My Best Two Years

I have often heard people refer to their missions as their best two years. There is even a movie about it. And I've heard many people mock the idea of a mission being their best two years. Usually because missions are so hard and miserable. Who can honestly enjoy being rejected on an hourly basis, working so hard at something with so little personal reward? You've got to be insane, or brainwashed. Or brain dead.

To be honest, my mission is not the best two-year span anymore, though it was. That honor currently goes to my most recent two years. But directly after my mission, I would have said it was my best two years without any hesitation. Not because it was fun. It was actually pretty terrible. I would explain, but that would be a VERY long blog post. So I'll give a light sampling. Under my first mission president, incredible focus was placed on memorizing the discussions. We were even considered "greenies" (newbie missionaries) until we had memorized and passed off word-for-word the first discussion. (They still had the seven discussions, then.) Eventually, we were expected to memorize them all.

I don't memorize. Generally, I think memorization is a waste of time that undermines comprehension, especially with something like missionary discussions. Being who I used to be, I vociferously refused to do it. (My poor 19-21 year old district leaders really got a workout trying to be my Priesthood leader through the entire duration of my mission. Any of them who still wish to serve God in a priesthood capacity after experiencing mission-me really deserve some kudos.) I did eventually cave, but only because my mission president told me that while I didn't have to do it, it would really help my district leader if I just bent to the unnecessary rule.

The bulk of my mission under this president was an ongoing battle of wills between me, my district/zone leaders, and the mission numbers.

Billboards and the Words of the Prophets

There is a fine line between control and persuasion. Sometimes it’s really hard to see the difference, particularly in ourselves. Particularly when we are passionate about something, or when we want what is best for the people we are trying to control. There is a reason there was a war in heaven, and it’s not because relinquishing control is easy.

Very few people set out to control another person. Few of us sit down and think, “Now, how can I make them do _____?” And yet, we do it all the time.

Recently, I posted something about an Orem billboard, which attracted a great deal of negative attention. I can understand why. I was criticizing the action, and doubting the pure intentions of the people who created it, and it is all centered around the question of how to use the words of Prophets, Apostles, scripture, and Church leaders in our lives.

Bin Laden Has Died

Since it was announced, I have been thinking about posting my feelings about the death of bin Laden. But someone rather beat me to it.

Strange, perhaps, for a military brat to feel this way. But I don't believe that patriotism is best defined as American supremism. Perhaps because I lived a significant portion of my childhood in Germany, I feel strongly that atrocities are not committed by monsters in human form, but are committed by people much like us for reasons that we just as easily might have.

And we would be better served by looking for our mistakes and mourning the need to commit violence than by rejoicing that we are better than our enemies.

This is not a football game. I am ashamed of my fellow citizens.

"And Moroni was a strong and a mighty man; he was a man of a perfect understanding; yea, a man that did not delight in bloodshed; a man whose soul did joy in the liberty and the freedom of his country, and his brethren from bondage and slavery; yea, a man whose heart did swell with thanksgiving to his God, for the many privileges and blessings which he bestowed upon his people; a man who did labor exceedingly for the welfare and safety of his people. Yea, and he was a man who was firm in the faith of Christ, and he had sworn with an oath to defend his people, his rights, and his country, and his religion, even to the loss of his blood.

"Now the Nephites were taught to defend themselves against their enemies, even to the shedding of blood if it were necessary; yea, and they were also taught never to give an offense, yea, and never to raise the sword except it were against an enemy, except it were to preserve their lives. And this was their faith, that by so doing God would prosper them in the land, or in other words, if they were faithful in keeping the commandments of God that he would prosper them in the land; yea, warn them to flee, or to prepare for war, according to their danger; and also, that God would make it known unto them whither they should go to defend themselves against their enemies, and by so doing, the Lord would deliver them;

"And this was the faith of Moroni, and his heart did glory in it; not in the shedding of blood but in doing good, in preserving his people, yea, in keeping the commandments of God, yea, and resisting iniquity."

9/11 and the Mosque: It's Not About Religion

I know there's a great deal of furor about the Mosque overlooking Ground Zero. I don't get it. I don't get it for a few reasons, some less noble than others.

