_God is----!_
It is the oldest question in the universe, and the greatest. It has been
asked a million million times, and it would not have been altogether
strange had we never discovered an answer. In Mr. H. G. Wells' story of
the men who invaded the moon, he describes a conversation between the
travelers and the Grand Lunar. The Grand Lunar asks them many questions
about the earth which they are unable to answer. 'What?' he exclaims,
'knowing so little of _the earth_, do you attempt to explore _the
moon_?' We men know little enough of _ourselves_: it would have been no
cause for astonishment had we been unable to define _God_. Men lost
themselves for ages in guess-work. They looked round about them; they
saw how grandly a million worlds revolve, and they noticed how
exquisitely the mighty forces of the earth are governed. Then they made
their guess.
'_God is Power_,' they said, '_God is Power!_'
Then, peering a little more deeply into the heart of things, they saw
that all these terrific forces are not only controlled, but harnessed to
high ends. All things are working--they are working together--they are
working together for good! And thereupon men made their second guess.
'_God is Wisdom_,' they said, '_God is Wisdom!_'
Then, observing things still more closely, men began to see great
ethical principles underlying the laws of the universe. In the long run,
evil suffers, and, in the long run, right is rewarded.
'_God is Justice_,' they said, '_God is Justice!_'
And so men made their guesses, and, as they guessed, they built. They
erected temples, now to the God of Power, then to the God of Wisdom, and
again to the God of Justice. They had yet to learn that they were
worshiping the part and not the whole; they were worshiping the rays and
not the Light Itself.
Then Jesus came, and men understood. By His words and His deeds, by His
life and His death, He revealed the whole truth. God is Power and Wisdom
and Justice--but He is more. In a European churchyard there stands a
monument erected by a poet to his wife. It bears the inscription:
She was----,
But words are wanting to say what!
Think what a wife should be
And she was that!
_God is----!_
_God is--what?_
He is----,
But words are wanting to say what!
Think what a God should be
And He is that!
Jesus filled in the age-long blank; He filled it in,
not in cold language, but in warm life. Many attempts
have been made to translate His definition
from the terms of life into the terms of language.
Only once have those attempts been even approximately
successful. The words on the perforated
bookmarker represent the best answer that human
speech has ever given to the question.
_God is----_
_God is--what?_
_GOD--IS--LOVE!_
V
Rodney Steele met again the girl--ripened now into the full glory of
womanhood--from whom he had been so cruelly separated. He felt that it
was too late to right the earlier wrong; and, in any case, his life was
too embittered to offer her now. But he rejoiced in her friendship, and,
one day, opened his heart to her.
'Madge,' he said, 'I am furious with Fate. Life is chaos. Shall I tell
you of what it reminds me? When I was last in Florence I was invited to
the dress rehearsal of "Figli Di Re." I took my seat in the stalls of
the huge empty opera house. The members of the orchestra were all in
their places. Pandemonium reigned! Each man was playing little snatches
of the score before him, all in the same key, but with no attempt at
time, tune or order. The piping of the flute, the sighing of the fiddle,
the grunt of the double bass, the clear call of the cornet, the bray of
the trombones, all went on together. The confused hubbub of sound was
indescribable. Suddenly a slim, alert figure leaped upon the estrade and
struck the desk sharply with a baton. It was the maestro! There was
instant silence. He looked to the right; looked to the left; raised his
baton; and lo! full, rich, sweet, melodious, blending in perfect
harmony, sounded the opening chords of the overture!'
Rodney likened the jangling discords to the confusion of his own life.
There was in his soul a disappointed love, an implacable hate, and a
medley of other discords.
'You are waiting for the Maestro, Roddie!' said Madge. 'His baton will
reduce chaos to order with _a measure of three beats_.'
'Three beats?'
'Yes; three almighty beats: GOD--IS--LOVE!'
He shook his head.
'I left off pricking texts when I was five, and gave up painting when I
was nine.'
'It is not what you do to the texts, Rodney; it is what the texts do to
you!'
He left her, and, soon after, left London.