Discipleship and Obedience

I’ve been pondering what it means to be a disciple. Before now, I’ve thought it meant “one who is obedient” (i.e. someone who observes the Christian teachings and commandments). I guess I’ve backed away from this definition because I realized that nobody is completely obedient—we all fall short in one way or the other.

So, maybe being a disciple just means that you genuinely try to be obedient. I think there are many well-meaning people who do this. While some of these people may be content and essentially Christian with this kind of “discipleship,” others could easily become either pharisaical or totally overwhelmed and despondent. They would either idolize the law or feel crushed by it, both of which stray from what I understand to be the Christian way.

Then if discipleship isn’t fundamentally about obedience, what is it? The closest I’ve come to an answer is this: A disciple is one who follows Christ. Perhaps that definition is simply tautological (A=A), but I feel like there’s something more substantial to it. I do not expect you to be satisfied with this definition--I am not. It is incomplete, but I think it is a beginning.

What do you think? What does it mean to follow Christ? Is it obedience or something else entirely? If obedience and discipleship are different, what is that difference?

Here are a few biblical passages that might illuminate your research:

• John 8:31-32 
•  John 13:35 
• John 15:8-10 

Why Immersion?

In my religion and in many other Christian churches, we practice baptism "by immersion," specifically complete submersion. There are other groups that baptize "by affusion" or with sprinkling. The mode and manner of baptism has been a point of doctrinal debate since the days of the Reformation. And while many justly argue that the spirit of this ordinance is more important than the method, I have found the physical rite itself to be profoundly beautiful and instructive. What follows is a brief talk I gave at a recent convert baptism in which I explained some of what I have observed and felt about what we can learn from the act of baptizing by immersion:

I think one of the things we are meant to learn from the baptismal ordinance is that Christian discipleship is an immersive experience. You are not being baptized into a church that simply asks for a few hours of your week and an occasional donation. Rather, you are being baptized, as the Apostle Paul said, unto Christ’s death--a long and sometimes steep path of discipleship that will demand your heart, might, mind, and strength; your time, talents, and means; your will, your love, and your life. No partial measures will do. Now, that is not something to enter lightly. And I think baptism by immersion is meant to teach us experientially that our obedience and discipleship will ultimately be incomplete and insufficient if we are not entirely immersed—even if there is just one little hair “above water.”

So, with that said, you might be wondering, “what am I getting myself into?” Well, the answer is water—literally,  but also symbolically. Starting today (and then re-starting every following day), you are to immerse yourself as much as you can in the living water—in Jesus Christ Himself. Although my initial discussion about immersion may have seemed overwhelming (and in some ways, it is, even to me), you should find great comfort in that knowledge. Speaking about the weight of the immersive discipleship He requires (i.e. of what it takes to be a faithful member of His church), Christ declared, “My yoke is easy, and my burden light.” That is the water into which you are being baptized—in which you are to immerse yourself completely. It will ask for everything you have and are. But it will give you all that the Father has and is. It is a burden, but it is light, and it is worth it.

Another thing to remember is that you will not be in that baptismal font by yourself. You could, theoretically, step into the font and immerse yourself without any assistance, but that is not how this ordinance works. Instead, a priesthood holder will stand beside you and help as you perform the ordinance. I’ve said that on one level the water represents Christ—the living water. Well, so does the priesthood holder. In your life, as you try to immerse yourself in His word and His works, as you try to fill your life with His love, He will stand beside you, and help you in those efforts.

There will come moments in your life when you will realize that you have not been immersing yourself as you should—even though the burden is light, you may let it fall. You might slip up on the word of wisdom, or you could miss church some week. What then? Well, what would happen if, during your baptism, you were not completely immersed? You would just have to try again. That’s it. And you’d try again until you got it right. With baptism and with life, as long as you don’t give up, as long as you keep trying, things will work out. They will work out because Christ will never give up on you. If you are willing to take His hand, He will take yours, and lead you gently along until someday you will find yourself at His side, in the presence of God, to go no more out.

Remember this:

• You are committing your whole self—the Book of Mormon prophet Alma explained that one part of the covenant we make at baptism is to “stand as a witness of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in, even until death.”

• The baptismal water represents that living water: You should fill your life with love, service, goodness, and light. And, as you do, reflect that to others.
• You are not alone. Jesus Christ will stand by you as you lay down the life of the old man of sin, as you begin a new life of discipleship and membership in the restored church of Jesus Christ, and, ultimately, after you die and are raised up to be with and become like Him.

