Part 7

Behold the unscrupulous real-estate dealers who force houses of immoral character into clean, residential sections of cities, betraying the cause of righteousness, injuring homes, and damning the souls of hundreds. Because immorality promises a more handsome and immediate return for the investment they become partners in the exploiting of sin and crime. As Judas went into the quietude of the Mount of Olives and brought wreck and ruin, so these men insidiously lead marauding bands of immoral workers into the best communities, well knowing that their deed means the betrayal of youth and maiden, but refusing to give it a thought, their attention fixed only on the increasing volume of business. The good name of a city or community, the value of innocence, and the sanctity of the home are nothing to these modern Judases.

Behold the employers of child labor, who, under the disguise of charitably giving employment to the poor, are reaping revenues that provide them with luxuries at the cost of blasted lives. Many of our shops, stores, and factories are but presses where the life, hope, vigor, and vision of childhood are crushed out in order to fill to the brim the intoxicating cup of extravagance for people whose own lives are too foul and unfit to be used as grapes in their own presses. Daily the bright-faced boys and girls, the hope of the nation, are crowded out of the public school into the vats. Hour by hour their lives are pressed out until, broken in body, dwarfed in intellect, incapacitated for works of social service, falling far short of the requirements made upon their later years, they are thrown aside as useless pomace. The uncontrollable spirit of greed that places money above the value of life and happiness and goodness is the spirit of Judas.

Behold the owners of tenement houses, those breeding places of filth and sin, where little children are compelled to live and die, or live and curse the world. Their only memories of childhood will be those of the crowded alley, foul hallways, and darkened corners in which they hide in fear. The memory of a mother’s face will be vague, ever hidden in the darkness and gloom in which she spent her days. Why do they not have fresh air? Greed. Why do they not have fresh water to drink? Greed. Why do their buildings not have good sanitation? Greed. Modern Judases are they all.

Behold the men who are commercializing amusements. Men and women need recreation, and children must have places to play. The human body is not made of harder material than the locomotive, that requires rest between its trips, or, growing tired, refuses to carry its load. Therefore it is necessary to have places of recreation and exercise. But where shall the children go? The best bathing beaches of ocean, lake, and river bank are owned by money-making syndicates, and the people are compelled to pay for privileges which are their own by the right of birth and citizenship. More than this, since money is the objective, and the people must patronize their places, having no other places to go, they offend decency by catering to the coarse and vulgar element of the community, thus becoming places of moral contamination instead of places of recreation. This is also true of our theaters, moving picture houses, and amusement parks. That which is presented is very often so uncouth that modesty must hide her face.

The deadening influence of the modern movies, their teachings of sex and treatment of marriage, is clearly shown in their effect upon the actors and actresses themselves. They have enacted these parts so often, and lived in the atmosphere where these things are discussed as the predominating tastes of the people, that the unnatural teachings have become their conceptions of real life until the story of their divorces and remarriages has scandalized all decent society. Beside the colonies of moving picture celebrities, Salt Lake City and other Mormon strongholds seem quite tame. If the moving picture has such a demoralizing influence over the actors and actresses, who are matured men and women, what will be the effect upon the growing generations? Already the atmosphere of school and playground is vitiated. The evil effects are already manifest to every conscientious Christian social worker. To silence the protests of a righteous guarding of the morals of the young, the moving picture corporations have set aside large amounts to prevent the needed legislation regulating censorship.

The work of these modern Judases does not end here, but they insist upon the prostitution of the Sabbath day for their ungodly enterprises. For the sake of making money they are endeavoring to lead America in the same direction Europe has been traveling, and to the same tragic fate. Childhood and the Christian Sabbath are being desecrated every hour by these Judases whose one question in life is, “What will you give me?”

It is time for an aroused citizenship to enter protest against these evils. We cannot prevent Judas from having base desires, nor giving his traitorous kiss, but we can compel Pilate, the officer, to render righteous judgment. Jesus was crucified, not because Judas kissed him, but because Pilate was a moral coward. Pilate washed his hands, declaring himself “innocent,” but every man in the mob knew that he was guilty. We cannot prevent Judas betraying, but we can create public sentiment which will compel officers to reach protecting hand against the greed of our modern Judases.

