THE PATTERNS OF MY FAITH: SURPRISES OF THE SPIRIT
RICHARD CRACROFT is a professor of English at BYU and former dean of the college of humanities. This paper was presented at the Sunstone Symposium XI in Salt Lake City in August 1989 and is a revision of his essay in A Thoughtful Faith: Essays on Belief by Mormon Scholars.

I STOOD BEFORE THEM, at the end of a large Bierstube on an upper floor of the Munichholz Hotel in Steyr, Austria, enjoying once more the kind of spiritual surprise which has startled my life and faith with refreshing frequency. "As all have not faith," I suppose the Lord determined in my case, "let us allow this mortal -and his faithless kind-occasional jolts of joy. Otherwise, they'll never make it!" (I Cracroft 1:2).

So there I stood, on that wintry Sunday morning in 1957, presenting a message on Jesus Christ in my eight- month missionary German to a small assembly of Austrians in a chilly, cluttered barroom, carefully observed by a black-leather-coated, expressionless Austrian Geheimpolizist.

In the midst of my presentation on the need for a Savior in our lives, I was overwhelmed (not for the first time in my brief mission) by the sheer beauty of the gospel I was outlining, by the wondrous nature of the Saviors mission, and by the monumental significance of his sacrifice for me and everyone in the room (including the cop). Suddenly I was undergoing an experience which I can only label as transcendent-an

"O that I were an angel" experience in which I felt the impress of the Holy Spirit in the thrill up the spine, the cool moisture on my forehead, the tremor of' JOY- the shock of recognition- throughout my being. By then I know the signs, all of which affirmed that I was, at that moment, a kind of prophet (albeit very minor), a testator of Eternal Truth, a witness for Jesus Christ.

Then, just as suddenly, I entered into another, new stage of transcendence. Even as I looked at my minuscule congregation" and saw the confirming Spirit working on each face (I'm not sure about the cop) -I (or some part of me) was out of my body, at the back of the room, elevated into the corner, watching the whole event at a remove. Part of me was actually looking at the backs of my Austrian friends, seeing me standing before that attentive group, while the other me in the rear comer was filled with a wondrous confirmation that what the young Mormon missionary was saying, in fervent but labored German, was true.

That other, somehow spiritually objective me was filled with amazement at the changes which those truths, spoken about with the authority of deep conviction, had wrought upon that same young man who, a year earlier, was struggling with himself and drifting, frustrated and aimlessly, in and out of the gospel net. At that moment I realized Joy. Like Enos or Alma or Paul, I knew that it was but a type of the joy which comes to every man and woman who, through the ministrations of the Holy Ghost, realizes Jesus Christ, and God, and the Restoration and the vision of the spiritual life,

Then in a moment, I was back in my earth-bound body, looking again through my own eyes into the faces of the little congregation. I knew, more than ever, that all of those truths which we encompass by the term, "The Gospel," were really Truth with a capital T: Truth in a sense far beyond what I had hitherto comprehended; Truth in the sense of becoming, as my mission president, the late Jesse R. Curtis, always said, "truer by the minute." I began to understand that such Truth is accessible by tracing the unchanging spiritual patterns by which our God deals with his mortal children, patterns which I call Surprises of' the Spirit-road signs and course correctors on the way to eternal lives. Those close encounters of the nearly third kind,. spiritually gathered, pondered, and treasured, can sweep one beyond faith to a certitude which has enabled me, at least, to take a firmer grip on the Iron Rod of life, especially when the fog gets thick and the rod becomes slippery.

II

SUCH Surprises of the Spirit have become pillars of my faith ever since my mission-and earlier. Excited from my early youth by books, and predetermined before the foundations of this earth, and by inclination and influential siblings, to the parlous life of an LDS English major at the University of Utah, I attached myself, at East High School, to some very bright young men and women and a brilliant English teacher and, despite forays into football and student government and fascination with the opera, began to enjoy long, albeit one-sided after-school chats about literature and philosophy. I enjoyed these heady introductions to audacious new and heretical ideas and thoughts, and I felt myself stretched beyond my capacities.

