We Latter-day Saints tend to feel obligated about everything, tend to view every aspect of the gospel as an assignment we need to complete. We clearly hear the commandment to “be ye…perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect (Matt. 5:48),” but we neglect the fact that “…he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1Ne. 3:7). It is impossible to keep that commandment (or most of the others properly) without grace, without the Savior’s help.
We use that word so much that it becomes dilapidated, loses its meaning. “Savior” means rescuer, one who rescues. The point of a rescue is helping people when they cannot help themselves. We have power to think, move, act, and choose many things, but perfecting ourselves through our own efforts is not on our menu of options. Instead of relying on our own strength to be saved (saved from what, incidentally?), we are told that “…since man had fallen he could not merit anything of himself…” (Alma 22:14), and we must “[rely] alone upon the merits of Christ (Moro. 6:4),” “with unshaken faith in him, relying wholly upon the merits of him who is mighty to save” (2Ne 31:19).
The Fall of Adam is our collective inheritance. Being fallen in our natures, living in a sinful, fallen world, and committing sin, is like being stuck at the bottom of a pit. Regardless of how we got into the pit, there is no way to extricate ourselves through our own efforts. We may jump and claw at the walls, but we cannot climb out of the deep hole on our own—we need to be rescued by someone else. To “merit” means to deserver or earn. We cannot earn our own salvation. That is why we need Jesus Christ to save us, not from a pit, but from sin. If we want to be free from the culpability and the desire for sin, we have to rely on Him.
To continue the metaphor of being stuck at the bottom of a pit, I feel that some Latter-day Saints are obsessed with pulling themselves up by their bootstraps. After demonstrating to ourselves that we are incapable of climbing out on our own, Jesus lowers a rope and tells us to grab on with both hands. Instead, we grab the rope with one hand, and continue to claw at the walls of the pit with the other. We then wonder why we are not getting out of the pit faster. Trying to save ourselves without His help is, necessarily, putting our trust in the arm of the flesh. Nephi admits “O wretched man that I am,” and begins to beg the Savior for help:
“O Lord, I have trusted in thee, and I will trust in thee forever. I will not put my trust in the arm of flesh (his own human capacity); for I know that cursed is he that putteth his trust in the arm of flesh. Yea, cursed is he that putteth his trust in man or maketh flesh his arm. Yea, I know that God will give liberally to him that asketh…” (2Ne. 4:34-35). How easy it is to rely on human knowledge, human ingenuity, our own “best efforts,” in our attempts to live the gospel. “One day they’ll invent a pill to make us perfect,” we hope to ourselves. One cursory glance at the messed up world we live in will show you how vain those hopes are. The fruits of the Spirit—peace, love, joy, knowledge—are fairly scarce commodities for those who do not rely on the Savior.
Work, Work, Work
If we cannot save ourselves, why the emphasis on works in the Savior’s ministry? “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15). Yes, eschewing evil and choosing to obey yield immediate, desirable consequences. A life of safety, freedom from addictions, filled with the Spirit and its fruits, is the immediate result of trying to obey the commandments, even with minimal success. That hardest commandment, to be perfect like God, is something the Savior does in us, or to us, not something we can achieve through our own best efforts.
Flaws are frustrating. An honest look in the mirror can be very painful. It is easy to forget why we have all those flaws: “…I give unto men weakness that they may be humble…” (Ether 12:27). Jesus created us the way we are so that we can be humble. Toes that can be stubbed, brains that forget or misconstrue, hearts that can be tempted or become angry, biceps that are flimsy, faces with blemishes, and all the rest of it—these are deliberate design flaws. Jesus loves us; why is humility important enough that Jesus would inflict such weird and painful things on us to engender that virtue?
He continues: “…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” (Ether 12:27). Notice the prerequisite for having weak things made strong: humility. Our fallen natures will change only when we present ourselves before Him in faith, deep humility, willingness to obey, and love. Our own best efforts are a pittance, a sign that our humility is genuine; they merit us nothing. They are valuable to salvation in the next life only because He has promised to give us things in exchange for them.
James laments, “For whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is guilty of all.
