One student, four months, twelve credits, and the most incredible city in the world.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Day 96: Back to the States
Day 95: Last Day! Camden Town and the Lights of London
Living in London
The house is a wild flurry of packing, so I'll try to be brief and head downstairs for the hugs and such. Today Emily, Beth and I went shopping (meaning they went shopping for Beatles shirts, and I mostly just navigated) in the Camden Lock, the best market London has to offer. So much rock merch and indy art that it was hard to leave after all.
After that, it was off to the British Museum finally and I was entirely sated after an hour of being there. I LOVE art galleries and I really don't care for museums (although London is the place to get overdosed, question?) Saw the mummies and Rosetta Stone and Parthenon and everything. Now I'm done and have nothing but the pictures and memories. Tonight we headed to see Christmas lights in the squares as our final hurrah. Beautiful pictures, great friends, cold Christmas air and the last day any of us is able to say, "I'm living in
Should pack myself, actually. But there's always time to pack--I just hope I can get some sleep tonight while everyone else packs in the middle of the hallway--since there's a scale for weighing everything, the girls started weighing themselves last night, and I jerked awake to Grace positively screaming, "My life is OVER!" She'd gained eleven pounds. It was 2:30am. All part of living with 40 girls, I suppose. I hope I can remember it all so I can write it down when I get home...I'm struggling to remember less-than-gripping days, heaven forbid there be BOREDOM in
Oh, goodness. After
Looks like I'm off to pack some more. Cross your fingers for the airport to stay open!
Day 94: FINALS--Lost in Pimlico
Day 93: The Last Sunday, Group Pictures and Ben's Slideshow
Testimonies in the Most Beautiful Place in the World
What a spectacular last Sunday. We had a great testimony meeting. All the girls here are so awesome--it wasn't so much that the Church is true, but that it holds people together. I talked about how living with these girls makes me more comfortable to serve a mission and be companions with such great people. Beth got up twice (we rolled with happy laughter), both guys got up, lots of people who swore they wouldn't did and cried most profusely (even Beno talked about how study abroad changed his life). Sister Tate talked about the definition of Zion, where the people were "of one heart and one mind, dwelt in righteousness, and there was no poor among them." That's us in a nutshell. We still struggle with our own baggage: loneliness, not measuring up, financial worries, exhaustion, stress, (Annie's family recently went inactive), but all the girls have been so willing to bear one another's burdens and comfort when that was needed. Some girls are quick to see what's wrong and to deal with it, like Annie and Andrea and Kim and Beth--it's a lot to ask, but if I could have companions like that, being a missionary will be the greatest thing ever. I'm so glad I came--it's the best group, the best weather, the last time these profs could come, and everyone's changed for the better.
Since it's the last 36 hours in London, I'm here to say that introspection is not the activity I thought it was. There's no point in seeing something beautiful if you don't have someone you love there with you. I struggled with this. I stood on the most beautiful moor in England, where Camelot could have been--and there was no one around to take my picture. The Seelys are so cute; we stopped in St. Patrick's church because it had always been closed before, and Dr. Seely went into raptures about the little red devil in the stained glass window. He looked around like a boy in a candy shop trying to find his mother, "Sister Seely! Honey, can you see that? The little devil?" She nodded and squinted up at it enthusiastically--I couldn't help but feel that for the Seelys, that little moment of being able to see the stained-glass for the first time would have been diminished if Brother Seely had been alone. MAN did I want Howard or Marnie or my mum or my best friend at times. Maybe that's what love comes down to--you want to be able to share the beautiful things with people you love, and their presence just makes it all the more beautiful.
