Quiet Talks on Power , livre ebook

Pub One Info - Dickey Gordon Samuel

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74 pages

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A few years ago I was making a brief tour among the colleges of Missouri. I remember one morning in a certain college village going over from the hotel to take breakfast with some of the boys, and coming back with one of the fellows whom I had just met. As we walked along, chatting away, I asked him quietly, Are you a christian, sir? He turned quickly and looked at me with an odd, surprised expression in his eye and then turning his face away said: Well, I'm a member of church, but - I don't believe I'm very much of a christian. Then I looked at him and he frankly volunteered a little information. Not very much. He did not need to say much. You can see a large field through a chink in the fence. And I saw enough to let me know that he was right in the criticism he had made upon himself. We talked a bit and parted. But his remark set me to thinking.

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Philosophie et théologie

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	23 octobre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819902201
Langue	English

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CHOKED CHANNELS.
An Odd Distinction.
A few years ago I was making a brief tour among thecolleges of Missouri. I remember one morning in a certain collegevillage going over from the hotel to take breakfast with some ofthe boys, and coming back with one of the fellows whom I had justmet. As we walked along, chatting away, I asked him quietly, "Areyou a christian, sir?" He turned quickly and looked at me with anodd, surprised expression in his eye and then turning his face awaysaid: "Well, I'm a member of church, but – I don't believe I'm verymuch of a christian." Then I looked at him and he franklyvolunteered a little information. Not very much. He did not need tosay much. You can see a large field through a chink in the fence.And I saw enough to let me know that he was right in the criticismhe had made upon himself. We talked a bit and parted. But hisremark set me to thinking.
A week later, in another town, speaking one morningto the students of a young ladies' seminary, I said afterwards toone of the teachers as we were talking: "I suppose your young womenhere are all christians." That same quizzical look came into hereye as she said: "I think they are all members of church, but I donot think they are all christians with real power in their lives."There was that same odd distinction.
A few weeks later, in Kansas City visiting themedical and dental schools, I recall distinctly standing onemorning in a disordered room – shavings on the floor, desksdisarranged – the institution just moving into new quarters, andnot yet settled. I was discussing with a member of the faculty, thedean I think, about how many the room would hold, how soon it wouldbe ready, and so on – just a business talk, nothing more – when heturned to me rather abruptly, looking me full in the face, and saidwith quiet deliberation: "I'm a member of church; I think Iam a deacon in our church" – running his hand through his hairmeditatively, as though to refresh his memory – "but I am not verymuch of a christian, sir." The smile that started to come to myface at the odd frankness of his remark was completely chased awayby the distinct touch of pathos in both face and voice that seemedto speak of a hungry, unsatisfied heart within.
Perhaps it was a month or so later, in one of themining towns down in the zinc belt of southwestern Missouri, I wasto speak to a meeting of men. There were probably five or sixhundred gathered in a Methodist Church. They were strangers to me.I was in doubt what best to say to them. One dislikes to fireammunition at people that are absent. So stepping down to a frontpew where several ministers were seated, I asked one of them to runhis eye over the house and tell me what sort of a congregation itwas, so far as he knew them. He did so, and presently replied: "Ithink fully two-thirds of these men are members of our churches" –and then, with that same quizzical, half-laughing look, he added,"but you know, sir, as well as I do, that not half of them arechristians worth counting." "Well," I said to myself, astonished,"this is a mining camp; this certainly is not anything like thecondition of affairs in the country generally."
But that series of incidents, coming one after theother in such rapid succession, set me thinking intently about thatstrange distinction between being members of a church on the onehand, and on the other, living lives that count and tell and weighfor Jesus seven days in the week. I knew that ministers had beenrecognizing such a distinction, but to find it so freelyacknowledged by folks in the pew was new, and surelysignificant.
And so I thought I would just ask the friends hereto-day very frankly, "What kind of Christians are you?" I do notsay what kind you are, for I am a stranger, and do not know, andwould only think the best things of you. But I ask you frankly,honestly now, as I ask myself anew, what kind are you? Do you know?Because it makes such a difference. The Master's plan – and what agenius of a plan it is – is this, that the world should be won, notby the preachers – though we must have these men of God forteaching and leadership – but by everyone who knows the story ofJesus telling someone , and telling not only with his lipsearnestly and tactfully, but even more, telling with hislife . That is the Master's plan of campaign for this world. Andit makes a great difference to Him and to the world outside whetheryou and I are living the story of His love and power amongmen or not.
