In High School, a girl charged with grading my assignment for me wrote, “Nobody’s perfict” next to something I had said. Her misspelling was instantly redeemed by her magnanimous attitude toward everyone’s flaws. Words are particularly tricky things; it is probably wisdom that prompted the Lord to create the Book of Mormon with a 3000-word vocabulary. Shakespeare employed upward of 100,000, and his great works almost need to be interpreted into modern English for comprehension.
In my experience, those who are antagonistic toward the Church lose the power to express themselves properly within the framework of gospel terminology. One antagonistic investigator referred to “Gadianton raiders.” A girl I met who joined the Church and fell away a short time later spoke of being “set aside” for a calling instead of “set apart.” An early anti-Mormon tract awkwardly trumpeted that Joseph Smith had written on his gold plates everything that religionists had debated during the last several decades. If the gold plates existed at all, Joseph did not write on them, and he was telling the truth. The accuser blended his position and Joseph’s, muddling his own point. On my mission, people would often tell me about my “Book of the Normans, Nortons, Mortons,” etc. Another woman, a less active member in my home ward, showed up one Sunday because she was running for political office. She bore her testimony in an attempt to campaign, and told us how many people she knew “in the Church of Latter-day Saints.” Her lack of familiarity with the semantics exposed hollowness. It is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; those of us who talk about it over the pulpit usually abbreviate it to “The Church;” this woman wanted the votes of the Latter-day Saints, but did not have any significant relationship or familiarity with Jesus Christ, the Latter-day Saints, or with their common accepted terminology. Her attempt to fake it was a painful avalanche of malapropisms. She glowed with pride in her plumage. I ached with embarrassment for her nakedness.
My point is not that we should wait to pounce on spelling or grammar errors, or that petty criticism makes us righteous (according to D&C 121, we should only correct when moved upon by the Holy Ghost, and I kept my critiques to myself in each of the instances listed above). I want to point out that our power to be conversant in gospel terms flows partly from having the Holy Ghost with us. Joseph Smith had poor written composition and grammar, but his testimony still shook the earth under his audience’s feet. The most useful of the eight English classes I took in high school and college taught this one lesson: Language can always be improved and refined. The next most useful class taught that at some point in the process of refining, we must publish what we have created, flaws and all. In spite of this weakness in our language, every effort should be made to understand what the words of scriptures mean.
There are words used by Church members that have vernacular, secular meanings, and scriptural meanings. The two have significant overlap, but also have significant differences. For instance, we can feel good pride in our children’s accomplishments, but in the scriptures, pride always has a negative connotation. “Converted” typically refers to someone agreeing with the teachings of the Church, or being convinced and baptized. In the scriptures, however, “convert/ed” refers to being changed by God, modified in our natures and perspectives. Convinced is insufficient; conversion to the Lord keeps us from falling away. Misapplying the vernacular, secular definitions of words to scripture can hinder learning.
Humility is another example of a word that has a vernacular meaning at odds with its scriptural meaning. A speaker at a large YSA home evening activity I attended asked how many of us were humble. I raised my hand sheepishly. He said, “If you said you’re humble, then you’re not humble.” Jesus said, “I am meek and lowly of heart.” Does this mean Jesus wasn’t really meek? No, it means the speaker’s definition of humility is different from the scripture’s definition. It is among the least understood virtues, partly because many people attempt to define humility in such a way that it requires no humility on their part.
I have spent years trying to pin down the essence of scriptural humility as an idea; there are numerous synonyms in the scriptures. Lowly, meek, submissive, soft-hearted, penitent, broken of heart, contrite of spirit, poor in spirit, and many other phrases, all cluster around the same general meaning, but simply replacing one of these words for another still does not capture the essence of the meaning. It is easy to think that we understand a word’s meaning, when we really have only the vaguest concept. (A four year old can tell you what “rhinoceros” means; ask him, or any adult, to define the word “that,” and watch them fumble for clarity.)
