Discerning the Signs and Anti-Signs: Part 12

Why Drag Death into Discernment?

I know "death" is not a comfortable topic (certainly not something we discuss over eggs benedict at brunch).

But death fills the measure of this creation.  It is literally everywhere and in everything (including each one of us).  We are swimming in corruptibility and decay; death is our womb.

Which is sort of the point of this mortal experience.  Here, in this kingdom, uniquely, we're experiencing both physical death AND spiritual death.

(What a wild ride for our immortal, eternal spirits, am I right?)

But what does death have to do with discernment?  Well, actually, quite a lot!

I mean, how can we discern between good and evil if we cannot perceive life from death?

Didn't the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil specifically entail Adam and Eve dying?  So there's a close affinity between discernment and death.

   For in the day thou eatest
   thereof thou shalt surely
   die.

(Genesis 2:17)

Saving knowledge, for some reason, is best acquired in the valley of the shadow of death.

(Is it any wonder that Joseph Smith's greatest sermon was delivered in death's shadow, at King Follett's funeral?)

In regards to discernment, I want to suggest that until we lose our fear of death in all its clammy forms ― realizing that death is (after all else) merely an illusion ― we cannot discern clearly.

"But Tim!" someone says.  "How can death be an ILLUSION when you just said that physical and spiritual death are REAL?"

Ah, I am so glad you asked!

What Does Christ Teach About Death?

In Part 4, we discussed Alma preaching how Christ "took upon Himself death" (Alma 7:12) and what it means to "take" something upon ourselves.

Taking upon ourselves Christ's name (nature) includes, above all else, taking upon ourselves His death.

At first glance, the idea that Christ died seems like old news.  People have been talking about it (and making sculptures of it) for two thousand years.

But what if we haven't fully appreciated what this means for us to "die"?  You see, Christ talked about death a lot.  Which is weird, right, considering He's the life of the world?

For example, Christ said:

   I say unto you,
   Except a corn of wheat
   fall into the ground and die,
   it abideth alone: but if it die,
   it bringeth forth much fruit.

(John 12:24)

Here the Lord appears to flip the script entirely: instead of death being bad because it represents the cessation of life, death is in fact the harbinger of life.

But if we consider this verse in light of our families, I think we're getting close to an important truth.  Why is wheat "alone" while its kernels cling to the stalk?

​Why must wheat fall and die in order to "bring forth much fruit"?

At Death's Door

I think the best way for us to conceive of death is to picture it as a door.  This door's hinges swing both ways.

Death is a turnstile that winnows the righteous from the wicked through a series of births, deaths, rebirths, and re-deaths, and so on.

There's special significance to what Jesus says about doors when we discover doors represent death (and, at the same time, they represent Him!).

   I am the door:
   [remember Paul taught that Christ died to become "the Lord both of the dead and the living" (Romans 14:9)?]
   by me if any man enter in,
   he shall be saved,
   and shall go in and out.

(John 10:9)

Umm, "in and out" of what, precisely?  Life?  Death?  

What is Christ saying?  Well, recall that His children die "in Him" (D&C 42:46-47).  This means, of course, that just as Christ gave us life, so too He brings death.

   In Christ Jesus our Lord,
   I die daily.

(1 Corinthians 15:31)

Whaaaaaat?

Death Is an Ending (a beginning?) ― Not an Annihilation or Cessation of Being

For eternal spiritual beings such as ourselves, death is a two-edged sword.

Death separates one life from another life; it is a comma ― a semi-colon ― in an eternal and unending paragraph for which there are no periods;​

   I have power
   to lay my life down
   [Christ has the power ― not just "over death" ― but of death itself, in Him, as part of His divine and eternal nature]
   and I have power
   to take it again.

(John 10:18)

What's the difference between me dying (say, from becoming a pancake on the interstate after an 18-Wheeler smashes into me) and the manner of Christ's death, which He refers to as "laying down" His life?

   Greater love hath no man
   than this, that a man
   lay down his life
   for his friends.

