A Gentle Heart'. 3
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It does not matter how much Bible reading, and prayer, and catechism-saying, and godly teaching, there may be in a home. If gentleness is lacking, that is lacking which most of all, the children need in the life of their home. A child must have love. Love is to its life, what sunshine is to plants and flowers. No young life can ever grow to its best—in a home without gentleness.
Yet there are parents who forget this, or fail to realize its importance. There are homes where the scepter is iron—where affection is repressed—where a child is never kissed after baby days have passed.
A woman of genius said that until she was eighteen she could not tell time by the clock. When she was twelve her father had tried to teach her how to tell time; but she had failed to understand him, and feared to let him know that she had not understood. Yet she said, that he had never in his life spoken to her a harsh word. On the other hand, however, he had never spoken an endearing word to her; and his marble-like coldness had frozen her heart! After his death she wrote of him, "His heart was pure—but cold. I think there was no other like it on the earth."
I have a letter from a young girl of eighteen in another city—a stranger, of whose family I have no personal knowledge. The girl writes to me, not to complain, but to ask counsel as to her own duty. Hers is a home where love finds no adequate expression in affectionateness. Both her parents are professing Christians, but evidently they have trained themselves to repress whatever tenderness there may be in their nature. This young girl is hungry for home-love, and writes to ask if there is any way in which she can reach her parent's hearts to find the treasures of love which she believes are locked away there. "I know they love me," she writes. "They would give their lives for me. But my heart is breaking for expressions of that love." She is starving for loves' daily food!
It is to be feared that there are too many such homes—Christian homes, with prayer and godly teaching; and with pure, consistent living—but with no daily bread of lovingness for hungry hearts.
I plead for love's gentleness in homes. Nothing else will take its place. There may be fine furniture, rich carpets, costly pictures, a large library of excellent volumes, fine music, and all luxuries and adornments; and there may be religious forms—a family altar, good instruction, and consistent Christian living; but if gentleness is lacking in the family communion—the lack is one which leaves an irreparable hurt in the lives of the children.
There are many people who, when their loved ones die, wish they could send some words of love and tenderness to them, which they have never spoken while their loved ones were close beside them. In too many homes gentleness is not manifested while the family circle is unbroken; and the hearts ache for the privilege of showing kindness, perhaps for the opportunity of unsaying words and undoing acts which caused pain. We would better learn the lesson of gentleness in time, and then fill our home with love while we may. It will not be very long until our chance of showing love shall have been used up!
But home is not the only place where we should be gentle. If the inner circle of life's holy place have claim on us, for the best that our love can yield—the common walks and the wider circle also have claim for our love and gentleness. Our Master manifested himself to his own—as he did not to the world; but the world, even his cruelest enemies, never received anything of ungentleness from him. The heart's most sacred revealings are for the heart's chosen and trusted ones, as the secret of the Lord is with those who fear him; but we are to be gentle unto all men, as our Father sends his rain upon the just and upon the unjust. What we learn under home's roof, in the close fellowship of household life—we are to live out in our associations with others.
As Moses' face shone when he came down among the people, after being with God in the mount—so our faces should carry the warmth and glow of tenderness from love's inner shrine—out into all other places of ordinary social interaction. What we learn of love's lesson in our home—we should put into practice in our life in the world, in the midst of its strifes, rivalries, competitions, frictions, and manifold trials and testings.
We must never forget that true religion—in its practical outworking—is love. Some people think religion is mere orthodoxy of belief—that he who has a good creed is truly religious. We must remember that the Pharisees had a good creed, and were orthodox; yet we have our Lord's testimony that their religion did not please God. It lacked love. It was self-righteous, and unmerciful.
Others think that true religion consists in the punctilious observance of forms of worship. If they are always at church on Sundays and other church meetings, and if only they attend to all the ordinances, and follow all the rules—they are religious. Yet sometimes they are not easy people to live with. They are censorious, dictatorial, judges of others, exacting, severe in manner, harsh in speech. Let no one imagine that any degree of devotion to the church, and diligence in observing ordinances, will ever pass with God for true religion—if one has not love, is not loving and gentle.
The practical outworking of true religion—is love. A good creed is well; but doctrines which do not become a life of gentleness in character and disposition, in speech and in conduct, are not fruitful doctrines. Church attendance religious duties are right and good; but they are only means to an end—and the end is lovingness. The religious observances which do not work for us kinder thoughts, diviner affections, and a sweeter life—are not profiting us. The final object of all Christian life and worship—is to make us more like Christ—and Christ is love. For the whole law is fulfilled in one word, even in this, "You shall love." "The one who loves another has fulfilled the law. The commandments are all summed up by this: Love your neighbor as yourself." Romans 13:8-9
Those who live the gentle life of patient, thoughtful, selfless love—make a melody whose strains are enrapturing.
