The Parable of the Finger-Posts.
Waiting is harder work than working. It takes more out of you. And it puts
more into you, too, of fine-grained, steady strength, if you can stand the
strain of it. And if, to the waiting is added perplexity, the pull upon
your strength is much greater. It is harder to hold steady, and not break.
And if the thing you've put your very life into seems at stake, that taxes
the wearing power of your strength to the utmost.
Such a time, and just such a test, came to the little band of disciples
after the resurrection, and before the ascension. The story of it is told
in that added chapter of John's Gospel. You remember that last chapter is
one of the added touches. The Gospel is finished with the finish of the
twentieth chapter. Then John is led by the Spirit, to add something more.
That added chapter becomes to us like an acted parable, the parable of the
added touch. There is always the added touch, the extra touch of power, of
love, of answer to prayer. Our Lord has a way of giving more. The prayer
itself is answered, and then some added touch is given for full measure.
So it is in all His dealings, when He is allowed to have His own way. He
is the Lord of the added touch. He does exceeding abundantly above what we
ask, or think, or expect.
These disciples were now to have one of these added touches. It was a time
of sore perplexity. The crucifixion had left them dazed, stupefied. It was
wholly unexpected. They were utterly at sea, with neither compass, nor
steering apparatus of any sort. That Saturday to them was one of the
longest, dreariest, heaviest days ever spent by any one. They had all
proven untrue to their dead Friend, save one.
Then as unexpectedly came the resurrection. They're dazed again, this time
with joy. They haven't taken it in yet. To say that the two shocks, each
so radically different from the other, shook them tremendously, is stating
it very mildly. They don't know themselves. They haven't found their feet.
They haven't adjusted yet to their swiftly changing surroundings. They
don't know what next. They don't know what to do.
So the old impulsive Simon in Peter proposed something. Simon, the
unsteady, was much in evidence those days. Peter the rock-man hadn't
arrived yet. This was Simon Peter's specialty, proposing something. He
said, "Well, I'm going fishing." And the others quickly said, "We'll go
along." The mere doing something would be a relief. But they caught
nothing. It was a poor night. The morning brought only heavy hearts with
light nets and boats. They had failed at following; now they were failing
even at their old specialty, fishing. Couldn't they do _any_thing?
In the dim light of the breaking dawn there's some One standing on the
beach, a Stranger. He seems interested in them, and calls out familiarily,
"Have you caught anything?" And you feel the heaviness of their hearts
over something else in the shout "No." And the gentle voice calls out,
with a certain tone of quiet authority in it, "Throw over on the right
there, and you'll get some fish." And they cast the nets out again,
feeling a strong impulse to obey this kindly Stranger, without stopping to
think out why.
And at once the ropes pull so hard that it takes all their strength to
hold them. It's John's quick insight that recognizes the Stranger. With
his heart in his throat, in awe-touched voice, he quietly says, "It's the
Lord." That's enough for Peter. He takes the shortest way to shore. He has
some things to talk over with the Master. And as the seven tired men
landed the fish, they found breakfast waiting on the sands. Who built that
fire? Who cooked that fish? Who was thinking about them and caring for
their personal needs, when they were so tired and hungry? And when
breakfast was finished, there's the quiet talk together, about love and
service, while the sun is climbing up in the east. It is addressed to
Peter, but it is meant, too, for those who were so fleet-footed a few
nights before.
All this was the answer to their perplexity. They were willing and waiting
to follow, but they had failed so badly. They were not quite sure where
they stood. They had no finger-posts. Now the finger-posts were put up to
show the way. This fishing scene was an acted parable, the Parable of the
Finger-posts.
The Lineage of Service.
Look at these finger-posts a little. There was the Lord Jesus. They didn't
recognize Him. But He was there. He had a plan. He took authoritative
command of their movements. He gave directions. They obeyed Him. Then came
the great haul of fish. Then came the quiet talk about love and service,
but with the emphasis on love.
The love was the chief thing. The service was something growing out of
love. "Lovest thou Me?" Then thou mayest serve, thou hast the chiefest
qualification. Our Lord gave them the lineage of service that morning.
