across the sea,--"A bird of the air shall carry the matter." But
especially, the Lord knows. He setteth "a print on the heels of my
feet" [1]--and step you never so lightly, the mark will be there, and
the Lord will know.
And where your feet go, there others will follow. "Is Miss Hope going
to such and such a performance?" inquired a young man of me. I said
no. He stood gravely thinking, and the talk drifted on. Then suddenly
I heard him say--to himself as it were:--"Then I will not go either!"--
Persuasions, entreaties, ridicule, are nothing, _mean_ nothing, if only
you stand firm. And I have known gentlemen spend their strength in
entreaties, and then when the lady held out in her quiet refusal, they
said afterwards to other people that they liked to see any one true to
his principles.
Staying once with some friends of rather free opinions and practice,
Priscilla was beset to go with them on a certain evening to the
theatre. So eager were the words, so well-loved the friends, that at
last she grew desperate. Turning round upon the head of the house, she
said: "Do you really want me to go?"--He looked at her, sat back in his
chair in silence, then answered soberly: "Well, I guess I'd just as
lieve you didn't!"
Depend upon it, the very people who press you hardest, professing to
see "no harm," will feel they have lost something if you make them
think the King's Country is just like their own. Whatever has happened
to _your_ moral sense, _they_ know that the theatre is no place for a
true-hearted servant of the Lord Jesus, if the Master is all he is
represented to be. If they met you there unawares, it would be with a
thrill not of pleasure but of pain.
Let me repeat my question, Is it as a Christian you go to the theatre?
can you go and keep your armour bright? does the helmet of salvation
rest securely on your head? Is the girdle of truth,--truth of life,
purpose, and heart,--fast bound? the breastplate of righteousness
burnished, the shield of faith ready against every dart that may fly in
that great building? Are they the shoes of peace on which you go in?
not pleasure, but _peace_? Is it the sword of the Spirit with which
you meet and parry the thrusts of idleness, folly, mischief? Ah you
know better! When you go to the theatre these defences are left at
home, as not fit for the occasion. The house is built and managed and
filled in the interests of the enemy; and of course your uniform is out
of place. Tired Church members, do you go there for _rest_?
[1] Job xiii. 27.
Games.
Dr. Skinner[1] used to say that all games of chance were unlawful. For
inasmuch as there is no chance in the economy of this world, all use of
dice or lottery in any shape is really an appeal to him of whom it is
said:
"The lot is cast into the lap, but the whole disposing thereof is of
the Lord." [2]
And you will agree with me that this is not a thing to be done lightly.
In old times the casting of a lot was a solemn religious service:
ushered in even among pagans with prayer and often with fasting; but
what careless, reckless ignoring of God as the Governor among the
nations, is there in all connected with the lot in our days. What foul
associations cloud and wrap up almost every game of chance: how soiled
are the cards, how unhallowed the rattle of the dice. What degrading,
debasing work is done by every species of lottery; what desperate evils
spring up and grow out of "a chance" at a Church fair! Some years ago,
at the time of the great German and French fairs in New York, a lady
thoughtlessly gave her young son leave to buy "a chance" for a gold
watch. Thoughtlessly,--it was just a dollar to the fair and an
amusement to the boy. And before twenty-four hours had passed, she
would have given anything in the world to recall her permission. For
at once the boy's mind became wholly absorbed in his "chance." The
fair went on, the drawing was long delayed; and day after day--hour by
hour, if he could--he went to inquire and to watch; and the mother saw
her child in a true gambling fever, and she obliged to let it run its
course. Mercifully, as she said, the watch fell to another. "If it
had come to George, I don't know what in the world I should have done."
"We play for sugarplums,"--we "toss up" for nuts; but each time the
evil seeds are planted. The mere habit of _talking_ of "chance," of
"luck," of "fate," as if you believed in them all, tends directly to
weaken your realizing trust in the Great Ruler of the world; who counts
his sparrows, and numbers the hairs of your head. Chance? If the
watchmaker could not control one smallest wheel or point in his watch;
if even a grain of dust got in and defied him; what think you he could
do with mainspring and hands? One unmanageable atom would stop the
whole.
