Partakers of the Divine Nature: A Selfless Religion

A thought occurred to me the other day: I spend a lot of time on here talking about things that really bring me a lot of happiness, but they're mostly things like movies and TV shows. And I really think those things are great: given the right level of engagement from the viewer, a person can learn a lot of really good things from entertainment. That said, I don't spend as much time talking about my faith. Well, not to get too preachy or proselytizy, but I've had a few thoughts on my mind recently that I'd like to share.

"Recent" might be the wrong word. I've been thinking about the subject I'm writing here for months. I gave an address in church a little while back, using the text of 2 Peter Chapter 1 as the foundation of my address. Starting in verse 5, it reads:

Add to your faith virtue; and to virtue knowledge; and to knowledge temperance; and to temperance patience; and to patience godliness; and to godliness brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness charity. For if these things be in you, and abound, they make you that ye shall neither be barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.

What struck me the most about this passage (at least, at the time that I gave my address) was the way the development of these virtues seemed to progress from "selfish" to "selfless."

Let me explain: The list of attributes starts with "faith," or a personal connection to God. From there, it goes through "virtue" (which is a standard of personal behavior), "knowledge" (the accumulation of knowledge within an individual), and "temperance" (a sense of moderation and restraint). All of these attributes focus on a single person - the self. A person could theoretically develop all of these traits without ever venturing out from his or her house. A cynic would probably say it is easier to do so.

However, we live in a world which requires us to interact with others, and so the apostle Peter continues to show how we can develop virtues which help us to deal with others. So he admonishes us to "patience," which helps us to bear with shortcomings both within ourselves and others.

And, from there, we move to "godliness" (or we might also say "piety" or "reverence"). "Godliness" is a virtue easy to feign. If we are now discussing virtues that look beyond ourselves, then "godliness" must be more than a facade we adopt to satisfy our desire to appear to be "good people." "Godliness" thus must involve a true acknowledgement that there is one higher than us.

And then, to godliness, we add "brotherly kindness" and "charity," defined in the scriptures as the "pure love of Christ." Charity is the ultimate "selfless" virtue - it can't be built just by professing it. After all, Christ did not simply profess his love. He demonstrated it.

Christ performed many miracles which seem beyond the scope of our ability. We may not feel we can heal lepers, or cure blindness, or feed thousands with a few scraps of food. But we can easily emulate the kind deeds those miracles represent, like caring for the sick and afflicted, lifting up the broken-hearted, and comforting those who stand in need of comfort. We do more to develop Christlike attributes by doing good for others than we could ever do by reading about them over and over.

Sometimes, when I talk about my religion - and here I speak solely of myself rather than others who share my faith - I lose sight of the social implications, especially since I'm not really much for... people. I believe that mine is a religion which invites us all to live in the world and do good to others, not out of a desire for recognition or praise, but out of a true, abiding love for our fellow men and for Christ. The Savior loved the world enough to die for it. We should live our lives in such a way that we make this world which Christ loved better.

Family Histeria

Fun Fact: I'm the head of the Temple and Family History committee in my ward.

What does that mean? Well, from a practical standpoint, it means I need to convince other members of my religious congregation to try to research their own geneologies when all they're really interested in is getting married and not doing geneological research.

I kid. But just a little.

I spent about two hours last night searching through pages and pages of online records, trying to verify some ill-remembered information I'd previously picked up from my father regarding our family history. I came up with... well, not much. Except, that is, for a bit stronger desire to actually practice what I preach when it comes to geneology. The sum total of my contributions to the family history effort can be seen in the flyer I drew up at the top of the post.

It's not a bad flyer, though, is it?

P.S.: This is a fun website. "Fun" might not be the right word, but anyone interested in family history might want to check it out.

On Burying Our Talents

I was asked to give a talk during my Sunday services this past weekend, explaining what I got out of the Lamb of God production I participated in a few months back. Due to nerves or lack of preparation or whatever, I don't know how well I actually communicated my point. So I'ma get a little personal and religious here. I wound up speaking on something I'm pretty passionate about, so I hope you'll permit me to share my thoughts here.

And, if not... well, it's my name at the top of the blog, after all.

