Jacob 4

In writing down sermons and such, I have to condense and paraphrase because writing on metal is tedious, though worth it for the durability. If we used makeshift papyrus it would be quicker but wouldn’t last as long as we want these words to last. A close call, but we’re happy with this approach. It’s worth the effort. We hope for centuries of appreciation and gratitude, especially from our descendants. We hope they won’t resent anything we’re saying. We know times and attitudes will always change. We think what we say, though, will stay relevant.

We want to emphasize that we knew not only what had been written on the brass plates but knew that the Anointed One was coming and got hope and zeal from that knowledge. The old prophets knew about him too, invoked his title in their worship. So while we keep Moses’ law we also focus on the Lamb, which we believe counts for righteousness in its own way—the same as it did, we believe, for Abraham when he sacrificed Isaac in his heart, though thankfully not actually. (That was a symbol of how God has to sacrifice his son by letting him be tortured and killed by evil scum.)

We search the sacred writings, memorizing some of them, as we’ve been taught. We also get revelations during powerful, ecstatic episodes, about some of which Nephi and I have written. Our faith is so strong I think we could move trees or even mountains by just saying the word—though when would that be necessary? Or we could still the ocean with our words—which, of course, we could have used more of during our first trans-oceanic migration.

At the same time, despite our aspirations to sainthood, God shows us our weakness all the time. Why? He wants to make sure we know it is his grace and condescension that gives us all our strength. An amazing God we have. The things he’s done, the things he is. And you can’t figure out what he’s really up to or where he’s going. Impossible, unless he gives you a glimpse. So don’t mock the glimpses. Or the glimpsers.

Look, it’s simple. He made human beings and the earth they walk on. So obviously he can tell them to do anything he wants. It’s a free country, we say. But God’s the only really free one in it.

He doesn’t need your advice. You need his. And you need to trust that it will be both fair and merciful, which is the best kind of unfair.

I always have to add this: Believe in his Son! The Great Reconciliation! We’ll all come alive again! But that last exclamation’s only good news if you believe in him, the Lamb, who, incidentally, will be the first one to come alive again. He’s like the first ripe fruit you pick before you harvest the whole orchard.

If you get tired of me harping on this, let me ask this: Why not talk about the Great Reconciliation? Is there a topic you find more optimistic? Or enlightening? We all have to go sometime. It’s always somewhere in the back of our minds. So why not talk about it, if in fact it’s good news?

If one wants to speak for God, one should speak plainly. I’ve always said this. Because if you speak plainly, God’s spirit picks up the slack, fills in the gaps. Most important, that Spirit precludes lies. It’s all things-as-they-really-are with him. So we speak plainly what we’ve felt and seen, just like the truth-tellers of old.

But we Jews always get our noses out of joint when we hear plain-spoken truth. Some of us kill the truth-tellers, the old “shoot the messenger” ploy. Our problem is we always look past the boundaries. “What’s beyond that?” we always ask. So when we reorient our thinking to the boundary, we think God’s moved it. This is a losing strategy for our subconscious. Better to look only the distance of the boundaries God sets. If we don’t, God may play tricks on us and start moving those boundaries for real. He’s the master of the last laugh.

I’m stuck with truth-telling. “Prophesying,” it’s sometimes called. It’s a gift, though not a pleasant one. It’s like a gift of a lawnmower. Efficient, yes, but the price tag is the duty of pushing it. And the audience of my truth-telling tends toward heckling—remember that big building by the river Lehi saw? There’s my audience.

The Anointed One is like a huge stone that can be a cornerstone of a temple or a boulder that rolls onto the road and crushes you. It’s up to you to choose which he’ll be. Obviously I recommend the cornerstone. If you choose him as the boulder you’ll be lucky to wriggle out.

If it sounds like I’m worried for you, I am.