Sabbath Devotional :: SONday

I have a complicated relationship with the sun. We love sun symbolism in the gospel. The celestial kingdom, our highest goal, is always drawn with a sun. Nauvoo sunstones are prized. I love sunrises, sunsets, light and all its symbolism. But as a middle-aged redhead reckoning with the legacy of California childhood sunburns, I am a heliophobe. I seek shade at all costs with my SPF 100+, hat, and long sleeves. My annual dermatology visits are stressful, since each time they burn or freeze or cut or biopsy different parts of my skin. There is sunshine in my soul today, but singing that chorus repeatedly does not make me want to “work with a will” “today, while the sun shines,” but to hide inside. The sun is essential, but it challenges me.

Although Jesus chose good basic symbols from the world around to connect us with him, not all of those symbols resonate universally. Perhaps you are gluten free, and reading in the Word of Wisdom that grain is ordained as the staff of life, and being vigilant about the weekly Sacrament bread offering, is hard personally. Perhaps you are allergic to animal fur, so a painting of Jesus holding a sweet fluffy lamb makes you want to sneeze instead of smile. Perhaps you have a health condition that makes fasting impossible, or garment-wearing problematic. When I was doing the temple work for one of my ancestors who lived through the destructive Johnston Flood as a child, her name card kept getting misplaced and lost. I felt her literal hesitation to have me step into the baptismal font on her behalf: for her, water was not just life-sustaining, but life-threatening. It was a reassurance to both of us to open up the scriptures in the temple and read about the Lord calming the tempestuous seas.

How can we respond when gospel symbols leave us feeling disconnected, alone, or frustrated? We can remember that, while symbols bring us closer to Christ and help us remember him, but they are not themselves divine. We worship him — not bread, not the sun, not water, and not lambs. We don’t want to look beyond the mark. Even temples, his homes and our highest mortal destinations, are constructions of this world. As John records in his vision of heaven, “I saw no temple therein: for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it” (Revelation 21:22).

I encourage you to ask what symbols point you, personally, to Christ. The Law of Moses allowed for substitutions when symbols didn’t work: a different sacrifice was possible. “And if he be not able to bring a lamb, then he shall bring for his trespass . . . two turtledoves, or two young pigeons, unto the Lord; one for a sin offering, and the other for a burnt offering. . . . But if he be not able to bring two turtledoves, or two young pigeons, then he that sinned shall bring for his offering the tenth part of an ephah of fine flour for a sin offering” (Leviticus 5:7, 11). This is what Mary and Joseph did for baby Jesus at the temple in Luke 2:24, bringing the birds instead of the specified lamb of Leviticus 12:8 for the firstborn son. (They may have brought that offering intentionally, as Jesus was already the sacrificial Lamb, but they may also have been too poor to afford the requisite sacrifice.)

This allowance continues in modern times, where the Sacrament has consisted of wine or water, Wonder bread or Chex, and more. D&C 27 explains: “For, behold, I say unto you, that it mattereth not what ye shall eat or what ye shall drink when ye partake of the sacrament, if it so be that ye do it with an eye single to my glory” (verse 2). In 1946, Ezra Taft Benson poignantly observed the French Saints recovering from the brutalities of World War 2 use potato peelings in place of the sacramental bread.

That which seems perpetual and unchanging may not last forever. Christ is in the Chex, the potato peels, and the bread; the water and the wine; the sheep and the Benadryl; the sun and the shade. When we remember that the purpose of symbols is to point us towards Christ, we can let go of stories and images that no longer (or never did) serve us. Our spiritual development, as individuals and communities, may require changing tools, but God is eternal. Our mortal calendars have a weekly Sunday, but we can celebrate an eternal Sonday.

I love the scripture where Isaiah promises: “For thou hast been a strength to the poor, a strength to the needy in his distress, a refuge from the storm, a shadow from the heat” (25:4). For me, Jesus is not just the sun, but also the shade. “In the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge” (Psalm 57:1). I love thinking of him as the protection of the best umbrella, a glorious heavenly palapas, keeping the damaging rays away from me. The word Atonement comes from the Hebrew kaphar, to cover. Christ is my covering, in all ways. I look forward to a heaven where I love being in the light, because that heavenly city has “no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God [does] lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof” (Revelation 21:23).

What symbols of Christ speak to your soul?

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Anita Cramer Wells is the faithful root senior director at Mormon Women for Ethical Government.

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