Eric was a good young man.  He was proud of that fact.  He worked hard to be good.  He read his scriptures every day.  He maintained a positive attitude, smiled at everyone, and tried to never complain about things, or to speak evil of anyone.

I repeat:  Eric was a good man.  Everyone liked him.  Eric had proper Christian attitudes.

Eric had regular habits, and never allowed irregularities into his life.  He never went drinking with his friends.  He avoided such careless company, never smoked like they did, and kept himself and his house neat and clean.  He was a young man that his elders noticed when he walked down the street.  His bearing and his grooming made him quite handsome, indeed.

At 6:00 a.m. Eric awoke each morning.  His first act was to reach for the Bible which he was reading from beginning to end.  His last act at night, before shutting his eyes for sleep, was to replace the Bible on the bed stand beside his pillow.  Eric went to sleep each night thinking about Jesus and about his faith in Him.

One morning Eric came in his Bible to the story of the man who brought his lunatic son to Jesus to be healed.  The disciples had tried to heal the boy, but could not.  Eric read these words:

“Then Jesus answered and said, O faithless and perverse generation, how long shall I be with you? how long shall I suffer you? bring him hither to me.

“And Jesus rebuked the devil; and he departed out of him:  and the child was cured from that very hour.”  (Matt. 17:17, 18).

How astonishing!  How amazing!  The fact that the boy was healed was not so astounding as that Jesus had called His disciples faithless and perverse.  That would have been Peter, James and John and Matthew!  They walked with Jesus every day.  They knew Him.  They knew Him better than anyone, yet Jesus called them faithless.

If he—Eric—had been a disciple, would his faith have been strong enough to cast the devil out of the boy?  Eric would like to have thought that it would.

Eric read on:  “Then came the disciples to Jesus apart, and said, Why could not we cast him out?

“And Jesus said unto them, Because of your unbelief:  for verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you.”  (Matt. 17:20).

How big is a mustard seed? Eric wondered.  Jesus called it a grain.  It must not be anything larger than a speck of dust.  If a person had just that much faith, he could move a mountain?!

What’s bigger and more immovable than a mountain?  Faith the size of a speck of dust could move a mountain?  Faith, then, is the greatest power on earth—greater than nuclear power, or hydroelectric, or lasers or rivers or lightning or earthquakes.  Earthquakes might move mountains.  River could do it, too, if given enough time.

But Jesus was referring to a sudden removal.  If the mountain was in your way, just a grain of faith could pick it up and set it down again where it was out of your way.

Pity the people where the mountain plopped down.  They would just be going about their daily business when suddenly—Boom—a mountain would be on top of them.  If one had faith like that, one had best be careful how he exercised it.

Eric’s faith in Jesus was surely bigger than a mustard seed, yet he doubted that he could move the mountain that was south and west of his house.  Not that he wouldn’t like to.  The mountain at this time of year—just two days before Christmas—made the sun go down at his house at 1:30 in the afternoon.  If it wasn’t for the inconvenience that moving it would entail upon those who would end up under it, Eric might try an experiment upon his faith.

Had anyone ever moved a mountain before?  Last year he’d begun reading the Bible, starting with Genesis.  He was now familiar with all of the Old Testament characters.  Moses hadn’t moved a mountain, but his faith was such that he’d maybe done something even more monumental.  He’d parted the Red Sea.  That required faith!  Eric imagined Moses marching down into the sea bed with a mountainous wall of water on either side of him.  Talk about faith!  It would take a mountain of faith on the part of the people to have courage enough to follow Moses into such a frightening place.  But then, they didn’t have much choice.  There was an army behind them bent on murder.

Pharaoh hadn’t been afraid to follow.  He hadn’t been motivated by faith, but by hate—not a suitable substitute.  That was stupidity.  A moment’s reflection would have told him that going in after the children of Israel wasn’t a good idea.  Just a wave of Moses’ hand, and the sea returned to its place; and the Egyptian army was seen no more.

Just then Eric’s phone rang.  It was his mother asking if he’d drive her to see her ailing sister.  Eric declined.  He might have made himself available; but he was looking forward to his day off from work, and besides, it was his brother’s turn to jump to her beck and call.

Now where was he?  He was thinking about Old Testament characters that might have moved mountains with their faith.

Joshua didn’t move a mountain, but he parted the Jordan River, Moses-like.

Elijah didn’t move a mountain, but he stopped the rain in Israel for over three years, and made a tremendous drought.  That would be as impossible as moving a mountain.  And then he had that contest with the priests of Baal who couldn’t get Baal to light their fire.  Elijah had the people pour twelve barrels of water over his sacrifice.  It soaked the wood and filled the trench; but Elijah called down fire from heaven that consumed the sacrifice, the wet wood, the water in the trench, and even the rocks of the altar.  Eric guessed those events were equivalent to moving a mountain.

There came a knocking at the door.  It was his buddy announcing that a group of friends were in the car and wanting him to join them in a secret Santa shopping trip for needy kids.  Eric excused himself.  He felt he was on the verge of making a great discovery about faith and wanted to pursue his thoughts.  He made a $5 donation to the cause, and returned to his reflections.

Elisha’s faith had caused an axe head to float up from the bottom of the Jordan River, and he’d healed Naaman’s leprosy.  Those weren’t cases of moving mountains, but impossible miracles nevertheless.

Yes, these men had faith.  It was a power that they had—an absolute certainty that if they believed strongly enough in the Lord, through Him anything was possible.  Eric was on the brink of accessing that faith—that power.  “Nothing shall be impossible unto you.”  Jesus had said that.

