The Parable of the House Party and the Weather

by Elder James E. Talmage
The Parables of James E. Talmage, p.45-53

Once upon a time there was a party at our home, even as there had been parties before and have been since; but this one was out of the ordinary. A small company of girls, chums and guests of our girls, had come to spend a few days together, as girls like to do. When was it? Ah, the years have sped their way with swift wings since then! Every one of that gladsome, winsome, lovely and lovable bevy of girls is now a matron in her own right, lovable as ever, with girls of their own—to say nothing of the boys. Never mind the boys; this part of our story has to do with girls. Boys did not count, except as mustn’t-meddle lookers-on, in that little house party far back in the yesteryears.

I was a looker-on too, a privileged one in a limited sense, being let into little secrets and whispered conspiracies—for there were factions in the party, each trying to out-do the others in plotting and scheming for the happiness of all.

Blessed be the faculty of recollection! Cheer and comfort come to me tonight as I write—for the indestructible kineograph of the past is clear and brilliant.

The party was a joyous one and a goodly. Every waking hour was provided for with program varied and full. Wholesome fun and frolic had their place, as had reading, music, and story-telling, with just enough of seriousness to make stimulating contrast. Outdoor activities in the early autumn days, with cozy gathering before the open fire or attendance at theatre or concert in the evening was the usual order.

On my arrival home once at dusk I was forcibly seized—a not unwilling prisoner—and was dragged into the kitchen to view the preparations for next days picnic. The display was appetizingly tempting. There was to be an early start, for the proposed hike led up City Creek Canyon, thence on beyond Black Mountain, with Dry Canyon as the homeward stretch.

The cumulate knowledge of the group was all-sufficient. They were sure of the trail, where they had to leave the canyon road; they knew just where the late flowers were to be found, where to get the best view of massive limestone walls and crags, where to look for the weathered-out "stone lilies"—those fossilized crinoids that tell of ocean life millenniums ago—all of this and much more. Oh, the joys of anticipation!

I entered into the gladsome spirit of it all, and when released from custody went into my room. Glancing by habit at the barometer hanging above my desk I noted that a very considerable fall in air pressure had occurred during the day, and, as a later reading showed, this was still in progress. A test with the hygrometer demonstrated that the humidity of the atmosphere was unusually high. These observations led at an examination of weather data in the day’s paper.

When the evening dinner was finished, as the girls were about to hasten from the table, I ventured to advise that they change their program for the next day and enjoy themselves at or near home, postponing the canyon trip. Then came the inevitable "Why?"

"Because of bad weather: a heavy storm is coming tomorrow." Disappointment was plainly manifest; this led to amazement, and in turn to dismay. I was pulled to the open door, then pushed outside, and was rather peremptorily told to look at the stars. I looked: they were all there, in their places and shining brightly. Questions were put. How could I stand beneath so glorious a sky and speak of rain and wind for the morrow? The prediction, the warning, the advice were repeated; and, of course, the forecaster was made to know that he was very unpopular, then and there. Verily, that poor prophet was without honor in his own household.

Next morning the barometric reading was lower still. No, the barometer had not fallen; to say that it had would be to follow a loose and inaccurate style of speech, all too common. The instrument still hung above my desk, and hangs there yet; but on that bright morning it showed that the atmospheric pressure had decreased or fallen during the night.

At the breakfast table the weather-prophet found his chair shifted from its usual place; it was set so that the direct sunlight would fall upon its plate, if not in his face. After appreciation of the lovely weather had been impressively voiced, somebody made a remark, casual of course, about there being different kinds of prophets. One smiling miss, who was a student in a Church school and whom I had observed in the act of returning the Bible to its place as I came down to breakfast, said that she remembered something in Deuteronomy, eighteenth chapter as she vaguely recalled, about the test of a true prophet being that his predictions came to pass; but weather-prophets were not specifically mentioned in that chapter, she added. The weather-prophet reiterated his forecast and counsel of the following evening, with even greater certainty and earnestness.

"Father," said one of our girls, "if you say we mustn’t go today, of course we won’t. Do you really mean that we must not?"

"No, indeed," was the reply; "I know we shall have a storm today; and to be overtaken by it in the canyon or on the mountain would be not only disagreeable but dangerous. So I advise you to stay near home. But you may do as you please."

The girls went into executive session; a decision was soon reached—to start at once and go as far as they could while the weather was fair; and that if any really threatening signs appeared they would turn back.

We left the house at about the same time, the girls and I, they for the canyon, I for the office, they with lunch-baskets, cameras, and other accessories, I with rain-coat on arm and umbrella in hand. And the sun was still shining, though clouds could be seen in the north and west.

