Laban of Jerusalem: a confusing character (perhaps) not so confusing after all

(Laban of Jerusalem, the one who features prominently in chapters two through four of the First Book of Nephi in the Book of Mormon, as opposed to Laban the Syrian, Rachel and Leah's none-too-straightforward-dealing father.)

Stuff I have thought about Laban-of-Jerusalem, in the order I have usually thought it:

1. He tried to kill (via his servants) Laman, Lemuel, Sam and Nephi. Their offense was trying to trade all of their family's worldly wealth for the Brass Plates. By this maneuver, he got to keep the wealth AND the plates. Clearly this man was drunk on power, some sort of local warlord or something; the only safe way to meet him would be the way Nephi found him after he went back: with Laban drunk and passed out on the ground.
2. Laman's first approach (before the one that nearly got them all killed) was to ask Laban for the plates. My response to this is: what?!? I mean, Lehi's kids seem to actually know this guy. Nephi just slips his name in with no preamble like his readers already know him; presumably he wrote more about him on the large plates and assumed that we would have access to those large plates for reference. But back to Laman: he really had so little clue as to what Laban's character was like that he that just thought he could walk in and ask for the plates, like that, and Laban would give them to him? Weird.
3. Later on, we find out that Laban had recorded the prophecies of Jeremiah. I also have found this weird. I mean, perhaps this is a totally different culture or something? But it has always seemed to me that people who are this evil are highly unlikely to be willing to recognize that a prophet even is a prophet, let alone be willing to record his prophecies as such.

So, this is what I've been thinking. I have been prejudiced by one slice of very bad behavior on Laban's part (the first point) and blinded to the fact that I have been given clues about what else he was like, before that (points two and three). If Lehi's kids trusted him, maybe they had a reason to trust him. Maybe he had been trustworthy up to that point; maybe he had only begun to make kill-you-now-and-ask-questions-later sorts of decisions quite recently. In short, maybe he wasn't the sort of bad guy that you know you should stay away from and you've always known you should stay away from; maybe he was a good guy, a very good guy, who got caught up in something nasty at a relatively late point.

To me, under this point of view Laban is scarier-- much scarier. I think it would have made him much scarier than we normally think of, to Nephi and his brothers, as well. This might explain why Laman and Lemuel chose to beat Nephi and Sam after they finally escaped Laban's servants; they were feeling out of control, since the situation had gone so incredibly differently than they would ever have expected.

This also makes me feel a little better about Nephi's killing Laban. It's one thing if you've got a local gang leader who is willing to use manipulation of the facts and lethal force to defend his horde; it's quite another if you have a locally prominent and socially respectable individual, who likely has the trust of most of the city, who has suddenly shown himself willing not only to lie and steal, but to resort to murder when it comes to getting his way. Extrajudicial killing, even (in some ways, especially) of bad guys, is not something I feel like I can normally get on board with; but taking out someone who is going to destabilize and undermine society like that, looks a little different to me. But I do still greatly admire Nephi for being so hesitant about it.

Notes from an email I didn't send; things I learned from a murder trial

The other interesting thing to me was how relieved I felt when each of the twelve jurors said, individually, that they agreed with that verdict. None of them knew either party before the trial started; none of them had known the details of the case; but each of them came to the same conclusion. This gave validation to me that it wasn't just my own distorted sense of vengance that wants H locked up for the rest of his life. It also brought some light to me on a scriptural issue I've been wondering about for some time now, which is why Jesus would tell both the twelve apostles in the Old World and his twelve Nephite disciples in this world, that they would judge their people. When you need justice to be done, it is important to have multiple just persons who all agree on what may be concluded from the evidence.

It is also very important to have reliable witnesses, which certain of the prophets have also testified they felt confident they would be called upon to act as.

Leaving the Garden of Eden to Mourn With

I have been thinking for some time about what it could mean to leave the Garden of Eden. I think that it has to do with becoming a grownup, which in turn has to do with choosing to make decisions (rather than just letting things happen to you). (I realize that this is a fairly big assumption, but since I already have a full posting and a half here without defending it, I will leave that job for another day.) (Oh, look, I just found a quick scriptural backup: Alma 12:31.)

So, for instance, a classic way to leave is to choose to marry. Once you do this, your exposure to economic hardship, pain, suffering, sickness, and the possibility of abandonment have just gone way up. However. The possibilities for joy, etc. have both gone way up at the same time.

