Break me to Christ
"I will give away all my sins to know thee"
(And now for a brief diversion to peek behind the curtain of this little whatever-this-is.)
Most posts start with a title and nothing more. And those titles often come out of nowhere and send me off in a multitude of directions without compass or map.
I do pray (sometimes) about an idea, but recently have felt I should be praying more and relying less on “my way.” This is not a new problem for me.
The ideas are endless. The time and talent required to execute on those ideas are in much more limited supply. And as I was recently reminded in a needed rebuke, “Did you expect to write about Me without a cost?” #Welp.
I was a wrestler in high school (The real kind. No fake names or funny masks were involved.) This matters more than you may think. Writing ⩬ Wrestling (FYI I just barely learned about this funky-looking symbol ⩬ that means “equivalent.” Who knew?) The point being, trying to articulate deep and deeply personal feelings is no easy feat.
The wrestle is the price of proximity.
We now return to our regularly scheduled programming, already in progress…
“When all is said and done, the life of faith is nothing if not an unending struggle of the spirit with every available weapon against the flesh.”
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship
Matthew 10:34 Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword.
Helaman 12:3 And thus we see that except the Lord doth chasten his people with many afflictions, yea, except he doth visit them with death and with terror, and with famine and with all manner of pestilence, they will not remember him.
A Litany for the Dark Solstice
Dead of winter,
Dead of night,
Neither center,
Left, nor right.
Teach me error
Within reason;
Stay me with terror
Out of season.
When I have most,
Whirl it as dust.
Salt be the taste
Of all I love best
In earth, and rust
Be the iron I trust.
In my distress,
Bless me to bless.
On urgent water,
Gone oar and rudder,
Still me this rest:
Break me to Christ.
The pastoral image we have of Jesus as gentle Shepherd is a lovely one. Sheep gathered ‘round. Green, verdant grass covering the surrounding hillside. Perhaps even a lamb tucked safely in His arms.
This is not a description of becoming a disciple, or at least not my present experience with it. It is for me, as Bonhoeffer so perfectly put it, “an unending struggle.”
I am at war with myself.
“Break me to Christ”? What does that even mean? I sometimes imagine Jesus as a life-size magnet, pulling me relentlessly to Him even as I try, stupidly, to run and hide in needless shame. I feel the tug, sometimes painfully, of His demanding love. Why does He ask for so much? Why would He even want all that I am? Why do I fight this?
Dallin H. Oaks once shared this evocative insight about the sacrament bread:
“Because it is broken and torn, each piece of bread is unique, just as the individuals who partake of it are unique. We all have different sins to repent of. We all have different needs to be strengthened through the Atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ, whom we remember in this ordinance.” I love this thought. As a graduate-level sinner, I bring a whole torn loaf of sins to my Sunday oblations each week. The fact that we repeat this ordinance, week after week, over and over again…I should take comfort in that, yes? The implication being that He knew I would flounder. He knew I would break myself against the lofty wall of divine expectations. He seems unsurprised by my repeated “wanderings in strange roads.” Unconditional love? Yes. But tolerance for rebellion? Not in the least degree.
Here’s what I feel to tell you (for some reason I picture us, you and me, sitting as friends next to a wandering stream on a not-yet-too-hot summer morning. The sky—a brilliant blue. The breeze—just so.)
No one is more familiar with what it feels like to sin than Jesus. Not because He sinned, of course. But because He internalized every wicked thing, every unworthy thought, each abusive act. He knew both brutality and the red terror of the one brutalized. As He reminded Joseph Smith in the filthy pit of Liberty Jail, “I have descended below them all.”
I don’t think He said this to put Joseph in his place. This isn’t a rebuke. It’s consolation. It’s a declaration of absolute understanding and profound empathetic compassion. “My son. When I suffered in the Garden and on the cross-I felt it all. Every sin, every evil, every pain, every sickness, every fear, every doubt, every grief. Including this moment you are in-right now. Here in this terrible jail cell. I experienced all of it so I could be here with you and know what you are going through. I’ve got you.”
He can ask for everything because He gave everything.
And now, what may be my favorite story of transformation from sinner to saint:
Alma 22:
15 And it came to pass that after Aaron had expounded these things unto him, the king said: What shall I do that I may have this eternal life of which thou hast spoken? Yea, what shall I do that I may be born of God, having this wicked spirit rooted out of my breast, and receive his Spirit, that I may be filled with joy, that I may not be cast off at the last day? Behold, said he, I will give up all that I possess, yea, I will forsake my kingdom, that I may receive this great joy.
16 But Aaron said unto him: If thou desirest this thing, if thou wilt bow down before God, yea, if thou wilt repent of all thy sins, and will bow down before God, and call on his name in faith, believing that ye shall receive, then shalt thou receive the hope which thou desirest.
17 And it came to pass that when Aaron had said these words, the king did bow down before the Lord, upon his knees; yea, even he did prostrate himself upon the earth, and cried mightily, saying:
18 O God, Aaron hath told me that there is a God; and if there is a God, and if thou art God, wilt thou make thyself known unto me, and I will give away all my sins to know thee, and that I may be raised from the dead, and be saved at the last day.
This is the thing, the only thing. To give away all my (sins.doubts.fears.weaknesses.etc.) to know Him.
My hard heart must be broken.
My stiff neck must bow.
My rebellion must be replaced with childlike yielding.
I must persist in becoming “willing to submit.”
And most of all, I am to move through the world in the expanding radiance of His love.
The image of the Savior’s body, bruised and torn for me, cannot be disregarded. It is His beckoning for me to come. To rise to the call of His love. To be made whole by Him, I must first be broken.
“Break me to Christ.”
Next week on The Bright & Morning Star ✮
Is prayer sometimes hard for you, or is it just me? Oddly, it seemed easier when I was less conversant in the gospel. Keeping my mind from wandering has become a real struggle. Especially the “on my knees, eyes closed, head bowed” version of prayer. Yet one more question to try and answer. Prayer is a contact sport.
Brilliant and thought-provoking...soul-stirring, bitter and sweet. And the nature sounds...bonus ❤️