Spoken Word Messages - Page 59

Recently we cited a sentence from Emerson which said, "Cause and effect, means and ends, seed and fruit, cannot be severed;”  This suggests another sentence concerning cause and consequence which says, "There is a law, irrevocably decreed... upon which all blessings are predicated—And when we obtain any blessing... from God it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated."1

We have talked in recent weeks of work: and would turn now for a moment or two to the question of how we work.  As already observed: work should be more than merely motions; more than for money; it should also be moral—and since it is the expenditure of life itself, it should provide not only essential material substance, but also satisfaction and a real sense of service.  Furthermore, work should be pursued if possible, in an atmosphere of orderliness.

Some recent weeks ago we spoke of willing work: its dignity, its healing power, its power to soften shocks and sorrows—work which Carlyle called "The grand cure for all the maladies and miseries that ever-beset mankind."1 There is yet another side of this subject of work that should be considered.  For want of a better word we might call it the worthiness of work.

Somewhere we have read a sentence which says "God is in the ... march of the seasons. . ."1 At this season of harvest, it seems to be so.  The changing of seasons is an always awesome sight.  And awesome would it also be if one of them failed to follow in order.  But blessedly the Creator and Administrator of heaven and earth has not left such things to chance: "He comprehendeth all things, and all things are before him, . . . And ... he hath given a law unto all things, by which they move in their times and their seasons; . . . and any man who hath seen any or the least of these hath seen God moving in his majesty and power."2

Last week in commenting on the anniversary of what Gladstone called the “…American Constitution,"1 we included some recent quotations from a "Challenge to the Citizen," by a distinguished judge—and now would cite some further sentences from the same source. 

This week we would let the words of the great British statesman, William E. Gladstone, suggest a subject: "... the American Constitution, is so far as I can see, the most wonderful word ever struck off at a given time by the brain and purpose of man."1 This we would cite also from another source: "The Constitution of the United States is a glorious standard; a heavenly banner; … like the cooling shades and refreshing waters of a great rock in a weary and thirsty land. . . like a great tree under whose branches men from every clime can be shielded from the burning rays of the sun … founded in the wisdom of God"2 "by the hands of wise men whom [God] raised up unto this very purpose."3

In discussing the subject of living with ourselves, and of learning to live with life, some recent weeks ago, at this same hour, we made the remark that work itself is one of life's surest satisfactions, and one of' its surest shock absorbers. 

Last week we closed with a significant quote which said much and implied much more, in this single sentence: "There is nothing that a man can less afford to leave at home than his conscience or his good habits."1 While this applies to all travel, to all activity, to all social situations, more particularly we have in mind the many who, at this season, or soon, or at any season, leave home for school, for work, for military service, or for other purposes or pursuits.  And we have in mind re-emphasizing that people are more important than place; that what a person is, is more important than where he is; that character and conduct are of utmost consequence always, everywhere. 

In these recent weeks we have spoken of the person as being of greater importance than the place, and of our being inseparable from ourselves, which means, in a measure, that no matter where we are, or who we are, or what we are, or how much help we have, we have to do some part of the solving of our problems for ourselves.  We have to have the will and the willingness inside ourselves.  And this we say in face of the fact that there sometimes seems to be a tendency to desensitize people in a sense, physically, morally, mentally—sometimes almost seeming to be a seeking to evade rather than a seeking to solve. 

Last week we cited sonic thoughts on facing problems and opportunities, and on the fruitlessness of seeking to outrun ourselves.  And from Horace we recalled a comment quoted by Montaigne: “Reason and sense remove anxiety; Not houses that look out upon the sea.  Why should we move to find countries and climates of another kind?  What exile leaves himself behind?"1

It is apparent that the pressures of life are, at times, upon all of us.  Anxieties, difficulties, decisions—even opportunities weigh heavily under some circumstances.  And, collectively, we meet pressures and problems in many ways.  We sometimes ignore them—or seek to evade them.  We sometimes face them full in the face, with the faith to know that, as we do what we can, there are help and strength that come from sources both inside and outside ourselves. 

