I heard a saying once that goes, “Once you get to know people, it’s impossible to hate them.” I’m not sure if this is always true on the individual level, but on the collective level it seems to be. Put in other words, there are good people everywhere.
A beautiful area in northwestern Spain called Las Médulas prompted some thoughts on the implications of seeing God’s hand in everything, even if it turns out he’s not actually involved in everything, and what the pros and cons of making such an assumption are.
I’ve noticed I have a strong distaste towards the word “commandment” when used in the religious sense. The commandments. Keep the commandments. The Ten Commandments. Et cetera.
People unfamiliar with LDS leadership succession practices might be disappointed to discover just how, well, boring it is. No large scale voting. No top-secret colored smoke meetings. I think this has led LDS presidents to engage humor when addressing the topic.
Maybe the two categorizations I present in this blog post’s title aren’t mutually exclusive, but I can definitely say which of the two comes closest to characterizing the God I like to envision.
Something I like about being Mormon is our emphasis on praying using our own words as opposed to fixed language. But what can we do when spontaneous prayers feel hollow or empty?
Maybe we focus on gratitude because we feel guilty—and scared. We know at a deep level that we’re ludicrously wealthy and healthy. We’re also terrified of that ease and comfort disappearing. So we read books and articles about gratitude as a cardinal virtue not because we genuinely feel grateful, but because we’re afraid of how God might smite us if we don’t.
The following is taken verbatim from Greg Prince’s biography David O. McKay and the Rise of Modern Mormonism. It recounts some of President McKay’s concerns with the temple endowment ceremony, particularly with how younger people might interpret it. Ever since the endowment was introduced by Joseph Smith, who adopted many symbols from masonry into it, it has been modified numerous times—usually by removing portions and shortening the ceremony—in order to better accommodate the changing sensibilities of church membership. This excerpt sheds light on the thought process behind some of these changes.
This post is adapted from a talk I recently gave to my home congregation about the enabling power of the Atonement.
My patriarchal blessing says I was born into the Church to good parents because of my valiance in the premortal life. But I remember thinking at the time, “I was given every chance in the world to succeed and blossom based on my fortunate birth circumstances. If anything, God thought that I was weak and needed extra help to ensure I didn’t fail.”