Spoken Word Messages - Page 77

Repentance is a subject that is sometimes shunned. But repentance is a very practical principle and plays a very important part in human progress. This is so because, in a sense, no man moves forward in any particular without repentance. Increasing individual or industrial efficiency is a kind of repentance—by the abandoning of wasteful ways and by following better ways.

One of the wise men of the world once wrote: "To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; . . . A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; . . . a time to keep, and a time to cast away; ... there is a time ... for every purpose and for every work."1

In fiction and in fairy tale a favorite plot is for the prince to move among his people in disguise. Such plots have a host of variations in a long line of literature, and it makes exciting reading when the pauper proves to be the prince or when the grand lady changes places with her maid. In literature such situations may be easily possible, but in life we cannot much rely on not being known.

"And seeing the multitudes, he went up into a mountain: and when . . . his disciples came unto him: . . . he ... taught them, saying, Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God."

We often hear the phrase, "Forgive and forget." But how much is "forgetting" a part of "forgiving"? There is no one who does not sometime need to be forgiven, and there is no one who does not hope that his errors will be forgotten. But a verbally proffered forgiveness comes much easier than an actually accomplished forgetfulness. And if every time we are miffed, we remind a man of all his past mistakes, we haven't fully forgiven.

Some people acquire such reputations that others place implicit confidence in them. Well-known names, for example, are often accepted at face value—which fact sometimes leads to the misuse of names and reputations in one way or another, such as the practice of purchasing opinions for the purpose of influencing others; such as permitting one's name to be used for purposes concerning which one knows little or nothing; such as permitting words to be put into one's mouth, purely for a price.

It was Montaigne who remarked that "A man had need of tough ears to hear himself freely judged." Regardless of how careful and conscientious a man may be, someone is almost always sure to misunderstand Ins actions and attitudes and utterances. When he is liberal with his means, someone will almost surely suggest that he is overly extravagant. If he is conscientiously careful with his money, someone will almost surely say that he is miserly. If a person's views are more liberal than ours, we may brand him as being "too liberal." If his views are more conservative than ours, we may assume that 'he is "too conservative."

We have heard on high authority that "It is not good that the man should be alone."1 But people at almost any age may sometimes feel that they want to be on their own—free from being accountable to anyone. Children often say impatiently to their parents: "Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself!" And adults often say it emphatically to their families and friends. But no one is ever entirely able to take care of himself under all circumstances.

It is a commonplace occurrence, but sometimes startling nevertheless, how children grow up in the pattern of their parents—both in appearance and performance. It isn't always so, and we must admit the many exceptions.

This week we are worried. This week we are crowded. This week we are frantically trying to do some of the things we have left too long. But next week—next week is going to be different! Next week things will ease up. Next week we shall have time for some of those long-neglected loose ends. Next week we shall be "over the hump"—and then—then—tomorrow - always tomorrow—Tomorrow we shall feel easier. Tomorrow our work will be in better order. Tomorrow we shall relax. Tomorrow we shall live! But "tell me," said Marcus Martial some nineteen centuries ago—"tell me, . . . when does that tomorrow of yours come?"

There was a time, in childhood, when we were much impressed by houses that were supposed to be haunted—a haunted house, of course, being any empty place—where people had moved out and dust and cob-webs had moved in. Creaking floors made them live, and the wind made them breathe and move and speak of many things—but more of loneliness than of anything else. In some ways perhaps any old and empty house seems haunted—haunted by memories, haunted by forsaken sounds.

"No man is good enough to govern another man without that other's consent."1 This sentence, spoken by Abraham Lincoln, brings before us the question of "consent"—which is an accepted principle where freedom prevails, and the premise upon which Lincoln freed the slaves to live as free men among us. In a society committed to freedom, the principle of consent is conceded.

Among the ancient Athenians it is said that Solon invoked a law that penalized people who refused to take sides on disputed principles and public problems. It was his conviction that a person should commit himself to one side or the other in any question of serious consequence instead of standing by in idle indifference.

It has sometimes been assumed that truth pertains only to what one says or writes—that if we give a wrong impression with the right words, we are still within the truth. But words are not the only way of conveying meanings. And whether or not we are truthful depends not only upon the words we use but also upon the intentions we have and the impressions we give. The truth bas not been told unless there is an honest transference of thought, an honest conveyance of meaning, regardless of what we say in words. Indeed, the untruth of actions can be more misleading than the untruth of words.

In defending a statement that is questioned or challenged, not infrequently someone will say: "I read it in a book" (as if this were a final and unanswerable defense). But the books of men are no more infallible than are men. An error is an error—even in a book! It is true that print tends to give weight to what is printed. And if we have seen it in print, it leaves its impression upon us, and many will choose to believe it, no matter who wrote it, or when, or why.

People sometimes ask impatiently: "Why can't we know more about the future?" "Why shouldn't we know the future?" One part of a possible answer to this problem, so far as our individual acts are concerned, is that ofttimes we can't know more about the future because ofttimes the pattern of the future isn't yet fixed.

