George H. Morrison's Old And Beautiful Devotions

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June 16

Just There

A certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was— Luk_10:33

The Lord Himself as a Good Samaritan

Our Lord, true poet that He was, had a great liking for pictorial teaching, and in all the pictures of His gallery none is more remarkable than this one. The scene, familiar to them ail; the robbery, an occurrence they all dreaded; the ecclesiastics whom they knew so well; the Samaritan, whom they all despised—these made a glowing vivid picture, which nobody but a master could have painted, and nobody but the Master ever did. It is a beautiful etching of benevolence, and as such it is immortal. But men have loved, right down the ages, to find in it something more than that. They have loved to find in this Samaritan a delineation of the Lord Himself, in His infinite compassion for mankind. Many thoughts come leaping to the mind when we set the story in the light of Christ. This Samaritan was long in coming. He had everything the man required (Luk_10:34). But there is another beautiful feature in his pity that is so eminently true of Christ that we do well to dwell on it a little.

As the Samaritan, so the Lord Came Where He Was

Than feature is that the Samaritan came just where the man was—came right up to him, and handled him, where he lay battered on the hedge-bank. When he saw, as he came down the hill, that in the hollow yonder there had been a struggle—when he saw that battered figure by the road, with the robbers probably in concealment, how naturally he might have halted till some Roman convoy had come up; but, says Jesus, he came just where he was. I feel sure our Lord intended that. Christ was unrivalled in suggestive phrase. The Priest saw him; the Levite looked at him; the Samaritan came right up where he was. How perfectly that exquisite touch applies to the Lord, who was the teller of the story, in His infinite compassion for mankind!

It Was He Himself Who Came

Think for a moment of the Incarnation. Tell me, what was the Incarnation? It was the Son of God, seeing the need of man, and coming in infinite mercy where he was. Not speaking as by a trumpet from high heaven; not casting down a scroll out of eternity; not sending Gabriel or any of the angels to proclaim the loving fatherhood of God. No, this is the glory of the Incarnation, that when man was bruised and battered by his sin, Christ, the Son of God, the good Samaritan, came just where he was. He came to the inn, where the travelers were drinking; to the cottage, where the mother prayed; to the village, where the children romped; to the fields, where happy lovers wandered. He came to the marriage feast and to the funeral; to the crowded city and the sea; He came to the agony and to the cross. Show me where folk are lying ill at home, and I can show you Jesus there. Show me where men are tempted of the devil, and I can show you Jesus there. Show me where hearts are crying out in darkness, "My God, why hast thou forsaken me?" and the beautiful and amazing thing is this—that I can show you Jesus there. Where man has suffered, Jesus Christ has suffered. Where man has toiled, Jesus Christ has toiled. Where man has wept, Jesus Christ has wept. Where man has died, Jesus Christ has died. He has borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows, and made His grave with the wicked in His death. The good Samaritan has come .just where he was.

Contrasted with John the Baptist

And when we follow the footsteps of the Lord, does not the same thing at once arrest us? Why, that is just what the people marked in Christ, when they contrasted Him with John the Baptist. If you wanted John, you had to search for John. You had to leave the city and go into the wilderness. And there, "far from the haunts of men," was John the Baptist, a solitary figure. But Christ was genial, kindly, and accessible, a lover of the haunts of men, the friend of publicans and sinners. Simon Peter was busy with his nets, and Christ came where he was. Matthew was seated at the receipt of custom, and Christ came to him. The poor demoniac was in the graveyard, there to be exiled till he died, and the glorious thing about our good Samaritan is that He came exactly where he was. Where is that bright girl from Jairus' home? We have been missing her happy smile these days. Where is Lazarus? We used to see him daily. Is he ill? We never see him now. Where are the spirits who were disobedient at the time the ark was a-pre-paring? I know not; I only know of each of them that Christ came where he was. Go to the penitent thief upon the cross, and tell him there is someone who can save him. Only he must come down, and leave the city, and fly to the wilderness and he will find him. There are many who offer paradise on these terms when men are powerless and cannot move a finger; but Christ came where he was. That is exactly what He is doing still. Behold, I stand at the door and knock. No one needs to fly away to find Him. The Word is nigh thee, even in thy mouth. "Just as I am," is a very gracious hymn: but I want someone to write me another hymn: "Just where I am, O Lamb of God, You come."

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

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June 17

Christ and Worry - Page 1
by George H. Morrison

And Jesus answered and said unto her, Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things: but one thing is needful— Luk_10:41-42

Seizing upon the Essential

These words, you will remember, are taken from the brief description of the well-known scene in the home of Martha and Mary at Bethany. And few episodes, even in the Gospel narrative, are more familiar to us than this. What wonderful artists the sacred writers are! They know how to paint with just the few absolutely essential and perfectly correct strokes. There is not one too many, and not one is out of place. Here we have a home, a scene in that home, two characters, and a wealth of teaching from the Lord Jesus, all sketched in and made to live before our eyes and in our memories within the space of just five verses. What a rebuke to our prolixity!

We might have taken a whole chapter to describe what is here told in twenty lines, and we should probably have left the reader with a far less vivid and a far less correct impression. The very form of the narrative teaches us the chief lesson it contains—the importance of seizing upon the essential, and how comparatively few of the things we are apt to consider necessary really are so. It is upon choosing the really essential things in life, and in laying stress upon these, that true welfare depends.

A Divided Mind

How clearly, how vividly we see Martha, the good-hearted, bustling, over-anxious mistress and very-much-manager of the household! She is so very busy about so very many things; and all the time she is firmly convinced in her own mind that all she does and all she would provide is absolutely necessary. Not one of all this multitude of things must be wanting. Custom, and her own reputation in her own eyes and among her neighbors, demand them ail. The amount of mental and physical energy which she consumed in providing and preparing and arranging the "many things" which she deemed necessary, she probably never computed, nor did she stay for a moment to consider whether she had forgotten one or two things which in intrinsic worth might be of far greater value than the sum total of all the other things about which she was busying herself. Her mind was too divided to think clearly: part of it was running on this thing and part on that, and yet another part on something else; and her bodily movements were a reflection of her mental ones. As we say, she was all the time in a bustle, running here and there, anxious, distracted, worried; and because she was so, she was much inclined to blame others, even the Lord Jesus, who were really guiltless of the cause of her unhappiness.

Contrast her with her sister Mary, to whom the opportunity—a short one, and one which would quickly pass—of sitting at the feet of the Lord Jesus and listening to Him outweighed in importance everything else at the moment. Besides making the most of this opportunity, just then nothing else mattered. And very probably Mary had a far keener insight into the mind of the Great Teacher, who was there for so short a time, than had the anxious and worried, if kind-hearted, Martha.

