Testimony meeting was this Sunday. In the right ward, like this one, the best meeting we have to offer.
One graduate student talked a little about the recent futility he had felt as he endured through his studies–to what purpose all this effort? Who benefits, who cares? He had genuinely struggled and, he said, through the help of the atonement had overcome.
I sat up. Futility, I often feel, is the last struggle a Saint faces in doing any good thing, after all the other victories are won. Stay the course, fight the good fight, endure to the end, but how? This brother had asked the same question and found an answer. His answer is now mine. Christ conquered futility.
Christ conquered futility. I’ve no doubt Satan heaped on him, on the cross and on the garden, all the grief of all the failures. All the plans that fizzled, all the weary efforts wisped away. No doubt also the Devil taunted him with visions of the people who turned away from his atonement. What a thing, to wrack one’s soul with agony and think,
‘these pains of Jack, these sins of Jill, nothing will ever come of it. I will hold my hands outstretched, showing the wounds, telling them I have already born it, and they will recede away heedless to bear it themselves. How many finally will be redeemed? So few remain.’
While a wicked voice whispers,
‘if you shrink from the cup, never mind, God is merciful, he’ll find a way to save. Jump, he’ll bear you up.‘
And even so, not to turn away.
Now, because he endured, we have an answer he did not. Who cares? Christ cares. Nothing now can come to naught if it pleases him in heaven. In this knowledge, plod we on.
Others testified–the convert father, the girl who’s the lone member in her high school. We sang the verse I love:
As testimony feels my heart,
it dulls the pain of days.
For one brief moment heaven’s view
appears before my gaze.
That is Sunday. Now it’s Tuesday. I’ve done much, I’ve much to do. Would it were Sunday. Would it were near, the Sunday of time.