Chapter 15
How full of meaning, how rich, how wonderful, is a single expression! One single phrase may contain enough, if you get the “kernel” of it, to make your soul bubble over with joy all day. A single word may give you strength to fight victoriously through a sore conflict. The trouble is, people do not take the time to get an understanding. They are too ready to think that they can not understand. Learn to take a sentence, a clause, or a word, and meditate on it. The more you think of it, the longer you consider it, the richer and fuller it will become. To illustrate my meaning I will take a text familiar to all and try to show you what I mean by getting the kernel out. “The Lord is my shepherd.” I have often heard people quote this text when I knew it meant little to them. But suppose we study it a little and place emphasis on each part in turn. Every word has its “kernel” of meaning, every word is full of richness and soul-satisfaction, if we can but get it out.
“_The_ Lord”—not just any Lord, for there are “lords many.” It signifies one definite, particular Lord; not one of a number of equal lords, but one standing out separate and distinct from all others—the one above all others. This is the Lord who is “my shepherd.” When rightly considered, this one little common word as here used contains a world of meaning. We could profitably study it for hours. There is a whole sermon in it.
“The _Lord_ is my shepherd.” It is not a man nor even an angel who is my shepherd; it is the _Lord_, the almighty One—he who created all things, who stretched out the heavens, who upholds all by his might; the Lord who speaks and it is done; the Lord who wills and it comes to pass; the Lord unchangeable, unfailing, glorious in strength, perfect in wisdom and understanding. Baal is not my shepherd, but he who sits upon the throne of the heavens, whose face is as the lightning and whose words are as the rolling thunders, whose love is more tender than a mother’s, whose touch is as soft as the kiss of a sunbeam, whose eye is tender with pity, and whose heart is a fount of compassion—this is the Lord, my shepherd.
“The Lord _is_ my shepherd.” Yes, he _is_. There was no questioning with the Psalmist; it was to him a positive reality. He did not doubt it in the least. He was as sure of it as he was of his own existence. But he was not any more sure than we can be. Repeat the text over a few times with strong emphasis on the “_is_.” This will help you get the kernel out of it. If you are a little doubtful, keep going over it until the “is” really means _is_ to you.
“The Lord is _my_ shepherd.” Yes, he is _my_ shepherd. It is I for whom he is caring. It is I over whom he is watching. It is I who can safely trust him. I may see him looking with favor on others, helping, blessing, and strengthening them, but he is _my_ shepherd, so I may with confidence look for him to give me the same kind of treatment that he gives the other sheep. The shepherd has made promises. He is _my_ shepherd; therefore I belong to him and have all claims upon him that any sheep has.
“The Lord is my _shepherd_.” To others he may be a judge, austere and stern. Some see him as a tyrant, some see him as one to be feared, but he is my _shepherd_. Being my shepherd and the “good shepherd,” he will care for me. He will care for my safety. He will keep me in his fold from the ravenous beasts; he will protect me. Into pastures green he will lead me. By the still water I shall rest secure. He is “my shepherd.”
This brings out only to a small degree the richness of the text, but it illustrates the manner in which we should study the Scriptures if we are to get the “kernel”; but we should carefully avoid every tendency to read into any text what it does not teach. It is all right to read a chapter or a number of chapters; but you will get more soul-food by taking a little and studying it well. Study each word carefully by itself and in relation to the other words of the sentence. Follow this method of study until it becomes a habit, and it will unlock to you rich storehouses of heavenly truth. Your soul will find a feast wherever you go in the Sacred Book. There is in every scripture a “kernel.” Do not be content until you get it out.
TALK FORTY-NINE. TWO SUNSETS
We stood on the brow of the hill gazing out over the valley beneath us. In the distant west the sun sank quietly and serenely toward the horizon. The purpling shadows of the hills grew longer in the valley. The clouds overhead, which scarcely seemed to move, were in broken, fluffy masses. As we gazed upon the scene, the sun as a mighty king in stately majesty and resplendent glory sank to his evening repose. The clouds caught the afterglow, looking as if a gigantic brush had swept across the sky scattering gold and orange and crimson and purple. The sun had gone, but the glory of his vanished presence still lingered in the beauty of the clouds.
At the close of another day we stood on the same hill-top. The sun was hanging low. The purpling shadows lengthened in the valley. The sun did not sink in glory tonight, but passed out of sight into a bank of dark and threatening clouds. The voices of the day were stilled. A solemn and foreboding hush seemed over all, and our spirits felt the general gloom. There was no afterglow. There was no resplendent painting of the sky. All was somber and gloomy; nature seemed to await what would come, in expectancy and awe. And as the darkness fell, we saw a gleam of lightning play across the distant cloud.
