The Atonement and the Journey of Mortality

I devote this lengthy post to respond to the April 2012 Ensign article, The Atonement and the Journey of Mortality, by Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

This Ensign article is illustrative of the interpretive trouble we in the restored church of Christ continue to have with regard to 2 Nephi 25:23, the most misinterpreted passage in the canon of the Restoration. If we can somehow escape our faulty, near universal misunderstanding of this verse, then perhaps we can dismantle and destroy the array of perplexing, legalistic pop culture passing itself off as legitimate doctrine.

The wholesale misappropriation of 2 Nephi 25:23 is likely the primary source of the exegetical ills arising from the flawed notion of salvation by incremental self-improvement, a theme that Elder Bednar either knowingly or inadvertently advances in his article. Although he ostensibly confines the substance of his message to the “journey of mortality,” much of his reasoning and argument spills over into the arena of salvation itself.

One key to correctly comprehending Nephi’s words in 2 Nephi 25:23 is to discern that they are equivalent to Paul’s words in Ephesians 2:8-9. Because we wrest Nephi, we inevitably dismiss, ignore, and banish Paul, and that blunder knocks down the first domino of a series of errors that results in our present struggles with the doctrine of grace.

Elder Bednar, recalling a statement from a former president (David O. McKay) of the restored church of Christ, writes that the “grand objective of the Savior’s gospel” in the “journey of mortality is to progress from bad to good to better and to experience the mighty change of heart—to have our fallen natures changed (see Mosiah 5:2).”

There are two significant missteps here.

The first is the pragmatic notion that we have the gospel to move us from “bad to good to better.”

Those who come to Christ indeed proceed from “bad to good to better” on the relative scale of fallen mortality, but I do not need the gospel to enjoy that progression. I can do the same by actively participating in any number of Godless secular organizations that temporally serve humanity. The problem is that merely moving from “bad to good to better” does not necessarily bring me to Jesus.

The purpose of the gospel is to bring us to Christ, who alone has the power to transform us from fallen to saved (perfect). Bad, good, and better are still fallen (and imperfect).

The gospel, the “conditions of repentance” to which Alma refers, the set of attainable principles and ordinances Christ mercifully extends to us, is the critical additional step undertaken by the Savior to seal the efficacy of his divine atonement that forever pacifies the holy, consuming, perfect justice of heaven (Alma 42:13).

Christ offers us his gospel, and we are free to choose to come to him in this attainable path, if that is what we want.

I understand that the focus of Elder Bednar’s article is the relationship between the atonement and our “journey of mortality.” I also understand that President McKay is speaking more or less colloquially. But to implicitly refer to the gospel of Christ as a self-improvement program is like appraising the resurrection as a life-enhancing outpatient procedure.

The second is the upside-down notion that the “mighty change of heart,” archetypally experienced by the people of King Benjamin, is the desired end of our mortal spiritual walk (“The journey of mortality is to go from bad to good to better and to have our very natures changed”), where in fact being born again marks the beginning of that journey.

Being born again is our first inward spiritual step, initiated by our desire and faith to find and know God, which step results in our first personal, intimate experience with the power of the divine that transcends the natural world. Being born again is the type and shadow of the celestial resurrection, by which we rise in glory and become like Christ.

If you doubt the placement of being born again in the spiritual sequence of events that marks our mortal and postmortem pre-resurrection lives, then consider that every born-again experience (the mighty change of heart) in the Book of Mormon occurs as a first step of inward spiritual discipleship, not the end result of that undertaking.

Most non-Mormon Christians, unlike most Latter-day Saints, understand the implications of their fallen condition, and the miraculous born-again experience that commences their spiritual walk with the Lord in this life.

Elder Bednar writes:

I suspect that many Church members are much more familiar with the nature of the redeeming and cleansing power of the Atonement than they are with the strengthening and enabling power. It is one thing to know that Jesus Christ came to earth to die for us—that is fundamental and foundational to the doctrine of Christ. But we also need to appreciate that the Lord desires, through His Atonement and by the power of the Holy Ghost, to live in us—not only to direct us but also to empower us.

Our problem as Latter-day Saints is that we do not understand the nature of the “redeeming and cleansing power” of the atonement because we overemphasize its “strengthening and enabling power.” In fact, we substitute the latter for the former, such that we have come to believe that we pull ourselves up by our spiritual bootstraps (with the help of Jesus), and emerge at the end of this process of will and effort worthy to reside in heaven.

We view the “redeeming and cleaning power” of the atonement as nothing more than forgiveness, and fail to grasp that we will ultimately dwell as men and women “made perfect”(D&C 76:69) in the full presence of Almighty God as a direct result of that same “redeeming and cleansing power.”

Although there is no question that the “strengthening and enabling power” of Christ helps us as we pursue him in the testing period of our days of probation, the “redeeming and cleansing power” of his atonement is what exclusively raises us up in the celestial resurrection, the highest realization of the blessings of the Lord’s atonement, to a state of infinite holiness and perfection, a divine gift for which we mercifully qualify under the attainable standards of the gospel.

We have nothing to do with the provenance of the celestial resurrection (or any other resurrection) and its conferral of eternal life.

We are not responsible for it.

We do not provide it for ourselves.

We do not make ourselves worthy of it.

We do not incrementally and methodically achieve it.

We are the recipients of the gift of resurrection, the very delivery mechanism of our eternal inheritance, which blessed condition hopefully resides at the desirable extreme of a spectrum of salvation (see D&C 76) singularly provided by Christ.

We endure the consequences of the Fall to be free. The great opportunity of this life is to freely choose to come to Christ. As we do so, we embark on the quest to be better, but neither our enduring choice for Christ nor our quest to be better is the cause of our ultimate ascension to heaven.

Elder Bednar writes:

Most of us know that when we do wrong things, we need help to overcome the effects of sin in our lives.

Do we overcome the effects of sin?

Does our inherent goodness overpower and neutralize the effects of sin, and remedy our innate imperfection?

Do we conquer the Fall, death, and hell, and raise ourselves up to glory in the vastness of eternity?

Does Jesus help us do these things? Do we do these things with his help?

Moreover, do we have the power as fallen, mortal beings to completely avoid doing “wrong things”?

Elder Bednar writes:

Most of us clearly understand that the Atonement is for sinners. I am not so sure, however, that we know and understand that the Atonement is also for saints—for good men and women who are obedient, worthy, and conscientious and who are striving to become better and serve more faithfully.

In the absolute sense, are we not all sinners (Romans 3:23)? Are we not all disobedient (Romans 5:19)? Are we not all unworthy (Mosiah 4:11)? Are we not all beggars (Mosiah 4:19)?

Do followers of Christ ever fail to realize that the atonement is for them?

Do followers of Christ who come to him under the attainable standards of salvation, and strive to find and tread the strait and narrow path of the gospel ever fail to grasp the overriding relevance of the atonement with regard to their ultimate sanctification and elevation to heaven?

Who believes that the atonement does not apply to them like it applies to sinners?

During the earthly ministry of Christ in the Old World, those who trust in their own obedience, and see themselves as “obedient, worthy, and conscientious and … striving to become better and serve more faithfully” have no real need for Jesus.

Is Elder Bednar acknowledging that today there are members of the restored church of Christ who do not believe they need the atonement as much as the so-called sinners need it?

What would ever give members of the restored church of Christ that mistaken idea?

What manner of teaching of an out-of-context notion of personal righteousness whose efficacy opens the very gates of heaven would communicate to faithful members of the restored church of Christ the idea that we do not need the atonement of Jesus as much as the sinners need it?

Perhaps we can put this question to the “good men and women who are obedient, worthy, and conscientious … who are striving to become better and serve more faithfully” until they are personally prepared and enabled to dwell in the full presence of a just, holy, perfect God.

Moreover, perhaps we should place a reservation for dinner at Simon’s house (Luke 7:36-43), go on an excursion to see the Pharisee and the publican in the temple (Luke 18:9-14), and find time to have a pleasant sit-down with the “ninety and nine just persons” (Luke 15:7). Perhaps these experiences will also help all of us “good” members of the church “know and understand” that the atonement “is also for saints.”

I have a different set of questions.

Do we understand the consequences of the Fall?

Do we comprehend the infinite gap between the righteousness of fallen, mortal beings and the consuming holiness of heaven?

Or are we more preoccupied with our own laundry list of personal shortcomings and other failings that we believe we can rectify (with the help of Jesus) so that we then become worthy to stand with confidence in the presence of Almighty God?

Elder Bednar writes that “both putting off the natural man and becoming a saint … are accomplished through the power of the Atonement.”

He adds:

Individual willpower, personal determination and motivation, effective planning and goal setting are necessary but ultimately insufficient for us to triumphantly complete this mortal journey. Truly, we must come to rely upon “the merits, and mercy, and grace of the Holy Messiah” (2 Nephi 2:8).

In this take on the gospel, we marshal our “willpower, personal determination and motivation, effective planning and goal setting” in our effort to become saints, to “triumphantly complete this mortal journey,” and we also “rely upon ‘the merits, mercy, and grace of the Holy Messiah’” via the enabling power of his atonement to complete our quest.

Elder Bednar, who quotes Lehi in the Book of Mormon, essentially equates the triumphant completion of our mortal journey with our subsequent suitability and fitness for heaven.

Here is Lehi’s original teaching:

… [T]here is no flesh that can dwell in the presence of God, save it be through the merits, and mercy, and grace of the Holy Messiah … (2 Nephi 2:8).

According to Lehi, do we fallen, mortal beings successfully gain entrance to the “presence of God” because of the fortuitous tandem of our “willpower, personal determination and motivation, effective planning and goal setting” and the “merits … mercy … and grace of the Holy Messiah”?

Here is an expanded excerpt of Jacob’s original teaching.

… [T]here is no flesh that can dwell in the presence of God, save it be through the merits, and mercy, and grace of the Holy Messiah, who layeth down his life according to the flesh, and taketh it again by the power of the Spirit, that he may bring to pass the resurrection of the dead, being the first that should rise.

Wherefore, he is the firstfruits unto God, inasmuch as he shall make intercession for all the children of men; and they that believe in him shall be saved (2 Nephi 2:8-9).

Where are our efforts, aided by the enabling power of the atonement, in these verses?

Do we “dwell in the [full] presence of God” as a direct result of what we do?

Does Jesus help us do that?

Do we “bring to pass the resurrection of the dead”?

Does Jesus help us do that?

Do we “make intercession” for ourselves?

Does Jesus help us do that?

What is it, exactly, that we do?

Our role is to “believe” in the one who does these things, so that we receive a fullness of the blessings that are directly the result of his “merits … mercy … and grace.”

Elder Bednar presumably focuses on the narrow band of our belief during our mortal lives in the overall plan of salvation, and how we can solidify, strengthen, and bolster our faith in the Son of God, but inadvertently introduces our efforts and alleged goodness into the area of the plan of salvation restricted to the Savior.

In other words, we do not do what Jesus does.

It is no coincidence that Jacob teaches the resurrection immediately after he acknowledges that we come into the presence of God only “through the merits … mercy … and grace of the Holy Messiah,” for the very mechanism our Lord employs to raise us up to eternal glory is the power of his redeeming and sanctifying resurrection.

We have no direct role in these things.

Our role as fallen, mortal beings is to make use of our agency acquired by the Fall–to choose to believe in Christ, and to demonstrate the genuineness of our belief by coming to him in the attainable path of his gospel.

Jesus empowers our agency with meaning in the sense that he accepts us when we come to him, despite the fact that we are fallen, imperfect beings.

But only Jesus has the power to save.

We rightly turn to Jesus for help to be better than we are on the scale of fallen mortality, but the purpose of our relative improvement is to establish the authenticity of our choice for Christ, not to perfect ourselves with his help.

Burt Reynolds, in his memorable role as God walking incognito among mortals, has this revealing exchange while enticing a serial killer on the street to play a game of three-card Monte (Improbable, Episode 13, Season 9 of The X-Files):

God: Now, two clowns and a man with a crown. Wanna try your luck? King runs but he can’t hide. How can you lose? Kid stuff.

(Bueno, the serial killer, mistakenly chooses the Joker, and then God reveals the King.)

God: There goes the neighborhood, but Mr. Money [the King] is right next door. You know, there’s a secret to this game, Bueno, and I’m gonna tell you what the secret is. Choose better.

