SUNDAY READING.

Taranaki Daily News, 27 May 1916, Page 3

SUNDAY READING.

•THE EVENING OF LIFH." "When it is evening ye say it will be fair weather, for the sky is red."— St. Matthew, xvi., 2. SERMON preached hy REV. A. H. COLVILE, M.A, 'at St. Mary's Church, New Plymouth. Do you think it strange that "the weather" should be chosen as the subject for a sermon? Well, my friend*, I believe that everything that is of interest to men and women should find its way into the pulpit, and the weather is a chief subject of human interest and intercourse, and 'has been no doubt 6ince ever time began. Most of us Ihegin every conversation with propitiatory or damnatory remarks about the weather, and that in spite of Ruskin's doctrine that there is no bad weather, but only various kinds of good weather; in spite of Dr. .Tohnson's pronouncement that it is a. sign of intellectual poverty to fill up the gaps in conversation with talk about the weather, and in spite of the opinion of the wise old lady, whose name I do not know, but who said that we ought to be thankful that we have any weather at all. Nevertheless, if we persist in talking about the weather, nothing will stop us; we study its signs, try our hand at prophecy, praise or condemn it, watch its arrival and departure with keen interest —and rightly so, for on the weather depends our harvests, our .health and much of our'happiness here on earth; whether we are merry or sad, languid or energetic, patient or irritable, all depends to a large extent on the weather. Therefore we will let this common topic of conversation run through our thoughts this evening that we may learn to live more bravely our lives here on earth though the sky be dull and air 'heavy, and look forward more confidently to the clearer and brighter weather beyond. Surely the first thought that comes to us on these lines (an obvious one, I admit, but one which we often lose sight of) is that there are many things in life which are in themselves beyond our control, but which we can make the best or the worst of; things for which we are certainly not responsible, of which we need neither be proud or ashamed. No mortal is responsible for the weather. How ever much a man who is in a bad temper may wish to find fault with his fellows, no one in his senses can wish.to blame anyone for a bad day. Nor can the most inveterate egotist or the most impassioned local patriot claim credit to himself or his fellow-townsmen for a fine one. So it is with a large part of human life. Think first of the good weather of life, and howVpeoplc are naturally inclined to pride themselves on this good weather. Some people, for instance, are mightily proud of their ancestry, because they were born in the upper class of society in a' family having a long and honorable history; they are as pleased as if they bad done it all themselves, as if they deserved credit for what came to them as a gift. I don't mean that this is no cause at all for pride. It ought to act as an inspiration. At least it is more respectable than a vulgar pride in mere riches. Personally 1 prefer the pride of the man of family to the pride of the self-made gentleman. But what is it, after all? Just good weather for which those who enjoy it are in no w*y responsible. To live on it is silly; to boast of it is vulgar and snobbish. We would do well to remember the English admiral who when asked about his ancestors whom he was descended from, replied, "I am not a descendant, I am an ancestor." Then again some people, men equally with women, are proud of their personal appearance because they possess more attractive coverings than their neighbors. Some set up claims to superiorly because of the wealth they inherited, or the opportunity for education given them which they did not make, or for the high position in whi(h they are placed by the labors of others, .or even because'they have ibeen born in a certain country or a certain town. You remember Gilbert's amusing satire:

"In spite of all temptations To belong to other nations He remains an Englishman." All these are things over which a man no control, and for which he is foolish to claim credit. All good fortune, whether in person, in position or in gifts, is mere weather, fair weather certainly, but none the less weather, and to be vain of such blessings is as silly as to boast of having made a lovely day. And as it is with good weather, so, too, with bad. No one need be ashamed because he was born poor, with no signal gifts of mind, in a t frail body or in a, low worldly position. Let him see what people speak of as "tad fortune" in its true character as so much weather, and he can more easily make the best of it, without letting it make the worst of him. I remember a young man who was at Oxford with me lived always under an uncomfortable sense of fhame. He lived a shrinking kind of life hecause he was of illegitimate birth. Why should he? It was none of his doing. He couldn't help it. It was just a hit of bad weather. It has always seemed to me that people who treat such a disability as that as if it were somehow or other to the discredit of the sufferer are guilty of the most cruel and stupid sort of snobbishness that one can imagine. Then, too, we ought to remember that often and often what we speak of as bad fortune has a bracing effect on character, teaches us many things, and brings out as nothing else tan do our power of sympathy with others. Perpetual sunshine would not be good for any of us. Job had a spell of bad weather in his life—cruel bad weather, too—and it taught' h'iin many things about God's dealings with man which the sunshine of his early life had never made plain. Poor old King Lear, half mad, and broken-hearted by the ingratitude of his daughters, was alone on the bare hearth save for two faithful servants. Bad weather that, for rain and wind beat on him like the whips of Fate. When his servants begged him to enter a hovel close by, be consented, but told them to go in first—a thing he had never done before; and when they had taken shelter he remained outside, for the thought of all the wretched, homeless folk in his realm was tugging at his heart: "iPoor wretches, How shall your houseless heads defend you From seasons such as these, 0 I have taken too little care for this." So with us. How often it happens that a man upon whom the sun of good fortune shines takes too little care for those who are out on the bare heath *mid *bs wind and rain. Basking in

