Showing our Colors by Cuyler

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jan 13, 1863

Showing our Colors.

By Cuyler

THE name of Captain Hedley Vicars—the Christian hero of the Crimean war—is familiar to most of our readers. On the morning after his conversion he bought a large Bible, and placed it open on the table of his room; he was determined that an open Bible for the future should be his "colors." "It was to speak for me," he said, "before I was strong enough to speak for myself." His military comrades came in, and laughed at him—nicknamed him the methodist—hinted to him that he had better not turn "hypocrite;" but in spite of a perpetual guerrilla warfare of sneers and scoffs, he nobly stood by his colors. Having "clean hands, he waxed stronger and stronger." In time he became a spiritual power in his regiment, simply by a steadfast, bold, decided witnessing for Christ.

To his early disciples, Jesus Christ said: "Whosoever shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father, which is in heaven." Solemn injunction solemnly heard; heard as with chains already on their wrists, and the loud crack of the scourge echoing through prison corridors. But Christ did not mean this command only for his original apostles. It was intended for all times, and for every man who wishes to be saved. It is intended especially for a timid compromising class who hang about the "border states," the debatable ground between Satan's rebel provinces and Christ's loyal realm. They are the people who want to be on Christ's side in eternity, but are not exactly willing to be on his side in this Christ-despising world. Before this vacillating, man-fearing class, Christ lays down sharp, clear lines. He says: "He that is not for me is against me. And no man is for me who does not confess me."

Confession is a broad, far-reaching word, as the Saviour employed it. It refers first to the heart; then to the lips; then to the life. Whosoever would be saved must embrace Christ in the heart; this was conversion. Next, he must acknowledge him with the tongue; this was confession, or what we style a "profession of faith." Chiefest of all, he was to honor Christ by his daily living; and this was vital Christianity.

Jesus did not refer to the first point when he gave the command to "Confess me before men." He presupposed the secret interior work of conversion; he presupposed the root; what he demanded was the leafing-out and fruit-bearing of the tree. He demanded a bold, resolute, outspoken, love-inspired acknowledgment of him as their Saviour and their King, from every man who expected to be acknowledged in turn "before the Father and the holy angels." This confession was to be open, spontaneous, and sincere. Has the reader of this paragraph never made such an acknowledgment of Christ? Then, my friend, you must not be astonished if Christ refuses to recognize you in the last decisive hour of judgment. It will then be too late to take the oath of loyalty. He who does not confess Christ in this world will be lost in the world to come.

1. In nearly every congregation there are a few halting, timid, irresolute persons who have a trembling faith in Christ, but who do not come out decidedly and confess him. They may be Christians, but the world is not allowed to know it. They carry dark lanterns. "Shining lights" they certainly are not. No one is the better for their secret, clandestine attempts to steal along quietly toward heaven without letting any one overhear their footsteps. Now this is a miserable—we are almost ready to say a contemptible mode of living—this concealment of the colors when danger threatens, this dodging of "the draft" when duty calls, this following along after the church, with a vague hope of being counted in among God's people when heaven's prizes are distributed to the faithful. We do not say that no one can be saved who does not openly join the church. But we do say that the person who expects Christ to acknowledge him in heaven, and yet refuses to acknowledge Christ "before men," is a self-convicted coward, and while disobeying his Master's orders has no right to expect his Master's blessing. After fifteen years of pastoral observation, we have come to the conclusion that every day spent by the genuine convert outside of the church of Christ is almost a day lost; he loses the sense of responsibility that he needs to feel; he loses the opportunities of doing good; he loses in self-respect, in the respect of others; he loses the approbation of him who has so impressively said, "Whosoever is ashamed of me before men, of him will I be ashamed when I shall come in my own glory." When God gives conversion, he demands confession. To be effective and useful, this must be prompt, open, hearty, and decided.

2. But confession does not end with the public acknowledgment of Christ before the church. It only begins there. This is one decisive step, to be followed by a thousand other steps in the same direction. We do know, however, of many a church-member whose single solitary act of royalty to Christ was his standing up to respond to a church-covenant before the pulpit; from that moment onward all that the church had of them was their idle name on the roll. Like too many of the boasted recruits in new regiments, they enlisted, drew their "bounty," and then "straightway are heard of no more." In the campaign for Christ and the truth, they never answer to the roll-call of duty; is it very certain that their names will be called when the victorious Immanuel announces the rewards to his faithful followers "on the sea of glass like unto pure gold?"

A true Christian will rejoice to confess Christ everywhere and before everybody. He will aim to make his daily life lustrous and legible; he will glorify his Master by everyday acts of loyalty and love. He will live Christ. And when duty bids him open his lips, he is ready to speak for Christ. At such a time silence would be treason. The Christian who will sit with sealed lips when his Master is assailed, when religion is attacked, when wickedness is broached and defended, when truth is denounced, is a denier of his Lord, as guilty as Simon Peter in Pilate's hall.

It is pitiful to observe what cowardly shifts some professed Christians resort to in order to avoid an acknowledgment of their loyalty. We are all guilty of too much time-serving—too much concealment of truth—of too much compromise with Christ's enemies. The boldest are not bold enough; and the cowards are as much despised by themselves as loathed by their Master in heaven. When will we learn that the only course for a Christian is to "stand up for Jesus?" Men expect it of us; they in turn despise us for our shamefacedness, and doubt the sincerity of our professions.

We began this brief article with an incident from military life. We close it with another. "Last night," said a Christian soldier to his chaplain, "in my barrack, before going to bed, I knelt down and prayed, when suddenly my comrades raised a loud laugh, and began to throw boots and clothes at me." "Well," replied the chaplain, "suppose you defer your prayers till after you retire, and then silently lift up your heart to God."

Meeting him soon after, the chaplain said, "You took my advice, I suppose; how did it answer?" "Sir," replied the soldier, "I did take your advice for two or three evenings, but I began to think it looked like denying my Saviour; so I once more knelt down and prayed as at first." "What followed?" "Why, sir, not one of them laughs now. The whole fifteen now kneel down too, and I pray with them!"

"I felt ashamed of myself for my cowardly advice," said the chaplain, when relating the incident; "that young soldier was bolder and wiser than myself." Yes; and he might have added that the sermon which the godly private preached to his fellow-soldiers by that simple act was a more impressive one than any discourse they were likely to hear from such a chaplain. Vicar's motto was the true one, God's word shall be my colors.—Cuyler.