What Is Real Hospitality?

When guests enter our house it is right that we should seek to provide them with all that they can need; we would go further, and would offer them what we believe will give them the greatest pleasure. We say to ourselves that we hope they will enjoy their sojourn with us. But do we ever ask in what the true enjoyment of our most worthy guests consists? Do we not too often see their pleasures only through our own eyes, and decide, according to the accepted standards of the conventional which rule us, what they ought to enjoy, rather than take the trouble to enter into their feelings? Is there not often at least a measure of pride, a desire to give ourselves satisfaction, in the nature of the hospitality which we offer? How often when we have been the guests of others would not some of us have gladly given up three-fourths of what was set before us to eat and to drink in exchange for half-an-hour's quiet conversation with some thoughtful person in the neighborhood we were visiting! For then we could have enjoyed that refreshment of soul, that stimulus of a mind greater and richer than our own, which the busy often need far more than mere bodily satisfaction.

May not Jesus have felt something of this that day in the home at Bethany? He lived a busy life, and His interests were centered on a great purpose—to influence others, to teach them the precious truths He had come to reveal. He would know Mary's anxiety to learn, that she might impart what she had learned to other women. To help her in this high purpose would be to Jesus far greater enjoyment than to partake of all the material things Martha was so anxiously providing. And, besides, by her bustling to and fro, Martha was actually preventing those few minutes of quiet so precious to Jesus and to Mary His disciple.

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Christ and Worry - Page 2
by George H. Morrison

Are We Doing the Usual or the Right Thing?

Martha, like a great many well-meaning people today, was evidently the slave of convention, and to do what was the fashion was, in her eyes as in the opinion of so many, to do the "right" thing. Is it not true that the majority of people who wish to be hospitable, and to show kindness and honor and respect, simply ask themselves what, under the circumstances, is the usual thing to do? For in their opinion the usual is only another term for the right thing. They would do what fashion demands. But fashion is a hard taskmaster. He runs up many accounts, but does he pay many bills? And what does being in the fashion too often mean? Does it not mean obtaining and displaying and using what those who are richer than ourselves possess? It too often means a display (at the cost of much labor and anxiety) of our possession of the material things of life. And then the greater part of both our time and our energy must be directed towards these things—towards obtaining and displaying and taking care of them. We must remember that all material things are to be sought and are useful just in so far as, and no further than, they minister to the higher life. A comfortable, well-ordered, healthy house will so minister; but the moment the house and its contents become an end, rather than a means to an end, the true order of importance has been reversed. A sufficiency of plain and wholesome food ministers to the higher life, for in health we can think more clearly, work harder, and be more useful to others; but the moment the care for eating and drinking goes beyond this, the true order of things has been lost. Once more, a reasonable amount of recreation ministers to the usefulness of life, for it also promotes and tends to maintain health, and so the powers of usefulness; but when energy is consumed in providing the means for expensive amusements (often because these are fashionable), and when much time is consumed in taking part in them, in this case also a sense of proportion has been lost. The "judgment values" of life, upon whose correctness so much depends, are in all these cases false. It is still only too frequently true that in being so anxious about the means of living we often deprive ourselves of the opportunity for life itself.

Our Lord says, "Martha, Martha, thou art anxious and troubled about many things: but a few things are needful." And in Gal_5:1 St. Paul says, "Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free." And these words of St. Paul's seem extremely applicable to the subject before us; for Christ has, if we have accepted the liberty He has given us, set us free from "many things." But have we fulfilled, are we fulfilling, the conditions of that liberty? Are we not rather the slaves of many a worldly conventionality which causes us far more worry and far greater anxiety than we would care to confess? Does not Christ tell us that it was "for judgment that He came into the world"? And the function of judgment is to give right decisions, and, among these, correct estimates of intrinsic value. Thus Christ will help us to decide upon the true value of many possessions and many objects of anxious effort upon which our own judgments are often seriously at fault.

In one place Christ speaks with great plainness upon the subject. In the Parable of the Sower He tells us that some of the seed—and by the seed is meant that which contains the principle of the higher life, that which is essential to the development of that life—some of the seed fell among the thorns. These thorns represent "the anxieties, riches, and pleasures of this life," which grow and choke the seed and render it unfruitful. The very order of these evils is suggestive; first anxieties, then riches, then pleasures. How anxious some people seem to be not merely to have enough, but to be rich, and that in order to be able to enjoy what are by convention regarded as the pleasures of this world, but which all the time are a cause of weariness of soul to many who participate in them, and in the meanwhile there is no bringing what should be the true fruit of life to perfection.

Think of the contrast between freedom in and through Christ, and of slavery to the conventions, the fashions of the world. As redeemed by Christ, as free in Him, we ought to enjoy the fullest opportunity for the development of the highest life; but actually this is too often prevented by the slavery which I have been describing. How then can we enjoy the freedom which Christ has potentially won for us? Christ is the Light of the World; He is also the Wisdom of God and the Power of God.

Only One Thing Is Needful

The secret of the highest and purest success in life lies in the ability first to choose and then to make effort after those things which are of really greatest worth. Of course, together with this choice, there must be a ceasing to strive after things of no intrinsic or permanent value. This is what Jesus meant when He said, "Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness." Now ability to choose rightly, and also to obtain, implies the possession of all the three qualities of Christ which I have just mentioned, namely, Light, Wisdom, and Power.

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Christ and Worry - Page 3
by George H. Morrison

These we may obtain from Him; and before we can use them we must obtain them. By means of light we see things as they are; we discern their real nature, we can estimate their relative greatness or smallness. Only in the light, only, that is, in possession of the completest knowledge available, must we choose and select. This selection also implies skill, which is the true meaning of wisdom. The truly wise man is the man who can both choose and use skillfully. Christ's wisdom is seen in His choices, in His decisions. The proof of His wisdom is seen in the results of these. Christ chooses, and He teaches us to choose those things which are of permanent value and which satisfy the highest parts of our nature. Our want of wisdom is seen in our frequent rejection of these things for objects which give only a very temporary satisfaction, and that only to the lower part of our nature.

But in addition to light or knowledge, in addition also to choice or decision, we need power. We need power to do what we know we ought to do and have chosen to do. Remember St. Paul's words, "The good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do."

Light, wisdom, power are three conditions of freedom—of the freedom which, as a possibility, Christ has won for us. To obtain them we must possess Him. He is the One needful; they are the few things needful. Possession and use of these will prevent that worry which wears out life, that distraction which, in its endless seeking after things of comparatively little value, destroys even its own object. In its constant search after what it considers necessary as means of living it forgets life itself.