These are the generations of true service. A sight of Jesus begets love, a
tender, gentle, strong, passionate thing of rarest beauty that is
immortal, but must have the constant sight of its father's face for
vigorous life. And love at once begets obedience, which grows strong and
stout and skilled, as long as it stays in its father's presence. And
obedience begets service, untiring, glad, patient service.
There are some outsiders that have come into this family, but they do not
have the fine traits of blood-kin. "Duty" is one of these. It serves
because it must. And at times it renders fine, high service. But its
service comes out of the will, rather than out of the heart. It is ruled
more by a sense of propriety, never by a passion of the heart.
"Privilege" is near of kin to duty, and it is a high-born, fine-grained
thing. It serves because it is an honour to do so. It is enjoyable to be
so highly connected. But it constantly needs proper recognition and
appreciation of its work and skill. But these are really outsiders. They
have married in, and do not have the real family traits. The one word, and
the only one, that may properly be used for true service is that fine
word, "passion." True service is a thing of love, a thing of the heart, a
flame that pervades and permeates and envelops the whole life within and
without, a fire that consumes and controls.
The Lord Jesus, His presence, His plan, His authoritative leadership,
their obedience, love thrice asked and given, service because of
love,--these are the finger-posts for these perplexed men. They can be put
into very simple shape for our guidance. Three finger-posts hung up will
include all of them,--_clear vision, a spirit of obedience, a heart of
tender love_. These are the three great essentials of all true, full
following. And there will not be, there cannot be, true full following
without all three of these. There may be much earnest, honest service,
much faithful plodding, and hard work, and much good done. But there's
always less than the best. There is less than should be. The best results
are not being got for the effort expended, except where these three are
blended.
A clear vision means simply a clear understanding of things as they are,
and of what needs to be done, with all the facts in that belong in. A
spirit of obedience means not only an obedience in spirit, a spirited
obedience, but an obedience that fits into the spirit of the Leader and
His plans. And through these as a fine fragrance breathes a heart of
tender undiscourageable love.
Not Quite In Is Outside.
These three things must be kept in poise. So the Master plans. This is the
parable of the fishing. There are many illustrations of one only of these,
or two, in action. And the bad or poor result that works out can be
plainly seen. The Holy Spirit with great plainness and faithfulness has
hung up cautionary signs along the road.
There may be _clear vision without obedience._ That is, a clear
understanding of the Master's plan, but a failure to fit in. That will
mean a dimming vision. And if persisted in, it will mean spiritual
disaster. The great illustration of this is Judas. Judas had as clear a
vision, in all likelihood, as the others when he was chosen for
discipleship, and later for apostleship. There was the possibility of a
John in Judas, even as there was the possibility of a Judas in John. Both
are in every man. But Judas was not true to the vision he had. He wanted
to use the Master to further his own plans and advantage. And the vision
slowly blurred and dimmed, as the under nature was given the upper hand.
The Master's clear insight recognized the demon spirit that Judas had
allowed to come in, though Judas did not.[101] Then came the dastardly act
of betrayal. And Judas has been held up to universal scorn and
condemnation.
But Judas isn't so lonely, if you think into the thing a bit. He only put
personal advantage above loyalty to the Lord Jesus. He simply preferred
his own plans to the Master's plans. That was all. And he tried to force
his own through, without suspecting how the thing would turn out, and how
tremendously much was involved. The great events being worked out have
thrown his contemptible act into the limelight of history. But the act
itself wasn't uncommon. Possibly you may know some one living quite near,
with some of this same sort of trait.
One of the saddest things in the record of Christian leadership is just
this, clear vision with a gradually lessening obedience, then a gradually
dimming vision, and that decrease of both increasing, as the slant down
increases. The old-time motions in public ministering continue, more or
less mechanically, but the power has long since passed away. And sadder
yet, like the strong man of old, these shorn men wist it not. One's lips
refuse to repeat the word "Judas" of them, even in the inner thoughts. Yet
these class themselves under the same description,--clear vision without
full obedience to it; personal plans and preferences put above loyalty to
the Master.
A second illustration is that of King Saul. Clear vision, failure to obey,
forcing himself to wrong action to keep his popularity, rebellion,
stubbornness,--these are the simple successive steps in his story. And the
black night falls upon the utter spiritual disaster of his career, as he
lies prone on the earth before the witch.