Another thing: when you have done something wrong-- when you have transgressed a moral law-- you can choose to stay in the relative comfort of pride, or you can choose accountability, and repent. If you choose to repent, you are leaving a sort of false garden of Eden: you choose to experience the pain of having done wrong (though not as badly as you would if you had chosen to wait until the end of the world), but also the joy of having repented.

So, the other day I was explaining to my niece about how Eve chose to leave the Garden of Eden so that she would have the opportunity to experience the bad stuff, because she knew that she wanted to know the good, when I made a connection to-- no surprise to anyone who knows me-- going to funerals.

I know that bringing good things to others counts as standing in the place of the Savior in a very significant way, and that this bringing of good things can include feeling sympathy for others' sorrow. But as I was talking to my niece, I realized that we need these extra experiences with sadness, if we are to reach our full potential. There is a part of our spiritual development for which it is necessary to process large amounts of grief. To some-- to many, even-- it is given to have this grief personally at various points in time, and for them at that time it isn't an option to have it or not. But to others is given a chance to relieve such burdens, and it isn't just nice to do it; it is essential for who they are to become. Just to be clear: those who have the grief do not have a right to dump it on others, who may or may not be in a position to receive it; but those who are around them have a need to mourn with, and it is their privilege to pick up some of the pieces, if the person who is mourning will allow them to. To become like the Savior, it is necessary to do the kinds of things that He did, and this includes mourning in season, taking in more grief than was already in your life.

Boy, that sounds dreary, doesn't it? But I noticed a while ago that in the Garden of Gethsemane, which according to Mormon theology was the place where the most vicious of adopted consequences were loaded on to the already heavy soul of the Savior, He had an angel to comfort Him. In our times of excess grief, maybe in those times of "mourning with," the entire universe, almost, becomes open to us; we have access to angels and the Holy Ghost and God's comforting presence, even though our best earthly friends may sleep through the significance of such a moment. To me, that moment when the universe cracks open, of, in D.O. McKay's words, "communion with the infinite," are worth an awful lot of suffering and sorrow.

Unexpected in the Book of Alma

I had noticed a long time ago that the first chapter in the Book of Alma focuses unusually much on law: so, the people had agreed to this law, and they all knew about it, and the law lets you believe what you want, but the law will not allow you to enforce that belief by the sword, and the law says that if you murder someone in broad daylight in the middle of the street and don't even deny it, then you get the death penalty. The law, the law, the law.

Chapter two: some people want to change the law, but the law says that you have to have a referendum, and by golly you lost the referendum, and you have no legal grounds to go to battle, but off you go anyway... the law, the law, the law.

So that was sort of what I was expecting from the Book of Alma. Chapters 3 and 4 wrap up the battle and its aftermath, and then we're on to Alma's humongous sermon in chapter 5, which I truly expected to be full of "law" references which I hadn't fully paid attention to before, and which were going to teach me all kinds of wonderful things about, um, the law. But this was not the case. I didn't find many law references. In fact, by the time we get to chapter 9, we find that the people who are the most focused on the law are the ones who turn out to be the third-worst bad guys in the entire Book of Mormon (the two before them being cannibalistic Nephites and the Gadianton Robbers, by my completely unofficial count-- but that is a discussion for another day. The point here is, these lawyers are BAD).

Maybe I was thrown off by the fact that I have heard the questions in Chapter 5 used so often as bludgeons. People I barely know, and who barely know me, saying, "Have you received his image in your countenance? Are you stripped of envy and pride?" Oddly enough, especially given our modern media environment, I haven't heard that many people saying, "Have any of you made a mock of your brother?"

So. Stepping back, taking a breath, and re-reading from Chapter 1 on through-- let's see, I'm in chapter 36 now-- I have discovered two themes, one of which I expected, and the other of which I did not.

This is the one I did not expect: Alma had a personal relationship with the Savior.

Wow!

He had this clear idea of who the Savior is, and how others would benefit from knowing Him, and he used all the powers of persuasion and reason which he possessed, to try to get others to get to do what it would take so that they could know Him, too. I suddenly feel like I know Alma better than I have ever known him before, and I like him, as a person. I find him to be a genuinely humble and loving human being.

The other theme was that Alma had a thing up his nose about equality among the people. From the beginning of his ministry to the end, there are constant references to how much stuff people have, and how they are treating each other, and whether they're getting it right. I feel like I don't know the full story on this-- or, rather, the feeling that there are missing pieces is more acute here than in other places. Surely this has something to do with his childhood (remember how Amulon had his kids pick on Alma the Elder's kids in Mosiah 24: 8?), and also-- surely-- it has to do with the actual sociological condition of the Nephites at the time, but-- I just feel like I don't really know the whole story. It's something to focus on the next time through.

