Tag: Jeffrey R. Holland

A Little Perspective on Life

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20241 Comment

Dear Will:

For Christmas, my son Luke bought me a one-year “subscription” to StoryWorth. Every Monday, I get an email, prompting me to respond to a question about myself as a keepsake for my children and granddaughter. This week’s question: How has your faith influenced your perspective on life? Since you and I have become close over the years, I thought I would share my answer with you as well.

First, some context: Through my mother, I am a sixth- or seventh-generation Mormon (depending on which genealogical line you trace), a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. For his part, my father claimed to be a member of the Church of England, which, he said, explained why he didn’t attend services (too far away). So as I was growing up, my mother would schlep me and my six siblings off to church services each Sunday while my dad stayed home tending the pot roast. Throughout my formative years, I remained an obedient but indifferent member of the Church, not thinking much about it or its teachings one way or the other. While other kids my age dutifully played along and parroted the standard professions of faith and belief that they were taught, I remained a detached observer—in the Church but never really of the Church, if you catch my meaning. As I observed my older siblings testing various types of rebellion and defiance, I assumed that one day that would also be me.

When I was 14 years old, my family moved from Redlands to Glendora, California—just as I was entering the ninth grade—and things changed for me dramatically. At a junior high school, the ninth-graders were the old kids, the cool kids, and without upperclassmen to put us in our places we worked hard to act more grown up than we really were. Because I was the new kid in town, I got invited to parties, offered weed, pulled this way and that by different social groups who were trying to figure out if I was one of them. I wondered if I might be as well. I recall being asked about my beliefs and personal practices (“So, do you drink?”) and always answering awkwardly, usually making up some excuse for being a straight arrow because I had not taken the time to decide for myself.

Meanwhile the kids in my church social group were tugging me in another direction altogether, and in time, without really making a conscious choice, I found myself pulled into their orbit. At some point, I couldn’t really tell you when exactly, I made the choice to lean in and truly become the thing I had spent 15 or 16 years merely observing. While I don’t recall the particulars, this much I remember distinctly: at 15 I didn’t really know what I believed; but by 18 I had decided to become a missionary. Those two years in Uruguay were life-altering, and I have remained actively involved in my church ever since.

But all of that is merely preamble—necessary backstory, I think, since so much of what I believe and how I live has been influenced by my association with the Church. But what of the question regarding my faith? Rather than delve into lots of religious doctrine, let’s just focus on those of my core beliefs that really get to the heart of the question:

All my life I have believed in God—that part has been easy for me. I tend to agree with the Book of Mormon prophet Alma who said that “all things denote there is a God.” As I observe the wonders of the world around me, it just seems obvious (concurrent evil and destruction notwithstanding). Beyond those observations, I have had moments of clarity when I have felt God’s presence and an assurance that He has touched my life in a number of significant ways. Along with that baseline belief, I have faith that there is more to life than what we can extract from our 90-or-so years of mortality—that I pre-existed and that I will continue living beyond the grave. I could say more on this—much more in fact—but rather than turn this into a sermon, let’s get to the point about how all of this has influenced my perspective on life.

Because of my faith, I believe that what I do in this life—or more to the point, what I become—really matters. I have spent most of my life striving to become a better version of myself—kinder, less selfish, more patient, more virtuous, more loving. The idea that we should love one another and treat one another as we wish to be treated is not unique to my Christian faith, but it certainly informs how I choose to live. It’s easy to imagine that I would be a very different sort of person if I thought that ultimately how I interact with others is just a choice that really doesn’t matter. You don’t have to be a person of faith to believe and to try to live by the Golden Rule, of course. But for me, it has helped me tremendously to be preached at regularly and to be surrounded by others who are striving imperfectly, just like me, to be better tomorrow than we are today. Not that I’m doing it for show, but I would hope that others could observe my life and see evidence of my faith in the choices that I have made. They will also see plenty of evidence of times and circumstances when I have fallen far short of my own aspirations (sorry), but in its totality, I hope the trend of my life is in the right direction—that I have made at least some progress since my days at Goddard Junior High.

Because of my faith, I tend to be more optimistic than pessimistic, a man more prone to hope than to despair. That hopeful perspective has been tested in recent years—by political and environmental issues, in particular—but I try to maintain an “eternal perspective” when I start to feel the negativity drag me down. Over the last few years, I find myself returning again and again to something the Apostle Paul said in his letter to the Romans: that “all things work together for good to them that love God.” That isn’t to say that it will be easy or even just easier for me because of my faith, but I do think my faith helps to carry me through the rough times. In 1999, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland gave a discourse that I love, a sermon that captures in better words than I could hope to compose the nature of my hopeful perspective in the face of adversity. I wholeheartedly recommend that address to anyone and everyone.

