nt life, physical and mental
and of the spirit.

John "_was not the light_." He was only the candlestick. And he was
content to be that. He was a good candlestick. The light was held up. It
could shine out. How grateful the crowd was. The road had been so dark.
It is a bad thing when light and candlestick change places. The crowd
seems to get the two confused sometimes. We get to thinking that the
candlestick is the light, and the light is--lost sight of. We gather
about the candlestick. It'll surely lead the way out through the dark
night into day. It's such a good candlestick, so highly polished. And
sometimes the human candlestick itself gets things a bit mixed. It
thinks, then it feels, then it knows, with a peculiar quality of
self-assertive certainty, that after all _it_ is the light that
lighteth every one that is so blessed as to come within the radius of
its shining. And brass does take a high polish, and makes an attractive
appearance. It does send out a sparkle and radiance _if_ only it is
somewhere within range of some real light, patient enough to keep on
shining in the dark, regardless of non-appreciation or misrepresentation
or misunderstanding.

Is it any wonder the road is so full of people wandering in the night
gathered about candlesticks? Is it surprising that the ditches are so
full of men and candlesticks mixed up and mired up together? Yet it is
always heart-breaking. There may be talent and training of the highest
and best, and scholarship and culture, eloquence and skill, institutions
and philanthropies. And there is so much of these. And these are good in
themselves, and of priceless practical worth when seen and held in their
right relation to _the_ thing.

But it needs to be said often and earnestly: _these are not the light_.
They are given to point men better to the Light. They're road-signs,
index-fingers. And they are seen at their best when they point to the
Light so clearly that the crowd quite forgets them in hastening to the
Light they point out. They serve their true purpose in being so
forgotten. They are still serving and serving best even while forgotten.

The Real Thing of Light.

And John goes on to intensify yet more what he is thinking and saying:
_there was the true light_, _the real thing of light_. They were
bothered, in John's old age when he is writing, with false lights,
make-pretend lights, that led people astray. Every generation seems to
have been so bothe