Monday, August 16, 2004
What I learned in church
Yesterday in Church I found that the lessons taught in Sacrament Meeting, Sunday School, and Elders’ Quorum all kind of fit together in a way. At least there were some common themes.
Sacrament meeting focused on Proverbs 3:5 (“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not unto thy own understanding) and Psalm 23 (“The Lord is my shepherd”). The overriding themes in both talks was submitting your will to the Lord’s, letting him lead you, and developing the attitude that you need to really become a true disciple. C.S. Lewis was quoted as having said, “I don’t pray to change God; I pray to change myself.” (There’s a whole other essay to be written about how C.S. Lewis is treated in the LDS church as practically the “Thirteenth Apostle,” and how everything he says is practically scripture, although he knew of and explicitly rejected Mormonism during his lifetime. The relationship between Lewis and Mormonism, both during and after his life, is a fascinating topic that deserves more study.) We were exhorted to develop our own “sheephood,” so we learn to follow the Lord without questions.
Sunday School discussed perhaps the most spiritually meaty chapters in the Book of Mormon: Alma 40-42. Again, Lewis was quoted extensively, and we focused on the passages about restoration and resurrection that emphasize that whatever our desires are in this life, we’ll be restored to that in the next life. If we desire good, we’ll be restored to good. If we desire evil (and the class discussion decided that “to desire evil” means not necessarily to actively work for Satan’s domination of mankind, but rather to have (and act on) desires which are unrighteous—that is, to give in to temptation), we’ll be restored to evil. It’s an amazing aspect of the plan of salvation that although there are a lot of different degrees of glory and exaltation in the eternities, most everyone is going to be happy—or at least content—with what they have, because everyone is going to get what they want. Those of us who really want and expect and work toward the highest level of exaltation available—a state unique to LDS doctrine—are going to get it (assuming we do what we know is necessary to get it). Those of other faiths who just want to live the eternities out as some sort of angel are going to get something like that in the end. Those who don’t expect much out of the afterlife and don’t live their lives in a way that would give them much aren’t going to get much. It all comes down to what you desire, expect, and work for. That brings us back to the Sacrament Meeting topic of trying to change ourselves and our desires through prayer, and through developing sheephood so that we desire what Jesus Christ desires for us.
Then came priesthood meeting, where the topic was forgiveness. Not particularly related to sheephood or the plan of salvation on its surface, but this lesson—a few aspects of it in particular—brought it all home to me. After a lengthy discussion what forgiveness is and what often stops us from forgiving others, someone brought up that forgiveness really isn’t for the benefit of the offending person, or even for the Lord; forgiveness is for the forgiver. There is a state of happiness which comes to you when you have the strength and power to forgive someone of an offense. The lack of forgiveness—holding a grudge, maintaining anger and rage, avoiding the person, etc.—is a very unhappy state, and very contrary to the nature of God.
The teacher mentioned the story of Enos, and how it had been pointed out to him that we often talk about how great it was for Enos to first pray for himself, then for his friends (the Nephites), and then for his enemies (the Lamanites). But in a very personal application of that pattern to our own modern lives, who are the Lamanites? It was suggested that a good analogy would be to al Quaeda. The terrorists, like the Lamanites, have ideological differences the make them simply want to kill us and put an end to our way of life. Maybe the analogy isn’t totally perfect, but I got to thinking about that. We were told that in order to forgive someone, we should try to understand where the other person is coming from, and particularly to remember that he is a child of God as well. We should pray for them, as Enos prayed for the Lamanites. “Heavenly Father, please bless Osama bin Laden.” That thought kind of made me shudder. Bless my family, sure. But bless the man who wants to destroy my beloved country? Then I thought of the original C.S. Lewis quote: “I don’t pray to change God; I pray to change myself.” If I pray for Osama bin Laden, how will that change my attitude about him? About life in general? How will it affect my desires—the desires that will be the basis for my eternal reward? It will start me to thinking about the terrorists as children of God, as real people with real feelings and real problems. It will make me truly more likely to forgive them, or at least to try to understand them.
I imagined myself going home from church and proposing to Shelly that we include al Quaeda in our prayers. First, I laughed to myself because of the reaction I imagined Shelly would have. She’s a bit hard-headed at times, and I don’t think the idea would go over very well with her. I thought more about that and remembered specifically why it would be harder for Shelly than for me. She was working at the U.S. Capitol on September 11, 2001. The plane that went down in Pennsylvania was aimed at her. Osama bin Laden wanted to kill her, personally. That’s quite a bit to forgive. It becomes far more difficult to pray for someone who has actually tried to murder you than for a general enemy of your people. But the Lord has said that we are required to forgive all men. So do Shelly and I really have to forgive the terrorists for trying to kill her? It’s not like we go around every day harboring any more rage or anger against them than anyone else. The only thing Shelly carries around is a single gray hair that she says she first noticed on September 12—not a grudge, per se. Does the Lord really require us to consciously forgive something as terrible as what happened that day? But if we did pray for the terrorists, would it change us? Would our desires become more righteous? Would we become better sheep? Could we forgive the terrorists, even if we don’t feel that we have to? Must we? Would we be happier, even though we don’t feel particularly unhappy now? Terrorists aside, how can these principles work in our relationships with other people?
