16. The Blessing of Work
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"We urge you, brothers, warn those who are idle." 1 Thessalonians 5:14
"In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, we command you, brothers, to keep away from every brotGood wishes </em>at the beginning of a year or on one's birthday, are pleasant. They give us encouragement and put new zest into our lives. After all, however, good wishes will not come true by the mere wishing. We make our own years, and whether they are happy and beautiful or not—will depend on the kind of living we put into them.
In going forward from year to year—one of the secrets of a true life, lies in cutting loose from the past. No year is good enough to be a standard for the one that comes after it. Each new year should be a step in the mountain-climb, lifting our feet a little higher, into clearer air and heavenlier atmosphere. Whatever our attainments or achievements may have been yesterday, they should be nobler and better today.
Everyone's past is full of mistakes. The whitest pages are blotted with many a stain. There are things in our memory of which we are ashamed. There are failures, neglects, and sins in the best of us. We should leave these all behind us. We should count them as rubbish, which have no fit place in our new life for Christ, and which must be given up!
Sometimes the past is discouraging. There has been in it so much that was wrong, so much of mistake, folly, or sin—that one is disheartened. But no past, however one has seemed to fail in it, should be accepted as defeat.
The poet tells a beautiful story of the little birds whose nest had been ruined. As he walked among the trees in his garden after the storm, he found a torn nest lying on the ground, and began to brood sadly over it, pitying the birds whose home had thus been wrecked. But as he stood there and mused, he heard a twittering and chattering over his head, and looking up he saw the birds busy building again their ruined nest, instead of grieving over its loss and destruction. That is what we should do with the ruins we have made in our lives. We should not grieve and vex ourselves over them, nor spend a moment in regret which can avail nothing—but should straightway set to work to build again what our sin or our folly has destroyed!
Robert Louis Stevenson closes one of his prayers with these words: "Help us with the grace of courage that we be none of us cast down when we sit lamenting over the ruins of our happiness. Touch us with the fire of Your altar—that we may be up and doing, to rebuild our city." These are good words—the grace of courage that we be not cast down by our failures—but that we may rise and cheerfully rebuild the ruins which we have made in the past.
Many people need this word when they come to their birthdays. Things did not go well with them the last year. They spoiled their own happiness, perhaps another's happiness, too. Their fine resolves, perhaps neatly written out and signed a year ago—came to nothing. The ideals they set up, honestly meaning to attain them—remain unreached today. There seems to have been only mistake, folly, and failure—and they stand and look back at nothing but ruins! Yet, however sad it all really may be, they should not spend one hour in grieving over it. Tears will rebuild nothing that has been torn down! Time is only wasted—which is spent in grieving. We should take a lesson from the birds and, forgetting all failure, begin at once to build anew!
Brooding over the past, however foolish and ruinous it has been, is useless, only a waste of strength and opportunity. Nothing good ever comes of it! Too many people forget to forget. Paul's way was better. He forgot the things that were behind, whethermistakes or attainments, left them altogether in the past, and, stretching forward to the things that were before, he used all his energy and strength to attain and achieve them.
But it is not enough merely to forget the past. We must come out of it unhurt by it—if we are going to reach our best. The question concerning each one of us is, not what a particular year brought to us of experience—but what we are bringing out of the year in our own lives.
Some people are hurt by what goes on in their lives. Some are hurt by temptation— wounded, scarred, weakened. Some are hurt bysorrow—their vision of faith dimmed, their power of endurance lessened, their thought of God perverted, their joy lost. Some are hurt by unkind or unjust treatment received from others— cherishing resentment and growing bitter. Some are hurt by honors which come to them, by prosperity, by success. Their heads are turned, and they grow vain and self-conceited, losing the sweetness and simplicity of their quieter days. Some are hurt by disaster, by suffering, by poverty, by failure of hopes and plans. They become broken in spirit and discouraged.
The problem of true and beautiful living is, not to make a set of circumstances which shall serve us well, giving us comfort and ease, ministering to our pleasure; but, rather, the problem is, in whatever circumstances we may be placed—to live worthily, nobly, victoriously, coming out unscathed, unhurt, bearing not a stain, stronger, braver, and truer!
A young man went through an experience of failure last year, losing all he had, the gatherings and savings of years of toil and struggle. He came out with his hands empty—but clean. He had lost his money—but he had not lost his honor. His manliness is unspotted. He has courage to begin anew. Another passed through the stress of a great sorrow last year—but his faith failed not. Another had a year of burden-bearing which almost crushed him—but today he is as brave, as trustful, as hopeful, as joyful, as he was before he entered the year's testing. In all the world, there is no one that can do us any harm—but ourselves. If our heart remains true, if our faith continues steady, if our spirit is always victorious, if we do not lose the song out of our hearts—the windsmay blow as they will, and the waves roll as they will—but nothing can touch us in our refuge, to do us any real hurt.
