Money is a good thing, when it is properly secured and properly used.
But there are better things than money. Honor is better, and loving
service, and thoughtful consideration of others.
This was the lesson taught by the life of a man who was a shareholder in
a mining company that was about to go out of business. The shareholders
would sustain very heavy losses, so a friend who knew the secrets of the
company determined to warn this man, whom everybody liked. The hint was
given that it would be to his advantage to sell quickly. "Why?" asked
Mr. N. "Well, you know, the value of the mines is greatly depreciated."
"When I bought the shares I took the risk." "Yes, but now you should
take the opportunity of selling while you can, so as not to lose
anything." "And supposing I don't sell, what then?" "Then you will
probably lose all you have." "And if I do sell, somebody else will lose
instead of me?" "Yes, I suppose so." "Do you suppose Jesus Christ would
sell out?" "That is hardly a fair question. I suppose he would not." "I
am a Christian," said Mr. N., "and I wish to follow my Master, therefore
I shall not sell." He did not, and soon after lost everything, and had
to begin life again.
This shareholder would have appreciated Professor A. H. Buchanan, who
was for forty years professor of mathematics in Cumberland University,
Tennessee. After his death it was told of him that at one time he was
offered an appointment in government service to which a $3,000 salary
attached. His income as professor in a church college was $600 a year.
But he saw more chance to make his life count for Christian things in
the professor's place than in public service, so he declined the $3000
and stayed by the $600. One who spoke of these facts in the professor's
life said, in comment:
"If he had taken the $3,000, everybody would have regarded him as an
ordinary sort of man. Now everybody who has heard of Professor
Buchanan's exceptional devotion appreciates that he was a very
extraordinary man. A very cheap person indeed is capable of accepting a
bigger salary."
At about the time of the death of this professor of mathematics a daily
paper mentioned a civil engineer who was transforming the appearance of
a western city, and said of him: "Two or three times he has had chances
to get three or four times his present salary. Each time he has said:
'No, my work is here; I haven't finished it. The money doesn't count, so
I shall stick here and finish my work.'"
After the death of a famous minister in St. Louis a story was told of
him that he had not allowed to be known widely during his lifetime. This
was the romantic tale, as related by a writer in The New York _Sun_:
"When a young man, he found to his amazement among his father's papers a
deed to five thousand eight hundred and eighty-three acres of land,
located in what is known as West Virginia. This deed was a great
surprise to all who saw or heard of it. Putting this deed in his
pocket, young Palmore, the only heir to the property, made a trip to
West Virginia, to look over his vast estate, which was far in the
interior.
"Starting from the city of Charleston, West Virginia, he drove in a
buggy into the region where his plantation was located. He traced the
boundaries of his property and found that hundreds of families had
settled on it without any right to it, but were living as if secure in
the possession of their separate little patches of territory. He found
that beneath the surface of this land there was almost limitless wealth,
but the multitudes who had built themselves humble homes on the surface
did not know of it, and had been living thus in undisturbed possession
for a number of years. He quietly walked about at night and looked
through the windows at the parents and children living on his estate.
Great lawyers were ready to inaugurate legal proceedings that would have
made him a millionaire, and such legal proceedings would doubtless have
been instituted if the heir in person had not visited the scene of his
great estate. As he dreamed in the nighttime about dispossessing such a
multitude of people of their humble homes, he began to feel that,
instead of such a fortune being a blessing, an estate received at such
an expense would be a burden.
"After earnest prayer and sleepless hours in the midst of his vast
acres, he was seized with the conviction that each member of this
multitude of families living on his property needed it more than did the
heir, and there and then he made up his mind that he would leave them in
quiet possession of his estate."
The reporter who related the story said that the man had been called a
fool, and commented, "He was God's fool."
Then he said that the incident he had related would have been
unbelievable if it had not been so well attested. But why unbelievable?
Is it because of the common idea that "every man has his price," that it
is unthinkable that a sane man would let a fortune that he could claim
honestly slip through his fingers?
Perhaps it is true that every man has his price. However, if this snarl
of the pessimist is to have universal application, the price must be
understood to be--in many instances--not selfish gratification, but the
opportunity for courageous service. There are men and women who can be
won by such an opportunity who cannot be reached by any argument of mere
private advantage. Such people silence the complaints of the croaker and
command the confidence of those who are struggling to help their
fellows.
Louis Agassiz, the naturalist, was such a man. "I have no time to make
money," was his remark when urged by a friend to turn aside from the
important work of the moment to an easy, lucrative task. His reason was
thus explained at another time: "I have made it the rule of my life to
abandon any intellectual pursuit the moment it becomes commercially
valuable." It was his idea that there were many who would then be
willing to carry on work he had begun.
A contrast is presented by the famous inventor who, early in life, made
it a rule never to give himself to any activity in which there was no
prospect of financial gain. His first question was not, "Does the public
need this invention?" but "Is there money in it?" Having answered to his
satisfaction, he was ready to go ahead.
The world could not well have spared either of these men, for both
rendered valuable service. But, judging from the stories of their
careers, there was more joy in the life of the naturalist, who,
satisfied to earn a living, thought most of serving his fellows, than in
the life of the inventor before whose eyes the dollar continually loomed
large. The counting-house measure of life is not the most satisfying nor
is it the most useful.
That was the notion of Jacob Riis, of whom a minister who was devoting
his life to the interest of young working men near his church once asked
if such effort was merely thrown away, if he was pocketing himself.
"Pocketing yourself, are you?" Riis replied. "Stick to your pocket. It
is a pretty good pocket to be in. Out of such a pocket, worked in the
way you are working it, will come healing for the ills of the day that
now possess us. I would rather be in such a pocket, working for the
Lord, than in a $1,000,000 church, working for the applause of a
congregation."
Those who are familiar with inside history at Washington say that the
day after Garfield's election as President, a dispatch was sent to
Milton Wells, a Wisconsin preacher, whose vote in the convention had
kept Garfield's name on the list of candidates to the very last, asking
him if he would become governor of Arizona Territory. Mr. Wells
answered: "I have a better office that I cannot leave. I am preaching
here for $600 per year."
There was once a man named Paul who might have enjoyed position and
power, if he had wished, but he chose instead a life of courageous
service of which he was able once to write, without boasting:
"In labors more abundantly, in prisons more abundantly; in stripes above
measure, in deaths oft. Of the Jews five times received I forty stripes
save one. Thrice was I beaten with rods, once was I stoned, thrice I
suffered shipwreck, a night and a day have I been in the deep; in
journeyings often, in perils of rivers, in perils of robbers, in perils
from my countrymen, in perils from the Gentiles, in perils in the city,
in perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in perils among false
brethren; in labor and travail, in watchings often, in hunger and
thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness."
How could Paul bear all these things? They were enough to break down a
dozen strong men. Probably he sometimes felt that he could not bear the
burden any longer, but always there came to him the assurance of Christ,
"My grace is sufficient for thee." Then he could bear anything; yet not
he, but Christ, who lived in him. Thus his glory was not in his own
strength but in his weakness, which made place in his life for the
strength of Christ.
Until men and women learn how to gain strength in their weakness as Paul
did, their lives will be unsatisfying, their days will be full of
complaint. Their burdens, which seemed like mountains before learning to
trust Christ, will be borne as easily as if they were feathers.
God does not promise to make us all dollar millionaires if we look at
Him for strength in our weakness, but He does promise to make us all
millionaires of faith and hope and courage. Paul was; we can be, too.