XVIII

THE ADJUSTABLE UNIVERSE

That God should adjust a universe so that all of its forces and energies should be at the instant disposal of those who, through obedience to his laws, lay claim to them, should not seem strange when we realize how perfectly we are now adjusting our mechanical and social conditions to meet the hourly needs of the body. The water supply of many of our large cities is pumped and propelled by what is known as the Holly Engine. Its regulation is perfectly automatic. Without any apparent cause, there is a constant change in the amount of steam produced. The engineer busies himself by oiling the bearings and polishing the shafts, but seems utterly indifferent to the pressure of the steam as it relates itself to the varying demands of the great city. The fact is that the engineer does not need to concern himself with the regulating of the engine, for the people of the city regulate it for themselves.

Whenever a faucet is opened the draft in the engine is correspondingly opened, the fires burn brighter, the steam is increased, and the action of the pumps instantly accelerated. The larger the quantity of water needed, the wider the drafts, the stronger the fires, the greater the pressure of steam, the more active the huge pumps that labor to meet the increased demand. Quickly close the faucets, stop the outlet of water entirely, and the pumps will become inactive. So perfect is this adjustment that the smallest child, many miles away, may change the speed of the engine at will. It is designed to meet the needs of every person in the city, whether it be but a cup of water to moisten the fevered lips of a little child or great streams with which to fight the mighty conflagrations that threaten the life of the city.

If man, out of common ore which he digs from the hills, can build machinery to meet the varying need of his fellow man, should it seem such an incredible thing that God, who made the human soul, could, out of his unlimited, unmeasured spiritual forces, arrange to instantly meet the need of every human soul? God can and God does. The fact is that the whole universe is so arranged. There is not a need of the soul of man that cannot be immediately satisfied, if one puts himself in obedient touch with the fixed spiritual laws that control the required forces, as, for the thirsty lips, we intelligently reach out, turn the faucet, and draw the cup of water.

It is at this point that the learned individual who loudly praises himself upon being a practical observer of life, takes most positive exceptions and insists that the weakness of the Church is this very insistence upon what, to him, seems the miraculous. He has not been able to observe that the strength of the Church is her belief in the laws governing prayer, compliance with which instantly brings all the Infinite resources of the sky to meet and fully satisfy the needs of the soul. The fault is not in God’s method of procedure, but in the narrow prejudices which the critic mistakes for the laws of logic. Let us consider the laws governing prayer as revealed in an old-time incident.

Her eyes red with weeping, and her face deeply drawn with sorrow, a lonely woman was pleading with Elisha for help. Out from dark shadows, she was journeying toward deeper gloom. She had just buried her husband, on the morrow she must journey to the auction block where her two sons, her only means of support, were to be sold into slavery, to meet the debts of her dead husband. She was helpless and heart-broken in her poverty. “What shall I do for thee? What hast thou in the house?” asked the solicitous prophet. “Thy handmaiden hath not anything in the house save”--and she faltered--“save a pot of ointment.” All her furniture and cooking utensils had been sold to help meet her financial obligations. There was only one thing left, and that was the jar of ointment which every Jewish person kept for the anointing of the dead. This was never disposed of. Then came the command, “Borrow empty vessels, and borrow not a few.”

The two boys were set to work. The novelty of the situation whetted their curiosity and ambition and it was not long until the mother announced that there were enough vessels and that the doors and windows should be tightly closed. Then, with trembling fingers, she opened the little jar and began to empty its contents into the larger vessels. Three smiling faces bent over the open mouths of the jars, when, to their wonderment, the little jar had filled every one of the larger ones. Now there was no need of worry. The prayer had been answered. The sale of the oil would more than meet all the demands of the creditors. It was wonderful, but natural.

Prayer is answered only according to the law of continuity. There were more than a thousand ways in which God could have come to the relief of the widow. The prophet’s touch could have filled the empty vessels to overflowing, as once a prophet’s touch melted granite rock into crystal streams of water; his touch could have filled the hut with abounding wealth; common dust might have gleamed as jewels; unexpected gifts might have been poured forth as rain; but they did not. God meets the emergencies of life through the law of continuity. The way of increase is always yielding what we have to the workings of higher laws. The small cruse held the secret of the overflowing jars. Hunger comes and God asks, “What hast thou?” and the husbandman answers, “Thy servant hath not anything save a handful of grain.” Then comes the command, “Take it to the well-plowed field, and pour it out.” He does so, and the field overflows with harvest. For the vine that man plants God gives the purple clusters; for the seed he sows God gives a loaf of bread. Like always produces like, and in prayer is followed the law of increase. What you have saved from what you have already owned, determines the nature of God’s answer to your petitions. If your heart hungers for sympathy, take the cruse of sympathy and pour it into the empty vessel of another’s life. The world yields no sympathy to the unsympathetic, but never fails to return with increase each expression of tender solicitude. If you pray for comforting power to heal an old wound, take whatever power of comfort you possess, and begin to minister to hearts that break. You will find increase that will fill every empty vessel of your heart, and gladness shall take the place of sorrow. If you are praying for financial aid, consecrate whatever strength of brain and muscle you possess to hard, clean work, and the return will richly recompense you. If you are asking God to make you of service to the world, pour out your life into the empty ones about you, and your petition will be granted. This is the law of spiritual adjustment. Along the lines of your own individuality will God prepare you for the larger task to-morrow.