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

Dist. Worldwide in the Great Freeware Bible Study package called
e-Sword by Rick Meyer: http://www.e-sword.net/downloads.html
Full Featured - Outstanding - Completely FREE - No Strings Attached

(The goal of Rick Meyer is to distribute excellent Bible Study
Software to every country on earth in their own language FREE
of charge, and that goal gets closer by the day.)
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[nChrist]

June 18


Social Claims Impelling Us to God - Page 1
by George H. Morrison

Friend, lend me three loaves; for a friend of mine in his journey is come to me, and I have nothing to set before him— Luk_11:5-6

This Parable Resulted from a Request How to Pray

This parable was spoken to encourage men in the difficult exercise of prayer. Christ had been praying in a certain region, and the disciples, themselves unseen, had been observing Him. They had lighted upon the holy place, where He was rapt in communion with the Father. And when He ceased they did not steal away, nor did they try to excuse their presence there; they cried, "Lord, teach us to pray." One might argue from such a cry that these men had been ignorant of prayer. To do so would be a great mistake; and it would be an injustice to the twelve. What they felt was, when they saw Jesus praying, that their prayers were unworthy of the name. As they looked at their Master communing with His Father, there was something which told them that this was prayer indeed. And so when He had ceased they turned to Him, feeling as if they had never prayed at all, and they cried "Lord, teach us to pray, as John also taught his disciples." It was then that our Lord supplied that form of prayer which has been linked with His name through all the centuries. It was then that He spoke this parable, teaching men to pray and not to faint.

Another's Need Made Him Pray and Beg

So far we are on familiar ground, for that is evident to every reader. But our text has a suggestion of its own, to which I propose to invite your consideration. When the man left his house to seek for food, it was not his own necessity that urged him. So far as he himself was concerned that night, we have no liberty to infer that he was in want. He had had his supper, and he had gone to rest, with a sufficiency to meet the morning's need. Had there been but himself to be considered, he would never have begged his neighbor for the loaves. The point to note is that what drove him forth was the unexpected demand on his resources. At midnight there arrived before his door a journeying friend whom night had overtaken. And it was this claim upon his hospitality, a claim that is always sacred to an Eastern, which sent him forth, and made him such a suppliant, that to refuse him was impossible. I do not say that his plea prevailed, just because he was asking for another. Had he been starving, and pleading for himself, his petition might have been equally compelling. But we are looking at the transaction from the petitioner's side, not from the side of him who was approached, and in that light the simple fact is this, that it was another's need which made him pray.

He Was Driven by Another's Need, She by Her Own

That this is not an accidental feature, may be seen if we consider the companion parable. The companion story to the Friend at Midnight is the striking picture of the Unjust Judge (see Luk_18:2-8). There was a judge that feared not God nor man, and a certain poor widow came before him. And she cried out, and she continued crying, "Avenge me of mine adversary." And you will note how all the features are alike—the persistence, the reluctance to accede—all are identical save this one feature which I have chosen for our meditation. The widow came pleading for herself, and to do so she had a perfect right. Someone had wronged her and she wanted justice; she wanted the wild justice of revenge. But this man was not thinking of himself, nor urging anything in his own interest. The claim which drove him to another's door was the social claim of hospitality. I think you will admit from that comparison that the feature before us is not there by accident. Our Lord delighted to repeat Himself with beautiful and intentional distinctions. Nay, I shall go farther even than that, and regard this as the key to the whole parable—the fact which determined its conception, the thread round which it crystallized.

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Social Claims Impelling Us to God - Page 2
by George H. Morrison

Driven to Prayer by the Needs of Others

The teaching of the parable, then, is this, viewed always from the side of the petitioner. We are not only driven to prayer by our own needs; we are driven also by the needs of others. There are times when we are like the widow with the judge. We are driven to God by personal distress. Trouble has come, or sickness, or anxiety; or we are sorely tempted, or in great perplexity. In such seasons how much a man must miss who does not turn for communion to his Father, who never said to any of the seed of Jacob, "Seek ye me," in vain! That is the personal aspect of devotion. That is its private and individual bearing. For our own souls, in such a world as this, there is no hope at all unless we pray. And yet how ignorant is he of life, and of the complexity of human ties, who would limit to his own private needs the urgent summons to the throne of God! Is it not often because others need us, that we are awakened to our need of God? Is it not because others are leaning upon us, that we are driven to lean on the Eternal? In every relationship of human life large and various demands are made upon us. There are those who trust us; there are those who love us; there are those whose welfare hangs upon our guidance. And who are we, whose hearts are often empty, as empty as was that Eastern home—who are we, in our own poor resource, to meet and satisfy these social claims? It is then that we are driven upon God. We come to Him just because others need us. We come to Him not with our private sorrow, not with our weary and besetting sin. We come for the sake of those who love us so, for the sake of those who trust us and who honor us; for the sake of those committed to our charge; for the sake of all with whom we have an influence.

Let us think, for example, of a mother, whose children are growing to manhood and to womanhood. We shall suppose her to have come out of a Christian home, and to have enjoyed the privilege of Christian upbringing. In all her life there has never been a time in which she did not bow the knee to God. So was she taught when she was yet a child, and the influence of that teaching was determinative. And she had her trials, and her girlish troubles, and perhaps a time when she thought that no one needed her; and all this, as it helped to make her lonely, so did it bring her to the feet of God. Then her life deepened into motherhood. There were the voices of children in the home. And as the children grew, each was a separate problem, for each had a separate nature. Yet every one of them trusted her implicitly, and claimed her love as their peculiar heritage, and never thought of doubting for a moment that she was a pattern of perfect womanhood. And one made large demands upon her patience, and another made large demands upon her intellect. And one with eyes of innocence would look at her, as if he were reading her to the very depths. Until at last, feeling her own helplessness to guide and bless and save these young children, she has been driven to feel her need of God, just because other lives were needing her. Like the Syrophenician woman in the Gospel, she has cried for mercy because she had a daughter. She has knocked at the golden door of grace, because of the lives that were entwined with hers. That is the blessing of social demands, and of all the intertwining of relationships. Others are leaning upon us so hard, that in our poverty we lean on God.

