The Weight of the World, Lifted by Faith

We are social creatures, molded by the hands of others. It’s a foundational truth, readily apparent in the smallest interactions of our daily lives. Consider the sheer volume of learned behavior – from the clothes we wear to the language we speak, the skills we possess, even the opinions we hold. These are not inherent; they are gifts, imparted through a constant stream of instruction, observation, and subtle cultural cues. As Josh Chandler so eloquently illustrates in his recent presentation, this ‘socialization process’ is indispensable for becoming fully human – a point underscored by the stark contrast of a child raised in isolation, a “Tarzan” figure struggling against a tide of instinctive impulses.

The story of Helen Keller, a profound example of this, resonates deeply. Her early years, marked by frustration and uncontrolled outbursts, highlight the necessity of connection and guidance. It was through the deliberate efforts of her teacher that she was brought into the fellowship of humankind, learning to navigate a world previously shrouded in silence and darkness. Lamont’s observation – “you can accomplish a great deal alone, but you can’t become human alone” – strikes at the heart of our covenant relationship. We are, by design, reliant on one another.

But the socialization process, while vital, is not without its pitfalls. Chandler draws our attention to Max Lucado’s You Are Special, a children’s book that cleverly depicts the insidious nature of external validation. The Wemix, obsessed with earning gold stars and avoiding gray dots, exemplify the anxiety and fragmentation that can arise when our sense of worth is tied to the opinions of others. This constant striving, this relentless pursuit of approval, can become a prison, preventing us from experiencing the joy and peace that come from simply *being*.

This resonates powerfully with the warnings given in the Book of Mormon. Remember the Nephites, consumed by pride and self-righteousness, striving to impress one another with outward displays of piety? (See 2 Nephi 26:29). Their efforts, though seemingly virtuous, ultimately blinded them to the true path of discipleship – a path of humility, service, and unwavering faith in Christ. The iron rod, Moroni taught, is the word of God, a guide to lead us through the wilderness of this world (Mosiah 18:3). But it’s a rod that requires a clear mind, a heart free from the clamor of external pressures and the weight of worldly expectations.

The rest of the Lord, as Chandler suggests, is not merely a state of tranquility, but a condition of alignment – a perfect correspondence between our will and His. It is found not in the accumulation of accolades or the avoidance of criticism, but in the steadfast obedience born of genuine faith. This is not a passive acceptance of circumstance, but an active surrender to divine guidance, trusting that even in the midst of adversity, His hand is leading us towards ultimate good. The Lord’s call to “come away” (Matthew 14:23) is an invitation to divest ourselves of the burdens of the world and find solace in His presence.

Let us examine our own lives, honestly assessing the influences that shape our thoughts and actions. Are we striving for the approval of others, or are we seeking the approval of God? Are we clinging to the iron rod, or are we being swayed by the winds of popular opinion? The path to the rest of the Lord is not easy, but it is a path worth pursuing – a path that leads to true joy, enduring peace, and eternal life.

Consider this: what specific societal pressures have most subtly influenced your understanding of righteousness?