What I find troubling about the story is that this kind of "Lazarus" miracle is not in line with how the Lord operates today. The Lord works miracles by guiding the hands of surgeons or in conjunction with the efforts of his servants. I'd find the story more believable if Elder Gay first administered CPR on the gnat before the Lord stepped in to make up the difference.
I would be remiss if I did not share my own faith-promoting entomological story.
Yes, I remember distinctly that it was in the dusty hot summer of 1990, and I was serving the Lord on a mission in the desert southwest. My companion and I were cycling slowly through several inches of soft sand to make it to the end of a lonely lane where stood that last humble domicile we felt inspired to inquire at. It was the very last door left unchecked by missionaries in that part of the small desert burg. As we approached, I saw a curtain draw back revealing dark sunglasses beneath scraggly white locks. The spirit seemed to warn me to be wary of this dimly lit figure behind the curtain. Undaunted, I pressed forward, urging my young greenie companion to take courage. We would knock on that last door!
We mounted the stoop, and a dry, brown slab of a wood loomed above me. Did I trust my training? Did I trust the Spirit that I should be wary but the Lord had my back? I knocked once and heard dusky, low echoes reverberate inside the desert manse. A bead of perspiration collected at the edge of my companion's closely trimmed widows peak, lingering for a moment until it made a rivulet down the center of his brow, slipping quickly to the tip of his aquiline nose. Was this a sign? Were we, too, headed for a fall?
The seconds slowed until it seemed an eternity, and just as we were about to dust off our shoes, cursing the unfriendly wizened monster on the other side of the door, we heard a slow, moaning creak that drew out and pitched up as the cavernous maw of the entryway cast its inky shadow inward, capturing all sunlight and sending it to an eternal tomb. "Yes?" came the phantasmic whisper of a voice of inestimable antiquity, wisping out to our ears like autumn leaves tumbling impishly over a graveyard in October. We strained forward rocking onto our toes to see the source of the spectral sound.
And, bam!!! struck by a pillar of light a dazzling nimbus of bedraggled and wiry white hair shooting in unimaginable directions blinded our eyes, sending our hearts into ceaseless prayer to the great Jehovah to rescue us from the terrifying spectacle quivering and gibbering before our eyes! An old man, yes, but of an age that was timeless nonetheless, holding us spellbound and shattered, compelling us to reach for our consecrated oil to save our suddenly imperiled young lives!!!!
"What have you to do with me, young Brighamites?!?!?!?" We were stunned, unaccustomed as we were to this appellation from a world away in the land of the Reorganites. A laugh--it should have calmed our fears--but instead it stirred fresh terrors, catapulting them to our foreheads and whipping our heads back in horror. Would we ever be the same again? Would we ever leave this cursed doorstep? Would we return home to wed those dear, chaste daughters of Zion who had written us faithfully for months, little knowing what horrors we faced among apostates and heathen?
Then, a swift cutting motion, frantic and in all directions, the arms of the ancient scarecrow were whipping almost randomly in all directions at once, like a mad, sinister windmill about to finely slice Crooked Quixote into minuscule pieces. A horrible, whining, buzzing, sound ripped through the air, diving into the anemone tendrils of the hoary Reorganite head. Screams skittered on the offbeats of the shooting arms, shooting like garbage projectiles. "Help me! You fiends! You brought this Beelzebub upon me! Now free me from it or be cursed forevermore!" Suddenly, my trusty companion, who had up to this moment been frozen as a sheet of ice, threw his hand up in a graceful arc that stopped percussively to the form of a perfect square. And he roared like a lion of Judah:
"Away foul freak of hell's infernal gourd! Free this phantom from thy wicked wizzing! I am a son of the great Lord Jehovah, who has trod the path of Gene R. Cook and recovered many a lost wallet! You shall not escape my priesthood bludgeoning!"
All stood perfectly still, as if time itself had stopped on a pin. The arms, the hair, the wizened old creature, the whining Beelzebub. Now motionless. And the horsefly dropped like a stone on the earth, shaking the house when it struck the stoop. Then silence.
Was this a mad vision from another dimension? Was this the fruit of my labors, my unceasing prayers, my fasting for long hours?
Suddenly my eye was fastened to the horsefly, which had but moments ago tortured us with its demonic screeching and banshee-like aerial attack on the crazed old loon, that damned soul Reorganite. And almost imperceptibly, but soon beyond denial, a mustard seed of compassion bloomed deep within my heart. Was this the monster who had just now crashed into our contact opportunity and nearly robbed us of the salvation of the aged Reorganite? Why did this scourge of but a moment ago now look so pitiable, so vulnerable, so nearly dead!?!?
Now my arm, slowly but surely, started to lift from its hanging dead weight at my side as though an invisible balloon were drawing it up. Without any thought, my lips formed around words not consciously uttered but sounding all the same, first as whispers but then with growing conviction in crescendo to a confident, resounding patriarchal blast! "Up poor creature of the night's Plutonian shore, up foul demon from the great Abyss! Even thou shalt be saved by the mighty priesthood of Adam, Abraham, Nephi, and Brother Joseph! You shall remain lifeless no longer!"
All eyes were glued to the horsefly. A twitch of the leg, a slight buzz. A half spin on the dusty stoop.
And then nothing.
We all turned to each other. The old man raised a craggy eyebrow, smirked, and gently closed the door, which made a slow gentle moan and then pressed out a tiny puff of air as it was drawn shut. My companion and I turned to leave, confidently and resolutely, knowing . . .
That we had sufficient faith for the fly NOT TO BE SAVED!!!!
My all-time favorite of these GA stories is the one where the guy is seated on a flight next to Mick Jagger. I cannot remember which GA it was.
