In her thoughtful and enlightening book Leaving Eden, Amber Esplin tells the story of a young girl named Judith. Near the end of the novel, Judith’s brother dies and she confronts the chasm that opens in his absence. Though Judith must at first face the bitter sadness that inevitably accompanies death, she finds some catharsis in the Gospel and eventually settles into a tenuous peace. She finds, in fact, that her brother’s death gives substance to the spiritual forms that had formerly seemed, to her, quite unreal. This epiphany grants Judith a new perspective on life; in the novel’s closing pages, Esplin gives voice to some of Judith’s resulting thoughts:
“Judith had reached the edge of the park now. A white gazebo stood a little way off, in the center, and a few lights glowed mistily through the trees. A fine, cold rain tingled against her face. She inhaled deeply. On a night like this, it was easy to believe in eternity, easy to think of herself as a wanderer on this planet, a lonely traveler yearning for a home that was nowhere on this earth. She had all sorts of maps and compasses to get her back where she belonged, is she’d just be patient and stay on the path. But it was such a long journey. What if her mind wandered, just for a little while? She thought of the ladies gathered at the Church last fall, those women gluing dried plants while they talked about Gabriel’s imminent death. Some of them probably knew what it meant to grieve; Judith understood now, especially since her conversation with her mother, that people’s outward persona was only a fraction of their true selves. Perhaps many of them had experienced a night like this, a time when they stood alone beneath the misty lights and glittering stars and whispered to themselves, ‘I’ll make it home. I see the path clearly now, and I’ll get there.’ Had they managed to stay on the path ever since, or had there been detours? Where were they on that very night? Judith almost wished she could have asked them, though she couldn’t think how she would have phrased the question. ‘How did you stay true to your moment of truth?’ She might have said. ‘When times had passed and you had to do all the usual things just to keep life moving along, when your days became filled again with household chores or school or work, how did you remember what was important? How did you clear a view through all those distractions so you could keep your eyes fixed on eternity?’�
Many (or most?) who belong to the Church have some deeply spiritual reason for so doing. For some, death and a night alone amidst the stars give birth to a brilliant epiphany. For others, the knowledge comes more gradually—accumulating like age—but is still just as profound. For still others, missionaries bring a spirit and testimony that open up new spiritual vistas.
For me, the knowing occurred most dramatically when I was fourteen. I went, that summer, to the sacred grove and knelt to ask for knowledge—none came. Four months later, however, I was preparing a home-teaching lesson when, while reading in JSH, I came across these words: “I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me….� Without any other noticeable impetus (I had largely forgotten my experience in the woods from a few months before), testimony burned “like fire in my bones� and the spirit cascaded upon me—a waterfall of warmth, knowledge, and assurance.
As Esplin points out, however, the knowing itself is not enough—it is the nurturing of testimony that requires lifelong devotion. Indeed, beyond just caring for testimony, we are asked to be daily disciples; we are asked to take up the cross and seek—whether at work, school, recreation, or home—to strive to be more like Jesus.
And so, I ask: how do we keep our eyes fixed on eternity while we are engaged in temporalities? How do we keep testimony, fragile as a moonbeam, burning brightly? How do we, with crying children, or pressing deadlines, or a belligerent boss, or clueless co-workers, or abusive parents, or unfaithful spouses, or departing parents, or intellectual doubts, or any other of life’s myriad concerns, seek to be more like Jesus? How do we, despite and because of what befalls us, keep becoming the people God wants us to be?
A question that calls for real introspection, and not just a pithy comment.
It won’t stop me from making one, however.
I think we must continue having those nights under the stars. We can’t just rely on, say, the testimony we gained on our mission to take us through the rest of our lives. Sometimes we can see the presence of Deity as deal with crying children, feel his love toward a belligerent boss, see God’s plan through departing parents, etc. That is where we are striving to be. But when we get caught up in the madness of it all, we can return to the Sacred Grove and feel for that presence once again.