First, I don't get 9/11. I know that is borderline unpatriotic, but I just don't get why it was so monumental. Maybe it is because as I was growing up, bomb drills were as much a part of the school practice as fire drills. Except, I never experienced a fire at school. Two of the "bomb drills" I went through were real. I had to carry an identification card around with me to get to my house. I've waited in line for over an hour just to get home so the bomb dogs and guys with the oversized dentist mirrors could go through every single car queued up to get on base. I lived as a child knowing that my house could be bombed, that my dad could be killed. That I could be killed in a heartbeat. It wasn't frightening, it was just how life was. 9/11 didn't carry the same punch for me that it seems to carry for most people.

Plus, I was in Germany when the attack occurred. Not only did I not live through the national panic, I experienced the anti-American rallies in the aftermath. I even suggested to my companion once or twice that we take off our missionary name tags so we could travel incognito and not start a riot. I worked hard to improve my accent in German rather than worrying about vocabulary so I could pass as British or Dutch in a pinch. I never had to use that, at least, but I was trained by life as a child how to blend in when necessary and knew it didn't hurt to be careful. I don't think all military kids learn these things, but my dad always encouraged us to immerse ourselves in our resident culture.

Which brings me to second: 9/11 wasn't about religion. It was about politics first and culture second. A good part of my life was spent in a first-world country that is not America. I lived a couple of years on a third-world island. I have seen for myself the range of emotions towards Americans ranging from excited interest through disdain to contempt. I have seen what we Americans do that justifies those sentiments.

If the attacks were about religion, there are many better religious sites that could have been destroyed. But there were no attacks on the Vatican, nothing against Notre Dame. The targets were 100% political and 100% American—a country which theoretically professes no religious alignment.

So why not let them build a Mosque near Ground Zero? Even in a worst-case scenario and the alarmists are right, that it is mockery of our culture and the Christian religion, so what? Why indulge ourselves in the self-centeredness which the rest of the world despises instead of celebrating the parts of America which make us great—our tolerance, our open arms to conflicting ideologies and points of view? We can always reclaim that mosque as a badge of honor, reform it into the gesture of mutuality they claim it is. And if the alarmists are wrong, and it really is intended as a gesture of goodwill, it is churlish and hypocritical of us to refuse it.

Religious Bully?

Interestingly, the court in a recent court case in Utah ruled against privately-erected memorials for deceased highway troopers shaped like crosses, saying that they connoted an endorsement of Christianity.

I find it interesting because the predominant religion in Utah, although Christian, does not use the cross to symbolize its religion, and by telling private parties that they can't use certain symbols when erecting memorials, the state is interfering in church. From what I understand of history, the point of "separation of Church and State" was not to keep any person from mentioning religion, but to keep the government from subsidizing a particular religion preferentially. The only ways that would cause a problem is if someone desired to erect a memorial for a state trooper in another religion's symbol for death and was refused, or if the government was somehow paying to have a religion promoted.

To me, this is clearly a case of drawing boundaries around the law which interfere with other core legal principles. By refusing the right to put up memorials with any sort of historically religious connotations, the government is controlling a party's right to religion. But I'm neither a lawyer, nor a historian.

I also find this interesting because I have lately come to realize that fears have become a part of my life which could potentially cause the very things I fear.

By being so afraid of any tint of religion in government, we are giving the government a religion: atheism. Shouldn't the point be to celebrate/tolerate all religions which do not interfere with life, liberty or property, not forbid them? Isn't the point to keep the state from becoming a religious bully?

Odd that the Founding Fathers' attempts to prevent religious bullying are now being used to create it.

Discussion of Hate

Thanks to Dennis at Thinking in a Marrow Bone for this interesting post. Please comment there, if you have thoughts on the subject.

Michelle Obama and the Price of a Loss of Religion

As I listened to NPR this morning, waiting for the gym to open, I heard an interesting opinion on Michelle Obama. (I tried to find a link, but I don't think it is yet posted. If anyone knows where it is, please let me know.) The woman speaking, Rachel, opined that the First Lady incumbent had a powerful image that was being made "more comfortable" for the American people. She claimed that America was uncomfortable with powerful women, and that is why Michelle Obama was focusing on work/life balance for women, military wives and other similar agendas. Claiming she was dumbed down for the American people to swallow her better, she said that Michelle was going to be the same First Lady we've had in the past. Her basis for this was that there was a lot of hype about Senator Obama and his children adjusting to the change, but little was said about Michelle having to "give up her identity" and her own paycheck and the adjustment necessary for that.

