Things to Live For 10

THE LESSON OF SERVICE

Jesus taught that we should live, "not to be served—but to serve" This is a lesson that it is very hard to learn. It is easy enough to utter sentimental platitudes about the nobleness of service—but no one can truly live after this heavenly pattern, until his being is saturated with divine grace.

Just what is the lesson that our Lord sets us—we should try definitely to understand. It is, in a word, so to relate ourselves to others that our chief thought concerning them shall be—not how we may get pleasure, profit, honor, or advancement from them for ourselves—but how we may give them pleasure, do them good, or put honor upon them. If we have this mind set, we shall see in every person who comes within the circle of our life one to whom we owe love and service.

God has so ordered, that we cannot love and serve Him, and not also love and serve our fellow-men. Jesus made this very plain in His picture of the last judgment, when He said that He is hungry—in every hungry little one of His; that He is sick—in every least one of His who is sick; that in the stranger who comes to our door—He stands before us, waiting for the hospitality of love.

In serving His people—we are serving Him; in neglecting His people—we neglect Him.

We cannot fulfill our duty of loving Christ and serving Him, while we ignore our fellow-men. He accepts no such service. If we say we love Him—He points to the needy, the hungry, the sick, the burdened ones, the suffering all around us, and says: "Show your love to My people. I do not need service now—but these need it. Serve them in My name. Look at each one of them—as if I were Myself the one in pain or need—and do for these, My brethren, just what you would do for Me if I were actually in their condition."

We cannot get away from this relationship to Christ. It binds us to every other life. To act selfishly toward a believer—is to act selfishly toward Christ. To neglect any who need our help—is to neglect Christ himself. To do good to any in Christ's name—is to serve Christ Himself.

If only we understood that Christ Himself is with us still and always, not only in his spiritual presence—but in the person of every needy or suffering one who belongs to Him—it would transform all life for us, putting glory into the commonest lives, and the splendor of angel service into the lowliest ministry. How sacred it would make all life if we saw Christ—in everyone who comes to us in any need! We wish sometimes that we had lived when Jesus was here, and we say we would have served him most sweetly and lovingly. Would we really?

This teaching invests every life with a sacredness, which to disregard is a sacrilege. We must look upon everyone as if he were the Christ. We dare not pass by anyone carelessly. We know not to whom we may have a duty of love. The stranger whom mere seeming chance brings into our presence for an hour, may have been sent to us that in some way we may serve him. We are always safe in assuming that we have an errand of love to everyone we meet. We need not announce our mission, and we must never display ostentation in the discharge of our duty of love. We need only to hold ourselves in readiness, with all of love's humility, alacrity, and gentleness, to do whatever heart or hand may find to do in serving him. Our duty to him may be nothing more than the showing of kindness in our manner, the giving of a hearty salutation, or the inspiration of a cheerful countenance. But however small the service may be which it is ours to render, it is a divine ministry, and its value to the person we never may know.

Nothing is small that helps a human life. The Koran tells a myth of the sending of Gabriel to the earth to keep Solomon from some sin, and at the same time to help a little toiling ant to get home with its burden. The latter service was as angelic as the former. No ministry on which God sends us—can be considered small.

No mere theoretical acknowledgment of this universal obligation of man to man will avail. Fine sentiment is not enough; we must get the sentiment into practical life. We must bring our visions down out of ethereal mists—into something substantial and real. We must let the love of our heart flow out in life and act and helpful ministry.

Stern old Cromwell showed good common-sense when, seeing some silver statues in dusty niches, and learning that they were the twelve apostles, he gave orders that they be taken down, converted into money, and sent out to do good. That is what we should do with our fine professions of brotherly love. Brotherly love has no right to pose forever in mere creed and sentiment; there is something far better for it to do. In this world in which there is so much need, sorrow, and heart-hunger, loving service has a holy mission everywhere. If we would be Christlike, we must, like our Master, go about doing good.

A little child is said once to have closed her prayer on a winter evening in this way: "I saw a little girl on the street this afternoon; and she was cold and barefooted; but it isn't any of our business—is it, God?" She was only more honest in her prayer than some older people; for many people certainly act as if they regarded it as none of their business, when they see their fellow-men suffering and in need. But the teaching of Christ shows that it is our business, that we are under obligation to love and serve all men. We are debtor to every man; we may not owe him money—but we owe him love, and love means whatever help he needs—bread for his hunger, or sympathy and cheer in his trial and struggle. "Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another." Romans 13:8

If we but look at people always in this way, we shall find ourselves asking concerning everyone we meet: "How can I be a help to this person? What does God want me to do for him?" We certainly have some errand of love to everyone who crosses our path. To busy men, the interruptions of frequent callers are trying, especially when the callers have no particular errand. There is apt to be a strong temptation to treat the visitors impatiently, almost rudely. We are in the midst of important duties, and the time is all too brief in which to finish what we must do before nightfall. Certainly we have no right to waste our time with any such interrupters,devastators of time, as someone calls them.

