LETTER IX
AMERICA’S GOOD FRIDAY
April 6, 1917.
IT is past midnight. It is Good Friday. Momentous decisions for the world and for all time are heavy in the souls of men.
On the day that this day stands for, in the long ago, a man (who was also a god) stood forth alone for the ideas of love and human brotherhood. At last, after all these years, the thing for which he died may be realized. But there was a crucifixion on that Friday, centuries ago.
I have brought you from a far-away shore that you might witness a great struggle in the souls of men. You have arrived at a centre.[1]
To-day, in thousands of churches throughout Christendom, prayers will be offered to the god-man who died that the god in man might live. To-day in millions of hearts the cross will be set up.
It is so still here at midnight, at a few minutes past midnight on this day of days.
Christianity has arisen, and presses forward to Golgotha to witness an event.
Pray! Prayer is the affirmation by the soul of its unity with the One. War is the affirmation of the soul of its separateness from many.
Love your enemies. It is the only way that you can conquer them.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] I had arrived in New York a few hours before after a long sojourn in California.