Last week we talked of thoughtfulness—and pleaded, as a season passes, for a pausing from the fevered pace, from the rush and the routine, for the quieting of the spirit, for the slowing of the pulse, for an appraisal of life's purpose—and from Thomas Hood we cited a sentence which said: "Stand shadowless, like silence, listening."1 There is another side of thoughtfulness that we would turn to today: thoughtfulness for people and for their problems. 

Some recent weeks ago the Choir recalled some meaningful music from Mendelssohn's Elijah, from which today we would take a scriptural text, with words that run along these lines: "The harvest now is over, the summer days are gone."1 There are times when all of us become acutely aware of the swift passing of the seasons, and of the days and hours as they seem exceedingly short.  Being so absorbed in daily details, it is sometimes difficult to keep a sense of direction.  "To know where you are is a good thing," said a sentence recently read: But "It is as important and perhaps more so, to know where you are going."2 But this also we would add: It is also a good thing to know why. 

Each generation runs its short run, leaving the future to take on some of the problems of the past, solving some and adding others, appraising principles, struggling with compromise, sometimes deviating, sometimes staying true to course.  And as we see the stark realty of what our forebears faced, we wonder what ingredients of greatness went into the making of such men.  If one could realize acutely what it would mean to enter an isolated area, with little more than a few simple tools except for faith and freedom and courage and convictions and the willingness to work—we could then sense a little more what manner of men they were.

For parents, for young people, for all of us, we would pursue a few words further, a subject already considered, on example and on early teaching and training. It was written of John Ruskin that "The home atmosphere in which [he] grew up was one of utter peace and complete order.  The relation between his father and mother was a beautiful one. There were no quarrels, no mysterious undercurrents of trouble or unhappiness so depressing to a sensitive child; and... the domestic machinery ran in well-ordered grooves."1

In some recent weeks we have spoken of home and mothers, of fathers and families, of the need for example, for teaching and for talking and for keeping close confidence, and we cited these lines from John Locke: "A young man before he leaves the shelter of his father's house, . . . should be fortified with resolution, . . . to secure his virtues, lest he should be led into some ruinous course, or fatal precipice, before he is sufficiently acquainted with the dangers . . ."1

Many years ago, Daniel Webster recalled a question: "How much is all this worth?"1 As to liberty, or the lack of it, whatever the price, it is priceless, and the difference cannot be calculated.  How much is all this worth?  How much is it worth to live where one wishes? to work at what one wishes? to worship as one wishes?  How much is it worth to have the right to live with loved ones? to listen to the laughter of children? to be unafraid of approaching footsteps? to walk home and find the welcome of loved faces unafraid?  How much is it worth to own personal property? to have personal privacy?  How much is it worth to preserve human dignity?  How much is it worth to choose leaders? to vote in an open and honest election? to have a voice in making and administering the laws of the land?  How much is it worth to come and to go, to live and to choose, to think and to speak, to read and to search? to have an education offered everyone?  How much is it worth freely to express an opinion, fearlessly to move from place to place, with an openness, of life, a free ranging of the mind; and enjoyment of the great and goodly earth that God has given, with peace of mind and quiet conviction?

Last week we cited some lines front John Locke on the theme that fathers are to talk to.  Home and fathers and mothers and families, and the teaching and rearing of children are so exceedingly important, that we should like to share some further thoughts on this same subject: "What gift," asked Cicero, "has Providence bestowed on man that is so dear to him as his children?"1 The answer suggests itself—and since it is so, one thing of which we must ever be mindful is the influence of attitudes and actions. 

There are some wonderful words in our language, words that are inseparably associated: home, mother, father, family—and in our thoughts they are linked in fondest and most meaningful remembrance.  Where the normal pattern prevails, father is more away and less closely acquainted with the daily problems and program.  But fathers are people in whose footstep’s sons are apt to follow, and whose hearts daughters are likely to have their way with.  Fathers are people whose name the family is known by.  Fathers are people whom sons and daughters should feel free to approach with their problems. 

We have become increasingly aware lately of the so-called exact sciences of mathematical formulas, for example, from which can be forecast the forces of the inner atom and the orbiting of outer areas.  Order is evident in all of this order, and the mind of an Infinite Administrator.

