If Any of You Lack Wisdom, Let Him Ask of God, that Giveth to All men Liberally, and Upbraideth Not: A Divine Promise to Know Your Role in Life

In preparing for a priesthood lesson tonight, I was struck by the following quote by Elder Neil Anderson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles:

We are a very large worldwide family of believers, disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ.

We have taken His name upon us, and each week as we partake of the sacrament, we pledge that we will remember Him and keep His commandments. We are far from perfect, but we are not casual in our faith. We believe in Him. We worship Him. We follow Him. We deeply love Him. His cause is the greatest cause in all the world.

The sentence that struck me most was, "We are far from perfect, but we are not casual in our faith." That seems to be what the world wants most from us, all of us, not just Mormons, not just Christians, but all believers, any faith, any creed--the world wants Seinfeld casualness at the deepest level.  In an effort to tolerate conflicting faiths, conflicting cultures, conflicting creeds, the world asks that we believe at the shallowest level.  It is one thing to celebrate our culture, but quite another thing to have enough faith in the teachings of our Lord and prophets to subdue our personal will and follow something greater than ourselves.

There is an assumption that guides almost all thought in the twenty-first century, which is as follows:  truth is an illusion and therefore anyone who claims to know it is a huckster.  In other words, all holy men are but conmen one way or another.  They might teach some good principles, but the higher power they tap into is but a product of the imagination.

This thinking is not unwarranted.  At least in my lifetime the news has been splattered with self-declared spokesmen for God who are taken down for great hypocrisy and crimes.  The world's priesthoods often seem to protect the authority of guilty men over the innocence of young children.

It is no wonder doubt soars and faith beats against a glass ceiling with battered wings.  The sky seems empty, the soul caged by reality: life is like a Seinfeld episode--there's friendship, there's conflict, there's laughter, but in the end, it's all about dining out, riding in taxis, going movies, and not much else.  In short, life is a show about nothing.

Even science teaches us nothing is as it seems.  Apparently, I never actually sit on my chair.  A force repels me before I actually touch the wood.  And the wood isn't really there either.  Made up of billions of atoms, which are mostly space, it isn't solid.  Solid too is only a perception.

What a life?  We are told that truth is relative, that the only reality is the here and now, the material world, but even that, according to science, is an illusion.  We are actors upon a stage of mirrors.  Everywhere we look, the audience is just I, repeated over and over again, for eternity, but when I reach out to touch myself, I'm not there--I'm just an illusion along with everything else.

So grab a napkin and a cocktail, have some cheese, and entangle yourself in some witty conversation about nothing so that you never have to stand alone in a field on a sharp cold night and wonder what do all those stars have to do with I, me?  So, you never have to answer those big questions:

Who am I?

Why am I here?

What is my purpose?

I am not perfect, but neither am I casual in my faith.  I know enough to the answers of those questions that I can promise you that you are not living an episode from Seinfeld.  The scientists are right.  The Buddhists are right.  The Christians are right.  The Muslims are right.  The Native Americans are right.   This world is an illusion.

It's alright that it feels fake.  That doesn't take away its meaning.  That is its meaning.   It is a stage, and sure we are actors with our mortal parts to carry out in this earthy drama, but we are meant to walk off this stage having learned a few lessons and then we are to join our creator, in whose image we are made, as we continue on our journey towards perfection.

Our bodies may literally be the stuff of stardust, which is pretty amazing in itself, but our souls are the stuff of God.

And not only can we know these things, but we are built to know these things.  It's in our DNA.  There is a reason man has been praying since the dawn of time.  It's who we are:  obedient sons and daughters of God.  It's just sometimes we get so caught up in the drama happening on this stage, we forget there is a director, a script, a purpose.

If you are feeling lost in your role and need assistance from the director, you are promised in the Epistle of James, first chapter and fifth verse, that you will receive a reply:

If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.

It may require work; it may not come all at once; it may require leaving some of the world behind; but if you ask in sincerity, you will receive an answer.  It's your birthright.  God did not send us off without a way to phone home.

There are ways of knowing more solid than this world of illusions.  But we have agency too.  We can choose not to see beyond the end of the stage.