By the way, are meekness, a broken heart and a contrite spirit, and humility, each synonyms, or do they capture different parts of the same thing, or are they entirely different entities? The answer may be important, but I don’t know it. Strife and debate were the bread and butter of the Jewish elders Jesus condemned; it is possible to quibble ourselves into a hole. I think of them interchangeably.
It is also possible to put the scriptures on too high of a pedestal, or at least, our interpretations of them. A good example of this was the Salem Witch Trials. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” The Joseph Smith Translation renders it, “...murderer to live.” Nineteen people died because of imperfect people taking flawed versions of scripture too seriously. The absence of the Spirit is a palpable shadow in this extreme example. There are still large segments of the population who view the Bible as monolithic and flawless, “The inerrant, infallible word of God,” as one preacher vehemently stated.
But imperfect humans using imperfect language can make mistakes; flawed tools in the hands of a master craftsman still produce error. Moroni had no delusions of perfection, even though he was writing scripture: “Lord, the Gentiles will mock at these things, because of our weakness in writing.” The Lord encourages him, “...if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.” The flaws and quirks of their writing became trademarks of authenticity, strong internal evidence for the Book of Mormon. The words themselves may be flawed, but they are all we have to work with.
Sometimes a flaw in language is mistaken for a flaw in religion. “If God is all-powerful, can God make a hotdog so big that He can’t eat it?” This (not made up, actual quote from a book) question demonstrates a flaw in our language, not a flaw in theology. “Can he do something he can’t do?” This is an absurd nonsense question that contradicts itself. It is not profound—it’s dumb. The clunkiness and imprecise capacity of words is helpful if one wants to try to justify rebellion and self-destruction, but until those adversarial traits surface, this kind of nit-picking remains largely ignored.
Joseph Smith wrote “...O Lord God deliver us in thy due time from the little narrow prison almost as it were total darkness of paper pen and Ink and a crooked broken scattered and imperfect Language, I would inform...” Then he crossed out the entire sentence (p. 260, The Personal Writings of Joseph Smith, Dean C. Jessee). The constraints of language made him feel like he was trapped in a nutshell—“defy all description” is what he says about the First Vision.
Another thing that can confound attempts at comprehension is the difference between theoretical, black and white, 2D understanding, and experience, the living color, 3D way of knowing. Elder Scott spoke of the difference between his intellectual understanding of the scriptures from his youth, contrasted by his richer, fuller experiential understanding of adulthood. Correct definitions change as we change.
Words are handles for ideas. “Dog” may conjure very different images in two minds; the emotions evoked could range from disgust to phobia to love to the sadness of loss to nostalgia, depending on the hearer’s experiences, beliefs, and perceptions of the species. The LDS Bible dictionary usually gives the literal meaning of proper names (Rachel means “ewe,” etc.). But the meaning of Caleb—dog—is notably absent. Caleb was one of only two people to survive the forty-year purging in the wilderness, a venerable man. Calling a man a dog in our language is dysphemistic, an insult. That may be the reason for omitting the literal meaning from the dictionary (or not). Caleb’s parents apparently thought it was a respectable and proper name for their new baby boy. Two cultures; two opposite connotations. What use are words, then, if one word can evoke such a wide range of reactions and thoughts in an audience?
Here the gospel differs in one important respect from secular learning: The Holy Ghost facilitates learning. “But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you” (John 14:26). We are required to apply ourselves, but the Holy Ghost can enlighten our minds, and give us proper mental images and feelings to define terms.
Despite imperfections in language, the Lord is still deadly serious about the gift of His word to us. Every “jot and tittle” will be fulfilled one day.
