Recent attempts toward peace have been in the direction of disarmament. Why the move to disarm has thus far largely failed is explained in a clever parable by Winston Churchill: Once upon a time all the animals in the zoo decided they would disarm, and they arranged to hold a conference to decide the matter. The rhinoceros said that the use of teeth in war was barbarous and horrible, and ought strictly to be prohibited by general consent. Horns, which were mainly defensive weapons, would, of course, have to be allowed. The buffalo, stag, and porcupine said they would vote with the rhino, but the lion and the tiger took a different view. They defended teeth, and even claws, as honorable weapons. Then the bear spoke. He proposed that both teeth and horns should be banned. It would be quite enough if animals would be allowed to give each other a good hug when they quarreled. No one could object to that. It was so fraternal and would be a great step toward peace. However, all the other animals were offended with the bear, and they fell into a perfect panic.—New Century Leader.
"Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid" (John 14:27).
Did you ever think that when Christ was dying on the cross he made a will? Perhaps you have thought that no one ever remembered you in a will. If you are in the kingdom Christ remembered you in His will. He willed His body to Joseph of Arimathea; He willed His Mother to John, the son of Zebedee; and He willed His spirit back to His Father. But to His disciples He said: "My peace, I leave that with you; that is My legacy. My joy, I give that to you."
"My joy," think of it! "My peace"—not our peace, but His peace!
They say that a man cannot make a will now that lawyers cannot break, and drive a four-in-hand right straight through it. I will challenge them to break Christ's will. Let them try it. No judge or jury can set that aside. Christ rose to execute His own will. If He had left us a lot of gold, thieves would have stolen it in the first century; but He left His peace and His joy for every true believer, and no power on earth can take it from him who trusts.—D. L. Moody.
A Cambridge undergraduate was much impressed with a preacher who had an arresting message and a lovely face, with a calm and peaceful expression. "I should suppose," said the university man, "that preacher spends most of his time in prayer and preparation in his study, apart from the din and noise of ordinary life." Smiling rather knowingly, the older friend said, "Would you like to meet him?" The young man said he would, and they arranged to meet on a Monday morning outside of St. Paul's Cathedral. Pushing his way through the swinging doors of a large London counting-house, the old friend introduced his young companion to the man with the beautiful message and calm countenance, sitting at his desk immersed in business. "My young friend is very anxious about your occupation," said the older man. "My occupation, my boy? My occupation is to wait for His Son from Heaven, and meanwhile I make buttons."—Evangelical Christian
It makes a great deal of difference by whom our sin is covered. The trusted agent of a large firm had, in time of unusual expense, run past his allowance, and had taken company funds for a wrong use. He became distressed for fear he would be discovered and regarded as a criminal. Thinking to gain advice he disclosed his trouble to a fellow agent, who responded, "Oh, don't worry, I can cover that up for you!" "But you're not the man to cover it up," he replied, and he went straight to the head of the firm and explained everything to him. "You've made a serious mistake," said the man, "but I'll cover the discrepancy for you this time," and he wrote a check for the amount. "Ah, if you cover it, I am all right!" said the relieved man. When God forgives a man his sin, he finds a peace which he had never known before.—The Christian Life Missionary.
Many, many years ago, when the city of Cincinnati was just a little frontier town, a wild rumor of Red Indian bands on the warpath was brought to the settlers, and many of them fled to a neighboring fort for safety. For it was different from Pennsylvania, where William Penn, the great Quaker leader, had made peace with the Indians, and saved the homes of the Friends from the perils which surrounded people who had not dealt justly with the savages, and so feared their revenge.
But there was one man who did not go to the fort, for he belonged to the people of Pennsylvania. It was George Fox, who said that he strove to live "in the power of that Spirit which takes away the occasion of all war." It seemed to this Friend right, that, like Penn, he and his family should trust in the better way of peace and good will. So they stayed on in their little log hut, and did not get any guns or other weapons ready to defend themselves if the savage Indians came; but they often prayed together, and gave themselves into the keeping of that God who said, "I will never fail thee, nor forsake thee."
In those days the fastening of a door was often a heavy wooden latch, which was raised from the outside by a thong made of deer skin. This latch string was pulled inside when there was no admittance. To say "the latch string is out" meant that visitors were welcome. And so it generally was in the home of which we are telling.
But one night, when they were going to bed, the Friend drew in his latch string! After this was done his wife could not sleep; and at last she told him how uneasy it made her feel. It did not seem as if they were really trusting in the way of love and good will. He was beginning to feel that way, too, so he got up and put the string out again.
Then, before long, they heard the Indians coming, and the hut was surrounded. There was a Babel of wild cries and savage war-whoops as the Indians tried the door. But then they grew quiet, and presently began to steal away.
The Friend and his family rose and crept to the window to watch. On the edge of the forest they had stopped, sitting down to hold a council, as Indians do, talking things over together. Perhaps the pioneers' heart began to sink, as they thought, "Suppose they all come hack again!" "Suppose they have only been waiting to decide whether to kill us or to take us prisoners!" They had heard such awful stories of the Indians.
But soon a tall chief in war-paint left the rest and came slowly back to the cabin. He carried in his hand a long white feather and he reached up and fastened this at the top of the door. Then in a few minutes all the Indians were gone!
There the white feather hung for a long time, and the summer suns shone on it, and it swayed about in the winter winds which swept across the prairie, but they never took it down. For a friendly Indian, who spoke English, had told them that it meant, "This is the house of a man of Peace. Do no harm." He had heard that the band of Indians felt sure that any man who would leave his door open to the stranger and welcome all who came was not a man to be harmed.—Gospel Herald.