Some are in the cave of infidelity. That there are honest skeptics in
the world we all believe, and the honest skeptic is one who says, "I
cannot believe as you do, and I do not know that I would if I could,
but if your hope is any comfort to you, then cling to it and go down to
your grave trusting in it."
The dishonest skeptic is the man who sneers at my faith, who laughs at
the old-fashioned religion, who says that once he believed in it but
has grown away from it, seemingly forgetting that the greatest men the
country has ever produced have been humble followers of Jesus of
Nazareth. Infidelity does not satisfy. It leaves an aching void in
life and mocks us in death. Besides, it is deceiving and the talk of
the infidel orator is deceiving. Said one of the most eloquent not
many years ago, "When I think of the Christian's God and the
Christian's Bible, I am glad I am not a Christian. I had rather be the
humblest German peasant that ever lived, sitting in his cottage, vine
clad, from which the grapes hang, made purple by the kiss of the sun as
the day dies out of the sky, shod with wooden shoes, clad in homespun,
at peace with the world, his family about him, with never a thought of
God--I say the truth I had rather be such a peasant than any Christian
that I have ever known." And when he said it the people cheered him.
It was, however, but the trick of an orator. Let us change the
sentences and give a new ring to the thought. "When I think of what
infidelity would do I am glad I am not an infidel; how it would rob me
of the hope of seeing my mother and meeting again my child; how it
would take me in despair to the grave and send me away with a broken
heart--I say I am glad I am not an infidel. I had rather be the
humblest German peasant that ever lived, sitting in his cottage, vine
clad, from which the grapes hang, made purple by the kiss of the sun as
the day dies out of the sky, clad in homespun, shod with wooden shoes,
at peace with the world and at peace with God, his family Bible upon
his knees, the look of ineffable joy in his face and singing that grand
old hymn of Luther's, 'A mighty fortress is our God'--I had rather be
such a German peasant than to be the mightiest infidel the world has
ever known," and so I would, a thousand thousand times. God pity you
if you allow yourself to put Christ out of your life and stand in the
midst of the rising floods with no hope in him! How wilt thou do in
the swelling of Jordan?