And finally, because of my faith, I have no fear of death. Rather I anticipate it with curiosity and wonder. It has been painful for me to lose loved ones—to be sure—but I have taken comfort in the surety that we may be reunited one day. I remember sitting with my mother during her final months on earth when her body was breaking down and she was ready to move on. She said: “I want to see what it’s like.” I have a few more years left in me (I hope), but I agree with her on the essential point: this life is great, but there are even better things to come.

Thanks for asking.

PW

Photo by Benjamin Davies on Unsplash

That He May Heal You

On By Peter WatkinsIn 2016Leave a comment

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“Surely the thing God enjoys most about being God
is the thrill of being merciful,
especially to those who don’t expect it
and often feel they don’t deserve it.”
Elder Jeffrey R Holland

Dear Will:

We’re not really sure why he left. Maybe he thought the old man was too far past his prime to run the place. Maybe somebody said something that made him mad or hurt his feelings. Perhaps he was simply tired of being weighed down by high expectations, of having to live a certain way or having to be a certain kind of guy. Or maybe he just no longer believed in what he was doing anymore.

But for whatever reason, he finally walked away, leaving behind the only life he had ever known and all of the advantages and privileges that came with it. Forsaking the promise of a too-far-distant reward, he cashed in his inheritance and entered the enticing world of “anything goes”—where he could do or be whatever he wanted and no one would be standing by to raise an eyebrow or to sharply remind him of how his choices might besmirch the family name. Thus liberated from obligations and responsibility, he experimented, indulged, spent time and money as he never had before, did things he had been taught he should not do. And all too quickly, the inheritance ran out, “wasted,” we are told, “with riotous living.”

And then, as so often happens in life, extraneous circumstance complicated the natural consequences of choice. Famine brought widespread economic hardship, so that when he had spent every last penny and found himself compelled to look for work, there were no good jobs to be found. Ere long, he who was born to privilege, and had but recently enjoyed some degree of personal wealth, found himself settling for what work he could get. So it was that he was hired on as a farm laborer, assigned (one suspects, with some degree of horror) to feed the hogs—unclean beasts according to the religion of his youth.

Close your eyes and it’s easy to imagine him sloshing about his daily chores, nostrils filled with the foulest of stenches, boots covered in unspeakable muck, doling out table scraps to the swine while his own belly remained unfilled. The humiliation of it must have been soul-crushing. Hungry, ashamed, brokenhearted and contrite, he reached such a lowly state that he finally “came to himself,” and in a moment of clarity recognized a potential way out.

Was it possible, he wondered, to ask his father for a job? His father’s servants always had food in their stomachs, didn’t they? And you could be sure that no one in his father’s employ would be asked to slop the hogs. But could he truly go home again after what he had done? Could he ever be forgiven for his foolish choices, his hubris, his transgressions against the family name?

Although he must have felt unbearable emotional anguish, his physical hunger was even greater. Desperate, willing to do anything to reclaim his broken life, he quit his job, put on the best of his tattered and splattered clothes, and began the long walk home.

As he walked, no doubt he rehearsed and re-rehearsed the words that he would speak when he finally arrived back on his father’s doorstep. He would acknowledge his transgressions against God and family and beg forgiveness. He would pledge renewed faithfulness and hard work. He would disavow his vices and welcome whatever conditions might be placed upon him if only he might be granted the lowliest assignment, the most meager of wages, among his father’s group of servants.

His father, in turn, would be fully justified if he ranted a bit, lectured sternly, questioned his son’s judgment, and lamented the tragic waste of time and money and opportunity. What’s more, there might be a time of agonizing uncertainty while his father paced and raged, leaving his wayward son to feel the full extent of a parent’s disappointment. But the young man would willingly endure all of that and more because he felt that he deserved it—and, let’s be honest: He had nowhere else to turn.

Were this a true-life story, that might be exactly how it played out. But this is an allegory, originally told by the Master Teacher who had a different lesson in mind. The ultimate message in this story is less about disobedience and repentance than it is about love and forgiveness and reconciliation. Jesus tells it this way:

    And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.
    And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.
    But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet:
    And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry:
    For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. . . . (Luke 15:20-24)

As you envision that scene, please notice how the moment of reconciliation plays out. The father in this tale does not stand proudly in front of his house, forcing his despondent son to complete the long, difficult walk home alone. Rather, when the son is still “a great way off,” the father in this case runs to him, literally shortening the journey back to family and fellowship. As soon as the son has finished his sincere expression of regret, the father envelops him in love and security—restoring the benefits and honor set aside for his children. The natural consequences of the son’s choices have apparently been punishment enough, so that rather than castigate the prodigal for his wastrel ways, the father instead focuses on celebrating his return.