The last couple of days look like they'll be full of walking around town and soaking up London--I walked through Hyde Park for the last time and finally saw the Peter Pan statue and the Serpentine ducks. So marvelous. Who wants to spend all their time in a museum when Borough Market or Hampstead Heath is calling? Let's hear about NOW! I think my favorite things here are all literary; freaking out about Harry Potter sites aside, I saw Finchley and knew that's where the Narnia kids lived, and walked through Bloomsbury and knew the Darling children were visited by a boy who wouldn't grow up, or walking through Picadilly and Grosvenor and expecting Mary Poppins to come down on an umbrella. Enchanted, that's what I am. London is so old, but I want to see the life, the vibrance of a culture that created J.M. Barrie and Jane Austen. We'll go see Christmas lights and shop around Camden and watch the locals sell paintings and carvings and cry on the flight home. I hope I can find bits of London when I go home--find a narrow cobbled road, or Indian shops, or gleaming fog curled up around tree trunks in a park, or half-frozen lakes, or politeness, or scarves, or half-bloomed rosebushes, or perfectly bred dogs, or winding country roads, or groups of students speaking other languages, or cathedrals. I can't begin to describe how at home I feel here. I still feel utterly American, but the idea of living here for another three months would be delightful.
Day 92: FINALS--Milton's Eve
Eve, Scripture and Poetry
Reading Paradise Lost brings up the immediate question—how much of it is reasonably scriptural, and how much is poetic license? For Latter-day Saints, we are impressed at
The major verse condemning
This idea extends to Eve’s physical being and actions, both of which serve his vision of a perfect woman being both beautiful and entirely submissive. Eve is more beautiful than all of God’s creations (something not found in scripture, but implied in art and literature throughout history). But Line 4.468 is an ambiguous line: “What there thou seest fair Creature is thy self”, which leads the readers to believe that Eve’s self, as apart from Adam, is no deeper than her appearance. In 8.568, Raphael describes Eve’s beauty, calling it “an outside”. On line 4.498, Eve’s charms include not only beauty, but submission, which, if one existed and the other did not, would not delight Adam (man) so much. This is not found anywhere in Genesis that Eve is submissive or lovely; in fact, it is she, perhaps with Adam standing by, who argues with the serpent, she who partakes, and she who gives the fruit to willing Adam. Whether Eve was beautiful or not makes no difference to Adam—there is no other woman to compare her to. And her actions in the garden suggest her a headstrong, even intelligent and clever woman who does not submit to whatever Adam’s will was (he seems not to have had one in scripture), and one who takes the responsibility for the Fall, something Milton really fails to develop.
Being a Latter-day Saint makes reading Eve in any literature a chore. But
Day 91: FINALS--Life Lessons from Austen's Boys
Nightmares
I'm pleased to announce that three of four finals are over and done with, but not before some rather disturbing dreams involving being chased by a mental institution inmate with an AK-47 (I think I was actually gunned down--I've never died in a dream before). I have some fairly extreme chasing dreams (chased by dinosaurs, Nazis, the principal, etc) before the first day of school or a test for which I do not feel adequately prepared. But my religion test did not merit such a bad night--it, and Austen and Great War all went very successfully. Everything is still on the incline as far as my GPA, even in a place as diverting as London.
Jane Austen's Heroes
In the last few hours, I've made some of the best purchases of my young life (all girl clothes, of course, cheap London coat and scarves from Primark and Queensway). Girls are obsessed with such things because there's nothing like the confidence that comes from a new dress or pair of shoes, when guys look at you for a bit longer than they do when you're in sweats, know what I mean? Finally finished with Austen, and now I can appreciate her more. Or at least, I can appreciate the film adaptations a lot more. That's as much Austen as I'll handle in future anyway.
I guess I liked learning about all the different heroes; in harlequin romances or whatever, the men are all the same mold: Fabio. Yeesh, I could never date a guy so in love with himself. Austen's heroes are confident and lucky, or clever and knightley, or thoughtful and shy, or poetic and devoted, or friendly and content with life, or proud and reserved, or full of bravado but easily hurt. All different. I guess that's my problem with Twilight--there's one guy everyone wants to be with, and the preteens yet unacquainted with the world will expect every good guy out there to be the mold of moody, stalkerish, creepy human-eating Edward Cullen. And all the good guys out there who struggle to remember significant dates, who might be awkward in expressing love in so many words, who aren't good at reading girls' minds and who aren't even as handsome or whatever as he is, will get snubbed by girls who think they're on a quest to find THE PERFECT MAN because that's what they've been taught to look for. Isn't that terrible? And the girls here are struggling to recognize that (after hearing so many botched boy stories) their misery really does come from this fruitless search.
Whew, vomit of the keyboard. I guess this is what happens when a perfectly good day in London is hijacked by finals...puke. But almost done!
