To Suffer More than All

Image from LDS Media Library

The crucifixion is always a tender moment in the scriptures, especially when really picturing the suffering that Christ went through in those final days of his life. He was mocked, most likely starved, and scourged with a whip that ripped through his skin until his entire back was an open wound. 

The Romans took particular care to make his suffering even more acute. They crowned him with thorns and laid a robe onto the festering wound on his back, only to rip the robe off again after blood had surely dried on it.

And after all that, it didn't end there. They continued to mistreat him, inducing more pain that I could ever imagine experiencing. He was even expected to carry his own cross! It's no wonder, after the loss of blood and the lack of food, that Christ was unable to endure the cross's burden.

It wasn't until I had really thought about what Christ was going through—the complete agony he must have felt—that I realized the significance of this passage in Luke 23, as he is walking (staggering) to Golgotha:

27 And there followed him a great company of people, and of women, which also bewailed and lamented him.
28 But Jesus turning unto them said, Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me, but weep for yourselves, and for your children.
29 For, behold, the days are coming, in the which they shall say, Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bare, and the paps which never gave suck.

 When I read this, I was absolutely blown away. Here was Christ, going through a horrifying experience, and he says "Weep not for me"! Of all people, he certainly deserved the sympathy. All the world should have been weeping for him. But Christ didn't care one wit about the suffering he was going through. Instead, he was still thinking of others, concerned for their welfare more than his own. In the highest point of his agony, he turned to those he loved and felt sorrow for them.

And here I am, laying in my bed bemoaning my upset stomach and wanting all the attention of my husband, thinking, "You should feel sorry for me!" How pitiful. How humbling.

It makes me want to lay all of my pains and my fears at Christ's feet and say, "I know this isn't much, but I can't get through this without you. I need you more than you ever needed me."

The miracle of his Atonement is that Christ truly suffered more than all, and yet his love for us ran more deep than any pain.

Her Story Can Be Our Story

It's Christmastime, one of the best times of the year! I love the worldwide focus on Christ and his love. I have been thinking this week about the real reason we celebrate Christmas. Christ's birth is so important because of what he came to do for us—he broke the bands of sin and death!

He died for us, and he returned as our resurrected Savior.

After his resurrection he visited many of his disciples, and my favorite story is that of Mary Magdalene. Christ's visit to her is one of the most personal. It can be found in John 20:

15 Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou? whom seekest thou? She, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him, Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away.

16 Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself, and saith unto him, Rabboni; which is to say, Master.

17 Jesus saith unto her, Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father: but go to my brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father, and your Father; and to my God, and your God.

Mary was the first person to see our resurrected Lord! Is this not significant?

There are some that use this fact as a basis for the theory that Mary was the wife of Christ. Why else would she have been first, right?

While this theory might be true, I like the way that a guest speaker in my religion class put it. She thinks of it in a much more personal and applicable way.

What was it that really made Mary special enough that Christ appeared to her first? It was the fact that she lingered. She stayed by the tomb, mourning for her Messiah with a love that kept her eyes wet with tears. Perhaps Mary's story could have been anyone's story, if only they had lingered.

I like to think that Christ would have appeared to any disciple who did the same in that moment. That's who Christ is, after all; he is the Savior of all mankind. He loved not just the crowd, but the individual. And what made Mary special to him is that she was his disciple and his friend.

If it had been me or you that day by the tomb, would not Christ have had equal love enough to show himself to us? Yes, I think he would.

For truly, he shows himself to each and every one of us that turns our heart to him in love. It's when we linger on his words and truly sorrow for our sins that we too can see the light of our resurrected Lord.

The Humility to Be Cleansed

Image from LDS Media Library

How many times have we asked the question to ourselves, what if Christ came today? For me, it's a daunting question. Asking myself something like that, I never feel ready. I can't help but think that today my house is a disaster, I haven't read my scriptures, or it's been too long since I've actually said a sincere prayer. Whenever I think of seeing Christ, I get a little nervous, because I don't want him to see all of the weaknesses and imperfections that I have.

