Learning to Love'.

"Life is an education in love." Learning to love is a long lesson. It takes all of the longest life to learn it. The most inveterate obstacle in mastering the lesson is SELF, which persists with an energy which nothing but divine grace can overcome. When no longer we seek our own in any of our relations with others, we have learned to love. Until then, we still need to stay in Christ's school.

The test of love is service. The love which does not give and do the utmost, is not love. To live for one's self in any way, in any degree, is to leave a blur, a blemish, on the life, however attractive it may be in other regards.

The most brilliant life as men rate life is tame and lusterless until it begins to serve, and then instantly glory begins to radiate from it. There is more true glory in one humble act of self-denial, in one deed of thoughtful kindness, in one moment of patient serving of another—than in a whole Sinai of clouds and lightnings.

Those who sit by fever beds, ministering to human need in its countless forms, seem to miss much that is very beautiful. Their lowly ministry keeps them away from places of honor, even from scenes of spiritual ecstasy. Absorption in the duties of love in the home or among the poor, causes men and women to miss much that the world esteems. But meanwhile there is a higher reward. They enter more fully into the joy of the Lord.

After all, only that life is most worth living which has in it the quality of service and sacrifice. It is only life itself—which is worth giving to others. Only when we serve in love that forgetsitself—gives itself out in its serving, do we either find deep joy for ourselves or give true happiness or blessing to others.

"Love seeks not its own" is the heart of the definition of love. "Love seeks not its own." It never thinks of itself. It never aims at its own advancement, its own ease, and its own pleasure. It always thinks of the other person. It seeks to give pleasure, to do good, not to have pleasure and to receive good. The first true aim in friendship is, not to have friends—but to be a friend. It does not ask what it can get out of a friendship, in what ways the friend is going to be helpful—but what it can do for the friend, how it can promote his interests, advance his good, be a help to him. "Love seeks not its own."

In one of Joseph Hocking's stories, the old preacher, a thoughtful man, says to his young people: "My little children, love is the great divine thing in life. It is God — for God is love. Only do not mistake the alloy of love for love itself. Much of what is called love is not love at all. It is simply a desire to be loved. Love gives—the thought of taking is only secondary. Love says, 'How can I give happiness?' not 'How can I get it?' The latter is simply love for self, the desire to be loved—which is but a poor, miserable caricature of love. That is why life is so poor. We mistake the desire to be loved for love itself, and try to be content. We ask, 'How can I get?' not 'How can I give?' and thus God does not come near to us, Eternal Life does not come near to us. We do not live in the light;—we only see its faint reflection. And now abides faith, hope, love, and the greatest of these is love—but love seeks not its own."

When we think of it, what is the kind of love we usually see in people about us? The description runs, "Love seeks not its own." Does it never in what we call love? Then it would seem that love is not very common, for there are not many people who never seek their own, that is, put thought of themselves first. Take the matter of choosing friends. Do we think chiefly of what the friend is to be to us? Or, of what we can be to him? Must we not confess that too often it is the selfish element that is the more marked?

The forming of special personal friendships is different in a way from the common exercise of love to others. This involves a sacred relationship in which the greatest care is required. In choosing for marriage, for example, the obligation of unselfishness is mutual. In personal friendship the same is true. The love must be on both sides. Yet here, too, the law is the same. Love must not seek its own. Mr. King says: "there are some apparently smooth-running households that are smooth running, not because the relations are what they ought to be—but simply because five people in the home have decided that the only way to have peace is to allow the sixth to have his own way. And this sixth person may very likely think of himself as peculiarly devoted to the happiness of the other inhabitants of the house. But his standpoint is that he knows far better than any of them what is good for them, and they shall have what he thinks is good for them, whether they like it or not."

But this benevolent sixth person is infinitely away from the spirit of love which Christian teaching requires. His is in no sense love that "seeks not its own." True love does not demand its own way. Its first aim is always, not to be ministered unto—but to minister. We expect to live with our friends and to receive happiness and benefit from them. But if the love is what it should be, it will always be without selfishness. Its first desire will always be to make the other happy, to bring comfort, cheer, and pleasure, and to add to the beauty and completeness of the life.

George Eliot draws a picture of such a friendship: "What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined for life—to strengthen each other in all labor, to rest in each other in all sorrow, to minister to each other in all pain, to be one with each other in silent, unspeakable memories, at the moment of the last parting?"

This is a beautiful ideal. It is the outline of a friendship in which each gives to the other the best he has to give. But we should notice that the heart of such a friendship is precisely what Paul indicates in his characterization—"Love seeks not its own." If either seeks his own, is ruled by selfishness, and if SELF obtrudes in any phase of the fellowship—such a hallowed friendship as this is impossibility. It is not enough that one of the two shall seek not his own—there must be two hearts beating as one in unselfishness, before such a friendship can exist. The slightest trace of selfishness mars the beauty. Your friend may not always be conscious that he is thinking of your good. He may not every hour definitely and purposely set himself the task of doing you good, curing your faults, sweetening and enriching your life; nevertheless, he desires always to be a help to you, and in every thought of you and every prayer for you, he is seeking not yours—but you; not to be helped by you—but to be your helper.

