In the silent breaking of the long spent night, With the quiet coming of the dawn’s pure light, Your senses are illumined, new, you hear Truth in your heart. Mind’s seeing is our seeing.
The past calls out, “Look back, recount the wasted years!” But, Pilgrim, oh, do not look back. It’s trick of time to dim your eye with tears lest today you see the way to where the Christ may heal your fears.
“For unto us a child is born … and the government shall be upon his shoulder. ” Isaiah 9:6 It wasn’t a child we saw— it was the Christ, the promised law, not in the swaddled babe but in the truth— suffusing us with light and blessed warmth, and more— a peace such as we’d never felt before He didn’t speak yet his appearing silenced all the savvy of the world— its wiliness and cleverness, and ways of winning— now suddenly inane, irrelevant For here is prophecy fulfilled not in some future time, but now— the law that says what wins is innocence shining forth this moment’s boundless worth: The simple, pure reflection of almighty Truth has come to set us free and heal the earth.
He who tempers the wind To the shorn sheep Will guard you, And guide you, And lead your brave feet Over the rough ways of the world, Over crag, over stone; Up through the clouds, Through the mist, And the winds and the cold; On to the glorified height To the foot of His throne. And thus you may know That He sees you, And needs you, And loves you, And calls you His own.
The next morning, the tulip poplar tree danced for you— all the leaves were waving, yellow-gold flashes in the sun. The same wind that moved them was gently lifting me upward and tenderly guiding you forward— far beyond the horizon of mortal sense.
Oh sure, I know church. I’ve been there before I’ve been its keeper at the door.
“What is the chaff to the wheat?” Jeremiah 23:28 What is the husk to the seed? Is it the thing that is gathered and cherished? Is it the thing that we need? Is it the thing that can grow and bear fruit? Is it the thing that can feed? What is the chaff to the wheat— the mortal lies to God’s thought? Which is the one to be gathered and cherished? Which is the one to be taught? Which will cause us to grow and bear fruit? Which is the one to be bought? When chaff is flown and kernels are gathered, and their substance transformed to bread, the baker is recompensed, the child is nourished, and all of the multitudes fed. Even so— When lies are flown and God’s thoughts are gathered Mind’s universe understood, known, divine Love will thrive in us, all heaven alive in us— we’ll see that God’s Life is our own.
There’s one question you’ve got to ask yourself soon. It’s this: “Do I want to find and feel the fresh truth of Christian Science over again—to be absorbed with this light— more than I want to lose the dark of pain or of grief, of crisis or hate?” Ask soon.
A butterfly sat with trembling wings fresh from metamorphosed things. “I’m afraid to fly,” he said, “I was so cozy in my bed.
Wings are thoughts which spread to catch the immortal breath of Spirit so Love will nudge the fledgling out to learn to brave earth’s wintry blasts then Mind enfolds with tender arms the heart unsure, the soul cast down and Christ speaks low when fear o’erwhelms, breaking the clouds, bearing thee home. —Benjamin Frederick.