I wince at some of the commercialization I see of sacred things in the Church. Whether adapted to be cuddly or cutting edge, some warp the gospel to match the contemporary intellectual living room décor. “Behold, I am Alpha and Omega, even Jesus Christ. Wherefore, let all men beware how they take my name in their lips—...Remember that that which cometh from above is sacred, and must be spoken with care, and by constraint of the Spirit...without this, there remaineth condemnation” (D&C 63:60-64). Yes, media cost money; yes, the gospel must be carried to all the earth; yes, it will travel on the back of worldly tools necessarily supported by modern business models. I guess the main yardstick of propriety is the Spirit—“...by the Spirit ye are justified...” (Moses 6:60). If authors and publishers and purveyors feel the still, small voice lend a stamp of approval to their work, then they are in the right way. Otherwise, I want to be somewhere else when they approach the final judgment.
Back to humility. The word most often evokes images of the supposed symptoms of humility—a sullen countenance, slowed gait, slumped shoulders, sagging limbs, self-deprecation, defeatist languages—basically lugubrious passive surrender to gravity. We associate it most with sorrow for sin, and consider that to be the main use of humility—once we are done repenting, we can cast aside the sackcloth and ashes, and go merrily on our way, vacating the mourning bench so others waiting in line can have a turn to wail and lament. Humility is the virtue other people need most, a social cure for the emotional halitosis of pride and unkindness. That’s the common usage; the scriptures define it differently.
Scriptural humility never becomes obsolete. If we are ever exalted, we will possess this virtue in its perfected fullness. Moroni tells us Jesus spoke with him “in plain humility.” A perfect resurrected being. Why do we think we will ever be able to dispense with humility?
I assume humility will always defer to the truth. Coming to Christ involves having our weakness exposed to ourselves, and only the humble will be able to look in the mirror without balking. Only a firm knowledge that God loves us anyway could sustain us through such embarrassment.
Notice that the world’s definition of humble is vague and open-ended. But the scriptures require us to be humble before someone—God. A definition is incomplete until it includes Him.
“God looketh on the heart.” A scriptural definition must include more than the smoke, the symptoms which can be faked. It must include the wax, the wick, and the flame; it must encompass our attitudes, thoughts, feelings, desires, hearts, intentions, the inner world. God knows when we have broken hearts and contrite spirits.
Think about the principles and ordinances of the gospel. Each one presupposes a measure of humility. Just as the sacrifice at the Altar legitimized every other ordinance of the Old Temple, so our penitent and contrite attitude activates the power of the Spirit to make all our covenants valid.
Is sorrow necessary in order to qualify us as humble? No. I recognize scriptural humility has at least two main elements, two threads braided together: 1. Willingness to obey God. 2. Acknowledgment of our weakness and dependence on God. You can have these attributes ensconced in your heart whether you are clicking your heels with joy, or sobbing into your pillow. Usually we associate this kind of thing with unpleasantness, tasks perceived as sacrifices. But we can become willing and hopeful, even in the worst conditions. When Joseph Smith heard of direct Satanic opposition to the missionaries sent to England, he responded with joy because he knew from personal experience that negative opposition precedes epiphanies. The work flourished, and thousands of English converts swelled the ranks of the Church. Baptisms included whole villages; they immediately gathered to Zion without any direct instruction to do so. Faith determines attitudes more than present circumstances, and Joseph’s faith was born of experience.
Willingness and dependence on God form the guts of humility, the parts that cannot be faked. Far from engendering defeatism, these two braided threads form a proactive attitude: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded (willingness), for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them (dependence on God for help)” (1Ne. 3:7). Usually we quote this scripture with a roll-up-our sleeves mentality. Humility is the furthest thing from our minds, because we are applying our worldly definitions to the scriptures instead of finding their own definitions.
I am still learning, even after all my attempts to put various questions to bed. A new potential definition came to me days ago while pondering humility: “Humility is the willingness to pay the price love exacts (demands, requires) of us.” It is not stated in the scriptures in that direct way, but the essence of this idea is captured in an another oft-quoted scripture we think of as unrelated to humility: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16).
God and Jesus Christ equate our obedience with love: “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15). “...Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment” (Matt. 22:37-38). God condescends to work with us because He loves us; our obedience is incomplete until it sinks beneath the surface of actions and soaks into our hearts, our love for Him.
