SUNDAY READING.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXV, Issue 9220, 24 November 1888, Page 4 (Supplement)

SUNDAY READING.

♦ GOD'S COMING DOWN, NOT MY CLIMBING UP. [by rev. mark guy pearse.] " Be perfect, be of good comfort." —2 Cor. xiii., 11. First, Be perfect; and then, Be of good comfort. But whilst many lose both by the wrong order, some lose both by leaving out the Be of good comfort. They have heard of the word "Be perfect," and hll the heart has leapt in response to the appeal. They have felt through and through them that the religion of Jesus Christ is only worthy of Him or of us when it sets forth so lofty an ideal; that of all things it is most miserable when the very religion which should for ever destroy our selfishness, itself makes us more selfish. Within us is a deep and abiding instinct that the religion of Jesus can find its aim and end in nothing else than thisChristlikeess. But here at once is the possibility of an other peril. "That is it," our hearts have cried, "Be perfect! Henceforth that shall be the one thing for which we shall seek and strive until it is ours." And probably we go awav and be-iin by consecrating ourselves to the Lord. We lay ourselves, and the family, and the character, and the possessions, all upon the altar. We tell the Lord we are going to give it all to Him, and keep it all for Him. # A.nd then, ■with this great burden of our consecrated substance piled up on our shoulders, we set out to climb up the steep and slippery height of perfection ! Is it any wonder that very soon THE DREADFUL STRUGGLE BREAKS DOWN UTTERLY, and we sink in despair ? .Suspicious of every motive, trying to bring every thought and aim into the tierce white light of the .judgment throne, questioning everything, doubting and bewildered, condemned at every turn—that, indeed, is to leave out the Be of good comfort. Do we not see at a glance that all this struggling means that we are fetching in I to make I perfect? And the moment I fetch in this I, that moment I fetch in failure. If there is no other way than that, let us not weary and worry ourselves about it. I cannot consecrate myself to the Lord. My purpose falters and fails in changing circumstances; I am fickle, forgetful, false. My lofty desires of to-day, to-morrow cease to soar, and sink beneath the clouds again, and rest once more with wearied wings indifferent upon the earth. The only consecration possible is not with me or mv will. It is the entrance of the Lord Himself, His possessing and claiming and using me ; that is the only true consecration. It is not my giving so much as my receiving, not my surrender so much as my acceptance, on which mv mind is to be stayed. But this agonised effort to make ourselves perfect is not always a failure. Sometimes it actually succeeds—then, indeed, only most completely to fail. Taking hold of the rebel self, another part of the same self saith, "Now, I am going to make thee perfect.' And self chips and hammers at self to bring it into shape, and hacks and hews at self until it tits into the ideal mould. And then it is polished with much sulphuric acid and sandpaper, and a host of processes are gone through—with what result? This: that at last there is turned out the most unhappy thing that it has ever been our misfortune to meet—from five to six feet of polished I. A GREAT MASS OF SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS. How could it be otherwise? All the thought, all the desire, all the aim of life has been set upon self. And now this same perfected I becomes the standard by which everything is measured, and to which everybody must conform, or there is 110 hope for them in this world or any other. This, as we have seen, is Pharisaism. Verily, if that be all, let us rather die in despair. If holiness, or perfection, or the higher life—call it what you will—is a something that is to set me up 011 a pedestal and exalt me in wretched consciousness of my superiority to other people, let us pray to God to bury us underneath the pedestal. There will be more hope for us, and we shall be a great deal nearer to the Kingdom of Heaven. If that is perfection, the best prayer we can offer is to be saved from it for ever and ever. Thank God, that is not His way of holiness. Be perfect, be of good comfort. Do we not feel at once that, if ever we are going to be that which in our best moments we want to be, it must begin in self-lost, self-for-gotten, self not so much denied as self ignored, unheeded. And this is exactly what is meant by the word which the Lord Jesus used when He bade the disciple deny himself. Be perfect. My faith in perfection is very weak when I look at others; it is extinguished altogether when I look at myself. But when I look at Jesus lean believe in nothing else. He is perfect in all His works, and 110 other aim than this can ever satisfy Him. The work which He has undertaken to do for us would not bear His stamp if it stopped anywhere short of perfection ; and for such a vast expenditure rnd cost I dare not think of anything less than this. Be perfect. Here it is that my faith in holiness and my hope for it begin to live, as I see Him, as I linger in His presence, and sit at His feet. When He cometh, what limit shall I set to His gra.ie? What failing shall He tolerate? What sin shall baffle His skill? So, as I stand looking up thr slippery height, wondering how its summit is to be reached, He cometh with His gracious words, "My child, fear not! That which thou seekest is not in thy climbing up ; it is |in My coming down. Be perfect." | Then doth my timid heart make answer : "Yes, my Lord; since Tliou comest to do it all, what else can I hope for ?" " Be of good comfort." : " Yes, my Lord; what else can I be, since | Thou art mine ?" The only perfection of which I can think is spelt with five letters—J E S US. This, and this only, is holiness—Jesus received, Jesus communed with, Jesus welcomed, I Jesus served, Jesus pleased in all the temper 1 and spirit of the life.