To quote Dr. Skinner again,--one to whom I think it never occurred to
like anything but what God liked,--in his early life as a young man he
had seen much wild company; and so strong was their association with
evil, that to the end of his life he could never even hear the dice
fall without a shiver.
"Put it away, my dear," he would say of even the backgammon board. "I
don't like it--I don't like it!"
For games of chance, as a rule, gather round them a setting of sin and
sorrow which other games do not. I suppose men take in their practical
infidelity, and grow lawless. You do not mean to appeal to God in your
games of "chance,"--but if not to him, then to some other power
supposed to be outside his rule or beyond his notice: "chance," "luck,"
or the devil. And it does not much matter which word you use. Yet
"tired" Church members will play euchre and whist, and there are cards
in the table drawer in the parlour, and of course a dingier pack in the
kitchen, in many a so-called Christian house; though the family hide
them or apologize before people who are called "intense." The minister
comes in upon a card party in his parish, and all rise in deprecatory
confusion; and perhaps (ah I know it happened in one case) the minister
waves his hand graciously, with a "Don't let me disturb you,"--and so
passes on. O it hurts one to have a fellow Christian ask in the quiet
evening at her own house, "Would you object to our bringing out the
cards?"--"I could not touch them," was all the answer, and the drawer
stayed shut. But I wish a Nonconformist Church could rise up in these
days. We are so busy calling ourselves Episcopalians, Methodists,
Presbyterians, that we seem to forget the old far-better name which
should include all. In the war it was only loyal or disloyal: and New
York was proud of the Wisconsin boys that were all six feet two; and
Ohio wept for those of Massachusetts who were among the first to shed
their blood. Dear friends, it is war time now: if you could only
realize that, a good many things would be set straight. Not able to
give up doubtful games and questionable dances? Why in '76 the women
fired at their tea kettles!--
Nonconformists. But now, "My mother does it,"--"my aunt goes,"--"my
father likes it": so run the excuses which the members of your Bible
Class, children of Church members, fling in your face.
But what you call "lawful" games, are stupid. Not all of them,
perhaps; but if they were, that would not touch the question. Paul's
"If meat make my brother to offend, I will eat no flesh while the world
standeth," was crippled with no such condition as "If I can get bread."
And when the Lord bade us cut off the offending right hand, no question
of whether we could live without it came in. It is not absolutely
needful that Christ should find all his tired Church members rested and
fresh; but it _is_ necessary that they should be "spotless,"
"faithful," "ready," when he comes.
There are other amusements that might be touched upon just here, but
perhaps they are as well not named. Whatever takes you full into the
ranks of Christ's enemies, not to fight but to follow them; whatever
you cannot do straight through in the name of the Lord Jesus; whatever
turns you away from the shining presence of his face; is unlawful for
you. Once remember that there is no middle ground, and then ask
yourself what standing room there can be for you on a race course, what
seat at a circus. If you are not with Christ, openly, unmistakably,
you are "scattering," even in your games. I asked a friend (a minister
of deep experience) lately, if he had seen much of this private card
playing among Church members? He answered, "Yes, a great deal." Then
I inquired what was the effect, as he had noticed it. And the reply
was instant and emphatic:
"_Always_ evil!"--
Carlyle tells of "patriots" in the French Revolution who shaved each
other out of the fragments of bomb shells, and wore ghastly trophies
from the guillotine. But short of a Reign of Terror, making all men
mad, one does not expect such things. Few people (I fancy) if they
knew it, would care to use the glass from which some poor wretch had
drunk his draught of poison; and even to touch the murderer's knife
stored up in a public museum, would turn most hearts sick. But if you
could only see as God sees; if things in society were but labelled and
classed; you would find your cards dark with the soul-life blood of
thousands, and could hear their ruin in every fall of the dice.
I was much interested in a recent English essay ("On the Criminal Code
of the Jews") to find how the typical Israel regarded games of chance.
