-free of charge-a substantial gift.
"How much is this gift?" one of the poor asked.
"Seven hundred billion dollars each" the benefactor replied.
"I can't carry that much money" another of the poor exclaimed, "and you can't either. You obviously don't have it with you." The benefactor explained that he would write each of them a check. Because the check was so large, he went on, it could only be cashed at a bank far away. The benefactor added that the recipients would have to walk across rugged winter terrain to get there, but that he himself would accompany and help them. During the journey, he would give them lessons on how to use the money-how to save, invest, make it grow, and how to live so they would not further indebt themselves.
"No thank you" the first poverty-stricken soul said, laughing bitterly. "You don't have the money, and even if you did you'd just be stringing us along. And even if you did give us the money, then we could only use it like you want us to. No thank you."
The other three agreed, however, so the benefactor wrote three checks and they started to make their way up the dingy, steep streets. At first, they were all cheerful, even as they slipped and fell in the drifts. Their benefactor was always there, helping them up, talking about how they should manage their soon-to-be fortunes.
As the minutes grew into hours, though, the recipients started to tire. They realized that the benefactor had never told them how long they would have to walk. One of the recipients asked the benefactor: "How much farther is the bank?" The benefactor would only respond, "Soon enough."
After several more hours of this, the recipient who had asked how long, decided she had had enough. "Maybe I'm not ready for this journey just yet. I have all my life to make it--I have the check in my pocket, and I know what general direction the benefactor is going. I'll be fine if I stay behind for a little while and then catch up. Besides, what sort of benefactor is he if he will only give the gift in one way?"
The benefactor quietly said, "It doesn't work like that. You think you know what direction I'm going, but without me by your side you won't have the ability to even know what direction it is. Gradually, you'll misplace your direction and end up on strange paths." But the recipient was not to be persuaded, and she fell behind.
The hours continued, and the city gradually melted into quieter suburbs. One of the remaining recipients got more and more disquieted by their direction, asking "I thought the bank was supposed to be in the city."
"I never said that," responded the benefactor. "The bank is far away from the city, and after you get your fortune you will have little to do with that city anymore."
"But I love the city!" the recipient protested. "It has brought you nothing but grief," the benefactor explained. "Your love of the city gave you addictions, disease, and the inability to work or save. In order to further your education, you will have to forsake the city and live in a far green country."
The recipient didn't like the sound of that at all. He was thoroughly urbanized, and in his youth he had enjoyed what little of the night life he had been able to afford. He wouldn't get the sort of parties he was accustomed to out there, he was sure of it. He fell behind.
The final recipient had been the quietest of them all. Still limping badly from her lame leg, and coughing violently, she kept on plodding along with the benefactor. She fell many times, and each time, she let the benefactor lift her up. She had been the slowest of them all, and even when she was crawling along her benefactor kept up, sometimes saying a word or two of comfort or encouragement, sometimes remaining silent.
As time went on, the benefactor started to help less and less, and started to lecture more and more, giving her lesson after lesson about money management. Most of the time, he was actually reciting the same things over and over again, until the recipient could recite them by memory. Sometimes, he would strike a new topic that fascinated her.
As the hours turned into days, and the days into weeks, the benefactor finally asked the recipient, "Have we gone far enough?" The recipient was startled. "I thought I was following you." "You were, and are following me-if you had been walking your own paths you never would have made it here. What I'm asking is why you are continuing?"
The recipient thought for a moment. "This is what I do now. You've given me more than just a check I can't cash right now--you've given me purpose, direction,and companionship. Most of all, you've given me a goal that doesn't move."
"That is right" the benefactor said, smiling. "Soon enough you will achieve your goal and deposit the check. By then you will have mastered the principles I am teaching you now. Even after you arrive, however, I will continue to teach you until you are as rich as I am."
Thus is our redemption. Our works do not create salvation; instead, our works accept salvation. By repenting and calling on God in the name of the Son, we are taking a journey with Him, learning from Him what He would have us do with our eternal lives and exaltation. I pray that we may humble ourselves and make that journey with patience.
It's the small things that count. Big things can get forgotten or explained away, but if someone does small, loving things for you every day you know they love you. Like how my 8.5 month pregnant wife insists on taking a turn with a kid who won't sleep, or how she works and works and works at home even when it would be incredibly easy to just play with the kids and slack off just a little.
Like God. The big things that He does for us do come, but sometimes we can forget or explain them away with doubt and fear. It's the little things, though, that truly prove His love for us.
