deny, that the Bible is a God-given, God-inspired Book? Shall I go to
comforts into my heart through the Book; but I cannot prove to you the divinity of the Book any more than I can prove to you that the sun is shining, that honey is sweet, that the song of the bird is melodious. The inspiration of the Bible is proved by experience, not by logic. 'Meditate therein day and night' to obey, 'to do according to all that is 'written therein,' and you shall know, you shall taste its sweetness, behold its wonders, and hear in its words the whisperings of the everlasting Father to the heart of His child. 2. How shall I prove to others, to those who question, who doubt, who deny, that the Bible is a God-given, God-inspired Book? Shall I go to history, science, archaeology for proof? Yes, at the proper time and to the right people. But the most convincing proof of the inspiration of the Bible that I can offer to an unbeliever is a redeemed life, lived in the power and sweetness of the Spirit; a life that matches the Bible; a life of love, of prayer and faith and devotion; a life of joy and peace and patience and sweet goodwill to all men; a life full of good works matching a glad testimony to the saving, sanctifying, keeping power and ever living presence of the Lord Jesus; a life like that of a Convert from Heathenism, whose heathen neighbours said of him 'There is no difference between him and the Book.' He was a living Bible known and read of them all, and they saw and felt in him inspiration. He was inbreathed, indwelt of God, and through him they recognized inspiration in the Book. Redeemed lives, drawing light and strength and inspiration from and matching the inspired Book are the unanswerable proofs of its inspiration. Sir Wilfred Grenfell, of Labrador, tells us that when a student in the University in England he lived with a professor who was a lecturer on the evidences of Christianity. This lecturer was in frequent controversy with infidels, but never converted one of them. They would meet in public debate, each supported by his friends and followers, who were confirmed in their opinions, but there was no changing of sides, no converts were made. It was heady, a rivalry of wits, a struggle for mastery, an intellectual fisticuffs to no profit. But one day one of the most doughty of these infidel debaters was stricken with fatal illness. His friends had no words of comfort, and left him
to himself. Then a sweet, humble sister-Salvationist stepped in and nursed the dying man. She could not and she did not argue with him, but she revealed to him a redeemed, Christlike life. Love was in her face, tenderness was in her touch, grace was on her lips, peace and joy in Jesus radiated from her, and lo! what encyclopedic knowledge which puffs up, and vast learning and brilliant argument and eloquent speech had failed to do, a humble, inspired life did do. He was converted and died in the faith. An infidel challenged a man of God to debate about religion. 'I accept your challenge on this condition,' replied the man of God, 'that I bring one hundred men with me to testify what faith in Christ has done for them, and you bring one hundred men to testify what atheism has done for them.' The challenger was nonplussed, withdrew the challenge, and there was no debate. Meek and lowly, but glad and bold witnesses, who witness by lip and life and shining look, are the strongest, the unanswerable proof of the inspiration of the Book by which they live. The final proof will be given when the risen Jesus appears with crowns and thrones and kingdoms, honour, glory, and immortality for those who have believed and loved and followed Him to the end, and opens the dark gates of doom and banishes into 'indignation and wrath, tribulation and anguish every soul of man that does evil.'
Chapter 16; THE LORD'S OWN PRAYER One day at a certain place, we are told, the disciples were with Jesus when He was praying, and after He had ceased - I wonder how long He prayed and what was the burden of His prayer? - one of His disciples said to Him, Lord, teach us to pray, as John also taught his disciples. 'He did not say, teach us how to pray, but 'teach us to pray.' It was not the manner of praying he desired to be taught, but simply to pray. And this Jesus did, both by what He said, and even more by what He did - by His example. They often found Him praying, and that taught them to pray as no words or exhortations could teach them. However, Jesus responded to this request, and taught them a prayer which wherever it is known at all is known as 'The Lord's Prayer.' But it is rather the disciples' prayer. It is a prayer He gave them to use, voicing their needs and their desires. The Lord's Prayer, the prayer of Jesus addressed to the Father as our Great High Priest, the prayer in which He poured out the desires of His heart for the Father's glory and His fellowship in that glory and in which He voiced His longings for the disciples then with Him, and for us and for all who should believe on Him, the prayer which no doubt constitutes the substance of His ceaseless and eternal intercession for His disciples of all time and everywhere, is recorded in John 17. That is peculiarly the Lord's Prayer. Jesus had said to Mary at the wedding in Cana, when she told Him of the empty wine vessels, 'Woman, what have I to do with you? Mine hour is not yet come.' To His brethren who were sceptical of His claims, and who would hasten Him to Jerusalem, there either to prove or discredit Himself, He said, 'My time is not yet come: but your time is always ready. . . . Go up to this feast. My time is not yet full come.' When the Jews were angered at Him, John explains that as yet 'No man laid hands on Him because His hour was not yet come.' But finally, when His pauseless but unhasting ministry was drawing to a close, and He had come up to Jerusalem for the last time, Greek worshippers said to Philip, 'Sir, we would see Jesus.' When this was told to Him, He answered, 'The hour is come.' Then with His disciples He went into the upper room and ate the Passover Feast, ate of the Paschal Lamb which ever since that dread
night when the Destroying Angel passed over Egypt had pointed in type to Him, the great Antitype, God's Lamb, whose Blood should cleanse from all sin and shelter from the Destroyer all who believed. After supper He arose, girded Himself and washed the disciples' feet, showing them by a kindergarten lesson what, through their dullness and hardness of heart, His words had failed to teach them, that he who would be greatest among them must be, and would gladly be, 'servant of all.' After this object-lesson in lowly, loving service, He spoke tender words to them, words of warning, of comfort, of command, of instruction and encouragement. He unfolded to them the Person and Mission of the 'Other Comforter,' who should come to them when He was gone, assured them that while He was going away, yet He would come again, He would not leave them comfortless or orphans. While absent in body, He would yet be present in Spirit. If they but loved Him and kept His commandment to love one another, they should have with them evermore His manifested presence, His spiritual presence, in their hearts and minds, made possible and real through simple, obedient faith; they should be loved by the Father, and He and the Father would come to make their abode, their mansion, with them and in them. His joy should be in them, and their joy should be full. He warned them that the world would hate them because it hated Him, and because they were His friends and not of the world. He told them they should be persecuted and have sorrow, but added, 'Your sorrow shall be turned into joy; your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man takes from you.' 'In the world you shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.' They were to be so identified with Him, 'so mixed up with Jesus,' as a quaint old friend of mine once said, that His union with the Father, and the love wherewith the Father loved Him, His joy, His tribulation, and His triumph and victory should be theirs. They should share in all that was His. If they loved Him, trusted Him, bore His cross, and shared His sufferings, they should share His glory. If they laboured and toiled with Him in tears, they should shout with Him at the ingathering of the sheaves and be jubilant in the Harvest Home. If they sorrowed with Him, they should also joy with Him. He was going to prepare a
place for them, and He would come again and receive them that they might be where He was. He would not be in Heaven and leave them behind. It was His farewell address, recorded by John in chapters 13:to 16:It was the final lecture and tender, searching charge to these Cadets of His own choice and training, who were soon to be commissioned and sent forth to conquer a hostile world by their testimony and sacrificial devotion and love, and turn it upside down. He had spoken at length to His humble disciples, and now He lifted His eyes to Heaven and spoke to the Father. He prayed, and this He did as naturally and as familiarly as He had spoken to His lowly followers. He said, 'Father, the hour is come'; the fateful hour for which He had girded himself and waited, the hour to which without pause and without haste he had pressed forward, the hour to which He had looked from the beginning of His ministry, yea, to which He had looked from of old, from the dawn of time when the morning stars sang together, yea, to which He had looked from the deeps of timeless Eternity. It was the zero hour of the moral world, of the spiritual universe. The zero hour in the great battle for the souls of men, the hour when our Kinsman-Redeemer was to 'go over the top,' go over alone, 'for of the people there was none with Him'; go over and die, die for us, die that we might live and never die. It was the hour of His utter humiliation, when all His glory was stripped from Him and laid aside, and He who knew no sin was made sin for us, and 'numbered with the transgressors,' 'wounded for our transgressions, bruised for our iniquities,' chastened for our peace, and stricken that we might be healed. Step by step He had descended from infinite heights of glory and honour and power to infinite depths of weakness and reproach and shame. He, the infinitely pure and innocent One, came and united Himself with us as a man and stood in our place, and took on Himself our guilt, our sin, our shame, our curse. 'He was made a curse for us.' 'He was made sin for us.' He emptied Himself of His divine, eternal majesty and 'took on
