Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1894-08-22
WHY Do We Suffer?

Nowis my soul troubled; and what shall ]
say? Father, save me from this hour; but for
this cause came unto this hour.
Father, glorify thy name. Then came there
a voice from heaven, saying; have both glOri-
fed it, and will glorify it again xii, "a
%.
There is wonderful bit of philoso
ply in these words. They open up to
our astonished vision long series OF
ideas which we seldom recognize. We
are lifted to the mountains summit
and get a glimpse of the world from an
entirely new standpoint. We are amaz
ed and startled, for Christ practically
commands us to sacrifice ourselves in
order to attain perfection.
You are block of rough marble. You
may some time come to be a statue of
splendid proportions, but you must be
chiselled and hammered before that
contamination can be reached. Grief,
struggle, disappointment, the whole
range of sad experiences which fill life
so full, are the tools with which the
Great Artist will change your shape by
slow degrees and convert you from a
mere block to a thing of beauty.
You may not enjoy the process by
which you are made to assume d new
form, and the hammer of God seems at
times merciless in its blows, but every
stroke of the Artists arm has distinct
purpose, and in the Artists heart is an
ideal which He is compelling you to
represent-an ideal which you will most
certainly represent when He has fully
accomplished His task.
Yon stand face to face with a most
grievous sorrow. Your head is bowed,
your very soul suffers wrench. But
you recognize facts; you are broad
nd o1 Ell To
that there is a meaning in it all. Or if
your eyes are so blinded with tears that
you may not see, you still have devout
faith that His way is better than your
way, and that submission, quiet, serene,
trustful, is the noblest attitude your
soul can assume. You believe that the
Artist has no other purpose than to
convert the rough block of marble into
a beautiful statue, that He takes no
pleasure in using the hammer, and is
not governed by caprice, but is work
ing with plan in His mind.
Now, what will you say? Your first
utterance is found in the text, "My
soul is troubled" That is inevitable
You are human and cannot help
shrinking from pain. He does not wish
you to do otherwise, but He does wish
you to submit, even though it be with
a groan or cry of agony. Will you,
dare you say, ''Save me from this
hour?' What would become of the
marble block if it should pray the Artist
not to use the chisel or the hammer ?
Suppose the Artist should heed the
prayer and lay his tools aside, what
then? If you have in your body some
malignant growth, will you beseech the
surgeon to save you from the horrors
of the knife And would he be your
friend if he replaced that knife in it's
case and left you to your fate?
One must have attained a certain
spiritual altitude to be able to say to
the artist, ''Do what you WILL only see
to it that when your task is finished
leave the workshop statue of noble
proportions, or to the surgeon, Il
trouble at thought of what you are
about to do, but you must not heed my
cry, and your hand must do its work
with memorable steadiness and relent-
less accuracy" But that must be the
attitude of every great soul which de-
sires perfection and health instead of
comfort and case.
The hardest but the best thing to say
is ''Fatherl'' in the time of trouble and
bereavement. With the conviction that
He is in very reality your Father we'll
fixed in your mind, and the reposeful
consciousness in your heart that your
suffering is your opportunity; that
souls which have never experienced
agony are not equal to souls that have
passed hours in Gethsemane; that
climbing with WEAKNESS is better than
living on the level plain of monotonous
good fortune, you are enabled to say
as the Master did:-"I pray you not to
consider my wishes, but to do what is
best, though it cost me dear. Make me
all can be, even though 1 protest"
Then you see things as God sees them.
Then the pathetic side of life, the side
that is clouded, has rich significance.
You are forced to look up for help, and
looking up brings you that mysterious
peace that passeth understanding.
1t cannot be that we are grieved and
wounded and bruised for nothing.
If the stars in their courses are ODE
dent to a physical law, then behind
the stars is Some One who made the
law. If our days and years are mark
ed by signs and tears, by deaths that
follow on the heels of birth, by graves
which are within arms reach of cradles,
by disappointments which cannot by
any foresight be avoided, then these
uAAh9o Auhou Oil NC SON ny d oplI-
itual law, and behind the law must be
Some One who ordained them for our
good. Either this is true or the universe
is cruel and inexplicable despotism.
But it is true. Men never see the
heaven above them except when their
eyes are wet. Sufferings are the ham
mer and the chisel: God is the artist
who recognizes the possibilities that
are hidden within us; we are the blocks
of marble, and if we are conscious of
what we may become we cannot cry,
Father, save me from this hour" but
must needs pray. Father, glorify Thy
name," and then angels will come from
the upper air and minister to us.-N.
Y. Herald.
CatSleS In the Air.
Amid the myriad troubles that meet us day