I REMEMBER going through it. It seems as if it was but a few weeks ago, although more than four years have passed. So quickly does time fly. It was a lovely day in November, all was bright and clear, not a cloud to be seen. We were all in high spirits. They call it the Gate of Tears, but we shed none. Smiles were in vogue, sadness was at a discount.
The reader will want me to explain. I will do so. Understand, then, that the Gate of Tears is, in fact, not a gate at all, but water, salt water. It is the passage from the Red Sea into the Indian Ocean, the Straits of Babelmandeb. Arabs gave it the name. They so often found its navigation perilous that they called it thus. Whether it is as dangerous now I don’t know. All that I know is that our big steamer went through easily enough. The view was very beautiful as we drew near. The mountains on the Asiatic side are rugged and picturesque: they look as if they had been arranged for effect. In the center of the Straits is an island containing an English fort and garrison. I fancy I can see the path winding along the side of the hill and the white buildings at the top. As to the sea, it is no more a “Red” Sea than Cheapside or Trafalgar Square is. I have read in books that a vast number of scarlet-colored animalcules are occasionally found to tinge certain regions with their brilliant hues; but we did not happen to behold them. The Red Sea was a brilliant blue sea.
I feel disposed to moralise a little about the Gate of Tears. Don’t you think it may be made a peg on which to hang a few thoughts? If you do, bear me company, and let us try what we can do with it. The Gate of Tears! Is not that gate often in front of us? Don’t all of us go through it? Here is a rule without exception. The old sayings about a crook in every lot and a skeleton in every house are true. We often envy others: again and again you and I have caught ourselves wishing we were in the place of this person or that. But it is not wise, to say the least of it. We don’t know what we covet. Perhaps we should discover our mistake very soon if our desire was so gratified. We could not, we may be sure, rid ourselves of trouble: all that we could accomplish would be to barter one for another. A powerful emperor, who rose from obscurity to the throne once confessed, “I have exchanged cares.” This fact should make us more patient than we often are.
Take another thought. Through the Straits of Babelmandeb we reach foreign possessions. We get to scenes of commercial enterprise, scientific inquiry, and Christian effort. Ceylon, India, China, and other Oriental countries, lie beyond the Gate of Tears. And is it not true in another and a higher sense that valuable blessings are attained through suffering? Ages ere the human race came into existence, strange and monstrous reptiles preyed on each other in primeval marshes. Every one of us entered the world through the door of pain; not without sore travail does maternal love light its lamp in the sacred sanctuary of a mother’s soul. History tells the same story. The greatest benefactors have been martyrs. The venerable legend of Prometheus has a great meaning. After infinite labor he reached the heavens and brought down fire to earth. Men welcomed the boon, gathered round the fervent flames, ceased to shiver in the cruel north wind, and laughed as they saw the ruddy glare redden the faces of their children. But alas for Prometheus: he was chained to a giddy rock and consumed by vultures.
Yes; life through death, pleasure at the price of pain, is the Divine and far-reaching rule. Freedom is gained by sacrifice. Leonidas and his immortal three hundred are slaughtered at the pass of Thermopylae. Miltiades, on the plains of Marathon, flings back the tide of Persian invasion, but not before Greek blood has flowed like water. The seven illustrious citizens of Calais kneel at the feet of the stern English king with halters round their necks. John Brown, of Harper’s Ferry, was hanged for aiding the fugitive captive, but American slavery was suspended on the same gibbet. Italy would never have been what she is had not the high-minded Garibaldi gone forth with his life in his hand. Discovery entails sacrifice. Columbus was put in chains, Galileo experienced the terrors of the Inquisition, Roger Bacon languished ten years in a miserable cell. The printing-press, fulfilling the mandate, “Let there be light”; the steam-engine, eclipsing the boasted achievements of magic; the humble but beneficent sewing-machine, saving fatigue and lengthening life — these are easy to use, but they were hard to produce.
But we need not travel so far in search of proof. Commoner things afford it. The very bread we eat bears witness here. Think what sacrifice it involves. The husbandman must barter ease for toil, exposed to summer heat and wintry blast, as he follows his team or broadcasts the grain. The ground is lacerated by the plough and torn by the harrow. The seed decomposes and dies: but for putrefaction it would yield nothing. After it has ripened, the reaper comes with his sickle and cuts it down. In the farmyard it is thrashed. Thence it is carried to the mill and ground into flour. Finally, it is bruised and mangled by the teeth before it passes into the system and is transformed into flesh and blood.
Trial, then, is beneficial both to us and to others. Troubles of mind, body, and estate are often the occasion of real good. Were it no so, a kind and fatherly God would never send so many afflictions. Remember this when you are in distress. Be submissive and hopeful. Good will most likely spring from it.
But our remarks would be incomplete if we stopped here. We must add another thought. The grandest example of blessing proceeding from suffering is yet to be named. And I have no doubt, my reader, that you will guess what is meant. Jesus Christ went through the Gate of Tears. He died; and His death is our peace, hope, salvation. By His stripes we are healed. He suffered in the flesh, the just for the unjust, that He might bring us to God. The agony of Gethsemane and the pain of Calvary have procured our deepest bliss and secured our eternal welfare. Never should we have known how strongly and unalterably God loves us had He not incarnated Himself and borne our sins on the tree. His blood cleanseth, too, from all sin; we are delivered from its power when we believe and realize the Divine pity and forgiveness. Is it so with you? Are you welcoming the good news of the Saviour’s atonement and grace? Do not neglect it. Open your heart to receive it. Make your own that full and generous pardon which is offered us through Him who was a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief!
How many are passing through the “Gate of Tears” to-day―yea, through the valley of the shadow of death? Pray for the widows and the fatherless; pray to God for our brave soldiers, and pray that this cruel war may soon be over.