The other thing I'll be focusing on the next time through is tying all this to Alma's reverence for the stories of his ancestors, a theme which has been pointed out to me so many times that I was sort of tired of it, but it is nonetheless interesting. And also, I would like to get more of a feel for his actual relationship with his sons, and how that ties in to everything else. So many interesting things.

Penitence in the Book of Alma

A couple of weeks ago, I decided to read the Book of Alma slightly out of order. Not out of chronological order; just out of the order that Mormon wrote it in. I decided, in short, to read about the missionary journeys of the sons of Mosiah right after I had read about their dramatic conversion.

In the course of this study, I discovered some interesting things. For one thing, the Sons of Mosiah seemed a lot younger this time around. I mean, here they are in one chapter, acting like rebellious teenagers, and here they are in the next one (so to speak), acting like-- well, maybe not teenagers, but still young men, and ones who don't necessarily have a plan beforehand about what they are going to do, but who are good at following the Holy Ghost. I do think that this makes sense; the Holy Ghost is not going to tell you something that you could have/should have already known, but when you are young, there isn't that much stuff you should/could already know.

(By the way, the case for the sons of Mosiah being at least a couple of years younger than their friend Alma the Younger is as follows: Alma the Elder was approximately twenty years older than Mosiah, which we learn in Mosiah 29, which gives their death dates and ages (Alma was 82, Mosiah was 63). Also, Alma (the younger) gets tapped for the chief-judgeship within a couple of years of his dramatic turnaround-- and not only that, but he is made high priest over the whole church. It isn't that the Lord NEVER calls a younger man to fill such positions, but in my opinion, historically the odds are that he would have been at least in his thirties. Also, you will notice that the angel visited all of the sons of Mosiah and Alma the Younger, but it was only Alma who got chewed out personally, which indicates that maybe he was considered to be more responsible, which in turn seems to indicate that maybe he was older than them.)

Anyway, I began wondering: how did they do it? How did Ammon manage to follow the Holy Ghost and figure out what to do and when to do it? How did Aaron manage to answer so humbly to the the apostate Nephites who were trying at every turn to bait him? How did Muloki and Ammah, and Aaron (yes, I had to look those names up) suffer their non-Amnesty-International-approved prison conditions so patiently?

At a separate time, I noticed this verse in Alma 26:

21 And now behold, my brethren, what natural man is there that knoweth these things? I say unto you, there is none that knoweth these things, save it be the penitent.

which reminded me of this verse, which is one of my favorites from Alma 27:

18 Now was not this exceeding joy? Behold, this is joy which none receiveth save it be the truly penitent and humble seeker of happiness.

and then, I started wondering about penitence, and when I did a word search on it, I discovered that it is mostly found in the Book of Alma, with one reference in 3 Nephi.

But it got me to thinking. I think that Ammon and Aaron and the other guys managed to do what they did because they were truly penitent. You get a much better sense of their penitence when you are reading straight from their conversion stories to their mission stories-- maybe because you vicariously feel the scariness of the angel and the relief of repentance as you read about it happening to them.

And then I started wondering: what is the difference between humility and penitence? I think that penitence must be an acute awareness that you have wronged someone (in this case, the Lord), which is coupled with doing your utmost to show how sorry you feel. Humility, on the other hand, seems to be a more generalized sense of your proper place in the universe. Both of them seem to do a very good job of clearing the way for the Holy Ghost, who whispers joy and salvation to our souls.

Remaining Penitence Scriptures:

Alma 29: 10

10 And behold, when I see many of my brethren truly penitent, and coming to the Lord their God, then is my soul filled with joy; then do I remember what the Lord has done for me, yea, even that he hath heard my prayer; yea, then do I remember his merciful arm which he extended towards me.

Alma 32: 7

7 Therefore he did say no more to the other multitude; but he stretched forth his hand, and cried unto those whom he beheld, who were truly penitent, and said unto them:

Alma 42: 23-24

23 But God ceaseth not to be God, andamercy claimeth the penitent, and mercy cometh because of the atonement; and the atonement bringeth to pass the resurrection of the dead; and the resurrection of the dead bringeth back men into the presence of God; and thus they are restored into his presence, to be judged according to their works, according to the law and justice.
24 For behold, justice exerciseth all his demands, and also mercy claimeth all which is her own; and thus, none but the truly penitent are saved.

3 Ne. 6: 13

13 Some were lifted up in pride, and others were exceedingly humble; some did return railing for railing, while others would receive railing and persecution and all manner of afflictions, and would not turn and revile again, but were humble and penitent before God.