As if something of the old blessed "The Lord is our King," staid by
them, even in the days of their downfall. The writer says:
"All who made money by dice-playing or any games of hazard, by betting
on pigeon matches and similar objectionable practices, were not only
incapable of becoming members of a tribunal, but were not permitted to
give evidence. The Ghemara regards a man who gains money by the
amusements named, as dishonest."
[1] Once pastor of the Mercer Street Church, New York, and Professor in
Union Theological Seminary.
[2] Prov. xvi. 33.
What Left?
But you will say, I leave nothing for you, then; no amusements, no
recreation. Is that true? Is the narrow way indeed so barren, that we
must step out of it to rest? Has the Lord only food and water for his
flock, and when they need change and refreshment must they leave their
Shepherd, and go over to the wolf for a run upon the hillside? That
sounds hard for weak human nature--and strange, for a Lord of boundless
resources. And somehow the Bible pictures of the flock shew wondrous
contentment. "A stranger will they not follow." [1]
Then following the Master must be very sweet; for all men like variety,
and the mere fact of a new voice is of itself enough to draw one aside.
Yet "a stranger will they not follow, but will flee from him,"--O how
much that tells! And here we touch the very root and spring of true
refreshment, of real recreation. For while good general health is the
best specific against mere bodily fatigue, so against a jaded,
over-wrought state of nerves and energies, there is nothing like a
heart full of joy and a mind at rest.
"He that believeth on me shall never thirst." [2]
And if this satisfaction does not underlie all your pastimes, they will
be a failure. No other stream alone can freshen even the small dry
barrens of this earth.
But besides that, what is there left for Christian people?
To begin: "Dancing is such good exercise!" people say. Granted. Or at
least it _might_ be. But instead of night hours in a ball room, get on
horseback for two hours in the open day, and then balance the profit
and loss. You don't know how?--then learn. You have no horse? Go to
riding school. An hour in the ring will stir your blood better than
twenty Germans. But you "cannot afford" to take riding lessons.--Well
to say nothing of ball dresses, just throw satin slippers and long
gloves and carriage hire together, and see if you cannot afford it.
Ay, and have a ticket now and then for some one poorer than yourself.
Then for people who live within reach of the opera, there is generally
much other good music to be had, at far less expense and with none of
the objections. And there again, the money and time spent at the
opera, would train the voices at home into a lovely choir. Voices
which now "have no time," and talents perhaps unknown.
"Everybody cannot sing."--No. And neither can everybody paint; but it
is a delicious pleasure to those who can. What joy to go sketching!
what delight to work up the sketches at home. What pure, noiseless,
exquisite play it is. And if some of the party care nothing for
pencils, let them lie under a tree with a book, and be part of your
picture.
"Ah, books!--Of course you disapprove of novels,"--some one exclaims.
Indeed no. A good novel is very improving as well as refreshing. And
after much study over that word "good" (that is, for us, worth reading)
I can give no better meaning than this. A good book, whether novel or
other, is one which leaves you further on than it took you up. If when
you drop it, it drops you, right down in the same old spot; with no
finer outlook, no cleared vision, no stimulated desires, it is in no
sense a good book for you. As well make fancy loaves of sawdust, and
label them "Good Bread"; and claim that you rise from the banquet
refreshed.
A novel has special power of its own. It may be deeply historical,
like "Waverly," and "The Tale of Two Cities." It may be a picture of
vivid local colouring, like "Ivanhoe," or "Lorna Doone," or "Dr
Antonio." It may be full of social hints and glimpses, with many a
covert wise suggestion, like Miss Austin's "Emma." It may shew up a
vital truth or a life-long mistake, like Miss Edgeworth's "Helen," or
open out new natural scenes like the "Adventures of a Phaeton"; or life
scenes, like "Oliver Twist"; or be so full of frolic and fun and sharp
common sense, that the mere laughter of it does you good "like a
medicine." Witness "Christie Johnstone," and Miss Carlen's "John."
All such books are utterly helpful, and leave you well in advance of
where they found you. They enlarge your world, they stimulate your
life. Only read none that enlarge it by a peep through the gates of
hell. On _that_ side knowledge is death.
