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Twilight And Dawn by Caroline Pridham

C >> Caroline Pridham >> Twilight And Dawn




And now there is one more verse to find, because it speaks about those SIX
DAYS in which God "made" (not "created") the heaven and the earth. "In six
days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is."
(Exodus xx. 11.)

How wonderful it is, is it not? that God should tell us so much about His
work! He might have made everything in a moment, by one word, but He was
pleased to take all these "Days," and to tell us about the wonderful things
which he made upon each of them, and at the end of them all we read--

"And God saw everything that He had made, and, behold it was [not waste and
desolate any more, but] very good."

I wish that I could look over your shoulder as you are reading, and ask you
whether there is anything you want to have explained. Ah, well! I cannot,
and, perhaps, if I could I should not explain to you nearly so well as
father or mother would. Only be sure you ask questions, if there is
anything you do not understand, that you may have it made plain to you.

I once told my children about a little girl I knew, who very much wanted to
know things, but sometimes she went on ever so long without knowing, just
because she was too proud to ask; she could not bear for people to find
out that she did not know all that she thought a child of her age ought
to know. But children of any age cannot know things without being taught,
and so it came to pass that this child grew to be quite a big girl without
knowing how to tell the time. Once, when her mother said, "Run and tell
me what o'clock it is," Lucy ran off as quickly as if she knew all about
it, and then she stood at the foot of the stairs and looked at the clock,
and wondered why one hand was still and the other moved, and how grown-up
people knew what time it was by just looking at their watches for half a
minute. Before she had found out any of these puzzling things, all at once
Lucy heard her mother's voice calling, "Lucy, Lucy," and she ran back to
her in a great hurry.

When asked why she had been so long, this poor, proud child made some
excuse. And then--I am ashamed to tell it, but it only shows what becomes
of pretending to know, instead of asking to be taught--she told her mother
what she guessed would be about the right time.

Her mother never thought she had been deceiving her; but Lucy went back to
her play with a very heavy heart, and a miserable feeling of how naughty
she had been, and how God knew all about it; and this was not the last time
that the wish to be thought clever--so clever as not to need to be taught
like other children, but to be able to find things out for herself--brought
her into sad trouble.

After having heard the story of Lucy and the clock, my children knew how
much I like them to ask questions, and were sure that I would answer them
if I could; and so Sharley asked me about something which she could not
understand.

"When God created the heaven and the earth, did He create the angels too?"
she said. "Were there angels in the beginning?"

Now the first part of Sharley's question I could not answer. I could only
say about it, "We do not know, because God has not told us."

Remember always, that when God does tell you a thing you must believe it,
just because it is God who has said it; and it is only by believing what
God tells you that you can understand it. But when you are quite sure that
God has not told you about something which you would like to know, you must
never try to guess at it, or make up something about it out of your own
head. Our thoughts and fancies may seem very pretty, and please us very
much; but we are quite sure to be wrong when we try to peep at what God has
not shown us in the wonderful glass of His word.

But there is an answer to the last part of Sharley's question, and she
found it in the Book of Job. When God was taking a great deal of pains to
teach Job not to think himself wise or good--really not to think of himself
at all--He asked him a great many questions which Job could not answer.
This was one of the questions: "Where wast thou when I laid the foundations
of the earth? declare, if thou hast understanding.... When the morning
stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?" (Job
xxxviii. 4-7).

From this question, which the Lord asked Job, we know that at the world's
birthday, when its foundations were laid, angels were there, rejoicing in
God's works, though we do not know when these "sons of God" were created.

Angels are happy, blessed creatures; they are God's messengers, who "excel
in strength and do His commandments, hearkening unto the voice of His
word."

All we are told about angels is very beautiful. When the Lord Jesus was
born, you know it was an angel who brought to the shepherds of Bethlehem,
as they watched their flocks, the "good tidings of great joy," that to them
was born a Saviour, Christ the Lord. How glad he must have been to fly with
such a wonderful message! And how the "multitude of the heavenly host" must
have rejoiced as they praised God, saying, "Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace, good will toward men" (Luke ii. 14).

It is beautiful to see that angels rejoiced at the world's birthday, and
also at the birth of Him who is the Saviour of the world. And there is "joy
in the presence of the angels of God"--the Lord Jesus Himself has told us
of this--whenever anyone is sorry for his sins and turns to Him.