The discussion got me thinking about the view of motherhood. It was obvious from the discussion that Michelle was losing something by going from a powerful lawyer to a mom and First Lady. It was clear that the speaker considered a woman's value to be tied up in what she did and in having an identity independent from her husband. It is this sort of attitude I believe was criticized when the First Presidency issued the Proclamation on the Family.

Society has increasingly begun to view marriage and family as a mix between a burden and a luxury. Those who marry do so with a feeling of what they will get out of the arrangement. If you listen to the Proposition 8 riots and rhetoric, to much of the feminist rhetoric, and even to television and radio, you will hear marriage almost exclusively discussed in terms of benefits to individuals. In divorces, one spouse didn't "meet the needs" of the other, a couple "fell out of love" or tried to control each other. In discussing gay marriage, it is seen almost exclusively as a right with government benefits.

All of these viewpoints are poisonous. Marriage is not a contract with benefits on either side; it is a commitment. When two people marry, they commit to each other and to their future children. They dedicate all of their resources and time to the betterment of that new family unit. A person agrees to put the welfare of that tiny unit of society above their own individual welfare. It is the arrangement which best allows us to become like Christ, because we mimic His actions when He put the welfare of the world above His own.

Although many argue that atheism—a loss of belief in God—does nothing to remove morality—an understanding of the need to care and provide for another's needs—I think the root of all these problems in society is a loss of belief in God. For this purpose, it does not matter which belief in God you have as long as your belief includes a need to submit the self. Religions which focus on self-attainment or self-perfection miss the mark. I want to note here that Mormonism in practice often falls into this category, focusing far too much on self-purification and too little on selflessness. Our hands are not clean of this sin.

Marriage is not a social arrangement to benefit the self, it is a social arrangement to better the whole. Religion teaches this concept in a way that simple morality cannot. The Christian religion, since that is the one I know best, especially demonstrates this. If God, the greatest of all beings, was willing to lay down His life for an imperfect world, we ought to be able to lay down our lives, whether by living them or by losing them, for our imperfect spouses. I, for one, admire Michelle Obama for being willing to dedicate herself to her marriage and to her husband's glory, just as I admire husbands willing to work in a drudgery job every day to provide for their family, or vice versa. Marriage is a series of submissions from both sides of the equation. That is what the Proclamation on the Family has to teach us. That is what Christ taught us with His life. That is the value of religion and the price we all pay when it is mocked and trampled.

Priestcraft and the Modern Mormon, Part II

I'm finally getting to a continuation of my previous post, which proved to be too long in one piece. In my last post, I described characteristics of Nehor's teachings and behavior, and drew some parallels to modern thought. I believe this recounting of Nehor and his final fate is shared as a warning to us.

Third, the actions of Nehor's followers:

1. They respected the law because they were afraid of being punished.
2. They taught for honor and riches.
3. They pretended to believe the things they taught.
4. They persecuted those of the Church with words.

I find it interesting that Nehor's followers were law-abiding citizens, but only insofar as they would not get caught or punished. It seems they were continually testing the bounds of the law, weaving their way through loopholes and exceptions. Their purposes for teaching others their beliefs were not to share something which had brought them joy, but were to gain honor and riches. This meant they said what people wanted them to say and reveled in the attention it got them. It's easy to see how televangelists might fit into this characterization, but there are those within the Mormon church who might find themselves bearing testimony during fast Sunday or giving a talk who are doing so to gain attention. Such "testimonies" rarely share truths the speaker feels, but might give a recount of the week with a sort of "the Spirit helped me here" or "I was in tune when this happened" or "I know the Church is true and President ________ is a prophet of God, amen!" tacked on the end. (This doesn't mean you, as part of the Congregation, should be critiquing others' testimonies, just that you should pay attention to your own and share what the Spirit wants to you share, keeping extraneous self-gratifying information out of it.)

The second half of the characteristics of Nehor's followers intrigues me the most. First, as a group they pretended to believe what they were teaching. They didn't actually believe it. Perhaps they "believed" it because they wanted to believe it, but in their heart-of-hearts, they knew that what they taught wasn't true. They taught it because it sounded good; it was logical, reasonable and comfortable.

