This reliance upon the forgiving, long-suffering, merciful nature of God was taught from before the very foundation of the world. It was always to give us hope and help, a reason to progress and improve, an incentive to lay down our burdens and take up our salvation. May I be bold enough to suggest that it is impossible for anyone who really knows God to doubt his willingness to receive us with open arms in a divine embrace if we will but “come unto him.” There certainly can and will be plenty of external difficulties in life. Nevertheless the soul that comes unto Christ dwells within a personal fortress, a veritable palace of perfect peace. “Whoso hearkeneth unto me,” Jehovah says, “shall dwell safely, and shall be quiet from fear of evil” (Proverbs 1:33).
That is exactly what Paul said to the Corinthians. Trying to help them keep their chin up—and the Corinthians had a lot to be grim about—he wrote:
Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort;
Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God. [2 Corinthians 1:3–4]
Jesus taught the same thing to the Nephites, who also lived in a difficult world. “For the mountains shall depart and the hills be removed,” he said, “but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed [from thee]” (3 Nephi 22:10; see also verses 13–14). I love that. The hills and the mountains may disappear. The seas and oceans may dry up completely. The least likely things in the world may happen, but “my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed [from thee]” (emphasis added). After all, he has, he reminds us, “graven thee upon the palms of my hands” (1 Nephi 21:16). Considering the incomprehensible cost of the Crucifixion, Christ is not going to turn his back on us now.
Peace to Our Souls
The Lord has probably spoken enough such “comforting words” to supply the whole universe, it would seem, and yet we see all around us unhappy Latter-day Saints, worried Latter-day Saints, and gloomy Latter-day Saints into whose troubled hearts not one of these innumerable consoling words seems to be allowed to enter. In fact, I think some of us must have that remnant of Puritan heritage still with us that says it is somehow wrong to be comforted or helped, that we are supposed to be miserable about something.
Consider, for example, the Savior’s benediction upon his disciples even as he moved toward the pain and agony of Gethsemane and Calvary. On that very night, the night of the greatest suffering the world has ever known or ever will know, he said, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you. . . . Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27).
I submit to you that may be one of the Savior’s commandments that is, even in the hearts of otherwise faithful Latter-day Saints, almost universally disobeyed; and yet I wonder whether our resistance to this invitation could be any more grievous to the Lord’s merciful heart. I can tell you this as a parent: As concerned as I would be if somewhere in their lives one of my children were seriously troubled or unhappy or disobedient, nevertheless I would be infinitely more devastated if I felt that at such a time that child could not trust me to help, or should feel his or her interest were unimportant to me or unsafe in my care. In that same spirit, I am convinced that none of us can appreciate how deeply it wounds the loving heart of the Savior of the world when he finds that his people do not feel confident in his care or secure in his hands or trust in his commandments.
Just because God is God, just because Christ is Christ, they cannot do other than care for us and bless us and help us if we will but come unto them, approaching their throne of grace in meekness and lowliness of heart. They can’t help but bless us. They have to. It is their nature. That is why Joseph Smith gave those lectures on faith, so we would understand the nature of godliness and in the process have enough confidence to come unto Christ and find peace to our souls. There is not a single loophole or curveball or open trench to fall into for the man or woman who walks the path that Christ walks. When he says, “Come, follow me” (Luke 18:22), he means that he knows where the quicksand is and where the thorns are and the best way to handle the slippery slope near the summit of our personal mountains. He knows it all, and he knows the way. He is the way.
Listen to this wonderful passage from President George Q. Cannon teaching precisely this very doctrine:
No matter how serious the trial, how deep the distress, how great the affliction, [God] will never desert us. He never has, and He never will. He cannot do it. It is not His character [to do so]. He is an unchangeable being; the same yesterday, the same today, and He will be the same throughout the eternal ages to come. We have found that God. We have made Him our friend, by obeying His Gospel; and He will stand by us. We may pass through the fiery furnace; we may pass through deep waters; but we shall not be consumed nor overwhelmed. We shall emerge from all these trials and difficulties the better and purer for them, if we only trust in our God and keep His commandments. [“Freedom of the Saints,” in Collected Discourses, comp. and ed. Brian H. Stuy, 5 vols. (Burbank, California: B.H.S. Publishing, 1987–92), 2:185; emphasis added]
Once we have come unto Christ and found the miracle of his “covenant of peace,” I think we are under obligation to help others do so, just as Paul said in that verse to the Corinthians—to live as much like he lived as we possibly can and to do as much of what he did in order that others may walk in this same peace and have this same reassurance....
