Knowing Who’s Hitting You: From Braddock’s Ring to the Real Fight

Knowing Who’s Hitting You: From Braddock’s Ring to the Real Fight

The same God who trained David’s hands for war and his fingers for battle (Psalm 144:1RE) still equips His people today.

In the brutal grip of the Great Depression, James J. Braddock—once a promising boxer, then broken, injured, and nearly forgotten—fought his way back to become the heavyweight champion of the world in 1935. They called him “The Cinderella Man.” But long before the title belt, he gave the world a raw, honest line that still cuts deep:

"Just let me take them in the ring. At least I know who's hitting me." -- James J. Braddock

It’s a gritty plea, captured powerfully by Russell Crowe in the film 'Cinderella Man'. Standing in his kitchen, facing eviction, empty cupboards, and a family slowly coming apart, Braddock chose the ring over the invisible misery outside it. In the ring, the opponent stands right in front of you. You can see his eyes, feel his rhythm, study his weaknesses. The rules are clear. The bell rings. You can train, counter, and pour out everything you have.

Outside the ropes, the Great Depression hit like phantom fists—bank failures, joblessness, hunger, and despair. There was no corner man, no referee, no target to hit back. The suffering felt random, endless, and impossible to fight.

Braddock wasn’t romanticizing pain. He was choosing 'clarity'. He would rather take a clean, visible beating he could prepare for than slowly bleed from a thousand unseen cuts.

Most of us feel the same way.

There's a Deeper Reality: Who Are We Really Fighting?

What if life’s real ring works the same way—only the true opponent is rarely the person, the problem, or the circumstance staring us in the face?

Are you metaphorically standing in his kitchen, facing eviction, empty cupboards, and a family challenges, Braddock chose the ring over the invisible misery outside it. Can you?

Scripture pulls back the curtain with unflinching honesty:

“for we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.” (Ephesians 1:25 RE)

The word “wrestle” here describes brutal, close-quarters combat. Our real adversaries are not ultimately people, governments, bosses, or bad luck. They are organized spiritual forces: deception, accusation, fear, temptation, division, despair, and lies. These dark powers work behind the scenes, often using people and situations as instruments.

People may deliver the visible blows. Circumstances may knock us down. But they are frequently only the gloves. The hands inside the gloves belong to a far more cunning enemy.

Scripture names him clearly so we stop swinging at the wrong targets:

- The accuser “He was a rebellious destroyer from the beginning, and fought against the truth, because he prefers lies.” (Testimony of St. John 6:19) 

- the Devil, “as a roaring lion, walks about seeking whom he may devour” (1 Peter 1:20 RE).  

-for Satan himself disguises as “an angel of light” (1 Corinthians 1:37 RE).

Braddock wanted to know who was hitting him.  

The Word of God answers that prayer directly.

Just as Braddock had to train his body through sweat and sacrifice, God calls us to train spiritually with discipline and focus:

-And be not conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what that good, and acceptable, and perfect will of God is." (Romans 1:59 RE).  

- Discipline yourself so you’re not “as one that beats the air” (1 Corinthians 1:38 RE).  

- "Resist the devil, and he will flee from you" (James 1:16 RE).

And for the battle itself, God issues the full armor:

- Truth buckled around your waist  

- Righteousness as your breastplate  

- The gospel of peace on your feet  

- Faith as your shield to extinguish every fiery dart  

- Salvation as your helmet  

- The Sword of the Spirit — the living Word of God — as your weapon

Prayer keeps the direct line open to our Corner Man—the Lord Himself—who has promised, “I will never leave nor forsake you” (Hebrews 1:58 RE).

We will still get hit. Trials, loss, betrayal, temptation, and hardship come with living in a fallen world. But with the veil lifted, we no longer fight in confusion or waste our strength on the wrong enemy. We fight with strategy, hope, and supernatural strength.

The ultimate victory has already been won. Jesus as “forgiven you all trespasses, blotting out the the handwriting of ordinances that was against us -- which was contrary to us -- and took it out of the way, nailing it to his cross.” (Colossians 1:8 RE). Our job is to stand firm, keep fighting the good fight, and finish the round.

This truth sets us free in two directions at once.

It pulls our anger away from people—who are often as wounded, deceived, or broken as we are—and directs it toward the real enemy. This reduces bitterness and needless human conflict.

