p. 139 | Costly but Precious

Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Mar 19, 1861

Costly but Precious.

STANDING before a magnificent picture not long since we were told that it had been purchased for $15,000! At first mention the price seemed enormous; but when we recalled the fact that the peerless landscape before us had required months of toil by the most celebrated artist of the land—that in order to make the necessary studies he had doomed himself to the perils and hardships of a distant dangerous clime—then we did not wonder that a millionaire should deem it but just to barter away his own thousands for the companionship of such a picture in his drawing-room.

There are sometimes rare and beautiful wares brought into the market, that are invoiced at almost fabulous rates. The simple reason is that they cost so much to procure. That luxurious ermine labeled $500, cost terrible battles with polar ice and hurricanes. The pearl that flashes on the brow of the bride is precious because it was rescued from the great deep at the risk of the pearl-fisher's life, as he was lifted into the boat half dead, with the blood gushing from his nostrils. All choicest things are reckoned the dearest. So it is in heaven's inventories too. The universe of God has never witnessed aught to be reckoned in comparison with the redemption of a guilty world. That mighty ransom no such contemptible things as silver and gold could procure. Only by one price could the church be redeemed from hell, and that was the price of Jesus' blood—the precious blood of the Lamb, slain from the foundation of the world.

And so is it that the best part of the Christian character is that which was procured at the sorest cost. Patience is a beautiful trait, but it is not worn oftenest by those who walk on life's sunny side in silver slippers. It is the product of dark nights, of tempests, and of days of adversity, whose high noon is gloomy as midnight; for the trial of our faith worketh patience. Purity of character is often costly, too; more than once it has been bought in wicked cities by the bitter price of a crust of bread eaten with a good conscience in an attic, when a guilty connivance would have been rewarded with French satins and a harlot's sumptuous coach.

As God reckons jewelry, there is no brilliant which flashes with such luster as the tear of true penitence. Yet God only knoweth what heart pressure as in a vice, what rendings and wringings of soul, what crushings of pride and wrestlings in agony may have been needful, in order to press out that jewel-drop upon the cheek of the stubborn sufferer. We have sometimes met a person in social circles who possessed a peculiar gentleness and docility of character. As we came to know her better, we were charmed by her calm self poise, and her heroic submissiveness to God under sudden shocks of calamity. We could not but admire so beautiful a character. We envied its possessor. We coveted such a spirit for ourselves. Ah! we little knew at what fearful price of severe chastisement and bitter disappointment—of hopes desolated, and expectations crossed; of faith put to the rack, and patience burned bright in seven times heated furnaces—all that meek loveliness of character had been gained. So true is it that he who would be "rich towards God" must be willing to toil hard and bear sore affliction, in order to win the precious acquisitions.

To be a complete, symmetrical Christian, all these graces of patience, purity, meekness, long-suffering, and godliness must be attained. We must pray for them; we must toil for them; we must suffer for them. He is a meager, half-ripe, unfinished Christian, who does not possess those peculiar graces which God only sends to us through suffering, privation and trial. Let us not draw back from the possession of any spiritual treasure, through the dread of paying dearly for it. Precious things are always costly. The merchant withholds no extra labor, or extra hours of thought over his ledgers, if thereby he can secure an extra return of profits. The sculptor counts not long months wasted away which see him with hammer and chisel pursuing the imprisoned "Hercules," or "Greek slave," which his keen eye detects within the block of marble.

What are hardships and privations on Labrador ice fields, or amid Grandean mountains, to Frederick Church, as long as he is transferring those very icebergs to his canvas, and rearing in the "heart of the Andes," a new monument to his imperishable fame? If the children of the light were always as eager for holiness and beauty of character as the children of this world are for gold, and fame, and honors, they would not begrudge the toils or the trials necessary to secure them. Precious graces are always costly; happy is he who "buys and sells not again."—Chris. Intel.