These two characters become formulas; they need only to be filled in with
other names to make accurate modern biography of some.
There may be _clear vision with make-believe_ or _partial obedience_. It
hurts to speak of such a thing. The word "hypocrisy" is a very hard one to
get out at the lips. It should never be used except to help, and then
very, very sparingly, and only in humblest spirit, and with earnest,
secret prayer. Ananias and Sapphira quickly come to mind here. They wanted
_men_ to think them wholly surrendered, though they knew they were not.
That was all; not so unusual a thing, after all. There are sore
temptations here for many. The swiftness of the punishment that came does
not mean that their wrong was worse than that of others who do the same
thing. That modern religious lying of this sort is not as quickly judged
merely tells the marvellous _patience_ of God.
There may be _clear vision and obedience without love._ This means a hard,
cold, stern righteousness. It is truth without grace. Nothing can be made
to seem more repulsive. One incident in Elijah's career furnishes the
illustration here. Let us say such a thing _very softly_ of such a mighty
man of God, and say it in fewest words, and only to help. He was a man of
marvellous faith, and prayer, and bold daring, in the midst of a very
crooked and perverse generation. Israel was at its very lowest moral ebb
thus far.
Elijah had a clear understanding of what should be done to check the awful
impurity which was sweeping over the nation like a flood-tide. He was true
to his conviction in sending the four hundred priests of horribly
licentious worship to their death. But was he brokenhearted over them? Was
he utterly broken down with grief as he led them to the little running
brook of Kishon for the nation's sake? God touched the sore spot, when,
down at Horeb, the mount of thunder and fire, He spoke to this man of fire
and thunder in that exquisitely soft sound of gentle stillness. This was
a new revelation of God to this stern prophet of righteousness.
There may be a sort of letter-obedience, a formal obedience to the vision
you have. In one's own estimation, there may seem to be a knowledge of
what is right, and a self-satisfied doing of it. There may be a
painstaking attention to the forms of obedience, and a self-righteous
content in doing the required things. Is this the underlying thought in
Peter's self-complacent remark, "Lo, _we_ have left all and followed
Thee.[102] We're so much better than this rich young ruler who couldn't
stand the test you put to him. _We----"?_ Poor, self-confident Peter! When
the fire test did come, and come so hot, how his "we" did crumble!
"_Light Obeyed Increaseth Light_."
There may be _obedience without clear vision._ That is, there may be a
doing of what is thought to be right, but without a clear understanding of
what is the right thing to do. This results in _fanaticism_. Moses killing
the Egyptian and hiding his body in the sand had no clear vision of God's
plan. He knew something was wrong, and that something needed to be done.
And so he proposed doing something. And the poor Egyptian who happened in
his way that day felt the weight of his zeal. It's a not uncommon way of
attempting to righten wrongs. He forgot that there is a God, and a plan,
and that he who does not work into the plan of God is hitting wrong. There
has been a lot of wreckage scattered along this beach.
Saul persecuting the Christians is another illustration here. He is a sad,
striking example of conscientiousness without sufficient knowledge, of
earnestness without clear light. He was conscientiously doing the wrong
thing, as earnestly as he could, supposing it to be the right thing. John
wanted to call down fire from heaven and burn up some people that didn't
fit in with their plans.[103] Earnest intensity without sufficient light
has kindled a good many fires of this sort.
Sometimes this does not go as far as hurtful fanaticism, but leads to
blundering and confusion and delay. Abraham was acting without clear light
when he yielded to Sarah's plan of compromise for getting an heir.[104] A
bit of quiet holding of her suggestion before God for light would have
cleared his mind. The result was wholly bad,--a confusion in his own mind,
a mental cloudiness about God's plan and promise, an element of discord
introduced in the tribal life, and a delay of many years, apparently,
before the conditions were ripe for the coming of the heir of faith, on
God's own plan.
Peter eating with his Gentile Christian brothers, and then refusing to eat
with them, when some Jewish Christians came down from Jerusalem, made
very bitter feeling in the Church at Antioch, for a time.[105] Paul's
clearer light helped. Time spent in waiting for clearer light is always
time wisely spent, even though we may seem slow.