By early afternoon the sky was darkening, then blackened. Before long lightning flashed and thunder rolled, while the wind roared in fury. The Storm King was abroad, with a mighty army in full action. The possibility of torrents in the canyons caused me concern. I went home early, with mackintosh and umbrella in good service, and with a half-formed plan of enlisting aid and setting out to find the girls. Anxiety was soon dispelled, however. I arrived just in time to witness the return of the bedraggled brigade.

A quick count showed all present, but in what a state! Have you ever seen a flock of chickens rushing for shelter after having been caught afield in a heavy downpour? Never mind answering; the question may have nothing to do with the story—irrelevant indeed.

A bath, dry clothing and dinner restored the feminine spirits to a condition near normal gaiety. They laughed over their misadventures and had much to tell. However, one of the girls guardedly expressed a thought that brought a serious look to every countenance; commotion followed. Then came the most grievous tragedy of the day:

They blamed the weather-prophet for it all—for the rain and the wind, the lightning and thunder, the soaked sandwiches, the torn dresses, and for the loss of sundry articles dropped in the hurried retreat. Why had he cast so evil a spell over them, with his barometer, his hygrometer, and his magical conjurations? Later, they came to understand—in part, at least.

Thank you, girls as you were, women as you are—thank you, each and all, for the good food of thought with which you have served me. I too find it difficult, sometimes, to understand; but is it not so with all of us?

We are prone to confound foreknowledge with cause; and this weakness of ours, absurdly inconsistent, illogical and childish though it be, is particularly manifest in our appraisement of Divine prophecy and its fulfillment. In mercy the Lord warns and forewarns. He sees the coming storm, knows the forces operating to produce it, exhorts, aye, even commands—that we prepare for what is about to befall and take shelter while yet there is time.

But we go our several ways, feasting and making merry, consoling conscience with the easy fancy of "time enough" and in idle hope that the tempest will pass us by, or that, when it begins to gather thick and black about us we can turn back and find shelter.

So has it been, so it is likely to be, else history is no indicator of futurity. Man is self-centered and selfish; he follows his bent for pleasure, wealth, power, ignoring the barometer of advancing time, though it signals change and turmoil as surely as did the writing in the wall at Belshazzar’s impious feast. When the storm bursts—in war, pestilence, famine, earthquake or destruction in general—he attributes evil to the prophets who spake and to the God who gave them utterance.

Pray be not hasty in denying parallelism between the experience of the girls in our story and that of mankind with respect to the great events of history. It may be thought that prophetic warning, based on foreknowledge of approaching calamity, would be unnecessary and void if God, who knows all and is almighty—omniscient and omnipotent—chose to avert the impending disaster. True, the human forecaster, depending upon present observations, can tell of coming events only as they cast their shadows before; but one may say that Deity can so order things that there would be no looming disasters to cast shadows and follow them with dread reality. This fragmental thought may be shaped to mean that God could prevent the coming of the storm if He would.

Admittedly so, in a narrow sense; but would He? By another conception one may rationally and without irreverence ask: Could He? As to the attributes of Deity, enough has been revealed to make us know that God operates through law—Divine law—and it follows that He does not violate law. Therefore God cannot arbitrarily, capriciously, prevent or set aside the results of obedience or disobedience to law.

To the children of Israel in the olden days, after they had been brought up to Egypt into the land of promise, Jehovah presented two panoramas, of contrast as strong as that between noon and midnight. One showed blessings surpassing all rational expectation, assurance of rich harvests and thriving flocks, of individual and national prosperity; the other depicted misfortune and loss, captivity and servitude. The realization of the one or the other, of blessing or cursing, was contingent upon their fidelity in righteousness or their high treason in sin.

As it became apparent that Israel had chosen the evil alternative, the Lord brought before them again and again the picture of impending distress. He pleaded with them as a father with a wayward son; He commanded and threatened, but they would not heed. In time came the Assyrian captivity, later the Babylonian, and then subjugation by Rome. In accord with the fateful prophecy voiced by Amos, Israel has been scattered amongst the nations "like as corn is sifted in a sieve."

All this was foreknown to Israel’s God—yes, and more, for beyond the dispersion He saw the gathering of His people, now in progress. Did Jehovah, whose prescience embraced the events of centuries and millenniums, bring the curse upon Israel, or did Israel bring it upon themselves?

God reads the future of child and children, of men individually and of men collectively as communities and nations. He knows what each will do under given conditions and see the end from the beginning. His foreknowledge springs from intelligence and supreme wisdom. He sees the future as a state which in the sequence of events will be, not as one which must be because He has willed that it shall be.

The predicted judgments of the last days, now manifest, are just and, withal, beneficent. They were divinely foretold, and the way of escape or protection was prepared aforetime.

So may we apply our parabolic story of the girls and the weather.