Again we might take an illustration from those who are engaged in social service. We might think of those who are bravely setting out to do something for Glasgow in the name of Christ. There are, I think, two great discoveries made by all who share in that service. The first is how deep is the need of God on the part of those whom they are trying to serve. Ameliorative schemes are not enough. Men know the better, and pursue the worse. You may cleanse the home—you may reform the public-house, and the last state be little better than the first. Sooner or later a man awakes to this—and what is needed, if dark is to be light, is nothing more and nothing less than God, changing the heart and ordering the life. But if the worker lights on that discovery, sooner or later he makes another too. It is not how fallen men need God. It is how utterly he needs God himself. And just in proportion as he serves with blessing, and is trusted and loved by those whom he seeks to raise, will he be driven by his service to his knees, and to that fellowship which is the source of power. It is not always when men fail that they pray best. If they are real men, it is when they succeed. It is when others are trusting them—when eyes are looking to them—when little children are drinking in the teaching. It is when the young men and women in the class think there is no one in the world like their own teacher. It is when a minister feels himself surrounded by a loyal and an earnest people. Who then is sufficient for these things? The friend has come and we have naught to give him. And who are we, so helpless and so sinful, that we should be trusted and used and loved and honored so? it is then that we betake ourselves to God, just because others betake themselves to us. The pressure of other lives upon ourselves is the pressure that drives us to the throne.

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Social Claims Impelling Us to God - Page 3
by George H. Morrison

Shirking Responsibility Weakens Our Fellowship with God

Now if that be so, we have lit on a great truth; one that is worthy of most careful pondering. It is that if we shirk responsibilities, we weaken our life of fellowship with God. Take the case of the man we are considering. Suppose he had refused to entertain the wayfarer. Suppose he had cried to him "My house is full," or, "My larder is empty and I cannot have you." Why, then he would have gone to sleep again, and never would have made that midnight pilgrimage, and never would have beaten at his neighbor's door, clamoring in necessity for bread. He was responsive to the claims of others, and so was forced to go and beg for help. He was sensitive to the appeals of friendship, and so was he driven forth to be a suppliant. Had he hardened his heart, and played a selfish part, and muttered sleepily "Am I my brother's keeper?" then there would have been no parable of his eager entreaty for supplies.

Beware of the Temptation in Thinking That Seclusion Would Draw You Closer to God
Now I believe we are all occasionally tempted by a very subtle and insidious temptation. We are tempted to think we might live nearer God if we could free ourselves from social demands. It may be that there are worries in the home. It may be that there are anxieties in business. Or gradually our work for Christ may have so grown, that the burden of it is well-nigh overwhelming. And then it is that the temptation visits us, that, could we only be freed from these demands, prayer would be easier, our life in God be deeper, our fellowship with heaven more sustained. Remember I am not saying a word against the need of seasons of retirement. Sometimes it is good to get away, and be alone with our own hearts and God. But what I do say is, that if one who is much burdened is never driven to God because he is burdened, he is far less likely to approach the throne when the pressure of his burdens is removed. It is God who sends to us the friend at midnight. It is God who determines the bounds of our habitation. It is God who leads us to a growing usefulness with all its deepening responsibility. And if all that does not make us pray, and does not waken us to our need of Him, then, in the hour when we renounce our service, we shall be farther off from blessedness and heaven. Think of what happened in the monasteries, to take an instance from the larger world. Men said, "We want to live with God more wholly," and they cut the ties which bound them to society. The common result was sloth and bestiality, the very antithesis of all religion; and today the ruins where the ivy clings are the judgment of heaven upon that mistake. They refused to open to the friend at midnight. They shut their ears to the demands of life. They said, "Let us be free from all this trammel, and then we shall certainly be nearer God." Far better had they served their generation, and played their part, and mingled with humanity, until the burden of it all, weighing them down, had brought them to the everlasting arms.

Thank God for Every Midnight Call

So I close by saying this to you who are taking up the service of the winter. Thank God for every call that reaches you. Thank Him for the opportunity of toil. The hour may come for you when it is midnight, just as it came to the host in our parable. The hour may come when heart and flesh are weary, and hope is dim, and courage is decayed—and in that very hour, for aught I know, the hand may be heard knocking at the door. But if these claims awake you to your weakness, and make you feel anew your need of God; if they send you out from your own self-sufficiency to lean upon His grace and on His love; why then, my brother, all your happy holiday, and all your remembrances of the purple heather, will not be such a blessing to your heart as the burden and the service of today. "Commit your way to the Lord .... and he shall bring it to pass." Come now, and cast your burden on the Lord. Take up your service, whether in church or city, no matter how impoverished you feel. There is One whose store is always overflowing, and He is willing to give you of His best; and men will be blest in you and call you blessed, just because they make you lean on God.

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

Dist. Worldwide in the Great Freeware Bible Study package called
e-Sword by Rick Meyer: http://www.e-sword.net/downloads.html
Full Featured - Outstanding - Completely FREE - No Strings Attached

(The goal of Rick Meyer is to distribute excellent Bible Study
Software to every country on earth in their own language FREE
of charge, and that goal gets closer by the day.)
____________________

[nChrist]

June 21

Interior Alms - Page 1
by George H. Morrison

Give for alms that which is within— Luk_11:41 (R.V.)

The importance of the Within

That the rendering of the Revised Version is the right one is suggested by a study of the context. The whole passage is intended to reveal to us the value which Christ attached to the within. A Pharisee had invited Christ to sup with him, and then had marveled that He had omitted washing. This led Jesus to speak His sharp, stem words on the cleansing of the inside of the cup or platter. And then, recalling Pharisaic ostentation not only in washings but in almsgiving's, He added, "Give for alms that which is within." It is the same thought as is expressed by Paul in the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians, "Though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing." It is the same thought as was expressed by Peter when, fixing his gaze on the lame man, he said, "Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have give I thee" (Act_3:6). For to every man there is an outward realm of all the material things which he possesses, and to every man there is an inward realm comprising not what he owns but what he is. And the law which Jesus here lays down is this, that of all giving, that is the most blessed which gives not merely of that which is without but also of that which is within.

I need hardly say that there is no encouragement here to anything like a cheap and spurious charity. No one could ever associate such a thought with any word that fell from Jesus Christ. The tender compassion of Jesus for the poor—the miracle of the loaves and fishes—the reward that is given to all who have clothed the needy in the great parable of the last judgment—all this would prove to us, if any proof were needed, how Christ regarded the giving of the outward. It is not as belittling outward giving that Jesus utters the teaching of our text. On the contrary, it is to reinforce it from a richer and a deeper spring. For when the heart is opened then the hand is opened, and when feelings are stirred the purse is never closed, and when a man so lives as to bestow, the greater he is not likely to begrudge the less. He who gives everything up to the point of money and then refuses to give that, need never think to shelter in this text when he remembers who it was that uttered it. And this I think it right to say in passing, lest any one should pervert this word of Jesus, as if it put any slight on outward charities.

Having thus safeguarded this deep word, the question which I should like to ask is this: why does the giving of that which is within have this primacy in the thought of Christ? There are many considerations I could touch upon, but I shall confine my attention to three.

The Greatness of a Gift Depends on Its Closeness to the Giver

In the first place, I would suggest to you that the giving of that which is within is blessed, because, in a quite peculiar sense, it is the giving of that which is our own.