Himself the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men, and being found in fashion as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to death, even the death of the cross.' This was the hour to which He had looked, to which He had at last come, and for the agony, the loneliness, the shame of which He was now, and had been from the beginning, girding Himself. But before the dread and awful stroke of this hour fell on Him, His thoughts turned to His poor, ignorant, weak, imperfect disciples, and with a love that knew no bounds - that forgot self, forgot the shame and agony soon to be poured out on Him without stint like an ocean flood, even forgot, or for a time ignored, the glory so soon to follow on His return to the bosom of the Father and the bliss of Heaven - He remembered them and prayed for them. If we wish to know His thought for us, the fullness of blessing He wishes to bestow on us, the completeness and intimacy of the union into which He wishes to enter with us, and the intimacy of the union and fellowship we are to have with the Father; if we wish to know how His purposes of world-conquest are to be accomplished; if we wish to know the high estate, the glory, to which He purposes to lift us, we should ponder this prayer, make it a daily study, and co-operate with Him for its fulfilment. He is not now talking to His lowly disciples. He is not commanding and charging them, He is talking to the Father for them, voicing their needs, considering their dangers, pleading their weakness, and with supplications and intercessions seeking for them boundless blessings that should make them kings and priests to God, lifting them infinitely above the paltry pomp and fading glory of all the kings and governors and mighty men of earth. And through them in answer to this prayer are to flow all the streams and rivers of His grace, and be accomplished all the redemptive purposes of His sacrificial life and death here on earth, and His risen life and resurrection power revealed from Heaven. He is the Vine, they are the branches. Through them His beauty is to be made manifest, the beauty of Holiness; and in them His fruit is to be found, the fruit of the Spirit, the fruit of the life that is eternal, the fruit which is 'love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, self-
control,' and 'against which there is no law.' The petitions of this prayer are few. He first prays for Himself, prays that the Father will glorify Him that He in turn may glorify the Father, prays that He may again be glorified with the glory that was His with the Father 'before the world was,' and this petition was heard and considered, and we see the beginning of the abundant answer when the Angel strengthened Him during the agony and bloody sweat of the Garden, after which, with lamb-like submission and serene, unfailing meekness and patience, He calmly faced the mockery and shame of Herod's men of war and Pilate's judgement hall, and the deeper and final agony and desertion of the Cross. We see it further answered in His resurrection from the dead, whereby, says the Apostle, He was indubitably 'declared to be the Son of God with power, according to the Spirit of Holiness, by the resurrection from the dead ' (Romans 1:4). And we see a yet further and fuller answer when on the Day of Pentecost the Holy Ghost was out-poured in His name, and His lowly disciples became living flames of love and Holiness and power divine. And we see the continuing answer to this petition in every triumph of the Gospel, in every penitent sinner born into the kingdom, and every child of God sanctified, in every hymn of praise sung, and every true prayer offered in His name. We see it in the light of His Cross shining across centuries and millenniums and gradually irradiating the dark places of all life, and the spread of His gospel from that narrow little circle in Jerusalem to all the continents and isles of earth. And as He is glorified, so is the Father. Then He prays for His disciples whom the Father has given Him, prays that they may be kept from the evil that is in the world. While He was with them in the world He had kept them. 'The Lord God is a sun and a shield.' He had been their sun. He had lightened their way, and they had walked in His light and had not stumbled out of the way. He was their shield. He had defended them against wily men and yet more wily devils. No enemy had been able to pluck out of His hand any save Judas, who sold himself to the evil one for a handful of silver. But now He was leaving them, and they would be exposed to the wiles of the evil one, who would subtly approach them as an 'angel of light,'
or rush on and assail them 'as a roaring lion,' and make battle against them like ancient archers with fiery darts of accusation, of doubts and fears and perplexities. And they would be beset by the relentless hostility of the world. The bigotry and hate of the Jews, the proud scorn and fierce persecutions of cruel and idolatrous nations would be poured out on them. They were as sheep in the midst of wolves. Great and constant would be their danger, measureless would be their need, therefore he prays, Holy Father, keep through Your own name those whom You have given Me, that they may be one, as we are.' He does not pray that they may be caught up out of the world and away from the evil, but that in the midst of it they may be kept through HIS name. 'The name of the God of Jacob defend you,' prayed the Psalmist. 'The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous runs into it and is safe,' said Solomon. 'Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!' moaned and cried a sorely tempted ex-drunkard, and at the Name the spell of the temptation was broken and he was kept through that Name. They were His little, defenceless ones, very dear to Him, and He wanted them kept for their own sakes. But they were also His representatives; as the Father had sent Him into the world, so He was now sending them into the world. They went forth in His name, with His word, on His business, and only as they were kept would the purpose of His life and death be fulfilled. To this end He further prayed, 'Sanctify them.' Set them apart, consecrate them to Thyself and to Your service, seal them and make them holy, not only 'keep them from the evil that is in the world,' but save them from the evil and corruption that is in their own hearts. Make them clean. Refine them as with fire. Purify them until no spot of sin remains on them, until they are 'all glorious within.' 'Sanctify them through Your truth. Your word is truth.' Let Your truth search them till they are wholly conformed to Your nature and Your will, until their lives match Your truth and in them the truth lives incarnate, walks among men. Not for these alone, however, did He pray, but for all who should through their word believe on Him. His thought was girdling the globe and embracing the ages. Wherever and whenever a penitent,
trembling soul believed on Him through their word, that soul came within the desire and purpose of this prayer. He wanted them all to be one, bound up in one bundle of life, one as He and the Father are one, that they might be the habitation of God on earth, and that the world seeing this might believe on Him. Faith in Him depended on the brotherly love and unity of His disciples. So it did, and so it does to this day. When there is unity there is faith. Where there is division there is doubt. Thousands believed and a multitude of priests were obedient to the faith after Pentecost when the disciples were filled with the Holy Ghost and were of one mind and heart. But when this unity of faith and love was lost, the Dark Ages followed, and darkness and unbelief always follow loss of love and unity. 'The glory which You gave Me, I have given them; that they may be one, even as we are one,' said He. The religion of Jesus is social. It is inclusive, not exclusive. We can have the glory only as we are united. We must be one in spirit with our brethren. Let division come, and the glory departs. Let the unity of brotherly love continue, and the glory abides. O my comrades, let us beware of the leakage of love, of the loss of the spirit of unity, of the subtlety and snare and death of the spirit of distrust and division 'I in them, and You in Me, that they may be made perfect in one; that the world may know that You have sent Me, and have loved them, as You has loved Me.' In this world the disciples of Jesus are the home of God, and that home is to be filled with sweet accord, not discord. He wants us to be 'Perfect in one,' and then the world, the poor, proud, foolish, wicked world, shall not only believe, but know that Jesus was the sent of the Father, and that the love of the Father is out-poured on His disciples as it was on Himself. What responsibility this places on us to foster the unity of the Spirit, and to beware of the pride and jealousy and envy and suspicion and unholy spirit of lordship that leads to division - let us be content to wash each other's feet and be ambitious only to be 'servants of all.' In conclusion He prays, 'Father, I will that they also, whom You have given Me, be with Me where I am; that they may behold My glory, which You have given Me: for You loved Me before the foundation of the world.' Hallelujah! O my soul, you who have wandered in darkness
and grubbed in sin and have been plucked from the mire, shall yet be lifted from the dunghill and seated with Him on His throne, and shall stand amid the blinding splendour and behold the glory before which angels and archangels, cherubim and seraphim, veil their faces and fall as dead. Toil on, O my soul! If you labour for Him, you shall also reap with Him. He is not unrighteous to forget your work and labour of love, and He will not fail to reward abundantly your patience of hope. Your labour is not in vain in the Lord. If you are called to suffer with Him, O my soul, count it all joy. Do not repine. Fear not. Faint not. You shall reign with Him. He has so promised. And He will remember. He will not forget His own word on which He has caused you to hope. (Psalm 119:49.) If you dost love Him who died for you, who entrusts His honour and His cause to you, prove your love, O my soul, by feeding and watching over His lambs and sheep. Love your comrades as He has loved you, and as He laid down His life for you, so, if needs be lay down your life for the brethren, and so shall all men know that you are His disciple. And He shall see of the travail of His soul for you and be satisfied. O what wonder! How amazing! Jesus, glorious King of kings, Deigns to call me His beloved, Lets me rest beneath His wings! All for Jesus, resting now beneath His wings. All for Jesus, all for Jesus, All my being's ransomed powers; All my thoughts and words and doings, All my days and all my hours. All for Jesus, all my days and all my hours. And when the days and hours of time are no more, then Eternity, Eternity with Him, my Redeemer, Lover, Friend, in the glory that excels and that has no end. 'Unto Him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own blood, and has made us kings and priests to God and His Father; to Him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. Amen!
