Spoken Word Messages - Page 90

If you were suddenly to find yourself in a strange and unfamiliar place, and wanted to know whether you had arrived in a blessed land or in a forlorn and unhappy country, there are several tests that could be applied. And one of them would be to observe whether or not you found there a warm and kindly and irrepressible humor—if you found there the unafraid laughter of' children, the sympathetic and understanding smile, and a delicate seasoning of wit in the commonplace and ordinary things of life—if these things you found, then you could be fairly sure that you had arrived in a blessed and happy land.

It is probably that most of us at times cherish the thought that we would like to go back—back to try over—back to enjoy once again the reality of some of our memories—back to places long unseen—to places and things that look large and great in remembrance. That haystack on the old farm was surely much higher than you say. That green lane down through the willows was much longer and more beautiful than this. And that high fence in the city and the tree we climbed to look over it—surely they were a large and important part of the universe. And the old house had unexplored possibilities—with eaves and dens behind the sofa and in the closet—and untold mysteries in that deep cellar and up in that beckoning yet forbidding attic. Why, that house couldn't have been as small as now you say it is. Surely it couldn't be I who have changed.

Within the past week we have seen another dramatic evidence of the terrible disaster that can come into the lives of those who follow after false leadership.*  History has given us altogether too many examples of the widespread human misery caused by those who have more power than control, more opportunity than ability, more ambition than altruism, more persuasion than honor, more personal influence than integrity. And leadership built upon such false foundation inevitably collapses—and the more pretentious it is, the greater the fall—but misery for all follows in its wake.

The week now closing has seen commemorated once again the entrance of the Pioneers of 1847 into the Basin of the Great Salt Lake and the valleys of the West. And in thinking upon their achievements, and upon the accomplishments of the vanguards and trailblazers of every generation, one is lead to ask the question: What is it that makes a pioneer? Of course, in many instances, the thing that causes men to leave established communities and old countries is economic pressure—the difficulty of making a living where they are and the promise of making an easier living some place else. But this is not the kind of pioneering we are thinking of.

There is a common practice among us that is perhaps as old as human nature— and almost as prevalent. When things go wrong, someone usually blames someone else. Every parent has had the frequent experience of correcting a child who immediately protests that he didn't start it—"Johnny did it." This may be only a passing phase which in childhood is rather to be expected. But this practice of blaming everything onto someone else may become a matter of deep concern when it carries over into the serious phases of life.

Every war of history has given rise to aggravated social problems, and this one is no exception. But the first step toward curing an evil is to recognize it, and then prescribe the remedy. Admittedly, therefore, one of our most pressing problems is the condition of the soldier himself—his morale and his morals, his attitudes and habits, his physical fitness and his protection against disease. And the problem isn't confined only to the soldier.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness." Thus wrote the patriots of America in 1776. And now the question arises, and has often arisen—What is the meaning of equality as applied to men? Does it mean that all men shall be alike? Does it mean that all men shall be leveled arbitrarily to a common plane? Does it mean that those who have endowments beyond the average shall be restrained from making a better place for themselves and for others? Does it mean that those who are content with idleness and indolence shall be lifted artificially to an estate beyond what they deserve or could enjoy? Surely it does not and cannot mean any of these things. For if it did there would be no reward for the man who looks beyond the present.

Scarcely a day passes but what someone, publicly and in high places, calls for a definition of our war aims. Of course the most frequent answer to the question "What are we fighting for?" is that we are fighting for freedom, for democracy, for the American way of life, for the rights of man, for security, for peace. These are good words, it is true, and they have deep meaning for each of us; but certainly they don't mean the same thing to all people. And they have been so carelessly used that sometimes, and in some places, they may have stood in danger of becoming mere words. And so, suppose for a moment we try to simplify the answer—the answer to the question—What are we fighting against and what are we fighting for?

Perhaps the fathers of men have not been as much talked of as the mothers of men, because, in the manner of our living, they have not appeared to be so constant a factor in the molding of lives and the shaping of destinies. But to say which is greater, the influence of a good father or a good mother would be to set out upon an argument that has no conclusion except to admit that both are inestimable.

One of the most common of the phrases in current vogue is that one so often used to describe virtually every change and circumstance occasioned by war—the phrase—"For the duration." We read of goods that are unavailable for the duration; of services that are discontinued for the duration; of establishments that have closed for the duration; of luxuries and pleasures, of travels and trips, that are definitely out for the duration; of men and women in service for the duration.