Lastly, they persecuted the Church, not by physically harming them (as that was against the law) but with words. I believe I'm rather familiar with the form these persecutions would take. They likely labeled them with things such as "blind obedience" "illogical", saying things like "you cannot know there is a God" because you can never be certain of it. They ridiculed their faith as being ignorant and provincial. They probably attacked the Church leaders as money-grubbing men (since the only thing they could understand is a desire for money.) They probably figured members of the Church were out of tune with modern thought. In short, they were probably much like many of us today. I would bet that not all the followers of Nehor were outside of the Church.

Fourth, the actions of those in the church:

1. They contended with them, both verbally and physically.
2. For those who contended, their hearts became hard and they left the Church.
3. Some did not contend back and were patient with the verbal abuse.
4. They taught the doctrines of the gospel humbly and without pay.
5. They gave to those in need and did not wear expensive clothing, despite prosperity.

This is a pointed warning against getting entrapped in contention with those who criticize the Church. According to the account, those who were otherwise faithful became involved in debating points of doctrine, which debates eventually became physical. When they debated, they became filled with anger and frustration, which drove out the Spirit, causing their hearts to be hardened and them to leave the Church. If you look back at the previous post on Nehor, you will see that their behavior began to mirror Nehor's - they banded together in fighting and contention, eventually turning physical. Essentially, those who practiced priestcraft were able to draw others into the same practice by gendering debate and contention. Only those who did not contend back, humbly took whatever abuse was given them and simply offered their testimonies without pay, remained faithful and in the Church. They put their emphasis on helping those in need, whether in or out of the Church, both temporally and spiritually.

So how do we combat priestcraft in ourselves? I have a particular struggle with the aforementioned temptation to indulge in contention right now. Where is the balance between sharing testimony and avoiding contention? How can you draw the line between explanation and debate? I have difficulty taking verbal (or written) abuse patiently without lashing back or at least trying to defend myself, particularly when I'm (pridefully) aware of how good I can be at dealing it back. Truthfully, however, those attacking you or the Church generally do so for the express purpose of getting you to attack back. So long as they can get you riled up, they can justify their own behavior and don't have to change. So long as they can twist your words to something they can argue against, they can ignore the part of your meaning that would encourage them to soften their hearts to the Spirit. I long to find the balance between "bearing down in pure testimony" and contention. I want to be able to be patient during abuse, but still firm in expressing my convictions. I suspect that within that delicate balance lies one step closer to Godhood.

Blogging by the Spirit

When speaking in Sacrament meeting or teaching a class, I subscribe to Gene R. Cook's method described in his book "Teaching by the Spirit." My mission president gave me this book early in my mission, and it changed the way I teach. To sum it up, it is essentially focusing on self-preparation rather than speech-preparation. In it, the speaker reads, ponders, lives according to the commandments and prays, then stands up to teach and lets the Spirit take over. It is a slightly frightening way to teach, especially at first, and I've had a few times where my confidence overreached my humility and it didn't go well.

Nevertheless, I've found it highly effective both to teach and to learn. This year, I've applied it to Sunday lessons, though I've only taught once. I find the lessons are far more meaningful, and the scriptures are merging into one in ways I never before understood. It is also highly effective in less formal teaching/learning moments in life, such as when a friend needs help, when driving . . . and when blogging.

Although I once found debating points of opinion scintillating, I have progressed to a point where I no longer enjoy it. Discussion is still enjoyable to me, but it is easy to discern between the two. There is a certain level of hostility absent in discussion. The Spirit departs from debate. In blogging and commenting on blogs, I have tried to apply this method. If what I am saying has any significance at all, if I cannot feel the Spirit flowing through my mind and heart and into my fingers, I refrain from "speaking." I've mentioned this once before.

I have found that I spend a lot less time reading and writing on blogs (a blessing, since I don't have much time to spare) and more time away from the computer, pondering on the "things of eternity". My understanding and heart has opened more to the things of God.

I try to no longer engage in debate of any kind. The part of me that once found it intellectually stimulating now realizes that it was just a disguised attempt to prove how smart/intelligent/wise/spiritual I was to myself. Moreover, I don't really want to be intellectually stimulated in that way nearly as much as I want to be spiritually stimulated. There is no way for the "natural" or intelligent man to understand the things of God. There is no way for an intellectual discussion devoid of the Spirit to bring us to better understanding of God's ways.

