At a certain time in the earlier ages there lived in the city of
Laodicea a Christian elder of some repute, named Onesiphorus. The
world had smiled on him, and though a Christian, he was rich and
full of honors. All men, even the heathen, spoke well of him, for he
was a man courteous of speech and mild of manner.
His wife, a fair Ionian lady but half reclaimed from idolatry,
though baptized and accredited as a member of the Christian Church,
still lingered lovingly on the confines of old heathenism, and
if she did not believe, still cherished with pleasure the poetic
legends of Apollo and Venus, of Jove and Diana.
A large and fair family of sons and daughters had risen around these
parents; but their education had been much after the rudiments of
this world, and not after Christ. Though, according to the customs
of the church, they were brought to the font of baptism, and sealed
in the name of the Father, and the Son, and Holy Ghost, and although
daily, instead of libations to the Penates, or flower offerings to
Diana and Juno, the name of Jesus was invoked, yet the _spirit_ of
Jesus was wanting. The chosen associates of all these children,
as they grew older, were among the heathen; and daily they urged
their parents, by their entreaties, to conform, in one thing after
another, to heathen usage. "Why should we be singular, mother?" said
the dark-eyed Myrrah, as she bound her hair and arranged her dress
after the fashion of the girls in the temple of Venus. "Why may we
not wear the golden ornaments and images which have been consecrated
to heathen goddesses?" said the sprightly Thalia; "surely none
others are to be bought, and are we to do altogether without?" "And
why may we not be at feasts where libations are made to Apollo
or Jupiter?" said the sons; "so long as we do not consent to it
or believe in it, will our faith be shaken thereby?" "How are we
ever to reclaim the heathen, if we do not mingle among them?" said
another son; "did not our Master eat with publicans and sinners?"
It was, however, to be remarked, that no conversions of the heathen
to Christianity ever took place through the means of these complying
sons and daughters, or any of the number who followed their example.
Instead of withdrawing any from the confines of heathenism, they
themselves were drawn so nearly over, that in certain situations and
circumstances they would undoubtedly have been ranked among them by
any but a most scrutinizing observer. If any in the city of Laodicea
were ever led to unite themselves with Jesus, it was by means of a
few who observed the full simplicity of the ancient faith, and who,
though honest, tender, and courteous in all their dealings with the
heathen, still went not a step with them in conformity to any of
their customs.
In time, though the family we speak of never broke off from the
Christian Church, yet if you had been in it, you might have heard
much warm and earnest conversation about things that took place
at the baths, or in feasts to various divinities; but if any one
spoke of Jesus, there was immediately a cold silence, a decorous,
chilling, respectful pause, after which the conversation, with a
bound, flew back into the old channel again.
* * * * *
It was now night; and the house of Onesiphorus the Elder was
blazing with torches, alive with music, and all the hurry and stir
of a sumptuous banquet. All the wealth and fashion of Laodicea
were there, Christian and heathen; and all that the classic
voluptuousness of Oriental Greece could give to shed enchantment
over the scene was there. In ancient times the festivals of
Christians in Laodicea had been regulated in the spirit of the
command of Jesus, as recorded by Luke, whose classical Greek had
made his the established version in Asia Minor. "And thou, when thou
makest a feast, call not thy friends and thy kinsmen, nor thy rich
neighbors, lest they also bid thee, and a recompense be made thee.
But when thou makest a feast, call the poor, and the maimed, and
the lame, and the blind, and thou shalt be blessed; for they cannot
recompense thee, but thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection
of the just."
That very day, before the entertainment, had this passage been
quoted in the ears of the family by Cleon, the youngest son, who,
different from all his family, had cherished in his bosom the
simplicity of the old belief.
"How ridiculous! how absurd!" had been the reply of the more
thoughtless members of the family, when Cleon cited the above
passage as in point to the evening's entertainment. The dark-eyed
mother looked reproof on the levity of the younger children, and
decorously applauded the passage, which she said had no application
to the matter in hand.
"But, mother, even if the passage be not literally taken, it
must mean something. What did the Lord Jesus intend by it? If we
Christians may make entertainments with all the parade and expense
of our heathen neighbors, and thus spend the money that might be
devoted to charity, what does this passage mean?"
