THOUGHTS FOR THE NEW YEAR
1. To See Like the Angels
THE striking feature of the way in which angels see does not consist in their seeing everything, both good and evil, in this world, in a rosy hue, in heavenly glory so that they really do not see the evil as it is—but in this that they see particularly what is good and seek that by preference—let their eye dwell upon, rest thereon, with pleasure. Therefore we can sing:
To us He also smiles
With Heaven's light in His eyes.
It is otherwise with that human being who is depraved by nature. His eye seeks, with a certain predilection, whatever is wrong in his fellow-beings, dwells upon it with mischievous joy. It is an innate fault which makes it difficult for us humans to embrace one another, to smile at one another, in the manner of angels.
Suppose that we in the new year make a serious attempt to look at each other as the angels look—seeking what is good in our fellow-beings. With an earnest will we can accomplish much, especially when we are sustained by prayer.
Let us begin at home!
Perhaps it is long since you, man, have embraced your wife and given her a real smile. When she was your bride—in the years of youth—that was your greatest joy, but as the years went by you found this fault and that with her, and then—why, then you ceased embracing her and smiling at her. It wasn't quite as bright in your home as before. She became more and more reticent; her rippling laughter—like that of a child—was heard no more. Her cheerful songs were silent. She became rather morose and querulous. A woman cannot thrive where home is without smiles and love. You accepted the slow changes as it behooves a man of staid dignity—life teaches so much, also compromise with ideals, and the realization that the bright expectations of youth come to naught.
But, now suppose that it wasn't Life, but you yourself that were to blame? Suppose the change arose from the fact that you had been inconsiderate to your wife. Your eye had detected her faults and shortcomings rather than her good points? Try, man, during the new year to look at her as the angels look at us! Let your eye, diligently and willingly, seek what is good in her, dwell upon it, be jealous of it—give her all the appreciation she deserves for making the home cosy and comfortable. Try it with an earnest effort and a sincere prayer—then you will once more feel like embracing her and smiling at her as you did when she was the bride of your youth. It might happen that you would reap a hundredfold before the year ebbs out. It will be brighter and more snug in your house—and it will feel so good to be at home.
Or you, wife and mother, beginning to bend down and "feel old" although you are just beyond thirty. Perhaps you tell yourself: O, had I only thought then that he was as he is—but I did not know. And the children, yes—God knows, they are like him—naughty and hard to manage. Instead of staying at home to help a little with the children in the evening—he just simply skips out.——
Hush—wait a while!
In what way did you tell him this when you asked him last to stay at home? Did you throw your arms around his neck—did you smile at him, saying: My dear, stay home with us tonight?
It's no use, you say—but "it's no use" is, absolutely, a term which cannot be found in the vocabulary of Christians nor in the life of Christians—nor in yours if you are a Christian woman. It helps very much to do what is good while praying—perhaps not when you want it, perhaps not the way you want it. But it will surely help if during the new year you look for just that in your husband which you loved when you were young—if you let your eye dwell upon it, cling firmly to it in your thoughts, carry it into your prayer—embrace him and smile at him as in the bygone days of youth.
Where love has been sown, the harvest is as dependable as is that of the wheat in the field—it is only in some cases that it proves a failure. And even though yours might seem to be just such a case where your love did not sustain him—then the love which you have sown will sustain you and your little ones—and in the course of the year your home will reap at least thirtyfold.
We always gain by sowing love—also in cases where we must needs acknowledge that our love, like the seed that fell by the wayside, bears no fruit in those upon whom it descended. But in the large majority of homes the seeds of love will fall into fertile ground, and bring forth fruit, some thirtyfold, some sixty and some a hundred.
When only we have learned how to embrace the dear ones at home and to smile as the angels smile, then we will also be able to smile at others—but first at home.
And a year in which we have tried with earnest diligence to learn the art of seeing what is good in life, to dwell upon it and to smile at our fellow-beings—as the angels smile—is a good year, rich in the grace and blessings from above.
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I had just officiated at the funeral of a woman, the mother of many children, when a man said to me, "Well, now she's got a velvet-lined coffin, but while she lived she was hardly able to get a calico dress." And that was not because of poverty.
