by Liz Johnson

(Liz Johnson is the mother of four and resides in Northern Indiana.  She has a BA in International Development and is two postage stamps away from being a certified doula. This post is adapted from an Easter talk she gave in Sacrament meeting.)

Whenever I think of Christ being lifted off the cross, His mortal work on the Earth finished, and being prepared for burial and entombment, I can’t help but think of His loyal followers and how they may have felt at the crucifixion of their Lord.  This man – whose life had been prophesied for generations and whose birth was foretold by prophets of old was there – in flesh and blood! He had walked with them, healed the sick, made the blind to see, raised a man so dead that “he stinketh”[1] back to life.  He had performed miracles of all varieties, spent time with all classes of society, and bestowed forgiveness on even the most vile of sinners.  This mortal son of Deity, whose power seemed to defy all reason and all rank, had been brought before the civic justice of the day, wrongfully convicted, tortured, and then put to death right in front of his loyal followers.  How devastating must it have been to see a man so powerful in the ways of God be so defeated and victimized by mere mortals?

Was there even any hope to be had?  We know that his followers had been taught of the resurrection – Martha proclaimed her faith that her brother, Lazarus, would rise again in the resurrection not long before Christ’s crucifixion.  They had witnessed the miracles throughout His life and had expressed unwavering faith in His power and glory.  But who could save their Lord?  The man who had saved the beggar, the adulterer, the leper, and the friend – who would save Him now?  With His crucifixion, they had no Lord to call upon to come raise Him from the dead as Lazarus was raised.  Could their faith have endured on this, the blackest of all Fridays?

And then, seemingly to add insult to injury, when Mary Magdalene came upon His garden tomb early Sunday morning, she found His grave vacant, apparently vandalized and plundered by those who had despised her Lord.  I can only imagine the bitter feelings she might have felt – was it not enough that they had taken Him, pounded nails into His hands & feet, plunged a sword into His side, and crucified Him with common thieves?  They couldn’t let Him rest in peace, but had to desecrate not just His life, but His resting place as well?

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Today is Palm Sunday when we celebrate Christ’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem – one week before Easter. On this day, Jesus rode through the city gates on a donkey and has hailed by the Jews as their King.  Only four days later, after the Last Super with his apostles, Jesus was betrayed and taken away from the Garden of Gethsemane by soldiers.  And five days after His triumphant entry, He was tried and crucified.

It didn’t take long for the Hailed King to move into a downwardly spiral of events – just a few days. While Christ anticipated these events and knew they were part of the plan, I’m sure they were not pleasant. We too know how fast things can fall apart in this earth life.

On the morning of Friday the 13^th of July 2012, I sat alone in my small Honda Civic slowly absorbing the words I had just heard from my doctor and trying not to cry. I had a 25 cm cyst in my abdomen that needed to be surgically removed immediately before damage was done to my internal organs. I had no health insurance, no job, and nowhere to live to recover from such a surgery. My heart was very heavy.

The phone rang.  It was the HR Department from my previous employer telling me that my Cobra Health Insurance had been reinstated. Then I did start to cry.  I wept tears of gratitude and knew that I had been a part of a miracle. It was the first of many miracles – and I had unknowingly taken just one step into a journey that would last many months.

That morning in the dark mood of that small car, my path was illuminated by that miracle and God would continue to guide me throughout this journey.  “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angles round about you, to bear you up.”  (D&C 84:88)

Four days later I was in Alexandria Hospital hooked to an IV and waiting for an ambulance that would take me to Fairfax where a surgeon was waiting to operate.  A friend waited with me, insisting that I have a blessing before I left for surgery.  After several calls – and to my surprise – Elder Wilson of the Seventy was on his way to anoint me. The moment he put his hands on my head, my whole body filled with power.  It was an overwhelming feeling.  I knew then that this man had lived a life dedicated to righteousness and that he had become a powerful tool in the hands of God – and I also knew that God wanted to show me, His daughter, how powerful He was – and assure me that He was in charge and would strengthen me.  Another miracle.  ”I’ll strengthen you, help you, and cause you to stand. Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand.” (How Firm a Foundation – #85)

