I am grateful for Adam's gift of story re-telling to draw out keen theological insights that are both intellectually and spiritually inspiring. At the same time, his writing is crucially practical, inviting us to exercise our spiritual muscles, walking and talking our way into a new world.
Once one recognizes the centrality of vicarious suffering in the model of Christ, the New Testament can finally be understood. Faith comes in to focus, grace jumps off the page, church gets a meaning etc. My own journey started with Colossians 1:24 (which due to its archaic translation has never been quoted in General Conference but is clearly rendered in modern translations and in many of the other languages.) I discovered that this verse is embraced by Catholics but is the subject of doctoral dissertations by Protestants but the Saints have the key of understanding.
I can scarcely turn a page of scripture now without finding the necessity of vicarious covenant living. The chastity, consecration, and obedience of the dead rest upon our covenant living.
Over and again I have heard leaders tell youth that Joseph Smith taught that as soon as they are baptized for the dead an administrator releases a soul from spirit prison. They left out the proviso that this would happen when the proxy lived the law of the gospel. "Every man that has been baptized and belongs to the kingdom has a right to be baptized for those who have gone before; and as soon as the law of the Gospel is obeyed here by their friends who act as proxy for them, the Lord has administrators there to set them free." TOPC Joseph Smith Chapter 41.
I haven't changed the meaning of homoousios it’s now restored to its original home in human experience. I moved it from dusty old textbook and iback on the porch steps where it belongs.
It is the covenant that this specific, practical, enduring love—the plate of food, the hand, the weight on the shoulder—is not just a temporary comfort, but a participation in the very nature of God. It is the one thing that, when everything else shatters and proves to be just a tinkling cymbal, remains. It is a thing that holds. And because it holds, it lasts. And because it is of God, it lasts for eternity.
Thank you for this. The image of the man who cannot stop walking is haunting in its perfect capture of an "implacable necessity"—a force that operates independently of our consent or understandingYour framing of this as divine indwelling, as Christ already being "in" us, rings with a terrifying and beautiful truth. It makes me think of my own life's work, not in academia, but in the public defender's office and the silent spaces of a marriage.
I found myself reading your words and thinking of a different kind of implacable force: not walking, but **love as a sustained, physical presence**. It is the force that meets our internal, helpless walking and offers a weight to lean against.
In my writing, I've tried to capture this not as a concept, but as a thing that happens between people. It looks like this:
HOMOOSIOS
The kitchen light made a yellow pool on the table.
Eli sat. The files were stacked. Nothing.
Maya put a plate down. Meat. Beans. She looked at the files.
“Done,” she said.
“Yes.”
“It did not work.”
“No.”
He picked up his fork. Put it down.
“The law is a sound,” he said. “A tinkling brass. A clanging cymbal.”
She sat. Her hands on the table. Good hands.
“The numbers were clean. The world is not.”
“No.”
“The rules were straight. The men were not.”
She nodded.
“I knew things I could not say.”
She waited.
“It all broke,” he said.
She looked at him. Her eyes were steady.
“Not everything.”
He was quiet.
“Eat,” she said.
He ate. The food was good.
She took the plate. She took the files. The plate went in the washer. The files went in the trash.
She came back. Put her hand on his. It was warm.
“Come.”
They went to the porch. The air was cool. The stars were out.
They sat on the steps. She leaned against him. Her head on his shoulder.
The stars were sharp and cold.
Her weight was warm. It was solid.
It was a thing that held.
End
This, to me, is the inverse of your walking man.This is a story of a force that drives him away from everything. The story of Eli and Maya is about a force that *holds*even when every other system has proven to be just “a tinkling brass, a clanging cymbal.”
It is love made tangible. Not as a feeling, but as a substance It is the *homoousios* of the human sphere, the "consubstantial" weight of another person that tells you, without words, that you are not alone in the universe. It is the very antithesis of the empty sound Paul described.
Your walking man has Christ in him as an implacable necessity. Eli has Maya. And in that, perhaps he becomes holy he meets Christ.
This, I believe, is what temple marriage is ultimately about. It is the covenant that this specific, practical, enduring love—the plate of food, the hand, the weight on the shoulder—is not just a temporary comfort, but a participation in the very nature of God. It is the one thing that, when everything else shatters and proves to be just a tinkling cymbal, remains. It is a thing that holds. And because it holds, it lasts. And because it is of God, it lasts for eternity.
I am grateful for Adam's gift of story re-telling to draw out keen theological insights that are both intellectually and spiritually inspiring. At the same time, his writing is crucially practical, inviting us to exercise our spiritual muscles, walking and talking our way into a new world.