When members stood up and testified that they knew God lives, that Jesus Christ is His son, and that He personally answers prayers, I use to think, There is no way you can know that. Believe, sure--but know, impossible.

I now can add voice to that testimony.  Faith is not only belief in things unseen.  Faith is knowledge of things unseen.  You can't know until you know.  There is no reason to hide doubt.  But doubt is not the human predicament as I once thought.  We can know what our purpose here on earth is.  Maybe not all of it, but enough of it to keep us moving forward.  It starts with the humility to ask.

Of this I testify, in the name of Jesus Christ.  Amen.

This post also appears on my blog, Dry Creek Sustainable Living.

We Instinctively Yearn for Light and Truth (Reflections on a Talk by Deiter F. Uchtdorf and "Sunday Morning Coming Down" by Kris Kristofferson)

It's a little after 7:30; the heater hums.  I can hear the shower in the master bath.  I have a raw throat and a slight headache, and yet all is good.

Three of my sons will be speaking in church today.  The house is full:.  grandma and grandpa,  aunts and uncles.  Marci has made a great dinner, which she started working on last night.  I chipped in, cleaned what I could, still having to monitor how much I do, due to an infection.

I woke up early, showered, and then played a video of a talk by President Deiter F. Uchtdorf, "Receiving a Testimony of Light and Truth."  I have a lesson to teach, but I think I will simply play the video and then let the spirit guide the discussion.  Sometimes that is best--to spend our time in reflection, openness, rather than constructing our message.  Prepare myself mentally, spiritually, but let the content of my lesson unfold according to God's will, not my own, based on the needs of those in attendance.  It's like writing a poem--let the energy of the moment unfold line upon line, or in this case, comment upon comment from the energy of the class.

Besides, there is no way I could mirror Uchtdorf's thoughts adequately.

 

(Excerpt from receiving a Testimony of Light and Truth. For the full video visit lds.org)

While reading it, a song by Chris Kristofferson, "Sunday Morning Coming Down," came to mind.  Not too long ago I was in a priesthood meeting where the teacher said something to the effect that some people are just not as spiritually-wired as others.  It hit me like a brick.  Wrong. 

If God exists and he has sent each of us here with a pathway home, then everyone has within them an instinctive yearning for truth and light.

Europe speaks of a God-shaped hole, a yearning for simplicity, reassurance and light.  The hole exists because a connection has been severed, but the shadow of it, continues to call home.

It is impossible to know what will trigger the desire to dial back into Heavenly Father.  It could be something as simple as Sunday morning coming down.    

 

For me it was a beautiful Thanksgiving day spent with a warm family in El Paso.  They are not members, but being there made me realize what I had walked away from, and as I walked back to my apartment, I could feel a God-shaped hole calling me home.  It is not only alright that we sometimes feel that there is no purpose (that we are floating around disconnected from the life around us), sometimes it is essential.  There is a connection that binds us to something greater than anything this life has to offer, and sometimes it takes a hard Sunday morning coming down to hear the static that lets us know there is someone on the other side of the line holding the phone.

If I Wasn't Mormon, I Would Have Liked to Live the Life of Anthony Bourdain

If I wasn't Mormon, I would have liked to live the life of Anthony Bourdain. Not that I think that would have happened.  Not everyone can live by the motto "I write, I travel, I eat... and I'm hungry... FOR MORE."  There's bills to pay, insecurities to overcome, long, dirty calles in Juarez to get lost in and a white bar with a lone tree out front. Then there's the long walk home (literally, metaphorically) to safety.  But at one time, I would have given anything to eat well, drink well, travel well, write well, and be paid for it.

Now, I wouldn't take that road even if the opportunity opened.  I can't lie, part of me still longs for it--especially to be taken seriously as a writer.  But, I've come to realize I now have something more--something I'm not willing to give up in exchange for even part of that old dream.

This morning, I was reading from Truth Will Prevail from the historical fiction series The Work and the Glory by Gerald N. Lund, which traces the early development of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints through a fictional family's conversion and involvement in it.

