The Need of the Afterlook

u And one can well afford to wait a season, Till all that is dark shall be made bright, If not with earthly, then with heavenly light, And we shall come at last to know the reason Of all the toil, the seeming loss, the pain.”

THERE are many things in this world which we cannot understand. At its furthest reach our human knowledge only skirts the outermost edge of what is known to Omniscience. We soon realize this when we begin the study of any science. We learn a few facts, a few principles, pressing a little way into our subject, and then we become aware that there is a vast region beyond us into which we cannot enter. The philosopher’s illustration is always true, — at the best we are only children, stand ing by the shore of a great sea, picking up here and there a brilliant shell or a polished pebble, while the deep sea lies beyond our reach, filled with far more brilliant things than those we have found.

This is not surprising when we consider our own finiteness and the narrow limitations of our powers, and the infinity of God, and the vastness of his universe. After we have studied the divine works and ways to the very uttermost of our power to understand, we can only say with Job, —

“Lo, these are but the outskirts of his ways, And how small a whisper do we hear of him! But the thunder of his power who can understand?”

A great English preacher illustrates the littleness, the fragmentariness, and the imperfectness of human knowledge of God’s works, by the case of a fly crawling upon one of the pillars of St. Paul’s Cathedral. What does the fly know of the architect’s magnificent design in that great building? It sees only the little space of stone on which it moves; and the carving and the ornamental work appear to it like hills and mountains cutting off its progress and obscuring its view. So is the wisest man in the midst of the vast universe of God. He can see only for a little space about him. He can perceive but a little glimmer of the divine meaning in the things he sees. He can have but the dimmest, faintest conception of the wonderful plan of God which takes in all worlds, all human lives, and all ages.

We cannot expect to know all God’s thoughts; we should have to be equal to him in wisdom to do this. A god whom we could fully understand, and in whose words and workings we should find no mystery, could not be God to us. We cannot expect to know God’s design in the providences that touch human affairs and affect our own lives. We cannot trace the results of his acts through centuries to come, to know what the final outcome of them will be. We cannot tell what beautiful trees, with full, rich fruitage, will grow from the rough, dark seeds which to-day the Master plants in our life-garden. We cannot tell what blessing will come in the long future from the sorrow that now lays its heavy hand upon us.

When we begin to read a tale written by some great author, we cannot tell from the opening chapters what the outcome of the story will be. Nor can we know what will be the last chapters of any story of providence beginning to-day in our life or in our home, perhaps in a way that seems dark and sad. For example, the first chapters of the story of Joseph’s life appeared very hopeless. He was cruelly wronged by his brothers. He was torn away from his home. He was sold as a slave, and carried to a heathen country. There we soon find him in prison on false charges. Dark providences dimmed the opening morning of this young man’s life. But we know how splendidly the story ends. So it has been in countless other life narratives.

There is a story of a certain rabbi who entered a town and met a little maid carrying in her hand a basket which was closely covered. “Tell me, my good child,” said the rabbi, “what you have in that basket.” The child answered modestly, “If my mother had wished that any one should know the contents of this basket, she would not have covered it.” God covers up many things from our eyes. Some of these he desires us to search out for ourselves. Men are continually thinking over God’s thoughts, reading the lines of God’s writing in his word and works. But there are many things in the realm of God’s providence which we cannot know. The future is yet beyond our ken, and it is foolish and wrong for us to vex ourselves with trying to find out what it has in store. If God had meant us to know what the coming years have for us, he would not have COY them up as he has done. We know one thing, — that he in whose hands are the future events of our lives is good and loving, that he is our wisest and best Friend. Instead of knowing, we may trust. There is a secret of confidence in our Master’s words, “What I do thou knowest not now.” We know the character of him in whose hand are all the affairs of our lives. His name is love. We need never fear that what he does can be either mistaken or unkind. “What I do” written on any cup that is put to our lips ought to be assurance enough that there is a blessing in the cup for us.

