There's a side of me most of you don't see. It often comes out at Christmas.
Click here! to see the Christmas me!
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Tasting the Bread of Life
I passed through masses of icons, silver lanterns, and trinkets before descending the stairs into a sea of people crowded into the small cave. Heat and noise mingled in the heavy, stale air. People jostled for position, nudging, pressing, seeking to see the silver star that marked the place where some say the Savior of the world was born.
People kissed the walls. Others walked through, merely curious. One weeping woman knelt despite the throng, kissed the floor, then gave herself up to intense yet soundless sobbing. Uncomfortable with the sudden exposure to a stranger’s soul, I looked away.
By straining, I caught a glimpse of the star embedded in the rock floor; then I eagerly sought the egress that would take me from the place. I had seen what I came to see but not felt what I hoped to feel. Disheartened, I hurried out of the cave into one of the churches built over it. Few tarried there, and I found in the courtyard a more amiable spot than the one below. Freed from the sights and sounds and press, I sank onto a chair as cold jolts of disappointment intensified in me. How could this be the place of the savior’s nativity?
For years I had imagined, pondered, and prepared, and I wanted the place to elicit all the feelings I’d encountered while studying. But it didn’t. In an attempt to push away the disappointment, I let my mind wander over what I’d learned of the event in Bethlehem that I’d come to love.
Bethlehem–the name means “house of bread.” Whether or not the cave below me was the actual stable of Christ’s birth, this was the town. Words came to mind, words I had heard almost every Sunday since I was a child: “Bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it, that they may eat in remembrance of the body of thy Son” (D & C 20:77). Christ, the Bread of Life, was born in the house of bread and placed in a manger.
As a child I had thought manger was a synonym for crib. I remembered my surprise at learning that a manger is a box made to hold food for animals, a feeding trough! Now, as I sat in Bethlehem, I imagined a manger filled with oats that beasts of burden hungrily devoured. They, like me, would eat and in a few hours want more. No matter how nutritious earthly fare is, it is never enough. The next day, even the next hour, the stomach growls for more.
In my mind’s eye I saw hands brushing away the last few oats. The same hands filled the manger with fresh straw and placed the Babe in the feeding trough. Words leaped to mind: “He that cometh to me shall never hunger” and “He that eateth of this bread shall live for ever” (John 6:35, 58). The heavenly fare offered
in the manger was not only eternal but capable of lifting us to God. How fitting that Mary should cradle her son, the Bread of Life, in a manger.
I thought of Mary, His mother. The intense emotion of birth was familiar
to me, but Mary was the mother of God’s child. I thought of the joy and the sorrow she bore and wondered what her feelings were as she wrapped the Son of God in swaddling clothes.
Oh, the swaddling clothes! As Mary beheld Him in the manger, did her heart race with premonitions of a time when she would see Him wrapped in linen and laid in another cave, called a sepulcher? In a stable-cave Mary gave Jesus mortal life, and from a sepulcher-cave Jesus came forth to give Mary and all mankind immortal life. Both caves are mortal reminders of Jesus’ condescension, or of His descending “below all things” (see 1 Nephi 11:16; D & C 88:6).
His condescension is difficult to understand. He was God “but made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men” (Phil. 2:7). The same verse in the Greek New Testament does not mention reputation but instead says that He “emptied himself.” He was God, yet He emptied himself of power to begin anew, growing form grace to grace. He was the Word, and yet He came as a wordless infant. He was the Almighty One, and yet helplessly He took nourishment at Mary’s breast. He was king of Kings, and yet He came as the servant of man. He, the great I Am, condescended to be the beast upon which all burdens would fall, born among animals at Passover time.
I thought of the significance of the Passover. As families throughout the land prepared their symbolic meal of lamb, the Lamb of God was being born, and because of His living and His dying, the nullifying effects of death would pass over us. But Passover also meant springtime–lambing season. A few miles away shepherds were helping to bring new lambs into the world. Deemed by the upper classes as men of naught, the shepherds were nevertheless saviors to the sheep. Besides assisting in the births, they nourished, gathered, comforted, and protected their flocks, sometimes risking their lives to defend them. There was deep irony in the fact that Jesus, the Good Shepherd, would be deemed by the Pharisees and Sadducees as a man of naught while in the very act of giving His life to save them.
But there is more to this symbolism of shepherd and sheep. One scholar notes that a tower called Migdal Eder–the watchtower of the flock–stood on the road between Bethlehem and Jerusalem. The sheep that where gathered there belonged to the temple flock, from which the sacrificial lambs would be taken. Some Jews believed that the Savior would be born in Bethlehem and revealed at Migdal Eder (see Marvin R. Vincent, Word Studies in the New Testament, 4 vols. [1887-1900], 1:269).
“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:11). How fitting that the angelic announcement was made to humble men serving the needs of sheep that might die in similitude of the Lamb of God. But that has not changed. It is still to those who are feeding His sheep that He reveals himself. It is to those who serve that the testimony is
revealed, the testimony that all who are unclean have a Savior and can come forth from the darkness of their tombs into the Light of Life.
Thoughts of that light brought to mind the Christmas star. Piercing the darkness, it stood above all nations, far above and untouched by anything worldly. Christ, the Life and Light of the World, is like that star. His light, the light of Christ, still guides wise men and women to their promised land, where they can behold for themselves the greatest star, the Son.
