Quiet Talks on Following the Christ Part 12

There were great crises in Christ's life, and there may be, there quite likely will be, crisis points in ours, but in the main the hard places intersperse with the smooth going. The weaver sitting at his loom runs in a dark shuttle-thread, and then a sharp blow of the beam puts it in place; then a bright thread and a sharp blow of the beam, and so, slowly, patiently, threads and blows follow each other till the design has been worked out.

Even so will it be in this "Follow Me" road. A glad, joyous experience may be followed by the one that is bitter and that hurts; and that again, perhaps, by something gladsome and cheery, while the daily round of life plods slowly on, day after day, week in and out, as the calendar works its steady way to the end, and then begins anew.

But all the while there's the presence of the wondrous One, unseen by outer eyes, but unmistakably real. And His presence gives peace. And there's an unfailing, guiding hand, whose grasp steadies you as you push along.

This is the road. And yonder, just ahead, is the Lone Man, whose wondrous face calls, and the reach of His pierced hand beckons. Let us take a careful look at the road, and a long look at the Man, and then----.

Shall We Go?

The Deeper Meaning of Friends.h.i.+p.

A friend in need is a friend indeed. Our Lord Jesus was our friend in our need. It was a desperate need. It could not be worse. We had been badly hurt by sin. The hurt was so bad that we could do nothing without help.

Our Lord Jesus came to our help.

It was not easy for Him to be our friend. Friends.h.i.+p is sometimes very costly. His reputation went, and then His life. But He never flinched. He was thinking of us. Our need controlled Him. There were two controlling words in our Lord Jesus' life--pa.s.sion and compa.s.sion. He had a pa.s.sion for His Father. He had compa.s.sion for us. The two dovetailed perfectly.

The Father had an overwhelming compa.s.sion for us. The pa.s.sion for the Father in our Lord's heart included the throbbing, sobbing compa.s.sion for us. The compa.s.sion was the manward expression of the pa.s.sion for the Father.

It was this compa.s.sion that controlled Him those human years. It drove Him hard along the road we've been looking at. He was driven into the Wilderness, through the years of sacrificial service, out into the grove of the olive trees, up the steep hill of Calvary, down into the depths of Joseph's tomb. Step-by-step He pushed His way along, for He was thinking of His Father and of us. The pa.s.sion for the Father meant a compa.s.sion for us. Things proved worse in realization as He came up close to them, as they began to touch His very life. But He never wavered. He never flinched, for He was thinking of us. He was our Friend, our Friend in our desperate need. A friend in need is a friend indeed. It was by deeds that He met our needs.

But friends.h.i.+p is mutual. It has two sides, its enjoyments and its obligations. That word "friends.h.i.+p" has two meanings. It means fellows.h.i.+p.

Two who are congenial in thought and aim and spirit can have sweet fellows.h.i.+p together as they make exchange with each other of the deep things of their spirits. This is one meaning, and a sweet, hallowed meaning, too. Then there is the other. You are in some sore need. It is a desperate emergency in your life, and out of the circle of your friends one singles himself out, and comes to your aid. At real cost or sacrifice to himself perhaps, he gives you that which meets and tides over your emergency.

This is the deeper, the rarer meaning of the word, rarer both in being less frequent and in being very precious. Fellows.h.i.+p friends may be many; emergency friends very, very few. And if circ.u.mstances so turn out that this man who has so rarely proven himself your friend, is himself in some emergency, and you are now in position to help him, as once he helped you, you count it not only an obligation of the highest sort, but the rarest of privileges. And with great joy you come to his help without stopping to count the cost in the doubtful, questioning way. Friends.h.i.+p is mutual.

Now this second, this deep, rare meaning, is the one we're using just now.

It comes to include the fellows.h.i.+p meaning, so enriching the emergency friends.h.i.+p yet more. But the emphasis is on the emergency meaning of the word friends.h.i.+p. Our Friend was a friend in this deepest, rarest way, in the desperate emergency of our lives.