Bueno: You got something to say to me? You say it.

God: Son, I just did.

Our choices, however good we may believe they are, and however much the Lord may help us make them, do not save us from the Fall, overcome physical death, conquer sin, or redeem our souls and elevate us to heaven.

Jesus is the only one who can do these things, and he must do them for us. He is divine. We are fallen.

Our choices bring us to Christ, or take us away from him.

What we do is choose to come to him, which is hard enough already without the additional burdens of self-serve sanctification and personally procured perfection. In the plan of salvation, the purpose of our ability to choose—to choose better—is to bring us to Christ.

Elder Bednar equates grace with “enabling power,” and he refers to the Bible Dictionary to support this view.

Unfortunately, the entry for grace in the Bible Dictionary is utterly lacking in agreement to the totality of the message of salvation in the canon of the Restoration. I cannot overstate the violence this entry does to the doctrine of redeeming grace in both the Book of Mormon and the New Testament.

According to Elder Bednar’s selection from the Bible Dictionary, this is how we obtain eternal life:

It is likewise through the grace of the Lord that individuals, through faith in the atonement of Jesus Christ and repentance of their sins, receive strength and assistance to do good works that they otherwise would not be able to maintain if left to their own means. This grace is an enabling power that allows men and women to lay hold on eternal life and exaltation after they have expended their own best efforts.

The Bible Dictionary entry for grace also asserts the following:

Divine grace is needed by every soul in consequence of the fall of Adam and also because of man’s weaknesses and shortcomings. However, grace cannot suffice without total effort on the part of the recipient. Hence the explanation, “It is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do” (2 Ne. 25:23) (Bible Dictionary entry for grace).

We exercise “faith,” undergo “repentance of [our] sins,” and, given our “weaknesses and shortcomings” and “the fall of Adam,” receive “strength and assistance to do good works that [we] otherwise would not be able to maintain if left to [our] own means.” Our “own best efforts” and “total effort,” combined with the “enabling power” of the atonement, allow us to secure for ourselves “eternal life.”

In other words, we rise to it (with the help of Jesus).

We achieve eternal life—apparently synonymous with having “our fallen natures changed,” which makes us saints—by the force of our own will and effort, magnified by the “enabling power” of the atonement of Christ. In this way we overcome the “fall of Adam,” and become righteous enough to dwell in the presence of God.

Can you see the glaring discrepancy between the Bible Dictionary’s explanation of cause and Lehi’s explanation of cause with regard to salvation?

Lehi teaches that “there is no flesh that can dwell in the presence of God, save it be through the merits, and mercy, and grace of the Holy Messiah …” (2 Nephi 2:8).

The Bible Dictionary explains that the grace of Jesus kicks in only after we expend our “best efforts,” and, like a hit of supercharged spiritual steroid, propels us to the finish line of holiness and perfection, the blessed point at which we “lay hold on eternal life and exaltation.”

Moreover, the Bible Dictionary explains that the grace of Jesus “cannot suffice without total effort on the part of the recipient.” What this means is that what we do is the same thing that grace does, and what grace does is the same that we do. Working in concert, our efforts and the grace of Christ allow us to “lay hold on eternal life and exaltation.”

The relative proportions may be different from individual to individual, but the underlying substance of our “total effort” and the Lord’s “grace” is comprised of the same stuff.

What is so remarkable about the contrast here is that Lehi argues that the grace of Jesus is the only force that can bring us to holiness and perfection, and that the grace of Jesus that powers our salvation must function entirely independent and apart from the totality of our fallen efforts precisely because they are fallen. The grace of Jesus is the only thing that can “suffice.”

How can we imagine that the Lord, who “cannot look upon sin with the least degree of allowance” (D&C 1:31), is able to overlook the flaws in anything and everything we fallen mortals do, regardless of how much help we receive?

Given that everything we do fails to measure up to the perfect standards of heaven, how can we be saved directly by anything we do?

The Bible Dictionary insists that eternal life is the result of some kind of cooperative, collaborate effort between fallen, mortal beings (who just need a little help now and then to overcome their “weaknesses and shortcomings” and the “fall of Adam”) and a divine God, and that anything short of our “best efforts” and “total effort” disqualifies us from securing for ourselves eternal life.

And, in case you have not noticed, the Bible Dictionary entry for grace puts Nephi (2 Nephi 25:23) in conflict with his own father, Lehi (2 Nephi 2:8).

Lehi teaches that “the way is prepared from the fall of man, and salvation is free” (2 Nephi 2:4).

Salvation is not in any way the result of our “own best efforts” and “total effort,” or our “willpower, personal determination and motivation, effective planning and goal setting.”

Lehi teaches that we “are free according to the flesh,” that we “are free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men …” (2 Nephi 2:27).

How do we select that most blessed of options?

Nephi provides one answer.

We must “believe in Christ, and … be reconciled to God” (2 Nephi 25:23). This is the only alternative we have as fallen, mortal beings if we want eternal life. Nephi assures us that we are saved by grace—“we know that it is by grace that we are saved” (2 Nephi 25:23)—after we choose to “believe in Christ” and come to him in the attainable path of his gospel (2 Nephi 33:9), which is, in fact, “all we can do” (2 Nephi 25:23) as fallen, mortal beings. We must come to Christ because we can only be “reconciled to God” (2 Nephi 25:23) through his Son.

Lehi, Nephi, and even the difficult-to-understand Paul are preaching the same gospel, and the same independent, infinite redeeming grace of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

Perhaps Nephi has now assumed the difficult-to-understand moniker from Paul, whom we apparently either censor or ignore outright with regard to the saving doctrine of grace.

Elder Bednar writes:

Grace is the divine assistance or heavenly help each of us desperately needs to qualify for the celestial kingdom. Thus, the enabling power of the Atonement strengthens us to do and be good and to serve beyond our own individual desire and natural capacity.

The troubling implication of this statement, fully supported by the Bible Dictionary entry for grace, is that by force of our own will and effort and goodness, enabled, empowered, and enhanced by the divine help of Jesus, we become righteous and holy enough to dwell in heaven.

Where is the sense of proportion?

Where is the distinction between the fallen and the divine?

Where is the recognition of the infinite discontinuity between the relative goodness of fallen, mortal beings and the absolute goodness of heaven?

We qualify for the “celestial kingdom” (the celestial heaven) under the attainable standards of the gospel. We possess the innate ability through the gift of agency to choose Christ sufficiently well to qualify to receive the transforming gift of celestial resurrection, the mechanism by which we become like him. The Savior generously persuades, encourages, and helps us as we tread the attainable path of his gospel.

But we do not directly qualify through our own will and effort for the celestial heaven. We do not push forward, press on, and achieve until we are fit for residence in the celestial heaven.

This life is about choice, not perfection. Betterment is a natural consequence of our choice for Christ, but that improvement can never break free from its fallen, imperfect moorings. That improvement cannot bridge the infinite expanse separating divine perfection from the righteousness of fallen, mortal beings, regardless of how much “divine assistance” we receive from the Lord.

No matter how good we think we are, we yet remain fallen, mortal beings, and Jesus yet remains divine and holy. Only he can cross the divide between him and us. This is why he must condescend to us and procure the means for our salvation, because we cannot directly ascend to him in the heavenly realms.

We can only come to him.

Can you hear the severe but gentle reply of Jesus (once again subtly referring to himself in the third person) to the rich young man?

Why callest thou me good? There is none good but one, that is, God …” (Matthew 19:17).

Can you hear the precious words of Mormon preserved for us by his son, Moroni?

… [I]n Christ there should come every good thing.

…

… [A]ll things which are good cometh of Christ; otherwise men were fallen, and there could no good thing come unto them (Mormon 8:22, 24)

Elder Bednar writes that we better understand the atonement if we “insert ‘enabling and strengthening power’ each time we find the word grace in the scriptures.”

I understand the atonement better if I remember that the word grace, where used in reference to eternal life (or any degree of salvation), refers to Christ’s supernatural, one-sided transfer of the blessings of his atonement to us in the perfect day of salvation. Redeeming grace does not help us do anything, but does something to us.

This aspect of grace is nowhere to be found in the Bible Dictionary entry for grace, and is likewise absent in Latter-day Saint discourse and thought on the subject, which omission and absence are stunning and baffling because the grace of 2 Nephi 2:8, 2 Nephi 10:24, 2 Nephi 25:23, and Ephesians 2:8-9 is redeeming grace, not enabling grace.

Our devotion to the pragmatic, practical elements of the gospel of Jesus seems to overshadow the metaphysical and transcendent redemptive power of the atonement.

Elder Bednar recalls the story of how Nephi finds deliverance from his older brothers’ attempts to hurt and kill him (1 Nephi 7:15-18).

Elder Bednar writes:

It is especially interesting to me that Nephi did not pray to have his circumstances changed. Rather, he prayed for the strength to change his circumstances. And I believe he prayed in this manner precisely because he knew, understood, and had experienced the enabling power of the Atonement.

I do not think the bands with which Nephi was bound just magically fell from his hands and wrists. Rather, I suspect he was blessed with both persistence and personal strength beyond his natural capacity, that he then “in the strength of the Lord” (Mosiah 9:17) worked and twisted and tugged on the cords, and ultimately and literally was enabled to break the bands.

The account of Nephi bursting the bands of his captivity at the hands of his wicked older brothers is wonderfully illustrative of how God blesses us through his Son to help us overcome the exigencies, challenges, and trials of mortal life.

The problem is that Elder Bednar, like virtually all his contemporaries in the governing quorums of the restored church of Christ, uses this example (and similar examples) in the scriptures to blur the line between the way God works with us as fallen, mortal beings, and the way God raises us up to salvation.

In matters of salvation, we do not possess or wield the power to “change [our] circumstances.” We are fallen, mortal beings. Our only option is to come to Christ to “have [our] circumstances changed.” Only he can “change [our] circumstances.”

Nephi indeed prays: “O Lord, according to my faith which is in thee, wilt thou deliver me from the hands of my brethren; yea, even give me strength that I may burst these bands with which I am bound” (1 Nephi 7:17).

Nephi offers this prayer for help to overcome a situation that threatens his life.

Here is another heartfelt prayer that Nephi offers up to his Redeemer:

Rejoice, O my heart, and cry unto the Lord, and say: O Lord, I will praise thee forever; yea, my soul will rejoice in thee, my God, and the rock of my salvation.

O Lord, wilt thou redeem my soul? …

… O Lord, wilt thou not shut the gates of thy righteousness before me, that I may walk in the path of the low valley, that I may be strict in the plain road!

O Lord, wilt thou encircle me around in the robe of thy righteousness! …

O Lord, I have trusted in thee, and I will trust in thee forever. I will not put my trust in the arm of flesh; for I know that cursed is he that putteth his trust in the arm of flesh. Yea, cursed is he that putteth his trust in man or maketh flesh his arm.

… I will cry unto thee, my God, the rock of my righteousness. Behold, my voice shall forever ascend up unto thee, my rock and mine everlasting God. Amen (2 Nephi 4:30-35).

Nephi’s approach here is rather different from the one he takes with regard to the problem of the confining bands.

Does Nephi ask for help to directly realize his own salvation, or does he recognize that “the rock of [his] salvation” is the Lord?

Does Nephi ask for help to redeem his own soul, or does he plead, “O Lord, wilt thou redeem my soul?”

Does Nephi ask for help to improve and refine his own righteousness, or does he plead, “O Lord, wilt thou not shut the gates of thy righteousness before me …”?

Does Nephi ask for help to strengthen his own righteousness, or does he plead, “O Lord, wilt thou encircle me around in the robe of thy righteousness”?

Does Nephi ask for help to reinforce the “arm of flesh,” the same “arm of flesh” he uses to gain his release from the imprisoning bands of his brothers, or does he “trust in [the Lord] forever,” acknowledge that “cursed is he that putteth his trust in the arm of flesh,” and recognize that “cursed is he that putteth his trust in man or maketh flesh his arm”?

Does Nephi ask for help to enhance the efficacy of his own righteousness in acquiring eternal life, or does he “cry unto … the rock of [his] righteousness,” the Lord God of Israel, who will be Christ?

Nephi knows how to distinguish the enabling power of the Savior from his redeeming power.

Do we?

