Gratitude and the Anti-Christ (Alma 30)

There is an interesting little anecdote almost exactly halfway through the book of Alma in the Book of Mormon. It is, in fact also just about smack dab in the middle of the Book of Mormon itself. It’s the story of Korihor, and it comprises Alma chapter 30.

The story seems wedged into the sequence of Alma and his contemporaries; it occurs in between ‘preaching missions’ and wars. To me, it really stands out, almost seeming disjointed or placed in as an afterthought. For this reason, I think Mormon must have really felt compelled to include it as he compiled and edited centuries’ worth of records… It doesn't exactly flow with the narrative of the Book of Alma to me, but it’s certainly important!

I won’t recap all the details of the account, just a couple things that really stand out to me. The first thing I noted was how similar the sentiments which Korihor proclaimed are to many of today’s voices. Korihor said the believers were foolish, they had been indoctrinated through family traditions, and that you cannot know there is a Christ. He called them deranged, due to the effects of ‘frenzied minds,’ and that they were in ‘bondage’ to those traditions.

He taught there should be no guilt, that there was no ‘falling’ or ‘saving.’ He claimed the leaders of the Church suppressed the people and led them to believe this way so they could ‘glut (themselves) with the labors of their hands.’

Korihor was wise and crafty, and he used ‘great swelling words.’ His charge was that there is no evidence that there is a God. Alma’s response is the key point I want to highlight in this post.

Alma’s conviction is this: we have ‘all things’ as a testimony, or evidence of God’s existence. He says, “…all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator” (Alma 30:44).  

I am often struck by how important attitude is. Alma’s grateful heart, his testimony bolstered as he saw evidence of God’s existence and love everywhere he looked—“in all things”—was a choice as well as a blessing. Faith is a gift we are given when we choose to obey and to do and to believe. Korihor refused to partake of this gift—he made that choice; that was the attitude he chose.

I am not saying that if we aren’t grateful, and don’t see and confess God’s hand everywhere we look that we will end up like Korihor. But ancient prophets, as well as modern prophets from Joseph Smith to Thomas S. Monson have talked of the importance of gratitude. We would all do well to look at the world with a prayer and desire of seeing God’s hand in it. When I pray for this, and look for this, the Lord shows me great things. I become less like Korihor, and more like Alma, and ultimately more like Christ.

I’ll close with a poem by Walt Whitman that I discovered while I sat in a hospital room, next to my son Liam as he recovered from brain surgery. It is entitled ‘Miracles,’ and I have a feeling Alma would have approved of it!

Miracles

Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night
with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet
and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.
To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the
ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?