There is something else. Forgetting things of the past and coming out of our experiences unharmed, we must reach forward and lay hold upon new and better things. Some people never do. They have no enthusiasm for growth or advancement. They may be ambitious for position—but they do not really strive for the prize of manhood. To be in a larger place this year than the year before, is not promotion, unless, meanwhile, one has grown holier and better. The only true advancement, is in character. Each year should open new paths before us, paths leading up higher. Nothing but the best things possible, are worthy to be ideals for us.
We should think a great deal of the possibilities of our lives. We should try to realize something of the dignity and glory possible to us. We are not earthworms. We are not made to grovel in the dust. Yet there are those who do grovel, who live as if they were only worms! Think of an angel coming down to earth and living as some men do in this world, scrambling in the dirt for money, prostituting all that is noble in their nature, in self-indulgence. Yet we are higher than the angels, "but a little lower than God." Do we live as if we were so exalted in rank, in standing? Some of us are dimly aware of the great possibilities in us—yet lack the energy and the earnestness necessary to release our imprisoned faculties and give them wing.
One of the most wonderful stories of the conquest of difficulty is that of Helen Keller. She was blind, she was deaf, she could not speak. Her soul was hidden away in an impenetrable darkness. Yet she has overcome all these seemingly invincible obstacles and barriers, and now stands in the ranks of intelligence and scholarship.
Some of us, with no such hindrances, with no such walls and barriers imprisoning our being, with almost nothing in the way of the full development of our powers, with everything favorable thereto, have scarcely found our souls! We have eyes—but we see not the glory of God about us and above us. We have ears—but we hear not the music of divine love which sings all round us. It may not always be easy for us to learn to know the blessed things of God, which fill all the world. But if we had half the eagerness that Helen Keller has shown in overcoming hindrances, half the energy, think how far we would be advanced today! We would then have no regard for the handicaps which are about us, making it hard for us to reach out to find the best things of life. We would not allow our souls to be dwarfed by any hindrances—but would struggle on until we are free from all shackles and restraints, and until we have grown into the full beauty of Christ.
Sometimes young people are heard complaining of their condition or circumstances, as excuse for their making so little of their lives. Because they are poor, and no rich friend gives them money to help them, or because they have some physical infirmity orhindrance, or because they have not had good early advantages, they give up and submit to stay where they are. The story of Helen Keller should shame all such yielding to the small inconveniences and obstacles that beset young people in ordinary conditions. They should regard their limitations and hindrances as only impertinences, to be bravely set aside by undismayed and unconquerable energy; or, rather, as barriers set not to obstruct the way—but to nerve and stimulate them to heroic endeavor before which all obstacles will vanish!her who is idle." 2 Thessalonians 3:6
"We hear that some among you are idle!" 2 Thessalonians 3:11
WORK is the divine law for humanity. The person who does not work, if he be able to work, is failing God and also bringing blight upon his own life! Work is part of the constitution of our being. Health requires it. Idleness has curse in it! God works, and if we are to be like God—we must work too. Idleness is most undivine. The unhappiest people in the world—are those who do nothing! They have lost the balance of life. They are out of harmony with God and the universe. Work is the law of life—and a prime secret of happiness and health.
The work assigned by the Master is not the same for all. "To each one—his work." We do not all have the same gifts and capacities. Paul illustrates this by a reference to the members of the human body. Each member has its own use and function. Suppose all the members were eyes—how helpless would the body be! Eyes are important—but we need ears and hands and feet as well. Sometimes people chafe because they can do so little; but the smallest member of the body is essential. If it did not do its part, the whole bodily mechanism would suffer. And the least important member of human society—has his place and his part to do, without the faithful doing of which, there will be a blank in the great world's work.
We need not envy any other's capacity for usefulness. It may be more brilliant than ours, may seem greater, of a higher grade. Its influence may reach out more widely. Our friend may be able to speak or sing to thousands, while our stumbling word or our unmusical voice may make no impression whatever. Sometimes people occupying small fields in Christian work, grow discontentedand seek something larger. But when we remember that it is the Master Himself who allots our work to us, and assigns our place—we may be sure that there is no mistake.
Then, we do not know what place is really narrow or of little importance, or what work is really small in its value to Christ and the world. It may be that the seemingly almost useless task assigned to us some day or some year—is of immeasurable importance to the kingdom of Christ.