These intellectual adventures prepared me for college and my particular company of brilliant young men and teachers who, in endless late-night, after-date discussions fanned my skepticism through their articulate, reasoned and burning disbelief and intellectual independence, and utter disdain for the Church. They introduced me to bit draughts of doubt (and a few other draughts, too), and I began a short-lived rebellion against the Church and familial standards. But the more I warmed my hands at their intellectual fires, the chillier I grew, and I began to learn by my own spiritual discomfort just how cold and dark life can become without the presence of Light. I gradually learned that gospel standards had become my incontrovertible standards, by which I gauged my own happiness and success. Night after night I would lie abed and run through a catechism about the existence of God, purpose in the universe, the divinity of Jesus Christ, the calling of Joseph Smith, Jr., about the origins of the Book of Mormon, an Blacks and the priesthood. And night after night, I found myself concluding the catechism by kneeling in prayer, feeling like a world-class hypocrite (though even there I fell wonderfully short), and asking God for comfort, hope, direction, and peace of mind.

I continued to attend Church meetings where an understanding bishop overlooked my temporary confusion and called me to responsible positions which I performed scrupulously and thus kept a fingernail grip on the outward Church even as I was probing my inward beliefs and private heresies. It was a dangerous tightrope walk. Eventually I decided, as most believers seem to, that my questions could not be resolved by the intellect- I would have to opt for faith. I soon realized that opting for faith was impossible without making a commitment. I asked the Lord for strength to change my course; he began to unfold his pattern for me by wrenching me from my slough of despair through creating an upheaval in my personal life which enabled me to start anew. Seizing the moment I made the decision to opt for faith, to test the Lord by taking some definite though tentative steps toward him. Within a few days, I felt the burden of doubt and rebellion lift and watched the lights go on, as God took some giant steps toward me. I was amazed how soon I felt so well. A few Sundays after my decision, I was asked to offer a benediction in sacrament meeting. For me it was a symbolic reaffirmation, and I pondered the occasion and prayed about it. To my surprise, I was filled during the prayer with power and joy and warmth and happiness. I had teamed the major truth about faith- when we take one small Father-may-I step toward him, we may expect a giant Yes-you-may step toward us. A few months later I learned that Paul had summed up what I had learned in his words to the Romans, since emblazoned in my soul: "For to be carnally [worldly] minded is death- but to be spiritually minded is life and peace" (8:6). It is so.

It was only a matter of weeks before I knew that part of my commitment to faith would be volunteering myself for missionary service. The new-born Christian within me shouted " " But the carnal man groaned, for that part of me dreaded yes. the calling, which seemed to stretch before me like thirty months of twenty-four-hour-a-day seminary classes (all due respect to the CES). Both sides of me resolved to go, as a lamb to the slaughter, with my conscience full of offense, for I knew that accepting a mission call was, in fact, put up or shut up time for me. I went in faith, though I frankly did not expect very much out of the missionary experience. But, I reasoned, if faith precedes the miracle, I'd better see a miracle or two before long.

III

THE miracles weren't long in coming. I was called to the Swiss-Austrian Mission and went determined to place hard work on the altar. To my surprise, hard work with sympathetic companions led to increased faith and, increasingly, to nurturing Surprises of the Spirit, to the promised miracles, as the Lord stepped toward me and more than met the conditions of his promise. My first mission (I have waited thirty-three years to use that humble-sounding, self-aggrandizing phrase) became a marvelous unfolding of my spirit, a time of discovering the patterns of joy which have marked my course ever since. I date my life from that mission.

I learned that as I took my finger from my own pulse and became "anxiously engaged" in the work of the ministry, I found my true and original Self and seemed to enjoy more and more Spiritual Surprises, shoring-up of the faith. I delighted to find that my companions and I could actually teach others the pattern.

One example is Karl Lederhilger, a leader of the Seventh- Day Adventist congregations in Upper Austria. Invited to meet him by his wife, who had attended one of our Tuesday lectures, we armed ourselves with Sabbath-day scriptural references and, fasting and fearful, rode our bikes to his home. As we had feared, our lesson on the Godhood was immediately challenged, and we were soon futilely arguing about the Sabbath. In the middle of the conflict, however, my companion, inspired, sent me to my bicycle saddlebags to fetch my outline of the Plan of Salvation, and I taught the Plan to the Lederhilger family, a bit fearful that I was feeding meat where the menu called for soup. But I was wrong, and I was filled by the Spirit and watched as Surprises of the Spirit began to occur. Karl, his face keen with interest, began to supply from memory the supporting scriptures -even some we hadn't thought of. He would gently interrupt and clarify for his family various aspects of the Plan, affirming the points as he talked. he Spirit of God gradually filled the room until it was almost tangible. When I broached the need for vicarious baptism for the dead, Karl suddenly leaped to his feet, tears springing to his eyes, and recited, from memory, I Corinthians 15:29, "Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead. . ." "I have studied for years," he cried, "to find out what this scripture means, and now these two young men make it all crystal clear. This gospel is true, Mutti, these young men have brought us the truth." Surprise: the chill up the spine, the cold sweat on the forehead, the trembling through my soul - only this time everyone in the room shared these manifestations. The family was baptized a few weeks later. They had stepped in faith toward God, and he had drawn near and given them the greater perspective, before which their earlier concerns about the Sabbath paled into relative insignificance.