How like the sunsets of some lives were these two sunsets! In my mind, unfading while I live, are the memories of two life-sunsets. When but seven summers had passed over my head, my little sister and I were at a neighbor’s two or three miles from home. In the early twilight a horseman came galloping down the road bearing the fateful news that Mother was dying. Quickly placing me behind him on the horse and taking my little sister in his arms, he galloped away through the early night.
When we arrived at home, we found the house filled with neighbors. Upon her bed lay Mother with pallid face. Through the hours of the night we watched by her bedside. About three o’clock in the morning she asked them to sing that old song “Shall We Gather at the River?” With choking voices and tear-dimmed eyes the little band of neighbors sang the song. The eyes of the sufferer gazed stedfastly above. A heavenly light beamed forth from her countenance. A smile of joy was upon her face. Presently she called the sorrowing relatives one by one and bade them a last good-by. I fell upon my knees by her bedside and sobbed out my childish grief. She turned and looked fondly down upon me and, laying her hand upon my head, said, “Charlie, be a good boy and meet me in heaven.”
A little while she was quiet. Then her life’s sun sank to its rest. But the afterglow of that beautiful life still shines in that community. Circumstances later took me far away; but after sixteen years, I again stood upon the scene, and over and over during my stay the neighbors told me of her beautiful Christian life. Many a time during those years when I was tempted to do evil, I would behold that scene again, and those last words of my sainted mother would ring in my ears; they stood as a bulwark between my soul and evil.
The same afternoon that the message so dreadful came to me grandmother visited a neighbor who was drawing near to his life’s sunset. When she came back, she told what passed while she was there. The man was a skeptic. There was no life beyond the grave for him. There was no hope of reunion around the throne of God. Grandmother spoke to him of his approaching end and asked him if he was prepared. His answer I shall never forget. Young as I was, it struck me with terrible force. With a look of deepest melancholy on his face he said, “It is taking a leap into the dark.”
A few days later he passed away, and he and mother lie there in the little country cemetery waiting till the voice of the Son of God shall call them forth. But ah, the difference between those two life-sunsets! One left the glorious hope of a Christian shining forth, tinting the sky with beauty; the other’s sun sank into a dark cloud of despair, lighted only with the lurid glare of the lightning of God’s wrath.
Reader, what will be your life’s sunset? Will it be serene and calm and peaceful, lighted up with glory from the throne of God, or will it be dark, without a promise or ray of hope? You are fast hastening to that hour. It may be nearer than you think. If you live without God, you will die without God. Take a view of yourself now. Would you like for your life’s sunset to find you as you now are? If not, what assurance have you that it will be different? Good intentions will never change it. Good desires will never change it. God only can make you ready for that hour. Unless you seek him, you too will take a “leap into the dark”; for you there will be only the “blackness of darkness forever.” “If ye will hear his voice, harden not your heart.”
TALK FIFTY. THE SCULPTOR’S WORK
One day years ago, as I was walking along in the suburbs of a city, I came to a large shed with wide-open doors. My attention was attracted by the sound of blows; and as I came opposite the door, I saw some workmen at the back end of the shed busily at work. Near the door on a small platform stood a large irregular piece of stone. Standing by it was a man with a large chisel in one hand and a heavy mallet in the other. As I looked he walked up to the stone and began to knock great pieces off it with chisel and mallet. I paused to watch him, my curiosity aroused to know what he was doing in his apparently aimless work.
As I watched, he continued breaking large flakes and pieces from the stone; and so far as I could see, he was just simply breaking it to pieces. I wondered what he wanted such pieces of stone for. But presently he began to kick them out of the way as if he had no use for them, and so I wondered still more what he was doing. After a time he stepped over to his work-box, took another chisel and a lighter mallet, and began to knock off more pieces of the stone. For a long time this continued. I could not tell what the outcome would be. So far I had seen nothing but destruction. From time to time he changed tools; but still he cut away pieces of stone in the same seemingly aimless fashion. At length he began to cut depressions into the stone here and there.
A long time I watched him, still wondering. At last he made a few quick strokes on one end of the stone, and I saw the outline of a head appear. A few more strokes, and I exclaimed within myself, “A lion!” I watched until the head became more distinct and life-like. Then under the quick strokes of the biting chisel, one paw appeared, then another; and as I watched, the whole figure took outline, and I knew that what seemed to be only an aimless work of destruction was instead the skilled work of a sculptor.
I had seen only the block of stone; but within that block of stone he had seen the beautiful figure of the king of beasts. The work that seemed to me to be without purpose, now proved to have been full of purpose. The pieces of stone cut off were merely so much waste-material that hid the beautiful statue.
I knew now that what would be left of the stone after the sculptor had completed his work would go to adorn some fine building and to be looked upon and admired by many people. No one had admired it in its former state. It was only a block of stone, unattractive and of little value. But it would now be a thing of beauty to be treasured. Yet that change could take place only when the sharp steel had bitten away all useless parts.