"Your father gives in charity as handsomely as any Christian in
Laodicea," said his mother warmly.
"Nay, mother, that may be; but I bethink me now of two or three
times when means have been wanting for the relieving of the poor,
and the ransoming of captives, and the support of apostles, when we
have said that we could give no more."
"My son," said his mother, "you do not understand the ways of the
world."
"Nay, how should he," said Thalia, "shut up day and night with that
old papyrus of St. Luke and Paul's Epistles? One may have too much
of a good thing."
"But does not the holy Paul say, 'Be not conformed to this world'?"
"Certainly," said the elder; "that means that we should be baptized,
and not worship in the heathen temples."
"My dear son," said his mother, "you intend well, doubtless; but
you have not sufficient knowledge of life to estimate our relations
to society. Entertainments of this sort are absolutely necessary
to sustain our position in the world. If we accept, we must return
them."
But not to dwell on this conversation, let us suppose ourselves in
the rooms now glittering with lights, and gay with every costly
luxury of wealth and taste. Here were statues to Diana and Apollo,
and to the household Juno--not meant for worship--of course not--but
simply to conform to the general usages of good society; and so far
had this complaisance been carried, that the shrine of a peerless
Venus was adorned with garlands and votive offerings, and an
exquisitely wrought silver censer diffused its perfume on the marble
altar in front. This complaisance on the part of some of the younger
members of the family drew from the elder a gentle remonstrance, as
having an unseemly appearance for those bearing the Christian name;
but they readily answered, "Has not Paul said, 'We know that an idol
is nothing'? Where is the harm of an elegant statue, considered
merely as a consummate work of art? As for the flowers, are they
not simply the most appropriate ornament? And where is the harm of
burning exquisite perfume? And is it worse to burn it in one place
than another?"
"Upon my sword," said one of the heathen guests, as he wandered
through the gay scene, "how liberal and accommodating these
Christians are becoming! Except in a few small matters in the
temple, they seem to be with us entirely."
"Ah," said another, "it was not so years back. Nothing was heard
among them, then, but prayers, and alms, and visits to the poor and
sick; and when they met together in their feasts, there was so much
of their talk of Christ, and such singing of hymns and prayer, that
one of us found himself quite out of place."
"Yes," said an old man present, "in those days I quite bethought
me of being some day a Christian; but look you, they are grown so
near like us now, it is scarce worth one's while to change. A little
matter of ceremony in the temple, and offering incense to Jesus,
instead of Jupiter, when all else is the same, can make small odds
in a man."
But now, the ancient legend goes on to say, that in the midst of
that gay and brilliant evening, a stranger of remarkable appearance
and manners was noticed among the throng. None knew him, or whence
he came. He mingled not in the mirth, and seemed to recognize no one
present, though he regarded all that was passing with a peculiar air
of still and earnest attention; and wherever he moved, his calm,
penetrating gaze seemed to diffuse a singular uneasiness about
him. Now his eye was fixed with a quiet scrutiny on the idolatrous
statues, with their votive adornments--now it followed earnestly the
young forms that were wreathing in the graceful waves of the dance;
and then he turned toward the tables, loaded with every luxury and
sparkling with wines, where the devotion to Bacchus became more
than poetic fiction; and as he gazed, a high, indignant sorrow
seemed to overshadow the calmness of his majestic face. When, in
thoughtless merriment, some of the gay company sought to address
him, they found themselves shrinking involuntarily from the soft,
piercing eye, and trembling at the low, sweet tones in which he
replied. What he spoke was brief; but there was a gravity and tender
wisdom in it that strangely contrasted with the frivolous scene, and
awakened unwonted ideas of heavenly purity even in thoughtless and
dissipated minds.
