More holiness give me... even if I'm not sure I want it
Last week, I had the privilege of working a baptismal session in the Temple with our wonderful Spanish branch– most of them recent converts doing this work for the first time. They were untrained and nervous, so there were many do-overs. As I watched these humble brethren intently struggle through the ordinance, I thought back to my own first time doing baptisms for the dead, and how I managed to fumble things in my own unique way.
When I was twelve, only endowed Melchizedek Priesthood holders could perform the ordinances, so the responsibility for all the baptisms often fell on a single young men's leader for the entire session. I could see this good brother's arms growing tired, so when it was my turn to be baptized, I tried to lighten his load by leaning myself into and out of the water. I guess I overdid it. After just two names, he laughed and said, "Matthew, you're trying to baptize yourself; that's not how this works. Just let go a bit and let me do the work. I've got you."
I didn't know how important those words would become to me later in life.
Independence: The Wonderful Stumbling Block
That well-meaning attempt to "help" with my own baptism is pretty typical of me. If someone printed out the "source code" of my brain, the first line would read "Do it yourself; don't inconvenience anyone else." And self-reliance is a virtue. You take responsibility for your shortcomings instead of blaming circumstances. You figure things out without constant hand-holding. Ward leaders appreciate having such "low-maintenance" members who just quietly get things done.
But like all virtues, self-reliance taken to an extreme can hurt you spiritually. That's what happened to me. Like many of us, I have a list of my personal shortcomings that need work (and when I run out of ideas, my wife has a much longer list for me to pull from 😉). As a young adult, I decided to systemize my spiritual growth. I would pick one item from that list as my personal spiritual priority, pray about it morning and night, and track my progress in a habit app.
But I didn't see the results I hoped for. I'd see some initial progress, hit a wall after a few weeks, and slide into "repentance burnout." My prayers would grow increasingly desperate: "Heavenly Father, I'm trying here. I really am. But nothing seems to stick! I still feel like the same person, with the same weaknesses, fighting the same battles. And honestly? I'm starting to wonder if I even want to change anymore." Discouraged, I'd start spiritually coasting again. Then feel guilty for giving up. Then I'd muster up renewed determination to try even harder– because clearly the problem was that I just wasn't trying hard enough.
This cycle continued for years. If I'm honest, it's still my brain's default setting. But my understanding began to shift one night as I read the Book of Mormon and made a connection I'd never seen before.
Turning It Over to Christ
Jacob 5 is the famous allegory of the olive tree– a symbol of the house of Israel. But that night, as I read about the Lord of the vineyard's tender care for the olive tree, I was struck with the thought that the olive tree doesn't just represent the Lord's interactions with the house of Israel– it's an allegory of repentance and spiritual growth. I shared that idea in a previous post, but I want to share the other half of that discovery now.
I was initially discouraged by this insight. The "tree" of my spirit seemed pitifully scrawny and barren and hadn't seemed to change for years, despite my efforts. But then the Spirit spoke these words to me: "Matthew, a tree can't prune itself. You can't change your heart through sheer willpower. Only the Lord can change you."
As I pondered, scriptures flooded my mind. "Which of you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his stature?" (Matthew 6:27) "Thou canst not make one hair white or black" (Matthew 5:36). These verses apply just as much to our physical bodies as they do the rest of our "natural man." Alma and Ammon said God "snatched" them from their "sinful and polluted state" (Mosiah 27:28-29, Alma 26:17). You can't snatch yourself. I was then reminded of my experience in the baptismal font, as if the Lord were saying "Matthew, you're trying to convert yourself; that's not how this works. Just let go a bit and let Me do the work. I've got you."
"But how?" I wondered. "My main problem is my motivation– I just can't seem to work up enough energy to truly want to grow!"
And God answered: "Then start by wanting to want to grow." I heard variants of Alma's words: "Even if ye can no more than desire to [desire], let this desire work in you."
