Alma 13

[I’m taking the quotation marks off Alma’s words for the rest of this sermon, to save space on the plates. I’d forgotten how long this was.—Ed.]

Those commandments came through special men. I know we don’t like the word “special,” so egalitarian as we profess to be. But “special” in this sense means “handpicked by God to teach.” [Sorry—Those kinds of quotation marks around particular words or phrases stay.—Ed.]

Some are called prophets, some priests. You don’t have to ordain prophets, but you do priests—hands laid on their heads, formulaic words spoken, and they’re priests. What’s their task? Mainly to talk about the Lamb. Or kill lambs.

I think God actually ordained these men in some way before they were born (which opens up a whole other can of theological worms, but I’ll skip that).

At any rate, God knew ahead of time how well these men would turn out, hence approves of their ordinations. They have faith in God, he has faith in them. They treat God well, he treats them well. And on and on. It’s all reciprocity and symbiosis.

Now some don’t get ordained and get jealous. That happened with the Anointed One and him whom we’ll call the Unanointed One (i.e., the devil). All true priests descend, both in principle and habituation, from the Anointed One. And like the Anointed One’s, theirs is a teaching profession. They teach commandments and theology, tending to stay with things long known and accepted—as opposed to prophets, who upset almost every applecart since Eve bit her first apple.

This teacherly calling lasts forever. You get tenure but never retire. That’s another Jesus thing, too. He’ll always be at it, setting the pace for his priestly underlings, whose credentials consist of faith, non-calcified hearts, optimism for those who do good, pessimism for those who don’t, and a generalized shudder at misbehavior of any kind. Clearly these are men who are both too rare and too common. But that’s another story that can be dealt with in centuries to come.

These priests have tapped into God’s rest, of which I spoke earlier. If you change, act more like them, you’ll find that same kind of rest.

The example of priestliness that sticks out in the brass plates is Melchizedek, whose main claim to fame is that Abraham paid a tenth of his considerable wealth to him. A tip for current priests, though: don’t expect the same treatment. Consider an ordination as a secondhand vow of poverty.

Mechizedek, I should point out, was also wealthy. Actually a king of Salem, a little region in Palestine. His subjects sucked. All of them, if you can imagine. At least when it came to civilized behavior. You can pledge allegiance to the king, but if you behave like court jesters all the time, your pledge is void. That’s how it was in Salem. They needed a priest more than they needed a king. So Melchizedek wore both hats—well, actually a crown and a cap.

People listened to him more when he had his priestly cap on. He preached outright and they changed, as opposed to when he presented all this as political speechifying. Order came back to Salem over time. And although the place became quiet and peaceful, compared to years earlier, he was not self-seeking enough to call himself the “King of Peace.” Kind of overbearing. So he went with “Prince of Peace.”

Best. Priest. Ever. That’s what he should have had engraved on his journal.

I really have nothing more to say. Oh wait: one more thing. (This always happens.) Stop disregarding the holy writings. And if you’re going to stop you better do it soon. Because God has a shorter and shorter string. He wants happiness, demands it, facilitates it, even sends angels to sing about it and preachers like me to sermonize about it. Happiness = good news = what God prefers to deliver. And he gets impatient sometimes, though ultimately he gets to decide what “patience” means, in whatever language one speaks.

Still, he tries to speak plainly, through whomever’s throat he chooses. And he’s got a tender spot for people who just up and leave their friends and money to explore on terms that he sets. We even get angels aplenty in this land, all ambassadors to slick the runway for Jesus’ respective flights to earth.

Sometimes God gets caught up in metaphor and analogy. Sometimes he goes for bluntness. I think that’s especially true as he tries to get us ready for Jesus’ first coming to earth. You’ve got to get fluent in angels’ tutoring style.

But don’t expect them to give us dates for either of the Anointed One’s appearances on earth. I wish I lived to see the first one. But it doesn’t matter. I’m on the cleanup team. Still, when he comes, priests and or prophets will get the news out.

If it means anything, I worry about you all the time. You’re procrastinators. That’s well known. You’ll wait till the last minute. I wish you wouldn’t. Start now, because it’s a long haul, this process of avoiding error, letting God lead you, piping down when you’re angry, tamping down your quest for celebrity, letting offenses slide, filling your hearts with love, good faith in your partnerships, and acceptance of others’ hurting you without cause—yes, God requires even that.

Jesus will learn all about it.

(As usual, this sermon was reconstructed after the fact from listeners’ mental notes. It’s not comprehensive.)