Perhaps nothing is more common than a profession of spiritual life with very feeble evidence of its existence.
A preacher visiting an infirmary, guided through the institution by a member of the medical staff, described various cases as the two passed along: “Anemic condition,” “creeping paralysis,” “nervous dyspepsia,” “locomotor ataxia,” etc. Having passed through all the wards, the minister said, “I have known a church with just such people in it. It took six hundred members a whole year to bring eleven souls to confess Christ. The prayer-meeting was affected by creeping paralysis and four-fifths of the men seemed to be suffering from locomotor ataxia of the soul.” The doctor replied, “And I one day remember seeing a very beautiful engine at an exhibition, but it was on a table, not on rails. It was only four feet long and about two feet high, and when I asked the man in charge what it was for he said it was not for use in any way, but was simply on exhibition. And,” added the doctor, “I have seen ministers and churches just like that.” (Text.)
(433)
Church-going Enforced—See [Worship, Enforced].
CHURCH, GUIDANCE FOR THE
There are no wrecks among the golden ships of the heavens, for a master hand keeps the movements of the fixt spheres in unison. An effort is being made to have unison among the movements of all ships at sea. The proposal is that the Eiffel tower be equipped with a wireless apparatus, powerful enough to send Hertzian waves completely round the world, that ships may not be wrecked by being confused as to the longitude. It is said that all ships in communication with Eiffel tower will harmonize in their movements. Noon and midnight will be indicated by a prearranged signal.
The Church is a ship of state with its members as the crew. Each church is commanded to keep in constant and direct communication with the great Head of the Church, the high tower of righteousness. (Text.)
(434) Church Hospitality—See [Hospitality in Church].
CHURCH INDISPENSABLE
A man in his Gethsemane utters words that burn themselves into your memory in letters of fire. The personal experiences of one’s friends are sacred; sacred forever the events of the household, when grief and repentance lay healing hands like angels upon a broken life. But recently I saw with mine own eyes, and heard with mine own ears, and received a charge. The house was a mansion on an avenue, and the man was approaching threescore years and ten. Beside us was the coffin of his dead daughter. On the other side sat his chum, his closest friend. Suddenly the sorrowing man broke into speech, and this was the substance of his soliloquy: “There is nothing in these things. You and I have been living for a good time and success. We have gotten everything we could during the week. We have been good poker-players on Saturday night, we have spent our Sundays in the automobile and driving, and in social pleasures. We have put the club and the bank first, and my son has disgraced me with his shameless marriage, and my daughter is dead. I tell you,” he said, using his friend’s name, “there is only one place in which to bring up a family, and that is the Christian Church. There is only one way to use Sunday for children, and that is to take them to church. What with money, and wine, and poker, and pleasure, all day Sunday, and parties all Sunday night, my family has been ruined. People don’t know what the result of this kind of living will be until the end comes, but I know.”—N. D. Hillis.