Thoughts on heroism

"Silence implies consent"

The thought came to me this morning--as thoughts often do.  I mulled over it for quite some time, trying to find its essence, to understand it, to come to terms with what it really meant.  It's frustrating, sometimes, seeing, thinking, knowing exactly what it is that you want to express, and yet it comes out flawed.  No matter how many drafts I try at this, I doubt greatly that this will be any more than a shadow of the profundity that occured to me this morning.  To some, it may seem pedestrian, a non-issue.  Take it for what it's worth.

I've been studying the book of Mormon (as in the book written primarily by the Prophet Mormon, not the larger abridgement, of which it is a part) lately.  Every time I read it, I can't help but be struck by the plight of Mormon and Moroni: alone, the last followers of Christ among their people.  In institute a couple of weeks ago, my teacher posed the worthy question: what do you do in that situation? When it's lonely and scary to do the right thing, how do you keep on going?

As I got into the shower this morning, at least a part of the answer seemed to dawn on me unasked for:

In Mormon 8:35, Moroni says:

Behold, I speak unto you as if ye were present, and yet ye are not. But behold, Jesus Christ hath shown you unto me, and I know your doing.

The Lord showed him our day--showed him the followers of Christ in the Latter-days who would be reading the things that he and his father (and so many of his ancestors) sacrificed so much to protect and bring forth for us.  And that's the thing: true heroism, the real deal, it's never about the hero, or the odds that face him.  Mormon got the Nephites to stand boldly by recalling to them the lives of their wives and their children (Mormon 2:23); Captain Moroni's title of liberty focused primarily on reminding the people that they fought for their religion, and for their families.  Perhaps the greatest examples of courage in all the scriptures are the stripling warriors, of whom it was said "they did think more upon the liberty of their fathers than they did upon their lives" (Alma 56:47)

I think that's what really motivates men to righteous courage.  It's the difference between a hero and just a regular schmoe.  To a hero, it's not nearly so important how many people stand against him as it is how many people depend upon him; no cost to himself--even if it be his own life--is too high, no obstacle insurmountable if it means he can aid the people that he loves.

Where are such men and women in our days?  It seems to me that increasingly people (including myself) base their judgements of good or bad upon what the world says is right and good.  The world screams that we ought not to "indoctrinate" children with religion, but rather teach them to "think for themselves", by allowing them to do whatever the world tells them is a good idea.  Too often I am told that a movie or book is "good" by people who claim the same standards as I hold, only to find it abhorrent (and generally poorly written).  Then, when I seek to voice my opinion, I find myself confronted on every side, and more often than not by those (again) who ought to stand beside me.

Don't get me wrong-I don't have all the answers.  I certainly don't feel like I'm perfect.  I fall short more often than not.  Yet I look upon our generation, and I'm filled with concern as I watch men and women simply accepting whatever dreadfully icky course of entertainment the world would place before them, and then behaving as though I am the one in the wrong when I refuse to consume unquestioningly, simply based upon the fact that it's "popular."

So, to those whom I care about and offend often, know this: I say what I do because I care.  When I speak with intesity and passion, it's most often because I feel like the things I'm saying are falling upon deaf ears, and I'm frustrated.  I apologize for sometimes allowing my emotions to control me, but I will not apologize for the views that I present when they are firmly founded in things that you and I both claim to believe.

"I give unto men weakness..."

Ether 12:27

I really, really like music.  And I especially like listening to music in my car.  I know, right now, you're probably wondering what that has to do with the title.  You'll figure it out; you figured out solid mechanics (if not, check out this and/or this), after all...you must be smart folks (or just gluttons for punishment, like I am).

So, about that title...

Last week, my ward was reorganized somewhat, to include many new members from another ward.  In reaction to this, our bishop decided that he would teach a combined Priesthood/Relief Society class this past week.  The topic: faith.  First of all, can I just say that my bishop is awesome?  That lesson gave me enough food for thought for weeks, and I missed about half of it.  "How," you may ask, "if this lesson was so wonderful, did you miss so much of it, Raymond?"

I wasn't asleep, if that's your concern.  I only do that during school classes...

No, the reason that I missed half of the lesson is that something he said was so thought provoking that it took me quite some time to capture what I gathered from it in a manner that I felt was satisfactory.  It was something he's said before, but it was like it just clicked right then.

He was discussing barriers to developing the rare, miraculous, great faith that is so needed in the Church and in our lives, and came to Ether 12:27 (Ha! told you I'd get to the title):

And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.