Ah, the Wise Men. Of all the stories associated with the birth, their story intrigues me most. They must have had scriptures or an oral tradition that prophesied of Christ’s birth, or they would not have recognized the sign or known where to go once they saw it. We are told they saw the sign in the East and then traveled west to Judea. It was a long journey, and once in Jerusalem they began to inquire, “Where is he that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him” (Matthew 2:2).
News of their inquiries concerning a king reached Herod, and he sent for them. He was troubled by prophecies that another would rule Israel–after all, wasn’t he the king of this land? But the Wise Men knew that he was not the king they sought. After they left, they followed the star until they reached Jesus, and there they presented their gifts to Him.
And what marvelous gifts they were! We don’t really know how many Wise Men came, but tradition claims three because there were three gifts: gold, the metal of kings and symbol of a celestial world because of its refined purity; frankincense, used in making incense that was burned on the temple altar as a symbol of prayers arising and connecting God and man; and myrrh, an aromatic gum used to make incense, perfume, and ointment for embalming. I remembered a picture of a myrrh plant and was startled anew by its spikelike thorns. Even at the Christ child’s tender age, the gifts given Him bore testimony of who He was and what He would do. Gold for the King of Kings, frankincense for the Mediator between God and Man, myrrh for the body that would be buried for us.
For us! That was the most important part. If He had not died for us, no light, no sign, no bread would be enough. We would have spent our lives in futility and then perished. But because of Him, we live and will live. Because of Him, all who desire will find light. Because of Him, all who seek with pure intent will find God.
All who seek! I ventured into the crowded cave once more and looked again at the worshipers and icons that surrounded me. Something had changed. Before, these sights and sounds so foreign to my upbringing had made me uncomfortable. Now, instead of gaudiness, I saw expressions of love. Instead of strange behavior, I saw devotion. Instead of disappointment, I felt peace.
And in that moment of recognizing the peace, a symbol came to me that I hadn’t thought of before. The celebrated birth was to a virgin, innocent and pure. As if calling me from a deep sleep, chastening words whispered, It is only in a pure heart that Christ can be born again.
People kissed the walls. Others walked through, merely curious. One weeping woman knelt despite the throng, kissed the floor, then gave herself up to intense yet soundless sobbing. Uncomfortable with the sudden exposure to a stranger’s soul, I looked away.
By straining, I caught a glimpse of the star embedded in the rock floor; then I eagerly sought the egress that would take me from the place. I had seen what I came to see but not felt what I hoped to feel. Disheartened, I hurried out of the cave into one of the churches built over it. Few tarried there, and I found in the courtyard a more amiable spot than the one below. Freed from the sights and sounds and press, I sank onto a chair as cold jolts of disappointment intensified in me. How could this be the place of the savior’s nativity?
For years I had imagined, pondered, and prepared, and I wanted the place to elicit all the feelings I’d encountered while studying. But it didn’t. In an attempt to push away the disappointment, I let my mind wander over what I’d learned of the event in Bethlehem that I’d come to love.
Bethlehem–the name means “house of bread.” Whether or not the cave below me was the actual stable of Christ’s birth, this was the town. Words came to mind, words I had heard almost every Sunday since I was a child: “Bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it, that they may eat in remembrance of the body of thy Son” (D & C 20:77). Christ, the Bread of Life, was born in the house of bread and placed in a manger.
As a child I had thought manger was a synonym for crib. I remembered my surprise at learning that a manger is a box made to hold food for animals, a feeding trough! Now, as I sat in Bethlehem, I imagined a manger filled with oats that beasts of burden hungrily devoured. They, like me, would eat and in a few hours want more. No matter how nutritious earthly fare is, it is never enough. The next day, even the next hour, the stomach growls for more.
In my mind’s eye I saw hands brushing away the last few oats. The same hands filled the manger with fresh straw and placed the Babe in the feeding trough. Words leaped to mind: “He that cometh to me shall never hunger” and “He that eateth of this bread shall live for ever” (John 6:35, 58). The heavenly fare offered
in the manger was not only eternal but capable of lifting us to God. How fitting that Mary should cradle her son, the Bread of Life, in a manger.
I thought of Mary, His mother. The intense emotion of birth was familiar
to me, but Mary was the mother of God’s child. I thought of the joy and the sorrow she bore and wondered what her feelings were as she wrapped the Son of God in swaddling clothes.
Oh, the swaddling clothes! As Mary beheld Him in the manger, did her heart race with premonitions of a time when she would see Him wrapped in linen and laid in another cave, called a sepulcher? In a stable-cave Mary gave Jesus mortal life, and from a sepulcher-cave Jesus came forth to give Mary and all mankind immortal life. Both caves are mortal reminders of Jesus’ condescension, or of His descending “below all things” (see 1 Nephi 11:16; D & C 88:6).
His condescension is difficult to understand. He was God “but made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men” (Phil. 2:7). The same verse in the Greek New Testament does not mention reputation but instead says that He “emptied himself.” He was God, yet He emptied himself of power to begin anew, growing form grace to grace. He was the Word, and yet He came as a wordless infant. He was the Almighty One, and yet helplessly He took nourishment at Mary’s breast. He was king of Kings, and yet He came as the servant of man. He, the great I Am, condescended to be the beast upon which all burdens would fall, born among animals at Passover time.