Day 90: Pied Beauty
PIED BEAUTY
GLORY be to God for dappled things— |
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; |
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; |
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings; |
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough; |
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim. |
|
All things counter, original, spare, strange; |
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) |
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; |
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: |
Praise him. |
Naturally, I needed to explicate it.
Explication:
Romanticism is a marvellous post-Renaissance movement in which to find religious fervor, in art, poetry, novels, and even theatre. The artists find God in nature, finding the maker through His handiwork—typically this handiwork is best admired if it is beautiful according to our own values of beauty. But one renegade Romantic, Gerard Manly Hopkins, penned a poem that features the dull, the spotty, and the strange as natural elements just as important in finding Divinity. “Pied Beauty” is a splendid reminder to us that, by describing all kinds of nature, though they be imperfect in our eyes, they are still creations of a perfect, loving God.
In addition to describing common elements in nature, he describes the so-called imperfections we would see in those common elements. During the Romantic period, society looked on freckles and other such blemishes as imperfections brought on by exposure, lower society, and even the devil (witch-hunts, etc., and also the Puritan idea that Satan looks like a fair, freckled Scotsman). But
By combining un-sublime elements with physical imperfections,
Day 89: Good Tidings to Zion
Bred for the Upper-Class
After writing two major papers and cleaning my room, I felt much better headed to the Messiah, despite sleeping through breakfast and subsequently dinner. My stomach is still recovering from scarfing chicken noodle soup after the Messiah. It was in St. George's Church (the chapel where Handel grew up and no doubt met J.S. Bach, kittens). The music was lovely, but three hours' sit in some particularly uncomfortable pews is not something I would subject anyone but my mother to (only because she would giggle and be enthused by the music, like me). If it were anyone else, we'd grace the Queen's Theatre at Leicester to see Les Mis, catch a movie premier or two, wander down Regent Street, and hit every pub from here to Finchley, spending a day in Camden's music scene. Diagon Alley I hear does concerts when the weather's nice. No tea for us, that's for sure. What's the point of staying inside in such a beautiful place as Hyde Park for something as insipid as tea?
After memorizing In Flander's Fields and the Soldier and hearing the raddest baritone ever, I'm off to bed to dream inside Handel's church...Perhaps I will be classier than I did leaving, like I've returned from finishing school. Then again, I cracked up at the new Nando's napkin: Now remove all evidence...
Day 88: Tea at Kensington Palace
Slow start this morning. I realized I forgot to turn in that Milton paper last night (I wrote it ages ago), so I fell out of bed and sprinted upstairs. There was a stack still there--so I don't know if mine will be counted late or anything. Looks like I forgot another assignment for Austen--I've never hated a class so much, no math class in history.
Grumpy this morning. Slept through breakfast yet again. Nothing but more homework today--not to mention the last of the absurd Austen classes.
High Tea, Short Girl
Thinking of what I'll do when I come home. My first goal is to eat a hot breakfast. So sick of cereal every single morning for three months. Some eggs, please. Tea, even though it was at Kensington Palace, was uber boring. My boyish delicacies appeared with a vengeance--I gazed out of the window at the frozen pond and white fields, longing to leave the stuffy table. I sat with Kim, her sister, and Annie--they all talked about Andrea's coat, how it was a Burberry or something like that (six or seven hundred dollar coat), and argued about who was the richest on the program and whether or not to go see Lion King or Oliver. I told everyone about the clotted cream on the table: when whipping double cream, you have about four seconds between whipped cream and butter. The stuff on the table looked a lot like butter. No one had anything to say on THAT subject. I dropped out of the conversation after that, bored out of my mind and so excited to leave.
It's so nice to see Kim back on her feet, even if it is just in time for finals. She was sicker than a dog and I hoped I was able to be helpful to her somehow. Freezing cold out--it feels like wading through snow, except there is none...crazy cold, wind off the Baltic Sea. I hope no one falls and injures themselves on the utterly frozen ground. Never thought I'd feel concerned for dogs without sweaters. Go figure.
