ALMOST the first thing that I can remember having pointed out to me in the starry heavens, is the broad belt of light called the Milky Way, or Via Lactea. As a tiny child this always had a peculiar fascination for me, and I have often been laughed at for star-gazing; though I think that I had the best of it even then, for it was a real pleasure to me as a child, and now the more I learn of the wonders of the great universe of stars, the more do I see of the almighty power of Him who created all things by His word.
Now as we look up at the Milky Way—which I need not describe, for I have no doubt that you all know it well-are we ready for the thought that this earth on which we live, our little planet, is situated in a part of this most luminous region of creation. This gleaming, silvery zone of light is now known to be that particular spot where our sun and all its gorgeous retinue of planets is sweeping along in its noiseless career.
Sir William Herschel first proved this to be true, and, when I read the account of his long and patient labors in finding out whether this earth was really within the Milky Way, and the magnificent discoveries he made as to the almost inconceivable wonders of this path of light, it gave quite a new interest to it. And when next I looked up at it, I felt it told me a very great deal more of the grandeur of belonging to Him who “telleth the number of the stars, and calleth them all by name.”
Our minds cannot grasp the number that we know are there, and there are vast regions beyond where we see still countless hosts.
Just one or two things that Sir William Herschel discovered may show you a little more of this grandeur that is ours, as belonging to the One who formed it. Through his great telescope—which he had made himself—and which would penetrate more than a hundred and fifty times farther than the naked eye, he discovered that this splendid band of light was composed of millions of stars, and was of such a depth that, according to his calculations, in some places five hundred stars were ranged one behind another in a line, each separated by a distance equal to that which divides our sun from the nearest fixed star. Can your idea of distance grasp that? I confess mine fails to do so. And when we come to numbers it is the same. This great astronomer, Herschel, estimated that there were no fewer than eighteen millions of stars or suns in this Milky Way, most of them invisible except through a powerful telescope.
Such is the magnificent scale upon which this created universe is formed. And out of all the myriads of worlds around, it remains most sweetly true that God so loved this world, so thought of your blessing, so thought of mine, that all the gorgeous grandeur around us pales into nothingness when compared with the way in which that same love has been brought down here to us.
It would be no more to our God to create a world than to form a snowflake—the word of His power is enough for both one and the other. But what is it for you, dear friends, what is it for me, to belong to such a God? And when we get glimpses of what lies beyond our world, and remember that He who was once "the Nazarene, the Crucified," has “ascended up far above all heavens that He might fill all things." Not one of those gleaming points of light, not one of those invisible worlds, that He will not fill with His glory, they were created by Him and for Him. Then we see that even now they speak of His greatness and tell of His power.
And looking a little at these wonders beneath the heavens, naturally leads us to think more of the marvelous grace that has put us in His own light above them all, where every single thing is perfect.
But since our last talk together, a dear old friend has reminded me that there is another side to our place, and that is our life as down in this world. A place of trial, and temptation, and sin, and sorrow, and suffering. Our home not here, our hearts not here, our very lives not here in one sense; and yet we ourselves left here for a time that we may learn what a God ours is, that we may tell others of His love, and warn them of their danger, and last, and hardest of all, to let our light shine: and this means conflict—warfare.
You see we are in an enemy's country now—in a world where Satan is prince, and where there is not one solitary thing to help our hearts upward—except what our Father sends. All that belongs to this world that we see around us, the pleasures, the fashions, the amusements, all have the effect of dimming our light—of keeping us away from our real life—if we mix with them. Of course we have to go through this world, but now that we belong to heaven, it should only be as those who are on a journey through it.
Are not some of you away at school the greater part of the year? Well, when you go home for the holidays, would you think of stopping at any of the stations on the line short of the one where you know your friends are waiting for you? There might be some grand fete or pleasure party going on at one of those stations; but it would be nothing to you. You never forget that you are going home, and nothing will do for you but getting there just as fast as you can.
Now, dear friends, let us all transfer this eagerness to get home, to our journey through this world. Do not let us stop short at any of the trifling affairs of this foreign land. Foreign that is to our new life. And it is this having two lives or natures that so puzzles and troubles some of us, h it not? I will tell you what I sometimes think of, as a picture of ourselves in this.
Perhaps some of you have been to Geneva and seen for yourselves; but I dare say you all know that not far from the city the beautiful blue river Rhone receives the Arve as a tributary. Now in most of such cases the two rivers would unite and become one; but not so here. The Rhone is deep and blue, and swift as the flight of a bird through the air. The Arve is muddy and shallow, and, though falling with tremendous force into the clear, azure waters of the Rhone, it never mingles with it. And so the bright, clear Rhone flows on side by side with the muddy, brawling waters of the Arve; and perhaps some pass by and never see how entirely the two are separated, though flowing s closely together, within the same banks—forming one river, yet two distinct streams.
Now do not you think that this is a little picture of ourselves? We have received a new life—pure, holy, heavenly. That remains ever true of the youngest believer in Christ; but we still have the old nature that is evil and false and altogether bad, and what we have to do is what the Rhone does: keep on in the straight, steadfast, clear power of the Light, and refuse to let the muddy waters of the old life dim the brightness of the new.
Alas! I fear that it is too often just the contrary that we do. But, dear young people, these talks I hope may help us all to seek grace from above to keep ourselves true for Him—true lights in a dark world.