Within past weeks we have seen another generation of students emerge from the doors of our schools, having been filled more or less with a quantity and variety of miscellaneous information pertaining to the physical and mental, and, to a lesser degree, to the spiritual facts of life. The attitude of these students varies greatly, depending upon their native endowment, upon their environment, and upon the instructors they have had.

On this day we hold in honored remembrance those who have preceded us to another life. For some the day has been long observed and time has eased their heartaches and restored quiet pleasure in memories. But to many it is a time of acute sorrow, a time of vigil beside fresh graves—and to some even this is denied. They weep, but they may not visit the resting place of those for whom they weep. The attitudes and feelings of men toward death, both as it concerns themselves and others, vary greatly according to their beliefs and their faith and experiences. Some question the judgments of God.

Regrettably, one of the dominant factors in human relationships is fear. The lives of most men are beset by many fears; some, of course, much more than others. Fear is the weapon of the ruthless and the dread of these who are defenseless against it.

There is an oft-repeated scene in the drama of human affairs that is played over and over again through the years—a scene that has often been known to move through a sequence something like this: A group of men combine for the accomplishment of certain questionable ends. It may be for the exploitation of some unfair advantage; it may be for the pursuit of unethical political activities; it may be for the swindling of unsuspecting investors; or it may be a conspiracy for the domination of a country, or the perpetration of a war, or the subjugation of a world. Ofttimes the schemers swear themselves to loyalty and secrecy; they combine with promises and oaths and bonds, and then set out upon their way, sometimes to realize a measure of success.

Each year, on this second Sunday of May, a nation pauses from its hurried and sometimes thoughtless ways, to do honor to its mothers. It is an occasion for the outpouring of sentiments and thoughts which are always close to our hearts, but which all too often fail to find outward expression. But today we should like to look for a moment beneath the surface of sentiment, to consider an insistent question: Woman's struggle against discrimination has been a long, stubbornly contested crusade.

The great forces that are at work in the physical world have a close counterpart in the forces at work in the lives of men. In nature there is a constant leveling process which relentlessly attempts to void and offset all upbuilding. As the mountains rear their heads above the commonplace level of the earth's surface, the winds and the rains, the frosts and the heat of the day strive to break them down to the common plane, and the high places tend to be lowered and the valleys to be filled in. It is difficult to be conspicuously different even in nature; and, similarly, in the lives of men.

Perhaps it is true that there are more people on the face of earth this Easter Sunday who would more deeply appreciate having an assurance of the reality of the message of Easter than at any previous recorded time in this world's history. With the specter of uncertainty on many fronts, with millions separated from their loved ones, the assurance that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, that He died and arose again on the third day and established the pattern of everlasting life for all men to follow, would give unspeakable comfort to those who live with hovering anxiety.

It has sometimes been thought that a man of science—one who had read in the rocks of the earth, things which, to some, in our limited understanding, have seemed to be in conflict with biblical statement—was a man in whom no faith could be expected —that he who probed into the unknown realm of the physical universe was necessarily atheistic or agnostic—a man who couldn't reconcile the reality of a living, personal God with his observations as a scientist.

There is a prevalent practice among us which we would like to ignore, but which, perhaps, should be brought into the open, and freely commented upon. We have reference to the use of all manner of offensive language—but more especially to that language which profanes the name of Deity. There was a day when the uttering of strong and violent oaths and the use of profanity was associated with low places—but somehow or other it seems to have over-run the confines of the back street, until one may hear it sometimes in the most unexpected places and from the most unexpected people.

We have had some sobering accounts within recent times of men cast upon the far and desolate places of sea and land, with the near-presence of death, who perhaps for the first time in their lives, have poured out their hearts in prayer for sustenance and deliverance, and their needs have been provided and their lives have been spared, and they have returned to testify, reverently, unashamedly, that out there in the broad spaces of the earth and over the deep places of the sea, they have been delivered by an unseen hand, and their mouths have been fed and their lives have been preserved.

