We owe everything good and beautiful to our visions. They lead us to higher things, showing glimpses of character and achievement beyond what we’ve reached, stirring discontent with our present and a longing to climb.
An artist sees something lovely and paints it. An inventor dreams of a blessing for the world, broods over it, and finally gives it form. Columbus was a dreamer. While others believed there was nothing beyond the sea, he saw a continent and heard the bidding, “Go and find it!” Laughed at by scholars, he sailed forth and discovered a new world. All progress comes through those who dream and follow their visions.
One promised result of the Holy Spirit’s coming was fuller life: “Your young men will see visions, and your old men will dream dreams.” It’s assumed the old no longer dream — that their work is done. But death is not the end. Life continues infinitely. Paul was old when he said, “forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before.” Philippians 3:13. The aged must keep their hearts young, their love strong, and their sympathy alive. Though the body weakens, the spirit can still burn with holy fire.
Old men are for counsel. Their experience is needed. “Your old men will dream dreams” — of beauty, service, and love — and then seek to bring them to life. Miracles may cease in one sense, but heaven’s communication has not. God still puts into men’s hearts desires, hopes, and calls to kindness.
A legend tells of Martin, a soldier, who one winter night met a poor beggar. All he had was his cloak. He cut it in half and gave one part to the man. That night, he saw a vision of Christ wearing the half-cloak. “This cloak,” said the King, “has Martin given to me.” Every human need we encounter is a vision of Christ appealing to us. When we serve, we serve Him.
Visions also come through beautiful lives. We all know someone whose presence inspires us to live better — not by words or reproof, but by gentleness, purity, and peace. One said of another, “When I meet him, the air is sweeter.” Some lives command reverence. Even the irreverent fall silent in their company. Every rare Christian life awakens a heavenly vision in others. If we grasped our influence, we would never dare to live carelessly.
“Your young men will see visions.” When the Spirit fills our lives, we glimpse what we might become. His coming is like spring to wintered fields — awakening life.
But not all visions are heavenly. If the Spirit pervades us, our visions are holy. If the spirit of evil rules, our visions debase. A vision of the world’s need for Christ inspires missionary zeal. Yet many Christians turn from sinners as if nothing can be done for them. But these are the ones who most need our compassion.
A man walking the docks in Liverpool saw piles of dirty cloth. In his mind, he saw fine garments made from them — and made it so. When we look at outcast lives, we should not see what they are, but what they might become: children of God. This vision compels us to reach the lost.
Yet some dream beautiful things but never bring them to life. Some believe prayer alone will take the place of toil. But prayer cannot replace obedience, labor, or sacrifice. You cannot pray yourself into character or pray a vision into reality. Sometimes prayer is not our duty.
Adam Clarke, the great commentator, was asked by a young preacher how he rose so early. “Do you pray about it?” the young man asked. “No,” Clarke replied, “I get up.”
Some never move toward their ideals, hoping others will tell them the secret. “How do you live without worry or anxiety? I suppose it’s prayer.” The answer is, “No — I do it.” Prayer is sacred and powerful, but it will not do the work we are called to do. You must live your dreams. The artist doesn’t pray his vision into marble — he labors until the form emerges.
When the Holy Spirit touches a life, it rises to new power. Look at the disciples after Pentecost. Once timid and fearful, they became bold, eloquent, world-changing men.
Emerson said, “What I need is someone to make me do what I can.” Most of us fall short of our potential. A true friend doesn’t coddle us but inspires us to our best. The greatest gift a friend can give is a vision of nobleness and the encouragement to pursue it.
God has given us these wonderful lives — but we do not know how to use them until the Spirit breathes upon us. When we are filled with the Spirit, our young men shall see visions, and our old men shall dream dreams. Then shall our lives reach their best.
J. R. Miller (1840-1912) was a pastor and former editorial superintendent of the Presbyterian Board of Publication from 1880 to 1911. His works are now in the public domain. This is an edited version of his original.
