VANITY OF HUMAN LIFE WHEN SEPARATED FROM GOD

"For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away." -- I Peter 1:24.

     When Peter left all to follow Jesus, the forsaking was just as difficult and the cross just as heavy as though broad acres and shining treasures were left behind. When the mantle of the aged Elijah fell on the youthful Elisha, the young man forsook his earthly prospects along with his plows, "farewelled" his friends and kissed his parents, and left his self-seeking life for service for others, and by so doing P. he inscribed his name in God's hall of fame.

     In like manner Peter forsook his nets, bid good-bye to the old haunts so endeared by the association of years, threw over his worldly prospects and followed the lowly, despised Nazarene, but in so doing he wrote his name high among the great men of the earth. Yes, he brought up from the depths his name which would otherwise have gone down in forgetfulness along with thousands of others who have preferred their nets to the service of the Master.

     Our humble fisherman proved that all the glory of man is as the flower of the grass, and received in its stead the glory that comes from God, and heard the Master of ocean and earth and sky declare "Blessed art thou, Simon Barjona."

     This passage reveals the vanity of human life when untouched by divinity:

     I. Because of the shortness of time.

     II. Because of the emptiness of human glory.

     I. The shortness of time. Time is but a tiny island in the midst of the vast ocean of eternity. Compared with eternity the longest life is but a breath, a flower, the passing of a shadow.

     When the writer was suffering with typhoid fever, a dear friend brought a beautiful chrysanthemum and put it in a vase at his bedside. With nothing else to do the patient lay hour after hour and admired the glory and symmetry of its snowy white petals. But soon with a feeling of sadness he saw it begin to fade. Brown spots appeared on it's once wax like petals, decay had begun. Taking the flower in his hand, he quoted the words of Isaiah: "The voice said, Cry, And he said, What shall I cry? All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof as the flower of the field: The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: because the spirit of the Lord bloweth upon it: surely the people is grass. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth, but the word of our God shall stand forever."

     Did you ever in your mind's eye watch the younger generation crowding their elders off the stage of action, and then pressing forward themselves to their own inevitable end? Our fathers, where are they? and the prophets, do they live forever? Generations, ages, centuries, yea, thousands of years, have been told, and still the sad story of sickness, pain, death and sorrow goes on until the head grows sick and the heart faint.

     The old man, tottering on the verge of eternity, declares that the events of his boyhood days are as vivid as though they transpired but yesterday. The memories of the old swimming hole, the beech woods, the hillside pasture, the daisy field, the fishing excursions, the skating pond, the little red schoolhouse, his playmates and youthful sorrows, joys and loves come crowding into his fireside reveries until tears of genuine loneliness chase each other down his furrowed, careworn cheeks.

     I sit 'mid the scenes of my childhood,

     The scenes which fond memory loves;

     I roam by its brooks, in its meadows,

     O'er its hillocks, in shadowy groves.

    I sit once again by the mill pond,

     I watch the gay squirrel at play,

     I list to the blithe robin warble

     By her nest at the close of the day.

    I welcome the voice of my mother,

     As she calls from the dear cottage door;

     My father, my brothers, my sisters,

     The circle is welded once more.

    I stroll through the fields now deserted,

     Where swift boyhood's feet used to tread;

     I start at the clang of the school bell,

     For it tolls the sad dirge of the dead,

     How little I thought then how transient

     The scenes of my childish delights;

     It seemed they would last on forever,

     But they fled like the stars of the night.

    Thus I sit 'mid the scenes of my childhood,

     And count o'er the friends of the past;

     I cannot but think life is fleeting

     Once the die for its earth stake is cast.

     I think of the voices that cheered me,

     I think of the hearts then so dear,

     As memory brings them before me

     I welcome the heart easing tear.

    And I ask as I count o'er those faces,

     So many have crossed o'er the tide,

     Shall I meet them again in the home land,

     Fore'er on the glory lit side? "

     How sad such a view of things would be with no forward look! An old man, trembling a moment before he sinks into the grave, looking into the jaws of the hungry monster, death, helpless, hopeless, joyless, Christless and heavenless;. Oh, the sadness of that soul whose sun is setting amid the clouds of a misspent life, never again to arise throughout the countless ages of eternity.

     But, thank God, all lives do not end thus. The forward look of the aged Christian's heart causes his wrinkled face to glow with the dawning light of hope and joyous expectation. His earthly sun goes down with all the splendor and glory of the fairest of days. Goes down, did I say? Yes, it sets as far as this world is concerned, but rises again in most effulgent splendor in that land Which needeth not the light of the sun or of a candle, for the Lord God giveth him light and his sun shall never go down.

     II. The emptiness of human glory. The beauty of the flower fades even before the grass withers, in like manner the glory of man often fades before his body decays.

     How little it takes to turn the tide of human glory! The crowd which shouts for the hero today will hiss him off the stage tomorrow. The beauty which is so admired today will be as a faded leaf tomorrow. The wealth of today will burst as a bubble and be gone tomorrow. "What is your life? It is even a vapor, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away." Take a look along the ages and generations of the past. The wicked have reigned in great pomp and have spread themselves as a green bay tree, they have Established themselves as the cedars of Lebanon and have thought they would continue as the everlasting hills; but the Lord blew upon them and they were not, yea, their place shall know them no more forever.

     Generations crowd swiftly in the footsteps of generations gone before. The old man dies and is buried, and his son crowds rapidly into his place and this man in turn is jostled off the scene by his children who follow. Oh man, mortal man, born but for one brief day! Why, oh, why should you refuse to open your sin blinded eyes and behold your end? Why should you refuse to see that the end of a life of sin is sorrow eternal? Why should you refuse to see that the end of a life of godly consecration is everlasting joy?

     As angry waves beat 'gainst the rock-bound shore,

     And foam with rage, and loudly roar:

     So terribly doth rushing time speed on,

     It passes and for'er Is gone.

Swift as the red winged lightnings fly,

     And flash across the angry sky;

     More swiftly time doth hurry on its way,

     Yet men will laugh instead of pray.

 Eager as a war-horse to the fray,

     Where hungry waves of carnage play;

     Undaunted thus doth time speed in its flight,

     'Tis day a while, then endless night.

Fiercer than the cyclone's roaring breath,

     Upon whose wings is borne grim death;

     More fiercely still doth time speed on its course,

     Life now, but soon the shroud and hearse.

Swifter than worlds wheel on their onward march,

     Or planets sweep the spangled arch;

     So swift, and swifter, doth your earth life speed,

     To grasp FOREVER in its greed.

 Eternal years wheel towards you in their flight,

     Be quick, escape eternal night;

     This hour you live and seek for earthly joys,

     This next, dread death your hope destroys.