Spoken Word Messages - Page 84

It is a good thing occasionally to examine the reasons for some of the things we do.  Customs and habits are relatively easy to make and relatively difficult to break.  And among our most persistent habits and customs are those which have to do with traditional days and seasons, one of which is Easter. Some of its symbols have loomed large in our minds. The rabbits and the baskets and the eggs and new spring attire are among the sure signs of its coming, and all add their color to the season. But there would have to be a greater purpose than this to justify perpetuating Easter.

Consciously or otherwise, we tend to appraise and to classify everyone we see or meet or casually observe. We like their appearance or we do not. We think we would enjoy more of their company or we think we would prefer less of it. We feel somehow that we could trust them or that we could not trust them—and so on. And our appraisal of others is exceedingly important, because it is by our judgment of other men that we choose our friends, that we choose our business associates, that we choose our life's companions and shape the pattern of all the years. It is not so much the things with which we surround ourselves, but the people with whom we surround ourselves by which we condition our living and our thinking. But the reliability of our appraisal of others is limited by many factors. Many of the people we observe, we see only in one setting, in one situation.

It is not uncommon to hear an impatient parent deliver an ultimatum to a willful child, perhaps with the familiar threat: "That's the last time I'm going to tell you." What is to follow may be specified or left to the imagination, but the note of finality is there. Weariness and impatience often drive us to do or to say things we don't fully mean, and it is highly probable that it isn't the last time the parent in question is going to tell the child in question. Children have a way of needing to be told often, and parents have a way of telling them often, far beyond that so-called "last time."

The news that breaks upon us these days would unsettle the lives of all of us if we would let it.  We are daily exposed to report and counter report, to opinion and counter opinion, to accusation and denial, alarm, mistrust, duplicity, and uncertainty, both from near and far places—all of which turns our thoughts again to a phrase from the Psalms: "He shall not be afraid of evil tidings.” (Psalm 112-7.) But, unfortunately, we are afraid of "evil tidings."

We often look upon the troubles of others and wonder how they endure them. We see those who have been suddenly stricken by sorrow, by accident by some thoughtless or ill-advised action, or by the loss of loved ones, and we wonder how they carry on. We see those who have borne some long-sustained trial or disappointment, perhaps year after year, and we wonder how they continue to face life with courage and purpose. And, supposing ourselves in their places, we are inclined to think that we couldn't possibly carry on if such tragedy were to befall us. But the fact is, we don't know how much we can stand until we have to.

It is not uncommon to hear parents complain of an ever-diminishing influence with their children. The problem is not peculiar to our time—although it may be aggravated by the conditions of our time. But this whole question of the waning of parental authority is one of great complexity in which the basic causes and the simple cures are not; always easily discernible. Sometimes the cause lies very near home, and sometimes it rests largely with outside influences —influences which for the moment we sometimes seem helpless to do much about. But there is something to be said concerning one of the causes that we can do something about.

There are some words that take on cherished meaning for us, some words the very sound of which is sweet to recall—so much so, that we are often inclined to accept them at face value, without questioning whether or not they have other meanings, other implications. And one such word is the word "protection." From our first remembrance of being encircled safely within the loving arms of a loving mother—safely away from the world and all its cares—the word has been of cherished memory. To lie down at night, secure in the feeling that there are those who watch, adds sweetness to our sleep.

To see and to say sincerely complimentary things about others is a gracious custom that does much to make life livable. But, as always, along with the genuine and the good come the counterfeit and the bad, and the counterfeit of a sincere compliment is flattery. There are many degrees of flattery, and many motives that prompt it. Sometimes it is no worse—but also no better—than the numerous varieties of so-called "apple-polishing”—the sort of thing that students indulge in with their teachers, in the hope of' having a few smooth words accepted in place of a little earnest study.

One of the rare gifts among men is the gift of imagining ourselves in the place of others—and acting accordingly. We are so very much ourselves, and sometimes live so very much within ourselves, that our outlook tends to be the outlook of one who views the world from precisely where we are sitting. The inclination to see everything in terms of our own present situation is demonstrated in many ways.

None of us can count with certainty on any prolonged period of tranquility. When things seem to be going about as we would have them go—when at last it seems that we might relax and live according to our own plans and desires, it so often happens that uninvited and unforeseen events quickly change the pattern, ofttimes despite our best planning. Why it should be so, is a question that is universally asked and difficult to answer. But certainly part of the answer is to be found in the fact that if we had everything our own way, there are many worthwhile experiences which we would surely spare ourselves.

