Love hopeth all things.—I CORINTHIANS 13:7
BY the use of many parables and the employment of many figures of speech, the Holy Scriptures seek in various ways to add dignity and solemnity to our earthly existence; to secure air and vision through laying hold on the eternal. And this is in truth needed. For when the worldliness of the God-forsaken earthly life immures itself in proud self-satisfaction, this enclosed air generates a poison in itself. And when time apparently creeps on so slowly in our temporal existence, and yet with such a subtle haste that we are never consciously aware of its passing; or when the moment sticks fast and remains stationary; when everything, everything conspires to turn our thoughts and our energies into the service of the moment: then is the vision lost, and this isolated, God-forsaken moment of the temporal existence, be it longer or shorter, signifies a falling away from the eternal. This is why the need has so frequently been felt at various times for a refreshing, inspiring breeze, a mighty gust of wind, which would purify the air and drive out the poisonous vapors; a need for the saving impulse of great events, which save by stirring up the stagnation; a need for a great revivifying vision of expectation—so that mankind may not be stifled in worldliness or perish in that suffocating moment!
However, Christianity knows only one way and one way out, while none the less it always does know one way and one way out. By the aid of the eternal Christianity is able at every moment to secure air and vision. When the pressure of business increases, just because the moment is extended, when it rushes impetuously about in the moment which, eternally understood, makes no progress; when the industrious sow and reap and sow again and reap again (for industry harvests many times); when the industrious fill their barns full of what they harvested and rest on their merits—whereas, alas! the man who in truth wished the good, during that same time does not see the least reward of his labor, and becomes a joke as one who does not know how to sow, as one whose labor is in vain and who only beats the air: then Christianity furnishes the vision by means of its parable about this earthly life being the time of sowing, eternity the time of harvest. When the moment, just because it is standing still, is like a whirlpool (for a whirlpool does not move forward); when there is striving, winning and losing and winning again, now at one point, now at another—but the one who wishes the good in truth, is the only one who alone is losing, and losing everything as it seems: then Christianity affords a vision by means of the parable about this earthly life being the time of tribulation, of striving, eternity the time of victory. When the moment is halted in the miserable intricacies of pettiness, which sneeringly parodies the most sacred things, the good, the true, in a wretched belittlement, sneeringly plays the game of distributing honor and shame; when everything is made more vainglorious by being dragged down into this seething wretched commotion: then Christianity affords air and vision, secures for life dignity and solemnity by the aid of the parable showing that scene in eternity where it will be eternally decided who has won the garland of honor, and who was put to shame.
What a solemnly earnest festival! Truly, what are honor and shame if the surroundings are not such as give the honor or the shame their infinite significance! Even if a man deservedly won honor here in the world, what solemnity does the world have to give it significance? Suppose a pupil is deservedly rebuked or deservedly honored: if the solemn ceremony were to take place on the stairway; if the teacher who awards the honor and the demerits were a wretched fellow; if none, or as good as none, of those dignitaries were invited whose presence would be an honor to the occasion, but only an even greater number of ordinary men whose reputation was, to say the least, ambiguous: what then are honor and shame? But eternity! Do you know any banquet hall whose arches are as lofty as those of eternity? Do you know any place, even any cathedral, where there is this sacred stillness, like that of eternity? Do you know any group, even the most select circle of venerable men, which is so certain that no one is present against whom honor might have the least, the very least, objection, so certain that no one is present except those whom honor honors, as eternity is? Do you know any festal hall, even if its walls are of mirrors, which so infinitely and solely reflects the demands of honor; so infinitely refuses even the least, the most inconspicuous crevice for dishonor to conceal itself in, as eternity?—If you should there be put to shame!
By the help of the eternal Christianity affords a vision for every moment, as touching honor and shame, if you will assist by hoping. Christianity does not bear you up to some loftier place from which you can look out over a somewhat wider range: that is still only an earthly hope and a worldly vision. No, Christianity’s hope is eternity; and therefore there are lights and shadows, beauty and truth, and above all the transparency of distance in its plan of existence. Christianity’s hope is eternity; and Christ is the Way; His abasement is the Way, but also when He ascends into heaven He would also be the Way. But love which is greater than faith and hope, assumes also the work of hope, or assumes hope, the hoping for others, as a task. It is even edified and nourished by this hope of eternity, and then again it acts affectionately toward others in this hope, which we shall now consider: LOVE HOPETH ALL THINGS—AND YET IS NEVER PUT TO SHAME. For truly not everyone who hopes all things is therefore the lover; nor is everyone who hopes all things thereby assured against ever being put to shame; but affectionately to hope for all things is the opposite of despairingly hoping nothing at all, either for one’s self or for others.