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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.
For the blessed privilege of having had such a mother as would add grace and kindliness to a company even of angels—for such a hallowed privilege, our hearts are humbled this day. And as we turn our thoughts to memories and to mothers—to you who have them with you yet, may we say from us who have had them taken from us be to them, this day—and always, what you would wish you had been to them if they were no longer here. Let there be no loneliness among mothers this day, or on any other, for any thoughtlessness of ours.
There are times and moments in life when people seem to have arrived at what they want—when the plans and purposes they have pursued seem to have been successful. But this we learn, sooner or later: that life is not a single scene. It is a series of scenes.
Perhaps it has always been so; certainly, during our day it seems increasing to have been so: that custom and connotation have changed the meaning of words, and that men have found new ways for uttering old ideas.
In The Prisoner of Chillon, Lord Byron said in the awesome words of a classic couplet: Oh, God! it is a fearful thing To see the human soul take wing.
Frequently we see people come to places of prominence or achieve pre-eminence in some particular profession. But what we frequently, fail to see is the groundwork, the long growth, the prolonged preparation that goes into the making of a man—the discipline, the study, the work, and the waiting to achieve solid success.
We often see the familiar picture of parents and teachers pleading with young people to improve themselves, to learn their lessons, to make the most of their lives. And because of this sincere anxiety on the part of parents, young people may sometimes assume that they are doing teachers or parents a favor by learning their lessons, by improving their lives. In one sense this is true.
Since we are assured that Spring has constantly recurred for so many centuries, we should not, perhaps, be awed or overly impressed by its coming once again—but Spring never ceases to be an unbelievable miracle and an unforgettable memory. If the Creator were not still creating (or if the law of chance were ever to take over), we should not know if there should ever be another Spring.