And as left here in this world for a little while, we are not left alone, and as I ask you to turn now to a verse in Paul's letter to the Hebrews, it brings back to my mind a day when this verse was to me a very real light and help. You will find it in Heb. 13:55Let your conversation be without covetousness; and be content with such things as ye have: for he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee. (Hebrews 13:5): "I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.”
I was traveling one day by the North mail train. At the first place we stopped I was left alone in the carriage, until just as the train was starting, a very rough-looking man dashed hastily in the guard locked the door, and I knew that he would not open it again—and, indeed, that the train would not stop again until we reached B—more than an hour's journey. As I looked at the man who had just jumped into the carriage, I thought he had a wild, fierce look on his face, and all at once I saw that he had some strange steel weapon, as I thought, pushed up his sleeve. I dare say you will laugh at me, but I really began to feel quite frightened; I looked up at the man's face again, and found his eyes fixed intently on me. And then I felt that I must just turn to the Lord for relief, or I should get quite terrified.
My Testament was in my pocket; I took it out, opened it, and the first words that I saw were these: “I will never leave thee nor forsake thee." I could never convey to you the immense sense of protection those words gave me. I know it shows how entirely I had forgotten them—but they were there for me, as if just dropped down straight from the glory where my Lord was.
And now I took up the words of the next verse, and almost said them aloud, “The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me." That was enough, and I could lay down my book and smile at my foolish terror—which had yet been so painful. One thing I must tell you that may partly account for it, it was just after some very terrible crimes had been committed in railway carriages, and I had heard of these, and for the time was forgetting to whom I belonged. And as surely as we do that, we get into trouble of some kind or other.
But I do want all of you to take these verses for your own—let them be to you bright stars that you often look at; their brightness will cheer the gloom of trouble or sorrow, as nothing but His word can do. And when He assures us that He is ever close to us, and that He will never leave us, is not that a gleam of the most radiant sunlight or starlight?
I once heard a friend say to some of the Lord's people, “The only way for a Christian to go through this world is leaning upon His arm."Now, dear little friends, if this remark is as beautiful to you as it is to me, it will help you to seek more earnestly to be one of those who in this cold, loveless world find something of the gladness of having such an One to lean upon as our Savior—Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory, who ever liveth to make intercession for us.”
He is never tired of taking care of you—never forgets you-and never will. Never! Never! And that is the reason why we can pass along through this world, because He keeps us—that is, if we will let Him; of course, if we go off into paths of our own making, we shall not have the joy of His presence. Then we must find out for ourselves that it is “an evil and a bitter thing to depart from the Lord our God.”
Now to go back for an instant to the blue, arrowy river Rhone. That swiftly flowing stream seems earnestly bent on getting to the sea—nothing stays its rapid course—steadily refusing to mingle its clear waters with the thick, muddy Arve, it just flows on and on alone, right to the mighty ocean. I might almost say, it seems to have but one object, to reach the end of its course. And it may well speak to us about this.
Let us have but one single thing before us—to reach Christ in glory—not to mingle what He has given us with the defiled things around; but to keep steadily on in the place where He Himself has put us—never staying our onward course until we reach Him there.
Plenty of things to do as we pass along—we all have some work for Him. Mine and yours may only be of a very homely character, but I am quite sure of this, that we shall never do it too well. And where we fail is, in forgetting that He knows better than we do what is best for us.
Those of you who are at school have to do your work in the best possible way: whether it is practicing “the tiresome scales," as some call them, writing French verbs, or puzzling over a difficult sum, let it be remembered that that is our business for the moment and it is to be done for Him.
I once knew a sweet little child who used to say sometimes, when speaking of her trying to do her work, or resisting the impulse to be ill-tempered, “I do not want the Lord to look sorry at me when He comes." She thought that if He came while she was idle or naughty He would look sorry, and it was a strong motive to her for keeping on till her work was finished, or keeping the ill-temper in check. And her childish words come back to me sometimes, and make me wish that the same motive was more constantly before me.
But in this again we get encouragement from our Lord, for He says to us “Seek and ye shall find." You may be afraid of owning that you belong to Christ, for fear that after all you may dishonor Him, and not be able to live as you know one of Christ's own ought to do; but do not let that hinder you from seeking to follow Him. When a child tumbles down, it is far better for it to get up and go on again, than to lie there crying because of its tumble. And so with us; instead of letting our minds dwell upon our failures, let us honestly confess them to our Lord, and go on—learning the lesson to be more careful for the future. And do not let us fail to own whose we are because we do not think we act up to it—that is pride after all. Let us think of Christ, and trust Him to make our lives more worthy of Himself.
Some time ago, a young friend of mine came to me one day, telling me she was so afraid she would have to sing some songs that her music master had spoken of her having. She had not long been brought to know Christ as her Savior, and I am sure that she desired to live for Him. Her friends were not unlike most other people, and thought it quite right to sing songs; but dear E—soon felt that now that her lips were the Savior's, they must not be used for the foolish songs of this world. And so, when the music master spoke of these, she was troubled.
I could only tell her to pray about it, for her mother had already given permission to the teacher. And E— did pray about it, and asked the Lord to save her from having to sing these songs. Then she waited quietly for her next music lesson. Mr. W—came as usual; but no songs appeared that day, and great was dear E—'s thankfulness. The next lesson was the same—no songs were given. They never were, as far as I know; and for some months I used to ask her if they had put in an appearance, but her reply was always, No.
The precious Savior loves to give us the sense that He listens to our prayers, and many of you, I dare say, could tell of answers similar to that of dear E—. So let us trust on-tell our Lord everything, and leave all the ordering to Himself.