I thought of the significance of the Passover. As families throughout the land prepared their symbolic meal of lamb, the Lamb of God was being born, and because of His living and His dying, the nullifying effects of death would pass over us. But Passover also meant springtime–lambing season. A few miles away shepherds were helping to bring new lambs into the world. Deemed by the upper classes as men of naught, the shepherds were nevertheless saviors to the sheep. Besides assisting in the births, they nourished, gathered, comforted, and protected their flocks, sometimes risking their lives to defend them. There was deep irony in the fact that Jesus, the Good Shepherd, would be deemed by the Pharisees and Sadducees as a man of naught while in the very act of giving His life to save them.
But there is more to this symbolism of shepherd and sheep. One scholar notes that a tower called Migdal Eder–the watchtower of the flock–stood on the road between Bethlehem and Jerusalem. The sheep that where gathered there belonged to the temple flock, from which the sacrificial lambs would be taken. Some Jews believed that the Savior would be born in Bethlehem and revealed at Migdal Eder (see Marvin R. Vincent, Word Studies in the New Testament, 4 vols. [1887-1900], 1:269).
“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:11). How fitting that the angelic announcement was made to humble men serving the needs of sheep that might die in similitude of the Lamb of God. But that has not changed. It is still to those who are feeding His sheep that He reveals himself. It is to those who serve that the testimony is
revealed, the testimony that all who are unclean have a Savior and can come forth from the darkness of their tombs into the Light of Life.
Thoughts of that light brought to mind the Christmas star. Piercing the darkness, it stood above all nations, far above and untouched by anything worldly. Christ, the Life and Light of the World, is like that star. His light, the light of Christ, still guides wise men and women to their promised land, where they can behold for themselves the greatest star, the Son.
Ah, the Wise Men. Of all the stories associated with the birth, their story intrigues me most. They must have had scriptures or an oral tradition that prophesied of Christ’s birth, or they would not have recognized the sign or known where to go once they saw it. We are told they saw the sign in the East and then traveled west to Judea. It was a long journey, and once in Jerusalem they began to inquire, “Where is he that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him” (Matthew 2:2).
News of their inquiries concerning a king reached Herod, and he sent for them. He was troubled by prophecies that another would rule Israel–after all, wasn’t he the king of this land? But the Wise Men knew that he was not the king they sought. After they left, they followed the star until they reached Jesus, and there they presented their gifts to Him.
And what marvelous gifts they were! We don’t really know how many Wise Men came, but tradition claims three because there were three gifts: gold, the metal of kings and symbol of a celestial world because of its refined purity; frankincense, used in making incense that was burned on the temple altar as a symbol of prayers arising and connecting God and man; and myrrh, an aromatic gum used to make incense, perfume, and ointment for embalming. I remembered a picture of a myrrh plant and was startled anew by its spikelike thorns. Even at the Christ child’s tender age, the gifts given Him bore testimony of who He was and what He would do. Gold for the King of Kings, frankincense for the Mediator between God and Man, myrrh for the body that would be buried for us.
For us! That was the most important part. If He had not died for us, no light, no sign, no bread would be enough. We would have spent our lives in futility and then perished. But because of Him, we live and will live. Because of Him, all who desire will find light. Because of Him, all who seek with pure intent will find God.
All who seek! I ventured into the crowded cave once more and looked again at the worshipers and icons that surrounded me. Something had changed. Before, these sights and sounds so foreign to my upbringing had made me uncomfortable. Now, instead of gaudiness, I saw expressions of love. Instead of strange behavior, I saw devotion. Instead of disappointment, I felt peace.
And in that moment of recognizing the peace, a symbol came to me that I hadn’t thought of before. The celebrated birth was to a virgin, innocent and pure. As if calling me from a deep sleep, chastening words whispered, It is only in a pure heart that Christ can be born again.
Monday, December 17, 2007
I’m Back!
The last two weeks I graded my Honors students’ Annotated Bibliographies (160 papers that averaged 14 typed-single-spaced pages!) And then graded all my students’ journals (260 journals!). I enjoy reading what they have written, but the sheer numbers cause brain fatigue! As I’ve read, however, I’ve learned a lot from my students. I require them to read from the scriptures ½ hour a day and then record their thoughts and feelings in a journal. In addition I stop the discussion a few minutes before the bell and have them record their thoughts and feelings about the things we have discussed.
One thing that never ceases to amaze me is how students in the same class, listening to the same words can learn (or not learn!) such different things. One student writes in his/her journal how touched he/she was and how much he/she learned and another writes that nothing made sense. This has made me a much better student in Sunday School and Relief Society classes I attend. I realize that as a student, I have to be open to the spirit and ready to learn. If I come out of a class or Sacrament Meeting feeling that I haven’t learned anything, I know that I haven’t had the Spirit with me. If the Spirit is with me, I can learn something no matter who is speaking or teaching.