At the same time, it doesn’t let us off the hook in the visible world. We are still called to work hard, love our neighbors, fight injustice, provide for our families, and do what is right. We simply do it with spiritual eyes wide open, relying not on our own strength alone, but on the strength God supplies.

Braddock’s incredible comeback gave a broken nation a hero of hope in a visible fight. The Christian life offers something even greater: in the invisible war, we are never alone in the ring. The God who defeated Pharaoh, strengthened David against Goliath, and raised Jesus from the dead stands with us and fights for us.

In the end, Scripture doesn’t remove every blow—but it redeems every one by giving it meaning. It shows us exactly who we are fighting against, who is fighting with us, and the day that is coming when “God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain, for the former things are passed away." (Revelation 8:8 RE).

So we can stand in the ring of life with clear-eyed confidence and say:

“At least now I know who’s hitting me… and by God’s grace, I know how to fight back.”

Christ’s Message to Every Fighter:

“You can’t win this without Me in your corner.  

I’ve already taken the worst punches this world can throw. I know your pain—every single blow.  

When you’re knocked down, I’ll be the One who lifts you back up.  

I’ve been there. I’ve felt it all. And I’ve overcome and worked my way back to peace from every blow. 

I’ll show you the way when life beats you down.  

I’m in your corner. I’ve got you.  

Keep fighting—because the final bell hasn’t rung yet, and I’ve already won the fight for you.”

---So, 'metanoia' (repentance in greek). Literally meaning "a change of mind" or "to think differently afterward." Rather than mere emotional sorrow, it signifies a fundamental transformation of perspective, purpose, and direction.

Swing at him who is swinging at you. -- Jus Sayin

Signed

John The-Not-So-Beloved

"Rules for Thee but not for Me" - A Reflection on Power, Hypocrisy, and Latter-day Warnings

 Rules for Thee, But Not for Me  

A Reflection on Power, Hypocrisy, and Latter-day Warnings

The phrase “rules for thee but not for me” captures a timeless human failing: the comfortable belief that moral standards, warnings, and restraints are meant for everyone else—never quite for us. It thrives wherever power gathers. Politicians exempt themselves from the laws they impose on citizens. Corporate leaders preach austerity while securing golden parachutes. Cultural elites lecture about sacrifice from their yachts and positions of comfort and privilege. In every case, the reasoning is the same: "I am different. I am necessary. The rules are for the lesser ones."

Religious institutions are not magically immune. They are made of people—flawed, status-seeking, image-conscious people—who can slowly adopt the same attitude. When a church accumulates wealth, influence, fine buildings, or a sense of being the sole exception to widespread apostasy, the temptation grows: the prophetic warnings must apply to "them"—the other churches, the fallen world, the Gentiles who never received the restoration. Surely not to "us". We are the faithful remnant. We are on the right side of history with God.

The Book of Mormon refuses to let us off that easily. Written specifically for the people who would receive it in the latter days, its final pages are a sobering vision from Moroni, who says he has seen our time. He does not speak in polite generalities. He declares:

“I know you live pridefully; there are none, except for a few, who aren't lifted up in pride to their very center... and "your churches and congregations -- every single one of them -- have become polluted because of the pride of your hearts.” (Mormon 4:5 MC - Modern Covenants)

He goes further, rebuking those who love money, fine apparel, and the adorning of churches more than the poor and needy, calling out hypocrites and teachers who “sell themselves for that which will canker” and pollute “the holy church of God” (Mormon 4:5 MC).

Nephi, centuries earlier, described the same latter-day scene: churches corrupted by pride and false doctrine, lifted up and puffed up, each claiming “I, I am the Lord’s” while contending with one another (2 Nephi 12:1-2 MC).

These are not ancient warnings aimed at long-dead Catholics or Protestants alone. Moroni addresses the future readers of the record directly—“you” and “your churches.” The book was preserved and brought forth for "this" day. Yet it is remarkably common, even within the restored Church, to read these chapters as a comfortable diagnosis of everyone else’s apostasy. The Great Apostasy happened long ago to others. We restored the truth. Therefore, the pollutions, the pride, the hypocrisy—they must belong to the outsiders. We point the scriptures outward like a spotlight on the world, while assuming our own immunity.

That is “rules for thee but not for me” dressed in Sunday best.

