It was colder than I expected. The skies were cloudy and
grey. The streets damp from the rain. I could feel the wet gravel sneak into my
dress shoes and cling to my feet. Walking hurriedly across a public square and
down the cobblestone side roads, I felt my heart beating wildly. I was panicked.
I felt out of place. Nothing was going according to plan.
I had never been to Rome. But I had spent hours during the
months before the trip researching and preparing – I felt I knew the metro system
better than the Provo bus routes. But I hadn’t expected the construction, the
closures, the broken metro-card machines. Or the cold and rain.
As much as I loved traveling, I had made mistakes too many
times to be comfortable in a foreign country where I did not speak the
language. The other members of our group had decided to visit an archaeological
site in another city. They were leaving later in the day and so most of them
were sleeping in or touring other parts of Rome. We were not all in the same
hotel.
It was a Sunday morning, and I was alone in my efforts to
find the local church building to try and attend sacrament meeting. When I had
first realized that I would travel over weekends at times for my job, I had
made it a goal – despite my anxiety – to always make it to Church.
This was a personal commitment for me and something that I felt was an
important understanding between me and the Lord. But nothing was going right.
I had given myself enough time for some error. I had left early enough. But by the time I had realized my mistake in not reading the construction notices, walking across the city to another station, trying and failing multiple times to get money on my metro card, I realized that I had only two options. Ask someone for help. Or call the local Bishop. I had looked him up before coming, and I had his phone number. I also had international phone service on my cell. But the meetings were just starting (Relief Society and Elders Quorum first), and I thought he wouldn’t answer anyway. But if I found someone to help me, there was a chance I could still take the metro in time for the sacrament.
But all that was terrifying. Talking to strangers is on the top
of my list of fears – making my entire mission something of a miracle. Feeling emotionally
spent, panicked, and completely humiliated by my failed plan and the
realization that I was going to give up, I miserably made my way back to my
hotel.
I felt like a failure. Not, perhaps, in the fact that I hadn’t
made it to Church this one time all year – but because I knew that it had been my
own personal commitment. And that it hadn’t been impossible. My disappointment with
myself segued instantly into what I felt was surely disappointment from God. I
mentally began beating myself up for my fears and my lack of commitment, conviction,
and obedience.
When I knelt down in that hotel room to talk to the Lord and
ask him for forgiveness – prepared to continue my own mental torment, I was surprised
by the sudden impression that came to mind.
It’s okay. You just led with your fear instead of your
faith. Next time, switch it around.
It was so simple and rational. I felt both touched and
grateful. It was gentle and firm, and I felt peace.
The experience left a deep impression on me. I think because
it was so unexpected. I have in many ways wrestled my whole life with
understanding the character and nature of a loving, gentle, but still firm God.
The ideas of justice and mercy co-existing simultaneously has always been a
little bit of a jungle gym for me.
I have had many experiences to counter my preconceived idea
that God is preparing to slam down judgement on my head, condemn us the moment we
step off the path, or require perfection prior to forgiveness. I know that is
not the case. Time and again the Lord has sought to teach me more about his
loving character that manages to command, direct, and gently persuade, while
also loving and patiently waiting. He is merciful and kind – eager to bless and
forgive and hopeful that we will heed his commands to repent and change.
But it seems as often as I have learned I have forgotten
again.
This has extended even to my study and interpretation of
scripture.
I have often wondered, though perhaps not too deeply, why Alma
the Younger experienced such a dramatic change within the course of what appeared
to be only a few days. We know the story. After seeing an angel, he was tormented
with the pains of hell for three days and three nights. Then, remembering his
father having taught about Christ, Alma cried out for the Savior’s mercy. I was
always struck, if not astonished, by the instantaneous flip in his situation.
“Behold, when I thought this, I could remember my pains nor
more.”
I thought to myself – well, that was fast. The repentance process
for many people seems to take weeks if not months for more serious
transgressions. Alma had mentioned only a few verses before that he recognized his
actions had “murdered many of [God’s] children, or rather led them away unto
destruction.” That seemed a very serious crime.
But not only was his pain instantly removed, Alma then
describes that he experienced an incredible, exquisite joy and a powerful, spiritual
experience. He regains his strength and declares he was born again.
I felt that it was too quick. Too miraculous. The suffering
surely had not been enough for such a change. Forgiveness, perhaps. But what
lessons he still needed to learn!
I perhaps did not give the story the intention or spiritual consideration
that it deserved. For some reason, however, my reading of the account this time
brought on different feelings.
I thought about what first struck Alma – the words of the
angel that caused him to lose all strength.
“If thou wilt of thyself be destroyed, seek no more to destroy
the Church of God.”[1]
I imagined what that would have felt like. An angel appears
and more or less says – I am going to use the power of a God to stop you from teaching
falsehoods and leading people astray. My purpose here is to protect the Church
and the innocent from you. If you don’t want to change – that’s up to you. Your
damnation is on your own head, but I’m here to stop you from hurting others.
How terrible that moment would have been. The realization
that the truth wasn’t going to wait for him to change. I think in that moment,
things fell into place for Alma. I don’t mean the gospel or testimony, but I do
mean a recognition of things as they really were.