Eric returned to his reading.  He read that whoso humbles himself as a little child is greatest in the kingdom of heaven, and that “whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.”  (Matt. 18:6).

For just a moment Eric wished he had gone with his friends to purchase and deliver gifts to the needy children; but they didn’t really need him, and anyway he’d donated.

That stray thought made him uncomfortable enough, though, that he laid down his book, put on his coat, and walked the three blocks to the store that he frequented.  The air was brisk.  He bought some milk, some bread, some eggs, and some fruit—and in a moment of inspiration—some pieces of hard candy from the jar on the checkout counter.  These he put in his pocket to be given to surprised and happy children that he’d see Sunday at church.

For variety’s sake he walked home on the opposite side of the street from that which had taken him to the store.  He passed the Widow Wilson’s house.  She was a nice old lady.  In better weather she was always working in her yard and garden.  Eric had stopped and talked with her several times.  She’d been flattered that a young man would do that, and it had been all Eric could do to disengage himself from their conversation so that he could get along about his business.  She was lonely, that was obvious.  The next time it snowed, he told himself, he’d come early, and secretly shovel her walk.

Feeling good about himself for his two good deeds—the candy and the shoveled walk—Eric returned to his house and resumed his study.

Eric read about the shepherd who left his ninety nine sheep and went into the mountains to seek the one that was lost.

Surely those sheep were symbols for lost people.  Who did Eric know who was lost?  Being without a wife or children or responsibilities, he wasn’t a shepherd over anyone.  It was rather nice to not have such worries as that shepherd had when one of his sheep went missing.

Eric read where Peter asked the Lord how many times he was required to forgive his brother’s sins against him.  “Till seven times?” Peter asked.

“Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times:  but, Until seventy times seven.”  (Matt. 18:21, 22).

Eric did some quick math in his head.  “That’s 490 times!” he said under his breath.

So a man of faith must be forgiving.  How many times had his brother wronged him?  He constantly took advantage of Eric, who was younger.  Sometimes Eric complained.  His brother did things without thinking, and was always quick to apologize when his trespasses were pointed out.  Eric always forgave him; but made it a point to not be around his brother much, and to not give him opportunities to take advantage of him.  Eric judged himself all right where the matter of forgiveness was concerned.

Then in chapter 19 Eric came to where Jesus talked about marriage.  He read:  “For this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife; and they twain shall be one flesh.  (Was that a commandment to get married?  Had he read that right?  Eric was 27, not married, and had no inclination to change his status).

“Wherefore they are no more twain, but one flesh.  What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.”  (Matt. 19:5, 6).

Clearly that last verse was a warning about divorce.  Better to never marry than to risk divorce.

Eric read about the rich young man who couldn’t leave his riches when Jesus told him to sell his possessions “and come follow me.”  (Matt. 19:21).  That young man could have been Eric.  Eric owned his house.  He owned his car.  He had little debt.  He was well off, really.  If the Lord ever told him to sell his possessions, being a man of faith, he could do that.  (Fortunately, though, the Lord wasn’t likely to ever ask him to do such a thing).

Eric read about the laborers in the vineyard who came to work at different times throughout the day, and who were all paid an equal wage at the end of the day.  This parable made no sense to Eric.  It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right.  Something was missing here, Eric thought.  Fortunately Eric considered himself to be one of the early laborers in the vineyard anyway, so his quest to be a man of faith was unsullied here by this troubling parable.

And then Eric came upon the encounter that Jesus and the disciples had with the fig tree.  Apparently it should have had fruit on it; and because it didn’t, Jesus cursed it, and it withered away.

“Poor tree,” Eric thought.  “What did it do to deserve that?”

And then he was stunned to read the next verse:

“Verily I say unto you, If ye have faith, and doubt not, ye shall not only do this which is done to the fig tree, but also if ye shall say unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea; it shall be done.”  (Matt. 21:21).

Eric leaped to his feet as he read that.  “He said it again!” he mused aloud.  “That’s twice.  He must mean it.  He said it twice!  Faith can move mountains.  I want such faith.”

Eric turned around.  He paced for a moment, and then sank into a soft chair.  Thoughts were coming thick and fast—thoughts from he knew not where.

Faith can move mountains.

A man of faith must be forgiving.

A man of faith must be humble, like a child.

A man of faith must show fruits.

A man of faith would show love by going about doing good to his neighbors.

Who were his neighbors?  What good might he do them?

There came to his mind his mother, her ailing sister, and his brother.  And there was the Widow Wilson who needed more than to have her walk shoveled on some convenient morning in the future.

Was not he, Eric, awfully bound up in himself and in his own affairs:  Could it be that he was the unfruitful fig tree?

If so, he’d never move a mountain.  Instead he might shrivel up and die all alone here, like the fig tree.

And then came the big lesson.  Where did it come from?  It wasn’t a thought of Eric’s making, but there it was in his head:

“The Lord does not expect that we commit to move mountains.  But He does require that we bring as gifts our best efforts to move ourselves, one foot in front of the other, walking in the ways He has prepared and taught.”*

Eric went to the phone, made an appointment with his mother, and then called his brother and asked him to accompany them on a trip to see their ailing aunt.  His brother accepted.  Eric told him he’d be there just as soon as he’d taken some fruit to an old lady down the street who needed a visit.

23 December 2011

 

 

 

*A statement made by Dieter F. Uchtdorf in his talk in the 2011 First Presidency Christmas Devotional.