It’s a thing among some leaders and members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to strive to let their lights shine, to allow the brilliance of their countenance to represent what they feel inside, to beam it into and onto the world for all to see.
I don’t know about that. It shouldn’t be a thing.
I’ve never been much for that kind of beaming. It’s not uncommon, in fact, for those who attempt to beam excessively to be downright annoying. Maybe you know the type. Folks who think true righteousness, and along with it attendant happiness and firmness of faith, fires up in their souls and shoots out of their eyeballs, the windows to their souls, as laser examples of what good, clean living does for them, what it can do for you, and you and you and you.
Each converted face, it is said, tells the story of testimony, reveals a witness of commitment, demonstrates the visage of something heavenly. Like Charlton Heston’s characterization of Moses in Cecil B. DeMille’s “The Ten Commandments,” descending from the mountaintop, tablets in hand, with the blown-back white hair, a faraway gaze in his eyes and that divine shine on his cheeks and forehead.
(Al Hartmann | The Salt Lake Tribune) Utah Artist Arnold Friberg, shown in 2006, with one of his epic paintings of biblical scenes from Cecil B. Demille's "The Ten Commandments."
I don’t buy it. I say those who shine too much are maybe, as the saying goes, shining people on, deceiving folks. It’s proof of nothing. Not only are they possibly trying too hard, but also they could be selling something other than kindness and God’s good word.
Who’s with me on this?
Taken literally, the whole “shine” deal is a bastardization of a biblical passage that quotes Jesus as saying: “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father, which is in heaven.”
LaVell Edwards and Roy Kent
(Steve Griffin | The Salt Lake Tribune) BYU head coach LaVell Edwards wasn't all smiles during a Utah-BYU game in 1995.
What I take from that has little to do with physical appearance and a lot to do with extending good things to and for fellow humans, helping them by way of service and decency, by honorable acts, by being honest and kind.
Some of the most moral people I’ve known, the most righteous, if you want to use that word, are not shiny, happy people, or at least they don’t look like that. They have lines on their faces, deep creases that look like city street maps, wrinkles formed from worrying about family and friends they care about, tears in their eyes from feeling the buffetings that day-to-day life hands out. They enjoy living, yes, and they laugh at clever jokes, rock ‘n’ roll to good music, party when the time is right. But there isn’t much glow to them.
And yet, faithful followers among Latter-day Saints frequently are encouraged to smile, to radiate all day long, to emit light. The flip side inherent in that is the presumption that those who don’t beam are less than beam-worthy, that they are wandering in darkness, and that those who aren’t part of the church have no light to shine. It’s akin to worshippers inside the faith who think people outside of it can’t be happy because they have not embraced, do not embrace the full truth.
This, of course, is as arrogant as it is unfortunate.
I always liked LaVell Edwards, Brigham Young University’s legendary football coach. He was a great coach and a good man, who rarely smiled when he was on the sideline. He did the opposite. He frowned. He did not shine his light, not in his physical presentation. He shined in the way the aforementioned scripture meant the light to shine (unless you played for New Mexico and were getting pounded by nine touchdowns) — by being a thoroughly decent person, by doing good works. His look had nothing to do with it.
Grinning is not my normal expression, either. One day at church, someone suggested to me that I smile more, to, yeah, let my light shine. I met that admonition with a burp and a grunt. Since that’s the case, it won’t surprise anybody that one of my favorite TV characters is Roy Kent on “Ted Lasso.” He’s a foulmouthed curmudgeon — a grump, but a grump with good intentions and a heart of gold.
That’s where God looks, right? On the heart?
The real Jesus
Upon further review, I decided to go ahead and give a try to what my fellow churchgoer advised. I committed for one day, all day, to let my eyes sparkle, to flash a smile everywhere I went, at everyone I came in contact with — family members, friends, co-workers, strangers.
What happened? I freaked out everyone; that’s what happened. They told me to knock it off and never do that again. It was weird, unnatural. My shining light apparently did more harm than good.
And since we’re getting all biblical here, there’s a famous verse in Isaiah 53 that describes the physical appearance of the Messiah thusly: “He hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him.”
No mention there of him having a smiley veneer or a glow or a bright countenance, nothing about him being a shiny, happy person. He apparently didn’t look like a Scandinavian fashion model transported to the Middle East. He seemingly didn’t stand out in any way just to look at him.
I figure what stood out was his way, his truth, his life — his heart, not his skin tone; his charity, not his luminescence; his goodness, not his grin.
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