Chapter 17; THE WORST DRUNKARD IN TOWN GOT SAVED LAST NIGHT AND -- Many years ago I was visiting Riverside, California, for a brief campaign, and was met at the train by the Captain in charge at about ten o'clock in the morning. His face was glowing as he said to me: 'We got the worst old drunkard in town saved last night; and I have seen him twice this morning, and he is doing fine.' How could the poor old drunkard do otherwise, with a Captain bubbling over with faith, love, and good cheer, following him up like that! Don't forget, he saw the old saved drunkard twice the next morning. 'Twice'! That is the way new-born babies are cared for, and that is the way to care for newborn souls. This Officer came east to Pennsylvania; and a Spiritual Special visited his Corps, had about fifty Converts, and the Captain did not lose one, but enrolled them all as Soldiers. On another occasion he laboured until after midnight with a drunkard, and then carried him to his lodging-place on his back. The proprietor of the lodging-house refused to receive him, but the Captain carried the chap upstairs to his room, put him to bed, followed him up; and made a Salvation Army Bloodand-Fire Soldier out of him. On the way home that night, long after midnight, the Captain had to cross a great irrigation ditch, and when he came to the bridge he heard a splash and a groan. Rushing forward he found a man's feet sticking up, but his head under the bridge and under the water. He pulled the man out of the water and got the water out of him, prayed with him, got him saved, and the man became an earnest Christian. The poor fellow in a fit of discouragement was trying to commit suicide. This Captain is now a Lieut.-Colonel, and a Divisional Commander; and is still passionately seeking souls, and looking after Converts. I would like to commend to all my comrades on the Field a re-reading of the life of the Angel Adjutant; and call to your special attention the faithful way in which she watched for souls, and shepherded her Converts. She was a good shepherd and 'the Good Shepherd gives His life for the sheep.' New Converts need care just as new babies do. Many years ago I was
taken off of my Provincial Campaigns and put in charge of the Chicago No.1 Corps; and was Commanding Officer for three weeks while awaiting the arrival of the Officer who had been appointed to the Corps. One night a man fifty years of age was converted. He had been a builder and contractor but had met with reverses, and in his discouragement came to The Army and yielded to the Lord Jesus Christ. I took special interest in him; gave him a word of cheer, and a hearty handshake in every Meeting, but one night he failed to come, and I was anxious. I could not call to see him that night, but I did write him a little note, before going to bed, and enclosed a little tract. I told him how greatly I missed him, expressed my hope that he was well, and urged him to look to Jesus if he were passing through any temptation, and told him I was praying for him and looked forward to seeing him the following evening. And, sure enough, he was present the next night, and then he told me how he had been passing through a fierce temptation the day before, and was just about to give up and go back to his old life, when my letter with the little tract came with its message of love and faith, 'and that,' said he, 'saved me.' He became a Soldier and for years was a devoted Christian and worker for the Lord. The little note and tract and a two cent stamp saved him. If the flock is to be preserved, the lambs must be shepherded. If babies are to live, they must be nursed with tender care. If the world is to be saved, we must have Converts and they must be guarded with sleepless vigilance, and followed with ceaseless and loving care.
Chapter 18; AN OPEN LETTER TO A YOUNG MAN SEEKING SPIRITUAL HELP My dear Comrade, Your letter has just now reached me, and I hasten to reply. You say: 'I have sought and found Holiness many times, but the longest I have been able to keep it was seven weeks,' and then you mention some besetting sin against which you have struggled for five years. Let me ask, did you yield to this besetting sin? And then feeling condemned, did you come to the penitent-form seeking a Clean Heart? If so, you have probably made the great mistake so many make of claiming heart purity, when what you received was the peace of pardon. If I fall into sin, I must first confess my sin with a penitent heart and trust for pardon through reliance on the Blood of Jesus, and if I do this the peace of pardon will fill my heart, but I must not mistake this for Sanctification. When I am pardoned I am then called to consecrate my redeemed life to God, and when I wholly consecrate myself to Him who has loved me out of my sins, my guilt, my condemnation, I must trust Him to purify my whole being, to sanctify me wholly and fill me with the Holy Spirit. And if I believe, He can and will do the wonder work of grace in me. He will make me holy; He will perfect me in love; He will fill me with passion for His glory, so that I sing from my heart: Take my love, my Lord, I pour At Your feet, its treasure store; Take my life and it shall be Ever, only, all for You. And with joy I sing: The Blood, the Blood is all my plea; Hallelujah! for it cleanses me. You speak of keeping the Blessing seven weeks. How did you keep the Blessing so long? Was it not by walking with the Blesser? If your attention is fixed on the Blessing instead of the Blesser; if you think of Holiness as separate from the Holy Spirit, you will lose all. If you fail to recognize, honour, love, trust, and obey the Blesser, you lose the Blessing, just as you lose the beauty of the rose when you turn your eyes from the rose, or the
sweetness when you take away the honey, or the music when you lose the musician. Why and how did you lose the Blessing after seven weeks? Was it not because under stress of temptation you took your eyes off the Blesser? You forgot the sweet, sacred presence of the Blesser. and turning from Him you yielded to sin, or you doubted, and then the enemy robbed you of the Blessing. 'Watch and pray that you enter not into temptation.' When temptation came you should have said, 'Get behind me, Satan.' You should have resisted the Devil, and drawn nigh to God. The Blesser was there. The Holy Spirit was present. The infinitely loving Redeemer, with all His redemptive power, was with you, but you forgot Him, and so lost the Blessing. You should have turned to Jesus in love and loyalty and trust, and said, 'O Lord, I am Your; keep me! I trust You. I love You. I praise You, and I will not fear my enemy.' If you had done this, you would not have lost the Blessing. Resist the Devil, and he will flee from you. Draw nigh to God, and He will draw nigh to you.' That is the way, and I know of no other way of victory. In that way, and that way only, I have been getting victory for nearly half a century, and in that way you can get victory, and get it quickly, and get it always. Hallelujah! You are discouraged. You wonder if you can ever gain and keep the victory. You can, bless God! You can. The victory is at the door now. The Victor is at the door. Open and let Him in, and victory is yours. Drop on your knees now, just now, and tell Him all; then trust Him, thank Him, praise Him, whether or not you have any great feeling. Just keep on trusting, thanking, praising, and obeying Him, and peace and victory will come. Keep your eyes on Jesus, and guard yourself against the beginnings of temptation and sin. Keep your mind pure. Fill it with clean thoughts, loving thoughts, and holy affections. Lift your thoughts above fleshly and low things to spiritual levels. Sing songs and make melody in your heart to the Lord. Deal promptly and sternly with your eyes and your ears. Turn away your eyes from beholding evil, and your ears from listening to evil. Make a covenant with your eyes as did Job. Stand on guard at eyegate and eargate lest sin get into your heart
through those gateways. Sin does not leap on us fully armed. It steals in through a look, a swift, silent suggestion or imagination, but love and loyalty to Jesus will make you watchful and swift to rise up and cast out the subtle enemy. Do this and you shall live, and live victoriously. Often drop on your knees or lift your heart in secret prayer, and do not forget to mingle thanksgiving with your prayers. You do not praise God enough. Begin now. Thank Him now and praise Him, for He is worthy, and you are much behind in this sweet duty. When you wake up in the morning ask Him for some verse of song to cheer you through the day, and find some verse of Scripture on which to stay your mind. Finally, seek to pass some of your blessing on to some other soul, as the widow of Sarepta shared her bit of oil and handful of meal with Elijah and found it multiplying through the months of famine. So will you find your blessings multiplying as you share them with others.
