Chapter 8

The Trial of Our Faith

Few scenes in the Book of Mormon are more tragic than those of the Jaredites in the days of Coriantumr the king and Ether the prophet. The earth was filled with violence, and the order of the day was war and bloodshed. Ether “did cry from the morning, even until the going down of the sun, exhorting the people to believe in God unto repentance lest they should be destroyed, saying unto them that by faith all things are fulfilled. . . . And it came to pass that Ether did prophesy great and marvelous things unto the people, which they did not believe, because they saw them not” (Ether 12:3, 5). How typical. How familiar. As we have discussed, as people distance themselves from Deity, they gradually overlook, disregard, marginalize, and eventually dismiss completely the supernatural, the world that exists above and beyond the natural world. They believe only in that which they may perceive by means of the five senses.

Sadly, those five senses cannot discern those matters that are of infinite and eternal worth. The apostle Paul said it well when he wrote that “the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God: for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned” (1 Corinthians 2:14). Moroni, the narrator in the book of Ether, then delivers one of the most profound principles in all of holy writ, one that has particular relevance to our study: “And now, I, Moroni, would speak somewhat concerning these things; I would show unto the world that faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith” (Ether 12:6; emphasis added).

Do, Then Know

The trial of our faith can obviously take many forms. For a person investigating the restored gospel, it may take the form of local ministers showing up with brochures and DVDs intended to attack, confuse, and create doubts during this time when these truth seekers are meeting regularly with the missionaries. For the new convert, it may take the form of having everything in the world go wrong during the weeks following the baptism—loss of employment, a car that breaks down and leaves them stranded, a spouse who becomes overly critical of the message of the Restoration, severe temptations to violate the word of wisdom, and a host of other problems.

A corollary of this principle was taught by Jesus when he announced: “My doctrine is not mine, but his that sent me. If any man will do [God’s] will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself” (John 7:16–17). The concept is simple enough: DO and then KNOW. In other words, we come to know the truthfulness of a principle, a law, a commandment by abiding by it, by testing it, by trying it. Persons who confess that they really do not have much of a testimony of the law of the fast are generally encouraged to fast, with a purpose, coupled with regular prayer during the period of fasting. At the end of the fast, they ought to then reassess the matter. Persons who question the value of the law of tithing are encouraged to pay a full tithing, and, in the words of Jehovah through Malachi, prove the Lord, put him and his law of finance to the test. That is, be attentive, first and foremost, to revelation and divine insight or direction, be particularly sensitive to the receipt of what the Lord calls elsewhere, “wisdom and great treasures of knowledge, even hidden treasures” (D&C 89:19).

Alma provided some of the most beautiful instruction on acquiring and growing in faith of anything in scripture. Everyone who has read the Book of Mormon knows of his encouragement to plant the seed of faith. This seed is not just any seed; in its scriptural context, the seed is Christ, the understanding that Jesus “will come to redeem his people, and that he shall suffer and die to atone for their sins; and that he shall rise again from the dead, which shall bring to pass the resurrection, that all men shall stand before him, to be judged at the last and judgment day, according to their works. And now, my brethren,” Alma comes to the point, “I desire that ye shall plant this word in your hearts, and as it beginneth to swell even so nourish it by your faith. And behold, it will become a tree, springing up in you unto everlasting life. And then may God grant unto you that your burdens may be light [compare Matthew 11:28–30], through the joy of his Son” (Alma 33:22–23; emphasis added).

Earlier in this discourse, Alma teaches a lesson that is priceless. Having planted the seed of faith—the knowledge that the Messiah will redeem humanity from sin and death—we begin to notice the early stages of the testimony of Jesus. It will swell within the breast, enlarge the soul, enlighten the understanding, and be “delicious” to the one performing the spiritual experiment. Alma then comments: “And now, behold, will not this strengthen your faith? Yea, it will strengthen your faith. . . . And now, behold, are ye sure that this is a good seed? I say unto you, Yea.” Now note this marvelous insight: “For every seed bringeth forth unto its own likeness” (Alma 32:28, 30–31; emphasis added).