But how is one to tell? you ask. Books are not labelled "good," "bad,"
and "indifferent." No: and when you go to shops and houses you do not
know what air you will find, perhaps not till you open the door. But
you start back from one room, and hold your breath in another,
hastening to get away; not because you have studied chemistry and can
analyze the air, but because your keen physical sense is smitten. Keep
your moral sense as fresh, as keen; and the moment you find foul air in
a book, throw the book in the fire. Do not leave it about to poison
some one else. And if you find no wholesome stir, no real refreshment,
but only a feverish thirst beginning, lay the book down: remember, you
are after _recreation_.
Re-creation,--the remaking and refitting of ourselves for better work,
the resting for more labour, the learning, that we may grow thereby.
_That_ is what you profess to need, dear fellow Christians. Then seek
it,--and take no makebelieve.
"Nothing left?"--Why the world is so full of delightful things to do,
that one can but look at a quarter of them. They stand at my elbow ten
deep. Books and music, and painting, and riding, and gardening, with
all sorts of studies of the wonderful works of God. You are not shut
up to novels. Books of art, books of travel, books of poetry, books of
science. O how I have rested in the coolness of Longfellow's
"Cathedral"; and with what delight seen Alpine heights with Ruskin.
Then there is that wonder of refreshment, the stereoscope. One comes
back from a half hour there in a Swiss valley as into a new world, with
the dust all blown away. A stereoscope costs little, and views are not
expensive,--that is if you are content with one or two at a time, which
is the real way to buy them; choosing, considering, carefully selecting
only those you cannot possibly go home without! I know we began with
six; those six sorted out with jealous care from the contents of many
boxes; and by ones and twos the little collection has grown into
something worth having. And if you turn over every lot of views you
come across, you will often find one rare and fine and cheap, thrown in
among the rubbish.
Then there is the microscope,--full of rich pleasure and deep study and
wonderful revealings. And here again no great outlay is needed. The
days of only sixty dollar glasses are quite gone by, and for five or
ten dollars--even less--you can get a microscope that will keep ahead
of you for some time to come.
On the other hand, if one has neither the skill nor the means to
furnish a home-made telescope, there are other ways of studying the
stars, from the days of Ferguson down. You remember he used to measure
the distance from star to star with beads upon a string. I have seen a
man who could neither read nor write, and yet could tell by the stars
the hour at any time of night; and it is a shame that we educated
people who know so much, should also know so little.
If you are in the country, and fond of "stones," get a geologist's
hammer, and Hugh Miller's books, and give yourself up to happiness. Or
if you like flowers, study _them_; learning to know families and
sub-families through all the floral peerage.
But perhaps you "do not care for out-door things?" Then get a bit of
wood and a few carving tools, and see what dainty wonders you can make
at home. Or lose your cares in "illuminating"; or bury them fathom
deep in German. From any of these, well begun and carried on, you will
come back re-created for your work: made over "as good as new." Not
poisoned with bad air, nor wearied by late hours; not singed and jaded
with chagrin, vanity, and disappointment. Riding, rowing, archery,
fishing, ought to give Christian people enough exercise, without their
being obliged to frequent ball rooms to find it; and as for the "grace"
people talk of, nothing teaches that like a heart full of
graces--"love, joy, peace," and the rest. Do _they_ flourish at your
doubtful entertainments? do they not rather droop and hang their heads,
like the dear flowers in your bouquet?
And if people sought their refreshment among all those sweet and
wholesome things, conversation would no longer be the difficult and the
dry thing it is in many a company. There would be something to talk
about worth talking of; and men of sense would venture to talk sense,
even to women; and gossip would go down. How much more interesting is
a butterfly, than the curtains of the house across the way!--
The world is full of joys and pleasures and wonders, even yet, outside
of Eden. So full that as I said, you can only begin to taste them all,
in all your life. I think it is stated that no ordinary life-term
would suffice for the thorough study of merely the great family of
orchids. And all these things which I have named (the list is really
much longer), yes, every one of them, rightly used, will ennoble you,
and build you up, and refresh you, with every time of using. Not like
the snail which crawled up three feet every day and fell back two feet
every night: onward and upward shall be your course; with soul and body
and mind re-created, restored by right means, to right ends. Only make
one rule to yourself: where anything is doubtful, let it alone.