Intelligence is good when it submits to the Spirit, but if it doesn't, it is better not to be intelligent. What is more, if you write by the Spirit, nothing anyone says against you matters. You know you were doing your best to follow the Lord's will for you. If you write when filled with the Spirit, though you may be frightened of the judgment of men, you are a prophet of God.

The Light That Has Been Given

I have been doing a great deal more reading than writing in the sphere of LDS blogs, lately. Primarily, I have not had time to write, or even to post as much as I would like. Also, however, I have lost the desire to contribute comments to posts. I don't feel that my comments really matter. People seem to be pretty cemented in their views, and quite hostile if you disagree with them.

One such view that has recently struck me is an overall tenet or argument against belief. Those using this argument have repeatedly suggested that no one can claim a knowledge of the truth because someone else could claim knowledge of a truth that is different or opposite to the original claim. Not only is this argument disingenuous, it is a religious belief disguised as reason used by many agnostics and atheists.

First, to examine a claim to knowledge of the truth. From a secular standpoint, knowledge is the act of knowing something. Know, by the word's very nature, indicates an understanding of something through reason or experience. If one is to claim that it is impossible to know the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, for example, is true, one would have to claim that it is impossible to know anything. Though true in its most basic sense, that conclusion is useless, leaving one in a state where learning is meaningless, since one can never know if they are learning absolute Truth. Since we are imperfect beings in an imperfect world (something even atheists can probably agree with) we are bound by that imperfection, and must learn to function within its bounds. If we are to reject all learning and knowledge on the basis that it may not be true, we stagnate in a state of self-satisfaction and voluntary ignorance. Therefore, the claim that someone cannot know the truth of anything is a useless statement. I find it interesting that those who summon this relativistic reasoning are almost always blind to the correlation that they cannot know that the other person doesn't know!

Secondly, let us look at the faults in the supposition that a seeker of truth must take others' answers into account. Let's say, for example, that I have sought for truth by seeking out a true religion. I have found a church, studied its tenets, earnestly prayed for confirmation from God and have received my answer that it is true. With some variation, this is the method religious texts have submitted to find truth over thousands of years. Many have claimed to find truth through this method.

Now, let's suppose another person does the same thing and receives an answer that the same church is not true. The argument would claim that the first person's confirmation of truth is invalid because the second person had the opposite experience. I would first ask myself why the first person should be expected to doubt his experiences based on the experiences of a second? The first person can't judge the sincerity of the second truth-seeker. The first person can't know God's motives in giving the second person their negative answer, assuming that the second person really did receive that answer from God. Most importantly, the second person's answer is not the answer the first person received. That may seem obvious, but think about the implications. Those claiming that truth cannot be known would seem to be telling the first person that they should believe another's answer over their own. When examined this way, it seems obvious that this is nothing but a ploy to cast doubt on an individual's own ability to seek and understand truth.

We are all human, with the same ability and responsibility to seek light, knowledge and truth. We have the same potential to receive spiritual confirmation. We have the same "chances" of finding the truth. In the end, we will be judged on the answers we have sought and received from the Lord, not on another's. In other words, If it seems stupid to you to claim a knowledge of a truth, if it seems necessary to believe that you can never know what is true and what is not, do what you will, but as for me, I choose to seek the light by the methods I know to be right.

Do You Believe in Evolution?

An interesting question was brought to my attention in a recent interview between the media (Reuters) and an LDS member. "Do you believe in evolution?" I would have to say, as a trained scientist and a believing member of the LDS Church, "NO!" I find it incredibly disturbing that such a question even exists.

Before I go further, let me make a few things clear. I love science. I graduated with a degree in pre-veterinary medicine. Zoology is fascinating to me. I trained in the scientific method. I trained in writing theses. I've analyzed experiments and reproduced them in lab. I miss my scientific field with a hunger that has made me consider cutting my earning power in half just to get my latex-wrapped fingers around a test tube filled with blood agar. I. Love. Science. I love science almost as much as I love animals, which is why I find the question of whether or not I "believe" in evolution so dismaying. It has nothing to do with my sincere and deep religious conviction. In fact, the religious side of me leaves far more room for a "belief" in evolution or its like. My scientific reason, however, cannot accept that science is being formed into the Church of the People.