There's one story from Christ's ministry that calls my attention to this fact. It's in John 13, when Christ—the Christ—begins to wash the feet of his disciples. I'm not at all surprised by Simon Peter's reaction in verse 6 and 8:

"Peter saith unto him, Lord, dost thou wash my feet? . . . Thou shalt never wash my feet."

Um, yeah. If I were him, I'd be thinking the same thing. What is the Lord of heaven and earth doing kneeling down and washing my feet—the dirtiest, filthiest part of my dirt-ridden body? I don't want him to see that; I'd rather clean my feet myself. There's no need for him to stoop so low as to help me, someone who should be cleaning his feet.

And yet, Christ gives a blunt reply to this type of thinking, to which Peter realizes just how significant this action was for him:

8 . . . Jesus answered him, If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me.
9 Simon Peter saith unto him, Lord, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head.

This is Christ's answer to me too. For if I don't allow Christ to cleanse me, I have no part in his kingdom.

I had always just thought of this as a story about Christ's humility, but it's even more than that. This is a story about Peter's humility, and mine as well, if I can follow in the same footsteps.

How humble the disciples must have been in order to let Christ, their Messiah, wash their feet. It's an interesting idea to think about, but it's true. Just as Christ had to show humility by cleaning their feet, they had to show humility in allowing him to do so.

The same goes in my own life. I have to be humble enough to allow my Redeemer to cleanse me of every faulty aspect of my character, even the darkest and filthiest part that I would prefer no one to ever see.

Which means that even though I may be embarrassed about the pile of dishes in the sink or the untouched scriptures on the shelf, I have to be willing to tell the Lord, "Not my feet only, but also my hands and my head." Here, Lord, is every part of me. Help me to become more like thee.

A Perfect Trainer: The Miracle of the Donkey

From LDS Media Library

When I was young, I was obsessed with horses. I read every equestrian story I could get my hands on, loving every one of the horses introduced in them.

But there's one aspect of the stories that I always thought was portrayed a little unrealistically—a romanticized version of the truth. A good majority of them always told of an inexperienced horse rider who sees their dream horse and their heart flutters. Suddenly there's nothing that rider would rather do than get on that horse. Then, in almost every story, they are somehow able to train the horse through sheer emotional connection.

It's a beautiful story that any girl could fall in love with. But it's just a fantasy, right? No one would really feel such an immediate connection to a horse, or be able to get on its back with little to no effort. Right?

Turns out, there's an equestrian story just like this, based on true events, right in the New Testament. I never would have realized it without my professor pointing it out to me this past week. But it's right there, in Mark 11:1–10.

This is the story of Christ riding into Jerusalem on a donkey (it's not a horse, but it's close enough to illustrate my point). Not only was this a donkey that he had never ridden before, it was a colt—one that no one had ridden before. So Christ asks that his disciples go and get an unbroken colt so that he can ride it into Jerusalem.

If I were the apostles, I would be wondering what his plan was. How was Christ going to be able to ride into Jerusalem on a colt that had no training on carrying a man on its back? This is where my professor pointed out that the very fact that Jesus made it to Jerusalem on that donkey was a miracle. He should not have been able to ride that colt without at least a little while of training.

But then, that's not even the end of the miracle. What happens when Christ enters Jerusalem is just as astounding.

8 And a very great multitude spread their garments in the way; others cut down branches from the trees, and strawed them in the way. 

 9 And the multitudes that went before, and that followed, cried, saying, Hosanna to the Son of David. . . . (Matthew 21)

So now, this poor colt, with a weight on his back he's never felt before, is walking into a huge crowd of people yelling, waving sticks at him, and putting clothes on the ground in front of him. He must have been terrified! And yet, there's never any mention of the colt freezing, bolting, or showing any other sign of fear. For the man on his back was no ordinary man.

The man on his back was his Savior. And as long as Christ had the reigns, the colt had nothing to fear.