Chapter 19; THE MYSTIC UNIVERSE IN MY BACK YARD I but open my eyes - and perfection, no more and no less, In the kind I imagined full fronts me, and God is seen God In the star, in the stone, in the flesh, in the soul, and in the clod. Browning Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortes when, with eagle eyes, He stared at the Pacific. Keats I am discovering a universe in my back-yard. I am not sure that I lived so intimately with my darling little wife as I have for forty years lived with St. Paul. Far more constantly and intimately than he lived and travelled with his friend Barnabas and his young lieutenants, Silas, Titus, Epaphroditus, and Timothy, has he lived, travelled, slept, and talked with me, only I did the sleeping. I never found him napping. At any hour of the day or night he was waiting wide-awake and ready for me. A text in John's first Epistle and another in his Gospel proved to be the open door to my soul, leading into the holy of holies, into the experience of cleansing, and the spiritual vision and inward revelation of Christ. But I think Paul has been my greatest teacher, my mentor, my most intimate spiritual guide. But one thing I have not found in him - a love of Nature. Some of his biographers think he had no such love. He travelled by sea and land, among great mountain passes in Cilicia, through the mountains of Macedonia, and over the Balkan hills, over the blue Mediterranean, and among the lovely isles of Greece. But never once does he in any of his Epistles mention the wonders of Nature, the splendour of sky or sea, or the glory and majesty of mountains, the beauty of flowers, or the flight of birds, except in his discussion of the resurrection of the body that springs from the sown seed, and the difference in the glory of one star from another. 'There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars: for one star differs from another star in glory.' The fact that there is such glory he admits, but there is nothing to indicate that he was ravished by that glory. Still, we have no right to
say that he was not. He was writing Epistles to his Converts and the churches on infinitely important ethical and spiritual subjects, and there was no occasion for him to enter into rapturous description and comments on the wonders and beauty of nature. But in my forty years of intimate communion with him I have never once been inspired by him to look for the blinding glories of the passing days and seasons, or the pop and splendour of star-lit nights. But not so when I turn to Job, to the Psalms of David, the Proverbs and Songs of Solomon, and the sweet talks and parables of Jesus. There we see the sparrows feeding from the Heavenly Father's hand, the ravens and the young lions and every creeping thing looking to Him for daily food, the fox fleeing from enemies to his hole, the conies among the rocks, the wild goat among mountain crags, the nesting bird, the busy ant, the swarming bees, the neighing war-horse, the spouting whale, the bridal lilies, the rose of Sharon, green and smiling meadows, still waters, ice, snow, and hoar frost, the glowing fire, tempestuous wind and billowing seas, the lowering sky of the morning threatening rain and storm, the red sky of the evening presaging fair and smiling weather. 'The heavens declare the glory of God: and the firmament shows His handiwork. Day to day utters speech, and night to night shows knowledge.' The vast deeps of the heavens are the tabernacle of the sun, 'which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoices as a strong man to run a race,' and the racecourse compasses the whole circle of Heaven, and the whole creation in one vast antiphonal choral harmony praises God. So David sings. But the suggestions, and beauty, and wonder, and mysticism in nature to which Paul has never turned me, but to which Jesus, and Job, and David, and Solomon pointed me, I am now finding in large measure in my tiny back-yard. In the deep, dark, underground crowded railway of New York, roaring along beneath the great city and plunging beneath the broad and lordly Hudson River, late at night after attending Meetings and lecturing Cadets, early one January, I became chilled and waked up in the middle of the night to find my head and throat inflamed with a heavy cold. I spent two days and a half in bed under the doctor's care, and then crawled out and went to Chicago, where a four days'
whirlwind campaign awaited me. The Territorial Commander, all his staff at T.H.Q., and all Officers of all departments in the great city and Division, and a host of Cadets and Soldiers, welcomed me, and for four days I gave myself without stint to the Meetings. Once, for the first time I could remember, I feared my chest would fail me, as I gasped for breath while speaking to the Cadets. Oh, those Meetings! They were times of Heaven on earth. At the last session with the Cadets, which continued from 3 to 7 pm, the whole place seemed lit up by the reflected glory on their young faces. At last, weary and happy, I boarded a train late at night for Texas. The temperature outside was zero, the snow was knee deep, and there was no heat in our car. I sat and shivered in my sweater, winter overcoat, and a big cape, and finally went to bed with my clothes on, still to shiver. When we got to Texas I was aching in all my bones. For three weeks I fought on, and then the 'flu' claimed me, and for the next three weeks I was in bed, and for the next few weeks among pine woods trying to get back my strength. Presently I came home, but could not walk the length of a city block without panting and gasping for a long breath. My doctor examined me, and then sat down silent and stern, looked at me, and then lectured me: 'You have gone to the edge of the abyss. Stop now or you will stop with a crash from which you will find it hard, if not impossible, to recover. If you take my advice, you will stop for six months.' He had warned me at other times, but I had not always listened to him, had laughed at him, and gone my own way, but somehow I felt he was right this time, and I would fail to heed him at a dread risk. The Commander was informed, and she graciously granted me all the time needed to rest and recuperate. The General heard about it and wrote me: 'After so many years of toil, you no doubt need a pause.' He further advised me to go to the wilderness, away from the roaring city and the crushing crowds, and yield myself to the things peculiar to the wilderness for a complete change, and suggested the Rocky Mountains.
What a joy that would be, if Mrs. Brengle were only here to go with me. But go alone, among strangers, not well, weak and listless, unfit to walk, unable to climb - that was different. A further exhaustive physical examination revealed an impoverished state of my blood, not pernicious, but sufficiently grave for the doctors to say that I must keep in the sunshine and open air, live largely on green vegetables, and rest. For nearly thirty years, by day and night, summer and winter, through long hours I had laboured for souls, sung and prayed and preached in crowded, steaming, ill-ventilated Halls, pleading with souls and dealing with penitents in an atmosphere so depleted of oxygen and poisoned that every pore of my body, every lung cell and red blood corpuscle cried out for fresh air, and now I have turned to my backyard to get what I need. It has been waiting for me for ten years. I saw no beauty in it that I desired it. But it holds no grudge, and welcomes me now and never hints at my lack of appreciation and my past neglect. A clump of yellow and blue iris is in one corner, a flowering shrub that has never bloomed for eight years and may be cast out as an unprofitable cumberer of the ground, is at one side, a rambler rose bush, now preparing to burst into a blaze of pink flame, and a crabapple tree, which I believe botanists say is a relative of the rose, occupy the centre of the yard, and a few square yards of green grass sprawl around iris and shrub and tree. Just outside the border of my back-yard on one side is a big oak tree, and on another side a maple tree, and they cast cool shadows over the grass when the sun is hottest. Some distance away are a few other oak trees. One belongs to a robin and some English sparrows. Another belongs to two young grey squirrels, who have bound themselves together by matrimonial ties and only yesterday built a nest for their prospective family in the fork of their tree out of leaves and twigs which they cut with their sharp teeth from tips of the far-reaching branches. Yesterday one of them slyly visited the tree which belongs to the robin and sparrows. He watched cautiously and climbed quickly. There were some nests up there he hoped to find defenceless. But a sparrow's
keen eyes spied him, and she sent out a far-reaching S.O.S., and from every quarter sparrows came, and then a robin. The entente was perfect. And then I heard fierce, shrill war cries and witnessed an aerial battle as thrilling after its kind as any fought over the forts and forests and fields of France. I laughed at the mischievous cunning and daring of the little robber, but I confess my sympathies were all with the allied forces. They chattered and screamed, and dashed on him with sharp beaks and rending little claws; they came from above and all sides, swift and sure, until he turned ignominiously and fled to escape with whole ears and unimpaired eyes. The little grey rascal! It was wilderness epic. The trees are glorious. They are not so large as their forefathers, but I think of them as the heirs of all the ages, and as I look at their broadreaching limbs and into their deep-green foliage, they suggest the dark, solemn, whispering, primeval forest that once clothed this continent with its sheen like a great green ocean. Right here the red Indian, the bear, the deer, the skulking panther roamed only twice as long ago as the lifetime of men now living. Swift and speeding automobiles, and loud, rumbling trucks rush past my back-yard, and I hear thundering trains and factory whistles not far away, but here in this wee enclosure, partly in fact and partly in imagination, I am living a wilderness life. An ocean of fresh air, fifty miles deep, laves me in its waves that beat on all the shores and isles of seas, and the mountains and plains of all continents; and sunshine beams ninety million miles long unerringly find me with their lifegiving rays. I would like to tell you about the ants, and the big, fierce horse flies, and the little flowers among the grass, so tiny and so shy as scarcely to be seen, which I have discovered in my back-yard. The grass, to the little creatures who live among its spires and tangled masses, is a forest as vast and mysterious as the great forests that have disappeared before the ruthless onslaughts and march of man. They live and hunt their prey, and make love, and bring forth their young, and flee their enemies, and live their short little lives among the green aisles and shadows of the grass, and know nothing of the greater world that arches above them, with its strifes and loves and labour,
and aspiration, and sin and shame and redemption. The astronomers tells us that, so far as they can judge, there are many sidereal universes. The heaven of heavens is full of them. But if that is so, if there are many universes of the infinitely great in the vast abysses of space, then I am sure there are many universes of the infinitely little in my backyard, as dear to God as those composed of flaming stars; and if health and strength can be found in the wilderness of plain or forest, or on mountain or sea, I believe it can be found among the teeming wonders, the mystic universes, and in the ocean of air and sunshine I find in my back-yard. O Lord, I worship amid the wonders of Your creation, and give You thanks for a contented mind and the wealthy heritage of my little back yard. Amen.