Still surprised, I asked, "So you can change not just my capacity, but even my motivations and my desires?" Again, the Lord answered with scripture. Lamoni's servants testified that "their hearts had been changed; that they had no more desire to do evil." Just as the people of King Benjamin bore witness of a "mighty change in us, or in our hearts, that we have no more disposition to do evil, but to do good continually."
I was reminded that Pres. Nelson is a heart surgeon. His patients relied on him to fix their hearts just as I should rely on God to fix mine. God would honor His promise to the children of Israel in me: "A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh" (Ezekiel 11:26-27). God offers the same spiritual heart surgery He offered to Lamoni's father– to have "this wicked spirit rooted out of my breast, and receive his Spirit." That's a surgery I am powerless to perform myself.
But What About Agency?
This sounded too good to be true. I'd always known God could give us extra power to repent and act on our righteous desires, but I assumed the righteous desire has to be there in the first place. But that God would change my desires themselves? That seemed too easy. Isn't the struggle what makes the growth possible? And what about my agency?
A mission experience highlighted this concern. I was invited to join a group of fellow Christians in prayer. These brothers and sisters in Christ prayed in a circle– all joining hands. One person led the prayer while the rest of us were asked to repeat the words of the prayer (this format may sound familiar to some of you). I was caught off guard when, in the middle of the prayer, the speaker prayed, "Lord please send your spirit down to come and possess our bodies." I believe this sister's intent was pure, but I didn't repeat that particular line of the prayer. God doesn't possess people– that's what the other guy does.
But isn't that what I'm doing when I ask God to change my very desires– asking Him to violate my agency and cause me to obey when I otherwise wouldn't? Again I prayed and again I received an answer.
I remembered an experience from my childhood. While playing with my cousins at a playground, I got a nasty splinter right in the center of my palm. My aunt tried to pull it out with tweezers, but the splinter had embedded itself beneath the top layer of skin.
My uncle whipped out his pocket knife. I clenched my fist and assured him I suddenly felt perfectly fine. He explained that the splinter was just beneath the top layer of skin– the layer that is dead and will soon fall off, anyway. He would cut this top layer and I would not hurt or bleed, but the tweezers would then reach the splinter. If I didn't the splinter would likely be pushed further and further into my skin as I used that hand, possibly causing infection.
Reluctantly, I held my hand out to him and shut my eyes, waiting for it to be over. "Matthew," he said gently, "I'll need you to open your fist and hold you hand open while I work." I remember how hard it was to force my hand open, to keep it bare and vulnerable to the knife while he did his work.
The Spirit seemed to say to me, "Yes, Jesus will be the one doing the hard work to change you. But don't underestimate the agency and effort it will take on your part. You're not just some cardiac patient, unconscious on the operating table– you have to consent, open up, and reach for Him while He works on you."
More Holiness Give Me
I do things a bit differently now. I still have a system– a "personal spiritual priority," and I still try to take responsibility when I fall short. But my approach is different. I recognize faith, joy, charity, and a converted heart aren't attributes I can force through my own willpower– they are spiritual gifts and can only come from God. I keep working to strengthen those gifts I receive, but my prayers have also taken on a new component as I find myself echoing the words of the beautiful hymn, pleading for something I do not deserve:
More holiness give me, More strivings within, More patience in suff'ring, More sorrow for sin, More faith in my Savior, More sense of his care, More joy in his service, More purpose in prayer.
More gratitude give me, More trust in the Lord, More pride in his glory, More hope in his word, More tears for his sorrows, More pain at his grief, More meekness in trial, More praise for relief.
More purity give me, More strength to o'ercome, More freedom from earth-stains, More longing for home. More fit for the kingdom, More used would I be, More blessed and holy— More, Savior, like thee.
Oh please, make me more, Savior, like Thee.
PS: There's a beautiful arrangment of this hymn you should listen to here. Extremely powerful.
