TEMPLES.
It was a lovely June Sunday. The seats of Squantown Sunday-school were
even more crowded than usual; the girls' side looking like a flower-bed
in its variety and brilliancy of color. Bertie Sanderson was there in
her new silk,--a brilliant cardinal,--looking strangely unsuitable to
the season; Gretchen, the German, in her woolen petticoat and jacket,
which she had not been long enough in the country to discard for summer
attire; the other girls in spring suits, and Katie Robertson in a lovely
pale-blue lawn and a white straw hat trimmed with the same color. It was
the prettiest costume the little girl had ever possessed, and as it was
all bought with her own earnings she may be pardoned for being very much
pleased with it. And yet it was as simple and inexpensive a summer
outfit as any one could have, and certainly was not fitted to excite the
hateful thoughts to which it was giving rise in Bertie's mind--Bertie,
clad in her unsuitable finery! This finery had not been the success that
Bertie expected. To be sure, it was a silk dress, and the brightest
color she could procure, but it had been made by the Squantown
dressmaker, and entirely lacked the fit and finish of Etta Mountjoy's
dresses, besides being in direct contrast to the delicate, harmonious
colors which the latter wore--a contrast which her admirer and would-be
imitator was quick to perceive when her own brilliant coloring had been
selected and it was too late to change. The disappointment made her
cross, and inclined her still more to look for flaws in Katie, whom she
began to hate as natures not sanctified by the grace of God are apt to
hate those who are trying to do his will, and are thus a constant rebuke
to them.
"Just look at her finery," said Bertie to her nearest neighbor, as Katie
entered, looking as fresh and sweet as a June rose, "and her mother so
poor. I could tell a story about how she got it that would make Miss
Etta open her eyes, and Miss Eunice, too, for all she makes such a pet
of the saint."
"What in the world do you mean?" said the other; but Bertie shook her
head and looked mysterious, of course thus exciting the curiosity of the
other tenfold.
"Do tell me," she said.
"We know what we do know, don't we?" said Bertie, provokingly, appealing
to Gretchen, who nodded, but did not speak.
"Now, you're real mean," said the other, one Amelia Porter by name. "I
know something I won't tell you, that's all."
Just then the bell tapped for silence, and the rest of the conversation
was carried on in whispers, the only part which was heard being Amelia's
astonished "Stole it? You don't say so! I never would have thought of
such a thing."
But Katie did not hear. She was not thinking about her dress at all. The
lesson was to her a very interesting one--the oft-repeated story of the
tongues of fire that came down upon the early church, symbolizing the
mighty power of the Holy Spirit to enkindle divine emotions, enthusiasm,
and praise, and to make human tongues as flames of fire.
Miss Etta explained (for she had taken pains to study it up) how, in
the early, times one Sunday in June was observed in commemoration of
this descent of the Holy Ghost, and how, on that day, the new
Christians, who of course were originally heathen, having been at first
subjected to a long course of training, were baptized. They were called
_catechumens_, because they were catechised or questioned, and
_candidates_ because they wore long white robes, _candidus_ being the
Latin word for white, and by degrees the day came to be called
Whitsunday. Furthermore, Miss Etta told all about the Whitsuntide
festivals of old English times in the days of the corrupt church, when
festivities of the most riotous kind took place on the two days
following Sunday; and the girls left the school, if not impressed by the
holy teachings of the lessons, very full of a certain knowledge of that
kind which St. Paul says "puffeth up," and prepared to pass a brilliant
examination on the history and customs of Whitsuntide.
Very different was the pastor's sermon of that morning, which several of
our girls remembered all their lives. Its text was:--
"Ye are the temples of the Holy Ghost."