And now this Friend of ours is in need, a need so great that it is an emergency. And this seems a startling thing to say. You may think I'm indulging some rhetorical figure of speech merely. He, the Lord Jesus, in need! He is now seated at the Father's right hand in glory. He is "far above all rule and authority and power and dominion." He is the sovereign ruler of our world. How can it be said, with any soberness of practical meaning, that He is in need, and in desperate need? Yet, let me repeat very quietly, that it is even so.

_He needs our co-operation._ He needs the human means through which to work out His plans. The power of G.o.d has always flowed _through human channels_. And His plans _have waited,_ have been delayed because He has not always been able to find men willing to let Him use them as He will.

This is the only explanation of the long, weary waiting of the earth for His promised Kingdom. This, only, explains centuries of delay in the working out of His plans. The delay, the dark centuries, the misery,--these have been no part of His plan, but dead set against His plan.

"The restless millions wait the Light, Whose coming maketh all things new.

_Christ also waits_; but men are slow and late.

Have we done what we could? Have I? Have you?"

Some unknown friend, on seeing the statue of General Gordon, as it stands facing the great desert and the Soudan at Khartoum, made these lines:

"The strings of camels come in single file, Bearing their burdens o'er the desert sand: Swiftly the boats go plying on the Nile.

The needs of men are met on every hand, But still I wait For the messenger of G.o.d _who cometh late_.

I see the clouds of dust rise in the plain, The measured tread of troops falls on the ear; The soldier comes the empire to maintain, Bringing the pomp of war, the reign of fear, But still I wait The messenger of peace, _he cometh late_.

They set me brooding o'er the desert drear, Where broodeth darkness as the deepest night.

From many a mosque there comes the call to prayer; I hear no voice that calls on _Christ_ for light.

But still I wait For the messenger of Christ, _who cometh late."_[95]

Following Wholly.

Our Friend is in need. The world's condition spells out the desperateness of that need. The world's need is His need. It is His world. This world is G.o.d's prodigal son. It is the pa.s.sion of our Lord Jesus' heart to win His world back, and save it. That pa.s.sion has been revealed most, thus far, in His going to the great extreme of dying. That pa.s.sion is still unsatisfied. Yonder He sits, with scarred face and form, _expecting_.[96]

Bending eagerly forward with longing eyes He is expecting. He is expectantly waiting our response, expectantly waiting the day when things will have ripened on the earth for the next step in the great plan.

And down from the throne comes the same eager cry He used when amongst us on earth, "Follow Me." This is the one call, with many variations, that runs through the seven-fold message to His followers in the book of the Revelation.[97]

But He calls for real followers. He needs Calebs, who are willing, if need be, to face a whole nation dead-bent on going the other way, and yet who never flinch but insist on following fully. Caleb's following was so unflinching, so against the current of his whole time, that it stands out with the peculiar emphasis of a six-fold mention.[98]

Those who follow "wholly" seem scarce sometimes. I was struck recently with an utterance by a man prominent in business circles and in Christian activity for years. He was speaking of how he had been active in a certain form of Christian activity, and declared that it had never occasioned him any loss, or been a detriment to him in his business. The words had a strange, suspicious sound. The Master told those who would follow fully that they might expect much loss and detriment.

The Master was very careful to give the "if's" a prominent place. "If any man would come after Me."[99] "If any man would serve Me let him follow Me."[100] Those "if's" are the cautionary signals. They mean obstacles needing to be considered before one decides. We must determine whether we will take them away or not. Half-way following, part-way following, has become very common in some of the other parts of the world, where we don't live. I'll leave you to judge how it is in your own neighbourhood.

I have seen people start down this "Follow Me" road with great enthusiasm and real earnestness, singing as they go. Then the road begins to narrow a bit. The thorn bushes on the side have grown so thick and rank that they push over the sides of the road, and narrow it down. You can't go along without the thorns scratching face and hands badly as you push through.