Sacrament meeting focused on Proverbs 3:5 (“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not unto thy own understanding) and Psalm 23 (“The Lord is my shepherd”). The overriding themes in both talks was submitting your will to the Lord’s, letting him lead you, and developing the attitude that you need to really become a true disciple. C.S. Lewis was quoted as having said, “I don’t pray to change God; I pray to change myself.” (There’s a whole other essay to be written about how C.S. Lewis is treated in the LDS church as practically the “Thirteenth Apostle,” and how everything he says is practically scripture, although he knew of and explicitly rejected Mormonism during his lifetime. The relationship between Lewis and Mormonism, both during and after his life, is a fascinating topic that deserves more study.) We were exhorted to develop our own “sheephood,” so we learn to follow the Lord without questions.
Sunday School discussed perhaps the most spiritually meaty chapters in the Book of Mormon: Alma 40-42. Again, Lewis was quoted extensively, and we focused on the passages about restoration and resurrection that emphasize that whatever our desires are in this life, we’ll be restored to that in the next life. If we desire good, we’ll be restored to good. If we desire evil (and the class discussion decided that “to desire evil” means not necessarily to actively work for Satan’s domination of mankind, but rather to have (and act on) desires which are unrighteous—that is, to give in to temptation), we’ll be restored to evil. It’s an amazing aspect of the plan of salvation that although there are a lot of different degrees of glory and exaltation in the eternities, most everyone is going to be happy—or at least content—with what they have, because everyone is going to get what they want. Those of us who really want and expect and work toward the highest level of exaltation available—a state unique to LDS doctrine—are going to get it (assuming we do what we know is necessary to get it). Those of other faiths who just want to live the eternities out as some sort of angel are going to get something like that in the end. Those who don’t expect much out of the afterlife and don’t live their lives in a way that would give them much aren’t going to get much. It all comes down to what you desire, expect, and work for. That brings us back to the Sacrament Meeting topic of trying to change ourselves and our desires through prayer, and through developing sheephood so that we desire what Jesus Christ desires for us.
Then came priesthood meeting, where the topic was forgiveness. Not particularly related to sheephood or the plan of salvation on its surface, but this lesson—a few aspects of it in particular—brought it all home to me. After a lengthy discussion what forgiveness is and what often stops us from forgiving others, someone brought up that forgiveness really isn’t for the benefit of the offending person, or even for the Lord; forgiveness is for the forgiver. There is a state of happiness which comes to you when you have the strength and power to forgive someone of an offense. The lack of forgiveness—holding a grudge, maintaining anger and rage, avoiding the person, etc.—is a very unhappy state, and very contrary to the nature of God.
The teacher mentioned the story of Enos, and how it had been pointed out to him that we often talk about how great it was for Enos to first pray for himself, then for his friends (the Nephites), and then for his enemies (the Lamanites). But in a very personal application of that pattern to our own modern lives, who are the Lamanites? It was suggested that a good analogy would be to al Quaeda. The terrorists, like the Lamanites, have ideological differences the make them simply want to kill us and put an end to our way of life. Maybe the analogy isn’t totally perfect, but I got to thinking about that. We were told that in order to forgive someone, we should try to understand where the other person is coming from, and particularly to remember that he is a child of God as well. We should pray for them, as Enos prayed for the Lamanites. “Heavenly Father, please bless Osama bin Laden.” That thought kind of made me shudder. Bless my family, sure. But bless the man who wants to destroy my beloved country? Then I thought of the original C.S. Lewis quote: “I don’t pray to change God; I pray to change myself.” If I pray for Osama bin Laden, how will that change my attitude about him? About life in general? How will it affect my desires—the desires that will be the basis for my eternal reward? It will start me to thinking about the terrorists as children of God, as real people with real feelings and real problems. It will make me truly more likely to forgive them, or at least to try to understand them.
I imagined myself going home from church and proposing to Shelly that we include al Quaeda in our prayers. First, I laughed to myself because of the reaction I imagined Shelly would have. She’s a bit hard-headed at times, and I don’t think the idea would go over very well with her. I thought more about that and remembered specifically why it would be harder for Shelly than for me. She was working at the U.S. Capitol on September 11, 2001. The plane that went down in Pennsylvania was aimed at her. Osama bin Laden wanted to kill her, personally. That’s quite a bit to forgive. It becomes far more difficult to pray for someone who has actually tried to murder you than for a general enemy of your people. But the Lord has said that we are required to forgive all men. So do Shelly and I really have to forgive the terrorists for trying to kill her? It’s not like we go around every day harboring any more rage or anger against them than anyone else. The only thing Shelly carries around is a single gray hair that she says she first noticed on September 12—not a grudge, per se. Does the Lord really require us to consciously forgive something as terrible as what happened that day? But if we did pray for the terrorists, would it change us? Would our desires become more righteous? Would we become better sheep? Could we forgive the terrorists, even if we don’t feel that we have to? Must we? Would we be happier, even though we don’t feel particularly unhappy now? Terrorists aside, how can these principles work in our relationships with other people?
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