Conundrum Christians by F. A. Noble

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Feb 24, 1874

Conundrum Christians.

By F. A. Noble

THE designation is not mine. It belongs to a man who is the author of a good many pleasant things—the Rev. Geo. P. Hays, D. D., president of Washington and Jefferson College—at least, the suggestion of it.

It came about in this wise: In an address, the other Sabbath evening, before the Young Men's Christian Association of Pittsburgh, he was defining and characterizing the various sorts of Christians which go to make up the church, when, having got through with the “working class,” he

turned and said: “Next to these is a very large class” who are very fond of singing a conundrum that has found its way into some of our hymn-books, beginning thus:

‘Tis a point I long to know, Oft it causes anxious thought, Do I love the Lord or no? Am I his or am I not?

It puzzles them to tell. It puzzles other people very much to tell. There is not much evidence that they are not; and there is very little evidence that they are; so, on the whole, the matter is a good deal confused.”

Now, that, boiled down, is just what stands at the head of this article. Those two words are the “for short” of it all, the whole thing in a nut-shell. And, instead of being at the trouble of this round-about phraseology, and calling this class the “conundrum-singing” Christians or the “I long-to-know” Christians, we may just as well dub them the conundrum Christians at once, and have done with it.

Putting it in this way, and remembering that, thus put, it stands for a fact, not at all uncommon and sometimes exceedingly perplexing and bitter, of actual experience, it seems a topic eminently worthy of a few moments’ very serious reflection.

At the outset, it may as well be confessed, not reluctantly, but heartily, that I have a large measure of sympathy with a certain portion of these habitually introspective and self-questioning souls; especially when the questions, as to whether they are really Christians, are all asked by themselves, and not by others.

This life of ours is awfully earnest. Many are the problems which rise up and vex the understanding. Great issues press. The earthly horizon is rapidly closing in. The outer bound draws near. It is a solemn thing that the heart be right with God, the hope assuredly in God. There are natures so constituted that they are tenderly sensitive to all this, and they cannot well help being troubled by it. Indeed, I am sometimes inclined to think that one of the reasons why there is not more misgiving among men, and more crying out for certainty of conviction, is not altogether because there is so much of serene and strong faith, but because there is so little impressiveness to the infinite import of facts without and facts within.

But, be this as it may, there are those whose mental and moral make-up is so peculiar, so delicate, so responsive, to every touch or hint of doubt, and withal so genuine, that they become easily distrustful, and of their own purity and security more easily than of anything else. To examine their own states, to probe and test every emotion, to take the feelings to pieces to see if they are what they pretend to be or ought to be, is an instinct with them. They move about perpetually in an atmosphere of self-consciousness. Their eyes are not lifted up unto the Everlasting Hills, but are turned inward. Their looking is not so much unto Jesus as unto themselves. What follows is inevitable. For no honest man can make honest inspection of his own spirit, can open the door and range through all the by-ways and secret chambers of his own heart, without making discoveries to the last degree alarming.

These men and women, however, are not to be wholly blamed; least of all to be unmercifully ridiculed. Their spiritual habits are not good, their spiritual methods are not wise; but their faults and shortcomings are just those we might have anticipated. They are following on in the line and swaying to the temptations peculiar to the human nature that is in them. And like others who have special infirmities, or easily besetting sins, or bad tempers, or tendencies of any kind to be overcome, they are to be patiently and lovingly helped.

This conundrum attitude of the soul is very far from being the ideal one. It is a condition which is neither desirable nor necessary, save, perhaps, in a very few rare cases, such as have already been instanced. The general statement of it, therefore, would be that it is both inexcusable and criminal. Ordinarily a man may know and he is bound to know, and he is under obligations as sacred as life and as solemn as eternity and as commanding as God so to walk his way and do his work that others may know whether he has been born again, whether he has passed from death unto life, whether he has been made a new creature in Christ Jesus.