What if her husband had given her a velvet dress while she was living! Then she would have taken pleasure in it, and he would have received her gratitude. The beautiful casket she could not enjoy—and could give him no thanks for it.
But you don't behave like that, do you?
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On another occasion I heard the widow ask one of the pall-bearers when we turned away from the grave: "How did you like that sermon?" The following day I met her son-in-law and was told that she had not liked it at all. Among other things he remarked: "She simply wanted you to put some feathers in her crown, but there wasn't any room for them." And I agreed with him.
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In both instances man and wife lived together until parted by death. But love had died—happiness vanished.
Speak to each other the kindly words—scatter flowers on each other's way throughout the year, then Love groweth, and happiness in the home increases in intensity. Then you can truly sing:
Home, home, sweet, sweet home,
There's no place like home—
O, there's no place like home.
2. The Hidden Life
(Mat. 6, 5-7)
The inscription on the tombstone erected on the grave of the great French philosopher, Descartes (died 1650), reads: "He has lived well who was hidden well," or, "He is happy whose life is hidden."
In this lies the thought that happiness depends upon the hidden life—that this is something good which affords one a refuge.
Nowadays, the prevailing impression is that happiness is contingent upon life in public view; that happiness consists in the ability to attain a prominent position, in being admired, gaining wealth and winning fame. This is an absolute delusion.
Andrew Carnegie, the late multi-millionaire, said: "I have tried to make money by leading an incessantly busy life—but it did not make me happy. Now I have tried to give money away to public institutions—and still I found no happiness in that"; this is an impressive testimony from a prominent and honest man, showing that happiness has nothing to do with life in the public view.
It is this Jesus says to the Pharisees: You stake all upon leading your life in public view, in the synagogues and in the streets, to gain the admiration of men. For this reason you have forgotten to seek the good refuge with God, to lead a hidden life with God, full of prayer. Therefore, your public life is devoid of blessing to the people and without joy to yourselves. You have no reward, and no happiness.
"Enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret." You shall seek the hidden corners of your own heart and there speak with your Father about that life which stirs in there, unseen by the world. Then you will soon realize the necessity of hiding with God the Father and of living your life with Him hidden away from the world. That is the condition for your becoming a happy man or a happy woman, and it will contribute to the bliss of that part of your life which must be lived before the public.
Therefore, this shall be my New Year's wish for you, that you during the coming year may find the happiness which lies in the hidden life of prayer, with God.
Many married people seem to think that their matrimonial happiness depends on swell homes and association with those more prosperous families known as "society"—"Keeping up with the Joneses." This is wrong. Attempts of that kind often lead to the utter destruction of happiness. It is true that a nice home and a pleasing circle of acquaintances are worth much, but marital happiness does not depend upon them. It springs from that life which man and wife live together unseen by the eyes of the world.
The happiest moments in the life of a wife are not those in which her husband stands upon the stage of the world, the object of praise and admiration—as the man to whom the laurel wreath is given; nor, in the life of the man, when his wife is considered a celebrated grand lady. No, the sublimest happiness in married life is due to those hours when man and wife sit cheerfully at home, hand in hand, talking about the grace of God and about their mutual love.
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Many young people think that happiness and joy depend upon the number of dances they are able to attend, or upon exterior circumstances. It is not their fault that they are neither happy nor glad. It is due to the environment, living conditions, to those with whom they associate. And while all this may be of importance it is, profoundly seen, a delusion, nevertheless. It is true, also, in the case of the young man and the young woman that their happiness essentially depends upon their hidden life. If that is a life of impure thoughts, of sinful cravings—then happiness will be meagre, no matter how favorable the environment may be. There will be no calm and deep-seated joy, no real happiness. If, on the other hand, that hidden life means a life of pure thoughts and noble ambition, a life in God, then it will mean happiness even though the environment may be unfavorable.
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It is a law in the life of mankind that happiness depends upon the manner in which the hidden life is lived. By creating this law, God has given rich and poor an equal chance of happiness, and has shown Himself as the friend of the poor.
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King Charles IX of France once asked the Italian poet, Tasso: "Who, think you, is the happiest?"
Without a moment of hesitation, the poet answered:
"God."
"Yes, yes, very well," the king said, "but then next to God?"
"The one who resembles Him most," was the answer.