Dr. Luther, after his inimitable fashion, once remarked: "The Lord's
Prayer is the greatest martyr upon earth. It is a pity above all
pity that such a prayer by such a Master should be so terribly
abused in all the earth. Many pray the Lord's Prayer a thousand
times a year, and though they prayed it a thousand years, yet have
they not properly prayed one letter thereof."
It is a sweeping and striking assertion. The truth of his remarks,
however, who would wish to contest? Take, in evidence, the words
of the text. The opening words of that divine prayer taught by the
Lord Himself are indeed familiar words,--no service but we recite
them, no day but a Christian ought to recite them; yet, have we ever
regarded the deep significance that is contained, the inspiration
that is hidden, in them? A little reflection will prove how
appropriate they are for this day, the beginning of a new year in
civil life.
_Our Father_,--that expresses, I. _trust in God_, II. _obedience in
duty_, III. _submission in affliction_. All these we need for our
encouragement and spiritual profit to-day.
What sacred associations cluster around the word "father"! The
thought of him, _if he was a father indeed_, was inwoven into all
our youthful plans and early ambitions. We knew no worldly care
when we dwelt beneath his sheltering roof; as we grew in years, we
increased also in confidence in him. He was our adviser in doubt,
our protector in danger, our supporter in perplexity. A true father
is the best earthly friend while he is alive, and after he is gone,
there gathers around his memory a halo of tender remembrance.
All that is generous, manly, noble, and wise is to a loving son
treasured up in the word "father." But the earthly significance,
the human fatherhood, does not exhaust the meaning of this blessed
name; it is but a mere pattern and shadow of that relationship
which God sustains to His people. He is a "Father"; we, then, are
His children by nature and adoption, by creation and redemption,
and, as children, we may go to Him, and with all confidence and
boldness ask Him as dear children ask their dear father. And such
confidence, such trustful looking up in faith and reliance to Him as
our Father, is a becoming attitude to-day. We stand upon the shores
of another year, as it lifts itself, veiled in mist, from the great
ocean of the future. Futurity means uncertainty, and uncertainty
suggests anxiety. Say not that it is not so. As God created man,
he is forecasting in his thoughts. It is as easy and natural for
us to have regard to what is before us as it is for the waters of
the Mississippi to flow towards the Gulf. Nor does God forbid it.
Says wise King Solomon: "A wise man deviseth his way." He forms his
plans, he frames his resolutions, he has his ambitions, his object
in life that he wishes to attain. It is not a sign of sanity or of
Christianity to walk into the future blindfolded, irresolutely,
improvidently. The business man who at this time looks over his
stock and ledger and strikes a balance of profit and loss, so
as to make prudent arrangement for the business of the incoming
year, the man of family who gazes upon the members seated about
his table, and, considering demands and expenditures, weighs his
income and ability to make ends meet, or whatever situation you
may be in, or relation you may sustain, an intelligent, provident,
weighing, considering, looking into the future is legitimate, wise,
proper. But that is one thing; another thing, and not an uncommon
thing, rather too prevalent, is to look into the future with fear,
trembling of heart, and anxiety of mind. "Oh, how shall we ever get
through; it's been none too rosy in the past, income scant, debts,
some yet to pay, children growing up, health not to boast of,"--what
a dreadful nightmare these considerations are to many people at the
start of a new year; how it crushes out all good cheer, happiness,
the very thing men are wishing each other!
'Tis foolish, 'tis needless, and godless! A man bending and
staggering along the road under the weight of a heavy load met a
passing wagon; he was invited to get in. He did so, but he still
kept the load on his back. Foolish man! Yet that's the common
attitude. God's chariot drives up to us this morning, overtaking
us on life's way. "Get in, traveler, I will bear thee along," is
the invitation. "Cast all your cares upon me. I will care for you."
"Thank you, kind Lord, but I prefer to bear the load myself." There
is a Being that has brought us into this world,--Father, we call
Him. He is a resourceful Father, having all forces and agencies of
sky, land, and sea, all the operations of men, angels, and beasts at
His command; He is a loving Father; He has pleasure in the children
after His heart. Silly child, you say, that will start to cry and
make a great ado because it has conceived the notion that its
wealthy father cannot feed and clothe it any longer. Is it not just
as incongruous, my dear Christian, for you to perplex yourself with
thoughts of anguish that God cannot provide for you any more? "He
that spared not His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how
shall He not with Him freely give us all things?" He should neglect
His loving providence, leave and forsake thee this year? O ye of
little faith!
In one of the books handed to our children at Christmas time is
the history of a familiar and beautiful German hymn. Reduced by
financial straits to sell his only means of support, his violin, a
poor musician took it to the pawnshop of a Jew. As he gave it up, he
looked lovingly at it, and tearfully asked the Jew if he might play
one more tune upon it. "You don't know," he said, "how hard it is
to part with it. For ten years it has been my companion; if I had
nothing else, I had it. Of all the sad hearts that have left your
door, there has been none so sad as mine." Whereupon, pausing for a
moment, he seized the instrument and commenced a tune so exquisitely
soft that even the Jew listened, in spite of himself. Then, laying
aside the instrument, he said, "As God will," and rushed from the
shop, only to be stopped at the door by a stranger, who, having
listened, said to him, "Could you tell me where I could obtain a
copy of that song? I would willingly give a florin for it." "I will
give it to you without the florin." The stranger happened to be the
Swedish ambassador, and when he heard the poor man's story, his
troubles ended then and there. Redeeming the instrument, he called
his landlady and his friends, and sang, to his own accompaniment,
his own sweet hymn, No. 350 in our hymn-book, of which this is the
first stanza:
Leave God to order all thy ways,
And hope in Him, whate'er betide,
Thou'lt find Him, in the evil days,
Thine all-sufficient strength and guide.
