"The command 'Be ye perfect' is not idealistic gas. Nor is it a command to do the impossible. [God] is going to make us into creatures that can obey that command. He said (in the Bible) that we were 'gods' and He is going to make good His words. If we let Him--for we can prevent Him, if we choose--He will make the feeblest and filthiest of us into a god or goddess, a dazzling, radiant, immortal creature, pulsating all through with such energy and joy and wisdom and love as we cannot now imagine, a bright stainless mirror which reflects back to God perfectly (though, of course, on a smaller scale) His own boundless power and delight and goodness. The process will be long and in parts very painful, but that is what we are in for. Nothing less. He meant what He said."
(C.S. Lewis in Mere Christianity, 205-206)
What I Used to Think:
In addition to this idea from Lewis, a comment by Brother Ward in class also must be mentioned: “The scriptures say ‘Be ye therefore perfect,’ not ‘Be ye therefore a perfectionist.’ That is a perversion of the truth by the devil,” and it essentially means “we are trying to do it all on our own.”
That really hit home for me. I think I try so hard to be the perfect friend, daughter, president, student, teacher, employee, woman, etc. that I turn into a perfectionist, and I forget who I really need to please—only my Heavenly Father. When I am being a perfectionist, I think of how I can make everything perfect, and do everything I’m supposed to do perfectly. As a friend I try to be understanding and forgiving when offended, I try to be "there" when I am needed, and I try to make time for others when really there isn't time. As the RS President I try to make the perfect agenda, have the perfect meeting, visit everyone who needs to be visited, be perfectly prepared for every assignment, and fulfill every responsibility I have with perfection. As a teacher I feel every class must be perfect, interesting, and exciting. Each PowerPoint must be perfect, and every student must understand perfectly.
Then, when I fail (because how could I succeed with such expectations?) I beat myself up. I tell myself I'm not good enough to be the RSP; as teacher (of English, no less) I freak out when I see a typo on a PowerPoint in class, or when I don't have my students' papers graded in what I think is a "timely manner." If I am too busy to hang out or talk, I think that I'm a horrible friend, or whatever else I feel I should be at the time. Every General Conference I get out my notebook, take lots of notes, and by the time I am finished I have an impossibly long list of things I need to start doing better, or stop doing all together. I used to think that I was doing what they asked, that I was day by day and step by step becoming perfect. In a way, I guess that is true. But I used to think it was more about me doing everything perfectly, and then berating myself when I failed--and that really is a perversion of the devil because here’s the problem: I burn myself out. And soon, I start focusing so much on the things that I didn’t do right, or the things I need to do tomorrow, or later on today, that I forget the point—forget the “why” of the gospel, as Elder Uchtdorf talked about at the Relief Society Broadcast this year. I forget all the areas I have succeeded in that day with the help of the Lord; I forget the real focus of the gospel—Christ—and instead focus on how I need to work harder or do better.
What I Am Coming to Understand
The thing is, there is really only one thing I need on my “to do” list: come unto Christ. That is what every Conference talk, every lesson in church, every scripture, every temple session, is all about. When I get caught up in the “doing,” in being a “perfectionist” and I forget the “why” of the gospel, then I am missing the point. And eventually I am missing the “mark.”
Heavenly Father demands perfection, but he says I don’t have to do it alone. Moroni 10:32 says—“Yeah, come unto Christ, and be perfected in him, and deny yourselves of all ungodliness; and if ye shall deny yourselves of all ungodliness, and love God with all your might, mind and strength, then is his grace sufficient for you, that by his grace ye may be perfect in Christ; and if by the grace of God ye are perfect in Christ, ye can in nowise deny the power of God.” It’s all about turning to Him, and telling Him honestly each day, “I did my very best today, and it probably wasn’t enough, but I know with you it can be.” That’s all He asks. And as I do that, I cannot deny the power of God, or be denied the power of God—and eventually I will become a god. It’s amazing and mind-boggling, but it’s true.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Faith: A Matter of Head and Heart
“It is not reason that is taking away my faith: on the contrary, my faith is based on reason. It is my imagination and emotions. The battle is between faith and reason on one side and emotion and imagination on the other.
