View source for 23. Unfinished Life-building

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<p>We are all builders. We may not erect any house or temple on a city street, for human eyes to see—but every one of us builds a fabric which God and angels see. Life is a building. It rises slowly, day by day, through the years. Every new lesson we learn lays a block on the edifice which is rising silently within us. Every experience, every touch of another life on ours, every influence that impresses us, every book we read, every conversation we have, every act of our commonest days—adds something to the invisible building. Sorrow, too, has its place in preparing the stones to lie on the life-wall. All of life furnishes the material.<br><br>
There are many noble fabrics of character reared in this world. But there are also many who build only low, poor huts, without beauty, which will be swept away in the testing-fires of judgment. There are many, too, whose life-work presents the spectacle of an unfinished building. There was a beautiful plan to begin with, and the work promised well for a little time; but after a while it was abandoned and left standing, with walls half-way up, a useless fragment, open and exposed, an incomplete, inglorious ruin, telling no story of past splendor as do the ruins of some old castle or coliseum—a monument only of folly and failure.<br><br>
"There is nothing sadder," writes one, "than an incomplete ruin; one that has never been of use; that never was what it was meant to be; about which no pure, holy, lofty associations cling, no thoughts of battles fought and victories won, or of defeats as glorious as victories. God sees them where we do not. The highest tower may be more unfinished than the lowest, to him."<br><br>
We must not forget the truth of this last sentence. There are lives which to our eyes, seem only to have been begun and then abandoned, which to God's eyes are still rising into more and more graceful beauty. Here is one who began his life-work with all the ardor of youth and all the enthusiasm of a consecrated spirit. For a time his hand never tired, his energy never slackened. Friends expected great things from him. Then his health gave way. The diligent hand lies idle and waiting now. His enthusiasm no more drives him afield. His work lies unfinished.<br><br>
"What a pity!" men say. But wait! He has not left an unfinished life-work as God sees it. He is resting in submission at the Master's feet and is growing meanwhile as a Christian. The spiritual temple in his soul is rising slowly in the silence. Every day is adding something to the beauty of his character, as he learns the lessons of patience, confidence, peace, joy, love. His building at the last will be more beautiful, than if he had been permitted to toil on through many busy years, carrying out his own plans. He is fulfilling God's purpose for his life.<br><br>
We must not measure spiritual building by <em>earthly </em>standards. Where the heart remains loyal and true to Christ; where the cross of suffering is taken up cheerfully and borne sweetly; where the spirit is obedient though the hands lie folded and the feet must be still—the temple rises continually toward finished beauty.<br><br>
Or here is one who dies in early youth. There was great promise in the beautiful life. Affection had reared for it a noble fabric of hope. Perhaps the beauty had begun to shine out in the face, and the hands had begun to show their skill. Then death came—and all the fair hopes were folded away. The visions of loveliness and the dreams of noble attainments and achievements, lay like withered flowers upon the grave. An unfinished life! friends cry in their disappointment and sorrow. So it seems, surely, to love's eyes, from the <em>earth</em>-side. But it is not so—as <em>God's </em>eye looks upon it! There is nothing unfinished, which fulfils the divine plan. God cuts off no young life—until its earthly work is done. Then the soul-building which began here and seemed to be interrupted by death, was only hidden from our eyes by a thin veil, behind which it still goes up with unbroken continuity, rising into fairest beauty in the presence of God.<br><br>
But there are abandoned life-buildings whose story tells only of shame and failure. Many people begin to follow Christ, and after a little time turn away from their profession, and leave only a pretentious beginning to stand as a ruin to be laughed at by the world, and to dishonor the Master's name.<br><br>
Sometimes it is <em>discouragement </em>which leads men to give up the work to which they have put their hand. Too often noble life-buildings are abandoned in the time of sorrow, and the hands which were quick and skillful before grief came—hang down and do nothing more on the temple-wall. Instead, however, of giving up our work and faltering in our diligence—we should be inspired by sorrow to yet greater earnestness in all duty and greater fidelity in all life. God does not want us to faint under chastening—but to go on with our work, quickened to new earnestness by grief.<br><br>
