We are very fond of using the language of certainty when we speak of the gospel, when we give our testimonies, and when we share our faith with our friends and family. We love to say “I know…” and we do so with such confidence that it becomes a linguistic tic of Mormonism. “I know the church is true…” What does that even mean? And what message does the language of unwavering certainty send to people whose faith is formed from different mettle? We sometimes imagine proclaiming knowledge is solid and comforting, and perhaps to some— or even to many— it is, but as an adult convert, I believe the framing of certainty, of “knowing” as the only expression of testimony can actually create an unintended gulf between members of the body of Christ’s church.
As for me and my heart, I don’t “know” much. But I do hope, and I do strive to nurture the seeds of belief that have nested themselves in my soul as I’ve moved from new convert through the last decade into whatever space it is I inhabit now.
The thing is, knowing (perfect or otherwise) isn’t required of me- not by my church, not by my Savior, and not by my Heavenly Father. Both Hebrews and Alma are quite clear about that:
Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
I want to just hold that scripture in our thoughts for a moment, and consider that juxtaposed with proclamations of sure knowledge. I do not doubt that some of my fellow Saints feel sure of their knowing- to some extent I envy those who have such solid and unshakable certainty. “Knowing” can be framed as a blessing; but it’s one to which I personally cannot relate. Instead, I must rely on the more fragile scaffolding of faith.
It is required that I have faith, but it is also a choice and a gift. Faith is choosing to act on the things I hope for, even without proof or surety of outcome. Faith is watering the seeds of a desire to believe in Christ, and waiting for the proverbial mustard seeds to sprout and grow towards the light- even when you’re still in the dark. All seeds sprout in the dark, and the Lord gives us each a unique and deeply personal set of tools with which to tend our gardens and build our houses upon his rock.
The plan the Lord has for me and my talents isn’t the same as the one he has for you. The tools the Lord has placed in my spiritual bag are not the same tools you have in yours. The raw materials I have before me to build my life, to grow my testimony, and to direct my heart to the Savior are simply not the same as what the Lord has given you. They are not the same for anyone— not ever. And do you know what? That’s a beautiful thing. Too frequently we don’t actually acknowledge our differences are what makes us valuable to God. Everyone’s journey into faith is unique, and their relationship with God is deeply personal, but the Lord is what draws us together into a unified whole- and by doing so, we are stronger and richer for our unique contributions to the body of Christ.
The Lord needs each of us exactly how we are. Perfect knowing isn’t required to begin or to continue building your testimony and your faith. Somedays, if hope is the only thing rattling around in the bottom of your bags, that’s what you hold onto. And on those days, that’s good enough.
When I asked to become a member of the church, I wasn’t even sure I believed in Jesus as the Christ, but I so wanted God to be real— I had hope— and I had felt both the burning and the whispering of the Spirit all my life, in different moments and times, but hadn’t the language to give it a name. This is what I brought with me as a new member. These simple things continue to be my personal raw materials with which I contribute to my church and which form the bedrock of my testimony.
In Doctrine and Covenants section 46, we have an important window into how the Lord sees us:
11 For all have not every gift given unto them; for there are many gifts, and to every man is given a gift by the Spirit of God.
12 To some is given one, and to some is given another, that all may be profited thereby.
It is then followed by a lengthy list of different blessings the children of God might be granted- but it’s clear the gifts are not uniform or universal- to some are granted faith, to some wisdom, to some knowledge, and so on, for more than 30 verses.
It isn’t required of me to “know”! The saints that I love who have the gift of “knowing” are not stronger or more righteous than me- My simple offering of my gifts of hope and faith are worthy and good enough in the eyes of my Savior- not only good enough, but he understands it may be the very best I have! What tremendous comfort there is in understanding my gifts are not only acceptable, but were given to me- chosen especially for me- by my heavenly father.
There *is* responsibility that accompanies the gifts of the Lord. With the raw materials we’re given, we are to do as President Uchtdorf says, and to “Lift where you stand.” We cannot simply look at our gifts, whatever they may be, and expect our faith or our testimonies to grow magically. It is us who must step out there, pick up what we have, and offer it to the world and to our God.
When we honor the gifts and challenges given to us, we then are able to build our testimonies in manors which are genuine, deeply rooted in our own experiences, and which reflect our love of God- while still being deeply personal and unique.
Consider our temples. They are all houses of the Lord. Each of these buildings are outward reflections of the love and devotion of the Saints toward God. They are beautiful, stunning and each of them is different. No one would dream of suggesting that one temple was a better reflection of the Lord. They are all the result of people turning to God, asking for inspiration, praying, listening, pondering and then picking up their tools and building a manifestation of their love for God.
This is what we do every day. These experiences underpin and confirm the personal nature of inspiration and of the unique ways in which our testimonies are forged and born.
There are people who seem to carry quiet, constant inspiration with them; it is their gift. Perhaps those Saints can stand and say “I know…” and for them it is foundational to who they are. What a blessing. I used to wonder what was wrong that I didn’t always feel the small but companionable whispering. It would sometimes make me question my faith.
Through practicing building with what I have, I have gathered enough experiences to know that’s simply not how the Lord communicates with me. It’s not a fault, as I once imagined— rather, it’s a manifestation that God knows and loves me.
These unique interactions with the divine speak to the personal nature of God in ways little else can. God knows how each of our minds work, how each of our spirits can best be touched, and what each of us will need to find our way home. Being aware of this also brings into focus that which nourishes one of us, might drown another, and what might leave some withering on the vine might be exactly what my sister or brother needs.
We have words we use to speak of the divine— I use them myself with varied success, and ply them as my trade— but words are necessarily barriers. For something to be understood, it must also be understood what it is not. When a fellow saint has the blessing of “knowing” we must understand that is their blessing, and celebrates the beauty they bring to the body of Christ with their unique gift. We must also lovingly embrace those who are not blessed with knowing, but who instead continue to show up, continue to build and add beauty to the kingdom of God with their offerings- even if those offerings take a more ephemeral form of “I believe…”
First published at By Common Consent