• IT IS NOT IN MY UNDERSTANDING theories or theologies, not in my perception of methods, not in my experience of rar>tnrp» or agonies, but in Jesus Christ received inr'r the heart that He may do His own wo-k in His own way. Look up 10 Him now. C 1,,;", Him and welcome Him as your own ih'i' and eager to do as much for you as He ev „ did for any. Constrain Him to abide with;,, the heart in which He seeks to make Hi home. la ■ Be of good comfort. It is good to get in [ the root-meaning of our English word com | fort; very different from the meaning whi h | has come to be associated with it Tk i word has come to be suggestive of a cosy J t I beside the fire on some winter's ni"ht „■), j bleak winds howl and bitter rains heat o" | the window pane ; and within the light J'l | warmth one sits, with the charm of J',' I entertaining book completing the enirv i ment. But the word itself finds its' tn I meaning illustrated rather outside in th I darkness and storm, where is some o< , " I woman with heavy basket on her arm ami ' : long and dreary way before her. She is nn ; quite sure as to the road which leads to 1» i home amongst the hills, and many fears adl I to the loneliness and weariness. 'Now con,' ! one who speaks with such a kindliness tlm she cannot but trust him. "You seem ver• i tired," lie saith ; " may I help you'' D u jme carry your burden for a little while i I am going past your house, and I shall' h, s nappy to show you the way." And as h I talks with her, the heart grows light and +i I way is easy, and the loneliness ami 'fear I all gone. That is comfort. 'Jo—that is'ti ° 1 i gether with, or company; and fortthat > 1 strength. To strengthen by company. "n't |is it precisely. The moment we set. out tn 1 i live a better life. The gracious .Master is ; I ever going that way. And with gentle love . j winning at once our trust, He conieth u . ! carry our burden for us, and to lead u« , ' j our way, bringing us thither where lie, would have us to be, and where we would dwell ' Be perfect; be of good comfort. '' Far up against the deep blue sky, IHiflv ' passing on the summer breeze, was';. W p - white, fleecy cloud—a thing so utterly m • soiled it seemed to belong to Heaven inu • I • more than to earth. The great sea lav an r- look .d at it, and whispered to itself "'Thev 5 say that thing of beauty was once down litre l where I am, and the sea sighed within it ) self; " how fair a thing it is, how peaci-'uf right up there amongst the stars, in the veri' ' bosom of Clod ' - : And then the sea grew vexed. "It is no 1 sense. How could I ever get up there, heavy • and clumsy as 1 am? And, if 1 got'there : how could I stay there Besides"— the , sea was silent; it thought of the fierce pas- [ sions that slept within it, the cruel stormsand it shuddered as it thought of the dreadful things that dwelt in its depths—of the [ wrecked ships and the dead men. Then it | sighed again. " Not for me, indeed. 1 could , never be like that!" ' And yet the sea could not rest. Still it 1 looked and wondered and longed. Then it • roused itself, and said, " I will try." And it gathered its strength, and it borrowed the force of the wind. I saw it as it rose up in . the strength of its purpose, arched in its , pride, on its desperate resoluteness, till it ' hurled itself against the rocks, and leapt 1 high up, 1 5 _ A QUIVERING COLUMN OF SI'KAV, 1 and it seemed to snatch at the height.' Then I it fell, baffled, beaten ; and as a hundred i rivulets of foam hastened to hide itseit in ( the depths, as it hissed, "I knew it was not f for me." Reader, has my parable any meaning for you? Is it not the story of longings ami stragglings and failure? Come, then, and it shall teach us the secret of success. _ At last the great sea lay quite still in the silvery light of the morning, and it looked up at the sun. "Canst thou not help me?'' it cried. "The moon draws me hither and thither across the earth, but it cannot uplift, and transform me. Canst thou ?" "Yes," said the sun, "indeed I can, if thou wilt let me." And the sun sent down a noiseless ray that shone upon it, and loosened it, and uplifted it. And, ,'i! t!w , sea knew not how, nor cared to know, binit cried, " I am there !" : And there it was, a pure, white, fleecy cloud against the heavens blue. He that hath ears to hear, let him hear. > With eye and heart and hope and longing [ fixed upon Jesus Christ our Lord, He Him" . self bendeth over us, He shineth upon us, , He looseth, He uplifteth. How, it is not lot I us to know or care, but this we do know -. WE ARE TRANSFORMED by BEHOLDING. ■ THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE. [ " Well, I cannot understand why a man • who has tried to lead a good moral life should not stand a better chance of Heaven than a wicked one," said a lady a few days ; ago in a conversation with others about the matter of salvation. " Simply for this cause," answered one. i "Suppose you and I wanted to go into a, i place of amusement, where the a 'mission , was five shillings; you have half-'s'-crown, [ and I have nothing. Which would stand the i better chance of admission ?" I "Neither." 