When an urgent call went out from Washington for physicians to go to
France for hospital work among the men of the American Expeditionary
Force, a specialist in a city of the Middle West decided to respond. Of
course some of his friends told him he was foolish; they urged that he
was needed for service at home. "Let doctors go who can be spared
better than you," they said. "Think of the great work you are
doing--work that will be more than ever necessary because thousands of
others are leaving practices and going to the Front. Think of your
past--how you worked your way through medical college at cost of severe
toil; think of your family and the increasing demands on you; think of
the future--what will become of your lucrative practice?"
The specialist did think of these things; he had delayed decision
because the arguments had presented themselves forcibly to his own mind.
At last, however, his mind was made up. He would go to France. He would
leave his patients in charge of two capable friends who would do
everything possible to turn over, on the return of the volunteer, the
lucrative office practice built up through many years.
He spent six months in camp with the members of the hospital unit of
which he was given charge. Just before he went "over there" a friend
said to him:
"It is fortunate that your practice is to be cared for so efficiently."
"What's that?" was the reply. "Oh, you mean the colleagues who took over
my patients? They, too, have enlisted, and will soon be going abroad."
"But what of your $35,000 income?" was the dismayed rejoinder. "Surely
you haven't the courage to give up all that!"
The major snapped his fingers, and said, with a smile, "_That_ for the
practice! It is my business to respond to my country's call. Don't talk
of the sacrifice. What if I do have to start all over again when I come
home? Just now I don't have to think about that."
This incident came to mind when reading in a popular weekly a telling
story, camouflaged as to names, location and business, but recorded as
the experience of a captain of industry. The story made him a
manufacturer of shoes who, in the beginning, was rejoicing that his
plants were running full time, turning out so many shoes for the regular
trade that the profits of the year were bound to be tremendous. With
others, he heard the plea of the Government for shoes for the soldiers.
Carefully he assured himself that he would not need to respond; there
were many manufacturers who would rush headlong for government
contracts. When he learned that there were not enough volunteers he felt
uncomfortable. Then, to his relief, he was asked to take the
chairmanship of the subcommittee on shoes of the State Council of
Defense.
"I'll do it!" he decided. "That will let me out honorably. As chairman I
shall be criticized if I bid on the contracts myself."
Of course he learned his mistake. At length he decided to turn over one
of his six plants to government contracts. The decision made him feel
quite virtuous. Content was his only a little while, however. So he
decided to devote another plant. Yet when he made his figures he thought
he would add five cents a pair to his bid, as an extra margin of safety.
Again his calculations were upset when his son told him that he had
enlisted.
"That wasn't necessary," the father said. "What made you do it?"
"Why, dad, you know you'd expect me to feel ashamed if you didn't do
just every little thing you could in a business way to help win this
war--if you held back a shoe that would help the Government or charged a
cent more than you ought to. You furnish the shoes and I'll furnish the
shoots!"
Of course more had to be done after that. Soon half the plants were
enlisted for the country. Surely nothing more could be asked than that
he should go fifty-fifty, half for the country and half for himself.
The remainder of the story can be imagined--in one form it was lived out
in the experience of millions. "Why don't you have done with that
half-way patriotism?" came a voice that he could not silence.
The battle between Patriotism and Private Profits was decided
gloriously--in the only possible manner. Away with fifty per cent.
patriotism! Every one of the plants was put on Government orders.
Naturally there were those who asked, "Was such a sacrifice necessary?"
But the reply was convincing.
That is the question that has been asked of Christians ever since the
day when Christ said to Peter and Andrew, "Follow me." Our hearts are
stirred by the simple record of what followed: "Straightway they left
their nets,"--their livelihood, their associates, their families, their
position in the world, everything--"and followed Him." The question was
put to Prince Gallitzin when he renounced title and fortune and went to
the mountains of Pennsylvania to make a home for some of his oppressed
Russian countrymen. The words were hurled at the son of a wealthy
English brewer, because he decided that if he would obey Christ fully
he must renounce the source of his wealth as well as the money that had
been made in an unrighteous business. The inquiry was heard many times
by Matthias W. Baldwin, the builder of Old Ironsides and founder of the
Baldwin Locomotive Works, when he gave up the making of jewelry because
he thought that, as a Christian man, he ought to make his talents count
for something more worth-while, and later on when he insisted on
borrowing from the banks in time of financial panic to pay his pledges
to Christian work.
Still the query persists, as it will persist long as the world stands.
You have heard it yourself, if you, like Caleb of old, are trying to
follow God wholly. "Was the sacrifice necessary?"
Beware of the question, for it is a temptation to slack service, though
often spoken by one who would show himself a friend. Necessary? Of
course. Isn't it involved in courageous following of Christ?