I’ve also seen how pride and a negative attitude influence what we are able to learn. Especially in the classes for Returned Missionaries, some students will identify everything they haven’t already learned as "undoctrinal." The underlying premise is that if they don’t already know it, it must not be true. That smacks of pride! I work hard at teaching correct doctrine, but it isn’t even the doctrines that students will question. Some figure they already know everything in the book. When teaching Mosiah 18 a few years back, I read aloud verse 30 where Mormon who in abridging the book writes, "All this was done in Mormon, yea, by the waters of Mormon, in the forest that was near the waters of Mormon; yea, the place of Mormon, the waters of Mormon, the forest of Mormon, how beautiful are they to the eyes of them who there came to the knowledge of their Redeemer." Can’t you just hear Mormon rejoicing as he reads and writes about the place he had been named after! In no other place does he repeat something like this. It delights me in that I feel like I’m getting a glimpse into his personality.
But that day as I brought this point out, one young man called out, "You can’t make that kind of assumption! There’s no way you can know he was named after that place!" The intensity of his rebuke startled me. I knew I had read it and that I was right, but at the time I couldn’t remember the chapter and verse that backed me up. It only took a few minutes once I was back in my office to find 3 Nephi 5:12 where Mormon says, "I am called Mormon, being called after the land of Mormon." This was no assumption on my part, but throughout the semester I watched as his negative and critical attitude kept him from learning anything. One student this semester took offense at something said the first five minutes of class. In her journal entry, she ranted about the remarks made in such a way that it was obvious she hadn’t heard anything after that remark. But other students’ journals talked about how strong the Spirit was during the class and what they had learned. This has caused me to monitor my own attitude. Sometimes teachers do unknowingly teach false doctrine or wrong facts. I’m sure I have done it on other occasions, but if I’m in a class waiting and watching for something wrong, I know that critical attitude drives away the Spirit and I don’t learn.
Another thing I’ve realized - students often resist religion classes that are graded. They want religion classes here to be like Institute or Seminary where no grade is given. "We should just be able to learn what we want to learn. Religion classes shouldn’t be graded!" one student told me this semester. But grading gives me as a teacher a lot of leverage that works to the students’ long term advantage. When points are at stake, reviewing for tests, writing papers, keeping journals, even attending regularly reinforce teachings that might otherwise go unnoticed or not learned as deeply. But again the most important thing I recognize is that the advantage of age and life experience has taught me things I realize are important that young people don’t. Instead of balking, students could benefit by exploring the direction a teacher points them in. The whole rest of their lives they can "learn what they want to learn." But right now they have the opportunity to learn from other’s experiences and from many years of concentrated study and to be "forced" to study in depth. Again, I have to ask myself, do I let this kind of pride keep me from learning in other situations?
I do know that the Lord is constantly teaching and directing me. What I have learned from my students is that it is up to me what I learn. Negative, critical attitudes block gospel learning. Positive, loving attitudes increase learning.
One thing that never ceases to amaze me is how students in the same class, listening to the same words can learn (or not learn!) such different things. One student writes in his/her journal how touched he/she was and how much he/she learned and another writes that nothing made sense. This has made me a much better student in Sunday School and Relief Society classes I attend. I realize that as a student, I have to be open to the spirit and ready to learn. If I come out of a class or Sacrament Meeting feeling that I haven’t learned anything, I know that I haven’t had the Spirit with me. If the Spirit is with me, I can learn something no matter who is speaking or teaching.
I’ve also seen how pride and a negative attitude influence what we are able to learn. Especially in the classes for Returned Missionaries, some students will identify everything they haven’t already learned as "undoctrinal." The underlying premise is that if they don’t already know it, it must not be true. That smacks of pride! I work hard at teaching correct doctrine, but it isn’t even the doctrines that students will question. Some figure they already know everything in the book. When teaching Mosiah 18 a few years back, I read aloud verse 30 where Mormon who in abridging the book writes, "All this was done in Mormon, yea, by the waters of Mormon, in the forest that was near the waters of Mormon; yea, the place of Mormon, the waters of Mormon, the forest of Mormon, how beautiful are they to the eyes of them who there came to the knowledge of their Redeemer." Can’t you just hear Mormon rejoicing as he reads and writes about the place he had been named after! In no other place does he repeat something like this. It delights me in that I feel like I’m getting a glimpse into his personality.
But that day as I brought this point out, one young man called out, "You can’t make that kind of assumption! There’s no way you can know he was named after that place!" The intensity of his rebuke startled me. I knew I had read it and that I was right, but at the time I couldn’t remember the chapter and verse that backed me up. It only took a few minutes once I was back in my office to find 3 Nephi 5:12 where Mormon says, "I am called Mormon, being called after the land of Mormon." This was no assumption on my part, but throughout the semester I watched as his negative and critical attitude kept him from learning anything. One student this semester took offense at something said the first five minutes of class. In her journal entry, she ranted about the remarks made in such a way that it was obvious she hadn’t heard anything after that remark. But other students’ journals talked about how strong the Spirit was during the class and what they had learned. This has caused me to monitor my own attitude. Sometimes teachers do unknowingly teach false doctrine or wrong facts. I’m sure I have done it on other occasions, but if I’m in a class waiting and watching for something wrong, I know that critical attitude drives away the Spirit and I don’t learn.