Now, if as Alma has explained, the seed is specifically the word, the testimony of Jesus the Savior, how does that seed bring forth “unto its own likeness”? Reflecting regularly on the person of Jesus of Nazareth; contemplating the eternal significance of his singular mission; meditating on his infinite atoning sufferings and his ignominious death on the cruel cross of Calvary; expressing consistently the unending gratitude and love you feel because of the terrible price paid for your soul; and striving to emulate the life of the sinless Son of Man—by doing such things, the man or woman performing the experiment will begin to be transformed into the likeness of Christ. As Elder David A. Bednar testified, they will retain a remission of sins from day to day (Mosiah 4:11–12),1 they will feel a deep need to love and serve those about them, will bear witness by both word and deed of the goodness of God, and will find themselves developing a Christian character. They will have tried the virtue and power of the Word. Further, when one has grown into faith he or she will, like Nephi, GO and DO (1 Nephi 3:7). In short, the path of the disciple of Christ is to do and then come to know, and then to know in more and more ways, and then continue to do. This is the cycle of faith.

The Fiery Trial

The Prophet Daniel’s three noble associates—Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego—were men of faith and righteous determination, just as was Daniel. They were also terribly loyal to Jehovah, the God of the patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God of Moses and the children of Israel. Having been carried into Babylonian captivity, they soon found themselves in difficult straits: they were repeatedly ordered to do that which had been forbidden by their God. They had refused to eat King Nebuchadnezzar’s rich food, but now they were really put to the test: they were commanded to worship and serve the gods of the Babylonians, which thing, of course, they would not do. They were informed that when they heard the sound of the cornet, flute, harp, and other musical instruments, they were to fall down and worship the image, the idol. If they refused, they would be cast into a “burning fiery furnace.” Their inspiring reply to the king is classic: “If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand, O king.” One could interrupt the narrative at that point and delight in the amazing faith of these ancient disciples. They were confident that God keeps his promises. Their faith was solid and sure.

The story does not, however, end there. For Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego continued their speech: “But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up” (Daniel 3:14–18; emphasis added). They were only three words—but if not—but they spoke volumes about the depth of these young men’s faith, the depth of their testimony of their Lord and God, the depth of their everlasting covenant to worship no other Gods. To reflect on their words, they were saying, in essence, “We will not worship a false God, and we are persuaded that our God, the true and living God, has the power to deliver us from the flames, and will do so if it is in keeping with his omniscient mind and contributes in some way to the furtherance of his eternal purposes.” Then a pause, a few seconds of sober reflection, followed by, “But if our God should choose not to deliver us, to keep us from perishing in the flames, then we glory in his wise decision. And, knowing that we may be facing our death, we affirm that we worship Jehovah and him alone; we will not worship your golden image.” Reflect for a moment on those simple but momentous words, But if not. “There will be times in each of our lives,” Elder Neal A. Maxwell taught, “when our faith must not be conditioned upon God’s rescuing or relieving us, because in fact He may not—at least, not as we would choose to be rescued.”2

The brethren who attended the School of the Elders in the winter of 1834–35 were taught: “For a man to lay down his all, his character and reputation, his honor, and applause, his good name among men, his houses, his lands, his brothers and sisters, his wife and children, and even his own life also—counting all things but filth and dross for the excellency of the knowledge of Jesus Christ—requires more than mere belief or supposition that he is doing the will of God; but actual knowledge, realizing that, when these sufferings are ended, he will enter into eternal rest, and be a partaker of the glory of God.”3 The three righteous men we have been discussing didn’t just “think” they were doing the right thing. They didn’t merely “hope” they could avoid the flames. Rather, they had resolved in their hearts to “be guided and directed by his will,” so that “nothing short of an actual knowledge of . . . their having embraced the order of things which God has established for the redemption of man” would give to them “that confidence in him, necessary for them to overcome the world, and obtain that crown of glory which is laid up for them that fear God.”4

In these same lectures is contained an utterance that is ­perhaps the most-often quoted and most beloved in Mormonism: “Let us here observe, that a religion that does not require the sacrifice of all things never has power sufficient to produce the faith necessary unto life and salvation.”5 Why is this the case? Because only a church that will ask everything of its members—everything!—is in a position to promise its members the riches of eternity. Unconditional surrender is always prerequisite to total victory. Only those who reach the point in their spiritual development where they are at last willing and able to fully consecrate themselves to the Lord and his Church and kingdom, and to do so without hesitation, can gain that confidence before God that results in the promise of eternal life. In speaking of the ancients, the elders were instructed that “through the knowledge thus obtained [that their course in life was in harmony with the divine will] their faith became sufficiently strong to lay hold upon the promise of eternal life, . . . and obtain the end of their faith, even the salvation of their souls.”6

There are times when faith requires us to act in the face of (what the world would consider to be) the absurd. Abraham was asked to put to death his beloved and long-awaited son Isaac, the one hope Abraham had of fulfilling the promise that his posterity would be as numerous as the sands upon the seashore or the stars in the heavens. Jehovah had spoken. Abraham was well acquainted with the voice of the Lord and knew that what had been commanded did in fact come from God. There was, however, something more he needed to know.