After we read it, there was some discussion on the verse.  It was far from innovative; most everyone in the room had probably read the verse loads of times, and been lectured on it in Seminary or Institute or Sunday School or on a mission at least once.  And yet, when the bishop brought it back around to the point he was trying to make, it was a point that I'm not sure I've ever heard anyone else make:

Most of us seem to read that verse and see weakness as negative; we think of all of the things that we hate about ourselves, the things we wish that we could change, all the stupid things we say and do all of the time, etc.  And those are weaknesses, it's true.  The thing is, though, we seem to miss one very important word in there: God says that he gives us weakness.  In a sense, then, our weaknesses are, in fact, gifts from God--a part of this mortal experience that is necessary to our progression.

Like I said, I'd heard the bishop speak about this before.  But this time, it just clicked in a way that I had never really thought of before.  Because the things is, God doesn't only ask us to lay aside our weaknesses to follow him.  He asks us to bring everything that we have, everything that we are, and lay it at his feet. 

In The Great Divorce, by C.S. Lewis, the narrator is given something of a tour of heaven by an angel named George MacDonald.  In the course of their tour, the narrator watches as one woman, whose son we gather died very young, rejects even the help of her own brother (now in angelic form) because all she can think of is seeing her son again.  She cites the love of a mother, and pleads, implores, and finally demands that she be shown her son again before she is willing to do anything to qualify to enter.  In the end, her attachment would have her see her son join her in hell, rather than be separated from him. 

Immediately thereafter, the narrator watches as another man, plagued by lust (embodied in the form of a lizard whispering in his ear), finally lets go of his weakness, allowing angelic help to "kill" it.  Much to the narrator's surprise, however, the lizard does not disappear, but rather grows, until it becomes a magnificent stallion.  The man, now angelified, takes the reins of the extraordinary beast, mounts it, and as one they ride off into heaven. 

The narrator is justifiably perplexed, upon comparing these two scenes.  After all, is not love one of the noble emotions?  Ought not a mother be allowed to love her child?  Certainly this is not to be compared with the base lust of the man.  In reconciling the disconnect, George MacDonald explains to Lewis's narrator, "Nothing [in our nature], not even the best and noblest, can go on as it now is.  Nothing, not even what is lowest and most bestial, will not be raised again if it submits to death...Flesh and blood cannot come to [heaven].  Not because they are too rank, but because they are too weak. What is a lizard compared to a stallion?" (I don't think he's suggesting that men don't enter the presence of God with bodies, but rather that just as our bodies must be changed to withstand the glory of God, so must our natures)  He then asks, "if the risen body of appetite is as grand a horse as ye saw, what would the risen body of maternal love or friendship be?"

I guess that last is really the part that resonated.  Sort of. 

What I realized Sunday is that Heavenly Father is going to ask each of us to sacrifice things that are good things, things that we could feel justified in desiring in for our lives.  Without a real trust in God, these sacrifices can sometimes be harder than sacrificing something that is part of our nature but we don't like.  If the Lord hadn't blessed me with so many weaknesses and abhorrent character flaws that I really want His help in overcoming, then I'd have an even harder time than I do working through the other things He asks me to give up.

Grassroots politics, or, the Reason that Citizens Feel Powerless

"It's nothing personal...I just think you're nuts." -My thoughts as I cast my ballot tonight

I love going to caucus meetings.  For awhile now, my dad's been the chair in our precinct, and so from before the time I could vote, I was forced to be involved.  There was no question about my going tonight--even when my roommate had tickets to the Jazz game, and offered me one.

When I got to the elementary school where the meeting was to be held, there were three other people in the room, but by the time it was over, there were probably twenty.  That was a lot for this precinct, although if you think about the fact that there are over a thousand people in the precinct, it becomes somewhat sad.

The main topic of discussion: Orrin Hatch.  For the most part, the people running for state delegate (ie the people who get to go to the state convention and actually vote for who the Republican candidates in the national senate and congress, and the state governor races will be) seemed to hold a similar opinion to my own: he's been there more than long enough.  We need some new blood; on the other hand, though, change simply for the sake of change brings...well, it usually doesn't bring good change.  I chose not to run (sorry, Dad), because it seemed like a couple of the candidates were very reasonable, thinking, not crazy people.

And then there was the guy next to me.

Let me preface this: unlike most of the people there, I actually did do some homework before I went into the meeting.  Most of the candidates against Hatch are running a straight "No excuses! No compromise!  Ammend the constitution to make our way the only way!" campaign; while I think their intentions are good, most of them downright scared me with how extremist they were.  Even if they didn't, I'm experienced enough with people (believe it or not, I do talk to them sometimes) to realize that a "my way or the highway" approach never wins out unless it's backed by total fear of what "the highway" actually entails.  This is especially a problem considering that the main concern in voting out Hatch is the loss of what clout he's gained by being in office so long (clout that a brand new senator from Utah who refuses to even listen to other people probably won't ever have). 

