When Stones Glow

The Brother of Jared (known only by this epithet in scripture, because apparently his name was Mahonri Moriancumer, and that’s not a fun name to carve into metal plates) was on his way to the promised land. He’d built boats that were “tight like unto a dish” so that its residents could live entirely below deck for those times that water will cover them, but it occurred to him that it was going to be very dark in there, which, in addition to creating what must have been a horrendous vitamin D deficiency, would make it hard to steer.

The Brother of Jared went to God and posed this problem, to which the Lord answered, “What will ye that I should do that ye may have light in your vessels?” (Ether 2:23). No windows, he specified, and no fire. But other than that—what can I do for you? (This always reminds me of my dad, whose favorite mantra while I was growing up was, “You’re smart, you can figure it out.”)

The Brother of Jared reflected on this for a while and then went to work making sixteen shiny stones of glass. He took them to God, saying, “Look, I know this might be a stupid idea, and don’t be mad at me, but here’s my pitch: what if you touch them, and fill them with your light, and we’ll use that to cross the sea” (Ether 3:4). The Lord, invisible behind a cloud during this whole conversation, reached out and touched the stones, and they were filled with light.

Read More

It's Not a Trick Question

In one of the shortest books of the Book of Mormon, Enos is out hunting when he develops a sudden need to speak to God. He kneels down and pleads for forgiveness of his sins.

We don’t know very much about Enos other than he is the son of Jacob, son of Lehi, and that he was raised in the faith, so it’s unclear what kind of life he’s led up to this point. Did he sow wild oats, like Alma the Younger, or was he more of a Joseph Smith type, not guilty of anything grate, but nonetheless committing “many foolish errors, and display[ing] the weakness of youth”? Either way, Enos characterizes his conversation as a “wrestle” before the Lord. He pleads for himself, then for his people, and then for the enemies of his people.

There’s a lot of things that we could say about Enos. In the Maxwell Institute’s new series, Enos, Jarom, Omni: A Brief Theological Introduction focuses on how the book explores themes of covenants and inheritance. In my scripture study group last year, we spent some time discussing Enos’s characterization of the Lamanites as "a “wild, and ferocious, and a blood-thirsty people,” a generalization that we were uncomfortable with (and really differed from Jacob’s account of the Lamanites only a generation before), especially given the racial overtones of the passage.

This week, though, I’ve been thinking about t the bit early on in the chapter when Enos repented of his rebellions and hears a voice saying, “Enos, thy sins are forgiven thee, and I shalt be blessed,” and Enos’s immediate reaction is, “I . . . knew that God could not lie; wherefore my guilt was swept away” (Enos 1:4-5).

Read More

Slice of Sky God

During my last year at BYU, I went to study and work in UK. My cohort of classmates was an odd one—a ton of freshmen English and drama major girls and six business bros recently back from their missions who just felt like going to London. “I’m so glad you’re going,” my professor said when I accepted the job. “I feel like you’ll be a stabilizing influence.”

A few weeks into the program, we were all crowding into a tiny town’s tiny church, the floor stone, the ceiling creaking wood. I was in love with it. There’s something about old churches, for me.

The boy next to me took a deep breath and said, “Ah! The smell of apostasy in the morning!” and rarely have I been so close to slapping someone. It seemed to me a mockery of the hundreds of years of people who had worn out their life in the pursuit of God, who had done their best in that little church. It seemed to dismiss their faith as less than his for the simple reason that it wasn’t his.

There’s a thing that can happen in my church—can happen in most churches—where we get to thinking we’re the chosen ones. We have all the answers, and everyone else is just wandering around in the dark, the poor misguided souls. At its worst, this attitude reminds me a little of the story about Rameumptom in the Book of Mormon, where a group of people gather weekly to thank God for loving them and saving them—just them. Because they were the best. This is an extreme example of course, but sometimes I hear echoes of it. Sometimes, unfortunately, I feel it.

Read More

Learning about Racism in America

A few years ago, I was becoming very frustrated trying to explain male privilege to some of my guy friends. Most often, I’d start by talking about the difference between a woman walking home in the dark versus a man walking home in the dark. I’d explain why a woman might seem a little uncomfortable walking past them in the dark. A common response was, “But I didn’t do anything!”

“It’s not about you,” I said. “This gets to be about her.”

I found the “I didn’t do it!” reaction frustrating, because to me it was completely beside the point. To me, it feels obvious that this gets to be about the women. It gets to be about the people at risk.

My favorite class in divinity school was “Black Women and Divinity.” In it, we learned about womanism and healing, about forgiveness (pros and cons) and celebration, the earth and our connection to it. I loved the class, and I took it because I did not have even the slightest handle on what it meant to be black in America. As a student of American literature and history as well as a person who lived in America, that seemed like an oversight.

Read More

Wilderness and Becoming

You may remember that in my last post I wrote about wordlessness. It was timely, because I’ve felt myself without words again over these last few weeks. I’ve found thinking, much less writing hard. Instead I’ve been reading—reading lots of things by people I respect about how to think through and name what is going on in our world right now. Here is a sermon from one of my professors, Stephanie Paulsell, on things unseen, including viruses but also conviction. Here is an article on the importance of the ordinary during these times. And below is a talk my mom gave a few months ago on wilderness, which I’ve been thinking about ever since. Thanks for letting me steal it, Mom.

In the beginning, Lehi received a vision from God telling him to leave Jerusalem and go into the wilderness. In the account of this story by Lehi’s son, Nephi, the wilderness looms large. It looms not only as a place but also as a metaphor for affliction. It existed as a wilderness not only because of its location but also because of what it lacked—the familiar as well as dreams once held dear.

It is not difficult to imagine that when Nephi traveled through the wilderness in the plains, wadis, and mountains of the Middle East; across the wide expanse of the Pacific Ocean; and even the new-to-him uncharted Promised Land he missed the briny taste of olives and goat cheese. Did he also miss the colorful cacophony of Jerusalem’s marketplace? Did he miss the wet/dry smell of rain on the dusty streets of Jerusalem?

Read More