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.
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.
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