That is the path you begin today. I want you to know that this path has been beautiful for me. I believe with all my heart that it is true and good.

Religion and Gay Marriage

During my last semester at BYU, I took a class on American religious rhetoric. For one of my projects in that class, I gave a presentation on the religious rhetoric surrounding the Prop 8 campaign. Supporters of Prop 8 were generally associated with religious groups, but as the debate approached "the front lines," the openly religious quality of the rhetoric diminished. That makes sense because many of the opponents to the proposition were not religious (although there certainly were some religious groups that opposed Prop 8 as well), and thus, an argument based on religion would not necessarily be effective. 

Still, I think it is a pity that religion-based rhetoric is often not generally accepted in the public sphere. So, I wanted to provide this virtual space to discuss the religious arguments both in favor and against gay marriage. This is not the place to simply explain your opinion or to rebut the opposing view. Rather, it is meant to allow us to compile the religious arguments that are or could be used in the current discussion about gay marriage. Hopefully, this will help us, as religious people, to more fully understand how our faith could influence our political positions, one way or the other.

Please use the following format in your comments:

"In favor of gay marriage: RELIGIOUSLY INFLUENCED ARGUMENT"

 

OR

"Opposing gay marriage: RELIGIOUSLY INFLUENCED ARGUMENT"

A Little Miracle

As practice ended, I looked down and realized that the key to my classroom had fallen off my makeshift key chain. But when had it happened? I had just raced the players in from midfield, and it could have easily fallen off while I was sprinting. But, it could have just as easily fallen off while we were playing keep away, or even while I was taking attendance while the guys put on their cleats and shin guards. So, as Coach Bowden talked to the team, I began looking along the path I had just run, hoping that I could find it and avoid the embarrassment of asking for help looking for my key. I didn’t find it, so I asked the players and coaches if they would help me scour the field. We looked together, but didn’t find anything. I eventually thanked them for their help and said that I didn’t think it was worth it any longer to keep looking--it could have been buried under some dirt, or it might have fallen off even before I got to the field.

I hauled the soccer bags back to my room, scanning the ground as closely as possible as I tried to retrace my steps. Nothing. I asked a janitor to unlock my room so I could stash the equipment there, grabbed my backpack and walked back to the field, again searching for a dropped key anywhere along the path.

From the moment I realized it was missing, I had begun to offer up silent prayers that I would find the key. “Please help me find this.” “Help me to know where I can look to find the key.” “I would really like to find this key.” As I stepped onto the field once again, I crouched down (I didn’t kneel) and more conscientiously prayed. “Father, it would be very convenient if I can find this key. It will be okay if I don’t--I know that the school will be able to make a copy--but I would like to avoid that, if possible. I need to leave at 5:30 in order to get back home and finish everything I need to do before my class starts at UNLV tonight, so I will keep looking until then. If it’s here, and if it’s according to thy will, please help me to find the key within that time.” It was 5:22.

I walked back and forth along the field, hoping that the long shadows or the dusk-light would allow me to see the shape or glint of my bronze-colored key. Still, I found nothing. As I retraced once again my steps near where the players had put on their soccer equipment, a wiry lady with grayed light-brown hair approached me, walking her dog (some kind of dachshund mix, I think).

She said, “This is Blueberry--I guess she wants to meet you.”
“Well hello,” I said.
“Blueberry only likes to meet good people, so I guess you’re a good person.”
I smiled. “So, do you live around here?”
“Yeah, I’m staying with my daughter over there,” she indicated.
“Okay. I teach here, and I’m looking for a key I dropped somewhere.”
She immediately bent down and picked up a key. “Is this it?”
“Uh, yes, that is.” I paused, rather taken aback, then said, “That was a miracle.”
She replied, “Well, everything happens for a reason.”
I nodded and said, “I believe that too.”

I thanked her and she walked away. I took out my phone to check the time. It was 5:29.

I was not looking for a sign of God’s existence, nor was I particularly worried about what would happen if I did not find the key. As I said in my prayer, this was simply something that would be convenient for me at this time. But it was beautiful to glimpse God’s hand in my life and to feel the presence of a Father who is intimately aware of me, even in an obscure, dusty field in Las Vegas, and who places people (and dachshund mixes) in my path to bless me.