Sometimes when events have taken an unexpected turn, we wonder what we might have done to avoid what has happened. What did we do wrong? What might have happened if we had done differently? It is natural that such questions should occur. And if asking them helps to avoid repeating any mistake of the past, it is well worth while. But useless, haunting, time-consuming regrets should be shut out.

In looking at the length of life, it was the Psalmist who said: "The days of our years are threescore years and ten: ... Thou carriest them away as with a flood; ...  So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom."1

Some nineteen centuries or so ago there walked among men one Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ, the Son of God, the Prince of Peace. His fortunes varied from being acclaimed King to being condemned to death. Even the sick whom he healed did not always pause to give gratitude. And in his time of greatest need he could not even count on those who but a few days before had strewn his path with palms. The principles he proclaimed were not popular with the prevailing powers of his time, and were not well understood by the people. And because his precepts and principles apparently have not prevailed, men have sometimes become cynical, have sometimes despaired, have sometimes lost hope and faith in the future.

The more a subject is talked of, the more difficult it is to add any ideas on it. But, old as it is, perhaps it is expected that something shall be said on the theme that dominates these days. We wouldn't change the giving of gifts or the festivities or the feasting. We wouldn't eliminate the lights or the trimming of trees or the fond conspiracy about presents or the wide-eyed wonder of children at this welcome and wonderful season. We wish, of course, that we could prepare under less pressure, but the pressure is partly because of our own procrastination.

There is an old oriental proverb which reads, "The reputation of a thousand years may be determined by the conduct of one hour."1 Sometimes it may not seem to be just and fair for such short intervals to be so all-important—for things that matter so much to be made and unmade by the act of one moment—or for the labor of a lifetime to be laid low by one ill-advised hour.

Suppose that someone who needs something approaches us for some service —a service that is reasonable and honorable and easily within our reach. And suppose that we hide behind the actual or alleged fear of precedent in refusing the favor. In short, suppose we say: "I'd like to do it for you, but if I do it for you, I'll have to do it for everyone. I am so sorry." Certainly this sounds like logic, and certainly it can be used as a  convenient way out.

For some unexplained reason it is sometimes supposed to be embarrassing not to do what someone else dares us to do. But why should it be considered smart or courageous or commendable to do some stupid thing merely because some stupid person is willing to do it or dares us to do it?

One way of finding out how much we have to be thankful for, is to give up some of our blessings and see how grateful we would be to have them back. Consider for a moment just one seemingly simple thing: nourishing food—not fancy foods, not the trimmings, but merely simple, strength-sustaining food. We may have come to consider it as commonplace, but let it be taken from us for only a few days—or for only a day—and see how abundantly blessed we would feel to have it back.

"Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." It would be interesting to know how many worth-while things we could have done and should have done that we failed to do because we were afraid. We sometimes assume that we are more afraid than other men are. But when we are trembling to our very toes, it is at least a reasonably good guess that the men we have to meet and compete with are trembling inside also.

It is quite common to hear comment and concern about the weakening and waning of home influence and discipline. It is not unusual to hear parents complain that they have tried "everything" and failed. They have counseled and cautioned and coaxed and threatened, sometimes seemingly without satisfying results. If such failures were only a personal and private problem, they would be serious enough. But failure in the home is also failure in the neighborhood, in the nation, in the world.

It has been some two centuries since Thomas Gray wrote this sentence -. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise," thus perpetuating a much-quoted phrase on a much-misunderstood assumption: that what we don't know doesn't hurt us. There comes to mind an old, old story of the giant who was complacently confident of his invincibility. But he was challenged by a contender who had a sword of exceeding sharpness, which sword with one mighty stroke cut through the giant's body, so quickly and cleanly, so says the story, that the giant didn't feel it. He was enjoying the bliss of ignorance, not knowing that he was cut in two, until his challenger said: "Shake yourself." And when the giant shook himself, he fell apart.

Sometimes the question is asked: Just how effective is the threat of punishment in keeping men from doing things they shouldn't do? To this, we must frankly answer that often the mere threat of punishment doesn't seem to be very effective—perhaps because so many men are apparently willing to gamble on the chance of avoiding punishment for their errors.

Things that are done too late don't count. At least, they don't count as much as things that are done when they should be done. Time is an element in everything we do, and it often runs cut on us when we indulge in dangerous delays. Often when children are asked to do something, they answer, "In a minute!" But their minutes are often multiplied. And when they finally do what they have been asked to do, it is often at their own convenience. But there is a big difference between doing something when we ought to do it and doing. something when we get "good and ready."

There has long been a philosophy, too widely entertained, that a personal weakness could be offset by a legal device; for example, there have been those who have supposed that if a man weren't fundamentally honest, you could make him honest merely by passing a law against dishonesty or that if a man weren't moral, you could assure his morality by legislating against immorality. And this line of thinking has gone yet further to the point where sometimes collateral and contracts and written commitments are presumed to replace character. But, lest we forget it, integrity of character is still an indispensable element in any transaction, regardless of what other safeguards may be insisted upon.