Article July 22, 1916 Issue

Voices in the Wilderness

LOUISE SATTERTHWAITE

It was early on a summer morning that one just awakening from sleep heard through an open window the faint, soft song of a wood-thrush from a leafy covert some half a mile distant. Remote yet clear, it fell upon the heart like the chime of bells, or like waters falling into a forest pool. After an interval of a few minutes it was repeated, its purity and sweetness like a benediction.

Years before this occurrence the listener had found Christian Science, that most precious of all things, so that the waking thought was always one of rejoicing and of thankfulness. On this occasion, as the bird's voice spoke again and again, somehow it seemed to epitomize all of the hidden beauty, the secret joy, the never-failing spring of delight which had been known since the demonstrable knowledge of God, as it is taught in Christian Science, had been found. Then there came to thought these words of the prophet Isaiah, referring to John the Baptist: "The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God." A voice crying in the wilderness, ! Such was indeed the thrush; yet out upon the world, as the light grew clearer, it carried to all listening ears its message of peace and joy and purity. Safe and secure, quite alone, around it only silence and coolness, it trilled forth from the fulness of its heart just its own song of thankfulness; and echoing perhaps in many hearts, its message found response and evoked in them love and joy and peace, which in their turn would uplift and cheer the world wherever reflected.

Is not each Christian Scientist a voice crying in the wilderness, whether his place is in the shop, the mart, or the workroom? The wilderness—the worse than wilderness of material life—claims to surround him with all of its uncleanness, its rush and roar, its grime, its contention. To be loving and grateful, to strive towards purity, to labor to think aright just where he is, to utter that voice which though faint and small will surely cry in the wilderness with a sound that is heard more than the clangor of brazen trumpet. Such a one, though he may seemingly be alone and neglected, nevertheless is doing good, and his song of right thinking and right endeavor will rest and refresh many weary hearts far and near, more than he himself can know. Day by day as he is grateful, as he strives to conquer fear, to have more love, that song will be more sweet, more clear, more helpful; and he as well as those he helps will be more blessed.

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