Day 87: Persuasion and the Worst
I’ve written 1.5 papers today, and cruised through some other things I needed to do. It’s becoming problematic, because I slept through the first 15 minutes of class today and definitely missed some announcements—what we all could use would be one giant checklist of what the profs need before we all leave Europe. Technically, we just need to get it all in before grades are due on the 20th, but it’s so weird to have things due to people who live next door, who never seem to penalize for lateness (to the point where some girls are getting really pissed.) Whatever, I’m just getting it in on time because I need to practice not procrastinating, and so far it’s worked just fabulously. I’m just hoping the organization can hold water this last hectic week, for profs and students alike. The last thing we need is for them to lose our work.
We got to watch my favorite version of Persuasion, finally, except that Penny hates it and was criticizing it the whole time. But I did my best to enjoy it through her tactless comments and was excited for the last day of class to be over. I sure love Persuasion; the idea that one bad choice based on someone else's judgment can ruin your life makes this novel neither comical nor entirely fictional; if anything, it feels autobiographical. I sure hope Jane could still have a happy life, even though a man was not necessarily in her life.
We could sure use a fire in this building—it’s so cold. I’ll be glad to go home and feel my fingers and toes again. There’s a yellow pashmina I’ve had my eye on down on Queensway; the real question is whether going outside into the Arctic is worth it. Anyways—Off to bed here shortly. I had a heroic nap today and was not tempted in the least to go outside. I hope to get through the rest of this homework before spam hits the fan, which it will. But it’s only twelve credits! What’s the worst that could happen?
Day 86: Double Cream and Dinner with the Crandalls
Dinner was delightful! Such American food: pulled pork sandwiches, jello salad, and pumpkin pie. The six of us sat around for something like two hours, talking about the most embarassing things we'd ever done, horrible dating stories, how the cute couple got together...so fantastic. I didn't want to leave; the fireside that evening was straight up Christmas singing (not caroling, just singing). It took us ages to get home, so we only had to sing one last song before everyone got candy. I sure would like to be a senior missionary with my husband, have a little living room and bathroom and kitchen, teaching everyone how to use the new Family Search. I sure hope I can see them again.
Day 85: The Holiday is Over
Studying
Everyone just got home from Thanksgiving and I was really getting used to just playing on my own, without the interruption. 40+ people in this building is way too many. The stress will hit tomorrow night and everyone will freak out, including me--but just because I freak out when stressed out people freak out. It's like when someone flies off the handle and starts yelling, I immediately yell louder. I hope all the bonding or whatever doesn't shatter this next week, anyway. I have a hard time studying in this house as it is.
Tomorrow is church. In a few hours, or even in the morning, Carolyn will find out she has a talk, and it was my fault for telling Brother Eden she'd be okay giving it. So she'll be mad at me, but I just gave a talk and I can't do it again. This is all stupid. And it's not like I can write a talk titled Thoughts on the Savior when they're MY thoughts, and not hers. So I sort of want to hide until disaster strikes. Standby.
Anyways, it sure was nice to be out on my own today, playing in town, walking through Regent Street and Leicester. So fantastic to breathe deep the London air, see the photographs in the National Portrait Gallery, and write yet more papers. They're like proof that I've gotten smarter? At least Kim is feeling lots better and ought to be released very soon. Her sister and Andrea are total best friends now, having bonded over Hatchard's Bookshop and a certain hardcover Winnie-the-Pooh. Andrea is now fretting about how to get her books home...there are like fifty of them. I would prolly pay for another bag to be checked...maybe...
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Day 83: A Very British Thanksgiving
Late Dinner
So a few days ago, Julie Shuler invited me to Thanksgiving Dinner. Flattered, I asked whether there was anything I could do or bring, but she and her sister (and subsequently Jay-man) insisted on taking care of everything. Without any idea as to what this would entail, I went my merry way to town and promised to be back by seven.
The evening rolled around and I showed up to hear many voices coming from downstairs and in the servery. The sitting room yielded Penny chatting with another American woman, a Norwegian guy named Anders, and a Fijian named Marcus. Andrea showed up later to play chess with a very enthused Anders while I tried to make conversation with the others.