And there is another thing very beautiful to think of about the angels.
They are God's ministers, or servants, who do His pleasure in serving His
children here in this world; taking care of them, because they are so
precious to Him.

I want you to find the verse which tells us about this "ministry of
angels," and then I will not ask you to look for any more references
to-day. It is at the end of a chapter in the epistle to the Hebrews.

"Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who
shall be heirs of salvation?" (Hebrews i. 14).

Remember that in the Bible the word "minister" means servant, and so to
minister means to serve. And we must not forget that in the last book of
the Bible we read of a "new song;" which no angel can sing, for it is known
only by the great multitude of the redeemed; and though it will be sung
in heaven, it is learnt on earth. Angels may join in the mighty chorus of
praise to which every creature will add its voice--but it is those who have
been redeemed by the precious blood of Christ who will lead that song and
say, "Thou are worthy, for Thou wast slain, and hast redeemed to God by Thy
blood out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation."

How much is told us in the first three verses of God's Book? We have read
that this earth, now so full of beauty, was once waste and desolate; there
was no life there, and no light--for "darkness was upon the face of the
deep." How long this state of ruin continued we do not know; but the next
thing we are told is very solemn and wonderful--"the Spirit of God moved
upon the face of the waters." Then, in the next verse we read, "and God
said." The Spirit of God and the word of God are spoken of together here,
where we read of His mighty working in the past in bringing the earth out
of ruin and darkness into light and life and beauty; and it is by His word
and His Spirit that the soul is turned from darkness to light, and is born
again--born of God--now.

So that God has given us here a picture or type from which we can learn;
but I hope to tell you a little more about this another time. Just now I
should like you to look for a very beautiful verse (Deut. xxxii. 11) which
compares the care of God for His chosen People to that of the eagle for her
young; because the word there translated "fluttereth" is the same which
in the second verse of the Bible is translated "moved," as we read, "the
Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters."

It is that Holy Spirit who alone can explain to us the meaning of such
words, for it is written, "The things of God knoweth no man, but the Spirit
of God."

"Songs of praise the angels sang,
Heaven with hallelujahs rang,
When Jehovah's work begun,
When He spake and it was done.

"Songs of praise awoke the morn
When the Prince of Peace was born;
Songs of praise arose when He
Captive led captivity.

"Heaven and earth must pass away,
Songs of praise shall crown that day;
God will make new heavens and earth;
Songs of praise shall hail their birth."

J. MONTGOMERY.




THE FIRST DAY.

LIGHT.


"_Where is the way where light dwelleth? and as for darkness, where is the
place thereof?_"--JOB xxxviii. 19.

"_He knoweth what is in the darkness, and the light dwelleth with
him._"--DANIEL ii, 22.

"_God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our
hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face
of Jesus Christ._"--2 COR. iv, 6.


I want you to notice, in the beautiful verses which speak of "light," that
God does not at first tell us anything about Himself. He speaks to us of
what He did when in the beginning He created the heaven and the earth, and
of what He said at the time when the earth lay in darkness, buried beneath
the waters. In the midst of the silence and darkness a voice was heard, the
voice of God, "And God said, Let there be light: and there was light." This
we read in the first page of God's Book; but it is very near its end that
God makes it known that the One who made the light, the One at whose word
light came from darkness, is Himself Light. It is His very Nature.

"God is light." Now we learn from God's Word that there are two kinds of
light, and two kinds of darkness; let us talk a little about this.

We can well understand one kind of darkness, because we can see it: and
we know it is caused by the absence of light. It grows dark when the sun,
which makes our day, has set to us, and the night has come to wrap us
round, as it were, in a curtain of shade that we may sleep quietly. It is
dark too, not only by night, but all the day long in the deep caverns where
the miner must carry his lamp to light up those dismal places where the sun
never shines. This darkness, like that which rested upon the face of the
deep before God spoke that word which brought the light, is caused by there
being no light, and as soon as the light comes the darkness goes. The other
kind of darkness we cannot see: it has to do, not with places, but with
people, and we read about it very often in the Bible. It is that dreadful
kind of darkness which has come through sin, and has settled down upon the
heart of every one of us. This darkness God sees, and He speaks about it in
His Word.