(John 15:13)

What's the difference between "laying down" one's life and dying?  Is this power to lay down one's life a one-time-use?  How does someone who has power to lay down their life take it up again, or cause others to take up theirs' (i.e., to be resurrected)?

I mean, what was it about Christ's death that allowed Him to give us life?

   For whosoever will save his life
   shall lose it:
   and whosoever will lose his life
   for my sake shall find it.

(Matt. 16:25)

Is there a hidden subtext here, where Christ is not just speaking metaphorically of "losing" our lives?

Does this refer to the way a tree must cast its fruit away in order for new life to emerge?  As opposed, say, to fruit fearfully clinging to the vine, refusing to let go and die, which causes it to rot on the branch, good for nothing?​

Not Born
a poem

We were not born
(neither created)
 
one cheek lambskin
the other crumbled quartz
 
we smell of distant eras
living in made-up names
 
like Paleoproterozoic
and inorganic pasts

written in chronostratigraphy:
eternal / gnolaum / endless
 
(what constitutes an epoch?)
Epipaleolithic paths preserved
 
in Pleistocene stardust
lassitude smelling of gingerbread

and pterodactyl breath―
two things seemingly out-of-place
 
unable to journey
side-by-side but do

as fire
sounds to flame

​The Parable of Crossing the Channel

If I may, pretend we live on an island and there's a distant land we cannot reach, that lies beyond the great deep.

We greatly desire to reach it, for there (we have heard) it is a promised land of patisseries and pies.

Picture this paradise, this heaven, which has become little more than a fable to the residents here who are separated from it by many waters.

Few travelers have returned to tell the tale; and their tales often sound fanciful to those who hear them.  Accustomed to coarse bread, what could this thing called a "croissant" possibly be?

So pretend the gulf between us and the promised land is like the English Channel; we stand on the British Isles and are surrounded on all sides by water as far as the eye can see; but some nights, standing under the stars, we can almost smell the fresh bread carried on the sea breeze from the Continent.

But there's a catch.

Our prophets tell us that in order to cross the Channel (the chaos) we cannot take anything with us. 

That's right: there is no ark but the body we possess.

Swimming naked through the ocean's churning waves sounds horrible, really, when we think of the sharks; the stinging jelly fish and good chances we'll drown.

The risk is so great, few have even attempted to cross the Channel.

Most who brave the waters dismiss the Prophets' warning and try to cross with their surf boards and sailing boats; with scuba gear and snorkels ― thinking they can cheat the waves.

But they all learn eventually that the journey must be undertaken without purse or scrip.  They return crestfallen, having failed.

Worst of all were those that thought they could simply tie a lasso rope around Christ's waist and have Him pull them across the Channel, not understanding the nature of the journey.

Many questioned why the greatest swimmer of all, Christ, did not own a Swimming School so His children could develop strong muscles and powerful arms with which to carry them over the ocean swells.

And so a number of pop-up shops with foolish swimming instructors dotted the land, teaching the residents to build bigger biceps and to strengthen their quads in order to increase their chance of success against the waves.

One day, Christ appeared.  He gathered the few people who heeded His Prophets together.

"It is time," He said.

The children looked around, confused.  They were untrained; they were weak.  No way they could brave the pitiless ocean and survive.

But Christ simply dived into the sea and began to swim.  Some few (very few) had faith enough to follow.  Naked as little children, they set aside their garments and plunged into the cold waters.

When they had swam out a distance, far enough to have lost sight of the shoreline (and those that had watched them from the beach), Christ revealed the mystery.

For the mystery of the crossing was this: one reached the promised land not by traversing the Channel, but by succumbing to its depths, and being reborn upon the opposite shore.

​Christ showed them how it was done, losing His life.  He disappeared beneath the dark water's surface.

Some of the children had second thoughts, and decided to return to the familiar shore.  But some few (very few, by now), followed their Master's example, and stopped paddling their arms and kicking their feet.

In faith's fierce embrace, they felt the water surround them.  And take them.