Dinner was not downstairs in the Shulers’ flat because the entire singles ward seemed to make an appearance that night—in Great Hall fashion, some fifty people crowded around the two dining room tables (Javery creeping around underneath), and food starting spilling out of the servery—dishes and dishes of maple ham, butter whipped potatoes, green bean casserole, creamed fruit salad, cranberry chutney, and the most delicious turkey I’ve ever had, not to mention pitchers of home-made root beer. Brother Shuler offered the prayer and all of us tucked in (it was after 8pm at this point). I sat next to Andrea, Anders, and another American who worked on graphics for Harry Potter and Avatar (no idea of his name or his company); we had some great conversation and both guys were heartily abused by the Shuler sisters for being tactless or something, I forget. After an hour, the eating had stopped but it was obvious no one wanted to move…a madhouse of dishwashing would ensue later.
The best part of the night was laid out in the servery—a smorgasbord of desserts, pies, cookies, fudge, strudel, and homemade whipped cream. I was impressed with how quickly everything was cleared away, and I was so excited about the pumpkin pie (something almost nonexistent in the
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Day 82: Holiday and Dreams
Around ten, I took the train to Leicester with my last forty pounds in my wallet. I went up to the ticket booth and said, "I have twenty-five pounds. What's the best seat I can get for tonight?"
The man was ruddy-faced and jollier than typical English men. He pulled up the chart and said, "Well, it's a little obstructed..." he pointed at the very first row, cornered with the pit and the stage. "It's twenty pounds." I asked how obstructed the view was, and he said that you couldn't see people lying down in the back because you were so close. I stuffed money into the window and laughed out loud at my good luck. So cheap! Les Mis in London! I still can't believe my good luck.
Queen's Theater
That evening, I got my act together and headed to the show. I sat next to a pair of girls who had seen the show fourteen times (no joke), and almost blew out my ears leaning too close to the orchestra pit (timpany just below). It was so close, I could see the beads of sweat on everyone's foreheads.
The show was unbelievable. The set was like a wooden transformer, changing from a front gate to a bar to a broken down fort so effortlessly. Traveling through the exposition meant a rotating stage, crazy costumes, and some really delightful shining stars. I'd seen Les Mis in Provo, and I think their Jean and Fantine were so fantastic, but the London Javert, Epponine, and the small boy were totally boss. The show's messages of suffering, slow redemption, loss, trying so hard and still not making it, really draw crowds more than the happy-go-lucky messages of other musicals. I think it's because we all don't know what it's like to be happy, but we all know what it's like to be miserable. The show brings that out in those moments when we hope that everything will be okay for those fictional characters, and it's not. If only we could protect that boy and tell him not to go over the fort. But we can't. And we keep coming to the show, to feel once again that we can't control much, that other people matter more than we, that we need to care about them or our lives are just a waste.
I guess a show like this helps us remember that we all can fall, and we all can rise again. Those relationships we have make us who we are and maybe ideals aren't the only things we should fight for. That's what I came away with. If anyone gets the chance to got to London, go experience Les Mis.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Day 81: Another Year
Monday, November 22, 2010
Day 80: The Daddy of Mosques in the UK
Day 79: Primary and the Blitz
Now and Then
Primary Program is the same wherever you go, it turns out. There's always the kid who is pulling the hair of the girl in front of him; there's always the girl who sits so everyone can see her underwear; there are always kids clearly too old to be there, but who read their lines robustly, as if demonstrating how it's done; those who are so excited their parents are there that they can't stop waving and those who cry to be in front of so many people. I suspect that these cute antics are the reasons why the Programs continue to this day. Our program did just fine. I had a good time singing next to Alicia (she kept wanting to sit on my lap, but I had to say no :(. )
Kim here has a kidney infection (we think), and she's been sicker than a dog for nearly a week--no sleep, no food. Poor thing. She had to cancel her Norway trip and might have to cancel going to Spain for Thanksgiving, and that's a lot of money down the drain. Having someone so ill in the house is a great way to get everyone involved in service and issues bigger than themselves. I sure hope she gets better soon and that it's nothing serious.
The fireside featured a bishop who was four years old during the London Blitz, and he was excited to tell us about it. He showed us pictures of piddly bomb-shelters, blackouts, craters in the streets with Fords in them, the famous smoking St. Paul's Cathedral, pictures of his family and himself as a little boy. I learned so much about the Blitz and what happened, how long it lasted, why the Chronicles of Narnia children were sent away, etc. Winston Churchill must have been a little peeved, but there was nothing that could be done. Happily a lot of the major sites were not bombed; because it was so dark, the Germans needed landmarks to navigate.
