Thoughtful Moments

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 05, Issue 36, 1 April 1942, Page 2

Thoughtful Moments

OUR SUNDAY MESSAGE

(Supplied by the WhakaUme Miwist ers' Association)

OUR EASTER MESSAGE

A Moslem oncc boasted to :i missionary that his religion had sometiling that Christianity could not show. When Moslems go to Mecca I hey find there at least a coffin, but when Christians go to Jerusalem they find only an empty grave. "That fs just the difference," said the missionary. "Mohammed is dead; but Jesus Christ is not in the tomb, he Is risen. Tn that fact is our hope." ALL THIS I DID FOR THEE; WHAT HAST THOU DONE FOR ME? Many readers will remember the story of Stenburg's famous picture of the crucifixion which for years was seen in the gallery of Dusseldorf. A gay young nobleman drove in his splendid equipage unto the city, and while his horses were baited, wandered into the famous gallery. He was rich, intelligent—the world bright, and its treasures within his grasp. He stood before Stenburg's picture and was arrested. He read and re-read the legend on the frame 1 :— All this I did for thee; What hast thou done for Me? He could not tear himself away— ft grew into his heart. The love ol Christ laid its powerful grasp on hi; soul. Hours passed; the light faded the curator touched the weeping nobleman, and told him it was time to close the gallery; Night had comi —nay! rather for that young man the dawn of Eternal Life. He wa: Zinzordorf. He returned to the Ini and re-entered his carriage, but t< turn his back on Paris, and seel again his home. From that momen he threw his life, fame, and fortum at the feet of Him who had wh's pered to his heart: , All this I did for thee; What hast thou done for Me? Zinzordorf, the founder and fathe of the great Moravian Missions, an swered that question by his devote life and fortune. I have a Friend, whose faithful lov Is more than all the world to m< 'Tis higher than the heights abov< And deeper than the boundless sej So old, so new, So strong, so true; Before the earth received its frame He loved me—Blessed be His nami He held the highest place above, Adorned by all the sons of flam Yet, such His self-denying love, He laid aside His crown and carr To seek the lost, And, at the cost Of heavenly rank and earthty fam He sought me.—Blessed be His nam* "The story of the Cross moves tl Jew, looking on, to a silent sj'ii pathy. This sympathy has a sti more convincing proof, and eviden* in the universal consent of huma: Ity. History recounts the story ; the pre-eminent evil deed of a time. Literature touches the stoi

with heavy and sober sentences. Art Invests its portrayal with all the sadness that deeply penetrating minds can feel. Music is always moved to a coronach of lamentation. They are all merely expressing with wisdom and understanding the pathos more dimly felt by careless hearts. "Some years ago a company of people was gathered to an afternoon recital of music. The hall was crowded with youth and gaiety intent on some hours of pleasure. Towards the close of the programme a young girl sang her first song as a promising pupil. Her fresh voice and her artless grace captivated the audience. The encore was imperative. But she was at a loss for a second item. In a mood of trembling courage she chose a song dear to her own heart. She sang Watt's greatest hymn, as set to Mason's fitting music: When I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of glory died, Mv richest gain I count but loss. And pour contempt on all my pride. She was listened to with breath- r less silence. A thrill of rapture passed over them all. Women who were , the moment before idle in thought r and flippant in speech were touched r to the highest and tenderest moods. Little children wept. Strong men sat looking straight before them. { keeping an iron grip on their emo- ( tion, lest they should be betrayed. . The whole company were led back , to the cross. They were looking on , Kim whom they pierced with the mourning of sympathy."—W. M. Clow, D.D. "I KNOW" Reichel was conducting the final rehearsal of his great choir for the production of the "Messiah." The chcrus had been sung through to the point where the soprano solo takes up the refrain. "I know that my Redeemer livcth." The soloist's technique was perfect —she had faultless breathing, accurate note placing, flawless enunciation. But after the final note all eyes were fixed on Reichel to catch his look of approval. Instead he silenced the orchestra, walked up to the singer with sorrowful eyes, and said: "My daughter, you do not really know that your Redeemer liveth, do you?" "Why, yes," she answered, flushing, "I think I do." "Then sing it," cried Reichel. "Tell it to me so that I will know, and all who hear you will know that you know the joy; and power of it." Then he motioned the orchestra to play again. This time she sang the truth as sflie knew it and had experienced it in her own : soul, and all who heard wept under t the spell of it. The* old master ap- [ proached her with tear-dimmed eyes, : and said: "You do know, for you - have told me." No other but th'.s > personal assurance is worth any--1 thing to us.—Dr. Frederick Shanr non.