So what's in the mirror? The powerful—whether in government, business, or religion—often convince themselves they stand above the fray. Churches can do the same when institutional success, cultural respectability, or a narrative of being “the one true church” creates a quiet exemption clause. The very prophecies meant to humble us become tools for self-assurance: "Those" churches are corrupt. "Those" people have slipped. We, however, are good with God.

But if the Book of Mormon is true, it was written "to" us and "about" us. Its authors saw our day and chose these words because they knew human nature would not change—even inside a restored covenant people. Pride, love of wealth and appearance, and the slow pollution of what should be holy do not magically skip one organization. The only safe posture is to drop the exemption and ask whether the warnings describe "us", right now, in subtle ways we’d rather not admit.

True discipleship begins not with outward pointing, but with inward honesty. It asks whether we have begun to believe the rules (and the rebukes) apply to everyone except the group we belong to.

In the end, the most searching question each of us must face is the one the scriptures quietly invite:  

"Is it I?  

Am I the one walking in the pride these prophets foresaw? Am I stuck in the comfortable loop of applying the warnings to others while assuming my own house is in order? Or can I look unflinchingly into the mirror, examine my heart and my community with real humility, and course-correct—believing that these words were spoken precisely to people like me, in a day exactly like this one?

That single honest question may be the beginning of real faithfulness.

So I have a thoughtful friend who "sees" and has the honest tensions of many thoughtful Latter-day Saints.  He sees the pride, the wealth, the image-management, the quiet exemptions—the very pollutions Moroni described—and yet he clings to the idea that the restoration and the hierarchical authority somehow make the Church immune or at least the only possible path: he's not blind to the flaws. Most people who stay in any institution long enough either stop looking or start making excuses. He does neither, and that’s rare. He sees the corruption the Book of Mormon warned would come in ‘our day,’ yet you still believes this is the ‘one true church’ because the restoration happened and the keys of authority sit with the hierarchy. I get the logic. It feels safe. It feels like a divine insurance policy: "Even if we mess up, the priesthood power guarantees we’re still the right ship."

But here’s the uncomfortable question the scriptures themselves force us to ask: Does the Book of Mormon actually teach that?

Moroni didn’t write to some future generic Christians. He wrote to the people who would receive the record he was finishing—the very people living in the day of restoration. And what did he say about "their" churches?

‘Your churches, yea, even every one, have become polluted because of the pride of your hearts.’ (Mormon 8:36 LDS)

He didn’t carve out an exception for the restored one. He didn’t say, ‘All churches except the one that publishes this book.’ He said "every one". The same prophets who restored the authority also preserved a warning that the institution carrying that authority would still be vulnerable to the very pollutions they described.

Think about it: the Nephites had the ‘true church’—they had prophets, priesthood, temples, covenants, even visits from the resurrected Christ. Yet within a few generations they were lifted up in pride, building up churches to get gain, and sliding into the exact corruption Moroni later condemned. The authority didn’t save them from the slide. Righteousness did. When pride entered, the power of godliness departed, even while the outward offices remained.

The restoration restored "keys", not perfection. Joseph Smith himself warned that the Church would have to be ‘chastened and tried, even as Abraham’ and that many would fall away because they trusted in the arm of flesh instead of the Holy Ghost. The Book of Mormon’s entire latter-day message is that the restored people would be tempted to do exactly as described: point the prophecies at everyone else while quietly assuming "we" are the exception because we have the authority.

Authority without humility is just power. And power, as we both know, has a way of convincing itself the rules no longer apply quite so strictly.

So the real question isn’t whether the Church has the restored priesthood -- they no longer do. The question is whether we are living individually in a way that "honors" that priesthood. Moroni’s warning wasn’t written to destroy faith—it was written to refine it. It asks every one of us: Are you the exception, or are you part of the ‘every one’ he saw?

That’s not a question the hierarchy can answer for you. It’s not a question I can answer for you. It’s the mirror question: "Is it I?"

If the answer is ‘maybe,’ then perhaps the most faithful thing you can do is stay "in" the Church "while" refusing the exemption. Stay and call it to higher ground. Stay and demand that it live the warnings instead of explaining them away. That might be the hardest, most honest kind of belief there is—believing in the restoration enough to hold it accountable to the very book that made the restoration possible.”

Otherwise, I have an invitation. 

The Book of Mormon doesn’t ask us to choose between the Church and the truth. It asks us to love the truth enough to apply it first and foremost to ourselves.

Signed

John  (The-Not-So-Beloved)