Spoken Word Messages - Page 93

There is a phrase in the current language of the day that leaves overtones of solemn accusation.  It is the terse five words—“too little and too late.”  Usually it has reference to events of world scope in their physical and material aspects.  But “too little and too late” may well describe a man in his relationships to the fundaments of life itself.  The cry of the prophets of Israel has sounded down the centuries:  “Jerusalem, O turn thee to the Lord, thy God.”  And for brief respite, Jerusalem, and those of other lands and generations have, at times, turned to the Lord, but peace has led them to prosperity; prosperity to vanity, and vanity to greed, strife and evil ways, in the wake of which have come poverty, affliction, and humility, and with humility, a turning again to things of righteousness. 

It is within the experience of all men to seem to remember things that lie beyond the reach of a memory—to seem to recall things that are beyond recall.  Flashes of recollection momentarily light up experiences of the past that are familiar, yet not familiar.

We ofttimes hear people complain of the inadequacy of words.  The stammering student is often heard to say that he knows the answer but can’t express it.  There are times of deep emotion in the lives of all of us that defy the limits of language.  Sometimes in our thinking we border on great thoughts that transcend our ability to reduce them to words.  But this complaint about the inadequacy of words has no reference to any scarcity of talk. 

There is one characteristic that many of us have in common, and that is our unwillingness to believe that which we do not understand.  It requires a man of considerable faith to believe that which he does not or cannot understand.  Lack of understanding ofttimes causes the man of primitive circumstances to doubt or distrust the operation of anything that is not apparent to his limited mind. 

There seems to have come to dwell among us the spirit of escape.  Perhaps it has always been present, but the tenseness of our times makes it more apparent.  We seem to want to escape reality; to postpone the day of settlement; to prefer present pleasure to future happiness; to escape the consequences of our own mistakes.  There are some who seek to escape by borrowing rather than face the restrictions of a sound economy. 

There are prevalent among us two extremes of thought, neither of which must be allowed to dominate our thinking.  One faction supposes that age itself is a virtue, and that time can give the authority of truth to things that are not true.  Those who thus contend fail to perceive that an error, even though it has become traditional, is still an error, and that time alone cannot make truth of anything that is less than truth. 

There is a phrase that has become currently common, in the use of which we often over-indulge, and from which few men are immune, and that is—“wishful thinking.”  Wishful thinking means briefly that we are sometimes guilty of deciding what we would like to believe, what we hope might be true, and then settle down to the complacency of thinking of those things as though they were an accomplished fact. 

In considering last week the question of moral standards we arrived at the obvious conclusion that there must be some basic moral law beyond the whims of men, because where no such law is recognized, chaos is what we always have left.  This conclusion brings us to the question:  Now and by what authority is this basic moral standard fixed. 

An eminent contemporary figure of science is accredited with the statement that “Moral sense is more important than intelligence.”  Of course, all such statements resolve themselves to matters of definition, but it is difficult to see how anyone in his thinking could separate moral sense from intelligence. 

There is something about the clamor of the day in which we live which reminds us that a quietly spoken truth is much more convincing than the shouted declaration of half truth or untruth.  There is a technique peculiar to a well-known type of individual who believes that if he shouts loud enough and long enough, no matter what he says, some of it will be believed.  But he who is the bearer of truth has no need to shout. 

During past weeks we have spoken somewhat at this hour concerning leadership, a subject always vital to the conduct of men, because everyone must follow someone.  And since everyone must follow someone, we had just as well follow someone who is going where we would like to go.  But now comes the question: What about the man who doesn’t know enough to choose good leaders—who doesn’t know right from wrong—who has no foundation on which to base either his choice or his consent? 

In considering the accountability of men in choosing their leaders, we are reminded that there are many who follow after false leadership because they seemingly have no choice.  They follow where they are told to follow—or else.  In a physical sense this may be true.  There have always been times and places in which men were bowed to obedience against their will by superior physical force and brutal systems. 

Much wisdom was anciently reduced to the space of two short phrases—“as with the servant—so with the master.”  (Isaiah 24:2)  This statement of a fundamental truth has been so often demonstrated that it has become a historical axiom.  It is to say in other words that ultimately both the people and their leaders share a common lot, and therefore, to have a good way of life we must have a good leadership. 

If we were called upon to make a list of the evils of our day, the evil of indifference would be well up toward the top.  Collectively, men appear to be grossly indifferent toward most things which do not immediately and definitely affect their own lives and comfort. 