And then you suddenly find a knife, a sharpedged knife, being held out across the road, by an unseen hand back in the bushes. The cutting edge is toward you. It is held firmly. It is clearly impossible to go on without a clash with that knife. The real meaning of that "Follow Me" is beginning to be seen now. Just ahead beyond the knife stands the Master, looking longingly, beckoning earnestly, calling still. But that knife! It takes your eyes, and the question is on in real earnest.

And it is very grievous to say that some stop there. They pitch their tents this side the knife. They may have had the courage to push through the thorns, but this knife stops them. They're not honest enough to back clear out of the road. So they hold meetings on the roadway, conferences for the deepening of the Christian life, with earnest addresses, and consecration meetings, and soft singing. And if perchance some one calls attention to the Master standing ahead there, beyond the knife, beckoning,--well, they sing louder and pray longer so as to ease their consciences a bit, and deaden unpleasant sounds, but they make no move toward striking tents and pus.h.i.+ng on.

And many coming up along the road are hindered. The crowds, the meetings, the singing, the earnestness,--these take hold of them and keep them from discerning that all this is an obstruction in the way. The Master's ahead yonder, past that cutting knife. In a very clear voice that rises above meetings and music, He calls, "If any man would serve Me, let him follow Me, let him get _in behind Me_, and come _up close after Me_." He who would serve, he who would help, must not stop here, but push on to where the Master is beckoning,--yes, past the knife!

But there are big crowds at the half-way place, this side the knife. And there are still larger crowds looking on and sneering, sneering at those whose following hasn't got much beyond the singing stage. The outside crowd does love sincerity, and is very keen for the faults and flaws in those who call themselves followers.

The Tuning-Fork for the Best Music.

But some push on; they go forward; and as they reach the knife they grasp it firmly by the blade. Yes, it cuts, and cuts deep. But they push on, on after the Master. They turn the knife into a tuning-fork. Do you know about this sort of thing? The steel in a knife can be used to make a tuning-fork. The touch of obedience brings music out of sacrifice.

This is the only tuning-fork that can give the true pitch for that sweetest music we were speaking of a little while ago. This is a bit of the power of obedience. It can change a challenging knife into an instrument of music. This is a bit of the strategy of obedience, the fine tactics of sacrifice. The tempter with the knife would hold us back. We seize his knife from his grasp. He can never use that knife again. And we use it to make sweet music to help the marching. What was meant to hold us back now helps us forward.

This is the tuning-fork the Master used. He would have us use it, too. But each one must take it himself, out of the threatening hand that would hold us back. As the call to follow comes we must go on, no matter what it involves. No circ.u.mstance, no possible loss, no sacrifice, must hold us back, for a moment, or a step, from following where our Friend calls; only so can we be His friend.

Shall we go on _all the way_? Or, shall we join the company at the half-way stopping place? Well, _it's a matter of your eyes_, how you use them. If the knife holds your eyes, you'll never get past it. That knife is like the deadly serpent's glittering eye. If the cobra's eye can get your eye, you are held fast in that awful, deadly fascination.

If you'll _lift_ your eyes, to the Master's face!--ah, that's the one thing, the only thing, that can _hold_ our eyes with gaze steadier than any serpent eye. The face of Christ Jesus, torn by thorns, scarred by thongs, but with the wondrous beauty light s.h.i.+ning out, and those great patient, pleading eyes! This it was that held that young Indian aristocrat steady, while he sold all--bit by bit, of such precious things--sold all.

This it was that held steady the young Jewish aristocrat, Paul. He never forgot the light on that caravan road north, above the s.h.i.+ning of the sun.

He never could forget it. It blinded him. He "could not see for the glory of that light." Old ambitions blurred out. Old attachments faded, and then faded clear out before the blaze of that light. Family ties, inheritance, social prestige, reputation, old friends.h.i.+ps, old honoured standards,--all faded out in the light of Jesus' face on that northern road.