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Alma 39

Cross Yourself in All These Things — Alma's Charge to Corianton

Alma 39: c. 73 BC, the third and longest of Alma's farewell charges, given to Corianton, the youngest son, who had forsaken his mission among the Zoramites and gone after the harlot Isabel. Where Helaman received the records and Shiblon received commendation, Corianton receives correction — a sustained, sorrowful, but finally hopeful charge that names the sin plainly, weighs it against the gravest sins, and then turns the boy's face back toward the Christ he had begun to doubt. Alma 39 is only the opening movement; the charge runs through chapter 42, and the chapters that follow (40 on resurrection, 41 on restoration, 42 on justice and mercy) are all Alma answering the questions Corianton's sin and unbelief had raised. This first chapter does the hard part: it confronts the sin, sets it in its true seriousness, calls for repentance, and then — crucially — refuses to leave the son in despair, opening the door to the gospel of Christ that the next three chapters will fling wide.

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Where we are

Alma 39 begins the last and longest of Alma's three farewell charges, and it is the hardest one to read because it is the hardest one a father ever had to give. Helaman, the eldest, received the records and the long testimony of conversion (Alma 36–37). Shiblon, the steady middle son, received commendation and gentle counsel (Alma 38). Now comes Corianton, the youngest, and the charge to Corianton is correction — for Corianton had gone on the Zoramite mission with his father and brothers and had failed there, abandoning the work and going after a harlot. Alma does not soften the facts, and he does not pretend the failure was small. But neither does he crush the boy. The whole charge is built to do two things at once: to make Corianton feel the real weight of what he has done, and to keep that weight from becoming despair by pointing relentlessly to Christ. This first chapter confronts the sin; the three that follow (40–42) answer the doctrinal doubts the sin had bred. Alma 39 is the surgeon's first cut — necessary, painful, and aimed entirely at healing.

The chapter has three movements. First, the confrontation: Alma sets Corianton against the example of his steady brother, names the abandonment of the ministry and the sin with Isabel, and weighs that sin in the scale of God's seriousness — most abominable above all sins save it be the shedding of innocent blood or denying the Holy Ghost (vv. 1–6). Second, the call to repentance: Alma tells Corianton he speaks not to harrow him but for his good, that he cannot hide his sins from God, and that he must turn — cross yourself in all these things, take counsel of his brothers, repair the harm done to the Zoramites who would not believe because of his conduct (vv. 7–14). Third, the turn to Christ: sensing that Corianton was troubled about the coming of Christ, Alma pivots from rebuke to gospel, declaring that the coming of the Son of God is the glad tidings and that the plan of redemption was prepared from the foundation of the world for all who would believe (vv. 15–19).

The verses that carry the chapter are these. Verse 5 sets the gravity — know ye not, my son, that these things are an abomination in the sight of the Lord; yea, most abominable above all sins save it be the shedding of innocent blood or denying the Holy Ghost. Verse 9 gives the counsel that names the chapter — go no more after the lusts of your eyes, but cross yourself in all these things. Verse 11 names the worst consequence — behold, O my son, how great iniquity ye brought upon the Zoramites; for when they saw your conduct they would not believe in my words. And verse 15 makes the pivot that saves the chapter from being mere rebuke — Alma turns the son toward the coming of Christ. The chapter exists to do the most delicate thing a parent or a teacher ever does: tell someone the full truth about a serious sin without leaving him in the dark about the mercy that can heal it.

The sin named, and the steady brother set beside it (verses 1–5)

And now, my son, I have somewhat more to say unto thee than what I said unto thy brother; for behold, have ye not observed the steadiness of thy brother, his faithfulness, and his diligence in keeping the commandments of God? Behold, has he not set a good example for thee? — Alma 39:1

Alma begins by setting Shiblon's steadiness directly in front of Corianton — and the move is deliberate, not cruel. The brother who has just been praised at length (Alma 38) becomes the living standard against which Corianton can measure what he abandoned. Alma is not shaming one son to wound the other; he is showing Corianton that faithfulness was possible, that it was available, that his own brother walked the same Zoramite mission and came home proven while Corianton came home fallen. The contrast is the kindest form of clarity: this could have been you, and it still can be. And then Alma names the root: thou didst not give so much heed unto my words as did thy brother... for thou didst go on unto boasting in thy strength and thy wisdom (vv. 2–3). Before the sin with Isabel there was the pride that made it possible — the self-confidence that stopped listening. The deeper failure was not the harlot; it was the boasting heart that had already turned from his father's words.