At its very core, the story of the Prodigal Son is the story of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Its promise is intended to fill all of us with hope that, no matter what we may have done and no matter why we may have done it, we can all “come to ourselves” and turn back toward our Father, who will certainly run to us, accept our contrition and make us whole once again. In the Book of Mormon He says it this way: “Will ye not now return unto me, and repent of your sins, and be converted, that I may heal you?” (3 Nephi 9:13).

That invitation extends to all of us. Who among us has not found him or herself in a similar, lowly state? Who hasn’t at some point made regrettable choices that have caused us to drift ever farther from our Heavenly Father? Even if we may not have been as willful as the prodigal in this story, we can certainly relate to his state of regret and longing for home. Whether we have walked away literally or figuratively, we certainly know what it’s like to feel cut off, wrung out, desperate for help we may feel unworthy to ask for.

It’s true that we do not know why the Prodigal Son wandered off. But ultimately it doesn’t matter. Whether someone has hurt your feelings, or you’re tired of the Gospel’s high expectations, or you have made unwise choices, or you resent the Church’s lofty standards, or you have lost your faith in those in charge, or you’re simply not sure what you believe anymore, may I invite you to turn back toward home? Whatever might be your current source of pain and longing and disaffection, return unto the Savior that He may heal you. Reclaim your divine inheritance which—no matter what choices you may have made or may yet make—will never be fully spent.

I express my own faith in the promise of the Gospel of Jesus Christ and in the healing power of His Atonement. As one who is also prone to wander, I am well familiar with the long road home. Come. Let’s walk that road together.

PW

I Assure You: They’re Not

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20153 Comments

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Dear Will:

I recently spoke with a friend who has not attended church in quite some time. After she shared with me a tender story about what had brought her to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the first place, I felt compelled to ask: “Then why have you stopped coming?” She responded with a common, sad sentiment: “I don’t feel worthy.”

My heart sank. Worthy? As if any of us is ever truly worthy! Her words left me troubled, puzzling over our human propensity to shun God due to our nagging imperfections. And I’ve concluded that this tendency leads to several persistent and problematic misconceptions:

1. We act as if we could hide from Him –This notion has been around approximately forever. You’ll recall that after Adam and Eve partook of the forbidden fruit, they heard the voice of God and hid themselves for shame (see: Genesis 3). They seemed to think that they could hide transgression behind a bush. Likewise, sometimes our indiscretions make us too ashamed to pray or attend church when those are just the things we need in an hour of weakness. “Oh,” you say, “but how could I ever come before Him after what I’ve done?” To which I say: How can you not? He knows already anyway. And He wants to help.

2. We feel that we’re not good enough – I hear this one all the time. “All of those people at church are so much better than I am.” Without going into detail, let me put it this way: NO THEY’RE NOT! In truth, we all have our weaknesses and idiosyncrasies. It is those weaknesses that draw us together. You’ll recall that Jesus was once criticized for socializing with sinners, to which He responded: “They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick” (Matthew 9:12). His invitation was to all—especially to those who might feel unworthy. He said: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). You’ll note that He didn’t say: “Come unto me, all ye that already have your act together.” Paul reiterated that thought when he said: “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). That includes, by the way, whoever sits next to you in Sunday School.

3. We believe we can never be forgiven – The scriptures are full of examples of those who felt that forgiveness was no longer possible for them. Yet Jesus was (and is) consistent in His willingness to extend forgiveness to all. And let’s be clear especially about this: You can never be worthy of that forgiveness; you can never earn it. He gives it freely. In this regard, His grace is truly sufficient—no matter what you or I may have done to make ourselves unworthy. In truth, nothing can separate us from the love of God (Romans 8:38-39). Nothing. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland put it this way: “Surely the thing God enjoys most about being God is the thrill of being merciful, especially to those who don’t expect it and often feel they don’t deserve it. . . . [However] far from home and family and God you feel you have traveled, I testify that you have not traveled beyond the reach of divine love. It is not possible for you to sink lower than the infinite light of Christ’s Atonement shines” (“The Laborers in the Vineyard,” Ensign, May 2012.)

I hope by now you have recognized in all of this an implied invitation, which I will now make explicit: Come join us on Sunday at the Santiago Creek Ward. You’ll fit right in. I’ll be saving you a seat in Sunday School.

PW