the warmth of our own good weather we are apt to forget that others may be cold and wet and shivering. Most of us need a spell of bad weather to stimulate our imaginations, to kindle our sympathy, to rouse us to unselfish action, to teach us how much more noble than the surface philosophy of "laugh and the world laughs with you" is tile example of the Lord Jesus and His "blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted," to teach us that the greatest privilege that any of His followers can hope for is "to give light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide their feet into the way of peace." And then, too, we must remember, my friends, that here in this world we are exposed to two sorts of weatherthat which cheers or troubles our outward circumstances, which is as a rule quite beyond our power to change or alter or even modify, and that which affects our inner lives with which we can do a good deal. Let me illustrate. Every winter day in our own homes we create a weather of our own, very unlike the weather out of doors. When night falls and all is dark and dismal outside, we go in and turn on the light. When the sun does not shine and cold winds blow and the air is bitter, we kindle a fire. Now a fire is nothing more than the sunlight of ages, stored up first in vast coal-beds in the earth, taken from thence and brought to our homes, and then released to he our comfort and our happiness. The fire that glows on your hearth is the released sunlight of bygone ages. So it is, my friends, in our own inner lives. When circumstances are against us; when life, is dnrk' and Chill outside, we may fall back-on the stored-up light of ages past, Kindle a fire and make a little weather of our. own. lam sure that he is a happy man who knows this secret and has the art of using it. Some of you have read . perhaps Charles Reade's novel, "It is never too late to mend," and you will remember that the chaplain of the prison who went info the dark cell for 24 hours to see what it was like, fortified 'himself as the slow moments went by, by calling, on all tlie stores of his memory, repeating .every line of poe'?ry, every glowing passage of Shakespeare, every fine piece of literature, every line in the Bible that lie could remember. He had a good memory, and thus kindled a fire, created a weather of his own, that enabled him to bear up against the darkness and solitude.

So, my friends, it is possible for us to make good weather in our inner lives. Happy are those who can fearlessly light the fire of memory as Newman did and expressed him experience for us in the hymn, when his way led in the darkness "o'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent," whither he was being lod he could not see. But lie remembered that in other days he-had been led by the Spirit of God through trying to follow his own will,- and the kindly light o? memory glowed amid the encircling gloom, and he could cry, "So long Tinpower hath blessed me, sure it still will lead me ort." My- friends, there is a magic power in memory which the writers of the Bille well understood. Again and again, when God seemed to have forsaken humanity, we hear them calling to me to remember the heroes and saint 3 of olden time who trusted and were not ashamed. Can you not light the fire of memory when foul weather prevails outside and warm your heart at its kindly blaze? You have here the sunlight of the ages stored up in God's Holy Word; you have the faith of saints, martyrs, of noble Christian souls who went before you, with whom you still are one, for "one family" we dwell in Him." You and I have good materials for a fire: dare we put a light to it? Are there other memories of which we are ashamed, with which we don't like to be alone? Aye, perhaps we would prefer a storm outside to a fire kindled from saich memories ns these. I'.-t us think, we who are still young. are we storing up sunlight for ourselves for the later years of life, for the cold, dark evenings? One day we shall surely need these little cosy -fires.' Let us pray, my friends, that "Those long-past yesterdays, no sad-eyed ghosts, but generous and gay, may serve us memories like almighty wine when we are old." And, my friends, there is one fire that wr can all kind. It is the.fire of hope. In the evening we say "it will be jailweather to-morrow." We look for "the real issues of life beyond this present world. We believe in a brighter morrow. "It's a good thing that's only for life," said a poor, tired woman, speaking of a heavy burden of labor and poverty which she had to carry,"it's only for life, or else one couldn't bear it." She saw the end of it, and ttok comfort. And with that hope we may kindle the fire of faith, for we need not only a hope by which to die, but a faith by which we are made masters of these days of stonn and stress. Aye, my friends, and we must not merely crouch over our own fires; we must seize a brand from the fire of faith and a brand from the fire of hope, and carry them out of doors among the homeless crowds outside, kindling the. greater fire of charity. This we can all do. We have all known people with souls so bright, so brave, with such high faith and lofty hope that they make good weather for others wherever they go. Robert Louis Stevenson was one of these; St. Francis of Assisi was. another. And you and I, thank God, can in our humble way be the carriers of light and warmth to others, makers of good weather for all around us. Lastly, let us remember this simple truth that we so often forget, that however thick the clouds may lie, the sun for ever shines above them: always that mighty orb keeps his throne, and so we have found God. we have reached the changeless amid the ever-changing, and there is rest. Let the winds rage, let the clouds hang their heavy draperies over our sky, and the rain fall sadly and persistently. Beyond them i-; the abiding centre of light and warmth, in whom is no variableness, neither shadow or turning. And so, my friends, at eventide there shall be light, the sky is red with the promise of a glorious to-morrow. Upon the night of death will dawn the new day of service wul adventure. That is what the risen Christ proclaims as He shows us in hands and feet and sides the marks of his wounds. Live now amid wind and rain and storm. Battered and bruised by the bludgeoning* of life as He was, swept by bad weather, walking under , darkened skies, yet keep the fires of your . inner lives ablaze, live and work and hope and pray, and in the evening you will see the promise and cry, "It will be fair weather to-morrow."