Unreality

“The fashion of this world passeth away.’*

I Cor. vii. 31.

THE word translated “fashion” literally M

means ‘’ stage scenery.” Paul does not mean that everything on earth is W perishable, but that every unreal thing is perishable. Stage scenery is unreal scenery. It does not represent the actual facts of the greenroom. Many an actor is bringing down the house with laughter when his own heart is breaking. Paul saw that a great deal of life is simply stage acting — concealment of the greenroom. How many kind things are spoken, not in order to reveal, but in order to cover! How many gifts are sent, not for your sake, but for the sake of the donor! How many blandishments are lavished for a vote! How many visits are paid for a subscription! Paul says all this unreality will pass away. When will it pass away? At death, you say. No; death does not reveal the reality of life. Death does not tear away the mask from the face of my brother. Death is itself a mask, itself an unreality. So far from causing the stage scenery to vanish, it is itself the climax of illusion. It is not to death I look; it is to love. Love is the great dispeller of unreality. Love is the great emancipator from stage scenery. Love is the true rending of the veil between this world and the world to come.

My soul, I have heard thee speak of life as a vain show. It is rather the zuant of life that is a vain show. It is thy life’s unreality that makes it vanity. I have heard thee speak of death as the revealer of delusions; it is itself the biggest delusion of all. It is the deadening effect of the worldly fashion that makes that fashion unreal to thee. It paralyses energy; it curbs spontaneity. Not by drawing near the grave shalt thou learn life’s reality. Thou shalt learn it by leaving the grave further behind. Why sayest thou that all things are levelled in the tomb! They are not; there is stage scenery even in the funeral pageant. Love is the only leveller; fly to the bosom of love! In vain shalt thou vander in the cemetery; in vain shalt thou count the tombstones; in vain shalt thou read the inscriptions on the graves — they will teach thee nothing of life’s reality. But love will. Love will rend the drapery and let thee see through. Love will tear the mask and show thee the man. Love will break the illusion that lights the stage of time. Love will detect the false ring of the pretending gold. Love will see the true gem in many an ^enpretentious casket. Love will discover the greenroom where hides the real life of the actor. Fly to the bosom of love, O my soul!