Ideals and the Allegory of the Olive Tree

The Allegory of the Olive Tree is found in: The Book of Mormon, in the Book of Jacob; the introduction is in the end of Chapter 4 (verses 15-18, though the whole chapter gives you an idea of what was on his (Jacob's) mind when he got on to the topic), the allegory itself comprises Chapter 5, and Jacob's discussion of it is in Chapter 6.

I am going to start out with a little bit of Plato here. I do realize that some of us have been warned explicitly and directly about how we should not allow the philosophies of men to be mingled with scripture; however, the particular idea I am about to use is, in my opinion, sort of floating about in the intellectual ether, anyways; and since Plato's formulation of it is the most famous, I felt that in the interest of letting you know "influences," I would admit that it had come from Plato.

The idea is just this: that there is a realm, somehow, of ideal forms; that on this earth we find All Things Corruptible, but somehow, in that entirely theoretical world of forms, everything is perfect. I'm not going to get sidetracked in to how this turned in to some truly wicked ideas about how physical bodies are inherently evil; suffice it to say that that is a particularly vicious philosophy-scripture combination, which I hate to the depths of my soul.

MOVING on... I have often wondered what the roots and the branches in that allegory were. Clearly the branches have something to do with people; people of the House of Israel, people who aren't, people who get physically moved around the vineyard/earth to suit the purposes of the master.

But the roots, what could they be? I have often wondered. It couldn't just be STRAIGHT the gospel, because then why would there be a danger of the roots being too strong for the branches? It just seemed weird that the gospel could be considered too strong.

However, on a recent run-through I came up with a side-interpretation that I liked a lot. It doesn't have a whole lot to do with moving entire branches of the House of Israel around from one place to another; it does, however, have a lot to do with how I live my life.

If I have something I want to do well, I can't hold myself up to some arbitrary standard of absolute perfection at the beginning of my labors. (Yes, the arbitrary standard of perfection would be one of those Platonic ideal form thingies.) The reason for this is because the standard would be too strong, and I would never feel like working again, because my work would be too weak in comparison and I would just give up. This, in a sense, is like roots being too strong for branches.

If, however, I try to put forth a lot of work (like fruit), comparing it to the standards that I have at the time, then my ability to meet the standards I have will also improve. In photography, for instance, I can take all two hundred or so pictures that my digital camera's memory card will hold; I pick out the best ones; and I delete the rest. As I do this over and over again, the percentage of photographs that meet those standards will gradually grow larger and larger, because my brain will have figured out what kind of things work in order to get those kind of results.

If I want to improve, I will also need better and better standards to meet. I may, for instance, take a class or discuss my work (and others') with other people. Actually doing work-- taking photographs, for instance-- will improve my chances of actually understanding the stuff I am learning in a class or discussing with others. My taste will gradually evolve under these conditions.

Now let's discuss what happens if I don't work. I do realize that the following statement may be controversial in some circles, but I'm making it anyway: no artist works without a purpose, and that purpose drives that artist's standards. For instance, some artists' goal is to shock people (and boy do they seem to do a good job of it sometimes); and I believe that to the extent that this goal drives their work, it drives their artistic standards. If I were to work without any goals, and therefore standards, then my work would be like a dry branch; it would quickly dry up because there would be no framework from which to create. There would be no point, and no sense of direction.

Maybe this really can be applied to living the gospel. Ever since its restoration in Joseph Smith's time, it was revealed a little at a time. They didn't have all of these commandments about living the word of wisdom and going to the temple and doing their family history and doing Family Home Evening on the 6th of April, 1830, because they weren't ready for them. They were ready for: have faith, be baptized, repent, get and follow the Holy Ghost, and endure to the end, including taking the sacrament and following the prophet. The people who did those things became strong in them, and their children didn't have to spend all of their spiritual energy on learning how to do them. Instead, the children spent their energies on the things which are required in their generation. Importantly, people who join the church in that next generation (and there are frequently a lot of them, enough to outnumber the "old-timers") get to draw on the strength of the past generations, as well. In other words, both those who are newly-grafted and those who started out in the gospel gain strength to live up to its ideals because of the efforts of past generations. The gospel really can be too strong, not because it is bad in any way but just because we are weak. Also, the more work we do, the better we understand the best standard to live by; maybe that's what it means in Section 59 about being "blessed with commandments not a few" (verse 4).

Hope that made sense.