Someone asks almost in disheartenment. "How can we learn this lesson of gentleness?" Many of us seem never to master it. We go on through life, enjoying the means of grace, and striving more or less earnestly to grow better. Yet our progress appears to be very slow. We desire to learn love's lesson—but it comes out very slowly in our life.
We must note, first of all, that the lesson has to be learned. It does not come naturally, at least to most people. We find it hard to be gentle always, and to all kinds of people. Perhaps we can be gentle on sunny days; but when the harsh north wind blows—we grow fretful, and lose our sweetness. Or we can be gentle without much effort to some gentle-spirited people, while perhaps we are almost unbearably ungentle to others. We are gracious and sweet to those who are gracious to us; but when people are rude to us, when they treat us unkindly, when they seem unworthy of our love—it is not so easy to be gentle to them. Yet that is the lesson which is everywhere taught in the Scriptures, and which the Master has set for us.
It is a comfort to us to know that the lesson has to be learned—and does not come as a gift from God, without any effort. We must learn to be gentle, just as artists learn to paint lovely pictures. They spend years and years under masters, and in patient, toilsome effort—before they can paint pictures which at all realize the lovely visions of their soul. It is a still more difficult are to learn to reproduce visions of lovein human life—to be always patient, gentle, kind. It gives us encouragement, as we are striving to get our lesson, to read the words in which Paul says that he had learned to be content whatever his condition was. It adds, too, to the measure of our encouragement to see from the chronology of the letter in which we find this bit of autobiography, that the apostle was well on toward the close of his life—when he wrote so triumphantly of this attainment. We may infer that it was not easy for him to learn the lesson of contentment, and that he was quite an old man before he had mastered it!
It is probably as hard to learn to be always gentle—as it is to learn to be always contented. It will take time, and careful, unwearying application. We must set ourselves resolutely to the task; for the lesson is one that we must not fail to learn, unless we would fail in growing into Christliness. It is not a matter of small importance. It is not something merely that is desirable, but not essential. Gentleness is not a mereornament of life, which one may have, or may not have—as one may, or may not, wear jewelry. It is not a mere frill of character, which adds to its beauty, but is not part of it. Gentleness is essential in every true Christian life! It is part of its very warp and woof. Not to be gentle—is not to be like Jesus.
Therefore the lesson must be learned. The golden threads must be woven into the texture. Nothing less than the gentleness of Christ himself, must be accepted as the pattern after which we are to fashion our life and character. Then, every day some progress must be made toward the attainment of this lovely ideal. "See that no day passes, in which you do not make yourself a somewhat better Christian." The motto of an old artist was, "No day without a line." If we set before us the perfect standard—the gentleness of our Master—and then every day make some slight advance, though it be but a line, toward the reproducing of this gentleness in our own life, we shall at last wear theornament of a gentle spirit, which is so precious in God's sight.
We must never rest satisfied with any partial attainment. Just so far as we are still ungentle, rude to anyone, even to a beggar, sharp in speech, haughty in bearing, unkind in any way to a human being—thelesson of gentleness is yet imperfectly learned, and we must continue our diligence. We must get control of our temper, and must master all our moods and feelings. We must train ourselves to check any faintest risings of irritation, turning it instantly into an impulse of tenderness. We must school ourselves to be thoughtful, patient, charitable, and to desire always to do good. The way to acquire any grace of character—is to compel thought, word, and act in the one channel—until the lovely quality has become a permanent part of our life.
There is something else. We never can learn the lesson ourselves alone. To have gentleness in one's life—one must have a gentle heart. Mere human gentleness is not enough. We need more than training and self-discipline. Our heart must be made new—before it will yield the life of perfect lovingness. It is full of self and pride and hatred and envy and all undivine qualities. The gentleness which the New Testament holds up to us as the standard of Christian living—is too high for any mere attainment. We need that God shall work in us, to help us to produce the loveliness which is in the pattern—Christ. And this divine co-working is promised. "The fruit of the Spirit is gentleness." The Holy Spirit will help us to learn the lesson, working in our heart and life the sweetness of love, the gentleness of disposition, and the graciousness of manner, which will please God.
There is a legend of a great artist. One day he had labored long on his picture, but was discouraged, for he could not produce on his canvas the beauty of his soul's vision. He was weary too; and sinking down on a stool by his easel, he fell asleep. While he slept an angel came; and, taking the brushes which had dropped from the tired hands, he finished the picture in marvelous way.
Just so, when we toil and strive in the name of Christ to learn our lesson of gentleness, and yet grow disheartened and wary because we learn it so slowly—Christ himself comes, and puts on our canvas the touches of beauty which our own unskilled hands cannot produce! "Your gentleness has made me great." Psalm 18:35
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