<em>Lack of faith </em>is another cause which leads many to abandon their life-temples unfinished. Throngs followed Christ in the earlier days of his ministry when all seemed bright, who, when they saw the shadow of the cross, turned back and walked no more with him. They lost their faith in him. It is startling to read how near even our Lord's apostles came, to leaving their buildings unfinished. Had not their faith come again after their Master arose, they would have left in this world only sad memorials of failure instead of glorious finished temples.<br><br>
In these very days there are many who, through the losing of their faith, are abandoning their work on the wall of the temple of Christian discipleship, which they have begun to build. Who does not know those who once were earnest and enthusiastic in Christian life, while there was but little opposition—but who fainted and failed when it became hard to confess Christ and walk with him?<br><br>
Then <em>sin</em>, in some form, draws many a builder away from his work, to leave it unfinished. It may be the <em>world's fascinations</em>, which draw him from Christ's side. It may be sinful human <em>companionships</em>, which lure him from loyal friendship to his Savior. It may be <em>riches</em>, which enter his heart and blind his eyes to the attractions of heaven. It may be some secret, debasing <em>lust</em>, which gains power over him and paralyzes his spiritual life. Many are there now, amid the world's throngs, who once sat at the Lord's Table and were among God's people. Unfinished buildings their lives are, towers begun with great enthusiasm, and then left to tell their sad story of failure to all who pass by. They began to build—and were not able to finish.<br><br>
It is sad to think how much of this unfinished work, God's angels see as they look down upon our earth. Think of the <em>good beginnings </em>which never come to anything in the end; the excellent resolutions which are never carried out, the noble life-plans entered upon by so many young people with ardent enthusiasm—but soon given up. Think of the beautiful visions and fair hopes which might be made splendid realities—but which fade out, not leaving the record of even one sincere, earnest effort to work them into reality.<br><br>
In all lines of life, we see these abandoned buildings. The business world is full of them. Men began to build—but in a little time they were gone, leaving their work uncompleted. They set out with gladness—but tired at length of the toil, or grew disheartened at the slow coming of success, and abandoned their ideal when it was perhaps just ready to be realized. Many homes present the spectacle of abandoned dreams of love. For a time the beautiful vision shone in radiance, and two hearts sought to make it come true—but then gave it up in despair.<br><br>
So life everywhere is full of <em>beginnings</em>—never carried out to <em>completion</em>. There is not a soul-wreck on the streets, not a prisoner serving out a sentence behind iron bars, not a debased, fallen one anywhere—in whose soul there were not once visions of beauty, bright hopes, holy thoughts and purposes, and high resolves—an ideal of something lovely and noble! But alas! the visions, the hopes, the purposes, the resolves, never grew into more than <em>beginnings</em>. God's angels bend down and see a great wilderness of unfinished fabrics, splendid possibilities unfulfilled, noble might-have-beens abandoned, ghastly ruins now, sad memorials only of failure!<br><br>
The lesson from all this is—that we should finish our work—that we should allow nothing to draw us away from our duty—that we should never weary in following Christ—that we should hold fast the beginning of our confidence, steadfast unto the end. We should not falter under any burden, in the face of any danger, before any demand of cost and sacrifice. No discouragement, no sorrow, no worldly attraction, no hardship, should weaken for one moment our determination to be faithful unto death. No one who has begun to build for Christ, should leave an unfinished, abandoned life-work, to grieve the heart of the Master and to be sneered at as a reproach to the name he bears.<br><br>
Yet we must remember, lest we be discouraged, that only in a relative, human sense can any life-building be made altogether complete. Our <em>best </em>work is <em>marred </em>and <em>imperfect</em>. It is only when we are in Christ, and are co-workers with him, that anything we do can ever be made perfect and beautiful. But the weakest, and the humblest, who are simply faithful, will stand at last complete in him. Even the merest fragment of life, as it appears in men's eyes, if it is truly in Christ, and filled with his love and with his Spirit—will appear finished, when presented before the divine Presence. To do God's will, whatever that may be, to fill out his plan—is to be complete in Christ, though the stay on earth be but for a day, and though the work done fulfills no great human plan, and leaves no brilliant record among men.
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