When we are dealing with inanimate objects, there may come a precise moment when we can stand back and look at our work and call it finished. But with our children the problem is not so simple. We may put them to bed at night and sigh something of relief, and feel a certain satisfaction and security in their hours of sleep, but with morning the process which parents know so well begins all over again. Sometimes in our puzzled discouragement or weariness, we might wish that we could transfix our children for the moment—that we could feel that the clay had set in its mold—that we could somehow render them immovable as we think they ought to be—at least long enough for us to get our breath.

One thing we all have to learn in order to live happily and successfully is how to get along with people.  And one important factor in getting along with people is to deserve their confidence—to be convincingly sincere. Then comes the question: How can we be thus convincing? How can we give assurance to others that there is no sham or superficiality or hidden motive in our dealings with them? How can we convince them that the reasons we sometimes give are the real reasons for some of the things we do? Sometimes there is much studied effort to be convincing—much utterance of pleasing and well-chosen words—much resort to the techniques of persuasion—all of which have their proper uses, no doubt, and which, even with misuse, sometimes meet with seeming success. But those who misuse their powers of persuasion, those who mislead us, are seldom long accredited in one place; they soon squander their capital of the confidence which others have in them, and are convincing no more.

It would be interesting to know how many people devote their lives to working for things they don’t believe in.  We raise the question because it is an important factor in the happiness and unhappiness of men.  No man can be happy when he is devoting his time, his energies, his thought, or his moral support to something in which he doesn’t believe.  In raising the question, we do not refer to the routine and humdrum things of life which at times we all find ourselves doing.  Most men who have to earn their way in the world, at some time or other do jobs that are not particularly inspiring or stimulating.

There would seem to be in all men an inborn desire to have others think as they think, and believe as they believe. All of us are pleased when others share our views; when the things we think are right, others also think are right; and when the things we think are wrong, others also think are wrong. Certainly in some respects it would simplify living and avoid many contests of will and of force if men were to share common convictions concerning the major issues of life. And certainly there are many basic principles of morality, of justice, of right, and of truth concerning which all men should think and believe alike.  But sometimes we are liable to become intolerant, to become resentful of mankind in general and of individuals in particular when their thoughts are not in accordance with our thoughts, when they are not enthusiastic about some of the things for which we have great enthusiasm, when the values they place upon some things are different from the values we place upon them.

Perhaps most of us, if not all, are perfectionists at heart. We are ever attempting to improve ourselves, to improve others, to improve the conditions under which we live. At times we feel a wholesome dissatisfaction with ourselves, but perhaps more often we feel dissatisfaction and impatience with the weaknesses and failures and faults of others. When we arrange with someone else to do something for us, it often annoys us if it isn't done as well as we think it should be done.

It is quite characteristic of us to do much dreaming and much wishing. But often when we wish we might be something other than what we are, we don't seem to know where to begin or how. We fix our eyes upon long-cherished goals and are inclined to assume that they may be approached only by some elusive process that lies beyond our reach. We look at the distance between where we are and where we would like to be, and become discouraged. We wish on occasion that we could annihilate time and space and effort and reality, but this we cannot do: He who wants to go somewhere, must begin where he is, simply because there isn't anywhere else to begin.

From the time of their earliest understanding, we wisely assure our children that there is no reason to fear the dark. We speak to them of the kindliness of the nighttime, and of the need we have for physical darkness to bring us quiet and refreshing sleep. A friendly darkness is so often a welcome and necessary relief to the glaring light. But darkness is only friendly and reassuring when we know what lies within it.

No matter what our thoughts have been throughout the year, no matter what the tension or the pressure of living, no matter what anxiety lies heavy upon our hearts, there comes almost imperceptibly at Christmas, a mellowing of spirit, a warmth of feeling that overrides all lesser things. Perhaps this is but a foretaste of that peace of which the Prince of Peace so often spoke.

The quality of mercy has long since been immortalized. But today we should like to say something concerning the quality of generosity. On the face of it, generosity would seem to be easy to define. In the abstract, perhaps it is. But to say in specific cases whether or not one is generous may not be as easy as might be supposed. Indeed, it is possible to give much and yet have little of the spirit of generosity.

