An issue with the miracles

We finally watched 17 Miracles last week. I had not seen it before, though I certainly had heard some of the stories told in the film.

I enjoyed the movie as it reinforced for me the faith and devotion of the saints of the Willie handcart company. But I was troubled by it, too.

The movie’s protagonist is Levi Savage, a widower who became a sub-captain in the handcart company en route home from a 3-year mission to Siam. Levi is portrayed as faithful and strong, just the kind of man you’d like leading your company. He is also the one who recommended that the saint not leave for the west because of the lateness of the season.

His public opposition, portrayed as being sought by Captain Willie, was then repudiated by Willie, as well.

I don’t take issue with Savage’s opposition to leaving, nor with Willie’s encouragement to go. I presume each man operated out of his conviction. But the film does not give me that foundation. By the time this incident occurs in the film, we like Savage. We’ve seen his service in the Mormon Battalion, his loss of his wife, his mission call to Siam and his reluctant acceptance of the role as sub-captain. We like him. We trust him. We want him to lead us on a handcart trek.

We don’t know Willie at all. We only know he’s called Savage and Savage accepted. And we hear him denounce Savage publicly. We see nothing of Willie’s spiritual commitment, only his slavish obedience to his orders to deliver the company.

Later in the film, Savage is publicly reprimanded in another meeting by a visiting authority. Savage instantly recants his opposition and submits, once again, to the authority at hand. (And just in case we miss it, an end note among the credits reminds us again how wonderful it is that Levi Savage submitted after this public calling out.) As a viewer of the film (and knowing the outcome of the story), it’s very easy for me to side with Savage and assume Willie and the visiting authority are wrong and, even worse, uninspired. We watch members of the company suffer and die; those who do not die bear significant physical and emotional burdens. Yes, miracles occur, but at what cost?

I suspect life was more complicated, and I wish I had seen more of it in the film. I suspect Willie’s conviction was real, and I would have liked to have seen more of his own spiritual struggle.

I have never faced physical trials like those of the handcart companies, thank Heavens! But I have faced trials and the ambivalence that accompanies them. I have found myself having to choose between seemingly impossible alternatives. I have sought divine guidance and sometimes received it quickly and other times not. I have been questioned by doubters.

Life is complicated. And I applaud the film for showing some of the complexity that Levi Savage had to live with. But I would have preferred to see Willie’s complexity, as well.

I do not quibble about the miracles (though I could not count them). I acknowledge that miracles occur (though my teenage son watching with me did not; he kept looking for coincidences). And they still occur in my life and in the life of those I love (even if they do not see them).

I also know that most church leaders I know, especially those at the retail level in wards and branches, devote a great effort to seeking and understanding the Lord’s will. They may get it wrong sometimes, but they are trying to do the best they can with what they have. My role is to follow them as best I can, and, more importantly, to love them as best I can – that is, to love them with that Christlike love that is charity, a love that motivates me to see the best in them and to do what I can to lighten their load, to share their vision and to follow their lead.

The Story of Job

I attended a musical performance at my stake center last weekend, a musical performace (the program called it a "concertized musical") about the life of Job. The choir who performed was an all-volunteer choir called the Michigan Concert Choir (they are mostly, but not all, members of the church), and they performed quite well. The piece was written by a member of our stake (who said this had been in the works for twenty years!). It was certainly ambitious.

And it caused me to reflect on Job, which was the whole point.

Job, as you know, was successful – he had a large family, lands and wealth. The devil complains that of course Job praises God when things go well, but let's see how he does when things don't go so well. And he loses his children, his wealth, and his health. And still he praises God. He does not, as Satan would have him do, curse God and die.

I remember years ago reading a commentary on Job that wondered if the story really happened or if it was parable of sorts. The author suggested she could not believe in a God that would allow Job to be tested in the way he was just to prove a point. At the time I was almost swayed by her argument. Now I think it's ironic.

The whole point of Job's story (at least a point of Job's story) is for us to learn to take God on God's terms, to praise God come what may (or as Elder Wirthlin's mother taught him: "Come what may, and love it!"). For someone then to suggest that he or she "cannot accept a God who…" misses the plot completely.

I've known adversity in my life, but not Job's adversity. In fact, when I measure my life against the lives of many I know, I've been awfully fortunate. Just as Job's friends could not rightly claim his unrighteousness brought on his trials, I cannot claim that my good fortune is somehow a blessing for something I've done, except to be born into a family that valued education and gave me that opportunity so I could become well employed. I certainly acknowledge the Lord's blessings in my life, but I don't claim that I have done anything outstanding to be worthy of them.

Nor do I feel that the sadness that I've known comes directly from my own unrighteousness, either. I'm not perfect, so I suppose I am unrighteous. But I don't believe adversity works that way. (And Job didn't either).

In the end, of course, Job passes his test. He continues to praise God through his adversity, and all that was his is restored to him again. (Some worry about the replacement of his dead children, but if we look from a gospel perspective, we can assume those children who died are his in the eternities, as well.) As a metaphor for our earthly existence, we know that if we stay close to God and do as He has taught us that we can be with him again, and what we enjoyed in the premortal existence (that is, His presence) will also be restored to us.

One of my favorite verses from Job (spoken in the midst of his affliction, not after his deliverance) has found its way into many musical settings (though was spoken in the piece we saw the other night): "For I know that my redeemer liveth….In my flesh shall I see God" (Job 25:19-20). May we remember Job's testimony and take comfort in it.