I went away thoughtful. I realized that that was a great allegory of life. The great Sculptor sees in every human being, no matter how rough and irregular, great possibilities. Whereas we can see only the exterior, he sees within the potential image with which he would adorn his glorious building above. Man was created in the image of God, but that image is now obscured by sin and its results. And so the divine Sculptor must do with us as the sculptor did with the stone. He must bring to bear upon us the sharp chisel of circumstances, of disappointment, of trial. It seems that these things will destroy us. It seems that these things are evil, and we shrink from them. Some think that God is not just toward them. Some cry out in pain. Some mourn and lament. Some cry to God to stay his hand. And many, oh, how many! rebel. They can not see what it means. They feel that it is all wrong. Sometimes they murmur against God and their hearts grow bitter; but all the time the Master Sculptor with his sharp chisel of pain is only trying to carve in their natures and characters his own image.
You want to be in his image, do you not? You desire the beautiful lines of righteousness, purity, truth, meekness, faithfulness, and kindness to appear in you. You want to be a part of the adornment of the heavenly temple. If you would be not a mere block of stone without form or beauty, but the image of the Creator, you must let Pain do her work in you; there is only one way. Christian character comes only through pain. If you shrink and murmur or if you rebel, that image may be marred forever.
Think not that God will let your life be ruined. He wants you for the adornment of his palace. So when pain comes—the pain of sorrow, of bereavement, of temporal loss, of being reproached and having your name cast out as evil, of being wounded by the tongue of slander—in whatever form pain comes to you, hold still; bear it patiently; it will work out in your life God’s great design.
Would you have patience? You must have many things to try your patience. Would you have meekness? You can obtain it only through endurance. Would you have faith? You must meet and overcome many obstacles. God puts in us latent qualities of good, but these can be brought to view in the solid structure of Christian character only by long and continued chiseling. “Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you” (1 Pet. 4: 12). “Which _is_ to try you”—did you ever notice that? It does not say which _may_ try you or which _probably_ will try you; it says, “Which _is_ to try you.” That signifies that it was _intended_ to try you. It was meant for that purpose; it does not come by accident. Trials are necessary. If you are ever to be what God wants you to be, you need trials, you must have them; you can never be strong or patient or meek or brave or possess any other virtue God wants you to have unless you stand the test. “Many shall be purified, made white, and tried.” God will do the purifying; and he will also see that we get our “trying.” “After that ye have suffered a while,” Peter says, God will “make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you.”
The chisel pain must do its work. Even Jesus was “made perfect through suffering.” Let us bear it manfully, yea, joyfully, knowing that it will leave its mark upon us, even the mark of our Lord Jesus Christ. It will bring out the beauty and richness of the Christ-life and fit us to be in His presence forever.
TALK FIFTY-ONE. THE HELPLESSNESS OF THE GOSPEL
Much has been said about the power of the gospel. It is “the power of God unto salvation.” By it millions have been redeemed and cheered and comforted and inspired. Others have been warned in tones of thunder to awakened consciences. It has been the greatest civilizer known. But however great its power and influence, however wonderful its accomplishments, there are conditions under which it is pitifully helpless, under which it can do nothing to help the perishing masses. You may take your Bible into a heathen land or to a race of another language, and though all its truth, its promises and warnings, its light and glory, are within its lids, yet it is dumb. It speaks not to them. They perish all around it. They remain in darkness, when light is there, heavenly, glorious light. Not a ray reaches them. It is helpless. It is voiceless; it speaks not to them its story of love. In your own home it may lie closed and silent. Visitors come and go, but it helps them not. Your children hear not its voice. Your neighbors receive not its counsel, warnings, nor promises. How helpless it is! Oh the many dumb Bibles in our land! If they only had tongues, what messages they would speak to the people! You have a tongue. Do you not often use it in a way that is of little profit either to you or to others? The Bible has no tongue to use. Will you lend it yours? Will you let it speak its message with your tongue? Must your neighbors be lost because your Bible has no voice? O brother, sister, let your Bible be no longer dumb. Give it a tongue. There are hearts all around you needing its truth. Will you speak for it? A silent and voiceless Bible—what can be more helpless?
Again, if a tongue be lent it and its message be spoken and repeated again and again, what can it do if it is not believed? It is the power of God in this world only to “them that believe.” If we will not believe it, it can do us no good. It can not save or comfort or heal unless it is believed. Will you give it a believing heart? Unless you do, it is absolutely powerless to help you. Oh, how helpless is an unbelieved Bible!
And though it have a voice and speak ever so clearly, what can it do if the ears be closed against it? If “having ears, we hear not,” but close our minds and hearts against its voice, it will profit us nothing. It can help not the least. Oh, give it a listening ear and heart!