A big and important subject. One thing that is useful is to recognize, as you nicely put it, that a testimony is as fragile as a moonbeam. Testimony is much more tenuous than the average Saint seems to realize. I have witnessed many testimonies supposedly made of granite shatter like glass over the silliest things. Recognition that a testimony is not a one-time endowment but rather requires nurturing is the first step to preserving it intact.
This reminds me of the worlds of Alma, If ye have felt to sing the song of redeeming love, Can you feel so now?
Spiritual rebirth is not an event. It is a journey in becoming something Celestial. Thanks for the reminder.
Bored in Vernal–
I appreciate your insights. As you point out, part of nurturing testimony is assuring we have many nights amongst the stars. The tricky part here, I have found, is that I cannot force testimony. I love the line D&C that says “then shall the doctrine of the Priesthood distill upon thy soul as the dew from heaven.” I have often thought about going to a field, concentrating on the grass, and trying to will dew to appear–obviously an absurd idea. Still, sometimes I try to will testimony to awake within me and I think it works about as well. Don’t misunderstand, we certainly need to search, ponder, pray, and prepare–the word can only sprout in fertile ground–still the moments of spiritual ephiphany, at least dramatic ones, can be rare enough to warrant a plan for preserving testimony and discipleship between the flows of pure intelligence.
Kevin,
I think President McKay put it that way before I did, so we’ll have to pass on the compliment (: But, yes, testimony is much more tenouous than we often think. If we aren’t careful, it can grown brittle even as we think it is vital.
Doc,
A journey indeed. One tricky part, for me, is that we cannot, unfortunately, remain in those brilliant night forever. We all have to enter back into the everyday world–it is keeping the flame bright amidst all our other cares that takes a lot of doing.
Tyler –
The answer to your question lies in the title to your post. We need to hold to a daily goal to engage in at least one piece of Christian discipleship, regardless of how little or how great.
I carry it with my like the Boy Scout slogan to \”Do One Good Turn Daily.\”
This is the essense of my morning prayer when I get up every morning in keeping with the spirit of \’Not my will but thine be done today.\”
Tyler: I am familiar with the “moonbeam concept” and the fragility of testimonies, those that, as Kevin puts its, are “supposedly made of granite, [but] shatter like glass.” I think it tells us how careful we need to be with every action we take to make sure, when dealing with fellow Saints, we “build, don’t bruise,” “compliment, don’t criticize,” and “lift, don’t lean.”
Also, while we surely need daily acts of discipleship/tesimony building, I wonder whether a “reservoir concept” would serve us well when it comes to thinking about testimonies. Under this analogy, every act of daily discipleship adds water to a stored pool that we draw upon as we need to–some water flowing in and some water flowing out, so to speak, regularaly. This is similar to President Kimball’s thoughts that we fill our lamps with oil based on regular acts of service. It’s not so much about building “testimonies of granite,” but fluid resevoirs of faith. I haven’t completely developed the analogy, and I suppose some sort of conveyance filcility is needed as part of it. But, I like the thought that there is something “stored” that can be drawn upon. Many people seem to function this way–they weather spiritual droughts by drawing upon faith that has built up over time. One way we keep becoming the people God wants us to be is to keep the testimony reservoir as full as possible.
Flannery O’Connor lets The Misfit (from “A Good Man Is Hard to Find”) express the answer something like, “If somebody had held a gun to her head every second of her life, she’da been a good person.” There is something about facing our mortality and inevitable death which makes us WANT to be better disciples and helps us see others as our “own bab[ies]” (again quoting from O’Connor). In the temple, we do sort of practise dying. I find that a good rehearsal, and was most struck by it the day after my best friend died in a car accident. The words I spoke at the veil conveyed an image of resurrection which I still remember vividly whenever I stand ready to enter God’s presence. I come home from the temple hoping to be a better disciple. That is NOT true, however, of my church experience. I am too concerned with the details of the day to let Sacrament Meeting create the sacred space in my soul which the temple, where I leave my own identity behind, in a way, and remove myself from my domestic concerns, creates.