With many others, they had learned that God's patterns are not so mysterious after all, for if he does move in "mysterious ways/ His wonders to perform," he clearly "plants His footsteps on the sea/ And walks upon the storm." And, from time to time, he allows us to watch him walk. And shout hosanna.

IV

So I believe, in part because I have watched God's patterns at work in my life and in the lives of others. I know, because the patterns have been proven trustworthy. It is a simple pattern: The individual makes a gesture toward belief and faith; the Spirit bears witness; the Mighty Change experienced and described by Alma the Younger follows; I then the Surprises of the Spirit crop up from time to time to remind the believer that though he or she is twenty or forty or sixty years out from Home, our mutual Father will blow across the coals of our Spirits, spark a surprise or shock of recognition in our souls, as if to say, "Here, my child, is a whiff of truth, an essence of remembrance, a tangible something to remind you that I'm here; that you're on course; that your feet are still treading, however imperfectly, the paths which will lead to joy in mortality and in eternity." It is a simple pattern. As the old Shaker song, "Simple Gifts," puts it,

'Tis the gift to be simple

'Tis the gift to be free

'Tis the gift to come down

where you ought to be.

And when we find ourselves

in the place just right

'Twill be in the valley of

love and delight.



Although the pattern is simple, keeping my life simple, in harmony, attuned to ever new Surprises of the Spirit, is more complex. In my own post-mission life, I seemed to become more earthbound as a student, husband, father, professor. I learned, at three universities, the appropriate skepticism; I learned to revel in the pursuit of truth, lower case. I learned I had to labor to keep my spiritual equilibrium, my equipoise. I learned that everyone else undergoes the same struggle.

In my attempts to balance my "in the world" inclinations with my "not of the world" desires, I have found that my religious life was not described by either of the categories identified by Richard Poll as "Liahona" or "Iron Rod."1 Intellectually, I felt I should be a card-carrying Liahona Mormon, grounding my faith in reason and empirically verifiable experience, confessing that I have only what Poll has called "a somewhat tenuous connection with the Holy Spirit." On the other hand, I felt that inasmuch as I saw the Church as the visible and tangible earthly arm of our presently invisible God, I was close to the Iron Rodder's two basic, institutionally-centered tenets, "Follow the Brethren" and "Obedience is the first law of heaven." But besides my own discomfort with Procrustean beds or pigeonholing, I simply felt that neither category defines my more than tenuous connection with the Spirit.

I am, I recently discovered, a member of a group called, for want of a better term, "Charismatics." At least that is what Jeffrey C. Jacob calls my kind of Latter-day Saint in his article,2 Jacob defines the Charismatic group as Latter-day Saints who " take a less mediated approach to religious experience by elevating the place of the Holy Spirit in their lives, not simply to confirm Church directives, but as an independent source of guidance and inspiration." Falling somewhere on the continuum between the reason and experience orientation of the Liahona and the faith orientation of the Iron Rod, the Charismatics rely on personal inspiration and "quietly endure uncertainty rather than systematically engaging doubt." In pursuing truth they seek a "personal relationship with Christ" and turn "to cultivating a sense of God in their lives," seeking "the presence of the divine," confident that God "is not remote and uninvolved in our lives." Hurrah, I said to myself, "I'm charismatic," "No," said my wife, "you're enigmatic-and a Charismatic groupie." "Whatever," I whispered, charismatically.