A present day writer says: "You need friends who, by their finer insight or their hidden faith, idealize you. They take you as they know you, as you are—but behind you, within you, and above you, they see another possible man. They are looking eagerly and waiting patiently for that man to emerge. By their expectation and their faith, they help him out into the world. They are constantly saying what the master of the house said in the parable, 'Friend, go up higher.' You discover yourself anew in their very attitude toward some of your rawness and inexperience. You long to make the reality match with their faith in your capacity. It is deadly, in the long run, not to have that quality in our friends."

"I do enjoy spending the evening with Fannie," one young fellow said to another; "she always makes me feel so satisfied with myself." We like to have people make us feel satisfied with ourselves—but it may not always be the wisest and the most wholesome friendship that affects us in this way. Might it not mean more to us if the influence of our friends upon us wereinspiring instead of soothing; should prove awakening and stimulating, instead of promotive of self-esteem? "Love seeks not its own." That is, it seeks to help us, to make life mean more to us, to show us new possibilities of attainment, to start in us new desires and aspirations, to set before us new visions of beauty in character.

It may be more pleasant merely to compliment your friend on his promising abilities, to praise and flatter his callow attainments, to make him think well of himself and satisfied with what he is; but may not such friendship in the end prove harmful instead of helpful? May it not inflate his vanity and make him content with what he is? We should take delight in pleasing others, in saying kindly things to them, in encouraging and cheering them, in complimenting them when they do well. Some people always have a depressing, chilling influence over us. They never say a word of commendation, of approval, of cheer. Instead, they criticize, disapprove, point out the defects in ourselves or in our work; at least they give the impression that they do not favorably regard what has been done by us. There is disheartenment in such withholding of praise. Some parents fail at this point. So do some teachers.

Paul has a suggestive word on this subject in one of his epistles. He says, first, that those who are strong should bear the infirmities of the weak. Then he adds, "Let each one of us please his neighbor for that which is good, unto edifying." We are to please our neighbor. That is, we are to say to him the things that will please him, make him happy, and give him pleasure. We have no right to give him pain in our words to him, to be brusque, heartless, and uncivil, to restrain love, to discourage him. This exhortation is a very important one, in a life of love. Good manners are part of Christianity. Grace means beauty, and nothing ungracious should ever appear in the life of one who belongs to Christ. Even if we must speak words of reproof, they should be spoken in love.

But there is a limitation which we must not overlook—we are to please him for his good, to edifying. We must never give him pleasure which would do him any hurt. Edification means building up. Whatever you say to your neighbor to please him must add something of beauty or completeness to the building of character that is going on in him. Now you may speak to your friend words which will greatly please him but will not do him good—will not edify him, will not add anything to the beauty and completeness of the building that is going up in his life. You may flatter him, and he may like it—but it will only puff him up, not build him up. You are his true friend only when you please him—for his own good. This you may do, not by making him feel satisfied with himself, as he is, in his faultiness and failure—but by giving him glimpses of higher things which he may be inspired to try to reach. "Love seeks not its own."

There is another way in which love may seek the good of friends. One comes to you on behalf of another whose life has been full of burden and sorrow. The question is, what can be done to lighten the load and make the way easier for this person? When you were younger, you would probably have entered with earnestness into the matter and have tried to help to find some less burdensome way of life for the person. You would have felt constrained to try to give him relief. For example, if money would remove the hardness of the struggle and you had money, you would have been inclined to give it that the person might have an easier course. But you are learning as you go on through life, that in seeking the good of others, you must not always make their burdens less. Our burden is God's gift to us, and God's gift is something sacred; it has a blessing in it for us. If you were to take away your friend's burden you would wrong him. The hard thing in his life perhaps, is God's very way of preparing him for a higher place, for nobler character, for larger usefulness. If you interfere, you may spoil God's plan for his life.

When it is said, then, that love must always seek the good of others; the meaning is not that it must always make things easier for them. Remember that your best friend is he who makes you do what you can. It is not wise love in a father that makes life too easy for his children. A young man has a desire to obtain an education, that he may be fitted for a certain calling or profession. He has not the means to enable him to make the necessary preparation without much struggle and long delay. Some friend wishes to help him, and proposes to advance the money that he may pursue the course of training uninterruptedly, and in as effective a way as possible. Every one thinks the young man peculiarly fortunate and advises him to accept the aid. But there is a serious question whether it is a kindness or not, thus to make the way so easy for the young man. Perhaps it would have been better for him in the end if he had declined the offered help and set out to reach the goal of his ambition by his own self-denying struggles. He would have made more of a man of himself, almost certainly, if he had won his way unaided.

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