We find it hard to believe that our hearts are all dark when God looks at
them; that He finds no love to Himself there; no bright spot anywhere; but
God, who is Light, as He looks straight down to the depths of those hearts,
and sees us through and through, has told us the truth about ourselves, as
He sees us.

You do not like darkness better than light; the night better than the day,
do you?

I remember how sorry I used to be when night came, and how fond I was of
saying to myself a verse I had learnt, as I lay awake in the early morning
and watched the dawning light--

"I saw the glorious sun arise
Far o'er yon mountain grey,
And as he rode upon the skies
The darkness went away;
And all around me was so bright
I wished it would be always light!"

Yes, we naturally love the light which is so cheerful, and shows us so
plainly all the beautiful things around us.

But that other kind of light which shines from God into our hearts, do we
like it?

No; one sad thing that sin has done is to make us love the dark, because we
feel as though there we could hide away from God. We know quite well that
if God is looking at us He sees us right, just as we are, not as we like to
think we are, and this is why we try to forget that He is always looking
at us. I know a little boy, who had done something naughty, and had been
hiding it all day. No one saw Georgie go to the cupboard and take a piece
of sugar. He had eaten it, and had gone back to his play as if nothing had
happened, before his grandmother came back into the room. All day long
Georgie kept in the dark; a darkness which could not be seen ruled in
his heart--but it was a darkness that might be felt, and which made him
miserable. At last when bedtime came, and he had said good-night to his
grandmother, upstairs in his little room his aunt knelt down beside him and
began to pray. Presently something happened which showed that Georgie was
praying really himself, while Auntie said the words. He looked up for a
moment and said softly, "Tell God about that sugar."

And then he went to bed, oh, so much happier than he had been all those
long hours before he had come into the light, and told the truth about what
only God and Georgie himself knew--nobody else in the world!

But while I say this I think I am forgetting what we so often forget when
we do wrong. Satan knew about it, and he had tried all day long to keep
this little boy away in the dark, hiding from God, and to make him think it
was not worth while to tell the truth about such a little thing as a piece
of sugar. If any such thought as that comes into your heart when you have
done wrong, do not listen to it for one moment. Remember that the darkness
and the light are both alike to God.

And now I want to tell you about another boy, older than Georgie, who was
made very unhappy by the thought that he could not get away anywhere to
hide from God. But why did Johnny want so much to hide from God? Had he
been very naughty? It was not because he had done anything very naughty
just then, but because something inside him--that voice that perhaps often
seems to speak deep down in your heart--spoke to him and made him afraid.
He did not like that God, who is Light, should come close to him. When
people saw him crying, and said kindly, "What is the matter, my boy?" poor
Johnny could only say, "God is looking at me." He had just this one thought
always with him--God was looking at him, and God could see what no one else
could, the real Johnny, and all the secret things which he could not bear
that anyone should know.

But had God only just begun to look at this boy? No; all his life
long--more than twelve years, I think--the eye that never sleeps had been
watching him. Johnny had tried to hide himself behind his play and his
pleasures, and, as he grew older, behind his carelessness; but now he had
learnt that none of the things which may hide us from ourselves and from
others, can hide us from God. He could only feel that God was looking at
him, and in this way Johnny learned something of the meaning of the words
"God is light." That is what God has to teach us all, and it would be a
lesson too terrible for anyone to learn, if that were all God has been
pleased to tell us about Himself. But there is another part of God's
message to us, and it was when Johnny had learned it that he was not afraid
or unhappy any more.

It was because God was looking for him that He allowed this boy to have
that dreadful feeling that there was someone, from whom he could not hide
away, who knew him perfectly. Johnny learnt this lesson, and then God
taught him not only that "God is light," but that he need not be afraid to
stand, just as he was, in the light which shows everything, because of this
other wonderful little verse which tells us that "God is love."

And so at last Johnny learned to say to God what king David said--after he
had told God all the truth about what he had done, and God had forgiven
him--"Thou art my hiding-place." I have heard a very wonderful thing; but
I believe it is true. It is said of light that "it conceals more than it
reveals"; that there is no hiding-place like light, if it is only bright
enough; and the brighter the light is, the more impossible it is to find
what has been hidden there!

I remember when I first saw the electric light; it was in the middle of the
night, as the boat on board which I had been crossing the sea which divides
Wales from Ireland, came in at the pier. All around, the whole scene was
lighted up; the dark water shone, and the people came on shore and looked
for their luggage, and took their places in the tram, no one thinking of
such a thing as a lamp, for all was clear as daylight.

