Charity Unmustered
Shortly after our honeymoon, Jared and I had our first official “misunderstanding” as a married couple. I was hurt by something he had said; and, in my determination to prove why he was at fault, my voice rose a decibel with each vindicating point I made. Sometime during my emotional prosecution, Jared sat me down across from him, taking hold of both my hands. Unfazed by my angry accusations, he looked resolutely into my eyes and began to softly repeat, “Emily, I love you. Emily, I love you. Emily, I love you.”
Although his gentle mantra was hard to make out in the midst of my tearful indictment, as soon as I quieted down enough to hear, my heart was softened—which quickly ended the whole episode. The truth had been said; and truly for me, there was nothing left to say. Soon after that experience, I added Jared’s name to my scriptural margin in bold red right next to Proverbs 15:1, “A soft answer turneth away wrath.”
What amazed me about Jared’s reaction is that there was nothing strained or forced about his response. He did not appear to be holding back any scathing comebacks, nor did it seem as though he were forcing himself to not get defensive and raise his voice to match my own. Although this was one of the most remarkable illustrations of charity I had ever experienced, it didn’t feel like the result of him thinking, “Okay, remember, Jared . . . true charity suffereth long. C’mon, you can do it! Remember what Mormon taught—not easily provoked. Just take a deep breath and count to ten. You can do this.”
Jared seemed to pull off this Moroni 7:45 version of charity without breaking a sweat. I saw in him no need to muster, no need for restraint. And seeing that unwrapped this truth: when we are filled with God’s love, kindness, patience, and long-suffering will naturally “follow as the night the day.” [1]
Perhaps charity could replace mercy in Shakespeare’s famous lines from The Merchant of Venice:
The quality of [charity] is not strained,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. [2]
Droppeth as gentle rain from where? From somewhere inside? From our deepest reservoirs of self-control? From our practiced reactions of gracefulness in the face of ugliness? No, Shakespeare claimed that mercy, which is merely one manifestation of charity, comes from heaven. It can be drawn from no earthly well or mortal soul. As Mormon taught, it is something the Lord “bestows” (Moro. 7:48). Oddly enough, this is one of those rare principles in spiritual ecology that requires not only that we act, but also that we are acted upon.
However, Mormon teaches that there are some actions that must precede the bestowal—genuine prayer being one he prescribes in that same passage. He also clarifies that this bestowal is given to Christ’s “true followers,” hinting at the prerequisite actions which produce full conversion. But beyond these, the scriptures are clear that true charity is a gift that comes not from our power to act, but from God’s power to change.
This concept is further clarified in Ether 12 when Moroni agonizes over how our generation would receive the Book of Mormon. In verse 36 he prays that the Lord will “grant unto the Gentiles grace, that they might have charity.” What result does this gift of “grace unto charity” bring? The Bible Dictionary defines grace as “strength or assistance to do good works that [we] otherwise would not be able to maintain if left to [our] own means.” Clearly the ability to respond to angry accusations with unmustered love is just such a work.
Acting vs. Becoming
The bestowal of charity, however, is not just God giving us some foreign, superhuman feelings for a moment, only to vanish away in the next; instead, there is a very real transformation going on.
As Sheri Dew explained, “When we plead for the gift of charity, we aren’t asking for lovely feelings toward someone who bugs us or who has injured or wounded us. We are actually pleading for our very natures to be changed . . . to become more and more like the Savior.” [3]
Hence, when the gift of charity is bestowed, it goes beyond a superficial renovation of our behavior, and on to a deeper, more fundamental change in our nature. As our nature is transformed to be more like His, we don’t “do nice things” or feel “lovely feelings” because we will ourselves into doing so, but because that is genuinely who we are becoming.
Our mustering “the actions” vs.
God bestowing “the attitude”
Perhaps the greatest charity comes when we are kind to each other, when we don’t judge or categorize someone else, when we simply give each other the benefit of the doubt or remain quiet. Charity is accepting someone’s differences, weaknesses, and shortcomings; having patience with someone who has let us down; or resisting the impulse to become offended when someone doesn’t handle something the way we might have hoped. Charity is refusing to take advantage of another’s weakness and being willing to forgive someone who has hurt us. Charity is expecting the best of each other. [4]
An inspiring description of what charity looks like always makes me want to act accordingly; and acting could certainly be viewed as a good beginning. And yet I am mindful of Elder Oaks’s distinction between “becoming” charity rather than “having” charity; and in my desire to “act better” sometimes I short circuit the process. [5] Because I have not become charity, I’m determined to act like it: I muster my willpower, “girding up my loins” to vanquish every uncharitable urge with sheer determination. Instead of striving for full conversion and pleading for God’s bestowal, which will cause an inward change in my attitude—I focus on mustering up the needed behavior, which causes only an outward change in my actions.
