p. 1 | THE SIN OF HYPOCRISY by John Orr

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Oct 20, 1898

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 24, No. 42.

THE SIN OF HYPOCRISY.

By John Orr

THE KISS OF BETRAYAL. “And forthwith he came to Jesus, and said, Hail, Master; and kissed Him.” Matt. 26: 49.

THE attempt to appear, morally, what one is not, often leads to deplorable results. In fact, 'no good ever came from such a course, because it is impossible for anything clean to proceed from an unclean thing. The reason for this is that hypocrisy is never practised for the upbuilding of morality, but in the interest of selfishness. One feigns to be good before those whom he thinks to be good, in order to enlist their sympathy and co-operation in the advancement of his own plans for preferment.

The very fact that Christianity is made the vehicle by which the world's lowest characters attempt to rise to some point of prominence in politics, is evidence that Christianity is the highest human conception of good. But it also shows that there is an agency somewhere which is bent on destroying the potent virtue of that good through counterfeiting its qualities for selfish ends.

But hypocrisy does not terminate with lowering the tone of Christianity. That is but a single step in the great process of leading honest souls down to ruin. Many who sincerely desire to be good are thus led to place a false estimate on the uplifting power of Christianity, and so pass on without receiving the benefit they might have by appropriating the fulness of the Gospel. These, in turn, are appearing to be what they are not, and so the influence goes on, extending to others the same blighting power.

The one thing that makes such lives so bad to contemplate is that, pretending to be good, without surrendering self, they are usually led to acts of self-gratification, only to be confirmed in the idea that these are acts of genuine Christian service. With such thoughts in mind, men can be brought to do things in the name of religion that under no other consideration could they be induced to undertake.

It was this sort of life that one of the immediate disciples of Christ maintained while in daily contact with his chosen Master. Like the other eleven, he listened to wholesome words of divine counsel, cautioning against the leaven of the religion of the day. The principles of true righteousness were faithfully set before them all alike, yet this one man Judas retained his selfish motives, while professing to be a follower of the Son of God.

Doubtless his conscience often smote him at first for his inordinate selfishness, yet he continued to indulge his natural propensities, until in the critical time of his Master's career, he proved false to every principle of right. But this crowning act of perfidy in the career of Judas need not have taken place. Up to the very last time of Christ's meeting with the twelve before His betrayal, He daily set before His disciples the principles of true godliness, and exhorted them to steadfastness in the same. But notwithstanding this, Judas, tho constantly professing the closest attachment for his Master, was meditating how he might secretly betray Him.

On that checkered and ever-memorable night in which Christ sat down to partake of His first and last Passover with the chosen twelve, Judas was among them as one outwardly faithful to his sovereign Lord. But unless hardened beyond expression by continued deceit, what must have been his shame and self-condemnation; for already had he not only bargained away the life of Christ for thirty pieces of paltry silver,—the price paid for a slave accidentally killed,—but the signal of betrayal,—a friendly salute,—had also been agreed upon! There is nothing so detestable as deliberate treachery, especially when it is carried out to the bitter end behind the mask of love and deep attachment. No sin is more revolting than the cold, sullen selfishness that, under the guise of friendship, seeks opportunity to sacrifice another on the altar of covetousness or ambition.

Yet in that troubled hour, when the already suffering Saviour sorrowfully announced that one of the twelve would betray Him, as one among the rest, Judas asked, as if astonished beyond measure at such a suggestion, “Master, is it I?” Jesus, knowing all, briefly answered, “Thou hast said.” Matt. 26: 20–25. The betrayer then went out into the darkness of the night to commit the terrible deed which was to seal his eternal destiny. Surely it were better for him had he never been born. Mark 14: 21. Soon, however, he came

with a band of priests and officers to the garden of Gethsemane, and there betrayed his Master with a kiss, saying, “Hail, Master.” Matt. 26: 49.

It seems a wonder how one could, in the face of so many solemn, affectionate warnings, have done such a thing. But it was only the legitimate growth and outcome of the hardening, blinding process of a single dominant passion, persistently adhered to. In the beginning of his downward career, Judas was probably no worse than average men, but he grew into the human monster that he now appears by neglecting to hear the words of his faithful Master, “Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.”

JOHN ORR.