During the week that has just now closed, that part of America which lies between the Rockies and the Sierras, has commemorated again the achievements of those Pioneers who, ninety-four years ago, began the task of taking back from the desert part of the vastness which it had claimed as its own. 

The story is told of a young lad who had gone with an older companion to the prominence of a high hill that overlooked the valley of his home.  The long effort upward had tired the boy and he thought longingly of the comfort and security of that abode which now seemed so far away.  He turned to his companion and said:  “How do we get home?” and was answered with sweeping words and gestures:  “Just down this trail, and over that hill, and along that road and up that street, and there we are home.”  Somewhat assured but still with the grim reality of distance facing him, the boy replied:  “You can talk your way home fast, can’t you?  But I’m tired, and it takes a long time to walk there.” 

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 than a choice between the wearing of a red necktie or a blue one.  But some of them may be very fundamental decisions, involving the first step toward a bad habit, involving a choice between honesty and dishonesty, involving a choice between the acceptance or the rejection of truth. 

“And when thou prayest, thou shall not be as the hypocrites are, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men. * * * And when ye pray, use not vain repetitions as the heathen do; for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking.”  (Matthew 6:5 and 7)  That these telling words of Jesus the Christ on prayer could well be paraphrased to apply to patriotism is a conclusion that emphasizes itself on many occasions of public observance. 

We have heard much within recent times concerning the question of appeasement.  We have no wish to comment on appeasement so far as world events are concerned, but we should like to say something concerning the appeasement of appetites in our own personal lives. 

Sometimes in the confusion with which we live our lives, we find ourselves longing for quiet places.  The intensity of everything we do leaves us breathless from day to day, and before we have emerged from one whirlwind we find ourselves in the midst of another.  The acceleration of all things leaves us little time to pause, to linger, to think.  For some these things are so because they would have them so.  Some there are who remind us of Hamlet in his dread of death, because to die was to sleep, to sleep was perhaps to dream, and he was afraid of his dreams. 

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 do not appear 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. 

If you want to know how far you can trust a man, you must know at least two things about him.  First, you must know what he believes—what his standards are, and then you must know how devoted he is to those standards and under what circumstances he would deviate from them. 

By many unmistakable signs, we are reminded that we have come upon another day in June.  Added to the cold confirmation of the calendar we have that more convincing evidence which has to do with the feel of the air, the blueness of the sky, and the vigorous unfoldment of all living things. 

It is quite characteristic of humankind that whenever we pass up an opportunity or make a bad decision, there is always something of a secret hope and feeling in our hearts that our mistakes are not conclusive—that there will come again to us the possibility of making other choices to offset the ones on which we have defaulted.  In a limited sense this is true.  It is true that a man never ceases to live. 

One consideration that presses itself upon much of our thinking, is the question as to what kind of world we shall live in tomorrow.  On broad lines, there are many who feel that they know what kind of world we shall live in ultimately, but ultimately is not tomorrow. 

We have come once again to that now traditional second Sunday in May on which the nation pauses to remember with something more than the passing daily deference, those mothers who have brought us to life, who have watched over us until we could stand alone, who have prayed for us and sent their love with us, no matter how far we have traveled.  The mission of motherhood has always been fraught with poignant paradoxes, in which are mingled indescribable joy and unavoidable anxiety. 

One of the most startling things about humanity is that quality which permits us to be so sure about things we don’t know—which permits us to be so utterly positive in our opinions, and yet be so wrong.  History has given us many examples of uncompromising declarations which the verdict of succeeding generations has found to be in error.  Things which only yesterday we were dogmatically taught in school, are being replaced by other theories which today in some quarters are taught with equal dogmatism, some of which will also later be discarded. 

In the strategy of modern warfare, one of the first objectives is to destroy the enemy lines of communication.  An army may be well-equipped and even superior in numbers, and yet fall into confusion and defeat if its facilities for communicating with a directing head are rendered useless. 

An appeal from the other of a young and impressionable son suggests comment on an old and well-worn subject.  Briefly and tritely stated, we have reference to what is commonly known as “following the crowd.”  The old and unimpressive excuse that we must do certain things because “everybody is doing them” is quite threadbare. 

The coming of another Easter stirs our thoughts anew to the issues of life, death and immortality.  We think much at this season of those whom we cherish who have already departed from us—where are they and when shall we again behold them?  These, and many other questions, rise to call for answer.