Nephi knows that Jesus is the “author and finisher of our faith” (Hebrews 12:2).

Nephi knows that, in matters of salvation, he must “[rely] alone upon the merits of Christ, who was the author and the finisher of [our] faith” (Moroni 6:4).

Nephi knows how he is saved.

Our salvation is not a direct function of so-called enabling grace.

The story of Nephi’s release from his bands is an utterly inadequate metaphor to describe our rescue from the Fall, death, and hell, and our ascension to heaven—our ultimate sanctification, redemption, and perfection via the celestial resurrection—which must come under the purview of redeeming grace.

Elder Bednar writes:

As you and I come to understand and employ the enabling power of the Atonement in our personal lives, we will pray and seek for strength to change our circumstances rather than praying for our circumstances to be changed. We will become agents who act rather than objects that are acted upon (see 2 Nephi 2:14).

Whether or not we “understand and employ the enabling power of the Atonement in our personal lives” per Elder Bednar’s interpretation of the same, we are already “agents who act” because the “Messiah” comes to “redeem the children of men from the fall” (2 Nephi 2:26). The Fall allows us to “[know] good from evil,” (2 Nephi 2:26), and Christ’s redemption of us from the Fall (redeeming grace) makes us “free forever … to act for [ourselves] and not to be acted upon, save it be by the punishment of the law at the great and last day, according to the commandments which God hath given” (2 Nephi 2:26).

We are “agents who act” because of our agency, obtained from the Fall, but made meaningful because of our redemption from the Fall by Christ (redeeming grace).

In matters of salvation, we, like Nephi, can only pray for our “circumstances to be changed” by our Redeemer, for we cannot change them ourselves.

The whole point of our life here is to have the chance, far from the indisputable influence of God, to freely choose Christ. If we do that, he will indeed “change our circumstances” in the endless happiness and glory of eternity.

We do not undertake the journey of life to perfect ourselves, but to freely choose.

The other accounts Elder Bednar relates are similar to the story of Nephi’s deliverance from the evil designs of his older brothers, and are relevant to our struggles on the landscape of fallen, mortal life.

And the other accounts Elder Bednar relates are entirely irrelevant to the procurement of our own salvation.

Nephi receives power to break his own bands, but only Jesus has power to break the “bands of death,” take “upon himself [our] iniquity and [our] transgressions, having redeemed [us], and satisfied the demands of justice” (Mosiah 15:9), and raise us to “dwell with God” and “have eternal life through Christ …” (Mosiah 15:23).

Elder Bednar concludes his piece in the Ensign as follows:

I know the Savior lives. I have experienced both His redeeming and enabling power, and I testify that these powers are real and available to each of us. Indeed, “in the strength of the Lord” we can do and overcome all things as we press forward on our journey of morality.

I have no doubt the Lord helps us to be better than we are as we go about our lives here and in the pre-resurrection spirit world.

But there is one venue in which the Lord does not help us do anything. This venue is our own salvation. In matters of salvation, the Lord does everything. He is the singular cause of our salvation. He is the exclusive source of our salvation. He is our salvation.

The Lord is my light and my salvation … (Psalms 27:1).

We may overcome bands that bind us.

We may overcome great challenges and trials.

We may overcome gravity, the bonds of the atom, and a whole host of remarkable obstacles.

But—

We do not and cannot overcome the Fall (2 Nephi 2:26).

We do not and cannot overcome physical death (Alma 11:42).

We do not and cannot overcome spiritual death (2 Nephi 9:10).

We do not and cannot procure for ourselves eternal life (Mosiah 16:13, John 3:16-17).

We do not and cannot overcome the world (John 16:33).

And—

We must know the limits of so-called enabling grace, and distinguish it from the infinite range of redeeming grace.

We will only experience the fullness of the Lord’s redeeming grace in the celestial resurrection, the time when “[our] redemption shall be perfected …” (D&C 45:46). Until then, we are to “continue in patience until [we] are perfected” (D&C 67:13).

To quote the final, soteriologically profound words of Clint Eastwood’s memorable character, Inspector Harry Callahan, from the 1973 film Magnum Force:

A man’s got to know his limitations.

We Latter-day Saints must recognize our own.

For a more comprehensive discussion of the redeeming grace of Jesus, see the book Redeeming Grace in the Canon of the Restoration (Amazon CreateSpace and Kindle).

A Witness

I devote this post to a translation of certain portions of the October 2, 2011 General Conference address, A Witness, given by President Henry B. Eyring of the First Presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

President Eyring:

Every member of the Church has the same sacred charge. We accepted it and promised to rise to it as we were baptized. We learn from the words of Alma, the great Book of Mormon prophet, what we promised God that we  would become: “Willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in, even until death, that ye may be redeemed of God, and be numbered with those of the first resurrection, that ye may have eternal life” (Mosiah 18:9).

Translation:

The perfect-day language of covenants that are part of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ has given us nothing but exegetical fits for at least the last 50-60 years. The harsh, rigid, and unbearably strict language of covenants continues to befuddle and bewilder even the most seasoned saints among us, from those in the presiding quorums of the church, to the teachers of gospel doctrine classes during Sunday worship services.

We can argue about the syntax of Alma’s recitation of the baptismal covenant, and whether the word “willing” qualifies the firm commands to “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that [we] may be in, even until death,” but there is little question that Alma understands that we in fact promise to comply with every aspect of this serious triumvirate, given that by baptism we “witness before [the Lord] that [we] have entered into a covenant with him, that [we] will serve him and keep his commandments …” (Mosiah 18:10).

President Eyring obviously understands the severity of the language, which is why he attempts to soften it.

He subtly shifts the present tense of the covenant to future tense, such that the provisions of the baptismal covenant transform into an arrangement to which we will “rise,” its uncompromising terms an ideal that we will “become,” both words (rise and become) more suggestive of an ongoing process of refinement than a stark about-face from omnipresent sin and imperfection to absolute holiness.

But Alma’s words do not grant anyone the leeway to shift the period of acceptable performance from the present to the unspecified future.

The perfect-day language of the baptismal covenant is supremely sobering, unavoidably harrowing, and relentlessly severe. There is no provision allowing us the opportunity to cure any breach, whether purposeful or unintentional. There is no allowance for anything other than perfect contractual performance.

And, of course, there is no possibility that we can actually comply with the outward terms of the contract.

That such is the reality of the matter escapes nearly everyone in the restored church of Christ. We quote 1 Nephi 3:7 so much that we believe it applies to everything. We insist that we must find a way to comply with the letter of our perceived covenant obligations, or there is no hope for us.

Our collective reverence and regard for the letter of covenant language lead President Eyring and many others to engage in the type of spin that shies away from the overwhelmingly oppressive, plain meaning of the words of the baptismal covenant.

But the letter is exacting.

We either obey all the terms from the outset, or we fail to do so.

Fortunately, there is something else at work in gospel covenants.

Can you think of anyone who is baptized who perfectly fulfills the terms of the baptismal covenant, someone who indeed stands “as [a witness] of God at all times and in all things, and in all places”?

There is one person who properly claims this accomplishment (three guesses, and the first two do not count).

One of the primary purposes of gospel covenants is to teach us the righteousness available to us in Christ. The baptismal covenant teaches us the glory to come, and does not condemn us because we fail to live up to the standard Christ sets for us, for that standard must be realized in us in the perfect day of his salvation, not by the force of our own will and effort.

This is the underlying symbolism of our taking upon ourselves the name of Christ by receiving the covenant. We are not baptized in our own names with the understanding that we will incrementally improve until we are good enough for heaven; we are baptized in his name. What we are supposed to learn from this covenant is that if we take upon ourselves his name, then we will come under a fullness of his protective grace, and literally put on Christ in the celestial resurrection.

Paul understands the transformative power of Christ in his wondrous gift of celestial resurrection, and the highest symbolism of the saving ordinance of baptism:

Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.

For if we have been planted together in the likeness of his death, we shall be also in the likeness of his resurrection … (Romans 6:4-5).

Jacob also understands the promised glory of celestial resurrection:

Wherefore, beloved brethren, be reconciled unto him [the Lord] through the atonement of Christ, his Only Begotten Son, and ye may obtain a resurrection, according to the power of the resurrection which is in Christ, and be presented as the first-fruits of Christ unto God, having faith, and obtained a good hope of glory in him before he manifesteth himself in the flesh (Jacob 4:11).

Although Paul knows that being born again is the inward, pre-resurrection realization of “newness of life” (and water baptism is the outward symbol of the respective inward substance), he also recognizes that the ultimate, foreshadowed “newness of life” comes when we rise in the “likeness of [Christ’s] resurrection” to eternal life without sin or imperfection, a life of infinite holiness and happiness that Jesus by grace confers upon us in the celestial resurrection.

Jacob tells his people to “obtain a resurrection, according to the power of the resurrection which is in Christ,” so they are “presented as the first-fruits of Christ unto God,” this desirable standing conferring a “good hope of glory in him.”

We Latter-day Saints do not usually think in terms of seeking “a resurrection,” yet the objective of celestial resurrection (by which we become the “first-fruits of Christ unto God”) is exactly what we seek, to be lifted up in “glory in him” to heaven “through the atonement of Christ.”

John, during his vision of the events leading to the triumphant return of Christ, sees the glorious destiny of those who come by faith to Christ, and endure in his gospel.

The angel, who usually speaks as if he were Christ, appears to John in resurrected glory so overwhelming and overpowering that, near the end of the vision, he falls down at the angel’s feet to worship him because he is in the likeness of the Son of God. However, the now angelic, even divine, being is actually a “fellowservant [of John], and of [John’s] brethren that have the testimony of Jesus” (Revelation 19:10), one of the relatively few who have the privilege of rising in the early stages of the first resurrection prior to the Lord’s return.

The infinite leap to the divine in store for someone who overcomes through faith is plainly manifest in the words of the Savior delivered by the angel:

… I [Jesus] will write upon him the name of my God … and I will write upon him my new name (Revelation 3:12).

That John the Revelator would mistake one of his previously mortal fellow servants as Almighty God is a testament to the transformative power of the celestial resurrection, the incomprehensible splendor of which Paul clearly anticipates in his teaching on the meaning of the covenant of baptism (“[W]e shall be also in the likeness of [Christ’s] resurrection”).

Moreover, if the owner of the voice that first addresses John in vision (Revelation 1:10-20) is the same being John mistakenly attempts to worship (Revelation 19:10) toward the end of the vision, then the elevating and exalting power of the celestial resurrection becomes all the more compelling.

Jesus asks us to come to him in the strait and narrow path marked by the ordinances of salvation, the first of which is water baptism.

Fortunately, his perfect obedience and atonement are what permit us to learn righteousness by covenant, despite the fact that while we are mortal we are unable to comply with the strict demands of the letter of the covenant.

Because he fulfills “all righteousness” (2 Nephi 31:5), he can confer upon us the protective and redeeming power of his own name, and, if we continue faithful, raise us up in the glory of his likeness in the perfect day of salvation, the celestial resurrection.

Covenants mark the path to Christ, and teach us the glory to be revealed in us.

Consequently, we should be disappointed only if we refuse to practice the righteousness taught to us by covenant, not discouraged, depressed, or unhappy when we do not live up to the letter of the covenants we make, for only Jesus measures up to their lofty standard.

We find safety, protection, and hope in his name, which we receive by covenant.

For a more comprehensive discussion of the role of covenants and commandments of the perfect day, see Chapter 10: By Condescension or by Contract? and Chapter 11: The Commandments of the Perfect Day in the book Redeeming Grace in the Canon of the Restoration (Amazon CreateSpace and Kindle).

As We Gather Once Again

I devote this post to a translation of one sentence of the March 31, 2012 General Conference address, As We Gather Once Again, given by Thomas S. Monson, President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

President Monson:

May each of us resolve anew to live so that we are worthy sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father.

Translation:

Forms of the word worthy (as they relate to our worthiness) find their way into 11 addresses of the April 2012 General Conference, and all the occurrences refer to a standard of worthiness applicable to fallen, mortal beings relative to various aspects of the gospel, such as priesthood worthiness and temple worthiness.

This is the case with President Monson’s words above. We are to “live [during our mortal sojourn] so that we are worthy sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father.”

There are two great divisions of the construct of worthiness in the canon of the Restoration.