There may be _love without clear vision_. The love makes intense desire to
do something, but with no clear idea of what would best be done. Peter's
awkward sword-thrust was an attempt to help, because of real love in his
heart for his Master, now in personal danger. The Master's quiet healing
touch recognized the love, and also rebuked and corrected the hasty,
ill-advised action. But there's worse yet here, mean contemptible
cowardice. Peter actually denying his relation with his Friend and Master,
and making his denial seem more natural by the addition of the oaths that
the maid well knew no follower of this Jesus could have uttered--what mean
contemptible cowardice! But go gently there in using such hard words. He
was only afraid of being hurt. He merely wanted to save himself. That
isn't such an uncommon thing. Haven't you sometimes known something of
this sort--_among others?_
The cowardly nine, making a new record for fleet-footedness, down the
road, in the dark, were only doing the same thing in more cowardly,
less-spirited fashion. These men loved Jesus. No one may doubt that. But
there was no clear understanding of that night's doings, though the
Master had faithfully and plainly tried to tell them. Fear for their own
safety overcame the real love in their hearts for the Man they forsook
that dark night.
_Clear vision and love without obedience_ is--impossible! Where there is
no obedience, or faulty obedience, either the vision has blurred or
dimmed, or the love is burning low.
_Clear vision and loving obedience_ mean power, sweet, gentle, fragrant,
helpful power. It means a grateful crowd, and a pleased Master, who has
been able once again to reach the crowd.
_Clear vision and love as a passion_, an intense passion, means
irresistible power. That is to say it means a perfect human medium through
which our Lord Jesus can act and manifest Himself. And this is the real
meaning of power, power to the full,--Jesus Christ in free action. John,
the fisherman, had a gradually but steadily clearing vision. He did not
understand fully. But he understood enough to know that there was more to
come which would clear things up. He could follow where He did not
understand. His love for the Man controlled, while his understanding was
clearing. He went in "_with_ Jesus" that awful night. I imagine he never
left His side. Can we ever be grateful enough that at least one of us was
true that night!
There was the same danger as with the others, and it was made more acute
by His simple, open stand at his Friend's side. But love, with at least
some understanding, held him steady. He could understand that Jesus must
be doing the right thing, even though he could not understand the run of
events that centred about Jesus.
The intensity that would call down fire, changed, under the influence of
the changing, clearing vision, into an intensity of love. It was a
mellower, gentler, evener, but not less intense flame. The disciple whom
Jesus loved became the disciple of love. Love and vision worked upon each
other from earliest times with him. Love made the vision clearer, the
clearing vision made the love stronger, till they worked together into a
perfect blend.
Paul's unmistakable vision on the Damascus road brought a passion of love,
and an answering obedience, that swept him like a great flame. The
fire-marks of that flame could be found all over the Roman Empire. He made
mistakes doubtless, but these but made the trend of his whole life stand
out the more. Paul was a wonderful combination of brain and heart and
will, held in remarkable poise. The finest classic on love is from his
pen. John could love. Paul could love, and could tell about love.
But a peculiar tenderness comes into one's heart as we remember that there
was just one Man who held these three in perfect poise. And let us not
forget that though He was more than man, yet it was a _man_, one of
ourselves, who so held these three in such fine balance. It was a human
poise, even as planned by the Father for the human life. The clear vision
early began coming to Him,[106] and it became clearer and fuller and
unmistakable until it had had its fulfilment. Obedience was the touchstone
of all His life, from Nazareth to Olivet. And who, like Him, had the heart
of tender love, the heart that was ever moved with compassion at sight of
need, the heart that broke at the last under the sore grief of its burden
of love?
The Olivet Vision.
Shall we take a moment more to look at these three finger-posts a little
more closely? Just what is meant by _a clear vision?_ I could say at once
that it means a vision of our Lord Jesus Christ. And yet that language has
sometimes been used in a vague sort of way. And some of us have taken it
in a vague indefinite way, and not thought into its practical meaning.
Clear vision here means an understanding of who Christ Jesus is, and what
He is, and what plans He has. Then it means that that understanding is so
clear that it becomes intense, intense to the point of being overwhelming.
