LESSONS FROM NATURE by Arthur K. Fox

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Feb 3, 1904

LESSONS FROM NATURE.

By Arthur K. Fox

The Lily.

BY ARTHUR K. FOX.

"CONSIDER the lilies of the field." Matt. 6: 28. As the Saviour sat upon the mountain, bedecked with flowers, and with His disciples gathered near Him, He picked a flower, and holding it up, said, "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin. And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." "Consider the lilies," does not mean only to look at them; it is not only to admire them; it is not only to think about them. It means to think thoroughly, but rather let us render it, "Be still, and let them preach to you."

The good Lord gives us the anointed eye, the opened ear, and the tuned heart. So we will listen while the lily begins its sermon. "I come from God," it says. "He sent me with His love, and bade me say that the heavenly Father careth for you." Look at it—the beauty of the shape; its exquisite color; the powdered gold; the grace of stock. "Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." If God makes flowers, I do not think I need be afraid of Him. If God cares so much for flowers, He must be very kind and patient and gentle.

What images and thoughts of God the world had in the old time, and what thoughts some men have still! When the mountain flamed and melted, the people fled, crying, "Let not God speak with us, lest we die." The prophet sought for Him in the fire that fused the solid rock and ran along the ground, and in the whirlwind that swept and roared resistless in its might, and in the earthquake that shook the solid hills; but lo! He cometh who hath seen the Father and saith, "Consider the lilies."

I have known men who did not care for flowers. They have been so taken up with business that their hearts have been asphalted, as hard and barren as the city streets, trodden by the restless feet of a thousand fretting thoughts, and where the heavy wagons of their cares go rumbling all the day and far into the night. They have no room for what they call sentiment.

The children are troublesome and are banished into the nursery; the birds are noisy and should be shot; and as for the flower garden, they would turn it into a potato ground, unless flowers pay better—then they like flowers. Now I might go to such people for advice; they know all the good investments; they are sharp, shrewd, what the world calls clever.

But I would never dream of going to them for pity, for sympathy, for help. But I hold the flower in my hand, and I feel at once how gracious He must be who makes the flowers; how pitiful, how patient, how tender; with what care and skill He deals with things. These are the proof and pledge of His tenderness. "If He so clothe the flower of the field"—the common flower of the hedgerow and the pasture—"shall He not much more clothe you." "He invites us to take our trials to His sympathy, our sorrows to his love, our wounds to His healing, our weakness to His strength, our emptyness to His fullness. Never has one been disappointed who came to Him."

Shall He not deck and adorn His children? Shall He not array them in beauty, if He so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is gone?

The beauty of the Lord our God is to be upon us. He who teaches the birds their song, how it must grieve Him when His children speak harsh, angry, unkind words.

He who makes the daisy, the peeping violet, and the lily so beautiful, how it must hurt Him when His children are hideous with envy, ugly with pride, mean and selfish. What a blot and stain upon His fair creation!

Again, consider the lilies and see how He delights to give. In poor-houses and prisons—alas! that we should have to put them together, and that poverty should be treated so much as if it were a crime—the food is allowanced, the weight exact, lest a bit too much should be given—bread to the crumb and rice to the grain.

They may claim enough for bare existence, but must not ask for more. Even pity and kindness find their limits in men's wants. They look up what they can spare and give their scraps and cast-offs. But love, glad love, can not bear to weigh and measure. Love can not limit itself to wants and stop there. Love must give its luxuries; love must lavish its best, its all. Bring out the best robe, the ring for the finger, the shoes for the feet—all these are luxuries, not necessaries, in Palestine—and bring hither the fatted calf, the daintiest and best. Flowers are the overflow of God's love, the luxuries thrown in.

It is much that He should give us bread to eat, and water to drink, and light to see by, and air to breathe; but these can not satisfy. His love must go further, and He sends us the flowers, and bids them bring the assurance, Your heavenly Father careth for you.

St. Helena, Cal.