MASTER! by Theodore L. Cuyler

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jan 23, 1879

MASTER!

By Theodore L. Cuyler

THERE is prodigious power in a single word, when that word is large in its meanings and fragrant with rich associations. The name “Jesus” suggests salvation from the curse of sin. The name “Christ” describes him who was anointed to be his people’s king and teacher. The word “Immanuel” signifies that God is with us in the person of his Son. There is another name which we do not so often employ, but which is a concentrated bundle of rays illuminating the relation of Jesus Christ to his own. It is that word which Mary of Magdala uttered in that moment of rapturous discovery at the sepulcher. Her happy, loving heart simply exclaimed, “My Master!” and she threw herself at his feet in joyful reverence. He gently checks her gesture of devout affection, by saying to her: “Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father.”

That word “Master” is a profound one, as an expression of love and loyalty, a deep well from which we may draw up plentiful suggestions both of duty and delight. Jesus himself acknowledged the relation when he said: Ye call me Master; and ye say well, for so I am. “One is your Master, even Christ; and all ye are brethren.” He has a right to this title. Jesus owns every Christian in the universe. They were his from before the foundation of the world. “They are mine, and thou gavest them unto me” was the claim he made on the eve of his redeeming sacrifice upon the cross. We are not our own. Jesus purchased us with atoning blood. And the very essence of conversion consists in a change of masters. Instead of that cruel slave-driver, the devil—whose only wages is death—the penitent convert takes on the easy yoke of obedience to a new Master. The thoroughness of conversion depends mainly upon the degree to which the old bondage to sin is thrown off and plucked out, and the new allegiance to Christ is made genuine and complete. Thousands commit the wretched folly of trying to serve two opposing masters. During the week Mammon gets the lion’s share of time, thought, and purse. Christ is put off with a stingy hour or two on the Sunday and a few spasmodic devotions. If their trunk is on the church side of the dividing wall, their branches hang over on the world’s side, and there the fruit falls. Brother Demas and brother Plutus pay their church contributions grudgingly, as to an assessor of taxes; but what they give for their carriages, their opera tickets, their equipage and wardrobes, is given “with a will.” Into the very core of thousands of hearts bores this insatiate worm of selfishness, eating out the heart and leaving to Christ only the shell of an outward profession. How will such professors dare to call Jesus their Master at the day of Judgment?

To a genuine Christian, Jesus is the best and kindest of masters. Life is a school; and, as I sit on my bench learning the lessons which he appoints for me, my loving “Magister” comes to me, and kindly explains many a “hard saying” and helps me with spiritual light. My soul burns within me when he talks with me and opens up the wondrous discoveries of his love. Sometimes he employs the rod of discipline, but never unless I deserve it. To my aching heart he says: “Whom I love I chasten, and I correct every child whom I receive unto myself. The disciple is not above his master.” There is a wonderfully close connection between these two words disciple and discipline. If I am the one, I must expect the other. What am I placed in Christ’s school for, except to be instructed, and chastised, and purified, and strengthened, and prepared to graduate at last into the higher class of Heaven? Jesus governs his school by a law of love, yet it is law. “If ye love me, keep my commandments.” He has a right to mark out our studies, prescribe our tasks, set our copies, chastise our waywardness, and enforce his rules. The highest attainment any pupil of Christ can reach is perfect obedience.

Let me emphasize this word obedience. It is the foremost word for every home. The besetting sin of American households is lax authority and filial disobedience. Reverence for parents is giving place to pert self-assertion and premature “having my own way.” If a parent is not the master of his home, he is doomed to be the sorrowful slave of a set of selfish young tyrants and tormentors. When a merchant wished a boy in his establishment, a crowd of applicants appeared. He inserted this advertisement, to sift them: “Wanted.—A boy who always obeys his mother.” The next day only two lads applied for the place. We might enlarge the wise merchant’s advertisement, and announce as follows: “Wanted.—The sons and daughters who always obey their parents; the workmen who obey their employers’ orders; the magistrates who always obey the laws; and members for all our churches who gladly do their Master’s will.”

Obedience is the crowning grace of a follower of Christ. Nay, it is the very essence of holiness. To learn Christ’s will is the chief purpose of Bible study and of prayer. To do Christ’s will is the loftiest attainment to which any child of grace can aspire this side of Heaven. The essential qualities of holy obedience are: a willingness to let our loving Master rule us; a compliance with his orders, without murmuring; a readiness to be nothing, in order that he may be all in all; and as faithful a service of an unseen Lord as if he were actually and visibly by our side. To deny sinful self is hard; but to deny “righteous self” and to claim no merit for the best thing we can do is a glorious victory.

I have no special liking for monkery; but some devout thoughts and happy suggestions have issued from the cells of monasteries. There is a legend that a certain willful monk of the St. Franciscan order stubbornly refused to obey the commands of his superior. A severe punishment was prepared for him. His associates dug a deep, upright grave, and placed him in it. After a few shovelfuls of earth had been thrown in, the superior, St. Francis, said to the monk: “Is your self-will dead yet? Do you yield?” The iron will made no response. The burying process went on till the earth reached the loins, and then to the shoulders, and then the lips. A few moments more and those lips would have been silenced; but the iron will broke, and the submissive friar meekly answered: “I am dead.” Oh! how often our all-wise Master puts us into a deep pit of trial, to subdue our pride, or to tame our passions, or to break our stubborn self-will. Blessed is he who can look up into the countenance of Jesus, and honestly say: Master, my rebellious self is dead, that thou mayest live in me, and that I may live for thee and thee alone!

Bonar, the sweetest of living hymn writers, has wrought well this idea of complete submissiveness to Jesus in these loyal lines:—

“Thy way, not mine, O Lord, However dark it be; Lead me by thine own hand, Choose out the path for me.

“Smooth let it be, or rough, It will be still the best; Winding or straight, it matters not— It leads me to thy rest.

“I dare not choose my lot; I would not, if I might, Choose thou for me, my Lord; So shall I walk aright.”

—Theodore L. Cuyler, D. D., in Independent.