Something about this earth life scared one third of the spirit children of God so badly that they rebelled rather than come here. I suspect it was sin, and having one's weaknesses made public before God, angels, and everyone on earth who happened to witness our folly unfold in mortality. Satan's position before he rebelled was described by Joseph Smith as "godified" (though this made up adjective was later edited to something grammatically correct). Who would want to fall from such a station to being a lowly, squirming baby, who then turned into a lowly man, not too smart and easily beset by sin? Ironically, it is piety that rebels most furiously. Sinners and publicans did not kill Jesus; it was the leaders, the hypocritical "whited sepulchers," who conspired to put Jesus to death. The most self-righteous people were the most offended at Jesus, while other people whose sins were enmeshed in their identities (prostitutes and tax collectors) would come to Jesus seeking forgiveness and healing. Those who admitted their sins and those who covered them up both needed Jesus' healing, but only the open sinners sought it openly. We see Nicodemus sneaking to Jesus at night, while sinners and publicans came to him in broad daylight.
What scared the third of the host of heaven away from this mortal probation? We can only guess, but my suspicion is that Celestial living had made sin repugnant to us. At least, the idea of soiling our reputations with sin was repugnant. Why would a loving Father send us here, in the moral quagmire of mortality? The stink and slime of evil and sin are nearly everywhere. I am continually thankful for Temples, and any other holy places I can stand in and be unmoved. But we do not have the opportunity of living in the Temple. We have to leave the grounds sometime, and go out into the wicked world that Adam faced after expulsion from the Garden of Eden. Why?
I recently helped to clean a sports arena after a well-attended event. It was decidedly Telestial. The raucous music, the dim lighting, the profligate waste of materials, the glorification of the unimportant, all left me less than impressed. There were many in attendance who were "a little lower than the angels," no doubt, but overall, it just had and unsacred grittiness to it.
High school athletes from all over the state came to fight for the championship titles in their individual events. I saw numerous runners-up crying in the corridors below the bleachers, and I wondered how ministering angels feel when they see one of us in distress. I wanted to say something like, "It will be alright! You have just as much of a chance at experiencing peace, love, joy, as the guy you lost to!" But my status as a garbage collector created a formal barrier, and I walked silently by them. I also saw victors, elated at their successes. One in particular was so stereotypical, I chuckled warmly inside. He was still in his uniform, and he was floating along in the air, holding hands with his cheerleader girlfriend, also in uniform. I imagined the relationship unfolding over the years as they traded in those uniforms for the street clothes of drudgery. I wondered if their relationship had reached its peak, their "good old days" playing out right before my eyes.
Then there was the audience.
I struggle with junk food addiction, sugar having been my mood-altering drug of choice for most of my life. I have recently sworn off anything sweet but fruit, and my resolve is often tested. But cleaning the bleachers after the game temporarily inoculated me against the desire for junk food. The audience of about two thousand spectators had turned the arena into a diaper. Imagine all your favorite candies, cookies, sodas, popcorn, candied nuts, desserts, etc., pulverized, intermingled, partly eaten, partly trampled, hidden in nooks and crannies of folding chairs, scattered on the ground. Fruit, nachos, half-eaten burritos, and a total weight of one fourth of a pig's worth of meat, combined with seven trick-or-treat bags of half eaten chocolates, hardtack, gummy candies, wads of chewing gum, were spilled on the ground, and ground to crumbs. My shoes stuck to the floor after exposure to all this, and made unsavory noises as I walked. Cups with half-drunk sodas had to be poured into five gallon buckets, forming a cocktail of ten different soft drinks whose confused collision of normally-friendly scents induced nausea in me. This slurry would slosh as I carried the buckets, and wet the legs of my pants. Emptying all of the solid waste into the giant, noisy garbage compactor was an ordeal for the nose, since microbes had already begun to digest much of it. (I suspect the half-drunken bottles of chocolate milk provided most of the impetus for the early putrification and fermentation I smelled.)
Emptying trash from the isolated heights of the presidential suite was a new experience. Glass separated me from smell and sounds of the mob below, and the back windows gave a great view of the city around the arena. The commanding position made me forget my lowly status as a custodian. Yet I knew that two floors directly below me lay my stinking coworker, the trash compactor, to whom my job required that I return with another load.
Exposure to this disgusting mess reduced the appeal of its constituent ingredients greatly. I wondered to myself if this is part of the goal of sending us into mortality, to "know good from evil." Even if only experienced second-hand, the outcomes of sin make it abhorrent.
Rebellion against exposure to something equivalent to this in mortality probably drove many who chose not to come here. Ironically, they are here anyway, and are fully exposed to the ugliness, working even to instigate it. Satan boasted he would save us all; now he works to destroy us all. The title "devil" literally means "slanderer," "accuser." It was pointed out poignantly by Hugh Nibley that Satan does not accuse us falsely; we furnish him with all his ammunition ourselves. Jesus, on the other hand, bears the titles of Savior and Advocate. He intercedes on our behalf, absorbing the furious impact of the punishment for sin. He also covers our sins, absolving us of guilt ("Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more." (John 8:11)). He pleads on our behalf, like a defense attorney, that we can have multiple chances to repent, and be forgiven. And He insists that to be forgiven, we must first forgive each other.
He descended into this pigsty to save us from it, and to clean us up afterward. Showering felt good after being exposed to the grime of the arena; peace and silence at home gave my ringing ears a chance to recuperate from the din of crowd and music. Fruit, washed and modest, tasted good, and I did not covet candy so much.
I do not want to be guilty of snobbery and self-righteousness here. Yes, I recognize that sports and arenas and candy are not hell itself; taken together, however, the can do a good impression of it.
