From Jest to Earnest

by Edward Payson Roe

He presented his views strongly, however; but they were partial and unripe, giving but one side of the truth, and therefore calculated to do injury rather than good. He did not—he could not—over-estimate the importance of faith, but he unwittingly misrepresented God, in his efforts to inspire this faith, and the Christian life resulting; and he under-valued our earthly state and its interests.

He sketched in strong outlines the experience of the little family at Bethany, portraying with vivid realism the suffering of the man whom Jesus loved; the anxiety of the sisters when Lazarus became ill; this anxiety passing into fear, dread, sickening certainty, and despair; the anguish of bereavement, the loneliness and heart-breaking sorrow of four days; and that most agonized wrench of the heart when the beloved form is left alone to corrupt in the dark and silent sepulchre.

Having presented this picture in such true and sombre colors that the gloom was reflected from the faces of all his hearers, they being reminded that this would be their lot ere long, he passed suddenly from the painful scenes of Bethany to Bethabara, beyond Jordan, where was sojourning the mysterious Prophet of Nazareth, who had so often proved His power to heal every disease. He enlarged upon the fact that Jesus, seeing all the suffering at Bethany, which He could change by a word into gladness, did not interfere, but decreed that the terrible ordeal should be endured to the bitter end.

From this he reasoned that the transient sorrows of the household at Bethany were of little moment, and that God, in the advancement of His own glory and the accomplishment of His great plans, would never turn aside because His human children in their short-sighted weakness would stay His heavy hand if they could. He knew all that was occurring at Bethany, but calmly permitted it to take place, and in this case it was the same as if He had willed it.

He then proceeded to show that the Divine purpose had not only a wide and general sweep, embracing the race, and extending through all time, but that there was a minute providence encompassing each life. If there were any good in us, God would bring it out, nor would He spare us in the effort. The preacher, unfortunately and unconsciously to himself, gave the impression that God acted on the principle that He could accomplish far more with the rod of affliction than with anything else, and that when He fully set about the task of winning a soul from sin, His first step was to stretch it upon the rack of some kind of suffering. He also intensified this painful impression by giving the idea that God thought little of the processes, which might be so painful to us, but fixed His eye only on the result. If people became sullen, rebellious, or reckless under His discipline, they were like misshappen clay, that the potter must cast aside. The crude ore must go into the furnace, and if there was good metal in it the fact would appear.

"Sooner or later," he said, "God will put every soul into the crucible of affliction. Sooner or later we shall all be passing through scenes like that of the family at Bethany. We may not hope to escape. God means we shall not. As Christ firmly, while seeing all, left events at Bethany to their designed course, so He will as surely and steadily carry out the discipline which He, as the unerring physician of the soul, sees that each one of us requires. Does the refiner hesitate to put the crude ore into the crucible? Does the sculptor shrink from chiselling the shapeless block into beauty? Does not the surgeon, with nerves of steel and pulse unquickened, cut near the very vitals of his agonized patient? He sees that it is necessary, in order to save from greater evil, and therefore he is as remorseless as fate. If to cure some transient, physical infirmity, man is justified in inflicting—nay, more, is compelled to inflict—so much suffering upon his fellow-creatures, how much more is God justified in His severest moral discipline, which has as its object our eternal health. Though we shrink from the sorrow, though we writhe under the pain, though our hearts break a thousand times, He will not waver in His calm, steadfast purpose. He sees eternity; the present is as nothing to Him. He will break our grasp from all earthly idols, even though He tear our bleeding hearts asunder. If we are trusting in aught save Him, that upon which we are leaning will be snatched away, even though we fall at first into the depths of despairing sorrow. What He makes us suffer now is not to be considered, in view of His purpose to wean us from this world and prepare us for the next. Christ, as we learn from our text, is as inflexible as fate, and does not hesitate to secure the needful faith by remaining away, even though the message of the sisters was an entreaty in itself. Nay, more, he distinctly declares to his disciples, 'I am glad, for your sakes, that I was not there, to the intent ye may believe.'

"In conclusion, we assert that we ought to rise above our human weakness and co-work with God. Instead of clinging so to the present, we ought to think of the eternal future, and welcome the harshest discipline which prepares us for that future. We should mortify ourselves, trample our earthly natures under our feet. To that degree that we can bring ourselves to think less of earth, we shall think more of heaven. Our business, our earthly hopes and plans, our dearest ties, may be fatal snares to our souls. The husband may make an idol of his wife, the mother of her child. God jealously watches; we should watch more jealously. The sisters may have been loving their brother and trusting to his protection more than in Christ. We should hold all earthly possessions in fear and trembling, as something not our own, but only committed for a brief time to our trust. We should remember that the one great object of this life is to secure that faith which leads to preparation for the life to come. The harsher our experiences are here, the better, if they more surely wean us from earth and all earthly things, and make eternity the habitation of our thoughts. We see how stern and resolute God is in His great purpose to stamp out unbelief from the world. Jesus would not save the family at Bethany that He loved,—the family that freely gave hospitality and love in return when nearly all the world was hostile. Do not think, then, that He will spare us. Let us therefore not spare ourselves, but with remorseless hands smite down every earthly object that hides from our view the wide ocean of eternity. As the wise men from the East travelled steadily across arid wastes with eyes fixed only on the strange bright luminary that was guiding them to Bethlehem, so we should regard this world as a desert across which we must hasten to the presence of our God."

As Hemstead forgot himself, and became absorbed in his theme, he spoke with impressiveness and power; and everywhere throughout the audience was seen that thoughtful contraction of the brow and fixed gaze which betoken deep attention. But upon the faces of nearly all was the expression of one listening to something painful. This was especially true of Miss Martell and her father, while Harcourt's face grew cold and satirical. Lottie looked pale and sullen, and De Forrest was evidently disgusted. Mr. Dimmerly fidgeted in his seat, and even complacent Mrs. Marchmont seemed a little ruffled and disturbed, while her daughter Addie was in a state of irritable protest against both preacher and sermon. Poor Bel was merely frightened and conscience-stricken,—her usual condition after every sermon to which she listened.

As, during the brief remnant of the service, Hemstead dropped into consciousness of the world around him, he felt at first, rather than saw, the chill he had caused, instead of a glow answering to his own feelings. As he looked more closely, he imagined he detected a gloomy and forbidding expression on the faces turned towards him. The Gospel—the message of good news that he had brought—appeared to shadow the audience like a passing cloud.

After dismission, the people aroused themselves as from an oppressive dream. The few greetings and congratulations that he received as he passed down the aisle seemed formal and constrained, and, he thought, a little insincere. He was still more puzzled as he overheard Miss Martell say to Harcourt at the door, "I am sorry you heard that sermon."