But this light, bright as it was, lighted only a very little space; as the
train moved off we left it behind us, and hurried on into the dark night.
How much more wonderful is the light of the sun which shines night and day,
always giving light to some part of the world!

But sunlight, moonlight, and electric light, all these shine upon the
outside, upon what we can see. God, who is Light, shines upon what is
within, upon that heart which is by nature so dark that there is not one
bright spot there, so that if God did not shine into it no light could ever
come.

Have you ever seen, when the moon has been shining over the sea, making a
long, broad pathway of brightness, a ship, as it sails along, suddenly come
into that bright track? It is a beautiful sight; just for one moment every
mast and sail all stand out with such distinctness that you say, "Oh, I can
see her now perfectly!" Then, while you look, she has crossed the shining
path, and you can but just trace her dim outline, and know that a ship is
sailing there.

[Illustration: CROSSING THE SHINING PATH.]

When the Lord Jesus Christ was in this world He said, "As long as I am in
the world, I am the light of the world." He showed people plainly that He
knew them in a way that no one else could. Some people were glad; one poor
woman, who had been in the dark all her life, went and told everyone about
Him, and said, "Come, see a man, which told me all things that ever I did."
Others could not bear that that light should show them to themselves, so we
read that one day those who had been with Him, "went but one by one," until
they were all gone. Which would you rather be like--the people who went
away into the darkness, rather than be found out by the Light, or the one
who stayed, and heard those words she could never forget--"Neither do I
condemn thee; go and sin no more"?

The only way not to be afraid of the light is to come to the Lord Jesus
Christ, who has said of every one that follows Him, that he shall not
"abide in darkness, but shall have the light of life."

But hiding--hiding from God--only means getting deeper into the dark,
farther away from Him who is Light.

Now that we have spoken of these solemn and important things--things which
I like to speak to you about, but which God alone, who loves you so much,
can really teach you:--I should like to tell you a little about the light
as we see it all around us.

Now, what can we learn about it?

First, we learn that it was called into existence by the voice of God. God
said, "Let there be light; and there was light" on the FIRST DAY, but it
was not until the FOURTH DAY that those great light-bearers--the sun and
the moon--were made lights to the earth, and set "for signs, and for
seasons, and for days and years." But the question, "What is light?" is not
one easily answered.

We can all understand that light is that which makes everything visible,
but you will perhaps be surprised to hear that it has taken a very long
time even to find out how the light comes to us.

It is now generally believed that light, which is one of the strongest
powers in the world, is caused by motion; and that it is because every
light-giving body is always moving very fast, that it gives out light. But
no one can explain how this rapid movement began, nor what that "ether" is
through which the "vibrations" travel until they reach a wonderful little
screen which we have at the back of each of our eyes, by means of which we
are able to see.

We may think of the air around us as a vast ocean, through which waves
conveying light and sound are constantly travelling. When a sound-wave
strikes the ear, we hear; when a light-wave, moving like a water-wave,
reaches the eye, we see. Light comes chiefly from the sun: it is beautiful
to think, is it not?--of waves of light streaming always, day and night,
from that wonderful sun so far away, and coming, wave after wave, to paint
beautiful pictures on our eyes! For if you and I both look at the same
lovely view, we have each a picture of it--the mountains, and sea, and
green fields, and houses--all to ourselves; and so it would be if, not two
people, but two hundred were looking. One thing about light of which we are
quite sure is, that it travels very quickly. It makes its noiseless journey
all round this great earth eight times in one second--in less time than it
takes for my watch to give one tick; and it comes all the long, long way
from the sun to the earth in less than ten minutes.

I spoke just now of the light painting pictures upon our eyes. Did you know
that if there were no light there would be no beautiful colours? Where the
sun shines very brightly, in those parts of the world called the tropics,
it is not only very hot, but travellers tell us that there the green of
the leaves is darker than we are accustomed to see it, and the colours of
the flowers and of the birds' feathers are more brilliant than in our own
country, where the sunlight is never so strong.

Then, though the sunlight gives their lovely colours to the anemones and
seaweeds, as it shines into their homes in the shallow places near shore,
if you could go far down into the ocean depths, where the light can hardly
reach, you would find the colours of any creatures, or plants, or shells
that might be there soft and pure, but not brilliant.