Another thing I’ve realized - students often resist religion classes that are graded. They want religion classes here to be like Institute or Seminary where no grade is given. "We should just be able to learn what we want to learn. Religion classes shouldn’t be graded!" one student told me this semester. But grading gives me as a teacher a lot of leverage that works to the students’ long term advantage. When points are at stake, reviewing for tests, writing papers, keeping journals, even attending regularly reinforce teachings that might otherwise go unnoticed or not learned as deeply. But again the most important thing I recognize is that the advantage of age and life experience has taught me things I realize are important that young people don’t. Instead of balking, students could benefit by exploring the direction a teacher points them in. The whole rest of their lives they can "learn what they want to learn." But right now they have the opportunity to learn from other’s experiences and from many years of concentrated study and to be "forced" to study in depth. Again, I have to ask myself, do I let this kind of pride keep me from learning in other situations?
I do know that the Lord is constantly teaching and directing me. What I have learned from my students is that it is up to me what I learn. Negative, critical attitudes block gospel learning. Positive, loving attitudes increase learning.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Prejudice and Pride
I was once in a meeting where a man bore a sweet testimony of what he had learned the Sunday before from a 16 year old girl. Her message, simple yet profound, touched him and as he related it to us we were also touched. He ended by explaining that when the Spirit is with you, a person can learn from even a small child. The next week I happened to be in another meeting with this same man and was surprised to hear him critically report on a talk he had heard by a well known BYU religion professor. He ended his report by saying, “I didn’t learn one thing from him.” What was obvious as he reported the talk was that he had a personal bias against people who write books and go outside their ward to speak to others on religious topics.
It saddened me to think that this man had let a personal bias keep him from learning. It also made me wonder what prejudices I have that separate me from the Spirit and keep me from growing. Paul taught the Corinthians that all members of God’s Church are one body and that to each of the individuals within the body God has given specific gifts which are to be shared. He compared this to a physical body saying that the eye can’t say to the hand, “I don’t need you.” Each part of the body has a different function but all are vital. Paul then went on to explain that “God hath set some in the church, first apostles, secondarily prophets, thirdly teachers, after that miracles, then gifts of healings, helps, governments, diversities of tongues” (1 Corinthians 12:28).
What Paul is explaining is that some, like the professor, have been given the gift not only of knowledge but of time to study and to in turn share what is learned. Others may not have four or five hours a day to study the scriptures, but they have the gift to listen and learn from the one who does have time. The person who listens also has other gifts, such as the gift of compassion and the ability to size up a situation and know exactly what to do to assist someone in need. The person in need may have musical talent that inspires the professor in his studies. What Paul is explaining is that we all need each other. We all bless each other. And if we discount any person’s gift we hurt ourselves.
As I pondered on how I let feelings toward others get in the way of my learning from them, I realized that any prejudice or bias is a form of pride. As President Ezra Taft Benson once explained, “The central feature of pride is enmity—enmity toward God and enmity toward our fellowmen. Enmity means ‘hatred toward, hostility to, or a state of opposition.’ It is the power by which Satan wishes to reign over us.” (“Beware of Pride”, Ensign, May 1989, p.4).
It is easy to see how looking down on others is a form of pride. If someone had discounted the message of the 16 year old girl from the onset of her talk simply because she was only 16 and couldn’t possibly know anything, that is easily recognized as pride. But there is another side to the coin of pride. As President Benson explained, “Most of us consider pride to be a sin of those on the top, such as the rich and the learned, looking down at the rest of us. (See 2 Ne. 9:42.) There is, however, a far more common ailment among us—and that is pride from the bottom looking up. It is manifest in so many ways, such as faultfinding, gossiping, backbiting, murmuring, living beyond our means, envying, coveting, withholding gratitude and praise that might lift another, and being unforgiving and jealous” (“Beware of Pride”, Ensign, May 1989, p.4. Emphasis added).
As I pondered this more, I realized that Paul gives the solution to all of my prejudice and bias problems. After explaining the importance of spiritual gifts he says, “Covet earnestly the best gifts: and yet shew I unto you a more excellent way” (1 Cor 12:31). And what is that way? The path of charity. Charity is the antidote to pride. If instead of criticizing, we love, that love allows us to learn and grow from whatever situation we are in or whomever we are learning from. Indeed, charity never fails.
It saddened me to think that this man had let a personal bias keep him from learning. It also made me wonder what prejudices I have that separate me from the Spirit and keep me from growing. Paul taught the Corinthians that all members of God’s Church are one body and that to each of the individuals within the body God has given specific gifts which are to be shared. He compared this to a physical body saying that the eye can’t say to the hand, “I don’t need you.” Each part of the body has a different function but all are vital. Paul then went on to explain that “God hath set some in the church, first apostles, secondarily prophets, thirdly teachers, after that miracles, then gifts of healings, helps, governments, diversities of tongues” (1 Corinthians 12:28).
What Paul is explaining is that some, like the professor, have been given the gift not only of knowledge but of time to study and to in turn share what is learned. Others may not have four or five hours a day to study the scriptures, but they have the gift to listen and learn from the one who does have time. The person who listens also has other gifts, such as the gift of compassion and the ability to size up a situation and know exactly what to do to assist someone in need. The person in need may have musical talent that inspires the professor in his studies. What Paul is explaining is that we all need each other. We all bless each other. And if we discount any person’s gift we hurt ourselves.
