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<p>The Messiah is spoken of in the Old Testament many times—as <em>the Servant of the Lord</em>. This may seem a strange name to give to one of such high honor. We believe that He was divine. How then could He be the Servant of God? Is there not here a contradiction in terms? A servant fills a lowly and a subordinate place. He is one who does the will of another. He does not belong to himself. He cannot make and carry out his own plans. He represents another and comes and goes at the call of another. He receives directions and must obey without question, without liberty of choice. How then could the Son of God be the Servant of the Lord?<br><br>
We have but to turn to the New Testament to find that Jesus gladly accepted the name and the place of servant. He was the Servant of the Lord in His submission of His life to His Father's will, and His Father's plan. His first recorded words were: "Don't you know that I must be about My Father's business?" At the last He declared that He had accomplished all that the Father had given Him to do. He never did His own will—but always God's will.<br><br>
Then, in His relation to <em>men—</em>He was also a Servant. When, at the Last Supper, His disciples contended among themselves as to who was greatest, Jesus told them that the world's standard was not to be the standard among them. "But he who is greatest among you—let him be as the younger; and he who is chief—as he who does serve." Then He added: "I am in the midst of you as he who serves." Rising from supper, and girding Himself as a servant, He then washed His disciples' feet, thus doing the work of the lowest and most menial servant.<br><br>
There is no contradiction, therefore, between the truth of the divine Sonship and this, that He was also the Servant of the Lord. Service is not lowly—it is divine. God Himself serves. Those highest in rank in this world—are those who serve the most cheerfully, the most self forgetfully. <em>"Ich dien" </em>is the motto of the Prince of Wales. The origin of the motto dates back more than five hundred and fifty years. It was originally the motto of John of Luxemburg, King of Bohemia, who was killed at the battle of Crecy in 1346. Edward found the Kind dead on the field, with the royal flag on his breast, and on his crest were the words, <em>"Ich dien"</em>—"I serve." Edward gave it to his son, and now for more than five hundred and fifty years it has been an adopted sign, a heritage of voluntary service. There could be no more royal motto for one to wear, who is preparing to rule. A true ruler, is the nation's first servant. The noblest and most manly man in any community, is he who most devotedly, most unselfishly, with sincerest love and interest—serves his fellow men.<br><br>
If we would but get this law of service into all our home life—it would make us sweetly thoughtful of everyone, and lead us to countless attentions and services which would change our homes into places of heaven-like love. If we would learn to serve as Christ did—it would make us think of others around us, not as those from whom we may get some gain, exact some attention or promotion—but as those to whom we may impart some good, render some service.<br><br>
In one passage in Isaiah there is a wonderful picture of this Servant of the Lord. He works quietly. "He will not cry out, nor lift up His voice, nor cause it to be heard in the street." That was not true in those times of the great men of the world, who sought to make an impression. They gathered armies and made the earth tremble with their tread. Men were supposed to be powerful according to the display they made. But of the Messiah it was said, "He will not cry out." Jesus wrought quietly. He went about among the people—but moved quietly. He never advertised Himself. He knew that there was no real power in noisy cries, that the power was in the words spoken, and not in the scream or shriek with which they were uttered.<br><br>
Jesus said one day to the people gathered about Him: "Come unto Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." It was a quiet word, quietly spoken—but it had in it tremendous power—power which has been going out over the world ever since, like a breath of God, falling into human hearts, wooing weary ones to Christ. Yet that was only one of Christ's countless quiet words. He did not cry out, He did not scream or shout, yet never has the world heard such words as He spoke. "You can paint <em>fire</em>," said an old writer, "but you cannot paint <em>heat</em>." Yet, it is the heat and not the flame which warms a room. It is not the noise, the elocution that touches people's hearts and changes their lives—it is the <em>truth </em>which the speaker's voice gives out.<br><br>
Another feature of the Messiah's work was that "His voice was not heard in the streets." Jesus did not look favorably on the street displays of religion in His days. He did not like the way some men prayed on the highways, making long prayers in conspicuous ways—to be seen of men—to be thought pious and devout. He condemned the giving of alms, when men as it were, sounded a trumpet in the streets to call people to come and see how they gave, the real purpose being that they might have glory of men. Jesus had only condemnation for piety which sought to impress people so as to get the world's praise.<br><br>