We must also remember that the increase is determined, not by divine limitations, but by our own capacity. The command to the widow was, “Borrow empty vessels, and borrow _not a few_.” God placed no limitations, but, rather, gave urgent command to plan for large things. She could have borrowed a thousand empty vessels and a thousand vessels would have been filled. Her blessing was determined the moment she said to the boys who were securing the jars from the excited neighbors, “That is enough, you need not borrow more.” That moment she determined the amount of answer her prayers would receive. The oil ceased to flow when she had reached the limit of her preparation. What a tremendous truth! Our growth and spiritual attainments are unlimited so far as God is concerned. The possibility of development is unlimited so far as this world is concerned, for empty vessels and empty hearts are everywhere. Our growth is limited only by the breadth of our sympathies and the scope of our interests.

Borrow empty vessels, and _borrow not a few_. What a challenge to the church of the living God! Begin to think and plan in big terms. “_Not a few._” These are the words of One who thinks in numbers large enough to include all the grains of sand in all the oceans and all the stars of the universe. Count the forest leaves and the grass-blades and raindrops, and then ask yourself what God means when he says “_not a few_.” May the Christ of social service show the church of to-day that her power is limited only by her vision of her opportunity.

XIX

SEEING LOVE

The value of life is measured by the power of vision. The savage, tramping the diamond beneath his feet, and clinging to tooth and claw of the wild animals he has slain, represents a very narrow, restricted life, for he possessed a narrow vision. Beholding fruit-bearing trees, he saw only the crab and wild cherry of bitter taste. Looking across the open fields, he saw only the wind-tossed, tangled grass whose matted meshes made slow his travel. Along the wayside he saw only the daisy, and the thorn-mass of the wild rose bush forming a convenient place in which to hide while making observations. Because in the crab he could not see the possibilities of the Northern Spy, and because in the wild cherry he could not see the luscious Oxheart, his travel lacked refreshing fruit. Because in the tangled grass he could not see the gleaming gold of ripened grain, he had no food in time of famine. Because the weedlike daisy did not suggest the chrysanthemum, and the wild rose foretell the American Beauty, his pathway was commonplace.

Following the savage came those of wider vision, and soon the fields assumed the golden vesture of the ripened harvests, the hillsides became rich with luscious fruit, and life’s pathway was fringed with beauty.

Each individual makes his own universe, using only, out of the vastness of God’s provision, such things as he has eyes to see. In the broad, open, western plains, with far-extending horizon and translucent sky bedecked with bits of light to lure the seeing soul to heights heroic, lives one whose universe is no wider than his daily task, and whose zenith has never ascended above his hat-crown. Careless in observation, his universe is scarcely larger than the dug-out in which he crawls at night to sleep. Dwelling in a dark room of the crowded tenement, bound by the cords of sickness to a sufferer’s bed of pain, lies one who knows nothing of the majesty of wind-swept fields, or vastness of the star-lit sky, but whose careful observations have made a zenith high enough to overarch the throne of God, and a horizon wide enough to include every need of the human soul.

The richness of life depends largely upon how many of the things of life which ordinary people call commonplace can be crowded into the range of vision. The man possessing most of earth is not necessarily a landowner, but he who, whether rich or poor, learns to observe and appreciate the things about him. Christ never owned a foot of land. Standing in the dusty highway, worn and weary by countless deeds of sacrificial love, he exclaimed: “The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man has not where to lay his head.” He was poverty-stricken, yet, in all the history of the world, never was one so rich as he. For him every lily held a golden casket filled with an unmeasured wealth of inspiration. For him the birds winged their way from heights celestial to sing their songs of divine forethought. Each color of the sky was a prophet proclaiming the things of God. Speaking to his disciples, men who would necessarily remain poor and homeless, he said: “Blessed are the meek [those who are not looking for thrones of authority and power, but who, in humble state, learn to see the divine vision], for they own the earth.”