If you tell me I do not know the fascination of these other things, I
tell you that I do; and in one line at least have known it as deeply as
any one could. But I have also known, that with the coming of Christ
into my heart, with the new knowledge of his presence, the old taste
fell dead in a moment, and never arose again. I cannot say it was not
much to give up, for it was _nothing_. The former fascination fell
off, like the dry skin of a chrysalis when the butterfly spreads its
wings. And here we reach the very point of the whole difficulty. For
with all their crosses, privations, and givings-up, the Lord's people
are not meant to dwell in any land of darkness or of drought. Listen
to some of the promises.
"The righteous shall hold on his way, and he that hath clean hands
shall be stronger and stronger." [3]
"They go from strength to strength." [4]
"They that wait on the Lord shall renew their strength." [5]
For why?
"For the joy of the Lord is your strength." [6]
I believe the words are true for the body as for the mind. It is
nowhere promised that you shall not be tired; but so waiting, so
living, so abiding by the head waters of all strength, the most lovely,
fresh, ever-renewed life shall be yours.
"The righteous shall flourish like the palm tree." [7]
"Their souls shall be as a watered garden." [8]
It is the man "whose delight is in the law of the Lord" who not only
"bringeth forth his fruit in his season," but also when the time for
freshness and life and growth seems over,
"They shall still bring forth fruit in old age." [9]
Not only "created in Christ Jesus unto good works," but perpetually
recreated in him, from hour to hour, from year to year. Has he not
said: "I will be as the dew unto Israel"? [10] No more age for them,
thus dwelling in "the power of an endless life";[11] no empty hands,
for those who "have all things, and abound." [12] No disgust of life
or hopelessness of labour for servants who every now and then--from the
midst of their work--follow the Master (but only him) "apart to rest
awhile," [13] "A stranger will they not follow." You have seen such
people; you may see them every now and then; with smooth brows and
sweet faces and eyes full of the peace of God.
"And I said, This is the rest, and this is the refreshing." [14]
I am persuaded, that without this, all forms of recreation that can be
tried will be but as quack medicines, giving a temporary relief, only
to be followed by a sorer need. And while there are a hundred lawful,
sweet, wholesome means of rest at our disposal, I believe that even
they will fail if used alone. And if you throw in all unlawful
pleasures also, the failure will but be the more complete, "All my
springs are in thee," [15] and these other things are but channels
through which may flow the loving kindness of the Lord. From him comes
all your skill to study, your power to sing: the ingenious fancy, the
quick intellect, the deft hand, are all his gift. In this exquisite
world of his wherein you work, his power, his care, his laws are around
you as surely when you play as when you work. So that you can walk
with Christ always, as you are meant to do; looking up to him from
relaxation as from labour, thus missing the intoxication of the one and
forgetting the toil of the other.
Now whatever lawful things such a disciple may "amuse" himself with,
you can see at once that for even the doubtful he could have no relish;
counting them but as a draught from that "troubled sea whose waters
cast up mire and dirt." [16] Neither would he come to his recreations
tired of life, nor because his daily round had turned to "white of
egg";[17] but with genuine, honest fatigue, taking amusement as he
takes sleep, and going back from it with a joyous rebound to his
special weedy corner in the vineyard.
"I know I am getting rested," I heard a minister once say in his
vacation, "for I am getting hungry for my work!"
"My people have forgotten their resting place"--let it not ever be said
of you and me.
But it is those not merely "planted in the courts of the Lord," but who
"flourish" there, that are the trees whose "leaf shall not wither"; and
in this you have the whole story. A Christian who is _flourishing_
where he belongs, will never go where he does _not_ belong. And no one
who is dwelling daily in the clear sunshine of Christ's presence, will
need a dance to enliven him, or a horse race--or a walking match--to
keep up his interest in life. There will be "melody in his heart"
without the opera; and life will be full and bright and strong, without
a speck of tinsel pleasure. Work will be sweet, and play will be
joyous; and by one and by the other the man will _grow_--
"Grow, like the cedar in Lebanon."