Faith as a verb: what I learned from Elder Holland

Yesterday, we received the news that Jeffrey R. Holland had passed away. It is a moment of reflection, not only because of the position he held, but especially because of the unique voice he gave to human existence. For me, he was one of those rare thinkers who succeeded in bridging the apparent gap between the head and the heart. He was the ‘scholar-apostle’ who, with his academic sharpness and deep humanity, spoke a language that continued to resonate long after the speech ended.

A marriage between reason and faith

What always appealed most to me in Holland's words was his refusal to switch off reason in favor of faith. In a world that often demands choosing between rationality and spirituality, he advocated for a 'marriage' between the two. He saw intellectual excellence not as a threat to the sacred, but rather as an expansion of it.

In one of his speeches at Brigham Young University, he emphasized that we must dare to be 'unique': scientifically sharp and spiritually rooted. For me, that is a lasting lesson. The pursuit of knowledge - the 'how' question of our world - does not have to hinder the 'why' question of our soul. Holland gave me the language to understand that a sharp analytical mind and a sincere belief in the unseen can perfectly reside in the same person. It is not a compromise, but an enrichment.

The beauty of the broken vessel

Perhaps his most impressive contribution to public debate was his openness about human shortcomings. I have often said that a community of believers should not be a museum for saints, but a garage for dented cars. I found that idea nowhere as powerfully expressed as by Holland. In his iconic speech 'Like a broken vessel‘ he spoke with disarming honesty about mental health and the rawness of life.

He reminded us that we are 'vessels in the hands of the divine potter'. I always carry that metaphor with me. Life tends to dent us, break us, or simply wear us out. In religious circles, there is sometimes a tendency to gloss over that pain with clichés, but Holland did not do that. He validated the pain. He taught me that a dent in the chassis does not diminish the value of a person. His message was always that we should be gentle with ourselves and with others in the garage. We are all‘under construction’, and that's okay.

Persevere when the light is dim

Another theme that ran like a common thread through his life was that of spiritual determination. We all know those moments when we have made an important choice, full of conviction, only to be immediately confronted with doubt and headwinds afterwards. Holland had a wonderful quote about that: 'Cast not away therefore your confidence'.

He explained that the greatest resistance often comes just after we have taken a step in the right direction. That is a principle that is universally recognizable, whether it concerns personal growth, a new project, or a moral choice. His advice was as simple as it was challenging: ‘Don’t quit. Keep walking. Keep trying.’ He taught me that believing is not a passive state, but a verb. It is an active choice to continue to trust the light you have seen, even when it is dark around you. That ‘grit’, that spiritualperseverance, is a lesson I try to apply in every aspect of my life.

Perfection as a destination, not a starting point

We live in a performance society where we constantly have to present the best version of ourselves. Even within spirituality, that pressure can be stifling. Holland broke that pressure open with his discourse 'Be ye therefore perfect—eventually'. He reminded us that perfection is a distant destination, not an admission requirement for the here and now.

That focus on progress instead of immediate perfection provides relief. It allows us to fall, get up, and continue without the paralyzing fear of failure. For me, this is one of the most liberating lessons he left behind: be patient with yourself. The divine potter is in no hurry; He is interested in the direction we are moving, not in the speed at which we reach the finish line.

A testimony of light

In his last public appearance, just a few weeks ago, he was physically visibly frail. But his voice and his vision were more powerful than ever. In 'And now I see'. He spoke about the light that dispels the fog. In a time when we often lose ourselves in the complexity of the modern world, he was an anchor point.

What I take away from him is that the deepest truths are often the simplest. He never saw people as numbers or abstract concepts, but as individuals with infinite potential. He taught me that the most powerful voice is not that of the perfect expert, but that of the person who has accepted their own brokenness and from there reaches out to others.

A final greeting

Jeffrey R. Holland was a mentor to me whom I never met in person, but whose words helped shape my internal compass. He taught me that you can be an intellectual without becoming cynical, a leader without losing your vulnerability, and a seeker of truth without leaving your mind at the door.

The lessons remain, even now that the teacher is no longer here. The 'dented car' must get back on the road, and daily tasks call. But I do it with a renewed focus on what he always taught us: be kind to each other, work hard, and never lose your trust in the light, even on the days when the fog is thickest.

Thank you for the words, the passion and the tireless hope.