p. 562 | Out of His Place by Charles G. Bellah

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Sep 12, 1916

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 43, No. 36.

Out of His Place

By Charles G. Bellah

"Where God abides, Satan cannot; and where Satan abides, God will not. This is always and forever true, whether it be in the heart, the home, the church, or the world."

Out of His Place

By Charles G. Bellah

IT is impossible for an individual to be in two places at the same time. We say two, for there are now only two places in all the world that men may occupy. In the beginning, there was only one place; but sin, that dreadful foe which made the serpent bite the dust and transformed the helpmeet into a tempter, came in and made another. To-day there are two places, the right and the wrong.

Each individual absolutely must occupy one place or the other, yet none can possibly occupy both. There is no neutral ground in this world or the next. There is no room in heaven for sinners, none in hell for saints.

Where God abides, Satan cannot; and where Satan abides, God will not. This is always and forever true, whether it be in the heart, the home, the church, or the world. There is but one throne. When God is enthroned, Satan is dethroned, and vice versa.

To be in place with God, is to be out of place with Satan; to be in place with the world, is to be out of place with heaven. Still there is such an experience as being in place with God, and out of place with the world, yet acceptably filling our place in the world. Then are we indeed in our place in the world, yet out of place with the world.

Out of His Pew

ONE of the most distressing experiences known to men is that of feeling entirely out of place—"out of our pew," as we often hear it expressed. Every one has had this trying experience. Observe the sinner who is compelled, by force of circumstances, to remain for some time in the presence of true children of God. How much out of place he feels! On the other hand, let the saint be thrown in company with sinners, without an opportunity of doing them good, and it is just as distressing. How good the fresh air of freedom feels as once more he gets out into the open! Life would indeed be most miserable to any one compelled constantly to feel out of place.

Yet we read of a Blessed One who sadly knew not only what it means to feel out of place for a moment, but of whom the pen of inspiration inscribes, "He shall grow up out of His place." Zech. 6:12. This is the Branch, the Blessed One, the Christ. The text says, "grow up out of His place"—not in, but out of, His place. How significant the previous phrase in that verse, "Behold the Man whose name is the Branch."

This Branch that had grown in the glory land, was transplanted out of His place in this dark and dismal world. The very fact that He became man took Him out of His place. The Father, in His infinite love, wanted to talk to His wayward children; so He dressed the Branch up in humanity, and sent Him to every lost son and daughter of Adam.

Born out of His Place

MOST of us have had the privilege of being born in a home, surrounded by the comforts and blessings of life. No expense was too great, no pains too costly, to make our first days happy ones. But there was One of whom it is written: "And she brought forth her first-born Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes, and laid Him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn." Luke 2:7. No place to be born except among the cattle! No room in the inn, much less in a comfortable home! Oh, the mystery, the mystery of godliness! How could He do it? Why did He do it, except in His great and passionate love for lost humanity! Born out of His place!

I well remember that, as a child, when perplexing things arose in my experience, I always went straight to mother, and pillowed my head on her bosom, and never failed to get just the help I most needed. When others surmised evil, and misconstrued my motives, someway mother always understood. And later, when the call from the great undone came to me, mother had just the right counsel to give. She loved me when I was good; she loved me when I was bad.

This blessed privilege was, to a certain extent, denied to the One who grew up out of His place. His brothers could not appreciate His work, and even His own mother did not always understand His mission. He could not go to her for counsel about His future work. Often, indeed, she wavered between whether He really was the true Messiah, or just her obedient, dutiful son. This is why He so often left His home, and slipped away to the quiet hillside, to commune with His Father, who did understand.

As one has most beautifully said, "So pained was Christ by the misapprehension in His own home, that it was a great relief to go where it did not exist." Thus He was forced to grow up out of His place. Do you ever feel lonely and friendless? He knows just what it means to have that lonesome feeling which so tortures the hearts of sinful men and women.

Sought for His Birthplace

LET us go back a few years, and visit the old homestead again. How the tender memories are aroused as we view the dear old spot once more! The house is all gone save a pile of stone where the old fireplace was. Around this, with dear brothers and sisters, we have often gathered in years gone by; and listened to father read from the grand old Book. As we sit down on the pile of crumbling stone, the swallows, whirling overhead as of yore, seem to tell of happy bygone days.

A little beyond is the sparkling brook where, as children, we spent many delight-some days. Even the spot where the old barn stood, with its fragrant mow, arouses tenderest memories. Thorns have overgrown the ancient playground, grimly suggestive of later experience with sins that have too often marred our happiness.

Again I think of One many hundred years ago, coming to the city of His nativity, and visiting the place of His birth. For why should He not do this? He is "the Man whose name is the Branch," the divine-human Saviour, the Word made flesh. As no doubt His mind went back, and tried to reach His birthplace, no fond memories of a pleasant fireside met His view, but all to be recalled was a rude manger and the quiet oxen. Perhaps He wondered just what manger it was in which He had been cradled.

I imagine I can see Him later, as He goes to the spot where the old carpenter shop had been, and thought of His happy childhood days. Oh, Thou homeless Saviour of men, put Thy everlasting arms beneath us, and give us that sweet comfort we need!

No Brotherly Welcome for Him

WHEN I have been away from home and loved ones for some time, and turn homeward again, I begin to anticipate fondly the welcome that I know will surely be mine. My home and the little church are about a mile from the station. Yet often not only my own dear ones, but several of the good members of the church, come to the station to meet me, and extend a hearty welcome. How it endears them to my heart!

Perchance announcements have already been made that I will have charge of the services on the next Sabbath. As I worship in the little sanctuary on the hillside, and know that every heart is with me, how good it seems!

But when the Homeless One returned to His old home at Nazareth, went into the synagogue, and stood up and read from the sacred Scriptures, the members of His own church "were filled with wrath, and rose up, and thrust Him out of the city, and led Him unto the brow of the hill whereon their city was built, that they might cast Him down headlong." Luke 4:28, 29. While He came to bear the burdens of the heavy-laden, His own human heart often longed for human sympathy. And surely He would have appreciated, most of all, sympathy from His own little church at Nazareth. But there was no place for Him there to worship. There were no loving hands to provide for Him the comforts of life.

There was no brotherly welcome to make His pilgrim life happier. Out of His place! "He came unto His own, and His own received Him not." John 1:11.

We Sit as Umpire

MY farm, my home, my room, my library — how familiar, how suggestive, are these terms! These are places to which we have access at any time, to come and go at will, with none to say nay — places where we sit as umpire, while all others are spectators; where we may turn the key, shutting ourselves in, and all others out; where we lay aside formality, care, burdens, and problems, and relax. The farm may be poor, the home humble, the room scantily furnished, the library small and well worn; but it is my farm, my home, my room, my library.

Yet the One who gave us our homes, and all else, was the Homeless One, dwelling often with Lazarus and his sisters; at other times, between mountain and multitude, as He constantly went about doing good. So often we read such expressions as: "At night He went out, and abode in the mount that is called the Mount of Olives." Luke 21:37. "And every man went unto his own house. Jesus went unto the Mount of Olives." John 7:53; 8:1.

As He retired to the mountain, not home, for prayer, seeing the little birds coming in from a day of happy song; and then, after a night of earnest supplication, He saw the fox slink in from a night's raid, He could say, "Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay His head." Luke 9:58. Yet His heart ever cried out for that home which the world never gave Him.

On the cross, He had no bank account, no farm, no home, to leave to His widowed mother, but gave her to John as a precious legacy. Penniless, footsore, or riding on a borrowed ass, and no money in the bleeding hands that were pierced for you and me! Yet He is building for us a mansion in the glory land.