Unfinished Rainbows, and Other Essays

by George Wood Anderson

Each individual makes his own universe, using only, out of the vastness of God’s provision, such things as he has eyes to see. In the broad, open, western plains, with far-extending horizon and translucent sky bedecked with bits of light to lure the seeing soul to heights heroic, lives one whose universe is no wider than his daily task, and whose zenith has never ascended above his hat-crown. Careless in observation, his universe is scarcely larger than the dug-out in which he crawls at night to sleep. Dwelling in a dark room of the crowded tenement, bound by the cords of sickness to a sufferer’s bed of pain, lies one who knows nothing of the majesty of wind-swept fields, or vastness of the star-lit sky, but whose careful observations have made a zenith high enough to overarch the throne of God, and a horizon wide enough to include every need of the human soul.

The richness of life depends largely upon how many of the things of life which ordinary people call commonplace can be crowded into the range of vision. The man possessing most of earth is not necessarily a landowner, but he who, whether rich or poor, learns to observe and appreciate the things about him. Christ never owned a foot of land. Standing in the dusty highway, worn and weary by countless deeds of sacrificial love, he exclaimed: “The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man has not where to lay his head.” He was poverty-stricken, yet, in all the history of the world, never was one so rich as he. For him every lily held a golden casket filled with an unmeasured wealth of inspiration. For him the birds winged their way from heights celestial to sing their songs of divine forethought. Each color of the sky was a prophet proclaiming the things of God. Speaking to his disciples, men who would necessarily remain poor and homeless, he said: “Blessed are the meek [those who are not looking for thrones of authority and power, but who, in humble state, learn to see the divine vision], for they own the earth.”

I know such an one. A laborer in the field, he spends his life toiling for the one he loves, living in a rented cottage, faring on common food, dressing in coarse-woven garments, and yet possessing untold wealth. With blistered feet and sweat-washed brow, I have seen him coming home, smiling with beaming tenderness, as he carefully held in his calloused hand the frail, pink petals of the first spring beauty he had found blooming by his way. He never owned anything in particular, yet there was nothing in the universe that he did not possess and enjoy with rapturous heart. He knows that the voice of God is heard, not only in the roar of turbulent cataract, or reverberating peal of the majestic thunder, but also in the bog and quagmire.

“For in the mud and scum of things,

There’s always something, something sings.”

He possesses a wealth that is indestructible. When one gazes so intently upon a flower that he beholds it as it really is, he has blessed the flower with immortality and his soul with an unfading beauty. The moment he truly beholds it, God transplants it to his soul, where it can never die, but live and bloom forever and forever.

Christ came to enrich man’s experience by the process of extending his range of vision, teaching him that what meekness does for magnifying his conception of the natural world, piety does for the soul’s conception of the spiritual world. “Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God,” and afterwards adding, “God is love.” As humility gives one possession of the earth, purity gives one vision to behold the divine mystery of love.

One of the secrets of Christ’s triumphant place in history was this vision of purity that enabled him to see the redeeming goodness in the hearts of the world’s outcasts. Christ could see love, therefore, when the pious priests were sitting with folded hands waiting for something to transpire that was worthy of their attention, he was busy in city street and country lane seeking to save that which was lost. He could see love, therefore when the self-righteous churchman, through prejudice, was blind to his neighbor’s need, he was toiling in the service of the loving heart. Busy men and women could see nothing in childhood, while Christ, with purity of heart, could look down upon these little ones, and, seeing the love that bubbles up in baby hearts to overflow in kisses, smiles, and laughter, lifted them to that high throne where value is measured only in terms of love. The pious ones saw the raving demoniac standing amid the desolations of the tombs, and felt that he was too far gone to help. Looking deep within this poor man’s heart, Christ saw his innate love for home, and never stopped until he had brought him into subjection to his words of power, and sent him, well and happy, to his home and family.

The zealous religionists saw only evil in the poor woman who, escaping the rough grasp of her captors, was crouching at the feet of Christ, fearful and ashamed to look upward. Looking into her heart he saw less sin than love—love that was deep, and pure, and changeless, as only a woman’s love can be; therefore, instead of killing her because of sin, he forgave her because she loved, and then bade her go and live the life triumphant.

Men accustomed to the scenes of crucifixion were not stirred when one of the crucified uttered a prayer for pardon. It was a common occurrence and put down as one of the strange expressions of loneliness; but to Jesus it was all important. Looking into the heart of the dying thief, Christ saw a worth-while love for that which was good and of finer quality, therefore he astonished even those who knew him best by lifting him out of sin and taking him with him to paradise.