As I pondered on how I let feelings toward others get in the way of my learning from them, I realized that any prejudice or bias is a form of pride. As President Ezra Taft Benson once explained, “The central feature of pride is enmity—enmity toward God and enmity toward our fellowmen. Enmity means ‘hatred toward, hostility to, or a state of opposition.’ It is the power by which Satan wishes to reign over us.” (“Beware of Pride”, Ensign, May 1989, p.4).
It is easy to see how looking down on others is a form of pride. If someone had discounted the message of the 16 year old girl from the onset of her talk simply because she was only 16 and couldn’t possibly know anything, that is easily recognized as pride. But there is another side to the coin of pride. As President Benson explained, “Most of us consider pride to be a sin of those on the top, such as the rich and the learned, looking down at the rest of us. (See 2 Ne. 9:42.) There is, however, a far more common ailment among us—and that is pride from the bottom looking up. It is manifest in so many ways, such as faultfinding, gossiping, backbiting, murmuring, living beyond our means, envying, coveting, withholding gratitude and praise that might lift another, and being unforgiving and jealous” (“Beware of Pride”, Ensign, May 1989, p.4. Emphasis added).
As I pondered this more, I realized that Paul gives the solution to all of my prejudice and bias problems. After explaining the importance of spiritual gifts he says, “Covet earnestly the best gifts: and yet shew I unto you a more excellent way” (1 Cor 12:31). And what is that way? The path of charity. Charity is the antidote to pride. If instead of criticizing, we love, that love allows us to learn and grow from whatever situation we are in or whomever we are learning from. Indeed, charity never fails.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Empowered
Many years ago Stephen Robinson wrote the parable of the bicycle. Everyone in the Church at one time or many times has heard the story of the little girl who diligently saves her pennies to buy a bicycle and how her loving father lets her pick out a bicycle, pay her few dollars, then makes up the large deficit to buy the bike. It is a popular story to retell in talks and Home Evenings and Sunday lessons. But too often as we listen to the parable we think it applies to judgement day. At the great day of judgement Jesus Christ will step forward to save us–to make up for all we lack. But the Savior doesn’t wait until life is over to help us.
Nephi understood this concept. That’s why when his father asked him to go back for the plates, he simply answered, “I will go and do.” It wasn’t that Nephi felt he had all the
strength and skill and knowledge it would take to obtain the plates. Nephi agreed to go without hesitation because he knew that Jesus Christ had all the strength, skill and knowledge he would need. And so he went. But that is not all Nephi understood. Nephi knew that the grace of God
doesn’t always float down from heaven like rain and drench us in power the moment we first ask for it or the second we are in need. Nephi understood how the enabling power of God works.
Nephi made the long trip back to Jerusalem with nagging, murmuring brothers. But he didn’t let their complaining deter him. After they arrived in Jerusalem, Laman asked Laban for the plates and Laban refused. Nephi didn’t let that deter him. Next the brothers went back to the home they had left behind and gathered up their gold and silver and tried to buy the plates from Laban. Greedily, Laban took their gold and silver, but refused to give them the plates and to hide his robbery, he sent men to kill Nephi and his brothers.
About this time one would think that Nephi would be doubting whether the “Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7). I’m sure the kvetchers Laman and Lemuel repeated those words in an attempt to make Nephi eat them. But still Nephi wasn’t deterred. He knew God would help in His own way and in His own time. And so he said to his brothers, “Wherefore can ye doubt? Let us go up; the Lord is able to deliver us.”
One wonders how Nephi dared pose such a question to the complaining brothers. So far all of reality is on their side. “Wherefore could they doubt?” Well for starters, they had tried to be obedient twice and for their efforts they had been ridiculed, robbed and almost murdered. You can hear Laman and Lemuel respond to Nephi, “Yea, He is able to deliver us, but will he?”
This is the question faith poses for each one of us. We’ve read the scriptures. We know He is able, but do we trust that He will? Too often we rationalize that His saving power is reserved for the day of judgement or is only for prophets and other people.
Nephi understood that faith must be tried and tested, that lessons need to be learned, but that God always helps us. So despite the hardship, despite the difficulty, he persisted and went back into Jerusalem to get the plates fully aware that it he was not doing it himself but that he was empowered by the Lord. He didn’t feel inadequate because he knew he wasn’t the one doing it.
There is much we can learn from Nephi. So often we find ourselves feeling inadequate. We are tempted to turn down callings, or to refuse opportunities to speak in meetings, or to go about our days depressed and berating ourselves because we are incapable and make so many mistakes. The truth is we are inadequate and incapable and we will make mistakes. But Jesus Christ has promised to make up for our inadequacies. His saving power is not reserved for judgement day. His saving power is offered every day. If we persist. If we trust. He will help us do whatever we need to do no matter how overwhelming the task may seem.
Nephi understood this concept. That’s why when his father asked him to go back for the plates, he simply answered, “I will go and do.” It wasn’t that Nephi felt he had all the
strength and skill and knowledge it would take to obtain the plates. Nephi agreed to go without hesitation because he knew that Jesus Christ had all the strength, skill and knowledge he would need. And so he went. But that is not all Nephi understood. Nephi knew that the grace of God
doesn’t always float down from heaven like rain and drench us in power the moment we first ask for it or the second we are in need. Nephi understood how the enabling power of God works.
