p. 35 | So Shine by Wm. M. Taylor

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 29, 1875

So Shine.

By Wm. M. Taylor

When Jesus says, “Let your light shine,” he means that we should get rid of that undue reserve by which multitudes are characterized, and which keeps their real character from being as powerful an influence for good as otherwise it would be. In the winter evening, there may be a cheerful light within the chamber, and everything there may be delightful; but if the window be heavily curtained, or if the shutters be entirely closed, none of that inner radiance will find its way into the dreary night without. So there are many believers in the Lord Jesus who have peace and joy within their hearts, but who are, besides, afflicted with such a constitutional reserve that they rarely let out the luster of their happiness, or speak with others of their spiritual experience.

I know, indeed, that there is a way of talking about these things which is sickening in the extreme; as, for example, when one indulges in Pharisaic cant, and, of course, it is not for that that I am pleading now. I wish rather to impress upon those who are humble and sincere followers of the Lord that it is their duty to overcome their shrinking timidity, and break through their habitual reserve, so that others may be benefited by their revelations of themselves. Raise the blind a little, so that some of the light which is irradiating you within may find its way without to be a guide and a joy to those around you. If you would only make yourselves known to others as you do to your intimate friends, how much more light, and gladness, and love, you would throw around you! How many burdened consciences might the knowledge of your experience relieve! How many desponding spirits might the sight of your gladness enliven! How many drooping hearts might the perception of your vigor revive! Nay, sometimes, you may yourselves be benefited by the discovery of a Christian brother whom, but for your communicativeness, you had never known.

When the English minstrel went to seek for his master of the Lion-heart, he played everywhere the monarch’s favorite tune, and was at length rewarded by hearing its notes sent back to him from the prison in which Richard was confined. In like manner, if, wherever you go, you sound out the music of Christian experience, other hearts will answer to the melody, and your joy will be redoubled. I heard a friend tell the other evening how, being over the Sabbath at a hotel which was far from any church, he went about all day miserable, having little fellowship with God, and none at all with those around him, who seemed to be as uncomfortable as he was himself. But toward evening, a young clergyman went timidly up to the piano and began to play some familiar hymn tunes. Immediately the parlor began to fill, and the guests joined in the singing, and the discovery was made that a large number of Christians were there, and the remaining hours were spent in sweetest communion. Here was a whole company, each of whom was hungering for fellowship, yet unwilling himself to sound the note which might indicate his real position. Each had the light within, but the blind was down, and the shutters were closed, and so the rest saw nothing of it. For your own sakes, then, as well as for the sake of others, get rid of your reserve, and “let your light shine.”

But in the command which Jesus gave, there is an important qualification. He says, “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in Heaven.” What an emphasis there is on that so. It implies that everything should be removed that would tend to suggest ourselves rather than Jehovah to those who look upon our light; for we think there should be no inconsistencies in our own lives. The visitor to a lighthouse is struck with the perfect cleanliness of everything about the lantern or lens. There must be nothing there to interrupt the egress of the rays. So in us, there should be nothing of evil to draw away men’s eyes from the light, and make them think of our imperfections. That there is a light in us at all, makes it all the more imperative that we should keep ourselves pure. You may have a window all covered with dust, and spun over with cobwebs, and the passer by in the darkness will take no note of its uncleanness. But so soon as you put a light behind it, you thereby reveal its filthiness to every beholder. In the same way, the evil deeds of open and avowed unbelievers are taken no notice of by the world; for there is no light behind them. But so soon as we become connected with Christ and his church, the light that is within him is sure to make manifest our inconsistencies to all around. Other men “may steal a cow, but we must not look over the hedge;” other men may indulge in explosions of temper, or may manifest the grossest selfishness, or may be just a little too keen in business, and nobody says a word about it; but if a Christian should do any of those things, then even the world itself is down upon him; and not only his own character suffers, but the reputation of the gospel suffers along with him. Hence, the very fact that we have the light ought to make us extremely vigilant to keep ourselves from defilement. One dead fly will mar the odor of the whole pot of ointment; one inconsistency will make all our good to be evil spoken of; and so men, instead of thinking of the light, will have their attention directed only to the imperfections which the light reveals.

Once again let it be noted that the purpose of letting our light shine is that God, not ourselves, may be glorified. In looking at a painted window, we think more of the artist and his picture than of the light, and there are many who put such devices on the window, through which the light of their character shines, that no one beholding it is ever moved to think of God. The best window is that which transmits the light most perfectly; and that is the noblest character which shows the most of Christ. I know a painter whose works consisted mainly of portraits of himself taken in different costumes; and one of England’s most famous poets produced a series of writings, in which his moody, misanthropic self was ever the central figure. So there are men who, while letting their light shine, contrive always to paint themselves upon the glass. They are forever speaking of themselves. They tell of the many meetings they have addressed, and of the great amount of good they have done. The first personal pronoun is a favorite with them. Their song, like that of the cuckoo, is an everlasting repetition of their own name; and the listener is wearied with its iteration.

Not so let it be with us. Let Christ be all and in all. Let us hide ourselves behind him. Let us be content to decrease, if only he may increase. Let the spirit that animated Paul animate us when he said, “According to my earnest expectation and my hope that . . . as always, so now also Christ shall be magnified in my body, whether it be by life or by death.” Let our song be like that of the skylark, as he rises with dewy breast from his morning couch, singing as he soars, until, unseen in the deep blue above, he rains a shower of melody on the listening earth. It matters not though we ourselves be unseen if but the light be visible, for we are fulfilling the command, “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in Heaven.”—Wm. M. Taylor.