I liked the one where Ezra Taft Benson was seated next to a young Elvis Presley, but due to talking exclusively about himself, failed even to learn who Elvis Presley was. I doubt Benson watched the Ed Sullivan show. Probably thought Sullivan was a communist who certainly did not deserve agricultural subsidies.
Classic. Personally, my all-time favorite of these GA stories is the one where the guy is seated on a flight next to Mick Jagger. I cannot remember which GA it was….
What’s interesting is that the Mopologists all act as if they are completely oblivious to these embarrassing talks. Do Jack Welch or DCP think that a gnat could be raised from the dead like this? Do gnats have NDEs? The bottom line, I suppose, is that these guys all belong to the same church, and the ones telling these whackadoodle stories are in leadership positions.
Gene R. Cook.
Ah, yes--of course. Thank you for the reminder, Sock Puppet.
It was hilarious: I believe there was a thread on the old MAD board or some place like that (here, even?) where one or more posters went to great lengths in an effort to authenticate the story. The research ended somewhat inconclusively (If I recall correctly), but strongly leaning in the direction that it couldn't have happened, and that Cook made the whole thing up. And then Dr. Robbers offered further (very persuasive) speculation: i.e., that Cook had been at the airport and saw a magazine or newspaper with Jagger on the cover, and picked it up and read it (i.e., Cook did), and came away quaking with rage that Jagger is "living it up," having sex, and doing all sorts of non-Gospel-type things. And so he made up the story about this encounter as a way of getting a sort of vicarious "revenge."
It really is remarkable how often the GAs seem to tell these fictitious stories.
"If, while hoping that everybody else will be honest and so forth, I can personally prosper through unethical and immoral acts without being detected and without risk, why should I not?." --Daniel Peterson, 6/4/14
Ah, yes--of course. Thank you for the reminder, Sock Puppet.
It was hilarious: I believe there was a thread on the old MAD board or some place like that (here, even?) where one or more posters went to great lengths in an effort to authenticate the story. The research ended somewhat inconclusively (If I recall correctly), but strongly leaning in the direction that it couldn't have happened, and that Cook made the whole thing up. And then Dr. Robbers offered further (very persuasive) speculation: i.e., that Cook had been at the airport and saw a magazine or newspaper with Jagger on the cover, and picked it up and read it (i.e., Cook did), and came away quaking with rage that Jagger is "living it up," having sex, and doing all sorts of non-Gospel-type things. And so he made up the story about this encounter as a way of getting a sort of vicarious "revenge."
It really is remarkable how often the GAs seem to tell these fictitious stories.
Was that the thread ToGo was in?
"Only the atheist realizes how morally objectionable it is for survivors of catastrophe to believe themselves spared by a loving god, while this same God drowned infants in their cribs." Sam Harris
My all-time favorite of these GA stories is the one where the guy is seated on a flight next to Mick Jagger. I cannot remember which GA it was.
I liked the one where Ezra Taft Benson was seated next to a young Elvis Presley, but due to talking exclusively about himself, failed even to learn who Elvis Presley was. I doubt Benson watched the Ed Sullivan show. Probably thought Sullivan was a communist who certainly did not deserve agricultural subsidies.
Will any farmers get ag subsidies the next 4 years?
"Only the atheist realizes how morally objectionable it is for survivors of catastrophe to believe themselves spared by a loving god, while this same God drowned infants in their cribs." Sam Harris
He said “I have asked myself for years, why did God do this for me?”
This brings up the question, “why does God save the gnat and not the drowning child?”
The limited Mormon God who is incapable of performing miracles is actually much kinder and less capricious. The God with magic powers choosing to save a gnat while watching humans endure unspeakable suffering is just plain psychopathic.
Drumdude I thought all Mormons believe that God performs miracles.
Mormon God is more like a time traveler from the world of Star Trek. Sufficiently advanced to seem to perform miracles but actually bound by the laws of nature just as any other man is.
Mormon God is not the creator of the universe and he cannot suspend the natural order to create a miracle the way the traditional concept of a Christian Creator God can.
If the universe is an ant farm, the Christian God is the owner of the farm looking in. The Mormon God is just one of the ants, in a state of exhalation.
Drumdude I thought all Mormons believe that God performs miracles.
Mormon God is more like a time traveler from the world of Star Trek. Sufficiently advanced to seem to perform miracles but actually bound by the laws of nature just as any other man is.
Mormon God is not the creator of the universe and he cannot suspend the natural order to create a miracle the way the traditional concept of a Christian Creator God can.
If the universe is an ant farm, the Christian God is the owner of the farm looking in. The Mormon God is just one of the ants, in a state of exhalation.
Drum dude my memory of the Christian God is is that he was made man and came and lived amongst us and so he's wedded to this world in a way quite different than you seem to describe here.
Drum dude, continuing my question I don't understand why a miracle means leaving the natural order. It seems to me that God created the natural order and would respect it and use it. Suspending the natural order would be chaotic. Wouldn't it make more sense to use it?
Mormons do not believe that God created nature nor that he can surpass its order.
God becoming man is very different than God being only a man.
God is transcendent. That means that he is above and beyond the physical world. In order to create the universe, or multiverse, God has to be existentially above all that is physical. God as God, is not physical at all. He does not have a body, he does not have eyes, or ears, or sit on a throne. Those are all images that help us understand our relationship with him, but are not literal.
The Christian idea that God became man makes no sense in Mormonism because 1) God is already just a man, and 2) Jesus is his own separate person.
Basically Joseph Smith just copied the new materialistic ideas of his day and threw them into his theology with things like Kolob, etc. Had Joseph Smith lived in our time, he might have said God was an A.I. living on a supercomputer planet.