And the speaker showed first what the temples of old times were; not
places of meeting, as our churches to a great extent are, but
dwelling-places, homes where God, or rather "the gods," were supposed to
_live_. This idea was the one used as an illustration by St. Paul in the
text, which means that _God_ has made all human hearts to be his home
and dwelling-place, and that if we will let him, not barring the doors
with sin and filling up the inside with other things, he will live there
always; or, as our Lord Jesus says: "If any man will open unto me, I
will come in unto him and will sup with him;" and in another place,
"will abide with him." Then he explained so that the youngest of his
audience could understand what are the sins that bar the door against
our blessed Saviour, and how we set up idols upon the altars of God's
temple, by worshiping dress, vanity, pride, revenge, worldliness, and
our own way, and showed how nobody can really worship God and have him
abiding in his holy temple who yields obedience to anything or cares for
anything more than his will. He said it was an awful thing to _defile_
the temple of God by such things as drinking, smoking, and swearing, or
even by evil thoughts and dishonest intentions, by selfish motives and
unkindness in word or deed.
He closed his sermon in these words:--
"My hearers, every one of you is a temple of the Holy Ghost, built and
fashioned with exquisite skill, for his own chosen dwelling-place. See
to it that ye defile not this temple, and if it be in any wise already
defiled, from without or within, at once seek the double cleansing,
which flows from the Cross on Calvary, that thus your sacred temple may
be washed whiter than snow. Dethrone the idol _Self_ which has so long
usurped the place of God upon its altar, and let him rule alone. And
remember that every other human soul is likewise a sacred temple, no
matter how defiled and degraded it has become by yielding itself
willingly to the dominion of sin. Strive to do all that in you lies, by
kind, persuasive words, by example and effort, to cleanse the degraded
and polluted temples, and so do all in your power to exalt the dominion
and worship of God in all the human souls which he has made."
The impression made by this sermon upon its hearers was in accord with
the character and religious development of each.
James Mountjoy resolved to be more active and energetic in all efforts
to improve the condition of his work-people, to raise the fallen, to
reclaim the sinful, to set a better example and raise a higher standard
of moral excellence, that the human temples over whom he had influence
might be better fitted for the abiding presence of their heavenly Guest.
Some of the more thoughtful of his boys resolved that smoking, drinking,
and swearing should no longer, even in a slight degree, defile the
"temples" entrusted to their keeping.
Eunice Mountjoy made a more entire consecration of herself than ever
before to God's service, praying that there might be no hidden idols in
her temple; that self and self-seeking might be forever cast out, even
as our Lord cast out the money-changers and traffickers from the temple
at Jerusalem; that God's will in all things might be hers, and that she
might devote not a part only, but _all_ her time, all her faculties,
all her influence to his service in doing good to others, and thus
"worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness."
Katie Robertson felt that she had understood some things to-day as never
before. What but the presence of the Holy Spirit in her heart had
enabled her to see the right and strengthened her to do it, and thus
come off victorious over temptation? She remembered how the Holy Ghost
is symbolized by a pure white dove, and she longed that her temple
should also be a soft, white nest full of pure desires and kindly
thoughts, and that nothing she might do or say in her daily life, among
her companions or at home, should grieve that blessed heavenly
inhabitant.
Even Bertie Sanderson had been struck with the sermon. If her heart was
indeed a temple of the Holy Ghost, how was she defiling it? Envy,
hatred, and malice were allowed to run riot there; love of dress and
vanity were the idols enthroned on the altar; pride, disobedience,
irreverence, contempt of rightful authority, idleness, and
unfaithfulness were barring the door and keeping the loving Saviour,
who stood knocking there, from coming into his own.
Bertie felt uncomfortable; the Holy Spirit was speaking to her, and she
could not help but hear. But to hear and to obey are two very different
things. The girl knew that she could unbar the closed door of her heart
if she chose. One earnest, sincere prayer would bring the omnipotent aid
of the Spirit to cast out the evil things and cleanse the defilement.
But she did not _want_ them cast out; she loved them too well. It would
be all very well to have Christ's love, pity, forgiveness, and
protection, and to be sure of heaven when she died; but to be a
Christian--a saint she would have called it--now, to give up the things
that most interested her, and live a life of self-denial and
obedience,--she had no idea of doing any such thing. So, to drown the
voice that she could not help hearing but did not mean to obey, she went
off on a Sunday afternoon's excursion with some of the boys and girls,
received a sharp reprimand from her father for so doing, and went back
to her work on Monday morning more rebellious, more hardened, more idle,
more malicious than before.