That is, it becomes the _dominant_ thing that controls your thinking, and
affections, and actions,--your life.
I think I may say correctly that the place for getting such a clear, full
vision of Christ Jesus is _Olivet_. Olivet is a good place to pitch your
tent for a little while, until your vision clears. Then you'll not stay
there, though you may return to keep the lines of your vision clear and
clean; you will be down in the valleys with the crowds.
One day the Master led His disciples out to the Mount of Olives. It was
the last time they were together. And the group of men stand there
talking, the eleven grouped about the One. He is talking with them quietly
and earnestly. Then, to their utter amazement, His feet are off the
ground, He is rising upward in the air, then higher, and higher, until a
bit of cloud moves across, and they see Him no more. This is all you would
see at a distance.
But let us come a bit nearer, and stand _with_ them, and listen, and
watch. Olivet is the last bit of earth to feel the presence of the
Master's feet. Off yonder to the west, down in the valley, you see a clump
of trees; that is Gethsemane, the place of the bloody sweat and the tense
agony of spirit. Across the valley, still looking west, lies the city,
outside whose wall is the little knoll called Calvary, where Jesus gave
His life out. Over here to the east and south lies little Bethany, which
speaks of His resurrection power. And a bit farther off are the bare wilds
sloping down,--that is the place of the sore temptation. Far away to the
north, up in the clouds, lies _the_ snow-clad mountain, beyond your outer
vision, yet coming now to your inner vision, where the God within shined
out through the Man.
But while a quick glance takes all this in, your eyes are caught and held
by the Man in the midst. His presence embodies and intensifies all that
these places suggest. His face bears the impress of the Wilderness, and of
the Garden. The scars plainly there tell of Calvary, as no piece of
geography ever can. His mere presence tells unmistakably of the
resurrection. And you know who He is, and what. He made the world and
breathed His breath of life into man's nostrils. Later He came in amongst
us as one of ourselves. He was tempted like as we, suffered like as we
never suffered, gave His life for us, went down into death, _rose_ up
again out of death. This is the Jesus of Olivet.
But the action of His face and pose are part of the sight. His eyes are
looking _outward_. The set of His face is out. His hands point out. And He
is talking; listen: He is talking about a _"world"_. And the outward turn
of face and eyes and pointing hand become the emphasis of that word,
"_world."_ He died for a world. He is thinking about a world. He has a
plan of action for a world.
But another word gets your ear--"_ye."_ He is thinking about these
disciples, about His followers. He has a plan of action for them. And
these two plans, for the world, for their lives, these two are tied up
together. And a third word stands out--"_I_." "I am with you, I am in
command." And now three things stand out together, a world-plan, a plan
for the follower's life fitting into the world-plan, and in the
midst--Jesus, the Christ, my Saviour, my Lord. This is the Olivet vision.
This, the clear, full vision: of Jesus, crucified, risen, empowered; of
His world-plan; of His plan for my life as part of the world-plan.
Olivet faces four ways. Backward, it points to the sympathy, the
humanness, the suffering, the cross, of Jesus. Upward, it looks to
Himself, now sitting above the clouds at the Father's right hand, "far
above all rule, and authority, and power, and dominion, and every name
that is named," with "all things in subjection under His feet." Outward,
it reaches to the world He died for, and plans for, and is still brooding
over with more than a mother's love. Forward, it anticipates eagerly the
time when He will come back to finish up what He began, and we are to
continue. When He returns it will be to this same Olivet.[107] He picks up
the line of action exactly where He left it. Olivet is to know a second
pressure of those feet.
This is the clear, full vision, the three-fold vision we need and must
have for true following: Himself, His world-plan, His plan for each one's
life. This means seeing things as they are. They fall into true
perspective. You see how disproportioned and grotesque the common
perspective of earth is. You see things through His eyes. His eyes take
out of yours the personal colouring, the colour blindness of personal
interest and advantage which so strangely and strongly affect all our
sight.
We need frequent visits to Olivet's top, until constant looking at its
outlooking landscape, at Himself, fills and floods our eyes. We need the
quiet time alone with Himself and His Word, and some map-picture of His
world, as a habit, until these, Himself, and His word, and His world, are
burned into eyes and heart, until they fire as a sweet fever the whole
life.