Sometimes in observing the lives of others, we may suppose that there are some who lead an untroubled existence—free from the heartaches, from the reverses, from the causes for worry and anxiety that beset the rest of us. The less we know about others, the more likely we are to make this error. You can't tell by a casual and impersonal glance at a man what he is carrying around in his heart, but you may know with almost infallible certainty, that, whoever he is and whatever he is, life has dealt with him—-or will before he gets through with it.

As a society of people we have learned to take measures to protect ourselves against many things. Those who commit theft or violence, we endeavor to isolate. Against the- spread of many communicable diseases, we impose quarantine. Against those who are responsible for hazards to public health or safety, we invoke injunctions and penalties. But there are some things against which it would seem we have not been so effective in protecting ourselves—one of which is offensive speech.

For those who are old in years, the past seems to become sharper in memory, and many things which we thought had been obliterated have proved but to be stored away, only waiting to be recalled. For the aged, it is often easier to recall something that happened fifty years ago than it is to […]

If we may quote Cicero, we may say that “gratitude is not only the greatest of the virtues, but the parent of all the others.”1 But whether or not it be the greatest of the virtues, gratitude is highly becoming to all. Perhaps not everyone who voices gratitude is actually grateful; likewise, perhaps not everyone […]

Not infrequently children ask questions, and then rebel against the answers—if the answers don't happen to please them: "Why can't I do it? Why is it so? Why does it have to be this way? To a detached observer we grown-ups must sometimes look very like children. The right answer is often not to our liking. Facts often get in our way. Principles are often looked upon as being most inconvenient. Indeed, it would sometimes seem probable that we live in a world where too many are looking for the solution to problems which have already been, solved—where too many are looking for the answers to questions that have already been answered—but some of us don't like some of the answers.

With the passing of a quarter century of radio broadcasting a generation has been born and grown to manhood that has never known what the world was like without it. A generation has grown up accustomed, by the touch of a button, to having a ringside seat at any major event at any time any place in the world. A generation has grown up in a world, where, theoretically at least, it would be possible for all mankind to hear the same message at the same time, by means which men direct and control in part—but so little understand. A generation has grown up—listening!

There has sometimes been an all too common assumption that truth pertains merely to what one says or writes—an assumption 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 what our intention is and what impression we give.

There is a question which is highly personal in nature, and yet which is much more than personal, because it affects not only individuals, but the whole structure of society. The world's attitude toward the separation of two people who have been lawfully wedded, has varied greatly with time and with place, and still does. But no matter how widely differing may be the laws and attitudes toward divorce, we must admit that in our generation there has been a growing laxity of attitude toward broken marriages, broken homes, broken families. Perhaps most men would be willing to concede that there are some causes which make it desirable, or even necessary, for people who have once been wedded to go their separate ways. But it must also be admitted that to the real causes there have been added many superficial causes which cater to the whims and to the quick changes of mind and of heart of those who lightly consider and flagrantly abuse the privileges and obligations of marriage.

Frequently the question is asked: Just how effective is the threat of punishment in keeping men from doing things they should not do? To this, we must frankly answer that often the mere threat of punishment does not seem to be very effective—perhaps because so many men apparently are willing to gamble on the chances of avoiding punishment for their errors. In contemplating some misdeed, they often weigh the supposed pleasures against the possible penalties, and then they weigh the chances of escaping the penalties, and act accordingly. Especially would it seem that punishments which are postponed to a remote hereafter are often not very effective in causing men to give up the error of their ways.

There is an old Scottish proverb which reads: "If the devil find a man idle, he'll set him to work."1 It was by no more whim that the Lord God gave man his work to do and commanded him to do it.2 Yet men often suppose that they would enjoy themselves everlastingly in idleness. But let them be forced to idleness, and it would quickly become more irksome than work had ever done. In fact, he who supposes a heaven without work supposes no heaven at all, but a place of boredom, a place of restless, discontented souls. Of course, there are extremes of work, as there are extremes of idleness.

It is probable that all men, regardless of any professions they may make to the contrary, are sensitive to the opinions of others. And yet it is not uncommon to hear those who say that they don't care what other people think. But in saying this, perhaps they are not quite stating the truth, and if they are, perhaps they are not quite as wise as they might be. It is of first importance, of course, to be right. But, even being right, it is also of great importance to have other people think we are right. And he who ignores prevailing opinion, right or wrong, does his cause an injustice, because, in doing so, often he may alienate those who should be rallied to his support.