Spoken Word Messages - Page 77

In facing the present and the future we must always draw upon the experiences and the principles of the past.  Of course, we pass through the limits of this life only once, but other men have been through before, and things which seem new to us now we shall find, in reviewing history and human experience, are not essentially different from what has been faced before. 

No matter what perplexing problems we face, it is somewhat reassuring, and also somewhat sobering, to look back to the counsel and to the principles and purpose with which others have faced crisis and confusion.  With this in mind, may we turn today to some of the words of Abraham Lincoln, sampled from random sources, and uttered in a time of travail, when a nation was torn and tried and tested: "It is difficult to make a man miserable," he said, "while he feels he is worthy of himself and claims kindred to the great God who made him."

It is possible that most of us have been persuaded to proceed against our better judgment, by those who urge us on with the argument: "You don't know what you're missing!" And, no doubt, in any people, both old and young, have been introduced to some desirable things as well as to many undesirable things by this philosophy: "You don't know what you're missing."

There is a seventeenth century proverb that reads: "Believe no tales from an enemy's tongue." But perhaps we can believe our own cross-examination of ourselves. And so, for a moment, let's do a bit of self-searching on a long list of subjects: If you were choosing someone you had to trust, could you trust yourself?

Perhaps one of the most important differences in men is the difference in what they do when they don't have to do anything, Of course, much of the time of all of us is taken by things that must be done: We all have to sleep a certain number of hours.  We all have to attend school a certain number of years.

Once more the falling curtain closes the scenes and sequences of an old year.  And once more the most frequent wish from friend to friend is for happiness in the year ahead.  It is strange how our standards of happiness shift with circumstances.  Perhaps a year ago it would have taken much more to make us feel that we were happy than it would today.  Perhaps today we would be willing to settle for less and consider ourselves exceedingly happy.  But with freedom and faith men can be happy with much or more—or with little or less

As this Christmas comes, we are all acutely aware of the worries of the world.  We have our problems, our personal and public disappointments, our serious uncertainties.  We see our sons going far from home.  We hear news we wish we didn't have to hear.  And it would not be realistic to record that the spirit of the Prince of Peace prevails among men, But it comes closer at Christmas than at any other time.

In days of deepening disappointment men react in many ways, depending upon their teaching and temperament, upon their outlook and understanding, and upon the faith and foundations on which their feet are fixed.  To sudden and shocking news, depression and deep discouragement are perhaps the immediate reaction of most of us.

It has seldom been popular to appeal for repentance.  The prophets of the past have been persecuted and imprisoned, banished and burned for calling people to repentance—perhaps because when a person proclaims the principle of repentance, he is presumed to be passing judgment upon other people, and perhaps because people don't like to be reminded of what they have done that they shouldn't or of what they should have done that they haven't. (We don't like to be reminded of our failings and faults.)

No man ever lived his life exactly as he planned it.  There are things all of us want that we don't get.  There are plans all of us make that never move beyond the hopes in our hearts.  There are reverses which upset our fondest dreams.  Unforeseen events are always in the offing.

When a man drives a stake down deep without being sure he is putting it in the right place, be may have to pull it up again with a good deal of difficulty.  And when a person proclaims a positive opinion without being sure of his facts, he may have to modify it with much embarrassment.  Some people with strong, opinions can put them over without irritation, while others let their opinions protrude to the point where everyone stumbles over them. 

Fourscore and seven years ago, an immortal American uttered an immortal message.  On November 19, 1863, Abraham Lincoln gave his Gettysburg address.  We are thankful that America has had such men; we are thankful for the faith and for the freedom on which this nation was founded, and for the patriots who have placed principle above power and position.  We are thankful for "the brave men, living and dead," who have consecrated their comfort, their convenience, their careers—their lives—to this country and its cause.

In the many complexities of our way of life, there sometimes seems to be a tendency to look upon the problems of other people as statistical rather than personal.  Unless we guard ourselves against it, we are inclined to think of men in terms of numbers and groups rather than of each man as a personal and important individual.

If we were called upon to make a list of the dangers of our day, the danger of indifference would be well toward the top.  Collectively, men appear to be indifferent toward many things which do not directly affect their own immediate manner of living, their comfort and convenience.  A calamity a thousand miles removed has its passing effect upon people when first reported, but comparatively few people seem to be stirred, to urgent action by a calamity which doesn't immediately come close to them.