And so it went, from the ambulance to the hospital, and into the hands of a very particular surgeon. One miracle after another.  I was guided and strengthened and kept safe down a narrow illumined path as my life exploded around me.  My friends worked in shifts to be with me until my family could arrive.  My sister, Heather, was with me one week later when bad combination of stress and pain killers caused my intestines constrict and cramp – leaving me with the worse abdominal pain of my life.  I was curled up in a ball on the Stinson’s couch – crying and desperate.  Heather called the doctor and listed the pros/cons of an emergency room visit.  She asked if I wanted her to call for a blessing – and that didn’t feel right, so I asked for a prayer of faith.  With me on the couch, my sister knelt and offered a prayer on my behalf.

It was then that I felt the great comfort of the Lord.  Like a warm blanket, I felt the arms of love encircle me and a soft voice in my mind telling me to relax.  I knew if I could just let my body relax that the pain would start to work itself out.  And it did.  I have felt this same comfort many times since in moments of distress.  “His presence shall my wants supply, And guard me with a watchful eye. / To fertile vales, and dewy meads. My weary, wandering steps he leads. / My noon-day walks he shall attend, And all my midnight hours defend.”   (The Lord My Pasture will Prepare – #109)

And, through these experiences, I came again to know – even more deeply – what I’d know before: that the Risen Lord Lives!  He knows me!  He lives to guide me and strengthen me and comfort me.  I know more intensely now that He is my Savior.

On this Palm Sunday, we, with all Christendom, hail Him as our King and look with eager eyes to Easter Sunday when HOPE is made fresh again in the world.  ”He is Risen! Tell it out with joyful voice. / He has burst the three days’ prison; let the whole wide word rejoice. /Death is conquered.  We are free.  Christ has won – the victory.”  (He is Risen – #199)

I will spend my Palm Sunday worshiping at two different churches.  During this Holy Week, I will attend a session at the LDS Temple and a mass at the Basilica of Catholic University.   I hope to spend Easter Morning on the steps of the Jefferson Memorial with my scriptures, watching the sun come up above the Cherry Blossoms.

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“What is the first thing that comes to your mind when you look at this picture?” The Relief Society teacher asked me directly. The image was from a magazine and was what I would describe as mixture of Goths and eccentrically, darkly dressed women and men. I knew what the answer was likely supposed to be. But the teacher didn’t know me. She knew my name, and she knew me by the pastel floral prints that had I chosen to wear on my return to church a few years earlier. These pale prints grew within my wardrobe making me into a wraith of my former self. Choking on these pale forals, I longed for the company, asymmetrical styles, and nose rings of my pre-uber-Molly days.

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Advent is a season of anticipation.  In the Christian liturgy it is meant to be a time to reflect on how the world waited and prepared for the redemption that comes through the Messiah, and to prepare oneself for meeting Christ.  Fulfillment is always sweeter if it’s something we’ve had to wait for, and the story of the faithful waiting for the arrival of their Savior is compelling.  Just imagine if Jesus had arrived on the scene in the Book of Genesis – where is the drama in that?  Mary’s words of praise spoken in the company of her cousin Elizabeth, who had also received fulfillment after a long period of waiting, evoke a triumphant satisfaction known to those who have eagerly waited.

 

From Luke Chapter 1:

46 And Mary Said, My soul doth magnify the Lord,

47 And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.

48 For he hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden: for, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed.

49 For he that is mighty hath done to me great things; and holy is his name.

50 And his mercy is on them that fear him from generation to generation.

51 He hath shewed strength with his arm; he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.

52 He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree.

53 He hath filled the hungry with good things; and the rich he hath sent empty away.

54 He hath holpen his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy;

55 As he spake to our fathers, to Abraham, and to his seed for ever.

 

Mary is celebrating fulfillment, but to be sure the world is still in need of help, and it often feels to me that Christianity is a religion of deferred satisfaction.  God is supposed to scatter the proud, put down the mighty, exalt the low, and fill the hungry, but the world is still full of injustice and hunger.  So why does Mary rejoice?  Also, I am puzzled by her choice of verb tense.  She did not say “He will,” she said “He hath.”  And her son wasn’t even born yet.