Once one recognizes the centrality of vicarious suffering in the model of Christ, the New Testament can finally be understood. Faith comes in to focus, grace jumps off the page, church gets a meaning etc. My own journey started with Colossians 1:24 (which due to its archaic translation has never been quoted in General Conference but is clearly rendered in modern translations and in many of the other languages.) I discovered that this verse is embraced by Catholics but is the subject of doctoral dissertations by Protestants but the Saints have the key of understanding.
I can scarcely turn a page of scripture now without finding the necessity of vicarious covenant living. The chastity, consecration, and obedience of the dead rest upon our covenant living.
Over and again I have heard leaders tell youth that Joseph Smith taught that as soon as they are baptized for the dead an administrator releases a soul from spirit prison. They left out the proviso that this would happen when the proxy lived the law of the gospel. "Every man that has been baptized and belongs to the kingdom has a right to be baptized for those who have gone before; and as soon as the law of the Gospel is obeyed here by their friends who act as proxy for them, the Lord has administrators there to set them free." TOPC Joseph Smith Chapter 41.
Oh yes, and thank you for your essay Brother Miller.
I haven't changed the meaning of homoousios it’s now restored to its original home in human experience. I moved it from dusty old textbook and iback on the porch steps where it belongs.
It is the covenant that this specific, practical, enduring love—the plate of food, the hand, the weight on the shoulder—is not just a temporary comfort, but a participation in the very nature of God. It is the one thing that, when everything else shatters and proves to be just a tinkling cymbal, remains. It is a thing that holds. And because it holds, it lasts. And because it is of God, it lasts for eternity.
The law is a sound,” he said. “A tinkling brass. A clanging cymbal.”
Brother Miller,
Thank you for this. The image of the man who cannot stop walking is haunting in its perfect capture of an "implacable necessity"—a force that operates independently of our consent or understandingYour framing of this as divine indwelling, as Christ already being "in" us, rings with a terrifying and beautiful truth. It makes me think of my own life's work, not in academia, but in the public defender's office and the silent spaces of a marriage.
I found myself reading your words and thinking of a different kind of implacable force: not walking, but **love as a sustained, physical presence**. It is the force that meets our internal, helpless walking and offers a weight to lean against.
In my writing, I've tried to capture this not as a concept, but as a thing that happens between people. It looks like this:
HOMOOSIOS
The kitchen light made a yellow pool on the table.
Eli sat. The files were stacked. Nothing.
Maya put a plate down. Meat. Beans. She looked at the files.
“Done,” she said.
“Yes.”
“It did not work.”
“No.”
He picked up his fork. Put it down.
“The law is a sound,” he said. “A tinkling brass. A clanging cymbal.”
She sat. Her hands on the table. Good hands.
“The numbers were clean. The world is not.”
“No.”
“The rules were straight. The men were not.”
She nodded.
“I knew things I could not say.”
She waited.
“It all broke,” he said.
She looked at him. Her eyes were steady.
“Not everything.”
He was quiet.
“Eat,” she said.
He ate. The food was good.
She took the plate. She took the files. The plate went in the washer. The files went in the trash.
She came back. Put her hand on his. It was warm.
“Come.”
They went to the porch. The air was cool. The stars were out.
They sat on the steps. She leaned against him. Her head on his shoulder.
The stars were sharp and cold.
Her weight was warm. It was solid.
It was a thing that held.
End
This, to me, is the inverse of your walking man.This is a story of a force that drives him away from everything. The story of Eli and Maya is about a force that *holds*even when every other system has proven to be just “a tinkling brass, a clanging cymbal.”
It is love made tangible. Not as a feeling, but as a substance It is the *homoousios* of the human sphere, the "consubstantial" weight of another person that tells you, without words, that you are not alone in the universe. It is the very antithesis of the empty sound Paul described.
Your walking man has Christ in him as an implacable necessity. Eli has Maya. And in that, perhaps he becomes holy he meets Christ.
This, I believe, is what temple marriage is ultimately about. It is the covenant that this specific, practical, enduring love—the plate of food, the hand, the weight on the shoulder—is not just a temporary comfort, but a participation in the very nature of God. It is the one thing that, when everything else shatters and proves to be just a tinkling cymbal, remains. It is a thing that holds. And because it holds, it lasts. And because it is of God, it lasts for eternity.
Thank you again for your thoughtful essay.
Yes, this is thrilling. Thank you, Adam, for thinking this through and laying it out in an accessible form.