Do you know what kind of a christian you are?There are at least three others that do. First of all there isSatan. He knows. Many of our church officers are skilled ingathering and compiling statistics, but they cannot hold atallow-dip to Satan in this matter of exact information. He is theablest of all statisticians, second only to one other. He keepscareful record of every one of us, and knows just how far we areinterfering with his plans. He knows that some of us – good,respectable people, as common reckoning goes – neither help God norhinder Satan. Does that sound rather hard? But is it not true? Hehas no objection to such people being counted in as christians.Indeed, he rather prefers to have it so. Their presence inside thechurch circle helps him mightily. He knows what kind of achristian you are. Do you know?
Then there is the great outer circle ofnon-christian people – they know . Many of them are poorlyinformed regarding the christian life; hungry for something theyhave not, and know not just what it is; with high ideals, thoughvague, of what a christian life should be. And they look eagerly tous for what they have thought we had, and are so often keenlydisappointed that our ideals, our life, is so much like others whoprofess nothing. And when here and there they meet one whose actsare dominated by a pure, high spirit, whose faces reflect a sweetradiance amid all circumstances, and whose lives send out a rarefragrance of gladness and kindliness and controlling peace, theyare quick to recognize that, to them, intangible something thatmakes such people different. The world – tired, hungry, keen andcritical for mere sham, appreciative of the real thing – the worldknows what kind of christians we are. Do we know?
There is a third one watching us to-day with intenseinterest. The Lord Jesus! Sitting up yonder in glory, with thescar-marks of earth on face and form, looking eagerly down upon uswho stand for Him in the world that crucified Him – Heknows . I imagine Him saying, "There is that one down there whomI died for, who bears my name; if I had the control of that life what power I would gladly breathe in and out of it,but – he is so absorbed in other things ." The Master isthinking about you, studying your life, longing to carry out Hisplan if He could only get permission, and sorely disappointed inmany of us. He knows. Do you know?
The Night Visitor.
After that trip I became much interested indiscovering in John's Gospel some striking pictorial illustrationsof these two kinds of christians, namely, those who have power intheir lives for Jesus Christ and those who have not. Let me speakof only a few of these. The first is sketched briefly in the thirdchapter, with added touches in the seventh and nineteenth chapters.There is a little descriptive phrase used each time – "the man whocame to Jesus by night." That comes to be in John's mind the mostgraphic and sure way of identifying this man. A good deal ofcriticism, chiefly among the upper classes, had already beenaroused by Jesus' acts and words. This man Nicodemus clearly wasdeeply impressed by the young preacher from up in Galilee. He wantsto find out more of him. But he shrank back from exposing himselfto criticism by these influential people for his possiblefriendship with the young radical, as Jesus was regarded. So oneday he waits until the friendly shadows will conceal his identity,and slipping quietly along the streets, close up to the houses soas to insure his purpose of not being recognized, he goes up yonderside street where Jesus has lodgings. He knocks timidly. "Does thepreacher from up the north way stop here?" "Yes." "Could I seehim?" He steps in and spends an evening in earnest conversation. Ithink we will all readily agree that Nicodemus believed Jesus after that night's interview, however he may have failed tounderstand all He said. Yes, we can say much more – he loved Him. For after the cruel crucifixion it is this man that brings abox of very precious spices, weighing as much as a hundred pounds,worth, without question, a large sum of money, with which to embalmthe dead body of his friend. Ah! he loved Him. No one may questionthat.
But turn now to the seventh chapter of John. Thereis being held a special session of the Jewish Senate in Jerusalemfor the express purpose of determining how to silence Jesus – toget rid of Him. This man is a member of that body, and is present.Yonder he sits with the others, listening while his friend Jesus isbeing discussed and His removal – by force if need be – is beingplotted. What does he do? What would you expect of a friend ofJesus under such circumstances? I wonder what you and I would havedone? I wonder what we do do? Does he say modestly, but plainly, "Ispent a whole evening with this man, questioning Him, talking withHim, listening to Him. I feel quite sure that He is our promisedMessiah; and I have decided to accept Him as such." Did he saythat? That would have been the simple truth. But such a remarkplainly would have aroused a storm of criticism, and he dreadedthat. Yet he felt that something should be said. So, lawyer-like,he puts the case abstractly. "Hmm – does our law judge a manwithout giving him a fair hearing?" That sounds fair, though itdoes seem rather feeble in face of their determined opposition. Butnear by sits a burly Pharisee, who turns sharply around and,glaring savagely at Nicodemus, says sneeringly: "Who are you? Doyou come from Galilee, too? Look and see! No pro