Chapter 20; THE FRANKNESS OF JESUS Jesus was not a whisperer. No one ever saw Him close to His neighbour's ear, looking stealthily around lest some one should overhear what He was going to say. He stood upright, looked men squarely and kindly in the eye, and spoke what He had to say right out, boldly, frankly, that the whole world might hear; and when He did speak privately to His disciples, He told them to shout it from the housetops. 'Truth fears nothing but concealment,' said an old Church Father, and Jesus spake only the truth. 'To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I might bear witness to the truth.' 'What I tell you in darkness, speak in the light: and what ye hear in the ear, preach on the housetops,' said He. It was against the Jewish law to spread dangerous doctrines secretly and the punishment was death (Deuteronomy 13:6). This the High Priest and leaders of the Jews had a right to inquire into, indeed it was their duty to do so, according to their law, though they had no right to make Jesus convict Himself. However, that was not possible, for He had boldly preached His doctrine before priest and scribes as well as His disciples and the common people, and He answered the High Priest: 'I spake openly to the world: I ever taught in the synagogue, and in the temple, whither the Jews always resort; and in secret have I said nothing.' This refers to His doctrine, but can it not be given a far wider meaning? Was not His whole life an open book? Was not all His conversation such as could be proclaimed openly to the whole world? There was nothing dark and hidden about Jesus. He was and is the Light of the world, and He welcomed the light. He entered into no secret cabals and councils. He belonged to no clique or party faction. I really do not believe He would have joined a secret society, for two reasons. First, because if there was anything wrong and dark about it His pure spirit, His guileless soul would have revolted and denounced and withdrawn from it, and second, because if there was anything good in it, His generous spirit, His loving soul, overflowing with pity and goodwill, would never have been content till the whole world knew about it and had the privilege of sharing in its benefits. A good thing that He could not offer to share with all men would have ceased to be a good thing to Jesus.
An astute Frenchman once said to our Founder: 'General Booth, you are not an Englishman, you're a citizen of the world. You belong to Humanity.' And in this the General was like his Master. Jesus belonged to the world. He was the 'Son of Man,' the Son of Mankind, of humanity. No party could claim Him. Thomas Jefferson wrote: 'If I could not go to Heaven but with a party, I would not go there at all.' It was this generous, open, world-wide, selfless spirit of Jesus that made Him so frank in all His speech, so that at the end of His life and His brief, but complicated, ministry, in which His enemies had sought in every way to provoke and entrap Him, He could say, 'In secret have I said nothing.' And now He wants us to 'follow His steps: who did no sin, neither was guile found in His mouth who, when He was reviled, reviled not again: when He suffered, he threatened not.' If we do this we shall not be talebearers, we shall not listen to, nor pass on gossip, nor be whisperers. 'A whisperer separates chief friends,' said Solomon; and again he said: 'Where there is no talebearer (Whisperer, margin) the strife ceases.' And Paul linked up 'Whisperers ' - people who go about saying things in secret that they are afraid to say out boldly to everybody - I say Paul linked them up with fornicators, murderers, backbiters, and haters of God. (See Romans 1:29, 30.) And when he feared lest he should have trouble with his corps in Corinth, 'whispering' was one of the accursed things he particularly feared. People who speak in secret what they are afraid to speak openly, wrong their own souls, weaken their own character, and corrupt themselves, while those who listen are filled with suspicions and dislikes, destroying the beautiful spirit of brotherly love, which is open-faced, frank and generous and saving in its power. It quenches the spirit of prayer, and faith in God and man languishes and possibly dies; for faith can live and flourish only in an atmosphere of frankness, of kindness and good will.
Chapter 21; OUR MOTHERS – THOUGHTS FOR MOTHERS' DAY How fitting, how beautiful, that a day should be set aside by the nation and the nations to do honour to that vast army of delicate soldiers, infinitely greater in numbers than the men who fought in the Great War, that numberless host whose sentinel watch is never done, whose arms are never laid down, whose warfare permits of no discharge, and in which there is never an armistice until they fall on the field of battle - the great army of mothers. We hail them today and do them honour. They are a sacrificial host, the great givers and sufferers of the race. We never see a strong man striding forth in his strength for whom some mother has not suffered and given of her strength. We never see a blooming girl with rosy cheeks and laughing eyes and bewitching curls for whom some mother has not gradually faded and given of her own bloom and beauty and youth. They bleed that we may be blessed; they keep watch that we may take rest and sleep; they suffer and oft-times die that we may live. Our mothers are our comforters in sorrow and the healers of our hearts when they are hurt. When the little child cries with loneliness in the dark and still night, and sobs and moans, and reaches out little hands and arms, it is for mother. When it is hurt it runs to mother and finds in her kiss its balm, and in the warmth and tenderness of her encircling arms its comfort for all fear and grief, and healing for every wound. When the big, foolish, awkward boy has a problem that perplexes, a hunger to satisfy, a shame to confess, or a triumph to announce, he goes to mother, for she will understand. When the strong man is wearied by the toil and strife of life and his heart is harassed by uncertainties and doubt, he turns to mother and mother's God. And when at last death wrestles with a man and tightens its icy fingers on him, and mocks him and claims him for its own as his strength fails, how often his thoughts turn to mother! When stern old Thomas Carlyle lay dying, he was asked if there was anything he wanted; turning his face to the wall, the granite of his
Scotch heart broke up, and the old man sobbed: 'I want ma mither.' In the hour of death his heart turned as a little child to his mother. Here is the might and the responsibility of motherhood. She can hold her children to goodness and God, not by force, but by affection, not by the compulsion of command, but by the compulsion of high and holy character. I have been asked how mothers can hold their boy and keep them in paths of rectitude and godliness, and I can only reply to such questioning mothers 'You will help your boys, not so much by what you say as by what you are and what you do. Command their respect, their admiration, and their love by loftiness and firmness of character, by patient steadfastness in well doing, by sweetness of spirit, by gentleness and graciousness of speech, by the power of the Spirit of Christ abiding ungrieved in your cleansed heart, and though they may for a time wander away from you, yet unseen chains still bind them to you, and they will return, drawn back by mysterious cords of love and reverence.' Abraham Lincoln's mother died when he was only eight years old, but at the height of his fame and power he said, "All I am I owe to my angel mother.' I had just passed my fifteenth birthday and was away at school when one day the first telegram I ever received was handed me. I read, 'Come home, come quickly, mother is dying!' and when I got home she was dead. For the next twelve years I had no home. I went off to school and college, but I received no home letters. When holiday time came I saw the other students trooping to the train with laughter, for they were going home; but I stayed behind, for no home awaited me. But my mother's sweet face was ever before me. Her love-lit eyes were ever turned on me, so it seemed to me, and if ever I was tempted to evil, grief and reproach seemed to fill her eyes, while I could see love and sweet joy beaming in her face and from her eyes when I resisted the temptation. Indeed, her memory and influence were like a presence ever before and about me, and like a flaming shield between me and youth's temptations. And I have known many a boy whose love and high and tender regard and reverence for his mother were like a pillar of fire
and cloud to guide and protect him by day and by night. One boy I intimately know wrote to his mother and told her she was to him as 'A piece of God, a dear little piece of God.' And every mother should be to their boys and girls as 'A piece of God, a dear little piece of God.' And so she may be if she loves God with all her heart and seeks in all her words and ways to represent Him to her children. Some mothers are not worthy of the love and respect of their children. A little orphaned boy was committed to one of our Children's Homes, and in its sweet and sacred atmosphere he was convicted of sin, but he said: 'I can't get saved. When my mother was dying, I spit in her face.' Her wickedness had reproduced itself in her little boy, and strangers had to undo the deadly work wrought in his poor little child heart by her sin. It is religion pure and undefiled that crowns motherhood. The glory of motherhood is the glory of sacrifice. A little lad noticed that tradesmen presented his mother with a bill for service. So a happy thought wakened within him and he presented a bill: 'Mother debtor to Tommy' -- Minding the baby ................ s.0 d.6 Chopping and bringing in wood ... s.0 d.9 Mailing letters for a week ...... s.1 d.0 Going to the shop ............... s.0 d.6 TOTAL... 2 9 and this he laid on her plate at the table. Mother looked at it, smiled, and then grew serious. At the next meal Tommy found a bill at his plate: 'Tommy debtor to Mother' -- For caring for him through years of infancy .................s.0 d.0 For nursing him through two dangerous illnesses ..........s.0 d.0 For getting his meals for him for ten years every day ..........s.0 d.0 For washing and mending his clothes ......................s.0 d.0 TOTAL.... 0 0 Poor Tommy! When he read it the long sacrifice and unwearied devotion of mother dawned on him, and with tears in his eyes he threw his arms around his mother and begged pardon for his thoughtlessness.