I think the suffering Alma felt over the next few days was
the guilt and sorrow of someone who has finally come to a recognition of their
own failures but without chance for relief. I should be clear here. I do not
think that Alma was suffering as a punishment for his sins. I believe that he
was simply experiencing a brutal reality – one he had perhaps never allowed
himself to see before – of his own actions and choices. He could no longer lie
to himself. He knew that he was hurting others and offending God. Accepting
that truth about himself was terribly painful, and he could not escape it.
That sort of suffering would have been eternal and in some
ways universal had it not been for the remaining truth that in his pride and
sins he had previously ignored. There was a plan of redemption prepared for all who would repent. Christ, the Son of God, came to forgive
sin, relieve suffering, and enable a change in our very natures that would allow
even sinners to one day become like God.
The moment Alma remembered and realized this truth was the
moment he called upon Christ for mercy. And in that context, the immediacy of
the Lord’s merciful redemptive power makes sense to me.
God is not about needless suffering. Alma’s heart was
sincere, his desire for change real, and that was the only thing needed. Christ’s
atoning sacrifice had already taken the suffering and punishment upon himself. Once Alma sincerely recognized the need for
the Savior and the importance of keeping the commandments, further suffering would
have been pointless - perhaps even contrary - to the plan of a merciful God.
I think of this principle in my situation in Rome and in many
more weight experiences throughout my life. For some reason, I often think that
I am not worthy of Christ’s redemptive power. That I have to suffer for my
mistakes and prove myself entirely absolved from them before I can be forgiven.
But an omnipotent God – whose only purpose is our progression and exaltation –
who knows our hearts and our intentions does not need to wait for our change before
he offers his hand to redeem and bless us. In fact, we can’t actually change
without him. All He wants, I think, is our reaching, our willingness, or as He
stated so eloquently in revelation –
“The
heart and a willing mind.”[2]
The scriptures are replete with examples of this level of compassionate,
merciful, and factual redemption. Enos himself sounds surprised by Christ’s
quickness to forgive.
“Lord, how is it done?” He asks after
what similarly seems like an instantaneous feeling of peace. His “guilt was swept
away.”
The Lord responds, “Because of thy
faith in Christ…”[3]
Moved by the beautiful simplicity of a very attainable plan
of salvation, Enos can hardly contain praying then for the welfare of everyone
around him – including his enemies.
We know of the New Testament account of the woman taken in
adultery. Certainly, she was guilty – the Savior never implies otherwise. But how
little the Lord seems to require when he responds,
“Woman,
where are those thine accusers? hath no man condemned thee? ...Neither do I condemn
thee: go, and sin no more.”[4]
Sin no more to avoid the reality that comes to all who turn
against God. The reality that Alma himself experienced firsthand. The pain that
comes from knowing and feeling the weight of your own imperfections, guilt, wrongdoings.
Go and sin no more. This is not some passive elimination of responsibility. It does
not imply a redemptive free-for-all or negate the power and significance of
Christ’s atoning sacrifice. Instead, it amplifies its universal, omnipotent influence.
Christ does not say – go, and if you prove that you are
never going to sin again, I will forgive you for the adultery part as well.
He seems to imply instead – You have been given a clean
slate. Go, and I will help you to avoid sin in the future. And you will find
peace if you stay close to the commandments I’ve given. And if you make a
mistake, that is why I am here.
We must go and have faith in Christ and rely on Him daily,
constantly, consistently, because then our faith can make us whole. Christ can
make us whole.
That is so instantaneous. Well did Amulek understand this
point. Himself someone who once ignored the call of the Spirit, he teaches to
the poor in Ammonihah, that if they repented:
“Immediately shall the great plan of
redemption be brought about unto you.” [5]
Immediately. The Lord is not waiting for anything else. The
moment we cry out to him in sincerity of heart, he will answer.
“How oft I would have gathered thee as a hen gathereth her
chickens, and ye would not.”[6]
And yet, though his anger is not turned away, “His hand his stretched out still…”[7]
It is not wonder, then, that Alma was able to experience in a
passing moment the extremities of both damnation and the joy of redemption. His
sins he was forced to recognize – but to acknowledge and regret them was his
choice, and he did so honestly. His sorrow was real. His reaching out to the
Savior sincere. His life afterwards a testament to the heart that the Savior
had already seen and understood.
There was no need for Alma to suffer – not when he was
willing to be redeemed. The Savior instantly reached out to heal him. I believe
that this is the same for all of us. Our sins are not meant to weigh us down,
except with “that trouble which shall bring you down unto repentance,” as Alma
tells his own son years later.
The purpose of mortality is for us to grow, learn, and
change. A naturally painful process as we often must reconcile our hopes for
ourselves with the reality of our own weaknesses, shortcomings, and failures.
But God is faithful, who has “prepared a way for our escape.” And more than that,
he is motivated by love, mercy, and an actual desire to save. Let us not suffer
more for what the Savior has already taken upon himself. We simply need to seek
His helping, healing hands.
“Behold, Zion hath said: The Lord hath forsaken me and my
Lord hath forgotten me – but he will show that he hath not. For can a woman
forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her
womb? … Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually
before me…for they shall not be ashamed that wait for me.”[8]
[1] Alma
36:11-20
[2]
Doctrine and Covenants 64:34
[3]
Enos 1:6-8
[4] John
8:10-11
[5]
Alma 34:31
[6] 3
Nephi 10:6
[7] 2
Nephi 19:12
[8] 1
Nephi 21:14-16; 23
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