Yea, thou didst forsake the ministry, and didst go over into the land of Siron among the borders of the Lamanites, after the harlot Isabel. Yea, she did steal away the hearts of many; but this was no excuse for thee, my son. Thou shouldst have tended to the ministry wherewith thou wast entrusted. — Alma 39:3–4

Now the fact, stated plainly and without flinching: Corianton forsook the ministry and went after the harlot Isabel. Two sins are named, and the order matters — first the forsaking of a sacred trust, then the immorality that followed. Alma names both, and he closes the only door Corianton might try to slip through: this was no excuse for thee. Isabel had stolen away the hearts of many; Corianton might have pleaded that he was one of many, swept along, no worse than the rest. Alma will not allow it. The fact that others fell is no defense, because Corianton was not merely one of the many — thou shouldst have tended to the ministry wherewith thou wast entrusted. He held a trust the others did not hold. The man set apart to preach is held to the standard of the trust, not the standard of the crowd. Alma's refusal of the excuse is itself a teaching: sin is measured against what we were given, not against what everyone else is doing.

Know ye not, my son, that these things are an abomination in the sight of the Lord; yea, most abominable above all sins save it be the shedding of innocent blood or denying the Holy Ghost? — Alma 39:5

This is the verse that has made Alma 39 famous, and it must be read carefully, because it is easily misread. Alma is teaching Corianton the true seriousness of sexual sin, and he does it by ranking it: most abominable above all sins save it be the shedding of innocent blood or denying the Holy Ghost. The Hebrew behind abomination is to'ebah — not merely something distasteful, but something that violates the sacred order of things, a defilement of what God has set apart as holy. Sexual intimacy is sacred in Israel's law precisely because it belongs to the power of creation, the power by which life itself comes into the world; to abuse it is to profane something near the center of God's own creative work. That is why Alma ranks it where he does — just below the two sins that strike directly at innocent life and at the Holy Ghost. The point of the ranking is not to terrify Corianton but to wake him: he had treated as trivial something God treats as nearly the gravest thing a person can do. The seriousness is real. And — this matters for everything that follows — the very fact that Alma ranks it below the two unpardonable sins is itself a word of hope. Corianton has not committed the sins that cannot be forgiven. The door of repentance is still open. The ranking that frightens is also the ranking that reassures.

The call to turn, and the harm that cannot be hidden (verses 6–14)

For behold, if ye deny the Holy Ghost when it once has had place in you, and ye know that ye deny it, behold, this is a sin which is unpardonable... And now, my son, I would to God that ye had not been guilty of so great a crime. I would not dwell upon your crimes, to harrow up your soul, if it were not for your good. — Alma 39:6–7

Alma pauses to explain the one sin he had named as worse — denying the Holy Ghost against sure knowledge — and the explanation is itself a mercy: it tells Corianton exactly where the line of no return lies, and reassures him that he has not crossed it. Then comes one of the most tender sentences a parent ever spoke: I would not dwell upon your crimes, to harrow up your soul, if it were not for your good. The word harrow is an agricultural image — to drag a heavy rake across broken ground, tearing it up. Alma knows he is harrowing Corianton's soul, and he tells the boy plainly that he takes no pleasure in it. He is not venting; he is not punishing; he is tearing up the soil for one reason only — for your good, so that something can be planted in the broken ground. This is the heart of all righteous correction: it inflicts pain only as a farmer breaks soil, with the harvest already in view. A father who corrected for any other reason would be cruel; Alma corrects as the surgeon cuts, with healing as the whole aim.

But behold, ye cannot hide your crimes from God; and except ye repent they will stand as a testimony against you at the last day. Now my son, I would that ye should repent and forsake your sins, and go no more after the lusts of your eyes, but cross yourself in all these things; for except ye do this ye can in nowise inherit the kingdom of God. — Alma 39:8–9

Alma names the illusion that makes sin possible — the belief that it can be hidden — and destroys it: ye cannot hide your crimes from God. Whatever Corianton had told himself in the land of Siron, far from his father and the church, God had seen. And then comes the counsel that names the chapter: go no more after the lusts of your eyes, but cross yourself in all these things. That phrase — cross yourself — is striking and exact. To cross oneself is to go against oneself, to set one's will athwart one's own desire, to refuse the very thing one most wants in the moment. It is the homely English ancestor of what we now call self-denial, and it is the practical engine of all repentance: when the lust of the eyes pulls one way, the disciple deliberately crosses it, going the other way against the grain of his own appetite. There is no repentance without this crossing. Forgiveness is free, but it is not cheap; it asks the sinner to take up arms against his own desires and cross them, again and again, until the new direction becomes the natural one. Alma is not asking Corianton to feel sorry; he is asking him to act against himself in the very place where he fell.

And now the Spirit of the Lord doth say unto me: Command thy children to do good, lest they lead away the hearts of many people to destruction; therefore I command you, my son, in the fear of God, that ye refrain from your iniquities; that ye turn to the Lord with all your mind, might, and strength. — Alma 39:12–13

Alma reaches for the largest claim of all: the Spirit itself directs this charge. He is not merely a disappointed father; he is a prophet under inspiration, commanded to command his son. And the reason the Spirit gives is sobering — lest they lead away the hearts of many people to destruction. This is the consequence Alma had already named in verse 11, and it is the one that should sting most: behold, O my son, how great iniquity ye brought upon the Zoramites; for when they saw your conduct they would not believe in my words. Corianton's sin was not private. He was a missionary, and the people he was sent to save watched a preacher of righteousness chase a harlot, and they concluded the message was a fraud. Souls were lost — not because the gospel failed, but because its messenger contradicted it with his life. This is the deepest wound in the chapter, deeper than the personal sin: a steward's hypocrisy becomes other people's unbelief. Alma asks Corianton to turn with all your mind, might, and strength and to repair what he can, acknowledging his fault openly to the people he scandalized (v. 13). True repentance, Alma teaches, is not only private turning; where the sin harmed others publicly, it owns the harm publicly and labors to mend it.