Yet doubtless we have an errand to each and every such caller. We owe him at least a kindly greeting, a pleasant word. To treat him rudely, and turn him away as if he were a dog, is to insult Christ himself. Perhaps we cannot do for him what he wants us to do—but we can at least treat him kindly. People with sad, discouraged hearts—need love more than they need money. We do not read that Jesus ever gave money to any poor person whom he saw; but he did give to everyone something far better than money. No one ever came to him with any real need—and went away unblessed. We may always treat in the same way, those who come to us. Without losing many seconds of time, we may send our visitor from us with a lighter heart, and with a little new hope in his breast to strengthen him for the struggle of his life that goes on forever. All around us, are those who are forever in need of love's ministry. For many people life is very hard.

Some traveler speaks of the great stretches of the lava-fields for miles around a volcano, and of the desolateness and dreariness of the paths over those fields. There was not a blade of grass, nor a shrub, nor the tiniest living thing anywhere to be seen. But here and there as he went on, he saw, in the cracks and crevices of the lavabeds, little flowers growing; and flowers never before seemed so lovely, even in finest garden or conservatory, as there amid the bleakness. Like those walks across the lava-fields, are the paths of many in this world, with their hard toil, bitter sorrow, and heavy burden-bearing; and like the lovely little flowers that so cheered the traveler in those desolate regions, are the human kindnesses which here and there come, with their sweet fragrance and cheer, into these dreary lives.

We have it in our power to put untold gladness and help into the lives that touch ours every day. We can learn this divine lesson of service—by regarding every person we meet, as one to whom we are sent on an errand of love. This attitude toward others will put an end to all supercilious pride and haughtiness. We shall no more set ourselves up on little pedestals of self-conceit, demanding homage from others; rather, like our Master, we shall stand with basin and towel, ready to wash the feet of the lowliest. We shall no more think ourselves too good to perform the humblest ministries to the poorest—but shall consider it the highest honor to do the things that are least; for Jesus has said he is chief who serves the most.

THE GRACE OF THOUGHTFULNESS

"I didn't think!" is what people say ofttimes when they suddenly become aware of the pain which some heedless act or carelessword of theirs has given to a gentle heart. Too often our thoughtfulness is an afterthought; the problem is to get it to its true place, where it will become motive and inspiration to gentleness, instead of pain and penitence over a failure in love's duty. It is infinitely better that thoughtfulness should strew our friends' path with flowers—than that regret should pile exaggerated floral offerings on their coffins! We would do well to get our kindnesses done while they will do good, giving cheer and encouragement, and not keep them back until there is no need for them. It ought to be possible to get the grace of thoughtfulness into our life, as part of our spiritual culture, even in early years.

No doubt much evil is wrought by lack of thought. Many people with kindly heart, continually cause pain to others by mereheedlessness. They seem to have no perception of the sensibilities of those around them. They have never trained themselves to think at all of others, in connection with their own words and acts. They have accustomed themselves to think only of their own pleasure, and to say and do only what their own impulses prompt, without asking whether others will be pleased or displeased. They think only of their own comfort and convenience, and never of how the thing they wish to do may break into the comfort or convenience of others.

We find abundant illustration of this in all our common life. The fellowship of many homes is marred and spoiled by exhibitions ot this thoughtless spirit. Family life should be a blending of all the tastes, dispositions, talents, gifts, and resources of all the members of the household. In each one there should be much self-restraint. No member may live in a home circle, as if he were dwelling alone in a great house, with only himself to consider. He must repress much in himself, for the sake of the other members. He must do many things which he might not do if he were alone, because he is a member of a little community, whose happiness and good he is to seek at every point. No household life can ever be made truly ideal, by all having always their own way.

But many people who are tied up in family life forget this. They expect to live as as regardlessly of others, as if they were living alone. They consider no one's comfort, peace, or pleasure but their own. They let their own impulses have full and free expression. They make no effort to repress any elements or dispositions in themselves, which tend to give pain to others. They demand all their rights, not remembering that the other members of the family have rights too, and that home happiness can be secured only by the mutual surrender of rights, each in honor preferring the others, each seeking not to be ministered unto—but to minister. This exacting spirit leads to continual thoughtlessness.

Thoughtfulness is thinking of others, and modifying one's conduct so as to avoid whatever would give trouble, inconvenience, or hurt to others. A child had a beautiful canary bird. From morning until night it sang, and its song filled all the house. But the child's mother was ill—so ill that even the singing of the bird, which to the boy was such delicious music, disturbed and distressed her. He put it into a part of the house as far away as possible from the sickroom, thinking that the sound could not reach his mother's ears. But the shrill singing still came into the room, and pained the weak invalid.

