In his letter to the Christians at Rome, the Apostle Paul counsels them
not to let their "good be evil spoken of." And at first we ask
ourselves if this is a possible thing. Can you have good that is evil
spoken of? Since this is a matter that ought to concern us all, I want
to suggest one or two ways in which this very result may be brought
about, that those of us who are trying to follow an ideal of goodness
may be on our guard.
First, we can very readily have what is good in us evil spoken of
because of our CENSORIOUSNESS. When men come upon some fruit that grows
upon a goodly-looking tree, or one at least that has a trustworthy label
attached to it, and find it sour or bitter to the taste, they are apt to
be particularly resentful. And it is with precisely such indignation
that they observe men and women who profess themselves followers of
Christ exhibiting a censorious and critical spirit. Where ought you to
find the broadest charity, the kindliest judgment, the most Christ-like
forbearance and restraint? Among Christians, of course. And yet--alas!
alas!
Just keep your ears open with this end in view for a week, and you will
be surprised at the appallingly hard judgments that come tripping
daintily from the lips of some of those you know best. And if that line
of investigation be not very handy, just watch yourself for the same
time, and you will learn what a rare thing Christian charity is.
We talk a lot about it, but in real life we "forbid" men very readily
"because they follow not us," we belittle things which we do not
understand, we speak rashly about people whom we do not know, and we are
ready, without the least consideration, with our label for the movement
or the man, who happens to be brought to our notice.
Ah, if we could only see how far astray we often are, what a libel our
label is, and how unChrist-like many of our speeches appear! We don't
know enough of the inner life of any man to entitle us to pass judgment
upon him. A critical spirit never commends its possessor to the
affection or the good-will of men. Besides, it blinds him to much that
is really beautiful, and cuts him off from many sources of happiness.
You will see evil in almost anything if you look for it, but that is not
a gift that makes either for helpfulness or popular esteem. "I do not
call that by the name of religion," says Robert Louis Stevenson, "which
fills a man with bile," and, on the whole, the ordinary man is of the
same mind with him.
"Judge not; the workings of his brain
And of his heart thou canst not see.
What looks, to thy dim eyes, a stain,
In God's pure light may only be
A scar brought from some well-won field,
Where thou wouldst only faint and yield."
Sometimes one must, in the interests of true religion, pass judgment,
but these times are not so frequent as we suppose. And if there are
occasions more than others when the disciple needs an overflowing
measure of Christ's spirit, it is when it is his clear duty to diagnose,
disapprove, and condemn.
Secondly, we may have our good evil spoken of by our EXTREMENESS. I
should be very chary of saying that there is such a thing as being
righteous overmuch, but for two reasons. The first is that there is an
injunction in Scripture against it. And the second is that I have met
people, of whom, in all charity, it was true! The modern name for being
righteous overmuch is being a "crank." Now, nobody loves a crank. The
extremist always does his own cause harm. Carefulness about one's food
is a good thing, but to take an analytical chemist's outfit to table
with us is simply to ask for the contempt of all sensible people.
Paul's advice to the Philippians was, "Let your moderation be known to
all men." And Paul was himself a splendid example of the true
moderation as distinguished from that which is merely indolent and
uninterested. Earnest, enthusiastic, loyal, there was yet about him a
big and healthy sanity, a sweet reasonableness, and--what the extremist
always lacks--an engaging tact. In other words, Paul was a Christian
gentleman, and if you want to know what that means, read his letter to
Philemon about Onesimus the runaway slave. There are blunt words with
which a man can be felled as effectually as with the "grievous crab-tree
cudgel" of which Bunyan speaks. Paul did not consider it any special
virtue to employ such words. His Christian zeal did not lead him to
make a statement in a way that would irritate and rasp a man's soul.
There is a certain extreme candour affected by some Christian people,
who pride themselves on always calling a spade a spade. But if it hurts
my friend to hear me say "spade" I know of no law of God that compels me
to name the implement at all!
And then, lastly, we can have our goodness "evil spoken of" because it
is so COLD. It sometimes seems as if, in our day, warmth of manner had
gone out of fashion. Ian Maclaren once said of our generation that it
will "smile feebly when wished a happy New Year as if apologising for a
lapse into barbarism." But I don't think any sensible person, not
blinded by an absurd convention, cares for that type of rarified
demeanour. No one likes to get a hand to shake which feels like a dead
fish!
In one of his books, Dr Dale of Birmingham criticised that line in
Keble's hymn which speaks about the trivial round and the common task
giving us "room to deny ourselves." "No doubt," he says, "but I should
be very sorry for the people I live with to discharge their home duties
in the spirit of martyrs. God preserve us all from wives, husbands,
children, brothers, and sisters who go about the house with an air of
celestial resignation." Ah, no, that's not the goodness, either at home
or on the street, which wins men. It is not beautiful because it is too
cold. The religion of Jesus is something much more than duty-doing.
Thou shalt love the Lord thy GOD WITH ALL THY HEART. Whosoever compels
thee to go a mile, GO WITH HIM TWAIN. Whatsoever ye do, do it HEARTILY
AS UNTO THE LORD.