Part 10 (2/2)

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 _G.o.d_. 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.

'_G.o.d is Power_,' they said, '_G.o.d 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.

'_G.o.d is Wisdom_,' they said, '_G.o.d 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.

'_G.o.d is Justice_,' they said, '_G.o.d is Justice!_'

And so men made their guesses, and, as they guessed, they built. They erected temples, now to the G.o.d of Power, then to the G.o.d of Wisdom, and again to the G.o.d of Justice. They had yet to learn that they were wors.h.i.+ping the part and not the whole; they were wors.h.i.+ping 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. G.o.d 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!

_G.o.d is----!_ _G.o.d is--what?_

He is----, But words are wanting to say what!

Think what a G.o.d 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.

_G.o.d is----_

_G.o.d is--what?_

_G.o.d--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 friends.h.i.+p, 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 s.n.a.t.c.hes 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 ba.s.s, 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: G.o.d--IS--LOVE!'

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