Science is nothing more than a method used to break down the workings of the world and find out how things are. It was never meant to define the great "Why" that religion addresses. By its very nature, science has nothing to do with belief. In the scientific method, one 1) observes. Through those observations, one drafts a 2) hypothesis. One then 3) tests the hypothesis in as controlled an environment as possible. During the testing, one 4) observes the results. Then one 5) adjusts the hypothesis and begins again. Once a hypothesis has been refined and is provable in multiple experiments at multiple times, it graduates to a 6) theory. Theories are hypotheses with the weight of reproducibility behind them. If a theory becomes so provable (and so concise) that it becomes a law, it has become as assured as possible under the tenets of science and other hypotheses and theories are built on that law. (Bear in mind that even laws can change, though rarely, in science.)

Nowhere in the scientific method (the basis of science) is there room for belief. There is room for guesses, there is room for educated guesses, there is room for reason, but there is no room for faith. Therefore, one cannot by the very nature of science "believe" in a scientific theory, such as the Theory of Evolution.

What is more galling is that the theory of evolution (bearing in mind that I am speaking of MACROevolution, or the change from one species to another, and not microevolution, or the adaptation of existing traits) is not even truly developed to the point that it can honestly be called a "theory." Macroevolution has not been proven in the lab. Macroevolution has not even been satisfactorily observed in the natural environment. The evidence for macroevolution is sparse and largely circumstantial. Although microevolution is perhaps consistent enough to be elevated to the status of a theory, it has not been quantified, has not been refined and cannot be called anything more than a theory in its fledgling state, not having moved into the power of a scientific law. Macroevolution is little more than extrapolation built on the observable evidence of microevolution. Unfortunately, the term "Hypothesis of Evolution" doesn't sound nearly so titillating as "Theory of Evolution."

So, my answer to the question, "do you believe in evolution?" is a resounding "NO!" I like the theory of evolution. I think it is very probably accurate. I think both the concepts of micro- and macroevolution are fascinating. I can't wait to see what more is discovered about evolution, but my interest in evolution is not a matter of belief or faith. The media has fastened upon Darwin's concept and turned it into a weapon in the science-versus-religion smackdown. Sadly, for the media, there is nothing that science could ever do to disprove or prove the existence of God. But then, that is not the purpose of science. Nor is self-verification the purpose of God.

I love science, but it is not a religion and never can be. It is tragic that people are so afraid of faith in the unknown that they turn to a discovery process like science for their self-affirmation. It is tragic that people need to lean on the seen so heavily they mock or ignore the unseen. However, if people insist on venerating the God of Scientific Theory, they should at least have the decency to recognize that the Religion of Science requires just as much faith as orthodox religion. At least, according to Reuters it does.

Perhaps this is the "great and abominable Church" spoken of in scripture. Move over, Catholics, here come the Scientists.

Separation and Self

I have a concept that's been nagging me for awhile. It dates back to a past thread and a post by another blogger that used my comments as an example of exclusion. To put a bit of background to it, someone was expressing a feeling of being left out by the Church policy of temple marriage, with a caveat that those policies should be changed somehow to include those not worthy to enter the temple. The corollary was that family (especially at weddings) was more important than the sacredness of the temple ceremony, and that by excluding people from the temple, the Church was belying its own family-oriented tenets. My comments essentially were meant to say that the Church excluded no one from the temple ceremony, but an individual's own choices excluded them. Though I see this point of view of one barred from a temple ceremony, I don't agree with it.

If I had friends or family who believed in a religion and had a very sacred ceremony that I could not attend, I'm not saying I'd skip with joy, but I'd respect their faith and not expect them to change it to suit me. I would probably not convert (since my beliefs are elsewhere,) but I would accept that it was my choice of faith that excluded me, not the faith itself. I really don't understand why blame must be fixed to the institution.

In addition, I feel that it is not of God to include everyone in everything, no matter their personal choices. In order for the orders of glory to be valuable, there must be rules set to govern those orders. Those rules must be met in order to receive the glory. It makes no more sense to admit everyone to the temple than it would to award everyone an "A" no matter the effort or answers given. If everything is rewarded equally, than there can be no measure of progression - or indeed, no progression at all. There would be no goal to reach, no standard to attain, and no real choices to make. All would be saved, yes, but that salvation would be without meaning. All would pursue their own right and wrong with no substance or direction.

In essence, all would be as Satan would have it. I wish someone who feels otherwise could explain to me why it would not be that way, rather than just rejoicing in their believed superiority of inclusion.

