Consecration by M. E. Ditto

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Washington, D. C. · Apr 14, 1904

Consecration

By M. E. Ditto

“Master, I will follow thee whithersoever thou goest,” said the man who came to Jesus. “Foxes have holes,” said Jesus to him, “and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.” This man was a scribe, the first one of that learned class to declare himself openly for Jesus; from a worldly point of view, he would be a valuable accession to the little group. But Jesus was about to found a church which was to be nourished by the blood of martyrs, and none but those who could face without dismay every desolation and forlorn condition of life would be likely to face death. Jesus stated to the scribe only the minor facts of his estate—without money, house or lands, or influence—even a home or the comforts of life—worse off than the beasts and birds.

The scribe dropped off; after this flashing utterance of entire consecration, he is never heard of again. There were others like him who could not, though deeply drawn to Jesus, endure the life of self-denial which was involved in following him. “Follow me!” said Jesus to one such disciple; but he said: “Lord, suffer me first to go and bury my father.” Alas, for this man! he placed the duty dictated by natural feeling and social custom before the duty of following Jesus. To place that which is natural and social, however amiable and benevolent, before that which is spiritual, is an error which is eternally fatal.

In God’s order of things that which is natural is first, only that man may consciously renounce it for that which is spiritual. A man is born, but that he may be born again; and to every child of our race is asked, in some form or other, the question, “Wilt thou be born again?” “Let the dead bury their dead,” said Jesus, “but go thou and preach the kingdom of God.”

This seems a harsh reply; it is full of the calm inexorableness of judgment never to be revoked. They who are spiritually dead may busy themselves about the obsequies of those who are naturally dead; but there is a duty higher than this for those who have the direct call of Christ. When this call comes, to postpone is to reject—to bury the dead is to die ourselves.

“Lord, I will follow thee,” said another, “but let me first go and bid them farewell, which are at home at my house.” Not so did the Zebedee brothers, when they dropped their nets, and left their boats, and followed Jesus; not so did Peter and Andrew, nor Philip or Nathanael; not so the woman of Samaria, when she left her pitcher at the well, and ran to the city to spread the great news of the Messiah. O, no! Aim an arrow to hit two points at once as you twang it from the bowstring, but think not that a heart leaping with joy to go with Jesus turns back to make farewells to those in his house.

To the consecrated one in the first exaltation of the direct call from Jesus, there is no one but Jesus—no one else to greet in welcome or adieu.

“Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee,” says David, and this is the voice of the church in all ages.

Plow a straight furrow, O husbandman; the field is the world—hand to the plow, eye to the front, every muscle strained to the forward, no loose and wandering glance to the right or left, or backward to the tents of ease—they are left behind forever. “For no man,” said Jesus, “having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.”—M. E. Ditto, in World’s Crisis.