What is Radical Dependence on God?
As a missionary serving in Adelaide in the mid-1990s, it often felt like trials were significant. While not common, physical confrontations occurred. Several companions were pushed off porches, we were occasionally threatened with physical violence, and we had eggs thrown at us, helmets smashed, or even – in one case – a companion was spat on by a passer-by.
The days were hot. The work was hard. In some areas there were few meals provided for us. For 19-year-olds, the trials felt significant. We regularly leant on a scripture for comfort – one familiar to Latter-day Saints everywhere.
While imprisoned in the ironically named ‘Liberty Jail’, the Lord spoke to Joseph Smith and enumerated unbearable trials. He concluded:
And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.
“Shall be for thy good.” With our limited view, these things do not look like they are for our good. Nietzsche’s “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” is our world’s secular equivalent of Jesus’ gentle rebuke of Joseph Smith’s complaining as he suffered in prison. The scriptures repeat this theme:
Romans 8:28 And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God.
D&C 90: 24 Search diligently, pray always, and be believing, and all things shall work together for your good, if ye walk uprightly and remember the covenant wherewith ye have covenanted one with another.
“All things work together for your good.”
Missionary trials seemed big at the time, but I could see how those things could work together for my good. Yet as I’ve lived my life, I’ve encountered challenges and struggles where this is hard to comprehend. And so have those I love.
- Some years ago, a daughter chose to vacate covenants and abdicate our faith. Kylie (my wife) and I grieved profoundly and found her decision to be one of the hardest things we had experienced in our lives to that point. (We are grateful that after many years, she returned to faith and activity.)
- All five of my siblings turned their backs on the Gospel and the Church.
- Some years ago, a business deal that went poorly cost me a large sum of money and several years of both growth and earnings – setting me back as much as a decade in terms of financial earnings and security. And I have watched several people I care for lose their livelihoods as businesses have gone under, jobs lost, and financial resources obliterated.
- Several friends and relatives experienced abuse and/or painful relationship challenges, resulting in divorce – and broken hearts and trauma for them and their children.
- A beloved friend of mine and his wife had 20 miscarriages in their efforts to have a child.
- And last year, on November 6, my nephew, Logan – aged 20 – took his own life.
“All these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good”?
“All things work together for good to them that love God”?
These things don’t feel good. They are undoubtedly giving me (and all of us who face challenges) experience. That part – no argument. But working together for our good?
It can sound a touch tone-deaf to suggest to someone going through these trials that “all these things shall give thee experience and shall be for they good.” Mention it on the wrong day – with the very best of intentions – and it could rupture your relationship with the person you’re trying to console.
How does a suicide work together for my good? Or for the good of my parents – Logan’s grandparents – who found him on that dreadful morning. Or for my daughters – his cousins – struggling to understand that he is not with us anymore?
Yet the promise from the King of the Universe is that the billowing surge or the jaws of hell opening up in our face is working “for our good”? That’s the promise.
As I have struggled and wrestled with both life and this idea, I offer two answers that may provide comfort. And if you’re struggling as I have (and do), I hope they do provide comfort. But I recognise that in times of deep pain, they may not.
- Experiment on radical dependence
Consider Laura Story’s song, Blessings.
We pray for blessings, we pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep.
We pray for healing, for prosperity.
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering
And all the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love is way too much to give us lesser things‘Cause what if your blessings come through raindrops?
What if Your healing comes through tears?
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near?
And what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise?
My friend whose wife grieved 20 miscarriages explained the revelation he experienced. It was a simple question: “Do I trust God?”
So, do we? Trust God? When things are awful and terrible, do we throw ourselves on the merits of Him who is mighty to save?
Or do we become embittered, shaking our fist at Heaven and screaming “why?”
Do we turn away from Jesus – Sweet Jesus, our Saviour… the one who saves us?
Alma the younger was going about to “destroy the Church of God”. An angel appeared and told him to repent, or he would be destroyed. He collapsed and was near death for three days. At this time of great alarm, he remembered his Father’s teaching about our dependence on Jesus and his “mind caught upon this thought” and he cried within his heart in Alma 36:
O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me, who am in the gall of bitterness, and am encircled about by the everlasting chains of death.
And now, behold, when I thought this, I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more.
And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold; yea, my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain!
Yea, I say unto you, my son, that there could be nothing so exquisite and so bitter as were my pains. Yea, and again I say unto you, my son, that on the other hand, there can be nothing so exquisite and sweet as was my joy. (Alma 36:18-21)
We can experiment on radical dependence. In our western psychological traditions, we prize independence rather than dependence, particularly as we mature. We want to be self-reliant. We want to have self-esteem. We chase self-discovery and self-actualisation. We believe in self-expression. We’re big on self-improvement.