The glory of motherhood is the glory of unfailing patience. The father of John and Charles Wesley said to Susanna, the mother, one day: Mother, why do you tell Charles the same thing over twenty times? She quietly replied: 'Because nineteen times won't do.' Oh, the patience of mothers! The glory of motherhood is the glory of unwavering faith and undying hope. A mother dedicated her baby to God, and in prayer felt a conviction and assurance that he would preach the Gospel. But instead of giving his heart to God, he fell into sin, and instead of preaching, he became a drunken infidel lawyer, mouthing infidelity. But the mother still prayed and believed and hoped on. One day she was sent for and told that he was dying of delirium tremens. She went quietly to his home, saying, 'He is not dying. He will live and yet preach the Gospel.' And live he did and preach the Gospel he did like a living flame of fire; and years after his sweet granddaughter, too, preached the Gospel in The Salvation Army. The glory of motherhood is the glory of self forgetful unselfishness. A Salvation Army mother with six sons and daughters in The Army Work lay dying. Her youngest daughter, a Cadet in the Training Garrison, hastened to her side, but the saintly mother said 'Dear, I shall be cared for. I dedicated you, and God has called you to His work. Return to the Training Garrison and continue your studies. We shall meet in the Morning at home in Heaven.' The dying mother forgot herself in her love for Christ and her holy ambition for her child. The glory of motherhood is the glory of love that never fails. Some time ago I was in a city where is located a great State's prison. In my Meetings I noticed a sweet-faced, tiny woman with silvery hair and the peace of God in her face. One Sunday we went to the great prison for a service with the prisoners and she was there. Her boy - I think he was her only boy – had wandered away from home, fallen in with evil people, and was shut in behind the grim prison walls. When the little mother heard the heart-breaking news, all the tender love of her heart for her wayward boy burst into flame, and she left her home in the north and came to this city to live, that she might be near her son. And
every Sunday she went to the prison to see him, seeking to win him back to goodness and God. You can never wear it out, mother-love is strong; It will live through sin and shame, hurt and cruel wrong; Even though the world revile and your friendships die, Though your hands be black with sin, she will hear your cry, And she'll love you and forgive. Such is the glory of all true mothers, and for them we give praise to God, and to them we give the tribute of our reverence and tenderest affection. The bravest battles that were ever fought, Shall I tell you where and when? On the maps of the world you'll find them not, They were fought by the mothers of men. Nay, not with the battle or cannon's shot, With sword or nobler pen; Nay, not with the eloquent words or thought From the lips of wonderful men; But deep in a walled-up woman's heart, A woman that would not yield, But bravely and silently bore her part, Lo, there is the battlefield. No marshalling of troops, no bivouac song, No banners to gleam and wave, But Oh! these battles they last so long, From babyhood to the grave.
Chapter 22; JESUS TRAINING PAUL We learn from the Gospels how Jesus, in the days of His flesh, trained the twelve. We learn from the Acts and Paul's Epistles how the risen and glorified Jesus trained Paul. This paper is a fragmentary study of that training and of some of Paul's struggles, inner conflicts, and fears out of and through which he was trained to triumph by obedient faith. His experience was not one of ceaseless calm. Storms swept over him. It was not one of perpetual open vision. He was compelled to walk by faith and not by sight. He was sent forth to be a pathfinder; and no path-finder treads an easy way, whether it be across trackless wastes of sand and sea, through the tangled jungles of a tropic forest, or the denser, darker jungles of base, idolatrous superstitions and bloody and licentious rites, or the claims of a cold, self-satisfied, arrogant, petrified priesthood. Paul was treading a way that no man had trod before him. He had turned his back on all his teachers, all the traditions of his people and was carrying the gospel to the heathen, and what he spoke and wrote he learned from no man. A strange, glorious, Divine experience had come to him on the road to Damascus and in the street called Straight. But it had to be interpreted, and he found no interpreter. For three years, out in the solitude of Arabia and in the silences of the night, he wrestled with his problems and the Lord illumined him, and he began to see new meanings in the ancient Scriptures. They ceased to be a binding, deadening letter, and became life and spirit. His mind was liberated as from chains. God ceased to be simply the God of the Jews, a national God. He was the Heavenly Father to whom all men are dear, and the Lord Jesus Christ was not simply a Messiah for one people, a Military Conqueror, winning and building up His Kingdom by the power of His sword. He was 'the Desire of all Nations,' bringing spiritual deliverance to all men, not with sword and battle and ' garments rolled in blood,' but by the shame and power of the cross, winning His Kingdom not by the slaughter of His enemies, but by becoming 'the suffering Servant ' of all. In Paul's Epistles, and especially in his Epistle to the Romans, we find many quotations from the Psalms and the old prophets, and these
quotations are portions of the ancient scriptures into which the Holy Spirit was flashing new meanings to the mind of Paul, and they became the sheet anchor of his faith when storms swept over his soul and bitter enemies denounced his claims to be an Apostle. One day his call came. The risen Jesus spoke to him and appointed him the Apostle to the Gentiles. He wanted to stay at home and preach to his own people, but the Lord said: 'They will not receive your testimony concerning Me.' But Paul argued back: 'Lord, they know that I imprisoned and beat in every synagogue those who believed on You: and when the blood of Your martyr Stephen was shed, I also was standing by, and consenting to his death, and kept the raiment of those who slew him.' Surely, thought Paul, they will, they must, receive my testimony. Little did he yet know the wilful stubbornness and fierce bigotry of unbelief. But the call was insistent 'Depart, for I will send you far hence to the Gentiles,' and Paul 'was not disobedient to the heavenly vision.' 'I will show him how great things he must suffer for My name's sake,' said Jesus to Ananias, when he sent him to the blinded Saul that he might receive his sight 'and be filled with the Holy Ghost.' Little did Paul know what lay before him in the untrodden future. That was graciously hidden from him as from you and me. There is a threefold ministry to which we are called: the ministry of service, the ministry of sacrifice, and the ministry of suffering. Some men seem called and fitted for one and some for another, but Paul was called and chosen to each and all of these ways of ministering the Gospel to his fellow-men. 'Great things' he suffered. Great sacrifices were demanded of him. Immeasurable toil and great and insistent cares pressed ceaselessly on him. Body, mind, and soul were each taxed to the limit in his great task. It was not always by some open vision or cheering voice, but often by the things he suffered that his Master taught and fashioned him. Once in Asia some great trouble befell him, and he writes: 'We were pressed out of measure, above strength, insomuch that we despaired of life: but we had the sentence of death in ourselves, that we should not trust in ourselves, but in God which raises the dead; who delivered us from so great a death.' In such manner Jesus trained and developed the faith of Paul and taught him to trust only in God. Could he not in
some easier way have taught Paul to trust? Possibly, but He chose this way, and it must have been the best way. Paul was strong and selfreliant, and like Jacob at Jabbok, whose thigh was disjointed, he had to be broken to become 'as a prince' and have 'power with God and with men.' In his letter to his Thessalonian converts he exhorts them to 'comfort the feeble-minded, support the weak, be patient toward all men.' How did Paul, with his trained and master mind, learn to be 'gentle' with the 'feeble-minded' 'as a nurse cherishes her children'? How, with his passionate, aggressive nature, did he come to put his strength at the disposal of the 'weak'? How, with his impetuous and fiery spirit, did he ever become 'patient toward all'? Like his Master, who, in the days of His humanity, 'learned obedience by the things which He suffered,' so Paul was trained and so he learned from Jesus in the school of suffering. We see how latent lightnings in his soul could flash and leap forth like a thunder-bolt in his retort to the High Priest who had commanded him to be smitten on the mouth: 'God shall smite you, you whited wall for do you sit to judge me after the law, and command me to be smitten contrary to the law?' It is true that when rebuked for so speaking to the High Priest, he meekly replied: 'I did not know, brethren, that he was the High Priest for it is written, "You shall not speak evil of the ruler of Your people." But would Jesus have retorted as did Paul? When He was smitten by an officer because of His perfectly reasonable answer to the High Priest, Jesus quietly said: 'If I have spoken evil, bear witness of the evil: but if well, why do you smite Me?' Who am I that I should presume to judge Paul? I dare not judge him. I love him too tenderly; I have lived with him too intimately for over forty years; I am too greatly awed by his sacrificial life, his lofty character, his Christ-like spirit, to attempt to pass judgement on him, but if in that retort he fell below the standard of the Master, how is his spirit to be made meek and lowly as the Master? 'I, Paul, myself beseech you by the meekness and gentleness of Christ,' he wrote the Corinthians. How did he learn this meekness and gentleness of Christ? There is but one way. 'Take My yoke on you and