“Now Faith, in the sense in which I am here using the word, is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods. For moods will change, whatever view your reason takes. This rebellion of your moods against your real self is going to come anyway. That is why Faith is such a necessary virtue: unless you teach your moods ‘where they get off’ you can never be either a sound Christian or even a sound atheist, but just a creature dithering to and fro, with its beliefs really dependent on the weather and the state of its digestion. Consequently one must train the habit of Faith.”
(From “Faith,” in Mere Christianity, p. 139, 140-141)
What I Used to Think:
I think I always believed, at least in a sense, that faith was a mental exercise; that reason and faith (head) were meant to combat emotions and imagination (heart). For me, however, that exercise was more like a boxing match than anything else. In a way I used faith to punish myself for feeling emotions. When I was sad because I boy I liked wasn’t interested in me, reason took over and said, “Come on, Adriane, you know you are a child of God. He loves you. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of you. Stop moping over a boy and feel happy.” When I felt depressed it went something like this: “Adriane, you know that Christ suffered your every pain, sorrow, and affliction. Now, exercise some faith and just get over this.” I thought that if I just reasoned to myself, I could make it through any trial, and get over any negative emotion.
But the questions come: Where is a faith like that when I am not suffering? Where is my faith when I am not sad, or lonely, or depressed? If my faith is only something I pull out from time to time in order to beat my emotions to submission, then what good is it really?
What I am Coming to Understand:
What I am starting to sense from Lewis is that Faith is more than just something used to counter my emotions. It is something I hold on to in spite of my emotions. It is not the emotions themselves that are bad, for I know that there must be “opposition in all things. If not so...[one body] must needs have been created for a thing of naught; wherefore there would have been no purpose in the end of its creation” (2 Nephi 2:11-12). I was created to have and experience emotions, both positive and negative, and there is nothing inherently wrong in that. There is in fact a purpose in my existence and an end (to become my “real self”) to my creation, so I cannot live without opposition. And sometimes that opposition comes in the form of negative emotions, which we are expected (and I would suggest even required) to feel in this life.
So rather than beat myself up because I “know better,” than to feel sad or depressed, I am realizing that what real Faith does is tell my emotions where to “get off” so I can be controlled by God, and not the natural man. If I start to feel those emotions are destroying or weakening my faith, then would be the time to take a stand, but Faith is something to hold on to as I sail through the sea of life on my “undulating” feelings. My feelings will change from time to time, the “rebellion of moods” against me will come, and sometimes they will make a “blitz on [my] belief” (Lewis, 140) but Faith in this sense is something that I keep refreshed constantly enough that those emotional attacks can be recognized, acknowledged, and eventually set aside as I continue on in spite of them.
“Now Faith, in the sense in which I am here using the word, is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods. For moods will change, whatever view your reason takes. This rebellion of your moods against your real self is going to come anyway. That is why Faith is such a necessary virtue: unless you teach your moods ‘where they get off’ you can never be either a sound Christian or even a sound atheist, but just a creature dithering to and fro, with its beliefs really dependent on the weather and the state of its digestion. Consequently one must train the habit of Faith.”
(From “Faith,” in Mere Christianity, p. 139, 140-141)
What I Used to Think:
I think I always believed, at least in a sense, that faith was a mental exercise; that reason and faith (head) were meant to combat emotions and imagination (heart). For me, however, that exercise was more like a boxing match than anything else. In a way I used faith to punish myself for feeling emotions. When I was sad because I boy I liked wasn’t interested in me, reason took over and said, “Come on, Adriane, you know you are a child of God. He loves you. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of you. Stop moping over a boy and feel happy.” When I felt depressed it went something like this: “Adriane, you know that Christ suffered your every pain, sorrow, and affliction. Now, exercise some faith and just get over this.” I thought that if I just reasoned to myself, I could make it through any trial, and get over any negative emotion.
But the questions come: Where is a faith like that when I am not suffering? Where is my faith when I am not sad, or lonely, or depressed? If my faith is only something I pull out from time to time in order to beat my emotions to submission, then what good is it really?