In three lines of flawless poetry, Alexander Pope portrays how gossip is passed from person to person: And all who told it added something new, And all who heard it made enlargements too; In ev'ry ear it spread, on ev'ry tongue it grew."

We have long since learned that among the chief weapons of the war of nerves are fear and falsehood and confusion.  But fear, it seems, is foremost.  If you can strike fear into the heart of a man, you have already gone far toward destroying his effectiveness.

Often young people who are beginning life together become discouraged because they can't begin where their parents "left off." There are many things they want.  And working and waiting and going without aren't always easy.  Often they come from comfortable homes.  Some have lived in comparative luxury.  They have entertained their friends in surroundings that it has taken the family much working and waiting to acquire.

In times of disappointment and disturbance, there are always those who would question the Creator, and there are also those who would rule Him out of existence.  There are those who, in their resentment against the evils of the days, ask: If indeed there be a God, why would He permit men to bring about such unthinkable conditions?  And not finding the answer, or not having sufficient faith, they sometimes deny His power and personality.

Sometimes we become impatient with the present.  We see its evils, its uncertainties, its imperfections, and eagerly we wish for the day when things will be different.  It is proper and expected that immortal man would hope for and have faith in a finer future—but of utmost importance also is the power to appreciate the present.  No matter what far futures lie before us (and we earnestly believe that they are limitless and everlasting), yet always we live in the present. 

For many purposes, people are constantly being classified.  But quite apart from the classifications into which other people place us, we also constantly classify ourselves.  It is a common human characteristic for men to seek their own element, and to associate with such people as they themselves are.  Granted freedom, humankind gravitate to congenial surroundings and to congenial associations. 

A century and sixty-three years ago the Constitution of the United States was signed by the Constitutional Convention.  Less than a century later it was described by Britain's Gladstone as "the most wonderful work ever struck off at a given time by the brain and purpose of man."

One of our modern minds is responsible for giving utterance to the idea that it is useless to educate our children for the world today because the world twenty years from now will be different; and it is useless to educate our children for the world twenty years from now because no one knows what it will be like.  Suppose that our parents and grandparents had assumed a similar attitude concerning us! 

With false philosophies, world-shaking weapons, and unwelcome world events added to all our other perennial and personal problems, men's fears are multiplied, and men's hearts fail them—and it is apparent that we need a tonic for our times.

If we were to list the things that make men most miserable, we should surely have to place jealousy well toward the top.  Jealousy has played a prominent part in many, if not most, human heartaches, and it is so closely associated with some other evils that it is sometimes difficult to separate.  It is a first cousin of envy, which in turn is close kin to covetousness, and all of them keep company with hate and bitterness. 

There is an old word often used to describe the means by which men pursue their purposes.  The word is "strategy." We hear of the strategy of arriving at all manner of objectives—sometimes by deception, But the most effective strategy is "the strategy of truth," and there is no other strategy that can consistently withstand it.

Whether enforced or not, there are on the statute books penalties prescribed for almost every outward act of evil.  There are punishments provided for duplicity and dishonorable dealings of almost every description.  But we are constantly faced with the fact that no present means of physical enforcement can prevent evil itself, so long as the offenses are first committed within the minds and hearts of men. 

If we were to allow ourselves to be unnerved by the daily impact of all we see and all we hear and by all the disappointing circumstances of life, we should soon be so upset that we would lose sight of ultimate objectives.  If we should leave our thoughts and our lives open to all of the actual and potential disturbances of each day, we could easily become utterly ineffective —paralyzed with the fearful awareness of impending doom and with the constant companionship of threatened calamity.

One of the approved ways of teaching and learning is by the process of repetition.  But repetition may become tiresome to the teacher as well as to those who are being taught.  And perplexed parents frequently become weary with the number of times they have to remind their children of even the simplest precepts and precautions—and children sometimes impatiently reply: "We've heard all that before!" No doubt we could save our children many heartaches, many disappointments, and much lost time if they would only listen and learn. 

Perhaps periodically we should look at the principles that prompted the Pioneers and Pilgrims of the past.  Mostly they were men who wanted wider opportunity than the ways of the old world offered, who wanted to live according to conscience, who wanted freedom not only for themselves but also for their children and their children's children.

People are given to wondering what would have happened if they had done something differently: what would have happened if they had turned the other corner; what would have happened if they had taken the other job; what would have happened if they had married the other man; what would have happened if they had seen the doctor sooner; what would have happened if they had chosen the other road.