If Thou Hadst Known

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Nov 11, 1875

“If Thou Hadst Known.”

Jerusalem was standing in all her pride and splendor. The pinnacles of her gorgeous temple sparkled amid the glories of an eastern sunset. Her palaces and halls echoed to the voice of mirth, and her dwellings were filled with wealth and luxury. The publican was feasting his guest on the fruits of extortion. The Pharisee was pompously praying at the corners of the streets. The common people, in busy crowds, were seeking pleasure or profit. The hum of business, the noise of mirth, the sound of the viol, the tabret, and the pipe, the ever swelling, ever varying music of city life, in its manifold strains of gladness and grief, were proof that the people there “regarded not the work of the Lord, neither the operation of his hands.”

To one looking only upon the outward appearance, Jerusalem, thus filled with wealth and splendor, with joy and song, would seem to be fortunate and happy. The lover of nature, standing over against the city by the Mount of Olives would see in the magnificent view before him enough to kindle his whole soul with a glow of admiration. Yet when Jesus beheld the city, on his way thither, accompanied by a joyous multitude, he duly silenced their acclamations, and stood in mute sorrow, with his eye fixed on the scene. As he gazed, he wept. With tears of compassionate grief, he emphasized the exclamation, “If thou hadst known!”

Thus while all was fair and auspicious to the eye of one looking simply on the outward appearance, Jesus saw below the surface of things an impending, fearful doom. The beautiful city was soon to be laid waste. Unutterable distress was soon to consume the people. Not one stone was to be left on another of that temple whose fame had filled all nations. The day of gracious visitation was just closing. The time of bitter desolation was just at hand, and she knew it not. Therefore, while others rejoiced in her apparent glory, Jesus, through tears of pity, said, “If thou hadst known!”

Alas! too often it is thus with men as with cities. To us they seem fair and prosperous, and we call them fortunate and happy; when He who looks on the heart, and knows the end, discerns before them a doom most fearful. Mercies abused, ordinances despised, grace rejected, demand that mercy give place to wrath. The oncoming doom we see not. The rising storm of wrath we hear not. Often those who stand on the very brink of perdition so charm us with their outward graces, or kindle our admiration by their successes, that we cry, “Fortunate,” “happy,” while Jesus is saying, with pity in his heart, “If thou hadst known!”

The young man is in the flush of a remarkable apparent success. Whatever he puts his hand to seems to prosper. Wealth, position, influence, worldly honors, these all come at his bidding, and he stands upon the summit of a worldly prosperity for which thousands count him happy. With all his other acquirements, however, he has not yet secured the one thing needful. He is too deeply immersed in business, too eager in the pursuit of honors, too restlessly ambitious of worldly success, to trouble himself about things unseen and eternal. He is grasping a monopoly worth millions, and has it fairly at hand! He is striving for a position in the ranks of men of renown, and has been welcomed to the high places of power! Success is written upon his escutcheon in characters that kindle admiration and envy. “Happy child of fortune!” cry the multitude who witness his progress and covet his apparent prosperity. But there is One who has other words to utter over this prosperous worldling. Jesus, knowing that death is at the door, that amid all this outward prosperity his gospel has been neglected, his cross despised, his grace slighted, looks with compassionate pity on this restless aspirant, and says, as when he looked from Olivet upon Jerusalem, “If thou hadst known!”

That daughter of luxury and pride—beauty has clothed her with its charms. The dance borrows its chiefest spell from the fascination of her graceful movements. Taste throws all its attractions into the adjustments of fashion. Wealth scatters its glittering symbols over her person, and she goes forth among the votaries of fashion, joyous and blithesome, to kindle in all who behold her the wish for a like profusion of nature’s coveted gifts. Some admire, some envy, some covet, all exclaim, “How fortunate! how happy!” Yet, through these exclamations of friends and admirers, a voice is forced upon the ear of faith, having quite another tone. It is the voice of Jesus, who from his despised glory and rejected throne, seeing the arrow of the destroyer just entering that thoughtless heart, looks down in pity upon this lover of pleasure more than lover of God, and exclaims, “If thou hadst known!”

O Christian, if we would hear it by faith above the din and bustle of these stirring times, no doubt the voice of Jesus would change our estimate of the real state of some men and women, of some towns and cities, aye, perhaps, even of some churches, whose outward prosperity is great. If we would see by faith, through the glare and splendor of that outward display, by which we are so easily misled, the face of Jesus, turned in tearful compassion upon worshipers where the form of godliness has parted company with its power, it would make us feel that, if to be a Christian is to be like Christ, then tears are quite as pertinent as smiles in our outlook upon a world neglecting its great salvation!—Christian Secretary.