I know such an one. A laborer in the field, he spends his life toiling for the one he loves, living in a rented cottage, faring on common food, dressing in coarse-woven garments, and yet possessing untold wealth. With blistered feet and sweat-washed brow, I have seen him coming home, smiling with beaming tenderness, as he carefully held in his calloused hand the frail, pink petals of the first spring beauty he had found blooming by his way. He never owned anything in particular, yet there was nothing in the universe that he did not possess and enjoy with rapturous heart. He knows that the voice of God is heard, not only in the roar of turbulent cataract, or reverberating peal of the majestic thunder, but also in the bog and quagmire.

“For in the mud and scum of things, There’s always something, something sings.”

He possesses a wealth that is indestructible. When one gazes so intently upon a flower that he beholds it as it really is, he has blessed the flower with immortality and his soul with an unfading beauty. The moment he truly beholds it, God transplants it to his soul, where it can never die, but live and bloom forever and forever.

Christ came to enrich man’s experience by the process of extending his range of vision, teaching him that what meekness does for magnifying his conception of the natural world, piety does for the soul’s conception of the spiritual world. “Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God,” and afterwards adding, “God is love.” As humility gives one possession of the earth, purity gives one vision to behold the divine mystery of love.

One of the secrets of Christ’s triumphant place in history was this vision of purity that enabled him to see the redeeming goodness in the hearts of the world’s outcasts. Christ could see love, therefore, when the pious priests were sitting with folded hands waiting for something to transpire that was worthy of their attention, he was busy in city street and country lane seeking to save that which was lost. He could see love, therefore when the self-righteous churchman, through prejudice, was blind to his neighbor’s need, he was toiling in the service of the loving heart. Busy men and women could see nothing in childhood, while Christ, with purity of heart, could look down upon these little ones, and, seeing the love that bubbles up in baby hearts to overflow in kisses, smiles, and laughter, lifted them to that high throne where value is measured only in terms of love. The pious ones saw the raving demoniac standing amid the desolations of the tombs, and felt that he was too far gone to help. Looking deep within this poor man’s heart, Christ saw his innate love for home, and never stopped until he had brought him into subjection to his words of power, and sent him, well and happy, to his home and family.

The zealous religionists saw only evil in the poor woman who, escaping the rough grasp of her captors, was crouching at the feet of Christ, fearful and ashamed to look upward. Looking into her heart he saw less sin than love--love that was deep, and pure, and changeless, as only a woman’s love can be; therefore, instead of killing her because of sin, he forgave her because she loved, and then bade her go and live the life triumphant.

Men accustomed to the scenes of crucifixion were not stirred when one of the crucified uttered a prayer for pardon. It was a common occurrence and put down as one of the strange expressions of loneliness; but to Jesus it was all important. Looking into the heart of the dying thief, Christ saw a worth-while love for that which was good and of finer quality, therefore he astonished even those who knew him best by lifting him out of sin and taking him with him to paradise.

Living triumphantly necessitates one possessing the vision of purity, without which one cannot see God. Mother holds the preeminent place in every life, because her true living has kept her vision clear, and she sees the good that lies deep within the hearts of her children. Her son may become an outcast in the sight of others. Filled with iniquity, and helpless in the terrible grasp of passion, he may have lost faith in himself and says: “There is no hope for me.” The world hears, and readily agrees, and says that the young man is hopeless. But not the mother. To mother there is always hope. Her boy must not be thrown away, for he is of infinite value. She never notices his sin; she sees only the soul that lies hidden like a jewel beneath the rubbish of his transgressions. Seeing the love within his soul which others could not see, because they lacked the necessary love to see, her vision became the power that not only defies but completely changes public opinion. Because she loves much, she redeems and saves him, and compels the community to accept him as one who has wandered away, but has come back to the Father’s house. Blessed are the pure in heart, for unto them is given vision to see good in every one, and to behold their Lord in every event of life.

XX

THE DIGNITY OF LABOR

There is no liberty without toil. To enjoy the freedom of the sunshine, the germinating seed must lift and throw aside the clod which outweighs it a thousandfold. Before the blossom can unwrap its tinted petals in the sunlight it must, with the warmth of its own healthy growth, melt the wax that seals it in its winter sepulcher, and with its increasing strength tear away the rough bud-scales and hurl them to the ground. The oriole wings its way and fills the afternoon with song, only, after earnest effort, it has liberated itself from the imprisoning shell.