The Spirit of Obedience.
Out of the vision comes the _spirit of obedience_. We have spoken of the
act of obedience, and the habit of obedience, but deeper down is the
spirit of obedience, which lies under act and habit. I have used the
words, "spirit of obedience," rather than simply the word, "obedience,"
because obedience sometimes stands for a bondage to rules, a slavery to
things. The obedience itself must be deeper than rule or outward thing.
The spirit of obedience sees into the spirit of the rule, and through the
outward thing, and floods it with a new spirit of life. This spirit of
obedience is the one finger-post found oftenest along this road. So only
can we be true to the vision. And obedience itself is not true obedience,
nor true to the vision, save as it is a love-obedience. Real obedience
breathes in the spirit of the One being obeyed. It breathes out the
love-spirit of him who obeys.
The touchstone of the "Follow Me" life is not need, nor service, nor
sacrifice. The need is felt to the paining point. The service is given
joyously to the limit of strength. The sacrifice is yielded to to the
bleeding point. But these all come as they come, _through and out of
obedience._ Yet need _is_ the controlling thing, too, _but_ not the need
as _we_ see it, but as _He_ sees it, who sees all, and feels most deeply.
The need is best met, the service best given, the sacrifice most healing
in its power, as each grows out of obedience.
_The standard of obedience_ is three-fold, the Word of God, the Spirit of
God, and one's own judgment and spirit-insight. These three are meant to
fit together. This is the natural result when things are, even measurably,
as they should be. When God is allowed to sway the life as He wishes,
these three fit and blend perfectly. The Word of God taken alone will lead
to superstitious regard for a book and to a cramped judgment and action.
To say that we are guided by the Spirit, without due regard for the Book
He has been the principal one in writing, leads to fanaticism, or at least
to ill-advised, unbalanced, unnatural opinions and action.
Naturally one's own judgment and spirit-insight play a large part, for
they make the personal decision, they interpret both Word and Spirit to
us. It is through one's judgment and spirit-insight that the Holy Spirit
and the Word influence the decision and action. The great essential is the
habitual, quiet, broad, thoughtful study of God's Word, with the will and
life utterly yielded to the Holy Spirit. So one's spirit is trained to
understand, and one's judgment to form its conclusions. The Holy Spirit
makes us understand God's purpose as revealed in His Word, and fits this
into the need of practical life. Obedience, intelligent and full, depends
upon the quiet time alone with God over His Word.
I want to add something more here. It is something startling. _There are
no break-downs in the path of obedience_. I say that very softly, as a
guilty sinner in the matter of break-downs. I remember that the record of
Christian service is like one continuous record of break-downs, broken
bodies, wrecked nerves, sometimes wrecked minds. And I am not saying it to
criticize any one, except it be myself. Out of a long personal experience
of constant going, unwise overwork, and serious break-downs, I am but
confessing my own sins, when I say there are no break-downs in the path of
obedience. Does that mean that there is much earnest service that we have
not been told to do? And the answer must be a very gentle, but very clear,
"Yes."
But the Man in command has perfect knowledge of what you can do. And _He
never asks you to do anything beyond your strength_. Or, if He does need
you to meet some emergency beyond your strength, He gives the strength
required. He sends in a fresh supply of resurrection life to repair the
waste of your body, and then, too, He calls into use strength, resources,
talents, that you have not known you had. Now I know that if this be
taken seriously, it will lead some to a heart-searching time alone with
the Master. I am sure that if obedience alone is to be the key-note, it
will mean many a readjustment. And it will mean, too, a new flood stream
of power flowing through and out as the connecting parts are re-adjusted.
There's a helpful literal reading of a verse in Hebrews.[108] "Now the God
of peace, who brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, the great
Shepherd of the sheep, with the blood of an eternal covenant, _put you in
joint [with Himself]_ to do _His_ will in every good work, working in you
[or through you] that which is well-pleasing in His sight." Obedience puts
us in joint with Him, if we are out. It keeps us in joint; then the power
flows from Him, through that joint, out where our life touches.
