View source for On Being a Discourager

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<p>It is a sin to be a hinderer! You who make it harder for others to live, are doing the adversary's work. We are in this world to lighten burdens, to gather the stones out of the way and to make the <em>road of life </em>a little easier. This is the law of Christian life. They cannot live for themselves; if they do—they must lose all. They must hold all their gifts and powers for the blessing of others.<br><br>
It is a radical perversion of the law of Christian life, therefore, when one becomes in any way—a hinderer of others. Yet there are many people who do this. There are some who do it in a negative way by withholding from others lives, in their care and burden and sorrow—the cheer, inspiration, or comfort, which they have it in their power to bestow.<br><br>
Sometimes this is done in cold selfishness, from sheer indisposition to lend a hand to a brother or sister. More frequently, however, it is through a lack of <em>sensitiveness </em>to others' needs and sufferings, a lack of true sympathy with human life in its weakness. There are those who have never known pain themselves and have no sense of pain in others. They lack that delicacy of touch, which is needed even when the heart is loving, to impart comfort and inspiration. So it happens, that there are many people who are hinderers of others, through the withholding of the cheer and help, which they might give.<br><br>
But there are others whose influence is directly and positively hindering. Instead of being <em>wings </em>to those whose lives they touch—they are <em>weights</em>. They are discouragers. They never have a glad, cheerful, hopeful word for anyone; on the other hand, they always find some way to dampen ardor, to chill enthusiasm, to discount hope, and to put clouds into clear skies. They seem to think it a sin to be happy themselves, or to encourage happiness in any other person. They find all the <em>shadows </em>in life and persist in walking in them. They magnify small troubles into great trials. They look at little <em>hills </em>of difficulty through lenses of morbid feeling that make them grow into tall <em>mountains</em>.<br><br>
Thus encompassed with gloom themselves, they make darkness for others, never brightness, wherever they may go. In this way they do a great deal of harm in the world. They make all life harder—for those they influence. Instead of being comforters of others, they make sorrow harder to bear, because they exaggerate it, and because they blot out all the <em>stars of hope and comfort </em>which God has set to shine in this world's night. They make others' burdens appear heavier, because by their discouraging philosophy, they leave the heart less strong and brave to endure. They make life's battles sorer for everyone, because, by their ominous forebodings, they paralyze the arm which wields the sword.<br><br>
The whole effect of the life of these people is to discourage others; to find unpleasant things—and point them out; to discover dangers—and tell about them; to look for difficulties and obstacles—and proclaim them. If you meet them with buoyant mood, you will not be long in their company before you will find all the buoyancy stealing out of you, under the influence of their disheartenment. If you turn to them in your trouble, you will go away feeling that your condition is utterly hopeless, and will be ready almost to despair.<br><br>
A thoughtful man was asked to contribute to the erection of a monument to one of these discouragers, and replied, "Not a dollar. I am ready to contribute toward building monuments to those who make us hope—but I will not give a dollar to help perpetuate the memory and influence of those who live to make us despair." He was right. People who make life harder for us cannot be called benefactors. The true benefactors are those who show us light in our darkness, comfort in our sorrow, hope in our despair.<br><br>
We all need to be strengthened and inspired, never weakened and disheartened for life's experiences. If we meet others cast down and discouraged, it is our duty as their friends, not to make their trials and their cares seem as great as we can—but rather to point out to them the bright light in their clouds and to put new hope and courage in their hearts. If we find others in sorrow, it is our duty not to tell them merely how sorry we are for them, how we pity them—but, coming close to them in love, to whisper in their ears the comforts of divine grace, to make them stronger to endure their sorrow. If we find others in the midst of difficulties and sore struggles, faint and ready almost to yield, it is our duty not merely to bemoan with them the severity and hardness of their battles, and then to leave them to go on to sure defeat; but to stimulate and inspire them to bravery and victoriousness.<br><br>