Day 78: The Magical World of Harry Potter
Day 75: This is the War Room
Day 73: War Horse
Day 72: Remembrance Sunday and Evensong
Kings and Queens
During our services, the Queen of England made an appearance at the Cenotaph Monument outside Westminster Abbey, a tradition that has lasted nearly one hundred years, to lay a wreath of poppies in remembrance of all the soldiers from WWI. Ben and Andrew managed a few blurry pictures of the Royal family; our little group, again in the middle of a Tube strike, took a bus clear to Walthamstow, and toddled into the chapel some two hours later. I was paranoid about getting there on time; I definitely had a talk to give.
Charity
President Monson has in recent news released an addition to the three-fold mission of the Church. In addition to Proclaiming the Gospel, Perfecting the Saints, and Redeeming the Dead, the Prophet calls all us members to Care for the Poor and Needy. This latest development is entrenched in scripture, and stems from the teachings of Charity. If we are to Care for the Poor and Needy, we must develop Charity. But what is Charity? How do we get it? And how does it change us?
As members, we often struggle with the definition of Charity. Paul is confusing; he writes to Corinthians that “though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.” When we think of Charity, usually some sort of work or good deed is immediately attached, but Paul says that giving all one’s possessions away is not Charity.
In Preach My Gospel, it reads in Developing Christlike Attributes: “A man once asked Jesus, ‘Which is the great commandment in the law?’ Jesus replied: ‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.’ Charity is the pure love of Christ. It includes God’s eternal love for all His children. We are to seek to develop that kind of love [by praying] unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that [we] may be filled with this love.”
Charity is a gift from God, given through the Holy Ghost, given to those who earnestly pray for it.
Gene R. Cook said, “As difficult as charity is to describe, it is rather easily recognized in the lives of those who possess it.
• An aged, crippled grandmother who subscribes to an afternoon newspaper, knowing it will bring her delivery-boy grandson to her home every day where, at her knee, she teaches him to pray.
• A mother who, in hard economic times and scarcity of meat, seems to savor only chicken wings, to the puzzlement of all.
• A man who suffers an undeserved public chastisement, but humbly receives it anyway.
Is not the common thread in these examples charity, a selflessness, a not seeking for anything in return? All of our divine attributes seem to flow from and be encompassed by this one. All men may have the gift of love, but charity is bestowed only upon those who are true followers of Christ.”
He goes on, “Yet there stands the devil, the destroyer of this love, replacing it with anger and hostility. My friend William felt that way: hostile. It seemed that whatever happened, it was the Lord’s fault—an illness, a death, a wayward child, a personal weakness, an “unanswered” prayer—all of which hardened his heart. His inner anger, which could flare up in but a moment, was directed toward God, his fellowman, and himself. From his heart emanated unbelief, stubbornness, pride, contention, and a loss of hope, love, and direction. He was miserable! These destroyers of peace blinded William to God’s feelings for him. He could neither discover nor feel God’s love. He did not see, especially in those dark moments, that God was richly blessing him even still. Instead, he returned anger for love. Have we not all felt that at times? Even when we have merited love the least, He has loved us the most. Truly, He loves us first.
Now, my Christlike friend Betty was just the opposite. She encountered many of the same difficulties as did William, but because she felt God’s love, she suffered tribulation in the Savior’s name, partook of His divine nature, and thus gained a deeper faith in and a love for God, along with the strength to handle whatever might come. Her love for others increased. She seemed to even forgive others in advance. She learned how to cause them to feel her love. She learned that love shared is love multiplied. Finally, she learned to love herself more, being more kind, gentle, and long-suffering. She stopped her struggle for self-esteem and started loving herself the way God loved her. Her image of herself became His image of her.”
Elder Cook writes that a lack of charity blinded his friend, while it clarified the view of the other. A famous story in the Book of Mormon involves two missionaries teaching an unlikely group about charity; Alma and Amulek had received news that the Zoramites were worshipping idols and hurried east to fix things. What they found were Rameumptoms, built in every synagogue for the rich to pray from once a week. In Alma 32, they discover that the poor had all been cast out of the synagogues because of the “coarseness of their apparel—therefore they were not permitted to enter into their synagogues to worship God, being esteemed as filthiness...yea, they were esteemed as dross.”
