In these December Days

Radio Record, Volume III, Issue 24, 27 December 1929, Unnumbered Page

In these December Days

Gripping and Reflective Talk by Rev. A. B. Chappell Z

}rRoM 1VA is given a weekly feature talk by the Rey. A. B. Chappell that is welcomed by all listeners. His subject is chosen by Mr. Chappell entirely at his own’. discretion, and/ frequently . is determined only at the last moment. Specially typical and appealing in its reflectiveness is the following, recently given, for the publication of which appeal was made by many listeners,

=~ S I talk to you this evening, | JT ask particularly that you will, all of you, remember that I am guided in the choi¢e of eack of the subjects of my chats with you by the events that make an impression, from time to time, on our minds, You may think me this evening a little sombre in mood. Well, what of that? There -are shadows in life, and it is good not to be afraid of them. Better to look closely at them, to see of what they are made, lest they become spectrally mysterious and affrighting. They are shadows now. : The year wears on. Another Christmas is upon us. We have reminder that life has’a journey’s end. The calendar speaks in a monitory voice. Nor is that all in the grey thought of these December days, hurrying on tc their own and the year’s end. A notable figure has passed from the life of our city and province and land and nation. Not even Bishop Cleary’s great gifts of mind and heart could withstand the call to lay life down. You will, I know, readily forgive ‘me if, musing, as so many of you are musing about these things, I let my thought run on this evening about these hastening December days and the other reminders that time passes from us all. If sombre, however, we need not be morbid, but rather wholesoinely thoughtul. Into the memorial urn of the past the ashes of another year are beginning softly to fall. Soon the record of its dead deeds will be all written, and the spent life be passed from reality to recollection, if, indeed, it have so much survival. It is a time for quiet meditation. True "Finis" has not yet been appended to Time’s story: the grim prophets of the world’s sudden end are still discredited. The earth swings on thyough its vast orbit, and another new year

awaits birth. We shall be buoyant and optimistic as of yore; hope springs eternal. But for a little, as the old year’s ritual honour is beginning to be duly paid, we'do well to let its passing subdue us to soberness. Not without reason is the calendar made. It is no arbitrary device. It is written in the circles of the sky; and as the great lines move across the page of space they mark the points that man has used for the ordering of his days. No magic moment may separate the years as human experience knows them. If no calendar were kept we might pass all unknowing on through their succession. Yet in the journeying of our planet these points of new departure are set, and our noting of them _ brings thought of human ends and beginnings. They preach to heeding ears a truth of great practical value-the truth that . most things Have an end. It is the great flywheel of workday wisdom, the steadying influence of life. A modern poet has. arrestingly told his story of the,.first dawning of the ideas of time and death upon human understanding. In an Eastern land, far from Eden, a great tribe rose from the offspring of Cain. For a while they knew nothing of death. Life seemed endless, and time had no definition. Cain knew, alone of all this Fden-banished host, what death was; the murder of his brother ‘was an ever-burning recollection. He kept his secret, and no thought of life’s end came to check the .wanton joy that

everywhere had sway. Then, one day; in the middle of some youthful games, a flying stone struck Lamech's son ‘to the ground... His companions gathered about his -breathless body; they brought playthings; and tried to arouse him from his sleep. But no such sleep as this had ever been known there. No response met their

persistent pieaaings.: the DOY.. Was heedless. Into the group of the perplexed youths came Cain, and he whispered, "The boy is dead." The word brought no meaning until Cain told the things he knew of life’s destruction. The people listened awestruck, "A new spirit from that hour cante. o’er the house of Cain." Before, there had been but the vaguest sense of time! now it gave to life a value past reckoning. Even the sunshine had a different appearance. "Work grew eager, and device was born." a , It seemed the light was never loved before. . e ‘Now each man " go and come no more." oad No budding branch, no pebble from the brook, i No form, no shadow, but new dearness took . From the one thought that Life must have an end. To muse ever on death is to fail to live healthily. That -way uselessness lies. But to live as if earthly "> had-no end, and opportunity no limit, is equally errant. That way lies Fools’ Paradise. It were well to face the fact that an end is sure, that the only certain thing about | life is its own uncertainty. . The wisely gay of olden days had a skeleton at their feasts. They were wise to have their feasts. They would have been foolish, to hasten their own dwindling to skeletons by neglect of ‘Continued on page 2.

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good ehéer, The skeleton without the feast would have been, indeed, a} sorry arrangement, But the feast without the skeleton would have lacked full proof of sanity and courage. They did not take their pleasures sadly, those banqueters of old; they were of the stuff out of which heroes are made. They dared to set together the joys and solemnities of life, to measure the gladness against the pain, and still be gay. They could bear the thought of the end of the feast without losing its relish. With the approaching end of the year eomes the "Cheerio!" of Rabbi Be Hzra: . . Grow old with me, The best is yet to be, Whe last of life for which the first was made. Our times are in His hand, Who says, A whole I planned; Wouth sees but half; trust God; see all, nor be afraid. They prove their manhood who can yead the gloomiest forecasts of some weird observer of the conjunction of planets, and then go undisturbed to their tailors and order their new suits. Some day The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, "The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall disSolve, And like the baseless fabric of 2 vision Leave not a wrack behind. Well, what of that? It were well to be decently clad and decently busy ‘when the dissolution comes. We are clocks, says a literary medico, wound up for so many years. We must run

down, then, eventually. Very well; , thére’s no reason in that for worrying _ others with the ceaseless release of our alarums, It is not by either epicurean recklessnéss of all but pleasure, nor by stoie indifference to it, that life’s triumph can’ be won. It comes with the wise use of every privilege, and the wise doing of every duty, in the light of days recognised as fleeting. In the doings of our earthly life, bounded as it is by a sure finale, time is of the essence of the contract. Opportunities seldom pay second visits. This evening’s chance of showing kindness, to look no further, will not recur to-mor-row, Sturdy old Samuel Johnson taught Lord Chesterfield this lesson when the great dictionary was at last published. In the.day of his dire need of help for its publication Johnson’s appeals to thé noted patron of the Arts’ met with cold indifference; but when, in-spite of all difficutties,. task. was accomplished, Chesterfield pressed his patronage. Johnson’s memorable letter of dignified refusal was blunt in its intimation that the ignoble lord’s kindness had "missed the bus." It concluded: "The notice: which: you have beén pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind; but it has been delayed till I am indifferent and cannot enjoy it, till I-am solitary and cannot impart it, till I am known and do not want it." There is a page in Oarlyle’s diary that must have been blurred with tears as he wrote. It is the page that tells of regret that his dead wife had not received from him more thoughtful care than he had given. He blamed himself, perhaps with characteristic strenuousness rather than calm. justice,

for neglect. She had been dutiful in the extreme, and he had loved her; but more tenderness, he thought, might have been shown by him. "Oh, for five minutes more of her, to tell her with what love and admiration, as of the beautifullest of known human souls, I did intrinsically always regard her!" ‘Then, a few lines farther. down, his wail of regret bursts into a torrent of urgent appeal: "Thou who wouldest give, give quickly; in the grave thy loved one can receive no kindness... . Be wise, all' ye living, and remembex that time passes, and does not return.’ Sunset and evening star write in their journal the same solemn counsel. It shines in the moon’s waning bow. ‘These December days-days of exam‘inations, of compiling reports, of closing of accounts in preparation for audit-whisper it. As the Old Year dies, this counsel will be uttered clearly in reason’s ear. Other days and yeats and months may come, but these not again, and there is no journey ‘without an end. Not with any morbid sense of helplessness do we think of these things, but with a calm and’ cheerful resolve to "earry on!"