Obedience is really a music word. It is the rhythmic swinging together of
two wills, His and ours. Rhythm of action is power. Rhythm of colour is
beauty. Rhythm of sound is music. But it's really all music. For power is
music of action. Beauty is music to the eye. Rhythmic sound is music to
the ear and heart. If there might be more of this music, He and we in
perfect accord, how the crowds would be caught by its melody and come
eagerly to listen.
The Heart of Love.
And out of the vision comes the heart of love. The sight of the Lord
Jesus' face begets love; and love begets obedience. But obedience never
can keep true away from its father. It is never true full obedience except
it have the throbbing heart of love in it. This is the unfailing mark.
It's so easy to fail here. Yet "love never faileth." The classical
Thirteenth of First Corinthians becomes an indictment. We know it better
in the Book than in life. "Love suffereth long, ... _envieth_ not ... is
not puffed up; doth not behave itself unbecomingly or inconsistently,
seeketh not even its own, is not provoked." Love "beareth" with "all
things" in the one loved, which it would gladly have different, "believeth
all" possibly good "things" of him, "hopeth" for "all" desirable "things"
in him, "endureth all things" in him that hurt and pain. "Love _never_
faileth." In conversation one day with an unusually earnest worker in the
Orient, we were talking of these things. His work was beset by many sore
perplexities. "Ah," he said, "there is where I have failed. I have not had
the heart of love." And I thought how many of us could say the same thing.
There are in the Bible three great illustrations of the heart of love. As
Moses came down from the presence of God, and found the people dancing
about the golden calf, he was hotly indignant. But as he goes back to
plead with God, the greatness of his love and grief comes out. In God's
presence their sin is seen to be so much greater. He cries, "Oh, this
people have sinned a great sin, and have made them gods of gold. Yet now
if Thou wilt forgive their sin----" And a great sob breaks the sentence
abruptly off, and it is never finished. The possibility seems to come to
his mind, in this holy presence, that such sin, by these so greatly blest,
could not be forgiven. And that seems to him unbearable. "And if not," if
it cannot be forgiven, "_blot me_, I pray Thee, _out of Thy Book_; but
don't blot them out."[109]
In the beginning of the great Jew section of Romans, Paul is speaking of
the intense pain of heart he had over the unbelief and stubbornness of his
racial kinsfolk. He says, "I have great sorrow and unceasing pain in my
heart. For I could wish _that I myself were accursed_ from Christ for my
brethren's sake, my kinsmen," that so they might not be accursed.[110] Yet
neither Moses nor Paul could so sacrifice himself for another's sin. "No
man can by any means redeem his brother, nor give to God a ransom for
him."[111] But Jesus, the pure, sinless one, _was_ blotted out. He _was_
made a curse. Moses and Paul would if they could. Jesus both could and
did. Was there ever such a heart of love! And that heart was greatest in
its action of love when it broke.
A simple story has come to me, I cannot remember where, of a woman in
southern China in the province of Kwangtung. She had a serious illness and
was taken to a mission hospital in Canton for treatment. There for the
first time she heard of Christ, of His love and death. And that story
coming so new and fresh transformed her, as she opened her heart to the
Saviour. And a great peace came into her heart, and showed plainly in her
face. Then her thought began turning to her own village. Not a soul there
knew of this wondrous Saviour. If they but knew. But what could she do,
her illness was very serious.
The next time the physician came by she asked him how long she would live
if she stayed there. He said that he did not know, but he thought about
six months. And how long if she left the hospital and returned home. He
didn't know; maybe three months. And after he had gone she quietly
announced that she was going home. And those about her were greatly
astonished. "Why," they said, "you'll lose half your life!" And the tears
came into her eyes, as a gentle smile overspread her poor worn face, and
she simply said, "Jesus gave His whole life for me; don't you think I'm
glad to give half mine for Him?" I don't know how long she lived. The
story didn't say, but it did tell that most of the people in her village
knew a long life, even an everlasting life, because of her simple telling
of the Gospel story.
There were the three essentials, though never so thought of or analyzed
by her. She had the vision of Jesus Christ her Saviour, then of those who
had never heard of Him, and then of her own part in the plan of telling
them. The impulse to tell them was obeyed gladly. And the heart of love
counted not her life dear unto herself if only others might be told of
this wondrous Christ Jesus.