One is the kind of worthiness to which President Monson and his fellow servants of God refer, a concept of worthiness that makes the rounds with regular frequency in General Conference addresses, and concerns the relative worthiness of fallen, mortal beings as they seek Christ.

The other is the key to understanding the type that gets so much play from the pulpit, but is conspicuously absent in the last decade of General Conference addresses, and is usually a no-show in the popular consciousness of the restored church of Christ.

What does it mean to be worthy?

Does it matter if the worthiness in question applies to fallen, mortal beings?

If we live on earth in a manner that “we are worthy sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father,” then are we prepared, ready, and fit to dwell in a fullness of God’s presence in the eternal realms?

If you are administratively deemed worthy to be baptized, to receive the priesthood, or to worship in the temple, then are you worthy to reside in heaven?

If the risen Christ visited you today, would the first words out of your mouth be, “Hi, Jesus, I am so thrilled to inform you that I am worthy”? Would any of us want to hear his reply to that assertion?

King Benjamin teaches to his people:

And again I say unto you as I have said before, that as ye have come to the knowledge of the glory of God, or if ye have known of his goodness and have tasted of his love, and have received a remission of your sins, which causeth such exceedingly great joy in your souls, even so I would that ye should remember, and always retain in remembrance, the greatness of God, and your own nothingness, and his goodness and long-suffering towards you, unworthy creatures … (Mosiah 4:11).

Why does King Benjamin counsel us to “always retain in remembrance … [our] own nothingness”? Why does he label us “unworthy creatures”?

At the conclusion of his sermon, his people enter into a covenant to “take upon [them] the name of Christ …” (Mosiah 5:8). Why are they worthy to do that, but still “unworthy creatures,” even the very personification of “nothingness”?

A few weeks ago, my 11-year-old daughter, Jordan, began to read just for fun the simplified Book of Mormon story, “King Benjamin Teaches the Nephites,” from the Friend magazine.

Here is an excerpt from that story:

He [King Benjamin] told the Nephites that they could be happy if they followed Jesus Christ and kept the commandments. After King Benjamin spoke, the Nephites fell to the ground. They were sorry they weren’t always obedient. They prayed and repented for not being obedient. Heavenly Father forgave the Nephites” (Friend, February, 2012, p. 35).

I stopped her after she read these words, and the ensuing dialogue went something like this:

Dad: Wait a minute. What is wrong with the notion that “[t]hey were sorry they weren’t always obedient”?

Jonathan: No one is always obedient, so they will always be sad.

Dad: Right, so what is really going on here?

I had Jordan open the Book of Mormon and read a few verses about King Benjamin’s tower address to his people:

And now, it came to pass that when king Benjamin had made an end of speaking the words which had been delivered unto him by the angel of the Lord, that he cast his eyes round about on the multitude, and behold they had fallen to the earth, for the fear of the Lord had come upon them (Mosiah 4:1).

We continued our discussion:

Dad: Are the people “sorry” for not always being obedient? We have every indication in the Book of Mormon that the subjects of King Benjamin are not, relatively speaking, wicked, wayward, and iniquitous, but righteous, prosperous, and victorious over their enemies. Why do his subjects fall to the earth?

Jordan: They are afraid of the wrath of the Lord.

Dad: Perhaps. But there is another definition of the word fear. “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom …” (Proverbs 9:10). Fear denotes deep reverence, awe, and respect. Why do the people feel profound reverence and awe for the Lord?

Jordan read the next verse:

And they had viewed themselves in their own carnal state, even less than the dust of the earth. And they all cried aloud with one voice, saying: O have mercy, and apply the atoning blood of Christ that we may receive forgiveness of our sins, and our hearts may be purified; for we believe in Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who created heaven and earth, and all things; who shall come down among the children of men (Mosiah 4:2).

And we continued our discussion:

Dad: Why do the people fall to the ground? Are they sad? Are they sorry?

Jordan: No.

Dad: Then why?

Jordan: They realize they are not perfect.

Dad: What is the word that refers to being imperfect?

Jonathan and Jordan: Fallen.

Dad: That’s right, fallen. They see themselves in their fallen state. And if they are fallen, then what is all they can do, if they want heaven?

Jordan: They look to the Lord.

Dad: Are they sad, Jordan?

Jordan: No, they are happy.

Dad: Why?

Jordan: They are happy because they know Jesus comes to save them, to make them perfect.

(The rest of the discussion focused on who has the power to forgive, but that is not important to this post.)

As we struggle to maintain our sense of worthiness, we must remember that we do so on the relative landscape of fallen mortality, and we must retain in our minds the absolute depth of the Fall that separates us from the consuming, perfect righteousness and holiness of heaven.

If we forget the critical distinction between the absolute worthiness of heaven and the relative worthiness of earthly life during our time of testing, then we fail to grasp the worth of the atonement of Christ, and utterly lose sight of the infinite and eternal nature of our redemption.

Indeed, we become lost in the relative sense of our own goodness, and fall prey to a legalistic appraisal of the gospel of Jesus (we ascend to heaven because of our own worthiness, which is acceptable to heaven).

The brother of Jared remembers the true nature of his standing before God:

… Now behold, O Lord, and do not be angry with thy servant because of his weakness before thee; for we know that thou art holy and dwellest in the heavens, and that we are unworthy before thee; because of the fall our natures have become evil continually; nevertheless, O Lord, thou hast given us a commandment that we must call upon thee, that from thee we may receive according to our desires (Ether 3:2).

So does Alma, who counsels his son Shiblon:

Do not say: O God, I thank thee that we are better than our brethren; but rather say: O Lord, forgive my unworthiness, and remember my brethren in mercy—yea, acknowledge your unworthiness before God at all times (Alma 38:14).

There are only a handful of verses referring to worthiness in the entire canon of the Restoration that compel us to confront the infinite gulf separating our worthiness from the worthiness of heaven, and we do well to know these passages, lest we begin to believe that our goodness is sufficient for our desired eternal sojourn in heaven.

Before we leave this mortal world, we do well to remember what the enlightened beasts and faithful elders of John’s vision recognize. They confess to Christ:

Thou art worthy to take the book, and to open the seals thereof: for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by thy blood out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation;

And hast made us unto our God kings and priests … (Revelation 5:9-10).

A few verses before, John, plainly aware of his fallen condition, weeps because no one is worthy to “open and … read the book” or “look thereon” (Revelation 5:4), until one of the elders comforts the apostle with the happy news that Jesus is worthy to bring about our reconciliation to God and our elevation to heaven.

All born-again believers in Christ are acutely aware of our fallen condition, and rejoice in the deliverance made available to us in him.

All born-again believers in Christ distinguish between our relative worthiness as fallen, mortal beings and the absolute worthiness made available to us in him.

So should we.

For a more comprehensive discussion of the two great divisions of worthiness, see Chapter 8: Saved by Grace in the book Redeeming Grace in the Canon of the Restoration (Amazon CreateSpace and Kindle).

His Grace Is Sufficient

Happy Easter.

No translation today.

Today I have prepared a demolition.

I devote this lengthy post to a critical assessment of the entire July 12, 2011 Brigham Young University (BYU) devotional address, His Grace Is Sufficient, given by Brad Wilcox, member of the Sunday School General Board of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and BYU associate professor in the Department of Teacher Education in the David O. McKay School of Education.

Wilcox’s address is a prime example of legalistic, pop-culture contortions of the doctrine of redeeming grace in the canon of the Restoration, and produces the latest of a series of awful catchphrases, the notion that we do not earn heaven, we learn heaven.

For over 25 years I have listened to sermons and lectures that dance around at the edges of the doctrine of redeeming grace, inexplicably ignore plain passages in the scriptures, and produce an undesirable assortment of new-and-improved twists and turns of the doctrine with which most of us Latter-day Saints are uncomfortable in the first place.

If this introduction upsets you, then go shoot up with more Mormon pop culture to take off the edge and precision of the canon, particularly if you prefer the allegedly simplified, soothing surreality of the former to the grounded theological reality of the latter.

I write this post especially for those who cannot tell the difference between all but a few points of Wilcox’s remarks and the doctrines of the canon of the Restoration, and for the select group of non-Mormon Christians that occasionally pays attention to what we say from the pulpit.

Wilcox discloses his underlying assumptions with regard to grace in his introduction.

He writes that the grace of Jesus Christ is “sufficient to cover us, sufficient to transform us, and sufficient to help us as long as that transformation process takes.”

If Wilcox had stopped after the first two statements, he would have remained in agreement with the canon. But he did not, and few, if any, in the restored church of Christ ever do so.

The mistaken meme of Jesus as helper underpins the entire address, and reveals the monumentally erroneous assertion that we command and direct the power of salvation through the utility of our own agency, for Wilcox teaches that Jesus helps us transform ourselves.

Since the alleged “transformation process” over which we preside endures as long as it takes, we fallen mortals are the obvious bottlenecks in the procedure. We become as fast as we can until at length we come to the perfect day of salvation, and arrive at ultimate perfection.

We must ascend to the high places of heaven, but not to worry, because the Lord will walk with us.

This, Wilcox asserts, is how grace works.

At the outset of the address, I doubt that non-Mormon Christians have any idea what he is saying. I doubt they see any connection in this overview to what they read in the New Testament.

At the outset of the address, I suspect that Latter-day Saints have no idea why his overview is at variance with the doctrines of scripture, especially those in the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine & Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price.

But such is the infirm condition of the popular consciousness of the restored church of Christ with regard to the doctrine of grace.

The story Wilcox relates about the BYU student’s question is illustrative of this point:

A BYU student once came to me and asked if we could talk. I said, “Of course. How can I help you?”

She said, “I just don’t get grace.”

I responded, “What is it that you don’t understand?”

She said, “I know I need to do my best and then Jesus does the rest, but I can’t even do my best.”

She then went on to tell me all the things she should be doing because she’s a Mormon that she wasn’t doing.

She continued, “I know that I have to do my part and then Jesus makes up the difference and fills the gap that stands between my part and perfection. But who fills the gap that stands between where I am now and my part?”

There it is, in all its glory, the product of decades of dumbing down the gospel of Jesus Christ, the doctrine of a cooperative, collaborative salvation. The student’s astute perception is neither an uncommon aberration, nor an isolated misunderstanding. She is merely regurgitating with great accuracy and precision what she has heard her entire life.

This is the result of our attempts to simplify the saving doctrines of scripture. God forbid we use the text of the canon. Better to explain the ostensibly hard doctrine of grace by simplifying it to a point that the fragile, sensitive youth and busy, distracted membership can understand.

And this is what we get.

Despite being under the influence of pop culture masquerading as doctrine, the BYU student brings impressive analytical skill and critical thinking to the problem. She realizes that she does not and cannot meet the supposedly comforting threshold of doing her best so that Jesus can do the rest.

She realizes that, as a fallen, mortal being subject to the daily grind of life, even a life as blessed as the one she undoubtedly enjoys, she does not always do her best.  In fact, she probably recognizes that even when she believes she does her best, she probably does not, in fact, do so. She probably instinctively knows that she does not spend her life at the outer boundary of her capacity, however you wish to measure it.

She properly wonders, “[W[ho fills the gap that stands between where I am now and my part?”

Bravo to the BYU student, who circumspectly repeats and then competently evaluates what she has heard numerous times in one form or another from the pulpit.

If her take on the most misinterpreted passage of the canon of the Restoration (2 Nephi 25:23) is correct, then she should be concerned, nay, she should be terrified.

And so should we, because no fallen, mortal being measures up to this standard of justification.

No one.

Her question primarily focuses, not on the intercession of Jesus by which he alone bears the punishment for the Fall and her subsequent sins, but on her path to perfection. She wonders how she is ever going to meet the best-efforts standard to qualify to become like Christ in the eternal realms of glory.

To his credit, Wilcox acknowledges something that many in the church often misunderstand by correctly teaching that “Jesus makes all the difference,” that the Lord, in fact, unconditionally “[pays] our debt in full,” and “[pays] it all.”

If Jesus does not, once and for all, satisfy the full wrath of Almighty God that divine justice demands, then those who do not find protective cover in the Son of God will be utterly undone, and suffer the same fate as the fallen Lucifer and his angels, for the original judgments decreed against humanity at the Fall will revive anew, and destroy with unmitigated vengeance.