I am the colt in this story. I am new and inexperienced when it comes to eternal things. There are moments in my life when I feel overwhelmed with everything that is going on around me, and it makes me want to freeze in my tracks.

But as long as I let Christ have the reigns in my own life, I know that I will be able to make it to Jerusalem, to the temple, and to God with no need to fear. He will lead me there, because he is the perfect trainer. 

The Sinner, the Accuser, and the Savior

Image from LDS Media

How often do we find ourselves looking down on someone for their sins? How many times have we ourselves been looked down upon? We've each been, at one time or another, either the sinner or the accuser in our own lives.

Studying the story of the adulteress woman in John 8 (watch the Bible Videos version for a powerful take on it), I noticed that this story exemplifies Christ's role as mediator between those who are accused and those who do the accusing.

In this story, the Pharisees rudely push a woman in front of Christ and present the question, "This woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou?" (John 8:4–5).

If we had been there that day, where would we most likely be looking? A crowd has just come barging in, dragging a woman and accusing her of one of the three greatest sins (Alma 39:3–5). Not only is the accusation condemning, but the Pharisees had caught her "in the very act." She probably is not looking like someone who expected to be out in public. And by the time they got her to the temple, she would have been a mess. So again, where are everyone's eyes likely to be?

Directly on her.

What shame she must have felt. She must have sensed everyone's eyes boring into her as she hid her face from their stares.

But the very first thing that Christ does to answer the Pharisee's question shows his deep understanding and love for her: "Jesus stooped down, and with his finger wrote on the ground" (John 8:6). Again imagining that we are there, what is Christ doing to our attention in that moment? We are staring at the woman, when suddenly, our gaze is caught by his movement. All eyes would have been drawn to his finger, all thoughts focused on his writing.

No longer would the crowd be concentrated on the woman and her sin, staring at her with condemning or sorrowful eyes. He pulls everyone's attention away from the sinner and onto Him.

This is symbolic of what Christ does for all of us. We are all sinners to one degree or another, and we all have the opportunity to "go, and sin no more" (John 8:11). Through the Atonement, Christ has taken upon himself our sin. And because of the Atonement, we will no longer have to feel the shame that comes from our past mistakes.

But in this story, Christ doesn't just stop there. Not only did he stoop down and draw all attention onto him, but when he stood back up, he continued to teach. The first words out of his mouth were, "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her" (John 8:7). This is the second lesson of the Atonement that we can find in this story. For Christ's role is to not only to take upon himself our sins, but also to encourage us to repent. With this invitation, Christ turns the attention of everyone in the crowd back onto themselves. 

All eyes started on the sinner but were drawn to the Savior and then were commanded to turn to themselves and their own lives. For that's what the Atonement is about. We can't experience the full saving power unless we stop judging others and change ourselves.

We've all made mistakes. We've all sinned. Maybe today, it's the adulteress woman in the middle, but what if it were you? For it could be you, couldn't it? Isn't that what Christ is saying here? That we all stand no higher than this woman? So why do we judge her?

Truly, none of us would be able to cast that first stone. 

To Work an Hour, or All Day?

Photo by Trent Erwin on Unsplash

The parable of the laborers in the vineyard has always been a confusing one for me. If I had worked all day on a project and then someone came in at the very end, just to help with the finishing touches, I would not be happy to find out they were getting payed the same as me. I mean, who did most of the work? I did. Shouldn't I deserve more than the guy who only gave an hour of his time?

Sure enough I'm not the only one who thinks this way. In fact, that's exactly what happened in the parable Christ gives in Matthew 20:1–15. It starts with an owner of a vineyard going out in the morning to find workers. He agrees with them that their wage for the day will be a penny—the normal wage for that time. These workers agree, relieved that they have found work to keep food on the table.

Then, the vineyard owner goes out again, sees that there are still people looking for work, and decides to hire them as well. He doesn't tell them how much they will be paid, but the laborers go anyway because anything was better than nothing. He does that three more times, even going out with just one more hour before the working day is over:

6 And about the eleventh hour he went out, and found others standing idle, and saith unto them, Why stand ye here all the day idle?