What I am Coming to Understand:
What I am starting to sense from Lewis is that Faith is more than just something used to counter my emotions. It is something I hold on to in spite of my emotions. It is not the emotions themselves that are bad, for I know that there must be “opposition in all things. If not so...[one body] must needs have been created for a thing of naught; wherefore there would have been no purpose in the end of its creation” (2 Nephi 2:11-12). I was created to have and experience emotions, both positive and negative, and there is nothing inherently wrong in that. There is in fact a purpose in my existence and an end (to become my “real self”) to my creation, so I cannot live without opposition. And sometimes that opposition comes in the form of negative emotions, which we are expected (and I would suggest even required) to feel in this life.
So rather than beat myself up because I “know better,” than to feel sad or depressed, I am realizing that what real Faith does is tell my emotions where to “get off” so I can be controlled by God, and not the natural man. If I start to feel those emotions are destroying or weakening my faith, then would be the time to take a stand, but Faith is something to hold on to as I sail through the sea of life on my “undulating” feelings. My feelings will change from time to time, the “rebellion of moods” against me will come, and sometimes they will make a “blitz on [my] belief” (Lewis, 140) but Faith in this sense is something that I keep refreshed constantly enough that those emotional attacks can be recognized, acknowledged, and eventually set aside as I continue on in spite of them.
C.S. Lewis--Changing My Life
This semester I decided to take advantage of the four "free" credits offered to me by the University, and signed up for a C.S. Lewis class. I thought it would be an interesting class, and I'd always been embarrassed by my lack of experience with his books and other writings. Little did I know that this class would not only educate me, but change me in ways I didn't know I needed to be changed. Each week we write an "insight" based on something we read and/or discussed in class during the week. These insights are sometimes very personal, and almost always are just a scratch on the surface of what I am learning. I decided to share them on here, in the hope that they might be an insight someone else needs to hear. I start each one with a quote (usually by C.S. Lewis) that inspired the insight for that week. I hope they make sense.
A Real Personality
"It is when I turn to Christ, when I give myself up to His Personality,
that I first begin to have a real personality of my own.”
(C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, 226)
What I Used to Think
To me a personality has always been something I discover, something that happens as a result of my life experiences. I used to believe that the Lord gave me experiences as I grew that would shape me into the person I could become. I thought I was a more empathetic person because of the teasing and rejection I experienced as a child in school. I thought I was a more patient person because I grew up with a brother who (bless his heart) tested my patience. I thought I was a “good” person because I did good things, because I did what was “right” even in the face of tough situations. I thought I was a forgiving person because I could move beyond past hurts, and even be friends with those who had hurt me. I suppose I responded the way I did, in part, because that is how I was taught to be, and those were the things I was taught to do.
I thought that if I “did” those things long enough, if I went through enough experiences in life and responded in the “correct” manner, I would become what I was meant to be. Similar to Lewis’ example of the people in a dark room, I thought I knew who I was, what I “looked like” more or less, and how I was supposed to be. But I was in the dark and did not know it. Maybe I felt that the things I “did” represented who I was, and my personality. Maybe I thought I developed empathy, patience, or love all on my own, just by surviving the experiences of my life. Whatever the reason, the idea of going to Him to find out how I should be, and to receive my real personality never crossed my mind, because I thought I knew who I was, and that it was more or less out of my control.
In a sense I developed snippets, pieces, parts of a real personality, but I was doing what Lewis says can never produce the change necessary to make me into a god one day—I was waiting to “evolve” or, perhaps worse, I was waiting to “be evolved.” I was waiting to be changed into something better by doing the things I was taught, and by “surviving” the life experiences I had in store for me.
What I Am Coming to Know
But what I am coming to understand is that this change, this development of a personality, this “evolution” is different than what I thought it was. It has to be. In order to be changed from a “creature of God” to a “[daughter] of God” (220) I am missing a crucial point—it is voluntary. It isn’t going to just “happen” to me if I act the part long enough. No, I have to choose to be like Him. I have to choose to let those experiences I have turn me to Christ. I have to choose to let the good things I am taught lead me to Him. I have to go to Him, to want to be with Him, to want to be like Him. And not just to make myself better, not to find my real personality, but to find His personality, and voluntarily let Him make it my own. I have to “submit to death, death of [my] ambitions and favourite wishes every day and death of [my] whole body in the end” (227) in order to let Him give me what is the only “real” personality after all—Christ’s personality. I never realized that those things I was taught, and those experiences I had did not shape who I was as much as they lead me to Christ so He could show me who I really am, and who I can and should be.
