The art of life.
And its whole curriculum lies in one word--"Learn of me." Unlike
most education, this is almost purely personal; it is not to be had
from books, or lectures or creeds or doctrines. It is a study from
the life. Christ never said much in mere words about the Christian
graces. He lived them, He was them. Yet we do not merely copy
Him. We learn His art by living with Him, like the old apprentices
with their masters.
Now we understand it all? Christ's invitation to the weary
and heavy-laden is a call to begin life over again upon a new
principle--upon His own principle. "Watch my way of doing things,"
He says; "Follow me. Take life as I take it. Be meek and lowly,
and you will find Rest."
I do not say, remember, that the Christian life to every man, or
to any man, can be a bed of roses. No educational process can be
this. And perhaps if some men knew how much was involved in the
simple "learn" of Christ, they would not enter His school with so
irresponsible a heart. For there is not only much to learn, but
Much to unlearn.
Many men never go to this school at all till their disposition is
already half ruined and character has taken on its fatal set. To
learn arithmetic is difficult at fifty--much more to learn
Christianity. To learn simply what it is to be meek and lowly, in
the case of one who has had no lessons in that in childhood, may
cost him half of what he values most on earth. Do we realize,
for instance, that the way of teaching humility is generally by
HUMILIATION? There is probably no other school for it. When a man
enters himself as a pupil in such a school it means a very great
thing. There is much Rest there, but there is also much Work.
I should be wrong, even though my theme is the brighter side, to
ignore the cross and minimize the cost. Only it gives to the cross
a more definite meaning, and a rarer value, to connect it thus
directly and casually with the growth of the inner life. Our
platitudes on the "benefits of affliction" are usually about as
vague as our theories of Christian Experience. "Somehow" we believe
affliction does us good. But it is not a question of "Somehow."
The result is definite, calculable, necessary. It is under the
strictest law of cause and effect. The first effect of losing
one's fortune, for instance, is humiliation; and the effect of
humiliation, as we have just seen, is to make one humble; and the
effect of being humble is to produce Rest. It is a roundabout
way, apparently, of producing Rest; but Nature generally works by
circular processes; and it is not certain that there is any other
way of becoming humble, or of finding Rest. IF a man could make
himself humble to order, it might simplify matters; but we do not
find that this happens. Hence we must all go through the mill.
Hence death, death to the lower self, is the nearest gate and the
quickest road to life.
Yet this is only half the truth. Christ's life outwardly was one
of the most troubled lives that was ever lived: tempest and tumult,
tumult and tempest, the waves breaking over it all he time till the
worn body was laid in the grave. But the inner life was a sea of
glass. The great calm was always there. At any moment you might
have gone to Him and found Rest. Even when the blood-hounds were
dogging Him in the streets of Jerusalem, He turned to His disciples
and offered them, as a last legacy, "My peace." Nothing ever for
a moment broke the serenity of Christ's life on earth. Misfortune
could not reach Him; He had no fortune. Food, raiment,
money--fountain-heads of half the world's weariness--He simply did
not care for; they played no part in His life; He "took no thought"
for them. It was impossible to affect Him by lowering His reputation.
He had already made Himself of no reputation. He was dumb before
insult. When he was reviled, He reviled not again. In fact, there
was