Professor Truman Madsen spoke of being a guide in the Holy Land for President Hugh B. Brown, an apostle who also served for a number of years as a counselor to President David O. McKay. While walking in Hebron, where the traditional tomb of Abraham is found, Professor Madsen asked, “‘What are the blessings of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob?’ Elder Brown thought a moment and answered in one word, ‘Posterity.’ Then I almost burst out, ‘Why, then, was Abraham commanded to go to Mount Moriah and offer his only hope of posterity?’

“It was clear that this man, nearly ninety, had thought and prayed and wept over that question before. He finally said, ‘Abraham needed to learn something about Abraham.’”7 When the awful assignment came to offer up Isaac in sacrifice, he obeyed, even though, rationally speaking, there was no way the divine promises could thereafter be realized. But the man known as the Father of the Faithful had implicit trust in his Lord, “accounting that God was able to raise [Isaac] up, even from the dead” (Hebrews 11:19). Abraham knew God and he knew His purposes; the finite mind yielded to the Infinite. His “leap of faith” was prerequisite to his ascent to glory. What he then knew about himself was that there was nothing the Almighty could request of him with which he would not obediently comply. Because he was willing to sacrifice that which was precious and priceless to himself, he grew into a faith that was solid, secure, and unshakable.8

Elder David A. Bednar spoke admiringly of Elder Maxwell as follows: “In October 1997, Sister Bednar and I hosted Elder and Sister Maxwell at Brigham Young University–Idaho. Elder Maxwell was to speak to the students, staff, and faculty in a devotional assembly.

“Earlier in that same year, Elder Maxwell underwent 46 days and nights of debilitating chemotherapy for leukemia. His rehabilitation and continued therapy progressed positively through the spring and summer months, but Elder Maxwell’s physical strength and stamina were nonetheless limited when he traveled to Rexburg. After greeting Elder and Sister Maxwell at the airport, Susan and I drove them to our home for rest and a light lunch before the devotional.

“I asked Elder Maxwell what lessons he had learned through his illness. I will remember always the precise and penetrating answer he gave. ‘Dave,’ he said, ‘I have learned that not shrinking is more important than surviving.’”9 Or, as Elder Maxwell had put it on a previous occasion, “The submission of one’s will is placing on God’s altar the only uniquely personal thing one has to place there.”10

A Personal Struggle

During the late 1980s I had the opportunity to serve as the first counselor in a Brigham Young University campus stake presidency. It was a wonderful period of years to work with men in the presidency whom I admired greatly; to meet regularly with the high council and benefit from their extensive experience in life and in the Church; and to spend many hours serving joyously with a remarkable group of dedicated bishops. There’s just no question about it—I learned far more than I taught. Our stake president was a beloved and longtime friend; we had worked together in Seminaries and Institutes, and the two of us were hired the same year as members of the faculty in BYU Religious Education. I was also the associate department chair to this great and good man. He blessed my life in many important ways.

We had been serving as a presidency for only two years when our president was invited to be the director of the BYU Jerusalem Center. This meant, of course, that he and his wife would need to move to Jerusalem and, as pertaining to our stake assignment, that he would be released and the stake presidency reorganized. It was sad to learn this from the president, although I was “Church broke” enough to know that releases come just as do calls, and that members are expected to be flexible and spiritually resilient when it comes to working in the kingdom.

We moved ahead as a presidency as though nothing would change, although we realized that in two months the presidency would be dissolved. The three of us wanted to finish strong. About a month before the date of the stake conference where the changes would be made, I began having feelings and even what I perceived to be spiritual nudges that I would be called as the stake president. I fought them—not because I wouldn’t accept the call if it came, but because I definitely did not want to aspire to anything, especially something as serious and involved as this position would be. The feelings grew stronger as we moved toward the date. I found myself many a night awake at 3:00 a.m. and walking out to our back porch. There I would pour out my heart to the Lord as earnestly and intently as I could. My words seemed to be the same with every trip to the porch: “Please know that I do not want this if it is not something to which I should not and will not be called. And yet I will do whatever I am called to do. I just don’t want to be inappropriate or to be self-deceived in any way.” Only a couple of days before the stake conference I had a dream. I dreamt that I had been called as the stake president and that I was being set apart by Elder Vaughn J. Featherstone of the Seventy. (At this point, we were not exactly sure which member of the Seventy would accompany Elder David B. Haight of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.) When I awoke from the dream, I made my way back to the back porch (I was drawn to the porch because there I could speak aloud without waking anyone). I uttered the same concerns and yet offered to be obedient to whatever took place.