I smiled and laughed to myself as I walked to my car. When I sat in the driver’s seat, I said a brief prayer of gratitude, and began to drive home.

After a few moments of basking in that experience, I began to wonder if I should have said anything more to that lady--to thank her once again, or to explain to her how she had been an answer to a prayer. I thought that, in the future, I would be more open about sharing those details with people like that lady.

I was leaving the school parking lot as I thought about this, and looking ahead, realized that I would probably drive past her. I prepared to roll down my window and talk with her again, but there was a car in front of me, and she crossed the relatively busy street before I reached her. As I drove away, I saw her light a cigar and begin to smoke.

I could have done more to share with her something of the sacredness of that experience, and to rejoice with her in God’s goodness and grace. I don’t know what might have come of it, but I do believe that God was able to use a lady who smokes cigars and lives with her daughter in an impoverished neighborhood of Las Vegas to help me find my key.

Mormon Perfectionism?

 “Have ye walked, keeping yourselves blameless before God? Could ye say, if ye were called to die at this time, within yourselves, that ye have been sufficiently humble?...Behold, are ye stripped of pride? I say unto you, if ye are not ye are not prepared to meet God. Behold ye must prepare quickly; for the kingdom of heaven is soon at hand, and such an one hath not eternal life. Behold, I say, is there one among you who is not stripped of envy? I say unto you that such an one is not prepared; and I would that he should prepare quickly, for the hour is close at hand, and he knoweth not when the time shall come; for such an one is not found guiltless” (Alma 5:27-29, The Book of Mormon).

Passages like these can be quite disheartening—I know that I cannot honestly answer them in the way I would like. I have moments of pride and envy, and have certainly not kept myself entirely blameless before God. So, if we interpret this kind of scripture literally, it is easy to feel hopelessly condemned. Likewise, it would be easy to conclude that we must be perfectly obedient in order to be saved. Both Mormons and non-Mormons have made this conclusion about Mormon soteriology. Some would even say that it is this doctrine that leads to the “toxic perfectionism” sometimes present in Mormon culture.

I am a Mormon myself, and I recognize that it is easy to read this works-based, legalistic, toxically perfectionistic soteriology into Mormonism. However, I personally believe that I have a grace-based mindset, and I contend that a complete understanding of Mormon scripture lends itself more towards my perspective than towards a works-based one.

One of the beautiful witnesses of this is The Book of Mormon itself, especially when one considers the story of its revelation.

The Book of Mormon was revealed to Joseph Smith three years after what is known as “the first vision,” in which God the Father and Jesus Christ appeared to him. Of those three years, Joseph Smith wrote, “During the space of time which intervened between the time I had the vision and the year eighteen hundred and twenty-three...I was left to all kinds of temptations; and, mingling with all kinds of society, I frequently fell into many foolish errors, and displayed the weakness of youth, and the foibles of human nature; which, I am sorry to say, led me into divers temptations, offensive in the sight of God. In making this confession, no one need suppose me guilty of any great or malignant sins. A disposition to commit such was never in my nature. But I was guilty of levity, and sometimes associated with jovial company, etc., not consistent with that character which ought to be maintained by one who was called of God as I had been...In consequence of these things, I often felt condemned for my weakness and imperfections; when, on the evening of the above-mentioned twenty-first of September, after I had retired to my bed for the night, I betook myself to prayer and supplication to Almighty God for forgiveness of all my sins and follies, and also for a manifestation to me, that I might know of my state and standing before him” (Joseph Smith History 1:28). 

It was in response to this prayer for forgiveness, after Joseph Smith recognized that he had not lived as he should have, especially after having had a divine epiphany, that The Book of Mormon was introduced to him. Thus, even in its revelation, it speaks of God’s mercy to fallen man. And this merciful outpouring continued.

A short time later, Joseph Smith was allowed to receive and to begin translating The Book of Mormon (for more information on Mormon beliefs about The Book of Mormon, click here). At that time, he was charged to be responsible for and attentive of that ancient record. He said that a part of this charge was, “that if I should let them go carelessly, or through any neglect of mine, I should be cut off” (Joseph Smith History 1:59).