You all know, friends, that the value of a gift depends largely upon its relation to ourselves. The closer and more vital that relationship the greater the value of the act of giving. When a king in earlier ages gifted lands away, over which his suzerainty was of a shadowy kind, that was not so eloquent of a generous nature as the giving of some palace that he loved; and so always is our giving less or more, not merely according to the greatness of the gift, but according to the place of the gift in the giver's life. It is a glad thing that God has given us sunshine and fruitful seasons and the rain from heaven. But gladder than all that is this, that God hath given us His only begotten Son. And the infinite preciousness of that great gift, viewed in relation to the Giver of it, is just that the Giver and the gift were one.

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[nChrist]

Interior Alms - Page 2
by George H. Morrison

Now when a man gives of his wealth, however kindly and generous be the giving, it does not need any argument to prove to you that he has not yet given of his real self. Increase a man's wealth a thousandfold and he is not necessarily a better man. Strip him swiftly of all his affluence and he is not necessarily a worse man. There is no vital relationship at all between a man's belongings and himself, for a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth. But the moment you touch that which is within you see that the case is different at once. You are not dealing now with what is accidental; you are dealing with what is vital and essential. You are dealing with that which makes us what we are, with that which, added to or taken from, might leave us richer or might leave us poorer, but in any case must leave us different. For you may add ten thousand pounds to a man's capital, and in the sight of God that man is still the same. But let faith, hope and charity be added, and in the sight of God that man is different. And so when we give of that which is within we give out of the depths of our own being; and so are far-off followers of God who gave for us sinners of mankind His only begotten Son.

Channels of Giving from the Heart

Once more the giving of what is within is blessed, because it opens up such an expanse of charity.

When we confine our thought of charity to outward things, there are two results that inevitably follow. The first is that almost of necessity we narrow the channel in which giving flows. Now no one knows better than I do what gladness a gift of money sometimes brings. Even a comparatively trifling gift may make the wilderness blossom as the rose. Some of you good people who live in comfort haven't the least conception of that side of things. There are hundreds in Glasgow to whom a five pound note would make all the difference in the world. Still, when that is said, and said with most intimate knowledge out of my experience as a pastor, how much there is, my brother, in the humblest life that all your money is powerless to reach. How many needs that money cannot meet, how many wants that money cannot satisfy, how many longings in the humblest heart that money is quite helpless to appease. The poorest has a heart that longs for love, and the heart of the richest can long for nothing more. There are chords that will vibrate to the touch of sympathy that will never vibrate to the touch of coin. And it was just because our Lord and Savior was so alive to the range of human need that He bade us give of that which is within. For he who gives with the hand has but one channel, and he who gives with the heart has fifty channels. He gives of his sympathy and of his loving-kindness; he gives of his happiest sunshine and his tears. He gives of his time which is the stuff of life, and of his thought which is his noblest attribute, and of his prayers when the chamber door is shut, and the heart is reverent, and God is near. Think not that such almsgiving is easy. Christ does not call any man to what is easy. He calls us to what is arduous and toilsome, and very exhausting e'er the day is done. Yet is there no life on earth so glad as the life that is ceaseless in such interior charity, for it is more blessed to give than to receive.

But when we limit the thought of alms to what is outward another result inevitably follows. It follows inevitably from that conception of it that we shut out thousands from the grace of giving. If the only almsgiving be that of substance, if the one valid charity be money, if no liberality deserves the name save the liberal giving of what a man possesses, then all those thousands in our Christian lands who fight their grim and ceaseless fight with poverty are denied the practice of the grace. It is true that the poor are wonderfully kind. Their kindness far outstrips that of the rich. The poor stand by each other and assist each other with a comradeship that is often beautiful. Yet that kindness of the poor entails such sacrifice, and makes such a drain upon the scanty means, that it can never be other than occasional. Multitudes there are in every city who can barely win the necessities of life. They are only too thankful if from a scanty wage they can bring food and clothing for their children. And though these people, as I have said, often show kindnesses that put us all to shame, such kindness from the nature of the case must always be the exception, not the rule. If material charity is to be the rule, then it can only be the rule of the minority. If the giving of means be the one valid giving, then of course there always must be means to give. And hence it follows that if the only almsgiving is the habitual giving of the outward, there are thousands everywhere who are excluded hopelessly from the practice of this grace.

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[nChrist]

Interior Alms - Page 3
by George H. Morrison

Now, friends, if giving were a hardship we might see in that the ordering of God. But giving, so far from being a hardship, is one of the purest joys in human life. Look at that selfish man who in a generous moment has given a shilling to the beggar in the street. Whether or not it has made the beggar happy, it most undoubtedly has made the donor happy. And if such thoughtless and impulsive giving can bring a secret glow of satisfaction, what must the secret joy be when the giving is that of a thoughtful and prayerful Christian man? He who has missed the joy of liberality has missed one of the purest joys of life. There is no luxury of silk or tapestry that can match the luxury of doing good. And it is incredible, from all we know of God, and from all we have learned of Jesus Christ, that He should exclude thousands from this joy simply because they happen to be poor. But the moment you grasp our text you see that these multitudes are not excluded. The noblest giving, in the eyes of Jesus, is the giving of that which is within. And though a man be very poor he may have a plentiful treasure of the heart, and be a blessing by it and help others by it, in a way that silver and gold could never do. I suppose there is not a Christian worker here but has had some such experience as this. You have gone with some offering of charity to a frail or aged woman. And you have come away so helped and humbled by her trust in God, her patience, and her gratitude that you know you have got far more than you bestowed. You gave to her of that which was without, and for that you shall have the blessing of the Father. For she needed it, and it will cheer her heart, and bring her some little comfort that she lacked. But perhaps she hath exercised the richer almsgiving according to the judgment of the Master, for she hath given of that which is within.

The Perfect Aims Giver

I remark, lastly, that this inward giving is blessed for a reason still more cogent. It is blessed because it brings our lives into such harmony with that of Jesus.

