So that we can hear Him
Written in commemoration of the 200th anniversary of Joseph Smith’s First Vision, the seminal event leading to the creation of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. And in response to the call of the current prophet of this church, in honor and reflection of that event, to consider how we hear Jesus Christ. (See link above for a new detailed page on the Church’s website regarding Joseph’s First Vision.)
A morning.
In spring
In early America.
A New York poor family farm,
upstate.
A young boy,
Joseph,
going into seclusion
from the apocalypse
descending upon
his agitated community—
descending upon
his curious spirit—
as foretold by the priests
and prophets
of his day.
There was no question
where this rough
stone rolling
would seek solace,
conversation,
and communion
with the divine.
Seeking the sanction
of his soul
That he might know
where he might go from here.
Here being
a place of unknowing—
the uncertainty
of a condemnation
and damnation
that didn’t feel right.
So this morning—
this dawning of a new
dispensation foretold
that no one saw—
Joseph hiked from home
to shelter among
familiar stalwart friends:
A forest sanctuary,
whose many arms
were stretched out still
to him,
to heaven.
These wise old woods
who listened
instead of preached.
who whispered wisdom
instead of condemnation.
Who welcomed
without judgement
all who entered in
their holy home.
Joseph fell into the earth—
his knees sinking
into the soft rich humus
of leaves and trees
once dead but now
resurrecting new life.
His heart broken, hungry,
poor in spirit,
meek, mourning,
kneeling and knocking
for further
light and knowledge.
“Blessed are the
pure in heart
for they shall see God.”
And like Moses
and Enoch
and Buddha
and others
before,
Joseph saw God.
Heard God.
Felt God.
In a place God
had made
without hands.
I too have
have seen and heard
and felt God
in such sanctuaries:
In sudden mists
on Granduer Peak.
Running in all white
in snow silent and deep
up Millcreek.
On the shoreline trail
seeing our first and only sun
touch the tops of the
Oquirrh mountains,
painting them with lavender light.
Feeling ancestral life
in the fiery hues of lichen
made covenant to rock.
In the sound of
rushing waters of the
pure creek of Big Cottonwood
where temple stone
was hewn.
And especially
when standing still
next to tall trees grown wise
from roots sent deep and wide
into communion
with creation.
Such sacred spaces
surround us.
No matter the distance
they beckon us to enter
and have visions—
communion—
and be given the wisdom
we lack.
God stands at these
lovely living
breathing gates
and waits—
knocking.
Hoping that
these holy temples
of revelation,
these silent retreats
of sanctification,
will be attended,
and attended to—
kept clean,
cared for,
undefiled and
unpolluted
so that we,
like Joseph,
can hear Him.
Jay Griffith, April 2, 2020