“For he that said, Do not commit adultery, said also, Do not kill. Now if thou commit no adultery, yet if thou kill, thou art become a transgressor of the law” (James 2:10-11). If we committed only one sin in our entire life, it would invalidate our attempts to earn our own salvation.
Lehi explains further, “And men are instructed sufficiently that they know good from evil (knowledge is a prerequisite for agency to work). And the law is given unto men. And by the law no flesh is justified; or, by the law men are cut off (we destroy the chance to earn our way to heaven the instant we commit the slightest infraction). Yea, by the temporal law they were cut off; and also, by the spiritual law they perish from that which is good, and become miserable forever” (2Ne. 2:5). In other words, the law is a guide (like the rod of iron), meant to get us to our destination, back in the presence of God. That is what the “ends of the law” are—safe arrival back home. But we blew it with the least sin. Lehi is admitting that we are helpless to pay for our safe passage into heaven through following the law with precision. How then do we get back?
“Wherefore, redemption cometh in and through the Holy Messiah; for he is full of grace and truth.
“Behold, he offereth himself a sacrifice for sin, to answer the ends of the law, unto all those who have a broken heart and a contrite spirit; and unto none else can the ends of the law be answered” (2Ne. 2:6-7). Jesus is the only one who merits salvation through His own behavior. We get back by humbling ourselves before Him.
If our behavior cannot earn our way into heaven, why will humbling ourselves before Jesus, having a broken heart and a contrite spirit, allow us to get back?
Jesus Christ suffered innocently, for us. He bore the weight of our sins, even though he earned, merited, deserved, to have joy, salvation, and peace. This unjust suffering created a debt in His favor. We deserve to go to hell for committing the least sin, by the technicalities of the law. But the combination of that debt owed to Him with our meek, lowly, contrite, humble, penitent attitudes is enough to get us the designation of belonging to Him. He takes us into heaven because it is His right. Our works, our own meager yet earnest, willing attempts to keep His commandments, demonstrate that our hearts really are broken, that we are His.
Mormon explains the scenario of intercession almost parenthetically: “…Christ hath ascended into heaven…to claim of the Father his rights of mercy which he hath upon the children of men…” (Moroni 7:27). Jesus demands us as payment of that debt. Those who covenant with Jesus through ordinances, in sincerity, and try to obey and repent as best they can, become His property. Our modern ears recoil at that language, but we do not mind saying a child “belongs” to a parent. Chattle is not the paradigm; it is adoption. “And they shall be mine, saith the Lord of Hosts, in that day when I make up my jewels; and I will spare them as a man spareth his own son that serveth him.
“Then shall ye return and discern between the righteous and the wicked, between him that serveth God and him that serveth him not” (Jesus quoting Malachi to the Nephites in 3Ne. 24:17-18). Our behavior is important to our salvation, even though we know before we even leave the gate that it will be stumbling, clumsy attempts at best.
Borrowing Jesus Christ’s Power
Because of the disparity between where we are and where we are yet commanded to go, or what we need to become, many Church members become despondent. They feel their own efforts are not enough (which is true), and they begin to beat themselves up. Remember Nephi’s statement about the Lord preparing a way?
What happens to us when we are that humble, when we are meek, when we offer him a broken heart and a contrite spirit? What happens when we give ourselves to Him in that way, offering our time, our lives, our talents, and everything that we own, will yet own, everything that we are?
He will not overreach our agency, and such humility removes that impediment to our own spiritual rebirth. It is like lowering a shield over our hearts and minds. If we donate ourselves to Jesus freely, willing to do anything or give up anything He asks of us, always mindful of our dependence on Him, He can then reach into our hearts and minds and change them, and He has promised that He will immediately when we lower our guard:
“Behold, I have come unto the world to bring redemption unto the world, to save the world from sin.”
How does He get sin out of us?