What we have in our hearts to say today could be said at any time at many times—but we choose to say it in this setting, in this month of many marriages.  And it pertains to the goodness and purpose of life, and to the peace and happiness of all who marry—and of children—and to the whole future of families.  First of all, marriage must be coupled with character.  It requires character to live in this closest of all relationships of life. 

"Each departed friend," wrote one eminent observer, "is a magnet that attracts us to the next world."1 It is true that our interest becomes divided, as those we love leave us.  Some things hold us here, and some things pull us away.  And always and ever we live with memories, with remembrance—always with some of the same questions, the same searching for assurance of the everlastingness of life. 

In times of beginnings and endings, a time which has come to be called commencement, young people are faced with many difficult decisions.  Decisions are difficult for everyone—and perhaps especially for those who are pursuing or finishing their period of preparation: where to work, when to marry, how long to prepare, what commitments to make—decisions that affect the whole length of life, and that must be made despite the difficulties of settling down in unsettled situations.  As to all of these uncertainties and decisions, we would quote a short and sound sentence: "Chance favors the best prepared people."1

In considering the importance of law in our lives, we would preface what follows with this simple yet profound fact that "obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law" is basic to all peace, to all progress, and to the safety and security of all people, and all property.  Nature obeys law; the universe obeys law; and men, for their safety and survival, and for the salvation of their souls, must obey law.  And there is nothing perhaps of much more importance pertaining to young people than to set before them an example of respect for law, of the living of law an example on the part of parents, of teachers, and all others in honoring and sustaining law. 

That which is constantly close to us is likely to become common place and often takes perspective to know how much it means.  This would be true of mothers, in our awareness of how much they mean.  If we are most fortunate, we are so close to them in our years of youth, that hardly do we have occasion to appraise the part they perform.  So, well they keep things running that hardly are we aware of what they do to keep things running well.  So, well they comfort and encourage us, and take off the edge of the deeper disappointments that hardly do we realize how well. 

As to the balance we need for fullest effectiveness, we would recall today some sentences on physical and mental and moral fitness, on wholeness in the living of life.  It is, of course, possible to work, to serve, to accomplish many things without being well balanced, without peace and health and happiness, without the full and well-rounded living of life.  Even a man with an unquiet conscience can account for some accomplishment.  But how much more accomplishment could he account for if he had the poise that comes with peace, with an awareness of sound mental and moral and physical foundations. 

Life, as we live it, is made possible by the services of many people.  Whether we think so or not, we are none of us self-made, or self-sustaining, or self-sufficient.  We are dependent upon all the Lord God gives and has given, and we are dependent upon innumerable things that other people do and have done, that other people learn and have learned, that other people make and have made—and the great ideal of work, of service, of doing for others, of co-operative effort, is what keeps us alive, with enrichment of life. 

Of such a day as this, a Scottish poet wrote: "The holy spirit of the Spring is working silently."1 And Tennyson added: "Once more the Heavenly Power makes all things new, . . . "2 Goethe said it in these sentences, "So then the year is repeating its old story again.  We are come once more, thank God! to its most charming chapter. 

Last week we talked of greatness and goodness, and of words that are often overworked in magnifying the mediocre.  And not only are words often overworked to exaggerate and overemphasize, but often also to deceive by half-truth and by subtle suggestion.  A half-truth can in fact obscure the whole truth.  A half-truth can effectively suggest a falsehood. 

In the magnifying of so much that is mediocre, some words are often overworked—like great and greatness, —for example—and associated synonyms Yet the true quality of greatness is often found in unpublicized places, in simple, modest settings, in the heroic lives of humble men and women—the greatness of goodness and of sincere service.  "Goodness is richer than greatness,” said Edwin Hubbel Chapin.  "It lifts us nearer to God . . .. It is . . . manifested according to our abilities, within our sphere, . . . and every day I bless God that the great necessary work of the world is so faithfully carried on by humble men in narrow spaces and by faithful women in narrow circles, . . . performing works of simple goodness . . . ."1