Nephi made the long trip back to Jerusalem with nagging, murmuring brothers. But he didn’t let their complaining deter him. After they arrived in Jerusalem, Laman asked Laban for the plates and Laban refused. Nephi didn’t let that deter him. Next the brothers went back to the home they had left behind and gathered up their gold and silver and tried to buy the plates from Laban. Greedily, Laban took their gold and silver, but refused to give them the plates and to hide his robbery, he sent men to kill Nephi and his brothers.
About this time one would think that Nephi would be doubting whether the “Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7). I’m sure the kvetchers Laman and Lemuel repeated those words in an attempt to make Nephi eat them. But still Nephi wasn’t deterred. He knew God would help in His own way and in His own time. And so he said to his brothers, “Wherefore can ye doubt? Let us go up; the Lord is able to deliver us.”
One wonders how Nephi dared pose such a question to the complaining brothers. So far all of reality is on their side. “Wherefore could they doubt?” Well for starters, they had tried to be obedient twice and for their efforts they had been ridiculed, robbed and almost murdered. You can hear Laman and Lemuel respond to Nephi, “Yea, He is able to deliver us, but will he?”
This is the question faith poses for each one of us. We’ve read the scriptures. We know He is able, but do we trust that He will? Too often we rationalize that His saving power is reserved for the day of judgement or is only for prophets and other people.
Nephi understood that faith must be tried and tested, that lessons need to be learned, but that God always helps us. So despite the hardship, despite the difficulty, he persisted and went back into Jerusalem to get the plates fully aware that it he was not doing it himself but that he was empowered by the Lord. He didn’t feel inadequate because he knew he wasn’t the one doing it.
There is much we can learn from Nephi. So often we find ourselves feeling inadequate. We are tempted to turn down callings, or to refuse opportunities to speak in meetings, or to go about our days depressed and berating ourselves because we are incapable and make so many mistakes. The truth is we are inadequate and incapable and we will make mistakes. But Jesus Christ has promised to make up for our inadequacies. His saving power is not reserved for judgement day. His saving power is offered every day. If we persist. If we trust. He will help us do whatever we need to do no matter how overwhelming the task may seem.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Stravinsky and Me
One day during the summer after fifth grade, a brown package arrived in the mail with my name neatly typed on a white label without a return address. Mother handed the package to me and asked if I knew what it was. I had no idea. I’d never before received a package in the mail addressed just to me and excitedly opened the flat, square package to discover a record in a black jacket with fiery red flashes across the cover.
“Did you send for this?” Mother asked.
When I told her no she searched the wrapping paper for a note or any clue as to who had sent it. Finding nothing, Mother shrugged, and I took my prize into the house to the record player. I’d heard the story of that record player many times. It seems that shortly after mom and dad were married they had won a radio/record player console. It was mother’s pride and joy–a piece of furniture she has kept all these years. But despite the care she took dusting and polishing it, I only remember her playing music on it maybe two or three times in my life. Mother always said she loved music, but for some reason she never took the time to turn it on. One of the compartments held the few records she and Dad owned which consisted of some big band, Bing Crosby, The Andrews Sisters, and Frank Sinatra albums. I loved music and had played those records over and over. I spent hours listening while imagining that inside that brown console thumb size people actually performed every time I started a record.
Alone in the family room, I carefully opened the jacket and pulled the brand new, shiny black record out. That was the first I read the jacket. Printed in large letters on top of the fiery streaks were the words “Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite/Rite of Spring.” I’d never heard of such a thing. Bursting with curiosity and anticipation, I lowered the record onto the spindle, “The Firebird Suite” side up, lifted the arm and placed the needle on the spinning record.
Soft, dark tones filled the room, their ominous sounds startling me. What was this? It wasn’t music. Music made you sway and dance. These sounds made you cower and weep. I stopped the record, turned it over, and put the arm down on the “Rite of Spring.”
A single wind instrument began, joined by another, and then more. I’d never heard anything like that before. Not as menacing, the music had an unearthly quality that made me think of gnomes, dwarfs, fairies and witches. And while it didn’t make me sway it definitely made me want to dance. I kept listening as the music took on a militant quality broken by swirling motion that evolved into a busy sound of majestic anticipation. Mom and Dad’s records were always so predictable. Once you’d heard the first three or four phrases, you’d heard the whole song. But this music was one surprise after another. The sounds melted into my muscles and I began to move stomping, twirling, leaping, tip-toeing, whatever the music told me to do, I did until I dropped to the floor breathless. About that time the frenzy of the Shrovetide Fair began and I closed my eyes to watch the fairies do the dancing.
On and on it went–much longer than “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” or anything else among the console’s records. The music grew loud and as ominous as “The Firebird Suite” but I was so enthralled that this time I liked it. I waited and sure enough bird like sounds broke into the heavy feeling flying in just when my heart thought it couldn’t take any more.
I didn’t like all of it. Some parts were frightening. Some too compelling. But when the record stopped spinning, I was spinning with delight. My head couldn’t stop thinking about the amazing music–how my body seemed one with it when I danced. Lifted out of the world, I’d gone someplace else without leaving the family room. I didn’t know where I’d gone, but I wanted to go back and explore to learn more about the magical place I’d just been.
After that day the big bands weren’t as big and Bing Crosby had lost some of his charm. Again and again I returned to the “Rite of Spring” and every time something new stirred in me. Every time it was just as magical. It was awhile before I was introduced to other friends such as Mozart, Beethoven, and Debussy, but upon meeting each one my love for music expanded deeper into my soul.