“Therefore, whoso repenteth and cometh unto me as a little child, him will I receive, for of such is the kingdom of God. Behold, for such I have laid down my life, and have taken it up again; therefore repent, and come unto me ye ends of the earth, and be saved” (3Ne. 9:21-22). Not just saved from the punishments for sin, but from the desire to commit sin:
“And ye shall offer for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit. And whoso cometh unto me with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, him will I baptize with fire and with the Holy Ghost, even as the Lamanites, because of their faith in me at the time of their conversion, were baptized with fire and with the Holy Ghost, and they knew it not” (3Ne. 9:20). The process is so seamless, we might be unaware that it has even happened. The actual sacrifice happens inside; our actions are its outward tokens.
He will only change as much of our hearts as we give to Him; a fifty percent offering means a fifty percent spiritual rebirth. That is why it is a drawn out process for some of us, while others seem to achieve it instantaneously; it happens no slower or faster than we submit our all to Him. (We can also take the offering back at any moment, balking at some new prompting or assignment. When we do that, the effects of spiritual rebirth begin to fade accordingly. If we do not repent, we can become worse off than if it had not happened.)
Even if it is a paltry offering by comparison to His might Atoning Sacrifice, we are still obliged to make it; He gave His all too. It would be asymmetrical if we did not offer our one hundred percent in return. Love demands that much.
As we give our hearts to Jesus, He will change them. Instead of needing willpower to resist temptations, we start to take on the attributes of Christ, which means that we lose the ability to be tempted. It also means that our ability to perform the commandments He gives us increases. That is real emotional salvation—watching your performance improve through grace. You are still not earning your own salvation, but there is far less broken furniture involved.
Good Humility
All this talk about “humble,” “meek,” “contrite,” “lowly,” “broken heart,” “contrite spirit,” “submission,” and all the rest, can paint a dire picture in our minds. Let’s take a quick look at what humility really entails when it is compatible with scripturally sound definitions.
Misery is not the same thing as humility (if it were, Satan would be humble). I have tried to reach some definition of humility that bypasses comfort and discomfort, emotional valences like sad and happy, and I think I have found a golden strand in the tangled braid that answers to a pretty accurate description: Humility is deferring to the truth. This sounds easy, but think about it how hard it would be to always live up to every bit of knowledge we have. Only Jesus lived that way successfully.
If we are flawed, it means recognizing those flaws. If we need help, it means acknowledging that need. If we receive a new prompting or commandment, it means not only trying to obey, but being willing to obey.
That word, willing, shows up every Sunday in the sacrament prayer on the bread. It describes our internal condition, not our external works. This is not because our works are unimportant, but because, as Lehi notes, if our works are all we have to rely on, we are sunk. On the other hand, when we are humble, and super-glued to Jesus, we have a viable case.
A sprinter at the blocks before the gun fires has not moved; he has not broken any record, nor won the race, nor made it to the winners’ podium. He may come in last; he may trip and fall at the gun. Whatever the outcome, the sprinter coiled like a steel spring at the blocks is willing—that is his internal state, and everything about his external state bespeaks his intentions. He is ready to win.
The sacrament prayers say that partaking of the bread shows that we are willing to take upon us the name of Jesus Christ, willing to always remember Him, and willing to keep His commandments which He has given us. (The prayer on the water says that we actually do always remember Him; this is still an internal event, recalling or remembering Him.)
Elder Bednar says that we take His name upon ourselves in the Temple; the sacrament is preliminary to that, only showing our willingness to do so.
I used to think that taking His name upon me meant accepting more assignments, more work. Undoubtedly we should not stop trying to be like Jesus in all that we do and say. But there is more to it that accepting some new load.
Imagine a billionaire offering you the chance to borrow His credit card. Suddenly, you can afford to buy a stadium, a jet, an ocean cruise ship, a private island. As long as you are using his resources with his permission, all the transactions are legitimate, and the expensive items are yours.
Jesus took our names, hence, our punishments onto Himself in the Garden of Gethsemane. He accepted our debts, what we have earned, which is the complete loss of the Holy Spirit. That is the essence of outer darkness, the bitter cup He drank for us.