So, when the guy sitting next to me started his pitch for delegacy with something along the lines of "So and so mentioned wanting to pick people who can compromise, but isn't compromise essentially selling out our values?  I really like how some of the candidates running against Hatch really aren't going to compromise."  the little red lights started flashing in my mind, and the words of my father (if you don't run for state delegate, some crazy person will!) rang in my ears.  Because the thing is, I don't really want to elect crazy, unreasonable people, no matter what they say they'll do; I'm much more comfortable voting for someone who is reasonable and not ready to sell what we have right now up the river for any kind of "change".

Then, on top of everything else, when they handed out our slips, and instructed us to write down our vote, he leans over to me, making me feel like he's going to read my ballot, and says "So, you're going to vote for me, right?" I'm not sure if he was trying to pressure me, or if he was really just that deluded, that he felt like a sure winner.  Either way, my reply was, "It's a secret ballot."  Which, of course, meant, "No, I'm voting for one of the three other people who isn't a nutter..."

It's interesting to me, really, the way that we can get so caught up in trying to do what we feel is right that sometimes we forget that we're human, and we can make mistakes.  I had a conversation with a friend recently, in the which he argued that it's a good thing to be "stubbornly righteous."  He meant by that that we ought to be unwilling to yield when someone tries to get us to do something wrong, which I agreed with, but it scares me when people think that way.

See, I just finished reading The Great Divorce, by C.S. Lewis (I highly recommend it), and I've been reading in Mormon and Ether in The Book of Mormon; the message I've been getting from all of them is embodied by Lewis's words, "There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, 'Thy will be done,' and those to whom God says in the end, 'Thy will be done.'  All that are in Hell choose it." (pg 75 in the Barnes and Noble Edition)  or in Isaiah's, "Wo be unto him that shall say:...we have enough!" (as quoted in 2 Ne 28:29).  There's strength in coming together, and hashing out a problem to get the best solution (or at least a really good one, since engineering school keeps teaching me that most solution sets are infinite), even if that really just means going with the idea that you had to begin with.  Sometimes, it's the tiniest tweaks to a plan that really make the difference.

And I guess that was what the caucus was really about.  We got together as members of a community, and we sat and discussed for a while about what we really felt like needed to happen.  Then we set things in motion to make them happen.  It turns out that we're not alone; we have communities, and we can get together, and make stuff happen, if we'd all just get over our "I have to be a hero and do it alone" syndrome.  There's a time and a place for that, but where there are others genuinely trying to work for the same stuff as us, that's just crazy talk.  I, for one, feel a little more like I have some real power in this democracy thing.

Author's note: if you want to talk to me about politics, my first question from now on will be "Did you go to your caucus?"

"if God so clothe the grass of the field..."

(3 Nephi 13:30)

There's a lot of things I've been wanting to post lately, but my life's been just a bit busy.  Not to mention, they're complicated, and I'm not sure I can do them justice... Most of the time when I do anything artistic, I feel like the five year old who has this beautiful dream of a sculpture, and then ends up with sort of lumpy clay thing.  Such is life, I suppose.

I was asked once, long ago when I was a pre-mission, dorm-dwelling college freshman in my very first YSA Ward, what my favorite season is.  I'm very poor at choosing favorites, and on the spot, in front of everyone at ward prayer, I just sort of said I didn't know.  "I live indoors," was my excuse.  The truth is, it's more complicated than that--how do you pick a favorite season?

What I do have is favorite moments.  Like today, walking from the Engineering building across campus to my car.  The mountains on my left were capped with snow, but off to my right, the sun was beaming clearly down.  The air was cool and crisp, in a delicious sort of way, and every now and then, as I stepped out of the shadow of a building, the sun would hit me with its warmth.  I couldn't help but think that spring is on its way.  True, Utah weather will probably make it a frozen wasteland 24 hours from now, but it wasn't just a physical spring I was thinking of. 

Sometimes, right now feels like the coldest, wintriest, time of my life.  Not that I hate winter; after all, there's Christmas, and sledding, and that delicious moment when your car heater is warm, and the world around you is just frozen, and you know you have to get out, but it just feels so nice.  Still, though, winter can be hard.  There's ice, and snowstorms, and that long, cold walk across campus when you realize you probably should have worn thermals.  Sometimes, especially here, it seems like winter will never end.

And then there's a day like today, and I'm not really sure which I want to win; the cold air is delicious, but so is the sun.

I suppose there's a lesson in all this.  I didn't really set out to write a post about my favorite kind of weather...
Our days are filled with these beautiful moments, but usually we just don't even see them.  We're too busy complaining about the wind to remember that wonderful feeling where you feel, just for a moment, like the hero on the hilltop with the wind whipping at your cape (yeah, ok, I'm probably the only one that feels that way when it's windy).  Too often, I get so caught up in what I need to get done or the responsibility that sits on my shoulders, and forget that "men are that they might have joy" (2 Ne 2:25).  And then, I think, the Lord makes days like today, just to remind me: He cares.