November 1931
T h e
K i n g ' s
B u s i n e s s
504
“Why doesn’t he go on and tell us what the holy men of God said we were to believe?” Rodney asked doggedly. Perceiving that Rodney was hiding, under a belligerent manner, a real desire to get to the heart of the truth, Uncle Alan went on. “He does tell us! He says the Scripture proclaims, ‘Behold, I lay in Sion a chief corner stone, elect, pre cious : and he that believeth on him shall not be con founded.’ And he goes on to witness that this precious Rock of Ages becomes a stone of stumbling and a rock of offense to them which stumble at the Word. But it’s the best Rock in the world to build on, Rodney. The city which hath foundations, w h o s e b u i l d e r and maker is God, claims that Rock for its chief corner. You say the weak viciousness at the high school makes you sick and tired. As you go on, you’ll find in the world, worse sin, and more of it. Did you ever consider taking refuge in God’s shelter?” This last was said very gently and quietly. Rodney was busy now, looking out the window at the dahlias. But that new something that had been myste riously growing and budding in his heart, was sending forth new shoots and flowers very rapidly now, as he be came conscious of the removal of the old hindrance and obstruction, placed there by an enemy hand. The sap was coursing through the branches. It was springtime within! “The shadow of the Rock! Stay, Pilgrim, stay! Night treads upon the heels of day; There is no other resting-place this way.
“Did you call it a machine- made creed, Rodney ?” “I did,” defiantly. “What machine made it? Will you tell me?” “You know what I mean, Uncle Alan.' Certain men, leaders of the faith, have put down what they think you ought to believe, and you’ve all been kissing the toe of some Protestant pope, like a lot of foolish devotees—■” “Wait a minute, Rodney! Do I impress you, for ex ample, as a man who has played the part of a foolish devotee?” Uncle Alan interrupted. “There are just a few of you—you and Connie, and some others of the Thin Red Line, who make me love Christ. What I mean is that, when I am with you, Christ seems real to me; and I can almost imagine myself fol lowing Him—leaving all for Him, like those fishermen who left their boats when they were called by Him.” And Rodney looked off through the library window onto Elise’s beds of dahlias and petunias. Uncle Alan thought it wise to let him meditate, while he was in that train of thought; and the gentle face of this bachelor uncle was very bright with the radiance that is of another world, as he watched the young man before him. It was good to hear from the blunt lips of this youth, that one made Christ seem real to people! The One who is counting on those who know Him, to represent Him acceptably down here, would be pleased with that. There was much to be cleared up in this young man’s understanding, or misunderstanding, of the good tidings. Presently Rodney turned and smiled at him, a little wistful smile. “You may see how much in earnest I am—I ’d forgot ten that this is Thanksgiving!” he remarked. “The turkey is not quite brown enough yet, Rodney. We still have a little time before dinner.” “I ’ve said certain things you cannot answer, haven’t I?” queried Rodney. Uncle Alan’s smile was good. It held no hint of sneer at youth’s bravado. One secret of this tall, thin bachelor’s power was that he never made his young peo ple feel that he was amused by. them. He met their fire and earnestness with a warmth and earnestness of his own. And when he sometimes encountered the unfor tunate “flaming youth,” who are flaring everywhere today, he never made the mistake of trying to meet these lighter weights on their own ground. Rodney had seen him with draw, serenely, into a certain secret citadel, within his own individuality, and abide there until flaming youth was either subdued by the presence of his stronger and more spiritual personality, or else flitted away to flare in other places. Uncle Alan was speaking from his citadel now. “You were wrong when you talked of a machine-made creed, Rodney; and of a Protestant pope, and of the lead ers of the faith putting down what they thought we ought to believe, and of our being a lot of foolish devotees. All wrong!” “Why, please? Prove your points,” the boy asked quickly. “Peter was a man like you, Rodney—Peter, who was one of those fishermen who turned and. followed Christ, when once he had really seen Him. He says this about our faith which you have called a machine-made creed: ‘No prophecy of the scripture is of any private interpre tation. Eor the prophecy came not in old time by the will of man : but holy men of God spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost.’ It is not what1 leaders think. It is what God says that we must believe.”
The Rock is near, The well is clear— Rest in the shadow of the Rock. “The shadow of the Rock! To weary feet, ^ That have been diligent and fleet, The sleep is deeper and the shade more sweet. Oh, weary rest! Thou art sore pressed— Rest in the shadow of the Rock. “The shadow of the Rock! Thy bed is made; Crowds of tired souls like thine are laid This night beneath the selfsame placid shade. They who rest here Wake with heaven near— Rest in the shadow of the Rock!”
How many think that only old age, or perhaps ma turity, are ever weary of this feverish age! Yet, weariest of all, ofttimes, is blooming youth, while it scorches its tender feet in the desert sands of today. Would that there were mote wise friends at hand to help these thirsty ones to the cool, safe shadow-of our Rock! Then, perhaps, there would be fewer suicides among the young people of this generation. Rodney, at least, began to dimly realize part of this. He turned now and made his first step in the right direction. “I ’ve never tried it, Uncle Alan—God’s shelter, I mean! But I can at least honestly say this much; I am willing to be shown.” “Whosoever will is the one who inherits all the prom ises. God bless you,” and fearing to say too much, this wise uncle led Rodney, who was beginning a new life, out to celebrate with those who loved him, his first real, thank ful, joyful day of thanksgiving.
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