God and Culture . . .

GOD ON THE STAGE

The opening lines of A Tale of Two Cities are especially appropriate in these days of world crisis. Though written by Charles Dickens over a century ago they speak poignantly to our time, to use Ouida’s words as we read them together.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was the day of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness. It was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity. It was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness. It was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair. We had everything before us, we had nothing before us. We were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way.”

Dickens is pointing to the stuff that life is made of, the compounds of good and evil. The lines describe any age, which is another way of saying that every generation has its work cut out for itself. Good and evil are always in combat, with each of us choosing the side he takes, perhaps with that uneasy feeling that even when he chooses the good, evil is near at hand. Wisdom never comes in neat packages 100% pure, but is somewhat adulterated by sprinklings of foolishness. Light is hard to come by, for the Darkness is always in the way. None of us deserves Heaven, for there is so much of Hell in the best of us.

We might all be more like Dickens in that he was a man of his time, a man concerned about the condition of the world in which he lived. He was as indifferent to history as was Henry Ford, and all of his writings, except his two historical novels, are about the generation in which he lived. Too many of us get lost in centuries past or infatuated with the promises of tomorrow. Dickens took a hard, long, critical look at his native England, and he saw darkness as well as light. And he sought to quench the darkness with the light.

His pen was more powerful than Cromwell’s sword in attacking the social evils of his time. He wrote vigorously for reforms in prisons, slums, and poorhouses. He fought for pure water and free schools. He had more interest in reading Christmas stories to children than in standing in the presence of royalty. He once broke all precedents by refusing an audience with Queen Victoria, who had commanded his presence after watching him perform so excellently upon the stage. He had rather visit a prison than to be a guest at a castle.

Should we Christians of the tragic 1960’s be less involved in our world? Should our concerns not go beyond our own selfish interests to the world out there with its winter of despair in hopes of bringing to it a spring of hope?

Drama in Life of Lincoln

When Ouida and I lived in Illinois, where I taught at MacMurray College, it was our pleasure on several occasions to visit Old Salem, made famous by the fact that Abe Lincoln spent his young manhood running a store there. The little village has been restored to the way it was when the great emancipator lived there, and you must be sure to see it if ever you are in those parts. We noticed on our visits that “Abe Lincoln in Illinois” was performed there during the summer months, a delightful play by Robert E. Sherwood, but we never saw it.

But recently Ouida and I were reading from this play and we were touched by the scene where Abe Lincoln prays for a dying boy. His parents had asked for a preacher, but there was none within miles of Salem. A friend suggested that Abe might say a prayer, but Abe hesitated, supposing that he could say nothing that would help.

The scene is tense with the question of slavery and the threat it posed to the very survival of the young nation. Friends in Illinois were going west to Oregon, but there was fear that the newer states of the west would be slave states. Abe was disturbed, expressing his fear that the politicians in Washington would sell out the whole west piece by piece to the slave traders. Could the United States survive such a tragedy?

The parents of the sick boy became frightened, for he had grown worse. Abe Lincoln volunteered to pray for him. The prayer has special significance in that Robert Sherwood intended that it be a prayer for a dying nation as well as a dying boy. As the playwright puts it: “The prayer which Lincoln gives for a sick boy is, in effect, a prayer for the survival of the United States of America.”

It seems especially appropriate that we study that prayer now that our nation faces its greatest peril since Lincoln’s time.

“Oh God, the Father of all living, I ask You to look with gentle mercy upon this little boy who is here, lying sick in this covered wagon. His people are traveling far to seek a new home in the wilderness, to do Your work, God, to make this earth a good place for Your children to live in.

“They can see clearly where they’re going, and they’re not afraid to face all the perils that lie along the way. I humbly beg You not to take their child from them. Grant him the freedom of life. Do not condemn him to the imprisonment of death. Do not deny him his birthright.

“Let him know the sight of great plains and high mountains, of green valleys and wide rivers. For this little boy is an American, and these things belong to him, and he to them. Spare him, that he too may strive for the ideal for which his fathers have labored, so faithfully and so long. Spare him and give him his father’s strength give us all strength, oh God, to do the work that is before us. I ask you this favor in the name of Your son, Jesus Christ, who died upon the Cross to set men free. Amen.”