The Bible has no hands. It can not reach out to the needy nor go about doing good. It can not clothe the naked nor feed the hungry. Why not give your hands to the gospel’s use, that it may not be longer helpless?
It has no feet. It can not go from place to place, but must remain supine wherever it is put. It is a poor “shut-in.” Who will pity its helplessness and give it feet, that it may go to the nations?
It has no money. It is as poor as a pauper. It can not pay its way to the yearning, hungry souls that await its coming. It needs its way paid to India, to Africa, to China. It needs to go to the ends of the earth. You can send some of its messages afar for a few cents, and perchance thus help it to reach a soul ready and waiting that will otherwise be lost. There are tongues ready to speak for it; there are feet ready to run with it; but who will pay its fare? Have you money and houses and cattle and lands, and yet are not helping this helpless gospel on its mission of mercy? Must it fail to reach the people, that you may consume your means for the gratification of the flesh? Might not the money you have spent the past year needlessly, have sent the gospel to a number of lost souls?
Oh! pity the poor Bible, which has no tongue, no hands, no feet, and no money! How will it reach the lost? Give it your hands, your feet, your tongue, your pocketbook. Behold the countless throngs going down the broad way. Listen to the groans of the lost. Behold your own friends and neighbors and perhaps your own kindred on the way to hell. Can you longer let the gospel be helpless and voiceless? What would you answer the lost in the judgment were they to say to you, “You had the Bible, but you did not tell us its truths. You did not carry or send it to us, and so we perish”? What will you do to help the Bible to save the world? The time is short. The shades of the evening are falling around us. “The night cometh, when no man can work.”
TALK FIFTY-TWO. HE CARETH FOR YOU
“Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you” (1 Pet. 5: 7). God cares for us in the sense of having a personal interest in us. We are the work of his hands, and as such he is interested in our prosperity. He watches over the development of our lives; he notes every step of progress. The one who plants a flower, waters it, cares for it, and watches the development of each tiny shoot and bud, cares more for that flower and has a deeper interest in it than has the one who merely stops for a few minutes to admire its full-blown beauty and to enjoy its fragrance. To the one it is only one plant out of many, but to the other it has a special meaning and attraction and worth, because its bloom and fragrance are the result of his labor, care, and patience. It is his plant. So it is with God. He gave us our being; he has nourished and protected us and watched us develop day by day; he is interested in us and desires our lives to bloom and send forth a fragrance of trueness and purity all around. Let us so live that he will not be disappointed in us.
He cares for us because he created us for his glory and to fill a place in his eternal kingdom. He created us, not merely that we might have an existence, but for a purpose for himself. He wants us to make a success of our lives, not simply for our own advantage, but to fill the place for which he created us for his purpose and glory. And because of this he will use every endeavor to help us succeed in our lives.
He cares for us in the sense that he loves us. “The Father himself loveth you.” “I have loved thee with an everlasting love.” “God so loved the world.” He has a deep and abiding affection for every soul, and even when we stray away from him into the depth of sin, his heart yearns over us as a mother over her erring boy, only his love is stronger than a mother’s. He sends his servants out to seek the lost, and his Spirit to plead with them. Sinner, he loves you. Though you have grieved him and have repelled his Spirit over and over again, yet his eye beams with pity, his heart is tender with love, and his arms are outstretched toward you to welcome you to his embrace.
If he thus cares for the rebellious and neglectful sinner, how much does he care for his own obedient, loving children! How tender his love! Sometimes in a dark and troublesome hour when his face seems hidden, we may feel as did the disciples when they cried out in their distress, “Carest thou not that we perish?” Ah, he did care. At once he arose and rebuked the elements and brought the disciples safely to the land. Yea, he _does_ care. “He careth for _you_.” His help may sometimes seem delayed, but it will come and just at the time to be most effective. In your joys and victories and seasons of refreshing he cares for you and also in the time of trial, of persecution, of heaviness and longing, and of bitterness of soul. In it all he cares, and he will bring you through when he sees the soul refined and fitted for his purpose. “He careth for you.” Believe it. Let your soul exult in it and shout it aloud. Or if you can in your sorrow only whisper it, let your heart still say: “He loves and he cares. I will trust him and be content.”
Again, he cares for us in the sense of taking care of us. His care is proved in his making so beautiful a world to be our home. The flowers, the fruits, the grains, the grasses, the animals, the sunshine, the winds, the rains, and all were made to minister to man’s need, comfort, and happiness. For us these exist. That we may be fed, he causes the earth to bring forth bountifully. That we may be clothed, he makes the cotton and the flax to grow out of the soil, the wool upon the sheep, and causes the silkworm to spin its glossy house. That we might be warmed, he made the coal, the gas, and the forests. That we might be protected, he made the stone, the wood, the iron, and the clay that we might have houses.