One morning, as the child stood holding his mother's hand, the bird began to sing, and the notes came into the chamber very faintly; and yet as he watched the sufferer's face, he saw an expression of pain sweep over it. She said nothing—but the boy needed no words to tell him that the bird's singing was distressing her. "It is no music to me," he said, "if it pains my mother!" So he took the cage, and, carrying it away, gave the bird to a friend. "But you loved the bird," his mother said, when she learned what he had done. "Yes," he replied; "but I love you more."

That was a beautiful thing to do. It told of true thoughtfulness in the child. His personal pleasure must be sacrificed because gratifying it gave pain to one who was dear to him. This is the spirit which should characterize every Christian. We should repress in ourselves, the tastes which are not agreeable to our friends. We should cut off the habits which hurt the sensitive hearts whose happiness is dear to us. We should put away the things in us, whatever the cost may be, which give pain to our loved ones.

This spirit will lead us to regard the feelings of others with most gentle care. If one is lying ill in our home, it will make us quiet in our movements through the house, that we may not disturb the sick one. If a friend is in any trouble, it will make us kindly in all our treatment of him. If one has some weakness or deformity, it will make us guard against any allusion to the defect or disfigurement, which would give mortification to the unfortunate person.

Some people seem to have a genius for making others miserable! They are continually touching sensitive hearts, so as to cause pain. They are always saying things which sting and irritate. If you have any bodily defect, they never see you without in some crude way, making you conscious of it. If any relative or friend of yours has done some dishonorable thing, they seem to take a cruel delight in constantly referring to it when speaking with you. They lack all delicacy of feeling, having no eye for the things in others, which demand gentleness of treatment.

Thoughtfulness is the reverse of all this. It simply does not do the things which thoughtlessness does. It avoids the painful subject. It never alludes to a man's clubfoot or humpback, nor ever casts an eye at the defect, nor does anything to direct attention to it or to make the man conscious of it. It respects your sorrow, and refrains from harshly touching your wound. It has the utmost kindliness of feeling and expression. A truly thoughtful person, is one who never needlessly gives pain to another.

Then, there is also an active side. No grace is altogether negative. Thoughtfulness does not merely keep one from doing thoughtless things; it also leads to continued acts of kindness and good will. It watches ever for opportunities to give pleasure and happiness. It does not wait to be asked for sympathy or help—but has eyes of its own, and sees every need, and supplies it unsolicited. When a friend is in sorrow, the thoughtful man is ready with his offer of comfort. He does not come next day, when the need is past—but is prompt with his kindness, when kindness means something. Thoughtfulness is always doing little kindnesses. There are many Christian people who seem never to find any good thing to do for another. Opportunities come to them in unbroken succession, through all the days—but they see them not until they are past and gone. Thoughtfulness, on the other hand, has an instinct for seeing the little things that need to be done, and then for doing them.

The secret of all this, is that people can see around them—only what they have in their own heart. One who has birds in his mind—sees birds on every bush. One who is looking for flowers—will see flowers everywhere. A heart full of sympathy and love will see in others, on even the commonest days—a thousand things which need to be done. One who is thinking of others' comfort and good—will never lack occasions for doing the things that give comfort and do good.

There are some rare Christians who seem born for thoughtfulness. They have a genius for sympathy. Instinctively they seem to understand the experiences of pain in others, and from their heart there flows always a blessing of tenderness which is full of healing. This is the highest and holiest ministry of love. It is not softness nor weakness; it is strength—but strength enriched by divine gentleness. Not all love possesses this crowning quality. There is love that is heedless, and lacks the fine sense of others' feelings which is needed to make it perfect in its helpfulness.

Thoughtfulness is one of the truest and best tests of a noble Christian character. Thoughtlessness is rudeness, boorishness. It is selfishness, cold-heartedness. It is unrefined. It is cruel and unkind. Thoughtfulness is refined. It is love working in all delicate ways. It is unselfishness which forgets itself, and thinks only of others. It is love which demands not to be served, to be honored, to be helped—but thinks continually of serving and honoring others. Thoughtlessness is "lack of heart," and he who has a gentle heart cannot but be thoughtful. Love is always thoughtful.

In older days, in sermons and in prayers, much reference was made to sins, as divided into those of omission and those ofcommission. In the confession of sins, the worshiper acknowledges that he has left undone—the things he ought to have done. Perhaps we give altogether too little attention to our sins of omission. We may think we are living fairly well, because we do not commit grave and flagrant errors and sins; but how about the other side of our life? Are we doing the thousand acts of kindness, which sincere love would prompt? Do not the weary, and the heart-hungry, and the tempted, and the struggling, and the needy—pass by us continually, with their silent appeals to us for what we have to give them—yet pass by in vain?

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