If we were to reckon all that Jesus gave by His giving of the material and outward, I need hardly tell you how sadly we should fail to comprehend the wonder of it ail. We can never forget, it is true, that He fed the hungry, or that once He turned the water into wine. Neither can we forget that His poor band had a bag to hold the offerings for poor. Yet if we sought to measure all that Jesus gave by what He gave of that which was without, how little would we understand of Him! Our blessed Lord was born in a poor home, and lived to the end the life of a poor man. Others may leave fortunes when they die; He left nothing but the seamless garment. Indeed it has been questioned in these latter days, on the ground of certain well-known Gospel incidents, whether our Savior ever handled money. Measured by the test of things without, there are thousands who give far more than Jesus gave. There are men and women who in a single day give more than Jesus gave in His whole ministry. The giving of our Master is unique not in the giving of that which is without, but in the glorious and heavenly lavishness with which He gave that which is within. He gave of His virtue, and the sick were healed; He gave of His sympathy, and sorrowing hearts were comforted. He gave of His joy, and men were glad again; He gave of His peace, and restless hearts were quieted. He gave of His prayers upon the mountain side when the shadows had fallen and His locks were wet with dew, and faith was strengthened and courage was revived, and Satan was baffled of his prey. He gave of His vision of a Father-God, and men who were heavy-laden sang again. He gave of His love to the fallen and the far, and womanhood stole back to women's hearts. He gave of His life to the last drop of it until its very cup was dashed in fragments, and, because He died for us, we live. That, brethren, is the spirit of Christ, and if any man have not that Spirit he is none of His. May God grant us the joy of spending and of being spent. Ceaselessly and happily and secretly may we give for alms that which is within, for it is more blessed to give than to receive, and he that loseth his life shall save it.

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

Dist. Worldwide in the Great Freeware Bible Study package called
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(The goal of Rick Meyer is to distribute excellent Bible Study
Software to every country on earth in their own language FREE
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[nChrist]

June 22

The Rich Fool

And one of the company said unto him, Master, speak to my brother, that he divide the inheritance with me .... And he said unto them, Take heed, and beware of covetousness: for a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth—(Luk_12:13-15)

What Jesus Did When He Was Interrupted

Jesus was often interrupted in His teaching, and some of the choicest sayings in the Gospel spring from these interruptions of the Lord. When we are interrupted at our work or play, you know how cross we generally are. But Jesus, in His perfect trust and wisdom, turned even His interruptions to account. He had to stop preaching at Capernaum once when the paralytic was lowered through the roof. But instead of fretting, He so used the moment that the crowd in the cottage glorified God. And here, too, as He is teaching, He is brought to a halt by an unlooked-for question. Yet He so answers it, and uses it, and preaches such a memorable sermon on it, that I am sure there was not a disciple but thanked God for the unseemly interruption. Christ felt that not one man could interrupt Him, without the permission of His heavenly Father. It was that present and perfect trust in God that kept Him in His unutterable calm.

Where Was This Man's Treasure?

While He was speaking, then, of heavenly things—of forgiveness of sins and of the Holy Ghost—and when He paused, perhaps, for an instant to see if Peter and John had understood Him, there came a grating voice upon His ear, "Master, speak to my brother that he divide the inheritance with me." Now, whether this man was really wronged or not, it is of course impossible to say. And it was not that which stirred the wrath of Jesus—it was the betrayal of the speaker's heart. A single sentence may be enough to reveal us. A single request may open our inmost soul. And here was a man who had listened to peerless preaching, and might have been carried heavenward on the wings of it, but the moment Jesus stops, he blurts out his petition, and his whole grievance is about his possessions. Does not that show what he was thinking of? Cannot you follow back the workings of his mind through these magnificent teachings that precede? It was that earthly mind that stirred Christ's anger. It was that which led Him on to preach on greed. There was life eternal in the words of Christ; but this man, in the very hearing of them, could think of nothing but the family gold.

An Anxious, Selfish Fool

Then Jesus told the story of the rich fool, and as He told it His mind went back to Nabal (1Sa_25:1-44). For "Nabal" just means a foolish man, and as his name was, so was he. Like Nabal, too, this churl was not a badman. He had not stolen the wealth that was to wreck him. It was God's rain that had fallen on his seed. It was God's sunshine that had ripened his harvest. It was God's gentleness that made him great. But for all that, his riches ruined him. He gave his heart to them: he gave his soul. Then suddenly, when he was laying his plans, and dreaming his golden dreams about tomorrow, God whispered, "Senseless! This night they want thy soul!" Who the they is—for so it reads in the original—we cannot say. They may be the angels of death; they may be robbers. In any case they are God's instruments, and the rich man must say goodbye to everything. O folly, never to think of that! He had thought of everything except his God. "And so is he that layeth up treasure for himself, if he is not rich towards God."

Now there are three things we must notice about this man; and the first is how very anxious he was. When we are young we think that to be rich means to be free from anxiety altogether. We can understand a pauper being anxious, but not a man who has great heaps of gold. But this rich man was just as full of cares as the beggar without a sixpence in the world. He could not sleep for thinking of his crops. That question of the harvest haunted him. It shut out God from him, and every thought of heaven, just as that family inheritance we spoke of silenced the music of Jesus for the questioner. Who is the man who we sometimes call a fool? It is the man with the bee in his bonnet, as we say. But better sometimes to have a bee in the bonnet than to have nothing but barns upon the brain. The fool hath said in his heart, there is no God.

See next how very selfish the man was. Do we hear one whisper of a harvest-thanksgiving? Is there any word of gratitude to God? You would think the man had fashioned the corn himself, and burnished and filled the ears with his own hand, he is so fond of talking of my corn. Do you remember what we learned in the Lord's Prayer. It is never my there, it is always our. And the Lord's fool is at opposite poles from the Lord's Prayer, for he is always babbling about my. And then were there no poor folk in his glen? Was there no Naomi in yon cottage in the town? Did not one single Ruth come out to glean when the tidings traveled of that amazing harvest? If the bosoms of the poor had been his barns, he would have been welcomed at the Throne that night. O selfish and ungrateful!—but halt, have I been selfish this last week? There are few follies in the world like the folly of the selfish man.

Then, lastly, think—and we have partly traveled on this ground already—think how very foolish the man was. Had he said, "Body, take thine ease, eat, drink, be merry!" there might have been some shadow of reason in it. But to think that a soul that hungers after God was ever to be satisfied with food—is there any folly that can equal that? "The world itself," says James Renwick, "could not fill the heart, for the heart has three corners and the world is round!" Let us so live, then, that when our soul is summoned, we shall say, "Yea, Lord! It has long been wanting home." And to this end let us seek first the kingdom. For where our treasure is, there will our heart be also.