V

OF course, true Charismatic that I am, I do not pretend to understand the reason behind the pattern of God's hand in our lives, but I know that he monitors and often gives guidance to our actions, our lives. Unquestionably, he answers prayers, he gives comfort and direction. He prompts and directs. And when I tally up instances of his interventions in my life, his outright manipulation, I gave thanks. He told me moments after I met her that Janice was to be my wife (though I played fair and didn't force that knowledge on her until much later). He told that same woman and me that we were to cancel building plans and move to our present home. He commanded me at a very critical juncture, through my wife, to command our daughter to be healed, and she was. He cheated for me by telling me, on the morning of my final Ph.D. examination, the wording of the major bibliographic essay for the day- and I studied that material and aced the examination. He responded to my plea to help me find spiritual balance amidst my Ph.. studies at the University of Wisconsin by having bishop Arval Erekson call me, the very next Sunday, to serve for one year as the seminary teacher, thereby urging me to a renewal of gospel studies. He told me, in a startling daytime vision, not only that Elder Thomas S. Monson would call me as stake president of the Provo Utah East Stake, but also showed me my two counselors and which high counselors I should release and which men I should sustain. And it scared me to death, but I had no doubts, for the pattern was clear. It was exactly the same pattern he had followed in showing me, in great detail, my calling to the bishopric of the East Twenty-Seventh Ward; in showing me that I would become the bishop of the Provo Bonneville Ward; and that I would become the president of the Switzerland Zurich Mission. And when it came time to call Relief Society presidents, Young Women leaders, quorum presidents, some twenty-five bishops, and to make monthly transfers of young missionaries, he has given me, time after time, Surprises of the Spirit.

No two revelations were the same, but the patterns were similar. It is left to me to take the initial steps, humble myself, plead with the Lord, and then await, with patience, the inexorable Surprise. In his own good time, in his own good way, the Lord makes his will known, and I have been able to say, "Thus saith the Lord." The pattern works.

This Joy of the Lord pressing near is so rewarding and refreshing that I have slowly learned to shun the spiritual bruisings which I inevitably receive when I allow my mortality to assert itself and venture into ark-steadying, criticism of the Church and her leadership, questioning doctrine, carping about Church policies, programs, and my fellow mortals. After indulging in such -and who doesn't? -I inevitably sense a withdrawal of the Spirit, a cessation of faith and growth and peace, and I feel the need to hasten back to the pattern of renewal, to spiritual growth and refreshment on which I have come to rely. Though my spiritual life is only partially dependent upon the outward Church below, I know that the Church is the arm of the Lord, the deliverer of his ordinances, a schoolmaster for my soul, an afforder of opportunities to serve and be served by others, and its leaders are his anointed. I find that harmony with Christ's Church is essential to my spiritual well-being.

VI

The same pattern holds in the mission field. Over the past three years, I have watched as elder after sister has learned to climb up out of finger-on-pulse self-centeredness to lose him- or herself in the hard, bruising, tough, but character-sculpting and Christocentric work of the ministry to be rewarded by those Surprises and gifts of the Spirit--those spiritual promptings, insights, flashes of intelligence, dreams, visions, healings, witnesses of the divinity of the Book of Mormon and the Restoration, miracles of conversion-which seem to the missionary to occur only occasionally, but which appear to the mission president, as Chief Gatherer, Correlator and Reporter, as almost overwhelming manifestations of the intricate involvement of the Lord in the lives of these young men and women and older couples as he manipulates them into position to render service to and beget change in the lives of his children. Day after week after year, large and small events take place, as the elders and sisters make their Fathr-may-I steps into the twilight zone of faith only to learn that God is immediately behind the veil, and that here is a moment which affirms Truth and strengthens purpose and "holds up the hands when they hang down." I have often wished that there were a central recording facility at Church headquarters to which the Saints could call in their Surprises of the Spirit. These experiences, indexed and printed as a modern "Magnalia Christi" or "Remarkable Providences," would, I am confident, fill many volumes yearly and stem any talk as to whether the Spirit is lively in the Church of Jesus Christ.

As a mission president, I was likewise lifted, from time to time, above the routine concerns with the health of the missionaries, with numbers of baptisms, companionship problems, and the handful of missionaries who are always paddling around in the belly of the whale. The pattern held.

Typical is an event that occurred just over a year ago, while several of us attended a performance of Verdi's Rigoletto, at the Luzern Opera House. Following the first act, the manager approached me and explained, "Miss Marina Jajic, our soprano, has become seriously ill and will not be able to continue her performance. Herr Montgomery [a Latter-day Saint and our host who was performing in the title role] has requested that the Mormon mission president give Miss Jajic a blessing. Follow if you will be so kind." me, I will

Surprised and a bit apprehensive, my assistants and I accompanied the manager backstage to the women's dressing room. There, slumped in a comer chair, was Marina Jajic, collapsed and deathly pate and looking like a Gilda who had prematurely fallen victim to the assassin's dagger. We introduced ourselves, teamed that she spoke little German but passable English, and established that she had faith that Christ could heal her, and that she desired a blessing. So there, amidst the hubbub of a dressing room full of partially-clad but heavily made-up singer--actresses, a Mormon mission president and two Mormon elders recently pulled from their pleasant opera boxes, administered in English to a deathly ill Roman Catholic soprano from Yugoslavia who desperately wanted and needed to be made well.

