“BIRDS that fly high walk badly,” said a friend to us the other day. Whether to excuse bad walking, or to condemn high flying, we do not know. The proverb is intended to teach, that Christians who are occupied with high truths are not practical. But do birds that fly high walk badly? Some do; not all. We have never seen an eagle walk, except in a cage, and that is no evidence. We have seen the king of birds soaring on high, and no more believe that upon his crags he walks badly than that he flies badly. An eagle walking upon a turnpike road might likely enough walk in a strange manner. He would be out of place there. The apostles John and Paul would be the eagles in the New Testament, for they soar highest above earth, and tell us most of Christ as the Son of God. Neither of them walked badly. High truth and high practice went together in them. But, perhaps some of our readers are not eagles.
There are birds which do not soar high, and which do walk badly. The domestic duck is a sample of uncomely walking, and also of low flying. In its wild state there is higher flying; but the domesticated bird neither flies nor walks well. There are plenty of Christians who are so domesticated in the world that they fly low, and also walk badly.
The lark flies high, and has, to our thinking, a comely walk; and there are Christians like this bird. Eagles are rare; larks are plentiful. If our readers cannot rise to the greatness of the king of birds, they may emulate the familiar songster of the summer’s day. There is something in the lark which speaks to us of what a Christian should be. The higher he flies the louder he sings, and when he is out of sight his voice sounds the sweetest. We look up into the blue of the summer sky, but in vain, to catch a sight of the speck which is singing. Up there, on high in the heavens, he is at home, as it were, and from thence comes to the earth his morning, noon, and evening melody. We hear his strains from early morning till the sun begins to cast long shadows. When he comes down to his nest, his first thought seems to be to get out of sight—neither to be heard nor seen! And the way he walks as he seeks to get out of sight is exceedingly elegant and wise.
Some years ago, when there was a great rush to the gold diggings, it happened that one Sunday morning a man, who kept a store near the diggings, placed a caged lark outside his door. The sun shone, and the prisoner began to sing. One and another of the diggers passed by, and stopped to listen. Presently more came along. They, too, halted, and as the lark sang, the men stood in silence. The familiar notes spoke to their rough hearts of dear Old England and of home. More than one bowed his head and rubbed the tear from his face as the memories of the past rose up, and as the lark’s song recalled the mother and the father forsaken for the sake of gold. Some of these diggers went to their huts, and, urged by a kind of instinct, brushed themselves up, and tidied their clothes, returning, to sit down and listen, with their caps off, to the lark’s song on that Sunday morning.
It was human nature to which the voice of nature appealed, and it was the memory of a home on earth which drew the tear to the eye, but Christians may well learn the lesson. We are not caged birds. Songs from heaven, in the form of heavenly love, do appeal to the souls of men. When self is lost sight of, and Christ fills the heart, there is a heavenly song which to our fellows is irresistible. None can walk as Christians—none can sing as they. The higher they soar into the fathomless blue, the less consciously they are in themselves practically, and the sweeter is their song. The nearer we get to God consciously the less conscious are we of self, and the more heavenly is our testimony.
We do not for a moment believe that a Christian in the true enjoyment of high or heavenly truths of God and of Christ, walks badly while in such enjoyment. If we walk badly, we are denying the truth instead of enjoying Christ. But as there are some eagles which were caught when young, and straightway caged, and which never flew high in their miserable lives, so are there Christians who, though heavenly by calling, have been captives almost since they were born.