Because these poor Zoramites were no longer allowed in the synagogues, they had created idols for themselves to worship from. They had forgotten the nature of God. They had forgotten they could pray and worship Him anywhere. And because the rich treated them like dirt, they began to see themselves that way, forgetting that they were children of God with eternal potential.
In 34:28 and in harsher fashion, Amulek says, “If ye turn away the needy, and the naked, and visit not the sick and afflicted and impart of your substance, if ye have, to those who stand in need—I say unto you, if ye do not any of these things, behold, your prayer is in vain, and availeth you nothing, and ye are as hypocrites who do deny the faith. Therefore, if ye do not remember to be charitable, ye ARE as dross, which the refiners do cast out (it being of no worth) and is trodden under foot of men.”
The interesting thing about this story is that the missionaries did not tell the RICH to take care of the poor and needy, but the poor, who had no money or means to do so. Charity for these Zoramites had nothing to do with material wealth, but with the truth. They needed to remember the TRUE nature of God and the TRUE nature of man, which became a struggle after being treated so badly. The rich were blinded by their own silks, gold adornments, and the poor’s coarse apparel. The rich thought themselves superior to the poor. But the poor began to see clearly the love an Omnipotent God had for them, and began to see themselves as He does. They no doubt began to realize that rich or poor, we are all children of God and He loves us equally.
But in our busy, stressful lives, we often forget to see each other as Christ sees them. Bonnie D. Parkin asks, “Do we judge one another? Do we criticize each other for individual choices, thinking we know better, when in fact we rarely understand another’s unique circumstance or individual inspiration? Have we ever said, “She works outside the home.” Or, “Her son didn’t serve a mission.” Or, “She’s too old for a calling.” Or, “She can’t—she’s single.” Such judgments, and so many others like them, rob us of the good part, that pure love of Christ.” I suppose then we are as useful to the Lord as those Zoramites on the Rameumptom.
Elder Marvin J. Ashton beautifully observed: “Perhaps the greatest charity comes when we are kind to each other, when we don’t judge or categorize someone else, when we simply give each other the benefit of the doubt or remain quiet. Charity is accepting someone’s differences, weaknesses, and shortcomings; having patience with someone who has let us down; or resisting the impulse to become offended when someone doesn’t handle something the way we might have hoped. Charity is refusing to take advantage of another’s weakness and being willing to forgive someone who has hurt us. Charity is expecting the best of each other.”
Preach My Gospel continues, “As you follow this counsel and strive to do righteous works, your love for all people will increase...You will come to feel a sincere concern for the eternal welfare and happiness of other people. You will see them as children of God with the potential of becoming like our Heavenly Father...You will avoid negative feelings such as anger, envy, lust or covetousness. You will avoid judging others, criticizing them, or saying negative things about them. You will try to understand them and their points of view. You will be patient with them and try to help them when they are struggling or discouraged. Charity, like faith, leads to action. You will develop charity as you look for opportunities to serve others and give of yourself.
This story teaches us that Charity is a kind of wisdom or discernment—it is the ability to see things as they truly are. These things are simple and yet often hard to see. The TRUTH is that we are all children of our Heavenly Father with limitless potential to become gods and goddesses ourselves, endowed with all power, glory, and honor, reigning effortlessly over kingdoms as righteous rulers, blessed for all eternity. Such a sight would render us speechless and on our knees in moments. Kings and
I have had some beautiful moments in my life where I’ve seen someone the way the Savior does. It’s not all the time—I’m still working on that particular Christlike attribute. But I bear you my solemn witness that the poor and needy are not what they appear to be. I encourage you to pray to be able to see everyone the way Christ sees them, and he promises that there will be no end to your blessings. I testify that this Church is true, that President Monson is a living prophet today, that Joseph Smith did see God the Father and Jesus Christ, and that through Christ's Atonement, I too can see and dwell with them. I leave these things with you in His name, amen,
The Abbey
Confession: We were given twelve pounds to go to Westminster Abbey, but those were my last twelve pounds for the rest of the trip; I still had Oyster cards to refill and places like the Imperial War Museum to get to. This was why I was excited for Evensong. We went directly from church through the dark, frigid air and stood in line outside for our little concert. I was warned by Liz and Carolyn that I wouldn't be able to see anything; walking in, the nave had little chairs set up in neat rows underneath the organ (I was sad not be able to see him play at all), but I stared up at the copper stone pillars, at the epitaphs engraved in the flagstones underfoot, that unknown soldier's tomb covered in poppies, and the gorgeous statues carved into the walls. I definitely saw the final resting place of Newton and Darwin just sitting in my little chair.