“I will say it over and over, this and every day: Whatsoever the Master orders, come what may, It is the Lord’s appointment;

For only his love can see
What is wisest, best, and right,
What is truly good for me.”

But there is yet another word in our Master’s saying which is a window of heaven, letting in bright light. “Thou knowest not now,” he says. The emphatic “now” tells us that the veiling is but for a time. This is confirmed by the assurance which he hastens to give: “but thou shalt understand hereafter.” There are many things in our lives that we cannot understand until hereafter. There are many things which cannot be made clear to us until we have larger knowledge of ourselves. Many of the mysteries of childhood are open as day to manhood. There are certain things that can be made known to us only at certain stages of personal experience. We cannot see the stars until night comes; there are revealings of blessing which never can be ours until we cnlor life’s shadows. Then there are things which cannot yet be understood because they are unfinished works. There are things that can be wrought out only slowly and through processes which require ofttimes long years of time. No artist will permit any one to judge of his picture while it is incomplete; in the preliminary stages of his work it gives no true and adequate revealing of its final beauty. Many of the providences of our lives appear at first mysterious, because they are but the beginning of the outworking of thoughts of divine love. Some day when they are wrought out incompleteness they will be beautiful and good, as are all God’s finished works. “Thou shalt understand hereafter.”

Some of these dark things we may see made plain in this world. Jacob lived to understand the strange providence which took Joseph away from him. Joseph lived to understand what the Lord was doing with him in his youth when he allowed him to be so cruelly dealt with. The disciples of Christ lived to understand the dark enigma of their Master’s life which so perplexed them, — the mystery of the rejected, suffering, dying Messiah. Many people live to see in their after-years an out come of beauty and blessing in experiences which, when they first entered them, appeared only dark and destructive. The old man sitting in the quiet of life’s evening sees bright rainbows in the very bosom of the clouds now receding, which, when they were passing over his head, were black with tempest.

One writes of two views of life; first, of life as it appears to childhood, and then as it looks to old age. The child has not yet come up t<7 the perplexities of human experience.

“Sweet face of childhood — Thou lookest out on life with trusting eyes, Unknowing yet the awful mysteries Of sin and sorrow, want and grief and pain; For thine is perfect innocence. Yet some day thou shalt know the pain of life, And all its stern and hard realities. God shield thee when that searching day shall come!

The old man has passed through all the mystery of life’s trial, and sees now the finished work, the results of discipline, the gold purified and minted.

“Sweet face of age —

Thou lookest out on life full trustingly;

Yet thou hast known the darkest mysteries

Which compass and ensnare the souls of men,

For thou regardest all the woes of life

As but the blows which call the statue forth

From out the marble; thou hast learned

That fire consumes the dross, refines the gold;

And thou hast found at last behind it all

Infinite love and wisdom infinite,

Till now thou standest face to face with God.”

Thus, much of the mystery of providence becomes clear even in the present life. We have only to be patient and wait a little while to see the unveilings of the completed work, the coming to sweet and mellow ripeness of the fruit that seemed bitter at the first, the working out in blessed beauty of the dark enigma of providence which so perplexed us.

But there are other cases in which the explanation is not made in this world. Human life is too short for the finishing of all the work of divine love which begins in darkness. If life ended at the grave, we might not be able at all times to say that God is just and equal in his dealings with men. Some good people’s lives seem to be all darkness and trial, with no explanation, no revealing of good. There are wrongs not righted here. There are good men misunderstood, maligned, misrepresented, bear ing the odium of false accusation, suffering for the sins of others, and waiting all their years for vindication which comes not, at last dying with the shadow upon their name. If there were no life beyond death we could not always say that God’s ways are equal.

But life goes on, on the other side of the grave, and there will be time enough there for the fullest outworking of all earth’s unfinished providences. All wrongs will there be righted and all perplexities solved. The shadows of injustice that have hung over good men in this world will vanish, and the names bearing reproach here without cause will shine forth like the stars. “What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt understand hereafter.”