I participated with several other members of our stake in performing Rob Gardner’s The Lamb of God. I was one of two narrators that read the words of the gospels over the singing and the orchestration. It was a great privilege to participate in the presentation, one which prompted a great deal of thought and introspection on my part on a subject that has actually been in my mind several times over the last ten years.

While I served a mission for the Church in the Czech Republic, I, along with the other elders and sisters in our small branch in Olomouc, were assigned to perform a musical number. We selected the hymn and worked on it diligently. One of the sisters suggested that I sing a solo as part of the presentation. Being a bit of a shrinking violet, I attempted to refuse. Then Elder Aaron Coombs, a good friend of mine and a diligent missionary, shook his head at me, and, with a click of his tongue, said, “Elder Bradford, I think you’re hiding your light under a bushel.” After receiving that chastisement, I agreed to sing the solo. The number was not a failure, so my involvement scarred no one.

Elder Coombs was referring to the Savior’s Sermon on the Mount: “A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid, neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” Up until that point in my life, I had thought that the “light” the Savior mentioned was one’s personal testimony. I still believe that particular interpretation of the scripture, but I have since added another. The Savior intends for us to let our talents and abilities shine before men.

Understanding that our abilities are gifts from the Lord lends added significance to the parable of the talents. “The kingdom of heaven is as a man travelling into a far country, who called his own servants, and delivered unto them his goods. And unto one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one; to every man according to his several ability; and straightway took his journey.” Each of the man’s servants was tasked with caring for a portion of the master’s wealth. The first two servants multiplied their talents and were best. The third, who feared failure, hid his talent, and soon found that it was taken away from him.

We cannot let fear of failure or worldly judgment inhibit us in cultivating those abilities which the Lord has given us. Even if our talent is small, we can still find a way to build it into something worthwhile. Remember that the man in the parable said to his slothful servant that his single talent could have been invested and grown through interest. So too can our small talents be improved on, although we may not have as much ability as another.

All men and women are given abilities from God, although we may not always have those gifts which we desire, or those that we see in others. In the Doctrine and Covenants, we read that “all have not every gift given unto them; for there are many gifts… To some is given one, and to some is given another, that all may be profited thereby.” We often talk of spiritual gifts, such as the gift of healing or revelation; however, we are also aware that some are naturally gifted in sport or in song, or in other apparently secular skills. I believe that these worldly abilities may too be considered spiritual gifts, as they bring great joy to many. As the prophet Moroni teaches, “Every good gift cometh of Christ.”

In the introduction to his analysis of the Articles of Faith, Elder James E. Talmage wrote that the school of theology, or the study of those things relating to religion, in fact encompasses all human knowledge, and then some. He wrote that theology’s domain is that of truth. “The industrial pursuits that benefit mankind, the arts that please and refine, the sciences that enlarge and exalt the mind – these are but fragments of the great though yet uncompleted volume of truth that has come to Earth from a source of eternal and infinite supply.” While the worldly pursuits we engage in cannot compare to the majestic truths that God can reveal to us, we may rightly, I believe, treat those pursuits as part of the endless knowledge of God, especially when those pursuits invite and entice us to do good, as Moroni described.

It is not enough that we merely improve or multiply our talents. Turning to the Doctrine and Covenants again, we read: “And all this for the benefit of the church of the living God, that every man may improve upon his talent, that every man may gain other talents, yea, even an hundred fold, to be cast into the Lord’s storehouse, to become the common property of the whole church – Every man seeking the interest of his neighbor, and doing all things with an eye single to the glory of God.” Our talents are not meant merely for our edification. We are meant to serve and uplift others with the abilities with which we have been blessed.

That is what so impressed me about our stake’s performance of The Lamb of God – so many people pooled their talents to do a marvelous thing. The composer, Rob Gardner, demonstrated great musical ability, and he chose to use his talent to teach of Christ. Young Latter-day Saints, much like me, had gathered together to praise God through music. We were led by a talented and diligent conductor. The choir was filled with beautiful, eager voices. The orchestra played with great skill and emotion. I was proud to lend my talents to the presentation, even if I only showcased my ability to read.

