Blood Lessons

I went to the temple last night. I picked up a friend and met JJ for the 7pm session. For those unfamiliar with LDS temples, they are sacred places set aside for worship, and for making covenants with the Lord. We also do baptisms, and other ordinances, by proxy, for the dead inside of temples. If that sounds unfamiliar, check out 1 Corinthians 15:29.

In order to go inside and participate in an LDS temple you have to be a member of The Church Of Jesus Christ Of Latter-day Saints. You also need to meet certain standards such as faith in Christ, honesty, fidelity in marriage, etc. It is the house of the Lord, so keeping it pure and holy is paramount. Of course, none of us is perfect, but those who are sincere in their efforts to obey God's word, and seek to apply the atonement of Christ in their lives daily, can enter.  The temple is a place for Latter-day Saints who are trying their best, and asking God to make up the difference.

When you go to the temple you change into white clothing. The white is to symbolize the purity of Christ and the purity that can be attained through relying on His atonement. Street clothing, and fashion are left behind. Inside temple walls; we become followers of Christ instead of shoppers of clothes. No one knows if you are a banker, a secretary, a food stamp recipient. Removing the trappings of the outside world takes away all those labels and restores spiritual perspective. We meet there as children of God, worshippers, humble servants.

Last night in the temple I had a rather unexpected object lesson about my reliance on Jesus Christ. As I sat in my white dress waiting to move into another room. I did something really dumb. It was one of those things that you do even while having a fleeting thought that maybe you shouldn't. I rubbed my  hand against my opposite elbow and felt a tiny little scab underneath my dress. It was a scab that I didn't know was there. It wasn't even a quarter of an inch, but there it was presenting itself to me. "Surprise! Hey, here I am. Pick me, pick me!! Come on, I'm so little. Just get rid of me."  It did cross my mind that it could bleed, but it was so small and harmless, and there was that overwhelming desire to PICK. So, I  did.

I'm sure you can guess. After a quick little scrape of my fingernail, the scab came off, and my mind went on to others things. I forgot about it-- until we started walking down the hall. My friend suddenly stopped me and asked, "Are you bleeding?"  Yup, there it was, a bright red spot of blood about an inch wide. As we moved into the Garden Room I showed JJ, and looked at him with wide-eyed expression of "Now what do I do?" He just smiled and said, "I'm sure you'll survive." 

So I went ahead with the temple session. I knew the wound was minuscule. Hopefully, not a lot more blood would be pouring out. The thing that was upsetting to me was that there I was, in the temple, in the midst of everyone dressed so beautifully in white, with a horrid. red blotch of blood on my dress. I could keep my arm low and hide it, but we would be getting up again, moving around. Surely everyone would see, and wonder why I would come to the temple with an ugly stain.

I sat with my hand covering the spot, and awkwardly kept it there when we walked to the next room. Finally, my friend asked me, in a whisper, "Do want a safety pin?" She took my sleeve, doubled the material over the stain, and pinned it. It looked little strange, but was hardly noticeable compared the scarlet circle it was covering.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and let myself relax. I could go home later, put some stain remover on, and maybe it would come out. In the meantime, it was hidden. That's what we try to do with our shame. I'm not talking about illegitimate shame that we sometimes carry from difficult childhoods. No I mean the that stuff that clings to us when we screw up and we know it. We do anything to hide it. We awkwardly, childishly, contort ourselves to cover it up. We don't want anyone to see. We know we are not pure or clean. And the longer we try and hide it, the more anxious we become. Instead of focusing on what's before us, we are focusing on the very thing we are trying to hide.

As I sat in God's house with a big old stain, it felt disrespectful. However, no one was scolding me, giving me dirty looks. The discomfort was within me. Why didn't I just leave the scab alone?. I could have waited. I could have resisted, but I didn't. I did the thoughtless, impulsive thing to do. It was just a small thing, with no ill intentions, but still it bled, and as much as I wanted to be clean like the others in the room, I wasn't.   Are the parallels here not obvious?

Thank goodness for a Savior. Thank goodness for His power to wash our stains away. So ironic, so intensely astounding is the fact that He has done it with His own blood. Should it really surprise me this lesson was taught in His Holy House? While I sat in my shame, the realization came that He has done all things for me, for you. He can lift us out of the mortal struggle if we look up and see His outstretched hand. I will go back to the temple next time, with my dress crisp and white.