The blessed Holy Spirit is always longing to have us come to Christ and
walk in his holy and happy ways. He watches for an opportunity to speak
to us, and does speak, again and again, inclining us to give up sin and
choose holiness, offering us, if we will do so, all the help we need.
But he will not _force_ us to obey his gentle call. If we _will_ not
listen and obey, he lets us go off on our self-chosen path, ceases to
speak audibly to us, and patiently waits for another and more propitious
season. Bertie Sanderson, that June Sunday, greatly "grieved the
Spirit."
But not so did Etta Mountjoy. This young lady, ever since that first
Wednesday when she attended her sister's tea-party, had thought more
seriously than she had ever thought before. The duty of being a
Christian had come home to her during Eunice's talk and prayer, and at
the same time she had felt that she was not, and had never tried to be,
one. She had seen this still more clearly during the subsequent
meetings, from which her duty to her own class would not permit her to
be absent. Dishonesty and hypocrisy were not Etta's vices; she could
not pretend to be what she was not, and yet she could not shake off the
impression that she _ought_ to give herself to Christ and openly confess
his name. She tried to put the subject out of her thoughts; but still,
as she listened, day by day, she grew more and more dissatisfied with
herself, her own character, her aims in life. The preparation of her
Sunday-school lessons became a dreaded task, for it was impossible to
minutely consider the shells of sacred things and not at the same time
take cognizance of the spiritual kernels which they envelop, and these
spiritual realities made her uncomfortable and more and more
dissatisfied with herself.
This Sunday's sermon had gone to the very quick of Etta's conscience,
painting as with a finger of light what she ought to be and what she
was. God had made her for his own temple and dwelling-place; made her
fair, outside and within; endowed her with intellectual and spiritual
gifts, and with wealth, station, and influence, giving her opportunities
for culture and usefulness far greater than most of those who surrounded
her. It was not chance or accident, but God, who had given her all
this, and he demanded, as he had a right to demand, in return, her love,
her obedience, her service. Had she given him these? Never once in her
whole life. She had set up upon his altar in the midst of his beautiful
temple the idol of self-pleasing, and never in her whole seventeen years
had she acted from any other motive than to please herself. It was
sacrilege, it was idolatry, it was dishonesty; and so were all the
actions which had come from such a corrupt source.
Etta was too clear-headed to suppose that any sudden change of practice,
which it was in her power to commence now, would make any difference.
She might obey mechanically, but she could not _make_ herself _love_,
and she did not love, God. His service was a weariness, prayer a
formality, the Bible a dull, uninteresting book. She did love a light,
gay, frivolous life; she saw no attractiveness in one of self-denial and
holy living.
She went directly to her room on reaching home, refused to go down to
dinner, sat behind the shaded blinds, and thought till thought became
insupportable; and then, having come to one settled determination, put
on her hat, covered her tear-stained face with a veil, and walked down
the hill to the parsonage, and rang the bell with a nervous jerk.
Whatever Etta did she did with a will; she made no halfway decisions.
The servant who admitted "Miss Etta" showed her into the pastor's study,
where after a time he joined her, looking a little surprised at
receiving such a visitor on Sunday afternoon. Etta's peculiarities,
however, were well known, and he concluded she had some new project in
her head, in which she desired his assistance and, as usual, could not
wait a moment to put it into execution. He was rather surprised by the
tear-swollen eyes and the resolute expression of face, and after
courteously welcoming his visitor, waited somewhat impatiently to hear
what she had to say.
"I came," said the girl, with her usual directness, "to ask you to give
my Sunday-school class to some one else."
"Tired of holding your hand to the plow, and beginning to look back
already, eh?" he said.
