Reading this chapter tonight, I was struck with the insanity of Limhi's people. Despite being outnumbered and outmaneuvered, they attack a larger and entrenched enemy not once, but three times, driven by some inexplicable madness. As I continued to read, I caught a glimpse of what made them go through with their bloody farce of desperate revenge.
Imagine hearing from a band of men you've sent to find your long lost cousins, the only people in the entire world who might hear of your plight, identify with your cause, and come to your rescue, that nothing remains of your one hope against an all-encompassing solitude except "a land which was covered in bones" (v. 26). How quickly must the adversary have darkened the minds of Limhi's poor people! If the great and powerful Zarahemla is no more, than what could possibly be left for a beaten and chained city?
In chapter 11, two generations earlier, Zeniff's people had restored and prospered in two cities (Shilom and Lehi-Nephi). At this point in chapter 21, between wars, internecine squabbles, and desertion, Limhi's people do their best to band together in one, unspecified settlement. And so, my rough math tells me that Limhi's people were half as numerous as Zeniff's.
Imagine a couple who lived at the time of Zeniff. They had 4 kids, and their 4 kids had 4 kids, bringing the total family tree to 22 (not including 2nd and 3rd generation spouses). By the time chapter 21 rolls around, only 1 member is left.
Between the deaths of family members ("the widow mourning for her husband, the son and the daughter mourning for their father, and the brothers for their brethren") and the news of no friendly community on the other side of the jungle, a feeling of absolute loneliness surely sank into their hearts.
I know a little of that dark solitude. My work often has me travel, and while I do my best to spend time with coworkers, our divergent standards inevitably lead to me spending much of my evenings alone in hotel rooms. More often than not, I play the radio and turn on the TV just to hear human voices. I thrive on companionship. So it is no surprise that in those evenings of solitude, I am at my weakest. It is in those evenings that seeing my wife and daughter on video chat (a perfectly timed technological miracle) or grabbing dinner with a friend who lives in town is a precious countervailing force against the shadow of oblivion.
So I understand, to some small degree, the lonely despair that drives people to irrational actions, and I can understand the excitement Limhi and his people felt in learning of Zarahemla's continued existence. And since the scripture tells us that this good news came only a short time after the prior news of societal solitude, I think we have to chalk up some credit to the mercy apparent in the Lord's timing.
Imagine hearing from a band of men you've sent to find your long lost cousins, the only people in the entire world who might hear of your plight, identify with your cause, and come to your rescue, that nothing remains of your one hope against an all-encompassing solitude except "a land which was covered in bones" (v. 26). How quickly must the adversary have darkened the minds of Limhi's poor people! If the great and powerful Zarahemla is no more, than what could possibly be left for a beaten and chained city?
In chapter 11, two generations earlier, Zeniff's people had restored and prospered in two cities (Shilom and Lehi-Nephi). At this point in chapter 21, between wars, internecine squabbles, and desertion, Limhi's people do their best to band together in one, unspecified settlement. And so, my rough math tells me that Limhi's people were half as numerous as Zeniff's.
Imagine a couple who lived at the time of Zeniff. They had 4 kids, and their 4 kids had 4 kids, bringing the total family tree to 22 (not including 2nd and 3rd generation spouses). By the time chapter 21 rolls around, only 1 member is left.
Between the deaths of family members ("the widow mourning for her husband, the son and the daughter mourning for their father, and the brothers for their brethren") and the news of no friendly community on the other side of the jungle, a feeling of absolute loneliness surely sank into their hearts.
I know a little of that dark solitude. My work often has me travel, and while I do my best to spend time with coworkers, our divergent standards inevitably lead to me spending much of my evenings alone in hotel rooms. More often than not, I play the radio and turn on the TV just to hear human voices. I thrive on companionship. So it is no surprise that in those evenings of solitude, I am at my weakest. It is in those evenings that seeing my wife and daughter on video chat (a perfectly timed technological miracle) or grabbing dinner with a friend who lives in town is a precious countervailing force against the shadow of oblivion.
So I understand, to some small degree, the lonely despair that drives people to irrational actions, and I can understand the excitement Limhi and his people felt in learning of Zarahemla's continued existence. And since the scripture tells us that this good news came only a short time after the prior news of societal solitude, I think we have to chalk up some credit to the mercy apparent in the Lord's timing.
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