The only one of the company who seemed to seek his society was
the youngest, the fair little child Isa. She seemed as strangely
attracted towards him as others were repelled; and when,
unsolicited, in the frank confidence of childhood she pressed to
his side, and placed her little hand in his, the look of radiant
compassion and tenderness which beamed down from those eyes was
indeed glorious to behold. Yet here and there, as he glided among
the crowd, he spoke in the ear of some Christian words which, though
soft and low, seemed to have a mysterious and startling power; for
one after another, pensive, abashed, and confounded, they drew aside
from the gay scene, and seemed lost in thought. That stranger--who
was he? Who? The inquiry passed from mouth to mouth, and one and
another, who had listened to his low, earnest tones, looked on each
other with a troubled air. Erelong he had glided hither and thither
in the crowd; he had spoken in the ear of every Christian--and
suddenly again he was gone, and they saw him no more. Each had
felt the heart thrill within--each spirit had vibrated as if the
finger of its Creator had touched it, and shrunk conscious as if an
omniscient eye were upon it. Each heart was stirred from its depths.
Vain sophistries, worldly maxims, making the false look true, all
appeared to rise and clear away like a mist; and at once each one
seemed to see, as God sees, the true state of the inner world, the
true motive and reason of action, and in the instinctive pause that
passed through the company, the banquet was broken up and deserted.
"And what if their God were present?" said one of the heathen
members of the company, next day. "Why did they all look so blank?
A most favorable omen, we should call it, to have one's patron
divinity at a feast."
"Besides," said another, "these Christians hold that their God is
always everywhere present; so, at most, they have but had their eyes
opened to see Him who is always there!"
* * * * *
What is practically the meaning of the precept, "Be not conformed
to the world"? In its every-day results, it presents many problems
difficult of solution. There are so many shades and blendings of
situation and circumstances, so many things, innocent and graceful
in themselves, which, like flowers and incense on a heathen altar,
become unchristian only through position and circumstances, that the
most honest and well-intentioned are often perplexed.
That we must conform in some things is conceded; yet the whole
tenor of the New Testament shows that this conformity must have its
limits--that Christians are to be transformed, so as to exhibit to
the world a higher and more complete style of life, and thus "prove
what is the good, and acceptable, and perfect will of God."
But in many particulars as to style of living and modes of social
intercourse, there can be no definite rules laid down, and no
Christian can venture to judge another by his standard.
One Christian condemns dress adornment, and the whole application of
taste to the usages of life, as a sinful waste of time and money.
Another, perceiving in every work of God a love and appreciation
of the beautiful, believes that there is a sphere in which he is
pleased to see the same trait in his children, if the indulgence do
not become excessive, and thus interfere with higher duties.
One condemns all time and expense laid out in social visiting as
so much waste. Another remembers that Jesus, when just entering
on the most vast and absorbing work, turned aside to attend a
wedding feast, and wrought his first miracle to enhance its social
enjoyment. Again, there are others who, because some indulgence of
taste and some exercise for the social powers are admissible, go all
lengths in extravagance, and in company, dress, and the externals of
life.
In the same manner, with regard to style of life and social
entertainment--most of the items which go to constitute what is
called style of living, or the style of particular parties, may
be in themselves innocent, and yet they may be so interwoven and
combined with evils, that the whole effect shall be felt to be
decidedly unchristian, both by Christians and the world. How, then,
shall the well-disposed person know where to stop, and how to strike
the just medium?
We know of but one safe rule: read the life of Jesus with
attention--study it--inquire earnestly with yourself, "What sort of
a person, in thought, in feeling, in action, was my Saviour?"--live
in constant sympathy and communion with him--and there will be
within a kind of instinctive rule by which to try all things. A
young man, who was to be exposed to the temptations of one of the
most dissipated European capitals, carried with him his father's
picture, and hung it in his apartment. Before going out to any of
the numerous resorts of the city, he was accustomed to contemplate
this picture, and say to himself, "Would my father wish to see me
in the place to which I am going?" and thus was he saved from many
a temptation. In like manner the Christian, who has always by his
side the beautiful ideal of his Saviour, finds it a holy charm,
by which he is gently restrained from all that is unsuitable to
his profession. He has but to inquire of any scene or employment,
"Should I be well pleased to meet my Saviour there? Would the trains
of thought I should there fall into, the state of mind that would
there be induced, be such as would harmonize with an interview with
him?" Thus protected and defended, social enjoyment might be like
that of Mary and John, and the disciples, when, under the mild,
approving eye of the Son of God, they shared the festivities of
Cana.