A Child in the Midst by Cuyler

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · May 24, 1864

A Child in the Midst.

By Cuyler

WHEN Christ wished to rebuke the selfish ambition of his disciples, he took a little child and "set him in the midst of them." From that child they were taught a lesson of unselfishness and humility.

So our heavenly Father now sets little children in our houses to be our teachers, as well as to be taught themselves. No home is complete without child-music to enliven it, and little faces to light up its apartments. Never was there a cottage so humble, or so meager, but that it could be made cheerful by the crow and chirrup of infant gladness. And we have seen a magnificent mansion that, with all its rosewood and velvet, its pictures and marbles, was yet sadly empty, for no crib stood in its sumptuous chambers, and no child-voice rang through its lofty halls. No house is a "furnished house" until God in his loving kindness, setteth a little child in the midst of it.

Bear in mind that the little child is placed there to teach us, their parents, as well as to be trained themselves. What lessons they impart to us, what inspirations, what exhibitions of our own faults, what spiritual discipline! They are not sinless cherubs, or they would not teach us so much; we are not sinless Adams and Eves, or else we should not so much need to be taught.

One of the first lessons they give us is in patience—a virtue that some of us are slow in acquiring. But who can teach it better than a helpless, dependent, and often wayward and exacting child? Through long, wakeful nights the peevish cry of the little sufferer means, "Bear with me, mother! I know no better. I can't help it. I can't be any lighter to carry, or any quieter under the dartings of pain's sharp needles. You must bear with me." Every year is a year of added instruction. Is the youngster slow and dull over his books? Then be patient. If it is hard to get the truth in, it will be harder to get it out. "Why do you tell that child the same thing a dozen times?" said the father of John Wesley to his persevering mother. "Because" replied the shrewd woman, "all the other eleven times will go for nothing unless I succeed at the twelfth." We do not know whether it requires more patience to get on with mercurial, quick-tempered children, or with slow-witted ones. Both require forbearance and careful handling. Both can drill us into patience. How patient God is with our willful disobedience, and ingratitude, and stubbornness! Should not we be long-suffering toward the little trespassers against parental law?

Children are more than teachers of patience and forbearance. They are household mirrors to reflect our own faults—sometimes, too, our own graces. If we wish to see how ridiculous and hateful are our ebullitions of sudden passion, we have but to look at the anger-storms of our little imitators at our own firesides. That sullen scowl was caught probably from our brows. That ill-natured snarl was the echo of our own. That revengeful blow struck at a brother may be but the rehearsal of the last angry slap we gave the lad, more in revenge than in the love of correction.

Would you see your own faults? Look at your children. They are the plates on which father and mother are photographed. Sometimes the "family likeness" is frightful. Would you see how your own desecration of the Sabbath looks? Look at your eldest son lounging down, late and ill-humored, to his tardy meal on a Sabbath morning, more keen for your daily Herald than for a preparation for the house of God. He is only photographing his father. Would you know how melodious is an oath? Listen to the young practitioner of your own profanity. When you lose temper at his spendthrift habits, remember who it was that taught him to prefer a fine coat to a fine character. Are your daughters extravagant? They but begin just where their fashion-worshipping mother leaves off; and they go commonly as much beyond her as she went beyond Christian prudence and economy. Do you get provoked at their tattle? Perhaps they caught a relish of scandal at their parents' table; perhaps they learned to coin falsehoods from your hypocrisy toward visitors, or from false messages sent through servants to the door. Childish deceit is often the mirror's reflection of parental cunning and dissimulation. Many a worldly-minded mother has seen in the mocking impenitence of a daughter the reflex of her own "lust of the eye and the pride of life." Many a David has wept over his sensual, licentious Absalom—and tears all the more bitter because he saw his own sins stereotyped in his offspring.

Believe it, O parents! that when God sets a child in the midst of us, he puts a looking-glass there to see ourselves in. Our vices are often made to glare back hideous from the countenance and conduct of those who sin our sins over again, and "break out" with our moral infections! I once saw a mother weeping over the coffin of an infant who had died from a disorder communicated by herself! It was to me a type and a parable. When, on the other hand, I have seen a godly-minded pair, looking with grateful joy on the child of their love as he came home with his prize from school, or as he stood up before the church to confess Jesus Christ in the fresh beauty of a youthful consecration, then I saw the mirror of childhood giving back the beautiful reflection of parental piety and grace. If we are faithful to our children's souls—if we more ardently desire to see them rich toward God than rich in gold or bank-stocks—if we live out so lovely and consistent a religion that they may long to reflect it in their own lives—if we consecrate our children to God by consecrating ourselves, then we may thoroughly expect to rejoice in the early conversion of our offspring to Jesus, and in an after-career of usefulness and honor. And when we reach heaven at last—there too it will be seen that Jesus Christ "sets our child in the midst" of us.