Paul knew. How refreshing it is, and what a tonic virtue there is in that oft-recurring declaration of his: “We know.” Nor could men who saw and heard him for a moment doubt. His inner life manifested and accredited itself to their senses, often to their consciences. They might not believe themselves; but they were sure he believed. Old-time associates amongst the Jews, humble disciples of the Master, kings on their thrones, cultivated Athenians, fellow-prisoners, shipwrecked sailors, and all others with whom he came in contact, were persuaded beyond any question that, whether right or wrong, whether wisely or unwisely, this preacher to the Gentiles was a thoroughly self-denying and whole-souled follower of Jesus. Thence came his oppositions and persecutions, as well as his victories. His faith was vital, active, aggressive. It moved things; it challenged attention; it aroused men, so that they felt forced to take position either as enemies or friends.

So with Peter and John. They knew, and they made other people know. Recall this one record, and note exactly the sort of impression to which it testifies: “Now, when they saw the boldness of Peter and John, and perceived that they were unlearned and ignorant men, they marveled, and they took knowledge of them that they had been with Jesus.” A distinct impression is given: of association, of discipleship, of impulse from and of conformity to the Christ. And these were not friends, but open enemies, who were thus impressed—“rulers and elders and scribes.”

Now the question comes how one may get up out of this state, where it is doubt to-day, and doubt more or less to-morrow, and real satisfaction and gladness never, into certitude and joy in the Holy Ghost; and where the life, instead of being a mere so-so life—flabby, listless, and without any special influence one way or the other in the world’s moral conflicts—becomes an unimpeachable “evidence” for Christianity. Just as Dr. Hays said, and as has been said a thousand times before—said by men inspired, and by men without any inspiration, save that of their good sense and honest hearts—IT IS BY GOING TO WORK. Let a sailor drift about in mid-ocean as many a Christian drifts, and he would surely lose his reckoning. Let a student deal with his duties as many a Christian does, and he would not only never graduate, but all faith in his own abilities would inevitably die out of him. Let an athlete take no more pains to keep his body in trim than many a Christian bestows upon his soul, and how speedily would he cease to have any agility or force. God’s blessing is on work. And activity, systematic and faithful, is the ordained law of health, of growth, and of this world’s advancement.

Prayer is good, illuminating, purifying, in every way strengthening. Meditation is good. There will be more of clear insight and apprehension when there is more of sober reflection. Reading, repeated and earnest, of the word is good. The secret of many a believer’s weakness is that he is not more mighty in the Scriptures.

As these are good and indispensable, so also is doing. Doing, indeed, when wise and sincere, is, like charity, always twice blessed. It is helpful to one’s own soul, and it is helpful to the world. There are natures to whose needs—those morbidly self-examining ones, for instance—nothing is so suited as regular outgoing activity. When the mists hang thick about one, and the stars fade out in the spiritual sky, and the way seems more and more obscure, and the passages of the soul are choked, and the pulse of aspiration beats low, and the divine is felt to be dwelling apart and a good way off from the human, let him at once give heart and hand to some sweet ministry, and speed his step into the chambers of the sick, into homes straitened with poverty, into homes where there is desolation and death, to the side of the tempted and the unfortunate and the discouraged; let him turn to any sort of endeavor which shall give but a finger’s lift to the great crushing burdens which men are bearing, and, my word for it, in nine cases out of ten, and quicker than by any other procedure, the fogs shall vanish, and the stars shine out, and the way grow luminous, and the Spirit have free play with his spirit, and truth-hunger and righteousness-hunger, and all hungers which go out in restless cravings after immortal nourishment, shall be felt; and Christ! no longer shall he seem afar and vague, but very, very near, and very, very real.

When men, like Christ and in the Spirit of Christ, shall go about doing good, instructing, healing, guiding, comforting, uplifting, casting out devils, helping wayward ones and prodigal ones to come to themselves, setting the hearts and feet and faces of those who know him not Godward, making, according to the measure of their abilities, these heavens which are about us now, and this old, groaning earth new; then shall it be amply verified to their experience that light is sown for the righteous, and that the path of the just is as the shining light that shineth more and more unto the perfect day.—REV. F. A. NOBLE, in Independent.