THE MONEY VALUE OF RELIGION.
By J. H. W.
An old-time saying makes it as impossible “to apply logarithms to religion” as to compute the value of the marriage tie in dollars and cents. The saying must have arisen when religion was considered far above the standard of mere worldliness. It is not so now. A religion which is calculated to separate one from the world, to interfere with one's selfish, worldly interests, is not the religion to meet with much favor in this age. Not long since a person was relating, with much apparent satisfaction, that neighbor B. was about to sever his connection with the “M. E. Church,” and to unite with the “Friends,” or Quakers. I inquired the reason. It was given: the Methodists had raised the “quarterage” too high; and, as the Friends have no paid ministry, there would be no quarterly collections for the support of the minister with them. It is a rare thing for Methodists to desert their old standard and go to the Quakers, and my curiosity was excited to learn more of this case; so the conversation proceeded. What is the amount of the quarterage Mr. B. has to pay? Is this uniform—has each one to pay that amount, or is it rated according to the means of the members? According to their circumstances. That is the sum asked of him. And what are his circumstances? Has he a home? Yes; he has a very good farm. Is it improved, and is he out of debt? Pretty well improved. He has a good house, and is clear from debt. Look at this case. Here is a man who has been blessed with health and prosperity; a family, and a comfortable home for them, with an abundance of the comforts of life. And more, far more than all, he believes that in the infinite mercy of God he has been permitted to receive a personal, saving interest in the death and intercessions of the Son of the Most High, who came down from Heaven and suffered and died to rescue him from eternal perdition. He professes that by divine favor, entirely unmerited, he is blessed with a hope compared to which all the riches of this earth are but dross and vanity. He also professes to believe that there are people around him, everywhere, even aggregating hundreds of millions, who have no interest in that great salvation and are going down to eternal damnation. Yet to acknowledge God in these mercies both temporal and spiritual, and to aid in setting forth the love of the Redeemer, and his claims to our love and obedience, to his fellow mortals, he is not willing to give ten dollars a year! For the greatest selfishness, the most unblushing hypocrisy, commend us to the worldly professor of religion. The non-professing worldling will generally refuse to receive long-continued favors without rendering some equivalent, but some professed Christians have no compunctions on that score. “Get all, and keep all,” seems to be their motto. It is related that Robert Burns was once with a party of men on the bank of a river, when one fell into the water. Another man, seeing the first in danger of drowning, plunged in and saved his life at the risk of his own. The rescued man, a man of considerable wealth, wished to reward his rescuer for what he had done, and from his well-filled wallet offered him a sixpence. While all others cried out against such meanness, Burns said, “Let him alone; he knows what his life is worth better than you do!” He judged that it was not worth more than a sixpence to save the life of such a man. Estimating on this basis, we may be able to justify the course of these close-dealing ones. Why should a man be required to pay ten dollars in behalf of his religion, if it is not worth ten dollars? Of all things a man ever possessed, a worthless religion is the very poorest. A man of large earthly possessions, who is a professed follower of Jesus, who gives scantily and grudgingly to the cause of the blessed Redeemer, has great reason to fear that his religion will never make any return for his outlay. A new bonnet or a little extra finery for the wife or daughter, will amount to as much as such professors will do for the cause of Christ in a whole year; yet they talk of having given up the world for the Saviour, of having a hope that is worth more to them than all beside. The only wonder is that they are able to persuade themselves that they are honest, and that they mean what they say. Worldlings look on and deride, and say that Christianity is a delusion. Is it any marvel? A worldly, selfish professor does more harm to the cause of Christ than an open infidel! How much searching of heart it takes for a man to understand himself.