Neal A. Maxwell wrote in 1976 . . . . Jesus’ silence before his accusers in certain situations was “like thunder” —but only because he was certain not just about what was the right thing to do tactically, but also about what was right!
When the light of the gospel was bent by processing it through a pharisaic prism, it lost its fullness as Jesus so often noted during his ministry. When the light of the gospel was processed through the labyrinth of legalism, it was not only less illuminating, it was distorted. In the case of the Pharisees, scribes, and lawyers, the lessened illumination and distortion in perspective resulted in a tragic inversion of values.
The incident chronicled by Luke, the diminished light of the gospel was serious enough by itself, but when this diminution also combined with failure of those who were supposed to be models (Pharisee, scribes, lawyers) this cruel confluence resulted in both the models’ and in other men’s being hindered from entering the kingdom of heaven. When a model falters and enters not the gate, he not only ceases to play a positive role, and thus fails his followers— who might still make it, even without him, if they were not hindered by his personal obstruction. The faltering, or fallen, model has done just what Jesus decried: he has “shut up the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 23:13.)
The failure of a model has many implications for his companions on the “strait and narrow way.” Those who see the exemplar fail do not usually view his particular failure generously—as a reflection of understandable imperfection in an otherwise good individual: rather, the disappointed viewer is apt to see defective discipleship. Perhaps it is not fair that our shortcomings should be seen this way, but for the person whose faith is tentative and whose discipleship is not fully established, gross or chronic failure in a model is often taken to mean that the exemplar is not, after all, really serious about his discipleship. Of course we have had only one Perfect Model, but for those who are thrust—ready or not—into the exemplar role, it is important to remember that their lives need to reflect wholeness and congruency. In a life that is moving towards significant discipleship, the tactical lapses can be seen in just that context. But gross or chronic lapses raise the frightening prospect (for the onlooker) that the faltering is somehow strategic and not tactical.
. . . . We worry about sensory deprivation because of noise pollution, about nutritional deprivation because of poverty—and we are right to be so concerned. But emulatory deprivation—being without models and exemplars—may be the greatest deprivation of all. For exemplars not only show that walking the strait and narrow way is possible, but that it is worth doing!
It is easier nowadays, for instance, with secularism’s softened morality, for the adulterer that his impulse was simply unmanageable and that his behavior was so profoundly natural that he is not really accountable. Even more subtle is the realization of those who are immoral, but manage to create an aura of nobility around their acts, so that the sinner is the one who is terribly misunderstood and who is, therefore, somehow heroic. The trick apparently is to divert compassion from those who have been wronged to those who have wronged them.
. . . .It is, therefore, a fair question to ask of one who desires discipleship to what extent he can, using Alma’s words, “give place” in his busy life for the serious application of gospel morality.
Part of the reason for the trend toward the religion of rhetoric, with its own rituals and dogma and one dimensional morality, may be found in the changed response of some to query “who is my neighbor?” In years past men’s response probably reflected a narrowness of view which entirely excluded those not of immediate concern or geographic proximity. But our society today seems to have a reverse problem. Where once our circles of concern were too tightly drawn in terms of who our neighbors were, today our circles of concern are too large, too loose, and too filled with meaningless rhetorical regard for neighbors we know not and hence serve not, “neighbors” who are safe because they make no real demands on us. ~ Neal A. Maxwell, “Behold, I say unto you, I cannot say ‘The Smallest Part’ which I feel.” Deseret Book 1976. p. 25-27
(Posts with a preamble asterisk * are for a more general audience, and not specific to teachings of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.)
