Rev'rently and meekly now, Let thy head most humbly bow.
Think of me, thou ransomed one; Think what I for thee have done.
With my blood that dripped like rain, Sweat in agony of pain,
With my body on the tree, I have ransomed even thee.
With humble heart, I bow my head
And think of thee, O Savior, Lord.
I take the water and the bread
To show remembrance of thy word.
In this bread now blest for thee, Emblem of my body see;
In this water or this wine, Emblem of my blood divine.
Oh, remember what was done That the sinner might be won.
On the cross of Calvary I have suffered death for thee.
Help me remember, I implore,
Thou gav'st thy life on Calvary,
That I might live forevermore
And grow, dear Lord, to be like thee.
To be like thee! I lift my eyes
From earth below toward heav'n above,
That I may learn from vaulted skies
How I my worthiness can prove.
Bid thine heart all strife to cease; With thy brethren be at peace.
Oh, forgive as thou wouldst be E'en forgiven now by me.
In the solemn faith of prayer Cast upon me all thy care,
And my Spirit's grace shall be Like a fountain unto thee.
As I walk daily here on earth,
Give me thy Spirit as I seek
A change of heart, another birth,
And grow, dear Lord, to be like thee.
At the throne I intercede; For thee ever do I plead.
I have loved thee as thy friend, With a love that cannot end.
Be obedient, I implore, Prayerful, watchful, evermore,
And be constant unto me, That thy Savior I may be.
"With Humble Heart," Hymns, No. 171
"Reverently and Meekly Now," Hymns, No. 185
Sunday, March 29, 2015
Saturday, March 28, 2015
What I learned from being offended
Last week I taught Gospel Doctrine. As part of the discussion, I shared briefly how a couple of years ago I was deeply offended - so much so that I didn't want to go back to church. I didn't share the details with the class, just that I am grateful that my roots are deep and that I didn't allow that experience to pull me away from the Gospel.
Over the last week I've been reflecting a lot on the experience itself... particularly what I learned from it. I've been reminded that there are powerful lessons to be learned in difficult times, and often, we don't really learn all that we could until we look back on it later.
For example, I learned not to judge those who leave the Church because they are offended. The kind of offense that would cause someone to choose to leave is a BIG deal. We should never assume that they must not have a testimony, or that their testimony must be shallow. And we should certainly never get that self-righteous attitude of, "I would never quit going to church just because someone hurt my feelings."
Because really, I think my Gospel roots are pretty deep. I feel like my testimony is pretty darn firm. I can't think of anything that would shake my testimony of my Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, or of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as the Lord's church on the earth today.
But now I know that there are things that would seriously challenge my Sunday attendance. And one of those is having to smile and pretend that nothing is wrong, when members of my ward (even leaders of organizations in my ward) are openly hostile to me and my family; when they berate me behind my back to other members of the ward; when they call me a hypocrite on facebook and claim that I must not be a true follower of Christ.
Yeah, things like that make me not want to go to church.
But here's what else I learned: If I don't do what I know is right, then he wins. I don't mean the person on the other side of my experience. I mean the devil. Satan wins when I succumb to the desire to leave. He is the one who is really motivating that spirit of contention, and he is the one who really doesn't want me to go back to church. He doesn't want me taking my kids there, teaching Gospel Doctrine there, serving and helping and participating. He wants me to sit and stew at home about how horrible that other person is and how, "I'll show him," as if that other person cares a bit how I react to his vitriol.
I also learned that I have to forgive, and that I can forgive, even I never receive an apology. I don't have to "say my piece," (which I very much wanted to do.) Sometimes it's best to realize that the person who offended us didn't care then, and won't care now. I need to give the burden of my hurt feelings and my anger to my Savior, who will gladly carry it for me and give me the peace I need to move forward.
But moving forward doesn't necessarily mean that everything goes back to the way it was - that would be moving back. I can respect and support others in their callings without having any desire to be their friend. I can be kind and generous and loving to others without liking them.
In the end, it doesn't matter what they say or think about me. What matters is the truth. I know the truth, and my Heavenly Father knows the truth. People who know me and care about me will see the truth for what it is, or at least love me enough to seek out my side of the story before they pass judgment.