It is our responsibility then to figure out how our talents can be used to build up the kingdom of God. Here I intend to tell you the conclusion I came to regarding my own talents. I don’t presume to say that my conclusion is right for everyone, but this idea, that our talents are to be used to build the kingdom of God, is one that I believe so strongly that I don’t know how to discuss it without referring to my personal experience. I hope that what I have to say now will be beneficial to you all and will not come across as self-righteous, egotistical, or, worst of all, boring.

I believe the Lord has blessed me with a great deal of ability; however, I doubt that much of what I can do is immediately practical. I can sing with some level of skill, I enjoy writing, and I perform every now and again with local theater troupes. For me, it wasn’t immediately evident how I could use my talents to build the kingdom of God. I haven’t the skill to compose beautiful music. I don’t write sermons very well. And my theatrical ability usually boils down to me getting slapped in the face for the entertainment of an audience. Amusing, but hardly the stuff from which the kingdom of God is built.

The conclusion I came to, and the goal around which I wish to build my life, is that my skills lend themselves to storytelling. I enjoy a good story, and I believe in the power of a story to change a person’s life for the better. My watchword comes from the admonition of Paul, as outlined in the thirteenth Article of Faith: “If there is anything virtuous, lovely, of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.” Many truths about the process of repentance can be learned from novels such as Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables. Much appreciation for the beauty of creation can be felt through the poetry of writers like Robert Frost. If men like these, who did not have the privilege of Gospel knowledge to guide them, can create these life-changing works, then I can do likewise.

For me, the greatest blessing that came from participating in The Lamb of God with our stake was the reminder of the divine power of the stories in the New Testament, which confirm and strengthen my testimony of Jesus Christ. I love the story of Peter, who denied the Christ, repented, and was forgiven. I love the story of Thomas the disciple who doubted, and who was led to believe. I love the story of Mary the mother of Jesus, who mourned at the foot of the cross. Rob Gardner, the composer of The Lamb of God, took a slight liberty with Mary’s story that I feel was appropriate and would like to share. After the death of the Savior in Gardner’s production, Mary sings, not of her despair, but of her hope. “Hope did not die here, but here was given. And ours is the victory. Here is hope.”

I testify that God has given us great ability which makes us equal to the trials and tasks set before us, as long as we trust in Him. I bear testimony that Christ came to earth to teach us the way to return to our heavenly home. He spoke in parables, that those who would hear could understand. He is the master storyteller. He is the son of God.

Fiction and Charity

"Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid.

Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.

Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven." (Matthew 5:14-16)

For the longest time (ever since a friend of mine told me I was "hiding my candle" when I didn't want to sing a solo in church), I've associated the above passage from the gospel of Matthew with the proper use of talents. Basically, my philosophy has been that people blessed with gifts should try to use those gifts to help other people.

Since my ultimate ambition in life is to be a FICTION writer, I've been trying to figure out how, exactly, someone who tells stories for a living can make a real, measurable positive impact in the world. Truth be told, I wasn't quite sure that it's possible (unless you totally sell out your religion).

Then I came across this news story:

In short, orphanages all over Japan started receiving donations from sources that identified themselves as "Naoto Date," the alter-ego of a fictional wrestler named Tiger Mask.

I did a little bit of research on the character: Tiger Mask played a "villainous" wrestlers (because, apparently, in professional wrestling, you have to choose a side) until he realized he was inspiring orphan children to also want to be evil. He then switched sides and started fighting for right... or something.

I don't know if the story of Tiger Mask in and of itself is so spectacular that it actually inspired people to go out and be charitable, but this particular slew of donations has inspired imitators, including donations made in the name of Japanese folk hero Momotaro.

Basically, this is like someone making a donation to charity and putting it under the name "Davey Crockett," WHICH IS AWESOME.

I've often looked at good fiction as being something that's just kinda "there," like a soft blanket - comforting, warm, reassuring, but not strictly necessary. Now, my opinion hasn't really changed, but I do have to say that it astounds me to no end that fictional characters can actually help compel people to do this kind of tangible good.

Seriously, beyond giving people tickets for one free admission to the Rapture, I doubt there's much more good fiction CAN do.

Braddy Reads The Screwtape Letters

C.S. Lewis's fabled Screwtape Letters have been on my list a long time, and now I get to talk about 'em.