However, the BYU student is contemplating the road ahead of her, not the awful atoning path already trod by her Savior.

She wants to know how she will embrace the divine in eternity in the full presence and glory of God.

And what is the answer Wilcox provides?

This answer:

“What is left to be determined by our obedience is what kind of body we plan on being resurrected with and how comfortable we plan to be in God’s presence and how long we plan to stay there.”

Christ asks us to show faith in Him, repent, make and keep covenants, receive the Holy Ghost, and endure to the end. By complying, we are not paying the demands of justice—not even the smallest part. Instead, we are showing appreciation for what Jesus Christ did by using it to live a life like His. Justice requires immediate perfection or a punishment when we fall short. Because Jesus took that punishment, He can offer us the chance for ultimate perfection (see Matthew 5:48, 3 Nephi 12:48) and help us reach that goal. He can forgive what justice never could, and He can turn to us now with His own set of requirements (see 3 Nephi 28:35).

“So what’s the difference?” the girl asked. “Whether our efforts are required by justice or by Jesus, they are still required.”

“True,” I said, “but they are required for a different purpose. Fulfilling Christ’s requirements is like paying a mortgage instead of rent or like making deposits in a savings account instead of paying off debt. You still have to hand it over every month, but it is for a totally different reason.”

This, Wilcox asserts, is how grace works.

Stop.

Latter-day Saints, do we see anything suspect in this dialogue, anything at all that might be out of whack with the canon of the Restoration?

According to Wilcox, what does our obedience have power to do for us?

From the above exchange we learn that the alleged obedience of fallen mortal beings:

1. Determines the type of resurrection in which we rise.
2. Establishes our comfort level in the presence of God.
3. Sets the duration of our stay with God.
4. Empowers us to actually live a life like that of Jesus.
5. Propels us incrementally to the desired destination of divine perfection.

This is an ambitious, desirable list of accomplishment and distinction.

In the mortgage example, Jesus has power to pay for the home outright, whereas we cannot do so, but must instead incrementally pay portions of the purchase price that sum to the same amount (the two principal amounts are equal, after taking into account the time value of money).

Wilcox uses this example to describe, not the payment by Christ for the Fall and its subsequent sins, but the path to divine perfection.

Non-Mormon Christians immediately recognize the folly in these assertions, whereas Latter-day Saints generally take the opposite view and think, “Wow, this makes a lot of sense.”

As Non-Mormon Christians hastily turn to Romans 5:18-19, and breathe a sigh of relief that these verses indeed still exist, Latter-day Saints, instead of following suit, and then additionally reviewing 2 Nephi 2:4, 8 to easily come to the conclusion, “Hey, the reasoning in this dialogue is entirely upside down,” simply accept its assumptions and conclusions.

After all, Jesus is our helper. If we do not do anything, then how can he help us do all the stuff we must do?

How certain are we Latter-day Saints that our own obedience produces the five results in the list above?

My dear BYU student, all you have to do is keep progressing incrementally until you become exactly the way Jesus is from the get-go of his earthly ministry, and then continue on until you are the way he is today.

And you thought that you just had to do your best!

No, you have to keep pushing forward until you are just like Christ. But do not fret, Jesus will help you, and he would never command you to be perfect unless you could do it, right?

Wilcox inadvertently rewrites the concluding clause of the most misinterpreted passage in the entire canon of the Restoration, the verse that troubles the BYU student (2 Nephi 25:23), to read as follows: “[F]or we know that it is by grace that we are saved, as we press forward until we achieve perfection.”

Feel better now?

The answer Wilcox gives to comfort, clarify, and console becomes even more horrifying than the BYU student’s unattainable original supposition.

Wilcox further complicates the matter by illogically comparing Christ’s atoning payment on our behalf to our “efforts” at perfection, and then concludes that the intercession of Jesus has a “different purpose” than that of our own spiritual strivings, which we perform “for a totally different reason.”

If Wilcox wants to employ a parallel analogy, then he must either compare Christ’s atonement to ours (oh, wait, we do not make atonement—unless the legalists are correct in their belief that some of us indeed suffer for our own sins), or compare Christ’s life to ours. Wilcox uses the metaphors of the mortgage and the music lessons (see below) to essentially do the latter (Jesus lives a sinless life, but we must practice as long as it takes to achieve the same result at some point in an endless eternity).

While the rest of Christianity correctly distinguishes between their fallen, mortal lives and the singular life and atonement of the Son of God, we purposely and zealously comingle the perfect work of Jesus and our own work in a mixed salad of salvation, and pronounce the gallimaufry good.

Wilcox proposes a second metaphor to describe the grace of Christ. He writes:

Christ’s arrangement with us is similar to a mom providing music lessons for her child. Mom pays the piano teacher. How many know what I am talking about? Because Mom pays the debt in full, she can turn to her child and ask for something. What is it? Practice! Does the child’s practice pay the piano teacher? No. Does the child’s practice repay Mom for paying the piano teacher? No. Practicing is how the child shows appreciation for Mom’s incredible gift. It is how he takes advantage of the amazing opportunity Mom is giving him to live his life at a higher level. Mom’s joy is found not in getting repaid but in seeing her gift used—seeing her child improve. And so she continues to call for practice, practice, practice.

This metaphor again affirms the mechanism by which we become perfect.

In the metaphor of the mortgage, we incrementally pay until we achieve what Jesus has achieved.

In the metaphor of the music lessons, we do not pay the piano teacher, but we practice. In fact, we “practice, practice, practice” until we become like Christ. By this demonstration of “appreciation,” we take “advantage of the amazing opportunity” to “live … life at a higher level.” We “choose to live on a higher plane.”

This, Wilcox asserts, is how grace works.

All we have to do is keep going until we get everything right.

Latter-day Saints, do we see any glaring deficiencies or blatant omissions in the second metaphor?

Like so many of his contemporaries, Wilcox focuses his analysis of the alleged process of perfection on the individual. He writes, “We have not yet comprehended what [Christ] is trying to make of us.” Quoting Elder Bruce C. Hafen, Wilcox argues that “‘repentance initiates a developmental process that, with the Savior’s help, leads us along the path to a saintly character.’” Quoting Elder Dallin H. Oaks, Wilcox affirms that the purpose of our repentance is “‘change.’”

But on what scale, the relevant range of fallen, mortal experience (to demonstrate our choice for Christ), or the absolute expression of the divine (to actually perfect ourselves)?

Wilcox is certain that the two milieus neatly merge, that what we begin on earth, we continue in heaven until the perfect day, and that the only things separating mortal improvement from divine refinement are sufficient time and practice.

Wilcox implies that Christ can do nothing unilaterally in our favor. He is utterly dependent on our will and effort. Our steadily improving commandment-keeping, devotion, and acts of service and charity, aided by our helper Jesus, are the driver that ultimately brings us to the divine.

How can so many in the restored church of Christ misplace salvation and divine perfection in the utility of our own agency?

Have we lost our minds?

And now we come to the genesis of the catchphrase that is a consummate caricature of the operation of redeeming grace:

I have born-again Christian friends who say to me, “You Mormons are trying to earn your way to heaven.”

I say, “No, we are not earning heaven. We are learning heaven. We are preparing for it (see D&C 78:7). We are practicing for it.”

There it is, another legalistic rending of grace and the path to heaven.

We learn heaven.

Latter-day Saints, do we think the non-Mormon Christian has any reasonable basis for his assessment that we seek to “earn [our] way to heaven”?

Given the way Wilcox characterizes the path to perfection using the metaphors of the mortgage and the music lessons, is the non-Mormon Christian completely out to lunch where he makes his observation?

Moreover, which is worse, the notion that we earn heaven (trade value for value), or that we learn heaven (acquire through our own will and effort, with the supportive help of Jesus, the characteristics, traits, knowledge, righteousness, and holiness of the divine)?

Non-Mormon Christians do not know what to make of either of these doctrines, for both are antithetical to text of the New Testament, and likewise antithetical to the text of the standard works of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the canon of the Restoration.

Here is the passage that Wilcox quotes to support his thesis:

For if you will that I give unto you a place in the celestial world, you must prepare yourselves by doing the things which I have commanded you and required of you (D&C 78:7).

Previously in his address, Wilcox declares that our own obedience determines our place in the afterlife, remember?

But who determines our place in the afterlife in the above verse? Who gives whom what?

Moreover, why does Wilcox assume that the things the Lord commands us to do and requires of us directly empower us to dwell in the “celestial world”?

Is the assumption that what we do directly prepares us for heaven a reasonable, tenable assumption, such that all we have to do is prepare sufficiently to be comfortable in the presence of a just, holy, perfect God?

Wilcox follows the introduction of his new catchphrase with a reiteration of the emphasis on the individual (assisted, of course, by the help of Jesus) as the primary, casual force to perfection.

He asks, “Have you been changed by grace,” that is, are we different, are we better because of our decision to choose the Lord? Wilcox quotes one friend, “A life impacted by grace eventually beings to look like Christ’s life,” and then another, “While many Christians view Christ’s suffering as only a huge favor He did for us, Latter-day Saints also recognize it as a huge investment He made in us.”

Where is the focus?

Who is responsible for our perfection?

These statements are completely in agreement with the metaphors of the mortgage and music lessons.

All we have to do is practice, and practice makes perfect.

Where is Jesus in this paradigm? He is one who gives us the opportunity to practice, and pays for our lessons. He is the one who is willing to wait as long as it takes for us to perfect our practice.

And we Latter-day Saints do not even bat an eye or flinch, for these explanations seem to be so self-evident, so consistent with everything else we have heard on the subject of grace for as long as we can remember.

The consummate irony of Wilcox’s question, “Have you been changed by grace,” is that all true followers of Christ, whether they find their way to his restored church, or yet remain among the ranks of the various denominations of Christianity, already know firsthand the life-changing, watershed moment of being born again, whereas many in the restored church of Christ know neither the meaning of this supernatural experience nor the experience itself because we mistake it for the plodding, deliberate, ongoing process of our activity in the church.

Wilcox asserts: “As Moroni puts it, grace isn’t just about being saved. It is also about becoming like the Savior (see Moroni 7:48).”

Stop.

This reasoning is absurd on its face.

First, to be saved is to become like the Savior, to be transformed and elevated to the glory of heaven in the full presence of God (only in D&C 76 does the verb to save expand to include the degrees of salvation Jesus graciously provides for those who will not lift up the sword against him).

The word saved in scripture never refers exclusively to the atonement of Christ (by which he willingly suffers the wrath of his Father for the Fall and its aftermath of sin, so that the Lord may undo the awful judgments decreed against all humanity at the Fall, and subject us to himself and the merciful framework of his attainable gospel), and always includes the notion of the final elevation of fallen, mortal beings to eternal glory in the context of the celestial heaven, the blessed highest purpose of the atonement.

If you do not believe this, do a word search for forms of the word saved in the Book of Mormon. By my count, of the 283 verses containing this most important soteriological word, 84 occurrences are synonymous with the gift of eternal life, and the remaining 199 do not involve theology, but typically either refer to wartime or other earthly deliverance, or have the same meaning as the word except).

Wilcox’s wresting of the word saved is another glowing example of the tendency of Latter-day Saints to misuse and redefine key words in scripture like the grace-filled word saved.

To argue that being saved means that Jesus paid for our sins, in order to then contrast that divine payment with our efforts to become like him, is incongruous, contrary to the language of scripture, and nonsensical.

If we are saved, then we are indeed become like the resurrected and glorified Christ, a point that I will incontrovertibly establish shortly, and one that you should already know.

Non-Mormon Christians generally do not recognize the extent of the atoning and exalting power of Christ, but at least acknowledge that their hoped-for arrival to a heavenly state of happiness comes to them entirely by virtue of the perfect work of Jesus.

We Latter-day Saints seem to believe otherwise.

Second, here are Mormon’s words that Wilcox grossly misinterprets (Moroni records the teaching of his father, Mormon, in Moroni Chapter 7):

But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him.

Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ; that ye may become the sons of God; that when he shall appear we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is; that we may have this hope; that we may be purified even as he is pure. Amen (Moroni 7:47-48).

Ever noticed that the faithful are “possessed of” the love of Christ, and not the other way around, at the last day?

In other words, we do not possess it, it possesses us.