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

Dist. Worldwide in the Great Freeware Bible Study package called
e-Sword by Rick Meyer: http://www.e-sword.net/downloads.html
Full Featured - Outstanding - Completely FREE - No Strings Attached

(The goal of Rick Meyer is to distribute excellent Bible Study
Software to every country on earth in their own language FREE
of charge, and that goal gets closer by the day.)
____________________

[nChrist]

June 23

The Great Supper - Page 1
by George H. Morrison

And sent his servant at supper time to say to them that were bidden, Come; For all things are now ready. And they all with one consent began to make excuse. Then the master of the house being angry said to his servant bring in hither the poor, and the maimed, and the halt, and the blind— Luk_14:17, Luk_14:18, Luk_14:21

The Peril of the Neglected Invitation

At the table of the chief Pharisee, where Jesus was reclining when He spoke this parable, the guests were almost without exception His enemies in disguise. But there was one man among them who was favorably inclined to Jesus. He had been impressed, in spite of his prejudices, by the lofty teaching of the young prophet. So strong, indeed, had the impression been that to the great amazement of his fellow-guests he cried out, when Jesus had finished speaking, "Blessed is he that shall eat bread in the kingdom of God." Now there can be no doubt that the speaker was blessing himself. It never occurred to him to question for a moment that he would share in the feasting of the kingdom. Christ therefore turns to him and addresses to him the parable of the Great Supper. It was meant to rouse that guest out of his self-complacency. It comes with the same message to you and me. There are few perils so great and so unnoticed as the peril of the neglected invitation.

A certain man, then, said our Lord, made a great supper. He sent his invitations for it freely. And when the table was served, and everything was ready, he despatched his servant with a courteous reminder, in accordance with an old custom of the East (Pro_9:3), which, as the travelers tell us, has not yet quite died out. But with one voice all the guests begged off. They were all busy—might they not be excused? And there was nothing for it but for the servant to go home again, and tell his master that they refused to come. Then the master was angry at his slighted welcome, for he saw clearly what the excuses implied. So he sent out his servant into the streets and lanes, and bade call in the poor and the blind and the lame, and we know that in the streets of Eastern cities a man does not walk far to light on these. It was done quickly; so quickly indeed that some would have it that the servant had anticipated his master's wish. But even yet, so spacious was the chamber, the places at the table were not all lull. "Away then, out through the city gates!" cries out the host. "Away to the country roads, and to the hedge-banks, and compel the waifs and the vagrants to come in." And I dare say the servant, looking through the hedges, saw the first guest, who had excused himself, strutting and fussing in his new piece of ground. But the house of the entertainer was filled at last. The door was shut, and the glad feast begun. I wonder if the man who sat at the table with Jesus, and to whom this wonderful parable was spoken—I wonder if he was as ready now with his self-satisfied ejaculation, "Blessed is he that shall eat bread in the kingdom of God."

The Kingdom of God Is Like a Great Supper

Note first that the kingdom of God is described as a supper. That is the figure Christ chooses for it here. Now it is, of course, quite true that supper is an evening meal—it is the last meal of the day. And some have thought there was a hint in that of the final nature of the Gospel-call; as if God, who had fed the world with many an earlier banquet, closed His provision for the world's day with Jesus. But it is better and safer to remember that this meal called supper was the principal meal. It was the chief hour for appeasing hunger; it was the chosen time of fellowship and rest. And all these features of the supper table, idealized long since in Psalm and prophecy, made it very expressive, for our Lord, of the rich and varied blessings of His kingdom. Had not He come to satisfy men's cravings, to bring them to a knowledge of His Father? Had He not said, "Come unto Me and I will give you rest"? Was He not often speaking of His joy? It was such things that were symbolised for Christ under this figure of the Gospel supper. Neither the mustard-seed nor yet the hidden treasure more truly and fully conveyed the message of God's grace, than did the great supper of our parable.

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[nChrist]

The Great Supper - Page 2
by George H. Morrison

Don't Let Pride, Anxiety or Family Keep You Away

Next note the excuses of the invited guests, and see first the points in which they differ. The first had bought a piece of ground—it was pride in what he possessed that kept him back. The second wanted to prove his yoke of oxen—it was the cares and the worries of his work that filled him. And the third had married a wife (and he was the only one who was uncivil: he had lost his manners since his marriage) —it was the ties and claims of home that hindered him. The guests all differed in their excuses, then, as men do still when they make light of the invitations of the Gospel. But at some points they all agreed, and we must note at least two of these. Firstly, not one of them was kept away by occupations sinful in themselves. Secondly, the root of the whole matter was indifference: had they cared enough, they could all have gone. There was nothing sinful in buying a piece of ground. There was no harm in proving a yoke of oxen. But things that are quite lawful in their own place prove hindrances and offences in the first; and it was into the first place that these things had crept, with the men who all began to make excuse. Are you so busy and glad with other things that you are really indifferent to God? Is your whole day a silent prayer to God to have you excused from accepting His calls? God grant it be not so. "Keep Christ in His own place—and His place is the first."

There Is Room for the Truly Hungry

I want you, lastly, to observe how the circle of the invitation widens. There are first of all the duly invited guests. They had a long invitation to the supper, and when all things were ready they got another bidding. Then they refused, and the invitation widens; it extends through the lanes and streets of the town. But still the servant is within the walls; he has received no mandate to go through the gates. There may be many a hungry gypsy by the hedge, but no glad word of welcome reaches him. Then comes the last great widening of the circle, consequent upon the servant's word, "yet there is room." And away beyond the towers of the city, in the lawless and dangerous and beautiful environs of it, there is given the strange calling to the feast. So is it with the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ. He came unto His own, and they received Him not; the guardians of the people's faith rejected Him; so He went to the lost sheep of the house of Israel, to the lanes and the streets of the old city of God. But the clay was coming when an ascended Savior was to say to His disciples, "Go ye into all the world and preach the Gospel to every creature," and in that day it is our joy to live. Every preacher who tells of a crucified Lord, and every missionary who in the zeal of love uplifts the cross in the far and darkened countries, does so because the Master has said to him, "Compel them to come in."

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

Dist. Worldwide in the Great Freeware Bible Study package called
e-Sword by Rick Meyer: http://www.e-sword.net/downloads.html
Full Featured - Outstanding - Completely FREE - No Strings Attached

(The goal of Rick Meyer is to distribute excellent Bible Study
Software to every country on earth in their own language FREE
of charge, and that goal gets closer by the day.)
____________________

[nChrist]

June 25

Counting the Cost - Page 1
by George H. Morrison

For which of you, intending to build a tower, sitteth not down. first and counteth the cost, whether he have sufficient to finish it? Lest haply, after he hath laid the foundation, and is not able to finish it, all that behold it begin to mock him, saying, This man began to build, and was not able to finish— Luk_14:28-30

Life Is a Building

It is notable that in this little parable, and in the one which directly follows it (Luk_14:31), which deal with the great endeavors of the human soul, our Lord brings in the figure of the builder, and of a king making war upon another king. Christ always took human life at its best and kingliest, and even His illustrations have a royal touch. But the point to note is that Christ compared life to building. Life was like architecture or like war. Building and battling—these are the Master's figures; and I do not think the world has ever bettered them. There are rare souls that seem to grow, not build. And it may be some of us have known one saint—our mother perhaps—who bore no marks of conflict anywhere, and seemed to have reached the highest without a struggle. But for most of us it is the other way. Effort on effort, failure after failure, we have to forge and hammer ourselves towards what is honorable. And there are days when we seem to be building up a prison-house, until God in His mercy shatters that to fragments. Just note, then, that it is in a little parable of building that our Savior teaches us to count the cost.