Pain of Progression

In a fairly recent thread at FMH, a long discussion ensued about the temple ordinances separating family members from each other. I'm not really sure why I feel as hurt as I do over the issue. I guess I still cling to a romantic idea that somehow hard choices will be honored. Let me try to clarify what I mean (though it is far from clear in my mind.)

I think that society is leaning towards an attitude that acceptance is virtue. I disagree with this in a sense. Although it is important to love and accept people, the same is not true of ideas. You have a choice. Either you accept all ideas, and end up as a relativist (all things are true, depending on who you are,) or you draw a line somewhere, saying this is true and that is not. I hurt when I think of relativistic philosophies, because I feel that it is an adversarial plan to mask sin with intelligence. Intelligence is good, so if the adversary can draw a veil of sophistry over error, it can appear good to the casual glance. Society has become such that if you do not agree with everyone's opinion, you are close-minded. Therefore, those who call themselves open-minded can be automatically superior. They build walls around their sanctuary of "everyone is right," and anyone who disagrees is ignorant. Thus, they can feel safe in their self-defined superior opinions, and ignore anyone they choose to ignore without feeling the need for further self-examination. The irony is that they are not truly open-minded, they are only open-minded to predefined ideas. They are indulging in a subtle form of pride that allows them to mistake self-satisfaction and comfort for happiness.

Unfortunately, this is a plan of the adversary, and lulls people into accepting themselves for who they are, rather than for who they can become. They no longer feel any need to improve or change, and they are caught in the great and spacious building, pointing fingers at the unfortunates still clinging to the rod of iron below them.

There is a delicate balance for the faithful to walk. Those who have worked and prayed, and painfully changed see things differently than they did. They understand that questions are okay, that people are not evil for questioning authority. They can also testify to the efficacy of searching. Because I have prayed, pondered and studied, I can vouch that those things have changed me. I can testify that God has guided me to peace. Unfortunately, that is all I can do. In this sense, I find myself with hard-earned oil that I cannot share. The oil only works for me. The five wise virgins were not selfish with their oil, they simply had no way to share it. All they could tell the foolish is that if they went to the market themselves, they would find those who sell, and they could buy for themselves. This brings me to my second heartache.

No matter what the wise say, they foolish will see them as hard-hearted, selfish and prideful. "How could they not share?" they ask, "They have plenty." It is easy to see how the five foolish must have felt, alone and cold outside of the bridegroom's door. How their hearts must have ached! How they must have wept bitter tears of regret. What is often overlooked are the feelings the wise must have felt. They were wise and kind, they must have longed to share their oil with the foolish. After entering the chamber, they must have missed their friends, and wondered if they were alright, outside the door. It could not have been any easier for them than it was for the foolish. It could not have been easy for the bridegroom - he who had invited ten, to have only half show up to the feast. How it must have felt to him, to know that his feast wasn't important enough to the five for them to have properly prepared.

Unlike this parable, however, it is not possible for the bridegroom to simply open the door. Certain requirements were set to attend the feast. Those who did not meet the requirements cannot have the same reward as those who did, can they?

It is hard for me to see people ask for the blessings of the Lord when they do not do the laws that are set forth to earn those blessings. It is especially hard, because I have made the heart-wrenching, uncomfortable, painful choice to risk everything of value to me for this one thing. Do they think it is easy for me to contemplate losing my marriage or my child for discipleship? Do they think I thoughtlessly dedicated every day of my life to nothing more than a promise of something better? Why do they think I would do such a thing?

Apparently, to some, it is so I can hurt people. That is the perceived motivation for my actions, and that breaks my heart. It would seem that the foolish who ask for oil are the same who mocked the wise for buying the oil early.

Of course, this doesn't account for those who have truly searched and not yet found.

So of the three states: foolish, wise, and searching but not yet wise, I feel that I am all three. There are some things I have procrastinated. There are some answers I have not yet received. But the things which the Lord has shown me, the feelings that I have had in the past, I have used as oil to see me through the dark times of searching. Even when it feels my oil has run out, and I cannot see, I know that the Lord once provided oil, and that He won't let me fail.

Faith is not to step into a darkened room with a single burning lamp. Faith is to keep walking when you have nothing but the memory of light. Faith is trusting the Savior to catch you when you fall.

Faith is knowing that the opinions of others in no way diminish what I have felt and what I know.