Mormon asks his brethren and us to pray that we “may be filled with this love,” so that we “may become the sons of God,” such that “when he shall appear we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is …”

What does it mean to be “filled with this love”? Does this phrasing suggest that we practice and develop his love, or that he fills us with it?

Does the warrior prophet merely refer to our practice of charity, or to something else, something infinitely greater?

When do Mormon and his brethren see Jesus, at least in a formal sense consistent with the general, overall timetable of the plan of salvation?

More on this in a moment.

In the meantime, consider the backdrop of Mormon’s hope, and remember the phrase “for we shall see him [the Lord] as he is.”

Wilcox finds support for his metaphors of the mortgage and the music lessons in Mormon’s words. Wilcox finds support for the proposition that Jesus provides cover while we practice and perfect ourselves.

But Mormon’s words do not support this notion. They soundly refute it.

Wilcox continues describing the typical conversation he has with his “born-again Christian friends”:

They ask me, “Have you been saved by grace?”

I answer, “Yes. Absolutely, totally, completely, thankfully—yes!”

Stop.

His “born-again Christian friends” are not asking him who makes intercession for him before Almighty God, they are asking Wilcox how he is saved, how he is raised to endless happiness in heaven in the presence of God.

Wilcox does not understand the question because he answers the wrong question. His answer, “Absolutely, totally, completely, thankfully—yes!” refers to the notion that Jesus suffers and dies for us, but conveniently avoids the subject of how we are raised up to eternal glory.

Wilcox writes, “Latter-day Saints know not only what Jesus has saved us from but also what He has saved us for.”

No wonder that multitudes among the denominations of Christianity cannot understand us. We speak out own language, a corrupted dialect that not only conflicts with the language of the New Testament, but also clashes mightily with the books of scripture unique to the Restoration.

The “born-again Christian friends” are essentially asking if Jesus saves us, or if we save ourselves, and Wilcox’s answer, a jumbled mishmash of the perfect work of Jesus and our own work, contradicts our own canon, thoroughly disappoints, and unavoidably bestows a measure of validity to the accusation against the membership of the restored church of Christ that we are not Christian!

In truth, our argument with the Evangelicals is not over the concept of salvation by grace, but the conditions governing our receipt by grace of the salvation won for us by our Redeemer.

Do we really come to perfection as the result of a long, arduous process of continual self-improvement and learning while Jesus waits, gives assistance where necessary, and occasionally shouts an encouraging, “I know you can do it!” to us?

The Prophet Joseph and Sydney Rigdon experience a vision of the celestial heaven in 1832. They record:

And thus we saw the glory of the celestial, which excels in all things—where God, even the Father, reigns upon his throne forever and ever;

Before whose throne all things bow in humble reverence, and give him glory forever and ever.

They who dwell in his presence are the church of the Firstborn; and they see as they are seen, and know as they are known, having received of his fulness and of his grace;

And he makes them equal in power, and in might, and in dominion (D&C 76:92-95).

How do we become perfect?

Do we Latter-day Saints see anything in the above verses that indicates that what we do confers upon us the presence of God, and the state of being in which we “see as [we] are seen, and know as [we] are known”?

Do we comprehend what that means? Do we understand the astonishing symmetry of the words, and the implication of what we become in the full presence of Almighty God?

If we see God as he sees us, and know him as he knows us, then what does this suggest about our state of being in the celestial heaven, our state of being from the moment we arrive?

Do we come to this magnificent condition because we practice righteousness hard enough?

Or are we instead the recipients of the Son’s “fulness and … grace,” and the blessed beneficiaries of his power—the atoning, intercessory, and exalting power by which “he makes [us] equal in power, and in might, and in dominion”?

Who makes whom equal? Do we make ourselves equal? Does Jesus help make us equal? I thought our practice was supposed to bring us to this condition and place, and make us feel, well, comfortable in the presence of the divine, but alas, that is not at all what is going on here.

Pay attention to the direction of the action. Jesus “makes  [us] equal in power, and in might, and in dominion.”

Does the account of the Prophet Joseph and Sidney Rigdon indicate that our acquisition of divine perfection is more like a process of steady improvement, or more like a supernatural transformation, once our time of pre-resurrection testing is complete?

Paul writes that many in the world are “[e]ver learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth” (2 Timothy 3:7).

Do we not sentence ourselves to this same fate if we accept the proposition that we come to perfection over a long process of continual self-improvement, or is our concept of the holiness of God and his Son something less than divine, something attainable through mortal efforts (enhanced by divine abutment, where necessary)?

Concerning the transformation of the saints in the celestial resurrection, the Lord reveals to the Prophet Joseph:

And then shall the angels be crowned with the glory of his might, and the saints shall be filled with his glory, and receive their inheritance and be made equal with him (D&C 88:107).

Clearly, by the advent of the celestial resurrection, the saints have learned to fill themselves with the Lord’s glory, and, given their rigorous regimen of righteous practice, are now perfectly comfortable to legally, contractually, and rightfully claim their inheritance in the full presence of God, since they have finally achieved equality with Jesus.

No, wait, that is what Wilcox is saying.

The Lord seems to be telling the Prophet Joseph the exact opposite.

This event is the one to which Mormon refers earlier (Moroni 7:47-48), the time when divine love possesses us to the fullest extent, and we faithful followers of Christ are “filled with this love,” and “become the sons of God”; the time when “we shall be like [Christ],” and “see him as he is,” and find ourselves “purified even as he is pure”; the time of the celestial resurrection.

Pay attention to the direction of the action.

Who crowns us with the glory of his might?

Who fills us with his glory?

Who confers upon us a celestial inheritance?

Who makes us equal with him?

Wilcox, along with like-minded members of the governing quorums and educational systems of the restored church of Christ, believes we do, and that Jesus helps.

To quote Rob Bell, one of my favorite Evanglical Christian writers, “Huh?”

How have we Latter-day Saints come to reverse the direction of the action, and then to inanely bifurcate it, to claim that we somehow directly contribute to a collaborative salvation, a cooperatively realized celestial heaven?

Remember the story of the translation of the three Nephite disciples at the time of Christ’s post-resurrection visit to the Americas?

Mormon records:

And now behold, as I spake concerning those whom the Lord hath chosen, yea, even three who were caught up into the heavens, that I knew not whether they were cleansed from mortality to immortality—

But behold, since I wrote, I have inquired of the Lord, and he hath made it manifest unto me that there must needs be a change wrought upon their bodies, or else it needs be that they must taste of death;

Therefore, that they might not taste of death there was a change wrought upon their bodies, that they might not suffer pain nor sorrow save it were for the sins of the world.

Now this change was not equal to that which shall take place at the last day; but there was a change wrought upon them, insomuch that Satan could have no power over them, that he could not tempt them; and they were sanctified in the flesh, that they were holy, and that the powers of the earth could not hold them.

And in this state they were to remain until the judgment day of Christ; and at that day they were to receive a greater change, and to be received into the kingdom of the Father to go no more out, but to dwell with God eternally in the heavens (3 Nephi 28:36-40).

Those who heard Wilcox give his devotional address, any allegedly confused members of the BYU student body, and citizens of the restored church of Christ here and abroad, I have a question for you.

Do the three translated Nephite disciples learn translation?

Do they learn to “not suffer pain nor sorrow” other than for “the sins of the world”?

Do they learn to exist such that the devil himself can “have no power over them,” such that he is unable to “tempt them”?

Do they learn to be “sanctified in the flesh,” such that they are “holy,” and the “powers of the earth” are unable to “hold them”?

Can they even practice such talents and abilities as fallen, mortal beings?

Is there any indication in Mormon’s account that the three Nephite disciples are directly responsible for their own translation?

I know some of us want to insist that such is the case. We want to believe that we can develop complete immunity to the devil while we draw breath in mortality. We want to believe that we can sanctify ourselves through our own righteousness and obedience. We want to believe and accomplish these things because this is what we have been taught for as long as we can remember.

The answer, of course, is that translation comes upon the three Nephite disciples. They do not translate themselves. They have nothing whatsoever to do with it.

Notice the direction of the action. Recognize who gives, and who receives.

Mormon understands that there is a “change wrought upon their bodies,” a “change wrought upon them,” a lesser change where compared to the “greater change” to come upon them at the “judgment day of Christ,” a time when they are to be “received into the kingdom of the Father to go no more out.”

(From his frame of reference circa 400 A.D., Mormon may be compressing the glorious celestial resurrection at the time of the advent of Christ with the completed series of resurrections already in place at the post-Millennial day of judgment.)

What, or rather, who is source of the “change wrought upon” the three Nephite disciples? Who possesses the power to unilaterally, metaphysically, and supernaturally transform and elevate them to a state of translation, the lesser change?

Do they?

If the three Nephite disciples do not learn or practice their own translation, then what are the chances that they learn heaven, the “greater change”? What are the chances we do so?

Who acquires and wields the power to unilaterally, metaphysically, and supernaturally transform and elevate us to a state of perfection, the “greater change”?

Do we?

Maybe this business of resurrection is far more important than Wilcox thinks it is. He glosses over the resurrection. He matter-of-factly tells the BYU student that “[w]e will all be resurrected.” Wilcox views resurrection as the bare-minimum benefit of the atonement of Christ, and sees in our “obedience” the ability to determine “what kind of body we plan on being resurrected with and how comfortable we plan to be in God’s presence and how long we plan to stay there.”

Like so many other assertions in his address, this one is entirely backwards.

Wilcox sees no relationship between the type of resurrection in which we rise and the perfection of our very souls, but in fact the resurrection Jesus confers upon us is the very thing that establishes our comfort level and length of stay in the presence of God.

Resurrection is the mechanism that Christ employs for our perfection, not the proposed as-long-as-it-takes process of trial and error on our part while Jesus patiently waits on the sidelines and hollers, “I know you can do it!” and maybe brings us a cup of spiritual Gatorade every so often so we can keep going.

The latter notion, Wilcox asserts, is how grace works.

Latter-day Saints probably react to my description of resurrection with disbelief and disdain, because we all know that resurrection merely remedies the problem of physical death, and the rest is essentially up to us, right?

This is what Wilcox is saying. In fact, this is what everyone in the restored church of Christ seems to be saying, from the kids in Primary to the members of the Quorum of the Twelve.

There are at least four types of resurrection mentioned in D&C 88:27-32. Non-Mormon Christians will recognize at least three types in 1 Corinthians 15:40-42.

Why are there so many? Why not just one, the death-killing variety?

More on this in a moment.

Wilcox writes:

Heaven will not be heaven for those who have not chosen to be heavenly.

…

… [T]he older I get, and the more I understand this wonderful plan of redemption, the more I realize that in the final judgment it will not be the unrepentant sinner begging Jesus, “Let me stay.” No, he will probably be saying, “Get me out of here!” Knowing Christ’s character, I believe that if anyone is going to be begging on that occasion, it would probably be Jesus begging the unrepentant sinner, “Please, choose to stay. Please, use my Atonement—not just to be cleansed but to be changed so that you want to stay.”

Notice the direction of the action.

We choose “to be heavenly.” We “use [Christ’s] atonement.” (God forbid Christ use his own atonement for our benefit.)

That the unrepentant frantically search for the exits while Christ begs them to stay at the winding-up scene of the final judgment is pure pop-culture fantasy.

(Only those who rise in a resurrection of no glory, the hardened sons of perdition, the enemies of all righteousness, desire to flee, and the Lord does not beg anyone to do anything, for the time is past—he has already raised us up through resurrection to the glory we will possess throughout the long day of eternity.)

What is the difference between the way we are now, and the way we will be at the final judgment?

When I stand before Christ at the final judgment, how am I?

Wilcox sees a bunch of people more or less the same way he sees them now, except that the righteous have presumably learned and practiced so much that they feel right at home in the presence of God.

But how are we before the judgment seat of Christ?

We are already resurrected when we stand before our Savior.

Resurrected.

What does that really mean?

Remember the four types of resurrection? They correspond to the four general states of being and related final destinations prepared for us by Christ.

The Lord teaches the Prophet Joseph:

For notwithstanding they [all of us] die, they also shall arise again, a spiritual body [an incorruptible, eternal fusion of our spirit and our body].

They who are of a celestial spirit shall receive the same body which was a natural body; even ye shall receive your bodies, and your glory shall be that glory by which your bodies are quickened.

