Along the Road

Waikato Times, Volume 122, Issue 20504, 21 May 1938, Page 15 (Supplement)

Along the Road

(By the Swagger)

AN OCCASIONAL COLUMN

DURING THE WEEK I had an experience that, in a way, saddened me for a while. It was a lovely clear morning’, and I was working: in a paddock about 200 yards from the road, when I aaw an elderly man coming towards me. I put down the axe. and went to meet the stranger. “ Good morning, my friend," he said. "Do you work here? " I replied that I worked there quite happily. “Ah." he said, "happily! That is good, but is it well with your soul? " The question was so unexpected that it surprised me, but I managed to say that I thought it was well in that respect. " Then," he said, "you believe in—" and there followed a number of bald statements. I could only say that I did not believe in the things he had stated, but I still thought that all was well. But he would not have it. Only those who believed in the things he had stated, those who held his views, who worshipped as he worshipped, could know of a truth that they were the sons of God. I had a strong desire to quote that statement of Voltaire’s, in a letter, that he did not believe a thing that his correspondent had said were essential but he was prepared to Defend to the Death the other man’s right to believe them. I did try to give that view, in other words, but they were swept aside. One had to admire the sincerity of the man, his great desire to save the soul of a fellow man from ultimate destruction, and I could do that although I could not accept his views. Finally he pressed a tract Into my hand, assured me that he would pray for me, and went his way. I may never see him again, but I shall remember the little man with the shaggy hair who stood beside a log and tried to convince me that what I believed was all wrong and that he had the way that led to an everlasting life. Journeying along I have found that it is not always easy to be tolerant, especially with intolerance, but possibly that intolerance is based on a feeling of such certitude ** that all other views seem wrong. If one is- absolutely certain then perhaps other views seem to be so grossly ignorant that they must not be tolerated. It is all rather strange to me. Looking at a good diamond one may see a flash of beautiful green, but another person, looking at it from a different angle, may see quite another colour, and I sometimes think that that is the way with truth. What may appear to be wonderfully true, and so beautiful, to you may net impre*' me in the same way. Truth has many facets, and 1 always recall the remark of an old minister, grown white in

the service of his church, after we had walked and talked by the seaside on the deep things of life. “My friend," he said, "it will be all right so long as you are true to the light that you have.” That seemed to me to be near the heart of the matter, and always link it with the man who, having given me a bed for the night and a meal, asked me to join the family at evening prayers. Lifting his face toward the heavens he asked with Wonderful Simplicity " Father, grant us enough light to get home by." That would be a faith of which one need not feel ashamed. To be true to the light given, and to have that light to the end of the journey. And at the end—home. It was only after the little man had gone that I remembered that wonderful saying: “ Other sheep I have that are not of this fold.” I once read it on the tomb cf a great missionary whose remains lie buried in the Abbey at Westminster. I wonder what he would have made of that ? I cannot even guess. But to those of us who have the questing mind, who find acceptance not an easy matter, and cannot find any shelter in authority that statement is at least comforting. It has been a chilly evening, and I have been sitting by my fire just thinking on these things, not with any feeling of being disturbed or in any way hurt, but anxious to see things clearly. And suddenly, from somewhere deep down in the sub-conscious, there came back, perhaps not quite correctly, a few verses that I had once read. They, as is often the case with me, supplied the answer. Here is w’hat I can remember: >‘ot of this fold Thy other sheep ( hey Thee And follow on by paths we do not know. Out In the world—ln the other wori is It may be Which Ood can find and where His free winds blow. Free blow His winds although our paths be narrow Warm shines His sun although our hearts be cold. Thy angels guard the fall of every sparrow And all Thy sheep, O Christ, will llnd the Told. One Shepherd’s voice on hills when night Is falling One voice between the sunset and the star. If any sheep hss wandered from Thy calling, I pray Thee, Christ, It wandered not too Tar. So many folds, so many sheep bells chiming, One rold at last, one Shepherd ever more. And some who hardly know Thy voice are climbing To enter in, 0 Christ, an open door.