Acknowledging that this grammatical subtlety may have arisen as the text was passed down through time, I want to think about what it means if “hath” was what Mary intended.  It seems she was taking a grand view of things, seeing at once how God spoke to her fathers and will continue to speak to all his children forever.  God speaks, and also acts in the world, and Mary describes this with active verbs like scatter, show, fill, send, and help.  Indeed, few people could have been more aware of God’s direct action in the world than Mary.  Perhaps she is also taking a grand view of time.  To God who calls himself Eternal and Endless⁽¹⁾, “all is as one day, and time is only measured unto men.”⁽²⁾  The Magnificat can be read as a hymn of praise to all that God does, past, present, and future.

Mary is also marveling at her role in God’s work.  The handmaid of the Lord.  When God does great things human beings are often involved, and in Mary the seemingly impossible feat of bearing and raising the Son of God became possible.  The story of Christ’s birth is ultimately about God working in the world to conquer the impossible. To put things right.  How is it done?  How are the low exalted, the hungry filled, the captives delivered, and the brokenhearted healed?  When is the gospel preached to the poor?(3)  Often it is through inspired people working in partnership with Christ.

In our struggling world impossible things have become possible.  Apartheid and legalized slavery ended even though some people thought they never would, women can own property, vote, and hold public office in most of the world, life expectancies are way up, infant mortality is down, people figured out how to fix and bottle nitrogen so that the massive famines Thomas Malthus predicted never occurred, religious freedom is common, and war may be decreasing.⁽⁴⁾ And even though many hearts are broken, they are also quietly healed.  All because inspired people believe change is possible.  The world is far from perfect, but as King said, the though moral arch of the universe is long, it bends towards justice.  We do not have to wait to be the change we seek in this world,⁽⁵⁾ for with God, nothing shall be impossible.⁽⁶⁾

 

 

1. “Behold, I am God…Endless and Eternal is my name.” (Moses 7:5)

2. “All is as one day with God, and time only is measured unto men.” (Alma 40:8)

3.  “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at libertythem that are bruised.” (Luke 4:18)

4. http://www.winningthewaronwar.com/

5. “Be the change that you wish to see in the world.” – Mahatma Gandhi
6. “For with God nothing shall be impossible.” (Luke 1:37)

 

As a post script, I’m including links to some of my favorite musical settings of the Magnificat.  It has been set to music hundreds of times, and it must represent some of the most sung verses of the Bible.  The first setting is Charles Villiers Stanford’s “Magnificat in G” (he wrote one in every major key).  It’s a gorgeous example of the Anglican tradition.  (Be sure to turn up your speakers because it’s a quiet recording).

The second is a movement from Bach’s Magnificat.  Bach wrote a movement for every line (there are 12 since he included, as most musical settings do, the Gloria Patri of the Latin mass at the end: “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost; As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.”).  It’s hard to choose just one movement, but I like Suscepit Israel puerum suum recordatus misericordiæ suæ (He hath holpen his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy) because it’s a trio for women’s voices.

Finally, Marc-Antonie Charpentier’s exquisite setting gives the whole Latin text in one eight and a half minute composition.

Stanford Magnificat

Bach Magnificat

Charpentier Magnificat

 

 

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God, and Enoch, and I all weep:

“And it came to pass that the God of heaven looked upon the residue of the people, and he wept; and Enoch bore record of it, saying: How is it that the heavens weep, and shed forth their tears as the rain upon the mountains?… How is it that thou canst weep, seeing thou art holy, and from all eternity to all eternity? … and also thou art just; thou art merciful and kind forever; And thou hast taken Zion to thine own bosom, from all thy creations; and naught but peace, justice, and truth is the habitation of thy throne; and mercy shall go before thy face and have no end; how is it thou canst weep?