It is of vital importance that we learn this lesson—if we want to be true helpers of others. If we have only sadness to give to men and women, we have no right to go among them. The cloister is the only fit place for such moods. It is only when we have something that will bless others, and lift up their hearts, and give them glimpses of bright and beautiful things to live for, that we are truly commissioned to go forth as evangels into the world.<br><br>
"A singer sang a song of <strong>tears</strong>—<br>
                      And the great world heard and wept.<br>
                      For he sang of the sorrows of fleeting years–<br>
                      And the hopes which the dead past kept;<br>
                      And souls in anguish their burdens bore,<br>
                      And the world was sadder than ever before.<br><br>
A singer sang a song of <strong>cheer</strong>—<br>
                      And the great world listened and smiled.<br>
                      For he sang of the love of a Father dear<br>
                      And the trust of a little child;<br>
                      And souls that before had forgotten to pray,<br>
                      Looked up and went singing along the way."<br><br>
It is better that we should not sing of sadness—if our song ends there. There are sad notes enough already floating in the world's air, making moans in peoples' ears. We should sing always of hope, joy, and cheer. Jeremiah had a right to weep; for he sat amid the crumbling ruins of his country's prosperity, looking upon the swift and restless approach of woes that might have been averted.<br><br>
Jesus had a right to weep on the Mount of Olives; for his eye saw the terrible doom coming upon the people he loved, after he had done all in his power to avert the doom which sin and unbelief were drawing down upon them. But not many of us are called to live amid griefs like those, which broke the heart of Jeremiah. And as for Jesus, we know what a preacher of hope he was wherever he went. Our mission must be to carry to people, not grief and tidings of ill—but joy and good news.<br><br>
The preachers alone who truly bless the world—are preachers of hope. One who has only questions and doubts to give—has no right in a Christian pulpit. We ought not to add to the perplexity of people—by holding up shreds of torn pages as if our Christianity were something uncertain, a mere "if" or "perhaps." "Give me your beliefs," said Goethe; "I have doubts enough of my own." So people are saying to us, "Give us your hopes, your joys, your sunshine, your life, your uplifting truths; we have sorrows, fears, clouds, ills, chains, doubts enough of our own."<br><br>
This is the mission of Christianity in the world—to help people to be victorious, to whisper hope wherever there is despair, to give cheer wherever there is discouragement. It goes forth to open prisons, to unbind chains, and to bring out captives. Its symbol is not a cross-only—that is one of its symbols, telling of the price of our redemption, telling of love that died—but its final symbol is an open grave—open and empty. We know what that means. It tells of life, not of death; of life victorious over death. And we must not suppose that its promise is only for the final resurrection; it is for resurrection every day, and every hour, over all death. It means unconquerable, unquenchable, indestructible, immortal life at every point where death seems to have won a victory. Defeat anywhere is simply impossible, if we are in Christ and Christ in us.<br><br>
It follows that there never can be a loss in a Christian's life—out of which a gain may not come, as a plant from a buried seed. There never can be a sorrow out of which a blessing may not be born. There never can be made to yield some fruit of strength.<br><br>
If, therefore, we are true and loyal messengers of Christ, we can never be prophets of gloom, disheartenment, and despair. We must ever be heralds of hope. We must always have good news to tell. There is a gospel, which we have a right to proclaim to everyone, whatever be their sorrow. In Christ there is always hope, a secret of victory, a power to transmute loss into gain, to change defeat to victory, to bring life from death. We are living worthily—only when we are living victoriously ourselves at every point, when we are inspiring and helping others to live victoriously, and when our life is a song of hope and gladness, even though we sing out of tears and pain.<br><br>
So it is our mission to be helpers, never hinderers, of others' faith and hope. Wherever we find one who is weary or disheartened, it is our part to take them by the hand and help them to rise, and to hold them by the hand until they are able to walk in safety. One word of discouragement from us in the presence of a human struggler—is treason to a soul we are set to help and protect with our own life.
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