Another thought, not necessarily connected: On another blog at T&S a Presbyterian minister asked us if the LDS religion is THE true and living religion or A true and living religion. I thought a bit about the articles in the sentence and then went a different direction entirely. My thought was that no religion is a living religion unless it lives in the heart and soul of the individual believer. Even good deeds can be compelled or perfunctory. If the LDS faith is THE true and living religion, it has little relevance to someone not actively delving into it, and no relevance at all to any not participating in it. Trees falling in a forest.
Roland,
I agree. Daily discipleship, especially as exemplified by selfless service, tends to keep our testimonies vibrant.
Beesh,
I appreciate your comments about a resevoir. I suppose, in one sense, none of our testimonies are as solid as granite; or, at least, the rock upon which we should build is not our own testimony but the Savior (Hel. 5:12). Our own testimonies are never surely sound and strong, the Savior always is. I do believe, as you point out, that we may fill our lamps with oil and then draw on that resevoir when the night turns dark.
Margaret,
Such a beautiful comment, I had not thought of the Temple as a reminder of our own mortality–funny how something so obvious can be so elusive! I will admit that I do not leave every sacrament meeting with a renewed fervor of dsicipleship, though I have often felt renewed there, often in spite of myself. As you point out, however, the Temple affords us a special, sacred, quiet space to remember who we really are. I have found that the more often I attend the temple the better able I am to carry a vision of my real identity with me amidst the cares of the day.
I think about this question a lot. In addition to the daily discipleship practice (prayer, scripture study), we must truly treasure and believe in those moments of truth. We must allow those sacred rays of enlightenment to be real and vibrant in our hearts and in our minds. Nietzsche wrote something like, “the more abstract the truth is that you would teach, the more you must seduce the senses to it.” I think something parallel relates to our spiritual epiphanies….amidst life’s chaos we need to allow ourselves space to savor the moments that allow us to remember the divine within and our loving relationship with Heavenly Father. That’s why I like yoga and meditation (and sanctified prayers, in contrast to the quickies) — these practices allow me to create a prayerful space to feel, as well as to think, about sacred moments like the night under the stars that you mention.
I analyze my own actions every single day of my life. Why do I stay in the Church? despite being a complete misfit and having serious misgivings about the purported origins of the Church.
I stay because of a combination of factors I’ve observed over my life — a deep “spiritual” power is only one of these (and I’m not sure I’ve ever felt it). I stay primarily because I like what a belief in the Church makes people become, and I’d like to be one of those. I struggle between feeling mistrust in a Church that would have me transform myself (like there’s something wrong with me!) into a spiritual being, and knowing that “transformation” is exactly the point.
For two separate periods in my life, I stopped attending for a time. In both cases, I ended up feeling quite lost. Have I been brainwashed since my birth to feel this? Nonetheless, returning to the fold has alleviated real depression, because it is where I’m safe and embraced.
Some people have suggested that living Church principles is a courageous act, because they’re so difficult, so demanding. I actually disagree. The Church/Gospel is a survival guide, providing rules of comfort and ease in this very difficult and stressful mortal life. Obeying the Commandments makes life easier, not harder.
And I have felt spiritual presence, though perhaps in little details more than the “big vision.” Fathers tending their babies in the foyer and giving heartfelt blessings and confirmations. Bishops who started out as awkward speakers suddenly revealing wisdom and grace over the pulpit. Busy career women making time to throw successful ward dinners, and teach supremely fulfilling Sunday School lessons. The level of service in our Church is quite remarkable — I’m often amazed to note the people who show up to “clean” our building, including retired executives with $100 million in their bank accounts.
All these little details of my Church-going life that I’ve observed have each made me want to stay and contribute what I can. And one more thing… I live alone and I don’t have children. I like to see the children, to hear them laugh (and cry), and I imagine that the Church is only beginning to influence their lives, to transform them into spiritual beings, so that the journey ahead will be rich, fulfilling, and marked by grace.