learn of Me,' said Jesus,' 'for I am meek and lowly in heart.' Paul came to Jesus, took on him the yoke of Jesus, received the spirit of Jesus, and submitted whole-heartedly without murmuring and complaint or selfpity to the discipline of Jesus, and so learned his lessons. From that day Jesus met him, on the Damascus road, he was no longer 'kicking against the goads.' He might stand stoutly up against a traducer, but he bowed instantly at the word of Jesus. 'The carnal mind which is enmity against God,' went out of him for ever, and he followed Jesus with the passionate ardor of the perfect lover and the docility of the slave of love. Inbred sin is that something within that leads a man to selfishly seek his own way instead of God's way, his own pleasure instead of God's pleasure; that exalts itself, that frets and repines or stubbornly resists in the presence of God's will. From all this Paul was set free. That was 'the law - the power - of sin and death,' and with that he had painfully and hopelessly struggled, until he felt that he was like the ancient Etrurian murderer, who, for punishment, was chained face to face, chin to chin, limb to limb, to his dead, rotting, putrefying victim, and he cried out 'O wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from this dead body?' But meeting Jesus, believing on Jesus, casting himself in self despair on Jesus, yielding to Jesus, Paul exultingly cries out: 'There is therefore now no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the spirit, for the law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus has made me free from the law of sin and death.' His heart was pure of sin, but purity is not maturity. Purity comes instantly when the surrendered, pardoned soul intelligently and gladly, in simple faith, yields all its redeemed faculties and powers in an utter, unconditional, irreversible dedication to its Lord. But the ripe mellowness, the serene wisdom, the Christlike composure of maturity can only come through manifold experiences as we walk with Jesus in service, in sacrifice, and suffering, and learn of Him. Paul's spirit had to be disciplined, and he had much to learn as well as much to suffer. When Jesus commissioned him, He said: 'I have appeared to you for this purpose, to make you a minister and a witness both of these things which you have seen' - the things he had already learned - 'and of those things in the which I will appear to
you.' So the teaching and training and maturing of Paul began and continued through the years until at last he could write: 'The time of my departure is at hand. I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.' His Lord did not spare him, but He never failed him. And so out of wide experience and intimate knowledge Paul could write letters that were the revelation of the plan, the purpose, the mind, the character of God in Christ; letters that have come down across two thousand years and are still as sweet and fresh and life-giving as clear waters from everlasting springs, bubbling up in deep, cool valleys, fed by eternal snows from great mountains. Jesus meant, and Paul felt, that his experiences were not for himself alone. Through him Jesus was teaching the whole Church for all time - teaching you and me. When in Paul's sore trials and tribulations his faithful Lord comforted him, he says that it was that he might comfort others with 'the comfort wherewith he was comforted of God.' ' For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our consolation also abounds by Christ. And whether we be afflicted, it is for your consolation and Salvation . . . or whether we be comforted, it is for your consolation and Salvation.' We may be sure that when Paul writes he writes out of experience. When he wrote to those he loved at Ephesus, 'put on the whole armour of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the Devil,' we rest assured that he had first-hand knowledge of those wiles and the hopelessness of any defence unless panoplied in 'the whole armour of God.' When he writes, 'Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith you shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked,' there flashed into his memory some dark and lonely, painful and prolonged period when the arch-enemy of his soul, 'the accuser of the brethren,' plied him with questionings and doubts and fears and forebodings for the future and accusations for the past, until his harassed soul seemed to him like some soldier on the field of battle, who was the target of archers who had dipped their darts in pitch and flame, and against which darts his only defence was his shield, the shield of faith. These darts would quench their flame in his life blood, if he did not manfully use this shield; but against it they fell harmless. In the first of his letters, the First Epistle to the Thessalonians, he
reminded them that in spite of the painful and shameful and dangerous treatment he received at Philippi: 'We were bold in our God to speak to you the Gospel of God with much contention.' Bold. But listen. In one of his letters, his Epistle to the Ephesians, written from Rome, where, he says, he is 'an ambassador in bonds,' he asks for the prayers of his brethren 'That I may speak boldly as I ought to speak.' Do we not get a hint from this of the temptation from which he suffered, and against which he girded himself and asked the sympathetic help of his brethren? He was old and worn, bruised and scarred, chained in prison and surrounded by relentless foes, and he was tempted to timidity and cowardice in preaching his gospel. Dear old Paul. Like his Master and ours, 'he was tempted in all points as we are.' But he fought on and triumphed. It is no sin to be tempted. It is sinful to yield. Paul did not yield, and so he remained in the school of Christ, and so Christ trained him. It was out of such manifold experiences that he could write with an assurance that has reassured myriads of tempted, harassed souls: 'There has no temptation overtaken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that which you are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that you may be able to bear it.' Paul had mountain peak and paradise experiences, but he also had hours of depression. How could it be otherwise, unless miracles had periodically been wrought for his deliverance? Jesus would not turn stones into bread to satisfy His own hunger after forty days of fasting. And in training Paul, He did not pet and pamper and so spoil him. Heroes, martyrs, world-conquerors, saints, are not made that way. 'Who are these arrayed in white robes before the throne? And whence came they?' asked John in the Apocalypse. 'These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the Blood of the Lamb,' was the answer. Paul had great tribulation, and how could he escape the depression of reaction, when bruised from beatings and stonings, smarting and bleeding from cruel whippings, when hungry and thirsty, pinched with cold, and exhausted from shipwreck and long and painful journeys? Add to these physical hardships his constant
'care of all the churches,' his anxiety for his poor, persecuted converts in far-off heathen cities; add further his constant danger from relentless enemies, who followed him from city to city; and, finally, add to all these the hellish darts of Satan, and we get some conception of the infirmities, reproaches, necessities, persecutions, and distresses in and through which Jesus trained, disciplined, beautified, enriched, perfected, and matured the spirit of Paul, until he gloried and took pleasure in his infirmities, for in these it was revealed to his faith, rather than in his own native strength, and powers, did the power of Christ rest on him. He says, 'I have learned' - and learning is a process often prolonged and painful – 'I have learned in whatever state I am, therewith to be content. I know both how to be abased ' – old-time Salvationists, from force of circumstances, had to learn that lesson, but Paul adds: 'I know how to abound' a very difficult lesson, and one very dangerous not to learn - 'everywhere and in all things I am instructed' - still in the school of Christ - 'both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. I can do all things through Christ which strengthened me.' Hallelujah! Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, And he bears a ladened breast, Full of sad experience moving Towards the stillness of his rest. I see Your school is not an easy one, O Christ, and I would learn of You. Train me, teach me. Do You reply to me as to James and John: 'You know not what you ask?' Still, O Lord, train me, discipline me, teach me. Do You ask, 'Can you drink of the cup that I drink of? and be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with? 'You know, O Lord, I trust Your love and Your wisdom, and into Your hands I commit my spirit; so, teach me, train me, that I, with Paul, may 'know You and the power of Your resurrection and the fellowship of Your sufferings ' - 'the fellowship of Your sufferings.' That I may 'comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; and know the love of Christ, which passes knowledge, that I may be filled with all the fullness of God' and thereby 'show to this generation Your strength, and Your power to every one that is to come.'
