The Art of Public Speaking
would die of starvation. But mystery does not bother us in the
dining-room; it is only in the church that it is a stumbling block.
I was eating a piece of watermelon some months ago and was struck with
its beauty. I took some of the seeds and dried them and weighed them,
and found that it would require some five thousand seeds to weigh a
pound; and then I applied mathematics to that forty-pound melon. One of
these seeds, put into the ground, when warmed by the sun and moistened
by the rain, takes off its coat and goes to work; it gathers from
somewhere two hundred thousand times its own weight, and forcing this
raw material through a tiny stem, constructs a watermelon. It ornaments
the outside with a covering of green; inside the green it puts a layer
of white, and within the white a core of red, and all through the red it
scatters seeds, each one capable of continuing the work of reproduction.
Where does that little seed get its tremendous power? Where does it find
its coloring matter? How does it collect its flavoring extract? How does
it build a watermelon? Until you can explain a watermelon, do not be too
sure that you can set limits to the power of the Almighty and say just
what He would do or how He would do it. I cannot explain the watermelon,
but I eat it and enjoy it.
The egg is the most universal of foods and its use dates from the
beginning, but what is more mysterious than an egg? When an egg is fresh
it is an important article of merchandise; a hen can destroy its market
value in a week's time, but in two weeks more she can bring forth from
it what man could not find in it. We eat eggs, but we cannot explain an
egg.
Water has been used from the birth of man; we learned after it had been
used for ages that it is merely a mixture of gases, but it is far more
important that we have water to drink than that we know that it is not
water.
Everything that grows tells a like story of infinite power. Why should I
deny that a divine hand fed a multitude with a few loaves and fishes
when I see hundreds of millions fed every year by a hand which converts
the seeds scattered over the field into an abundant harvest? We know
that food can be multiplied in a few months' time; shall we deny the
power of the Creator to eliminate the element of time, when we have gone
so far in eliminating the element of space? Who am I that I should
attempt to measure the arm of the Almighty with my puny arm, or to
measure the brain of the Infinite with my finite mind? Who am I that I
should attempt to put metes and bounds to the power of the Creator?
But there is something even more wonderful still--the mysterious change
that takes place in the human heart when the man begins to hate the
things he loved and to love the things he hated--the marvelous
transformation that takes place in the man who, before the change, would
have sacrificed a world for his own advancement but who, after the
change, would give his life for a principle and esteem it a privilege to
make sacrifice for his convictions! What greater miracle than this, that
converts a selfish, self-centered human being into a center from which
good influences flow out in every direction! And yet this miracle has
been wrought in the heart of each one of us--or may be wrought--and we
have seen it wrought in the hearts and lives of those about us. No,
living a life that is a mystery, and living in the midst of mystery and
miracles, I shall not allow either to deprive me of the benefits of the
Christian religion. If you ask me if I understand everything in the
Bible, I answer, no, but if we will try to live up to what we do
understand, we will be kept so busy doing good that we will not have
time to worry about the passages which we do not understand.
Some of those who question the miracle also question the theory of
atonement; they assert that it does not accord with their idea of
justice for one to die for all. Let each one bear his own sins and the
punishments due for them, they say. The doctrine of vicarious suffering
is not a new one; it is as old as the race. That one should suffer for
others is one of the most familiar of principles and we see the
principle illustrated every day of our lives. Take the family, for
instance; from the day the mother's first child is born, for twenty or
thirty years her children are scarcely out of her waking thoughts. Her
life trembles in the balance at each child's birth; she sacrifices for
them, she surrenders herself to them. Is it because she expects them to
pay her back? Fortunate for the parent and fortunate for the child if
the latter has an opportunity to repay in part the debt it owes. But no
child can compensate a parent for a parent's care. In the course of
nature the debt is paid, not to the parent, but to the next generation,
and the next--each generation suffering, sacrificing for and
surrendering itself to the generation that follows. This is the law of
our lives.
Nor is this confined to the family. Every step in civilization has been
made possible by those who have been willing to sacrifice for posterity.
Freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of conscience and free
government have all been won for the world by those who were willing to
labor unselfishly for their fellows. So well established is this
doctrine that we do not regard anyone as great unless he recognizes how
unimportant his life is in comparison with the problems with which he
deals.
I find proof that man was made in the image of his Creator in the fact
that, throughout the centuries, man has been willing to die, if
necessary, that blessings denied to him might be enjoyed by his
children, his children's children and the world.
