Spoken Word Messages - Page 75

As we remember our impressions of other people, we may well ask how we would want to be remembered.  If we were posing for a portrait, we would likely take great pains to be at our best; and after all our own preparations we would expect the photographer or the artist to retouch where he found obvious flaws because with anything as permanent as a portrait it seems important to appear as we would want to be remembered. 

The forces that are at work in the physical world have a close counterpart in the forces that are at work in the lives of men.  In nature there is a constant leveling process which relentlessly attempts to offset what is being built. 

There are many thoughts that come to us at Easter concerning the eternally vital events that this season suggests.  It brings always before us the question of death, the question of the loss of those we love, the question of the reality of the resurrection and of everlasting life—and many other problems that most men ponder upon. 

"All real joy and power of progress . . . depend on finding something to reverence, and all the baseness and misery of humanity begin in a habit of disdain."1 These words of John Ruskin suggest some of the results of irreverence and also some of the symptoms.  Some irreverence is more a matter of thoughtlessness, as the boisterousness of boys.  Some, as Ruskin wrote, partakes of deliberate, cynical disdain.  Some shows itself in profane and offensive speech.  Some is evident only in attitude.  Some is apparent by confusion and disorder in places where there should be quiet and contemplation. 

It seems that there are many important principles on which most of us can agree.  And there are many standards of conduct that most of us feel others should observe.  But the point where we often part company is the point of deciding when and to whom the principles should apply. 

When a person has lost the desire to learn, it is something of a symptom that he has largely lost the capacity for progress.  In a sense we should never be content with what we know.  But neither should we be cynical about what we don't know. 

We often hear of people defeated by adverse physical factors, of failures caused by cruel climates, of storms that take their toll, and of all manner of material obstacles that cause failures among men.  But the most perplexing problems in the world aren't the problems of the outside elements. 

If we were to take an inventory of the things that people start and prematurely stop, it would no doubt add up to an appallingly long list.  There are so many once-promising projects and personal pursuits that have been abandoned—like roads that start to go somewhere but fade out before they arrive anywhere. 

No doubt most of us are aware of things we should like to alter—in our own lives, in the lives of others, and in the whole outlook of events; and often we are kept going by our faith and hope that there will come a time when things will be better. 

It is true that we tend to find what we want to find.  If it is trouble, we are looking for, it is almost certain we shall find it.  If we're looking for faults, we shall find faults.  If it's flaws, we want, they are always there.  What we see depends much upon what we want to see. 

In the days and years before and immediately following the martyrdom of Abraham Lincoln, many earnest and eminent men expressed themselves concerning his qualifications and contributions to his country.  From these we sample some few excerpts at this hour, first one from Frederick Douglass, born to the people whose slavery was at issue.  As to Lincoln, he said:   “We saw him, measured him, and estimated him; not by stray utterances . . . not by isolated facts torn from their connection; not by any partial and imperfect glimpses, caught at inopportune moments; but by a broad survey, in the light of the stern logic of great events: and, we came to the conclusion that the hour and the man of our redemption had met in the person of Abraham Lincoln. . . His moral training was against his saying one thing when he meant another."

It seems that there are always some regrets in the living of life.  No matter what decisions we make or fail to make, we are likely to wonder what would have happened if we had done differently; and often we are likely to feet sure that we should have done differently.  Being human, as we all are, we make mistakes. 

Often, we presume to know other men's hearts and minds and motives, and to condemn and to condone.  And no doubt we are often right in our appraisal of other people.  But we cannot be certainly assured of all that moves other men.  And as we judge others (which in some ways we have to do, and which in other ways we have no right to do), we shall find, as time uncovers unforeseen facts, that we have misjudged many men in many ways. 

Frequently we speak of things we don't understand—and they are infinitely innumerable: for life is a process of searching and seeking, with a little finding here and there and with much need of faith to carry us over what we haven't yet found.  Men have made many things. 

There is an impressive plea by Thomas Paine expressed in 1776 in this sentence: "If there must be trouble let it be in my day, that my child may have peace."

Almost all of us could come closer to having what we want, if we were sure, we knew what we wanted.  Of course, we know we want the "happiness" that we have been wishing one another, and "peace" and "plenty"—and some other things that perhaps we could call by name. 

The coming of another New Year recalls once more to mind these words of a New Testament text: ". . . And [Jesus] made as though he would have gone . . . But they constrained him, saying, Abide with us: for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent."

Some wise and well-informed men concluded, on questioning, that the greatest news story in the world would be for someone who had died to return from the realm of death—someone who could testify of his own knowledge, that there is individual, everlasting life beyond the grave. 

Altogether too many of us are living on edge.  The symptoms of the pressure and impatience are all around us.  And as parents perhaps we often lose our tempers and jump at our children and say things we didn't intend to say. 

There are a few, if any of us, who are smart enough to convince our children that they should not do things that we make a practice of.  And there are few, if any of us, who are capable of convincing our children that they should do things which we neglect to do. 

Sometimes we seem to look at life as if we were watching the progress of a play in which we have no part.  Sometimes we seem to be detached from matters of community concern and to act as if we had no responsibility toward anything that lies outside the letter of our own specific assignment. 

When we find ourselves on a wrong road, our first reaction is to look back and think at what point we departed from the right road.  But sometimes we may have gone a long way before we are fully aware that we have left the right road. 

There are times, perhaps, when all of us are moved by gratitude, and there are times when all of us could become careless about our blessings.  A favor done the first time is almost always appreciated.  But a favor several times received may soon seem to be a commonplace occurrence and may even become a cause for complaint if it fails to be repeated as expected. 

As we face the future from here, we are aware of some of the disappointments of the past.  We are aware, for example, that repeated declarations of peace have not as yet proved to be permanent.  We are aware also, that except for life itself, and for freedom, there are few things that men cherish more than peace. 

In almost any circle or society, in almost any group or gathering, or among families or friends, there are almost always some who do their share or more, and some who seem to be afraid that they might do more than their share. 

It is one thing to do wrong and another thing to justify wrongdoing.  It seems that there is almost nothing in which men cannot justify themselves in their own eyes, if they set about to do so.  The embezzler, for example, seldom steals money in his own mind or admission. 

There is an almost limitless list of things to worry about—a list that may somehow seem to have grown longer lately.  Our problems sometimes seem to have multiplied, and also our perplexities.  But perhaps people were always worried. 

During the course of every day, each of us is called upon to make many decisions.  Some of them are inconsequential, involving nothing more significant perhaps than a choice between two pieces of wearing apparel. 

It is a dramatic and terrifying fact that a man can do a thing right a thousand times, and then when he does it wrong just once, tragedy comes.  Except for some very narrow escapes, perhaps any of us or even all of us could be numbered with those whom we pity or with those whom we condemn.  And we may never know how narrowly we may have missed the fate of someone who has had a terrible tragedy. 

Continually there comes before us the question of tolerance.  Men, after all, are individuals, and no two of them think altogether alike, and we would find ourselves in hopeless friction and fighting without sincere tolerance to allow the give and take of living side by side with differing ideas and differing people.