Liz looked up from the program and sprinted across the roomto hug someone she saw; apparently some great friends from America found her in the Abbey. She asked to go sit by them and I thought how incredible it was that she cared about us enough to even ask. Kaitlyn and I (both former organ students) told her to go, and sat to enjoy the music. It was about forty-five minutes; in Remembrance Day fashion, the songs included one written about the Blitz over York (we were totally there!), an elegy for the soldiers, and a final march about the perserverance and bravery of the British people. It was so cool to hear the stops echoing across the abbey and wondered if you couldn't just hear it outside.
Afterwards, we wandered the grounds in search of the Cenotaph and found little patches of those poppy crosses we planted at Serre Road Cemetery; each was laid if you knew someone killed in WWI--it was like being back at the real cemeteries. Flowers just went on for yards and yards, packed closer than dominoes in the hard earth, lit by the nearby streets and darkened by the shadow of the church. We couldn't help but hush at the reverence shown by England for their kindred dead. The Cenotaph was the same way; after the Queen appeared, the poppy wreaths were packed onto the base like soil and the monument would grow into a tree.
In many ways, I'm glad that we don't have the reasons the UK does for having Remembrance Day; however, it was really humbling to see all these different Britons, gathered in the square, in the church, on the sidewalks, all with poppies pinned to their coats, united, silently considering the impact WWI still has on their country. We Americans don't have anything to compare. Sometimes I wish we did.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Day 70: Freedom and Religion
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Day 69: Armistice Day
An early night after not sleeping on the coach, I slept through breakfast and barely caught a group headed toward Trafalgar Square.
Today is Armistice Day. Every single town in Britain, Ireland, France (and most likely Germany, though I haven't been there) have a monument to remember the devastating death toll mounted on a pointless war that staged nearly 100 years ago. Today, the eleventh of the eleventh, at eleven o'clock, they hold a two-minute moment of silence across London. Before the silence, however, we got to hear from London's Community Gospel Choir ("Now That We've Found Love"), Prince Caspian read some poetry from the Somme, and the Saturdays (no idea). A bugle started the silence. I stood bracketed between umbrellas and saw myself on the giant screen more times than I could count, trying to see the darn stage (bit short) through rain-spattered glasses.
After the daft announcer had finished trying to talk to some guy in another country, the blessed moment of silence began. It was really moving, actually; all our moments in class about the injured, the poetry, the loss of innocence, the modern art and questions why this all happened came out as the city around us fell silent. The taxis, ambulances, and tourists didn't let out a sound. Even the pigeons stayed quiet. All we could hear were the resonant gongs from Big Ben, telling us it was eleven o'clock. I thought about how that clock impacted this whole city--not many could actually see the tower, but Big Ben can be heard across the Thames. It's absence is still acknowledged in its time keep; for all those who fell, we have each anniversary of this Armistice Day, gonging across the nation like Big Ben, reminding us of the absence that really isn't.
The silence ended and we were all encouraged to take poppies from the nearby soldiers and toss them into the fountains, in remembrance of the dead and those who still fight for British freedom. The Poppy Appeal began several weeks ago and sells little plastic poppies to the public for a donation to the British Legion. (Naturally I'm all out of change whenever these Appealers manifest themselves.) Their target this year is 36 million pounds (31.2 million last year). I love the visual of the poppy; it reminds us of the poem In Flanders' Fields, they grow where blood has been shed and the earth turned up, turning from white to red, the fruit of opium to make us all forget what happened. But in London, every single jacket lapel has a poppy stuck to it, and probably will for the next week or so.