Ye who are quickened by a portion of the celestial glory shall then receive of the same, even a fulness.

And they who are quickened by a portion of the terrestrial glory shall then receive of the same, even a fulness.

And also they who are quickened by a portion of the telestial glory shall then receive of the same, even a fulness.

And they who remain shall also be quickened; nevertheless, they shall return again to their own place, to enjoy that which they are willing to receive, because they were not willing to enjoy that which they might have received (D&C 88:27-32).

Notice the direction of the action.

The three Nephite disciples receive the gift of translation in the same manner the members of the family of Adam and Eve receive the gift of resurrection.

Those who receive the gift of translation (the lesser change) prior to the resurrection do not translate themselves.

When we rise in the resurrection (the greater change), we do not resurrect ourselves.

The glory we inherit is the “glory by which [our] bodies are quickened.” The celestial resurrection is the mechanism by which Christ makes us like he is, spirit and body, once our time of testing is done. If we are “quickened by a portion the celestial glory,” then we “receive of the same, even a fulness.” If we receive a fullness of the grace of Christ, then we become like he is.

We do not show up with a “celestial” spirit at the time of resurrection (unless you believe you really can become like the perfect spirit Jehovah prior to your own resurrection); we receive that gift at the time of resurrection. The same is true for those who receive the lesser gifts of salvation from the Lord.

Long story short, we do not perfect ourselves.

Jesus makes us perfect.

This is how redeeming grace works in the canon of the Restoration. This is how we come to dwell in the full presence of a perfect, glorified God. This is how we come to perfect righteousness and holiness.

This passage and the other passages of the canon of the Restoration that I quote in this post are entirely lost on Wilcox and many others in the restored church of Christ. We just do not seem to get it. This kind of grace, redeeming grace, is too much of a windfall, too much of a giveaway, too extravagant, too unnatural, too contrary to the work ethic, too inimical to the notion of eternal progression.

Nevertheless, this is the grace of the canon of the Restoration, before we take to the pulpit and utterly cast the grace of Jesus aside, and remake it in our own image, after the likeness of our own finite, mortal experience.

We mistakenly insist that if the Lord commands us to be perfect, then we must do it. We never consider the possibility that, by commanding us to be perfect, Jesus is inviting us to come to him so that he can make us that way.

The Lord, during his earthly ministry, refers only to his Father as the example of perfection (Matthew 5:48). However, when the risen Christ visits the Nephites somewhere in the Americas, he adds himself to the short list of examples of perfection: “I would that ye should be perfect as I, or your Father who is in heaven is perfect” (3 Nephi 12:48).

Why?

What has changed?

When does the Lord Jesus Christ attain the full measure and stature of his glorified Father?

If Jesus is our example, then when will we come to a full measure of his glorified stature?

Wilcox draws heavily upon the things he understands, things of his mortal, earthly experience. He completes his metaphor of the music lessons with the observation, “Put simply, if Jesus didn’t require practice, then we would never become pianists.”

Remember, practice makes perfect. Although Wilcox concedes that we can practice without performing at “Carnegie Hall,” the logical implication of the metaphor is that that we must all eventually perform there.

We transform the doctrine of redeeming grace—the theological truth that Jesus will, through the power of his atonement and resurrection, raise us up to glory—into something called enabling grace.

Wilcox writes, “As sure as each brand-new day, grace—the enabling power of Jesus Christ—is constant. Faithful pioneers knew they were not alone. The task ahead of them was never as great as the power behind them.”

Notice the direction of the action.

Enabling grace only works if we do. Enabling grace helps us do something.

This, Wilcox asserts, is how grace works.

This is supposed to be comforting. We are supposed to be comforted by the idea that Jesus helps us keep going on an endless quest to incrementally acquire infinite perfection. This is the path to heaven.

Actually, this proposed trajectory sounds more like a possible definition of hell.

Redeeming grace, unlike enabling grace, acts independent of what we do, and does something to us, but we will have nothing of it.

We are so unnerved and distraught by faulty assessments of grace among non-Mormon Christians that we have, in essence, thrown out the baby (redeeming grace) with the bathwater (false conceptions of grace), and replaced the baby with a doll (enabling grace).

After all, the doll suits are earthly sensibilities. The doll fits the fallen, mortal paradigm of cause-and-effect, sow-and-reap daily life. The truth is that since we are far more comfortable and practiced with the doll, we prefer the doll to the baby.

Wilcox understands the doll. He relates to it. The vast majority of members of the restored church of Christ do the same.

What does this say about us?

What does this attitude signal to non-Mormon Christians about how we view Jesus and his perfect work?

What does this demonstrate to God?

One fundamental reason we lose our way with regard to the doctrine of grace in the restored church of Christ is that we forget why we find ourselves in fallen mortality in the first place.

Wilcox examines the circumstances of life on earth after the Fall and erroneously and negligently concludes that we are here to learn and practice how to be like Jesus, how to be perfect.

But we do not endure the challenges of fallen mortality and the postmortem spirit world to do that. Life here is unique in all of existence because life after the Fall affords us the one thing that the righteousness of heaven insists that we have, the one thing over which we fight a war in heaven.

Agency.

Not just any agency, like the kind exercised by Lucifer and his followers (see D&C 29:36-37), or faithful pre-mortal children of God (see Alma 13:1-12), but a fullness of agency. We must be free from the imposing presence and unassailable certainty of God in order to be truly free to make our own choices (Alma 42:7).

Our time here is the last leg of our preparation, not the beginning. We can only speculate how far we move forward, trusting even then in the foreordained, chosen Christ during our pre-mortal spiritual existence, spanning unknown and likely interminable reaches.

So why are we here?

We are here to demonstrate to God what we want. Like grown children escaped from our parents’ home and on our own in the world, we are finally free to do what we want.

We are not here to perfect ourselves, because the very Fall that grants us our agency also strips us of any ability to independently ascend to heaven, or to contribute in any way whatsoever to that ascent (Alma 22:14, Alma 42:12, Moroni 7:24).

We are here to choose. We learn and practice righteousness, relatively speaking, and endure to the end (the end of our time of testing), to demonstrate the genuineness, legitimacy, and authenticity of our choice for the divine, holy righteousness available to us in Christ through the power of his gift of resurrection.

Is this really so hard to understand?

Lehi understands it (2 Nephi 2:28).

All the writers of the Book of Mormon, Doctrine & Covenants, and Pearl of Great Price understand it. So do the writers of the New Testament.

But the children of the Restoration do not.

Why do we miss it?

Why do we insist on reversing the direction of the action? Why do we insist on taking upon ourselves burdens that we cannot bear, burdens that Jesus does not place upon us?

BYU student, the one who asked the original question to which Wilcox refers, if you want Jesus to make you perfect, elevate you to eternal glory, and fill you with the knowledge, holiness, and righteousness of God, then choose Christ over the world.

Choose him by exercising faith in him until you are born again—the sign, type, and foreshadowing of the celestial resurrection. Choose him by receiving the ordinances of salvation that mark the strait and narrow path to the tree of life that Lehi sees in vision (see 1 Nephi 8). Choose Christ by enduring in faith on his name for the rest of your life—not in perfection, not in perfect contractual compliance, not in perfect obedience, but in real faith and genuine discipleship.

These things are the attainable standards of salvation, the standards by which we qualify for a fullness of the grace of Jesus, and are distinct from the commandments of the perfect day, by which we learn of the righteousness of heaven.

We cannot do everything, but we can do something.

Be faithful. Be diligent. Keep going until the test is over.

And look forward with an eye of faith to the time when, after having chosen Christ, you will rise in the celestial resurrection, see as you are seen, know as you are known, behold the beautiful countenance of Jesus—Jesus of Nazareth, “Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6)—and know firsthand that he, and he alone, has raised you up in the celestial splendor and divine stature of himself, which is his signature work in the plan of salvation.

The grace of Jesus (the metaphysical transfer of the blessings of his atonement to us) does far more than we think it does, and far more than what non-Mormon Christians think it does.

BYU student, if you do not want the righteousness made available to you in Christ, then go pursue something else. Feel sorry for yourself. Insist on attempting to shoulder the burdens that only Jesus can carry. Try and find solace in the world. Seek happiness in every place except the one where you will find it. You certainly will not be alone in that effort.

But do not manufacture another flimsy, lame, ill-informed excuse why you do not come to Jesus in the attainable path of his gospel.

If you feel like you are “falling short,” then maybe that is because you are falling short. We are all falling short, and not always (if ever) doing our best.

So what?

Those unattainable standards are not the standards of justification that apply to fallen, mortal beings. Why do we insist on using the wrong standards?

Put down the wretched game controller, turn off your smart phone, and open the canon of the Restoration.

The source of your anxiety is your failure to correctly understand the most misinterpreted passage of the canon of the Restoration, a verse that we Latter-day Saints misappropriate to invalidate Paul’s words in Ephesians 2:8-9.

No one in the restored church of Christ has interpreted 2 Nephi 25:23 correctly in the past 50-60 years. The last four words of that verse have become a thorn in our collective side, a severe mental block to our understanding, an inexplicably esoteric expression shrouded in mystery.

Wilcox quotes Elder Bruce C. Hafen, who continues this unfortunate tradition by arguing that the Savior’s grace attends us throughout the entire time we “‘expend our own efforts’” and beyond, an interpretation that does further violence to Nephi’s words.

Wilcox and his colleagues’ assertion that Jesus helps us in our quest to come to him rightly belongs in Norm McDonald’s SNL fictitious monthly journal entitled, appropriately enough, DUH.

Although their assertion is correct, it completely misses the meaning of Nephi’s declaration.

Nephi is not referring to so-called enabling grace (the doll), but to redeeming grace (the baby).

If we would just pay attention, we would realize that the phrase “all we can do” is not a measure of mortal effort, but a description of the only option available to fallen, mortal beings if we want the righteousness made available to us in Christ Jesus. If we want this righteousness, then “all we can do” is “believe in Christ” and “be reconciled to God” so that we can be saved by grace, which is the only way we can be saved—by the unilateral, one-sided, and independent astonishing grace of the Son of God.

If you doubt this plain, internally consistent definition of “all we can do,” then carefully study the interrelationships of the holy triumvirate comprised of 2 Nephi 10:24, 2 Nephi 25:23, and 2 Nephi 33:9.

Jacob tells us to be “reconciled unto God,” and that after we are reconciled, “it is only in and through the grace of God that [we] are saved.” Nephi tells us to “believe in Christ” and “be reconciled to God,” which is “all we can do” if we want to be saved the only way we can be saved, by grace. Nephi further tells us that we come to Christ, the only one who can reconcile us to God, in the path of the attainable gospel of Jesus, which path we find, traverse, and in which we remain “until the end of the day of probation.”

We choose to come to Christ.

He saves us.

Wilcox begins and ends his address with the same inward-looking appraisal of the grace of Jesus. Wilcox asserts a second time that the grace of Christ is “sufficient to cover our debt, sufficient to transform us, and sufficient to help us as long as that transformation process takes.”

It is the third, self-important assertion that destroys everything, and utterly ruins the meaning of the first two.

In the harrowing film, The Shawshank Redemption, Andy Dufresne, now escaped from his wrongful imprisonment, anticipates the eventual release of his friend Red from incarceration, and leaves a letter to him where he can find it, outside the confines of the penitentiary:

Dear Red,

If you’re reading this, you’ve gotten out. And if you’ve come this far, maybe you’re willing to come a little further. You remember the name of the town, don’t you? I could use a good man to help me get my project on wheels. I’ll keep an eye out for you and the chessboard ready. Remember, Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies. I will be hoping that this letter finds you, and finds you well.

Your friend, Andy Dufresne.

Brad Wilcox, if you have come “this far,” come to correctly understand that the atonement of Christ unconditionally stands between us and the terrible penalties arising from Fall and all its subsequent sins, then perhaps you are “willing to come a little further.”

If you have come to know that Christ single-handedly makes atonement for our prescribed fall from the presence of God, then perhaps you can come to know that Christ must also single-handedly raise us up to eternal glory.

He is only one who can.

If you can accept the divine remedy for the downside, then perhaps you can begin to comprehend the divine solution for the upside.

That understanding lies just “a little further.” You find it from the perspective of the canon of the Restoration, and the divine symmetry is breathtaking to behold.

