The Penalty of Right-Doing.
By J. Max Hark
CHRIST laid far less stress on the rewards of well-doing than on its penalty. And he emphasized the latter much more than the penalty of evil-doing. Not all his followers follow him in this respect. There often seems to be a hesitancy among them plainly and frankly to declare Christianity to be fundamentally and essentially a matter of self-sacrifice; a disposition too often lightly to slur over the fact, and to dwell most eloquently and at length on the benefits and advantages and profit, for this life and the life to come, accruing from a life of consecration to God. To say that this is a mistake is to speak mildly. It is worse. It really is a misrepresentation of the truth, virtually amounting to this, that Christianity is put on a basis just the opposite of its true one, the basis of self-seeking instead of self-denial. The consequences are: Men enlisted without having counted the cost, soon undeceived and disappointed; feeble fighters, ending as deserters and traitors. And, what is perhaps still worse, the cause of divine truth is made to appear as if supported dishonestly, or at least disingenuously. For the world knows well enough that it is not more profitable and more comfortable to be a Christian than not to be one. It knows that though wrong-doing too has to suffer its penalty in this life, it is no greater nor more inevitable than the penalty of right-doing; in fact, that usually the latter follows more immediately and evidently than the former. Why should we not therefore frankly and boldly declare the whole truth under all circumstances? If any one wants to become a Christian, honestly tell him what that means: to deny himself, take up his cross, and follow Christ. It means not a little inconvenience, discomfort, suffering. In a word, deliberately to set ourselves against the whole intricate and mighty system of evil in the world, whose great ruling principle of self-interest has impressed its inexorable laws upon all human life, and controls every sphere of human activity. These laws are potent on the earth. All human society and all man-formed institutions have been moulded into conformity with them. All the wheels of the wonderful mechanism of humanity are governed by this one principle. So long as we adapt ourselves to them and their action, everything runs on with tolerable smoothness; we are comfortable, prosperous, and free from undue care. But to be a Christian means to utterly and absolutely renounce this sovereign and ancient principle of self-interest, to refuse to adjust our life to its laws. When it commands, “Live high, dress finely, entertain sumptuously, bow low before the chariot of mammon, or I will roll over and crush you in my track,” we must obey, or—be crushed. We must live and dress as the rest of society does, or take the penalty of being “dropped,” and “cut,” and humiliated by its members. The Christian who loves his God more than his “social standing,” refusing to live beyond his means, accepts the penalty of his right-doing, and glorifies God for it. When self-interest enjoins silence while the bank is breaking, lest your neighbor withdraw his deposit, and so you lose yours, obedience will save your possessions; disobedience will incur the penalty of total loss. You cannot do the right without suffering for it. If selfishness bids you “take care of number one,” to disobey by feeding your neighbor may mean to starve yourself. To dare to do right will bring even death as its penalty. But the Christian dares it nevertheless. It is just this that makes him a Christian. Not that he fears the punishment of wrong-doing, not that he craves the reward of virtue, nor yet that he is ignorant of the penalty of right-doing; but that, having duly counted the cost, he deliberately, manfully, chooses the right with its penalty, rather than wrong under any condition. It is the free choice of the penalty with the right that constitutes his deed self-sacrificing, that makes it truly Christian. As good Count Zinzendorf long ago sang,— “Christians are not here below
To enjoy earth's transient treasure;
After Christ they're called to go.
His reproach they count a pleasure.
Under manifold distress,
Through the narrow gate they press.”
So long as this world is what it is, right cannot be done with impunity. So long as to be a Christian is to follow Him who on the cross paid the penalty of his perfect righteousness, so long it is not for us to expect praise from the world, when we work the works of Him that sent us, nor aught but indifference, neglect, hindrance, and abuse, from men whenever we try to do the Father's will. Our Lord ever had the shadow of the cross thrown over his pathway through life; he did not hide from Gethsemane, nor shrink from Golgotha; but freely, bravely, lovingly, he simply went on doing the right, daring the wrong, until it was finished. Shall they who love, fear to follow him?—
Rev. J. Max Hark.