These things are often in opposition to dependence. The great irony is that as we experiment on radical dependence on God, we will likely gain every one of those things.
In the Church we often use the phrase “spiritual self-reliance”. My not-so-subtle response to that is to chafe. To me it’s a lie. It’s a misunderstanding. Self, self, self. We’re obsessed with self and our abilities. But Jesus wants us to let go of self and lean on Him. The economy of Heaven is that as we lose our lives and let go of self, we find our lives – and our self.
I know some people will say “I prayed. Nothing happened. My family still left the Church. Or I still lost my job. Or my marriage still broke down.”
Perhaps you’ve spent long hours on your knees. You’ve petitioned Heaven. “God help me”. And there’s been no revelation like Section 122. But consider what happened with Alma. In his pleading there was no vision. Rather,
…my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain!
Yea, I say unto you… that there could be nothing so exquisite and so bitter as were my pains. Yea, and again I say unto you… that on the other hand, there can be nothing so exquisite and sweet as was my joy.
Perhaps you’ve also had that moment, in your pleading, where – seemingly out of nowhere, and even though you’ve had no idea what you’re supposed to do – you’ve had a different kind of revelation; the kind that speaks peace to your soul. Perhaps you’ve felt that warmth, comfort, assurance. After all, He is the Prince of Peace.
Jesus went through everything any of us every went through – and he didn’t do it for His good. He did it for our good. He descended below all. Him and Him alone. Forsaken. Left alone. And He did it. Our pains are for a short time. Our sorrows won’t last. And we have hope because of – and through – Him! How grateful I am for Him!
- One step enough
We are here to learn to become like God. Hard things teach us this in ways that an easy life cannot. Learning to love and forgive those who do us harm. None of us want that PhD—the one in darkness, sorrow, and pain. Yet this is the demand of discipleship.
As we become better disciples through our hardship, we learn to have compassion. Alma 7:11-12 describes how Jesus didn’t just suffer for our sins, but for “the pains and sicknesses of his people”.
Joseph Smith taught: “The nearer we get to our Heavenly Father, the more are we disposed to look with compassion on perishing souls— we feel that we want to take them upon our shoulders and cast their sins behind our backs.”
Our suffering can make us better disciples. More compassionate. More willing to see others’ suffering and desire to “mourn with those that mourn, comfort those who stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:8-9).
Lead Kindly Light is a hymn by John Henry Newman – one that has brought profound peace to me through the years, and it describes the epitome of discipleship. Newman was an English priest on a pilgrimage of sorts. As he travelled through Italy he began questioning his Catholic faith. This caused anxiety about his career and his relationships. Around this time, he also became ill and determined that he should return home. His illness progressed. He was concerned he would die. And then… the ship he was traveling on was becalmed. He was almost certain death would visit him imminently. In that gloomy circumstance, he wrote:
Lead kindly light ‘mid the encircling gloom. Lead thou me on
The night is dark, and I am far from home. Lead thou me on.
We too are far from home. The dark night of the soul can feel oppressive. Suffocating. All-encompassing.
Newman experimented on dependence. He threw himself on the grace and goodness of Jesus. “Lead thou me on.”
Keep thou my feet. I do not ask to see the distant scene.
One step enough for me.
And then he asked only that God’s light would illuminate his next step. The one step, he assured God, would be enough for him to stay on the path. Seeing the distant scene became unnecessary. His faith would sustain him if only he knew the way he should go.
This is radical dependence. And this is what the “one step enough” principle teaches us.
As I trace the trauma and adversity that life’s crucible has served me, I have found that I don’t always have answers to “why?”. But I know that experimenting on dependence and not asking to see the distant scene have – in time – given me experience and worked together for my good.
I still don’t know the distant scene. I read about it. I sing about it. Our worship points to it. Our theology and doctrine make promises about it. I have faith in its celestial beauty because of my hope in a Saviour who will literally make all things new, who is the high priest of good things to come, who will save me in my sorrow and pain, and who will ultimately redeem. And so, I trust that one step is enough for me – and hope you’ll take that one next step on the pathway Home too.
Dr. Justin Coulson is a family scholar and a member of the Sunshine Coast Australia Stake. He and his wife, Kylie, are the parents of six daughters and one granddaughter. You can hear him at: https://www.ldsliving.com/all-in/justin-coulson-how-might-jesus-parent-summer
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