After translating 116 pages, Joseph Smith was somewhat careless in his treatment of that manuscript. He lent those pages to Martin Harris who in turn lost them. When Joseph Smith heard this, he moaned, “All is lost! all is lost! What shall I do? I have sinned—it is I who tempted the wrath of God.”  I believe he thought that he had not fulfilled his charge, and thus, that he had been cut off—that all had been lost.

However, a short time later, he received this revelation:

“Behold, you have been entrusted with these things, but how strict were your commandments; and remember also the promises which were made to you, if you did not transgress them. And behold, how oft you have transgressed the commandments and the laws of God, and have gone on in the persuasions of men. For, behold, you should not have feared man more than God. Although men set at naught the counsels of God, and despise his words—Yet you should have been faithful; and he would have extended his arm and supported you against all the fiery darts of the adversary; and he would have been with you in every time of trouble. Behold, thou art Joseph, and thou wast chosen to do the work of the Lord, but because of transgression, if thou art not aware thou wilt fall. But remember, God is merciful; therefore, repent of that which thou hast done which is contrary to the commandment which I gave you, and thou art still chosen, and art again called to the work” (D&C 3: 5-10).

The Book of Mormon, as we have it today, is what Joseph Smith was allowed by a very merciful God to translate, after not living up to specific commandments. We should remember this backstory as we read passages like the one quoted above. After all, we would not even have those verses if God did not graciously forgive a very imperfect man and then continue to work through him.

The God of The Book or Mormon and of Joseph Smith is a gracious, loving, and merciful God. Hallelujah.

Christ and the Unclean

“For this ye know, that no … unclean person… hath any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God” (Ephesians 5:5).


“No unclean thing can inherit the kingdom of God” (Alma 40:26).

Passages like these sometimes trouble me because, while I recognize their logic, I also realize that I am not entirely clean and thus should be excluded from heaven. I can relate to Isaiah, who lamented, “Woe is me! for I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips: for mine eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts” (6:5).  I sin and doubt and, even when I fulfill my callings and keep the commandments, I sometimes do it grudgingly, so even in my obedience, I stray. This recognition of my fallen, sinful state may be why I was so moved while reading the Gospels by the way Christ treated those who were considered unclean during his earthly ministry: He would spend time with them, eat with them, touch them (despite the levitical assertion that doing so would make Him ceremonially unclean) and allow them to touch Him. And He would heal them. This gives me hope that Christ will accept me and allow me to come unto Him (now and at the judgement day) despite my own spiritual leprosy. 

As I’ve started reading the beginning of the second half of the New Testament, I’ve been struck by this same principle. Again and again, we see God touching sinful men, and making them powerful instruments in His hands. Peter, the betrayer, becomes the head of the Church; Saul, the persecutor, becomes Paul the apostle; Cornelius, the gentile Centurion, receives a pentecostal witness of the Spirit. It was of the latter that He declared, “What God hath cleansed, call not thou common” (Acts 10:15). That vision referred explicitly to food that was ritualistically unclean (or common), but symbolically to the gentiles and ultimately, to all humankind. Those food items did not meet the requirements of the law--Peter was technically correct in thinking they were unclean/common. And God’s response was not to point out how, actually, these particular food items did meet the requirements of the law. Rather, he simply stated that He had cleaned them. Similarly, we do not keep ourselves entirely clean through perfect observance of the law, but if we will allow God to cleanse us, we will not be unclean.

Paul would later testify, in his letter to Titus “[Christ] gave himself for us, that he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto himself a peculiar people” (2:14).

At baptism, we enter the gate and join that peculiar (uncommon) people. And although we will certainly continue to make mistakes, Christ will purify us. It is He who will make us clean, not our legalistic obedience. No unclean thing can inherit the kingdom of God because you can’t inherit the kingdom of God unless Christ touches you. And if He touches you, you are not unclean, despite your past or future sins. As long as we choose to continue on the path we begin at baptism, sinning and repenting as we go, He will purify us unto Himself. What God hath cleansed, that call not thou common.

