In the flush of having just finished the film, there are a couple things I'd like to declare from the housetops.
First, a snippet of a prose poem by Joanna Brooks. (I'm honored to be able to say that she and I took a class together as undergraduates at BYU.)
Mormon millionaires in insulated skyscrapers do not know. They pledge that our industry is irresistible, our destiny sure. They smile while in Washington their lawyer sons-in-law devise broad permissions for torture.
And now, snippets of D&C 121:
O God, where are you?
How long will your hand be stayed?
How long will they suffer these wrongs and unlawful oppressions?
Lord God Almighty,
maker of heaven, earth, and seas,
you control and subject the devil
and the dark and benighted dominion of Sheol—
Stretch forth your hand,
let your eye pierce,
let your ear be inclined,
let your anger be kindled.
God has set his hand and seal
to change the times and seasons . . .
that the things which they are willing to bring upon others,
and love to have others suffer,
may come upon themselves to the very uttermost.
Wo to them, for they have offended my little ones.
Their basket shall not be full,
their houses and barns shall perish,
they shall be despised by those that flattered them.
It had been better for them that a millstone
had been hanged around their necks,
and they drowned in the depth of the sea.
************
Unfortunately, while those words express the prayer of my heart at this moment, I don't actually believe God works that way. Instead, he sits on his throne and cries. As Gene England pointed out, it's a terrible vision—a God who weeps because he cannot intervene.
I know . . . This is a world away from my post about "God's gentleness and affection."
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