Jesus deserved, merited, earned, the right to always have the Spirit in abundance. “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me…” (Isa. 61:1). Messiah, Christ, means “Anointed One.” If we are humble, just willing to try, He gives us more than we deserve. When we are willing to take His name upon ourselves, we are borrowing His merits, and we get what He earned instead of what we earned—to always have the Spirit. (Maybe that is why the sacrament prayers say “his Spirit” instead of “the Spirit.”) We get to borrow one of His greatest gifts.
Anyone who gets into heaven will get in because they are attached in a permanent fashion to Jesus Christ. Getting out of the pit depends not on our own strength and ability to hold onto the walls, but our ability to hold onto the rope. Being humble is not just admitting we need help, being willing to grab the rope; it is the power by which we hold onto the rope.
We should take confidence from the fact that the Savior knows exactly who we are, including all the evil in our hearts, and yet He loves us anyway. He does not expect us to perfect ourselves; He does that. He wants us to be humble, to trust Him, and so that He can perform that work in us.
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5 December 2014
Update:
How can our obedience be worthless and valuable?
Jesus was sitting in the Temple precincts near the treasury, warning the people about the Pharisees, how they should not imitate their show and pretense.
“And he looked up, and saw the rich men casting their gifts into the treasury (where everyone could see, strangely).
“And he saw also a certain poor widow casting in thither two mites.
“And he said, Of a truth I say unto you, that this poor widow hath cast in more than they all:
“For all these have of their abundance cast in unto the offerings of God: but she of her penury hath cast in all the living that she had” (Luke 21:1-4).
This is the Lord’s mathematics. Two cents is more than a handful of gold, if the two cents is 100% of a person’s total assets, and the handful of gold is a fraction of another’s total assets.
Objectively, this woman’s offering was very poor; subjectively, in the Lord’s eyes, it was great, “all…she had.” Her gross contribution was weak; in the final net analysis, it was very great.
The same rule applies to our offerings, our attempts at obedience. We may say, like Nephi, “I will go and do,” but even when we succeed, we are constrained to exclaim, “O wretched man that I am” at the end of the day.
The point of the long spiel above was not to suggest that obedience is not delightful to the Lord, or that He will not smile on our best efforts, or that He will not bless us for our obedience. “I the Lord am bound when ye do what I say” (D&C 82:10). By all means, we should put our shoulders to the wheel and obey, and expect the Lord’s help in obeying. But there is a danger that we can lose perspective in the mad dash to cover our sins and inadequacies. Thinking we are good enough and therefore should give up, or thinking that the bar is impossible to clear, and therefore we should quit, are both mindsets Satan tempts us to cultivate.
My point is that we can be honest about how much ground we still have to cover, the gap between where we are and where we should be, without beating ourselves up about it. We can see that we have offered two cents instead of a pile of gold coins, and have faith that it is acceptable to the Lord if it is our all, offered in faith and love. Nephi’s acknowledgement, “O wretched man that I am,” melts away in the face of, “nevertheless, I know in whom I have trusted” (2Ne. 4:17, 19).
The Lord measures our behavior in proportion to what we have to offer, not what others have, or what He has. Judging people is the Lord’s responsibility, not ours. He decides what is acceptable, not we. That includes praising ourselves or condemning ourselves. Success should not drive us to pride, nor should the objective pathetic nature of our abilities drive us to despair.
I remember hearing Elder Ballard speaking at a fireside, and he mentioned that God must chuckle at His children when so many of us pray as we do, sending Him on errands, ordering Him to do this or that. He contrasted that kind of praying with President Kimball’s humble prayer one night, offered at the end of a busy day. He prayed, in essence, “Lord, is this day’s work an acceptable offering unto thee?” We can secure a testimony that our offerings are acceptable while still retaining a full knowledge of our shortcomings. I wonder if such a stamp of approval on our best efforts is part of enjoying peace in this world.
“…God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world…” (John 3:17). His measuring system seems to diminish our flaws, and amplify even the tiniest efforts on our part. We should try our best, but try in a less worried way. We can know that what we are doing is in harmony with the Lord’s will for us when we feel the Spirit. This is such a common experience that we often discount it, but it is to heaven what a Temple recommend is to the Temple; it is our ticket of entry.