1 "Just so; and, therefore, the.moral man 1 stands no better chance than the outbreak- : ing sinner. But, now, suppose a kind and 3 rich person who saw our perplexity presented a ticket of admission to each of us at ; his own expense! What then ?" " Well, then, we could both go in alike; j that is clear." I " Thus, when the Saviour saw our per- . plexity, He came, He died, and thus 'ob- . tained eternal redemption for us,' and now , He offers you and me a free ticket. Only f take good care that your half-a-crown does not make you proud enough to refuse the 3 free ticket, and so be refused admittance at , last." 1 f TRIALS: COURAGE: TEMPTED t SOULS. How often we complain about trials and dis- ; appointments. If we could see things as 5 God sees them, we would know that these " tilings are for our good. When we get to - the haven of God's rest, we shall find that ' every strong wind was but driving us into the harbour. An Indian once lest his way in the forest. ' Failing to find the path to his cabin, he said, , "Indian lost!" and then, strightening up, ; and striking his fist 011 his breast, he ex- ' claimed, "So! Indian here! wigwam lost!'' Many young men would do well to emulate his courage. Many make themselves miser- , able by thinking of their losses, their failures, • their misfortunes, and their sad prospects. ® Such persons depend too much upon exI ternals, and run in pitiful ruts of discouragement and despondency. A braver heart ; rises above such things, and sings amid the . storm, and makes the best of life as it is. 5 Satan is after you, is lie? I'd like to see the devil and all his angels get a heart that , l is hid in the Rock of Ages. A wasp might as well try to carry away the money from L ' the vaults of London, or a crow fly away _ with a corn-crib. Don't fear, tempted one ! k Put your hand in that of Him whose name is 3 Jesus—Saviour—and walk right on with confidence to the open gate of glory. Satan cannot get inside that. He may follow you e right up to the entrance ; but, once through, , vou can turn round and . laugh in his face. Heaven is full of once tempted souls, and • hour by hour the number increases.—C. H. Yatman. ' ONLY A WORKROOM GIRL. The light is dim in the small bare room, 1 So dim that the shadows scarcely show : e As the oil lamp which makes plain the gluuia Flickers to and fro. I A scanty reach of blank grey wall, f A lied, a chair behind the door ; 3 A hanging dress, a well-worn shawl, These—and nothing more. 1 " Mother, my dear;" then the voice was jarred f By the soils that would break out between, j. For, oh, it is sometimes hard—so hard— To die at seventeen. " Mother, my dear, it is pot death ; Why should we poor ones fear a friend ? For rest may follow the t'ailng breath, And weariness have an end. g , " But, oh !it is hard to die and know . That the few poor shillings my life is worth c Give the dear ones left an added woe, Tc suffer here 011 earth. 1 "Mother, it's that that makes me cry; 7 That want should have such an awful power, 1 That the poor will sutler and fear to uie / For the loss of a penny ar hour. „ Mother, don't cry ; you know, Jenny is tall, f And the master's so kind—l'm sure if ><>" speaK, And tell him I'm dead—and the children and all He'll give her four shillings a week. 1 "1 fear she will find it so hard at the first, Ten hours, and never a mouthful of air ; r But she'll get over that, if lier heart doesn't bui>t t With the endless grinding and care. t "Ten hours with never a mouthful of air. , 1 Through the length of the summer's Stirling neat, a Ten hours, anil— mother, it's hard to bearNever enough to eat. a "Till want, and strength, and youth are gone. And the eyes so tired they scarcely see, J And the weary months creep 01: and on, t Then—Jenny will die—like me. f "But, mother, go quick with the morning's lichf, 1 Tell tlie master 1 m dead, and what yon sees, 3 For there are hundreds to struggle and tight To earn four shillings a week. 1 "God help the poor, I've heard folks say, 3 But I've thought as the hours drugged, stitch 011 1 stitch, 5 That we who are poor should sometimes pray That (iod would help the rich. "For I think God holds us as dear as they, , And I think, perhaps, they don't understand That lie may require on the judgment day Our souls at our sister's hand. Hamilton Dri'MMOM'.