And perhaps this “fake-it-until-you-make-it” approach is initially unavoidable—“training wheels” for the authentic charity we hope will follow. Just as Elder Oaks taught that there are various levels of service, [6] perhaps there are various levels, or stages, in our journey toward charity as well—terrestrial manifestations as well as celestial. Being determined to act like we have charity is a noble, and perhaps even necessary beginning (and certainly better than the unpleasant alternative); perhaps the danger lies in the possibility that I might settle for that, mistakenly concluding that behaving well was all God ever intended for me.
It’s almost as though Elder Ashton was describing the final results of charity, not the initial steps. And when I focus exclusively on charity’s end results—the behavior which comes after God’s bestowal—I can sometimes overlook, even neglect, the change in my nature which will bring those results to pass. It is not unlike a young man trying to muster up excitement to serve a mission before he has gained a testimony—not realizing that if he had spent his energy striving for full conversion, the desire to then share it with others would follow naturally.
Mustering may cause my behavior to succeed—but the lack of God’s bestowal will cause my nature to remain untouched. To paraphrase President Benson’s words, “The Lord works from the inside out. [We often] work from the outside in . . . [We] would mold [ourselves] by changing [our behavior]Ébut Christ changes our nature.” [7] Of this dilemma, C.S. Lewis taught, “I cannot, by direct, moral effort, give myself new motives. After the first few steps in the Christian life we realize that everything which needs to be done in our souls can be done only by God.” [8]
“For now I know in part” (1 Cor. 13:12)
Truly, charity is deep doctrine. I sense it is one of those principles the Lord will continually unfold to me—a present I get to unwrap for the rest of my life. For understanding this one aspect—mustering versus becoming—still leaves many others unresolved, like how we can retain this “condition,” and what to do when we feel like we no longer are charity. Can we pray for it in an instant? Or if we’ve come to that unloving moment is it already too late? Is the Lord willing to continually bail me out of those uncharitable periods with His last-minute bestowals (which do come)? Or does He desire to lead me toward a more permanent state of being? Perhaps a state more like Pahoran’s. [9] I sometimes wonder if Pahoran had to talk himself out of sulking when Moroni accused him of disloyalty; or if his knee-jerk reaction probably was the genuine relief he displays because Moroni was still firm in the faith.
Whatever those answers may be, what is clear is that I too often get in ruts where I am content to try and act like the person God actually wants me to be. How difficult it is to react positively in a situation when it is does not come naturally to me! How much more innate the Christlike life becomes when my charitable actions are merely “surface symptoms” of a much deeper change going on within my very nature. During these times, Elder Ashton’s behavioral portrait feels easy and natural. Instead of judging someone, we feel empathy. Our frustration with their actions turns instead to concern for their insecurities. There is no need to remind us that we must avoid taking advantage of their weakness; in fact, in our concern for them, we may feel compelled to protect that weakness—to shield them from the judgment of others.
Although there is much I have yet to understand about charity, what I do know is this: There are times when I act like Moroni 7 and there are times when I feel like Moroni 7—and those are completely different.
“Partakers of the Divine Nature”
First Nephi 19:9, for me, captures the essence of authentic charity. “They scourge [Christ], and he suffereth it; and they smite him, and he suffereth it. Yea, they spit upon him, and he suffereth it.”
And why? Why does He suffer it? we ask ourselves. And how? Because of His amazing willpower? His stalwart resolve to act charitable in the face of ugliness? Were His hands clenched in angry fists of fury, and yet because He was God He was able to draw upon a divine well of determination?
The final line of this verse answers our question. “ . . . He suffereth it, because of his loving kindness and his long suffering toward the children of men.”
The Lord resisted retaliation not through willpower, but through love.
While His face stung from their blows and their spit slid down His cheeks, the Savior was able to refrain because He truly loved those who injured Him. He loved them in spite of them. Not because He mustered charity up, but because that is who He is. And amazingly enough, He begs that we allow Him to fill us and change us with this love, so that we too can be “partakers of the divine nature”—not just acting as He would, but becoming as He is. [10]
[1] Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Act I, Scene 3
[2] The Merchant of Venice, Act 4, sc. 1, lines 184Ð95.
[3] Sheri Dew, If Life Were Easy, It Wouldn’t Be hard (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 2005), 57.
[4] Marvin J. Ashton, “The Tongue Can Be a Sharp Sword,” Ensign, May 1992, 18.
[5] Dallin H. Oaks, “The Challenge to Become,” Ensign, Nov. 2000, 32.
[6] Dallin H. Oaks, Pure in Heart (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1988). In Chapter Three, Elder Oaks presents six possible reasons why we serve, which he lists “from the lesser to the greater”: earthly reward, good companionship, fear of punishment, duty or loyalty, hope of reward, and lastly, charity, or love for God.
[7] Ezra Taft Benson, A Witness and a Warning (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1988), 64.Emphasis added.
[8] Dew, 61.
[9] See Alma 61.
[10] 2 Peter 1:4
Emily is a member of Segullah’s editorial board.