Who trusts in God's unchanging love
Builds on a rock that naught can move.
This is the first reflection that lies in these introductory words,
"Our Father." It expresses trustful looking up to Him at the
beginning of the year. And, _again_, it supplies obedience in duty.
It is a part of the father's relation to direct and control, as well
as provide, for his children. He has a rightful authority over his
household, the right to tell them what to do and how to do. None
other with our heavenly Father.
The new year means new activities, new problems, new duties. With
the morrow the tradesman, the mechanic, and the clerk will return
to the work of his calling, the student to his books, and the
housewife will be as busy as ever before. The great machinery of
secular life will all clatter and hum in all its complexity and
parts. And in the church, there will not, as there dare not be, a
standstill. Much still remains to be done. How shall we face it? In
our own strength? "With might of ours can naught be done, soon were
our loss effected." After our own plans, doing things to suit our
own selves? Is that the way it is in a well-regulated household?
There is one whose law obtains, whose word determines, whose wish
regulates it all. So ought it be with our life's duties. No matter
what may be the occupation of your head and of your hands, whether
you be a physician ministering to the alleviation of human ills, or
a carpenter constructing the earthly home for man to dwell therein,
our blessed Lord was both, physician and carpenter. Whether life's
work finds you busy with the pen, like Matthew, the publican,
sitting at the receipt of custom, or, like Martha, cumbered and
concerned about many things, one reigning principle ought to be
governing it all, as it governed the life of Him who was our example
in all things, this: "My work is to do the will of Him that sent
me."
Begin your work with Him, consecrate it to Him, conduct it with Him.
Serve Him in it. There are two ways of doing everything--with God
and without God. You may go to your work on Monday morning with God
or without God; you may discharge its thousand and one different
details with God or without God; your fellow-workman and companions
may not know the difference, and yet, my dear hearer, it makes all
the difference in the world, and a difference even for the world to
come, whether you do your work with a glance of the eye upward and a
spirit that says, "Our Father." Work without God is drudgery, duty
cold and stern; it lacks inspiration, warmth, joyful energy. It is
done because it must. It makes the worker a slave. That is not the
way God would have us perform it, and it is not the work--neither in
family, nor shop, nor church, that brings grand results. Whenever
you feel your service becoming irksome or your duties degenerating,
done with little conscientiousness and still less joy, then speak,
"Our Father"; and when you saunter forth knowing that you are
going to perform your Father's business, then the direst and most
uninteresting things of daily life will acquire a new importance
in your eyes, and will be done with a spring of elasticity and
gladsomeness. Let me ask you to try this heavenly specific, and you
will find that bending over your toil, with these thoughts, it will
be lit up with radiance and significance hitherto inexperienced and
duty will be merged into delight. This is the second consideration,
when we can truly and intelligently say, "Our Father," life's work
becomes transfigured with a new meaning and joy. In such a spirit go
hence to this year's employments. Do them with God.
One other phase of human experience remains to be touched upon at
this time. The Lord Himself hath said by the mouth of Solomon: "He
that spareth the rod hateth the child," and He is too wise a Father
to think of training His children without discipline. It is by
sending them trials that He leads them to bethink themselves and to
return when they have been backsliding, develops them in character,
and prepares them for the discharge of arduous and important duties.
Whatever we may regard this method of dealing with us, this is His
method, and it will be no different with the incoming year. What
shape that trial will take, this none can say in advance; it may
bring sickness to ourselves or to our near and dear ones; pain of
body, feverish tossing, restless nights, weary days; it may bring
reverses in fortune; the position we thought so secure may pass
into the hands of another; our income may decrease, trade languish,
accidents and expenses multiply; it may be that the grim visitor
will invade our homes, a casket, little or large, be placed into our
rooms to remind us that in the midst of life we are in death. God
alone, who knows the future, knows. And when these ordeals occur, it
is well to keep before us a few things.
In the first place, we must recognize that, however strange and
unwelcome these experiences are, 'tis He who sends them, and gives
them just because He deals with us as His children. Discipline is
a privilege that a father reserves for His own children. One does
not get himself to correct the faults of all the young people in
the neighborhood. You direct your efforts along that line to your
own, and only because of your affectionate interest in them do you
visit them with correction. Even so it is with God, and when we are
suffering from His hands, instead of thinking that He has forgotten
us, we ought to see in the chastisement a new evidence of His
continued regard for us. The trials sent us, my dear hearers, are
the tokens of a heavenly Father's affection, and happy art thou if
in life's salutary discipline you have learned to look up and say,
"Thy will be done."
Then, knowing from whom it proceeds--to mention the second
consideration,--you will be wonderfully sustained. To illustrate,
a story from my holiday reading: A little girl sent on an errand
had to cross a wide but shallow stream, but there were firm and
tried stepping-stones all the way over. "Oh! I'm afraid," said
the child to a lady who was passing. "Why are you afraid, there
are stones all the way over. See how easily I can cross it." Very
timidly the little girl began to cross. "Just one step at a time is
all you have to take," said the kind guide. So one step followed
another--the first few were the hardest to take,--and soon she
was safe on the other shore, smiling at her fears. "It is not so
hard after all," she remarked, "just one step at a time brought
us over." Beloved, when troubles come,--they are sure to, in this
year also,--do not look so much at the waters before you, but at
the stepping-stones the Father has placed for your feet. Here is a
strong, firm stepping-stone that has often sustained me: "As thy
days, so shall thy strength be." Here is another: "The Lord is my
Shepherd, I shall not want." Have a few such stepping-stones, select
one in particular for this year. This, perhaps, will do, small, but
weighty, "Our Father." Amen.