The seeming paradox: "He that saveth his life shall lose it and he that
loseth his life for my sake shall find it," has an application wider
than that usually given to it; it is an epitome of history. Those who
live only for themselves live little lives, but those who stand ready to
give themselves for the advancement of things greater than themselves
find a larger life than the one they would have surrendered. Wendell
Phillips gave expression to the same idea when he said, "What imprudent
men the benefactors of the race have been. How prudently most men sink
into nameless graves, while now and then a few _forget_ themselves into
immortality." We win immortality, not by remembering ourselves, but by
forgetting ourselves in devotion to things larger than ourselves.
Instead of being an unnatural plan, the plan of salvation is in perfect
harmony with human nature as we understand it. Sacrifice is the language
of love, and Christ, in suffering for the world, adopted the only means
of reaching the heart. This can be demonstrated not only by theory but
by experience, for the story of His life, His teachings, His sufferings
and His death has been translated into every language and everywhere it
has touched the heart.
But if I were going to present an argument in favor of the divinity of
Christ, I would not begin with miracles or mystery or with the theory of
atonement. I would begin as Carnegie Simpson does in his book entitled,
"The Fact of Christ." Commencing with the undisputed fact that Christ
lived, he points out that one cannot contemplate this fact without
feeling that in some way it is related to those now living. He says that
one can read of Alexander, of Caesar or of Napoleon, and not feel that it
is a matter of personal concern; but that when one reads that Christ
lived, and how He lived and how He died, he feels that somehow there is
a cord that stretches from that life to his. As he studies the character
of Christ he becomes conscious of certain virtues which stand out in
bold relief--His purity, His forgiving spirit, and His unfathomable
love. The author is correct, Christ presents an example of purity in
thought and life, and man, conscious of his own imperfections and
grieved over his shortcomings, finds inspiration in the fact that He
was tempted in all points like as we are, and yet without sin. I am not
sure but that each can find just here a way of determining for himself
whether he possesses the true spirit of a Christian. If the sinlessness
of Christ inspires within him an earnest desire to conform his life more
nearly to the perfect example, he is indeed a follower; if, on the other
hand, he resents the reproof which the purity of Christ offers, and
refuses to mend his ways, he has yet to be born again.
The most difficult of all the virtues to cultivate is the forgiving
spirit. Revenge seems to be natural with man; it is human to want to get
even with an enemy. It has even been popular to boast of vindictiveness;
it was once inscribed on a man's monument that he had repaid both
friends and enemies more than he had received. This was not the spirit
of Christ. He taught forgiveness and in that incomparable prayer which
He left as model for our petitions, He made our willingness to forgive
the measure by which we may claim forgiveness. He not only taught
forgiveness but He exemplified His teachings in His life. When those who
persecuted Him brought Him to the most disgraceful of all deaths, His
spirit of forgiveness rose above His sufferings and He prayed, "Father,
forgive them, for they know not what they do!"
But love is the foundation of Christ's creed. The world had known love
before; parents had loved their children, and children their parents;
husbands had loved their wives, and wives their husbands; and friend had
loved friend; but Jesus gave a new definition of love. His love was as
wide as the sea; its limits were so far-flung that even an enemy could
not travel beyond its bounds. Other teachers sought to regulate the
lives of their followers by rule and formula, but Christ's plan was to
purify the heart and then to leave love to direct the footsteps.
What conclusion is to be drawn from the life, the teachings and the
death of this historic figure? Reared in a carpenter shop; with no
knowledge of literature, save Bible literature; with no acquaintance
with philosophers living or with the writings of sages dead, when only
about thirty years old He gathered disciples about Him, promulgated a
higher code of morals than the world had ever known before, and
proclaimed Himself the Messiah. He taught and performed miracles for a
few brief months and then was crucified; His disciples were scattered
and many of them put to death; His claims were disputed, His
resurrection denied and His followers persecuted; and yet from this
beginning His religion spread until hundreds of millions have taken His
name with reverence upon their lips and millions have been willing to
die rather than surrender the faith which He put into their hearts. How
shall we account for Him? Here is the greatest fact of history; here is
One who has with increasing power, for nineteen hundred years, moulded
the hearts, the thoughts and the lives of men, and He exerts more
influence to-day than ever before. "What think ye of Christ?" It is
easier to believe Him divine than to explain in any other way what he
said and did and was. And I have greater faith, even than before, since
I have visited the Orient and witnessed the successful contest which
Christianity is waging against the religions and philosophies of the
East.
I was thinking a few years ago of the Christmas which was then
approaching and of Him in whose honor the day is celebrated. I recalled
the message, "Peace on earth, good will to men," and then my thoughts
ran back to the prophecy uttered centuries before His birth, in which He
was described as the Prince of Peace. To reinforce my memory I re-read
the prophecy and I found immediately following a verse which I had
forgotten--a verse which declares that of the increase of His peace and