Christ Watches over Us
One last piece of counsel regarding coming to Christ. It comes from an unusual incident in the life of the Savior that holds a lesson for us all. It was after Jesus had performed the miracle of feeding the five thousand from five loaves of bread and two fishes. (By the way, let me pause here to say, Don’t worry about Christ running out of ability to help you. His grace is sufficient. That is the spiritual, eternal lesson of the feeding of the five thousand.) After Jesus had fed the multitude, he sent them away and put his disciples into a fishing boat to cross over to the other side of the Sea of Galilee. He then “went up into a mountain apart to pray” (Matthew 14:23).
We aren’t told all of the circumstances of the disciples as they set out in their boat, but it was toward evening, and certainly it was a night of storm. The winds must have been ferocious from the start. Because of the winds, these men probably never even raised the sails but labored only with the oars—and labor it would have been. We know this because by the time of “the fourth watch of the night” (Matthew 14:25)—that is somewhere between three and six in the morning—they had gone only a few miles. By then the ship was caught up in a truly violent storm, a storm like those that can still sweep down on the Sea of Galilee to this day.
But, as always, Christ was watching over them. He always does, remember? Seeing their difficulty, the Savior simply took the most direct approach to their boat, striding out across the waves to help them, walking on the water as surely as he had walked upon the land. In their moment of great extremity, the disciples looked and saw in the darkness this wonder in a fluttering robe coming toward them on the ridges of the sea. They cried out in terror at the sight, thinking that it was a phantom upon the waves. Then, through the storm and darkness—when the ocean seems so great and little boats seem so small—there came the ultimate and reassuring voice of peace from their Master. “It is I,” he said, “be not afraid” (verse 27).
This scriptural account reminds us that the first step in coming to Christ—or his coming to us—may fill us with something very much like sheer terror. It shouldn’t, but it sometimes does. One of the grand ironies of the gospel is that the very source of help and safety being offered us is the thing from which we may, in our mortal shortsightedness, flee. For whatever the reason, I have seen investigators run from baptism, I have seen elders run from a mission call, I have seen sweethearts run from marriage, and I have seen young couples run from the fear of families and the future. Too often too many of us run from the very things that will bless us and save us and soothe us. Too often we see gospel commitments and commandments as something to be feared and forsaken.
Let me quote the marvelous James E. Talmage on this matter:
Into every adult human life come experiences like unto the battling of the storm-tossed voyagers with contrary winds and threatening seas; ofttimes the night of struggle and danger is far advanced before succor appears; and then, too frequently the saving aid is mistaken for a greater terror. [But,] as came unto[these disciples] in the midst of the turbulent waters, so comes to all who toil in faith, the voice of the Deliverer—“It is I; be not afraid.” [Jesus the Christ, 3d ed. (Salt Lake City: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1916), p. 337]
Brother Talmage used there the word succor. Do you know its meaning? It is used often in the scriptures to describe Christ’s care for and attention to us. It means literally “to run to.” What a magnificent way to describe the Savior’s urgent effort in our behalf. Even as he calls us to come to him and follow him, he is unfailingly running to help us.
Finally recognizing the Master that night, Peter exclaimed, “Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water.”
And Christ’s answer to him was as it always is, to all of us: “Come,” he said.
Instantly, as was his nature, Peter sprang over the vessel’s side and into the troubled waves. While his eyes were fixed upon the Lord the wind could toss his hair and the spray could drench his robes, but all was well—he was coming to Christ. Only when his faith and his focus wavered, only when he removed his glance from the Master to see the furious waves and the black gulf beneath him, only then did he begin to sink. In fear he cried out, “Lord, save me” (Matthew 14:28–30).
In some disappointment the “Master of ocean and earth and skies” (see “Master, the Tempest Is Raging,” Hymns, 1985, no. 105) stretched out his hand and grasped the drowning disciple with the gentle rebuke “O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?” (Matthew 14:31). (See also Frederic W. Farrar, The Life of Christ[Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1994], pp. 310–13.)
Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. This is his true and living Church. He wishes us to come unto him, to follow him, to be comforted by him. Then he wishes us to give comfort to others. However halting our steps are toward him—though they shouldn’t be halting at all—his steps are never halting toward us. May we have enough faith to accept the goodness of God and the mercy of his Only Begotten Son. May we come unto him and his gospel and be healed. And may we do more to heal others in the process. When the storms of life make this difficult, may we still follow his bidding to “come,” keeping our eye fixed on him forever and single to his glory. In doing so we too will walk triumphantly over the swelling waves of life’s difficulties and remain unterrified amid any rising winds of despair.
I pray we will hear this very night that sweet utterance from the Savior of the world: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden. . . . And ye shall find rest unto your souls” (Matthew 11:28–29). “Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid” (Matthew 14:27). I pray this for you and for those you can help, in the sacred name of Jesus Christ. Amen."
http://speeches.byu.edu/index.php?act=viewitem&id=734
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