Living Water.
There are in our West numbers of desert stretches like the famous Death Valley in Nevada. In making one's way across these dreary wastes one of the chief perils, or, at any rate, the chief discomfort, arises from thirst. Water is very scarce, and thirst under the burning sun comes to be maddening.
When a traveler is in such a condition, ready almost to barter his soul for a good drink of water, he is likely to come across some shallow pool filled with a sparkling liquid that is as clear and beautiful as if it were just distilled from the snows of Mt. Blanc. It is just what he has been looking for. It seems purity itself. He stoops down eagerly to drink his fill.
Well for him if at that moment some more experienced traveler is at hand to pull him back from the tempting draft. If he drinks of it, severe sickness and almost certain death will be his immediate fate. For that pool is heavily charged with arsenic.
But if, on the other hand, the traveler finds a pool of foul-appearing water, water that is full of worms and bugs and snakes, most repulsive to the eye and forbidding to the taste, that water may be drunk with safety. Lie down flat upon the burning sands and fill yourself with it, not stopping to strain out the worms. For, since the insects and snakes are alive in it, it is healthful for you also.
And all of this is as true for Broadway, New York, and State Street, Chicago, as for Death Valley in Nevada. "Living water," the water of life, is not of necessity fair to the eye and pleasant to the taste. It may appear muddy and forbidding. The Christian activities, the way of life that is life indeed, may not seem half so attractive as the ways that take hold on death.
But watch a little. Stop and think. Is life here? Or is not this sparkle and clearness, this wonderful brightness and transparency, only conclusive proof of the absence of life and the presence of death? For life tramples and crowds and stains and muddies. Water that is used stirs up the bottom. Where there is life there is many a failure, many a sorrow, many a fear. But there is life there and what ministers to life, which is endlessly better than the most beautiful mask that death can wear.
The Dangers of Bark Beetles.
The insect-infested State of Massachusetts is confronted with a new peril. It would seem to have been enough to be obliged to contend with the gypsy moth, but along came the brown-tail moth to add to the devastation. People were sufficiently appalled by the ravages of these two when the elm-tree beetle came to the front, and it is now rapidly destroying the chief tree glory of New England. And what these three spared, the leopard moth stepped forward to devour. It would seem that the owners of trees had their hands sufficiently full and the lovers of natural beauty had enough to deplore.
But now the State forester warns us against a fresh peril—the bark beetles. There would be no danger from these under ordinary conditions, but the presence of so many dead and dying trees is giving the bark beetles so much food that they are multiplying at an alarming rate. The prospect is that they will increase rapidly, eat up all the dead bark that is available, and then, in default of their natural food, will learn to eat fresh bark and leaves and become a most formidable addition to the already vast army of our insect foes.
It has been proved that the bark beetles can do this if they are driven to it. The gypsy moths at first would have nothing to do with the conifers, but as soon as they had eaten all the deciduous trees at hand they learned to eat the pines and spruces as well. These plagues are not particular, and they have no scruples. The only safeguard, says the State forester, is to cut down the tree as soon as its fate from other insects is certain, and use it for firewood before the bark beetles have much of a chance at it.
I see in all this an illustration of the danger of leaving dead wood in our individual lives, and in society and commerce, and even in the church. Whatever is not growing is a continual menace of death. Whatever is not bearing living seed bears seeds of decay. The man that is not growing is a peril to his neighbors. A dead or dying habit or opinion is a peril to a man. An outworn custom is a peril to society. There is no safety in our mental and spiritual life except the constant circulation of blood, the continual vivifying of all parts of our being, so that every thought, every power, and every action shall be vitalized by the presence of God's Holy Spirit. Where He is not, all evil creatures riot and multiply and destroy.
In the Station.
Life is often compared to a railway journey. That is not the best comparison.
Our life in this world is rather a waiting in a railway station, a waiting for the real journey, the eternal journey, to begin.
If this life here were the journey, we might well complain. Often it does not get anywhere. It is full of disappointments. But knowing that it is only a waiting in the station for the train to start, all is changed.
What if the waiting-room is crowded, and the people on the seat with us are not to our liking? There will be plenty of room and plenty of pleasant companions on the Train.
What if the waiting-room is hot and stuffy? Cool breezes will blow through the Train.
What if the waiting-room is aimless, or seems to be? The Train will run speedily and accurately forward to its goal.
What if the waiting-room is full of confusion? The Train will be beautifully simple and direct.
What if the waiting-room is ugly and wearisome and monotonous? The Train will whirl us through God's varying loveliness, a constant succession of entrancing views.
What if the waiting-room is lonely? Our friends and dear ones will be found on the Train, every one of them. Perhaps they are even now "holding a seat" for us.
Just a waiting-room, and just for a few minutes. Can we not wait with patience, and even with joy?