For years, I saw those books on my parents shelves and never thought once of picking one up and reading it.  I didn't have anything against the church (other than that I didn't believe it).  I just assumed the books would be literary garbage. I believed (as so many others do) that Mormonism is for the simple minded.   Mormonism and literature simply could not coexist in my mind. Early on, I'd written a poem that summed up my views on the religion I was born into:

The Mormons

Our house
Has avocado colored carpet,
Wallpaper pink,
Soda from the market,
And fresh corn in the sink.

Our mind is mild and cozy.
We always have faith
Because we never think.

Older now, more secure in my own mind, my own abilities, my own culture, I asked my mom if I could have her series of The Work and the Glory.  I didn't expect much, but I opened up the first volume, Like a Fire is Burning, and was immediately pulled in.   

Anyway, this morning I was reading from a portion of Truth Will Prevail, where the son in-law, Carl, who isn't Mormon, accuses the church of actually pulling families apart:

"All right, Carl," Lydia said evenly.  "What is it you find so bothersome about Mormons?"

His chin came up.  The eyes were steady and challenging.  "I think your church tears families apart."

Carl argues that although the church ties families together, it only does this if everyone is Mormon.  If not, it drives a wedge between the family, separating believers from non-believers.

The matriarch of the family, Mary Ann, doesn't argue.  Instead, she shares her own story:

"I'd like to speak of my relationship with Benjamin."  The corners of her mouth softened with the memories of long ago times.  "I loved Benjamin Steed since I first saw him.  He's always been a good man.  But he was also one of the most stubborn men I know.  Hardheaded as a piece of granite.  You met him not long after he joined the church, so you've never really known him except as a Latter-day Saint.  But I can tell you this--the gospel change him, Carl, changed him in ways that I never dreamed were possible.

Tears suddenly welled up, as much to her surprise as to the others'.  "He's so gentle, so much more patient now..."      
  
I know that does happen.  Not necessarily at first.  There can be a lot of inner turmoil when you first commit to live the gospel principles.  Satan works overtime.  This can lead to either inconsistent application of church values (which is what I went through when I first became active again) or it can lead to over-zealous behavior--trying to force family members and others to believe, live and behave just as you (which is what my father did for a while).

But, once you are firm in your Faith, the gospel does change you. Unfortunately, for my older sons, this happened after they no longer lived at home.  I was never a bad parent, but I did have a horrible temper and shouted and yelled a lot, as well as slammed doors and stormed out of the house.  Like Benjamin, I've softened.  I feel at peace.  I felt this way this year even while dealing with a very painful illness for over six months.  

I treat Marci better, I treat my boys better, and I'm more involved in their lives.  Not as much as I should be, but I'm working on it, because I want to work on it.    
In the past, I was mainly good out of guilt.  At one point (long ago) my personal life was a wreck, but I was kind.  Not because I wanted to be.  But out of guilt.  I wanted to redeem myself.  Deep down I didn't like who I was, but I wanted to.  So, I cared about the right things, seeking some sort of redemption.  But, I was always on the edge of lashing out because I wasn't happy with myself.

But as I've drawn closer to God, I want to improve not because I don't like who I am, but because the change feels good and makes me want more of it. I'm more careful with my words, a little better at listening, and desire less for acknowledgement (though there is still some of that) and more for simple involvement in life.  

Perhaps everyone experiences this once they commit to live their religion fully. I don't know.  I only know my own experience.  And having experienced it, I can tell you that is why so many convert to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and remain active.  It works.  It brings happiness.  People change.  Life becomes easier--not because life changes--but because they change.

Of course, this isn't true for everyone.  People do leave the church, and some actively seek to destroy it.  They have their reasons, and I'm not here to discount them.

I feel my only job as a writer is to bear witness--to write on life and the world as I see it, then get it out there the best I can (which I'm not always that successful at) and let others decide for themselves.  This is true whether I'm writing about politics, art or my religion.

If I wasn't Mormon, I'd like to live the life of Anthony Bourdain.  I like writing, I like eating, and I like travel, and I use to like drinking too--a whole lot. But, because I'm Mormon, these days, I'm more concerned with how did I talk to Marci today, or have I spent enough time interacting with my boys.  I'm not where I'd like to be, but I'm moving in the right direction and that feels good, very good.     
  

Marci and Everest, Oregon Coast, December 2008

Tyler, Mitchell, Rio and Everest, Southern California, January 2009