Casting Lots for the Picture of Jesus.
The reader will probably be not a little shocked at the following narrative of what recently took place under the auspices of the professed followers of Christ. It is bad enough for the vilest and lowest wretches of the land to gamble; it is as much worse for Christians to do it as their profession is higher than that of others. The moral sense of the world condemns and legislates against it. If the churches countenance, and permit their members to practice it, are they not behind the world? It is bad enough to gamble for the sordid treasures of earth; it is as much worse to gamble for things of a sacred character as the Heavens are higher than the earth. When, then, the church puts up at lottery the image of her divine Master, what language can fitly portray the impiety of her course? Were he now upon earth, would he receive any better treatment at her hands than he did from the Jews, who looked unfeelingly on, as the soldiers cast lots for his garments at the foot of the cross? Nothing could more clearly show how terribly the moral sensibilities of professed Christians have become blunted by the pernicious practice of church fairs, than the facts herewith presented. The following from a correspondent to an eastern paper, gives us a fearful picture of what lotteries are leading us to. How long, oh! how long shall these things be? I went to a fair, last night. It was for a good cause. My sympathies were enlisted in it, and I contributed according to my ability, in money and effort, to make it a success. On entering the room, I was instantly solicited to “take a chance” for a black silk dress. As I do not belong to the Woman’s Suffrage party, and had no occasion for a silk dress, I declined, with an expression of regret that the lottery was in use. “But what can we do?” asked the lady who made me the offer; “we could not sell these things: we must get rid of them some way.” I replied that it was wrong in itself to gamble; it is also against the laws of the State of New York, and is pronounced by the verdict of civilization to be injurious to public morals. This was altogether too deep for the lady’s comprehension. She could not see. She made answer precisely in these words: “Yes, I do not like lotteries my self; I never could draw anything!” We passed on: there was gambling to the right of us, and gambling to the left of us. There was gambling before us, and behind us. The atmosphere was full of it. Sweet, pretty girls with book and pencil, would put their faces into the faces of strangers, and, with winning smiles, would say, “Take a chance. Oh! do, now, please take a chance for this beautiful thing.” Aside from the nature of the business, it seemed to me that this was a bad school for the girls, and that their manners and morals would not be improved by such an experience. Soon we came to a picture of Jesus, the man of sorrows. The picture was neatly framed, and over the head of the Saviour, where Pilate put the inscription, “The King of the Jews,” was now written, A painting of Jesus Christ set up in a lottery, by religious people, in a Charity Fair, in the city of New York!!! I thought of that scene when He who is here delineated was hanging on the cross, and the soldiers were dividing his raiment among them and for his coat they cast lots. They disposed of his vesture by a lottery. These pious women dispose of the Master’s image by the same means. If there were any degree of wrong in the matter, I would say that the scene which was now before my eyes was more shocking to the moral sense of a Christian people, than the gambling going on at the foot of the cross on which the Son of God was hanging for us. There the Roman soldiers did not know, and did not care, who or what the sufferer was. They were ignorant pagans. It had not come to the mind of one of them that the victim in the midst of the two thieves was any better than they. They cared more for his garments than they did for Him who lately wore them. We feel pity for them, rather than indignation, when they are gambling for the Master’s vestures at the foot of his cross. The Jews knew better, or might have known better; and when they pass by, wagging their heads, their conduct forcibly represents the Christian women in this fair, who treat the blessed Saviour with such contempt that they set up a picture of the dear Redeemer to be raffled for, as if it were nothing more to them than a doll or silk dress. I am not an idolater, and do not worship pictures. They are not objects of such veneration, even if the idea of the infinite Saviour is embodied in the canvas. But I admire them, and the power of a great painting is quite equal to that of verbal eloquence. The one addresses the soul through the eye; the other reaches the soul by the ear. It is a mortal man’s attempt to realize the idea of the Son of God incarnate. That is all. It is nothing but a picture. But it would be profane in me to spit upon it. I would not bow down to it; that were idolatry. But I would not treat it with contempt. Nay, I would prize, admire and cherish it just in proportion to its power to represent the idea of the Saviour, as a sermon or a poem. To set up a picture of Jesus with an inscription over his head, A DOLLAR A CHANCE, shocked me, disgusted me, filled me with indignation unspeakable. They were not pagan Romans now casting lots for a picture of Jesus. Christians gambling for an image of Christ! Was there ever a scene of such shame since the Jews mocked him as he hung?