Thank you, Tyler, for this vital reminder and comforting thoughts. The comments too have been wonderful. Margaret referred to the question if the LDS religion is THE true and living religion or A true and living religion. I wonder if we can split: Mormonism is A living religion and THE true religion. The former because we believe all religions can help people improve themselves, do good to fellowmen and grow closer to God, the latter because the First Vision and the Restoration confirm, at least for us, the uniqueness of this claim. Which still obliges us to respect all religions in the knowledge that all have some parts of the truth.
Is it silly to think that going through the daily routines of life is part of being christlike? Does he not have to go through tedious things? Does he not have to deal with people he may (if he were weaker) rather not deal with? I think one lesson is to see some purpose in the boring every day stuff and perhaps not to expect some brilliant spiritual events every few hours.
This topic touches something I have been thinking about lately. There have been times when I have felt the Divine Presence so strongly that all I had the strength to do was cry. There have been times when it seems more like Heavenly Father is nothing more than my Invisible Friend. Right now, I am somewhere in between. As I look at events over the last year, I can clearly see His hand in my and my family’s life, but I haven’t really felt His presence much. I struggle every day to try to get that feeling back.
That is one of the great things about the Bloggernacle; I see other people making the same kind of choices I do, with similar struggles. I know I am not completely alone in my journey.
Robin,
“Amidst life’s chaos we need to allow ourselves space to savor the moments that allow us to remember the divine within and our loving relationship with Heavenly Father.” Beautifully put.
D. Fletcher,
You express your thoughts beautifully. Like you, I have sometimes fuond the most touching expressions of divine grace are the actions of others, especially those who don’t know I am watching but who act gracefully, anyway.
Wilfried,
I think you distinction is imporant and correct. People can only operate within the sphere delineated by the truth and knowledge they have received; hence, many people of all stripes are living according to all the truth they know. Still, I think the important of a true church is basic to our doctrine.
Eric,
I agree that it is helpful to remember that Christ walked dusty streets and must have experienced something of the tedium and annoyance that are sometimes part of life.
CS Eric,
Perhaps the spiritual sine wave you describe is natural–even the most spiritual people I know more often seem to experience peace rather than some kind of flash of brilliant spiritual light.
In the wonderful movie adaptation of C.S. Lewis and Joy Gresham’s relationship, “Shadowlands,” Lewis learns from one student, then teaches to others, “we read to know we are not alone.”
Comments 13 and 15 are meant to be read together.
Hello Tyler,
For my part, I like believing that God knew before I was ever born that I was going to be a ragamuffin, and he loved me then, he loves me now, and no matter what, he will love me unconditionally tomorrow. That is the one thing that gives me the courage to keep on trying to do my best.
Spencer W. Kimball is oft-quoted as saying that \”remember\” is the most important word in the dictionary. On that note, when \”sore trials are upon us\” (or small trials, or laundry, or other good and bad things that can distract us), I think it is particularly important to remember – to remember our testimonies and remember the feeling of the Spirit and remember our eternal desires and remember Jesus Christ.
I think this is at the heart of the \”reservoir\” concept that Beesh mentions. We must fill our hearts so fully with the Spirit and with testimony that when we must truly exercise faith, we can.
For me, one of the most beautiful passages of scripture is D&C 6:22-23:
\”Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
Did I not speak apeace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?\”
Preethi,
Spencer Kimball, of all people and all prophets, would know the importance of remembering the Lord when things get tough. I imagine he had nights (probably many of them) when he had to rely on remembering times when God had spoken peace to his mind (not tom imply he was often far from God, just that his life was unusually difficult and humbling, from what I can tell).
Preethi: The reservoir of faith certainly is larger when we tap into (re-member) feelings and teachings from the past, possibily, at times, from our pre-earthly existence. How did we act there? What decisions did we make there? Who did we know there? etc.