Remember This

I guess that I wrote about this last time, too, but it is something that keeps coming up in my life: hard times do not mean that God does not love you, and they don't even mean that you have done something wrong. They are just hard times.

Remember this?

15 After I had retired to the place where I had previously designed to go, having looked around me, and finding myself alone, I kneeled down and began to offer up the desires of my heart to God. I had scarcely done so, when immediately I was ^aseized upon by some power which entirely overcame me, and had such an astonishing influence over me as to bind my tongue so that I could not speak. Thick ^bdarkness gathered around me, and it seemed to me for a time as if I were doomed to sudden destruction.

16 But, exerting all my powers to ^acall upon God to deliver me out of the power of this enemy which had seized upon me, and at the very moment when I was ready to sink into ^bdespair and abandon myself to destruction—not to an imaginary ruin, but to the power of some actual being from the unseen world, who had such marvelous power as I had never before felt in any being—just at this moment of great alarm, I saw a pillar of ^clight exactly over my head, above the brightness of the ^dsun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me. (Joseph Smith-History)

Or what about this?

19 And now, when Moses had said these words, ^aSatan cried with a loud voice, and ranted upon the earth, and commanded, saying: I am the ^bOnly Begotten, worship me.

20 And it came to pass that Moses began to ^afear exceedingly; and as he began to fear, he saw the bitterness of ^bhell. Nevertheless, ^ccalling upon God, he received ^dstrength, and he commanded, saying: Depart from me, Satan, for this one God only will I worship, which is the God of ^eglory.

21 And now Satan began to tremble, and the earth shook; and Moses received strength, and called upon God, saying: In the name of the Only Begotten, ^adepart hence, ^bSatan.

22 And it came to pass that Satan cried with a loud voice, with weeping, and wailing, and ^agnashing of teeth; and he departed hence, even from the presence of Moses, that he beheld him not.

23 And now of this thing Moses bore record; but because of ^awickedness it is ^bnot had among the children of men.

24 And it came to pass that when Satan had departed from the presence of Moses, that Moses lifted up his eyes unto heaven, being filled with the ^aHoly Ghost, which beareth record of the Father and the Son;

25 And calling upon the name of God, he beheld his ^aglory again, for it was upon him; and he heard a ^bvoice, saying: Blessed art thou, Moses, for I, the Almighty, have ^cchosen thee, and thou shalt be made stronger than many ^dwaters; for they shall obey thy ^ecommand as if thou wert ^fGod. (Moses)

Why do we go through sorrow and discouragement? I don't know, and I'm sticking to my answer. But just two more:

Learning to endure times of disappointment, suffering, and sorrow is part of our on-the-job training. These experiences, while often difficult to bear at the time, are precisely the kinds of experiences that stretch our understanding, build our character, and increase our compassion for others.

Because Jesus Christ suffered greatly, He understands our suffering. He understands our grief. We experience hard things so that we too may have increased compassion and understanding for others. (Joseph B. Wirthlin, "Come What May and Love it," Saturday Afternoon Session of October 2008 General Conference)

And from the Ensign this month; the article that gives this quote from Elder Cannon is titled "The Blessing of the Blackberry Bush," and it is by Donnell Allan:

Elder George Q. Cannon (1827–1901): “The Saints should always remember that God sees not as man sees; that he does not willingly afflict his children, and that if he requires them to endure present privation and trial, it is that they may escape greater tribulations which would otherwise inevitably overtake them. If He deprives them of any present blessing, it is that he may bestow upon them greater and more glorious ones by-and-by.”1 1. “Beneficial Results of Continued Obedience to the Teachings of God’s Servants,” Millennial Star, Oct. 3, 1863, 634.

You might also check out Elder Holland's "A High Priest of Good Things to Come," which is a General Conference address he gave in October of 1999.

To all these I add that I have felt for some time that "[God] does not willingly afflict his children;" I believe that He loves us as much as He loves His Son, Jesus Christ. I believe that every bit as much as he would send an angel to help Jesus in Gethsemane, or as much as he would sorrow because (for whatever reason) the Savior could not feel his father's presence as he suffered on the cross-- as much as these were true for the Savior, they are true for us. I believe that God weeps for our sorrows, that he sorrows for our difficulties, he laughs at our silliness, and he rejoices, more than we would ever realize, at our successes. He is not without body, parts, or passions. That is, as Joseph Smith would say, an old sectarian notion, and it is false. God is intimately involved in our lives. He is not an abstract logical proposition; he is a person, and the part of him which is beyond our mortal comprehension is that part which cares with every fiber of His being about how well we are doing.