by H. Linn Murphy
Please pretend it's the 11th. I've been wretchedly busy and sick this month.
I
was reading in Alma today and the thought occurred to me about how
intricate God's designs are. The Book of Mormon couldn't have come to
the Earth in this time. Look how easy it is to fake things—movie
magic and sleight-of-hand and doctoring documents and a thousand
other things someone could say might have been the origin of Joseph
Smith's visions and the Book of Mormon. Instead, Moroni came at a
time when the whole countryside was up in arms about religion. It was
a nutrient-rich environment.
So
many puzzle pieces had to fall perfectly into place. Guttenberg had
to build his press. Martin Luther had to step up and risk the flames
to bring light to the darkness. Joan of Arc had to stand for what she
believed. George Washington and his patriots had to risk penury and
death to build a free country. And thousands of people in between who
stepped up or held back. I wonder how many people it took before
Martin Luther said he'd go against the juggernaut that was the
Catholic Church.
If
Moroni had come to a 14-year-old boy in the dark ages, that boy would
have been burned at the stake. If that boy had been an extremely
well-educated man with libraries full of books and university credits
behind his name, how much more difficult would it be to believe that
he hadn't fabricated the evidence of the Book of Mormon?
Moroni
had to come to someone who would stick his head up, risk censure and
attacks on every side, and stand like the Rock of Gibralter in the
face of the battering tides. He had to be indomitable and just
malleable enough to accept God's guidance and the persecution that
went with it. And persecution had to be part of the mix, or
we'd wonder if Joseph had built the church to augment his need for
power and attention. That terrible treatment instead honed the man
into a fiery sword as the dross fell away.
I
wonder what God is honing me to do. Will I be the weapon He
needs to use at the correct times and in the correct places, or will
I turn brittle and break? Am I one of his necessary puzzle pieces?
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