On the Saturday before the Sunday session, I received a phone call requesting that my wife Shauna and I meet with Elder Haight at the administration building on BYU campus. Our meeting with him was warm and pleasant. We returned home and were there for only a couple of hours when the phone rang again: it was Elder Haight. He said, “President Millet, I have felt impressed to call the second counselor to serve as the new president, and he has asked for you to serve as his first counselor. Would you be willing to assume that responsibility?” I responded that I would be happy to continue to serve with this wonderful man.

I was devastated, but not at all for what you may think—I was not troubled one bit about the fact that I wasn’t called as stake president, except, that I could have been so mistaken, so deceived. I found myself doing some very serious introspection, asking for forgiveness for aspiring, for assuming what was not to be. The next day the main session of stake conference was probably wonderful, but I am ashamed to admit that I was so out of it spiritually and emotionally that I couldn’t have enjoyed it. I went through the motions of participating in the meeting, including delivering one of the addresses. After the session and after an extended period when Elders Haight and Featherstone seemed to greet and shake hands with everyone (there were about 1500 in attendance), we moved upstairs in the Ernest L. Wilkinson Student Center for the settings apart. The new stake president was first set apart. Elder Haight pronounced a marvelous blessing upon his head, one that touched my heart deeply; I felt so very pleased for my dear friend, and for a few moments the gloom surrounding my soul seemed to lift. Next Elder Haight motioned for me to come forward and be seated in front of the Church leaders.

Once I sat down, the Brethren (and the new stake president, who was invited to join in the circle) laid their hands on my head. There was a pause, and then Elder Haight leaned down close to me and whispered in my ear: “Brother Millet, the Lord certainly loves you.” Then hands were re-placed, but again there was a short pause, followed by Elder Haight saying, “No, I think Elder Featherstone should set you apart.” As he did so, scenes from the dream I had had only a couple of days before flooded my mind. I wept through the entire experience, following which both of the general authorities embraced me. The new stake presidency received some valuable counsel from the Church leaders, after which we agreed as a presidency to meet the following Wednesday for our regular presidency meeting, and then separated. To some extent, my feelings of deep disappointment abated for the remainder of the day, and I did indeed feel the love of my Heavenly Father throughout the day and into the evening.

As time went by, I functioned as always in my Church calling and did all in my power to support our new stake president. But deep within my soul I was not at peace. Any feelings of self-­confidence were gone, as well as any feelings of spiritual assurance. In moments here and there throughout the next few weeks I found myself asking: “How could you have been so very wrong? How could you have missed this so badly? What else have you missed? What divine answers and ‘spiritual certainties’ that you have received over the years may well have been self-fulfilling?” O how I questioned myself, my capacity to feel or know the Spirit of the Lord, to discern the mind and will of the Lord.

At the end of the first month things seemed to be coming to a head. I had continued to pray, to fast, to plead for God’s help, to yearn for a feeling that he was still there and that he had not forsaken me. My faith was being stretched in ways that I had never known, in a manner that was emotionally draining and spiritually stifling. Late one night as I knelt, broken and exhausted in my despair, I felt an infusion of something, almost anger, toward God and this whole situation. I poured out my heart and laid out in detail all the things that had been weighing on me. As I recall, the words I spoke were something like the following: “Father, I know that you live and that this work in which we are engaged is in fact your work. I don’t doubt this at all. But I do doubt myself, terribly. And I don’t want to feel this way any longer. My stake president deserves better than this. My wife and children need a husband and a father that is strong, firm, and solid in the faith. And I want to be that kind of person again.” At this point I felt almost a spirit of quiet defiance come over me. I acknowledged to the Lord that I felt I had been passing through a test of some kind that is not like anything I had ever known. I stated that I had sincerely tried to be the right kind of man, but today the heavens felt like brass over my head. Through my tears I cried out (and these words I remember perfectly): “But though you slay me, yet will I trust in you.”

The first thing I felt was surprise at my irreverence and audacity, and then embarrassment for even the slightest suggestion that my paltry challenges were even in the same ballpark with those faced by Job (see Job 13:15). The next feeling that came to me, however, was one of a settling peace, as though a warm blanket had been wrapped around me. I had often wondered what the promise of Malachi was like, that God would “open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it” (Malachi 3:10). On this rare occasion, however, I felt the windows of heaven opened widely, and more than anything I sensed clearly and keenly the pure love of the Lord Jesus Christ. Normally I would add here that I did not hear a voice, but my subsequent gospel study compels me to say otherwise. Note the Lord’s language in the revelation we call the Olive Leaf: “Behold, that which you hear is as the voice of one crying in the wilderness—in the wilderness, because you cannot see him—my voice, because my voice is Spirit; my Spirit is truth” (D&C 88:66; emphasis added). In that sweet sense, I did indeed hear the voice of God.