It is historically true that he who makes a bid for leadership in any field of thought or action, almost invariably will represent that his first interest is the welfare of the people or the cause, that he has no ulterior motive, that he cares nothing for office or power, that his only desire is to serve. Now, if such claims were always true, or even if they were always untrue, choices would be easier to make. But the difficulty is that sometimes a man who makes a bid for leadership is actually what he says he is, solely interested in the welfare of his fellowman—and sometimes he is interested in their welfare only so long as such interest serves his own position and purposes.

We sometimes hear of parents and others responsible for the guidance of youth, who defer or indefinitely postpone the religious education of children. This attitude is often defended as being modern, liberal, and broadminded, and the explanation usually given is that "We'll wait for the children to grow up and let them make their own decisions with respect to these matters. We won't urge our opinions or convictions upon them."

Under the tension of these days there are those who wonder why it fell to their lot to live in this particular troubled time and generation—those who feel perhaps that if they had chosen their time of life they could have chosen better—back in some golden age, whenever that might have been, or in some golden age of the future, whenever that might be. Well, to begin with, it is possible that men did have some choice as to the time of their birth—or at least a voice in the making of that decision—but regardless of that, there are good reasons for saying that perhaps it doesn't matter so much when people are born, so far as genuine happiness and usefulness are concerned.

Those who are discouraged, and especially those who are both young and discouraged, are sometimes heard to give voice to this query of complaint: "Why was I born!" Many who have encountered disappointments in life, from which they think for the moment they cannot recover, are inclined to ask the question. Young people whose dreams have been shattered, whose ambitions have been indefinitely postponed, who breathlessly have expected much from life and find that it doesn't come up to their expectations, are sometimes heard despondently to ask it.

Today America is closely examining her past and earnestly contemplating her future. The anniversary of the birth of one of our great patriots would seem to be an appropriate time for the restatement of some basic fundamentals. George Washington lived a century and a half ago, and there are those who would contend that conditions have so changed that the principles he laid down have outlived their usefulness.

Usually, in our acquired way of life, the passing of time is marked off with monotonous mechanical devices, but there are moments when an acute awareness of what it means seems to be upon us. From the beginning of each day to the coming of each night is a measure of time in which life moves through many strange patterns, some of which we understand and some of which are deeply puzzling to us. So gradually yet so quickly do we grow older, that while we feel ourselves still young, we may come to be looked upon as old by the eyes of those yet younger.

There is a phrase in one of the Psalms that describes a man who might well be the envy of all the world—a man of whom it could be said: "He shall not be afraid of evil tidings." (Psalm 112:7) It is highly improbable that one so richly blessed could be willingly induced to trade places with any other—“He shall not be afraid of evil tidings." If we could somehow find ourselves in a world—or make a world —where this could be true—-we would no doubt know the joy of heaven on earth.

Our world entered upon a new day when it became possible for the great truths of the universe and the lofty thoughts of men not only to be written laboriously for the eyes of the few, but also to be spread in print across the face of earth, so that the thoughts of all who choose to write could be known by all who choose to read—and so the Bible, inspired by the living God, and the great works of science, philosophy, and literature, found their way into the hands of the many instead of just into the hands of the few. Thus printing, the art of preserving for the present and for the future the thoughts of the present and of the past, became the common medium of exchange among all enlightened peoples. But along with the printing and circulation of good ideas, of course, there has also been the printing and circulation of bad ideas.

There is an overworked phrase that has fluently fallen from the lips of many speakers and flowed from the pens of many writers these last several months, which is almost certainly referred to during the course of almost every public speech that is currently delivered. It is that phrase which reminds us that, "We must not only win the war, but we must also win the peace." But regardless of its loose and repetitious use, fundamentally behind this stock phrase is a basic idea that deserves comment. It raises the question: "What does it mean to win a war?" And also the question: "What does it mean to win the peace?"

Our generation has come to see the time when most of the population of earth live their lives from day to day with heavy hearts, with threatening danger, with the fear of uncertainty haunting their sleeping and waking hours. The specter of want, the threat of violence, and the fear of oppression are dread shapes everywhere even among those nations and peoples where they have not yet become real. And then add to this general tragedy the personal grief and worries and disappointments of all the men of all the earth, and the burden of sorrow appears to be such as would crush the spirit of mankind. But this it fails to do, because there is yet abroad in the earth sufficient faith in the ultimate triumph of good, sufficient confidence in the eventual accomplishment of justice, sufficient belief in the Fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man, and sufficient assurance that these days are only a passing phase in the endless sweep of events.