When the World Crashes

ONE of the first thoughts that occurred to me last Friday evening when the world came crashing down over my head was: ‘What can I say to my people next Sunday that will be of the greatest help to them?’ That anything done by me or mine should make their way the rougher only makes my own sorrow the more poignant.

Let me state the situation so far as I know it. Last Thursday the bank of my brother, my only brother, was closed by the State Banking Department. My brother and his wife have left and their whereabouts is unknown. A warrant has been issued for his arrest; he is to-day a fugitive from justice. Further than this, I know nothing. There is the ugly fact, and it is the only fact I have.

In the situation there were three possibilities for me as I stood in my pulpit on Sunday morning. I could stand before my people as if nothing had happened. I believe I had the will power to do this. But something had happened. God knows something had happened, and they knew it! I could, again, gloss the matter over, pass it by with a remark or two and minify the whole situation. This it was not in my heart to do, for it was no small matter and I should not have been honest with my congregation or with myself to try to make them think I thought it was. The third thing I could do was to try to face the ugly situation with my friends. This I decided to do, and I did it in these words: —

It may be that what I am doing this morning will offend you. It may be that it is in extremely bad taste. I do not know. I do know that it seems to me the thing to do. If in so doing I do but harm, I know that you will forgive me. Through these years together we have, I sincerely hope, built up a mutual respect and confidence. I talk to you this morning as to my friends, those whom I love and respect. If I only make a bad matter worse, I pray you forgive me.

What can one say in such a situation? Let me make some observations as they have come to my heart during the past hours. On that lonely road, — the longest, I think, I ever traveled, — the road which I took immediately after our reception for new members Friday evening, these thoughts came to me and they have been coming ever since.

1.Who am I to judge any man? Who am I to judge my brother? What he has done I do not know, but I do know that I am not the one to sit in judgment. I dare not cast a stone. I do not mean to condone. Not for one moment would I condone any wrong because it was committed by one who is bound to me by ties of blood. Wrong is wrong, and no amount of argument can make it right. It is wrong no matter by whom committed. But the fact remains that I am not in a place to condemn any man.

2. The greatest sins are not always the greatest crimes. In fact, the things which the statutes can take hold of and which deserve the most severe penalties from the point of view of man-made laws are not, I am sure, in God’s sight the most terrible sins. My brother has, I presume, done that which society condemns and that which society, in the interest of a better society, must punish. The most terrible sins go forever unpunished by man. I doubt not but that I, and perhaps you, have done in God’s sight that which is infinitely worse than anything my brother has done.

3. Whatever has been done I am sure was not in the first place done with any malicious intent. I think to some extent I know the heart of that man through whose veins there courses the same blood as through mine; for twenty years we shared the same room. What has happened I do not know. I do know that in the first place what was done was not with malice aforethought, with desire to hurt any man. Weak he may be; mean he is not.

4. No family seems free. That this thing should come to my own family seems to me a thing unthinkable, just as it seems to you unthinkable that it should ever come to yours; but come to me it has. As my father put it, he never dreamed that he would ever have to pass through ‘this particular kind of hell.’ It seems at times that good blood, the most careful of training and nurture, are not enough.

5. There has already come to me in this experience a new understanding of the power of love. Through these years I have loved my brother. I have never doubted it for one moment. There has never been a day since we rolled together as lads on the floor that I would not have given for him anything I had. I would gladly have shared with him my last crust; I would gladly have laid down my life for him. In those past days I loved him, but to-day I love him just a little bit more. I stand to-day more eager to do for him and his than ever I have been.

Love is a pitifully weak and emaciated thing if it is not for such a time as this. Such an experience simply shows the deeps of a real love.

6. There are open to you and to me two sources of strength. I mean to avail myself of them both. Too many times as a pastor I have seen those who are passing through deep waters deliberately shut themselves off from these two sources. They are divine and human.

In such an hour we should go anew to our Heavenly Father. We should be mindful of the revelation of His love in Jesus Christ, who was tempted in all points like as we are, yet without sin — the One who knows and understands. He only can give to us strength sufficient for the day.

In such an hour we should also go to our friends. And you are my friends. So it is that I talk with you this morning as I do. It is, perhaps, a very natural thing for us to draw into ourselves at such a time, when that is the very worst thing we can possibly do. I know full well the embarrassment which you very naturally feel in the situation. Some of you have been most gracious in your expression of sympathy and interest. Believe me, we do appreciate this. Others would have liked to express their interest and were only fearful of adding to the burden. Won’t you feel, my people, that we understand? Won’t you feel free to speak to us if you care to? Won’t you feel perfectly at ease? We covet your friendship now as never before.

I am profoundly thankful that this morning, at this service, seeking divine companionship and human companionship, are my wife and my mother.

I do covet your prayers, your prayers for my brother and his wife, for father and mother, for the children, those upon whom this blow falls the hardest. I covet your prayers for myself, that I may be guided to be of the largest possible help and strength to them.

Again let me ask your forgiveness if I have but added to your sorrow this morning. Truly I mean not so to do. I have done that, which my heart has led me to do. If it was the wrong thing, I know that you and the Heavenly Father will forgive.

In the beginning I spoke of my world having crashed around me. In one sense that figure is apt and in another it is not. New elements have but been brought in, new experiences which must, by the grace of God, be wrought into the very texture of a better world.