Then the Surprise of the Spirit occurred. I was suddenly able to shut out the confusion of the dressing room, and, filled with peace and conviction, knew exactly what the Lord wanted me to say. I gave expression to the feelings which somehow surged up from some flowing well within my soul, and I said things which surprised all of us, given the obvious condition of this woman. "Be healed! You will begin to regain strength immediately," I heard myself saying, "and you will recover and will not only continue your performance this evening, but you will sing magnificently. And as you reflect on this later, you will know that this blessing comes from God, through Jesus Christ. And you will want to learn more about Christ's desires for you." We concluded the administration. She thanked us, her eyes still partially closed, her face pallid. As we left the dressing room, I felt a confidence and calm which belled her appearance, and my rational self admitted that the fulfillment of my blessing seemed unlikely. Assuring he hand-wringing manager that we would not object if the house doctor looked at her, we made our way back to our seats, reassured the others in our party, and began praying, hard, that the Lord would indeed grant the very specific promises of the blessing. After a fifteen-minute wait, the manager, who had already appeared on stage to inform us of Miss Jajic's illness, reappeared to proclaim, "I am pleased to announce that Miss Jajic is feeling better and will be able to continue in her role as Gilda." Moments later we enthusiastically applauded Marina's reappearance on the stage, but I was also applauding our Father for stretching his finger into our lives and granting a special request. In accordance with the blessing, Manna performed magnificently, as did our Mormon baritone. It was a memorable evening- made even more memorable in the last scene, wherein Marina gave a very convincing portrayal of Gilda's lingering death.

The encore to that evening made it even better. Marina, understanding the miracle which had happened, began to question her colleague, Brian Montgomery, a returned missionary. She repeatedly accepted invitations to attend church and church socials. A few weeks later, the Montgomerys invited her to their home for dinner and a meeting with the missionaries. She accepted the invitation and began a rich and productive relationship with the sister missionaries, which culminated in her baptism in June 1988. The Lord had moved in not-so- mysterious ways to urge another of his children into his kingdom.

VII

SUCH spiritual manifestations, repeatedly reinforced, have affirmed that opting for faith in 1956 was, for me, the night course to belief and testimony and increased faith. I know that I am a common man, a scene-sweller at best. But I also know that I am a child of God striving to become a man of God; and I know that God monitors my life and cares about me, even in my relatively insignificant ministry, tucked away in Provo, Utah, or Zurich, Switzerland.

He cares about me and he cares about you and he will show it, though I don't presume to know why or when-nor do I agonize about it anymore. I don't know why a Provo man with inoperable brain cancer was instantly healed and remains well while another Provo woman with cancer and a few weeks to live was promised and given only two years to live and to accomplish her mission. I don't know why, during the blessing of a shattered alcoholic, his mother, six months dead, was permitted to enter the room and pour out, through my mouth and to the surprise of my counselor and me, a tender blessing and warning which changed her son's life. I don't know why the recently deceased mother of a young lady missionary appeared to her husband during the setting apart, nodding and smiling at him over my shoulder-and subsequently effected a total change in her husband. I don't know why the Lord intervened in these instances, while in other, perhaps similar instances there was no apparent intervention. I have learned merely to "confess his hand in all things," and shout hosanna.

I do know that such events are faithful realities which affirm the simple pattern of faith and make vivid the actuality of the world of the spirit. When I pause to recollect them, to count my blessings, they overwhelm me, and make it easier to be nourished by the experiences of an Abraham, a Moses, an Enos, an Alma, a Paul, or a Joseph Smith, Jr. The testimonies of innumerable men and women who have left a record of their witness, of their Spiritual Surprises, live anew in each occurrence where our God presses close, for they spring from the Great Pattern. When they are heeded by the faithful, who place themselves in God's hand, these Surprises of the Spirit, these occasional draughts of joy, become Living Water, which will always flow forth to nourish and transform, to witness and testify. It is God's way. Hosanna-and Amen!

NOTES

1. Richard Poll, "What the Church Means to People Like Me," Dialogue: A Journal of Mormon Thought (Winter 1967).

2. Jeffrey C. Jacob, "Explorations in Mormon Social Character: Beyond the Liahona and Iron Rod," Dialogue: A Journal Of Mormon Thought (Summer 1989).