But how does the light make the colours? It seems only white, or perhaps
gold-coloured, in itself.

This is what I should like to explain to you, for it is a very beautiful
lesson, and not difficult to learn.

When I asked the children if they could tell me what we mean when we say
that a thing reflects the light, Chrissie said he had often seen the red
sunset reflected by the windows opposite, but he could not quite tell how
to explain it.

We may read in books this explanation: "The reflection of light is the
turning back of its rays by the surface upon which they fall." And while we
read this we must remember that the surface or outside of everything has
some peculiarity about it, which affects the light as it falls upon it.

The light of the sun is made up of seven colours, though God has so
perfectly blended them that we see only white light; but all these colours
may be traced in the seven-coloured arch, which is a token to men of His
mercy, and a sign that while the earth remains "seed-time and harvest, cold
and heat, summer and winter, day and night, shall not cease."

The smallest portion of light which we can speak of is called a ray of
light. You have seen, when what you call a beam of light comes in at a
hole, before the shutters have been opened, how the little specks of
dust glance up and down in it, as if they were at an endless game of
puss-in-the-corner. But have you ever seen beautiful colours, like those of
the rainbow, dance about the room--now on the ceiling, now on the floor?

You can best see this lovely little rainbow by darkening the room, and
letting just one ray of light stream in through a small hole. Then take
a bit of glass, cut so that it has at least three sides--a "drop" of cut
glass from the lustre on the mantelpiece will do--and hold it up between
you and the light. This little piece of glass, which is called a prism,
because it has been sawn or cut, will do a wonderful thing, as you turn
it about in the sunbeam. The ray of light, as it passes through the
three-cornered bit of glass, will be turned out of its straight path, and
this causes it to be split up into many colours, so that you will have a
tiny rainbow, which can be seen beautifully if you allow it to fall upon a
sheet of white paper; and the colours are always arranged in the same way.
Look! in the centre of your rainbow there are green and yellow; then comes
red, then blue, then violet. You can easily see these five colours; and two
more are counted; indigo, or dark blue, and orange. The only difficulty
about saying how many colours you can see is this. If you begin with the
violet, and count till you come to the red, you will find that the soft
hues are so blended, or run into each other, that it is not easy to see
where one ends and the other begins.

I want you to make this little rainbow, not only because the colours which
it paints upon the ceiling are so pure and beautiful, and it is so curious
to see the bright band of red and blue and green dancing from place to
place as you turn your bit of glass, but because you can see in this way
how a ray of light spreads itself out when it passes through this glass
with three sides. The colours are separated from each other because no two
waves of light are of quite the same length; some move slowly and others
fast, and the faster a wave travels the more it is turned aside out of the
straight road.

John Crace digests A Question of Upbringing by Anthony Powell

My English teacher is wearing a barrister's wig. He turns and points towards me as I sit trembling in the dock. "Members of the jury, I put it to you that this man, Tom Robinson, is innocent," he says, rather lugubriously. I want to protest. I want to shout that no, I am not Tom Robinson, but yes, I am innocent! But the words won't come out.

Then I wake up. It's another literary dream – one that's troubled me ever since I studied Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird for GCSE.

Most of the time I'm disappointed to leave my literary dreams, waking to realise that I'm not really ensconced with with the boozing Welsh pensioners from Kingsley Amis's The Old Devils or haven't really been thrashing Harry Potter's Quidditch team. I remember with fondness a skiing trip with William Shakespeare and the delightful discovery that Don DeLillo was serving drinks behind the bar in my local pub.

It's not all sunshine, though. Tom Wolfe once ruined a trip to New York, shouting at me across Fifth Avenue: "You're not even familiar with my work – get outta town, asshole!" But that's nothing on Howard Jacobson. I spent a summer discovering his novels during my waking hours and bumping into him in my sleep. I'd see him in a local restaurant and tell him how much I was enjoying his novels. "Oh right," he'd snap, "that old chestnut, huh?" When I met him for real last year he was, in fact, charm personified. I didn't tell him about the dreams.

But enough about my subconscious, what about yours? It's Friday: forget about work and tell me all about your literary dreams. Don't hold back – it's not like we'll read anything into it.

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