Chapter 23; WHAT ABOUT THE FUTURE OF THE SALVATION ARMY? There are some questions always being asked and never fully answered, for the simple reason that only Omniscience knows the answer, and Omniscience is not disposed to answer questions which can be solved in measure by diligent attention to the spirit and principles revealed in the Bible, and the final answer to which is largely contingent on our good behaviour, our humility, our loyalty to truth and love, our unswerving allegiance to Jesus, and our diligence in keeping His commandments and walking in His footsteps. I have recently been asked what I think about the future of The Salvation Army. This is an old question, about as old as The Army itself. It was going the rounds when I joined The Army over forty years ago, and some one has been asking it ever since. Both friends and foes of The Army have asked it. Officers and Soldiers whose lives and whose families have been linked up and entwined with The Army have asked it; and I doubt not our leaders have pondered over it and given it their profoundest and most anxious thought. It is a question which those who love God and the souls of men can hardly avoid. With some it is a purely academic question. They would like to solve the question for intellectual satisfaction. Others, mere busybodies, would pry into the future, like many who are curious to know all about the affairs of their neighbours, that they may have something about which to gossip. It is not a matter of vital interest to them. Indeed, they are of that large class of people who have no vital interest in anything. They are like the lying woman in Solomon's day who stole another woman's baby, but had so little real interest in the baby that she was willing to have it cut in two rather than to acknowledge her theft and lie. With others it is a painfully practical question. Their hearts are in The Army. It is as dear to them as life. They are bound up in the bundle of its life. They have sacrificed every other interest for it. They are given over to it soul and body, and have dedicated not only themselves, but their children also to it. They can paraphrase the ancient Psalmist's declaration of his devotion to Jerusalem 'If I forget you, O Salvation Army, let my right hand forget her cunning. 'If I do not remember you, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my
mouth; if I prefer not The Salvation Army above my chief joy.' They feel that the highest interests of the Kingdom of God on earth are bound up with The Army, an the coming and establishment of the Kingdom are in large measure dependent on its spiritual life and prosperity. There are some people who are cocksure that they know the answer. There are optimists who see nothing but the most rosy future for The Army. But there are pessimists who prophecy its imminent disruption and dissolution. Many years ago, just after a tour that had taken me round the world, an old Officer asked me with a quizzical look: 'Are you going to leave The Army ship before she sinks?' I assured him that from a rather wide range of intimate observation I saw no signs that the ship was seriously leaking, or likely to sink, but that even if I did, as an Officer my business was to stick to the ship and do all in my power to save it, or go down with it and its precious freightage of the souls of men and women and little children. 'The hireling flees when he sees the wolf coming. The good shepherd gives his life for the sheep.' And the true Officer gives his life for The Army and the souls who are in its keeping. Doubters and timid souls have been prophesying the end of The Army from its very beginning, but still it lives and prospers. But what will be its future? Will it continue to live and prosper? Or has it fulfilled its mission? Like a great bridge hung on two buttresses, so The Army is buttressed on God and man. Is it God's Army? Did He inspire and gird and guide William Booth when, with heart aching for sinful men and spirit aflame for the glory of God and the honour of Christ, he stepped out on Mile End Waste and began the work that has developed into The Salvation Army? Is God for us, or against us, or indifferent to us? I can sing for myself His love in time past forbids me to think, He'll leave me at last in trouble to sink; Each sweet Ebenezer I have in review Confirms His good pleasure to see me quite through. But can I be so confident for The Army? His guidance, His overruling Providence, His gracious and mighty deliverances in the past are
unmistakable, are on record, known and read of all men who care to read. He has overshadowed The Army with a pillar of cloud and fire as surely as He did ancient Israel; He has gone before and opened the 'two leaved gates of brass,' as He did for Cyrus, and empowered Army Officers and Soldiers and made them more than conquerors, as He did the Apostles and saints of the Early Church; but do all these wonders of His favour and grace give assurance for the future? Is The Army sacrosanct? Are we favourites and pets of the Almighty? This leads us to the second point of dependence. If God is for us, and I fully believe He is, does not that insure our future? The future of The Army depends not only on God - I say it reverently and in His fear – but also on man, on men, on you and me and all who have to do with The Army. 'Hear you me,' cried the prophet Azariah, 'Hear me, Asa, and all Judah and Benjamin; The Lord is with you, while you be with Him; and if you seek Him, He will be found of you: but,' and here is warning for us to heed, for here lurks danger, 'but if you forsake Him, He will forsake you.' And this is a timeless prophecy, eternally true, and not of private interpretation, as true today as it was three millenniums ago; as true of The Army, of you and of me, as it was of ancient Judah and Benjamin and their king Asa; and it is 'written for our admonition on whom the ends of the world have come.' Let us search our hearts, order our lives, and be admonished. In so far in the past as we have sought God with our whole heart, walked in His ways, and lived and wrought in the spirit of our Lord and Master He has been with us, preserved us, prospered the work of our hands, fulfilled the desires of our hearts, and blessed us in the presence of our enemies. Can we still confidently expect His favour for the future? Yes, and only, if we continue to abide in Him andfulfilthe conditions that have permitted Him to pour benedictions on us in the past. And what are these conditions? I think we shall find them expressed in the closing ministry of Jesus and of Paul. Of our Lord in those closing days of His ministry when preparing His disciples for His departure, and the days when they must stand alone without His incarnate presence, and lay the foundations and build the church and
give it the living example and word that would guide it through storm and stress of agonizing pagan persecutions, of worldly allurements and seductions, of subtle philosophisings, of pain and poverty, of indifference and scorn, and the dangers of wealth and power and wide acclaim. Of Paul in his later ministry; his farewell address to the elders of Ephesus at Miletus, and his prison letters to the churches and his young friends and lieutenants, Timothy and Titus. The warnings, the exhortations, the example, the close and intimate instructions of our Lord given to His disciples in the last few closing months and days and last night of His ministry, and His High Priestly prayer recorded in the seventeenth chapter of John, show us the plain path in which we must walk, if the future of The Salvation Army is to be happy and prosperous and its great promise come to ample fulfilment. And what were the example and teachings of the Master in these fleet, closing days? As He drew near the cross His disciples thought He was drawing near to a throne and crown, and they were each ambitious and contentious for first place and highest honours. But He told them plainly that He should be rejected of men and crucified. Then Peter rebuked Him: 'Pity Yourself - be it far from You, Lord: this shall not happen to You.' But He rebuked Peter and replied: ' If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me.' It was not an unusual sight in the Roman Empire to see a line of men following a leader, each bearing a cross on his way to crucifixion. This was the picture He would have them visualize. They were to follow Him, their Leader, each bearing his own cross, not seeking to save his life, but ready to lose it for His sake and for the sake of the brethren. 'For whoever will save his life shall lose it and whoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.' So mightily at last did this teaching grip the early disciples and fire their spirits, that they actually coveted martyrdom and ran on death with joy. In this they may have swung to an extreme, but if The Salvation Army of the future is to prosper and win spiritual triumphs, we must follow the Master, not seeking first place or power, but glorying in the cross.