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VII

THE LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF LIFE

Sorrowful, yet alway rejoicing.-2 Cor. 6: 10.

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HIS paradox of the apostle is readily understood by the disciples of the Lord Jesus. Sorrow and joy are strangely intermingled in Christian experience, and it is well to consider what precisely this may mean.

In Christian life sorrow is always attended by joy. The text does not say that joy is always attended by sorrow-the apostle knew better than that; he realized that in every true life are large spaces of pure enjoyment: what he does say is, that sorrow is ever attended by gladness. In all the vast variety of trials which spring naturally and inevitably in our path, there is to the Christian the sense of the presence and working of the loving God. Mr. Frederic Harrison, speaking of George Eliot and her repudiation of the Christian faith, writes thus: "But she is not melancholy at least, not after she had shaken off the cruel burden of Calvinism." Now, we are not concerned to defend Calvinism of any sort; yet when men and women renounce faith in a living God, and find refuge in the system of

nature, as that system is interpreted by science to-day, they have only exchanged one system of fatalism for another, and if the fatalism of atheistic science is in any sense superior to the fatalism of theology we fail to see it. In the reckoning of infidelity nature means blind necessity, ruthless fatalism, afflicting equally the just and the unjust; and such a creed of suffering and annihilation is a cruel burden that no faith in the supernatural could exaggerate. But it is the joy of the Christian to see the faithful Creator working freely in the world of nature; to mark the just Ruler restraining and directing the movements of society; to be assured of a loving Redeemer hallowing the sorrows of the individual and the race to high and glorious issues. From the moment that we see these truths with sure and certain vision each sorrow brings a great joy in its heart; indeed, henceforth all pain and sadness suffer a change into something more beautiful than the charm of youth, the bloom of strength, or the splendor of power and greatness. Mallock, writing of the lovely climate of Cyprus, gives this charming picture: "I should, however, convey a very incomplete impression if I spoke of Nicosia only as it appeared on the days of sunshine; for though certainly sunshine, at once soft and brilliant, was the rule, clouds and showers were exceptions hardly rare enough to be remarkable. But clouds in that wonderful

climate seemed seldom to have any gloom in them. They were as fresh and warm in January as they are with us in June. They hovered over everything like the breast and wings of a dove; and from all the gardens they summoned the smells of flowers." Is not this a parable of the mingling sunshine and shade of the Christian life? Walking in the light of God's face, they find that the clouds have no gloom in them. The terror, ghastliness, and sting of suffering and death disappear; the transfigured vulture spreads the wings of a dove; while trust, gratitude, and praise ascend to heaven from their purified hearts, as the smell of flowers refreshed by rain.

In Christian life sorrow is always productive of joy. Our Lord in a dark day comforted His disciples: "Ye shall be sorrowful; but your sorrow shall be turned into joy." This process is ever going on. The grief of penitence changes delightfully into the peace that passeth understanding. "Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted." The sorrow of the world worketh death; but godly sorrow touching our sin and shame worketh hope and salvation. A Jewish tradition records that where David wept day and night over his great sin an incense-tree sprang up; and the pangs of true penitence are the prelude to the incense of thanksgiving and praise. The natural griefs of daily human life are ever being sanctified to the

augmentation of our power and gladness. The breaking down of the body, the marring of domestic felicity, the spoiling of fortune, the disenchantments of time, the pathos of the impending end, all are mysteriously blessed to the deepening and refinement of the obedient spirit. The eruption of Mont Pelée has shown that in volcanic ashes is an unexpected virtue. It is said that in St. Vincent, wherever the dust has fallen, the flowers are beginning to bloom with an unheard-of luxuriance. So in the catastrophes of life works a mystic virtue, giving to the graces vigor and beauty which otherwise they never seem to attain. In our efforts to do good disappointments and failures cut us to the quick; but even these sad hours through patience and hope work out for the furtherance of our joy. Going forth weeping, bearing precious seed, we shall doubtless return with songs, bringing our sheaves with us. The whole story of earthly suffering leads up to the eternal weight of glory. "The noble army of martyrs praise Thee, O God." Most wonderful troop in all the host of heavenly worshippers! They came from strange placesred amphitheatres, black prisons, ghastly gallows, dens and caves of the earth, Golgothas, Gethsemanes. For what do they praise Him? For strangest gifts-binding chains, stripes, crowns of thorns, cruel crosses, blazing fagots, names consigned to infamy, for their ashes scattered to the

winds. The vast sunshine of eternity has swallowed up the sorrows of a day, and left them with the vision of God's face and the glory everlasting.

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