Editorial March 1, 1941 Issue

Production

Evelyn F. Heywood

In the radiance of its beauty, in the ease and abundance of its increase, nature symbolizes the magnitude of God's spiritual creation. Mountains and forests, scarlet-dipped fields of poppies, woods softly carpeted with primroses, flooded to the brim with bluebells, defy statistics, and indicate an infinity of bestowals. "Consider the lilies of the field," said Jesus, "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."

Weighted with the responsibilities of life, bowed with the toil and turmoil of production, strained often almost to breaking point with the seeming excess of demand and insufficiency of supply, men grow fainthearted and dullminded. In the midst of the superabundance of nature they fail to comprehend its example, or to lay hold of the true means and measure of its multiplication. "All nature teaches God's love to man," writes Mary Baker Eddy on page 326 of "Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures," "but man cannot love God supremely and set his whole affections on spiritual things, while loving the material or trusting in it more than in the spiritual."

As men cease to love or trust in the material, their joy in the beauty of sky and landscape, of tree and blossom, does not lessen, but increases. Any sense of sadness which may sometimes have assailed them in comparing the grandeur and beauty they behold with that which has not escaped the cruel revenge and ruthless exploitation of evil minds, is replaced by the vision of a spiritual universe, where not only the lilies but every idea, clad in a glory surpassing Solomon's, shows forth God's love in universal loveliness.

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