For me, talking about The Screwtape Letters is problematic. See, I love a good story - a meaty narrative I can sink my teeth into. At the same time, I like to go through a LOT of stories in a short space of time - probably why I prefer comics and poetry to other forms of storytelling.

Of course The Screwtape Letters aren't ABOUT the story. Yes, there are a couple of different plot threads - there's Uncle Screwtape's agenda against his nephew Wormwood, Wormwood's attempted corruption of the unnamed young man, and the young man's courtship, war service, and eventual death...

...um, spoiler alert. I guess.

No, The Screwtape Letters are REALLY a sermon in disguise (we are talking about C.S. Lewis, after all). It takes a bit of decoding to get to the theological core of the message, since the letters are all written from "the wrong side" - of the Atlantic!

ZING!!!

Still, I read The Screwtape Letters and felt enlightened - and that's without taking the hours of meditation and introspection that material of this nature demands. I found myself rethinking the language I use, the company I keep, the very thoughts I occupy my idle time with.

So, yeah, reading this book caused me a lot of grief. But I suppose you can count that a success.

Words and Prayers

This is my testimony: of art, of music, of God.

Here’s a young man – newly heart-broken (not hard to do with him). He’s watching the television with his friends, mainly for the escape. He doesn’t want to think about her anymore. He even wishes he’d never spoken to her in the first place. Mainly, though, he just doesn’t want to think – not about her, the wasted months. Not about anything. Just sit back, watch the television (it’s Doctor Who, of all things). Then he hears a single line of dialogue: “Some things are worth getting your heart broken.” And he remembers it all – holding hands in the dark, warm smiles against winter winds, thrilling eyes. He knows they’re just memories – she is just a memory. But, for that minute, the regret is a memory, too.

Another young man: thoughtful, contemplative… sometimes to a fault. He questions – all people do. Here, we see him questioning everything he’s been taught from his childhood on. God, Christ, all of it – completely uncertain. He doesn’t have the courage to pray, to see if it all really is imagined, or if it all is real. He remembers, then, a line of a song he learned in school – a poem by Robert Frost, set to music: “So, when at times the mob is swayed/To carry praise or blame too far/We may take something like a star/To stay our minds on, and be stayed.” So he accepts it: not the sure stone of gospel truth, but a small step, at least, on the stairway to the high ground. The safe ground.

Here’s a new man, just graduated from high school. He’s giddy with success, but at the back of his brain, he feels a small buzz – a sense of unease, as though everything he’d been working on for eighteen years meant nothing. Just then, a new song comes on the radio – John Meyer, who says, “I just found out there’s no such thing as the real world. Just a lie you’ve got to rise above.” Of course, this young man is furious at the though – it can’t be that way. There’s got to be something to all this learning. He doesn’t realize, until years later, that the singer had a point. The learning is not the destination – but it is a step on the journey, a means of making the road lighter, of drawing lessons from the ground. He no longer lives for schooling – he just lives, and his education lives for him.

A boy – sixteen years old, maybe – reads his scriptures every day, like a good little Mormon boy should. One day, he gets in an arm-wrestling competition and loses. Repeatedly. Against everyone. Even the girls. He laughs it off, of course – that’s what he does. And he’d probably be okay, but still… He’s weak. And he can’t help but get a little down on himself. So, that night, as he reads, he comes across a verse in the Book of Mormon. It’s in Alma, Chapter 26, verse 12, if you want to read along: “I know that I am nothing. As to my strength, I am weak. Therefore, I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength, I can do all things.” And he realizes that he doesn’t have to be the strongest. If he believes in God, trusts Him, he can be of service to his fellowman whether he can bench press his own body weight or not. God will put him to use and strengthen him, when needed.

Whatever an artist writes while under the influence of the muse – a single word, a line or phrase, a melody – is a message in a bottle, tossed out to a wild sea of chance. There’s no guarantee anyone ever finds that message. Not everyone who reads the message will understand it. But, every now and again, one person will find the one thing he or she needs to hear, needs to read, needs to know in that moment to smile – even if only for a second.

And so we continue to write, to paint, to weave, to sculpt, to sing. We pray for God to guide our words to those who need them. We pray He continues to guide us to those words we need. And He continues to steer the seekers – not always in the direction they think is best – but in the direction they need.