Talk

Josh and I spoke in sacrament meeting last week. Doing so gave me the chance to put into words some thoughts I've had jumbling around in my head. A few people have asked me for copies, so I thought I'd stick it here for easy access. Sorry for the REALLY long post as a result.

Finding Strength in Weakness
In the talk we’ve been discussing this month, “He Heals the Heavy Laden,” Elder Oaks offers the simple but powerful message that by developing a relationship with Christ—one that includes an application of the Atonement—we can receive comfort from the pain inflicted by our burdens. The burdens that Elder Oaks mentions specifically range from the death of a loved one to physical and mental impairments to various addictions, same-gender attraction, and feelings of inadequacy and depression. To this list we might add financial hardships, strained familial relationships, anxiety or uncertainty about the future, an exhausting schedule, feelings of isolation, and countless others.

The Atonement can offer us a way toward literally overcoming every single one of these trials, no matter their nature; indeed, Elder Oaks reminds us that “His [Christ’s] Atonement reaches and is powerful enough not only to pay the price for sin but also to heal every mortal affliction.” I fear that in my life the profundity of such an idea is often lost to the deceptive simplicity of the language with which it is communicated. Even so, I have heard, as have we all, miraculous stories—both ancient and modern—of literal healings and physical blessings.

But today I’d like to focus on an aspect of the Atonement that is perhaps less easily captured in memorable stories and yet likely more common to our everyday experience. This aspect of the Atonement relates to the fact that though God has the power to relieve all of our burdens, there are some that he would rather remained with us, for our own ultimate good. Elder Oaks says that “although the Savior could heal all whom He would heal, this is not true of those who hold His priesthood authority. Mortal exercises of that authority are limited by the will of Him whose priesthood it is.” And we know that God’s ways do not always correspond with our ways and desires. We learn in Mosiah 23: 20-21 that Alma’s people, after living righteously, “did multiply and prosper exceedingly…Nevertheless the Lord seeth fit to chasten his people; yeah, he trieth their patience and faith,” and thus they were “brought into bondage.” This example shows us that we may be given trials—really big trials—for no other reason than for our spiritual welfare.

But even so, the Lord does not leave us to struggle through such trials by ourselves. Much of Elder Oak’s talk is devoted to the second of the twin meanings of healing, which at once denotes literal change or rectification and a change that is brought about by, in his words, “being given strength or understanding or patience to bear the burdens placed upon us.” Let’s turn now to the central scripture of Elder Oaks’ talk: Matthew 11:28-30: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart; and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Within these verses lies a paradox—by taking on a yoke, a word that connotes hard physical labor, we will find rest. I think we can better understand this seeming contradiction by looking at Ether 12:27, which begins, “And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness.” My dad pointed out to me the significance of the fact that the word weakness here is singular rather than plural. This implies that the verse is not talking about weaknesses in the sense a laundry list of problems we might have, but an actual condition of humanity. In other words, we as humans are weak and therefore will always be yoked to something. And, to put it simply, that thing can be sin or it can be Christ. And if we yoke ourselves to Christ rather than choosing to be trapped in our sins and attempts at self-reliance, the burden will indeed feel light in comparison and offer us rest.

Such a discussion may seem to imply that we are weak because we are fallen; therefore, weakness is a flawed state, something to escape. And in some ways, it is. But weakness of a certain type is also something to cultivate; in fact, it can be the source of great strength. Going back to our scripture in Matthew, we can see that Christ teaches us to not only take on his yoke but also to learn of him. And then he gives us some reasons that learning about him will be so effective. And those reasons are that he is “meek” and “lowly in heart.” In other words, by learning about one who is meek and lowly, we will be better equipped to follow the pattern the Savior established in John 5:30, when he says “I can of mine own self do nothing….I seek not mine own will, but the will of the Father which hath sent me.” Weakness teaches us the submission necessary to develop a relationship with God.

Elder Oaks shares Paul’s realization of this truth in 2 Corinthians 12: 9-10, when Paul has been lamenting the “thorn in the flesh” he has been burdened with, which is some sort of weakness he has asked the Lord three times to literally remove. And the Lord’s response is thus: “My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.” That statement seems a little perplexing. Why would our weakness be required to make God’s strength perfect? And what does the word perfect mean in this context?

There are other times when we hear the word perfect used such. In Matthew 5:48 we are admonished to “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.” The footnote in this scripture offers some clues, when it defines perfect as “complete, finished, or fully developed.” When we think of the Lord’s answer to Paul in this way, we can understand how Paul’s weakness—the very fact that he is fragmented and insufficient by himself—is the very thing that allows him to be complemented, rather like a jigsaw puzzle piece, by God’s strength. Alone, we are not complete. And it is only when we recognize our dependence and allow grace into our lives that we are able to be yoked with Christ.

In Colossians 3:14 we learn that charity is the “bond of perfectness,” another indication that the wholeness of perfection requires a joining of two disparate parts that are bound together by what the Bible Dictionary calls the “strongest type of love.” Placed in this context, the poetic words found in John 15:4 take on a new intensity, as we are commanded to “Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me.”