To this day I have no clue as to who sent me that record. But whoever my anonymous mentor was, he or she changed my life. She didn’t give me just a record. She gave me a whole new world. A world I still escape to when I need solace, comfort, or just a little rest
“Did you send for this?” Mother asked.
When I told her no she searched the wrapping paper for a note or any clue as to who had sent it. Finding nothing, Mother shrugged, and I took my prize into the house to the record player. I’d heard the story of that record player many times. It seems that shortly after mom and dad were married they had won a radio/record player console. It was mother’s pride and joy–a piece of furniture she has kept all these years. But despite the care she took dusting and polishing it, I only remember her playing music on it maybe two or three times in my life. Mother always said she loved music, but for some reason she never took the time to turn it on. One of the compartments held the few records she and Dad owned which consisted of some big band, Bing Crosby, The Andrews Sisters, and Frank Sinatra albums. I loved music and had played those records over and over. I spent hours listening while imagining that inside that brown console thumb size people actually performed every time I started a record.
Alone in the family room, I carefully opened the jacket and pulled the brand new, shiny black record out. That was the first I read the jacket. Printed in large letters on top of the fiery streaks were the words “Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite/Rite of Spring.” I’d never heard of such a thing. Bursting with curiosity and anticipation, I lowered the record onto the spindle, “The Firebird Suite” side up, lifted the arm and placed the needle on the spinning record.
Soft, dark tones filled the room, their ominous sounds startling me. What was this? It wasn’t music. Music made you sway and dance. These sounds made you cower and weep. I stopped the record, turned it over, and put the arm down on the “Rite of Spring.”
A single wind instrument began, joined by another, and then more. I’d never heard anything like that before. Not as menacing, the music had an unearthly quality that made me think of gnomes, dwarfs, fairies and witches. And while it didn’t make me sway it definitely made me want to dance. I kept listening as the music took on a militant quality broken by swirling motion that evolved into a busy sound of majestic anticipation. Mom and Dad’s records were always so predictable. Once you’d heard the first three or four phrases, you’d heard the whole song. But this music was one surprise after another. The sounds melted into my muscles and I began to move stomping, twirling, leaping, tip-toeing, whatever the music told me to do, I did until I dropped to the floor breathless. About that time the frenzy of the Shrovetide Fair began and I closed my eyes to watch the fairies do the dancing.
On and on it went–much longer than “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” or anything else among the console’s records. The music grew loud and as ominous as “The Firebird Suite” but I was so enthralled that this time I liked it. I waited and sure enough bird like sounds broke into the heavy feeling flying in just when my heart thought it couldn’t take any more.
I didn’t like all of it. Some parts were frightening. Some too compelling. But when the record stopped spinning, I was spinning with delight. My head couldn’t stop thinking about the amazing music–how my body seemed one with it when I danced. Lifted out of the world, I’d gone someplace else without leaving the family room. I didn’t know where I’d gone, but I wanted to go back and explore to learn more about the magical place I’d just been.
After that day the big bands weren’t as big and Bing Crosby had lost some of his charm. Again and again I returned to the “Rite of Spring” and every time something new stirred in me. Every time it was just as magical. It was awhile before I was introduced to other friends such as Mozart, Beethoven, and Debussy, but upon meeting each one my love for music expanded deeper into my soul.
To this day I have no clue as to who sent me that record. But whoever my anonymous mentor was, he or she changed my life. She didn’t give me just a record. She gave me a whole new world. A world I still escape to when I need solace, comfort, or just a little rest
Monday, November 12, 2007
Thanksgiving!
As Thanksgiving approaches we all turn our thoughts to what we are thankful for. We make lists. We think thoughts of gratitude. We sometimes have Thanksgiving rituals where we share with each other what we are grateful for. But a great exercise this Thanksgiving would be to be grateful for something someone else has to be grateful for.
It is often easy to mourn with those that mourn. When someone has an accident or is ill, we do all we can to comfort and support. We take in meals. We give money. We tend children and take people to the doctor. We replace damaged goods. We do whatever is needed to help those who are in need.
But sometimes it is more difficult to rejoice with those that rejoice. When the neighbor gets a new car, are we grateful or jealous? When a friend get a great new job are we excited or envious? When blessings come into the lives of those around us, do we say a prayer of thanks or ask God, “Why not me?”
It is easy to be grateful for what we have. It is not so easy to be grateful for what others have. This Thanksgiving season, try giving thanks not only for your own blessings but the blessings of others and see what happens.
Rom 12:15 Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.
It is often easy to mourn with those that mourn. When someone has an accident or is ill, we do all we can to comfort and support. We take in meals. We give money. We tend children and take people to the doctor. We replace damaged goods. We do whatever is needed to help those who are in need.
But sometimes it is more difficult to rejoice with those that rejoice. When the neighbor gets a new car, are we grateful or jealous? When a friend get a great new job are we excited or envious? When blessings come into the lives of those around us, do we say a prayer of thanks or ask God, “Why not me?”
It is easy to be grateful for what we have. It is not so easy to be grateful for what others have. This Thanksgiving season, try giving thanks not only for your own blessings but the blessings of others and see what happens.
Rom 12:15 Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
