them will rattle like a binding chain in their later days. When a godly life comes to old age, it is bright ened by two beams o f light: one, the retained gleam o f godly youth; the other, the hope of heav en’s radiance. Robert Louis Stevenson once wrote: “ If we wish to scale a mountain, or go down in a diving dress or up in a balloon, we must be about it while we are still young. It will not do to delay until we are dogged with prudence. . . . Youth is the time to see the sun rise in town or country. Youth is the time to be converted at a revival. It is the time of venture.” And youth is the time to get the life thoroughly established in the will of God. Oh the glories o f youth, the power of youth, the joys and ambitions of youth! There is nothing more fascinating and intriguing than to see young men and women “ standing with reluctant feet where the brook and river meet,” in youth, the time of decision. The sparkle o f their eyes, the spring of their step, reveal that they are hearing the call of the years before them. In thirty or more years their eyes will dim, the bounce will no longer mark their step. Change must come in every phase o f life. The solemn echoing of the days that are past will follow them as a shadow, and the years ahead may seem grey and dreary. The pulpit should constantly and pungently warn the many profligate and lawless youth of our day in the words of Solomon: “Rejoice, 0 young man, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes: but know thou, that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment” (Eccl. 11:9). American youth are taught by almost every phase of our social procedure that they can defy divine law and get away with it. What a lie—what delusion! The law of seedtime and harvest is irrevocable: “Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap!” “Wild oats” sowed in life’s gay springtime can bring forth a terrible harvest in life’s autumn. Someone has searchingly said: “ I would not come when I am old, Presenting unto God a withered life, A heart whose energies are growing cold, And powers unmeet for noble strife. Now in the blushing morn of youth, Help me, 0 Christ, my little all to give, To consecrate my every force to truth, And live to purpose while I live.” Yes, there are memories that burn with terrible heat. Matthew records the burning memories of Peter after he had denied his Lord (Matt. 26:7 5 ): “ And Peter remembered the words of Jesus . . .” Jesus had come from the judgment hall and looked at Peter. What a look it must have been—
the Master’s soul-hurt, sorrow and compassion, deepened by suffering love. Peter looked at Jesus’ face and remembered, doubtless always remem bered, as the poet puts it: “ That face, that one face, That decomposes, but to recompense, And becomes my universe that feels and knows.” Memory, apparently, survives death and be comes operative in the after life. In the story of the rich man and Lazarus, Abraham says to Dives in Hades: “ Son, remember . . .” The rich man said, “ I am tormented in this flame.” But obvi ously there were burning, torturing memories of his former life and its negligence. Sin can light a fire in the soul that nothing but the blood of Christ can quench. The results of wayward living will surely come home to us here as well as hereafter. Anne Reeve Aldrich wrote: “ I made the cross myself, whose weight Was later laid on me. This thought is torture as I toil Up life’s steep Calvary. “ To think mine own hands drove the nails! I sang a merry song, And chose the heaviest wood I had To build it firm and strong. “ If I had guessed— if I had dreamed Its weight was meant for me I should have made a lighter cross To bear up Calvary!” Memories of glad childhood, o f the happy family circle, our godly sacrificing parents. Oh to be able to re-create the happy home circle, to let memory bring back the faces o f those whom we have loved long since and lost awhile. How blessed is their memory! But let us keep their memory green! Let those tender fnemories crowd in upon you at this season. A full life is only partly lived in the present. Life is all o f one piece. The past is a pro logue and plays its part on life’s stage with all the present and hopes of the future. As 1965 fades into the mists o f eternity, God speaks to us through life’s events, and lest we be depressed by the thought of “ life’s little while” or what Shakespeare has called “ life’s fitful fever,” let us look back and rejoicingly say, “ Hith erto hath the Lord helped me.” Rem em ber Christ’s promise for the coming year and all the years: “ Lo, I am with you alway. . . . ” “ So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still Will lead me on O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, Till the night is gone.” III. G od ’ s G race B rings M emories T hat B less and S ave .
JANUARY, 1966
15
Made with FlippingBook - Online catalogs