7 They say unto him, Because no man hath hired us. He saith unto them, Go ye also into the vineyard; and whatsoever is right, that shall ye receive.

I'm sure these men didn't even hope to get a third of a days wage. But even an hour's wage might give them enough to feed their children dinner.

The fact that every laborer receives the same wage—a full day's—that's what seemed unfair to me. Until this past week. It was only then that I finally understood what Elder Holland spoke about five years ago in his talk "The Laborers in the Vineyard,"

What I didn't realize before was the context of the times. It was common that each family only got by from day to day, and if they didn't find work one day, they didn't know where their next meal would  come from.

With this in mind, those first workers would have been relieved when they were chosen to labor in the vineyard. They got to go the whole day knowing that their family's next few meals were paid for.

Those that were hired at the very last, they spent the whole day worrying and stressing about how they were going to take care of their family. What would they say at the end of the day when they come home with nothing? They probably did everything they could to try and find work, but no one wanted them. And so they were left idle, with no hope.

So really, who was suffering more? Sure the first laborers had to bear "the burden and heat of the day," but their suffering was only physical. They at least had peace of mind. But the last laborers, their suffering was pure mental anxiety. They had no direction, no purpose to their day.

No wonder the owner of the vineyard had so much mercy on them. He felt their suffering and was willing to give them an equal share of hope. And that's what the true Master of the Vineyard does with all of us. No matter when we come with a desire to serve Him, He will hire us, and He will reward us with the same reward: eternal life.

We are all laborers, looking for a way to provide hope to our families. And no matter when we do discover Christ and His work, we will all be accepted with equal love.

Mother, Thy Faith Will Make Thee Whole

Photo by Dawid Sobolewski on Unsplash

Being a mother—this has always terrified me. The discomfort and pain, the lack of sleep, the complete surrender of personal desires... That doesn't sound very appealing. Not to mention, I feel incredibly under-qualified. If motherhood was a job and I had to turn in a resume, there would be no reason for Heavenly Father to hire me.

And yet, he will anyway. Me, an under-qualified candidate who has always dreaded the idea of having children.

Someday, I'll be a mother. Weird.

But this post isn't for me. I write this for all of those young mothers that I know. The mothers that I see trying so hard to raise their children and still stay on their feet. They all look so strong! These new mothers take the pain and the fatigue with such grace. Yet, I know it can't be easy.

If they are anything like I would be, they don't feel qualified for the work they are doing. It must be overwhelming and just plain exhausting.

If I were to send these amazing mothers anywhere, it would be to Elder Jeffrey R. Holland's talk, "Because She Is a Mother." When I become a mother myself, I think I might listen to this every day. It's that powerful and reassuring.

The part that stood out to me this time around was the very end, when Elder Holland compares mothers to the woman in Matthew 9:20-22 who had the faith to be healed, but did not feel worthy enough to approach the Savior directly. I had never thought about it before, but this woman is so similar to the mothers I know: She did everything in her power to find the cure to her disease, hiring doctor after doctor, taking medicine after medicine. I'm sure that she prayed to Heavenly Father for help during those 12 years of sickness. Any mother will do the same, doing everything in her power to raise her children the best she can.

And just like with the woman in the Bible, the answer comes in Christ. He is the healer, both physically and spiritually. If you think about it, mothers really do experience miracles every day—how else would they be able to keep going with little sleep and no time for themselves? That, to me, sounds like a miracle in which the body is literally being healed. So too can mothers, like the woman in the Bible, be spiritually healed as well.

So to all the mothers out there who are feeling a little overworked, "You are doing God's work. You are doing it wonderfully well. He is blessing you and He will bless you even—no, especially—when your days and your nights may be the most challenging. Like the woman who anonymously, meekly, perhaps even with hesitation and some embarrassment, fought her way through the crowd just to touch the hem of the Master's garment, so Christ will say to the women who worry and wonder and sometimes weep over their responsibility as mothers, 'Daughter, be of good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole'" (Holland).