No man heard His voice in the streets. This does not mean that He never spoke on the streets. It means that He did no religious act for display. In His own personal devotions He sought the cover of the night, or rose up a great while before day, and went away to the mountains or into the depths of some quiet garden, or into the desert, when He prayed. He also bade His disciples to enter into their closets and shut their doors when they prayed. This does not mean that they were never to pray in public—we are ofttimes to make our voice heard on the streets, both in prayer and in speech for God. But the meaning is that we are never to seek to <em>advertise </em>ourselves, or our religion—but are to seek always to get people to see Christ—not to see us!<br><br>
The Messiah is described also as very gentle. "A bruised reed will He not break, and a dimly burning wick will He not quench." He does not pass by a bruised reed—as either<em>worthless </em>or <em>hopeless</em>. He says that it can be restored, and that it is worth while to mend it and make it whole again. Of course we understand that it is not mere <em>reeds</em> which the Prophet had in mind. No doubt Jesus was gentle even to broken and bruised plants. His heart is wonderfully loving and kind. We cannot think of Him, even as needlessly bruising a rose, or the tiniest flower. But what the Prophet means, when he refers to bruised reeds, is <em>lives </em>which have been bruised or hurt by sin or sorrow.<br><br>
Take the other metaphor, "He will not quench a dimly burning wick." There is no longer any flame in the lamp—there is only a little smoke curling from it, pouring into the room ofttimes offensive odor. This represents a man out of whose life has gone nearly the last influence of the divine Spirit. There seems nothing of hope left, not a trace of anything good. Still there is a faint spark of the life of God remaining in the man's heart. This spark, Christ will not quench. No soul is ever without hope if only it is committed to the love and care of the Servant of the Lord.<br><br>
J. H. Jowett has given us a beautiful suggestion about the bruised reed. He says it is a common custom in Syria, to cut a reed and use it for a staff to lean on when walking. As one climbs a hill, however, and bears more of his weight on his staff, it sometimes gives way and the reed becomes cracked and bruised. All a man can do then with his shattered staff is to break it altogether off and throw it away as a worthless thing. These poor reeds are symbols, Mr. Jowett suggests, of people on whom we have leaned and who have failed us. We trusted them and helped them in some time of need in their lives, and they did not prove loyal and true. We showed them kindness when they were in trouble and turned to us for help—but they forgot the kindness. They broke their word to us. The staff became a bruised reed.<br><br>
Now what should we do? Should we deal harshly with them? Should we cherish vindictiveness towards them? Should we cast them off and say we will have nothing more to do with them?<em> What would Jesus do? </em>"A bruised reed will He not break." We need the gentleness of Christ, in dealing with those who have failed us or proved ungrateful for our kindness.<br><br>
Someone says: "It is more God-like to love one little child purely and unselfishly, than to have a heart filled with a thousand vast, vague aspirations after things which we cannot understand." It is more Christlike to keep on loving still and being patient with and kind to one person who has failed us and treated us meanly and ungratefully, forgetting our kindness to him in his sore need, and braking his promise to us—it is more Christlike to keep on loving one such person than it is to go about for a whole year doing kindly things for those who are always good to us.<em> Anybody can be kind to those who are kind to him! </em>A Christian should be kind to those who <em>fail </em>him and <em>hurt </em>and <em>wrong </em>him!<br><br>
This wonderful picture of Christ's gentleness and kindness to men in their last resorts of need, suggest to us that we should always live kindly and helpfully toward others. People about us need nothing so much as <em>simple kindness</em>. Hundreds are dying for it—for just such little <em>common kindness </em>as you could show—if only you would. One writes:<br><br>
"So many gods, so many creeds,<br>
  So many paths that wind and wind,<br>
  When just the <em>art of being kind<br>
</em>Is all this sad world needs."<br><br>
Another quality in the character of this Servant of the Lord, is that He never grows disheartened. "He will not fail nor be discouraged, until He has set justice in the earth." Good Christian people sometimes lose heart as they labor faithfully and see no results—as they sow diligently and gather no harvests. It is a splendid tonic for such faintness, to read that the Christ is never discouraged; that He will never fail—but will surely finish His work. Let us take this splendid optimism anew into our own hearts. Many of us get disheartened too easily. There is always hurt and danger in discouragement. One hour of losing heart, does us harm from which it takes us days to recover. Yielding to disheartenment, even only once, may be the beginning of a weakening process which shall grow into a habit in us—the end of which shall be the loss of all power to be brave and strong any more. The greatest kindness any teacher can do to those he teaches, is to help them always to live a life of faith and courage—a victorious life.<br><br>
There are two little rules which, if we would observe them, would work a marvelous change in most of our lives. One is, "Never be discouraged." The other is, "Never be a discourager." We do not dare to be discouraged, for instantly then we become a discourager, and we can never know the harm we may do the other lives, by uttering our fears and doubts.
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