CHRIST'S CRITERION

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jul 15, 1880

CHRIST'S CRITERION.

IN the Plaza of Indecision, at the forking of two roads, whence one trends invitingly downward, broad and social, while the other rises steep and unfrequented, the only direction of the divine finger is toward the heart of the questioning pilgrim. Which direction shall I take? in-decisively asks the traveler. The only answer is a whisper from the still, small voice, "Whither art thou bound?" The soul instinctively replies, "I want to go heavenward!" But to this there comes no reply—and why? The index finger points silently within. The way is plain enough, pilgrim—but what of thy will?

It is thus with all the cross-purposes of life. From out the true path there are constantly leading short cuts into the false. These are filled with multitudes, who, insisting at every turn upon a sign, have none given them save that of the prophet Jonas. They know as well as he knew that it is impossible to reach Nineveh by traveling toward Tarshish. Common sense determines us, if we desire to reach the summit, not to take a left or right hand divergence down a hill. Is it not plain, therefore, that moral hesitation is due more to want of definite motive than to lack of guidance? Men indulge doubt when dawning conscience should send them forth about their Father's business. Forgetful of the courage of the Child in the temple, they hastily rejoin the first returning company.

How often we hear men say, "I want to be a Christian." That may be; but if so, and if the want be not satisfied, it is a confession of imbecility. The true criterion by which to judge the genuineness of such an avowal is the answer to the pointed query, "Then why, if you have decision enough of character to know your own mind, do you not will to become a follower of Christ?"

This direct personal appeal to common sense ought in all cases to be sufficient in determining the honesty of such a declaration, and would be, were it not for the fact that right here on the very Plaza of Indecision, whence fork the eternal ways, theologians have succeeded after centuries of metaphysical miasm in raising a fog dense enough to hide the Divine index, and damp enough to chill the most enthusiastic soul. In answer to the oft-repeated question, "What is conversion?" there is no necessary obscurity, although obscurity has been thrown around it. The word means simply con-verto—about-face! A man is converted from intemperance when he turns his back upon alcohol and becomes a constant abstainer. He may or may not take the step under the influence of emotion. The question of fact alone is whether he really gives up the bad.

Exactly so with the Christian life. There are two roads, call them what we may; right or left, good or evil, Heaven or hell. It makes no difference with the fact. There are but two possible paths for the human soul to choose between, and it can contemporaneously travel but one. Herein comes Christ's criterion. What is your motive in life? Apply this test. Am I living for self, or for what good I can do in the world? There is no evasion in our secret answer to this question. Serve you this day God or mammon? Conscience will answer like a flash of lightning—and we know it.

The young lawyer came to Christ, saying, "What shall I do?" Did the Master inquire about his "feelings" or "experience"? Not a syllable of theology blunted that single divinely-pointed command: "Sell all that thou hast, and distribute unto the poor." It struck straight at the man's motive in life. While outwardly all the moral law required, he was secretly serving mammon. The result verified Christ's diagnosis, since he went away sorrowful. What! give up wealth? Wealth means position, power, the admiration, and, above all else, culture.

Are we then required to sacrifice these, the climacteric advantages of civilization? Yes, and no. Yes, if we are living for any of them; if our motive is self-aggrandizement. No, if we are using opportunity, influence, intellect, for the advancement of God's kingdom on earth. Suppose a scholar had come to Christ with the lawyer's query, think you he would have been told to give up his books and all intellectual pursuits? Certainly not, unless he was living for culture—for the pride of intellect. The question at the last great day will be: "I gave thee ten talents, now for the accounting!" Suppose the soul thus confronted says: "I have written many learned volumes." They are produced. The thoughts are beautiful, the sentences exquisitely rounded. But, alas! from between the lines there flashes the fact that all was written for a selfish purpose—for the worship paid authorship. But the good they have incidentally accomplished is pleaded in extenuation. Alas, soul, what now is that to thee? You lived for self, your thoughts were of self, you wrote for self; there, to the left, is self's eternity. In the light of so crucial a test who, then, can be saved?

In this, as in all of God's dealings, the promise is as broad as the curse. "Whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a cup of cold water only, in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto you, he shall in no wise lose his reward." What! Heaven for a cup of water, and Gehenna for its refusal! Even so; and why? Because there is all the difference between good and bad, love and selfishness, the Saviour and the serpent, in the two simple operations of giving or withholding. The deed is but an exponent—back of that is the motive that prompts it. Either I love my neighbor as myself, or I do not; and it matters little what the temporary outcome is.

It is thus that between the extended palm and the closed fist there is space for an eternity of infinite joy or woe.

And men know it!—Christian Union.