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Despite the misuse men have made of many things, the past century or so has been one of profound unfoldment of truth. The mind of man has been permitted by the Almighty to penetrate what to us have heretofore been unknown realms.
We hear much concerning the subject of faith: that it will move mountains, that it is the "evidence of things not seen,"1 that with it all things are possible. And altogether all we learn of it leads us to know that faith is indeed a great and desirable gift.
In its own way, Thanksgiving is the evidence of the fruition of faith. It is, in fact, "the substance of things hoped for"2—the symbol of the harvest that follows faith—with the fruits of the field before us, the things that give us sustenance, the rich, the bounteous blessings which are ours, by the goodness of God, because someone had the faith to plow and to plant and because God gave the increase.
We should like to speak again of faith and faithfulness. Perhaps there are no two people, however close and compatible, but who could find some occasions of misunderstanding and some causes for annoyance with one another—especially if they become careless and inconsiderate.
There are moments when most of us rise above ourselves and our surroundings and sense the glory of service and see beyond the tiresome routine of some of the things we do each day. Those are glorious moments. But perhaps there is no man or woman who lives through life without feeling at times deeply discouraged and weighed down with responsibilities.
We recall once more the mathematical maxim that "a straight line is the shortest distance between two points". In a day when so many people find themselves paying a price for forgetting it, this rule of life would well be unforgettably remembered.
Many centuries ago, Isaiah, the prophet of ancient Israel, implied that there would be certain ways marked out for men—marked out so plainly that "wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein."1
On this question again of man's having been given dominion over all the earth. Subduing the earth loses much of its meaning unless we also subdue ourselves, our appetites, our anger. In many respects the measure of a man is the measure of the things that make him angry.
From all observable evidence, it would appear that man was made for movement—that he was made to face life on his feet, moving, working, thinking, growing, solving his problems, and meeting his obligations with freedom, and faith. Life itself means moving.
One of the most moving scenes of sacred writ is the one wherein the Savior said, "Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven."1
These words will not be new to some—but it is always timely to talk about truth. "What is Truth?" Of course, a word means only what we allow it to mean within ourselves or by common consent. And by some, "truth" has been defined as a relative term, as something that is subject to shifting.
I don't know how it is where you live, but where we live there has been a different feel in the air these past few days. By sure and certain signs, we are well aware that suddenly it's Autumn—as trees begin to shed their summer dresses, leaf by leaf, first having costumed themselves in high color to celebrate the Autumn evening.
On this question again of freedom to do what we want to do: young people sometimes ask, "Why do parents worry so much, and watch us so closely, and repeat so often the same precautions?
Perhaps all of us at times have questions concerning freedom—especially young people who feel too closely tied, too closely tethered, and who sometimes seem to feel that freedom should mean the right to do absolutely anything they choose to do.
A recent thoughtful visitor, explaining her blessings—hers and her husband's —quoted him as saying, "I thank God each morning, that I can get on the bus and go to work."
One of the challenging statements made by the Master was the one wherein He repeated the proverb: "Physician, heal thyself."1 There is an interesting idea that sometimes seems to be particularly prevalent—the idea that everyone should reform everyone—except himself.
There are many factors that go into the making of men—and some, such as fear and love, are as different as light and darkness. There is a question as to just how much fear can do in the making of a man.
On the question again of "saving" ourselves, may we turn to another scriptural text: "Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days."1 This is a simple statement of the law of harvest, of the law of return.
May we turn today to a paradoxical New Testament text. It was our Lord and Savior who said: "For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it."1 There is much emphasis these days on "saving" ourselves, at least in a mental and physical sense.
May we touch today upon a further thought or two concerning the effect of our ideas and attitudes on others. Fashion is one evidence of the influence that people have on other people.
Today, as we begin our second quarter century, a flood of thoughts and themes moves in upon us. One such concerns the swiftness with which the years come—and go.
But patience is one of the lessons of life that must be learned patience and a sound sense of values; patience and an awareness that there are some things that won't matter so much tomorrow as they seem to matter today. Perhaps all of us at times set our purposes upon things that later don't seem to matter too much—and forget some things that matter much more.
On this meaningful day for America, may we take a moment from some of the side issues and from some of the irrelevant celebration, and clear our thoughts and humble our hearts and get down on our knees and simply, fervently, thank God for freedom—and then get on our feet with a firm resolve to preserve it against all who secretly or openly would set it aside. Thank God for freedom—and for the Founding Fathers who reaffirmed to a new nation, an eternal, timeless truth: that the right of choice—that the free agency of man—is a God-given inalienable right and is essential to the peace and growth and progress and salvation of the very soul.1
As was observed centuries ago: There is “a time to every purpose…”1 And there are times when some things should be said, and times to keep silent.
Much of life is made up of things we think we will one day do: of things we postpone, of things we set aside, of things we leave too late.
For you who have already made your marriage, there is simply this to be said: Make your marriage work.
We have come again upon the month of June—a month of many marriages, a month in which many young people are beginning life together. And in their beginning together, there may be many things they need and want, and working and waiting and going without aren't always easy.
Remembrance is a mark of a thoughtful, grateful man—but sometimes it is acute and cutting, as suggested in this sentence from Shakespeare: "How sharp the point of this remembrance is!"1 Remembrance has a sharp point for many of us specially the remembrance of those who have given their lives that we might better live; especially the remembrance of those we have loved and lost. "How sharp the point of this remembrance is!"
The coming of another commencement calls to mind the passing of another year so swiftly and so soon—and suggests once more to all of us that we ought to start early to do what we ought to be doing.
One of the indispensable elements of a sincerely successful life is the ability, the power, the capacity, and the willingness to see things through—to carry things beyond conversation to conclusion. And one of the disappointing qualities of character is the failure to see things through.