Remaking the World

My dear Ouida and I were also profoundly impressed by reading a condensed version of They’re Out to Remake the World by Clarence W. Hall. It is the story of Dr. Frank Buchman and his Moral-ReArmament organization, which has done fabulous things toward the unity of all mankind. Buchman was a Lutheran minister who was disenchanted with the thought of spending his life preaching sermons to church members. He wanted to go out and change the world. This was in the 1920’s. When he died in 1961 the Prime Minister of New Zealand said of him: “He has done as much as any man to unite the peoples of the world by cutting through prejudices of color, class and creed.” At his death 22 heads of state eulogized him, and during his life eight nations had decorated him.

It was Frank Buchman who pled with us all to “Expect great things from God,” and to “Attempt great things for God.” He himself did both by believing that religion is the most revolutionary force in the world, and that nations can be changed by changing the men who govern them. His guiding principle thus became: nations must be governed by men governed by God.

Armed with this conviction he set Out to reconcile those who were torn by strife, bickering and dissension, whether it be on the national level, between management and labor, or within a family. But he realized that if he were to bring reconciliation to the distraught he himself must be right with God. He thus set aside a “quiet time” each day to seek the guidance of God and to search his own soul. “Since God gave man two ears and one mouth, He must have meant us to listen at least twice as much as we talk,” he told his followers. He looked to the ethics of the Sermon on the Mount for his directive, finding there “Four Absolutes” that were to be his moral message to the nations of the world. They are: honesty, purity, unselfishness, love.

His first great victory was in Norway, a nation paralyzed by a severe depression and by political and religious factions. Buchman and his coworkers traveled over the country from one end to the other, teaching the Four Absolutes. Their secret of success was in bringing together the various factions and encouraging them to listen to each other. Soon the spirit of Norway began to change because the men who governed the nation began to change. He moved on to other nations, attacking the most entrenched hatreds and prejudices. He was convinced that “he who changes hate changes history.”

Buchman taught the leaders of the world that Sorry is a magic word, and this was magnificently illustrated in a meeting between the Japanese and Filipinos, between whom bitterness was most intense after the second World War. When the senior member of the Japanese Diet tried to address the leaders in Manila in a Buchman-sponsored effort, he was shouted down with angry hoots. But again he tried, and finally he was able to say to them:

“My government has asked me to tell you that Japan must and will pay reparations—in full. But reparations are not enough. First of all, we must sincerely apologize for the past and humbly ask your forgiveness.”

The audience was struck dumb by this admission. Sorry was indeed a magic word. The Fillipinos, who moments before were filled with hatred, now burst forth in thunderous applause. Many pressed forward to shake hands. Some wept. One Filipino said to his Japanese brother: “These wrists of mine will always bear the marks of Japanese handcuffs, but tonight I have forgiven you.”

But Dr. Buchman was as concerned for a family divided as for a nation divided. A taxi driver in Lima, Peru, was so impressed by Buchman’s interest in him as a person that he offered to serve as his chauffeur during his stay in the city. Between engagements Buchman went to the cabbie’s home and helped in untangling several longstanding problems.

Dr. Buchman’s Moral Re-Armament organization believes that the real issue today is between those who believe that God made man and can change him, and those who believe that man made God and can abolish Him. The organization now has 3,000 workers the world over, and none receive a salary. Only expenses are paid. Each is self-supported or supported by friends or a church. This was part of Buchman’s philosophy from the very beginning, that those who seek to reconcile men must be utterly dependent on God. He saw this as characteristic of the early church, which had so impressed him that the MRA was first called “First Century Christian Fellowship.”

Buchman called this “gambling on God”—trusting that He will give one the means to do His will. And Buchman has gambled fiercely, spending thousands of dollars he did not have in order to sponsor some project. The money always came in. In 1964 alone the MRA spent two and a half million in projects designed to unite that which is divided. In 1966 they founded a college, Mackinac College in Michigan, a four-year liberal-arts institution with an aim of training young people for world leadership.

Ouida and I were edified by all this. We agreed that we sometimes find more of the spirit of Christ in the world than we do the church, and far more concern for the problems that cause pain and misery. This also strengthened our belief in the basic goodness of man. We remain optimists in a world that is far, far too mysteriously evil, chastened optimists perhaps, but optimists just the same.—the Editor