We were driving to church in Houston, Texas, my missionary companion, the woman we were teaching, her 5 year old son and I. The woman was young and strikingly good-looking. Her well cared for appearance served to hide the difficulties she endured as she struggled to take care of her family in a country that was desperately foreign to her. She had been in the states for a few years now, and even though she hadn’t learned to speak a lick of English, the inevitable influences of American culture were beginning to show in her dress and makeup.
If the family was lucky enough to avoid being deported by what the numerous illegal Mexican immigrants in the area called “La Migra,” she would see her son become even more anglicized than she, as he went to school with the Texan gueritos and learned what it was like to be a ball-playing, bubble gum-chewing, root beer-guzzling American kid. But for now he was undeniably Mexican, not unlike his south-of-the-border amiguitos, although his skin, one of the lighter hues of the Mexican palette inherited from his mother, might have suggested otherwise.
We were near the church when he noticed the tote that carried my scriptures, set down between us on the floor of the car. He had seen them before, carried to his house by the gringo Elders who communicated their Mormon message in broken Spanish to his humble family. Since a missionary carries his scriptures like a needle carries its thread, it wouldn’t have taken much for him to make a meaningful mental connection between the Elders and their conspicuously co-present canon.
The boy reached down and firmly grasped the handle on my “believer’s bag.” “Mira, mamá! Ya soy Mormón!” (Look, Mom! I’m a Mormon!) He announced as he displayed his prop proudly. As I contemplated my little friend’s confident declaration of his newfound identity, I was struck by the humor of his slightly oversimplified estimation of what it takes to be a Mormon. Recalling the experience has prompted me to think about what the meaning of the word “Mormon” is for me.
What does it mean to be a Mormon? Joseph Smith taught that the word “Mormon” literally means “more good.” For me, being a Mormon is very much being part of a community. You cannot be a Mormon by avoiding associations with others, anymore than you can be Simon Cowell by refusing to assert your superiority. In other words, you cannot be a Mormon without reaching out to others both internally and externally. Goodness applied exclusively to self is hardly worth bragging about. Perhaps the entreaty to be “
more good” is an invitation to extend our goodness beyond ourselves, to increase our sphere of influence to include those around us. Wilford Woodruff states:
“If our religion does not lead us to love our God and our fellowman and to deal justly and uprightly with all men, then our profession of it is in vain… If Latter-day Saints lived as they should do, and as their religion teaches them to do, there would be no feeling in any breast but that of brotherly and sisterly affection and love.”
And Heber J. Grant beseeches:
“We earnestly implore all members of the church to love their brethren and sisters, and all peoples whoever and wherever they are; to banish hate from their lives, to fill their hearts with charity, patience, long-suffering, and forgiveness… The gospel of Christ is a gospel of love and peace, of patience and long-suffering, of forbearance and forgiveness, of kindness and good deeds, of charity and brotherly love.”
In Mosiah chapter 18, we read of Alma’s experience baptizing a group of people he had taught. Ironically enough, he baptized them in the waters of Mormon. He listed the following as being requisite for entrance into the "fold of God:"
1. The willingness to bear one another’s burdens that they may be light
2. The willingness to mourn with those that mourn
3. The willingness to comfort those who stand in need of comfort
Clearly, Alma viewed the mutual sharing of burdens as a key component of the baptismal covenant. Perhaps it is intended that these burdens, originally delegated exclusively to individuals, be redistributed such that the members of Christ’s church assume the collective burden in a law-of-consecration sort of way. Not only is the weight of individual burdens eased by this transfer of personal hardship, but those who do the easing are also miraculously benefited.
Perhaps what we read in D&C 46 with respect to spiritual gifts, “To some is given one, and to some is given another, that all may be profited thereby” (v.12) might also pertain to the distribution of distress. Neal Maxwell said:
"Patience... helps us to realize that while we may be ready to move on, having had enough of a particular learning experience, our continuing presence is often a needed part of the learning environment of others" (Quote appears in 1980 Oct Ensign, but was shamelessly stolen from a post by Ty Mansfield).
Elder Maxwell identifies one reason why we are called to endure mortal experiences that are less-than-pleasant. This is because it creates an opportunity for others to learn the godly attribute of compassion. Because the trials we experience are different, the more people we are able to help, the more diverse will be our experiences, and the more comprehensive our learning. Those who would refuse to shoulder the burdens of others, or are inclined to heap more burdens upon their backs are denied the valuable lessons that come from the vicarious ownership of adversity.
The performance of the Atonement by Jesus Christ, incontrovertibly the most excruciating burden endured in eternity, was also the most educational. It was through Gethsemane that Christ learned how to “succor his people according to their infirmities” (Alma 7:12). Though we are not asked to, nor are we capable of, bearing such a weight, certainly our spiritual education is dependent on our willingness to be a surrogate sufferer. I count myself lucky to have as friends some amazing people who are so willing.
Huge paybacks in growth are in store, but these are big responsibilities to be sure. Now who will help me ease the burden of being a Mormon?
Schlafly Bottleworks
ME: Hello.
ME: Hello. I'm ME.
... that's what you find when you're vacuuming the pews of the church in preparation for another weekly Sunday-sacrament-meeting-snack-fest (i.e. mormon church service). Did I say pews? More like Pee-yew!s. Since we were understaffed cleaning the church this morning, and since there was a pack of parent-less children running around the building, I decided it might actually make my job easier if I could put the little buggers to work. Not only that, but it would also serve to restore a measure of equilibrium to the cosmic imbalance of justice in the universe since it was these raisin-chewing, goldfish-munching kids who were the pew-contaminating perpetrators in the first place. I figured if I baited the hook with enough feigned enthusiasm as well as an implied willingness to grant them temporary 'honorary grown-up status' for complying, they would bite. After all, it had always worked on my five younger slaves, I mean... siblings. Kids are all about that kind of stuff, right?
Three things NOT to say to/about a young single adult:
(See this previous post)
We were driving to church in Houston, Texas, my missionary companion, the woman we were teaching, her 5 year old son and I. The woman was young and strikingly good-looking. Her well cared for appearance served to hide the difficulties she endured as she struggled to take care of her family in a country that was desperately foreign to her. She had been in the states for a few years now, and even though she hadn’t learned to speak a lick of English, the inevitable influences of American culture were beginning to show in her dress and makeup.
-thumb280739.jpg)
AC: Good morning!
Posts
