Negative and Positive Culture
Two fields lay side by side. Only a hedge
Which ran athwart the plain dissevered them.
In one my title lay, and he who owned
The other was my brother. Each alike
Had generous part of one ancestral lot.
And each alike due diligence displayed
On that he called his own. At early spring
Each with a shining share upturned the soil
And gave it to the sun, the wind, the shower.
Thenceforth we rested not. Busily we
wrought
And wiped our briny brows 'neath burning
suns,
Biding the time of one far-off event.
At summer's end we each one came at last
To find our recompense. Each had his own,
The end for which he'd toiled. Through all
those days
My only thought had been no weeds should
grow,
But he had plowed 'mid rows of waving corn
And in so doing killed the cumbering weeds
That grew between. And now at summer's
close
Behold ! my field was verdureless and bare.
While his was clad in vestiture of gold.
How vain my toil ! His recompense how
full.
Who reaped so much, yet plowed no more
than I!
Jesus is God spelling Himself out in language that man can understand. God and man used to talk together freely. But one day man went away from God. And then he went farther away. He left home. He left his native land, Eden, where he lived with God. He emigrated from God. And through going away he lost his mother-tongue.
A language always changes away from its native land. Through going away from his native land man lost his native speech. Through not hearing God speak he forgot the sounds of the words. His ears grew dull and then deaf. Through lack of use he lost the power of speaking the old words. His tongue grew thick. It lost its cunning. And so gradually almost all the old meanings were lost.
God has always been eager to get to talking with man again. The silence is hard on Him. He is hungry to be on intimate terms again with his old friend. Of course he had to use a language that man could understand. Jesus is God spelling Himself out so man can understand. He is the A and the Z, and all between, of the Old Eden language of love.
Naturally enough man had a good bit of bother in spelling Jesus out. This Jesus was something quite new. When His life spoke the simple language of Eden again, the human heart with selfishness ingrained said, "That sounds good, but of course He has some selfish scheme behind it all. This purity and simplicity and gentleness can't be genuine. "Nobody yet seems to have spelled Him out fully, though they're all trying: All on the spelling bench. That is, all that have heard. Great numbers haven't heard about Him yet. But many, ah! many could get enough, yes, can get enough to bring His purity into their lives and sweet peace into their hearts.
But there were in His days upon earth some sticklers for the old spelling forms. Not the oldest, mind you. Jesus alone stands for that. This Jesus didn't observe the idioms that had grown up outside of Eden. These people had decided that these old forms were the only ones acceptable. And so they disliked Him from the beginning, and quarreled with Him. These idioms were dearer to them than life that is, than His life. So having quarreled, they did worse, and then-softly-worst. But even in their worst, Jesus was God spelling Himself out in the old simple language of Eden. His best came out in their worst.
Some of the great nouns of the Eden tongue, the God tongue -He spelled out big. He spelled out purity, the natural life of Eden; and obedience, the rhythmic harmony of Eden; and peace, the sweet music of Eden; and power, the mastery and dominion of Eden; and love, the throbbing heart of Eden. It was in biggest, brightest letters that love was spelled out. He used the biggest capitals ever known, and traced each in a deep dripping red, with a new spelling, s-a-c-r-i-f-i-c-e. Gordon
A plain wreath of oak leaves was sent through the English consul in Berlin in the hope that it might find a place on Mr Gladstone's coffin. The sender was a Berlin shoemaker who owed his success in business to the "Grand Old Man." About twenty years ago this shoemaker came to London and established a small workshop, but in spite of industry and strict attention to business he continued so poor that he had not even enough money to buy leather for work which had been ordered. One day he was in the whispering gallery in St. Paul's cathedral with his betrothed bride, to whom he confided the sad condition of his affairs, and the impossibility of their marriage. The young girl gave him all her small savings, with which he went next day to purchase the required leather, without, however, knowing that he was followed by a gentleman commissioned to make inquiries about him. The shoemaker was not a little surprised when the leather merchant told him that he was willing to open a small account with him. In this way did fortune begin to smile upon him, and soon, to his great astonishment, he received orders from the wealthiest circle in London society, and his business became so well established that he was able to marry and have a comfortable home of his own. He was known in London for years as the "Parliament Shoemaker," but only when, to please his German wife, he left London for Berlin, did the leather merchant tell him that he owed his " credit account " to none other than Mr. Gladstone. The Prime Minister had been in the whispering gallery when the poor shoemaker had been telling his betrothed of his poverty, and owing to the peculiar acoustics of the gallery had heard every word that had been said. This story suggests not only how Mr. Gladstone's wide-reaching influence was helped by his seizing upon the smallest opportunities to do good, but also that the house of God is always a whispering gallery; and tho no prime minister of earth may hear us as we breathe out our sorrows there, the Prime Minister of heaven will never fail to hear and heed.
"There Was Jesus." sung by Zach Williams and Dolly Parton
Ella
Higginson, under the title "When the Birds Go North Again," sings a
pretty little song of hope, illustrating the goodness of God in giving
to the saddest heart a new chance for blessing and achievements.
Oh, every year hath its winter, And every year hath its rain - But a day is always coming When the birds go north again;
When new leaves swell in the forest, And grass springs green on the plain, And the alder's veins turn crimson‚- And the birds go north again.
Oh, every heart hath its sorrow, And every heart hath its pain - But a day is always coming When the birds go north again.
'Tis the sweetest thing to remember If courage be on the wane, When the cold, dark days are over - Why, the birds go north again.
