Man Revealed to Himself
1 Corinthians xiv. 25 v. “And thus are the secrets of his heart made manifest.”
Made manifest to whom? Xot to others, hut to the man himself. Nothing hides a secret from me like my own heart. I know more of my friend than I do of myself. Truly was it said that the heart is deceitful above all things. It keeps a secret drawer which itself cannot open. There are no surprises like the surprises of my own soul at news of itself. There are treasures lying latent in my heart, of whose possibility I do not dream. I never can dream of my own riches until I am touched by a kindred soul. Till the kindred soul appears, my sleep is unbroken. But with the sight of that other face, the spell vanishes; I first dream, then wake. I am like a deaf-mute restored to hearing. I find that the blank space was a foaming cataract waiting for the unsealing of the waters. The silence was peopled with imprisoned passions. There were tempests of love longing to be uttered, floods of emotion ready to be poured, torrents of tenderness eager to flow. They waited for the angel to roll away the stone, and then they revealed themselves — revealed within the sepulchre a living man.
Thou Light and Life of men, to Whom the secrets of all hearts are open, my heart is a sepulchre until it finds Thee. It is not to know my future that I most need to find Thee; it is to know my present. When I meet Thee, I discover myself. The books of my life are never really opened till I see Thee on the throne. Thou art to me what the light is to my picture on the wall. It has hung for long hours in a dark room, and I myself did not see it. But the breaking of Thy day has fallen upon my picture, and, for the first time, I have beheld myself. And, now that I behold myself, I know that all along, I have been in search of Thee. I did not see Thee when I was under the fig-tree; but now that Thou hast shaken the leaves, I know that I was waiting for Thee. I know it because Thou art not wholly new to me. I seem to have heard Thy voice before. It comes to me like a refrain, like a memory. It wakes echoes in my past; it makes me say, “When did I hear that song?” Thou hast swept the chords of my harp, and revealed its music. Thou hast touched the strings of my love and evoked its passion. Thou hast lighted the room of my conscience, and displayed its ideal portrait; and lo! it is the likeness of Thyself. The secrets of my heart are made manifest in Thee.