The turn to Christ — the rebuke becomes glad tidings (verses 15–19)

And now, my son, I would say somewhat unto you concerning the coming of Christ. Behold, I say unto you, that it is he that surely shall come to take away the sins of the world; yea, he cometh to declare glad tidings of salvation unto his people. — Alma 39:15

Here the chapter turns, and the turn is everything. Alma has discerned what lay beneath Corianton's sin — not merely appetite, but doubt. Corianton was troubled... concerning the coming of Christ (a doubt Alma names directly in v. 17), and a young man uncertain whether the Redeemer was real might well conclude there was little reason to keep his vows. So Alma stops rebuking and starts preaching, and the gospel he preaches is glad tidings. The Hebrew sense behind that phrase is besorah — good news, the announcement a herald runs to bring of a battle won or a king come. The same man who has spent fourteen verses naming his son's sin now races to tell him the best news there is: it is he that surely shall come to take away the sins of the world. The order is the whole pastoral genius of the chapter. First the truth about the sin; then, before despair can set in, the truth about the Savior. Alma will not leave Corianton staring at his own abominations. He turns the boy's face to the One who takes away sins, and the rebuke dissolves into evangel.

Is not a soul at this time as precious unto God as a soul will be at the time of his coming? Is it not as necessary that the plan of redemption should be made known unto this people as well as unto their children? Is it not as easy at this time for the Lord to send his angel to declare these glad tidings unto us as unto our children, or as after the time of his coming? — Alma 39:17–18

Corianton's specific doubt seems to have been a kind of chronological skepticism — why declare a Christ who has not yet come? why bind ourselves now to a Redeemer centuries away? Alma answers with three patient questions, each making the same point: God's care does not wait for the calendar. A soul now is as precious as a soul then; the plan must be known now as much as later; the angel can declare the glad tidings now as easily as after the coming. The God who will redeem the world in the flesh is already, centuries early, as easy to make himself known, as willing to send his angel, as attentive to the soul standing in front of him. There is no second-class era of salvation, no people who matter less because they lived before the event. Alma is dismantling the very excuse a doubting heart builds — it isn't real yet, so it doesn't bind me — by insisting that the Redeemer's reality runs backward and forward from Calvary with equal force. The Christ who saves Corianton's children will save Corianton, now, if he will turn. And so the charge that opened with an abomination closes with a soul declared precious unto God — which is exactly what a fallen son most needs to hear, and exactly the ground on which the next three chapters will build.

How the chapter is built

Alma 39 is built as the opening movement of a four-chapter charge, and it cannot be read as a self-contained unit. The chapter raises three questions it does not finish answering — and the next three chapters are the answers. Corianton's doubt concerning the coming of Christ (v. 17) opens the door; chapter 40 will answer the question of what happens to the soul after death and at the resurrection; chapter 41 will answer the question of how a just God restores good and evil to their authors; chapter 42 will answer the deepest question of all, how mercy can save a sinner without robbing justice. So Alma 39 is the diagnosis, and the doctrine that follows is the cure. Alma names the sin, names the doubt beneath the sin, and then spends three chapters healing the doubt so that the repentance can take root. This is why the chapter ends not with a final word of rebuke but with glad tidings and three questions about the present preciousness of the soul: it is the hinge on which the whole charge swings from law to gospel, from the abomination of verse 5 to the redemption of chapter 42.

The chapter is also built on a deliberate and pastoral order that every parent and teacher can learn from: confront, but always toward repair. Alma moves from the steady brother (the standard), to the sin plainly named (the diagnosis), to its true gravity (the weight), to the refusal of excuses (the honesty), to the call to repent and cross yourself (the cure), to the harm done to others (the cost), to the turn toward Christ (the hope). Notice what Alma never does: he never tells Corianton he is beyond hope, never suggests the sin defines him forever, never withholds the gospel as leverage. The gravity in verse 5 is bounded on both sides by mercy — the sin is most abominable... save the two that are worse, which means it is forgivable; and the chapter ends in glad tidings, which means it will be forgiven if Corianton turns. The architecture is the message: tell the whole truth about the sin, and then tell the whole truth about the Savior, and never let the first truth stand without the second. A correction that names the sin and stops has only wounded; Alma's correction names the sin and then points past it to the One who takes sins away. That is the difference between condemnation and a father's love, and Alma 39 is the model of the second.