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Every year my ward ushers in the Christmas season with a Wreath Making Party. There’s music, a program, food, and of course, wreaths. It was last night and I was asked to speak. Here are my remarks.

As I’ve contemplated the theme of this year’s program, Come let us adore him, I think of Mary and Joseph finding refuge in a stable, the shepherds and magi, following the star, but mostly I think of the sweet Christ child and the joy His birth brought to the world. Let me share with you two stories, one about finding room in the inn, the other about following the star, both about hope and babies.

Story I: Surprise. You’re pregnant.

In 2001 I was pregnant with my third child, and fell into a deep depression. Much of it was hormonal, but it also had to do with our current situation. We were living in a small two bedroom and I’d lay awake each night mentally rearranging furniture and wonder where on earth this unexpected child’s stuff was supposed to go.  I already shared a dresser with the toddler. My husband also traveled a lot and I was having a hard time managing two littles on my own. How could I add a newborn?

The bigger I got, the deeper I sank. I wanted to feel joy but couldn’t.  Instead I was mired in a mixture of misery and guilt.  What was wrong with me that I was less than elated?  How could a Mormon woman NOT see pregnancy as a blessing?    Even when things were going well, the depression could sneak up on me like the shark in Jaws.  One minute I would be figuratively enjoying a nice swim and the next minute I was drowning in pain and darkness.  I prayed as I tucked the other two in bed at night that they would not be damaged by my foul moods. I prayed as I drove to work that I’d be able to stop crying long enough to teach the 3-hour block.  I prayed when the psychologist that my OB made me see told me that my depression would go away if I just ate more salmon. I hate salmon.

I have always had a hard time getting answers to prayers.  This is not to say that I never get answers–I do. Sometimes. It’s just that when God does decide to respond to my pleas me, he uses creative means of communication.

When I was 6 months pregnant, some girlfriends decided we should go to the outlets up in Maine.  They knew I was depressed and thought a little retail therapy might help. And if that failed, there was a Dairy Queen nearby.  Salmon was not going to relieve my hormonal upheaval, but a Peanut-Buster Parfait might.

In one of those Swedish catalog stores where kids’ pajamas cost what my wedding dress did, I picked up a little knit cap, tried it on my fist and smiled.  It was mostly green, a cheery Granny Smith with a few stripes, pink, yellow, blue. It was even on sale.  But the last thing I needed was more clothes.  By this point I knew I was having another girl, 22 months after my last.  Same age, same season, same clothes.  Everything else about the pregnancy felt so overwhelming, it was a great relief to know that I didn’t have to buy a single article of clothing.  So I tossed the cap back.

But when I left the store I couldn’t walk away. I told my friends I’d catch up and I stood there, trying to figure out what I was feeling.  There was no voice, but I knew God wanted me to buy that green hat.  Yes, the Lord speaks to people in the language and means they best understand. So what does this say about me that God talks to me through shopping?  Ignoring the slight, I obeyed the prompting, feeling a little foolish (and superficial), but glad to have ANY kind of divine communication in the midst of my depression which, more than anything else, left me feeling spiritually abandoned.

That night as I took the knit cap out of the bag, I imagined the tiny, warm head that it would adorn. I could imagine the soft cheeks against my breast. And perhaps for the first time, I didn’t think about the morning sickness or sciatica, the lack of space, my limited resources.  I only thought about this baby as an individual.  In that moment I felt peace. There would be room enough in our house, in my heart, for this child.  I held the cap and cried.

The cap sat on my dresser for the next 3 months as a reminder of the comfort and knowledge I had received. It became a talisman, a symbol that my baby and I had not been forgotten.

Camille’s arrival signaled the departure of my depression.  The moment she left my body I felt as if the clouds parted and the sun began to shine again.  She wore the cap many times.  I joked to my husband that it was the “cap of many colors,” representing my love for her.  And now it is hard to imagine not having her in my life, hard to imagine that carrying her was such a burden on my body and spirit.