Christ's Yoke Is Easy

Now, anyone who has read much in religious literature must have been struck by a kind of contradiction in it. He must have been arrested by two opposite conceptions of what religion really demands. I read some sermons, or I listen to some preaching, and religion seems exquisitely sweet and easy. I thought there was a cross in our religion, but when I read some of our current literature—if there be a cross it is so wreathed with honeysuckle that a poor soul can stumble past it easily. The valley of the shadow seems to have grown antiquated; we are to walk on the delectable mountains all the way. Mark you, we never can insist enough on the true joy of the religious life. We never can forget that to the heavy-laden, Christ said, and says forever, "My yoke is easy." But that is so interpreted sometimes, and the harder and sterner sayings are so evaded, that religion seems to walk in silver slippers.

Christ Promises a Cross

But when I turn to another class of teachers—and some of the greatest of every age are in it—what impresses me is not the ease of things, but the depth and difficulty of religion. The gate is narrow; the way is strait and mountainous; the cross is heavy, and the flesh cries out against it. Read Dr. Newman's sermons to see that view of the religious life expressed in matchless English. That, then, is the seeming contradiction. These are the two opposite conceptions. The one says, "If I come to Jesus, happy shall I be." The other says, "If I find Him, if I follow, what His guerdon here? Many a sorrow, many a labor, many a tear."

Well, in our text there can be little question that our Lord leans to the latter of these views. It is a great thing to be an earnest Christian, it is a high calling to be a knight of that round table; let a man, says Jesus, deliberately sit down and count the cost, lest the fair fame of it be smirched and sullied by him. Nothing impresses us more in Jesus Christ than His insistence on quality, not quantity. He never hesitated to set the standard high, even though men should be offended at Him. It is better to be served by twenty loyal hearts, than by half a hundred undisciplined adventurers. Think it all out, says Christ. Sit down, count up the cost, find what it comes to. Rash promising is certain to make shipwreck. I want you to be still, and know that I am God.

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[nChrist]

Counting the Cost - Page 2
by George H. Morrison

Now I think it immensely increases our reverence for Jesus to find Him dealing thus with human souls. He never veils the hardship of His calling, He is so absolutely certain of its glory. When Drake and the gallant captains of Queen Elizabeth's time went out into the streets of Plymouth to get sailors, they told them quite frankly of the storms of the Pacific, and of the reefs in it, and of the fevers of Panama. They honored their brave Devonshire comrades far too much to get them to sign on under any false pretences. But then there was the Spanish gold and treasure, and the glory of it, and all England to ring with it. And the men counted the cost and signed for that daring service, in the spacious times of great Elizabeth. And I honor our Captain for dealing with men like that—that press-gang is an un-Christlike instrument. Christ says: You are a free man; count the cost. Life is before you: choose whom you will serve. I offer you a cross, also a crown. I offer you struggle, but there shall be victory. You shall be lonely, yet lo, I am with you always. You shall be restless, yet I will give you rest. Was there ever a leader so frank, so open, so brave, as the Master who is claiming you tonight?

Counting the Cost

And it is just here that the service of our Lord stands at opposite poles from the service of sin. For the one thing that sin can never do is to say to a man, "Sit down and count the cost of it." Do you think that tonight's drunkard ever counted the cost when men called him such splendid company twenty years ago? Do you think that the man who has tried for, and missed, life's prizes counted the cost when he was sowing his wild oats? Sin is too subtle, too sweet, too masterfully urgent, to give a man time for that arithmetic. "Evil is wrought by want of thought, as well as want of heart." If that young student will only deliberately count the cost; if he will only remember he is in the grip of law that no repentance ever can annul; if he will think that as he sows, so will he reap, I think he will shake himself and say, "Get thee behind me, Satan." It is true that you cannot put old heads upon young shoulders. But don't we begin counting when we are little children? And half the battle of a man's life is won when he sits down and counts the cost. Sin will keep a man from that, by hook or crook. But "come and let us reason together," saith the Lord.

Of course we must distinguish this wise deliberation from a merely calculating and cowardly prudence. It is often the man who has counted the cost most earnestly, who shows a kind of splendid imprudence to the world. I mean that what the world calls prudence is very often a somewhat shallow thing. It does not run its roots into the deeps; it is really a kindlier name for selfishness. And the man who has dwelt alone with the great things, and who has been touched by the hand of the Eternal, is not likely in that sense to be worldly wise. I dare say that everybody thought John Knox imprudent when he insisted on preaching in St. Andrews, though the Archbishop had warned him he would slay him. I dare say everybody thought Martin Luther imprudent, when he said he would go to the Diet though every tile on the housetops were a devil. But Knox and Luther had been alone with God; it was deliberate action, and not reckless folly. They had counted the cost for Scotland and for Christendom.

The fact is, that in all the highest courage there is the element of quiet calculation. The truest heroism always counts the cost. The bravery of passion is not a shining virtue. I think that a very ordinary man could storm a rampart, if he were a soldier. They tell us there is a wild forgetfulness of self in that last rush that would fire the blood and thrill the most timid. The test of courage is the long night march, under the fire of invisible guns; it is the sentry duty in the darkness, when the shadows and silence might shatter the strongest nerve: I think that the man who deliberately faces that, who goes through it quietly because it is his duty, is just as worthy of the Victoria Cross as the man who has won it in some more splendid moment. No man, said one of Oliver Cromwell, no man was a better judge than Oliver of what might be achieved by daring. Yet the true heroism of that noble soul was not the heroism of the rash adventurer. He never let texts do duty for tactics, says Mr. Morley. I always admired the answer of that man who was going forward with a comrade to some dangerous duty. And his comrade looked at him, and saw that his cheek was blanched. And he laughed and said, "I believe you are afraid." And the other, looking straight forward, said, "Yes, I am afraid, and if you were half as afraid as I am, you would go home." Do not forget, then, that when Jesus says, "Count the cost," He is really sounding the note of the heroic. He does not want anyone on false pretences. He will not issue any lying prospectus. He comes to you and says, you are a thinking man, with powers that it will take eternity to ripen. Look life in the face. Look death in the face. Sum it all up, measure the value of things. And if you do that quietly and earnestly, with sincere prayer to God to enlighten you, My claims, Christ means, shall so tower above all others, that I shall have your heart and your service from that hour.

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