Even after decades of time have passed, I still do not know all the reasons why I was mistaken regarding the calling to serve as a stake president. Interestingly, I have since served in that capacity. No, this experience is not exactly the same as that trial through which a member of the Church passes when he or she has begun to doubt the prophetic call of Joseph Smith or in general the truthfulness of the restored gospel. But the nature of the anguish, the extensive suffering through periods of seeming alienation, the darkness of mind and pain of personally doubting one’s own spiritual perceptions is no less traumatic. I do not know completely what purpose this whole episode served in my life, except that I know, to some extent at least, that I passed through a trial of my faith, one that has yielded some valuable fruit. If for no other reason, I feel compassion and can identify more closely with someone who feels forsaken, or lost, or deeply troubled about their faith.

I do know that the God who has spoken still speaks, will speak again and again. We just need to have patience, faith, and the ears to listen. We may well need to invite and then allow our heart to tell our mind some things it did not know, and it may take some time for our minds—our rational faculties—to catch up with our feelings. The result will, however, almost always be worth the wait.

Conclusion

As Christians, our aspiration is to emulate, to imitate the life of the only truly sinless person to walk this earth. Now if Christ’s pathway to Godhood was so unimaginably painful and difficult, why would we suppose that we should be insulated against hard things and hard times? The scriptures teach that his disciples are called upon to suffer with him, indeed to enter the “fellowship of his sufferings” (Philippians 3:10). One of the keys to eventually becoming “heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ” is being willing to “suffer with him” (Romans 8:17).

Why then would we bristle at the thought of being tried and tested here on earth? Why would we, even in the apogee of our agony, rail and pout at God? To be sure, few of us are excited to engage our next trial, just around the corner. An acquaintance once mentioned to me that because of the learning and growth and development that can come through overcoming trials, he prays for them. Well, personally, you wouldn’t catch me dead praying for trials! They come on their own. They are much like weeds in a garden: they pop up just fine without our planting them. “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,” the Lord said (Matthew 6:34).

Isn’t facing and enduring and overcoming trials largely why we took a physical body in the first place? Returning to Peter, we read: “Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you: But rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ’s sufferings; that, when his glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy” (1 Peter 4:12–13). Trials come with the turf of the second estate.

President Thomas S. Monson taught, “It was not raining when Noah was commanded to build an ark. Two Heavenly Personages were not yet seen when Joseph knelt and prayed. There was no visible ram in the thicket when Abraham prepared to sacrifice his son Isaac. First came the test of faith, and then the miracle.

“Remember that faith and doubt cannot exist in the same mind at the same time, for one will dispel the other. Cast out doubt. Cultivate faith. Strive always to retain that childlike faith which can move mountains and bring heaven closer to heart and home.”11

As everyone knows very well, those trials come in all shapes and sizes and colors, and they come throughout our life. One of them is, of course, the trials that come to our faith, that lean on us from time to time, that buffet us throughout life, that beckon us to yield to fear and doubt, to panic and run. To some extent, these may prove to be the most painful and debilitating of all. As I have attempted to point out, it is not necessary for one to doubt, nor is doubt a prerequisite for faith. The Lord our God is merciful, and he is infinitely understanding, including understanding our spiritual pain, our confusion, and our emptiness. As it is with our temporal torments, so it is with our spiritual suffering: he will “comfort [our] souls in Christ” (Alma 31:32), will send peace and calm to replace our anxiety, and in process of time will lead us to find either answers or at least temporary resolutions to our concerns. Of that I am a personal witness.

Notes

1. See Bednar, “Always Retain a Remission of Your Sins,” Ensign, May 2016, 59–62.

2. Maxwell, Not My Will, but Thine, 129.

3. Lectures on Faith, 68; emphasis added.

4. Lectures on Faith, 68.

5. Lectures on Faith, 69; emphasis added.

6. Lectures on Faith, 70.

7. Madsen, The Highest in Us, 49; emphasis added.

8. See Lectures on Faith, 69–70. Compare how Joseph Smith gained the promise of eternal life in D&C 132:49–50.

9. Bednar, “Accepting the Lord’s Will and Timing,” Ensign, Aug. 2016, 29; emphasis added.

10. Maxwell, If Thou Endure It Well, 54.

11. Teachings of Thomas S. Monson, 108.