I recently read a talk by Elder Dallin H. Oaks (Judge Not and Judging), which I love. He quoted the essayist William George Jordan in saying this:
"There is but one quality necessary for the perfect understanding of character, one quality that, if man have it, he may dare to judge — that is, omniscience. Most people study character as a proofreader pores over a great poem: his ears are dulled to the majesty and music of the lines, his eyes are darkened to the magic imagination of the genius of the author; that proofreader is busy watching for an inverted comma, a misspacing, or a wrong font letter. He has an eye trained for the imperfections, the weaknesses. …
“We do not need to judge nearly so much as we think we do. This is the age of snap judgments. … [We need] the courage to say, ‘I don’t know. I am waiting further evidence. I must hear both sides of the question.’ It is this suspended judgment that is the supreme form of charity” (“The Supreme Charity of the World,” The Kingship of Self-Control [n.d.], 27–30; emphasis in original).
Don't you love that?
The final thing I learned is this: There are very few people on earth whose opinions of me I care about... and almost all of them are related to me. Most of them live in my home.
Over the last week I've been reflecting a lot on the experience itself... particularly what I learned from it. I've been reminded that there are powerful lessons to be learned in difficult times, and often, we don't really learn all that we could until we look back on it later.
For example, I learned not to judge those who leave the Church because they are offended. The kind of offense that would cause someone to choose to leave is a BIG deal. We should never assume that they must not have a testimony, or that their testimony must be shallow. And we should certainly never get that self-righteous attitude of, "I would never quit going to church just because someone hurt my feelings."
Because really, I think my Gospel roots are pretty deep. I feel like my testimony is pretty darn firm. I can't think of anything that would shake my testimony of my Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, or of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as the Lord's church on the earth today.
But now I know that there are things that would seriously challenge my Sunday attendance. And one of those is having to smile and pretend that nothing is wrong, when members of my ward (even leaders of organizations in my ward) are openly hostile to me and my family; when they berate me behind my back to other members of the ward; when they call me a hypocrite on facebook and claim that I must not be a true follower of Christ.
Yeah, things like that make me not want to go to church.
But here's what else I learned: If I don't do what I know is right, then he wins. I don't mean the person on the other side of my experience. I mean the devil. Satan wins when I succumb to the desire to leave. He is the one who is really motivating that spirit of contention, and he is the one who really doesn't want me to go back to church. He doesn't want me taking my kids there, teaching Gospel Doctrine there, serving and helping and participating. He wants me to sit and stew at home about how horrible that other person is and how, "I'll show him," as if that other person cares a bit how I react to his vitriol.
I also learned that I have to forgive, and that I can forgive, even I never receive an apology. I don't have to "say my piece," (which I very much wanted to do.) Sometimes it's best to realize that the person who offended us didn't care then, and won't care now. I need to give the burden of my hurt feelings and my anger to my Savior, who will gladly carry it for me and give me the peace I need to move forward.
But moving forward doesn't necessarily mean that everything goes back to the way it was - that would be moving back. I can respect and support others in their callings without having any desire to be their friend. I can be kind and generous and loving to others without liking them.
In the end, it doesn't matter what they say or think about me. What matters is the truth. I know the truth, and my Heavenly Father knows the truth. People who know me and care about me will see the truth for what it is, or at least love me enough to seek out my side of the story before they pass judgment.
I recently read a talk by Elder Dallin H. Oaks (Judge Not and Judging), which I love. He quoted the essayist William George Jordan in saying this:
"There is but one quality necessary for the perfect understanding of character, one quality that, if man have it, he may dare to judge — that is, omniscience. Most people study character as a proofreader pores over a great poem: his ears are dulled to the majesty and music of the lines, his eyes are darkened to the magic imagination of the genius of the author; that proofreader is busy watching for an inverted comma, a misspacing, or a wrong font letter. He has an eye trained for the imperfections, the weaknesses. …
“We do not need to judge nearly so much as we think we do. This is the age of snap judgments. … [We need] the courage to say, ‘I don’t know. I am waiting further evidence. I must hear both sides of the question.’ It is this suspended judgment that is the supreme form of charity” (“The Supreme Charity of the World,” The Kingship of Self-Control [n.d.], 27–30; emphasis in original).
Don't you love that?
The final thing I learned is this: There are very few people on earth whose opinions of me I care about... and almost all of them are related to me. Most of them live in my home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