C.S. Lewis, in his essay “Membership,” turns a well-known maxim on its head in the following statement: “You have often heard that though in the world we hold different stations, yet we are all equal in the sight of God. There are, of course, senses in which this is true. God is no accepter of persons; His love for us is not measured by our social rank or our intellectual talents. But I believe there is a sense in which this maxim is the reverse of the truth. I am going to venture to say that artificial equality is necessary in the life of the State, but that in the Church we strip off this disguise, we recover our real inequalities, and are thereby refreshed and quickened.” I take this to mean that though we strive for self-sufficiency and for what may be superficial equality in a worldly sense, neither trait is necessary, or even helpful, in our relationship with God. The things that make us unequal—our individual weaknesses—as well as the human condition of being weak become assets in a spiritual sense if we learn from them a humility that results in a readier submission to our Lord.

My talk so far has been fairly abstract, so I’d like to bring it down now to the level of everyday living. In a talk directed to BYU students called “Our Strengths Can Become Our Downfall,” Elder Oaks cautions his audience against distorting or taking to the extreme traits and characteristics that could otherwise be strengths. He discusses, among other things, the perils of all-consuming patriotism, inordinate Church service, an over-reliance on faith over works and study, an overzealous love of work, and a too intense focus on achieving goals whatever the means. Among these topics, he discusses one that is particularly relevant to my talk, and that is an excessive sense of self-reliance. He warns, “We are told to be self-reliant, to provide for ourselves and those dependent upon us. But success at that effort can easily escalate into materialism. This happens through carrying the virtue of ‘providing for our own’ to the point of excessive concern with accumulating the treasures of the earth.” My husband, Josh, was reading a book related to Mormon culture, in which the author (who was neither Mormon nor Utahan) concluded through research and visits to this state that the Utah dream is to be a millionaire. I’m not sure whether that’s true and I don’t mean to equate “Utahan” with “Mormon,” but I thought it was an interesting observation and one that squares with Elder Oaks’ conclusion, as he says later on that materialism seems to be a “peculiar Mormon” problem.

But I wonder if this desire to be self-sufficient—or far beyond self-sufficient—materially isn’t equally common in a spiritual sense. I find myself falling into a trap sometimes of seeking to live what we might call the “Sunday school answers” version of the gospel. That is, if I “read, pray, and go to Church,” my bases will be covered, my spiritual welfare will be assured. I find myself tempted to learn doctrines on my own from the scriptures, apply them on my own in my daily life, fulfill my duties at Church in a formulaic way, and ask the Lord for things that I want. Such a pattern leads to false feelings of self-sufficiency, and what is left out of this equation is the development of humility and dependence, which is essential if we are to accept both the comfort and redemption that Christ’s Atonement offers.

Yet, if we are used to striving for spiritual self-reliance, the conscious attainment of humility can be difficult. Again to quote C.S. Lewis, this time from the Screwtape Letters, a devil gives advice to one of his associates, who is trying to recruit a good man, by saying, “Your patient has become humble; have you drawn his attention to the fact?” Rather than working to acquire humility, it might be best to follow the example of the humble around us. One such example I have found is in the missionary Joseph Millet, a man who was called to serve in Nova Scotia shortly before his nineteenth birthday. Eugene England writes that Millet “made his way, essentially alone and literally penniless, across a continent that was still mainly wilderness or frontier.” Here are a couple of Millet’s journal entries, which beautifully but simply record his humble countenance:

August 1, 1853: “In the last two weeks I have held two meetings in private houses. I have to depend upon the Lord, not on Brother Adamson. I have felt rather shy about asking favors of people; had rather go into the woods, pick blueberries, bless them and eat, and felt myself welcome. I find myself in rather straitened circumstances, although I have some friends.”

“April 14, 1853: I went into Yarmouth. Came back to Mr. Grace’s. He treated me kindly. I stayed until Saturday. Started for Halifax. Left Cape Sable to my right hand. Traveled two hundred ten miles around the coast capes and bays to get to Halifax. I had to rely upon Him whose business I was on. I felt my weakness. A poor, ill-clothed, ignorant boy in my teens, thousands of miles from home, amongst strangers. The promise in my Blessings, the encouraging words of President Young to me, with the faith I had in the Gospel, kept me up. Many a time I would turn into the woods and brush in some desolate place, with a full heart, wet eyes and face, to call on my Master for strength and aid. I believed the Gospel of Christ.”

In my own life, fear—though the opposite of faith—has been a way into humility that has ultimately led to an increase in my faith. Before becoming pregnant, there didn’t seem to be too much in my life that I couldn’t control—though I’ve already discussed the follies of such an assumption. If I studied hard, I did well in school. If I exercised, I became physically fit, if I budgeted my money, I was able to stay out of debt. etc. But upon learning that I was pregnant, I suddenly became almost consumed by fear—fear of a miscarriage, fear of physical pain, fear of inadequacy, fear of losing—whether physically or figuratively—this person that I incomprehensibly loved so much already. However, in the ensuing months I’ve been able to see this fear, this vulnerability, in a new light as I’ve come to understand that it for me has revealed the true state of things in all areas of my life. I am vulnerable. I am subject to loss and pain. I am imperfect. I am not enough. And that is why I need Christ. And so I leave you with the hope that we can all come to the same conclusion as Paul, who proclaims, “Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.”

I bear testimony that this is true. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.