“[H]ope is a good thing, maybe the best of things.” Our hope in what Christ will make of us through his quickening, his celestial resurrection, is the highest, best hope.

The time has come for us in the restored church of Christ to leave the legalistic prison of our own making (the notion that are the principal agents of our own salvation), and to be “willing to come a little further” so that we can see with new eyes the perfect intercession of Jesus, and the true nature of the path to heaven.

His grace is indeed sufficient.

We say it, but now we should correctly understand it, and believe it.

Thank you, Jesus, for the gracious, merciful gifts of resurrection, and the infinitely transformative, transcendent gift of celestial resurrection, the highest manifestation of redeeming grace.

Today we celebrate far more than Christ’s victory over death, for in his resurrection we also witness the culmination of the highest purposes of his redemption. We witness the glory that is to be revealed in us in the perfect day of salvation, if we come to him.

Happy Easter.

For a more comprehensive discussion of the blessed redeeming grace of Jesus, revisit the totality of the doctrines of salvation in the canon of the Restoration, and see the book Redeeming Grace in the Canon of the Restoration (Amazon CreateSpace and Kindle).

Covenants

I devote this post to a translation of certain portions of the October 1, 2011 General Conference address, Covenants, given by Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Elder Nelson:

One of the most important concepts of revealed religion is that of a sacred covenant. In legal language, a covenant generally denotes an agreement between two or more parties. But in a religious context, a covenant is much more significant. It is a sacred promise with God. He fixes the terms. Each person may choose to accept those terms. If one accepts the terms of the covenant and obeys God’s law, he or she receives the blessings associated with the covenant. We know that “when we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated.”

Translation:

In the restored church of Christ, I daresay that we have mastered the outward meaning of things. Nowhere is this more apparent than in Elder Nelson’s general description of how a covenant works.

The verse to which he refers at the end of his explanation is the third most misinterpreted passage in the canon of the Restoration:

There is a law, irrevocably decreed I heaven before the foundations of this world, upon which all blessings are predicated—

And when we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated (D&C 130:20-21).

Many in the restored church of Christ conclude that God can only bless us if we obey him first. This is the conventional wisdom that permeates our thinking, and heavily influences our appraisal of the perfect work of Jesus.

The word blessing in the above passage actually refers to only a handful of the choicest blessings of the atonement of Christ, which blessings we receive by ordinance (the “law” upon which the blessing is “predicated”). One such blessing is the covenant of eternal marriage (D&C 132:5).

Elder Nelson’s description of the ostensible operation of a covenant recalls a time more than 3,000 years ago when Moses comes before the children of Israel after they have wandered in the wilderness for 40 years, and binds his people by covenant to obey the law that bears his name.

What is the outward meaning of the entirety of the law of Moses?

Paul answers this question, and contrasts the gospel of Christ with the outward letter of that law:

For Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to everyone that believeth.

For Moses describeth the righteousness which is of the law, That the man which doeth those things shall live by them (Romans 10:4-5).

According to the outward meaning of the law of Moses, how do the children of Israel become acceptable to God? How do they come to the righteousness required by heaven?

They perfectly obey every requirement of the law, given that “the man which doeth those things shall live by them.” The children of Israel live or die by their obedience, which creates the righteousness by which they “live.”

What does Jesus, in his role as the Son of God, the one who makes atonement to save them (and us), have to do with the outward aspect of the law if Moses?

Nothing.

The children of Israel covenant directly with God (despite the fact that the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob later condescends from his heavenly throne, and comes to earth as Jesus of Nazareth to make intercession for us).

If they obey, God directly blesses and accepts them because of their obedience.

This is the outward meaning of the law of Moses.

There are two parties to the covenant, God and fallen human beings. God sets the terms. If the fallen human beings comply with the terms, then the fallen human beings receive the promised blessings.

Sound familiar?

Abinadi, before the wicked King Noah and his corrupt priests, teaches:

And now I say unto you that it was expedient that there should be a law given to the children of Israel, yea, even a very strict law; for they were a stiffnecked people, quick to do iniquity, and slow to remember the Lord their God;

Therefore there was a law given them, yea, a law of performances and of ordinances, a law which they were to observe strictly from day to day, to keep them in remembrance of God and their duty towards him.

But behold, I say unto you, that all these things were types of things to come.

And now, did they understand the law? I say unto you, Nay, they did not all understand the law; and this because of the hardness of their hearts; for they understood not that there could not any man be saved except it were through the redemption of God (Mosiah 13:29-32).

In Abinadi’s explanation, what happens to the highly touted exalting power of our own obedience evident in the outward meaning of the letter of the law of Moses?

Our alleged obedience is replaced with the startling notion that “there could not any man be saved except it were through the redemption of God.”

Amulek clarifies the hidden, underlying meaning and purpose of the law of Moses:

And behold, this is the whole meaning of the law, every whit pointing to that great and last sacrifice; and that great and last sacrifice will be the Son of God, yea, infinite and eternal (Alma 34:14).

Where is Jesus, the Lamb, the Son of God, in the hidden, underlying meaning and purpose of the law of Moses?

Everywhere.

Jesus, in his role as the Son of God, is the hidden, underlying meaning and purpose of the law, along with the astonishing atonement that only he can execute to reconcile us to God.

Now the tough question.

Where is Jesus, the Lamb, the Intercessory Offering, in the outward letter of the covenants of the restored church of Christ?

Where is he?

Do the covenants in the restored church of Christ not closely resemble the ancient covenants given by God through his prophet Moses? Is the focus not on our alleged compliance with the contractual terms? Is our obedience not paramount?

Where is Jesus?

If he, along with his atonement, is not explicitly at the center of the actual mechanics of the covenant (other than in the role as the Giver of the covenant), then what, do you suppose, is the hidden, underlying purpose and meaning of the outward letter of the covenants of the restored gospel of Christ?

The hidden, underlying meaning and purpose of the ancient law of Moses is to foreshadow the coming of the Son of God, who atones for the sins of the world, and to occasionally hint at the righteousness of heaven made available through him—“For I am the Lord that bringeth you up out of the land of Egypt, to be your God: ye shall therefore be holy, for I am holy” (Leviticus 11:45).

The outward purpose is to reign in rebellious children prone to all manner of iniquity and violence—“Cursed be he that lieth with his father’s wife …” (Deuteronomy 27:20), “Cursed be he that smiteth his neighbor secretly” (Deuteronomy 27:24), and so forth.

The hidden, underlying meaning and purpose of the covenants of the restored gospel of Christ is to (1) teach us the righteousness of heaven made available to us in Christ, the Son of God, who atones for the sins of the world, (2) foreshadow the perfect day of salvation, when we will be raised up in eternal glory through the Lord’s redeeming grace, and (3) invite us to come to Christ.

The outward purpose is to commit us to live impossibly righteous, holy, and unblemished lives—“stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in, even until death …” (Mosiah 18:9), and so forth.

But for Latter-day Saints, the outward letter of gospel covenants almost always overshadows and overpowers the inward spirit of the same.

Such is the case with Elder Nelson’s and others’ assessment of gospel covenants. There is no mention of what is really going on beneath the squeaky clean veneer of the letter. There is only our obedience, and the urgency of our perfect, contractual performance.

And therein is the problem.

The ancient Nephites, under the odd, dual regimen of the law of Moses and the gospel at the same time, are careful not to diminish the core, spirit message of redemption and grace beneath the outer shell of the perfect, contractual performance of the letter.

Jarom writes:

Wherefore, the prophets, and the priests, and the teachers, did labor diligently, exhorting with all long-suffering the people to diligence; teaching the law of Moses, and the intent for which it was given; persuading them to look forward unto the Messiah, and believe in him to come as though he already was. And after this manner did they teach them (Jarom 1:11).

Although we recognize that we are no longer subject to the law of Moses, we neglect to follow the example of the Nephites, to recognize and differentiate the core, spirit message of redemption and grace from the strict, unforgiving, and impossible terms of the letter of gospel covenants.

Consequently, we struggle to reconcile the spirit to the letter in the doctrines of salvation.

This is why there is an unsettling dichotomy at work in the restored church of Christ between the attainable gospel of Jesus (for example, see 2 Nephi 31) and the unattainable contractual terms of the covenants of the restored gospel of Christ.

On the one hand, we are encouraged by the glad tidings of the message of the intercession of Jesus, and his attainable gospel—faith, repentance, the receipt of the ordinances of salvation, and enduring in faith on his name to the end.

And on the other, we are dismayed by the impossibly strict, severe, and unattainable terms of covenants that allegedly bind us to obey all the commandments of God, even commandments composed in the language of the perfect day —to “love and serve God with all [our] mights, minds, and strength …” (D&C 20:31), “always remember [Christ] …” (D&C 20:79), “practice virtue and holiness … continually …” (D&C 46:33), “live by every word that proceedeth forth from the mouth of God” (D&C 84:44), “be perfect …” (3 Nephi 12:48), possess an “eye single to the glory of God …” (D&C 4:5), worship the Holy One of Israel with our “whole soul …” (2 Nephi 25:29), and so forth (emphasis added).

There are over 400 commandments of the perfect day in the Book of Mormon, Doctrine & Covenants, and Pearl of Great Price (without even considering those in the King James Bible), and by the time we get to the temple, we essentially find ourselves contractually bound to flawlessly, faultlessly, and perfectly obey every single one of them.

No one seems to know the difference between the attainable standards of the gospel and the unattainable contractual terms of covenants.

Consequently, spiritual schizophrenia is the rule, not the exception, in the restored church of Christ.

We zealously pronounce from the pulpit the imperative to keep our covenants, but we never seem to recognize the enormity of our related obligations, the abject futility of our fallen, mortal efforts to comply all the respective terms that apply to us, or the hidden, underlying meaning and purpose of the covenants themselves.

We implicitly know that we can come to Christ sufficiently well in the path of the gospel—the pleasant path of faith, repentance, enduring to the end, the way marked by the ordinances of salvation—but we also realize deep down in our souls that we cannot and do not execute our end of the alleged bargain we strike with the Almighty.

So which is it?

Which set of standards actually applies for our justification?

Are we saved by condescension, or by contract?

Both?

If we are saved by contract (covenant), then no one is saved. No one measures up to the letter of the covenants of the restored gospel of Christ (except Christ).

Does this assertion really come as a shock to anyone who actually studies the canon of the Restoration?

Would you feel comfortable to stand before the Savior, in all his glory, knowledge, and holiness, and assert that you flawlessly, faultlessly, and perfectly keep every commandment you receive by covenant?

If we are saved by both condescension and contract, then no one is saved. Although we may endure in the path of the attainable gospel, no one measures up to the letter of the covenants of the restored gospel of Christ (except Christ).

If we are saved by condescension, then everyone who chooses to come to Jesus in the attainable path of his gospel is saved.

Who is more doctrinally challenged, those who think they actually keep the letter of the language of covenants, or those who believe that they must do so in order to be saved?

We are missing something in the restored church of Christ. We routinely, regularly, and, given the pervasiveness of legalism in our understanding of the gospel, predictably fail to comprehend the transcendent truth that we are taught by covenant, but saved by condescension.

This is why the gospel path requires us to make covenants, but Jesus can still save us even when we imperfectly practice the righteousness taught by covenant, because by genuinely practicing righteousness, we demonstrate the reality of our choice to seek the righteousness that is available to us only in Christ.

If we can get this right, then we will cure once and for all our spiritual schizophrenia, put away our unfounded fear and trepidation, and silence our nagging sense of inadequacy.

If we can get this right, then our lagging understanding will finally catch up to that of the Nephites before Jesus is even born, and that of the faithful, New Testament saints.

If we can get this right, then we will be able to joyfully shout the words that Martin Luther King, Jr. exclaimed at the conclusion of his rallying speech of freedom at the Lincoln Memorial:

Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

And we will never look at the covenants of the restored gospel the same way again. We will see them as types and shadows of the future glory available to us in Christ, not oppressive, unforgiving gatekeepers invariably preventing us from receiving the gift of salvation.

For a more comprehensive discussion of the purposes of the covenants of the restored gospel of Christ, see Chapter 11: By Condescension, or by Contract? in the book Redeeming Grace in the Canon of the Restoration (Amazon CreateSpace and Kindle).