"No, sir, it isn't that; but I am not fit to teach any class; certainly
not such a one as this. I don't myself know what those girls ought to
learn; besides, I'm not a fit character for them to imitate."
"Not a fit character? What can you mean?"
So far Etta had spoken quite steadily, but now there came a tremor into
her voice, a mist before her eyes, and a choking sensation in her
throat, that would not let her speak.
He waited a few moments, then said gently: "Try to tell me about it, and
I will help you if I can."
Encouraged by something fatherly in the clergyman's voice, the girl at
last found courage to commence her story; and having broken the ice, her
words came fluently enough, as she tried to make him understand how
utterly self-seeking and godless her life and character were; how the
temple that should be God's was barred against him, and filled with
idols and idolatry.
"This must be the Holy Spirit's teachings," said he, gravely; "for, so
far as I know, you are no worse or more careless than most girls of
your age."
But this thought was no comfort to her thoroughly aroused conscience,
nor did the minister suppose it would be. He continued:
"Now that you see how bad things are, you are going to change them, are
you not? You will open the barred doors that our blessed Lord wants to
enter, and let him henceforth be your one object of worship and
obedience, will you not?"
"How can I?" said the astonished girl. "I can't _make_ myself like
things."
"No; but it is the Holy Ghost who desires to come into his holy temple,
and where he comes he brings healing, cleansing, and regenerating power.
What we have to do is to let him do his work, not hindering him by our
self-will and disobedience, not even trying to _feel_ as we think we
ought to feel."
"But I am not worthy to have him come to me. For seventeen years I have
been sinning against him and grieving him. Even if I were made right all
at once, I could not undo all that."
"But Jesus can," he said solemnly. "Have you forgotten the cross, and
all that it means? Have you forgotten that he died to bear the penalty
of sin, and that for his sake the worst sinners can be forgiven? We are
none of us worthy to come to him, or, which is the same thing, to have
him come to us; but he is the 'propitiation, sacrifice, and satisfaction
for the sins of the whole world'; it is not what you can do or be, but
what he has done and is. Believe that he loves you, and died for you,
and is your Saviour, and you cannot help loving and trusting him and
letting his Spirit do with you as he will."
Was that all? So simple, so easy, and yet an hour ago it had seemed so
impossible to be a Christian. She did not speak for some minutes; then
she said:--
"Have I nothing at all to do?"
"A great deal by-and-by; only one thing to-day."
"And that is?"
"To be sure that you are in earnest, that you are thoroughly ashamed of,
and sorry for, the past, really anxious to be delivered from sin and
made holy, and resolutely determined obediently to follow where God
leads the way."
"I believe I am in earnest," said she, simply. "Won't you pray for me,
sir?"
"Yes, indeed, my child," said the minister, laying his hand on her head.
"God bless you, and make you very happy in his love, and useful in his
service."
"You will provide a teacher for my class?" said Etta, as somewhat later
she rose to take her leave.
"Why, no; unless you are really tired of it. I think you had better go
on as you have commenced."
"I am not fit to be a Sunday-school teacher."
"I am not fit to be a minister; but God, in his providence, has seen fit
to make me one, and so I trust him to give me the strength and wisdom I
need. If you will do the same, you will become a very successful and
efficient Sunday-school teacher; and this is a good way in which to
consecrate your talents and opportunities to his service. Now, good-by;
I must prepare for the evening service. Whenever you want help, advice,
or sympathy, be sure you come to me."
Etta went home in a new world of thought and feeling. She seemed to
herself scarcely to be the same girl; but in fact she was not thinking
particularly about herself. God's love in desiring to save sinners,
Christ's love in dying for them, the love of the Holy Spirit in being
willing to come and abide with them, filled all her soul, and she was
not _trying_ to love this triune God, but loving him with all her might,
because she could not help doing so. How strange it is that we go on
from year to year, trying to be better, trying to feel right, trying to
make ourselves holy, instead of just opening the door of the temple of
our heart and believing that Jesus Christ loves us, and _because_ he
loves us will make us all that he wants us to be.