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He
holds the master-key of joy and sorrow
That
opens every heart.
The
burdened souls that pass him on the highway
Turn
back to take his hand,
And
murmur low, with tear-wet eyes of anguish,
"You
know--you understand."
-Annie Johnson Flint.
Oh to get men in touch with
Christ! We must present Him. We must somehow give Him; not
merely preach Him, but present Him. We must be so identified with
Him that in a certain sense it may be true: "I that speak unto thee
am he." And where shall He be seen except in death? The Cross
is the supreme attraction. C. M. Ciow has said: "The symbol
of the Christian church is not a burning bush, nor a dove, nor an open
book, nor a halo round a submissive head, nor a crown of splendid honour.
It is a Cross."
We have met many who lightly
sing:
Let the beauty of Jesus be
seen in me;
All His wonderful passion
and purity.
But jolliness may not reveal
Jesus to others. Paul said: "Death worketh in us, but life in you."
It never occurred to Paul that a "happified" kind of experience was the
supreme attraction. God does need a much happier people, but "in
much affliction with joy of the Holy Ghost" is infinitely deeper than
jolliness and gush. There is only one way in which you and I can
draw souls to Christ. That is by the way of the Cross, the way of
sacrifice, the way of death. A Spirit-filled evangelist, much used
and much abused, said concerning the secret of his fruitful ministry:
"We personified Someone, and that was the attraction. I have
not the insufferable conceit to suppose that it %vas anything in me that
drew them. I said to Jesus: 'I will suffer anything if you will
give me the keys.' And if I am asked what was the secret of our power,
I answer: first, love; second, love; third, love. And if you ask
how to get it, I answer: first, by sacrifice; second, by sacrifice; third,
by sacrifice." The principle of the Cross must become our law of life.
We must thirst for it as for living water. Let Christ be Lawgiver
as well as Lamb. And let sacrifice be the law of our daily lives.
O cross that liftest up my
head,
I dare not ask to fly from
thee;
I lay in dust life's glory
dead,
And from the ground there
blossoms red
Life that shall endless
be.
Certainly the great trouble
with many of our orthodox churches is that they are like great grain containers,
full of unplanted wheat which has become musty, and moldy, and befouled
by the rats of envy and jealousy. If only each little grain had been
rent asunder from its fellows, cast into the dark, wet earth, buried out
of sight, and left alone to endure disintegration and death, what a harvest
we would see!
Gospel groups of Christian
young people have been multiplied during recent years. This is a
cause for much rejoicing. But therein lies a grave danger.
The group spirit, the fleshly attachment, the emotional and the natural--all
tend to preserve us from becoming Cyod's isolated "corn of wheat." Joseph,
the overcomer, learned to be a king "separate from his brethren"--learned
during thirteen long years of isolation, slavery, suspicion and slander.
Each Christian must learn to live and walk on his own two feet, go alone
to his own funeral, climb his own Mount Moriah. The martyrs found
it lonely work, and so shall we.
There is no gain but by a
loss;
You cannot save but by a
cross.
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