I don’t think that empathy, forgiveness, and patience are not part of my real personality. In fact, I believe quite the opposite. I think they are a glimpse of my real personality, which I received as I let tough experiences turn me to Christ. Though I did not realize it at the time that was what was actually happening to me. I went to Him because I needed Him, and as I came to Him, He gave me a heart. He gave me a real personality.
Now that I realize this, the challenge is to continue to go to Him. Not because I want to get a personality, because, as Lewis says, “as long as your own personality is what you are bothering about you are not going to Him at all” (226). I need to forget about myself, and just trust that Christ will take care of “it” as I go to Him. It is He who has been teaching and loving me since my spirit was created, and it is He who knows exactly how to make me into the person He wants me to be. Making a conscious, rather than unconscious, decision to turn to Him and go to Him will change me. It will reveal to me the personality God has intended for me—and possibly even put within me—all along.
that I first begin to have a real personality of my own.”
(C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, 226)
What I Used to Think
To me a personality has always been something I discover, something that happens as a result of my life experiences. I used to believe that the Lord gave me experiences as I grew that would shape me into the person I could become. I thought I was a more empathetic person because of the teasing and rejection I experienced as a child in school. I thought I was a more patient person because I grew up with a brother who (bless his heart) tested my patience. I thought I was a “good” person because I did good things, because I did what was “right” even in the face of tough situations. I thought I was a forgiving person because I could move beyond past hurts, and even be friends with those who had hurt me. I suppose I responded the way I did, in part, because that is how I was taught to be, and those were the things I was taught to do.
I thought that if I “did” those things long enough, if I went through enough experiences in life and responded in the “correct” manner, I would become what I was meant to be. Similar to Lewis’ example of the people in a dark room, I thought I knew who I was, what I “looked like” more or less, and how I was supposed to be. But I was in the dark and did not know it. Maybe I felt that the things I “did” represented who I was, and my personality. Maybe I thought I developed empathy, patience, or love all on my own, just by surviving the experiences of my life. Whatever the reason, the idea of going to Him to find out how I should be, and to receive my real personality never crossed my mind, because I thought I knew who I was, and that it was more or less out of my control.
In a sense I developed snippets, pieces, parts of a real personality, but I was doing what Lewis says can never produce the change necessary to make me into a god one day—I was waiting to “evolve” or, perhaps worse, I was waiting to “be evolved.” I was waiting to be changed into something better by doing the things I was taught, and by “surviving” the life experiences I had in store for me.
What I Am Coming to Know
But what I am coming to understand is that this change, this development of a personality, this “evolution” is different than what I thought it was. It has to be. In order to be changed from a “creature of God” to a “[daughter] of God” (220) I am missing a crucial point—it is voluntary. It isn’t going to just “happen” to me if I act the part long enough. No, I have to choose to be like Him. I have to choose to let those experiences I have turn me to Christ. I have to choose to let the good things I am taught lead me to Him. I have to go to Him, to want to be with Him, to want to be like Him. And not just to make myself better, not to find my real personality, but to find His personality, and voluntarily let Him make it my own. I have to “submit to death, death of [my] ambitions and favourite wishes every day and death of [my] whole body in the end” (227) in order to let Him give me what is the only “real” personality after all—Christ’s personality. I never realized that those things I was taught, and those experiences I had did not shape who I was as much as they lead me to Christ so He could show me who I really am, and who I can and should be.
I don’t think that empathy, forgiveness, and patience are not part of my real personality. In fact, I believe quite the opposite. I think they are a glimpse of my real personality, which I received as I let tough experiences turn me to Christ. Though I did not realize it at the time that was what was actually happening to me. I went to Him because I needed Him, and as I came to Him, He gave me a heart. He gave me a real personality.
Now that I realize this, the challenge is to continue to go to Him. Not because I want to get a personality, because, as Lewis says, “as long as your own personality is what you are bothering about you are not going to Him at all” (226). I need to forget about myself, and just trust that Christ will take care of “it” as I go to Him. It is He who has been teaching and loving me since my spirit was created, and it is He who knows exactly how to make me into the person He wants me to be. Making a conscious, rather than unconscious, decision to turn to Him and go to Him will change me. It will reveal to me the personality God has intended for me—and possibly even put within me—all along.
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