Oh Come, Oh Come Emmanuel

I love the song “Oh come, oh come Emmanuel.” I appreciate the ebullient songs like "Joy to the World" too, but an important part of Christmas for me is the sense of longing captured so well by that song. When I saw that the choir would perform it during the Christmas program, I waited excitedly, expecting to hear a baritone resonate the haunting melody I love so much. As I watched the soloist step forward, I could tell he was nervous--he took deep calming breaths that were all too obvious, and awkwardly stood alone as the piano finished the introduction. As the accompanist held the last note, waiting for him to enter, he visibly drew back and then hurriedly began to sing. He came in a bit off-key and sang with an unsteady tempo, making it difficult for the accompanist to follow him. My first reaction was disappointment as he sang the words, “Oh come, oh come Emmanuel”--this soloist was not doing justice to the music--“and ransom captive...” And then he forgot the last word of the phrase. “Israel,” I thought, “and ransom captive Israel!” Without finishing the solo, he covered his face in his hands. Mortification replaced my initial disappointment. And I didn’t simply feel sorry for the soloist; the choir, conductor and accompanist were all in an awkward situation (I could see them trying to figure out what to do--sing along with him? Start over?--and the audience was too. I couldn’t passively sit back and wait for the performers to work it all out--something connected me to the soloist and made me share in his shame.

He did come out from behind his hands and eventually finished the solo, with the help and encouragement of the conductor and a very flexible accompanist. Knowing that they all felt uncomfortable, I tried to look as supportive as possible and, personally, I tried to be as non-judgmental as possible. After what seemed like a very long time, the song concluded and the soloist rejoined the rest of the choir.

As the Christmas program continued, I kept thinking back to that song. Why did they choose that soloist? Even if he hadn’t messed up so blatantly, his voice wasn’t particularly nice or appropriate for that song. I kept thinking about it and, by the end of the meeting, I had decided that solo was the most poignant part of the program. (I later learned that the soloist has some kind of mental handicap, but that the conductor had wanted him to have a solo anyways.) While I respect and admire that decision, I doubt that his motivation for doing so was very similar to the conclusion I drew of why that particular soloist was so appropriate for that song.

We, like the soloist, have an important responsibility to  fulfill in life. We are meant to stay in tune with the music of faith (as Elder Cook suggested) and live in harmony with the gospel teachings. However, we all ultimately fail. Our pride dissonantly sounds against the humble accompaniment of the Spirit, our egocentrism clashes with song of Zion, and our efforts to be perfectly obedient are laughably off-tempo. That is why St. Francis prayed, “Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace”--because he was not yet a competent instrument for the pure song of peace. And nor are we. But that is why Christ came to Earth--because we are not yet celestial musicians. However, He intends to make us such.

Thus, as I've already implicitly discussed, a musical performance can be viewed as a metaphor of life: The score dictates the key signature, tempo, melody, harmony, and accompaniment. The performer gives voice to the composer’s work, and tries to do so according to the composer’s direction. Performing the music perfectly would represent a flawless life, lived entirely in accordance with the demands of divine law. Listening to such music would, no doubt, be sublime. But symbolically for us, it would be inappropriate. None of our lives are lived as a perfectly performed piece of music. Rather, we struggle and strain and forget the lyrics and embarrass ourselves. That 's not to say that occasionally we don't “from life’s dissonance [strike] one clear chord to reach the ears of God.” But even so, our music is amateur and incomplete.

At Christmas time, we refer to the angels’ declaration of peace on Earth, goodwill to men, and imagine choirs of heavenly hosts singing Handelian choruses. And while we may have been there, we have forgotten the song, and now our life’s music is cacophonic. But that’s why we celebrate Christmas--on that day, was born the One who lived that perfectly-performed-piece-of-music life,  the One who “can hear the songs [we] cannot sing,” the One who patiently walks with us as we learn, once again, to speak (and sing) with the tongue of angels, the One who will one day return--and on that day “the whole world [will] send back the song which now the angels sing.”  

As one whose life is marred with mistakes and filled with failures as much as that soloist’s performance, I, with him, sing, “Oh come, oh come Emmanuel, and ransom...” and in that sometimes embarrassing silence, I no longer sing in proxy for captive Israel, but for myself.

Those who call for and await Emmanuel are those who recognize they need Him; they are those who struggle sometimes to sing and, perhaps, to hear the song of redeeming love. And although they may sometimes act out that awkward solo in life, their humility allows them to receive and appreciate the dulcet tones of amazing grace, which to them truly is a sweet sound.

So, while I will still appreciate a polished performance of "Oh Come, Oh Come Emmanuel," I won't forget how appropriate it was that, in celebration of the birth of our Savior, a handicapped and humble man sang so imperfectly that musical plea for deliverance.