As an adult, I have
fallen in love with the emotional side of the Atonement—the understanding that when
we face trials, Christ “is not a silent observer. He Himself knows personally
and infinitely the pain we face.” (Source)
For too much of my life, I associated the Atonement only with sin. The Atonement
was of course happy because it allowed me to be forgiven, but there was guilt associated
with taking advantage of the Atonement, because it meant I had screwed up.
But “the pains of all men, yea, the pains of every living creature” (2 Nephi 9:21) that he suffered are not all connected to sin. And turning to Christ in our moments of pain, particularly during the trials for which we bear no responsibility, is a hopeful, miraculous experience. It’s one I have complete faith in. I know that Christ understands precisely what I’m feeling, even when no one else does.
But “the pains of all men, yea, the pains of every living creature” (2 Nephi 9:21) that he suffered are not all connected to sin. And turning to Christ in our moments of pain, particularly during the trials for which we bear no responsibility, is a hopeful, miraculous experience. It’s one I have complete faith in. I know that Christ understands precisely what I’m feeling, even when no one else does.
While I’ve spent the last
few years coming to better understand this side of the Atonement, gaining a
greater testimony of it, I still don’t understand how it works. How can these
abstract emotions be shared? How did he feel what I feel? How does Christ
relieve this pain? Much of the how is
obviously beyond my comprehension. But I’ve also spent some time recently
wondering if maybe I understand more than I thought I did.
As followers of Christ,
we’re expected to, among other things, “mourn with those that mourn.” (Mosiah
18:9) I can’t speak for everyone, but this comes naturally to me when the one
mourning is someone I love. And even when I have no direct connection to a
trial they’re facing, their grief becomes—to a small extent—my own. Simply put,
when a loved one mourns, I too mourn. I know I don’t mourn their losses as
deeply as they do. I don’t feel them as acutely as they do. But they’re real to
me. Sometimes sadness penetrates my soul as if I personally experienced a loss.
And I’m a mere mortal
with a limited capacity to love.
But Christ isn’t mortal.
And his love is perfect and eternal. I wonder if his time suffering for us
occurred not just because he loved us and was willing to suffer but because he loves us and so he had to suffer. Meaning, he saw what each
of us would face in our lives. And he saw how sad or alone or depressed or despondent
these experiences would make us feel. Just as we automatically mourn with our
loved ones who mourn, maybe he automatically suffered the very feelings we
would eventually suffer.
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