Saturday, April 21, 2007

It should be a crime to feel this happy

Today has been a spiritual feast. It was the first day of District Conference today, and ever since meetings started this morning, it’s been a flood. President Packard, the mission president, is the visiting authority who’s been presiding and been the primary speaker in pretty much all the meetings we’ve had today. As much as a part of my pride might’ve wondered why, I’m really glad they didn’t ask me to translate this time (President Packard doesn’t speak Portuguese), because I was able to get sooooooo much more out of what was said, especially by President Packard.


The thing that most stuck with me was what he taught about false traditions, and the need to leave them behind. He taught very directly and very powerfully against some false traditions that are common here in Mozambique, especially the tradition of lobolo, or the traditional ceremony in which you basically pay for your wife. As he was speaking, though, I felt a very strong personal push to sit down and think about and make a list of all of my own false traditions, my American ones. I thought a lot about President Kimball’s talk, “The False Gods We Worship.” I realized so strongly how all people, no matter where they live, have false cultural traditions that interfere with and separate them from the purity of the gospel, and how urgent my need is to map out, recognize, and confront those same false traditions and barriers in my own life, just as the members of the Church here or anywhere need to do.


There were more insights than just that, a flood really. But above all, in general, especially in the meetings tonight, what made today so sacred was how it brought to mind so many amazing spiritual feasts that I’ve had in the past, in the Church, in the tropics, at night—the broadcast of the Nauvoo Temple dedication when I was in the Rio Negro stake center in Manaus, the missionary fireside we had one Sunday night when I was serving in the small river town of Itacoatiara, the temple fireside I went to with mom and dad when we were all in Salvador at a stake center right on the ocean, the mission conferences all over Manaus that would sometimes extend into the night, the sacrament meetings I’ve been to at night both in Manaus and in Salvador—there’s something about hearing divine truths in such a tropical paradise, with the moist air wrapping around you like a Father’s embrace and all His creations filling the sky above you, that makes it all even more vivid and even more sacred. When I think about it, I’m not quite sure why that is—but I do know it’s yet another part of what’s pushing me to want to spend my life in places like this.

3 comments:

Kristy said...

How true-—I think we’d be foolish to assume that we’re exempt from carrying false traditions because we’re American: Western culture has plenty of crazy traditions that aren’t in sync with gospel principles, and leading an unexamined life would be irresponsible—any way you look at it.
And, wow, that rich description of your surroundings and memories of sacred experiences remind me how much I want to live out there myself someday. What an opportunity to experience the gospel’s fervor in such a place! I think you’re right: what is the Provo tabernacle to starry skies and enveloping warmness from head to toe? Man, I miss the Carolinas. And I dream about the tropics.

Rolfo said...

I wouldn't go shaking any sticks at the Provo tabernacle--I really dig that ol' building. But what is that? Oh yes, that's completely beside the point. What were we talking about? Oh yes, the beauty of the tropics. 100% agree-age there.

Emily said...

I guess what has really struck me here is that, well, of all the people I know who identify themselves with a particular religion, very, very few of them seem to have the depth of faith that I see in your writings. I mean, they might have a strong belief in the Christian God, Jesus Christ, Allah, but they aren't actively engaged in reexamining their beliefs from so many different angles or in trying to pass on what they see to others. They think about God on Sundays and in turbulence at 20,000 feet.

You seem to have such joy in your own experience and when another person joins the Church. I have to wonder - belonging as you do to a Church that has yet to be known or embraced in many places in the world - while I get the sense you are exhilarated by your beliefs and all the sacredness you see, what must you think about those who identify themselves with a religion you don't believe to be the true one, or someone like me who doesn't believe in a higher power?

I'm pretty sure I know you too well to imagine you'd judge anyone for this, but, to put it in the simplest possible terms... does it make you sad?