She arrived two weeks before Christmas, and we were crowded. Our tiny apartment became a mini Hong Kong, as we put shelves on top of dressers, got bunk beds and just kept stacking stuff up up up. But there was room for this precious child, and as we celebrated the savior’s birth, I had never better understood the joy of the nativity, that a tiny child could so enlarge my heart and fill my soul with love.  There was room aplenty in the Inn.

Story II: We have some bad news for you…

In 2005 , I was once again expecting. This time I was elated but nervous as I’d lost 3 babies the previous year. My OB sent me to the high-risk practice at the Brigham and I underwent so many tests that I often felt like I’d been abducted by aliens.  At 9 weeks a somber nurse told me there was a problem and ushered me into the genetic counselor’s office.  I heard the words cystic hygroma, severe defects, chromosomal abnormality, and termination. I stopped listening and just concentrating on breathing

Once again I found myself pregnant and depressed. Every time I went to the doctor it got worse. The cyst was growing, and my doctor would list for me all the things that might be wrong with my baby—if I even made it full term.  (The irony that this other depression surrounds being desperate to have a baby is not lost on me) Every time I went into her office, I felt bereft. She was like the dementors from Harry Potter, sucking all the light and joy out of me. I felt as if I’d never be happy again.

I turned to the Lord and prayed my heart out. I prayed for strength, for comfort, for a manageable disability. At church I remember looking at certain women, and thinking “So & so has REAL faith. She is the kind of woman who gets miracles, not me.” I wasn’t jealous of bitter—nobody’s mad—just observing that it seemed certain people get the yes answer, and others, like me, got the “not this time sweetheart.”  Sometime around month 6 I had a conversation with a friend who’d also had a “we have some bad news for you” pregnancy.  Her advice to me was simple. Ask God for what I wanted. Even if it was a miracle. Just ask. The Lord loves us and wants us to come to Him with our righteous desires.  She said that there would be blessings in the asking, regardless of the outcome.

So I did. And it was terrifying to ask for a miracle, to lay my broken heart at His feet.  I was so afraid that I couldn’t take the pain if my desires weren’t granted. But God heard my prayers and gave me a gift. Hope. I remember it felt tangible, this gift of Hope that I could choose to take or not take. It wasn’t a warranty against pain and suffering, or a guarantee of a glittery and shiny outcome. But it shone brightly, like a star you might follow through the desert or a wilderness. And I followed.  The first thing I did was “fire” my OB. If I was going to make it I needed to find someone who could also also allow for the possibility of a good outcome. Next, a dear friend organized a fast for me, contacting many of our friends. The idea of being on the receiving end of sacrifice made me really uncomfortable. But I could not deny that their faith bolstered mine and gave me a peace that felt like being wrapped in one of those warm, minky blankets they sell at Costco. By month 8 I had the courage to  go ahead and prepare the nursery. I painted it a happy lavender and my sister sent me the bedding she’d handmade for her daughter. I followed the star of hope and had faith that whatever awaited me in the manger would be a blessing.

Fast-forward to 3 days before Thanksgiving. As it came time to deliver the baby, the room was filled with doctors and nurses waiting to see what they would need to do for this child.  None of it stressed me at the point. I knew whatever happened, God had heard me, comforted me, and I would not be left alone. Our child arrived chubby and healthy and it made us smile to have medical professionals dub our daughter “the miracle baby.”  I felt like the Holy Family as hospital personnel and friends streamed in and out of our room to behold our miracle baby.  “Come let us adore Him,” I thought. Dave named her Beatrice, bringer of joy and blessings.  Thanksgiving took on new meaning for our family as we all drank in the beauty of our answered prayers.

Now at Christmas, I identify with many of the players. I see myself in the harried and busy innkeepers who can’t find room in the inn–and I am reluctant to judge them as I suspect they too were super stressed and eluded by peace .  I see myself as a distant traveler following a star, weary but hopeful that I can survive the journey, praying that the gifts I bring will be sufficient.  But mostly I strive to be like the tired but faithful mother who looks to the Holy Child and finds faith and joy. Oh Come Let us Adorn Him!

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