I have just had an interview with a lady of the highest Christian character. She was brought up in the orthodox faith, and never doubted its truth. I hesitated to launch these larger views upon her, thinking they might only disturb her, and that perhaps she was too old to recast her opinions. But I found that her mind was perfectly open; and after some discussion she firmly believed in the larger hope. I was persuaded that such would be the experience of thousands more, if they would but give their heart and mind to a devout consideration of these questions. And oh, what a pall of gloom would thus be lifted from the heart of the world!
We may well give here the noble words of Dr. Dawson, who in an address before the Royal Society of Canada, quoted this stanza:
"For a day, and a night, and a morrow,
That his strength might endure for a span,
With travail, and heavy sorrow,
The holy spirit of man."
Then he says: "The holy spirit of man! Holy in its capacity, in its possibility: nay, more, in its ultimate destiny!"
This is no self-righteousness. It is a gleam of man's potentiality, that makes him truly sublime. There are many Scripture statements that make man pitifully little; but this is because of his present sinful condition. Bye and bye he will rise into his true condition, and then "The holy spirit of man" will be not only a possibility, but an experience. It is gratifying to notice that such a man as Dr. Dawson has this larger hope.
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In striking antithesis to such views as we have referred to, I may here narrate an experience of my own in which I think there was revealed to me a peculiar phase of Christ's universal attractive power. One day in San Francisco I saw a funeral procession passing along the street. I joined the procession, and went with it into the church. I saw that all the company were negroes. The minister, who was also a negro, announced the Hymn:
"Safe in the arms of Jesus,
Safe on His gentle breast,
There by His love o'ershaded,
Sweetly my soul shall rest."
It was sung with all the fervor of the negro race. As it proceeded a strange thought struck me: How could negroes find rest on the bosom of One quite another color? It was a natural thought, for the color prejudice is strong. Even when we think of Christ, we instinctively think of Him as a white man. How, then, could these worshippers find rest on His bosom, and in His arms? If He had been a negro, they might do so; but how could they do such a thing when they realized that He was of a different color from themselves?
Then suddenly, a solution same to my mind. If Christ was not black, neither was He white. In fact He was brown; about midway between white and black. So in color He was as near to the negroes as to the white race. Therefore the negroes can recline on His breast, and in His arms, as naturally as we. That seemed to me a very happy idea; perhaps even a revelation.