Because these loving-kindnesses are small, though, they aren't obvious. We have to look for and concentrate on them for us to truly understand how extensive they are. Like newly seeing the beauty of a familiar landscape, looking for the Lord's loving kindnesses can make us see the world with new eyes. We can look at a calm morning, a job well done, or a pleasant experience and see so much of the Lord's handiwork undergirding it that the only course of action I can see is to thank the Lord for all the small things, for the myriad ways He loves and blesses us.
If you think about it, God clearly doesn't need it. He is not made more perfect, more glorified, or more our Father when we praise Him. He does not store up praise in a bank account, He does not live off it, nor does our praise do anything for Him that He is not capable of doing.
Nor does praising God directly give us anything in return. We are not accumulating a praise-balance nor exchanging praise-units on a divine market for blessings. Instead, praising God is intended to change us, just as all the holy habits of discipleship do. By acknowledging the beauty, sublimity, greatness, and holiness of our God, we come to better understand Him and these qualities He perfectly embodies. By correctly identifying our subordinate relationship to God, we put ourselves in the mindset we need to be in to receive from Him.
That's why it pleases Him when we praise Him--the praise means nothing to Him but if done correctly, it can mean the world to us.
It's Christmas time, and I can't help but be inspired. One of the many things that inspires me is Christmas music, and one song in particular jumped out at me this Sunday morning. It's the words to Away in a Manger. Here they are:
Away in a manger, no crib for his bed,
The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head;
The stars in the heavens looked down where he lay,
The little Lord Jesus, asleep on the hay.
The cattle are lowing, the poor baby wakes;
But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes.
I love thee, Lord Jesus; look down from the sky
And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh.
Be near me, Lord, Jesus; I ask thee to stay
Close by me forever, and love me, I pray.
Bless all the dear children in thy tender care,
And fit us for heaven, to live with thee there.
One of the many lessons I draw from this song comes from the last line, when the worshipers pray that Jesus "fit" them for heaven. I think of this process as being roughly analogous to when a tailor fits a suit for someone; another term would be "alter."
Like it or not, we have imperfect natures and histories, and we need redemption. Jesus is the source of that redemption, but it's not a painless process, for our very souls have to be "fitted." In other words, we must be pulled, pinched, folded, sutured, sewn, and extraneous fabric needs to be excised, all while sitting very still like a toddler getting his first haircut. Our jealousy, sarcasm, lust, gluttony, and every other imperfection that has accreted onto our souls needs to be transmuted into generosity, kindness, love, and temperance.
This isn't the work that can be completed in a single lifetime, but it's a work we can choose to accept. That choice is an incredibly vital one: should we choose to come unto the Lord, we will spend our lives (both mortal and eternal) striving toward Him and the exaltation He promises. However, when we accept the Lord into our lives, we accept him shears and all. If we refuse the shears, we accept the faults, and we're not fit for heaven.
So let us accept the alterations that the Lord would make on us. Let's remember that the most important mortal being on this earth was essentially born in a barn and executed with criminals. Let's take lessons from childrens' songs, because after all, maybe everything I need to know in life is a derivation of something I learned in Primary.
For several weeks, our dear son (15 months old) had trouble sleeping through the night. He would wake, either because he was coughing, or hot, or hungry, or for some other reason, and would cry and wail. He knew how to put himself back to sleep, yet for a short time it seemed like he had forgotten. Late one night I remember doing everything I could to comfort him. I put him on my shoulder, I held him in my arms, I shushed him, hummed to him, sang to him, prayed for him. Nothing would console him, and he kept arching his back and wiggling to get out of my arms.
The solution we finally came to was to lay him on the carpeted floor on his back, then sit down several paces away. He would impossibly cry harder for a few seconds then look around for my wife and me. I would then tell him that if he wanted a hug, he would have to get up and walk to me. He would do so, and from then on it was much better going.
Sometimes I think we are the same: refusing to take comfort in any of the loving kindnesses our Father gives us every moment of every day. We want comfort, but can't adequately conceive of how to get it, so we wiggle and arch our backs painfully then wonder why nothing we do seems to work.
In these instances, sometimes the Father has to put us down and step away, not because we've necessarily been rebellious but because by doing so He can reset our minds and intents to come to Him. When we come to Him, we receive comfort, and are soothed.
Better still, however, to come to Him constantly, to look for the comfort he is raining down on us like dews distilling from heaven, and to accept it and be soothed. Because just as it is a measure of maturity in an infant when he can soothe himself to sleep, so it is a mark of spiritual maturity when learn to constantly turn to the Lord for comfort and peace no matter the pain, suffering, or confusion which surrounds us.