In preparing for a great battle, one of the most able and successful generals was assigned by the commander, to the guarding of a certain bridge which seemed entirely out of the field of conflict. The general chafed and thought himself dishonored in being thus kept out of the battle in which other officers were leading their men to important victories. He heard the sound of battle far away—and fretted at being kept in his obscure place, with his command absolutely idle. But at length the line of battle swerved and moved toward him. The enemy was falling back, and the bridge he was guarding became the very key to the situation. So it came about, that this brave and valiant soldier was in the end—the hero of the battle. The commander had foreseen the importance of this bridge and had assigned his ablest general to defend it.
Just so, we do not know the importance in the Master's eye—of the obscure position we are set to occupy or of the inconspicuous work we are set to do. Yet, it may be the vital element in some great providential movement. Certainly, at least, we can trust our Master's wisdom in our assignment. He knows why He wants us at this obscure point—why He gives us this little task. Let us do the small duty just as faithfully, as carefully, and as skillfully—as if we were working in the eye of the whole world! Some day we shall know that we were assigned to the right place and to the right work.
Our work for Christ is more far-reaching than we dream. In the Master's work, character is of utmost important. We must be good—before we can do good. There is a tremendous power in a godly character. Those who would do the Master's work acceptably, worthily, should give, therefore, the most careful heed to their personality. The wise man says, "As dead flies give perfume a bad smell—so a little folly outweighs wisdom and honor."
In nothing is this better illustrated than in the power of personal influence. There are men who are good, with right principles, honest, true, upright, benevolent, earnest, strenuous in good work—but who have little faults of temper, of disposition, of manner; little marring habits, untidiness, carelessness in speech, neglect in keeping promises; things in their business or social life which affect the purity or honor of their name; disagreeableness or unsavoriness in their relations with others—dead flies which cause the oil of their influence to send forth a bad odor.
No one can tell another what his particular work for Christ is. The kinds of work—are as many as the people are. "To each one his work." No two of us have precisely the same capacities, and, therefore, no two have precisely the same tasks assigned.
How to find our own work in life is sometimes a perplexing question. For one thing, however, we may know that it is always something near at hand. It is never far away, never hard to find. It is said in Nehemiah, in the story of the rebuilding of the walls of Jerusalem, that each person built next to his own door.
An artist wished to leave behind him some noble work which would make him famous for all time. Despising the common claywhich was easily found, in which he had always wrought as an apprentice, he went far and near in search of some fine material fit for the beautiful form he wished to fashion. After journeying over all lands in vain quest for what he wanted, he came home at length, weary and disappointed, to find in the clay by his own doorstep, that from which he molded the masterpiece of his dream.
Just so, Christian people are forever making the same mistake. They long to do some beautiful thing for Christ—but never think for a moment that they can do it in the things of the common days, while really the opportunity comes to them every day—in the duties that seem trivial and commonplace. The common tasks of our everydays, furnish us the elements which go to make the divinest deeds. Just to be kind to a poor woman, to a sick man, or to a little child, to visit a stranger, to feed one who is hungry—is fit work for the Son of God to do. We may always seek our work for the Master close at hand. We may begin with the homeliest tasks that await us as we go out any morning—and then go on doing always the next thing, however simple it may be.
That is the way God's will is made known to us. One act prepares for another and leads to it. Then some day we shall find that thecommon kindnesses of the passing days are transmuted by divine grace—into gems for the crown of glory for our heads!
We must not make the mistake of thinking that Christian work consists merely in devotions and acts of worship. A minister preached one day about heaven, and his sermon was greatly enjoyed by his people. The next morning, a wealthy member of the church met the pastor and spoke warmly of the discourse. "That was a good sermon about heaven," he said. "But you didn't tell us where heaven is." "Oh," said the minister, "I can tell you now. Do you see yonder hill-top? In a cottage there, is a member of our church. She is sick in one bed, and her two children are sick in another bed. I have just come from her house. There is not a lump of coal, nor a stick of wood, nor a loaf of bread, nor any flour in that house. If you will go down town and buy some provisions and some coal, and send them to that home, and then go yourself to the house and read the Twenty-third Psalm beside the woman's sick-bed, and kneel and pray with her—you will know where heaven is."
The next morning the man met his pastor again, and said, "You were right—I found heaven!"
In the place of worship—we learn of heaven's joy and happiness; out in the fields of need—we find heaven in service of love. It makes our work very sacred—to remember that it is the Master who assigns it to us. Easy or hard, it is what He gives us to do. It must be right, therefore, for He is perfect in wisdom and perfect in love. Sometimes the Master lays us aside, and then we find our duty not in the active service—but in the quiet waiting. But whether it is to lie still or to work—He knows how we can best honor God, fulfill the end of our existence, and sweeten and enrich the world in which we live!
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